Bad Boys for Hire_Ken_Hawaiian Holiday

by Rachelle Ayala

  “You agreed to all the plans. All of it.” He swept his hands across the paperwork on the table. “And why the hell did you cancel the marlin boat? I called and they said you transferred the tickets to a blogger and a lady in a wheelchair. You know how much I wanted to catch a marlin.”

  Jolie’s hands turned into fists, and red hot lava rose inside of her. Her ginger was about to snap—full force.

  “You came all the way from California for the fishing trip? No apologies, no explanations. No ‘let’s see if we can fix this,’ but ‘where’s my fishing charter?’”

  “Hey, I’m not the one with my legs wrapped around a male prostitute.”

  “Male prostitute? How dare you. Ken’s a friend. Someone I happened to meet on the trip.”

  “Oh, really? Is that what he told you?” Warren put his hands on his hips and knocked his head back, laughing hard. “It might have taken me a while, but once I got a good look at his slinking behind, I finally figured out what kind of scum he is.”

  “Are you saying I hired him from an escort service? Do you think I’m that desperate? I’m not like you. I never pay for sex.”

  “Maybe you didn’t, but Ken works for Bad Boys for Hire. Last time I saw him, he was sitting on a barstool pretending to be your friend Terri’s groom, telling a tall tale about her death to trick Ryker’s brothers.”

  Jolie had heard about the ruse, but didn’t know Ken was the actor hired to play the part.

  “So? That doesn’t mean a thing. He and his sister are on vacation. I didn’t pay him a dime.”

  Except a couple of times, she saw Nikki whispering to Ken, as if she were instructing him. Blood rushed to Jolie’s face and her cheeks burned. Could it be true?

  “You didn’t, but I bet he was paid to squire you around. Think about it, Jol, why else would a guy like that want to put up with your list of allergies and restrictions?” Warren slumped himself on the bed and picked up the TV remote. “Since this is my room, too, I’ll be staying.”

  “But, we’re not married.”

  “Welcome to the obvious,” Warren said. “Never stopped you from sleeping with me before.”

  Jolie’s tongue was numb, her sunburn flared, and nerves prickled her stomach. She narrowed her eyes at Warren. On the outside, he was a hunk—tattooed, muscular, a former football player who’d played a few years in the pros before being cut from the team. Now, he tooled around with a motorcycle club and claimed he did undercover work.

  “I’m not sleeping with you. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

  “You’re pissed because you wanted to get laid by the hired hand.” He waved her off as if she were no consequence. “Suit yourself. I’m not moving. This is my room, under my name.”

  He switched the TV to the pay-per-view porn station.

  “Wait a second,” Jolie said. “All the reservations were made by my credit card. You haven’t paid me yet.”

  “Pay you? Honey, once we’re married it’s all joint property.” He leaned back on the body pillow and raised the volume, filling the room with moans and grunts.

  Jolie rushed to the closet and grabbed her suitcase. The past day or two had shown her how little Warren cared about her allergies and making sure she was comfortable. If she’d stayed tethered to his honeymoon plans, she wouldn’t have enjoyed the Kamuapua‘a and Pele play she saw this evening. Instead, she could have ended up in the emergency room from her shrimp allergy.

  She emptied the bathroom of her things and snagged her laptop from the table. The bouquet of orange flowers Ken had given her were missing.

  “What did you do with my flowers?” Jolie marched to block Warren’s view of the TV.

  “Why? Did you pay him to give them to you?” Warren made motions for her to get out of the way while craning his neck. “I tossed them. They give you allergies.”

  She switched off the TV. “I have food allergies, not flower allergies. I’m leaving, and checking out of this room, so you better be packed, unless you put the bill on your credit card.”

  “Suit yourself.” Warren leaned over the bed and pulled a bag of peanuts from a shopping bag. “You were always more trouble than it was worth. Good luck with your certified Beach Bum Bad Boy. Don’t believe me? Look it up on the website.”

  Ken went for a long run on the sand, both to cool off and to clear his mind. No matter how attracted he was to Jolie, she didn’t belong to him.

  Her groom had shown up, and what could he do but back away? Except, a part of his heart shriveled, and he missed Jolie already. What had started as a lark, seeing if he could get his childhood crush to recognize him and like him back, now felt like being pounded by a Mack-sized wave.

  He clutched his chest, fighting the ache deep inside. Warren was here, and Jolie could go back to her list of things to do with her groom. They could run down to city hall and get hitched, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  He pumped his arms and ran faster until his legs turned into ribbons of pain. Somehow, Jolie and her strawberry red hair, her chameleon eyes changing from blue-green to blue-gray had him hooked, mesmerized, unable to picture a life without her.

  How had this happened? Was there truly magic on these Hawaiian islands that made people fall in love? Fire and water, like two halves of the island, windward and leeward, east and west. Both sides of the jeweled island paradise.

  He jumped into the surf to cool off and swam out into the bay. The breakers were gentle, with swells just right for beginners. If he were ever to get a chance with Jolie again, he would show her that waves weren’t to be feared, but to be ridden. That love can be as gentle as the rain, and as sweet as a garland of lilies and daisies.

  Ken swam until his arm muscles felt like noodles. It was peaceful so far from land, looking back at the glittering skyline of Honolulu, the beautiful lights, the pinpoints of stars, and the water rising and falling, embracing him like a woman’s arms.

  He lay on his back and stared at the moon, reciting his lines, wondering if he were worth anything to his dear, beloved Jolie.

  Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy

  Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more

  To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath

  This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue

  Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both

  Receive in either by this dear encounter.

  These lines were spoken by Romeo to Juliet before their secret wedding at the friar’s cell. Would he get a chance to hear Jolie’s reply?

  A star twinkled, winking its answer, and Ken shook the water from his head. He’d wasted enough time on self-pity. He swam for shore with powerful strokes. It was time to make his plea, time to act and fight, not only for himself, but for dear Jolie.

  Whatever happened, she didn’t deserve to be put underfoot by a man like Warren. It was time for Ken to show Jolie what true love’s hand could do.

  Fourteen

  Jolie dragged her luggage into the elevator and punched the button for the lobby. She was going home. She should face the facts. She had been dumped by her groom, duped by her honeymoon hunk, and betrayed by her best friends.

  Instead of tying Warren up, they should have escorted her to his hotel room so she could question him directly. Did they not trust her? Did they truly think she would have married him to keep up appearances? That her OCD would force her to complete everything she started, exactly as planned?

  Fury blazed through her veins, and her hands shook as she texted Nikki. Did you hire Ken to come on to me?

  She wouldn’t put it past her friend. Nikki always had this smug, superior, know-it-all attitude when it came to relationships. She prided herself on being immune to notions of infatuation, passion, and the types of emotions that caused rational, logical adults to act like lovesick teens—Jolie being a prime example of an irrational woman bent on self-destructive relationships, at least in Nikki’s opinion.

  Jolie hated that her friend was proven right in the Warreng
ate disaster. She wanted to kick the walls of the elevator, stomp her feet and punch the buttons, but she held it together when the doors opened. A pair of honeymooners stepped in, their lips conjoined in heated passion.

  Sheesh, hadn’t these people heard of closed doors and privacy?

  The presumed bride cooed, and the groom was tender and endearing as he whispered sweet words into her lips.

  Gag. Jolie wanted to hurl her head against the wall.

  The elevator stopped again, and more couples joined them, crowding the kissing couple to the corner. They held hands, made eye contact only with each other, smiled, laughed, and touched frequently—just like she and Ken—in their own little world.

  Ugh. Where had that thought come from? Ken, if Warren could be believed, was the hired hand.

  The elevator stopped at the lobby, and all of the honeymoon lovers strolled off, each in their own bubble of happiness.

  Jolie’s phone rang and Nikki said, “What’s going on? And no, I didn’t hire Ken. Why would you think that?”

  “Because Warren showed up and said Ken works for Bad Boys for Hire.”

  “So? And that makes him guilty?” Nikki’s voice smacked like she was chewing gum. “If you’re so insecure, why don’t you try and hire Ken yourself and see if he’ll take the job?”

  “What do you mean?” Jolie stood in line to check out.

  “Offer him money to take you places, teach you to surf, even charge per kiss.”

  “I’m not hiring a male prostitute,” Jolie yelped, before noticing faces turning toward her with varying expressions of surprise and curiosity.

  “Carol and I have to go to sleep because we have to meet the skipper at the marina at five in the morning.”

  “You’re going on the marlin trip? Warren’s pissed it got changed.”

  “And you care?” Nikki smacked her bubblegum again. “Tell me something I can believe.”

  “I’m hurt, okay? Hurt that he never cared about me—only seeing my limitations. I get seasick. I have allergies. I’m obsessive compulsive. I’m afraid of the unexpected.”

  “And? What about Ken? Did you like his surprises?”

  Even though she was shaking with nerves, the mention of Ken’s consideration flooded her with an unexpected yearning. “Yes, I did, except the last one. He claimed he had a surprise in my room, but it turned out to be Warren.”

  “Ken wouldn’t do that to you,” Nikki said. “I bet Warren sweet talked himself into the room and threw out Ken’s surprise.”

  “You’re probably right. He tossed the flowers Ken gave me. You know he said someone paid Ken to give—”

  “Wait, hold on,” Nikki cut her off.

  Jolie fingered the lei she was still wearing. If Nikki said she hadn’t hired him, then he’d given her everything with his own money—either that, or Nikki was lying.

  Bringing up the browser, Jolie searched for Bad Boys for Hire. Her phone was slow in serving the pages, so she put Nikki on hold and hit the call button. Oh, heck, they were asleep in California already.

  She left a brief message. “I’m interested in hiring a certified Beach Bum Bad Boy for Hire. Must be able to surf. I prefer a blond, since I’m having a Barbie and Ken beach party. Call me.”

  She hung up and returned to the held call with Nikki.

  “Where were you?” her friend asked. “Carol says Ken is falling for you. She claims he’s usually not so sweet. All he cared about was surfing and spending hours in the sea. A slob too, he never picked up after himself, and he doesn’t date much, at least from what she could see.”

  Nikki was way too eager to have her believe Ken was above board. How could Ken fall for her when she was technically another man’s bride? Not to mention how difficult she was to live with, as Warren reminded her.

  “You seem to protest too much,” she said to Nikki. “Now that I think about it, you pointed Ken out on the airplane, and you set up these coincidences for us to get together. If I find out you’re lying to me …”

  Beep, beep, beep. The call ended.

  Jolie shook the phone and threw it into her purse. She was next in line to check out, so she squared her bill and dragged her suitcase to the shuttle bus stop where passengers were embarking.

  She took one last look at the darkness beyond the lights where the surf swished onto the beach. She inhaled the faintly scented tropical air, and gazed at the twinkling stars above. So, this was it. The end of paradise. The entire trip had been a lie anyway—one to fool herself into thinking things would be okay if only she followed the plan.

  What had they said about the best laid plans?

  “Let me take your bag, Miss,” the driver said.

  “Wait, wait!” Ken ran toward her, dripping wet. “Don’t go, my bride. We’re not finished with our honeymoon.”

  He wrapped his wet arms around her and swept her off her feet as his lips descended on hers. Swinging her around in circles, he kissed her over and over again, as the waiting passengers clapped and cheered.

  Fifteen

  “I’ll take her bag,” Ken said to the shuttle bus driver after they’d held up the line with their marathon kiss.

  The departing crowd wished them well, and Jolie walked hand in hand with her Prince Charming. Okay, fine, he was as wet as a guppy, but the thrill of having total strangers believe she was one of those treasured brides was more than enough compensation.

  Swinging their hands, they sauntered back into the lobby, kissing every few steps. By the time they got to the elevator, Jolie went on the rampage and cornered Ken, plastering herself against him. She inhaled his salty taste, nipping and sucking on him while her hands snuck beneath his wet shirt.

  Forget propriety and doing the right thing. Forget the fact her ex was upstairs watching porn by himself. Forget the accusations of Ken being bought and paid for. She was on fire, consumed by flames, and for once in her restrictive life, she wanted no boundaries, no lists, no checkpoints, nothing.

  “Since I checked out already, we better go back to your room,” she gasped between kisses.

  “I reckon you’re right, sweet bride.” He licked a line down her neck. Her nipples tightened and tingled with shivers of arousal, and she wondered if she could last the rest of the floors without tearing his clothes off.

  The elevator stopped and the doors opened as people stepped on. Now it was her turn to pretend they didn’t care if she was groping her man, hands roaming all over that perfect manly body.

  He nipped her ear and she giggled. He tickled her, brushing over her breasts and she wiggled in his embrace. Her eyes never left his, and what she saw rocked her to the core. If this wasn’t love, it was surely a credible imitation. His pupils were dilated and his expression was adoring, indulgent, and slightly cocky, as if she belonged to him and he knew it.

  She rather liked that. No man had ever found her irresistible. But then, she’d always been stiff and proper, a real stick in the mud, insisting on hand cleaner and checking the mattresses for bedbugs instead of throwing herself to the throes of passion.

  “How many fricking floors does this thing have?” Ken growled into her ear as the elevator stopped at each floor.

  His hot breath and impatient tone made her quiver with delight. He’d found her, probably been thinking about her the entire time after he left her room. She’d never had such passion before, nor the piercing blue eyes focused on her—only her.

  Since they couldn’t get any hotter without combusting, she asked, “What was the surprise you had for me? I’m not thinking it was my ex.”

  “Oh, so he’s now the ex.” Ken lifted an eyebrow, looking entirely too pleased. “You’re right, it wasn’t him, but if I tell you now, I can’t surprise you tomorrow night.”

  There was going to be a tomorrow! He was already thinking ahead.

  “I can’t wait,” she squealed. “But I’m also supposed to surprise you, too.”

  “Sure, but can it wait a day or two? When you left, I went for a swim and thought of
all the things I wanted to do with you if I got the chance, and now, I’m looking at my chance.” He dipped his lips and massaged hers for a bit.

  That was fine. Her surprise could wait. She’d have to think of something spectacular—something he’d never forget, and those types of adventures took planning.

  The elevator rocked to a stop at their floor.

  As calmly as she could, not easy given her panting breath and the dampening between her legs, she and Ken exited the elevator. As soon as the door closed, they dashed to his room.

  Ken whipped out the keycard and before she was aware, he lifted her over the threshold. Turning, he kicked the door shut with a slam. In two steps they plunged onto the large, king-sized bed. She peeled his wet shirt off, and he lifted her sundress over her head, then replaced the lei.

  “So beautiful, like the flowers, like paradise.” He ran a knuckle over her cheek. “Let me make you my bride tonight, dear Jolie.”

  His deep drawl, and the way he drew out her name made her quiver with anticipation. She would finally be a man’s bride—tonight.

  Wow.

  She nodded, and a smile licked her lips. “And, you, Ken, tonight you’re my groom. I want it all, so don’t you stop. Not now, not ever.”

  His grin widened and he made a motion of tipping a hat. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Come to me, babe.” Reaching up, she pulled his body over hers. His skin was still cool from the dip in the ocean, and his board shorts were wet. She shuddered from the mixture of cold and heat when he slipped his hot tongue into her mouth. She took it all in, wanting more, and need mounted in her veins.

  She grappled with the waistband of his shorts and closed her hand around his heavily loaded cock. A growly moan escaped his lips as she stroked up and down, cupping her palm over the tip, slick with pre-cum.

  “Sugar, you’re going to have to stop that.” He took her hand away from his erection. “I’m a believer of ladies first.”

  Jolie stared up at Ken and swallowed a boatload of drool as he lifted himself and shucked off his shorts. The man was perfect, with no tan lines on his sculpted body. His cock was so thick and long, it looked positively scary.