A miracle in Hawaii: a contemporary sexy romance

by Fiona Miers

  A Miracle in Hawaii

  By Fiona Miers

  Blurb:

  Samara Jenkins is on a mission, a baby mission. She has taken a year off to get healthy and start IVF before severe endometriosis takes its toll on her fertility. But when her parents need her savings, and the opportunity arises, Samara agrees to take a design job for the King hotel in Hawaii. Her challenge is to get the old girl back on her feet in two weeks, then it’s back to her baby goal.

  Julian King was looking the wrong way when his head manager and friend defrauded their company and caused the financial collapse of one of their hotels. Wracked with guilt and anger, he flies to Hawaii to put the hotel back on its feet, only to find that his mother has hired a perky little designer to help him.

  Samara and Julian are like fire and ice, and yet they slide together into a hot, working holiday fling. But when Julian declares he doesn’t want anything long term, Samara leaves Hawaii, and takes something of Julian’s with her.

  Dedication:

  To Sarah, my beautiful woman.

  Thanks for the inspiration for this heroine.

  Your journey has been awesome to watch.

  Contents Page:

  Chapter 1. page 4

  Chapter 2. page 22

  Chapter 3. page 34

  Chapter 4. page 51

  Chapter 5. page 66

  Chapter 6. page 81

  Chapter 7. page 92

  Chapter 8. page 115

  Chapter One

  The hot Hawaiian breeze ruffled Samara Jenkin’s hair, providing a small amount of relief from the sticky humidity at her neck. She waved her hands ineffectually over her face, trying to cool her heated cheeks.

  Against all the promises she’d made to herself about taking this year off work, she’d accepted this job and was now paying for it.

  “Argh. Just think of the money.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot on the sidewalk as she waited for some assistance. The hotel’s owners wanted an honest appraisal of the state of their business and a strategy to improve sales.

  She already had a list as long as her arm. Where was the concierge? Where was the bell boy? Where the hell was any staff member at this supposedly five-star resort?

  Ridiculous! No wonder they called me.

  She exhaled sharply, blowing the hair out of her eyes as she looked up at the thirty-story building. Aesthetically, it could use some work. Peeling paint littered the side of every surface, cracked windows made her grimace with the safety hazard they caused, and the eaves needed some attention, but the old girl displayed great architecture and presence. So much potential.

  Obviously, she was going to wait all day in the sun unless she did something herself to change it, which disappointed her. The owner knew she planned to be here today. She arrived on time. There was no excuse for her not to be greeted at least by someone.

  She took a measured breath, trying to push down the rising tide of frustration. When her parents called to say they were at risk of losing their house between health issues and pending foreclosure, she’d been happy to help. But that meant the money she’d saved for this year was half gone, and this one job would refill her coffers.

  So, be grateful to this client, not pissy.

  Her foot tapped harder and faster against the concrete, increasing the tempo as each notch of her temper stoked higher. Her pointed, strappy shoes made a slapping noise that started to irritate even her. Sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades and she shivered against the disgusting feeling.

  “Yuck. Enough.”

  She threw up her hands and grabbed her luggage. Her eyes narrowed on the entrance and she stalked toward the double glass doors at a determined pace. She skidded to a halt a mere inch from breaking her nose, her ankle twisting as she threw on the anchors too late. Pain seared around her foot as the cold glass kissed the very tip of her nose and she glared through the door, waiting for it to respond.

  Nothing.

  She stepped backward and forward again, looking up at the sensor above the door and waited.

  They didn’t open.

  You’re kidding me? Should I wave my hands in the air like a crazy person now?

  She peered through the glass and saw a young man in uniform hurrying toward her. He appeared to press a button beside the door and whoosh, the doors opened and cool air brushed past her heated face, bringing with it a huge sigh of relief from her body.

  “I am so sorry, ma’am. Can I help you with your bags?”

  The youth, who had pimply skin and bright, happy eyes, did not deserve the extended list of complaints bubbling up on her tongue.

  She took a deep breath and focused on what he could do for her. “Yes, you can. Please take my suit cases and I’d like to check in.”

  The bell boy, or maitre’d—she wasn’t quite sure which role he filled since he appeared to be the only person working at the hotel—took her suitcases off her hands with a grabbing, fast motion. He then turned on his black shoes that squeaked as he walked, and dragged her matching bags half off their wheels as he hurried back to the main reception. She cringed as she watched them teeter and bang against the marble floor.

  She looked away, anger rising inside her gut to see her luggage get abused like that. But the last thing she wanted to do was start grumbling at the only staff member she’d met. Instead, she glanced around the huge room.

  Her shoulders dropped and her hands unclenched as she marveled at the room in which she stood. So grand, with a beautiful mystique that only period hotels and houses possessed. This hotel reminded her of an old lady—she had great bones, but they were tired. She would fix that.

  “Please come over.”

  Samara tried not to notice that he’d dropped her custom, monogrammed luggage near the elevator, and then had rushed over to the desk where a computer stood waiting.

  “Your name, ma'am?”

  She bit her lip for a moment. Seriously? You’ve actually got other people booked to check in today? She couldn’t say the thought aloud, so instead dragged her manners out of the over-cooked soup they were swimming in. “Samara Jenkins.”

  He tapped away on the computer until he finally held out a plastic card to her with the hotels brown emblem on it.

  “Room 2002, ma’am. Level twenty, room two. One of our best suites. May I accompany you up?”

  She waved her hands at him. If he left the foyer, who was going to let any other possible customers into the hotel? That broken glass door certainly wasn’t going to just start working on its own. “No thanks, but can you bring up the larger suitcase in an hour or so?”

  The stink of crowded planes and cars, and hours of waiting in the heat and humidity had all left a stain that needed to be washed away. Preferably somewhere quiet, where she could be alone and think for a minute.

  Samara picked up her smaller suitcase, which contained a change of clothes and toiletries. A shower was definitely first priority on her list. With a determined clench of her jaw, she turned around and strode over to the lift, releasing a sigh when the doors dinged and opened. She wasn’t walking up twenty flights of stairs.

  She’d go home and damn the massive commission before that ever happened.

  You need it, don’t kid yourself.

  A frown pulled down her lips. She’d had enough money for her plans, until her parents called with their life altering news. But not even a week after she’d handed over half her saving to her parents had fate delivered a favor in the form of a phone call from the matriarch of this hotel empire. Samara had been offered this job and it would replace all the money she’d lost with only a few we
eks of work. As long as she delivered the results they wanted.

  She could have tried to accomplish everything she wanted to do this year without the money, but their offer was far too good to turn down.

  Stepping inside the elevator, she pressed the tip of her forefinger to the dusty button for the twentieth floor, gripping the rail. The moving box’s cables screeched and moaned as it hauled her up the shaft. This elevator didn’t look like it had been updated since the inception of the hotel. If the cables failed, or the electricity went out, she’d be stuck in the elevator without water for hours. Not a pleasant prospect in this heat. She grabbed for her bag to check if she had anything with her to survive such an event. The elevator ground to a clunking halt.

  A squeak popped out of her throat, grabbing for the gold railing as the doors dinged open.

  Oh, thank goodness for that. Something else to put on the list. Can’t have the guests fearing for their lives every time they go back to their rooms.

  Large blue eyes, set in a very handsome face, stared at her from the center of the hallway. “Miss Jenkins, I presume?” His cool, familiar New York tones straightened her spine.

  “Hold the door for me would you, please?” She looked away from his intense gaze, arousal curling in her belly like an old, absent friend. She locked her hand into the handle on her small suit case and took a shallow breath as he stepped close and did as she’d asked. Twisting his huge body to the side, he placed his arm out to stop the elevator door from closing on her.

  His eyes followed her with an intensity that had her belly tightening and blood rushing through her nether regions. His face was cut like the smoothest stone, his strong and angular cheek bones reminding her of old roman warriors she’d once seen paintings of. Real men. Men that forced their enemies to their knees, and often, all the women around them too.

  Her breath locked in her throat as she moved past him, the presence of his huge body in the door making heat warm her cheeks that had nothing to do with the summer air. She wasn’t short by anyone’s standard, but at five foot seven she was at least six inches shorter than he was. She felt like a dwarf facing a giant. Who was this? He knew her name, but how? It couldn’t be the owner who had hired her, although he had the air of someone with money. A lot of money.

  “Excuse me.”

  She stepped onto the landing and moved toward the door that had 2002 on the panel, trying very hard not to turn around and stare at the man behind her. Every cell in her body grew far too aware of him. The hairs stood up on her neck.

  Professional, stay professional. Why did he have to be so gorgeous?

  The man behind her had to be a manager of some sort. He was the only one she’d met so far who knew who she was, and he obviously had anticipated her arrival and had been waiting for her.

  She placed her small suitcase and handbag against her room door, her skin tingling with the awareness of being watched. Then, when she was sure she had schooled her features into something resembling calm, she turned around, her heart leaping at the sight of the man behind her. He was so gorgeous. Tall, broad and with full lips that would curve beautifully when he eventually smiled. Her skin tingled from just looking at him.

  She focused for a moment and dismissed the idea he was a manager. His suit was worth more than her wardrobe put together. And if that wasn’t enough, the man in front of her had an arrogance in his posture that she’d come to see only from people born into wealth.

  “Yes, I’m Samara Jenkins, and you are?” She squared her shoulder and stood facing the large man on the landing. His eyes were a startling blue, like a bright summer sky. With his dark-brown hair and fair skin, the combination was rare and beautiful. The saliva gathered in her mouth, making her swallow awkwardly.

  “Julian King. My mother was the one that hired you.”

  Her eyes slid down his body, the breadth of his shoulders as impressive as any footballer’s. His black suit appeared tailor made, beautiful in design, and comprised of strong lines that made him look like a panther about to pounce. She shivered at the thought.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t greet you downstairs, but I wanted you to experience the hotel as it currently is.”

  That explained a lot, although a touch of forewarning may not have gone astray. “We have a lot to discuss. I have a list a mile long already of things that need to be altered and implemented, and I haven’t even stepped inside my room yet.”

  He chuckled, a soft earthy sound that surprised her. “I assure you that I have everything under control. You are here as an advisor, nothing more.”

  Ice slid on to her shoulders and she straightened her spine. That wasn’t what she’d been told, but she’d gotten around difficult men before. Minding their fragile egos while doing her job was a specialty of hers. “I didn’t realize that was what I had agreed to, Mr. King.”

  His lips tilted up into a soft smile as though he agreed with her. “I was told you were the best, although I didn’t expect you to be quite so young.”

  There was a tone of admiration and reluctant respect in his voice that pleased her. It tickled right along her spine. She’d heard that a lot over the past ten years, and she always enjoyed her clients surprise when she exceeded their expectations. She was good at her job, and her age had nothing to do with it. The original trouble she’d had starting her business only meant she’d increased her commission to prove she was worth it.

  “I didn't expect you at all, Mr. King.” When she’d pictured who she was going to meet on arriving, she’d envisioned either the elderly woman who’d hired her over the phone, or perhaps the manager.

  He inclined his head with a more natural smile flirting on his lips. “Touché. Let’s meet downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

  Samara checked her watch. It may be dinner time here but in New York it was going on 2 am. No wonder her eyes were tired and her neck ached. She’d barely slept on the plane.

  “Make it an hour, if possible. Where shall I meet you?”

  His flaring nostrils was the only give away that she had displeased him, but she stood her ground, calmly waiting for his response while fanning her face with her hand. It was way too hot in this hotel for comfort.

  “The hotel’s restaurant for dinner. It’s on the ground floor.”

  Perfect place to start.

  She could definitely eat something, although she didn’t have much of an appetite after traveling all day. She nodded at him to agree, although her head swam from fatigue and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  “See you in one hour, Miss Jenkins.”

  He turned and strode toward the lift. Samara couldn’t stop her eyes from dropping down to drift over his body as he moved away. Her hungry gaze devoured his angles as he put both hands in his pants pockets, pulling the jacket up and stretching it tight across his rounded butt.

  She bit her lip as she looked her fill, desire fluttering low in her belly. He had the perfect arse, long legs, a tapered waist and huge, broad shoulders. The combination was heady indeed. He was definitely one of the most imposing men she’d ever seen in real life.

  A tailored suit made most men look good, but this one actually seemed to hamper his beauty. She could sense the power leashed beneath that black cloth, and she could only imagine how amazing he’d look without the modern armor.

  The old elevator dinged and groaned as it opened and Samara sighed as she pushed her way into her room, letting perhaps the most breath-taking man she’d ever seen slip from her mind. His hotel rooms needed to be at the forefront of her racing brain and that was how it would stay.

  Unlike everything else she’d seen so far in the hotel, the card the clerk had given her was at least new. She had to concentrate with the man behind her causing an unusual breathlessness in her chest, but she managed to slide the plastic into the lock shaft.

  She waited. She glanced up at the door. Nothing. Her eyes flicked up to the number on the door. Yes, it was the right room. So she jiggled it until the red light
eventually turned green.

  How can they charge people three hundred dollars a night if the keys don’t even work?

  She pushed open the door with one hand and dragged her suitcase in with the other.

  The bell boy had been right. Her suite was massive and would have been very grand once upon a time, but the room hadn’t been aired out in weeks. A musky, damp smell curled up her nostrils that would put off anyone who liked clean air.

  Gross.

  She placed her small luggage by the wardrobe and raced over to the window, pushing open the sliding glass and allowing some of the humid, but fresh air into the room. Inhaling a few good lungful’s, she grabbed the courage to turn back around and inspect the rest of the room.

  The king-sized bed was in the right place. Small, cheap looking nightstands framed the bed, disappointing her. The bed covers didn’t suit the color of the walls, but overall, it wasn’t too bad decor. For a three-star hotel.

  She snorted and marched over to the bathroom. This would be the test. Pulling open the door, she gagged for breath as the stale smell of urine, bleach, and hot, pungent air took flight inside her throat.

  “Holy mother of....” She rushed back to the window, opening every glass pane that would open. She took several slow breaths, her mind whirling with the work before her. Grass roots job this was. Cleaning staff, decoration, the whole lot, and then she’d see if the gorgeous Mr. King had what it took to get his hotel back up to the standard that it deserved.

  ****

  She was so much more beautiful than he’d expected. It was true, those that had raved of her characteristics often threw words around like gorgeous, stunning and lovely into their appraisals, but he’d taken it with the mountain of salt he’d thought it deserved.

  He’d been wrong. And he wasn’t often wrong.

  Surprising, for sure, that the woman his parents had lumbered him with for a fortnight, was so lovely to look at. He didn’t want help, hadn’t asked for it, nor did he think he needed it. He took full responsibility for the state the hotel presented currently. He’d hired an executive manager two years ago to oversee the hotels every day running, and he’d been very, very wrong in his estimation of Kostas Dean. A villain, pure and simple.