Scarlet attempted to regain control of the situation when the music slowed. “Mal, is that short for Malcolm?” she asked conversationally, as if she didn’t feel the slightest bit giddy.
He laughed, deep and intoxicating, and shook his head. “I should be so lucky,” he said. He lowered his head as if he was imparting a great secret. “My given name is Normal.”
Scarlet, suspecting a joke, chuckled. “Surely it isn’t.”
He sighed dramatically. “It is, I swear.”
“Did your parents have such high aspirations for you?” Scarlet asked archly.
“They were forced into it. Dragon honor, you know.”
He turned her, and for a moment Scarlet held her breath, wondering if he would dip her. He didn’t, but there was a pause in the music where he simply held her and Scarlet felt like every nerve in her body was awake for the first time in decades and she was made entirely of all the longing she fought so hard to keep in check.
Then they were dancing a simple back and forth again and he continued. “When my mother was pregnant with me, she was crossing a busy street and tripped in front of an oncoming bus. She would surely have been hit and died if it weren’t for a young man who pulled her out of the way. My father asked for his name, because in these cases, the least they were obligated to do was name me after him, but he refused, shrugging and saying that he was just a normal guy, doing the right thing.”
“So they named you Normal?” Scarlet really did laugh then, and Mal grinned at her in a way that made her tingle to her toes.
She dampened her merriment with determination, but could not quite keep from smiling back at him. “Most people would go with their middle name in such cases,” Scarlet observed.
“I assure you, my middle name is even worse,” Mal said with a suffering sigh. There was something familiar about his voice...
The music was swelling again and he led her into a turn away from him so that Scarlet was looking away when everything crashed into place and she finally realized who this had to be.
Normal. Normal Moore, with an unlikely middle name and a common last name. N. Moore. N. Padrikanth Moore, Beehag’s vindictive lawyer: the man who had been attempting to roust her from the island for more than a ye
ar, trying to woo away her staff and destroy her business.
Scarlet slipped from his grip and had to temper her desire to turn and punch him in the middle of the dance floor. She had stalked halfway across the hall to the far exit when he caught her—or tried to.
“Scarlet,” he called. “Wait!” He seemed puzzled when he couldn’t catch her arm. She wasn’t about to let him touch her again.
She turned and met his eyes with blazing fury.
“Get out,” she said quietly between gritted teeth. “Get out of my resort and off my island.” It was a growl, and no part of the threat was veiled.
He should have backed off. Anyone else would have left his bags and fled in the face of her anger.
But Mal, N. Padrikanth Moore, only stepped forward. “I have a reservation,” he said, maddeningly.
And dammit, he did. Mal Moore was a registered guest, with a signed contract, and Scarlet was forced to honor that.
“You are a guest,” she conceded, furious. “Cottage four. It’s unlocked, I’ll have a key delivered to you in the morning. If you have business with me, you can make an appointment and I will see you with my lawyer. You have her number.”
“I need to speak with you about the offer you made,” Mal said swiftly.
“You can’t stop me,” Scarlet snarled and this time she was the one who stepped forward, every inch of her bristling in challenge. “You can try your dirty tricks and your pretty promises on someone else, but you will never take this place from me.”
The hall was silent. Scarlet wasn’t sure if the song had ended or if the musicians had simply stopped playing, but she was suddenly aware that all of the guests and all of the staff were watching from the other end of the hall.
“Scarlet,” he said, too quietly for them to hear, “please stop being so stubborn.”
That was the voice she knew from dozens of staticky phone calls: that infuriatingly superior attitude, that pretense of being reasonable.
“You are a guest,” Scarlet repeated through clenched teeth. “Please enjoy the amenities we have to offer and contact a member of the staff if you have any problems or questions.”
Then she was stalking away, through the door, and gone.
Chapter 3