by Meg Harding
It was. Jackson didn’t list everyone, partly because he couldn’t remember them all. Some of the ones he mentioned were only because he could hear the murmur of his siblings giving their own warnings and was able to pick out snatches. He turns to look at Bastien, who’s wide-eyed and has his hand over James’s mouth.
“I don’t want to know any more,” he says. “Shut up. Please.” He sees Jackson looking. “Turn around. I can only deal with one of you at a time.”
Marcy leans over the back of Bastien’s chair and pats his head. “It’s not that bad. They like to overexaggerate.” Her and Laurence’s boys are loudly arguing over who gets the bed by the window in their room. Bastien doesn’t look soothed by her words. Jackson faces forward, smiling. Those kids have made it so Marcy’s definition of “not that bad” is a normal person’s definition of “call 911.”
“I should have known from Georgina,” mutters Aaron.
“What was that?” he asks.
Aaron looks at him. “I should have known from talking to Georgina your entire family would be crazy.”
Jackson’s still laughing at him as they disembark the plane. He can see Aaron’s pleased smile from the corner of his eye, and he feels a happy little buzz to know he’s the cause of it.
Aaron’s talk before they got to the lounge shouldn’t have had such an effect on him, but it calmed an irritated part of his brain that kept piping negative comments out. The hug was an impulse he couldn’t control, and he’s already thinking of ways he can make it happen again. Aaron’s a good hugger, unbelievably warm, and his returning squeeze is just on the right side of tight. If he’s going to pretend to be his boyfriend for two weeks, hugging is an easy way to show affection that isn’t too much. It’s a win for him and a win for the plan.
He smiles out the window of the cab taking them to their resort. Look at him finding the bright side in this. Just being near an ocean is already working its magic on his psyche. He can see quick, one-second flashes of the rolling blue water and the white foam of crashing waves from between the trees and sprawling buildings. Mostly, though, all he can see are resorts. They’re decadent and grand, the definition of luxury with pools you shouldn’t need when there’s an ocean right there and rooms that open right onto sand and sun.
Knowing his family, they’ve managed to book an entire resort—or the majority of one—all to themselves. There’ll be a big buffet-style dinner later in the evening, but the afternoon is theirs to get adjusted. Can’t have jetlag when there are things to do. The first thing he’s going to do is go for a swim. It’ll take the stink of airports and planes right off him.
“It’s gorgeous here.”
“It is,” agrees Jackson. He leans over to point out Aaron’s window. “If you look over there, you can see the mountains coming up.”
Aaron looks where he’s pointing. “You’ve been here before?”
“Mhm. It’s a popular spot for filming, and I come on vacation sometimes. I’ve stayed on all the islands, done the hikes and sightseeing. I’ve got photo albums full of hundreds of pictures at home.” He likes to scrapbook.
“The pictures on the walls—did you take those?”
“Yeah.”
Aaron’s dark gaze settles on him. Jackson realizes how close he’s gotten. “They’re really good.”
He’s so glad they didn’t share a cab with anyone. He clears his throat. “Thank you.” He’s worked hard to make them look nice, and he matted the frames himself. Georgina had a friend make the wooden frames for him. He likes the natural feel. “I can… I can take some for you while we’re here? For you to put up when you go home. If you want.”
Aaron’s smile sends warmth racing through his stomach. “I’d love that.”
They get to the resort soon after, and it’s one of those that resembles a small city all on its own. There’s towering palm trees and lush green bushes everywhere, fancy fountains and sculptures of dolphins and stingrays. The roof is thatched, and he can make out more buildings spread along behind it. It looks like they’ll be staying in villas along the beach.
He pays the driver before Aaron can.
Denver and Dorian are already waiting out front, and they approach while Aaron hauls the bags from the trunk. “Beach?” asks Denver.
“We were thinking swim, then do some yoga,” says Dorian.
Jackson nods. “Count me in. I’m going to get changed, and then I’m going right out.” He remembers Aaron’s there. “Do you want to come along?” he asks.
“I’ll swim,” says Aaron. “But I’m not going to do yoga. I don’t bend that way.”
“You look like you’d be pretty flexible,” says Jackson without thinking. He wants to smack himself. “Um.”
Denver and Dorian are giggling, and Aaron’s smiling his butterfly-inducing grin again. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m deceptive like that.”
THERE’S A lot of reasons why taking this job wasn’t the smart thing to do. And some of them start becoming blatantly obvious when Jackson walks out of the bathroom in his swim shorts. And that’s what they are: short. There’s a lot of leg on display. Miles and miles of tan, leanly muscled, lightly blond-haired leg. He’s got the kind of legs that can give a man ideas. And Aaron’s not supposed to have those ideas about his clients. It’s unprofessional. It’s dangerous to his emotional well-being.
So looking over the rest of him—it’s something he has to do, he can’t not look at him—is not a brilliant idea. His upper body is just as tan as the rest, completely free of hair, and very well defined. Though much like with his face, Aaron can tell that weight has been lost and not in the “I worked out for it” way.
It’s still a gorgeous package that holds a very sweet, delicate being inside. A package that is going to really test his professionalism.
This only becomes more obvious as they move things onto the beach. Jackson’s a strong swimmer, which explains a lot of those muscles if this is a frequent activity for him. Aaron’s always thought he was a pretty good swimmer—he lives in California, he goes to the beach a lot. Jackson’s like a sleek fish in the water, though. Aaron’s got nothing on him.
The way his muscles roll and shift as he slices through the waves is more than a little distracting. There’s a chance it’s affecting Aaron’s speed.
Denver and Dorian are equally beautiful, very similar in looks to Jackson—so close, in fact, that the three of them could pass for triplets—but for some reason he doesn’t find them as compelling. His gaze doesn’t stick to them.
He lasts all of five minutes watching Jackson do yoga before he has to go inside. He needs a cold shower. He’s covered in salt from the ocean, his skin grimy. He’s just trying to be clean. It’s a struggle to keep his hands away from a certain needy body part while he’s in there, his mind repeatedly going back to the image of Jackson twisted around like a pretzel in one of the poses.
Now he knows exactly how those legs can bend and stretch. If he had ideas before, they’ve multiplied by a hundred now. He witnessed a serious display of flexibility and strength during those five minutes. His heart is still beating double-time. His dick is completely ignoring that the water is ice cold.
He scowls down at it. “This is not appropriate,” he says, and then wonders how crazy talking to his penis makes him.
Probably a lot.
Sighing, he turns the water to hot. He’s not going to stand under the painfully frosty water if it’s not going to solve his problem. He’s just going to have to ignore it.
He’s lying on the bed, legs kicked up behind him and ankles crossed, reading a mystery novel on his Kindle when Jackson comes in through the balcony doors. His skin is a lovely shade of pink.
He smiles at Aaron, lips quirking slightly at the corners. “I forgot to put on sunblock,” he says. He twists to try to see his back. “Denver said I’m lobster red.”
“You’re not,” says Aaron, gaze tracing the dip of his spine that leads into the swell of his butt. Everything’s a light pink,
but nothing is red. It’ll fade quick enough if he puts lotion on it.
“I figured he was fucking with me.” He disappears into the bathroom. “Yeah, it’s not that bad.” He pokes his head out. “Dinner’s in an hour. You good to go?”
“Ready when you are.”
Jackson nods. “I’m going to start getting ready now, otherwise we’ll be late.” He shuts the door, and a minute later the shower turns on. Two minutes after that, a soaking wet Jackson comes out in nothing but a towel, the shower still going in the bathroom. “Forgot my bag,” he says, blushing. “Sorry.”
The sight reminds Aaron of earlier that morning. Jackson looks good in a towel. Could pull it off as a fashion statement…. And there’s his hard-on back at it again. He waits till Jackson’s gone back into the bathroom before letting his forehead hit the bed as he sighs. It’s not like Jackson’s his first attractive client. He’s had plenty of them. It’s never before been a problem in this context.
He rereads the same line in his book no less than seven times before he calls it quits. He can hear Jackson banging around in the bathroom, the sound of soap being knocked off the shelf and hitting the tile floor. Jackson cursing about it. The shower turning off and Jackson climbing out, a blow dryer being turned on.
It’s been a while since he shared a room with someone, and while this is a big one—it’s part of a three-bedroom condo-style house and has a kitchen and living room—it’s still confined enough that there’s not exactly privacy. And it’s clearly meant for a couple. The bed is a California king, with the classic-white hotel comforter and a fancy Hawaiian-flowered throw over the top of it to add color. There’s an abundance of pillows at the head of the bed, and their towels were folded into entwined dolphins when they first came in. The large tub in the bathroom has candles and flower petals strewn along the edges, and there’s champagne chilling in an ice bucket on top of the low coffee table. The artwork in the room all depicts various couples as they explore the island.
These next two weeks are going to be interesting.
When Jackson comes out of the bathroom, his hair has been brushed and slightly gelled to fluff out over his forehead. It gives him a very bedhead, tousled kind of look. He’s wearing navy blue chino shorts and a tank top colored like the sky when the sun sets. As he gets closer, Aaron can just about make out the fine layer of foundation on his face, the gloss on his lips, mascara on his eyelashes. The mascara makes his eyes pop, gives him a sleepy sort of look.
Jackson catches him looking, and his cheeks darken. “You look good,” says Aaron. “That’s flattering to your eyes.”
The blush gets darker, but now it’s accompanied by a small smile. “Thanks.”
“Would it make my eyes look nicer, do you think?”
Jackson looks startled, but he moves closer. His hand is hesitant as he reaches out to touch Aaron’s chin and tilt his head up. “It could. Some kohl on your waterline would make them really stand out.” He presses his fingers slightly, and Aaron obligingly shifts his head a little to the left. “You have an amazing complexion and bone structure. Kind of reminds me of Juan Betancourt.”
Aaron blinks, turning his head to look at Jackson incredulously. “The Spanish model?”
“He’s the one,” says Jackson, surprised—probably that Aaron knows who he’s talking about.
He snorts. Betancourt is seriously fine and slightly lighter than Aaron’s dark coloring. He has been mistaken for Spanish several times before, though. It’s thanks to his father’s milky white complexion that he’s not as dark as his mom. His dad couldn’t get a tan even if he wanted to (his mom makes fun of him constantly for it).
“I’m serious,” says Jackson, a stubborn note to his voice. “You’re very handsome.”
“Thank you.” It’s really the only appropriate thing to say.
Jackson lets go of his face and steps away. “We should probably go meet everyone else. I’m not actually sure where we’re going for dinner.”
Georgina texted him the information. “They’re using the hall in the main building. The hotel’s catering.” He doesn’t comment on how Jackson’s family must be leaking money from their pores. It’s not like his isn’t well-off. He just can’t imagine them renting out a hotel in Hawaii for two weeks.
“Oh.” Jackson looks around the room. “I’d like to take this time to apologize for my family in advance.”
He sounds so stiff and formal that Aaron can’t help but laugh at him. “Jackson,” he says, “please stop apologizing. If they’re absolutely awful and I need a break, I’ll grab you, and we’ll go sit on the beach and stare at seagulls. Okay?”
Jackson’s pleased expression makes him feel warm inside. “All right.”
They’re sharing the condo with Dorian and Denver, who are both lounging on the couches in the living area when they come out. Denver’s got his legs over the back and his head hanging off the front.
Denver smiles at them. “Good to go?”
“As good as it’s getting,” says Jackson. He pretends to tug a suit jacket into place. “Into battle we go.”
They meet everyone else outside, and they walk into the dining hall as one large group. The first thing Aaron notices is the noise. It is loud. Like can’t-hear-himself-think loud. And there are a lot of people. One family should not have this many relatives. There are a lot of kids, and they all seem to be in various stages of yelling and screaming. He watches Laurence’s boys (he needs to get their names; he’s forgotten already) go charging into the masses without waiting. Neither of their parents follow.
“They’ll come back,” says Marcy, catching his look and smiling.
“Where are we supposed to sit?” asks James.
Aaron looks around, and he’s not sure there is anywhere to sit.
A man in khaki shorts and a dark blue shirt with the hotel’s dolphin logo on the front walks over to them. He’s holding a packet of papers in his arms. “Can I have your names please?”
Anna steps forward. “Anna and Louis Carlisle.”
“If you’ll follow me.”
It’s a task easier said than done. There are a lot of children to dodge, and they’re stopped multiple times so hugs can be exchanged and introductions can be made. One man comes over and hugs everyone but James, who he refuses to even look at. Bastien looks offended on James’s behalf, but James keeps him from saying anything.
“That was rude,” Aaron hears Bastien mutter as James tows him along.
“Yes, well, people tend to be.”
They’re seated somewhere toward the front of all the tables. It’s a large rectangle, and since everyone has a plus one (save for the twins, who are each other’s), conveniently there’s an even number of them. Aaron sits beside Bastien and Jackson. The waiter passes out the packets, which upon a glance he sees are not menus.
“Is this…?” It’s a schedule. A detailed list of times and activities that everyone will be partaking in. There are surfing lessons and rock climbing, mountain walks and scuba diving, volleyball matches and tennis tournaments. “This is crazy official,” he mutters. Underneath each is a listing of families who will be participating at what time. It appears to rotate so that everyone has to spend at least one activity with everyone else by the end of the two weeks. Some of the excursions include boating trips and explorations of the other smaller islands.
It’s mind-boggling.
“Looks like we’re zip-lining over a waterfall tomorrow,” says Jackson. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not bothered by heights.”
Aaron looks up. He knows what Tristan’s going to say before he says it. Tristan’s already shaking his head. “I barely tolerate airplanes. I’m not flying over open ground holding on to nothing but a rope.”
Georgina pats his back. “It’s okay. After the first couple, you’ll feel fine.”
He looks like he wants to keep arguing. She puts her hand over his mouth and smiles sunnily. “You’re going to do this. I’ll go with you.”
“
Then you’re just doubling the weight you’re putting on the rope. That’s even more unsafe.”
This is an argument that could go on all day, and Georgina looks like she knows it. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Aaron sees Jackson glancing at him. “What?”
“You’re fine with heights?”
“Peachy keen,” he says. He’s never gone zip-lining before, but he’s gone rock climbing, and he doesn’t have a problem flying.
Anna looks less than excited about the activity, though, and he thinks she might be more inclined to agree with Tristan.
“Maybe it’s a low zip line,” says James. “We’re beginners, after all.”
They’re not given much time to think about it. Someone clears their throat into a mic—repeatedly. “Could I get everyone to shut up?” says a female voice, and a good majority of the people in the room laugh in response, but the noise subsides after.
“Thanks,” she says, and everyone’s sitting now, so he can see her. She’s tall and brown-haired, wearing a flowery sundress. “Welcome to the Carlisle family reunion. For some of you, this is your first time, so we’re going to start with introductions while we eat, and then we’re going to move on to the schedule and rules. I’ll take any questions that anybody has. In the spirit of tradition, we’ll be bringing back the fight for the Carlisle Trophy. It’ll go to the family with the most points at the end of the two weeks. May the best Carlisle brood win!”
“The Carlisle Trophy?” Aaron, Bastien, and Tristan all ask at the same time.
“Right,” says Anna. “We may have left some information out.”
Chapter Five
BEFORE THEY set out on the hike into the mountains—from which they’ll be flying across several ropes dangling over hefty drops—there are some rules that have to be gone over. And not the safety kind.
Anna claps her hands to get their attention after she comes back from a powwow with a large group of people circled around the girl from the night before. “All right,” she says. “We all go individually, and the guide will be keeping time. The family with the lowest time wins five points toward the trophy. Try to really launch yourself when you go. Get a good running start. Second place is three points. Last place is one point.”