True Abandon

by Jeannine Colette

  A swim-up bar is on the left, just below the Tiki Bar where guests can grab lunch and cocktails. The bar is the first place I look for Jax. He’s not there, so I walk toward his cabana on the opposite side near a waterfall that cascades from one of the enormous columns.

  As I approach, all I can see are his feet sticking out of the beige canvas of his personal retreat. I run my hands down my sides and brace myself. With my chin up and a rapid heartbeat, I walk over.

  An infinity sign, with an arrow going through it and an anchor at the end, covers the outside of his left calf. There’s a scar on his right leg over what looks like some sort of tribal symbol that was deformed by his surgery. It leads right up to a heinous pair of hot-pink, Hawaiian-themed, board shorts with white hibiscus flowers on them.

  “Like what you see?”

  My eyes pop up to Jax sitting in a lounger, sipping on a straw sticking out of a pineapple.

  “Nice shorts,” I deadpan.

  His brows rise from beneath black, Ray Ban sunglasses. Those pearly whites glistening. “Real men wear pink.”

  I let out an exasperated breath.

  He tilts his glasses down his nose and peers over the lenses. “You’re awfully chipper this morning.”

  I try to ignore the way his eyes twinkle in the sun and how mine are daring to look at his chest hardened with lean muscles and ink—his body tells a story I desperately want to read.

  I fight the urge and keep my eyes trained on his—as dangerous as it is to look him in the eye—I can't dare get caught appreciating his physique, no matter how nice it is to ogle.

  Giving myself an internal shake, I put on my hostess smile and say, “How is your morning, Ms. Benson?”

  Jax slides the sunglasses back in place. “I’m just enjoying all the Kauai Princess has to offer.” He holds up his cocktail. “This, by the way, is spectacular. I'm not really a Malibu Rum kinda guy, but a couple of these, and I could easily be taken advantage of.”

  With a shift of my hip, I cross my arms over my body. “What do you want, Jax?”

  He sips on his straw. A gurgling noise comes from the end signaling his drink is empty. He unpuckers his lips and lets out a satisfied hiss. “I’ll take another one of these.”

  “I’m not a waitress.”

  “But you are mine.”

  There’s something about the way he says “mine.” It’s as if he means it—as if he’s still the boy in my dreams, hovering over me, proclaiming words of forever. The same boy who recorded my naked body and shared it with the world. He may be older, but he’s still him.

  With a huff, I take off past the pool and the morning water aerobics taking place. Past the peacocks that roam the resort for no other reason than to look pretty, and through the lobby doors, and I look for Rafael.

  “I need to talk to you,” I practically shout when I see him behind the concierge desk looking through the manual log he keeps in a leather-bound notebook. “I can't work with him.”

  “Who?” Raf looks at me with a surprised, yet disdained expression.

  “Oliv—” I start, but correct myself, “Jackson Davis. The guest in the Pele suite.”

  In the time I've been working for the hotel, I’ve never complained nor had I denied a guest’s request. This is probably why Raf leans in and asks with concern, “Has something happened?” He says the word “happened” with caution.

  “He’s here to aggravate my life.”

  Apparently, my answer isn't severe enough. Raf goes back to taking notes in his book. “He’s here because he paid twenty-one thousand dollars to stay.”

  The ridiculous amount of money Jax paid to stay here makes me shiver. That’s prime dedication to make my life miserable.

  “It’s harassment,” I state.

  Raf looks up, his eyes showing zero interest in the situation. “Has he done something to make you feel uncomfortable?:

  “Yes,” I say while Raf looks back at me waiting for me to continue. So, I do. “He exists.”

  He leans on his elbows and looks me square in the eye. “Has he touched you inappropriately? Made crude remarks? Exposed himself or acted in an unethical way that compromises your integrity?”

  Oh, how easy it would be to lie and get Jax kicked out of the hotel. The problem is, I can’t lie like that. I’m no angel. I’ll snoop through other people’s things as soon as they’re out the door. I’ll keep pertinent information to myself instead of telling a person something they might need to know. I’ll even avert the conversation, so I don't have to explain myself. But goddamn my Catholic guilt, I just can’t get someone in trouble like that.

  “No.” I deflate.

  Raf closes his book and points it at me. “Well, then get to work.”

  He starts to walk away.

  “What if I refuse?”

  “Then you’re out of a job for insubordination.”

  I bite on my thumb and think about this for a moment. Sure, I could easily get another hotel job, but not one in a hotel this nice that pays as well, or a place where I get to make my own hours and wear my own clothes instead of some heinous uniform.

  I wasn’t planning to stay in Hawaii forever, but I’ll be damned if I stay here for one day and not do something I at least enjoy.

  I’ve lived a decade of Jax Davis haunting my dreams.

  I can live through seven days of his giving me hell.

  I head back with the noon sun strong against my skin. Jax isn’t in his cabana, or at the tiki bar. I don’t see him in any of the loungers, either. I look over at the Birds of Paradise restaurant, and there he sits at a table, next to an open-air window, looking at a menu.

  With a new sense of determination, I walk my ass into the restaurant and straight through the dining room.

  “If we're doing this, it's on my terms,” I say as soon as I reach his table. Thankfully, he’s covered his naked torso with a white t-shirt.

  His attention is fixed to the menu. “Take a seat.”

  “I'll stand.”

  “I hear the macadamia crusted tuna is delicious. The waiter also recommends the pig, but I know you won’t eat that. Do you still want a miniature pig as a pet? You don’t have one, do you?”

  “Stop being an imbecile and listen to me.” My tone makes me sound like his mother.

  Jax slowly lowers his menu and takes in my stern stance. He raises a brow. “You have conditions.”

  “A few.”

  He places the menu on the table and links his hands on top. “I’m listening.”

  I hold up a finger. “I don’t know what your endgame is, but this is my job—I will not do anything that will cause me to lose it."

  He opens his hands and closes them, acknowledging my request. “It’s obviously a place you feel passionate about. I won’t put that in jeopardy.”

  I raise another finger. “No phones. I don't trust you and technology together.”

  He flinches at the demand. “You really think I'd do something to embarrass you?”

  “You’ll find I'm not as trusting as I once was.”

  He pushes away from the table and crosses his arms. “Okay. Fine.”

  With another finger, I explain, “I make your daily itinerary. You have to do everything I set up for you, or you have to leave the hotel.”

  He makes a little laughing noise inside his throat. “What, are you gonna make me swim with sharks without a cage?”

  “No.” I smirk. “But that’s a good idea."

  “Anything else?” His full lips are pursed. The dent in his chin is raised in question.

  “Not that I can think of. No.”

  With a couple of personal head nods, he opens his menu again. “Okay. Challenge accepted. Now join me for lunch.”

  “I won’t be dining with you. I’m not your date. I’m your concierge. I’m sure you can procure a few questionable agencies to help you with something like that.”

  His eyes peer up from the menu again. “Do you really think I’d ask you to hire prostitutes?”


  “Yes.”

  With a whistle through his teeth, he responds, “I’m glad I'm here then.”

  “Has your guest arrived yet?” Kal asks as he approaches Jax’s table.

  “She’s here, but she refuses to eat. Must be a side effect of her bitchiness,” Jax says looking at me and then to Kal. “Is she always like this or is it just with me?”

  “Trish is—”

  “It’s just you,” I cut off Kal who is looking at us in utter confusion.

  Kal motions his pen from Jax to me and back. “Do you two know each other?”

  Jax opens his mouth first. “Yes.”

  “No. Mr. Davis is staying in the Pele suite. If you’ll excuse me, I have an afternoon itinerary to plan.”

  “Spa,” Jax says before I get a chance to turn around.

  “Pardon?”

  “We have spa appointments in,” he looks at his imaginary watch, “forty-five minutes.”

  I drop my chin. “We?”

  He points a finger at me to him and back while mouthing the word, “We.”

  “Why?”

  He lets out a huge grin as he opens his menu. “I’ll have the catfish, and Trish will have the cheeseburger, medium-well.”

  My eyes shoot death lasers at Jax. “I’m not eating.”

  “What, you don’t like cheeseburgers anymore? It’s practically the only thing you ate for the first sixteen years of your life.”

  “I’m on the clock. I can’t sit down and have lunch with you.”

  “I am the clock. Sit.”

  I let out a loud growl and turn to Kal. “Nothing for me.”

  Kal walks away, seeming confused.

  I turn back to Jax. “New rule. No bringing up the past.”

  “Why not?” He sounds insulted.

  I slap my hands on the table and get up close, nose to nose, to his perfect face and snarl at him. “Because we have none. As far as anyone here is concerned, we don’t know each other, got it? And I make the itinerary, remember? So, no spa.”

  “I already made the appointments. You can plan everything else after. Seriously, when does someone turn down a massage?” He looks down at my finger running circles around my thumb. “Based on your current disposition, I thought you could use a little peace. You can lower the invisible force field you keep around yourself for an hour.”

  I drum my nails on the teak table top while I appraise his rather correct description of my current state.

  “I’ll meet you at the spa.” I stomp to the bar, lean on the counter and call over to Isaiah, the bartender.

  “Aloha awakea,” he greets me a good morning, his Hawaiian accent giving him a long, lazy sound.

  “What’s the name of that margarita you served Lani’s ex-boyfriend? The one with the jalapeños?”

  “Ahh,” he says, rubbing his belly. He’s too big for the work shirts, so the hotel makes an exception for him to wear whatever he likes as long as it is tropical in nature. Today, his shirt is covered in various images of palm trees and flamingos over a midnight-blue background. “A Flaming Volcanorita.”

  I clap my hands. “Yes, that’s the one. One of those for Mr. Davis, please.” I point to his booth and then lean into the bar and whisper, “And make it extra special.”

  He sways his bald-head from side to side seeming unsure. “You sure you want to tamper with a guest like that?”

  “Yes, I do.” I lean back and look over to the booth. Jax is looking down at his phone and typing feverishly.

  “If you say so,” Isaiah agrees as he grabs a glass to make the drink.

  I peek over at Jax who is shaking his head with a scowl on his face. Whatever he’s texting about is not making him happy.

  “Who’s the shark bait?” Kal asks as he returns to the bar, thumbing over to Jax. It’s a term the locals use for tourists.

  “Just a guest,” I reply.

  “Seemed like more than just a guest.”

  “Heard you were juggling fire last night.” I deflect.

  He raises a hand to his head and rubs his temples. He has beautiful light-brown skin free of a single blemish. “Yeah. Too many Longboards,” he says, and I raise a brow knowing it wasn’t just beer that got Kal wasted. “And tequila.”

  “You hurting today?”

  “It’s not too bad. Drinking a lot of water.” He looks at me warily and tugs at a button on his shirt. “We good?”

  With a gentle punch in his arm, I say, “Of course. Friends, right?”

  “Friends.” There’s relief in his voice. His eyes dart to the side as he gives a bashful grin.

  Bang! A loud noise forces my attention back to the bar and the spot to my left. Benji, one of the night dancers, has thrown a knife into the back wall behind the bar.

  “Pupule!” Isaiah shouts. “What is wrong with you?”

  “I got it, bruddahs!” Benji declares with his Pidgin accent. He’s extra high-energy than his usual five-foot-four self. His curly, dark hair is pulled back in a hair-tie. “I’m goin to trow daggahs at the luau!”

  Isaiah grabs a bottle of tequila and pours liquor into the glass. “Dagger throwing is a circus act, not for a traditional luau. What’s wrong with the fire dance?”

  Isaiah pulls the dagger out of the wall and brushes off the dust that’s splintered up from the wood.

  Benji takes the knife back. “I’ve done that a million times. I want to trow a daggah at someone’s head.”

  Kal runs a hand over his head as if he’s picturing himself having a dagger thrown at it by Benji. By the shake of his shoulders, I can see the imagery is unsettling.

  “You want to, or you’re going to?” I ask cautiously.

  With a huge grin, Benji bobs his head, “I’m doin’ it. I’ve been takin’ lessons, and I’m ready. I just got tah go ahead from Rafael. Showed him my certification and everythin’.”

  I smack my forehead at the thought of Raf giving Benji the okay to throw knives at someone.

  “I need an assistant. Trish, you up for it?” Benji asks with enthusiasm.

  I shake my head in a definitive “no.”

  Isaiah shoos Benji away. “Hemu. And take your knives with you. You’re scaring the guests.”

  “You no fun. I’m performin’ tonight. You come see, won’t you?” Benji asks with the excitement of a ten-year-old on a roller coaster.

  Isaiah throws a towel at Benji, urging him out of the restaurant.

  “What the fuck?” Jax’s sudden shout from his table forces the four of us, and almost everyone in the restaurant, to turn in his direction. A green margarita is on the table, and he’s guzzling a glass of ice water.

  My eyes bulge out of my head, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from having any sort of reaction.

  Kal, on the other hand, lets out a loud yelp that gets Jax’s attention.

  That was a mistake. Jax’s stone-cold glare is piercing its way over to the bar where my hand is on Kal’s shoulder as he leans forward with a laugh. I quickly drop my hand, turn on my feet, and head out of the restaurant.

  This is going to be a long seven days.

  chapter EIGHT

  For as many months as I’ve been working at the hotel, I’ve never had a service at the spa. While Jax’s presence is painful, I may as well reap a few benefits from his stay. I follow the attendant to the women’s dressing room where she shows me to a locker with a white robe and slippers inside.

  “When you’re done, you can sit in the relaxation room until your masseur is ready.” She shows me where the changing area is and walks out.

  I hang my clothes up in the locker, strip down leaving only my panties on, and don my robe. When I’m properly outfitted in my spa attire, I walk into the hallway, past the wet room equipped with a sauna, steam room, and hot tub, then into the women’s only relaxation room.

  I pour a glass of cucumber water and listen to the sounds of trickling water and monks chanting on the overhead speakers.

  Laying down on one of the lush loungers, I sit back
, take a sip of my water and enjoy the moment of silence. The lights are dimmed, and the room is infused with the soothing scent of chamomile.

  The new plan has been set: convince Jax to do a spa treatment every day. I could definitely get used to this.

  A door opens, and a man walks in wearing all white. I recognize him from staff gatherings.

  “Hello, Trish. What a pleasant surprise to see you at the spa today.”

  I suddenly feel foolish for being here while on the clock. “Hi, Fernando. Just a little treat for myself. It’ll be nice to tell guests what the experience is like now that I’m, you know, experiencing it myself.”

  He bows slightly and holds a hand out toward the door. “Everyone deserves a moment of relaxation. Follow me.”

  I get up, making sure to keep my robe closed, and walk through the door. Fernando escorts me down a long hallway. A statue of Buddha sits at the far end where we make a right and continue to the third door on the left.

  He leads me into a darkened room illuminated by tea light candles. There are two beds, and it smells like lavender. The soft hum of natural sounds and instruments playing lightly keeps me in a Zen mood.

  Fernando pulls down the sheet on one of the beds. “There is a hook behind the door for your robe. You can leave your undergarments on or strip down completely. Lay down on the bed on your belly. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  When he’s gone, I contemplate whether or not I should leave my panties on. Feeling a little brazen, I strip out of my robe, lay it on the bed and slide out of my underwear and fold it into the pocket of the robe.

  I’m standing in the room, completely naked. The sound of the door opening causes me to quickly drop to the floor, hiding behind one of the beds.

  When the door closes, I peek up and see Jax standing there in his robe.

  He leans forward with a squint of his eyes. “Why are you on the floor?”