"Shit. What are we going to do?" I glanced at the clock and cursed again, too softly for Quentin to hear. "The new guest will be here any minute."
"You'll have to use your spare room, at least until I can get the pipe fixed and clean this place up."
We were booked up in the summer with a waiting list to boot. I'd hosted the occasional guest in my house when there was a problem with their room, but the spare room was mostly for my friends and relatives. Maybe I should've felt weird about letting strangers into my home, but it wasn't any different than if I'd owned a bed-and-breakfast.
"It's your choice, boss," Quentin said. "I can put a canoe in here and tell 'em to get paddling."
"Hilarious." I rubbed my forehead and sighed. "Okay, I'll put him up in the spare room. But please, Quentin, get that room cleaned up as fast as possible. My house doesn't have all the amenities for guests and the decor is girlie. I don't think a man is going to appreciate the pastel bathroom or the pink sheets on the bed."
"The new guest is a man?" Quentin made a noise that reminded me of a growl. "Maybe you should send him to a motel in town until the room here is fixed."
"Everything's booked up. The Pioneer Days festival is this week."
"Yeah, forgot." He growled again. "I'll get to work right away and see how fast I can fix this puppy."
"Thanks, Quentin."
I hung up the phone.
A guest in my house. The new guy would be nice like all my guests, I was sure. I knew his name and where he'd come from—Valentim Silva from Los Angeles—but nothing else.
Outside, the crunching of tires on gravel alerted me to Mr. Silva's arrival.
I snagged a little remote from the counter and sprinted out of the house toward the driveway.
A black pickup truck was stopped at the gate.
Breathing hard from my sprint, I stopped fifteen feet from the gate and punched a button on the remote in my hand. The gate rolled open. The truck had dark windows on the sides, and the glare of sunlight obscured my view through the windshield as the vehicle passed me. I trotted after it, gesturing for my newest guest to park near my house instead of in the gravel area set aside for guests. He seemed to get the idea, pulling up behind my pickup.
His made mine look like something I'd gotten from a junkyard. My Dodge Ram was six years old and lacked the ooh-la-la factor of this guy's Ford F-250 Limited Super Duty. I recognized the model. I'd seen one at the car dealership in town, though I'd gone there strictly to window shop. No way could I afford a new truck, especially not an F-250 Limited. It cost at least eighty thousand dollars.
Great. A rich guest. My little place was not a luxury resort, and the last time I'd hosted a wealthy guest, the woman had bitched about everything.
The driver's door swung open just when I reached the truck.
Panting, I rushed up to meet my guest. "Hi, welcome to Au Naturel Naturist Resort. I'm—"
My voice ceased working the instant the man jumped out of the car and turned toward me.
A god had stepped out of the luxury pickup. My gaze insisted on taking in the full picture of my newest guest, wandering over his entire body. Tall and muscular in an athletic way, he boasted skin lightly bronzed by the sun. His dark hair curled around his ears to kiss the lower edge of the lobes. His cocoa slacks clung to his thighs, accentuating the powerful muscles underneath. The top two buttons of his white dress shirt hung open.
My attention stalled on his chest and the elaborate tattoos that covered the swath of skin I could see.
He ran a hand through his artfully mussed locks, and his full lips curved into a relaxed smile.
All my guests arrived wearing clothes since airports frowned on nude travel, but this guy's clothes struck me as designer quality. Most people showed up wearing shorts and T-shirts.
The god offered me his hand. "Valentim Silva. But you can call me Val."
He spoke with a light accent I couldn't quite place. In fact, it was so light I wouldn't have picked up on it if not for the lilting way he said his full name.
I settled my palm in his, my gaze drawn to his warm brown eyes. "Eve Holt. I own the resort."
"Yes, I know." He held on to my hand for a second or two longer than necessary for politeness. "I have seen your website. Your photographs are wonderful, very artistic."
"Thank you."
None of my previous guests had ever looked like him. I'd hosted attractive men before, but they were dim stars in the far reaches of the hotness galaxy. This guy was a supernova standing two feet away from me.