Seashells & Mistletoe (Hawaiian Holiday Book 2)

by Rachelle Ayala

  “You’ve got hardly anything to grab,” he complains and shifts in his seat—no doubt to relieve his uncomfortable and very blue balls.

  I resist a retort, since we’re getting along so swellingly—as in literally swelling in all the sexual parts of our bodies.

  But then, I’m due for a long, hot shower once we get back on board the S.S. Bird of Paradise, and I’m not quitting until the handheld showerhead gives me my jollies. Either that, or I have to remove the sound effects on my pleasure pistol.

  I tamp down my self-love fantasies and flick my finger over the touch screen. “Now that we’re here, let’s Skype Jade and Aiden. Don’t forget to make her believe we’re having a better time than they are.”

  He cheeses a smile which looks painful and goes back to dipping his crunchy chicken nuggets into a mayonnaise-based sauce. If he’s at all worried about Jade outing him for supposedly paying him, he doesn’t show it.

  Then again, it’s not like Jade would admit it to me, either. Some bestie she turned out to be.

  Her image pops onto the screen, and holy moly, she’s sitting in bed with Aiden, the hunky Navy SEAL she went on a blind date vacation with.

  “Merry Christmas!” Jade and Aiden raise champagne glasses to toast us.

  I quickly swallow a club of spicy raw tuna and raise my giant cup of red and green, or Li Hing Mui and Melona, shaved ice. “Before I wish you Merry Christmas, what’s the big idea ditching me on this cruise?”

  “Would you rather be on a Christmas cruise with your best girlfriend or with the man of your dreams?” Jade giggles and sips the champagne, then kisses Aiden.

  I gulp down a big chunk of shaved ice, and my palate goes numb. The blob of cold hits the back of my throat and sends a blast of chilly pain up my sinus cavities, through my temples, and shooting behind my eyes.

  “Yeoch!” I clamp my mouth shut and pinch the ache between my eyebrows. “I just caught brain freeze.”

  Beside me, Jordan laughs. “Hey, cousin, we’re having a ball here. Thanks for picking up all the charges.”

  I blink with disbelief.

  Is Jordan admitting that Jade paid him to make me happy? Does he not care at all? Or is he paying me back for pretending to mouth his dick through his jeans?

  I slam a fist to the table, shocking both Jade and Aiden from their kissy faces. “Did you pay for Jordan to make me happy?”

  “Is he making you happy?” Jade always does this. Answer a question with a question.

  I can play the same game, too. “Did you expect him to make me happy or to annoy me?”

  “Are you annoyed on top and happy on the bottom?” she asks while caressing Aiden’s bare chest. “Or is it the reverse?”

  She pushes him into a prone position and laps up on top of him. Thankfully, they are clothed—in lingerie and towels.

  But still, I did not need to see them in bed with rumpled satin sheets, empty take-out containers, and other signs that they’ve been playing musical chairs with every horizontal and vertical surface at her father’s Tower of Reeds luxury hotel.

  “We’re having the time of our lives,” Jordan says, looping his arm around my shoulders and reminding me I’m supposed to pretend I’m over Stephen and my busted wedding.

  “Oh, yes, we are!” I suddenly chirp. “Have you ever had sex inside a lava tube?”

  Jordan makes a choked sound while both Aiden and Jade’s narrow eyes widen.

  “Have you ever gone pearl diving with a Navy SEAL?” Jade resorts to one-upping me.

  “Have you ever been bundled inside the cape of a Nordic god and his mistletoe spear?”

  “Have you ever …”

  Aiden cuts Jade off by planting his lips over her rosebud mouth and at the same time, Jordan says, “Merry Christmas” and ends the call.

  I sit for a moment to catch my breath before noticing the other denizens of the Internet, poke, and shaved ice café are staring at us. One or two of them have their cell phones pointed our direction.

  “There you two are,” one of the fortieth-reunion folk shouts at us as she struts toward us, flouncing her red and black handkerchief skirt. It’s Joy, the perpetual cheerleader with the eternally happy face.

  Her friend, Sheri, a tall, elegant and svelte woman who is all linear lines, glides like a fashion model down a catwalk with one hand on her hip. “The newlyweds have landed.”

  “You seriously did it in the lava tube?” Joy asks. “Weren’t you afraid of pissing off the gods?”

  “I wouldn’t have brought a handsome guy like that into Pele’s territory,” Sheri adds. “You do know who Pele is, don’t you?”

  Of course, everyone knows Pele is the Hawaiian goddess of fire and volcanos. They announced it this morning when we were disembarking and warned us not to take any of her lava rocks home—else we’d be cursed.

  “You know all those volcanic eruptions going on?” Joy adds, wagging her finger. “It’s Pele staking her claim.”

  “All handsome and hot young men belong to her,” Sheri intones in the voice of a fortune teller.

  “You’re lucky she didn’t send rivers of lava through the tubes and trap that hunky husband of yours for herself,” Joy says, clamping a hand on Jordan’s shoulder.

  Sheri, meanwhile, wiggles her slender body in front of Jordan, doing hand motions like an Egyptian goddess. “Yum, yum, yum. Let me be your Pele tonight.”

  “No, no, no!” Joy chants with a tone of warning. “How dare you desecrate Pele’s holy lava tubes with your dirty thoughts? She, only, deserves the life force and essence of all the handsome young men to approach her dominion. Beware her anger. Lava flows and the earth quakes. She will explode in fire and fury, shooting streams of molten fire and lava rocks into the sky. She will seethe and boil, huffing plumes of noxious gasses, geysers of flaming rock, searing mists of fumes, of acid, ground glass, and steam, and prickly spikes and shards called Pele’s hair to pierce your feet and cloud your lungs.”

  “You must offer her the very best of men, the youngest, most virile of all,” Sheri adds, still waving her arms like a cross between the Supremes and a snake charmer. “You must defer to her majesty, cater to her urges, bow yourself to her desires, and give her your Lava Man as an offering.”

  “You say the best and most virile?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow at Joy and Sheri. “In that case, Jordan’s safe. I’m sure Pele has a huge appetite.”

  The two half-century ingenues giggle and roll their eyes at my miserable man with the blue devil balls.

  Jordan takes an exaggerated look at his watch and yelps, “We’d better get back to the ship before it leaves port.”

  We walk by a man wearing a hoodie with a video camera pointed at us. Why are people so nosy these days? Cell phone cameras have turned ordinary papas into paparazzi.

  Now, the whole world is going to think I had lava tube sex. But then again, maybe it’s not such a bad thing. I might be in a viral video.

  I mention it to Jordan, and he sniffs dismissively. “Only newbs get excited about stupid stuff like viral videos. Who the eff cares?”

  I feel like kicking myself. How is it one Jordan Reed can make me feel so inferior?

  “Don’t you hate it that people can invade our privacy by taping our private conversations?” I retort to regain some of my lost sophistication.

  He takes my hand and stares into my eyes. “You care too much what others think. No more internet cafés for the rest of the cruise. Stick with me, and you’ll be a changed woman when we disembark.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, I promise, among other things.”

  “What comes next?” I ask, reminding him of his other promise.

  “We come next.” He says it so seriously, there’s no room to turn it into sexual innuendo.

  But I’ll try anyway.

  “We might, but not together.”

  Chapter 12

  After Jordan and I escaped Joy and Sheri’s dire predictions about the entire big island of Hawaii blowing
up with lava bombs smashing into our cabin, Jordan asked me to dinner, as in an official date.

  It’s unbelievable if you think about it. I diss him and he asks me out? He must be getting paid, but hey, a candlelight dinner at the Italian bistro on board the cruise ship is as good as it gets for Christmas dinner.

  Jordan sits across from me, wineglass in hand, hair slicked back, with a glint in his eye. “A toast to my Christmas partner. We had a memorable day, didn’t we?”

  I knock wineglasses with him and agree, “Thanks for spending Christmas with me. I’m usually with family, but spending it with a stranger was worth it this year.”

  He swirls the wine and sniffs the bouquet before taking a taste. “Strangers may very well be family you don’t have yet.”

  “We’re neither stranger nor family.” I sip my wine and try to look like I’m not affected by his hint that I could possibly be included in his future family. “Two ships passing in the night, together in this mere blink of time. Have you ever wondered how many people are out there who you’ll never get to know?”

  “Not really. Do you believe in fate?”

  I can’t help staring into his mesmerizing eyes and wondering what tricks he’s pulling on me now. Is he trying to get me to fall for him merely to prove he can?

  I lob a question back at him. “Do you believe everything happens for a reason?”

  He sets the wineglass down and leans toward me. “Finding reasons is our puny way of trying to gain control, to make sense of things that happen, to explain away chance. Every meeting is chance, random atoms bouncing every which way, and here we are, having Christmas dinner together. That’s fate for you.”

  I’m not sure what he’s getting at, and somehow Jordan being serious makes me more nervous than when he’s jesting or teasing. Is he saying we’re fated to be together?

  At least for tonight?

  The waiter places our dinner salads in front of us, giving me a break from Jordan’s line of interrogation.

  “Guess I’m fated for a wonderful meal with a scintillating dinner companion.” I give him a teasing smile. “Bon appétit.”

  “Likewise.” He winks and breaks bread. I can’t help but notice how sensuous his mouth is with every bite he takes and how carefully and thoroughly he chews his food.

  No slurping or wolfing or gobbling.

  Dang. I didn’t realize how sophisticated and suave Jordan Reed had grown up to be.

  Goosebumps prickle my bare shoulders, and I feel like a bug under a microscope. My palms sweat, and I’m worried that I might have a sheen of sweat over my nose. My heart is fluttering on overdrive, too.

  I could be hyperventilating.

  This my official first date with Jordan Reed.

  We’re tucked in the corner of the bistro in an intimate booth.

  With candlelight.

  On Christmas night.

  And I have butterflies dancing in my belly.

  Two nights ago, Jordan offered me two alternatives when I asked him where I would go from here.

  Predictability. Order. Believing I’m in control of my own life.

  Or total chaos. Surprises.

  And him.

  “This was impeccable,” Jordan says, wiping his lips with a napkin as he finishes his flat iron steak. “How was your duck breast?”

  “Tender, juicy, moist,” I mumble and then feel my cheeks burn. It’s not like I’m describing any of my body parts. “It’s a duck’s breast, you know.”

  “Yes, that’s what I asked.” He smirks, and his penetrating gaze strips me naked.

  Admit it. I do want to have sex with him. It would be the ultimate Christmas gift, and a big F U to Stephen.

  I’m not tough and callous enough to come out unscathed. My face broils hot, and I take a quick swallow of wine to gather my composure.

  “Jordan, may I ask you a question?”

  “You’ve never been shy before. What gives?”

  I feel as if high wattage spotlights are shining over me, and I can’t understand where all the jitters are coming from.

  For goodness sake, this is Jordan Reed, the brat from Miss Vidovich’s class.

  I gin up my courage and ask, “Where did you go and what did you do after you left third grade?”

  He grins cheekily at me. “Do you have all night?”

  I nod eagerly. I do have all night, and I want to keep him talking so I don’t melt down and make out with him at the table or find myself underneath him on my bunk.

  “I grew up and got wiser,” he says. “Bounced around foster homes, then hitchhiked across the country. Washed dishes, was a roadie for a country-western singer, worked on ranches, dairy farms, fixed motorcycles, baked pies, washed windows, whatever I could do to keep moving and not stay in one place.”

  “What about family?”

  “Always getting kicked out,” Jordan says. “I cut school, got into trouble, or said things no one wanted to hear.”

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “I live off rich women.” He spears a piece of asparagus from his plate and sucks it into his mouth.

  I gulp and avert my gaze. Is it possible Jordan is a gigolo? Since I’m not wealthy, someone must have paid him.

  “You say Jade didn’t pay you. Who did?” I point my fork at him. “And don’t deny it. I heard you arguing with someone about payment.”

  His glare goes stony, and he sets his silverware down on the plate. “Since you were eavesdropping, at least get it straight. I asked not to be paid. As to who I was speaking to, it’s really not your business. I’m on holiday right now.”

  “Hmmm.” I’m unsure of a suitable comeback. What do I want out of this cruise? If it’s revenge for being dumped, then what does it matter if my companion is paid or not? As long as Stephen thinks I’m having fun. “Okay, fair enough. You’re determined to hang around and pretend you’re my husband. Give me a good time. What’s not to like?”

  “Exactly.” He reaches across the table and traps my hand. “As long as we’re on this cruise, I’ll offer you whatever your heart desires. Look into my eyes and tell me what you really, truly want.”

  Can I trust him? Let my guard down? Do I even know what I want?

  “I’m not sure.” I’m enjoying the sensation of holding hands and gazing into Jordan’s deep, chocolate-brown eyes. Then again, he’s a trickster. He could be trying to trap me.

  For what purpose?

  “You’re right now in the middle of an ocean amongst strangers, as you say. Let it go. What do you want?”

  “Meaning.” The word pops into my mind, surprising me.

  “Meaning?” He quirks an eyebrow. “Do you not believe you mean anything?”

  “I want to matter. Do things that matter. Be someone who matters. I want to be noticed or missed. To be important.” Words break through like a rush of water through floodgates. “I want to be the world to at least one other person. Not as an ornament or accessory, but a real woman.”

  “The center of a man’s heart.” His earnest gaze shows we’re on the same wavelength.

  “Yes.” I can feel tears glisten at the corners of my eyes. “Is that so hard of a thing to ask for?”

  “Only if you keep selling yourself short,” he says. “You must have known Stephen only cared about himself, no?”

  “I knew, but he was a great actor. When we were out in public, he treated me like a princess. I know it was all for show, future politician and all that, but I felt special.”

  “Until you jumped out of that cake at his bachelor’s party,” Jordan murmured, having been briefed by my bestie who no doubt hired him.

  I blink and press my lips tight for a moment. “It was the only out of the ordinary thing I ever did and it didn’t fit his script, so he exorcised me from his life.”

  “You sold yourself way too short. Stick with me.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it softly, then nuzzles my palm against his jaw. “I’ll show you what it’s like to be worshipped.”


  “You make promises you cannot keep.” I slip my hand from his and slide it under my thigh.

  He picks up his wineglass, moving it in a toasting motion. “Let go of your doubts. If after this cruise you don’t like being worshipped, you can always go back to your mundane existence, not mattering to anyone, not meaning anything.”

  “But …” I swallow over my dry throat. “You’re just doing this to prove a point.”

  “Does it matter?” He swirls the wine around the bottom of the glass. “You’ll be a different person. What do you have to lose?”

  Only my heart.

  But I don’t tell him that. He doesn’t mean to give me his. He’s a professional pleaser of women. A guy who lives off their largesse.

  I’m not rich, but I have a wealthy friend.

  Once the payments dry up, he’ll be gone.

  Yet. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

  I tap my wineglass to his and say, “I’ll be glad to be worshipped by you.”

  “You won’t regret it, my goddess. Your wish is my command.”

  I’m still nervous after dinner, but I remind myself that I’m the one who’s calling the shots.

  The night sky is starry, and the ocean is glassy smooth. The cruise ship is on the way around the Big Island, past Maui to dock in Honolulu the next morning.

  Jordan wraps his arms around me as we wander underneath the many sprigs of mistletoe and other Christmas decorations.

  Now that I’m in control, I have to decide whether to give in to my lust and sleep with him or put a stop to our physical desires.

  So much responsibility being the one in charge.

  He kisses me behind my ear and whispers, “Shall we retire to our cabin and exchange gifts?”

  “You knew I got you a gift?” I murmur, barely moving my mouth toward his.

  “You forget. I have eyes and ears, too.”

  “And a hot mouth, tongue, and everything else.” I barely catch his cocky grin before letting my lips slide over his. I kiss him, smiling to myself and then take the lead back to our room.