“It’s stunning,” Samantha breathed.
“Some would even say magickal.” Irma winked at Samantha, her arms crossed over her sunset caftan.
“It does feel that way,” Samantha said. “Perhaps because it’s so uncluttered? I’ve been to some of the top beaches in the world, but they’re always so busy with tourists. This… this is like its own secret slice of heaven.” Sam clamped her mouth shut. She must be more worn out than she’d thought, to be this giddy about a beach.
“It’s a perfect spot to let go – to be free from life’s expectations for a bit,” Irma said. “I hope you’ll let yourself be free here.”
“I’m not sure what you mean by ‘be free,’” Samantha said, finding the woman’s phrasing a bit odd, but still too distracted by the view to be annoyed.
“Isn’t that what a holiday is all about?” Irma asked, those cool blue eyes assessing Sam once more. “To let yourself be free from the roles you play back home?”
“Some would say it isn’t role-playing so much as just living your life,” Sam countered.
“Ah, well. In that case, I hope you can live your life differently for a little while down here,” Irma said, and patted Sam’s shoulder gently as she stepped from the balcony. “All the information you need is in the guidebook on the table. I’ll leave you to unpack. Please know that both of my daughters and I are always available to answer any of your questions. Rest well, Samantha.”
Samantha nodded her thanks and turned back to the ocean, tamping down her annoyance at Irma’s words. Who was this woman to imply that Samantha was just role-playing in her life? If a concierge had ever said something like that to a guest at one of their hotels, they would have been written up. Guests didn’t want to be reminded of any of their stresses or shortcomings, Sam fumed as she unzipped her suitcase, looking for something more suitable to wear in the humid weather. It was extremely presumptuous of this woman to assume Sam needed to be free from her life. A life that anyone would love to have, she reminded herself.
As she pulled on a tasteful black one-piece suit and grabbed her beach essentials – an iPad, two books, sunscreen, a big floppy hat, and a notepad – Samantha found herself wondering why Irma’s words had felt like a criticism. Perhaps she was just a little on edge. Or maybe Samantha was looking for criticism? Her whole life she’d been criticized in one form or another – by her family, her ex-fiancé, and now even her work. The one place where she thought she had excelled.
Samantha was reminded of a quote she’d read years ago that had stuck with her. Grabbing her tote, she wandered from her room to follow the stairs down to a softly shaded passageway where a ceramic mermaid pointed the way to the beach. For some reason, now more than ever, the quote zipped around her brain, niggling at her.
Sometimes the only way to win the game is not to play.
Was that what she was doing here? Stepping out of the game? If she removed herself from the constant criticism of her family and the pressures of her job, what would happen? Would Samantha Jameson as she knew her cease to exist?
Or perhaps it was time for the real Samantha Jameson to be born.
Chapter 4
Sam wasn’t used to deep self-analysis; frankly she rarely had time for anything other than work and a hurried catch-up dinner with Lola when she was in town. Brushing off her deep thoughts with a laugh – Irma clearly had gotten into her head – Samantha strolled into the garden and followed the little winding pathway that led through a small orchid garden to a beach shaded by tall palms.
Delighted to find the beach relatively empty, Samantha carefully chose a lounge chair with a bright turquoise cushion under a palm tree whose leaves fluttered softly in the breeze. Settling in, she pulled her books and notepad from her bag and set them with her water bottle on the table next to the chair. Dutifully applying her reef-safe sunscreen – an environmental side project she’d spearheaded at all their account hotels – Sam relaxed slowly back into the chair. Her eyes drank in the sight of the sun playing across the waves lapping lazily at the shoreline, and she began to relax incrementally. Even if she had hell to go back to when this vacation was over, in this moment Sam felt she’d made the best choice for her – regardless of what anyone else thought.
The alternative would have been to have a meltdown at work, and that kind of emotional display was something Samantha refused to allow herself. She’d always found it taxing when women cried in the workplace; in her mind it only gave men something to use against them in the fight to break through the glass ceiling. Men could raise their voices, shout, and throw tantrums, but the minute a woman cried at work she was considered weak and “not upper-management material.”
It was complete and utter bullshit, but Samantha had learned long ago to play the game by the rules. Her tears were shed in private, or with Lola, but never in the presence of co-workers.
Sam eyed the two books she’d brought with her – one she’d had for a month now, and one she’d bought on impulse at the airport book stand. With a sigh, knowing she probably wasn’t actually ready to quit her job, Samantha picked up the book that outlined the details of the new accounting software the company would be unrolling in the coming year, leaving the brightly colored romance novel untouched. Grabbing her notepad and pen, she bent to the book, forcing herself to focus lest she be left in the dust at the next meeting.
A movement from the beach pulled her eyes from the dreadfully boring chapter on converting spreadsheets and Sam paused to see what – or who – had interrupted her solitude.
As interruptions went, it was a doozy, Sam thought, glad that the sunglasses shaded her eyes and hoping her hat hid the fact that her mouth had dropped open. A man had pulled his kayak to shore down the beach, where Sam just now realized a house was all but hidden on a hill among swaying palm trees. Tanned skin rippled over lithe muscles as he hefted his kayak with an easy grace and put it on a small dock. Sam wondered if he worked for the owner of the villa. Tattered board shorts hung loosely from his hips and wraparound sunglasses shaded his eyes. Deep brown hair with just a kiss of sun at the tips had been left to grow a little long, and Samantha was astonished to find herself itching to run her hands through it. Now where had that thought come from? Sam was not one to fantasize; she hadn’t even allowed herself to date since the disastrous end of her engagement. Her eyes slid to the cover of the romance novel on the table next to her, where a pirate readily embraced a woman whose bosom – it was always a heaving bosom in those novels – threatened to break free from her tightly laced bodice.
“Have you seen our dreamy neighbor?” A voice at her shoulder shocked Samantha out of her reverie; she’d been staring at the man like he was a piece of cake and she was on a diet.
“Excuse me?” Samantha asked, pulling her shoulders back and leveling a look at the woman who’d plopped into a lounge chair beside her.
“Him. The man you’re looking at like you’re a cat who wants to lap up a bowl of cream?” the woman said. All rounded curves and tumbling curls, she evoked a confident sensuality that Samantha could never muster even on her best days.
“I was most certainly not looking at him like I wanted to eat him,” Samantha sputtered.
“Ignore her. Jolie would lap up every man she came across if she chose,” Another woman slid into the chair on the other side, and Samantha turned to see another voluptuously beautiful woman smiling at her. Great, Samantha thought, refusing to look in the direction of the man who undoubtedly could see them. She was bookended by curvy knockouts and probably looked like a staid stick-in-the-mud tourist plastered in sunscreen and boring books.
“And every man would be lucky to have me if I let him,” Jolie preened. She stretched languidly on the lounge, her screaming pink bikini leaving little to the imagination, her midnight curls tumbling everywhere.
“It’s a blessing to mankind that you’re more discerning, then, isn’t it?” The woman on Sam’s right was just as luscious in a simple white bikini, her blonde hair woven into
intricate braids that reached almost to her waist.
“Don’t act like you’re so pure, Mirra. I saw you cuddling with that yacht captain from Antigua just last week,” Jolie said, twirling a curl around her finger.
“I never said I was pure,” Mirra demurred. “I merely told our guest here to ignore you as you’re embarrassing her.”
“I’m not –” Samantha protested, but Jolie had already sat up straight.
“Am I embarrassing you? I’m so sorry. My mouth gets ahead of me sometimes. A strength and a fault of mine, I suppose.”
“Definitely a fault,” Mirra said.
“It’s not like you’re perfect, Mirra.” Jolie flounced back in her chair.
“I’m sorry… do you live here?” Samantha asked, flustered by their banter.
“See? You could have at least introduced yourself before you embarrassed her,” Mirra said.
Samantha held up a hand to protest before letting it drop. There was no use trying to talk over these two, it seemed.
“Fine. I’m Jolie, evil sister to this pure-as-the-fallen-snow angel of a woman, Mirra, and we help our mother, Irma, run this guesthouse,” Jolie said, sneering slightly at Mirra.
Sisters. That made sense of their casual bickering, Sam thought as she shifted her gaze to Mirra, who rolled blue eyes the mirror of Irma’s.
“I’m Samantha Jameson. I, uh, just booked in last-minute and plan to be here for a few weeks. It’s nice to meet you both,” Sam said, nodding at each of them with a smile.
“So, Samantha Jameson, what do you do in the real world?” Jolie asked, examining her manicure and relaxing back into her chair. With a resigned look at her books, Sam set them aside to talk, even though she was in no mood for company.
“I’m the senior accountant to Paradiso Hotel & Villas luxury portfolio,” Samantha said.
Jolie whistled. “Faaancy,” she said. “I’ve bet you’ve seen loads of beautiful places.”
“And shopped in exotic boutiques,” Mirra added with a sigh.
“And had your taste of even more exotic men,” Jolie squealed. “Tell us everything.”
Samantha found herself wishing she lived the life these women thought she did – in fact, what most people assumed she did. She wondered what it would be like to be so fearlessly confident. Briefly she envisioned herself strolling the boutiques in Morocco, haggling with the merchants, and taking a carefree lover with no strings attached. A giggle escaped before she could stop herself. It was so unlike her tightly wound and highly scheduled existence that the mere idea of even strolling anywhere with no agenda was a shock, let alone taking a lover on a whim.
“Oh, the woman has secrets,” Jolie said, a wicked smile dancing on her face.
“No, I really don’t,” Samantha sighed. “I hate to burst your bubble, ladies, but my life has been more work than play. While I’ve seen some beautiful places, it’s mainly been from the window of a conference room or from the backseat of a car on the way to or from the airport. I’ve had little time to explore.”
“Well, that’s a crying shame,” Mirra said.
“I suppose it is, isn’t it?” Samantha admitted.
“Not even one mysterious lover?” Jolie demanded.
“Hush now, Jolie. Not everyone wants to tell you their secrets, you know.”
“I’m just asking,” Jolie pouted.
“She’s not ready to share. Let her settle in. Look at what she’s reading, for god’s sake.” Mirra held up the accounting book and wrinkled her pert nose in distaste.
“Oh… that just breaks my heart,” Jolie said, bringing a hand to her chest in dismay. “You’re reading about software programs on this gorgeous beach when you’ve got eye candy like that in front of you?”
Helpless not to look where Jolie gestured, Sam peeked once more at the man on the beach who was now hosing off his kayak, whistling a merry tune as he worked.
“I’m trying to balance work and relaxation,” Samantha said primly.
“I’d say you’re not doing a very good job of it. Isn’t vacation meant to be no work and all play?” Mirra asked sweetly.
“I don’t know how not to work,” Samantha heard herself say, and her fingers tightened around the arms of the chair as she realized it was true. She’d never really learned how to play – to just have fun – because she’d always been driven to succeed. Work wasn’t meant to be joyful; it was a means to an end, as her family had instructed her over and over. Keep your nose to the grindstone, make partner in the law firm – or in her case, chief financial officer – and prove to everyone that you were the best and the brightest. The reward was the approval at cocktail parties as you one-upped everyone with your latest promotion, house purchase, or fancy vacation. It was a “keeping up with the Joneses” kind of lifestyle she’d been raised in, and Samantha hated every moment of it.
Though she’d never admit that to her family.
How could she? Both of her brothers were partners at the most prestigious law firm in town and her father still worked part-time, choosing only the most elite of the cases that crossed his desk. Her mother, in a move that had shocked and then delighted the family, had switched from handling divorce cases to maritime law, proclaiming that she was drawn to the sea. Her admittedly wild U-turn of practice choices had paid off, and now Elizabeth Jameson was one of the most sought-after maritime lawyers in the Great Lakes Region.
“Now that’s a damn tragedy that you haven’t learned how to have fun,” Jolie drawled, scowling at Samantha. “What’s life without a little fun?”
“I wouldn’t really know,” Samantha admitted. “I’ve been too busy to notice.”
“Well, I say it’s time for you to notice. Starting with that delicious man over there,” Jolie purred.
Mirra shook her head in exasperation. “Jolie, not everyone is a man-eater. Don’t push her toward Lucas,” Mirra said, and the name seared its way to Sam’s core.
Lucas.
What would it be like to be a Jolie? To stroll over to this Lucas and make him beg to be with her? The mere thought of it was so ludicrous that Samantha found herself laughing softly.
“She’s not all boring. See?” Jolie held up the romance novel and Samantha immediately blushed at the couple writhing in ecstasy on the cover. “Our Samantha has a torrid side too.”
“I most certainly do not. It was just an impulse buy at the airport,” Sam insisted, heat creeping up her cheeks.
“The best kind of impulse buy,” Mirra said, grabbing the book from Jolie. “I do love a delicious romance story, don’t you? They’re so much fun to read, and even more fun if you can act them out.”
Act them out? Sam’s mouth dropped open. She would never… her life didn’t… no, wasn’t… like a novel. Nothing interesting ever happened to Samantha, aside from her latest downfall at work. And there was certainly nothing romantic about losing the biggest promotion of her life.
“I’ve never read one, to be honest,” Samantha said. “I have no idea what compelled me to buy that book.”
“I’d say it’s high time for you to read it, then,” Jolie said, snatching Samantha’s accounting book away from her. “I’ll just hold onto this for a day or two while you settle into the book you should be reading.”
“But… wait. You can’t just take my stuff,” Samantha called, but Jolie was already strolling away, completely unselfconscious in her scrap of a bikini.
“I would apologize for my sister once again, but I kind of have to agree with her on this one. If you’ve never even taken the time to read a romance novel, isn’t this a great time to do it? Go on now… let yourself be free for a bit,” Mirra said, her words gentle as she stood up and stretched, as confident as her sister in her tiny bikini and generous curves. Samantha found herself envying these women and their careless body confidence, though neither of them were remotely close to being what society declared a bikini body size must be. And they looked amazing for it, Samantha thought, wondering if she too could pull off wearing a
bikini.
“What’s with everyone here telling me to be free? I don’t see anything wrong with having discipline,” Samantha asked, using her boardroom voice for good measure.
“There’s discipline and there’s handcuff’s. Which one are you wearing?” Mirra asked, leaving before Samantha could even begin to reply.
What was with the people at this guesthouse? Samantha needed to have a few words with Lola immediately.
Sam pulled out her phone to send a strongly-worded text message to Lola, but was dismayed to see there was no internet service on the beach.
No internet and no work, Samantha grumbled, her gaze drawing back to Lucas, who was now sweeping the dock.
Now what was she supposed to do?
Chapter 5
“I can’t believe you stole her book, Jolie,” Mirra admonished Jolie as she propped herself on the kitchen counter, while Irma stirred a pot at the stove. The kitchen was the heart of their home, where the three always met to discuss the weighty topics of the world.
Designed in a Tuscan style, Irma had imported rough-cut stone to build the brick oven, the walls, and the backsplash that ran the length of the wall over the marble counters. Wood beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and a long table carved of mahogany dominated the room. Woven hangings in vibrant reds and blues decorated the room, and shelves full of bottles and tins lined one long stone wall. Open windows allowed the breeze to cut through the room, cooling the air.
“She needed a push to relax,” Jolie shrugged, wrapping a brightly patterned sarong around her body and tying it behind her neck.
“You push too hard,” Mirra said, leaning over to steal an oatmeal cookie from her mother’s stash.
“I do not. She’ll be forced to read her romance book now and maybe she’ll consider actually having some fun on this vacation,” Jolie grumbled, snatching the cookie from Mirra’s hands and earning herself a glare.
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