LITMIR.BIZ

      Nic pulled into the parking lot of the Sandpiper Inn and turned the key, content to sit for a few minutes before he had to wrangle the dog and luggage. He still couldn’t quite believe he had acquired a pet, yet another responsibility, even if it was just for the night. But he couldn’t have left him in a cage, scared and hurt, any more than he could have left him on the side of the road.

      At some point, taking on responsibility, taking care of others, had become second nature. He had always been the one to get his kid brother out of trouble, even when it meant getting into trouble himself. Later, he had tutored his sister, taking it upon himself to make sure she passed the dreaded algebra class. Then, after graduation, it had been impossible to say no to a job working for his father, eventually ending up where he was now, Nic Caruso, Vice President of Property Acquisitions at Caruso Hotels. The internationally known chain had been his father’s dream, not his, and he found no joy in traveling from city to city, scouting out properties and securing new locations for the ever-growing company. He often wondered what it would be like to settle down in one place, to meet someone that appreciated him for who he was, rather than what he could provide.

      A soft woof from the passenger’s seat brought him out of his daydreams and into the present. “Don’t worry, I’m coming. I didn’t forget about you.” Grabbing his overnight bag, Nic set out with Murphy across the covered breezeway connecting the parking area to the main house. In front of him the inn rose out of the darkness, spotlighted by the moon against the dunes behind it. It was hard to see details this late, but he knew from his research that it was two stories, built in the Florida Vernacular style. The buff-colored wooden siding would blend with the dunes in the daylight, and there were covered, whitewashed porches on every level, designed to offer a cool spot to enjoy the ocean view. Right now, though, all he could make out were the wide front steps and a welcoming glow from several of the shutter-framed windows.

      Before continuing toward the inn, he took the sandy path that ran parallel to the dunes. Whether the inn was pet-friendly or not, he’d better give Murphy a chance to relieve himself before going in and getting settled. As they walked, Nic was impressed by the sheer size of the grounds, which were crisscrossed by walking paths and planted with a variety of tropical and coastal scrub plants. He stopped to lean against one of the many smooth-trunked palms, breathing in the humid air, richly scented by the jasmine that grew heavy around him. The scent reminded him of the vet tech he’d just met, Jillian. Even over the disinfectant and wet-dog smells, he had picked up on her flowery sweetness, some perfume or shampoo or something.

      Straightening, he tugged on the leash and walked back to the hotel entrance. He wasn’t here to daydream about pretty brunettes or to soak up the night air. He had a location to scout. Caruso Hotels was very interested in this bit of land, and he was tasked with determining if they should make an offer to the current owners.

      There was plenty of room here for a modern beachfront resort once the original inn was torn down. Most of the property was underutilized, a diamond in the rough. A high-rise hotel could change the entire community—bring in tourist dollars, chain retailers and more. A Caruso Hotel would move the town into the modern age, make it a hot spot on the Florida coast.

      At the top of the stairs, the large carved door of the Sandpiper Inn opened smoothly, bringing him into the lobby, an eclectically decorated but surprisingly elegant room. Native pine floors gleamed in the light of an old-fashioned chandelier. An antique table to his right served as the check-in desk, and across the room overstuffed furniture offered a cozy place to read or chat. Bay windows with a view of the night sea were directly opposite him; a native coquina fireplace accented the wall to the left.

      Bookcases held everything from leather-bound tomes to contemporary bestsellers, with conch shells and chunks of coral for bookends. The antique and modern mix was nothing like the seamless, well-planned lobby of a Caruso Hotel, but welcoming in a way no modern resort could match. For once, he felt like he was stepping into something real, a true home away from home, instead of yet another commercial space.

      “Are you checking in?” The question startled him for a moment, returning him to the present business. A young girl—she couldn’t be more than eighteen—had come in from a doorway behind the check-in desk.

      “Yes, Dominic Caruso. I have a reservation.”

      She tapped keys on a slim laptop computer, concentrating on the screen in front of her. “I don’t see mention of a pet in the reservation notes. Will the dog be staying with you?”

      “Yes, but only for one night. Is that a problem? Your website did say you were pet-friendly.”

      “Oh, no problem. I’ll just send up a dog bed and some bowls for him. We have a small selection of pet food, as well, if you’d like.” She smiled at Murphy, ignoring Nic in favor of his canine companion, and was rewarded by a mannerly wag of the tail.

      “No, thank you, that won’t be necessary.” Jillian had fed Murphy some kibble before they left the clinic, and had packed him some more for the morning.

      “Okay, sign here, then. You’re in room 206, just up the stairs and to the left. Breakfast is served on the patio from seven to nine, and coffee and tea are always available in the sitting room. If you need anything, just let me know.”

      “Thank you very much. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” He pocketed the key, a real key, not a plastic key card, and headed up the staircase he had passed when he came in. The finely carved banister was smooth beneath his hand, worn to a soft glow by generations of guests and hours of polishing. Upstairs, the hall was quiet and softly lit; most of the other guests were probably sleeping, or perhaps out for a late stroll on the beach.

      Grateful for the quiet, he let himself into the compact but tasteful room she had assigned him. Too tired to note much of his surroundings, he stripped off his filthy clothes on the way to the shower, where he stood under the hot, stinging spray to rinse off the mud, sweat and stress of the day. Resting his head on the cool tile, he let the water massage his back and tried to think of nothing, to just be. Instead, his thoughts kept circling back to Jillian, to her pale blue eyes, dark ringlets and those perfect, kissable lips. In a different place, a different time, he would love to explore those lips, and maybe more. But no, he had to work. Hell, he always had to work. At least he was good at his job. Dating, on the other hand, was a series of disasters. It seemed he had a target on his back visible to every gold digger for a hundred miles. His brother adored the attention the family name brought, but as far as Nic was concerned, being single was better than being used.

      Annoyed, he turned the faucet to cold, hoping to clear his head. When even that didn’t work, he toweled off, then collapsed on the big antique bed. Maybe it was the soft snores of the dog at the foot of the bed. Maybe it was the lull of the waves outside his window. Or maybe he was just that tired. Whatever the reason, for once he didn’t have to fight his usual travel-induced insomnia. Tonight, sleep came quickly, the kind of dreamless deep sleep that only came to him when he was home.