Babymoon Read online

  It’s a long walk back to the hotel from the pier; this property is sprawling. The women stick to the lit boardwalk along the beach. When we reach the hotel, I can still hear the two men mumbling and quietly laughing. Then, they rush forward to hold open the doors for them.

  “Ladies,” one of them says, shooting them a brilliant, white smile.

  The other one says, “Let us escort you to your room.”

  Fortunately, the two women have enough awareness about their situation to turn them down. “Oh, that’s not necessary,” Jax says.

  And yet, the two young men don’t take a hint. I follow them upstairs and down the hallway.

  Jax fumbles with her keycard, and one of the men takes it from her. “Allow me.”

  The other man places a hand on Sierra’s back, and she freezes, eyes wide.

  “That won’t be necessary,” I say, walking up, plucking the card away from the man, and inserting it into the card reader. “Cerulean Resort and Spa thanks you for escorting our guests back to their rooms. You can go back to your boat now.”

  The two white-boaters stare at me like I’ve just grown a third head, but then mumble, shrug, and walk away, cursing under their breath. At least they know it’s better for their health to avoid lighting my fuse.

  Jax shoots me a severe expression. “You’re not going to try to invite yourself in for a three-way, are you? Because like we told those guys, we’re not into ménage.”

  I am most certainly not interested in a three-way. I cast my eyes at Sierra, who smiles and bites her lip. “No. No, I’m not.”

  Jax sucks in a breath. “I recognize you by your voice! You’re Pilot!”

  Sierra blinks several times, and then recognition washes over her face. “It is you! I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you without your cap and sunglasses.” She sways a bit, and I instinctively reach out to help her remain steady. When my hand brushes her hip, my pulse races.

  “You’re … like … really dreamy. In a bossy, take charge kind of way.” Sierra’s consonants are thick and slurred from the effects of the tequila.

  I rub my hands together, not wanting to leave but knowing I must. No use in having a conversation she’s not going to remember. “Go drink some water,” I rasp, backing away and sliding my hand away from her hip.

  Jax hiccups and stumbles into the room. Sierra does the world’s most adorable shoulder shimmy, then says in an imitation of a breathy Marilyn Monroe, “Yes, Daddy.” That pout is going to get her into trouble. But not with any random yachtie. With me.

  Her lovely, if bloodshot, eyes stay locked on mine as she closes their hotel room door. I walk away frustrated as fuck, taking consolation in having done my good deed for the day.

  On my way out of the hotel, I stop by the main desk to order Sierra and Jax some much-needed midnight room service: omelets, Tylenol, and the biggest bottle of water the kitchen can provide.

  Chapter Four

  Sierra

  “Who’s ready for donkey yoga?!” I really shouldn’t shout at the hungover Jax, who passed out on the chaise in the living area of our suite.

  She smacks her lips, making that icky, dry noise that makes me cringe, but I’m ready with a glass of water and some over-the-counter meds. Opening one eye to glare at me, she takes my offerings. “Thank you.”

  I feel great, thanks to the hotel’s surprise delivery of eggs and headache medicine last night.

  After she drinks all of her water, Jax asks what time it is. I check my watch, “We have fifteen minutes to get ready for the canoe to take us to Temple Island.”

  Anybody else in this world as hungover as Jax would have canceled on the donkeys, but not my Jax. She gets up, downs her water, pulls her hair back, and gets ready to go. As a professional model, she’s used to pulling herself together and getting the show on the road, no matter what. “Kayak. Not canoe. And I’m excited you decided to join me!”

  I’m already dressed in my yoga shorts and have piled my hair up in a top knot.

  Why not embrace the spirit of Jax's advice and be open to adventure? I mean, I'm not going to go looking for someone to father my baby on this island, but on the other hand, if I stay drunk for two weeks, I'll miss a hell of a lot.

  "I booked a massage on the beach at Mossy Grove right after it, so as long as we’re back in time, I’m good to go,” I say, referring to the resort’s in-house spa.

  An hour later, I’m thoroughly blissed out. Finally, I feel like I’m in vacation mode. All it took was a scenic kayak excursion, intense outdoor yoga overlooking the ocean, and giving serious scritches to some adorable donkeys on the beach at Temple Island. I was curious how donkeys would play into a yoga class; mostly, they wandered around and nuzzled everyone while we were in Downward Dog; and the yogi encouraged everyone to give pets while in Warrior pose.

  The only less-than-perfect moment came when our kayak guide had to rescue Jax, who capsized her kayak at the sight of a shark that turned out to be harmless.

  I bid Jax goodbye at the dock on Little Loggerhead Island as she wanders off to catch some sun on the nearest beach.

  The massage turns out to be a great idea. I am lying, nearly naked, on a comfy massage table just feet away from the surf. It’s wonderful. This masseuse knows her stuff, or it’s been way too long since I had a massage. Probably both.

  She remarks how tight my shoulders are, and we chat about what I do for a living. I tell her that I work with horses, which is partially true. I don’t tell her that I volunteer at a therapy horse rescue ranch. I don’t like to advertise to strangers that I don’t have a proper paying job and never had. I dropped out of college and therefore failed to get the expected Mrs. degree. My parents are reluctantly “letting” me take over the family business despite my lack of a husband, but I don’t much care for the family business. Real estate doesn’t interest me.

  “Those horses give you a workout. Your back is extremely tight.”

  I grunt in agreement, not because I’m rude but because I’m starting to drift off to sleep.

  Just as my eyes are about to flutter closed, a tall figure looms in the entrance to the cabana.

  “Howdy, Estelle. How’s it hanging?”

  Estelle must be the name of my masseuse because as my eyes fly open and I look over my shoulder, I see her smile, shake her head, and wave dismissively at the man.

  We catch each other’s eyes, and my stomach sinks. Pilot is interrupting my massage, and he’s wearing a terry cloth robe just like the one the staff gave me. Well, a much bigger terry cloth robe.

  “Hi?” I say.

  He sees me, and his whole demeanor changes on a dime. He’d been casual and jokey with the masseuse, whom he seems to know well. The look he gives me is something close to horror, which quickly changes to stone. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  I give him a perplexed look. “I’m pretty sure I booked a private massage,” I say.

  “I can go.”

  Well. He’s clearly not interested in flirting with me, so no harm in letting him stay. “No, it’s fine. I’m about to fall asleep anyway,” I say.

  A second masseur follows Pilot into the cabana, and I look the other way as he drops his towel and slides under the sheet on the second table a few feet away. This is oddly intimate, but then again, I remind myself to relax and take it in. This is island life.

  Just then, my stomach drops, and my heart leaps into my throat because I suddenly remember something from last night. As I closed the door…did I call him Daddy?

  I turn my face back in the direction of the other table. “I feel silly asking this, but I didn’t catch your name,” I say.

  “Austin Fisher. And you’re Sierra Kennedy.”

  I chuckle. “Good memory.”

  “I always memorize my flight manifest.”

  The husky way he talks sends a wave of warmth over my back, even though the breeze from the ocean wafting into our cabana feels cool at the moment.

  “Nice to officially meet you, Austin Fisher.”
<
br />   Jax is going to get a big thank you from me later for deciding to sunbathe without me. If she were here, she’d be acting a fool trying to push this Austin Fisher and me together.

  “So, how’s the Babymoon so far?”

  This question throws me for such a loop I nearly tumble off the massage table.

  “What? How did you…?”

  I trail off, not knowing what to say. But then I think, why should I be embarrassed? It’s my choice to have a baby by myself, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

  “Guess you heard everything, huh? We thought you couldn’t hear us with that big ol’ headset and the loud plane.”

  That’s when I really take notice of Austin’s face. He has kind gray eyes that crinkle when he smiles. His close-cropped hair and clean-shaven face make me think he could be ex-military. His face is tanned and weathered, just as I would imagine a bush pilot would look. He has full lips that I’ve yet to see break into a smile and a jaw so firm I could crack walnuts on.

  “Some of the things people talk about when they think I can’t hear would turn your hair white,” he remarks.

  My eyes widen, and I’m thrilled about the change of subject. “Like what?”

  “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  I laugh, but Austin remains serious. Then, without breaking into a smile, he says, “I’m kidding.”

  And now, I don’t know if I’m in the presence of someone whom criminals pay to keep secrets or if he’s teasing me and being awkward about it. I don’t know what to make of this Austin Fisher, and that’s troubling. Troubling because his energy draws me in at the same time he seems to be pulling away. That’s just my dormant sensual side waking up in the presence of a rugged, stern, powerful man with a chiseled jaw. My vagina may not care that he’s not interested. But I have my pride, and my vibrator.

  I relax again on the table and let the masseuse’s strong hands lull me back into a dreamlike state.

  “By the way… thanks for getting rid of those guys. I could have handled it on my own, but things were about to get uncomfortable.”

  “It was nothing. Those guys were dicks, and I have to look out for guests, even when I’m on vacation.”

  “You’re on vacation, too?”

  He nods, explaining that his next chartered flight is when Jax and I go back to Pearl Island International Airport to catch our flight home.

  Before I can control my mouth, I say, “You should join Jax and me on the volcano tour tomorrow,” I offer.

  Austin rumbles. “You don’t want me hanging around like a third wheel on your girls’ trip.”

  Adele, the masseuse, snorts. “Man wouldn’t know a good opportunity if it bit him in the ass,” she mutters.

  Austin’s masseur abruptly starts in on a chopping, deep-tissue massage that startles him. “Whoa!” he exclaims. “Careful back there.”

  But the male massage therapist working on Austin seems to be taking out some kind of vexation. “Adele’s right. You need to loosen up. Besides, you can show the ladies around the island.”

  “Nobody wants me raining on their parade; not this old bush pilot,” Austin says.

  Why he would think that I have no idea. “I think you’re being humble. I bet you’re great company. Go on, tell me about your most exciting passenger. I’d love to hear it,” I urge.

  Austin sighs in a way that tells me he doesn’t enjoy bragging about himself. “My most interesting passenger would have to be about fifty packs of diapers.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I’m hanging on his every word, and yet I can’t deny the sweet darkness that envelops me with the sound of the crashing waves. I drop out just as he’s telling me about flying supplies—including diapers—into southern Florida in the aftermath of a hurricane. “No trucks or commercial jets could get in or out, so I flew with as much cargo as my little plane could carry.”

  I want to hear more, but soon everything is just too cozy, and his voice is too perfect for helping me drift off to sleep. I dream about the handsome, rugged pilot transporting emergency diapers and baby formula across a ravaged seaside landscape, and I’m not going to lie. This dream is thirstier than a nap in hell.

  Chapter Five

  Austin

  How long am I going to lie here and watch Sierra sleep?

  It’s not as if I’m sneaking into her room like a vampire; it’s not creepy, is it?

  Estelle, along with my masseur, has vamoosed to let Sierra sleep for a few minutes. Estelle mentioned that Sierra had booked an extra hour just in case she fell asleep. I can’t help but appreciate the way this woman thinks.

  Every one of my fingers seems to itch to reach out to touch her. Sierra’s freckled nose crinkles in her sleep, and that itch inside me grows into need.

  I have to remind myself; she’s not staying. Two weeks is just long enough to have a fling turn into full-fledged obsession. Then, what am I left with when she leaves? Fuck all.

  Nobody is here to judge me, so I stare. Sierra is breathtaking when she’s asleep. The rise and fall of her small bosoms. The teal polish on her toes matches the color on her fingernails. Her sun-bleached hair always falls into her face. Her eyes are closed, but I can tell you what color they are: the same turquoise as the ocean out there.

  A stiff breeze wafts over her body, and I notice the goose flesh that spreads over her arm that rests outside of the sheet. In her sleeping state, Sierra rolls to her side and hunkers down. When she does, the sheet falls open and exposes one small, tan nipple. Oh. Shit.

  I slide off my table and throw on my robe. Careful not to wake Sierra, I tug the fabric gently back over her chest. I freeze as she mumbles something in her sleep and adjusts. If she wakes up, I’m screwed. I’m officially a creep.

  The sheet falls again. Because of gravity. Dummy.

  I shouldn’t look. But, I shouldn’t do a lot of things. And I can’t help but notice that nipple is erect. I’m not such a self-centered son of a bitch to think that pretty little nub is looking for me. The breeze is to blame more than anything. But the sight of it sends a jolt of electricity into my chest that shoots down into my midsection and lands squarely in my dick. That’s all I need, for her to wake up and see me pitching a tent. Or worse, see this log peeking out of my robe, like a perv.

  Up close, I catch the coconut-lime scent of the massage oil all over her, and my mouth waters at the thought of tasting her. There’s only one thing to do. I raise the sheet to her chin, and then she does something so sweet it grips every muscle in my chest. Sierra scrunches up her body into a fetal position and hugs the sheet close, making a faint sighing noise.

  I tighten the belt of my robe and check to make sure all limbs are safely hidden as I make my way to the entrance of the cabana. As I turn my back, she mutters something, clearly in her sleep: a small giggle followed by, “Hmm, Pilot Daddy Austin.”

  Just then, her friend Jax breezes in.

  “Whoa! Well, hello! Couples massage?” Jax’s smile is expectant.

  I shake my head. “Just a coincidence. How was donkey yoga?”

  She seems surprised and pleased. “You and Sierra have been talking, I see. It was great, thanks for asking.”

  I move to step out, eager to disappear.

  “Austin?”

  Sierra, now awake and sitting up on the massage table, grips her sheet to her body. Her hair is over one eye, and the tanned skin of her chest glistens with massage oil. With mussed hair, the sheet barely covering her breasts as she perches on the massage table, Sierra resembles my memory of how she appeared after sex last night—in my dream.

  Her saying my name like that feels like she’s carving hers into the rough layer of bark that protects my heart.

  Taking my leave of the two friends, I nod to Jax and shoot a wink at Sierra. “Have fun at the volcano, you two. But be careful; The island god loves virgins.”

  Sierra looks at me wide-eyed, and then both she and Jax cackle as I walk away.

  Chapter Six


  Sierra

  I thought Austin was kidding about the virgin thing.

  It turns out, even Brooks, the tour guide, mentions it.

  “Before this area was known as The Pearl Crescent islands, a legend was born when seafaring scavengers discovered Little Loggerhead Island in 1769. A particularly ruthless Dutch sea captain was closing in on the pirates to reclaim some gold they had stolen. So the pirates buried their treasure on the south end of the island. Just as they buried it, the earth beneath grew so hot it blistered their feet. The ship’s captain stayed on the island, but the rest of the crew retreated to Severed Key on the far edge of the fringe and waited out the eruption. When several strange occurrences led them to believe some deity had cursed them, they returned to find the entire area where the treasure had been buried under molten rock. Meanwhile, their ship suffered storm damage, the crew suffered starvation, and a giant squid attacked the boat.

  “So a year later, the band of pirates returned to the volcano and tossed their youngest sailor into the abyss. Legend says that a fissure formed in the volcanic rock right before their eyes, which they followed to their clearing and allowed them to recover their pirate captain's body. They never found the treasure, but the curse was lifted. The island god allowed the pirates to stay.”

  Jax whispers in my ear, “That is totally made up.”

  “If it’s not, it’s seriously fucked up,” I whisper back.

  A nearby woman in the tour group turns and shoots Jax and me a dirty look for whispering curse words.

  Jax sees the look and mutters, “She should pay more attention to her kid instead of worrying about a few curse words.”

  I turn to look, and I see that child playing right by the edge of the trail, overlooking a steep descent into the crater.

  I hang back a little as the group slowly shuffles along a dirt path that circles the rim of the volcano. Ahead, the trail narrows, hugging the inside of the mouth, spiraling in circles around the massive crater. The dormant volcano teems with life: Birds, reptiles, flowering trees of all kinds that I’ve never seen before. It’s going to be a pleasant, shady, if slightly humid, trek down to the bottom, where we’re scheduled to swim in a hot spring and eat a picnic lunch. From there, we’re supposed to follow an underground tunnel to the outside, where golf carts will be available to drive back to the hotel.