Page 1 of Tropical Inferno

1

Worst. Vacation. Ever.

Listening to the couple in the motel room next door having sex for the last two hours had Madison Teller ready to jump out of her skin.

“Harder, baby! Harder!”

This nonsense had been going on for too long and Maddie pulled the pillow over her head in frustration.

“Oh, yeah, that’s it!”

B-bang! Bang! B-bang!

The headboard of the bed in the adjoining room was either going to become the next drummer of some sadistic-sounding techno-rock band or bust through the walls in an explosion of wood, metal and body parts. Maddie hugged the pillow tighter over her ears, but there was no escaping the sound.

B-bang! Bang-bang-bang! Bang!

“Shut up!” she yelled, finally sitting up and pounding on the wall in frustration. “Enough already!”

“Piss off, you old prude!” someone yelled back.

With a sigh of resignation, Maddie looked at the time. 5:05. Way too early to get up on vacation, but absolutely nothing had gone right so far, making this par for the course. She’d just arrived in Hawaii yesterday, but she already wanted to go home. Her best friend had bailed on their trip, she’d missed the connection on her flight, her suitcase was floating around in airline limbo somewhere, she’d managed to lose two hundred dollars cash, and this hotel was definitely not “clean and safe,” as the website noted.

Padding into the bathroom, she quickly washed up and pulled on a pair of clean shorts and a T-shirt, grateful her mother had instilled the importance of putting a change of clothes in your carry-on bag. She slid her feet into flip-flops, threw everything in her backpack and took a cursory look around. It didn’t appear she’d left anything behind, so she gripped the keys to her rental car in her hand and stomped out the door. She was so done with this vacation.

Garrett “Hawk” Hawkins stared up at the filthy, mottled ceiling in disgust. This place was a pimple on the asshole of society and just being here gave him the heebie-jeebies. What the hell was he doing in Hawaii, by himself, in the middle of hockey season? Well, technically the season had just started a couple weeks ago, and here he was cooling his jets with a five-game suspension, a $10,000 fine and too much time to think. He’d never been good at playing the role of boy scout, but this time it had fallen into his lap and somehow it had just been easier to take the punishment than fight for the truth. Then his coach had told him to get out of town, go somewhere to recharge, think about his life—and his choices. Like an idiot, he’d gone to see his parents in San Diego. When that turned into an epic mistake, he’d headed for Oahu. Somehow, he wound up at this fleabag hotel just outside of Honolulu. He’d been to the island many times before, mostly with his ex. She’d always booked them into a swanky place near Waikiki called the Blue Dolphin Resort, and though he’d been loath to go, he had to admit it was great. Clean, spacious suites, the ocean, and most importantly, discretion. As a professional athlete, he was willing to pay three or four times what other places cost if he trusted that he would have privacy.

Unfortunately, after storming out of his mom and stepdad’s house and driving south, his phone died, he’d been starving and needed to get some sleep. He’d pulled into a diner and spotted this hellhole of a motel across the street. He’d figured a few hours of shut-eye, a shower and a full charge on the battery of his phone would allow him to call the resort and see if they could accommodate him for a few days until he had to get home. He’d gotten friendly with one of the owners, Jim Roarke, and planned to give him a call in the morning. It was just that morning was taking forever to get here.

He was just about to doze off when what sounded like the alarm from his rental car blasted through the air, jolting him awake. With a growl, he hauled to his feet, grabbed his keys and burst out the door in nothing but his jeans. It was only his lightning-fast reflexes that kept him from bowling over the wisp of a woman with an oversized backpack that roared past him, shrieking at the top of her lungs.

“My car! Get away from there, you no-good, filthy scum-of-the-earth pieces of—” Her voice faded as she hit the stairs and pounded down them.

Surprise made Hawk hesitate, but then he was right behind her, his long legs taking the stairs three at a time to catch her just as she reached the bottom, the string of expletives and insults getting louder and more raucous as she went. He saw the thug in the parking lot reach into his pants just as the woman stepped into the open, and he snaked out an arm to grab her by the backpack right as the first shot bounced off the concrete wall to their left. As pieces of plaster scattered and more shots were fired, Hawk instinctively pushed the woman to the ground, covering her with his larger body. She trembled against him, one hand reaching around to squeeze his bicep. She had a hell of a grip, but he barely noticed as adrenaline surged through him and he kept an eye out for anyone approaching.

As another shot resulted in more plaster showering them with dust, he looked down at the woman beneath him. Though her eyes were wide with undeniable terror, he couldn’t help but notice they were beautiful. Big and brown, with eyelashes so long they disappeared up into her eyebrows—and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. She had a pert little nose above the reddest lips he’d ever seen, and he had to resist the urge to taste them. She was stunning, he thought, and the feel of soft curves beneath him wasn’t bad either. He forced himself to focus on the men out in the parking lot because he wasn’t sure how he would protect her if those guys came into the stairwell to find them. Fortunately, he heard scuffling footsteps and then the roar of an engine as tires skidded on the pavement and they drove away.

Neither of them moved for several minutes, their breath coming in short little puffs as the shock and excitement began to fade. Hawk was used to it; life as a professional athlete presented far too many opportunities to be in difficult situations. The young woman beneath him, however, had now started to shake, her grasp on his bicep slowly loosening and her soft voice breaking the silence.

“W-w-were…th-those…gun…shots?”

“Yeah.” He spoke gruffly, trying to hide the fear that was now replacing his survival instinct. He managed to get to his feet, reaching out a hand to help her though he was scowling now. “What did you think you were doing?”

“W-what?” She blinked up at him, huge brown eyes filling with tears.

“You don’t just run into a parking lot full of gangbangers! What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I…my car…I couldn’t…” She blinked a few more times, those impossibly long eyelashes fluttering as tears began leaking out the sides of her eyes.

“Aw, hell,” he muttered, reaching out to hug her to his chest. Which he then realized was still bare. She must have noticed it too because he felt the exact moment her tears started to subside and awareness began to set in. She stiffened slightly, and then gently pushed at him to extricate herself.

“Sorry,” she whispered, swiping at her eyes and taking a shaky breath. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You ever been shot at before?” he asked, his eyes finding hers pointedly.

“No.” She shook her head. “I can’t even… This really is the worst vacation ever.” She blew out a frustrated breath as color began returning to her pale face.

“You’re on vacation…here?” He couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.

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