Seashells & Mistletoe (Hawaiian Holiday Book 2)

by Rachelle Ayala

  “If Jordan would rather hang out with someone else, I’ll let him off the hook. My happiness is my responsibility, not his, and I’m sure Jade wouldn’t hold it against him. It was very sweet of him to care so much about making me happy, but I have an entire ship of people to make friends with. Tomorrow’s Christmas Day, and I’m sure I can do everything on my own.”

  “We’ll be glad to hang out with you,” Sylvester says. “What activities do you have planned for today?”

  I tell him about the wave machine, and he mentions a cakewalk and gift exchange he and Alice have on their agenda.

  We agree to meet at the wave machine after I go to the onboard mall to buy gifts for the exchange. I purchase a bottle of perfume for Alice and a golf jacket for Sylvester. I can’t leave Sven out, in case he’s part of our group, but he’s the type who has everything. I buy him a box of thick Cuban cigars, figuring as a future politician, he could make use of them.

  As for Jordan, I owe him an apology. I’ve been too selfish and demanding. Everything was about me, me, me, and how hurt I was. Meanwhile, he, too, was rejected by his family, and I never once asked him how he felt about it.

  It can’t be fun for a healthy, active, young man to be confined on a cruise ship with a jilted, has-been bride.

  I browse and browse the boutiques and jewelry stores, but I can’t find that special item I want him to remember me by.

  I’m on my last store when I hear Jordan’s voice coming from behind the door of a fitting room.

  “You have to let me off the hook,” he says to someone.

  After a few moments, he continues, “I don’t care if you don’t pay me. I can’t do this anymore.”

  It’s obviously a one-sided conversation, which means he’s incurring huge international roaming costs to call someone while we’re at sea.

  I should walk away, but my feet remain glued to the spot as I flip through men’s belts and ties, look through wallets, tie clips, and belt buckles.

  “No, she hasn’t met anyone,” Jordan replies to a question I can’t hear.

  Grrr. This pisses me off. He’s giving Jade an update on me because he wants to weasel out of the deal.

  “May I help you with anything?” a solicitous salesperson asks.

  I shake my head, not wanting my voice to give me away from eavesdropping.

  “Okay, do let me know,” the salesperson says. “Say, aren’t you the woman who danced all night with the Loki character?”

  I wave my hand harder and shake my head, then zip my lips, signaling her to shut up.

  “I get it.” The salesperson glances at my blank ring finger. “Discretion is key.”

  I nod like a bobbing seal, minus the clapping flippers.

  “Let me show you something,” the salesperson persists, while I keep one ear perked for Jordan’s voice.

  He’s now explaining how he has no doubt I’m going to come out smelling like a baker’s dozen of roses, and that he wants assurances that nothing he does will be held against him.

  Really? He’s that afraid of Jade?

  I shake my head, and the salesperson mistakes my disinterest in the Thor’s hammer pewter belt buckle she’s showing me.

  “How about this one?” she asks. “Twin snakes wrapped around each other like an infinity symbol. It’s the symbol of Loki, the anti-hero. He’s always up to some trickery, but I believe he means well, in his own way.”

  I put my finger to my lips and pull out my credit card, signaling I’ll take it. While she wraps it, I wander around the belt section, looking for a black leather piece which will match the buckle.

  “It’s never about the pay,” Jordan says, still arguing with Jade. “I don’t agree with your methods. She’s a free spirit. I think you need to let it go.”

  Let what go? Why doesn’t he agree with Jade wanting to cheer me up?

  I strain my ear to hear more, but Jordan’s lowered his voice. He ends the call. The latch on the changing room door clicks, and I barely have enough time to grab the package from the salesperson and skitter behind the scarf collection, before Jordan emerges.

  “How did those fit?” the salesperson asks sweetly.

  “They’re tight,” Jordan replies.

  “Would you like to try on another pair?”

  “No, but if you can help me find the perfect gift for a special woman, I’d be entirely in your debt.”

  “Let me show you our colorful scarves,” the salesperson says.

  I drop the blue, multi-colored silk scarf whose swirly patterns capture the brushstrokes and colors of Vincent Van Gogh’s famous Starry Night painting and dash out of the boutique.

  I hope he didn’t see me. How deflating to know my best friend thinks I’m so pathetic that she has to pay a man to make me happy.

  How foolish of me to throw myself at Jordan and kiss him so desperately when all he’s doing is a job he doesn’t want.

  The farther I walk, the angrier I get. By the time I arrive back at my cabin, I’m seething with fury at Jade and Jordan. I’m hurt more than when Stephen ended our engagement.

  Since Jordan hasn’t moved out, I’m going to play one last trick on him.

  I stop by the general store and buy supplies. Then, I go through his toiletries and make the necessary mixes and adjustments.

  Tears drip down my face at how stupid I was to be duped. Maybe Jordan’s entire goal was to make fun of me, from the planting of the vibrator so security would find it, to the spider on the toilet paper, to the spectacle of changing the waltz to a foxtrot and whisking me away like an evil phantom lurking beneath the opera house.

  Here I entertained fantasies of him actually wanting to offer himself to me. His words from last night ring through my mind.

  And then, there’s me. You’ll never know what comes next.

  Except he was mocking me. He knew I could never stand not knowing what came next. I, who needed the reassurance of an itinerary and a plan. A schedule handed to me of each day’s activities and a checklist with a never-ending to-do list.

  It’s the not knowing that kills me, and a man like Jordan will always keep me on the edge, hanging by the thinnest thread like a spider over a pit of snakes.

  My heart skips two beats, and a silly thought crosses my mind. Maybe hanging by a thread is more fun, and that spider enjoys teasing the pit of snakes.

  Chapter 10

  Ho, ho, ho.

  I should wish myself a Merry Christmas since I’m spending it with me, myself, and I.

  There’s no tree in my room, not even a construction paper one. No presents for me, no elf, and no sign that Jordan has been back.

  All the pranks I set for him are untouched, and that puts me in a fouler mood than having to spend Christmas alone.

  Last night, while Alice, Sylvester, Sven, and everyone were at the Christmas Eve concert, I left their gifts in front of their doors and locked myself inside of my room and treated myself to a threesome with Ben and Jerry.

  Doing an entire pint of Karamel Sutra Core all by my lonesome got me through the long, dreary night of waiting for Jordan to trip my prank alarms.

  Alas, the ping-pong balls in a net over the doorway remained in place, the toothpaste mixed with gum pain relief was untouched, and no one used the doctored hair gel.

  Even his booby-trapped Christmas present sat exactly where I left it on his pillow.

  The ship’s horn sounds, signifying we’re near port. Well, I’m not going to sit here and do nothing—not with land so close.

  The best revenge is success, and the successful go shopping. Yeah!

  While Hilo isn’t exactly Honolulu, I might as well get a head start.

  I dress in my sexiest onshore outfit, a pair of immaculate, white jeans, a flowery, skin-tight camisole, large sunglasses, an even larger, wide-brimmed hat, and a pair of elastic, sand-colored ballet flats.

  Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I whip open the door at the same time someone pushes it from the outside.

  A cascade of wh
ite ping-pong balls bounces off my head and shoulders. I raise my hand to block the balls, and my hand slaps the intruder’s nose.

  “Ow!” Of course, it’s Jordan.

  “Sorry, sorry!” I exclaim over the sound of bouncing ping-pong balls on the wooden floor. “Merry Christmas?”

  Jordan rubs his nose which thankfully isn’t bleeding and grins. “You do know ping-pong balls trumps mistletoe?”

  “Huh?” My jaw drops, but I can’t help salivating over the chiseled, bright-eyed, puckish, and darkly handsome looks shoved in my face. Jordan’s wearing a tight, black T-shirt, stretchy enough to show his muscle definition, cigarette-legged black jeans, and … hiking boots?

  “Ping-pong balls means you have to bounce on the bed for every bounce the balls make.” His eyes and eyebrows bounce up and down in sync with the remaining chattering balls.

  “You made that up,” I accuse, and then burst into laughter. This is Jordan, the class clown in action, and usually, everything is “okay” after he makes a joke or two or three. We’re not in third grade anymore, so I clam up my giggles and give him a stern look. “I was on my way out.”

  I sidestep him and try to make my way to the corridor, but he follows me and stares down at my feet. “Those shoes won’t cut it for where we’re going.”

  “We’re not going anywhere together. Jade wanted you to make me happy, but you are completely incapable of making me happy.” I huff and throw him a non-resting and very active WTF bitch face.

  “You were just laughing.” He shakes a piece of paper in front of my face. “Our itinerary requires sturdy hiking boots. I take it you brought some?”

  I sigh, long and aggrieved. “What part of alone do you not get? You left me alone two nights in a row. You played hooky all day yesterday while I endured hours of drooling over the Swedish and Singaporean men’s water polo teams and two rousing games at shuffleboard while dressed like a Christmas elf, which I won, by the way. Yippee me! And now, you’re offering to take me on an excursion?”

  “Secret lava tubes, very spooky,” Jordan intones in a deep, James Earl Jones voice.

  Seriously, I should partner with him on my romance audiobook narrations. But I toss that distracting “aside” aside. As in ass side.

  Where do I get these bloopers? I’m not such a bad joker myself, am I?

  “Come on, smile for me.” He teases because he senses me ready to bust out in giggles, again. Sure better than getting all horny at his ping-pong-ball rule with the bouncing bed, er, I mean balls, er. Stop!

  I clamp my hormones under a tight lid and say through a clenched jaw, “I heard you talking to Jade about getting paid to entertain me. You know how insulting that is?”

  His eyes just about pop from his head, dangling on slinky springs. “You couldn’t have, because Jade isn’t paying me.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I saw you in the store buying a gift.”

  “Oh …” He deflates, but before he admits guilt, he shrugs. “That was an entirely different conversation. I wasn’t speaking to Jade.”

  “Don’t believe you.”

  “Then call Jade when you get off the boat,” he says, now with his chest puffing out because he dodged a bullet, or so he thinks.

  Maybe I did jump the gun, and he was talking about something else. Fine. I’ll give him the benefit of doubt. But I’m not letting him off so easily.

  Shaking my finger at him, I pronounce, “I’ll check with Jade first thing, and if you’re lying …”

  “Cross my heart and hope not to die.” Now, his grin slides easily over his heartbreaker face. “Let’s get hiking boots on you. The ship’s about to dock and everyone on an excursion has to meet at the theater to get organized.”

  “Which excursion exactly are we going on?” I ask, because I’m not sure if Jade signed us up or this is one of Jordan’s improvisations.

  “Told you, spooky lava tubes.” Jordan so easily leads me back to my room like a sheep to the slaughter.

  I change my fashionable flats for clunky hiking boots, put on insect repellant and sunscreen, and take his hand.

  Pathetic.

  Merry Christmas to me, ho, ho, ho.

  There is absolutely no one at the entrance to the lava tubes. No fancy visitor center, no gift shop, just a sign, a bathroom building, and a small parking area.

  A flock of wild chickens squawk and flutter as we cross the road. After descending a set of steep, moss-covered stairs, Jordan and I shine our lights and slip inside one of the lava tubes. We duck under a ledge of rocks with tree roots hanging from above.

  The entrance to the cave gapes like a yawning mouth covered with moss, ferns, and slippery rocks. It’s damp and eerie, and I wonder what monsters roam the caverns below.

  “Why aren’t there any other people on this trip?” I shiver briefly, thinking about the boys from that Thai soccer team who were stuck inside a cave for weeks.

  “Who else can say they spent Christmas Day in a cave but us?”

  “Right, it’s not like I didn’t notice how you kept me from calling Jade.” I shake his cell phone which is on flashlight mode to see if he has any reception.

  “Jade will be so jealous of us.” He points the beam of his flashlight and it bounces off strangely liquid-looking formations of hardened lava.

  “I can’t see why she’d want to trade places with us.” I slap at a mosquito. “I bet she and Aiden are sipping champagne on her dad’s rooftop bar overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge.”

  “How utterly ordinary and expected,” Jordan says. “I’ll tell you what. We make it to the end of the cave, and I’ll give you your present.”

  “You got little ol’ moi a present?” I blink at him like a Southern belle.

  “If you were spying on me, you already know what it is.” He squeezes my hand, and we slither into the main lava tube.

  Sparkles of silver and flecks of gold patches are mixed in with the smooth black of the glistening lava tube, but as we walk farther in, it gets so dark, I can barely see my feet.

  I’m awed by the beauty of what I can see, but my heart is also thumping at how deathly quiet it is.

  “Guess nobody else is lurking in here,” I say just to hear my voice.

  “You never know what lurks in the dark.” Jordan loops his arms around me and presses me against a cold, hard wall.

  “Are you calling mistletoe?” I ask, a little breathlessly, because face it, being alone with this hunky Loki-look-alike is stirring up all sorts of troubling mating impulses.

  I need to get that Norse mythology out of my fantasies, I remind myself before succumbing to his kisses.

  In the dark, I could be kissing anyone—Norse god, Greek god, Chinese god, or Transylvanian demon.

  Why am I such a glutton for kissing?

  When I open my eyes, I notice it’s pitch-black. Jordan has switched off the flashlights, so I might as well grope him in the dark.

  That’s why he brought me here, right?

  At least there are no ping-pong balls bouncing off my head.

  I press myself against him and let my hands roam the hard planes of his chest, shoulders, and back. His hands brush down my sides and over my hips. Our tongues mingle and my breath grows hotter, panting as tingles and sparks mix with my throbbing pulse.

  “Are we okay now?” he asks between nips and sucks on my swollen lips.

  I nod and answer by squeezing his tight ass, and then, in one swoop, he lifts me and I wrap my legs around his waist.

  His hands brush the sides of my breasts, and I emit a hungry moan.

  “Is this your idea of a Merry Christmas?” I ask, even though it just occurred to me we could have stayed in the cabin and done all of this on a more comfortable surface.

  Then again, it’s location, location, location, and oh my goodness, who else gets to brag about spending Christmas underground wrapped around a man of steel?

  His breath is hot and heavy over me, and he’s hard all over, dry thrusting between my open legs. Too bad there
isn’t a convenient mattress among the sharp, chiseled lava rocks inside this cave.

  There’s no way for me to slake my sexual desire. No place to lie down and spread out. Nowhere I can comfortably rest my hands and knees—certainly not on rough rock.

  I groan with frustration at realizing Jordan is an effing tease, bringing me to this dark, forbidden place without a chance to complete the act.

  Fine. Then I’ll tease him too. I’m not going to describe exactly how. Even though I read hot and heavy romance audiobooks, complete with heavy breathing sound effects, in real life, I’m a PG-13 kind of girl.

  Suffice it to say, his balls are going to be real blue tonight. If I’m going to be frustrated, then he’ll be doubly so, as I pretend to unzip his zipper and kiss my way down over his tight and bursting jeans.

  Chapter 11

  Internet cafés are great.

  They’re even better with Hawaiian shaved ice and poke.

  First, let me clear something up. We’re in Hilo, and that’s pronounced hee-low, not high-low, and a poke bowl is raw fish, not my finger in your eye. The locals call it po-kay, not po-kee or poke.

  It consists of cubes of sushi-grade yellowfin tuna mixed with scallions, sesame seeds, and flakes of pink sea salt, all tossed over fragrant jasmine rice.

  Then again, I doubt anyone other than tourists suck on shaved ice while nibbling on raw ahi tuna.

  “You’re going to get parasites,” Jordan jeers from over his hot plate of crunchy katsu chicken. He picks a raw, gelatinous, dark-red cube of raw tuna from my plate and squints. “I think I see a worm in there.”

  “Will you stop commenting on my food?” I swat his chopsticks, forcing him to drop the cube. It bounces under the table and the resident shop dog, a snaggle-toothed, wiry chihuahua gobbles it down. “Now look what you did. The dog’s going to get parasites.”

  “Better than it being you.” Jordan swipes one of the computer screens and plays a video on a couple who went to Hawaii for their honeymoon only to contract rat lungworm infection. “There’s no cure.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” I say blithely as I suck in a salty, spicy cube and crunch the sweet onions it goes with. “When in Hawaii, eat Hawaiian. Besides, if I get a parasite, I might lose weight.”