What Janie Wants
By Rhenna Morgan
Kindle Edition
Copyright 2015 Rhenna Morgan
Published by Rhenna Morgan
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Content Editor – Penny Barber
Copy Editor - Mary Murray
Cover Design: © L.J. Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations
Formatting by Mayhem Cover Creations
Getting Janie and Zade’s story written was truly a whirlwind. I never would have made it through the storm without loads of direction and input from some key individuals. My heartfelt thanks to Jami Denise, T.D. Hart, Sarah Hegger, CJ Burright, Dena Garson, Christina Gwin, and L.J. Anderson for turning things around with zero complaint and answering all those pesky Facebook messages.
Also super big hugs and shout outs to the ladies who whipped my story into the best shape possible—Penny Barber and Mary Murray.
A very special thank you to my wonderful readers. If I didn’t have you, writing these stories wouldn’t be nearly as fun or rewarding.
As always, my biggest thanks goes to my family. Writing would be empty without your patience, your encouragement and your love.
To every person who’s given tirelessly to others and awakened to find they’ve lost themselves. I hope you find your colors and paint a masterpiece.
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Excerpt from Unexpected Eden
Other Titles by Rhenna Morgan
Reviews for Unexpected Eden
About the Author
Never, ever trust a bohemian minded, globe-trotting sister with travel arrangements. Life advice, maybe. But travel plans? Huh-uh.
Janie shoved her RayBans up for a better look at what had to be the Riviera Maya’s last remaining seventies throwback. Turquoise stucco walls, check. Architecture à la Frank Lloyd Wright, check. Cheesy marquee styled like the Gilligan’s Island logo—check, check, check.
Gypsy Cove.
It sounded like a place Emmy would pick. Tiny, quirky, and way, way off the beaten path. The odds of finding any cute little thatched roof huts or designer pools overlooking the ocean like she’d seen online were slim, but they probably had a whole storeroom full of little umbrellas for the drinks.
Behind her, the taxi driver sped out of the cobblestone circular drive, dousing Janie in a puff of lung-choking exhaust. Apropos of her life, lately. One fast getaway and a big old mess left behind.
She waved the smoke off and lumbered toward the unattended bell stand, her purse, overnight tote, and rolling suitcase vying for the chance to whop her off balance. The halter-top linen jumper she’d bought as a part of her suddenly single vacation wardrobe hugged her full figure a little tighter than it had the mannequin, but at least it was cool. August temps in Mexico could give hell a run for its money.
Surely they’d have a spa. Or at least a massage therapist. Wasn’t that a Caribbean requirement? Though, with the looks of this place, she’d probably get a masseur with long hair named Stoney instead of a muscled up man in a polo and golf shorts.
“Oh, there you are.” A wiry middle-aged man with dull brown, thinning hair that stuck out in all directions and a much thicker mustache, loped down the short steps, flip-flops slapping with each stride. The poor guy’s tropical shirt was as wrinkled as Janie felt. “Dahlia said you’d be here. Janie McAlister, right?”
“Yes, I’m Janie. How did you know it was me? Who’s Dahlia?”
He oomphed and hefted her overstuffed suitcase up the stairs in an awkward arch that would have thrown her back out for days. “Dahlia’s my wife. We own the place. She kicked me out of beach bingo to check you in. Also said to give you the room closest to the point ’cause you had shit to work through.”
She’d never met a Dahlia in her life, let alone made travel arrangements with one.
Emmy. Her well-intentioned but meddlesome sister knew all kinds of strange and oddly wonderful people. Janie could all too easily picture her sister on the phone plotting ways to pull her out of her post-divorce funk. Shit to work through indeed. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid you’ve got me at a bit of a loss.”
He plunked the suitcase down in front of the luau knock-off reception desk and darted to the computer on the other side. Pointy-fingering the keyboard about as fast as Janie texted on her new iPhone, he wrinkled his nose and squinted at the screen. His voice reminded her of Kramer on Seinfeld. “Most people are at a loss with my Dahlia. People with the gift are a little intimidating at first, but you learn to roll with it after a while.”
“People with the gift?”
“The gift.” He yanked a cabinet door open and a whole panel of old-fashioned keys with lacquered wood key fobs clanked against the surface. “The Sight. Premonitions. Connected to the universe.” He plucked one key off its hook and slammed the door shut. “The kind of mystical intel you don’t ignore.”
Yep, she was gonna kill Emmy.
“Now, I’ve got you in the Dreamweaver suite. It’s one of the best.” He shuffled from behind his desk and handed over the key and a folder full of resort information then pointed toward a hallway at the far side of the lobby. “Head that way ’till you run out of doors. Yours is the last one. Perfect view of the beach. We’ll keep the mini-bar in your room stocked, but better stuff is at the poolside bar. The kitchen is at the center of the complex. Meal times are posted in the info pack in your room, but there are healthy snacks available twenty-four hours a day. All organic and locally grown foods, of course. I’ll bring your suitcase as soon as I wrap up here.”
Well, that didn’t sound too bad. The style of the place might be outdated, but the lobby was clean and cozy. Plenty of sitting areas and potted palms with coral flowers nestled between them for privacy. Maybe she’d skip murdering her sister and settle for good old-fashioned torture. She offered her hand. “Thanks for getting me settled, Mr.…?”
“Oh.” He smacked himself on the forehead and shook her hand. “Silly me. I’m Arlo.”
A hippie professor. Arlo reminded her of Donald Sutherland back in his Animal House days, complete with twinkling, pale blue eyes and crooked smile. Happiness fairly rolled off him, buffeting a good chunk of her travel tension.
“It’s nice to meet you, Arlo. Your resort is lovely.” In a retro kind of way. “I’m sure it’ll be everything my sister promised.”
“We always get exactly what we need when we need it. The trick is grabbing onto it when it comes spinning around.”
Hmmm. Definitely friends of Emmy. Same advice, different location. Trouble was, it was hard to glom on to a life preserver when your world was spinning like a cyclone down the drain.
“Now, off you go.” He waved her toward the hallway. “Spend a little time getting familiar with your room and kick your feet up. You need anything at all
, just let me know and we’ll get you taken care of.”
After four and a half hours of airports, taxis, and juggling luggage, a little quiet downtime wouldn’t hurt. She could tackle Gypsy Cove and its seventies flashback with a whole new, healthy perspective later. She smiled and waggled a playful goodbye. “I think you give good advice, Arlo. Take your time with the luggage.”
Feet up. Relaxing. Air-conditioning. Maybe after a nap she’d call Emmy and get to the bottom of Arlo and the mysterious Dahlia.
She dropped her room key in her purse, flipped open the resort info packet, and strolled toward the hallway. Food and drinks available twenty-four hours a day. One pool at the center of the resort. One reserved beachfront cabana (palapa) per room, per day. Non-motorized water sports available on request. Beaches, clothing optional.
Janie froze and yanked the amenities flier free of the folder.
Beaches, clothing optional.
No way. No. Freaking. Way. Emmy had lost her damned mind.
Janie closed her eyes and sucked in a deep, calming breath. Nothing to freak out about. She’d just find another, more mainstream place to stay until she could rebook her flight home. Back to what she knew. Back to where it was safe.
See? Problem solved. Easy peasy.
And then she’d kill her sister.
She snapped the folder shut, spun around for the front desk, and slammed into a wall of hard, delicious man.
Zade fumbled the football Devin had thrown him, gripped the up close and personal redhead by both shoulders, and tried to keep them from falling.
Her tote swung out. She over-corrected, and gravity took over.
Zade tucked her up tight and spun into the fall. His shoulder slammed into the unfinished stone floors and her knee hit him square in the nuts.
“Fuck.” He rolled to his side and held on for dear life to the soft body pressed against him. Blue and white flashes fired bigger than a Dallas Fourth of July show behind his clenched eyelids. His stomach knotted and his lungs flat out stopped.
“Oh.” The woman jerked in his hold. “Oh, my God. Did I just…” She wiggled more and broke from his grip. “Oh, my God, I did. Shoot.”
Small but firm hands pressed against his shoulder, like she was trying to keep him in place. Did she think he was gonna hop up and go somewhere?
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Just take nice slow breaths.”
Too much talking. Waaay too much talking. Christ, was that Devin laughing in the background? He counted to ten and tried to pull in a breath, a wave of nausea bubbling up from his gut. He couldn’t go into fetal position. Not with an audience. Especially Devin.
Quick footsteps slapped against the tile. More voices echoed through the lobby, urgent, but quieter.
The roiling in his belly calmed a bit, replaced with a sting that radiated up from his groin.
Comforting fingers smoothed his bangs out of his eyes and stroked his forehead. “Maybe you should get him some ice?”
“No.” The grunt-gurgle combo was the best he could manage, but at least no one would get near his ’nads with an icepack.
“Wow, Dahlia said this was gonna be a funny one to watch. I think I’m gonna have to help her understand what men consider funny.”
Arlo. Thank God. “What’s Dahlia got to do with my nuts taking an unexpected trip north?”
“I’m so sorry,” the redhead said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“S’all good.” He waved toward her voice and focused on not cupping his sac. “You looked like you were in a hurry. Go. Let Arlo take care of what you needed. I’m gonna need a minute to unwind my eyeballs from the back of my head.”
“Devin,” Arlo said as he urged Zade up from the floor, “head back down to the beach and take the football with you. Was there something wrong, Ms. McAllister?”
Ms. McAllister? Kinda formal for Uncle Arlo. Zade sat up and rested his arms on his knees, giving his boys plenty of wiggle room.
“Um.” Bags shifted and papers rustled. “Why don’t you see to the young man first? I can…I’ll wait until you get a minute.”
Arlo slapped Zade on the shoulder and stood between Zade and the antsy Ms. McAllister. “A few more minutes and he’ll be all suave and swagger again.” Arlo shifted beside him, flip-flops squeaking on the hard floor. “Well, maybe not as much swagger today, but he’ll be fine. Probably best we give him a minute. So? What is it you need?”
Zade rolled his head and let out a slow breath. Mind over matter. All he needed to do was open his eyes, stand, and hobble back to his room where he could groan in private.
“I hate to inconvenience you,” she said, “but I think there’s been a mistake. I was hoping you could call me a taxi.”
Damn, Ms. McAllister had a rockin’ voice. All husky and breathless. Zade pried his eyes open and got an eyeful of his uncle’s scrawny backside.
“A mistake?” Arlo said. “What kind of mistake? The Dreamweaver suite is the best one we have. Well, aside from the Stargazer bungalow, but it’s occupied.”
“I’m sure the room is lovely. It’s just that…” Ms. McAlister shifted and held something out in front of Arlo. Long wavy auburn hair spilled down her back, lots of wild and sexy layers. The tropical outfit she had on would have come off asinine on one of the twiggy chicks down on the beach, but on her it looked sultry. “…and I’m not sure that’s appropriate for me.”
Whoa. Helluva bad time to tune out on a conversation. Zade cleared his throat. “What’s not appropriate?”
Arlo spun and faced him, giving him a full view of the woman who’d played defensive line with his nuts.
Well, hello, Ms. McAllister.
The hair and body weren’t the only thing she had working for her. Hell, her quirky, full-lipped smile alone was enough to make him push his shoulders back and muscle through the lingering burn. No way was he sitting on his ass another second. He pushed himself up and prayed his legs would keep him vertical.
“Ms. McAlister’s a little uncomfortable with our beach policy,” Arlo said.
She hugged the folder to her chest. “Not with the policy. I think it’s a wonderful option to offer your guests. I’m just afraid I won’t fit in.”
Ah, that policy. Funny. With her curves, he’d give half the money he’d earned selling his business to see her au naturale on the beach. He eased forward and fought back a wince. “Hey, Arlo. Why don’t you give me and your guest a minute to talk?”
“Shouldn’t you sit down for a bit?” she said. “I mean, my son had an accident on the football field a few seasons back and he was a little bungled up for a day or so.”
Arlo lowered his voice. “Zade, are you sure—”
“I’m good. If Ms. McAllister still wants to go after we talk, I’ll drive her over to the Paradisus.”
Arlo shuffled off, shaking his head.
“I can take a taxi.” She gestured toward his hips then snatched her hand back and covered her mouth. “You should sit. Or lie down, or something.”
“Pretty sure my manhood would bounce back a lot faster if the sexy woman who took me down a notch would unpack her bags and not high-tail it for a cookie cutter resort.”
She dropped her hand and glanced over her shoulder. Then over to Arlo at the check-in desk. Then down the empty hallway where the nicer suites waited. “Me?”
Damn. He’d seen a lot of women unaware of their impact on men, but he wouldn’t have tapped this lady as one. “There’s one Homo sapiens without a penis in this lobby and it’s been years since I had an imaginary girlfriend.”
A delicate pink crawled up her neck and she ducked her chin. “That’s sweet of you. I’m really sorry for the accident.”
Man, he loved how redheads blushed. Though he’d be able to appreciate the color a whole lot more if she relaxed enough to unwind the death grip on her purse and actually looked at him for more than two seconds. “You’re not the first forceful object who’s had a run-in with my junk. Doubt you’ll be the last. You could
make it up to me, though.”
“What?
Finally. Eye contact. And they were stellar. Hazel and bright. Big and capped with naturally curved screen goddess eyebrows. She could probably put a man in his place just by lifting one and frowning if she wanted to.
“You could unpack.” He jerked his head toward Arlo at the check in desk. “My uncle seemed pretty intent on you staying here.” Not that he’d share the whys behind Arlo wanting her to stay put. No man wanted to put his heart and soul into a business only to face make-or-break in the slow season.
She studied Arlo a second and the tension in her shoulders loosened. “He’s your family?”
“Yep. He and Aunt Dahlia are good people.”
“Do you work here too?”
“Me?” Zade jammed his hands into his swim trunk pockets and shifted to ease the ache between his legs. “Nah. I come about once a year. Usually in the winter, but needed a place to do a little regrouping. Gypsy Cove’s good for that.”
“Yes, well.” She stared at the beach in the distance. “I’m not so sure I’d be as comfortable regrouping here.”
“You mean the clothing optional thing.”
She opened her mouth, shut it, straightened up nice and tall, and started again. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
Spunk to go with the rest of the package. Definitely a perk. Hell, to his mind, attitude was the best part of a woman. With the keen attention aimed his way right now, he’d be willing to bet she had a ton of it buried beneath those polite manners.
“You know, only about a quarter of the guests actually take advantage of the policy, and even then it’s usually on a dare.” He indulged in a good long, up and down of her full figure. “And you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’d look perfect naked on the beach.”
Her jaw dropped.
“Don’t look so shocked. You’ve got a fantastic body.” He offered his hand and winked. “My name’s Zade, by the way. Zade Painel.”
“Janie McAllister.” She shook his hand, but he was pretty sure it was reflexive good manners more than purposeful intent. “You’re a direct young man.”
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