Harley & Rose

by Carmen Jenner

  Mercifully, he climbs off of me, and my bladder practically does a song and dance with relief, and then the sheet is ripped away and I’m hit with a blast of frigid air from the AC.

  “Jesus,” Harley mutters. I uncover my eyes to find him staring down at me. I wear a fitted Wonder Woman tank with matching star-spangled panties. I would have been wearing pajama pants too, if I hadn’t been gesticulating wildly with my wine glass last night as we sat out on the balcony, but considering Harley slept completely naked, I didn’t think he’d have an issue with me going pantless.

  “What?”

  “It’s as if my eleven-year-old fantasies have all come true.”

  I roll my eyes. “Shut up. Your eleven-year-old fantasies all involved Tammy Druitt.”

  “The ones I was vocal about, maybe,” he says. I shoot him a disbelieving look and he grins. “I couldn’t exactly tell my best friend I was jacking off into my hand while I imagined her mouth around my dick.”

  “You didn’t have a problem telling me that when we were eighteen,” I tease, attempting to cover myself with the sheet again. Harley pulls it free from my grasp and tosses it out of reach, then he grips my ankle and yanks me down the bed. I squeal and kick to no avail and he hovers over me again, this time leaning too close as he pins me with his gaze.

  “Because I couldn’t fucking help myself. It wasn’t a choice. I had to fuck you, possess you, and make sure the whole world knew you were mine. I gotta tell you, Rose, you waking up in my bed like this—it’s something I could get used to again.”

  Wow. I don’t know which Harley I am dealing with right now, but it is largely different from the man I’ve seen in recent weeks, and I’m buying whatever he’s selling. And the panties he seems so fond of are pretty much ruined because that little alpha male speech has ensured they’ll stay wet for hours to come.

  “Now get up. I’m going to go grab us coffee and you’re going to put this on.” He throws a paper bag on the bed and I side-eye it dubiously.

  “What is that?”

  “I thought of you when I saw it.”

  I frown suspiciously but sit up, clapping my hands anyway because I’ve always loved Harley’s presents. I break the seal on the bag and rifle through the aquamarine tissue paper, but pretty soon I’m glaring down at the contents. “A white bikini?”

  He grins. “What? You don’t like it?”

  I pull out the tiny scraps of fabric that I’m somehow supposed to pour my body into and my frown deepens. As far as swimsuits go, it’s cute: a white eyelet ruffle bandeau top with a pair of plain bottoms. Okay, so the thing is actually really pretty, but I don’t wear bikinis, and I especially didn’t wear white bikinis. “I’m not wearing this.”

  He shrugs. “Fine, don’t wear it, but you won’t get your other surprise.”

  I give him the stink eye. Goddamn him. He knows I can’t resist the promise of a good surprise. And his surprises are always good. Except for the time he showed up this past Thanksgiving with Alecia in tow and a big shiny rock on her finger. That was not a happy surprise for anyone. Oddly enough, it didn’t even seem like he was happy about it.

  “Stupid, dumb jerk,” I mutter, grabbing the bikini off the bed and heading for the bathroom. His chuckle follows me long after I’ve slammed the door closed.

  After I’ve peed, brushed my teeth and showered, I stand in front of the mirror, glaring at the offending bikini. I toy with the ruffle and smile to myself because he saw this and thought of me, and even though the idea of trying to stuff myself into it practically has me breaking out in hives, I know there’s no way around it.

  Harley bangs on the door. “Rose, what’s the hold up?”

  “Shut up, ass face,” I say, scowling in his direction.

  “You haven’t even put it on yet, have you?” He chuckles, leaning against the frosted glass panel. “I’m giving you five seconds, babe.”

  I know he isn’t kidding with this, either, so I let the towel fall to the floor and I yank on the bikini. I’m just snapping the bottoms into place when he bangs again.

  “Time’s up.”

  “I can’t wear this,” I say as he opens the door. My body is turned toward him, but only because half of my ass is hanging out of the cheeky-cut swimwear. Harley doesn’t need me to turn around in order to see how much skin they expose. The huge mirror over the vanity is doing a fine job of showing it to him. He takes a slow sip from the paper coffee cup in his hand.

  “Well?” I demand, snatching the cup from his grasp and gulping down a huge mouthful. It burns my tongue and throat and brings tears to my eyes that are in no way related to the fact that he hasn’t said anything yet.

  “You wanna know what I think?” He takes a step toward me and reflexively I take one back, only I have nowhere to go because my ass hits the bathroom vanity, and I swallow hard and nod. Harley’s arm snakes around my waist, his fingers sliding down to the fabric of my bikini bottoms and across my exposed flesh. My body thrums. I hold my breath and he leans in close to whisper in my ear, “I think it’s lucky you’re not my wife, because you’d be walking with a limp for the rest of our honeymoon.”

  ***

  When it comes to surprises, Harley is the winner for forever and always. This whole honeymoon has been planned to the nth degree and our time has been divided evenly between sightseeing and exploring our cocktail options with a day of relaxation in between. I try not to think about what activities he had planned for his wife on those days that we stayed at the resort, preferring to focus instead on the amazing things we’ve done so far. Our second night on the island we got leied at the starlight luau with Hula kahiko performers, saw fire twirling, entered conch-blowing competitions—not as dirty as it sounds—and ate at a traditional Hawaiian buffet. It was ridiculously touristy, and I loved every second, but I had a feeling nothing we’d done so far would compare with today’s surprise.

  After he left me in the bathroom drooling like an idiot, I threw on a floral blue and white print dress and tossed my sunscreen into my purse, and we set off, me with the coffee he bought me and Harley carrying my Liberty London tote bag that is full to bursting with clothes. I don’t ask why we might need a change of clothing because he often does things like this to throw me off the scent of a surprise, but when we jump into a cab and pull into the Honolulu Harbor a half hour later, I glare at him, demanding answers. I also hope like hell he’s packed a change of underwear because the idea of sailing scares the crap out of me.

  We make our way down the dock, passing an even mixture of small and large sailboats and what look like speedboats all gently bobbing in the water. A man in a baseball cap, white polo shirt and a pair of tan shorts walks toward us with his hand extended. “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton?”

  Harley shakes the man’s hand vigorously and nods. “I’m Harley. This is my wife, Rose.”

  I do a double take, glancing at Harley as if he’s just lost his mind, but I guess it makes sense to say we’re married rather than explain our situation to a complete stranger, so I let it slide and shake the man’s hand too.

  “I’m Ken. I’ll be your captain today.” He points to a teenage boy standing on the deck of the boat beside us. He’s cute in that awkward way that boys who are just growing into their adult bodies are. For a brief second, as he smiles and offers me a hand, I glimpse his future as a playboy captain of the Hawaiian Islands. “That’s my boy, Chip.”

  I have to say the name ruins that image in a heartbeat, and now because the only words I know associated with life on the water are ahoy and mateys, I’m craving chocolate chip cookies. I shake his hand, and he pulls me onto the boat saying, “Watch your step.”

  I know this must have cost Harley a pretty penny because the yacht is huge. I know next to nothing about sailing—can you call it sailing when there are no actual sails in sight? I’m anxious about where we’re headed, and it does me good to feel Harley’s presence at my back. One hand rests at my spine while the other extends to shake Chip’s han
d, but aside from this small gesture, Harley doesn’t take his hands off me. He must feel the anxiety rolling off me in waves.

  We’re led to a backwards-facing seat by the rear of the boat and Chip takes my tote bag from Harley, telling us he’ll put it in the master suite. He offers to take my purse too, but I choose to keep it with me in case I need to make a quick getaway once the engine starts up. Before long, Chip is back with a tray in his hands, and bless the sweet kid, he’s offering us mimosas.

  I take a glass from the tray and Chip makes himself scarce as I guzzle half of it in one go. Harley raises a brow at me. “Nervous, love?”

  “This is quite the surprise, Pan.”

  “You haven’t even seen the best part yet.” He grins, clinking his glass against mine.

  The next words out of my mouth were going to be, “I’ve changed my mind and am no longer so keen on surprises,” when Ken interrupts by telling us we should be underway in another ten minutes, and that our destination will be reached in a few hours or so, depending on the trade winds.

  Askance, I glance at Harley. “Hours?”

  “What? You have somewhere else to be?”

  I take a deep breath, inhaling the briny air and tilting my face up to the sun. His sturdy shoulder supports me. No. As long as he doesn’t move from my side, I have nowhere else to be.

  Moments later, Ken starts the engine, which is actually a lot quieter than I’d expected, and we pull out from the dock. I feel Harley’s eyes on me, the outside of his thigh flush with mine, and neither one of us moves to put space between us. In fact, he does the opposite by sliding an arm across the seat behind me, and I lean my head against him. So many days and nights we’ve touched like this—it’s so incidental, and yet it means so much. At least to me. Before long, my anxiety is forgotten as we both take in the landmarks of the Oahu coast as we sail smoothly by.

  ***

  We stop in a cove, and a light lunch is brought to us at the front of the deck. There’s wine, brie and crackers, olives and hummus, and a bunch of delicious Hawaiian foods to pick over.

  After we eat, I take a deep breath in and turn to Harley. I’ve had a little too much wine already, no surprise there, so I likely shouldn’t be saying anything that’s running unchecked through my mind. Still, I can’t resist, because I can’t think of a better place than paradise to tell someone how much you love them.

  “I …” I exhale slowly and chicken out. I lose my nerve, and thank god, because I can’t tell him I’m in love with him five days after Alecia left him. I can’t do that to him. He might flirt, tease and play pretend, but that’s all it is—pretend. Besides, I’m sure he already knows how I feel, and laying that on him isn’t fair. “Never mind.”

  Harley gives me a puzzled look. “What?”

  I may not be able to tell him I love him, but letting him know what this time with him means to me isn’t wrong, is it? “I have something to say.”

  “Do you, love?” He smiles wryly.

  I nod. “I know some part of you is taking all this in and wishing Alecia was here with you right now, and for that I’m truly sorry.” He shakes his head, as if to say he doesn’t want to talk about it, and I reach out and grab his hand, forcing him to look at me. “I hate that your heart is broken, but as long as I live, I’ll never forget this day or what being here with you means to me.”

  My eyes glisten with tears, and for a moment I’m embarrassed because I shouldn’t have said anything. He might see too much.

  He doesn’t say a word, just reaches out and smooths his thumb over my cheek, but his mood has shifted dramatically as he looks out over the beautiful cove.

  And with that said, I get up and walk to the back of the boat where Ken and his son are eating their lunch. “We can swim here, right?”

  “Of course,” Ken says. “We’ll set sail again in around fifteen minutes, so …”

  Before he can finish the sentence, I’m down the stairs and stepping onto the deck platform at the rear of the boat. I glance out at the sparkling waters of the North Pacific and strip off my dress.

  “Jesus,” Harley says.

  “Holy shit,” Chip mutters, and I know every pair of eyes on that boat are on me. There’s a brief second where I feel guilty that I’m giving Ken’s underage son an eyeful, but I dive into the cool, crystalline water and forget all about them. It isn’t long before Harley dive bombs me. When he comes up, he pulls me to him and I squeal and thrash, but his arm is tight around my waist, his back to my front, and he all but growls in my ear, “Have you made it your sole mission in life to torture me, love?”

  I quit struggling and whisper, “You bought the swimsuit.”

  “Yeah, I’m starting to think that was a mistake.”

  I break free of his hold and swim away, only to be caught by the arm and dragged back toward him, and a water fight, the likes of which we haven’t seen since we were kids at the beach in Carmel, ensues. All the tension of the last few minutes vanishes, rushed away by the tepid island breeze.

  We play for another few minutes, Harley dunking me under the surface, me jumping on his back like a wet spider monkey. As I prepare to swim off, he snags me around the waist and draws me to him. For a beat he glances at my lips, I stare at his, and heat surges between us as if the water somehow just reached boiling point. I breathe, he breathes, and I turn my head, because I won’t be his rebound. The spell is broken. Stripped away by fate, fear, or common sense. I’m not sure which, but it doesn’t matter, because this is dangerous ground for us.

  Ken leans over the couch, reminding us of our tight schedule. Harley releases me, and gliding out of the water, he lifts himself up onto the deck in a way that seems so effortless. I swim slowly to the boat, wanting to draw out the moment because the sight of him standing, wet head to toe, his hair free of the man bun for once and slicked back as beads and rivulets of water cascade down his body is something else. He offers a hand up and I take it because I know my ascension from the ocean will be about as graceful as a baby elephant attempting to escape a bathtub. His fingers lace with mine while his other grips my forearm, and within seconds I’m catapulted up in the air and my wet body slams hard against his. His hands immediately go to my ass, because he’s always been a complete pervert, and I swat him away as I climb the stairs to the deck. When I reach the top I look back and find his gaze glued to my body. I roll my eyes and return to the front deck, stretching out on a towel in the sun as the engine starts up again and Harley lies down beside me.

  We spend the next few hours tanning on the deck, sleeping, and pointing out all the amazing sites we see. When we’re rocking to and fro at open sea on the Pacific, I’m torn between grinning like a fool and screaming like a little girl. I grip the railing tight because the sea spray blasting my face and the salt caking my hands, and the rocking of our boat as we slice through the waves is the most terrifying and exhilarating thing I’ve ever experienced.

  When we finally hit smoother waters just off the coast of Kauai, I breathe easier, and my stomach isn’t quite so upset either. Early afternoon sunlight glistens on the ocean, making everything gleam as if it were set alight. We dock at Nawiliwili port and it takes a few minutes for the heaviness to settle back into my legs now that we’re on land. I notice Harley doesn’t bring my tote and just when I’m about to go back for it he tells me not to worry. I know he grasps how important that bag is because it was a Christmas present from him last year, so that means we’re heading back to the boat at some point today. Right now, my stomach isn’t sure how it feels about that.

  We take a cab to yet another place I’ve never heard of and we pull up to a hangar at what looks like a tiny airport. The sign on the building says, “Hawaiian Helicopter Tours” and my jaw drops as I stare at the bright blue helicopter waiting on the tarmac.

  “No,” I say in disbelief. Pan’s smile confirms my excitement and I give him a hard shove in the chest. “Get the fuck out, seriously?”

  “Seriously,” he shouts over the noi
se of the rotating motors. I’m so excited, I’m shaking. I’ve always wanted to ride in a helicopter, I mean, who wouldn’t? But the fact that we get to do it over the Garden Isle? I’m at a complete loss for words. It’s no surprise that I’m hurrying through the motions of climbing inside and attempting to listen to what the pilot has to tell us about our tour. I cannot stop smiling. How is this my life right now?

  “Happy?” Harley asks, his smooth voice coming through the headphones and causing goosebumps to break out over my skin as if he were whispering in my ear. He looks like a goofball with his huge headphones on, his hair a wiry mess from the salt of the Pacific, and I know I look the same.

  “You have no idea,” I say.

  “I have some.” He smooths a large hand along his thigh, that again is flush with mine, but he doesn’t keep it there or return it to his lap. Instead, he runs his long fingers over my knee, brushing the fabric of my dress out of the way so his hot palm lays against my leg, skin to skin. He rests it there, and I try to ignore the way everything in my body thrums for more of his touch.

  Our pilot tells us we’re all set and the helicopter jerks a little as we lift up in the air. My stomach drops. I reach for Harley’s hand, the one that’s softly tracing patterns on my thigh, and I grasp it tightly as the pilot tells us we’re flying over the small town of Lihue. We glide through Hanapepe Valley, and on to the “Jurassic Park Falls.” From there it seems like it’s one glorious waterfall after the other, all untouched and hidden away where man can’t destroy it. The sharp, pleated hills of the Na Pali Coast steal my breath, and I wish we could just land so I could sink my feet into the sand and stare up at those knife-blade folds in the Earth and be dwarfed by their beauty and the magic of it all. We fly past the Bali Hai Cliffs, and the pristine waters of Hanalei Bay, and over some resort that I frown at for ruining the illusion that this place exists untouched, the way nature intended. A short time later we come up on Mt Waialeale, and into the center of a freaking volcano crater, and as Harley and I gaze with eyes as round as saucers at the five-thousand-foot walls surrounding us, I see God. I see how insignificant we all are, and I understand that these hills and these trees and these mountains around us were here long before we ever were, and they’ll be here long after.