Karibu Heat (Sequel to Kabana Heat)

by Titania Ladley

  An attractive couple. That phrase coming from this good-looking guy with the softening but still impressive-sized cock, made Keefer’s insides go all hot and mushy.

  “Shut the hell up, Jager,” Anjelee snapped, and shot him a withering look across the room. She flipped a pink lock of hair away from her equally pink cheek. “It’s none of your business who’s sleeping with who.”

  Keefer snapped his fingers. “So, it’s Jager. Jager what? Where did you come from, and why are you stalking Anjelee?”

  “Manning. Jager Manning. I came all the way from L.A. And what is it about you two and that word, ‘stalking’?” He huffed and rolled his bedroom eyes. “Look, I’m not stalking her. I’ve got her under surveillance. I’m making sure she returns to the States and gets what’s coming to her.”

  “Surveillance?” Keefer liked the last name Manning. Very manly and strong sounding. But the rest of Jager’s words were what really got his attention. He threw his head back and laughed sarcastically. “Is that what you call it when you follow a woman to a hedonistic resort and spy on her nudity, then attack her in the room she shares with another man? That’s surveillance? Clever. Very clever, if not a bit twisted. Hm. Maybe I should become a P.I.”

  “Attack her?” Jager shot to his feet. His now limp, long shaft bounced before it settled over the tight balls that Keefer could just imagine would feel smooth and full in his hand. And in his mouth. “I didn’t attack her. She attacked me.”

  “What?” Anjelee shrieked.

  “You threw your bag of dildos at me,” Jager accused. He turned and snatched up the proof. When he held up the sack, Keefer heard the muffled buzz of her toys going off inside. The noise escalated when Jager yanked open the drawstring and pulled out a seven-inch, purple dong monster. He held it up, twisted the end and shut it off. “That’s an awfully dangerous attack if you ask me.”

  Angelee smirked. “Well, I didn’t ask you. And that wasn’t a dildo. It was a vibrator, genius. There is a difference.”

  “What the hell ever,” Jager mumbled. He flung the bag and the toy onto the bed, as if he suddenly realized it was a poisonous snake.

  Anjelee whirled back around. Her hair swung out in a striped curtain of pink and platinum. “Keef, I’m telling you, he bribed some maid or desk clerk for the key to the door between our suite and the next,” she insisted, pointing toward the door that indeed stood open between the rooms. “And then he marched in here and snatched me right up off the frigging floor.”

  “Snatched you up off the floor? That’s hardly an attack, especially when the person’s a willing participant.” Jager scoffed and crossed to the door he’d used to enter their suite, his powerful legs flexing. He bent across the threshold and grabbed his Levi’s, which he’d apparently brought from the pool and left in a heap just inside the door to the other room. He shoved his legs into the jeans—mmm, without underwear—and did a squat to enable him to carefully stuff his cock into the crotch without scraping it on the open zipper.

  With a quick zip of the fly, Jager added, “It was a warning. A warning that it’s over, Anjelee. You can’t keep pulling that shit on Mitch Wulfrum. You do, I’m telling you, it’s not going to keep going your way, that I can promise you.”

  “Mitch Wulfrum?” Keefer’d been marveling over the fact that Jager looked almost as good in pants as he did out of them, when his words finally shook Keefer from his daze. He tore his stare from Jager and targeted Anjelee instead. “The movie star whose wedding you shot in Kabana, Hawaii, a few weeks back?”

  Jager sent Anjelee a sour, ha-ha look. “Yeah. That movie star. The one she’s been blackmailing. Holding hostage some pretty racy photos she took while trespassing on the roof during their honeymoon.”

  “On the roof?” Keefer’s head spun with confusion. He looked at Anjelee who, with her deer-in-the-headlights expression slowly seemed to be melting down into a puddle like the Wicked Witch of the East. “What the hell’s he talking about, Anj? Blackmailing? Trespassing? Did you really break the law in Hawaii?”

  She started to answer but clacked her mouth shut instead. Her eyes darted guiltily around the room. She studied every indoor potted plant and tropical framed art on the walls instead of meeting Keefer’s probing gaze.

  “Well, imagine that. Seems the cat’s got the little shrew’s tongue,” Jager snorted. He crossed his arms, the heavily muscled biceps and pecs flexing deliciously. His gaze fell expectantly and triumphantly on Keefer. “So, poor mute that she is, I’d be glad to speak for her if you’d like.”

  Of course she found her voice before Keefer could find his own following that mesmerizing stare of Jager’s. Her tone seethed with bitterness and a curious note of desperation. “Shut it, Jager. This has nothing to do with Keefer.”

  Keefer ignored Anjelee and took a quick scan of Jager’s sparse brown curls scattered over the chiseled chest and rippled abs. His fingers curled into fists when he imagined skimming his palms down that rock-hard wall, then down along the narrowing arrow of crisp hairs that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. Thinking about where the path led made Keefer’s knees go weak and his mouth water.

  “And how is it you know both Anjelee and the celebrity?” Keefer asked, trying to keep the matter at hand a priority over his depraved thoughts.

  Jager shrugged his burly shoulders. “I’m the P.R. guy for both Mitch Wulfrum and KPCS, the cane company owned by Heloki ‘Alohi, the father of Wulfrum’s new bride, Kiona. I originally hired Anjelee to photograph their private wedding ceremony. From there, Anjelee took it in an entirely different direction. An illegal one, to be exact.”

  “I said shut the hell up, Jager.” Anjelee pounded her fist on a nearby dresser. “This shouldn’t involve Keefer. No, make that, it won’t involve him.”

  Jager leveled a look at Anjelee. He planted his bare feet apart in an arrogant stance that made Keefer think of some hot, glistening guy on the cover of a fitness magazine. “Well, considering he’s the boyfriend you’re rooming with, and the one who paid for your hideout-trip-on-the-run-from-the-law here, and who you sort of just screwed around on, I’d say it has everything to do with Keefer.”

  Damn, Keefer did love the sound of his name edged by that deep voice. But he could swear that word “boyfriend” had been laced with jealousy.

  Hmm, interesting…

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Anjelee shot back.

  Ouch.

  Keefer studied her, amazed at how torn he was between visually devouring her, and drooling over Jager. But he would never tire of looking at her. She was gorgeous in an unconventional, wild and sexy way. She had her cat eyes narrowed, and her tense posture made her compact little body show defined and tight through the robe. Her legs had a nice definition to them as she stood with her feet apart in anger, going head-to-head with Jager. Keefer licked his lips at the sight of her small but full breasts pressed against the thin fabric. His body went hard, his palms itched to be filled by the mounds. His shaft tingled and desire grew heavier in his loins. He looked from her, to the arrogant, handsome man, then back to his feisty, gorgeous best friend, and Keefer decided he wanted them both—God, how he wanted them something fierce. He could well imagine sinking his stiff cock into her tight little pussy while Jager filled Keefer up from behind. Or watching Jager fuck her while Keefer buried himself in Jager’s nice, tight ass.

  Hell, this is ridiculous. I can’t keep thinking this way.

  “How can he not be your boyfriend?” Jager asked with a note of amusement in his voice. He made a play of glancing around the room as if to say everything indicated they were a couple. “I don’t see twin beds in here.”

  “No need for twin beds. A king bed is very wide and allows lots of space between two people,” Anjelee pointed out with a roll of her eyes. “We’re just friends. I’m not his type.”

  Ouch again.

  But that friend thing and bed situation could be fixed. There was lots of space for a third person...

  “You know tha
t’s not true. You are too my type,” Keefer interjected.

  “Is too true.” She grabbed her purse off the dresser and dug through the contents. She found a piece of bubble gum, unwrapped it and popped the pink ball into her mouth. Chomping as she spoke, she added, “A woman knows that when she parades around naked in front of a man for days—no, make that years—and sleeps nude next to him every night at a hedonistic resort for almost a week with not one single look or attempt to do the deed on his part, that means she’s not the guy’s type. Either that, or he’s gay.”

  Crap. “I’m not gay.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” Jager mumbled.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Keefer asked, suddenly feeling like a trapped rat.

  Jager lifted a beefy shoulder. “The way you looked at me. Only thing that was missing was the drool.”

  Keefer swallowed the “drool” that had, in fact, been pooling in his mouth.

  Anjelee’s gaze riveted to Keefer. Her eyes were wide, but there was something else there. Mischief and intrigue, if Keefer knew her well enough. “So you are gay.”

  “No, I’m not.” Keefer shuffled his feet and plopped onto a nearby love seat. “I’ve got eyes for you, and you know it.”

  “He’s both,” Jager pointed out, heading back into the next room.

  Shit. Astute bastard.

  “Both?” Anjelee’s voice spiked with a note Keefer could swear meant hope and excitement. “You think? Really?”

  “Yeah. Bisexual.” Jager turned back, his hand on the knob to the door separating the two rooms. “He ogled me, and then he ogled you. I know the look, and so do you, Anjelee.”

  Keefer sighed and rammed his head back into the wall behind the sofa. “Do we have to talk about me as if I’m not here? And that’s bullshit, by the way. I did not ogle.”

  She glided across the room toward Keefer, her brow furrowed. “No, come to think of it, I believe Jager’s right. I think you did ogle.”

  “I did not—”

  Anjelee stood over him chomping and popping her gum. Her gaze held his like a potent truth serum. “Are you bisexual? Huh? Are you? Because if that’s truly the case, it sure would explain a lot.”

  “He is, no doubt in my mind.” Jager leaned against the doorjamb and hooked a thumb in the belt loop of his jeans. He looked all-male and so damn appetizing, it took all of Keefer’s mental strength to force his rising cock down. “He wants us both.”

  “Really? Are you? Do you? Does he have it right?” Anjelee’s face lit up like a barrage of colorful firecrackers.

  “I…” Keefer couldn’t find the right words. He’d always longed to confess it to her, but now that the perfect opportunity was here, he couldn’t bring himself to confirm it. “I…”

  “I have it right,” Jager grumped in that deep, sexy voice. “I know because it takes one to spot one.”

  Anjelee whirled around. She blew a bubble as she regarded Jager from across the room. Pop. She sucked the wad back in her mouth and asked, “Oh, my freaking gawd, you’re bisexual too? Like Wulfrum, and like Kol, the guy Wulfrum and his wife brought into their marriage?”

  “What?” Keefer perked up at the gossipy news that Anj had apparently kept from him after her trip to Kabana.

  “That’s hearsay,” Jager insisted, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He came back into their suite, hands on hips. “You don’t know that for sure.”

  Anjelee snorted. “Like hell I don’t. Didn’t you just say I saw it with my own eyes? Make up your damn mind whether you want to admit to your client’s truth, or keep concealing it. You know who it was that I saw the bi hanky-panky going on with. Besides, I got it on film. Still do.”

  “Right, which swings us back to you trespassing and blackmailing—that would be, breaking the law in the States, which is why I’m here. To bring you back to face the music. You’re a dead woman walking, Anjelee Montrose. And if I have to stay here for a month watching and waiting for you to return to California, I’ll do it. I’ve got my eye on you. I’ll be keeping track of every step you take. I’m a patient man. I’m here for as long as you are, for as long as it takes to finally bring you down to the level where you belong.”

  He turned his back on them, but seemingly on a whim, he spun back around, leveled one last stare of determination at her and then slammed the door that adjoined their rooms.

  “Holy shit.” Keefer gawked at the closed door.

  “Okay, so I trespassed and I ‘blackmailed’ movie star Mitch Wulfrum, as he likes to call it, after witnessing some really juicy, three-way ass-shagging sex between him, his new wife and her boyfriend. Guilty as charged. But I have a very good reason.”

  “You always do,” he replied distractedly.

  Her admission of guilt meant little to him at the moment. He suddenly didn’t care if she’d murdered someone. Keefer just got confirmation from Jager’s own mouth that he’s bisexual too. Takes one to spot one. And on top of that, Anjelee all but admitted her attraction to Keefer, while her attraction to Jager had also been apparent from the start.

  Keefer dragged his gaze from the closed door and settled it on her face. “And you’re going to tell me that reason right now. But before you do, let me explain to you the way I’m seeing it. You want me, I want you and we both want him. So…what do you say we come up with a plan to make us all happy?”

  Chapter Four

  The tropical breeze moved through the nearby beach palms and sent a flood of brine-scented, balmy air across their naked bodies. Anjelee lay on a double raft in the roped-off bay designated for swimming, Keefer at her side. Her eyes were closed behind her shades, but the strong sunrays left a pale yellow curtain behind her eyelids while warming her from her bare breasts to her toes.

  About twenty feet away, a woman moaned in the water while a man growled, “Yes, baby, take me. Aw, shit, you’re so fucking tight.”

  A svelte woman sunned in the buff in a floating lounger sipping a margarita while one man pleasured her between the legs and another gave full attention to her bulging, fake breasts.

  Yet another woman, blonde and naturally buxom, knelt on all fours in the shallow surf at beachside and gave a body-builder-type man a thorough blowjob while a black man entered her from behind. A second female sat on the face of the man receiving oral, dancing and groaning her pleasure.

  Almost as if desensitized to all the sexual energy around them, a group of a dozen naked men and women whooped and hollered while engaging in a serious game of sand volleyball. The seaside pool where Jager had first found her playing naked Twister was in full swing just above a low rocky ledge where the cove merged into the open beach. Droves of bronzed bodies frolicked in the pool water, and loyal staff hovered nearby to assist them and monitor for the occasional rule-breaker—like Jager when he’d first found her. Laughter and chattering could be heard over the swim-up bar’s buzzing blenders and lively reggae music. Further still, beyond the boardwalk, the terrace dining area with its famous “Naked Parties Pier” buzzed in full lunch mode. She supposed all that sun and sex revved up the appetites. Women in skimpy swimsuits slinked around the many buffet tables and caught the eyes of men and other women alike.

  Anjelee sighed. Ah, yes, all in a day’s work and play at Karibu’s hedonistic resort.

  Jager.

  His name popped into her head as she drowsily soaked up the sun. A shiver went up her spine. He was out there somewhere in the middle of all that sexual energy watching her, she just knew it. Hell, she could feel it. But screw him. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of one single, wary look his way even if Keefer did have plans for them to do more than just look at Jager.

  The raft shifted and Keefer’s hand closed over hers. “Let’s do it now, babe.”

  She opened one eye to find him on his side facing her, his head, with its slick-backed, dark long hair, propped on a fist. Her breath caught in her windpipe. Jeepers alive, the man was so ruggedly handsome, he never failed to leave her breathless. His hand moved in a slo
w caress up her arm, and wowza, he may as well have stroked her clit. Something hot and liquidy stirred in her womb.

  She swallowed to clear the growing lump in her throat. “Do it? Do what?”

  “It.” He trailed a finger from her oiled shoulder down over her nipple. Flames shot from her breast to her cunt so lightning-fast, it made her gasp. She slowly opened her other eye and gawked at him through the pale pink lenses of her sunglasses.

  He’d never touched her there before. Hell, for that matter, he’d never touched her that way before, with feeling and the heat of sex driving his hands to do yummy things.

  Her voice came out in a breathy whisper. She fought to calm her racing heart. “‘It’, as in…?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Anj. You know what I mean.” He cupped one mound, causing her to arch her back off the surface of the raft. “Make love.”

  Make love.

  She gulped. Oh, God, those two little words sounded so hot in that deep, all-male voice of his.

  “Are you serious? After all these years of me practically throwing myself at you, now you want to do it? Out here in front of the whole world?”

  He flopped onto his back and stared up at the pristine sky through his dark shades. A throaty sigh escaped his compressed mouth. “I’ve always loved you, and you know it.”

  Hearing those words for the first time while lounging naked with him on a naughty, remote island somehow didn’t have the gleeful, revving effect she’d always dreamed of. Keefer didn’t normally go from one extreme to another so quickly, so it made her suspicious as hell, never mind the fact she herself usually operated in a similar wishy-washy, ulterior-motive fashion.

  She sat up so fast the raft rocked precariously, nearly throwing Keefer into the water. “You’ve always loved me? What the fuck? Why now? Why are you doing this to me? Wait, it has to do with Jager, doesn’t—”

  He rose up and clamped a hand over her mouth. “I can only answer one question at a time, ya know?”