Linda Gayle

by Surrender to Paradise

  After half an hour of walking, she should be close to Henri and Maria’s little white-washed house. She’d been on this trail only once before, and then it was in Henri’s golf cart as he brought her from the dock to the hut, but the path should have been perfectly straight. Yet, instead of leading her to the north beach, this way seemed to be leading her deeper into the island’s core. Slowing to get her bearings as well as to gather her thoughts, Lyric stood for a moment. Around her, the vegetation grew thick and wild. Overhead, layered palm branches blocked out much of the sun. The air was still. Exotic birds whistled and shrieked.

  A shiver ran over her, and she rubbed her arms. Okay, so only she could manage to get lost on a straight path with no turnoffs. There weren’t any wild animals on the island, right? Maybe this led to the other side where there were more tourists. That wouldn’t be so bad. Somehow she’d find her way back.

  She walked on until the undergrowth got so heavy it was scratching at her legs and the narrow dirt road that had been so clear moments before disappeared. She went to turn back, and it had disappeared entirely. “Oh crap.”

  Instead of the trail, she stood in a clearing, as if the jungle was transforming even as she turned in a slow circle, eyes widening. What the hell… Her shiver turned into a shudder. She’d yell for help, but once again, she was alone. Suddenly, she spied something—a stone statue, revealed as if the vines thickly draping the sides had just been pulled away. A broad face carved in blunt, geometric angles snarled at her from beneath a stony, snake-like crown. Huge, blank, oval eyes stared out at her, and rows of teeth filled the open, downturned mouth, as if the deity—for surely this was some sort of Polynesian god—was about to chomp on her.

  Lyric held her breath and wrapped her arms around her waist. Prickles of awareness danced over her nape. All around her, the jungle had fallen silent. Oh shit. This is bad. Not natural. The light had dimmed, and she had the sense of being in a very dark, very primeval place. A place she had no right to be. She turned to run—and nearly screamed.

  “Easy there, Miss Lyric.”

  “Henri!” She slapped her hand over her racing heart. “Oh my God, you nearly scared me to death.”

  The old man peered at her, faded fishing pole in hand. He was barefoot and in rolled-up, faded jeans, his button-up shirt, white against his darker skin, hanging loose. A smile curved his lips. “You gave me a start as well. Almost no one comes this way anymore.” He pointed with the fishing pole he carried toward the statue. “You come to see Kanaloa?”

  Barely daring to glance over her shoulder at the evil-looking thing, she shook her head. “No. I just ended up here by accident.”

  He chuckled then walked over to the tiki. “Long ago, this was Kanaloa’s island. He ruled the sea for all around. He is the god of the sea and of fisherman.”

  For whatever reason, some of the darkness had lifted from the place, and the birds were flitting in the fronds again. Maybe it had just been her crazy, overwrought imagination. Feeling braver, she stepped closer to Henri and stared at the vine-draped tiki. Gah, that really was a hideous thing. “He looks…evil.”

  Henri rocked back on his heels. “He is neither good nor bad”—he waved a broad hand—“any more than the sea is good or bad, you see? Like nature.” Still holding his fishing pole, he lifted his arms to encompass the thriving jungle around them. “All life comes from the sea, but the sea can be harsh, too. Deadly, no? And also beautiful.”

  She looked again at the gaping mouth of Kanaloa, trying to see the beauty and failing. “Hmm. If you say so.”

  “Well”—he tipped his head—“if you did not come to see Kanaloa, what has brought you this way?”

  “I wanted to ask you…actually, it’s about Kanaloa and those dolphins you were telling me about before.”

  He nodded and rested his pole against a palm trunk. A little blue lizard skittered away. “Ah, you have seen them?”

  “I have. They’re—they’re…”—two of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen—“amazing.”

  “Very friendly, oui?”

  “I’ll say.” Her skin flushed with warmth as she recalled exactly how friendly they’d been. She kept her expression neutral. “I was wondering, in the legend, is there anything that might change them back to humans?”

  He tipped his graying head, smiling mysteriously. “Oui. As you recall, it was love turned to jealousy that condemned them to their fate. Only unselfish sharing between them and a woman of pure heart can free them.”

  Pure heart, eh? Well, that left her out. With all the bitterness her breakup with Jack had left her feeling, her heart was about as pure as mud. She tried not to let her disappointment show. “Only a pure heart? Nothing else?”

  “They need a woman who will accept them for who they are.”

  “So…” She weighed her words carefully. “Say they find this woman, then they’re free forever, right? They don’t have to go back to being dolphins?”

  He raised one bushy, gray eyebrow, and his rolling French accent gained a harsh edge. “It’s not enough to find the woman. She must give herself to them completely. If their bond is not strong enough, then the curse comes back tenfold. Kanaloa knows they committed a great sin. Mohea was the daughter of a king, pure and trusting, and so the price to pay for her death must be equally great. All involved”—he made a horizontal circle with his hand—“must make a sacrifice. The woman, too. She did not obey Kanaloa, who told her to find another man. She defiled the gift of life he gave her.”

  “Haven’t they all sacrificed enough already?”

  “Some lessons still to be learned,” he said, peering at her with narrowed eyes. “By everyone.”

  A prickly flush rushed over her skin, and for a second, she could have sworn Henri’s eyes grew as black as the heart of a storm, and the air around him crackled as if lightning were about to strike. Then as quickly as it came, the weird feeling passed, the sun shone down, and it was just kindly old Henri, the island’s custodian, nodding at her. When she looked at her arms, though, all the fine hairs were standing on end.

  He picked up his worn, green-and-white fishing pole again and gazed benignly out at the horizon. “Think I’ll take the canoe out before the storm comes. Good time for catching squid now. Maybe I’ll see your dolphins, eh?”

  She rubbed her arms, smoothing away the goose bumps and patting down the hair. “Are we supposed to get a storm?”

  “Pele is restless, and Kanaloa walks the path. Best get back to your hut. Time grows short.”

  For what? Until the storm? Must be. He clearly thought the dolphins were still frolicking around the atoll. She recognized the name of Pele, the volcano goddess, and hoped he didn’t expect an eruption. His words added to her sense of urgency. She had only a few days left on the island. A few days to figure out how to help Moana and Rahiti, whether she was the woman or not. “Uh, Henri, how do I get back to my hut?”

  “Follow the path.” He pointed back the way she’d come. As if it had always been there, the worn trail appeared. “Follow your heart,” he murmured.

  She looked at him, unsure if she’d heard him right, but he’d already turned away and was walking in the opposite direction. Had he really said that last part, or had she imagined it? Still rubbing her arms, she spared a glance for Kanaloa, but now the statue just seemed to be a dull block of stone, the carving worn by years of tropical storms and prying vines. Either she was losing her mind—a distinct possibility—or there were some really strange forces at work here.

  Which meant Rahiti and Moana could be in danger.

  She stumbled a bit returning to the trail, but soon her feet found a rhythm, and by the time she saw her little hut through the trees, she’d broken into a jog. When she burst through the door of the hut, her heart sank. It was empty.

  Then she remembered what Rahiti had said—they’d be down by the water. In case… Oh, God, what if they’d turned back while she was gone? The sun had slid far down the horizon. Somehow, her hour-long walk had
taken a lot longer than she’d expected.

  Lyric gasped in relief when she saw the two men lying at the edge of the waves then caught her breath again. Why were they so still? She ran to the shore and skidded to a halt just feet from them. What she saw made her press her hand to her mouth.

  They lay wrapped in each other’s arms, naked as two lovers, their cocks lax against belly and thigh. Moana, his face sweet in sleep, had thrown an arm and leg over Rahiti’s body. Rahiti had tangled the fingers of his left hand in Moana’s hair, and his other fingers looped around Moana’s wrist. Somehow, even asleep, he still managed to look stern, but they balanced each other. If they’d truly spent the last couple hundred years together as dolphins, how deep their bond must be. They’d be the only two of their kind on the entire planet.

  Watching them sleep, devouring their masculine nudity with her gaze, she realized she could have stepped back in time, to before white men came to these islands bringing death and destruction, and only mighty warriors ruled the waves. With their primitive tattoos, bronzed skin, and war-hardened muscles, they seemed like two feral angels. Even in sleep, their strength and beauty left her breathless, and something about the way they held each other, with utter trust and love, moved her. That was what she’d thought she’d had with Jack. How many nights had she lain in his arms, listening to his promises of forever and always, only to find out he’d been using her all along? Whatever Rahiti and Moana had together was precious—and not for her. They deserved better than a broken girl. They deserved someone as beautiful and innocent as the legendary Mohea.

  As if hearing her thoughts, Rahiti opened his eyes. “Mohea? Is that you?”

  Not Mohea but Lyric. Joy spread through the haze of sleep dulling Rahiti’s thoughts. He reached out to her, and she sank to her knees beside him.

  “Just me,” she said.

  He touched the fall of her dark brown hair where it tumbled over her shoulder. Brown, not black like Mohea’s, but just as beautiful, the rich brown of the earth struck through with golden sunlight. He slid his fingertips over her lightly freckled cheek. His brows lowered. “Why are you sad?”

  She offered a clearly forced smile. “I’m not. I ran back to find you. I was worried.”

  Abruptly, he realized Moana still lay by his side. With a jolt, he pulled his fingers from Moana’s hair, and his friend woke with a snort, rubbing his eyes. His trademark grin soon lit his sleepy face. When he stretched his arms above his head, he startled, then looked at his hands. “We are still men. Rahiti. We are still men!”

  Rahiti sat up. “Yes. And Lyric has returned.”

  “Lyric!” Moana practically glowed with happiness.

  Her expression inexplicably gloomy, she threaded her fingers through her hair and swept it back from her face. “I’m so glad you guys are okay. I wasn’t sure…what I’d find.”

  Moana thumped his chest with his fist. “Your magic is strong, Lyric.” He slapped Rahiti on the shoulder. “I told you. You must admit, I was right.”

  “Yes, yes, you’ll never let me hear the end of it.” Even as he rolled his eyes at his friend, though, he remembered how Moana had touched him—where Moana had touched him. He’d touched Moana back, and it had been good. Very good. His cock began to rise again, and he turned his gaze to Lyric, who had put her small, cool hand on his sunbaked shoulder. Desire pulsed through him—strong, hot, human desire, along with something he hadn’t felt in a very long time: hope.

  Could it be he could have both, share himself with both, without jealousy? Could the three of them truly have the bond Kanaloa had demanded?

  “You lost your towels, I see,” Lyric said, her cheeks turning that pretty sunset pink he’d seen before. Her pale skin was a palette for all her emotions. If she’d been Mohea, she would have turned away, shielded her face with her hair in modesty, but she was their brave and bold Lyric, and he was glad.

  Moana chuckled, coming up on his knees, his up-thrust penis pointing rudely toward Lyric. “We are very happy to see you.”

  Lyric gave a strangled laugh and averted her gaze. “I can see that.”

  Rahiti twined his fingers through her soft hair and stroked her cheek. “Something is troubling you, Lyric. What is it?”

  She sat back on her heels, her hands on her thighs. “I talked to Henri and found out more about your curse. Hey, hang on just a sec.” She reached over and grabbed their towels, which were lying in a heap behind their heads, and held them out to them. “Sorry, you know. It’s just a little hard to concentrate.”

  Moana gave a disappointed scoff, and Rahiti held back from hitting him. How could he not see the storm clouds on their woman’s brow? He took his towel and draped it over his lap then shoved the other one at Moana’s chest. “Lyric has something to say. We should show her respect and listen.”

  With an exaggerated sigh, Moana wrapped the towel around himself.

  “Thanks, guys.” When they were covered, she was able to look each of them in the eye, and her seriousness stole the joy from Rahiti’s heart.

  “You discovered something…bad?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. It’s confusing. Henri said that to stay men, you have to find a woman with a pure heart. I almost get the feeling this woman would have to be maybe a reincarnation of your Mohea because Henri said she defied the gods or something by not marrying like Kanaloa wanted, and she’s got a lesson to learn, too. She’s as tangled up in this curse as you are.”

  Moana tilted his head. “You do look a little like Mohea.”

  She gave a dry smile. “It’s not me. Whoever this girl is, I’m sure I’m not her.”

  Rahiti glanced at Moana, who gazed back at him with troubled eyes. Moana said, “Of course it is you. You are the one who drew us from the sea.”

  “But I can’t be.” She sank onto her heels farther and fisted her hands on her thighs. “I–I’m only here for a few more days. I’ve got to go home. I’ve got a job, an apartment. Okay, well, I’m just renting a room right now, but you know… I’ve got a life outside this island. I can’t stay here.”

  “Then we will go with you,” Moana insisted.

  “You can’t. I mean, what would you do? Do you really think you’d be happy living off the island, trying to fit in with modern people?”

  “We can do many things,” Moana said, his chin raised stubbornly. “Fish! Fight! Guide boats into harbors!”

  While Moana and Lyric debated possibilities, Rahiti’s thoughts flew like spears. This was a disaster. Before they’d even had a chance to try, Lyric was giving up. He’d known several women in his before-life, had four sisters, and recognized the signs. Women rarely said what they really meant. Their words were like twisting paths through the jungle, meant to lead you astray, while only one truly led to the heart, and that one was frequently hidden. Without doubt, Lyric protected the true path to her heart, but the way she’d responded to their touch gave him a sliver of hope. Clearly, their desire was mutual. All they had to do was convince her that her heart should follow the path her body traveled, and all would be well.

  He interrupted his friend, who was babbling, desperate to keep Lyric with them, with a raised hand. “Moana, it is possible that Lyric is right.”

  Moana shook his head, and even Lyric looked somewhat disappointed, as if she’d hoped Rahiti would try to talk her out of it. He prayed he was not mistaken that she felt that way, for if she did, it would make his plan easier.

  “Instead of convincing Lyric that we would fit into her world, let us show her ours.” He stood and brushed the sand from his back and thighs. When Lyric’s gaze dropped briefly to where the towel covered his penis and she sucked softly on her lower lip as if in anticipation, he felt confident he had read her correctly. He glanced behind him and lifted his hand to indicate the interior of the atoll. “The island looks much as it did when you and I left it. Remember the trail to the top of the hills?”

  Standing beside him, Moana nodded. He might not be the swift thinker Rahiti was, but Moana kn
ew how to follow a lead. “Yes—and the waterfall and the pool.” As Rahiti had hoped, Moana remembered the glen that had become notorious as a lovers’ meeting place. Moana reached out and held Lyric’s hand, speaking earnestly. “The most beautiful red flowers grow around the edge of the pool. The water is sweet to drink and so clear you can see all the way down to the bottom. The palms are alive with colorful parrots. You must let us show you!”

  She gazed from Moana to Rahiti, shifting her feet in the sand. “I don’t know. Do you think it’s still there after all this time?”

  Rahiti smiled and took her other hand, her small fingers disappearing within his large ones. “Let’s go see.”

  Bringing her palm up against his chest, Moana stepped closer to her, capturing her gaze. “If we are to be men for only a few more days, we must drink in as much life as possible, before…” He trailed off, and Lyric’s eyes grew wide before he continued softly, “This is our island, our home. And there is no one we want to share it with more than you, Lyric, you who saved us from the sea.”

  He was laying it on a bit thick, but even though Rahiti would have laughed in the face of anyone who tried so obvious a tactic on him, Lyric’s shoulders softened, and she swayed toward Moana. “I guess it would be okay,” she said. “It’s not like I had anything else planned for the day. I mean, before you guys showed up, I was just going to lie on the beach and catch up on my reading. I have to admit, this sounds like a lot more fun.”

  Huh. Even if he lived another four hundred years, Rahiti would never understand how Moana charmed women so. Still, all that mattered was that it worked.

  “There’s only one problem,” she said, her grip tightening on Rahiti’s hand. “You’re, uh, kind of naked to be running around the island. Since it’s the off-season, there aren’t many people here, but…”