Relapse in Paradise

by Roxanne Smith

  * * * *

  Akela stepped back to admire her handiwork at the same time another knock sounded on Emily’s door.

  This time, she expected the caller. “Took Boston long enough to clean the van.”

  Akela had spotted the bags from her shopping spree last night, and they’d spent the last hour playing dress-up, which amounted to Emily trying on every one of her new outfits while Akela oohed and ahhhed and ultimately chose Emily’s ensemble for the day.

  Emily’s newest gal pal beamed and clapped her hands. “You’re beautiful! I hope he’s taking you somewhere super special.”

  Boston knocked again but didn’t wait to let himself inside. He shut the door and took in the mostly bare room in his casual, couldn’t-care-less demeanor. “Nice digs.”

  Ah, sarcasm. She’d missed it while in Ryder’s company. One thing she had to give Boston credit for: he had a sense of humor.

  Akela shifted into a state of unbearable shyness in his presence. Emily’s heart went out to her as the young woman nervously toyed with the end of her long black braid, identical to Hani’s, and smiled at Boston with such admiration it made Emily choke back a giggle.

  It wasn’t funny, really. A crush could be devastating, as she well knew.

  Akela grabbed Emily’s empty plate. Even on her rich, brown skin, the blush stood out. “I’ll take this back to The Canopy for you. You guys probably have big plans for the day.”

  “Thanks, Akela.” Boston said the words before Emily had the chance.

  For whatever reason, she’d expected him to be dismissive, even rude. Because Emily had to face the truth; Akela wasn’t a pretty girl. And she had a crush to boot.

  Instead, Boston was respectably polite. Warm, but not too personal. Distant, but not in an ew-don’t-touch-me way.

  Emily managed a quick thank you before Akela scuttled from the room. No other way to describe it—head down, feet shuffling.

  “So.” She clapped her hands together. “I hear we have big plans.”

  Boston had his hair tied back in a high ponytail more at home on a girl, but she could hardly deny he wore it well. A little Beckham-ish, she’d admit.

  “We do.” He paused and glanced around the room once more. “You, uh, sure about this? About staying here? I’m sure we can find—”

  “The lease is signed. Wendy gave me a key to the dead bolt. I’m able to come and go as I please. And if anyone were to break in, what would they bother coming up here for? The goods are downstairs.”

  His pale blue gaze made a lazy trail over her, down to her sandaled feet and back.

  She realized she was dressed quite differently from the last time he’d seen her. Gone were the corporate duds. Akela had dressed her in a white dress with big, red flowers. The bodice fit snugly, the skirt swung out around her hips and made them appear more flared than they really were. The hem fell modestly to her mid-thigh.

  Heat crept up her neck. She hadn’t acclimated to her new dress code yet.

  Boston ended his perusal with a lopsided grin that made him look like he had some dastardly plan up his sleeve. Maybe he did. “Nice dress.”

  “You like it?” She smoothed down the skirt. “It’s the most scenic thing I’ve seen on my vacation so far.”

  “Hmm.” He licked his teeth. “I do like it. It’s a damn shame you’ll need to change. Those sandals are nice, too, but you’ll want some hiking boots.”

  How did he always find the perfect words to get under her skin? He did it on purpose. Nothing else accounted for it.

  “My first real outing, and we’re hiking?” She cocked her head to the side. “People actually pay you for a good time?”

  He slowly crossed his arms. “What’s wrong with hiking?”

  Wrong?

  First of all, she’d have to expose thighs that hadn’t seen the light of day since 1996. Second, though she might want hiking boots, it hadn’t crossed her mind to purchase a pair. “I’ll have to go shopping again.”

  That seemed to give him pause. “I bet Akela can loan you a pair.”

  Emily patiently reminded herself why she’d come. This was supposed to be a time of self-discovery and de-stressing. If that meant hiking a mountain instead of strolling white sandy beaches, then fine.

  Go with the flow. “Okay. You win. Whatever. Ask Akela about boots, and I’ll change. Do me a favor and tell Hani I said thanks for breakfast. A strange but yummy breakfast.” She snatched up one of her shopping bags from the mall.

  “Actually, I made it.”

  She stopped searching for the khaki shorts she’d bought yesterday and squinted at Boston. “Akela said—”

  “Hani gave her the plate and asked her to bring it up, but I cooked this morning.” He shrugged. “Hani wasn’t feeling well. I’m a terrible cook. Just be glad anything was edible.”

  She went back to digging through her new wardrobe. “Well, well. Is there no end to your veritable talents?”

  He astounded her by shuffling his feet and clasping his hands behind his back. “I am sorry, Emily.”

  Her mouth probably gaped wide open. “For what?” She’d been the judgmental snoot. What had he done besides go out of his way to help a confused soldier and his desperate cousin? She wanted to kick herself for making the joke about the scenery on her dress. “Listen, I get it. Things happen—”

  “You shouldn’t be staying here. The right thing would’ve been to take care of your needs as my client before addressing personal business. There’s no excuse for it. I’m on the payroll, and this is not what Quinn had in mind when she asked me to take care of you.” He offered her a grim smile. “This place doesn’t even have room service.”

  His observation came so close to the joke she’d made yesterday, she snickered. “Look at it this way, Boston. You can walk to work.”

  The slightest tug on the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile.

  “And I don’t mind. It’s…” She peered around. She had a bed with clean sheets, a private bathroom, and a window to gaze out of. “Different. And different’s okay with me. Everyone comes to Hawaii dreaming of the ultimate island experience, right? I’m in the trenches. Isn’t that at the very heart of what you advertise?”

  His eyes narrowed like it hurt to consider the idea. “Yeah, but I don’t usually mean it so damn literally.”

  Finally, she located her khaki shorts and yanked them from the plastic shopping bag. She stood up straight and shook them out. God, they were short. “I want to make the most of the time I’m here. Help me and we both win.”

  He smiled in full, his dimples deeper than ever. “Keep wearing dresses like that, and I definitely win more than you.”

  * * * *

  Boston had made a poor bet with himself.

  He’d counted on Emily in slacks and a colorless button-up top and a lengthy lecture on why she’d need a different ensemble for hiking. At most he expected her to have swapped out the mannish loafers for a pair of low heels.

  The dress—and Emily inside it—had blown him away.

  Those legs.

  Miles and miles of legs. He recalled Quinn being tall, but she’d been a wispy thing. Emily shared the legs-forever trait, but with a little more oomph.

  Her bun thingy had vanished, along with her corporate uniform. She’d been hiding loose waves of chocolaty brown curls in that bun of hers, identical to the shade of her eyes. It fell long enough to caress her milky white shoulders.

  And she hadn’t seemed any less confident, despite the change in attire, which had rocked him as much as the dress had. In his experience, women like Emily wore their pantsuits like armor.

  It’d taken a great deal of control to stifle the urge to ogle her body this morning and ignore the mesmerizing sway of her dress sashaying around her full hips—hips a man could get a grip on.

  Thank God they were hiking. He’d have to swipe any beach-going plans off the agenda. If a modest dress made him drool, Emily would kill him
in a bikini.

  And if Ryder ever caught sight of her in either, he could probably kiss his client good-bye.

  Boston frowned. Had their instant connection truly bothered him? Did he care if they probably had matching briefcases sitting in their walk-in closets lined with wrinkle-free gray slacks and stiff, white button-ups starched to perfection?

  Maybe. Yeah. But for only Kale’s sake. As a matter of trust.

  Ryder had the world-owning attitude every prick with an office in a downtown high-rise seemed to perpetrate. A classic chicken-egg scenario. Did the corporations only hire people with a deep sense of entitlement, or did it culminate after they took the job?

  Boston would never know. Before operating The Canopy, he’d been a lowly teacher and a homeless beggar. He’d never had any power to begin with.

  Keeping pace with Emily and convincing her they were on equal footing tested his ability to fake it to the max. Once upon a time, he might’ve been close. He’d been respectable, at least. There’d been an office and a laptop. Some okay clothes. A socially acceptable haircut. Presently, however, he bobbed around the murky bottom of the societal barrel while Emily sat square at the top.

  She hadn’t put him at ease with her casual acceptance of lunch at a soup kitchen or her undaunted undertaking of less-than immaculate living quarters. To the contrary, he felt observed. Emily witnessed his life through a protective barrier courtesy of her lofty station on high, mingling without putting her toes in the water. Like a scientist studying a contagion from behind a microscope. Safe. Unaffected. Then she’d go home and convince herself she was a better person for it.

  The idea both pleased and prodded him. It indicated an open mind. And yet she’d gone off with the first corporate douche she ran into.

  But did it bother him?

  Not as much as hijacking Emily’s vacation again to pursue a personal motive. Though, to be fair, it was a “two birds, one stone” situation. They were halfway across Oahu, and Emily had blessed their journey with ponderous silence as she took in the sights.

  Finally, he pulled into the entrance of the Schofield Army Base. He didn’t attempt to get through the guarded entrance. After all, one didn’t waltz onto a military base without the proper credentials. Instead, he ignored Emily’s confused examination of their destination and parked in the visitor lot. He also pretended not to notice her much meaner stare when he reached across to the glove compartment and popped it open to grab the phone.

  She arched a brow. “Emergency?”

  “Sort of. We can’t get in without calling for help.”

  Zachary Lionel picked up on the first ring and promised to meet them at the gate in ten minutes.

  “An old friend,” Boston explained, returning the phone. “He’ll get us onto the base.”

  Five minutes later, Sergeant Lionel hopped into the back of Boston’s van, flashed his identification at the gate, and they were welcome onto the base.

  Boston took the opportunity, while driving through the compound, to quiz his friend before dropping him back at his apartment. “Hey, man, I heard the craziest rumor yesterday.”

  The sergeant leaned forward and gripped the back of Boston’s headrest. “Yeah?”

  “I heard they found the AWOL kid. You know, the lettuce dude.”

  Zachary laughed and prepared to open the door as Boston pulled up to the curb in front of the sergeant’s condo-style dwelling. “Kale. Yeah, man, I knew him. Good guy, but I don’t think they found him. It’d be big news on base. Personally, I think something happened to him. He didn’t seem the type to skip.” He shrugged, pulled open the sliding door, and launched himself out of the van. “Enjoy your hike, guys!” He took off at a slow jog.

  Boston pulled away from the curb. “Always in a hurry, these guys.”

  Emily’s arms and legs crossed.

  Those damn legs. The shorts were far worse than the dress, revealing several more inches of flawless pale skin. “I see what you did there. You should’ve told me. I want to help Kale as much as you do.”

  He hit the brakes about a yard before the stop sign required him to and stared at her. Since when had Kale become her concern? “Why do you care about helping a homeless kid you’ve never even met?”

  She innocently lifted her shoulders like the answer was obvious. “Since I had coffee with Ryder and heard a bit about him. And why shouldn’t I care? I might be stuffy, but I’m not an ice queen.”

  An idea struck him. Emily might be in the perfect position to help them ferret out Ryder’s motive. Hell, she might already know it. All he had to do was a little asking. He’d best tread carefully, though. He didn’t want Emily to confuse his interest with any other emotion. Like jealousy.

  With the van back in motion, he rubbed his cheek. “Ryder’s a conundrum to me. He gives up his job and home to move into a shelter to find his missing cousin. Sort of extreme, isn’t it?”

  Emily seemed to chew on his words. “It would depend on how close they are.”

  “They can’t be that close. Kale’s been living at The Canopy for a while. Never mentioned having family on the island. I don’t want to intrude on your budding relationship with Ryder, but do me one favor.”

  She cast him an annoyed glance.

  “Just keep in mind we’re not sure of his motives. He might mean to turn Kale in. It’s exactly the sort of thing a well-meaning family member might do.”

  Her lips pressed together, a sign she was about to make a highly intelligent point he’d need something extremely clever to argue against.

  “You’re saying hiding Kale from the authorities, which I’ll remind you is illegal, is the more honorable course of action?”

  Man, this woman got under his skin. “It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with honor. It’s about freedom. Maybe Kale came to a point where he didn’t agree with what’s happening anymore. He bolted. It’s not my place to hand him over to anyone. It is my duty, however, to support a man’s freewill. I feed people. I don’t tell them how to live. I’m damn sure not about to turn Kale over to some stiff-neck like Ryder until I know exactly why he wants Kale so bad.”

  “And if he finds Kale before you do?”

  The thought had occurred. “At least I tried.”

  “What if Ryder doesn’t intend to turn Kale over to the Army?”

  Boston let out a sigh of frustration. “I want to trust Ryder, but I don’t. Something about the guy strikes me as cagey. He’s determined but not in the way you’d imagine a loving relative to be.” He let out a breathy, humorless laugh. He had no siblings and his parents were so old they were practically comatose. “Then again, what the hell do I know about loving relatives.”

  A beat passed. “Jordan seems to have loved you. In one of those unhealthy, dangerous ways. But still.”

  The comment came so hard and fast from left field, Boston’s foot slammed down on the brakes a second time. He’d compared Emily to a scientist peering down a scope into his life without realizing how accurately he’d pegged her. She had no right to bring up the most painful part of his past with some blasé, bullshit insight.

  “What the hell do you know about Jordan?”

  Emily looked at him full-on and seemed taken aback by his response.

  Good. He never thought he’d have to set boundaries with a client, but he’d damn sure establish some now.

  She mumbled an explanation. “Akela mentioned her in passing this morning. An offhand comment. Nothing important.”

  He bet Akela had said a lot more than nothing. Boston raised an angry finger. “My past isn’t a topic for discussion. Unless you want to harp on yours? Didn’t you marry your sister’s husband? Talk about a messed up relationship.”

  Damn it. He dropped his hands in his lap, thrust his back into his seat, and shook his head. How were they supposed to move on from this? One day Boston would learn to keep his cool when it came to Jordan.

  But not today. He eased the van back into motion.
They weren’t far from their destination now.

  Emily’s arms were still crossed, and she faced the window.

  “Emily, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. It’s just—it’s a button, okay? My least favorite and most trigger-happy button is named Jordan Stacey, and it’s for the best if we don’t talk about her. Ever.”

  He expected a bland apology or for the silence to continue.

  Instead, she faced him with a small, sad smile. “I married my sister’s ex-husband, if you want to get technical. Unfortunately, career success doesn’t necessarily transfer into success in every arena of life. You think you’ve got touchy history?” She laughed drily and went back to staring out the window. “I knew Blake still loved her. I married him anyway. Quinn’s like that, though. People like her. I can’t even blame him.”

  Boston stared dumbly ahead, but focusing on the road leading them to Waianae Range became a struggle. He wanted to gape at her and ask why? And how? He’d have taken an angry explosion over her quiet surrender to her fate any day. He definitely hadn’t counted on the uber-confident and worldly Emily to have the same deep-rooted issues he did. Didn’t rich people have affairs to settle their scores? “Hey, it’s not a battle of the exes. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Point taken. Can we agree to not talk about either one of them?”

  She analyzed him from the corner of her eye. “You don’t have to talk about Jordan, but I do hate to see you feeling so darn special over there. See, not only did I force Blake into a marriage he wasn’t ready for, I also came very close to letting my guilt over my feelings for Blake ruin Quinn’s relationship with Jack. I tried to break them up. In fact, I succeeded for a while.”

  Boston recalled her comment the day he’d picked her up at the airport. Something about Quinn getting even.

  Emily issued another dry laugh and clasped her hands together in her lap. “That’s not even the saddest part. The real shame is that I’m over forty, and the only person I’ve ever loved is my ex-husband. Late bloomer over here.” She poked her chest with her thumbs. “No high school boyfriend. Didn’t date in college. I’ve never known love. Not the real stuff that flows back and forth between two people like it’s supposed to. As much as you might hate your ex-wife, as bad as she may have been, as much heartache as she must’ve caused you, Boston—you can’t say she didn’t love you. And you loved her.”