Tropical Tryst: 25 All New and Exclusive Sexy Reads

by Nicole Morgan

  She and March worked alternate days, opening up mid-afternoon and closing down when the place emptied out. She groped in her satchel for the key and let herself into the hot, dim space. The first order of business was opening the shutters and brushing sand off the bar stools. The next was cutting up lemons and limes, oranges and pineapples for the fruity cocktails the tourists preferred, but first she poured herself a tall, cold glass of water. Perched on one of the stools, Dara sipped her drink and scanned the beach.

  The group near the water looked like a bunch of college kids. Too young to include Jack, she supposed. A few were playing volleyball, while a pair of guys threw a Frisbee back and forth. College kids liked to drink, which meant they were in for a busy night. Pequeña Esquina and other rustic islands were becoming more and more popular with young travelers. There’d been some talk about building a lodge on the mountain that sat in the center of the island, but so far it was just talk. She hoped it stayed that way.

  “I don’t pay you to sit on your ass, young lady.” Quint’s sandpaper voice announced his arrival.

  “And you’re late, old man.” Dara gulped down the rest of her water and rounded the wooden bar to join her boss behind the counter.

  “I’m on island time.” One corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

  They exchanged the same lines almost every time they worked together, the old joke underscored by mutually fond feelings.

  Quint, a gruff cabbie from New York City who’d lived on the island longer than any of the other expats, took it upon himself to look out for her when she showed up five years ago. He’d helped Dara arrange for construction of her house and offered her a job. He was probably the closest thing she had to a best friend, mostly because he never asked questions.

  Six foot plus with a barrel chest and broad shoulders, Quint looked closer to sixty than eighty. His ruddy complexion, blue, blue eyes and thick shock of white hair reflected his Irish heritage, as did his penchant for whiskey and dirty limericks. He had the mouth of a sailor and the heart of a saint.

  He pulled out a scarred white acrylic cutting board and passed it to her. “I finished my homework assignment.”

  “I don’t remember giving you one,” she said, grabbing a lime from the basket on the counter.

  “The Japanese poem thingy. Isn’t that what you’re working on with the kids?”

  The clink of bottles combined with the thud of her knife on the cutting board as Quint assessed the levels in each to see what needed restocking.

  “Haiku,” she said.

  “Gesundheit.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Well, I got a haiku for you.”

  “I’m afraid to hear it except I can’t wait to see how many bad words you managed to use.” She scooped the lime wedges into a plastic container, the tangy scent of citrus tickling her nose.

  “There are no bad words in poetry,” he said archly.

  “Okay, give it to me.”

  He straightened the faded Grateful Dead t-shirt he wore beneath a tattered Hawaiian shirt and cleared his throat. “Plush plump creamy mounds / Divided by a valley / Damn I love those tits.”

  She burst out laughing, then ticked off the syllables on her fingertips. “Technically it qualifies, but don’t quit your day job.”

  “You wound my creative genius,” Quint grumbled. “I had aspirations of becoming the next poet laureate.”

  Dara paused, her knife halfway through an orange. “You never cease to amaze me. What else are you hiding behind that dirty old drunk persona?”

  “We all have secrets, m’dear.” Quint waggled his bushy brows, but didn’t elaborate.

  That was one of the things Dara appreciated most about him: unconditional acceptance. They respected each other’s boundaries and didn’t get bent out of shape when a line was accidently crossed. He’d made it clear he was good with how much, or how little, she wanted to share. She’d been tempted to confide in him a few times but then remembered what happened when she’d trusted Tony.

  They worked in companionable silence for several minutes until the prep work was finished. Quint handed Dara a wet soapy rag, and she wiped up the counter. After rinsing the rag and wringing out the extra water, she gave a quick swipe to the scuffed surface on the customer side of the bar.

  She wandered over to join Quint who leaned against a palm tree, smoking his daily cigar. He observed the college kids who’d started to gather up their things, then checked his watch.

  “Half past the hour,” he grunted.

  “No, the girls will take at least an hour.” Dara dropped to the sand, legs crossed at the ankles, and leaned back on her arms.

  “The usual?”

  She heard, rather than saw, Quint exhale a cloud of smoke.

  “Of course.”

  “Who’s ahead?”

  “I am. The last time you accurately predicted what time the first customer would arrive was more than two weeks ago.”

  “Shit. No wonder I have dishpan hands.”

  The bet was another of their traditions. Whoever lost had dish duty for the rest of the shift.

  “Don’t be a sore loser, old man.”

  “Just stating a fact, young lady.”

  Eyes closed, head tilted back so the breeze caressed her neck and shoulders, Dara remembered Cedella’s words: The moment. That’s what matters.

  Moments like this reassured Dara she’d made the right decision. It wasn’t the life she’d envisioned, but it wasn’t bad.

  “Did you hear Bastian and Francy got an offer for their guesthouse?”

  Her eyes flew open. “What? When?”

  “It was on the agenda at the council meeting last night. A six-figure offer from a property development firm based in Miami. They want to raze the Blue Moon and put up a hotel.”

  “Can they do that?”

  “With approval from the council, sure.”

  “They can’t sell.” She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her knees. “That place has been here forever. Just like the Soggy Dollar.”

  “They can and they did. Bas and Francy want to move to the mainland to be closer to their kids and grands.” Quint inhaled deeply. “The developers also submitted a proposal to buy acreage on the mountain.”

  That announcement pretty much ruined the moment. In fact, Dara wasn’t too optimistic about the rest of the day. Her Caribbean sanctuary was being commercialized. Developers meant regulations and documentation. Sooner or later she’d be caught in the paper trail. Maybe she should change her name or ask Quint if he knew where she could buy a new identity. The odds of a reporter tracking her down after all this time were slim, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

  She stared blindly out towards the horizon, dark thoughts circling like hungry buzzards.

  “Here they come,” Quint said finally. “Your winning streak is over. You got dishes.”

  CHAPTER 3

  J ack didn’t see Dara for the rest of the day, but that was intentional. Their earlier encounter rocked him, more than he wanted to admit. He’d arrived on the island with a preconceived notion of who Dara Lockwood was and he’d been way off-base. He’d been told she was brilliant, very intellectual, very book smart, but impressionable and naïve, easily manipulated. He expected that to make his job easier, a quick in and out so he could move on to the next assignment.

  The woman he’d met was complex. Contradictory. He had a knack for reading people. It was one of the things that made him good at his job. From their brief exchange, he’d revised his opinion of what kind of person she was. Personable and easily engaged, but wary in how she kept distance between them. Compassionate in that she fed a stray dog, but detached in that she hadn’t straight out adopted the mutt. He’d tuned into her sexual awareness of him, as well as the exact moment she yanked it back. Her brush-off hit him like a bucket of water pulled from the Arctic Ocean, but he was well schooled in hiding his emotions.

  She had serious trust issues. That could make it tough to get close
to her.

  He couldn’t afford to sit around and psychoanalyze his target. He had a job to do so the first order of business had been reconnaissance. After a late breakfast at the guesthouse, he’d headed out on one of their loaner bicycles to scope out the island and see what he could pick up from the locals.

  From studying a map, he knew the island covered an area of roughly three and a half miles. It claimed a population just under five hundred, with most of the residents living at the island’s southern-most tip. Pequeña Esquina was mostly jungle, except for the town, the sandy shoreline, a narrow runway and a stunning plateau that jutted out halfway up the southern slope of the mountain at its center.

  It took him two hours to circle the island along a narrow perimeter road. He passed a few other travelers, most on bikes, a few in rust-pocked golf carts and a single 1956 Ford pickup. He came across several farms that had been hacked out of the jungle, one of which had a fruit stand set up near the road where he purchased a container of fresh coconut water. Most of the island was unsettled, although it might not remain so. He’d overhead conversation at breakfast indicating the Blue Moon Beach House was being sold.

  Back at the guesthouse, he parked the bike and set off on foot to explore. This was where he hoped to pick up intel on Dara. The most current information in the file he’d been given was five years old. What had she been doing since then? One of the questions at the top of his list was who, if anyone, she was currently involved with.

  The town surprised him. Many of the two-story buildings were shabby, but he sensed it was due more to lack of resources than disinterest. Most of them were white, but here and there were splashes of the tropical palette he’d come to associate with the Caribbean. Flower boxes overflowed with brightly colored flowers and the window panes sparkled. Several had their doors and windows flung open invitingly. Music, a mix of reggae, mariachi and classic jazz, blended with the melodic patois of the islanders.

  He noted signs for a school, a church, a barrister, a medical office including a dentist and pharmacy, a seamstress, even an accountant. The busiest shops were a bakery, a general store-type place called Landerly’s Mercantile and an art gallery. A dive shop adjacent to a wooden pier that extended out over the ocean and an open-air market at the opposite end of town were also bustling. A bar on the beach called the Soggy Dollar was shuttered; a hand-painted wooden plank announced it opened at “five o’clock somewhere”.

  Pequeña Esquina—which meant “small corner,” he’d learned, because pirates had used it as a hideout and place to stash their treasure—boasted an eclectic population. A friendly market vendor told him the English-speaking islanders were Creole. When he asked about expats, the old man said about a third of the population came from somewhere else. The man’s friendly candor vanished when Jack asked about single American women on the island. He ran into the same reaction from others until he wandered into Landerly’s Mercantile.

  “Welcome,” Robert said, a broad smile creasing his tanned face as they traded introductions. “Taking in the sights?”

  “I am.” Jack looked around the store. “You offer a little bit of everything here.”

  “This is as close as you’ll get to a big box store in the Caribbean,” Robert joked.

  As he was deftly pumping the shopkeeper, Jack saw Dara exit the school building across the street. Through the window, he watched her walk out of sight. Robert noticed and gave a knowing chuckle.

  “If you’re traveling alone and looking for company, visit the Soggy Dollar later this afternoon. That’s Dara, one of the bartenders. If she’s not interested, she can introduce you around.”

  “Does she have kids?” Jack nodded toward the school.

  “No, but she should.” Robert frowned. “My wife teaches at the school and said Dara’s a natural with them. She helps out a couple days a week. They offered her a full-time position, but so far no one’s been able to convince her to take it.”

  “So she’s a resident here,” Jack said casually.

  “Oh, yeah. Moved here about five years ago. She has a place on the beach, maybe a mile or so from town.” Robert’s eyes took on an unfocused look as he thought back. “Poor kid. Ellen—that’s my missus—has tried to get close to her, but Dara’s one of those ‘still waters run deep’ sorts. She really kept to herself at first, acted all skittish and panicky anytime someone said as much as howdy. Now she’s friendly enough. Heck, the kids love her and she knows just about everyone on the island, but I always get the feeling it’s a front. Like she’s only sharing a teeny-tiny part of herself with folks and the rest is off-limits. D’ya know what I mean?”

  Jack muttered something that passed for agreement. A customer came in just then, giving him an excuse to say goodbye.

  “Maybe I’ll see you around town again before you leave,” Robert said. “And don’t forget—check out the Soggy Dollar. Things really get going about sundown.”

  Jack waved and slipped out of the store, looking both ways but not catching sight of Dara.

  No worries, he thought. Thanks to Robert, he knew exactly where to find her.

  THE SOGGY DOLLAR glowed like a nuclear testing site against the dark sky. As Jack got closer, he realized the fireball affect was the result of multiple overlapping strands of tiny lights, some white and some multicolored. The noise blaring from the bar was a cacophony of laughter, Latino pop music, and a sports broadcast.

  The place was packed, but he found an empty stool between a young man with curly blond hair who was throwing back shots with a group of friends and a brown-skinned old woman who couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds. She was laying out tarot cards from a deck clutched in her gnarled fist.

  The bartender, a tall, grizzled old guy with messy snow-white hair stopped in front of Jack and bellowed, “We got us a virgin.”

  A cheer that sounded like “Pop his cherry!” went up around him, followed by applause. Behind the large man, Dara turned, her eyes widening when she recognized Jack.

  “What was that all about?” Jack asked the bartender.

  “Aw, we do that to all the first-timers. It sort of breaks the ice and makes ’em feel like part of the gang.” He reached out a beefy hand and they shook. “Name’s Quint Madigan. I’m the proprietor of this grand establishment. What can I get you? The first one’s on the house.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Jack said.

  Quint’s chuckle sounded like gravel rumbling in a cement mixer. “It’s our way of making up for the virgin thing.”

  Jack ordered a beer and the icy bottle appeared as if by magic. He raised it in a salute to Quint who moved on to take another order.

  Unlike most bars where the patrons kept to themselves, this one seemed more like a party where everyone knew each other. On a nearby patch of sand, he recognized his hosts, Bastian and Francy Luna, who were demonstrating dance moves to several women who looked to be in their early twenties. When the young women caught on, patrons watching clapped loudly. Another mixed group—islanders and visitors—played darts, aiming at a dartboard hung on a palm tree. At a table in the corner, a poker game was in play.

  Night had tempered the day’s heat and humidity, but it was still warm. There was just the hint of a breeze, but wide-paddled ceiling fans beneath the bar’s thatched roof kept the air moving. The good mood and balmy ambiance left Jack feeling mellow and relaxed. He lowered the beer bottle to the bar and pushed it away. He was here on a job, not a vacation, and needed to keep his focus sharp.

  “Would you like me to read your cards?”

  Jack realized the old woman to his left had asked him a question. She smiled, a gap-toothed grin, and said, “I tell you what you need to know. Now. Very important.”

  “You mean tell my fortune if I cross your palm with silver?” Jack wondered if this was how she fleeced the tourists.

  Her smile faded, but she held his gaze. “No silver. No fortune-telling. You are here on a search, but you are looking for the wrong thing. I tell you
what to look for so you find the treasure.”

  Treasure hunting was one of Pequeña Esquina’s tourist draws. Over breakfast, Francy Luna told him there were several wrecks popular with divers, and, according to one island legend, a pirate named Longjohn le Duc hid a chest full of gold coins in a cave on the island but was killed in a battle with the British Navy before reclaiming it.

  The old con artist was good, Jack admitted. Not asking for payment up front was probably meant to disarm him so he wouldn’t say no but once she’d told his fortune, he’d feel obligated to pay.

  “The treasure that awaits you is not gold and gemstones,” she said, the lilt in her voice beguiling. “It is richer than that, but you will not find it if you do not know what to look for.”

  At that moment Jack looked up and locked eyes with Dara. An electric current ran through him, starting at the top of his head, coiling around his spine, turning his legs to jelly and making his flesh prickle. Dara flinched, as if she’d been hit by the same powerful jolt. She swayed and grabbed the countertop to steady herself. Her eyes darkened, fear and amazement swirling in the tawny depths.

  Disconcerted, Jack pulled his gaze away and tightened his grip on the edge of the bar. He turned toward the old woman. “Sure, okay. Go ahead.”

  She handed him the deck of cards. “Shuffle them, as much or as little as you like. When you are ready to cut the deck, clear your mind and think about the question you wish to ask.”

  Jack didn’t need to think of a question. He already had one.

  What the hell just happened?

  She instructed him to randomly select five cards and pointed out where to lay them, facedown, in an upright arc. “First is the Present Position, followed by Present Desires, the Unexpected, the Immediate Future and the Outcome.”

  From the corner of his eye, Jack saw Dara watching. The moment intensified, the noise of the crowd seeming to fade away until it was just the three of them in some kind of vortex.

  The old woman flipped the first card. “This is The Sun. It means you are happy with your life and may also hint at an upcoming trip.” Her black eyes glittered. “You do not need to agree or affirm what I say. Just listen and hear. You may not understand right now, but you will. Soon you will.”