Teasing Her Seal

Good news, because hell would freeze over before he went knocking at Laney’s door with this kind of trouble.

9

THE PERSISTENT SOUND of rain hammering the palm trees and then Laney’s umbrella almost drowned out the sound of the ocean. According to the weather report that resort staff had slipped under her door last night, a small tropical storm had moved into the area for the next couple of days. Booking massages by the pool would be off-limits. The surrounding jungle was damp and wet, the early-morning sky dull.

The walk to the employee housing was a ten-minute exercise in second-guessing herself. The employees occupied a neat, two-story apartment building tucked behind a discreet screen of palm trees. A watery sun rose over the ocean, almost entirely concealed by the falling rain. Those people who compared tropical rain to drops of pineapple juice? They were dead wrong.

She spotted few lights on in the building. Please let Ashley be right about which room was Gray’s. She had a second fantasy to try on him. So, if the mountain wouldn’t come to Mohammed...she’d go to him. She liked walking in the rain, but cozying up in bed with Gray seemed like the better choice right now. Especially since the constant rain had soaked her running shoes and kicked mud up the back of her legs. Romantic. Not.

When she stepped into the hallway, however, a dark shadow moved to intercept her, and she tried to remember how to breathe. It was just one of the resort employees. Who apparently had a thing for camo gear in his off hours. He paired military-grade boots, BDU pants and a damp T-shirt stretched over his powerful chest. And...was that a gun?

“Can I help you with something?” The deep, smoky voice that came out of the darkness meant business. While the voice’s owner waited for her answer, he angled his body between hers and the hallway, cutting off her view of the gun tucked in the waistband of his pants.

In some ways he reminded her of the gangbangers she’d patched up in the San Francisco ER. He wore the same easy confidence and animal-like awareness as the tattooed, low-rider men who’d prowled the inner-city streets, flashing gang signs and inking their allegiances into their skin. In other ways he resembled private security. He moved with lazy grace, as if it was simply a given he was bigger, badder and armed. Dangerous. She recognized the physical confidence of a man who knew he could take down anyone who got in his way. She posed no threat to him.

“I’m looking for Gray.” She’d have bet this guy, whoever he was, knew about the two of them even before she spoke the words, and his nod confirmed her suspicions.

“I’ll tell him you stopped by.” He didn’t move from his position in the middle of the hallway.

“No need. I’ll tell him myself.” She took a step forward, testing him. The man was built like a brick wall. There would be no getting through him.

“Gray’s busy right now.”

What the hell did that mean? It was practically dark o’clock and the spa wasn’t open for business yet. She peered over the guy’s shoulders—the man was roughly the size of an ox—and, sure enough, that was Gray’s room right there. Her sneakers touched boots, her body very much in his personal space. And he didn’t budge. Damn it.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

He gave her a half smile. “I’m Mason. I’m a cook.”

No. He wasn’t. A low groan reached her through the door. Gray’s voice. She recognized the sound as easily as she recognized the rough note of pain, the smell of antiseptic and, beneath that, blood.

“Now would be a good time to leave.” Mason nodded toward the exit. A black harness crisscrossed his chest, and a lethal-looking knife hung from his waist. Definitely not a cook.

Nothing on Fantasy Island was what it seemed. The resort was staffed by a group of rough, scarred men and Mason was packing? Any number of scenarios ran through her head, none of them good, but then a second groan issued from Gray’s bedroom, abruptly cut off.

She swallowed. What was going on here? “I’m a doctor.”

“Yeah.” Mason curled his hands around her upper arms. Gently, as if he knew just how badly he could hurt her and he was being extra careful. Or maybe she was imagining things. She stared at the door, debating.

“You know what the Hippocratic Oath is?”

Mason stared down at her, eyes hooded. “I’m aware of it.”

“That oath means you need to step aside and let me do my job. Whatever’s wrong with Gray, I can fix him.”

“Maybe.” Mason looked thoughtful. That had to be a good sign, right? Because the man was almost as impassive as Gray. When he stepped aside, she made a beeline for Gray’s door, throwing it open without knocking.