their arrival. The lobby looked different than he remembered from the last time he’d been to Faust Haven. Gone were the deep green, gold and maroon that had always struck him as more suited to a Rocky Mountains cabin than an ocean-side resort. Varying shades of blue and turquoise dominated the color scheme now, accentuated with weathered white and a pale yellow that reminded Kellen of sand. Overhead lights, along with the glow of table lamps, gave the lobby a warm, welcoming ambiance despite the storm that raged outside.
He exhaled slowly, and some of the tension left his shoulders. He remained a long way from relaxed, but he knew one thing for certain. He’d been right to come here.
He’d been second-guessing the decision to leave Switzerland ever since his plane touched down in Raleigh and the only one to greet him at the airport had been his mother’s ancient butler holding a hand-lettered sign bearing Kellen’s name. Orley hadn’t changed much, but Kellen apparently had. The older man hadn’t recognized him. Of course, it had been nearly a dozen years since Kellen had set foot in his boyhood home in Charleston.
And it had been longer than that since he’d been to the island.
He glanced around again. “This is...this is nice,” he said to no one in particular.
“The remodeling was completed last fall. All of the guest rooms have been updated in a similar color scheme.” She cleared her throat. Her tone was just this side of defensive when she added, “I emailed you numerous photographs.”
He didn’t remember the photos. He probably hadn’t bothered to open the attachments. Too busy burning through his trust fund to care, he thought with a mental grimace. Well, he was done with that. In a way, the accident had forced his hand. He couldn’t ignore his responsibilities any longer. It was time to put his degree to use and start earning his keep.
“They didn’t do it justice,” he murmured.
Nor, Kellen admitted, had the image he’d had in his head done her justice, despite what he’d just said about having her pegged.
For the past five years, he’d signed her paychecks, given the reports she’d dutifully sent on the first of each month a quick skim and approved her capital improvements—all while offering minimal input. This had been accomplished remotely. He’d never laid eyes on the woman to whom he’d entrusted what was now all that was left of to his birthright...until now.
She’d shed the old-man-and-the-sea rain slicker and stood in front of the reception desk wearing an aqua-blue polo shirt adorned with the inn’s logo and a pair of white shorts that skimmed to mid-thigh. Nice legs—tanned, toned and surprisingly long for someone who probably topped out at five and a half feet. His gaze lifted to her waist, which was small, before rising to her breasts, which were just the right size to fill a man’s hands.
He tore his gaze away, surprised to find himself ogling the woman—his employee no less—as if he were some sort of sex-crazed frat boy on spring break. At the same time, he was a bit relieved by his reaction, as base as it was. He’d felt dead for so long...
“I need to get off my feet, Miss Wright. Sooner rather than later, if you don’t mind.” Pain turned his tone surly.
“Of course.” She gave a curt nod. “Follow me.”
Pride demanded that he do so under his own steam, as slow as that would make the going. He took his cane from his driver before turning to Joe.
“Help Lou with the bags.”
Officially, Joe was his physical therapist, but the younger man didn’t mind pitching in as an extra pair of hands when needed. He was being paid well enough, and it wasn’t as if he was kept particularly busy since Kellen regularly skipped his daily stretching and strengthening workouts.
He knew he needed to do them, of course. But knowing and doing were two different things. Hell, some days, Kellen was lucky to get out of bed at all, especially when specialist after specialist offered such a grim prognosis.
He shifted from his good leg to the bad one. Even using the cane to bear much of his weight, the pain was excruciating. He bit back a groan and wondered for the millionth time if it had been wise to swear off the narcotics his doctor prescribed, even if they had made him dizzy and brain-dead. Even if secretly he’d worried that the lure of oblivion might prove too much and he would wind up addicted.
His progress was slow, his gait uneven and lurching, although at least he was able to bear his weight. Brigit turned around once, concern obvious in her expression, but she didn’t offer any assistance. Even when he stumbled before catching his balance, she kept her distance and said nothing. Apparently, his rude dismissal of her help outside had done the trick. He was glad for that. Kellen hated the way people were always rushing to his aid, opening doors, clearing a path for him. For the invalid. Hell, he was surprised they didn’t try to wipe his mouth or other parts of his anatomy as if he were a damn baby.
Women had been among the worst offenders. That was one of the reasons he’d ditched the entourage of females that had routinely crashed at his chalet. As for his male friends, the number had dwindled to nil once it had become clear Kellen no longer would be throwing any of the parties for which he had become legend.
Users and hangers-on, every last one of them. What did it say about him, Kellen wondered, that the only loyalty he commanded was among people such as Joe and Lou and, yeah, Miss Wright, all of whom were on his payroll?
Behind the reception desk, a door led to a short hallway. To the left were the business office, supply room and laundry facility. Kellen remembered playing hide-and-seek in them as a boy during visits with his grandfather. The employee break room was new. He didn’t ask about it, though. No doubt she’d told him about its addition in one of those emails he’d barely skimmed.
The owner’s two-bedroom apartment was on the right. The door was closed, the word private stamped on a plaque affixed just below a peephole. After Brigit pulled a key from her pocket and opened it, Kellen stepped over the threshold, prepared to be assailed with memories of his grandfather, the one person in his life whose love had been complete and unconditional. But as in the lobby, nothing here was as he remembered. Given how emotional he already was feeling, he wasn’t sure whether he was grateful for that or not.
The last time Kellen had been inside, the decor had been far more masculine. It wasn’t only the pale, almost pastel shades of paint on the walls that made it seem feminine now. It was the furnishings: overstuffed white couch, patterned throw pillows, decorative lamps, fat candles in ornate holders, glass jars filled with an assortment of seashells that he’d bet Brigit had collected herself. The scent that lingered in the air was not that of his grandfather’s pipe tobacco. Rather, it was light, fresh and pretty. Her scent. He inhaled deeply, finding it oddly comforting and arousing at the same time. He shoved the unsettling thought aside, only to have another take its place.
“You live here.”
She frowned. “For the past few years, yes. Room and board are one of the perks of the job.”
“I know that. But this was my grandfather’s apartment. It’s for the owner... I didn’t realize.”
“You didn’t realize?” Her tone was as incredulous as her expression. “But I told you—”
He cut her off. “I thought there was an apartment on the other side of the lobby to accommodate the manager.”
Brigit’s mouth puckered at his response, drawing Kellen’s attention to a pair of lush lips that needed no added color to make them appealing, despite the agitation reflected in her eyes.
“There is, or rather, there was. But since this apartment was just sitting empty all the time, I...that is, we decided it made more sense to turn the manager’s apartment into a luxury suite that could accommodate four or more guests for an extended stay.”
“We did?”
Color rose in her cheeks. He was surprised he couldn’t see steam waft from her crown. “I sent you several reports listing the pros and cons. You said you agreed with the