by Cindy Jacks
Trouble in Paradise
Cindy Jacks
Meeting and marrying in one of the most romantic places on earth, Clarissa and Mika seem to have it all—promising careers, plans for the future and passion that burns bright enough for everyone to see. But all is not as it seems.
Family is central to Mika, and he’s ready to start a brood of his own with the woman he loves. A haole from the Mainland and from a broken home, Clarissa isn’t as eager to jump into parenthood. When Mika’s hunky cousin Sione declares he’s always had feelings for Clarissa, crystal-blue waters turn cloudy and stormy.
Drawn to Sione and his rebel-without-a-pause ways, Clarissa struggles with her love for Mika and her desire for freedom. Mika sets her aflame, body and heart, but Sione seems to see into her soul. Unless Clarissa and Mika can find a way to bridge the divide, it’s trouble in paradise for both of them.
A Romantica® marital heat erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Trouble in Paradise
Cindy Jacks
Chapter One
Hot breath and lips on her skin roused Clarissa. Her eyes fluttered open.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said, kissing down her neck.
“Mika, I’m tired.”
“Am I keeping you awake? I’m sorry, baby. I’ll stop.”
But he didn’t. He skimmed his lips along her bare breasts, down to the sensitive curves of her rib cage, belly and hips, flicking his tongue over her skin. The shiver darting through her and the pulsing of her pussy overrode her desire to go back to sleep. She turned into her husband’s kisses and snaked her arms around him. No more invitation needed, he freed himself from his boxers and pressed between her legs. As the head of his cock teased her open, she grew warm and moist against his erection. One slow push and he was inside her. Clarissa moaned, grasping handfuls of Mikaela’s thick, dark hair.
No need to adjust his technique, no coaching necessary. With ease, he found the spot deep inside her that shook her to the core. He’d always been able to do this, as though he’d kept a map of her body in his heart and soul. She pushed her pelvis up to meet his forward thrusts. His mouth engulfed one breast, sucking at it with playful bites to the nipple. She tightened her grip on his hair but Mika didn’t complain. Attention and gaze focused, body pressed to hers, in this moment he owned her. Every ripple of muscle and every whisper of breath moved through her very center.
Growing more urgent, he drove his cock deeper into her. She spread her legs wider to take all of him in, his sac tickling her ass. Their bodies shook together, a climax just on the horizon. A few whimpers at first, then unintelligible exclamations from both of them. Clarissa squeezed her eyes shut, tensing her body to hold on to the pleasure coursing through her. Ragged gasps and violent spasms rocked Mika as well. He pulled her closer, his strong arms flexing.
His body came to rest on top of hers. He kissed her forehead. Her cheeks. Her eyelids.
She opened her eyes and looked up at him, noting the smile of satisfaction on his face. “Mmm. Can’t a woman sleep around here? Waking me up in the middle of the night and ravishing me.”
“You’re the one sleeping in the nude, it’s not my fault.” He laughed and combed his fingers through her hair.
He withdrew then slid onto the mattress, spooning next to her, his deep bronze skin a stark contrast to her paler, golden complexion. She traced his pe’a with one finger, letting it meander from the bands of tribal tattoos around his waist to the extension of those patterns on his hips and thighs. Smaller versions encircled each of his arms.
Meeting his gaze, she asked, “How was work?”
“Hot and exhausting. One cool thing―they interviewed me for the sous-chef position.”
“You know you got it on lockdown.”
“Shh, don’t jinx me.”
“You shouldn’t worry. You’re the best cook in that kitchen.”
“Being the sous isn’t just about cooking. They’ve gotta feel like I can run the kitchen, manage the staff.”
Clarissa stroked his brow, studying the lines of concern around his dark-brown eyes, and then kissed the top of his head. “You’ll get it, sweetheart. Stop worrying.”
“It’s just with that job we can get a bigger place, move out of Kaimuki to where the schools are better.”
“Uh-huh,” she murmured. She didn’t feel like going down this road tonight. Let Mika plan for kids they didn’t have yet—and wouldn’t have for a couple more years. He didn’t understand why she wanted to wait and she didn’t understand why he was in such a damn hurry. Just let it slide, a little voice inside her head warned.
“How was class?” he asked, yawning.
“Long and exhausting, but my students got to break out their plaster investments today so they could see how their bronze castings came out.”
“Mmm…”
“Yeah. There’s this one girl who’s really talented. I’ve been talking with her about switching her major from English to art. I think she could be a good artist if she applies herself. You should’ve seen the casting she made. The delicate work in the wax really came through in the bronze.”
Silence.
“Mika?”
A light snore.
“And you’re asleep,” she muttered.
He’s not trying to be rude or inattentive, she told herself. It was the long hours he kept, she knew that, but still…why didn’t he seem to care about the things that interested her? Why did he even ask if he had no intention of listening to her answer?
“You’re overreacting.” She sighed. But was she? This wasn’t the first time and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. He’d come home, have sex with her and then roll over and go to sleep without any concern at all for her feelings. Was this it? Was this the way it was going to be for the rest of their marriage?
Tamping down her annoyance, she draped herself over his body and snuggled into the crook of his neck. He smelled of citrus body wash. It was the only thing that could get rid of the scent of garlic and mahi mahi that seeped into his pores.
Work, work, work. It seemed like that was all they did. Well, work and make love. That wasn’t so bad, was it? It showed he hadn’t lost interest in her. But sometimes, in the far recesses of her brain, something niggled at her. Had she lost interest in him?
No. Absolutely not. Every day wasn’t supposed to be a thrill ride. This was life. Plain and simple.
“I love you,” she murmured.
She did, of course she did. She just didn’t love the routine, the rut they’d fallen into. But that was life. Right?
Of course it was.
She melted against him and allowed a blanket of sleep to fall over her.
* * * * *
There are lots of blue Honda Accords in Honolulu, Clarissa reminded herself. Still, a flutter of excitement blossomed in her stomach. An inappropriate and scandalous blossom of excitement. But if she ran into him here… Well, it would be a chance meeting. Kismet, right? Then maybe they could steal a few hours and grab a coffee. She could cancel her classes. Maybe they could hang out at the beach all day.
She strained to look inside the gas station mini-mart window, but saw only the backs of people’s heads, none of which looked like Sione’s. As often as he dropped by the house, she should have his license plate memorized. Then again, the thought itself made her feel like a stalker. Hell, she hadn’t even memorized her own license plate, much less that of her husband’s cousin. And why the hell was she so excited at the prospect of running into him?
It’s just a little crush, she told herself. It was. No harm in it. She didn’t intend to do anything about it. It would pass. It had to.
The gas pump clicked off, pulling Clarissa from her thoughts. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead.
Eighty-seven again today—already eighty this morning—a light shower expected this afternoon on the Windward and Mauka sides of the island, as usual. She toyed with the idea of cutting her hair short, but Mika preferred it long so the mane of sandy blonde locks hung down her back in a sloppy ponytail, a few soggy tentacles clinging to her neck.
She replaced the gas cap and climbed into the belly of her Easy-Bake Oven-on-wheels. No AC in the VW Vanagon. Cranking down the windows, she caught a glimpse of the blue Honda’s owner. A short, skinny Japanese man climbed into the vehicle. Definitely not Sione. Broad shoulders, full lips, golden skin over sinewy musculature, chocolate-brown eyes—that was Sione.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Whatever the cause of these feelings, she had to get over them and right quick.
When she twisted the key the van grumbled a bit, but finally the engine turned over. Clarissa wiped another droplet of sweat from her face. Back to reality. After all, the bronze sculpture in her studio wasn’t going to finish itself.
* * * * *
Early morning in the University of Hawaii Art Building found the structure devoid of its usual hustle and bustle. Sure, a few hungover grad students staggered to the coffee machine, having slept in their studios. A gaggle of freshmen milled around the halls of the first floor, too low on the registration totem pole to avoid the 7:05 a.m. Intro to Fine Art slot. But for the most part the classrooms and studios sat peacefully deserted. It was this quietude that drew Clarissa in so early each day.
Passing by the bamboo garden that surrounded the University Art Gallery, she cut through a corridor of lockers to the sculpture courtyard. The center of the space had no roof, displaying a cross section of the building’s three floors like the layers of a triple-decker sandwich. The first floor housed the 3-D artists—sculptors, ceramicists and glassblowers. Often clad in leather and utilizing sharp, hot and heavy objects, they were seen as the “jocks” of the art department. The intellectuals—the art history majors— made their home on the second floor, viewed by the studio majors as their own personal groupies. On the third floor, painters, photographers and graphic artists sulked and brooded over fine art’s loftiest ideals and then attempted to express those ideals in their chosen media. Whatever.
On autopilot, Clarissa flipped a series of light switches, illuminating her workspace, and then pulled on her leather apron, dust mask and face shield. A bronze replica of a bird skeleton lay on her table. Each casting required a little finishing work before she could weld the pieces together. There’d been some flashing during the pour—cracks in the mold that left ridges of metal along the edge of each piece. She’d already cut off the sprues and other superfluous bronze that had once been pathways for the molten metal through the plaster investment.
With a push of a button, her grinder whirred to life. The coarse grit of the wheel made short work of the delicate bits of metal. Clarissa repeated the process for each piece. Before she knew it, two hours had passed.
Damn. Time to head to class. Not that she minded the teaching responsibilities that came with being a grad student but sometimes, when she was in the zone, she resented the intrusion.
After she stripped off her gear, Clarissa picked up a hefty binder. It held lesson plans and files on each of her students. Today she had Intro to 3-D, a sculpture course for freshman would-be sculptors and non-art majors. They required little effort to impress or inspire. Still, she did her best to give each of them the personal attention they wouldn’t receive in the typical introductory class. Passionate about sculpture, she enjoyed sharing the art form with novices.
She hurried out the door and paused to lock it behind herself. When she turned around she recognized an all-too-familiar gait.
“Hey, Sione.” Clarissa looked up at his tanned, angular face.
“Kala. Howzit?”
The sound of his baritone voice gave her goose bumps, especially when he used the Polynesian version of her name—Kalalika. Kala for short.
“Rushing off to babysit?” he asked.
“C’mon, it’s been a pretty good class this semester,” she replied.
“Whatevahs. See you at the Gardens tonight?”
“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll need a beer by this evening.”
“Later, sistah.”
“See you later.” Clarissa watched Sione saunter away, his ass jiggling ever so slightly in his board shorts. A jolt of attraction shot through her, settling between her legs.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. She shook her head.
Finally she broke free of the ass-induced hypnosis and hurried off to the second floor. After wandering with her head in a fog for two minutes, she realized she’d taken the wrong stairway to get to her classroom.
* * * * *
Idyllic in many ways, the perpetual sunshine and cooling breezes of the Hawaiian Islands kept the temperature in the low to mid-eighties year-round. In the foundry, however, the warm weather made the suede insulated safety gear damn near unbearable.
Clarissa trotted down the concrete stairwell to the sculpture courtyard in time to watch Sione strip off his leather jacket and apron. His white undershirt clung to the ripples of his muscular chest and abdomen. Like that male model in a diet soda commercial, he grabbed the water hose and turned it on himself, wetting his head and neck.
Clarissa looked skyward. Why, God, why?
Rivulets of water ran down his dark skin, his hair forming loose curls around his face. He unhitched his overalls and let them fall around his waist. Working the pants over his boots, he revealed a pair of shorts underneath. Next the shirt came off, exposing part of Sione’s tattoos, which were similar to Mika’s.
Again he soaked himself with the hose. His dark nipples drew into tight buds, making it known that the water indeed had cooled him.
“Kala,” he called to her. “Come look.”
She jogged the rest of the way down the stairs, trying to ignore her throbbing pussy. After he ducked into his studio to grab a towel and a fresh t-shirt, he led her to the foundry. Lying to cool on a workbench in all its glory was a sword like those carried by samurai in feudal Japan. Though it had not yet been sharpened or polished, the elegant curve of the blade was already apparent.
“It’s gorgeous. Did you forge this yourself?”
“Shige helped some with the folds, but yeah, it’s coming along.”
“Hell yeah. It’s incredible. Hey, could you make one for Mika’s birthday? I’ll pay you, of course.”
His gaze wandered over her, but he seemed to bite back his initial response. “Nah. Since you’re family, I’ll let you have this one after my thesis exhibit.”
“Sounds like a deal. We’ll swap for it. You can have anything of mine you want.”
“Can I really?” Again with the expressive eyes.
She shuffled off in the direction of her office and called over her shoulder, “Art. I meant any of my art you want.”
Sione chuckled, clearly pleased with himself.
Why did he have to flirt like that? She knew he meant nothing by it. He flirted with everything with boobs, but still, it made her current predicament that much harder to bear. And just where this unbridled attraction to Sione had come from remained a mystery.
Yes, she’d always thought Sione was a handsome guy, but since she’d fallen for Mika, she couldn’t think of any other man. Not in that way. But for months now her attraction to Sione had been building and it was downright disgusting. She felt so ashamed.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asked herself for the second time that day.
* * * * *
The afternoon trudged by in a repetitive dance of grinding, sanding, welding, filing, polishing and patina application. The bird’s skeleton was coming together. A couple more days’ work and the piece would be ready. Then she would add it to the portfolio for her thesis.
Symbols of freedom and escape pervaded her work, although at the moment, she didn’t care about her artistic sta
tement or underlying symbolism. Her eyes ached and she had sweated through her cutoffs. A few cold beers would hit the spot before heading home.
Settling into their usual table at Manoa Gardens, she ordered drinks. Sione and a close friend, Michelle, showed up at seven on the dot.
Michelle was petite, but in comparison to Sione’s thick frame, she looked even smaller. Considered hapa―the local word for “mixed”―Michelle came from Japanese and Portuguese heritage, which made itself apparent in her straighter-than-straight black hair, almond-shaped eyes and snowy pale skin. Even in platform heels, she was a good foot shorter than Sione.
“Hey, blondie.” Michelle gave Clarissa’s ponytail a playful tug.
As soon as Sione and Michelle sat down, the three friends fell into a comfortable pattern. A couple hours flew by, spent grousing and laughing.
Sione’s bass voice and singsong speech pattern rang in Clarissa’s ears, amplified by the pitcher of beer they had worked through.
“So yeah, he’s using the oxyacetylene torch and a spark sets Andrew’s shorts to smoking. I’ve told that kid over and over to wear the protective gear, but he doesn’t listen. Maybe now that he almost scorched his nuts, he will.”
“Well, he’s not the smartest peanut in the turd,” Michelle chimed in, “but, man, he’s easy on the eyes.”
Clarissa waved a hand. “I second that emotion.”
Sione chucked her on the shoulder. “Settle down, you, before I tell my cuz you’re checking out the scenery at school.”
“He knows. He says as long as I bring it home to him, right?”
They all laughed and took sips from their mugs.
Michelle went on to complain about her studio mate, the haole from hell. “It’s like he’s trying to torture me. What’s with you white people and your OCD?”
“You’re asking the wrong haole. I’m allergic to cleaning,” Clarissa said.
“Oh my God, I moved his soldering iron so I could reach an electrical outlet and he freaked out. I’ve gotta transfer studios next semester. I can’t take it anymore.”