True Colors

by Amy Knupp

  “Okay then. Let’s do this. Let’s figure out a ‘spectacularly memorable’ trip for Sierra and Cole,” she said.

  Without hesitation, Mackenzie went back around the counter, sat down next to him, and drew her notebook near. Drake pulled his stool closer to her, as if to better see everything she wrote down and any websites she might pull up, and she wavered. Because she could smell him, that same scent she’d been lost in the other night when she was engulfed in his arms. She felt the heat of his thigh up against hers, even through the denim and polyester.

  Scratch all that. She sat up straighter, put a whisper of space between their legs, and reminded herself that she could do this, she could do business with Drake and keep it strictly business. She was as hardheaded as she was determined, and he was not going to get to her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  For three days, Drake had managed to keep himself ass-crazy busy, busy enough to avoid thinking about Mackenzie’s pending trip. He’d organized a rock-climbing day trip with a couple of guys he knew, gone out each night to the bars, played a double-header volleyball game for the North Brothers Sports intramural team, cleaned out his mom’s garage, met with Cole and others regarding Cole’s new baseball training foundation, and worked a couple of shifts—one at the gym and one at the store.

  But now, at 3:47 a.m. on Friday night, or technically Saturday morning, none of that did a damn bit of good, and he’d do just about anything to pass out cold and get some god-forsaken sleep so he could stop thinking about Mackenzie’s imminent departure. Six fifteen in the morning, to be exact.

  He bolted upright in his overlarge, over-empty bed, cussing up a storm, then threw his legs over the side. He grabbed his sweatpants from the floor and tugged them on. A few long strides took him to the balcony door, and he unlocked it and threw it open, stepped out into the brisk early-April night. Which did exactly zero bit of good.

  The street below was deserted. Windows in the building across the street were mostly dark. The only noises were the distant din of a car starting, a dog barking. Most of the world was asleep, like he should be, but instead, he stood there breathing in the crisp air as if it could clear his head or calm his soul.

  It didn’t.

  For a minute, he considered a motorcycle ride, but even that idea didn’t appeal.

  Mackenzie could take care of herself, just like he himself had told Ezra back when he’d picked her up at the airport barely two weeks ago. She’d traveled all over the world before. And if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t that kind of worry that had him tied up in knots. It was the thought of that flirtatious motherfucker meeting her on the other end of her day-and-a-half-long, around-the-world journey.

  He pushed himself off the iron railing, spun on his heel, and strode back inside, slamming the door shut behind him. Though the lights were out, he could make out the stack of three books on his nightstand, and none of them, not the new-release thriller, not the rock star memoir, not the Ted Williams biography that he’d finally gotten around to picking up, not one of them roused his interest right now.

  The covers on the bed were twisted and pulled out from under the mattress, visible proof of his two hours of attempted sleep so far tonight, and though he’d always been a big fan of his ultra-comfortable top-of-the-line memory foam mattress, the thought of even sitting on the edge of it right now made him want to punch the wall.

  He stormed out into the hall, made his way to the kitchen, fighting to blank his mind. Without a thought as to whether he was legitimately hungry or not, he opened the fridge and took out the remains of a chicken and veggie bowl and tossed it into the microwave. For the two minutes of cook time, he emptied the top level of the dishwasher, and when the ding sounded, he removed the bowl and sat on the edge of one of the stools, then started shoving steaming food into his mouth without tasting it.

  Mackenzie might think the resort douchebag was just being friendly, but Drake knew that the chances of that were slim. She could catch the interest of any single guy, and she’d definitely caught the resort owner’s. Drake couldn’t help but wonder whether the attraction might go both ways—he could see with his own eyes the guy was sculpted like a Greek god. He let out a growl.

  Drake shoved the half-eaten bowl away and catapulted off the stool, unable to lie to himself anymore that he was fine to sit back and passively wonder whether Mackenzie would hook up with Adonis for the next week. He went over to the living room and pulled his laptop off the lower shelf of the coffee table, where he’d left it.

  He was on the reservations page of the Bellamore resort within a minute, typing in Sunday’s date, hitting the search button impatiently as he muttered out loud, “Come on. Show me what you’ve got.”

  His plea was answered quickly, as the site came back with two different beach casitas still available, including the one called Honeymoon Haven, which gave him an idea. Maybe that would be suitable for Cole and Sierra. Maybe he could check that out in person.

  He clicked on the other available place, Reefside Retreat, and skimmed over the details—king bed, spa tub, two stairs to the sand, and another twenty steps to the water at high tide. The nightly price was sky-high, but he didn’t blink when he hit the reserve button.

  Before filling out the reservation form, he opened another tab and did a search for flights. He didn’t know her exact itinerary beyond her six-fifteen-a.m. departure, but it didn’t matter. The earliest flight that came up didn’t leave until ten a.m. It wouldn’t get him to Fiji until the morning after Mackenzie arrived, but that was okay. He changed to Monday on the resort site, then switched back to the airline ticket and clicked on it.

  Only one seat left, it said in red letters of the ten-o’clock flight, and that’s how he decided this was the right thing to do. Mackenzie might not agree, but he’d deal with that problem when he had to.

  With that, he completed the reservations on both sites, shoved up off the couch to go pack a bag, and felt more at peace than he had for the past three days.

  Two flights down and two to go. Six hours invested so far, and he wasn’t even halfway there. Not even a third of the way.

  Drake had kept his mind continually occupied by starting the Ted Williams book on the flight to Dallas and by bingeing a few episodes of The Office on his tablet between Dallas and San Francisco, but now, as he headed from the airport pub where he’d grabbed a quick dinner to his gate, certain thoughts were hard to keep burying.

  Specifically, what the ever-loving hell was he doing?

  His pace was leisurely, thanks to a two-hour-plus layover. He barely noticed the throngs rushing past him in all directions as he paused in front of the departure board to check the status of his flight. Still on time, just like his app had told him.

  As he turned onto one of the international flight wings, his messenger bag on his shoulder and duffel in his hand, he glanced at the overhead signs and spotted the gate he was looking for halfway down the terminal. He slowed the closer he got, and once he arrived in the general area, he found a spot on the wall of the main walkway to lean against instead of wandering into the maze of seats near the door to the jetway.

  He double-checked the flight board—Suva, Fiji—and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed, thinking.

  He could still double-back the way he’d come, find the next flight east, and return to Tennessee. Because once he got on that overnight flight to Fiji, there was no turning back. He’d be full-on committed then.

  It was impossible to ignore the glaring truth any longer that, if he boarded that plane, he was chasing a girl literally around the world.

  Drake didn’t chase girls.

  He’d never even chased a girl to the other side of Nashville.

  He’d never had to and never wanted to. If a girl needed to be chased, he backed off, because chasing could give the impression that he wanted a relationship, and he didn’t want a relationship.

  Except…he couldn’t deny that he still wanted something from Mackenzie. T
he R word was taking it a little far, but he was aching to see her, spend time with her. He wanted to have a full night with her, where he could worship her body with his, take his time pleasuring her, learn the best ways to make her come apart. And it went beyond sex too. He wanted to pick apart movies with her, watch her face as they parasailed or zip-lined or island hopped via Jet-Ski, lie next to her on the warm sand as they watched the sun set.

  The admission caused a kernel of hot fear to blossom in his gut. He pulled out his bottled water and poured the cool liquid down his throat to extinguish it.

  He could still turn back.

  But the island of Jiva would be one hell of an adventure. And he’d already cleared his schedule, found replacements for every single shift for both jobs, told his mom he’d be out of the country for the next week.

  He wasn’t one to shy away from adventures. Ever. And no matter how much it made his gut tumble just thinking about it, he couldn’t shy away from his original harebrained plan to chase Mackenzie. Because he wanted more with her. He wanted adventures with her. He wanted to hear her laugh and see her smile and smell her fresh, flowery scent. For the first time in his life, he wanted…more.

  Straightening away from the wall and hoisting his duffel back up, Drake took in the chaotic travel scene in front of him and, with no more hesitation, walked toward the boarding area and got in line to board.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thirty-plus hours of travel might give some people pause, but the availability of Wi-Fi on the longest leg allowed Mackenzie to get a lot of work done in between a couple of lengthy naps. Plus, there was that whole hard-to-find-fault-with-a-free-trip thing. By the time she landed at the airport in Fiji, she was ready for food, tropical air, and a good night’s sleep, but at the same time, she was invigorated on both a business and personal level.

  The tropical air part of her wish was fulfilled as soon as she stepped off the plane. It was dark—local time was just after nine p.m.—and the warmth and humidity rolled over her as the faint smell of the sea filtered through her nose. She focused all of her attention on descending the flight of stairs to the tarmac, because the last thing she needed to do was stumble down them and break a leg in a foreign country.

  Once she was on solid ground, she stepped to the side, out of the way of the other passengers, and got her bearings. Before she could take in much, she noticed her name on a placard less than twenty feet away, with Giovanni himself holding it up. She had to admit it was sort of nice to see a familiar face this far from home.

  “Pretty Mackenzie,” he said in his flirtatious baritone that had somehow seemed less aggressive over video chat. “It’s so good to see your beautiful face in person.” He lowered the sign and held it in one hand, offered his other to her. When she shook it, he grasped it for an extra moment, which put her on alert. This trip could get uncomfortable fast if he thought they would be anything more than business associates.

  She pulled back as nonchalantly as she could, ready to give him the benefit of the doubt, and said, formally, “It’s nice to meet you, Giovanni.”

  “Welcome to Fiji. Have you been here before?”

  “I haven’t, but I’ve been to American Samoa and New Zealand and the Marshall Islands. It’s such a breathtaking part of the world. I can’t imagine living here.”

  “It is a special area, for certain,” Giovanni said. “One of the most romantic places in the world.”

  “That’s exactly why I can’t wait to see firsthand what your resort offers honeymooners.”

  “Honeymoons are our specialty. We aim to give lovers the most romantic setting for memories of a lifetime. Do you have bags that we need to pick up?”

  “Just this one,” she said, motioning to her rolling carry-on. If Drake were here, he wouldn’t be able to say she’d packed like a girl, she thought with a little pang in her chest, because that had happened before things got screwed up between them. She hadn’t improved at packing, but all the clothing she’d brought consisted of smaller bits of material, like shorts and thin tops and bikinis and coverups.

  “Allow me,” Giovanni said as he reached for the handle.

  “Oh, thank you, but I’ve got it.”

  He tried once again, with a wordless gesture at the suitcase, which she answered with a short shake of her head and a bigger smile to reassure.

  “Very well,” he finally relented. “Our ride is this way.”

  After a short trip in a taxi, during which Giovanni sat in the front seat next to the driver, they arrived at a small marina. He led her to a boat with the Bellamore Resort logo on it, a vessel that had both enclosed and open-air seating and could probably hold twenty people.

  “We can ride on the top if you don’t mind getting a little windblown,” he said as he waved at the uniformed man who she guessed was the captain. “We’ll have a fantastic view of the stars tonight.”

  She couldn’t pass up the opportunity, and he showed her to the stairs. When he followed her up, she was a little thrown to realize he really did mean we.

  “Do you meet all your business associates at the airport?” she asked as she chose a seat. Naturally, Giovanni took the one right next to her.

  “I wanted to give you a warm personal welcome. I hope to form a strong alliance with your company that will last many years into the future.”

  She relaxed a degree at his businesslike reply. Maybe she had her guard up a little high after such a long trip.

  Without delay, the boat departed from its slip, and they were on their slow way, just the two of them plus the captain, and when they reached open water, they picked up speed.

  Being out on the ocean, open-air, in the dark, was magical and exhilarating. The wind whipped her hair across her face, but after so much stale airline air, she relished the freshness. Giovanni pointed out several tiny nearby islands, most of which appeared as only a mass of darker black in the distance and a handful of which had a few lights.

  “A couple of our competing island resorts,” he explained, leaning close to her ear so she could hear him over the noise of the wind and water, “though we have a good relationship and refer customers back and forth depending on who has vacancies on desired dates. But of course, our goal is to be better than them.” He had a lighthearted gleam in his eyes.

  “How long is the ride to Jiva?”

  “Forty minutes total.” Giovanni looked at his watch. “We have approximately twenty-three minutes left. In that general direction is Kanakana Island. We offer many activities and excursions in cooperation. Zip lining, scuba diving, snorkeling, helicopter and balloon tours, cultural cuisine adventures, just about anything you can imagine doing. I would be happy to book you on your choice of any of these.”

  “That sounds amazing. As long as I can balance it with some work, I’ll take you up on it.”

  He ran down some of the options in more detail as the boat made its way across the vast water.

  Soon, he gestured to the scene in front of them.

  “Welcome to Bellamore,” he said with a flourish of his hand. “We’re passing in front of one row of luxury casitas, some of which you can see lights in. As you can tell by the darkness in between, they are ensconced within clusters of trees, which gives each casita the feeling of being isolated and private. We’re approaching the main pier.”

  She stood to see better and could make out a narrow dock with low lighting evenly spaced along what must be a hundred or so feet of walkway from the water end to the land end. Most of the casitas were tough to make out, but one was lit like a Christmas tree, the lights showing that almost the entire seafront side was glass.

  Beyond the row of casitas, she could make out a few lights that she assumed were the main resort complex. Between Giovanni and the website, she knew there was a lounge with a wine cellar, a spa, a kitchen, a recreation room, a pool, and a workout room—everything her clients could possibly need.

  The captain directed the boat to the dock, and a girl in her late teens assisted from
the dock. Once again, when Giovanni offered to carry Mackenzie’s suitcase, she declined, but she did grasp his offered hand as she disembarked, purely for the sake of not tripping and ending up in the water. She retracted it before he could hold it for an extra moment again, and then they made their way to the reception “hut,” which was a gorgeous wooden building with a peaked roof and open-air sides.

  He led her to the main counter, where there was one employee working. “Good evening, Alima,” he said. “Mackenzie is here to check in, please.”

  The dark-haired woman wearing a white Bellamore polo shirt and khaki pants returned his greeting and said, warmly, “Hello, Giovanni. Welcome to Bellamore, Mackenzie.” She asked for her last name, then typed away on her keyboard.

  Alima made several mm-hmm sounds and then filled Mackenzie in. “It looks like you’ve been scheduled for a spa session in the morning.”

  “I didn’t—” Mackenzie started.

  “I took the liberty of scheduling one for you,” Giovanni said. “A massage is the best thing for travel fatigue, but feel free to cancel or reschedule it.”

  “I’d be stupid to turn it down,” she said, thinking that Giovanni was a considerate host, whether he sometimes seemed too forward or not.

  “Very well. You can look over the services here”—Alima handed her a brochure—“and just show up at the spa area at nine.” She pulled out another glossy piece, this one a map of the resort, and pointed out the spa as well as the Sea Sanctuary casita, where she’d be staying.

  After filling her in on all the amenities, she programmed Mackenzie’s key card and then handed it to her.

  Giovanni said, “I’ll show you to your casita and make sure everything is to your liking.”

  “I think everything is going to be to my liking,” Mackenzie said with a laugh.

  Three minutes later, she and Giovanni exited the golf cart that had made short work of the twisting stone paths that connected everything on the island. He led her to the door.