Relapse in Paradise

by Roxanne Smith

  Natural-born salesman, this one. “You would say that.”

  His mouth formed a flat line, some of the lightheartedness gone. “Know who else? Your sister. She hired me. I’m guessing not because you’d find me charming, but because I’ve got something to offer.”

  Emily had to concede Boston’s point. Quinn definitely hadn’t chosen him to accompany her based on their likelihood of having anything in common. It left a single alternative. He might actually be something special as far as island guides went. “Okay, Mr. Rondibett. I’ll give you a shot purely based on faith in my sister’s judgment. Perhaps we can both try to be somewhat less abrasive to one another.”

  “Does that mean you’ll relax a little?”

  She cut her eyes to him, a warning not to push her buttons. “If you pretend to have some semblance of professionalism. Now, take me to the Hilton. I have a six hour flight to wash off.”

  Boston saluted and flicked off the hazards. As he checked his mirrors, engaged his turn signal, and prepared to merge back onto the highway, he flashed Emily a lopsided, dimpled grin that made her question her decision to give this another go. “One thing, miss. We aren’t going to the Hilton.”

  Chapter 2

  Oh, man. That face was priceless.

  Emily’s mouth fell open in a perfect little O. She might pass for adorable if she weren’t so snooty. And that was saying something, considering she was at least near his age. Late thirties, possibly even forty. The bun clinging for dear life on the back of her skull was Snoozeville, but she had nice, creamy brown eyes.

  Creamy eyes, huh? Nothing weird about that. Still, they made him think of smooth milk chocolate, and right now they were about the size of Maui.

  “I’m sorry. We’re not going to the Hilton? Did I hear you correctly?”

  With his hands at ten and two, and eyes on the road, Boston couldn’t glance over to give her a chill out stare. “This is our first test of trust. Explorers don’t stay at the Hilton. That place is a bumper cushion between you and the real deal. You need four swimming pools? Penguins behind glass enclosures and parrots in cages? Me, I prefer the ocean to a pool and sea turtles at my feet as opposed to a zoo outside my window. But, hey, that’s a personal point of view.” He shrugged, careful not to overdo the nonchalance. Every word was sincere. He didn’t want to come across as some hammy showman.

  A bubble of silence lasted several beats. Boston waited for Emily to wrestle with the pull of curiosity. Finally, she caved like a bad soufflé. “Real sea turtles?”

  Boston grinned. “Do they make fake ones I don’t know about?” Wait, a minute… Wasn’t she from California? “You’re not much of a beachgoer, are you?”

  “Gee, what gave it away.” She didn’t even bother to disguise the dry response as a real question.

  However, had he been pressed for an answer, he’d have to say it was probably the high-flying CEO costume she had on. Who dressed like that for a vacation to the tropics? It wouldn’t surprise him if she had pantyhose on under that calf-length skirt or owned a pair of shoes that weren’t sensible lady loafers in every shade of boring.

  “Point taken,” he conceded. “On North Shore, which is where we’re headed, there’s a damn good chance we’ll run into one this time of year. The waters are too rough for swimming but ideal for surfing. Obviously, this brings a lot of folks out, but nothing like the crowds you’ll find at Waikiki.”

  Judging by her studious expression—brow drawn, lips pursed while she nibbled the inside of one cheek—he might have an easier time with Emily if he kept her mentally occupied with island trivia. “Did you know Hawaii outlawed billboards? Don’t want ads funkin’ up the view, you know? Kinda wish the Internet would take a hint. Also, it snows here. How’s that for incredible? Hawaii’s elevation is through the roof, so some of our highest peaks get snowfall when it gets cold enough.” Was it working?

  She faced him at the same time he chanced a peek her way, and he was caught again by her countenance. She was like a wise old owl, intelligent and watchful. “How far to North Shore?”

  “With traffic? An hour, maybe. We’re going clear across the island. See here.” He pointed toward her window and the towering buildings blocking a full view of the ocean. “That’s south. We’re heading east. If we keep going, we’ll eventually run smack into the Waikiki area, but we’re going north. Hence the name. North Shore.”

  Emily aimed her pointer finger at his face. “Let’s make one thing clear.” Her voice had the same quality Boston had used on his students once upon a time, back when…

  Never mind that. He imagined Emily used it on executive blah-blahs or slow interns, or whatever context it might be needed doing whatever the hell her job was. He’d throw money down on anything involving PowerPoint presentations and strongly worded interoffice memos.

  “I’m the only one of us who gets to be a sarcastic jerk, got it? Because it’s my vacation, and I didn’t come here to put up with a surly guide talking down to me because I don’t know which way is up. Do I appear to be in possession of a compass? A smidge of respect will go a long way toward you keeping your job, Mr. Rondibett. I may not know the great underbelly of the island, whatever that is, but I can drive around and get lost with the best of them.”

  Well, hot damn. Color him chastised.

  He tried to hide his grin. “While we’re doling out the complaints, I might as well mention I don’t much care for the mister and missus, polite as it may be. I’m Boston. You’re Emily.”

  “I’m sticky. Is that normal?”

  “The humidity. You don’t get much of that in southern Cali, do you? Sometimes it’s like drowning in air. It can be hard to get used to, and it’s a lot like sauerkraut—people either love it or hate it. But I understand it’s good for the skin.” Personally, he didn’t mind it.

  “So, you’re a health guru, too?”

  Boston stole another peek at his passenger. Arms crossed over her chest, frowning while she gazed out the window. Either the scenery displeased her or he did, and it was easy enough to guess which. His grinned slipped away.

  This lady was going to be trouble. He’d known it the moment Quinn texted him a photo of Emily with her severe business bun and the flat, no-nonsense expression. He’d like nothing better than to drop her at the Hilton and let her have her cookie-cutter vacation, but Hani was counting on him.

  It’d taken nearly every penny Quinn had paid him to replace The Canopy’s busted oven. If Boston was going to scrounge up bail money for this Ryder guy, he needed Emily. Somehow, he’d have to impress her enough to make her want to extend her stay so he could hit Quinn up for another advance. Gas wasn’t cheap on the island, either. He was taking a risk on this impromptu trip to North Shore.

  “I can be whatever you need,” he said in an effort to lighten her dour mood. “Papayas are plentiful on the island and an excellent source of vitamin C. Avocados are also abundant—”

  “Tell me more about North Shore.” Even the sigh that followed the demand sounded bored.

  That sealed it. Emily definitely wasn’t getting the number for his emergency phone. She’d be calling every five minutes to complain in that tired, blasé tone and end up costing him his job. “Or I could give you the deets on your accommodations.”

  That got her attention. She sat up from her slumped position and uncrossed her arms. “Great idea. Maybe we’ll be friends after all, Boston. You’re starting to figure me out.”

  He smirked. She didn’t know the half of it. By the time her vacation was over, he’d have her strutting around in a bikini with her hair loose around her shoulders, nary a sensible lady loafer in sight.

  Some people adapted quickly. Like Quinn and her husband, Jack. They’d danced to the beat of the tropics like they’d been born under a coconut frond. Someone with Emily’s particular hang-ups took a little more finesse and time.

  And a pinch of rough handling to get the gears moving. After all, you couldn’t surf a c
alm sea. “You ready for this? I’m taking you to a tree house. Isn’t that nuts? You’re gonna love it.”

  “Turn around.”

  He almost pulled over again for the sake of another look at her face. He kept driving instead and ignored her.

  “I’ve changed my mind. Turn around, take me to the Hilton. You’re clearly insane. Quinn, that…. Ugh. She waited three years to get payback, but she sure did choose her moment.”

  Payback, huh? Sounded like the sisters had some not-so-sisterly history between them. It didn’t surprise him. Oil and water, those two, and in more ways than one. “Calm down. Let me explain before you make any executive demands. I’m not talking about a wooden plank construct some Joe Nobody nailed to a tree.”

  “Funny, because that’s the precise image tree house tends to bring to mind.”

  “This one is special. It’s built up high on the side of a mountain. A stone staircase leads you up to an A-frame-style house with a wrap-around balcony on both levels. The view of the beach is outstanding. You’re practically chilling in the treetops. The house itself isn’t anything special. It’s maybe even a little rustic.”

  The breath rushing in and out through Emily’s nostrils made more sound than the air conditioner. “How rustic? Is there at least running water, or do I stand on the balcony and hope for rain?”

  The outburst both annoyed and amused him. Since he was used to clients like Emily, he gave in to amusement. Plus, he liked annoying her right back. It beat getting angry. “You’d probably have to walk down to the beach to get enough water for a good scrub down. The canopy’s too thick that high on the mountainside. I’d recommend the shower, personally. You do yoga? You look like you do yoga. That’s probably a better activity for the balcony. I don’t yoga, so I’d sit and have coffee, but whatever.”

  Emily appeared to turn speculative and chewed her lip while staring forward at the winding road. Traffic lightened as they turned north and away from the hectic motion of Honolulu’s morning commuters.

  “Sounds kind of nice.”

  Boston let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It wasn’t much, but from Emily it was as good as he’d likely get. “It is. Trust the seasoned guide.”

  “Not as nice as the Hilton,” she murmured.

  “Well, it’s not the Hilton, okay? Don’t worry, though. I’ll accept your gratitude, apology, and plea for another two weeks in my company when the time comes. No hard feelings. It’s not your fault you don’t know any better.”

  “You’re saying my ignorance gives me a free pass?”

  “Sure. Why not? I’m the thoughtful, forgiving type.”

  “Well, then, I suppose I’d better come clean now.”

  Money, Boston. You need the money. “Hit me.”

  “I lied at the airport. Your van definitely creeps me out.”

  Boston bit his lip to keep from groaning. It was going to be a long two weeks.

  * * * *

  “Wow.” Emily hadn’t meant to say it out loud but wow.

  The tree house, which she’d expected in spite of Boston’s warnings to resemble the botched plywood attempt in her childhood backyard, seemed like the majestic jungle abode of a lost Disney princess. Most of the house was hidden behind chaotic foliage, but she noted fantastic narrow windows that spanned both stories and created an unbroken view toward the ocean to the north. The view from the balcony had to be incredible.

  To find out, she had to survive thirty stone steps and a winding wooden staircase Boston had conveniently neglected to mention in his babbling about yoga. He’d probably been afraid to scare her off with the idea she might have to work to reach her enchanting miniature chateau. As if he knew her well enough to make the assumption.

  Emily skirted a bush bursting with skinny, bright pink flowers as she followed Boston higher and higher up the mountainside and into the canopy. The long tube-like petals reached out for her like pink alien fingers.

  It was one thing to gaze out a window at a world of green. Quite another when it wanted to get touchy-feely. California’s clusters of foliage generally came from the careful hand of a landscaper, or yards were left to their natural desert scrub, which made plain its desire to remain untouched with things like thorns and cactus spines.

  She gripped the strap of her purse with both hands and called after her guide. “You might’ve warned me about the chummy vegetation.” She scanned the strange pink flowers a final time. “It’s like they want to get to know me.”

  Boston didn’t slow his ascent or seem in any way burdened by her laden suitcase he lugged up the stairs behind him. “They probably sense how friendly you are.”

  Emily let that one go. “What about bugs? Spiders and snakes, that kind of stuff. Anything I should know?”

  “Lucky for you, Animal Planet trivia is part of my package deal.”

  Had it been anyone else, she’d have gone in for the kill. Instead, she let his “package deal” continue unfettered.

  “You see,” he said in a tone that would do a professor proud, “snakes ain’t a thing here.”

  “What does that even mean? A thing? A thing like they aren’t poisonous here? Or a thing like people on the island eat them so they aren’t considered a nuisance but a rare delicacy.”

  Boston stopped on the landing before the final set of stairs. “Look, you want an encyclopedia, I’m the guy. But I’m afraid I’m fresh out of dull personality today.”

  “Should I check back tomorrow?” She glanced up with a smile in time to catch his. He might be sort of cute if he cut that awful ponytail and did a little wardrobe overhauling.

  “Snakes aren’t a thing here because they’re illegal to have on the island.”

  “Huh. Like billboards. Really?”

  “No, I made it up. Just now, Johnny on the spot. That’s how I’m so good at my job. Keeping the lies straight gets wicked tough, so I log a journal. I’ll show it to you sometime. Reads like an X-Files episode, but you tourists really eat that shit up.”

  If he thought to throw her off guard with his response, he failed miserably. No one could compare to Emily’s brother-in-law when it came to absurd flippancy. Boston had nothing on Quinn’s husband. “The fun never stops with you. Why are snakes illegal?”

  “Don’t give me the credit. You’re the fun one, sweetheart.”

  “Call me sweetheart again.”

  Boston paused a beat at her tone, which she’d expected, for it had been her intention. He studied her face carefully.

  Emily kept her expression neutral. She’d let him figure out on his own how to decipher the veiled dare in her remark and decide if he wanted to test her or not.

  Apparently, he chose not. He smiled thinly and slowly started for the last flight of wooden steps. “Snakes aren’t indigenous to Hawaii. I’m not saying there isn’t an escaped fugitive here and there. It might be illegal to own them, but people smuggle them in and out like anything else. Since they aren’t part of the original ecosystem of the islands, they don’t have any natural predators. No population control. Snakes would decimate the local bird species, species known to live only here. It happened like that in Guam. Hence, the legislation.”

  He was no Encyclopedia Brown, but Boston certainly seemed to know his stuff when it came to the island. As he should, given his job. She tried not to sound too impressed. “All right, no snakes. Great. What else?”

  The final set of stairs brought them to a large covered veranda. Big, leafy hands closed in on the porch from every side, on top and underneath, but frightened Emily less now. No eastern green mambas were likely to slither onto her shoulder as she brushed by.

  Boston approached the glass front door and fumbled in his pocket. “Only the common sense stuff. Don’t play with centipedes, avoid sea urchins, look both ways when you cross the beach so you don’t get hit by a jogger. They can be a real nuisance. Unless you jog. Then joggers are delightful.” He took a key from his pocket and unlocked t
he front door. He stood back with a flourishing bow for Emily to enter first. “Welcome to Kumu Pili. Literally translated, it means ‘tree touch.’ Some haole like me probably named it.”

  He sniggered, and Emily guessed it had something to do with the funny island word. She stepped inside the bamboo foyer and huffed at having to ask. “Well? You want to let me in on the joke?”

  “It’s nothing. Just a wisecrack my friend Hani would appreciate, that’s all.”

  Emily turned back to Boston. His eyes weren’t visible from behind his dark, reflective sunglasses, but she stood close enough to behold the crow’s-feet collected at the corners, an indication of a smile. “Tell me anyway.”

  Boston shrugged and seemed to grow contemplative. “I probably should, actually. Living in L.A., you understand a thing or two about how touchy race stuff can be.” For the first time in her company, he became something resembling serious. “You’d better invite me in.”

  “Oh.” Emily realized she’d stepped inside and stood as though answering the door while Boston remained on the other side of the threshold. “I have a natural tendency to take point. Sorry.”

  “No worries.” He stepped around her and strutted toward the kitchen. “I’m not a vampire or anything. You just looked poised to send me off.”

  “Not while I still have questions.” She closed the front door. The natural light coming in through the multiple glass panes kept the foyer bright and airy and cast a dappled design across the light wood. “By the way, I do jog but please quit being a suck-up. It’s exhausting. I have a dozen assistants back home I could’ve brought along for brown-nosing.”

  Boston searched through the cupboards with his head tilted at a curious angle like he didn’t know what he’d find. He located a cabinet with a set of six matching tumblers and filled one with water from the tap. “Are any of them as charming as me?”