Tropical Dragon's Destiny (Shifting Sands Resort 10)

Wrench gave a grunt that might have been a laugh.

“No one would steal from Grant Lyons, King of the Jungle,” Travis joked. “A shovel made of pure gold wouldn’t be worth that risk.”

A swift smile crossed Graham’s face at the sound of his previous name and fighting title; he had somehow found a sense of humor when he’d met his mate, Alice, and Scarlet caught a smile of her own briefly on her face.

Smiling managed to remind her of Mal, of his self-assured grin and the feeling of his hand at her waist.

“Lydia,” she said, more sharply than she meant to. “Anything we should be aware of at the spa?”

She only caught about half of Lydia’s report, stewing over the sheer gall of Mal Moore, showing up here, at her resort, under the guise of being a guest. What did he think he could accomplish in person that he couldn’t over dozens of phone calls and letters? In what world did he think that he could convince her not to go forward with the offer for the resort? He must be desperate, knowing that he had no legal recourse to stop her.

Or maybe he thought that his charms could persuade her in person where they’d failed over distance?

Scarlet didn’t realize how angry she had gotten until she snapped the pen she was holding and everyone went silent and stared at her.

“Thank you, Lydia,” she said as mildly as she could manage. “Tex?”

Tex drawled a bar report, requesting some mixers and reporting a broken tap for Travis to look into.

“Is there any other business?” Scarlet finally asked, finishing her notes with half a pen.

There was a brief moment of anticipatory silence, then Breck asked boldly, “I don’t know... is there any other business?”

Scarlet glowered at him. “I think we’re done here,” she said dismissively.

She left the room swiftly and heard the conversation lift into gossip and speculation behind her.

“THANK YOU FOR PLAYING last night,” Scarlet said to Conall sincerely, gravely accepting his offer of a glass of water. “Performing has never been a part of your contract and I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness.”

Conall poured them each a glass of water from the icy pitcher at the small kitchenette. “I don’t feel taken advantage of,” he assured Scarlet as he turned back and gave her the glass. “It’s a pleasure to be able to play again.” He gave the young woman in the living room a quick, amused smile, but she didn’t notice.

Gizelle was lying on her belly on the couch, engrossed in something on her tablet. Her bare legs were up in the air behind her, ankles crossed, and there were headphones over her ears. The cord, Scarlet noticed, had been chewed on, probably by Gizelle’s kitten, Sweet One. The young gray cat was on the back of the sofa just above Gizelle, curled up asleep.

Scarlet smiled as they sat across from each other at the dining room table. “They were extremely excited to have played with you.” Conall, as a young musician, had been on a skyrocket to success. He produced several bestselling albums and garnered several awards before a car accident stole his hearing.

He had come to Shifting Sands a bitter, angry man, resentful of his loss and disenchanted with the fast-paced, highly successful business life he had tried to use to replace music.

Gizelle had changed everything for him.

Shy and frightened, his mate had lived all of her life imprisoned by a madman, trapped in her gazelle form. She had no memory of the time before her rescue and few social skills. Neal Byrne, one of her fellow prisoners who had been key in releasing the inmates of the zoo, had helped coax her back to human shape, but it was Conall’s love that had made her truly bloom.

Her greatest gift to him in return was arguably the ability to hear again; when she touched him, particularly skin to skin, he could hear again, using her ears.

But Scarlet was fairly sure that his ability to smile again was actually the most precious thing that Gizelle had given him.

He was smiling now and he put his hand across the table to take the paperwork that Scarlet had put down. He had to scoot the papers around a curious centerpiece: a heavy lump of unattractive metal that had once been a lock on one of the cages of the zoo where Gizelle had been imprisoned. It had been a gift from her, the most precious item of her possession. Conall sometimes carried it with him, despite its awkwardness, and it had been fitted with a carabiner to hang off his belt.

“These are the revisions to the lease, provisional to the purchase of the island.” Scarlet let herself feel a moment of grateful wonder and anticipation. The idea that she would own the island and never have to worry about it being taken from her again was still fresh and new.

“Beehag hasn’t accepted the offer yet?” Conall said, glancing through the paperwork.

“He has thirty days to accept per the contract,” Scarlet said as serenely as she could manage, remembering the feeling of Mal’s hand at her waist as they danced instead of how he had tried to weasel the resort away from her. “Jenny says there’s no reason they shouldn’t simply accept, but I suspect Beehag’s lawyer will wait the full window just to be a jerk about it.” An unexpectedly hot jerk, it turned out.

“How is she?” Scarlet asked, lowering her voice. She didn’t have to worry about Conall hearing her; without Gizelle’s touch he couldn’t hear her at all and was relying on his ability to read her lips.

“She’s nervous about something,” Conall said honestly in return.

“Neal...?” Gizelle had been anxious about Neal’s return to the resort to marry his mate Mary; she had changed so much since he had left and come so far from the gazelle who wouldn’t shift to human.