by Maida Malby
Relief coursed through him when the priest gave the final blessing. He hastily made the sign of the cross and left the church before he overheated. Perlas kept an air-conditioned van in the main part of the island for the guests to use, and he needed the comfort of its cool interior. Not to mention the contents of the water cooler the resort kept fully stocked inside it.
Blake put on his sunglasses and waited impatiently for Krista to join him outside. She had told him earlier that she wanted to light a candle at the altar, so he left her to do it by herself.
Yes, he was being a dick, but his pounding head was a legitimate excuse for it. His body craved caffeine and something substantial to fill it ASAP. The bottled water he drank in practically one gulp helped, but he needed a good-sized steak right now. His head, too, could use a couple of ibuprofen. He’d have to blame being hangry and offer his apologies for his rude behavior.
To his relief, Krista didn’t linger at the church. She got to the van faster than he expected. When everyone from the resort was accounted for, Blake signaled the driver to take them to D’Mall at Station 2, widely considered the island’s central hub with its vast array of restaurants, cafes, boutiques, and shops.
“Do you mind if we eat first before shopping?” he asked Krista when they disembarked. “I didn’t get any breakfast before we left for church—not even coffee. I’m starving.”
He should have asked her during the short ride, but she wasn’t talking to him. He kept quiet as well, since he didn’t want the other passengers to overhear their conversation.
“I don’t mind. I haven’t eaten yet, either. Where do you want to go?”
He expected her to tell him off, but she acted gracious and understanding. His guilt increased; he needed to make amends. He’d buy her a gift, he decided as he watched her remove the makeshift shawl. She looked sexy in her spaghetti-strap dress. Maybe he’d get her something to match her outfit.
“I’m salivating for a big juicy steak and a plateful of garlic fried rice with eggs on top. Is the barbecue place fine with you?” The moment he mentioned food, his stomach rumbled. He groaned in embarrassment.
She let out a startled laugh. “Whoa! Clearly, your tummy doesn’t care to hear my opinion. Let’s go feed it.”
***
Krista was glad to see Blake restored to his usual charming self after getting fed. He looked rough this morning. When she saw him approach from a distance, he looked bad-boy sexy with stubble on his jaw and sunglasses covering his eyes, which she would find out later were bloodshot. All he needed was a motorcycle and a leather jacket to complete the James Dean vibe he projected.
Scrap the leather jacket, she reconsidered. He had roasted in his black t-shirt and jeans at the crowded place of worship. He was restless in his seat nearly the whole duration of the mass. She could understand—even sympathize, knowing him now for six months—especially with his attitude towards long meetings.
The mass, conducted in the local language Hiligaynon, had lasted almost one and a half hours. Between the priest’s lengthy and dragging homily and what seemed like the whole congregation taking communion, for a non-devout Catholic like Blake it must have been torture. No wonder he didn’t go to services regularly.
No one could call Krista devout either, as she often missed mass to write papers for her master’s degree or work overtime to earn extra pay. She went today because of her upcoming birthday, and because she wanted to give thanks for all the blessings she received this past year.
She nixed her initial plan to confess her future sin of engaging in pre-marital sex, since not being truly repentant would compound the transgression. Instead, she just said her prayers during the Penitential Act.
It might not even happen. She could still back out of sleeping with Blake at the last minute. If it did happen, she would examine her conscience afterwards and take it from there.
During lunch, Blake had kept apologizing to her.
“For what?” she’d asked.
“For my inattention at the mass and impatience to get out of the church. I’m hung-over from drinking with your British movie star.”
“Ha! Serves you right.” She smiled, thrilled at their inside joke.
“Ouch. Heartless wench.” He smiled back. “I only slept a couple of hours. My older brother Aidan woke me up at the crack of dawn with a demanding phone call.”
“Poor you.” She laughed when he jutted out his lower lip in a mock-pout. “I’m kidding. There’s nothing to forgive. I understand.” It pleased her to witness another speck of imperfection in him.
Blake impressed her with his commitment to sit through the mass in abject discomfort because of her. He could have left at any time, especially during the homily, to sit in the air-conditioned van. But he stayed and suffered the boredom, heat, and the parishioners’ stares.
Of the few foreigners inside the church, or outside for that matter, most were female and many of those were elderly. The tall, handsome, badass-looking hunk who sat beside her was one of a kind.
She prayed for the Lord’s forgiveness for her vanity inside His house. Krista had felt a burst of pride when she saw women look at her with envy because she was with him. She sympathized with the awestruck teenage girl who stood in the pew in front of them, eyes wide and mouth open, as Blake shook her hand and said, “Peace be with you.”
On the flip side, she was apprehensive that someone from the office might be in Boracay and see them together. Bahala na, Krista thought. We haven’t done anything wrong. Whatever will be, will be.
Now, strolling through the shops, Krista excused herself to look at a pair of sandals that caught her eye. Blake nodded in agreement and said he wanted to check something out himself.
Shoes were her secret vice; the only fashion item her friends considered her the expert on. Now that she could afford them, Krista bought two pairs to add to her ever-growing collection.
As she changed into one of her new pairs of sandals, she felt something touch her head. Blake had returned with a hat for her. Wide-brimmed, plain white, and made of straw, it would go well with anything she wore.
“I noticed you don’t have one.” He shrugged when she looked at him quizzically. “You have fair skin; you’ve got to protect it. You’re getting sun-kissed right here.” He tenderly tapped a finger on her cheekbone.
“Thanks, how thoughtful of you.” Krista beamed a grateful smile, delighted that he was making up for his earlier grouchiness. She had planned to buy a couple of hats, so getting one as a present was something she truly appreciated.
“You are most welcome,” he returned. “Here, I got you three.” He revealed two similarly-styled black and red hats that he’d hidden behind his broad back and handed them to her.
She squealed and reached up to give him a lip-smacking kiss on the cheek, her delight for the gifts overcoming her reticence to show affection in public. “Thank you, thank you, and thank you! I love them.” She faced the mirror and tried each one on. “Look! They match my outfit and shoes.”
“They do. You would fit right in at the Kentucky Derby, looking like that.”
“Or the Ascot races like Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady,” she retorted, certain he wouldn’t be familiar with the movie.
“The rine in Spine sties minely in the pline,” he intoned, reciting the famous line in a pretend Cockney accent. He laughed at the surprise on her face. “Audrey Hepburn is my mom’s favorite actress. She would watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Roman Holiday, and Sabrina, etcetera, repeatedly.” He bent down to help with her purchases and his presents, unaware of how charming she found his statement.
There he goes being amazing again. How can I resist such a well-rounded guy? She gave him a smile as he opened the boutique’s doors for her. “Where to next?” he inquired.
“Can we go in there?” Krista pointed to a tattoo parlor. “I want to check out their designs.” Both Maddie and Angela had a couple of tattoos, and she loved the idea of getting one herself.
She looked at Blake who was gaping at her in shock. “What? Don’t you dare say you don’t think I’m the type to get a tattoo, or I’ll hit you.” Yesterday, when he turned around to take his shower, she caught a glimpse of a large one on his back. She hadn’t viewed it up close, but it looked to her like a family crest.
“Not gonna say anything.” He closed his mouth and made a zipping motion with his thumb and forefinger. Then he opened the door to the studio and immediately broke his promise by saying, “After you, milady.”
***
Whew! Blake was relieved when they left the tattoo studio fifteen minutes after they went in. Krista consulted with an artist and was advised against getting it done today. Part of post-tattoo care was to avoid swimming or soaking the new ink in water for up to four weeks.
Also, fresh tattoos needed at least ten to fourteen days of healing time before exposure to the sun. Since this was only her second day in the island, getting a tattoo now would severely limit her activities for the rest of the week. Krista pouted, but conceded the wisdom of it and instead made an appointment for Friday afternoon.
She might have shaken her fists at him, but she truly didn’t seem the type to get inked. Call him a hypocrite—he had a large image of his Irish ancestors’ coat of arms almost covering his whole back—but he’d never found tattoos attractive on a girl.
He especially detested the lower-back tramp stamps, which most women with body art preferred. From her gestures to the artist, it looked like Krista wanted the tattoo on her upper back or shoulder area. He approved of that. He looked closer as the artist sketched Krista’s design and saw that she wanted the popular Latin maxim “carpe diem”.
From what he understood, those who took on carpe diem as their motto believed in making the most out of life in the present while they still could—of doing new things while they had the opportunity. He vaguely remembered the line from the movie Dead Poets' Society, where Robin Williams's character, Professor John Keating, told his students to seize the day and make their lives extraordinary. Or something like that.
This new resolve might have something to do with her upcoming birthday on Wednesday. It’d be her thirtieth, a milestone for a lot of people. Maddie mentioned it before, and again yesterday when she called him before he picked up Krista for dinner.
He shook his head and grimaced at the remembered conversation with the half-French spitfire. “Blake, I’m going to Perlas on Wednesday,” she informed him haughtily. “It’s going to be a surprise. Promise not to tell Krista.”
She expected to stay at her friend’s cottage on the second. As if he were her personal concierge, she wanted him to let the front desk know that she only needed the flight. After all, Krista’s stay was charged on Maddie’s credit card. The woman has some gall. He also suspected she planned to cockblock him. Ha! Good luck with that.
To complicate matters, his brother United States Air Force Lieutenant Colonel Aidan Garrick Ryan, Air Attaché at the US Embassy in Singapore, also came into the picture. He, too, wanted to come to Boracay on Wednesday, commanding that he only needed the flight, as he intended to bunk in with his little brother.
Blake was of a mind to get those two together. Yes. He would get Krista into his bed on Tuesday, then he’d stick Maddie and Aidan in her cottage on Wednesday. They could brawl like cats and dogs there, for all he cared. Blake chuckled and turned his thoughts back to Krista, who was browsing through some books at a second-hand shop.
So, that was what she was doing yesterday—seizing the day. He fondly recalled the previous day’s transformation from the prim but spirited Ms. Lopez in the morning, to the vavavoom Krista just a couple of hours later. The one who responded to his kiss with a sensuality that enflamed him.
He wondered what other things she planned to seize. Whatever they were, he’d make sure his body was on the list.
He smiled at her when she came out of the bookshop. “All done? Want some ice cream?” He badly needed to cool down.
“Yes, please. A humongous banana split. With lots and lots of whipped cream and cherries.” She clapped excitedly.
Oh yeah, this woman is darned sweet. I can’t wait to taste her again.
Chapter Eight
Duyan [doo-yan] n. – hammock.
Hmmm, this is the life, Krista thought. Blake had called ahead to have the staff set up two portable bamboo hammocks outside his cottage. She put her book down and sighed in contentment as she relaxed on one of them, appreciating the cool afternoon breeze.
While Blake chose to swim, to burn off the calories from their ice cream dessert, Krista preferred to lounge around by the beach. She supposed she could have done some yoga, but the lure of just chilling out was too tempting to resist. Who’s being lazy now? she mocked herself.
When she came out of her kubo wearing a yellow bikini, Krista saw a couple of their neighbors also out on the sand. She was reassured by the distance between them, enough to not feel self-conscious about her near-nakedness. Though still unused to wearing so little, feeling free and unrestricted was quickly growing on her.
She reached back to fluff the pillow under her head and burrowed deeper into it, realizing that getting a tattoo today would have been an extremely bad idea. Not that she was the best swimmer, but being unable to get into the sea or the whirlpool in her cottage’s garden would totally suck. This way, she could still go scuba diving, jet skiing, and parasailing. Blake helped arrange all those plans for the next couple of days.
Krista turned onto her front. She didn’t see anybody paying attention to her, and the sides of the hammock hid her from view, so she untied the bikini strings on her back. If she was going to tan, it might as well be even. The sun, mildly warm this time in the late afternoon, made her glad.
Touching the area where “Carpe Diem” would be inked on Friday, she thought again of the consequences of getting it done too early—pain for the rest of the night and then a scabby, itchy back for the rest of the week as the tattoo healed.
Yikes! That would certainly not be terribly attractive to Blake. Terrible maybe, but attractive? A big no.
Although, she supposed, he will absolutely love putting the ointment on my back. He will take his time tracing every letter of the words and every curve of the vines with his fingers. His stroke will be gentle, but his touch will be oh, so, hot. The imagined caress made her tremble.
She gasped in shock at the cool fingers tracing the line where the strings once met at the middle of her back. Why is his touch so familiar already, when I’ve only known its feel for one day?
“Blake,” she sighed as she bit back a moan. His fingers continued to draw circles over her shoulders, occasionally flicking stray hairs that escaped her topknot. The hammock dipped as he added his weight to hers; the support creaked but held firm.
“Is this where you’re going to put it?” He spelled the letters C-A-R-P-E-D-I-E-M exactly where she told the tattoo artist she wanted them. His damp skin and wet swim shorts touched her entire left side, but the sensation was not uncomfortable. It felt refreshing, her body now heated by his caresses.
“Y-y-yes,” she breathed out. Her back arched to follow his touch when he started to pull his fingers away. She kept her head buried on the pillow, sure that her face would show the intensity of her desire.
“Sssh.” His hot breath stirred the hairs at the back of her neck. He hadn’t moved away at all. He’d shifted closer, to replace his fingers with his lips. She started to turn over, but he gently but firmly held her shoulder to keep her where she was. “Not yet,” he whispered, “I’m only at the D.”
He took his sweet time torturing her. She wanted his mouth on hers right now. Just as she thought she was ready to scream, his hands on her hips flipped her over. The sudden movement caused the hammock to shake.
He pulled her left leg over his hip, opening her up; his hard knee nudged her most sensitive flesh.
Her breath caught in her throat when the cool air touched her bare breasts. She raised her arms to co
ver them, but Blake was quicker. He captured both her hands in his, leaving her exposed. Her head whipped to the side to see if there were still people around. To her relief, she saw no one.
The sun had dipped to the horizon on the other side of the island, but Perlas’ side was still sunlit, the sky painted with splashes of purple and orange shades.
She looked at Blake in mute appeal, heat suffusing her face and body at the thought of being made love to in the open, but he simply brushed her knuckles with his lips. “You’re gorgeous, Krista. Don’t hide yourself from me.”
Only when she nodded did he release her hands, placing them to the sides of her body. She held herself stiffly at first, but the heat in his gaze as they roamed over her, gradually loosened her rigid muscles. His nostrils flared when she moistened her suddenly dry lips with her tongue.
Bending as if to kiss her, Blake traced the shape of her mouth with his thumb instead. He was surely a secret sadist; this slow torment was just plain cruel. She wanted to get back at him for the agony he was causing her by taking his finger into her mouth, but he evaded her seeking lips and shook his head.
He ran his fingers down her neck, traced her collarbone on both sides, then dipped his thumb lightly into the hollow of her throat.
Her breath caught when the pad of his palm pressed on the round flesh of her right breast. He paused on the inner curve of her breast as if measuring her heartbeat. His left hand mirrored the actions of his right, both hands now circling her round flesh, drawing closer and closer to her nipples but never quite getting there.
“Tell me what you desire, baby,” Blake urged gently, his voice rough. “What do you want me to do?”
Krista’s nipples ached for his touch. Between her legs, she felt a trickle of dampness flow, making her bikini bottom wet. “Touch me … kiss me …” she moaned, offering her body to him.