Relapse in Paradise

by Roxanne Smith

  A sober man’s.

  His mouth quirked up at the thought. Emily was definitely a sober man’s woman. She gave no quarter and accepted no excuses. If he’d been with someone like Emily the last time Jordan had come looking for him—

  Forget it.

  Boston couldn’t afford to slip into old patterns of pointing his finger and laying blame on others. It hadn’t been the girl’s fault Jordan had succeeded. It boiled down to his insecurities, not anyone else’s. He should’ve been honest, and Jordan wouldn’t have had a weapon. At least not one he’d practically fashioned and handed over in a gift-wrapped box.

  If he hadn’t been wise enough to save himself, why’d he imagine Emily had the power?

  She slowed to walk beside him. “This humidity is killing me.”

  He smiled and slid one hand into his pocket. The other held his flip-flops. The beach was no place for shoes. “Like I said before, sauerkraut.”

  She smoothed a hand over her feral curls. “Well, I think I’m torn between love and hate. My skin feels great, but my hair hasn’t curled like this since high school.”

  A kinky strand curled around her neck from the nape to rest against her collarbone. Boston stopped walking and gently tugged the curl. A grin cropped up against his will.

  Her eyes rounded.

  He thumbed over the smooth lock. “Sorry. This curl’s been driving me nuts. It’s a perfect coil.” He dropped the strand, and it fell perfectly back into place. He channeled his gaze on the sidewalk, to keep it from traveling over her body again, and resumed walking.

  They kept to the boardwalk between the city and the beach as far as Kalakaua Avenue, where the path bumped right up against the shopping district near the statue of Duke Kahanamoku, the father of modern-day surfing, among other grand titles. Boston offered to take Emily into the more exciting streets teeming with shoppers, Gucci and Ferrari outlets, and world-class street performers.

  She didn’t want to leave the soothing sound of the surf. Damn if Boston’s pulse didn’t jump when she said it. Any woman who’d take a quiet night on the sand over the frantic ebb and flow of Kalakaua Avenue was a woman after his own heart.

  When the sun settled beyond the horizon behind them, Boston turned them around and headed back toward the beach proper. “You remember the cove we passed where the banyan trees form a canopy over a sitting area? We can take a break there if your feet hurt.”

  She lifted her sandals, which she’d removed long ago, and beamed. “I’ve figured out why so many people walk around barefoot. It’s a free spa treatment.”

  He lifted his flip-flops and they thumped their shoes together like a champagne toast. “To the sand between our toes.”

  “Hear, hear.”

  During the day, people swarmed this area. Boston had forgotten how hauntingly quiet it became at night, with the sun sinking low and the beach-goers abandoning the waves. They weren’t alone—never on Waikiki. They passed other couples and families pushing strollers and dragging small children by the hand. Some folks walked closer to the shore with their feet in the water.

  Ahead of them, a figure caught Boston’s eye. It walked unlike the rest. Not fast enough to be a jogger and too fast to be another wandering soul.

  For an instant, he tensed, imagining Jordan and her lazy yet purposeful stride coming toward them. She carried herself as though late for an important meeting, but never too rushed to put an alluring sway into her movements. He used to call her a tease on the run. At a yard away, he realized his fear had been justified.

  Boston stalled and grasped Emily’s hand, pulling her to a stop.

  She regarded him quizzically, then followed his gaze.

  Jordan stood like a regal queen glaring down on her subjects.

  Emily tilted her head in a curious fashion and gave Jordan a cursory head-to-toe inspection. “You’re late.”

  His ex-wife’s narrow chin tilted up. The half-cocked smile on her perfect rose of a mouth faltered and her large emerald-green gaze carved a lazy trail over them, coming to rest at their entwined hands.

  Boston fought the urge to drop Emily’s hand as an old guilt instinct kicked in.

  Jordan hadn’t changed. The bleached tips of her long, straight dark hair still danced around her belly button where it fell over her shoulders. A skin-tight white tank-top stretched across her thin frame, intentionally revealing the neon-green bra beneath and her cut-off shorts were as short as they could get without being a skirt. The frayed denim hem caressed the deeply tanned skin of her matchstick thighs. She’d lost at least ten pounds since he’d last seen her.

  Her body, on such obvious display, presented a stark contrast to Emily’s filled-out form. He’d been enjoying the view without realizing just how spectacular it was, smooth and rounded in all the right places.

  Boston shuffled his feet and gripped Emily’s hand tighter when she once again took the lead.

  “Jordan, right? We’ve been waiting for you, though I admit I expected a grander entrance.”

  It took every bit of control he had not to turn and gape at Emily. At the same time, his body relaxed. The tension eased from his stiff back. He rolled his shoulders. He had back-up. Jordan might finally meet her match with Emily.

  Jordan seemed taken aback, but the affect didn’t last long. She swept her hair over her shoulder to show off her long, lean neck and smiled. Boston couldn’t deny her beauty even as he inwardly cringed from it.

  “You must be the new girlfriend. Since Boston saw fit to warn you about me, I guess I’m wondering why you didn’t listen.”

  Emily squinted her eyes and cocked her head the other way. “A warning would imply danger. It’s more like we discussed which rehab to recommend when you popped up out of nowhere to do your little routine. You ever get tired of the same act?” Emily stopped talking and made a show of examining Jordan. “Have you eaten today, sweetie?” She snaked her arm around Boston’s waist and addressed him while keeping her pitying gaze trained on Jordan. “Babe, I know you want her to stay away from The Canopy, but look at her. If ever anyone desperately needed a plate of rice…”

  Boston shocked himself by laughing. He draped his arm over Emily’s shoulders and brought her closer.

  Well, hot damn. Never had such a keen expression of confusion graced Jordan’s beautiful face. This was turning out to be less of the nightmare he’d imagined and more like a dream come true.

  Emily didn’t stop there but took advantage of Jordan’s lack of reply. “I have clothes, too. You appear to be growing out of yours.” She ran a hand through her hair, and a subtle intake of breath pushed her breasts forward slightly. She chewed her lip in exaggerated concern. “Though, I’m not sure you can fill them out. Maybe after we get you back to a healthy weight.”

  Jordan sneered at Boston. “Where did you find this psychopath?”

  Emily laughed, a genuine laugh from her belly, and nestled tight against him with a coy smile. “We found each other, silly.”

  He had no idea what did it—maybe seeing Jordan on the hurting end of a head game, or having the body he’d been drooling over for hours tight against him, hot skin on hot skin. Whatever the cause, Boston dipped his head and pressed his mouth to Emily’s with a tenderness born of fear—he might be taking it too far.

  She might snap her head back, gasp, slap him, and destroy the illusion they’d created.

  But she didn’t. Her palms ran up his chest and she opened her mouth for him.

  He forgot they weren’t alone. Emily filled his head, and he crushed her closer to his body.

  Both a lifetime and an instant passed before she broke the embrace, breathless. A small smile crept over her lips. With her back to Jordan, this smile wasn’t part of the game. It was for him only. He smiled back.

  Jordan’s snort cut through the delicate moment like a razor through flesh. She took a step closer to Emily and rested her hands on her hips. “I’m gonna go barf in the bushes here in a minute,
but first let me explain something for your very real benefit, hon.”

  Emily turned around with the leisure of a lazy cat while keeping her body snuggled against Boston. “Oh, you’ve prepared a speech?”

  Boston relaxed into the game. He wrapped his arms around Emily’s waist from behind. “We love speeches.”

  Emily snorted in genuine amusement, which made his heart light in his chest. Winning felt damn good.

  Jordan narrowed her gaze and pointed a long finger at Boston. “That man is an addict. He might’ve put down the bottle, but there’s something important—fundamental, even—that you should strive to understand. You’re looking at his real habit, sweetheart. I’m the drug he’ll never quit.” She frowned. “It’s kind of sad.”

  Emily matched her condescending tone. “You’re right. It is sad. Look at her, Boston. Clinging to a past when she had some modicum of power because she holds none now.”

  The truth of the statement struck Boston like a hammer. “Sadder still, she can’t fix her own life and has to break someone else’s to feel elevated.”

  Jordan huffed. “If you think—”

  Emily groaned and pushed away from Boston. The cloying sweetness fell away, and Emily’s true personality came out in full force. “Look, Jordan, I don’t have a fraction of the patience I’m pretending to possess. It’s so sad and pathetic, I can’t even play the game anymore. Your ambush, your crazy eyes—you’re like something out of a bad movie. And you look terrible. If Boston’s supposed to find you irresistible and alluring, you should’ve done a better job of taking care of yourself. There’s nothing sexy about being underweight and unhealthy. I get what you’re doing, and I get you’re terrified to drown alone, but this? Color me unimpressed.”

  She shook her head and turned her back on Jordan. “Boston, you said she was intimidating. I’ve had waitresses with more punch.”

  Boston regarded Emily with open admiration and shrugged at Jordan, who stared gape-mouthed at Emily. “She contends with Fortune 500 CEOs at her day job. I’m sorry if you thought you’d have it easy this time.”

  Jordan licked her lips and tried for an impression of dismissiveness, but Emily had visibly shaken her. “You don’t need a shield from me, Boston. When your friend here goes back home, I’ll still be here. Remember that.” She stalked past them.

  How did she know Emily was a tourist and not a local? Someone at The Canopy had been talking.

  Boston expected Jordan to fill his head as she sauntered away—memories, regrets, fears, old haunting doubts of himself and his resolve. But he only had a mind for Emily.

  She watched Jordan strut farther down the path, and Boston watched her. He’d never met anyone who didn’t tremble when confronted by Jordan. She had a barbed tongue and a withering stare Boston shrunk beneath. Emily had treated her more like an annoying fly than a real threat.

  He had a sudden desire to cling to Emily like a maiden in distress hiding behind the prince who would slay the beast. Hey, if the glass slipper fit.

  They started on their way again in silence. Their kiss stole Boston’s thoughts and left no room for anything but the small wish it’d be possible someday—that a woman as strong as Emily would ever give a weak man like him the time of day.

  Chapter 9

  Hani placed the plate of rice with pineapple slices and papaya chunks in front of Emily. “I can’t believe you’re leaving in a week, girl. You just got here.”

  She sighed. She’d finally gotten over the rice thing. Sort of. More like she’d accepted her fate. “I’ve been here forever. I can hardly remember what Cali looks like.”

  “A blessing if you ask me. That place is ug-ly.”

  She ignored him and bit back a smile, digging into her breakfast. She glimpsed at a man one table over, eating with a gusto she’d only ever seen at The Canopy. His hands were filthy, his scraggly beard unwashed, and his eyes red-rimmed.

  Remarkable how far she’d come.

  The man with rice in his beard and dirty hands popping the fresh fruit into his gapped-toothed mouth would’ve disgusted her mere weeks ago. Now she sat down to breakfast only feet away and tucked into her meal without a thought besides wondering if he’d be back for lunch. What would Quinn say about her type of person now?

  Hani didn’t head back to the kitchen like she expected. He sat across from her, blocking the view of the man she’d been observing. He drummed his sausage-like fingers across the scarred wood and pressed his lips together.

  “Spit it out, Hani.” She forked in a mouthful of rice.

  “Boston ain’t gonna like you having dinner with Ryder again.”

  “Yeah? Well, Boston’s not here, is he? I’ve put Ryder off the last couple of times he asked because Boston doesn’t trust him, but you have to understand I’m in a position to help. Besides, I’ve got no good reason to turn down a dinner invitation. I don’t have plans.”

  “It ain’t Boston’s fault he had to pick up donations today. They’re spread far and wide. It takes a long time.”

  “Which is exactly why he said I should entertain myself. And I will.”

  His dark eyes settled on her, and she knew what was coming next. She shook her head.

  He frowned. “Come on, Emily! Boston’s been going on for weeks about how you put the smackdown on Jordan. I wanna hear the whole story. Whatever you said to her, it worked. We ain’t seen her since.”

  “It won’t stick. She’s like athlete’s foot. She’ll be back.”

  Jordan definitely hadn’t abandoned her crusade to bring Boston to ruin. Emily had been waiting for her to pop up again, unexpected and meaner than ever.

  What had Emily in tangles was the why. “Hani, can I ask you something? Boston is your best friend, and I don’t want to tread on your loyalty to him.”

  “Pfft. He’s the reason you’re involved in this. Ask me anything, Miss Emily.”

  She pushed a clump of rice across her plate. “Why does Jordan do this to him? When she confronted us, I accused her of not wanting to drown alone, but does she truly love Boston? Is she coming back to fix it? I mean, they’ve been playing this game for years. He’s not over her, and she can’t seem to move on from him.”

  A wide, brown hand smoothed over Hani’s chin. “I’ve always believed it comes down to control. Jordan’s brother, Phillip, told us she’s been in a relationship with some guy for the last two years. Longer than most. It takes dudes some time to figure out she’s more than a hard partier, you know. She’s got a real problem. They get tired of it, and they dump her. What can she do but crawl back to a guy who always gives her the power? Once she recovers, she bails. It’s like refueling or something.”

  Emily nodded and recalled she’d mention power to Jordan as well. Turned out, she hadn’t been far off the mark. “Do you think she’s waiting until I leave to come back for him? My four weeks is almost up.”

  A guilty flash crossed Hani’s face, along with a hint of anxiety.

  Emily paused. “Something you want to tell me, Hani?”

  He swallowed and beseechingly searched her face. “Yeah, I wanna confess on Boston’s behalf. Now you’re probably gonna be a little pissed off, but keep in mind his motives.”

  She sat back with crossed arms as he proceeded to fill her in on the appropriated Hilton funds Boston used to bail Ryder from his jail cell.

  “I ain’t saying it was right,” Hani pressed. “I certainly disagreed with him at the time, but his heart’s always in the right place.”

  What did Hani have to gain by giving away Boston’s deceit? “Why tell me?”

  “Because, Miss Emily, that’s who he is. He walks around here like Mr. Don’t Care, but the problem is he cares too much. He duped you because he didn’t want to let me down. He didn’t even remember who the hell Ryder was when I asked for help. Maybe that’s the answer when it comes to Jordan.” He threw his hands up and heaved himself up from his seat. “Hell, maybe I’m wrong, but I think she comes back
because Boston cares, and he’ll do anything for the people he cares about. It’s different this time, though.”

  “How so?”

  “You, Miss Emily.”

  She shook her head. “Boston stole from me, but I’m supposed to be the catalyst that breaks him free of Jordan? The math isn’t adding up for me here, Hani.”

  He chuckled and hitched his apron higher on his rounded belly. “He didn’t know you then, and he had a strong motive. But now, you see, Boston cares about you, too. Where does that leave Jordan? Nobody’s saying you owe Boston a damn thing, but you might stick around a while yet. Something’s gotta break the cycle.”

  Why does it have to me?

  Emily chewed through the last pineapple slice in slow motion. How had she gone from tourist to protector, and why didn’t Boston simply grow a pair and tell Jordan to get lost? “Why won’t he stand up to her?”

  Hani sighed. “He tries, but it’s a double-whammy. It’s more than his first love and the woman he married. It’s also a return to other highs. Hell, it’s a mecca of good feelings.” He tapped his temple. “Imagine you been on a diet for ten years, right? Then Brad Pitt shows up. You love Brad Pitt. It ain’t just him, though, because he brought along a buffet of the worst things you could eat, too. And he’s smiling and taking off his shirt, waving a donut in your face.” He bobbed his head. “Yeah, it’s like that.”

  The image was astoundingly easy to relate to. “Okay, I’m starting to get it.”

  The conversation came to an abrupt end when Boston bounded into The Canopy.

  Okay, maybe Boston didn’t bound anywhere, but he had a definite skip in his step. He sat next to her, a wide grin on his smooth, lean face, and plucked the last chunk of papaya from her plate. “Morning.”

  His smile was a certifiable contagion. “Please, have my papaya. It’s not my favorite or anything.”

  “I live to serve.”

  Hani cleared his throat. He looked from her to Boston and back again with an impish grin. “I’ll leave you two alone. You wanna borrow my room, you know where it is, Bos.” He laughed out loud and strutted toward the kitchen, sparing them a clever response.