Relapse In Paradise. Roxanne Smith
her white-knuckle grip on the door handle and seethed. “You’re a psychopath.”
Boston flicked on the hazards and put the van in park. He swiveled his body toward her and yanked the sunglasses from his face in a quick, agitated movement.
She realized then, regarding him straight on, they felt the same way about each other. Forget disdain. He’d passed judgment and found her lacking.
As she’d done him.
Boston spoke in a measured tone. “I’ll put it to you plain, Ms. Buzzly-Cobb, if that is your real name. I have a job to do. We don’t have to like each other, but it’ll make for a better time had by all if we can at least manage to get along. A little mutual respect would go a long way. I’ll even give you a reason to try it. I know this island like no one else you’re gonna find. Ask your sister if you want my references.”
Now, this Emily could handle. Directness. “I don’t care about your résumé.”
“Well, you should. It’s impressive.”
“Does it include how utterly charming you are? Or mention you’ve got the hubris of a D-list celebrity?”
He gave her a sad puppy-dog frown. “I’m simple folk. Try to keep the vocabulary at my level.”
Something in those great big blue orbs said he knew exactly what she’d said. And some of what she hadn’t. “If I don’t like you, why should I have to spend the next couple of weeks in your company? Or you in mine, given the feeling is mutual.”
“I never said I didn’t like you.”
“I can read expressions better than you can fake them.”
That seemed to catch him unaware. He stared at her unguarded. Finally, the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Me. You.” He pointed at each of them in turn and continued with exaggerated caveman speech. “See island. Pretty stuff no one else will show you. Boston good at this.” He hooked both thumbs toward himself and gave her a simpleton’s grin. “Me already paid. You sit back and get over it.”
Good thing she hadn’t laughed. Her back straightened. “Get over it? No, I don’t think I will. Drop me at the Hilton and keep the damn money. I’ll pay Quinn back for her trouble.”
Boston dropped his goofy act and flopped back against the seat, at the same time gusting out a great sigh. “Man, you don’t have any sense of humor at all, do you? Not a shred.”
The plainspoken observation was more insulting than anything else he’d said or done in their short acquaintance. “I happen to be hilarious.”
He didn’t seem convinced by her deadpan delivery. His loss. He wouldn’t be around long enough to get to know her unique approach to humor, which tended to run a little dry.
“Fine. If I don’t have a sense of humor, it’s probably because there’s nothing funny about your lack of class or professionalism.”
“You basically called me a dumbass. What did you expect?”
Had she? “I don’t think you’re stupid. Just repugnant.”
“Oh, that’s loads better.” He snorted like the whole situation amused him. “I apologize, okay? My mouth does things without permission from my brain sometimes.”
He sat up, gripped the wheel, and offered her a small smile. She couldn’t tell outright if he meant it as mocking.
“Look at us,” he said. “We’re a mess and we just met. That means one or both of us have already decided how we feel without giving the other a shot. I have a suggestion, if you’re open to hear one.”
“Let me guess. You want to start over?” She refused to roll her eyes like a teenager and had to settle for a flat stare.
Boston bit his knuckle as if unsure of his next words. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a hard ass?”
A laugh escaped her, unbidden and unexpected. It seemed to surprise them both. “I might’ve heard it a few times.”
“Well, there you go.” Relief colored the words like he’d solved a complicated puzzle. “You’re a no-excuses kind of girl, and I’m a guy with a pocket full of ’em. No wonder we didn’t hit it off.”
Great. Now, good-looking surfer dude wants to play Gandhi.
Whoa. Good-looking surfer dude? Had that thought really popped from her cranium? Well, his eyes were pretty remarkable. And his smile redeemed quite a bit of his face. “Why don’t you start by telling me just what makes you so special, Mr. Rondibett? Then, maybe we’ll discuss second chances.”
Boston blew out a stream of breath through pursed lips and slowly shook his head. “You strike me as a tough sell, but I’ve got faith in the product. First, I gotta know something about you, though. See, there are two types of tourists. You’re either a traditionalist or you’re an explorer. Trads, they want what everyone wants—the brochure version of Hawaii. Diamond Head. Dole Plantation. Pearl Harbor and Waikiki Beach. Beautiful, special places, for sure, but there’s so much more to Oahu. And that’s what a real explorer wants to see. The soft underbelly. They want experiences no one else has, pictures no one else takes. That is what I can do for you, Emily. So, yeah. I’m mouthy, but I’m worth it.”
Natural-born salesman, this one. “You would say that.”
His mouth formed a flat line, some of the lightheartedness gone. “Know who else? Your sister. She hired me. I’m guessing not because you’d find me charming, but because I’ve got something to offer.”
Emily had to concede Boston’s point. Quinn definitely hadn’t chosen him to accompany her based on their likelihood of having anything in common. It left a single alternative. He might actually be something special as far as island guides went. “Okay, Mr. Rondibett. I’ll give you a shot purely based on faith in my sister’s judgment. Perhaps we can both try to be somewhat less abrasive to one another.”
“Does that mean you’ll relax a little?”
She cut her eyes to him, a warning not to push her buttons. “If you pretend to have some semblance of professionalism. Now, take me to the Hilton. I have a six hour flight to wash off.”
Boston saluted and flicked off the hazards. As he checked his mirrors, engaged his turn signal, and prepared to merge back onto the highway, he flashed Emily a lopsided, dimpled grin that made her question her decision to give this another go. “One thing, miss. We aren’t going to the Hilton.”
Chapter 2
Oh, man. That face was priceless.
Emily’s mouth fell open in a perfect little O. She might pass for adorable if she weren’t so snooty. And that was saying something, considering she was at least near his age. Late thirties, possibly even forty. The bun clinging for dear life on the back of her skull was Snoozeville, but she had nice, creamy brown eyes.
Creamy eyes, huh? Nothing weird about that. Still, they made him think of smooth milk chocolate, and right now they were about the size of Maui.
“I’m sorry. We’re not going to the Hilton? Did I hear you correctly?”
With his hands at ten and two, and eyes on the road, Boston couldn’t glance over to give her a chill out stare. “This is our first test of trust. Explorers don’t stay at the Hilton. That place is a bumper cushion between you and the real deal. You need four swimming pools? Penguins behind glass enclosures and parrots in cages? Me, I prefer the ocean to a pool and sea turtles at my feet as opposed to a zoo outside my window. But, hey, that’s a personal point of view.” He shrugged, careful not to overdo the nonchalance. Every word was sincere. He didn’t want to come across as some hammy showman.
A bubble of silence lasted several beats. Boston waited for Emily to wrestle with the pull of curiosity. Finally, she caved like a bad soufflé.