“I swear I was not,” he said gravely, appearing barely ruffled for all that he was looking up at her from the floor. “We were merely having... a conversation.”
Scarlet glared at him, trying to assess his part in this. She had no doubts that he could have countered any attack he received; his human form was a strong as Conall or Tex’s and Scarlet could not miss the dragon power that simmered beneath the surface. But he hadn’t hurt either of them.
She had a chance to slight him, to make him struggle to his own feet amid the toppled furniture, and Scarlet was sorely tempted.
But she was trying to set an example of dignity, dammit, so she extended a hand to help him up.
She meant it to be just a polite assistance, quickly done, but she’d forgotten what the touch of Mal’s hand did to her.
“Mr. Moore,” she reminded herself, accidentally out loud.
“Ms. Stanson,” he replied with an insufferable smile as he flowed to his feet and refused to let go of her hand.
“Do you require medical assistance?” she asked shortly. Tex and Travis were righting the table and chairs and sweeping up the broken bottle, but she was keenly aware of their listening ears. Graham had vanished again, at least.
Mal touched his bloody lip gingerly with his free hand and worked his jaw. “I do not,” he said formally. “It should be healed in very short order. Mr. Wright has an excellent right hook.” He nodded towards Conall, but the Irish elk shifter was focused entirely on Gizelle, who was beginning to calm.
Scarlet wondered if she was going to have to extract her hand using force just as he let go of it and she ground her teeth in frustration at the feeling of loss it left her with. She detested everything about this man and the way he effortlessly left her feeling like a swooning schoolgirl was the absolute worst of it.
Conall gathered Gizelle up in his arms and carried her away, murmuring to her. He shot one look of pure hatred back at Mal that made Scarlet prickle irrationally.
“I’m afraid that Mr. Wright does not appreciate my interference,” Mal said regretfully.
“I’m not sure anyone appreciates your interference,” Scarlet said tartly. His lip was still bloody, if not actually bleeding, and it was distracting. “You have... oh here.” She stepped smartly behind the bar for a clean bar towel and wet it at the sink.
“You have blood on your face,” she said, holding it out to Mal, who had followed her.
He unhelpfully did not offer to take the towel and left her standing with the damp towel extended until she finally snapped, “Fine,” and stepped forward to dab his jaw as efficiently as she could manage.
The worst part of it was that he knew exactly what he was doing, Scarlet thought, hating how close she had to get. She could smell his faint, heady musk, see the slight little smile at his mouth, and feel his breath against her skin. It took all of her self-control not to linger over the task.
“Thank you,” Mal said quietly as she stepped back and went to rinse the towel in the sink.
He made no move to leave as she cleaned his blood from the towel and hung it to dry. “Sit with me and talk a moment,” he told her, not making it a question. “I won’t take much of your time.”
Scarlet didn’t want to give him any of her time. She only wanted him to leave her in peace and stop looking so carelessly handsome.
But he had just been assaulted at her resort and she was keenly aware of the curious eyes pretending not to watch them. As satisfying as giving him a cold shoulder would be, it would reflect poorly on the resort and give the staff mixed messages after her lecture about professionalism. She could have a civilized conversation with him, reiterate the uselessness of trying to talk her out of the purchase of the island, and then wash her hands of the man when he realized that his trip had been pointless.
She nodded crisply. Tex handed Mal a beer to replace the one that had been shattered and the dragon shifter took it gravely.
Scarlet led him to the far side of the bar level, above the pool, where the noise from the water features would keep their conversation private.
“I’m not sure what you hope to accomplish here,” she said as they settled across the small table from each other.
“I’m hoping to convince you that the island is a poor investment choice and reconsider your offer.”
“I appreciate your candor, but I am resolved to make the purchase,” Scarlet replied, every bit as formally. “I have the money,” she added. “And the contract dictates...”
“It’s not about contracts,” Mal said.
Scarlet was surprised by how passionately he said it.
He took a deep swig of his beer and looked away over the big pool. A polar bear was paddling around in the deep end and several guests in human form were lounging on pool floats at the other end. An otter was frolicking cheerfully at the base of one of the falls.
“Three hundred and fifty million dollars would buy you an island just as good,” Mal said thoughtfully. “Something off of Mexico that doesn’t require as much air travel, maybe. There are some properties in the Bahamas that you could get for a song compared to this.”
“I think you grossly overestimate your powers of persuasion,” Scarlet said coolly. “Why would I shop for another resort when I’ve already built exactly what I wanted?”