Up to No Good: The Siren Island Series, Book Two

by Tricia O'Malley

  The words were true, Lola could read that instantly, but they were true in a way that didn’t make sense to her – as if Irma meant them literally. She wanted to more closely examine the feeling that pressed at her, but Irma was already popping out of the truck and slinging Lola’s satchel over her shoulder.

  “I can get that,” Lola said. However, Irma was striding through an arched doorway and up a winding staircase. Lola followed, tucking her tote over her shoulder, wanting to stop and examine the beautiful paintings that lined the staircase.

  “Welcome to the Soul Voyage room,” Irma said, pushing open a heavy wooden door, her face creasing in a smile.

  “That’s a unique name,” Lola said, stopping just steps inside the room to let out a little sigh of delight. “And this is a perfect room for it. Irma, you’ve outdone yourself here.”

  “I have to give credit to my daughters on this one. Jolie and Mirra had their way with it.”

  “They can have their way with my place, the next time I own one, if this is the result.”

  A circular bed dominated the room. It was ringed in a canopy of thin, wispy, white netting and twinkle lights, creating an otherworldly effect that reminded Lola of stars peeking through a cloud. The ceiling was painted a deep navy, the walls a crisp white, and her eyes were drawn to a brilliant tapestry rug in rich golden hues, the color of a sunset. As Lola looked around the room, she realized that the girls had created a journey, from the sunset to the dark night on the ceiling, with the twinkle lights of stars and ethereal clouds in between. Along the long wall behind the bed was a narrow photograph that showcased the perfect turquoise blue of the ocean’s edge meeting the sand.

  “It’s the world,” Lola breathed.

  “Or their interpretation of it,” Irma agreed.

  “It’s cleverly done,” Lola said, turning to scan the room, her eyes landing on the beautiful French doors, draped in white linen curtains matching the ones on the bed, the ocean a stunning backdrop. Lola imagined she could lie in bed and watch the sun set over the water. “Too often I see people try to pull off an idea in such a literal manner that it becomes trite or overdone. This is fantastic.”

  “Thank you,” Irma beamed, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning against the doorframe.

  “I’ve had a good feeling about your place ever since I discovered it online, and I was even more sold on it after Samantha had such a great experience here. But now? I can see this is going to be a wonderful stay.”

  “We’ll do our best to make it so,” Irma said. “Come down to the garden if you’d like. We’ll be having a drink for sunset. Otherwise, if you’re ready to crash out after a long day of travel, you’ll find some snacks in the fridge in your kitchenette and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Irma. Truly, I think this is going to be exactly what I need right now.”

  “One can only hope,” Irma said with an enigmatic smile as she closed the door, leaving Lola to look out at the water and dream.

  Lola had stayed in a myriad of places throughout her travels, from yurts to five-star resorts, yet she found herself uniquely charmed by the room. It hit the right notes of comfort and imagination, seeming to invite her to kick her feet up and dream of ‘what may come’ while the waves crashed outside her window.

  Digging through her leather backpack, Lola quickly changed her clothes. She wrapped a sarong around her body, knotting it in a twist around her neck to form a loose island-style dress. Humming, she took some time to put her things away, settling into the room, then heated water for a cup of tea. When her hands brushed the mermaid tarot cards in her pack, Lola pulled out the gilded box and wandered to her balcony, her tea cooling on the table next to a low-slung chair of braided rope.

  There hadn’t been much time to assess what the psychic had said to her in Italy, as – in typical Lola fashion – she’d booked flights and left the country the following day. Miriam had already been on her way to Croatia for an art exhibition. Now that the flurry of travel had passed, Lola settled into the chair, charmed to discover that she could swing in it, and opened the box of cards.

  “Hmm, these really are works of art,” Lola said, crossing her legs in the chair and using her toe to set it moving. She gently thumbed through the cards, weathered with use and age, and let the flow of energy fill her.

  Lola hadn’t always known she was different. It wasn’t until high school, when her gut instincts had proven correct about a thief in their classroom, that she had realized not everyone felt the pulses of mental energy like she did. The ability to read energy, see auras, or get a flash of insight into the future had guided her path in life; the few times she hadn’t listened to herself, instead following what others thought best for her, had ended horribly.

  Like the time she’d tried to work in accounting. Lola chuckled as she drew out another mermaid card and studied it. She’d been wildly unsuited for the job, something Sam had delicately tried to point out, yet Lola had wanted to give a normal nine-to-five job a go. She had considered it an experiment, she supposed, wanting to see what all the fuss about the dream of a corporate job, two-point-five kids, and a white picket fence was all about. It hadn’t ended well, to say the least. She had dealt with a furious boss who questioned her knowledge of spreadsheets, and weathered a bone-deep sadness from following the same routine every day – essentially staring at the four grey walls of her cubicle, the fluorescent lighting turning her skin a sallow sickly color.

  Lola had up and quit within four months, much to the relief of her coworkers and friends. She’d eventually realized that her co-workers were happy to see her go not only because of the mistakes she was making at work, but because she asked so many questions, with genuine interest, about why anyone would submit themselves to this on a daily basis when there was so much of the world to explore. It wasn’t likely they enjoyed being reminded of the dullness of their existence, and they’d eyed Lola as if she was a glittery nymph who had bounced her way into the office, having gotten lost on the way to ice dancing lessons.

  It had taken her a few years to understand that everyone’s dreams were different – for some, routine was a balm to their soul, while others, like herself, craved constant change. She’d also grown comfortable with being judged, knowing that not everyone was capable of understanding the life she chose to live, and instead contented herself with feeding her soul from her travels and her artistic pursuits. For the most part, Lola was happy.

  There was just a niggling “but” that was making Lola probe deeper. That was something she didn’t shy away from doing, as she felt it was vitally important to be in touch with her feelings, not only in order to trust her extrasensory sight, but also to create art. Unfortunately, feelings weren’t always the comfortable and fun ones like joyfulness and play, and Lola knew she’d be doing herself a disservice if she ignored the yucky emotions only to focus on the good ones. The uncomfortable bit was where growth happened, Lola reminded herself, and the psychic had told her she was at a time of great soul growth.

  “Okay, my beauties,” Lola said, shuffling the tarot cards in her hand. “What do I need to focus on while I’m here?”

  She pulled out a card of a mermaid looking in the mirror – the same one the psychic had pulled in Italy – and nodded. It was a card about self-examination, taking the time to see who she really was, and knowing herself through and through. Which often meant embracing her faults, which was not fun to do. Maybe on this trip she’d need to learn to find a way to celebrate her faults and use them to her advantage, instead of considering them weaknesses. Pulling out a notebook, she jotted a note down about perhaps doing a photo study around the island where perceived weaknesses were actually strengths.

  Idly, she pulled another card. This one showcased a man cradling a mermaid, her hair tumbling down over her shoulder, in complete submission to him. Vulnerability. It was something Miriam embraced easily, opening her heart repeatedly with enthusiasm, always willing to fall in love. Lola struggled
with being vulnerable; she preferred to rely upon herself and nobody else, and it was a trait she would definitely consider more of a fault than a strength.

  She placed the two cards next to each other, and stared out to sea.

  Chapter 6

  Lola was up early the next morning, having enjoyed a relaxing evening to herself on her balcony, sipping tea and sketching beach scenes. Her eyes had been drawn to two curvy beauties on the beach, who she could only assume were the infamous Jolie and Mirra. She’d smirked to herself, knowing how discomfiting they must have been to the tidy Samantha, and hoped to chat with the women soon. If anything, she’d beg them to let her draw or photograph them – in fact, all of the women at the Laughing Mermaid B&B were a study in edges and softness. Lola itched to shoot their portraits in stark black and white.

  Donning flowy harem pants in a mosaic red, teal, and orange print, along with a snug black tank, Lola braided her hair loosely and slung her leather satchel over her shoulder, her trusty Leica hanging around her neck. She slipped from the room and strode down the stairs, more than ready to explore the island. Her time spent sketching last night had led to vivid dreams which in turn had left her burning to do something creative this morning. The best way for her to work through this emotion was to get out and explore the island, letting it show her its secrets.

  With no direction in mind, Lola began to walk down the dirt road, smiling as an iguana skittered past her feet, and enjoying the light breeze that cooled the morning air. Pausing, she stopped to take a photo of a succulent that had grown through a hole in a craggy volcanic rock, and she enjoyed the juxtaposition of the soft green petals against the sharp edges of the rock.

  Hearing a truck rumbling along, Lola stuck out her thumb automatically. She had comfortably hitchhiked all over the world. For the most part, Lola operated on the belief that people were genuinely good. She’d yet to run into problems traveling alone, and if someone gave her a bad vibe on her internal radar, she removed herself from the situation.

  “Need a ride?”

  Lola’s head came up, like a lioness sniffing a threat in the air. But this wasn’t a threat to her body – oh no, it was to her equilibrium and her emotional well-being. She scanned Gage, who looked every inch a rugged delicious specimen of a man, and reminded herself what this trip was about – though her lusty side begged her to accept a very different kind of ride from him.

  “I wouldn’t say I need a ride, no; I’m more than content to walk. But I’ll hop in if you’re heading toward town.”

  “Do you often get in cars with strange men?” Gage asked, his tone placid as he watched her clamber into the vehicle, her camera bouncing off her chest.

  “No, just you. Most of the men are much more normal,” Lola said, unable to resist baiting him. When his grin flashed white in his tanned face, Lola considered it a win.

  “Touché,” Gage said, shifting the truck into gear. They motored on, the car and the man and the hum of sexual energy he gave off creating a nearly irresistible environment for Lola. There were just some men, and Gage was certainly one of them, who were completely confident in their masculinity, their sexuality, and their place in the world. It was like this cloak of raw power hung over him, and Lola found herself crossing her legs and trying not to fidget. She imagined Gage was like catnip for all the ladies out there. If she was honest with herself, she wouldn’t mind rolling around with him either.

  “Where are you headed today?”

  Lola tuned back in from her thoughts and glanced at Gage, his eyes hidden behind mirrored aviators, his hair pulled back in the leather strap again.

  “I have no plans. Wherever you’d like to drop me is fine. I want to wander about, get my bearings, maybe rent a scooter or a bicycle at some point. For now, I’d just like to take a look at what this beautiful island has to offer.”

  “I’ll be stopping by the marina to get my boat ready for the day. It’s not far from town, so that should be a central enough point for you to walk around,” Gage said.

  “Perfect, thank you,” Lola said, twisting her braid around her finger as she deliberately stared out the window, though she was dying to pick up her camera and take a picture of Gage. She’d title it “Sure Thing.”

  “How long –”

  “So you’re staying with Irma?”

  They both spoke at once, and Lola grinned, shifting to look at him as he drove.

  “Yes, I’m at their guesthouse. She’s lovely and the room is fantastic. I like the creative energy they’ve poured into it.”

  “They do a good business.”

  “I haven’t met everyone there yet – I stayed in my room last night to recharge my batteries and spend some time figuring out my next project.”

  “Is this a project for work then? Or are you an artist?” Gage turned off the dirt road onto a more main road. That wasn’t saying much – it was still basically one lane, but this section was covered in cracked pavement, smattered with hastily-patched potholes. A few palm trees dotted the road, and in the distance, Lola could see the brightly colored buildings of town.

  “Both. All and the same. Work, yes, if the project turns into something I want to sell, but sometimes I take joy in creating and not selling. I’m sort of a jack of all trades, I suppose,” Lola said, not wanting to give him much more. Typically, she was an open book about her life, as her enthusiasm about all things creative and beautiful in the world bubbled out of her. But for some reason, this man had her putting walls up. She wasn’t sure of her thoughts on him, his energy, and what her niggling sixth sense was saying – that he would be in her life. For that reason alone, she preferred being more reticent about the finer details of her life.

  “And? What’s the project?” Gage asked, slanting a look at her before returning his eyes to the road.

  “Me,” Lola blurted, before immediately reminding herself that she wanted to keep her walls up with him.

  “Ah, a light undertaking then,” Gage said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

  “Right? I’m sure I’ll have it all figured out by the end of the day.” Despite herself, Lola let out a bold laugh, and was intrigued when she caught Gage’s hands tightening on the wheel.

  “That’s quite a laugh you have,” Gage said, surprising Lola with his forwardness.

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “It makes me think of long lustful nights and cool island mornings,” Gage said, pulling his truck into a space by the marina. A multitude of boats were tied to their moorings, deckhands polishing hulls or carrying supplies across the long planked docks.

  Heat spiked low in Lola’s gut, and she turned to meet what she could only imagine was Gage’s assessing look behind his mirrored glasses.

  “Something I’m sure you have a lot of experience with,” Lola said, allowing an edge to creep into her voice as she nodded toward the gaggle of women simpering by the dock. “Your fan club, I presume?”

  “Yes.” Gage’s smile spread wide in his face, and damn if it didn’t make Lola want to smile right back. “Care to join?”

  “I’m all good,” Lola said, turning to open her car door. “I don’t like joining clubs. I tend to be a loner by nature.”

  “That can get lonely.”

  “Not if you’re doing it right,” Lola said, and then paused after she slid from the seat, fairness forcing her to not be bitchy about all the women waiting for him. Just as she didn’t particularly enjoy people judging her for her love life, it wouldn’t be fair to do so to him. “But enjoy yourself. Those lustful island nights are more fun if you have a partner.” Lola smiled toward the tittering group of women.

  “Depends on the partner,” Gage said.

  “That’s the truth of it.” Lola laughed again, and hauled her bag over her shoulder. “Thanks for the ride. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

  “Lola…”

  “Yes?” Lola turned, her stomach flipping a little.

  “Good luck on your project. Let me know if I can help.” />
  “Ahh.” Lola smiled. “This project is something I have to do on my own.”

  “The offer stands. Or I’d be happy to show you around the island, if you’d like to explore more than on foot.”

  It would be so easy to take him up on the offer, and to fall into another whirlwind casual vacation fling. But something about this man gave her the distinct feeling that he didn’t do whirlwind. She suspected he’d be slow, deliberate, and keep her as long as he liked. Which, while intriguing, was not what this trip was for.

  “Noted. I’ll find you if I change my mind,” Lola said and waved at him as she sauntered away, laughing and shaking her head a bit as the women all but squealed in delight when he left his truck.

  Nope, definitely not a man she’d need to be messing with if she wanted to get her head clear on things. Feeling smug, like she was on a diet and had chosen a salad instead of cake, Lola put an extra swing in her hips just in case he was looking.

  Some habits were hard to break.

  Chapter 7

  Gage watched Lola leave, noting the smooth movement of her rounded hips under the brightly colored flowy pants she wore. He liked the ease with which she carried herself, her hand automatically cradling the Leica camera strung on a colorful strap around her neck, her curly hair threatening to break loose from the braid she’d woven it into. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested – very interested. It wasn’t often a woman of her caliber crossed his path. And a lot of women did their best to do so.

  Gage smiled at the group of women who surrounded him, easing expertly into his carefully curated pitch and tour explanation, as comfortable in his job as he was in his own skin. He barely noticed the women flirting with him, as they all did. It wasn’t ego that made him think this; it was more the fact that he had been told he was handsome on more than one occasion, he worked in a “cool” job on a “cool” island, and women were drawn to that like bees to flowers.