Page 2 of Caught Up In You (Indigo Royal Resort)
“You’d be amazed at what you will find in these rooms,” she said as she pushed open the door that had a little black and white placard reading “Leona Filipe, Housekeeping” on it. She pointed to the list posted on the wall just adjacent to her desk. “We keep a top ten list for a reason.”
Gena looked at her with wide eyes, almost too afraid to look at the list. Just as she started to glance over at it, Carmella walked into the room.
“Ready for me?” she asked Leona.
“We sure are! Gena is going to shadow you for the rest of the day,” Leona answered. Turning back to Gena, she said, “Now remember, you’re invisible. I don’t say that to be condescending, but to remind you that we are like ghosts. We make sure things are seen to, but that we are not seen doing them. Guests don’t pay to have someone underfoot and in their way. Just follow Carmella’s lead—she won’t let you down.”
The two women exited her office, giving her a quick moment to herself. Drawing in a deep breath, Leona tried to calm her nerves and quell the nervous energy running through her. She’d known this visit was coming for months. It’d even gotten pushed out by about six weeks, giving her more time to stress over it. The deep breaths weren’t working—if anything they were frustrating her more—so she grabbed the folder containing his list of “requirements” and marched out of her office toward The Villas.
Making her way down Electric Avenue, which was what they called the little path that led from the rest of the resort down to the private area where the Villas resided, Leona tried once more to calm herself down. This was without a doubt her least favorite two weeks of the year, and this year, it was a three-week visit. At least this year the majority of his time would be spent off the resort.
La Isla Bonita was the biggest of the bungalows, at just over a thousand square feet, and sat at an almost ninety-degree angle from the other three structures. Where Vogue, Borderline, and Lucky Star sat along the coastline, La Isla Bonita was built so that part of it was on the beach and a portion of it was built on stilts over the water, resulting in a private porch off the back of the house. It wrapped a
round the ocean side and had a private ladder for guests to get in and out of the water. The living room housed a full couch and love seat plus a glass coffee table that sat over a tempered glass cutout in the floor, allowing a view of the ocean. To the left of the living room was the bedroom—complete with walk-in closet and king bed—with a floor to ceiling window that looked out over the back of the bungalow to the vast ocean and continued into the massive bathroom adjacent to the bedroom.
Leona really did love this little house. Once, for their sixteenth birthdays, Drea’s uncles allowed the girls to stay in it for a weekend. They had a blast just hanging out on the back deck, jumping into the ocean, and taking turns soaking in the tub. Ever since that weekend, she’d pictured staying here with a lover—the two of them taking a bath together, getting tangled up in the sheets, and going skinny-dipping off the deck. But then she would remind herself of Cullen Cruz and that night from ten years ago, and all those wonderful daydreams were tarnished.
I can do this, she thought to herself. It’s just three weeks. Three weeks cleaning up after a man I can’t stand…
Chapter Two
The car that Oliver hired to taxi Cullen around while he was in St. Thomas reeked of the overpowering smell of “new car.” Not the actual new car smell, but the fake, chemical-ridden air freshener “new car” smell. The full-size sedan town car was clean and comfortable—and didn’t appear all that old, really—but the driver had obviously gone to great lengths in order to make it seem impressive to the professional athlete. Truth be told, the town car was much more of a luxury vehicle than Cullen had expected. The interior was all leather, had heavy-duty rubber floor mats, and even had a divider between him and the driver for privacy.
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?
