Love Under the Mistletoe Page 7

  The flight to Honolulu takes just over five hours. Pre-wedding nerves mean all I’ve eaten today is a small bowl of granola and yoghurt at breakfast, so I treat myself to a platter of fruit and cheese and a glass of red wine. My Kindle is loaded with books I’d intended as beach reading, and I lose myself in the latest Stephen King novel, distracting myself from the thoughts of Richard and his betrayal that still threaten to overwhelm me.

  When we disembark, the temperature is in the high 70s. Even over the powerful airport aromas of jet fuel and hot asphalt, I’m sure I can smell something floral and tropical, something unique to Hawaii.

  There’s a courtesy bus waiting to take us to the resort, and I can’t help but notice that, out of all the people boarding, I’m the only one travelling alone. For the first time, I start to wonder if I might be making a mistake in surrounding myself with couples like the one sitting opposite me. They gaze into each other’s eyes, clearly in the first flush of love. Behaviour that would remind me of everything I’ve lost, if only I could remember Richard ever looking at me quite so intently.

  Then I get my first glimpse of Cowrey Bay, and it wipes away all my gloomy musings. Unlike a lot of the resort hotels we’ve passed on the way, this is no big skyscraper block. Instead, I see a whitewashed building, no more than three storeys high, that follows a gentle curve along the side of an azure pool. Through the palms, I get a glimpse of a round, thatched hut; from what I recall of the website description, it acts as a poolside bar. On the other side of the hotel, hidden from view, lies the ocean. Maybe this isn’t such a bad place to be on your own, after all.

  In Reception, I find myself waiting to check in behind a middle-aged couple who are trying to get themselves upgraded from a basic room to a suite, without much success. As the wife’s voice rises a tone in pitch, indignant at the inability to accommodate their request, someone to my right greets me. ‘E komo mai. Welcome to the Cowrey Bay resort. I’m sorry about the delay …’

  I look over, and realise a second clerk has taken up a station at the front desk. She smiles broadly and beckons me over.

  ‘I have a room booked in the name of Suvari,’ I begin.

  The girl taps at her computer keyboard. ‘Yes, we have you in Room 24, on the second floor. I’ll get the bellboy to take you there.’

  She hands me a key card, and I wait for the bellboy to come over. He’s tall, with blond hair that threatens to fall over one eye, and when he smiles, a cute little dimple appears in his cheek. The nametag on his burgundy waistcoat reads “SCOTT”.

  ‘Scott, could you take Ms Suvari to Room 24?’ the desk clerk instructs him.

  ‘Of course. May I take your bag, Ms Suvari?’

  ‘Please, call me Dionne, and there’s really no need …’

  The tan leather carry-on isn’t heavy, but he’s already scooping it up out of my hand. When his fingers brush against the back of my palm, my skin seems to tingle in response, and I wonder if he feels it too. But already he’s heading for the elevator.

  We take the short ride to the second floor, and step out into a quiet corridor.

  ‘Here we are.’ Scott takes the key card from me and opens the door.

  I’ve been expecting the type of room that’s usually reserved for single travellers; a tiny box, stuck in some out-of-the-way corner, or so close to the elevator that the hum of machinery seeps through the walls. Instead, I find myself looking at a light, airy bedroom with a big, brass-framed bed, a low, cream leather couch, and a coffee table. A small balcony lets out on to the most breathtaking ocean view. The sun is already beginning to set, staining the sky in shades of red and gold.

  ‘This is really lovely,’ I murmur, reaching into my purse to find a couple of dollars for Scott’s tip. ‘Thank you.’

  He gives me a little wink. ‘No problem, Ms – Dionne. And if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more pleasant …’

  That sounds like a blatant invitation. Looking into those blue eyes, I recall the brief jolt of electricity that passed between us. But I’m clearly reading a little too much into his comment. ‘Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls,’ I quip.

  ‘Only the ones who look like they’ve been having a rough time.’

  With that, Scott lets himself quietly out of the room. When I can at last tear my eyes away from the spectacular sunset, I pick up the folder on the coffee table. It contains all the information I could need about the resort, and lets me know that dinner is served in the restaurant until 9.30. Plenty of time for me to take a shower and change out of the crumpled clothes I’ve travelled in.

  I hunt through my bag for a suitable outfit. Everything I’ve brought with me was intended for Richard’s eyes, from my floor-length black evening dress to my skimpy beachwear to underwear that’s all satin and lace. But there’s a short, floral sundress that I can accessorise with silver and jet jewellery and strappy heels; perfect for dining alone.

  Once I’ve stowed everything else in the built-in closet, I take my wash bag through to the en-suite bathroom. It’s stocked with high-end toiletries, and a thick pile of fluffy white towels. Just the kind of luxury I need after everything that’s happened.

  As I unzip the bag and reach for my toothbrush, my fingers close around a long, slim box. Intrigued, I fish it out, and don’t know whether to laugh or be shocked. It contains a small vibrator, in a fetching shade of pink, with a smooth shaft and tapered head. When I twist its base, it hums into life, so clearly whoever put it in here has thought of everything. There’s a sticky note attached to the packaging. Written in Jill’s big, looping handwriting are the words “To give your honeymoon a buzz!” She must have sneaked it into my bag while she was helping me put on my wedding dress this morning – and how long ago that seems now. Still, providing me with this toy supports her story that she didn’t have a clue about Richard cheating on me.

  Part of me wonders where my rat of an ex-fiancé is right now. In the arms of Marcie Grace, most likely. Well, the two of them deserve each other. At least I found out the truth before it was too late; as humiliating as today has been, things would have been so much worse if I hadn’t learned about the affair until after I’d married him.

  I turn the shower setting to “tropical”, letting the water beat down on me. The shower gel produces a creamy lather, rich with the scents of coconut and passion fruit, and it feels good to smooth it over my skin. When I close my eyes, a face swims into my mind. Scott, the cute bellboy with the sweet smile. I recall the last remark he made before he left the room, and wonder if my distress over Richard’s betrayal is really so evident.

  It would be nice to have someone around who could help soothe the hurt away. Someone who, if only for a little while, could help remind me there are still plenty of decent, honest men in this world.

  Almost without being aware of what I’m doing, I begin to concentrate on soaping up my breasts, brushing my nipples with the pads of my thumbs. In my imagination, Scott stands behind me in the shower stall, his body tight up against mine, and he’s the one who’s caressing my tits. The picture I’m creating is so vivid I swear I can feel the heavy bulk of his cock, trapped between our two bodies. His mouth is pressed to my neck, and he trails soft kisses all the way to the hollow at the base of my throat.

  Is it wrong to be weaving a fantasy about a guy I’ve only exchanged a handful of words with? I don’t know, and right now, frankly, I don’t care.

  I drop my fingers to the apex of my thighs, where the suds trickle down between my legs. Running a fingertip over the seam of my sex, I quickly realise it’s not just water that’s making me wet. With all the stresses of preparing for the wedding, it’s been a while since I felt the temptation to touch myself, but now I’m almost frantic with need.

  Jill’s naughty wedding gift to me is lying on the bathroom counter. Its packaging proudly announced the vibrator to be waterproof – just what I want. I step out of the shower to fetch it, leaving a pattern of wet footprints on the bathroom floor.

 
The toy, I quickly discover, is capable of three speeds: low, medium, and oh my God, that hits the spot. I play it over my breasts at first, just touching the tip to my jutting nipples. In my fantasy, it’s Scott who wields the vibrator, Scott whose lips quirk in a knowing smile as he watches my deliciously agonised reactions. Sensation shivers all the way down from the tight buds to my core, and I press my back to the cool, tiled wall of the shower stall, letting out a gentle moan.

  Kicking the speed up a notch, I direct the vibrator down over the curve of my belly, letting it rest against my mound. Now I can feel the buzzing even more intensely: if I pressed it to my clit, I don’t know if I’d be able to stand it.

  Scott would take control of the situation. He’d hold my arms high above my head, both my wrists gripped in one big hand, and he’d order me to spread my legs wide. Then he’d look into my eyes, secure in the knowledge this is what I want him to do, and push the vibrator deep into myself.

  And that’s what I do now. I slide it up inside me and feel my slick inner walls part around the slim plastic shaft. Every nerve ending resonates in time with its steady hum, and the only thing that would make this moment better is if Scott really were holding the toy in place.

  ‘Oh God, Scott, I want to come for you,’ I murmur, and that’s when my orgasm hits. The vibrator drops from my grasp, my cries drowned out by the pounding water as waves of relentless ecstasy buffet me.

  It’s all I can do to turn off the shower and retrieve the still-buzzing toy. My knees are weak and my wet hair is plastered to my face. But I’m energised, revitalised by my self-pleasuring, and I feel as though I can walk into the restaurant and not care whether the other guests realise I’m dining on my own. This might not be an orthodox Christmas vacation, but I’m determined to make the most of it while I’m here. And if that includes the odd fantasy about a handsome member of the resort staff, then so be it. After all, it’s not as though he’s ever going to find out what I’ve been thinking about him, is it?

  Chapter Three

  When I wake the following morning, it’s already gone half-past nine. I expected to have a restless night, but I was asleep pretty much as soon as my head touched the pillow. Maybe that’s down to the fresh sea air, or maybe the generous Mai Tai cocktail I enjoyed with my dinner of fresh ahi tuna on a bed of coriander and lime rice.

  My bedtime reading was the hotel’s information folder. Today, if I wished, I could go surfing or paddle-boarding, learn to play the ukulele, make one of the pretty garlands known as a lei, or attend a demonstration of traditional Hawaiian arts and crafts. I’ve already missed the early morning Tai Chi and yoga sessions, but that’s not the kind of holiday activity I’m looking to take part in. All I want to do is take a walk along that beautiful white sand and try out the hot tub in the spa.

  Dressed in a turquoise bikini with a batik-printed sarong wrapped around my hips, and with a broad-brimmed straw hat to shield me from the sun, I make my way down to the poolside bar to grab a late breakfast. The Muzak playing in the lift is ‘The Carol of the Bells’, given a jaunty Hawaiian flavour with the addition of steel guitar. I find it hard to believe it’s Christmas Eve. Born and raised in California, I’m well used to Christmases without snow, but the artificial pine tree in the lobby, garlanded with tinsel and glittery blue and white ornaments is the only clue to the fact it’s the holiday season. Indeed, the strings of lights in the shape of chilli peppers that festoon the bar could quite easily hang there all year round.

  A waitress takes my order for French toast and a pot of coffee, and I gaze over to where a black guy with the build of a professional football player is doing fast lengths of the pool. Just watching him swim is exhausting.

  It strikes me this is the first time I’ve ever spent Christmas away from my family. It’ll be strange not to spend tomorrow at Mom’s, eating turkey and playing endless games of charades with Aunt Martha, Uncle Ray, and the cousins who I never see any other time of the year. Just thinking about my relatives brings a lump to my throat as I wonder how I’m going to face them all when I finally return home. There’ll be apologies to make, wedding presents to return, though if Richard has any scrap of decency about him, he’ll be the one who deals with that.

  Though I swore I wouldn’t check my phone while I’m here, I dig into my purse and fetch it out. When I switch it on, I notice a string of missed calls. More immediately, two messages are waiting for me. One’s from Jill, which doesn’t surprise me. The other’s from Mom, which does.

  I look at that one first. Honey, are you OK? You’re not answering your phone. Call me. I’m worried.

  The last thing I want to do right now is speak to her, so I send back a simple reply. All’s fine. I’m in Hawaii. Have a happy holiday. Love you, Mom. D x

  Jill’s message is even more succinct. How’s the great escape going? ;)

  Honolulu is beautiful. Will send you a postcard :)

  I think about adding more, though I have no intention to let her know I’ve been fantasising about a cute member of staff, not so soon after running out on Richard. But I’m a single woman now, I remind myself; it can’t hurt to indulge myself a little.

  Then my breakfast arrives, the French toast topped with a mound of whipped cream and tropical fruit. I switch off my phone once more, and forget about everything else as I start in on my plate of food.

  By the time I’ve finished eating, the poolside area is beginning to fill with people, arranging themselves on the loungers for a morning’s basking in the sun. The lone swimmer has finished his workout and gone, and now a young couple are splashing about in the pool. She’s giggling and shrieking as he tries to pull her under the water, then their arms are wrapped around each other and they’re sharing a tender kiss, oblivious to everyone else.

  I could stay here, but I’d rather take a walk down to the water’s edge and dip my toes in the surf. I’ve only gone a few yards along the resort’s private beach before the noise from the pool has faded away to nothing. Here and there, sunbathers lounge beneath shady umbrellas, and when I gaze out to sea, a couple of surfers are riding the waves on their boards.

  Lost in the natural beauty of the landscape, I don’t at first pay any attention to the man who’s jogging along the sand towards me, wearing nothing but a pair of baggy red board shorts. Only when he’s a few yards away do I recognise the floppy blond hair and the broad shoulders.

  ‘Hey, Dionne.’ Scott comes to a halt before me, his bare, sweat-slick chest rising and falling as he takes long, slow breaths.

  ‘Hi, Scott. Not on duty today?’

  ‘I don’t start till midday. And I like to fit in some exercise when I get the time. That’s one of the reasons why I applied for a job here; the chance to run on a beautiful private beach like this.’ He glances back in the direction he’s come, then returns his gaze to me. ‘So, how are you finding the resort?’

  ‘Perfect. For a last-minute decision, it’s one of the best I ever made.’ Right up there with leaving Richard at the altar. I can’t admit that to him, of course, so I add, ‘Originally, I was supposed to be spending Christmas in Aruba, but I’m so glad I had a change of plan.’

  ‘Well, Christmas in Hawaii is definitely something special.’

  ‘You sound like you speak from experience.’

  ‘Yeah, I worked at Cowrey Bay last year. That was my first time. It’s helping me to pay my way through college, but it’s also a great grounding for a job in the hospitality industry.’

  ‘What, carrying bags?’ Hoping I haven’t insulted him, I quickly add, ‘I mean …’

  ‘No, it’s OK.’ Scott pushes his hair out of his eyes and smiles down at me. ‘Bellboy is only one of my duties. I tend to fill in wherever I’m needed, whether that’s behind the bar or acting as a lifeguard at the pool. When I graduate this coming summer, I’m hoping my experience here will help open some doors.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure it will,’ I tell him, thinking back to my own days as an intern in Richard’s company, hoping to land
a full-time job that never came my way. It was how we originally met. I should have realised then that if he could form such a strong attraction to a temporary member of staff, he’d have no qualms about getting close to someone who worked alongside him all the time.

  ‘Anyway, I need to tell you about the luau,’ Scott continues. ‘It’s the highlight of Christmas Day.’

  ‘Sounds interesting.’ A flash of something white out to sea catches my eye, and I glance over to see a cruise ship, no doubt on its way to dock in Honolulu harbour. ‘If I’m not keeping you from anything, why don’t we stroll down to the sea and you can tell me all about it.’

  ‘Sure.’ We fall into step, Scott taking short strides so I don’t have to scurry to keep up with him. ‘Well, all the guests are invited to the party. We’re going to have all the traditional food – a whole pig, wrapped in banana leaves and cooked underground, lomi-lomi salmon, poke …’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s a salad with marinated fish. I suppose the best way to describe it is like the Hawaiian version of sashimi. It contains lots of onions, tomatoes, hot chillies … The version made with octopus is especially delicious.’ He grins in reaction to my visible shudder. ‘Don’t worry; it’s strictly tuna for the tourists. And there’ll be hula performers, fire dancers, and a pineapple-tossing contest. Oh, and Santa’s going to be making an appearance, because it’s never really Christmas without him, right?’

  By now, we’ve reached the water’s edge, and the waves are licking at our feet.

  ‘That sounds like a lot of fun,’ I tell him. Looking up into those soft blue eyes of his, I admit, ‘I thought coming here on my own might be a little scary, but it’s fine.’

  ‘If it’s not an impertinent question,’ he says, ‘why are you here alone? I mean, a sweet, beautiful woman like you … Even if you don’t have family to visit over the holidays, surely there’s some guy in your life you should be spending Christmas with?’