Tropical Dragon's Destiny (Shifting Sands Resort 10)

Almost.

The waiter, Breck, still worked at the resort with his runaway bride. As did the washed up mermaid, Saina, the twin sisters Jenny and Laura (who had fled here from the mob), and Wrench, the brute with the unsavory past who had tried to kidnap the wrong one of them for money.

Scarlet had shown them all utterly illogical compassion and they had returned her trust with loyalty that gave Mal considerable pause; they had denied every tempting offer he had dangled in front of them and ignored every subtle attempt to sow discord.

All because of Scarlet.

And Scarlet herself was a cypher. How had she managed to win such devotion from her staff? She had even convinced Grant Lyons to shake off his identity as Graham Long and claim his first right of refusal to buy the island itself. The staff had scrounged the exorbitant price of the sale in nickels and dimes and gifted it to her in entirety.

Mal trailed his hand across the offer that they’d sent, shaking his head in grudging admiration, and then began to get dressed. Mal had managed to keep a life insurance policy owed to Laura and Jenny tied up in paperwork for almost a year and he’d scared two buyers off from buying Conall’s business—Conall was a permanent resident retiring from a life of celebrity as a classic musician who had built a business empire and given it all up to settle down on the island with his skittish mate Gizelle, one of the longest imprisoned and most damaged residents of Beehag’s cruel menagerie.

But Mal hadn’t counted on Magnolia, another of the resort’s permanent residents, reconciling with her royal family and regaining access to her inheritance, or on a third buyer for Conall’s music empire appearing out of the woodwork while he was still busy with the second.

He had no legal recourse to stop the sale.

It was downright sloppy of him to let them get this far, build this much hope.

Then there was the fact that Scarlet was, completely beyond expectation, his mate.

She was so beautiful, so strong, so... vulnerable.

And she was going to be crushed when the resort inevitably fell.

A knock at the door interrupted the unavoidable spiral of his thoughts.

He opened the door to find a curvy, dark-skinned woman holding out a key and a brochure.

“Ms. Smith,” he greeted.

She smirked at him. “That’s a safe guess,” she said mockingly. “But it’s my

sister you’ll be needing to see if you have any business to discuss.”

This was Laura then, the wolf shifter who had married the cowboy bartender, identical twin to the lawyer Jenny. “Thank you,” Mal said gravely, accepting the items. The resort hadn’t upgraded to keycards; it was an actual key on a large wooden keychain.

“Breakfast is open for another few hours,” Laura added. “Scarlet said you are to be treated exactly like any other guest and that you are... welcome... to enjoy the amenities.”

Her emphasis suggested that welcome was not exactly what he could expect, but Mal only said, “I appreciate it.”

Once she left, he was dismayed to find that he was hungry. It had been a long flight the night before and his dragon’s appetite was considerable... even if food was his second choice.

The restaurant was not terribly busy, but several of the tables were in use when Mal arrived. He seated himself at the edge of the deck, overlooking the bar and the pool beyond.

The waiter, sharply dressed, plunked a glass of ice water down in front of him and gave him a distinctly unfriendly appraisal. “Chef is making custom omelets this morning. We have most ingredients you could want in stock to build your own, or you can choose from a Denver—a proper Denver, with no cheese—or a vegetable lovers that uses what’s fresh with mozzarella. Do you need a moment to decide?”

He waltzed to the next table without waiting for Mal’s answer and spent notably longer chatting up the guests and flirting with the matron of the group.

Breck. Mal remembered vividly his role in the recent wedding disaster and he was amused to note the dragon runes that circled one of Breck’s wrists when he reached to refill a water glass. Mal fingered the long sleeves of his own light bamboo shirt thoughtfully.

The waiter took the order for the second table back to the kitchen, served a third table, refilled drinks throughout the restaurant, and finally returned to Mal’s table, his slight obvious. “Have you decided?” He did not offer to refill the half-empty water glass, despite the towel-wrapped pitcher he held.

“Vegetable with a side of bacon,” Mal said serenely. “Coffee.”

“There’s bacon at the buffet,” Breck said dismissively, and he turned coldly away.

Mal did not expect his meal to come without a generous seasoning of spit and briefly considered feeding himself solely from the buffet. It was clear that the staff knew exactly who he was and had no qualms making sure that he knew exactly how little they cared for his presence.

It wasn’t entirely unexpected.