Chapter 2
Haven
Kate headed outside to discover Mario stowing the last piece of her luggage on a golf cart. The night air wrapped around her like velvet, and she drew in a deep breath, feeling some of the tension drain even as fatigue made her movements sluggish.
He handed her into the cart with old-fashioned courtesy, before circling to the driver’s side. The vinyl seat creaked as she settled into it, and Kate let her head fall back against the cushion, grateful to be off her feet.
“It’s late, and I’m sure you’re tired,” Mario said, his voice carrying the same warmth as his smile, “but let me point out a few features of the resort so you can at least find your way back here to the central pavilion. We can always give you a complete tour tomorrow when you’re awake for it.”
He winked, and Kate found herself smiling back. There was something grandfatherly about him, comforting.
The cart hummed to life with a nearly silent electric purr. Kate watched the tropical gardens slide past, palm fronds casting dancing shadows under pathway lights, the air perfumed by night-blooming jasmine and salt water, heady and intoxicating.
“This road we’re on, Ivory Circle, completes a full loop around the resort,” Mario explained, gesturing with one hand while he steered with the other.
“The various bungalows and amenities are all located off it. As long as you find your way here, you’ll be fine.
It’s also the only paved road on the property, so you’ll know you are on the right track. Pun fully intended.”
The corner of Kate’s mouth lifted. The breeze brushed over her skin, carrying away some of the day’s accumulated stress like autumn leaves scattered by the wind.
Mario slowed and turned onto what appeared to be little more than a narrow cement track winding between towering palms and flowering hedges. The vegetation pressed closer here, creating a secluded tunnel of green.
“We are now on a private road, which you won’t find on the resort map you have,” Mario said, his tone almost conspiratorial. “This is only a golf cart path, of course. The vehicle drive is further down the road. Most likely, you’ll be using a golf cart and this route to get around.”
Kate’s foggy brain struggled to process this information. Not part of the public resort? Unease stirred, cutting through the exhaustion. “Just where is this suite?”
Mario’s grin widened, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. “You are one lucky lady! The Princess Suite is the guest suite located in a wing of the owners’ villa. It’s never sold, and only one of the senior management team—those guys in the Pavilion lobby—can approve its use.”
Kate’s breath caught, her pulse quickening, pushing back the fatigue with a surge of awareness that made her sit straighter. “Are you serious? I’m staying in Nicholas Ivory’s personal guest suite?”
The words came out higher than she’d intended, and heat flooded her cheeks. But God, the thought caused her stomach to flutter in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with those sparkling emerald eyes and the warmth in his voice.
“Yup. Cool, huh? I’ve never met anyone who stayed there, and I’ve worked here for over a year.” Mario pointed ahead. “The Residence is around this corner.”
When they rounded the curve and the villa came into view, Kate’s lassitude vanished, replaced by pure, breathless awe. Her mouth fell open, and she gripped the edge of the cart seat, the vinyl digging into her palms. “Wow. Just... wow.”
Before her was a freaking mansion. A tall wall of pale stone circled the massive two-story estate rising from manicured grounds like something from a Mediterranean dream.
Whitewashed walls glowed softly under landscape lighting, and terracotta tiles covered the roof in waves of warm amber.
Arched windows punctuated the facade, dark eyes peering back at Kate.
This wasn’t just wealthy. This was generational wealth, old money, luxury that whispered of private jets and summer homes in Tuscany.
And she was staying here. In Nicholas Ivory’s home.
The surreality of it made her head spin, or maybe exhaustion was catching up again, but she felt unmoored, floating in a dream that couldn’t be real.
Mario drove through a side arch into a lovely courtyard where bougainvillea cascaded over the walls in explosions of magenta and coral.
A fountain burbled somewhere nearby, the sound of water over stone creating a soothing rhythm.
Palms and flowering shrubs lined the path, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze that carried the scent of gardenias and something else citrusy and sweet.
She was stepping into another world, one where her problems felt very small and very far away.
Mario stopped by a multi-car garage—because of course there was a garage—and hopped out with surprising agility. He came around the cart to help Kate out, and she accepted his hand gratefully, her legs trembling as she stood.
“There are two ways to access the suite,” he said, nodding to the left where warm light spilled from windows. “One is through the Residence, and the other is this private entrance.”
He led her up a crushed coral walkway that crunched underfoot, the sound mixing with the distant whisper of waves. The path wound between more flowering plants, and excitement bubbled through her exhaustion. She was staying here. In this place. For three weeks.
Mario took the keys from her trembling fingers and opened the door, leaning in to flip on lights that bloomed to life in warm, welcoming tones. He stepped back with a flourish, allowing her to precede him.
Kate took a quick breath, her heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and disbelief, and stepped inside.
The living room stretched before her, and she drank it in with disbelieving eyes.
A wall of windows towered two stories high at the far end, floor-to-ceiling glass that now reflected only darkness—the pure black expanse of water beyond merging with the night sky into an inky void that promised mysteries.
She couldn’t wait to see it in daylight, to watch the sunrise paint the water in coral and gold.
“As you can see, this is the primary living room,” Mario said, moving past her with practiced ease.
Kate’s gaze swept over the room. The décor fused elegance with comfort, and spoke of exceptional taste and unlimited resources.
Soft sage green walls created a soothing backdrop while potted palms and ferns infused the space with tropical vitality.
A rattan sofa—the kind with cushions so deep you could disappear into them—faced a limestone fireplace.
Above it, a large flat-screen monitor hung like modern art, sleek and unobtrusive.
More rattan furniture scattered throughout, all with plush cushions in shades of cream and seafoam green. A loveseat and two chairs formed a conversation area, while additional seating faced those spectacular windows, positioned to capture whatever view waited beyond the glass.
“It’s beautiful,” Kate breathed, her eyes catching on the exquisite wooden pocket doors next to the fireplace. The wood gleamed with a rich finish, the grain flowing like water, and she wanted to run her fingers over the smooth surface.
“Those are the connecting doors to the owner’s residence,” Mario explained, following her gaze. “They can be opened to join the spaces together. There are locks on both sides, which are currently engaged, so you will have complete privacy.”
Relief washed through Kate so intensely it made her knees weak.
Privacy. No risk of running into Nicholas Ivory while she looked like death warmed over, no awkward encounters over morning coffee when she hadn’t showered.
She could write in peace, fall apart in private if she needed to, with no one to witness her struggle.
An unexpected wave of disappointment swept away the relief.
“The outside grounds are shared with the house,” Mario continued, “and you are welcome to utilize the pool area. You’ll doubtless have it to yourself—the owners seldom use it. They work too much, even when they are here.”
He winked, and Kate smiled despite the exhaustion dragging at her. A pool. A private pool. The thought of floating in cool water under brilliant sunshine, letting the stress dissolve from her muscles, made something in her loosen.
“There is a pergola through those doors,” Mario gestured to French doors she hadn’t noticed, “and a balcony upstairs off the bedroom.”
He led the way to the right, where two arched doorways opened off the living room. Kate followed, heels tapping against gleaming marble before sinking into hand-hooked rugs in jewel tones, thick and luxurious under her feet.
“This front room is the kitchen,” Mario announced. “The cabinets and refrigerator are stocked with pantry basics, and room service will be here in the morning to stock fresh items. If there is anything in particular you want, dial 21 and let them know.”
Kate trailed him into the kitchen, and her heart lifted.
It was small compared to the living room, but exquisitely appointed.
Sleek stainless-steel appliances gleamed under warm pendant lights—a six-burner range, a double-door refrigerator, a dishwasher.
Polished granite countertops in hues of cream and gray reflected the light, and an island with three bar stools offered a casual dining option.
It was leagues above her cramped kitchen with its ancient appliances and limited counter space. She’d dreamed about this kind of kitchen, where cooking would be a pleasure, not a chore.
“Through there is a half bath.” Mario pointed to a door almost hidden in the wall between the arched doorways.