Caught Up In You (Indigo Royal Resort Book 2) Page 2
Cullen considered rolling down the window a bit, thinking maybe it would help to aerate the stale air inside the car, but didn’t want to seem rude to the driver. Instead he tried to focus on remembering the name of the tall, lanky, middle-aged Dave Chappelle look-alike currently behind the wheel. He’d introduced himself to Cullen so quickly, and was so animated, that it had taken Cullen a moment to realize everything he was saying. By that point it was too late to ask again for an introduction. Paul? Raul? It was something like that.
After another few minutes, he couldn’t take the smell anymore. Offending this man be damned, he could no longer stand the assault on his senses. He hit the little button on the door with a picture of a window but nothing happened. Damnit, he thought, the bloody child lock is on.
“Um, Paul?” he asked, taking a stab in the dark at the guy’s name. “Would you mind if we rolled down a window? I’d like to get some fresh air after being stuck on those planes for so long.”
“Of course, sir!” the driver answered, pushing the magic button on the driver door. The window next to Cullen slowly made its way down, allowing the fresh, island breeze in. “And it’s Saul, sir.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I could have sworn you said Paul!” he covered. Fuck, I buggered that one up, didn’t I?
“Don’t worry about it! It can be hard to hear at the airport.”
Cullen simply nodded, thankful that Saul was easygoing enough to give him a pass on this one. The drive to the Indigo Royal wasn’t a super long one—only about twenty-five minutes—but that was still long enough for Cullen to get a little antsy about getting there. He told himself it was just frayed nerves from traveling and his desire to be settled into his bungalow already, but deep inside he knew better.
There were many reasons that kept him coming back to the Indigo Royal year after year—not the least of which were that the resort was safe, comfortable, had fantastic food, and was simply a perfect place to relax. The Quinlan brothers also went to great lengths to respect his privacy and to make sure that the other guests did too. Even though he was registered under a fake name, there was only so much anonymity he could claim once he was actually there and people saw his face. While most people were cool about it and gave him a wide berth, understanding and respecting that this was his vacation too, sometimes there was someone who was just too starstruck. The brothers and their staff worked very hard to make sure that if a guest was bothering him, they intervened and helped defuse the situation.
Not that the Indigo Royal was the only resort that would do this for him. But Cullen felt like it was done here simply because they cared that he had a good time, not because they were looking for him to talk up the resort, or charging him extra for the “additional security.” After ten years of Cruz coming here, the staff knew him and he knew them. Coming to the Indigo Royal was like coming home.
“We should be there in just a few moments,” Saul said. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to get to your suite and relax a bit. Get your vacation on.”
“You have no idea,” Cullen responded.
The idea of no longer being in this car, no longer simply being en route, was a comforting one. But more than that, the closer he got to the resort the more the thrill of seeing that little, sassy, spitfire of a blonde housekeeper rushed through him. The very first moment he had laid eyes on her, the blood rushed more quickly through his veins. She might have only stood about five feet four, but she had enough attitude for someone twice her size. With her straight blonde hair, bright blue eyes, serious curves, and an ass you couldn’t help but want to take a bite out of, she was like a walking wet dream. And that mouth…oh man, that mouth. Only problem was she was eleven years his junior. She was a baby compared to him and he couldn’t allow himself to go down that road. Not again.
Once the car finally pulled up to the front of the open-air lobby of the resort, Cullen jumped out, heading straight for the check-in desk, leaving Saul behind in his dust. He could smell the ocean air as the breeze blew through the lobby and instant relief flowed through his body. It was good to be back.
He sauntered up to the check-in desk and waited for the slender gal posted there to look up from her computer. When he finally figured out a few moments later that she hadn’t registered his presence on the other side of the desk, he cleared his throat, trying to get her attention.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she said, holding her hand over her lungs like he had frightened her. “Checking in?”
“Hi…Julie,” he said, reading her name off her name tag. “Yes, I’m checking in.”
“Wonderful, welcome! What’s the name on the reservation?” she asked, all bright and bubbly.
“Larry Parkhurst,” he answered, giving the fake name Oliver had told him he booked the reservation under. Where the hell does he come up with these?
“Just one moment, Mr. Parkhurst.” She typed away at her machine, furrowing her brow as she continued to click one thing after another. Letting out a heavy sigh, she looked back up at him with a worried expression. “Um, there seems to be something wrong with your reservation, Mr. Parkhurst.”
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“I'm not sure,” she started, “but I’m new! So I probably did something wrong. Let me get Mr. Quinlan.”
She scampered off through the little door adjacent to her behind the desk before Cullen could tell her otherwise. He couldn’t help but laugh at the poor girl, who really seemed to have no idea who he was and was overly flustered with things not following the smooth process she was expected to oversee. While not everyone was able to tell who he was right off the bat, they usually figured it out after looking at him for a moment or two. It was kind of nice that Julie here was clueless.
“Cullen!” Vaughn Quinlan’s booming voice came from the office as the tall silver-haired man stepped out to greet him. “How was the flight?”
Cullen greeted Vaughn with a big hug. When they pulled back, he laughed as he answered him. “Vaughn, it’s good to see you. And I think you mean flights. I flew commercial. Not recommended from northern England.”
“Oh, man, that’s harsh! But don’t worry, we’ve got everything ready. Leona has been working hard to make sure everything on your list is taken care of. And La Isla Bonita should be ready for you any moment.”
“It’s ready now,” a sweet, melodic voice said from behind him.
That voice. Her voice.
It was a voice he heard in his dreams, on the pitch, pretty much anywhere he went, almost as if it haunted him. He loved the sound, how gentle and dreamlike it was. He loved how his name sounded in that voice. And he loved that regardless of how sweet and luscious the body that belonged to that voice was, underneath was a brazen, cheeky little girl.
He turned around and took her in. She stood there before him in linen pants and a matching tee, embroidered with the resort logo. The pants were loose and billowy on her, but the tee was fitted nicely and hugged her breasts like the threads were trying to cop a feel. Cullen was suddenly very jealous of the T-shirt. He swallowed hard trying to gain his composure. He had a persona to play in order to keep her at arm's length. It’d taken him ten years to fully build this up and he wasn’t going to let a brief moment of weakness ruin everything.
“Menina…”
That word.
That one little word sent chills down Leona’s spine and made her blood boil at the same time. She hated that word. Hated the sound of it, hated its meaning, hated how it made her feel. Yet that man insisted on calling her that every time he saw her.
“It’s Leona,” she calmly reminded him. She felt anything but calm looking at him right now, but she was not going to let that be seen. “Lee-O-na.”
“Menina,” he repeated. Okay, now he was just trying to piss her off. Bastard…
Trying to ignore the condescension dripping in his tone, she put on her best customer service smile. “La Isla Bonita is all ready for you, Mr. Cruz, so as soon as you finish up with Vaughn, you can head straight
there. I will get one of the bellhops to deliver your bags.”
She turned to walk away, to find a bellhop and do exactly what she said she would, while also trying to make an escape from the tense moment, but his words stopped her in her tracks.
“You’ve attended to the list I sent then, Menina? Made sure that everything is done, down to the letter?”
“Yes, Mr. Cruz. I have personally arranged the furniture to your specifications, made sure that the proper toiletries, both items and brands, are stocked in the bathroom and that your favorite high thread count sheets are on the bed. And before you ask—yes, the sheets are Liverpool red,” she answered, taking in a deep breath. “I have also made sure that the snacks you requested are laid out on the coffee table.”
“Good. If anything is wrong, I’ll know who to reprimand then,” he replied, his British accent making the word “reprimand” sound much sexier than it should.
In fact, the whole idea of him “reprimanding” her made her tingle in places she didn’t want to admit to. Despite all her anger and loathing toward the man, there was something incredibly provocative about his arrogance. Arrogance that exuded off every last inch of his six-foot-three frame. Leona steadied herself, drinking him in and fighting back a smartass response to his comment. The man might be an Adonis, standing almost a foot taller than her, with muscles so well defined you’d think he was carved from clay, but he didn’t intimidate her. She didn’t scare that easily.
“If for some reason there is a problem, you can just call the front desk and they’ll page me…sir,” she responded, adding in that last word with all the snark she had in her.
“And if I want to contact you directly?” He looked her dead in the eye, stepping closer to her, as if issuing a challenge.
“Simply call the front desk and they will page me,” she repeated. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment. I will stop by La Isla Bonita later this evening to make sure that everything is up to your standards.”
Spinning back around, she swiftly made the exit she had been trying to make earlier when he started his inquisition. She could hear Vaughn telling Cruz that he needn’t worry about a thing, that she was the best there was and had just been over to the bungalow to make sure that everything was perfect. Vaughn also reminded him that, per his request, she was the only staff member who had the access code to his suite other than the head of maintenance—and he and his brothers whose personal codes overrode everything, just in case of emergency—and she would be the only one who entered the space. That had been one of his top “requests” every year—that Leona be the only staff member to tend to his room. Even after she was promoted to Head of Housekeeping, he insisted no one else on the staff would do. It was infuriating, not because she felt that cleaning was below her, but because it made her days that much longer. It was one thing to fill in for a housekeeper here and there when someone called in sick, but to have it added on for three full weeks to her already long list of responsibilities, most of which she couldn’t delegate to anyone else, was a headache. The Villas weren’t exactly small and then adding all the extras that Cruz demanded made it all that much more tedious.
She pulled her office door closed harder than she meant to, at least consciously, but managed to catch it in time before it slammed shut. The nerve of that man talking to her like she’s a child, and in front of her boss. Vaughn knew that there was no love lost between her and Cruz. She’d made it perfectly well-known how she felt every year when his agent sent down that damn list. But it still pissed her off that Cruz didn’t have enough respect in that well-toned body of his to at least pretend in front of him.
Not bothering to even walk to her desk, she simply slumped down on the leather couch that sat directly across from her desk. Even with her eyes closed all she could see was his rock-hard body standing there in that tight T-shirt and track pants. His sculpted chest caused his shirt to be taut across his pecs and only ever so slightly looser over his just-as-well-defined abs. There were enough pictures of him shirtless on the internet that even if the tee he was wearing had left something to the imagination, she wouldn’t have had to work hard to conjure up what was under there. Both his arms were covered with full sleeves of tattoos, his left arm done up solely in intricate geometric designs while his right arm was covered in all sorts of miscellaneous images that had special meaning to him, including his mother’s name across the bottom of his forearm. His clothing might have been hiding it today, but she also knew that on his right thigh was a beautifully detailed tiger and that just above his heart were three little stars, one for each of the championships he’d won. Add in his chocolate-brown hair and soulful, golden-brown eyes and the man was simply a masterpiece.
She fought off thoughts about wanting to trace those geometric designs with her tongue, and about wanting to see if anything new had been added to his skin since the last photo she’d seen of him on the internet. He was an arrogant, patronizing asshole, and she shouldn’t be giving him any more time or space in her head than any other guest. But she knew after that encounter that she needed some real distraction, not just time alone in her office with nothing but her thoughts. So she grabbed the Ziploc baggie of M&Ms on her desk and set off to find her best friend.
Chapter Three
The long hallway that led to the brand-new Cherish Spa entrance had the lights turned all the way up. Once the spa was actually opened, they would be dimmed to a soft glow, but until the construction was done, the contractor insisted they be turned up to a level that was almost an assault on the senses. The amethyst color that now covered the walls looked much better in the dimmer light but was surprisingly not horrible in the harsh brightness. The large water wall behind the reception desk was turned off but must have been on at some point recently as part of the blue-gray slate making up the backdrop was damp in spots.
All the new signage for the spa was leaning up against the wall or laid out on the new couches still covered in the clear wrap they had been shipped in. Drea had tortured herself trying to come up with the perfect name for the spa. One of the few conditions that her uncles had given her in regard to the spa was that, like everything else on the resort, it had to be named after a song. Despite the fact that her boyfriend, Kyle, who was now the marina manager, and his first mate and best friend, Dalton, had been insistent that Relax was the perfect spa name, Drea was adamant it wasn’t. Even if it meant they had listened to the two of them sing that damn song for weeks. Leona had suggested something with heaven in the title—after all, there were plenty to choose from—but Drea thought that was too cliché. She had finally settled on Cherish, much to the surprise of everyone, but now that the logo and signage was done, Leona couldn’t argue that it was a great fit.
Drea had paperwork strewn all over the reception desk as she danced around to some country song Leona didn’t recognize. Lost in thought, Drea shifted through all the papers, creating little stacks that must have had some sort of method of organization. Leona walked up to the counter as if she were bellying up to a bar and unceremoniously dropped the bag of M&Ms in front of her best friend.
“Why, thank you?” Drea said, barely looking up from the invoice that she was reading.
“He’s here,” Leona replied, not needing to elaborate.
Drea put down the invoice and looked up quickly. “And you know this because you got the check-in alert or because you’ve seen him?”
“Oh, more than seen him. We had a…conversation…if you will,” Leona motioned with her hand.
“And I’m sure it was not a lighthearted, polite, very customer service oriented, small talk, kind of conversation.”
Leona scowled at Drea knowingly. Drea laughed under her breath at the reaction and moved some of her paper piles, clearing a place for Leona to come perch up on the counter. Making her way round the desk, she hopped on up and leaned back, resting against the higher portion of the reception desk.
“He called me ‘menina’ like he doesn't know my real name!�
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“I think it’s kinda cute that he has a little pet name for you.”
“Cute? Drea, do you know what that means? I looked it up—it means ‘little girl’ in Portuguese, and not in a nice, cute way. He literally calls me ‘little girl.’ That is not flattering!”
“I’m sure he doesn’t mean it in an insulting way,” she countered.
Leona grabbed the bag of candies and opened it up, grabbing a handful before answering. “Oh, yes, he does. This isn’t like Kyle calling you ‘sweetness,’—he’s trying to belittle me.” She shoved the handful of chocolate in her mouth. Drea and Kyle, having been friends for years, got together about five months ago after finally admitting feelings for each other. Everyone knew they were perfect for each other and had just been waiting for them to eventually hook up, but the whole affair hadn’t been without its own drama involving her overprotective uncles and a family secret, but all ended well with them together and Drea fulfilling her dream of opening a spa.
“I don’t understand this animosity between you two,” Drea said, reaching into the baggie. “I mean, he can't actually hate you. He comes back every year and always asks that you be the only one to take care of his room.”
“Because he’s an asshole! He likes to abuse the power that fame and money have afforded him.”
“You didn’t think he was an asshole when we were seventeen,” Drea reminded her.