Island Fantasies: An Island Escapes Travel Romance Read online

  You could be the one to loosen him up, a voice whispered in her mind.

  She could have laughed out loud. Right.

  Sure, the guy was cute, and maybe even a decent guy. Given the chance to scruff him up a little, she might just have a perfect ten on her hands, or at least a nine and a half. If only he’d trade the polo shirt for a scruffy T-shirt and change from those khaki slacks into a pair of surf shorts. If only he relaxed a little bit.

  She tried forcing herself back to her book, but her mind kept wandering back to him. Wondering, wishing, just a little bit.

  The guy was handsome as the devil on a Friday night. So why was he alone? Surely he ought to have a perfect woman on his arm — the kind who could model for sunscreen ads wearing a tiny bikini and a flower-print sarong. Hannah glanced down at her cutoff shorts and grease-smudged shirt. Yep. He was definitely not her type.

  It was entertaining, though, thinking about him. Her mind spun a season’s worth of soap operas around the man. Maybe he was divorced. Recently split. Disillusioned. He sure didn’t look like he was on a business trip, though he was definitely the business trip type.

  He glanced over and smiled, and Hannah hid behind the pages of her book out of sheer habit. A woman who traveled alone had to constantly ward off unwanted advances.

  What if I want his advances? part of her cried.

  Tiri kept smiling at her, tilting her head toward the man, and waggling her eyebrows. She might as well have yelled across the dining room.

  Something like, Look at the catch of the day!

  Or, Check out what’s for dessert!

  Or even, I think you two would make a cute couple.

  Right. Cute. As if Hannah made a cute anything.

  No, she’d stick to window shopping from over here. There was a great French term for that: faire du lèche-vitrines — literally, window licking. She sure wouldn’t mind doing a little of that. She’d take a little taste of him from way over here and store it away. Later, she’d feed that into her imagination and let it make him into whomever she wanted him to be. She’d wrinkle up those tidy edges, sprinkle a little sand in his hair, and voilà — she’d have her dream guy, ready to take to bed and put a little spark in an otherwise quiet night. All in her imagination, of course. It wasn’t like she actually wanted to jump the guy.

  She truly didn’t, because casual affairs were not her thing. And even if she found someone who tempted her—

  Like the guy over there?

  She ignored the naughty voice in her mind. Even if she did find someone her type — a fun, easygoing sailor-type — she couldn’t risk it. All she needed was for word to get out among the tight-knit sailing fleet and she’d be as good as branded as the girl who put out. She wanted to be taken seriously as capable crew, not as a playmate for hungry sailors. That ruled out hooking up with a sailor and vastly narrowed down the field of candidates, especially in the deserted anchorages her rides had visited. Which also meant that she hadn’t gotten any since…well, since a long time. Tonight, she’d definitely need a bit of a self-service. And the image of this guy, together with a little sugar and spice from her imagination — that would be just right.

  Come on, just talk to him! Tiri’s eyebrows telegraphed. Tell me you don’t think he’s cute.

  Hannah snuck another peek. Cute, yes. But sadly, he just wasn’t her type.

  If not him, then who? the dirty part of her mind complained.

  Hannah took the last sip of her drink and pulled out her diary. The sun had set; a chorus of insects was begging the stars to come out, come out and show themselves at last. Plenty of great things to write about, right?

  Yeah. So much fun. The voice in her head dripped sarcasm.

  She wrote the date on the page where she’d last left off, but that was about as far as she got before sighing and looking out at the inky night. Back when she was twenty, hitting the road alone was an adventure, and her diary practically sang in glee. Traveling alone at twenty-five had been a chance to find herself, and her diary was filled with self-reflection. But doing it at thirty… Something had changed. The cheerful tone of her entries felt forced, the wonder of the world dulled. Loneliness cast a long shadow over the pages, just as it had back home, but travel amplified the effect by rubbing in the obvious. She was chasing her dreams — but doing it alone. Sometimes she wondered why she even did it.

  Then she’d remember why and give herself an internal slap. Every diary entry ended the same way: Lucky me. Because she was lucky. Alive, healthy, and blissfully independent. She was doing things many people couldn’t even dream about. She was the lucky one, and she’d live life to the fullest.

  A moth tickled her ankle, and she slapped it away. She took a last swig of her drink and stood, giving herself a little pep talk. At least she wasn’t thirty and lonely back at home. She was seeing the world! Having a great time doing it! Yes, she was!

  She tucked the diary under her elbow, brought her dishes up to the kitchen counter, and bid the proprietress goodnight.

  “Bonsoir,” Tiri replied.

  “Bonsoir,” echoed the French couple, parting just long enough for two words.

  “Good night,” Dream Guy — er, Mr. Civilization — called, watching her go.

  She sighed a little into the night. Good night.

  Chapter Five

  Hannah rose at dawn and hurried through her breakfast, trying to avoid company. The French couple had been going at it all night. She could hear them from two doors down, and not even the fantasies she’d played out in her mind fulfilled her need for more. Not that she begrudged the French couple their fun, but she didn’t need to witness their rosy glow, not right now.

  She sipped hot chocolate from a bowl, French-style, and watched the colors of the reef fill in as the sun rose. At dawn, the reef was a flat silver, but as the sun inched higher, the colors deepened to richer and more vivid sea tones, until a whole kaleidoscope lay before her, the sections running together like watercolors on wet paper.

  She washed down her croissant with another sip of hot chocolate. Any minute now, Mr. Civilization would be up, and she wasn’t quite ready to see him. Not after the way her imagination had whisked him into her bed last night.

  Yes, she’d slept with him. In her imagination, that is.

  The crazy thing was, the fantasy had started with another man entirely: the cute, green-eyed carpenter of her dreams. But somewhere between the first imagined kisses and the pounding waves of the finale, he’d morphed into the man who’d rolled off the ferry and into her dreams. And God, had he been good. He’d touched her everywhere. Teased and coaxed and licked until she was whimpering under him, then crying her delight when he slid inside. He’d pulled out, then dipped in, matching the cycle of the sea upon the sand, in and out as the waves rushed up and down the beach. Her arms had dropped from his shoulders to his hips, urging him on until the biggest wave of them all lifted both of them and swept them away into a sea of ecstasy. They churned in it, clutching each other hard, biting back their cries, until the wave left them heaving on the sand, intertwined…

  She blinked at the shadows playing in the morning light. Oops. Not good, surfing away on that fantasy in broad daylight.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  Except it was good. Great, even as a fantasy. But it was a little unsettling, too. It wasn’t the first time she’d borrowed a pretty face for inspiration, but she’d never hit quite such a high before. And afterward, an emptier low. Which scared her, just a little bit.

  She drained the bowl of hot chocolate and pushed back her chair quickly. Okay, so she’d had the fantasy of all fantasies. But she didn’t need it to intrude on real life. She had to get out before the object of her dreams came in and started sipping decaf or checking his watch or worse, texting into a phone and therefore bursting the bubble of perfection she built around his image. He could be a scumbag businessman, for all she knew. As long as he was a stranger, he could be perfect.

  He could be hers.<
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  So she hurried off, snagging one of the hotel’s rusty bikes for an hour-long spin around the island. The road left the coast on the north side and climbed a hill, giving her an eagle’s-eye view of the lagoon. The reef lines were like veins in marble with thousands of azure pools in between, each a different depth and color. She took dozens of photos, even though none could capture the majesty of the real thing.

  But Maupiti wasn’t that big, and even after lingering over every view of her tropical paradise, she found herself right back where she started. At the hotel. Avoiding Mr. Nine-and-a-Half out of Ten. Thinking of all the work waiting for her on Windfall just then.

  But life wasn’t meant for waiting. Life was meant to be lived to the fullest, so she decided on a swim. She changed into her bathing suit, waded out into the water, and ended up standing there for a moment, soaking in the beauty of it all. Then she slipped her goggles into place and stroked away from the beach.

  Gorgeous. The water was like silk, the temperature just right. The clarity endless. She settled into a strong, steady crawl, her hands slicing the water like fins. She rolled her body with each stroke, stretching left then right in an endless cycle. Unrushed, like a windmill in a steady breeze. Every ten strokes or so, she’d look up, navigating toward a pole on one of the outer islets — motus, they were called — at the fringe of the reef. The lagoon was like a giant pool that held back the ocean, the water calm and never too deep to lose sight of the sandy bottom. She imagined herself to be a Tibetan monk: meditating, almost levitating. That’s what it felt like, being suspended in that warm water. She was a bird, a manta, a fish, all in turn.

  One of the most glorious, peaceful swims of her life. She never wanted it to end.

  But then a shadow loomed from her right and she stopped short with an underwater cry. A sharp fin sliced the water before her, and she popped her head up in panic. A shark?

  “Hey, are you all right?” came a voice.

  She blinked and focused on a splash of red and white before her. What the…?

  A windsurfer? Hannah went from fear to outrage. A windsurfer had cut straight across her path and was now bobbing a few yards away. He could have run her over!

  “Are you okay?” the windsurfer repeated.

  “What do you mean, am I okay?” she sputtered, craning her neck and squinting into the sun, wondering what kind of idiot nearly ran down swimmers to check if they were all right.

  She could only make out his outline at first. A tall, chiseled outline, shining around the edges like an angel. Angel of death, maybe, because if he’d hit her…

  “Well, you’re pretty far out, so I thought…”

  “You thought what?” she snapped.

  The board drifted right and she got a better look at him. Brown hair, striking amber eyes…

  That’s when she realized it was him, Mr. Civilization. So much for that fantasy. She’d known the guy would turn out to be a jerk.

  He was slowly catching on to the idea that his help wasn’t needed or welcome. “Well, you are a long way out…”

  Such a man. A man who didn’t stop to consider that it was an insult to suggest she couldn’t take care of herself. The one button a person could push to make her see red.

  Her mind immediately conjured up a whole catalog of grievances to file against the man who’d interrupted the best swim ever. He’d implied she couldn’t carry a heavy box the day before at the ferry, hadn’t he? And now he decided he was qualified to play lifeguard? Hannah appreciated a guy holding a door for her, but this was ridiculous. Did she look incapable?

  “And? I was swimming and pretty much in the zone, until you cut me off.”

  He looked around dubiously. “Aren’t you afraid of sharks?”

  “I’m more worried about getting hit by a rabid windsurfer,” she retorted. Take that. “You know, there might be some damsels in distress back in Bora Bora. Check the resorts. But I don’t need any help here.”

  Her face was heating up, and if she looked at his pained expression a second longer, she just might feel guilty of overreacting. But hey, she dealt with that kind of belittling crap all the time.

  Do you really think you can handle a boat? The open sea? She’d heard all kinds of dismissive comments when looking for a position as crew. No matter how many miles she logged, no matter how many night watches she stood, she was still underestimated by most men.

  Boats and women don’t mix, another jerk had joked before hiring a total greenhorn of a guy who’d stumbled down the docks not long after she did. A guy who didn’t know a bowline from a square knot, and yet he’d gotten the job.

  Unless, of course, you want to do the cooking… That was the one offer she could count on getting, along with more lewd offers, of course.

  Why don’t you try getting a job on a cruise ship? yet another had had the nerve to suggest.

  She didn’t want a job on a cruise ship. She didn’t want to be a cook. She was a sailor, and a reliable one. A capable one.

  The man on the windsurfer had unwittingly brought all her frustrations to a boil, and she knew it. She took a deep breath, readjusted her goggles, and stroked away. Quickly, to hide the little sprinkling of shame mixed in with the anger. Quietly, trying to recover her happy vibe.

  She fluttered her feet and looked resolutely forward. It was his fault, not hers, right?

  Tonight, she resolved, she’d go back to her carpenter guy fantasy. And never, ever look back.

  Chapter Six

  Kyle shook his head and watched her go. He could practically see the steam coming out of her ears.

  Christ, he’d pressed all the wrong buttons. But all he wanted to do was check if she was okay. Was that so wrong?

  He sighed and pulled up the sail, picking up the wind again and zipping off. He made sure to give her a wide berth, though he kept an eye on her even as he crisscrossed the waves at a discreet distance.

  She was a good swimmer; he had to give her that. Must have been on a team at some point. A really good team that swam a hell of a lot of laps. But still, being way out in the lagoon alone didn’t seem too safe. What if she got a cramp or something?

  He tacked and crossed behind her — well behind her — and kept her in sight until she made it back to shore. He was about to cut away and get back to his own fun, but somehow, his eyes weren’t quite ready to pull away. Not when she was stepping out of the water like a supertoned Venus with water streaming off her willowy frame. Make that the goddess Nike — the tough, warrior one. She stepped slowly to shore, stopping to dip and wet her hair back, then rising again, every bit of her an athlete. Damn did she have style. Long lines, subtle layers of muscle. Maybe she really was half mermaid.

  He shook his head. Maybe he needed to get a life. Because she sure didn’t want him to be a part of hers.

  He must have been leaning too far out because, one minute, he was admiring the view, and the next, the board was going over, over — and down. He sputtered underwater, then surfaced and kicked to his board, hanging on it, pulling back the strands of focus to the here and now.

  Wind’s going that way, the engineer in him said. Pick up the sail and go.

  Venus is going that way, said a whole different part of him, pulsing with need. Don’t let her go.

  Kyle hung on there for a long time, either undecided or incapable of coordinating his limbs. But the board was drifting into the shallows, so he’d better get moving, right?

  He slowly clambered onto the board and rallied himself for a second lap of the lagoon. An unenthusiastic lap full of flitting glances in the direction she’d gone. Maybe he’d see her later. Maybe he could apologize for whatever it was he’d done. Maybe…

  Maybe he could get his ass in gear and remember what he was in paradise for. Relaxing. Getting away. Winning a bet.

  He sighed.

  Things went no better for him the rest of the day, and not even the balmy air or gorgeous views kept him from wondering if he’d ever get it right. Wondering why it matte
red to him.

  Because she’s just the distraction I need? a voice growled inside.

  Nah, that couldn’t be it. It was just that he hated coming off as a prick. And anyway, he had better things to think about, right?

  He tried figuring out what those might be for the next hour. Eventually, he headed back to his bungalow, but there wasn’t much to do inside — no Internet, no email — so he settled in a beach chair and forced himself to simply take in the view.

  And lasted all of twenty minutes.

  Well, maybe nineteen. But Jesus, that was enough. His mind spent the whole time superimposing PowerPoint presentations onto the scene. To take his mind off work, he started imagining what he’d do if Le Beau Soleil hired his firm. God, where would he start? Their advertising was nonexistent. The bungalows were high on charm but low on voltage. Tiri, the owner-manager, didn’t even seem to keep a cut of the water sports rentals she helped arrange. How the place turned a profit was a mystery to him. Of course, there wasn’t much competition given that the island only had a handful of hotels. And no wonder, since no one had ever heard of Maupiti, anyway.

  To preserve his sanity, Kyle took a midday bike ride and stopped at the little mom-and-pop store that seemed to be the only shop on the island for lunch. Man, they needed an overhaul, too. They didn’t even sell souvenir T-shirts! All they had were a couple of shelves of dusty cans, three kinds of ice cream, and some sketchy-looking frozen chicken.

  The bell over the door rang, and Venus/Nike/sailor chick came in with her backpack cinched tight and her eyes sweeping the shelves. Clearly, a woman on a mission.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” she replied. Only one syllable, but her flat tone said more. Hi and bye. No desire for small talk. Not with you.

  The only English-speaking person in his age group within fifty miles, and he’d managed to piss her off.