Wild Nights

by Tina Wainscott

  The small transport vehicle pulled up, and a blond man wearing khaki shorts and a green shirt bearing the resort’s two dancing nymphs logo on the shirt pocket launched out of the driver’s seat. “Welcome to Decadence, mates!” His beaming grin faded, though his Aussie accent did not. “I’m afraid that our other vehicle broke down this morning. Some of you are going to have to wait until I can deliver the first load and come back. I can fit twelve, and there are fifteen of you.”

  People starting piling in, nudging Sax and Jennessy aside in their eagerness to secure a seat. The thirteenth person sat on someone else’s lap, and then there were two left. Sax and Jennessy.

  “Sorry, mates,” the guy said. “Be back in a jiff.”

  “What, exactly, is a jiff?” Sax asked, watching the van head off.

  She was wandering around, looking at the murals depicting all sorts of debauchery. Either drunk or juvenile patrons had improvised, drawing targets over nipples and rockets shooting out of penises.

  “What do you do for a living, Saxby?” she asked, her gaze on the murals as she moved down the wall.

  “I’m a financial analyst for a small investment firm.” He was given a profession that wouldn’t invite many questions. At least he hoped not.

  She nodded and said, “Oh.” As in, I have no real idea what that is, and it sounds so boring that I won’t even ask about it. But she surprised him by asking, “Do you like it?”

  “It’s a job.”

  He caught his reflection in the window, startled by the watered-down version of himself looking back. He had to keep remembering to let his shoulders droop. Years of being batted on the back and admonished to “Sit up straight!” made that difficult.

  She surprised him again when she came close and tugged at his rumpled sleeve. “I bet you have trouble relaxing. You look like you just left the office after an all-nighter.”

  “You pegged me. My boss forced me to take a few days off, said I was burning out. To be honest, I’m more comfortable with numbers and reports than I am with people.” He felt a zing of electricity at her nearness and covered it by removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

  “You have the most amazing eyes. Have you ever considered contacts? Or at least a different shape of lens frame?”

  He couldn’t tell her that he was wearing contacts already. Brown ones. He stood so close that he could lean forward an inch and capture her mouth with his. “Uh…no.”

  She traced her finger down his jawline. “You have great facial structure and killer cheekbones.”

  Open your mouth and respond in some credible way. It’s not like you haven’t been complimented before. And it wasn’t even the first time he couldn’t act on a compliment. He’d passed on many an advance by a married woman.

  “Thank you,” he said, because the spark in her eyes totally stripped away his senses.

  “It might do you some good to let loose and get your wild on, too.” She leaned forward and touched her mouth to his, then moved back a hair. “Yes, you are definitely too uptight.” This time she kissed him fully, her arms going around his shoulders and her body leaning into his.

  His arms automatically circled her waist and pulled her closer. She tasted of rum and fruit and sun-filled days. His hands splayed across her lower back, itching to squeeze her ass. When her stomach surrounded his now rigid cock, he was glad she wasn’t an athletic woman with hard abs. No, she was perfect, toned but curvy. She let out a sigh as his tongue swept across hers, exploring all of her. Her fingers slid up into his hair, brushing the back of his ear.

  Oh, he wanted her. Wanted to show her just how worthy she was of loyalty, of adoration, of—screech! The sound of his thoughts coming to an abrupt halt again. He finished the kiss and forced himself to step back. Dayum, his glasses were actually steamed up.

  Her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

  “No, I’m sorry.” He rubbed his hand across his mouth. “Believe me, I’m very sorry. I can’t…” let myself fall in lust with your luscious self because…what was the reason again? Oh, yeah, he was on assignment. And he had a line in the unlikely event that someone actually approached him. “I have a girlfriend.”

  She blinked. “Oh. You didn’t mention her.”

  “Callie was supposed to come with me, but she was called away on a last-minute business trip. She told me to go alone, said it would be a test of my loyalty. And you are that, for sure, but I have to back off. I hope you’ll understand.”

  “Yes, of course.” Jennessy wrapped her arms around herself and turned toward the murals. “I, of all people, wouldn’t want to be the other woman.”

  Sax couldn’t help but touch her arm. “I am sorry—”

  “It’s okay.” She searched the road where the bus would return. “I’m glad you didn’t…” She merely gestured between them.

  Sax nodded, feeling lower than low. She was embarrassed and no doubt felt rejected. He’d wanted to boost her esteem, not tear it down.

  “I see a vehicle coming,” she said, shading her eyes. Relief saturated her voice.

  This is for the better, he told himself. Now she would avoid him. Which would make it much easier to do his job.

  So why didn’t he feel any better?

  Chapter 3

  How humiliating. The first time Jennessy had ever done something impetuous like kiss a guy she’d just met, and he’d rejected her. What a terrible start to her wild weekend. Even the pleasant buzz—which had probably prompted the impulse in the first place—had abandoned her.

  Jennessy chose the seat in the front of the van next to the new driver and peppered him with inane questions. He chatted in a singsong voice characteristic of the Caribbean. Every time she slipped and glanced back at Saxby, he flashed her an apologetic look. It wasn’t his fault she’d nearly jumped him. As she replayed their conversation, she realized he’d never actually given her any signals that he was interested. In fact, he’d tried to read his magazine, and she’d talked his ear off. And apparently he was a nice guy, because he was remaining faithful.

  She watched him from the corner of her eye while pretending to take in the pine forest they ambled past. He sat slumped in his seat, staring out the window with a glum expression. He definitely wasn’t her type, which, of course, had been the appeal. The only appeal, right? Yes, definitely. Far different than Lane, with his overattention to his appearance, his cocky posture, and gregarious personality.

  His hair was still ruffled from when she’d run her fingers through the silky strands. Damn, he did have amazing eyes, with a shape that gave the appearance of a smile and fringed with thick lashes. But his clothing style, awful. Every time his eyes flashed in her memory, with that intriguing twinkle, she pulled up the image of his boring shirt and shapeless khakis. Every time she remembered his smile, she recalled the embarrassment of his rejection.

  She focused on another subject, though not much better—the glimpse of her crazy curls she could see in the side mirror. Even in September, it was warm and humid, which sent her curls into a frizz frenzy. She dreaded seeing her whole reflection.

  The forest, interspersed with palm trees, started to thin out, revealing buildings and tennis courts in the distance. Her chest tightened. They were almost at the resort.

  They passed through an elegant entrance of coral columns and bright foliage. The driver flashed her and Saxby a white smile as he pulled up to a large portico, then hopped out of his seat. “Welcome to Decadence! Let the fun begin!”

  Yippee. She sprang up, eager to grab her bag and scoot inside. Saxby was right behind her, and she wondered if he’d take her bag again. He was polite, and his slight Southern accent made her think he’d come from the same town his friend with the cheating genetics lived. Then she remembered how she’d stayed near him as they filed into the luggage claim area. He hadn’t engaged her in conversation, hadn’t given her any indication that he’d wanted her company. God, she must have come off like a puppy.

 
She stepped away from Saxby and focused on the people wandering around the entrance, drinks in hand, very little clothing on their bodies. None were naked, but there certainly wasn’t much left to the imagination in many cases.

  “It’s not clothing optional here,” the driver said, obviously seeing her looking at the guests. “You are on the Wild side, miss?” He popped open the luggage compartment and set the pieces on a cart that a bellhop had wheeled out.

  “No, Mild.”

  He grinned, his laugh deep. “I bet you get wild before long.”

  She gave him a hollow smile as she followed the cart the bellhop was taking inside. Behind her, Sax thanked the driver and tried to tip him. Obviously he hadn’t read the brochure that said it was forbidden to tip since everything was included.

  Forget him. Check in and start on those rum punches again.

  The lobby was wide open, with Mexican tile floors and dark wood counters where clerks greeted her if they weren’t busy with guests. A hand on her arm startled her, and she turned to find Saxby beside her.

  “Please, don’t be embarrassed. I was flattered, really.”

  A clerk called out, “Next.”

  Jennessy nodded in a thanks-for-trying-to-save-my-ego way and stepped up to the available station. Nearby, Saxby announced his name to another clerk. Jennessy focused on her own transaction.

  “You’re in room 112 on the Wild side,” the woman said, handing her a small booklet. “This expands to a map of the whole facility.”

  “I was supposed to be changed to the Mild side.”

  The woman frowned, then checked her computer. “Sorry, I don’t see any changes in your reservation. Oh, maybe that’s because we don’t have any available rooms on the Mild side until Monday.”

  Jennessy could feel Saxby’s attention on their conversation. She took a deep breath, steeling herself not to look over at him. “Don’t worry about it.” She wasn’t going to freak out. “I don’t have to walk around naked all the time, do I?”

  The clerk chuckled as her fingers flew across the keys. “No. There are certain areas that are nude only, though, such as Commando Beach, and the Tango Pool and Play area.” She bobbed her eyebrows. “Naked volleyball is very popular. There’s almost always a game going on.”

  Jennessy didn’t want to imagine naked people playing volleyball. Or, specifically, the body parts that would be flopping about during the game.

  The clerk opened the booklet and pointed out the two areas on the map. “Here, it’s clothing optional, and over here in the Mild section, string bikinis are as racy as they get. Go where you’re comfortable.”

  Jennessy took a quick breath. “Actually, I need to go where I’m not comfortable.”

  “Now you have the idea,” the clerk said with a grin. “Winston will take you and your luggage to your room.”

  Jennessy dared to look over at Saxby, who was facing her direction. “Have fun,” she said and followed the bellhop.

  “Be careful,” he warned. Why was he concerned about her? Because he was a nice guy.

  She’d been in her comfort zone most of her life, other than going to college. Even then, she had chosen the college where her parents had met, not far from Pekin, Illinois, where she’d grown up. Now, armed with her bachelor of science in forensics, she was slated to take a position in her father’s former police station when George Peterson finally retired, something he’d been putting off for the last two months.

  Winston pointed out the various areas as he led her around the main pool, past the restaurants, and down a winding pathway. A sign warned: WILDLIFE AREA AHEAD! RAMPANT NUDITY ABOUNDS. And in smaller print: NO CAMERAS OR PICTURE-TAKING ALLOWED!

  “This must be your first time here,” Winston said, making her realize she’d paused.

  “Yep.” She pushed on.

  As they walked through an arch wound with vines and bright papery flowers and into a large pool area, her pace nearly ground to a halt. Naked people. More naked people than she’d ever seen, naked people sleeping on lounge chairs, chatting at tables, swimming, and diving off boards as though it was the most normal thing. A lot of naked people. It made her giddy and embarrassed, like she’d fallen into a porn film.

  A group of three men passed, raising their drinks in salute to her. There were murmurs she didn’t care to interpret. No way was she wandering around naked. No friggin’ way.

  “You here by yourself?” Winston asked.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Can I make a suggestion, Miss Shaw?” He lowered his voice. “You see a lot of men here, yes?”

  She started to sweep the area but pulled back. “Yes, quite a few.” Quite a lot of quite a few. They weren’t the young, beautiful men and women featured on the website. These were real people, and most of them were in their thirties, forties, and beyond. It was nice, actually. All body types, all comfortable enough to show them off.

  “You spend your few precious days meeting a lot of, shall we say, inappropriate men. Wasting time.”

  She hefted her purse over her shoulder. “Story of my life, Winston.”

  “I suggest you sign up at Connections, our matchmaking service, over by the lobby. You fill out a form, and the computer matches you with compatible men at their mixers. Very informal, no pressure. You don’t waste a lot of time talking to men who aren’t your type.”

  They followed the path that ran near the beach, filled with a lot more naked people.

  “The problem is I don’t know what my type is.” Saxby jumped to mind—clearly as an example of not-her-type. Definitely not anyone like Lane.

  “Then you meet a variety and find out. It’s not for marriage, mind you, but to help you find someone to enjoy your time with. They guarantee three introductions in their chickee hut bar and grill, plus they have private events for mingling. Not so many people, you know? More intimate.”

  “Yeah, that sounds good. What’s a chickee hut?”

  He pointed to a bar near the pool that was basically a roof made of palm fronds held up by thick poles. “Lets the breeze flow through.” He led her to a door near the end of a two-story building, opened it, and hauled her luggage and bag inside. After showing her where everything was, his eyes flared with mischief. “Have a Wild time.”

  Alone in her room, she cringed at her reflection in the mirror. “Well, my hair’s having a wild time.”

  She quickly unpacked, undressed, and had a brief panic attack at the thought of simply walking out the door naked. No way was she ready to get that wild. She donned her new bathing suit, braided her hair, and sorted out a beach bag.

  The moment she walked into the main pool area, a guy hollered, “Hey there, sweetheart, wanna come over to the nekkid side with us?”

  It took her a second to realize a sloshed man who looked about eight months pregnant, along with his two flabby friends who couldn’t contain their laughter, was talking to her.

  “No, thanks, but you go on.” She waved them on, wandering to an empty lounge chair.

  Over the next couple of hours, she people watched and fended off advances by men who held not an ounce of appeal for her. Too skinny, too short, too close to Lane. There was only one she found attractive so far, blond and buff and so overly confident he’d told her to come into the water with him rather than asking. Jerk.

  Winston was right. If she wanted to connect with someone, she needed help. As she packed up her bag and headed to the Connections office, she spotted Saxby sitting at one of the chickee bars. He still wore the rumpled business shirt, but he’d changed into long khaki shorts that just looked odd with his black loafers. His attention was on the television, not the array of people partying at the bar around him. He definitely wasn’t trying to pick up women.

  With a sigh, she wandered to the Connections office, feeling somewhat comforted at seeing others waiting to sign up. She paid the fee and filled out the questionnaire on the tablet they handed her.

  In describing the type of guy she was attracted to, she chose the co
mplete opposite of Lane. Not obsessed with sports, smart, compassionate, athletic but not a gym rat. She finished and approached the counter.

  “We’re having a mixer tonight,” the man, whose tag read Reed, said as he gave her a schedule and a printed name tag. He was in his forties and needed a haircut. “Just behind this office is our private lounge. We’ll set up some introductions with the men whose profiles match yours. We have several cozy areas so you won’t feel on display.” He flashed a smile so quick that it didn’t begin to reach his narrow eyes. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  Maybe she’d find someone fun tonight. Someone to make her forget a man whose smile still haunted her. Damn, one brief conversation, one briefer kiss, and the man was imprinted in her brain.

  For dinner, she changed into a deep red dress that draped over her curves, re-braided her hair, and headed to the Caribbean-style restaurant. At the bar, she watched all the people who’d either come together or met up since, groups and couples having a good time. She had considered inviting a female friend to come with her, but she’d been too humiliated to go into the whole I-caught-my-perfect-boyfriend-cheating story, and too embarrassed to tell anyone at her Catholic college where she was going.

  Jennessy took a sip of her punch. The jerk chicken was juicy and spicy, the red beans and rice fantastic. She made sure to eat plenty, instead of making the mistake she’d made earlier. The rum punches had been meant to bolster her confidence, but they’d hit her harder for lack of food.

  Now, fortified with a full stomach and only half a drink, she wandered over to the Connections Club. A thin man with a rich, dark complexion greeted her from the host stand outside the entrance. “Helloo!” He zeroed in on her nametag. “Welcome, Miss Jennessy! I’m Willie Fox, the Connections activities director.” His Jamaican accent saturated his words. “Are you ready to make a love connection?”

  She tried not to roll her eyes. Could she feel any more desperate? “I guess.”

  “Ah, don’t be nervous. We make it oh-so-easy.” What Reed lacked in the smile department, Willie had too much of.