Seashells & Mistletoe (Hawaiian Holiday Book 2) Read online

  The strange click-clacking sound returns next door, along with the thumps and exclamations. “Whoo! Whoo!”

  I’m in no mood for Jordan’s whistling over his electric razor the next morning. It’s entirely too self-satisfied and mocking.

  I still can’t believe he spent the night with Alice, Sylvester, and my date, Sven, while I tossed and turned alone on my tiny bunk.

  I must have fallen asleep, because truth to tell, I don’t remember if he came back to sleep or stayed next door.

  It would be way too crowded, no matter what contortions they got into, but sometime during the night, the mysterious clattering of a million tiles stopped and I must have fallen into a deep and drugged sleep. Scratch that, there were no drugs strong enough to put me under after the trauma of imagining Jordan and the pussycats in a back-to-the-future foursome.

  Which is why I can’t stand his whistling rendition of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”

  Angrily, because what other mood could I possibly be in when sleep deprived, I pound on the sliding door. “Shut the eff up. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

  Jordan slides the door to the side and buzzzt!

  A giant pink cock is pointed at me, vibrating at full speed.

  “Help!” I squeak, discovering my vocal cords permanently stiff and stuck like a broken reed in a clarinet.

  Jordan throws his head back and laughs. “Just put fresh batteries in it for you. I bet you used it to drown out our noises.”

  “I did no such thing.” I swat at the giant plastic penis-shaped pistol. “Throw this piece of junk overboard. I’m sure it’s contaminated by whatever you were doing in that cabin with the two old fogeys and Sven.”

  He buzzes the vibrator over and around my face while I scream and slap and run and jump around our much-too-tiny cabin chased by the gun’s shooting noises.

  If this is Jade’s idea of giving me a good time, I’m jumping ship at the next port. Let’s see, today is day two at sea and we’re not reaching our first port of call until Christmas Day on the Big Island.

  “You’re ticklish,” Jordan squeals as he pokes and prods me with the plastic genital.

  “Uncle. Uncle.” I slap his hands and arms, rolling from side to side and unable to control my squeaks. My stomach and sides ache at the contracting of my abdominal muscles, and I gulp for air in between the chuckles that have me rolling all over my tiny room.

  “I’ll play uncle if you agree to have dinner with me,” Jordan says. “We caused quite a scandal last night among the fortieth-year reunion group. They still think we’re newlyweds.”

  I gasp for breath and cross my arms, protecting my soft underside. “I don’t care if they think we’re newlyDEADS. I’m not having dinner with you. I’m sure Dr. Lin and her kinky three or foursome will be glad to accommodate.”

  He pats his bulging pocket and snickers.

  Oh, no. It’s rubbing off on him.

  I snicker back.

  Then he snickers in my face.

  I pinch my tongue against my teeth for a louder snicker.

  He drags out his snick … kerrrr …

  “Stop. Stop. I’m not having this conversation. If you slept with all of them at the same time, you’re one sick puppy.”

  He whirls the pistol-shaped vibrator at me, and I cover my mouth with horror.

  “No, you didn’t!”

  He twirls it around and snickers.

  “You did?” My eyes are ready to pop from my head. “You used that gundick on all of them? Ewwwww!!!”

  He laughs and licks the tip.

  “I’m going to barf!” I rush toward the head. “Did you disinfect it?”

  “No, I used lube.” He wiggles the wet tip over my arm.

  “You’re so sick. I’m going to tell Jade. Let me borrow your phone so I can call her. I don’t care if they charge you international roaming or whatever. Keep that nasty thing away from me!”

  “You wound Mr. Top Gun here.” He puts his hand dramatically over his heart. “He’s not nasty, and he wants to be yours.”

  “You mean he hasn’t been playing around with the rocket scientist and her brother?” I try not to think about the orifices and lube. “Not even the Nordic a-hole? I mean Sven?”

  “Never. He’s been all yours. Catch.” He tosses the pulsating mass of plastic at me.

  I catch it just in time and wrestle with the trigger to shut down the bucking and dancing cock with the space-gun sound effects. “I’ll have you know I don’t play with these things.”

  He whistles and looks up and around at the ceiling. “No need to explain. I’ll keep your secret for you.”

  I shove the vibrator under my pillow and sit on it. “We have to talk. I mean, seriously. When I get to port, I’m jumping ship.”

  “Oh, good, that means I’ll get the room all to myself?” He blinks preciously like a girl cajoling a puppy or kitten for Christmas from indulgent parents.

  “I don’t care. You were supposed to cheer me up, but you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.” I cross my arms. “Spending all night with Alice, Sylvester, and Sven doing whatever unmentionable naughties with them.”

  “You’re jealous,” he crows, pointing a sturdy finger at me. “Admit it.”

  “Not jealous, just annoyed.”

  “Jealous.”

  “Annoyed.”

  “Jealous.”

  “I’m not doing this!” I scream. “Can’t you see I’m not amused?”

  He leans in close and points up. “Mistletoe alert.”

  Too late, I spy the green stem dangling over my pillow.

  Oh, heck.

  At least he doesn’t smell like cheese puffs and peanuts anymore.

  His minty breath washes over me with the undertones of his woodsy aftershave, and there is that mistletoe rule.

  So I kiss him.

  And he kisses me back.

  Then I grab him around the neck, and he grapples me, lifting me onto his lap.

  Goodness gracious, the man kisses so good.

  Strong smacks with just the right amount of wetness. Lips that taste as sensual as the rumbling of his deep, bass voice.

  What I wouldn’t give to train him into reading erotica with me, whispering naughty words in my ears while we give voice to a joint love scene.

  But Jordan is no seductive knight. He is a prankster and a joker, although he does dress up well. Even after a night out, he’s fresh, crisp, and clean, with the scent of soap, shampoo, and masculine cologne.

  I could do worse these next two days at sea, but come Christmas morn, when the S.S. Bird of Paradise docks at Hilo, Hawaii, I’m off this bird and back to the mainland to track down my backstabbing bestie.

  On second thought, she always said success was the best revenge.

  What if?

  Nah, can’t happen.

  Kissing Jordan feels good, so I keep doing it.

  I don’t even have the excuse of wine or swaying palm trees, white sparkling sand, seashells, and turquoise waters to be in such a faux romantic mood.

  But who’s going to argue with hormones?

  Chapter 7

  I hate to report that shipboard friends can be the worst four-letter c-word blocks.

  I only got in two dips of my tongue when the cabin door starts rattling like there’s an emergency.

  The rattling also knocks a few needed pennies back into my brain, so I quickly zip my lips and cross my arms while Jordan answers the door.

  Sven, my erstwhile date, asks Jordan for shaving cream and a razor. He looks worse for the wear from their all-night foursome with bleary eyes, a scruffy face, and droopy bedhead.

  While Jordan goes to the head to fetch his stuff, I quiz Sven.

  “What exactly were you four up to last night, and how is it you met up with Jordan and the two scientists?”

  “They came to my cabin after you went to bed,” Sven explains, gesturing next door. “Talked me into a romping game of Chinese mahjong.”

  Ah, it all make
s sense now. Mahjong is a four-person game sort of like the card game bridge, but played with clickety-clackety tiles.

  “But the noise. All that whomping and thumping, shouts and screams. Didn’t you know I was trying to sleep?”

  “I’m not saying anything more.” Sven covers his mouth and tries to suppress a fit of chuckles. “Bet you thought it was strip mahjong.”

  “Why all the moaning and bouncing?”

  “There was money involved,” Sven says darkly. “Lots of it, and alcohol. I plead the fifth.”

  He’s about to say more when Jordan comes out of the head with the extra shaving supplies.

  “Do you two know each other?” I ask Jordan. “Because I find it suspicious how Sven just happens to have a bunk next door.”

  “Nothing to suspect,” Jordan said. “I met him when I first got on board. How do you think it was so easy for me to get you a first-cruise-night date?”

  I roll my eyes. “Lucky you. You didn’t even have to play an hour of shuffleboard.”

  “Actually, Alice and Sylvester invited me and you to join them this evening for shuffleboard.” He wiggles his eyebrows as if shuffleboard by the sea is the latest sexy sport.

  “I’d rather stick to Jade’s schedule,” I retort. “She doesn’t have anything in the evening, but I’m sure we can find something else to do.”

  “I can take you to the Christmas Ball they’re having tonight,” Sven offers. “You don’t have to wear a costume, but I’m planning on dressing up as Thor with the hammer, and Jordan’s going to be Loki.”

  “I didn’t know Thor and Loki were Christmas themed,” I quip out the side of my mouth. “I think I prefer Sylvester or a member of the Singaporean water polo team. Think you can arrange a date for me?”

  “You don’t need a date to go to the Christmas Ball,” Jordan says. “We’re much more liberated now, and everyone can go on their own or with a group of friends.”

  “What’s wrong?” Sven snatches the shaving cream and razor from Jordan. “You afraid of my hammer?”

  “No need for brute force and a hammer,” Jordan says, jutting his hips. “Not when I have a mistletoe spear that women find irresistible.”

  “Oh, stop the testosterone,” I cry. “Sven, if you don’t have a roommate, why don’t you take Jordan and let me have the cabin to myself?”

  “I intend to have company every night in my cabin.” Sven gives me a meaningful look. “You should have come over last night.”

  “No, thank you. Go pound your hammer somewhere else.” I turn him around and shove him from the room to the accompaniment of a sizzling snicker from Jordan.

  “You.” I point an accusing finger at my roommate. “Are not to snicker. I refuse to kiss someone who snickers. If you’re picking up that habit from Alice, you can bunk with her. You hear?”

  He snickers and lies down on his bunk with his hands behind his head. “Make me stop. There’s mistletoe up there.”

  I’m not that easy.

  Oh heck, yes, I am.

  An attractive Loki-lookalike is lying on the bunk under a mistletoe sprig. What red-blooded American woman wouldn’t take advantage?

  I’m just about to launch when the door rattles with insistent knocks.

  “Who is it?” I growl with unfulfilled annoyance.

  Snicker. “Alice and Syl.” Snicker.

  I whip open the door against my wishes, but seriously, I can’t kiss or make out with anyone while snickers raise chills up and down my spine.

  “We came to invite you and Jordan to the Santa’s elves shuffleboard tournament,” Alice says in a stern, no-nonsense voice.

  Sylvester bounces on his toes. “I’ll be your partner, and Alice gets Jordan.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I might be busy,” I say, twirling my hair. “I was invited to the Christmas Ball.”

  “Oh, good, we are, too,” Sylvester says. “We’re going to be—”

  “Shush!” Alice hisses, long and drawn out, with an ending percussive snicker. “Don’t be giving away our surprises.” To me, she says, “The shuffleboard tournament is well before dinnertime, and the ball is after. No problem.”

  “We’d love to,” Jordan answers for me.

  This time, he’s the one hustling the pair out of the room.

  “Now, where were we before the mistletoe shrivels up and turns blue?” Jordan slides to my side and locks his arm around me.

  “Room service,” a booming voice announces with a single knock.

  We jump aside as a crew member saunters in with a silver platter. “Your extra-large lobster breakfast.”

  “Are they dead or alive?” I look at the claws hanging off the plate. Each lobster is sitting on top of a mound of eggs Benedict with a pile of coleslaw on the side. “Who eats lobster for breakfast?”

  “Apparently, J. Reed and Guest,” the server says. “It’ll be charged to your account. Enjoy.”

  Jordan rubs his hands eagerly and passes me a wrap-around bib and shell cracking instruments and picks. “I didn’t order this, but I’ll take it.”

  “If you didn’t order it, and I didn’t order it, then who did? I’m sure this is expensive.”

  “It’s all charged to Jade, so who cares?” Jordan replies. “Maybe she called it in or added it to our meal plan.”

  “Thank you, Jade,” I exclaim. “The best revenge is to live well and succeed.”

  “And who, may I ask, are you taking revenge on?” Jordan raises an eyebrow as he cracks a claw. “Hopefully, not me.”

  “Oh, no, definitely not you, although you’re part of it. The revenge, I mean.”

  “You’re using me to get back at your ex. How utterly obvious and droll. Why should you care what he thinks?”

  “Because he dumped me and it hurts.” I squeeze the shell cracker and twist it around a lobster claw. “I wish I could claw his eyes out.”

  “You want to live well and show him you’re not a loser.”

  “Exactly. Which is why I came on this cruise,” I reply with my head held high. “Jade and I were going to pamper ourselves with spa treatments, fine dining, and shopping at every port. I’ve signed up for yoga, meditation, massages, manicures and pedicures, skin treatments, and more. You’re going to accompany me, to cheer me up, of course.”

  A look of alarm wipes the smirk from Jordan’s face. “When does all of this start?”

  “The schedule was on my phone, but the incompetent lost and found hasn’t found it yet.” I grimace at him and then narrow my eyes when he averts his gaze.

  Is that a guilty look?

  I point the lobster tail at him. “You. Tell me what you know about my phone. Did you swipe it from me?”

  “Why are you accusing me? I’m sorry you lost your phone,” he murmurs. “Guess we don’t have to go to the girly activities.”

  “Oh, yes, we do,” I declare hotly, tapping him with the lobster tail. “I’m not letting you off the hook, Mr. Jade Reed Substitute.”

  “Would you have kissed Jade the way you kissed me?” He grins and slurps a strip of lobster meat into his mouth.

  “Of course not, but if you’re sitting in her place, sleeping on her bunk, eating her lobster, then yes, you are going with me to yoga, meditation, and the spa. All of it, even the eyebrow threading.”

  Jordan’s eyes pop with horror. “I sure hope you don’t have Brazilian waxing on your schedule.”

  “As a matter of fact, we do.” I gleam with delight. “Full body waxing on the way home. We aim to be hairless for the New Year. I’m getting my bikini area done, so it means you have to get your balls waxed. Bet you didn’t know that when you signed up for the gig of cheering me up.”

  “I’ll cheer you up more if I skip the waxing,” Jordan says. “What else am I signed up for on this ship of horrors?”

  Before I can answer, there’s a knock on the door and a crew member shoves a fly through the mail slot. It’s a reminder for my itinerary, and I wave it gleefully in front of Jordan’s nose.

  “I
hope you’re up for downward facing dog position, because it’s yoga after breakfast.”

  I must admit. Jordan Reed is a good sport, and his gift of gab makes him a hit with the women in the yoga class. He fell asleep during meditation but emerged from the hot stone massage with a healthy glow.

  By the time we get to the evening shuffleboard tournament, he is fully manicured, pedicured, and exfoliated to an inch of his life.

  All without a single complaint.

  He’s so good being a girlfriend, it almost takes the lust out of my sails.

  Unfortunately, the testosterone displays start at the dinner table where the members of the fortieth-reunion club question Jordan and me about our supposed wedding night.

  “You two are positively shining,” says Joy, the woman with the streak in her hair. “See? It wasn’t so bad at all.”

  “Tell me,” her friend, Sheri, whispers conspiratorially. “Was it as quick and short as we predicted or are we sitting with Long John Silver?”

  The men from the reunion, all wearing red and black, their presumed class colors, joke around with Jordan. The creep, he actually smirks and winks as if he popped my cherry last night when all he and his gaggle of geese did was pop my eardrums.

  I have to hold it in, though.

  People are taking pictures of us, and possibly even videos. It’s not that I think Stephen would stalk me on social media, but his assistant, Maggie, is likely to send spies on his behalf.

  I don’t have proof, but the little hairs on the back of my neck are on high alert, and I keep getting the strange sensation that someone’s watching me.

  Can’t let them think I care.

  I let out a chortle and pretend to fawn over Jordan. I even blush a bit while exclaiming how I switched to Apple from Microsoft. Micro meaning miniscule, and soft, is well, soft like that squeezable toilet paper roll.

  Stephen can read into all that as much as he wants. LOL.

  I’m basking in my newlywed glory while telling the nosy Banning Pilots—I finally figured out that their school name is Banning and their mascot is Pilots, not that they want to ban pilots. I’m busy regaling them about my planned trip to a jeweler in Honolulu to get my wedding ring and embellishing Jordan and my supposed romance by recounting one of the love stories I just finished narrating.