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he replied, raking his fingers through his hair. "Right now help get these guests checked in. They've had to wait long enough already."
    After disentangling himself from Deb's arms, he walked behind the desk into the office Gerald had vacated. Until he shut the door behind him, Deb stood with her head inclined, the perfect picture of the dejected and helpless woman. But once Ric was gone, she proceeded to bully Loretta and even tried to take some of her frustration out on Allendre.
    "What do you want, miss?" she snapped hatefully. "Are you waiting for something?"
    Shaking her head, hardly aware of the older woman's rudeness, Allendre signed the register, then took the room key Loretta handed her and wandered in the direction of the elevators. As she stood waiting she stared back at the closed door behind the desk. Ric Shannon could be a harsh man sometimes—as she had learned more than once during the course of the day—but, harsh as he sometimes was, it was obvious that Shannon House meant a great deal to him. Because it did, Allendre liked him, though she wasn't sure she wanted to.

Chapter Three

    Overlooking the palm-fringed beach, Allendre's room was large, airy, and quietly elegant. She loved it. A black wrought-iron railing enclosed a tiny balcony graced with two wrought-iron chairs and a small matching table. During the five minutes it took for her luggage to follow her up, she stood on the balcony, breathing in the fresh salt air. Three stories up, she had a panoramic view, and the late-afternoon sunlight glimmering on crystal azure waters created a loveliness no picture postcard could truly capture.
    When a knock on her door interrupted her quiet enjoyment of the scene, she went back into the room rather reluctantly and answered the door.
    "My, that was fast," she remarked as one of the young bellmen swept past her to set her suitcases on the low reed table at the foot of the huge cedarwood bed. "Are all the other guests getting settled?"
    "Yes, miss, as fast as Miss Hopkins and Loretta can get 'em checked in," he answered pleasantly, his accent distinctly Bermudian, yet with a hint of British inflection. "It's amazing how fast people can work when they know the boss is around."
    Allendre returned his grin. He was a courteous young man and, with his uniform buttoned properly and without his toothpick, he looked very efficient and sedate. Picking up her purse, she started to give him a tip but halted before she opened her wallet when he shook his head.
    "Gratuities will be included in your bill, miss," he explained. "I'm not allowed to accept tips."
    Detecting a hint of resentment in his tone, she tilted her head to one side inquiringly, but he was already halfway to the door before she could pursue the subject further. After he had gone, she sat down on the edge of her bed, stroking her chin with one finger. She had always assumed that when gratuities were added to a bill, the staff later divided the money; but if it worked that way, why had the bellman seemed to resent the practice? Maybe she had only imagined his tone had been resentful, though, she reminded herself. She
was
tired, and the fiasco downstairs had probably colored her thinking. Getting to her feet, she stretched lazily and eyed her suitcases without enthusiasm. Before she could even have a bath, she had to unpack. So, reminding herself that she would feel much more comfortable here with all her belongings put neatly into their proper places, she began the task.
    It was four-thirty when Allendre finished her bath, and the long soak in the warm, scented water had made her feel very sleepy. Setting her small travel alarm clock for six, she stretched out on top of the cool quilted aquamarine bedspread and nuzzled her cheek against the pillow, closing her eyes.
    She couldn't sleep. After several minutes of trying to relax, she opened her eyes again, propping herself up on one elbow, wrinkling her nose at her reflection in the vanity mirror across from