Page 8 of Natural Temptation

I slip away from the lobby, seeking a rare moment of solitude. The worn path through the woods leads me to a small clearing, a hidden oasis with two chaises. I stretch out on one, and the woven material softly creaks beneath my weight. While the chirping of tropical birds and the distant rush of breakers on the shore fill my ears, I perform one final self-appointed task.

"Breathe," I mutter to myself, closing my eyes. But I can't shake the image of that beautiful woman's radiant, unguarded smile. It stirs something in me I thought was long dead.

I jerk upright on my chaise. "No, you moron, you are not going there."

Not today, at least. Maybe once I've settled in a bit more...

But no, I shouldn't go there at all.

With more effort than the task normally requires, I force my mind to show me the day's events, cataloging challenges and successes in a personal inventory of my day so far. The orientation went smoothly, despite my, ah, distractions. I make a mental note to commend Emilio on his quick thinking with a lost luggage situation and Marley's good work too. Rene Walker made the guests feel at home the second they stepped off the Cessna jet.

This job, it's...good. I'm good at it. Damn good, actually. Hell, I rock my job.

A realization hits me. I've been so focused on maintaining distance that I haven't made sure my staff receives the praise and time off they need. We all need moments like this, I decide, and already I'm planning how to encourage little breaks now and then. Might even do a staff retreat of some sort.

But not today.

The peace of the clearing has done its work. I stand, stretching my whole body, and groan deeply as I make my way toward the beach, approaching the water's edge. Waves crash rhythmically, the vast expanse of blue stretching to the horizon. I tip my head back, eyes closed, letting the sound wash over me.

"Yeah, youcando this," I whisper. "One day at a time."

With a deep breath, I open my eyes. The calm of the ocean has settled something within me, but I know the underlying turmoil remains. There's still so much unresolved, so much pain I've buried.

I turn, striding back toward the main building with renewed purpose. My office beckons, offering a sanctuary of spreadsheets and schedules.Keep your distance, I remind myself firmly asthat mystery woman's beautiful eyes flash through my mind unbidden.Focus on the job. Nothing else matters.But I have to know her name or else I'll go mad. A tiny indiscretion won't hurt anything. So, I sort through the passport photos for each guest. And there she is—Meredith Hayes, age fifty-two. Is she married? I didn't see any wedding ring.

Even as I settle in behind my desk, a treacherous part of me whispers that maybe, just maybe, something else does matter after all.

Chapter Three

Meredith

As I gaze past the patio, a gentle breeze brushes against my skin, bringing with it the soothing scents of afternoon in the tropics. My throat suddenly feels parched, and my mouth waters at the thought of a cool, fruity cocktail. I half expect to see staff members bustling about with trays of drinks. And I can almost taste the sweetness and tanginess on my tongue. The sound of clinking glasses and soft chatter fills the air, accompanied by the occasional burst of laughter. I can also hear the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore.

"Should we head to the lobby for our welcome cocktails?" I ask Zara.

Her light laughter almost seems to tinkle like wind chimes. "Oh, Mer, didn't you read the welcome packet? The drinks are on the auxiliary patio."

"Right, of course." I hesitate, feeling a bit sheepish. Guess I should've read the welcome packet more thoroughly. "Lead the way, oh wise one. I wonder how many tiny umbrellas had to die for our drinking pleasure."

"Probably an entire rainforest's worth," Maya giggles like a schoolgirl, not like the mature college behavioral counselor she is. Her blue eyes are sparkling in the sunshine as she points toward a sexy man with a buff bod and salt-and-pepper hair. "Mm, can I get one of those to go?"

I roll my eyes at her. "This isn't a buffet, Maya."

"Not yet. But who knows..."

This is what happens when four widows who met at a group counseling session decide to relieve our dwindling sorrow with a crazy vacation. And that's how I met Maya, Lila, and Zara—because we lost our husbands. The vacation idea had been two-and-a-half years in the making. Once we resolved to put the past behind us, this trip was inevitable. Hence, our wild holiday on the other side of the world.

As we saunter toward the larger patio, I shake my head, wondering if I could have a little something steamy with the interim general manager. I know his name, but I wonder if he knows mine. Ryan had been glancing at me often during his welcome speech this afternoon. That suggests he is interested.

But I don't see him now.

We reach the bar where a colorful array of tropical concoctions is spread out before us. I grab a vibrant blue drink, complete with pineapple wedge and, yes, a tiny umbrella. Then I notice Maya has just reached for a second cocktail.

"Careful there, Ms. Kozlow," I admonish. "Any more of those and you'll be pink from head to toe."

"Oh, hush," Maya retorts, but her cheeks are already flushed. "I'm just embracing the island spirit."

As we sip our drinks, my gaze wanders to the snakelike pool below. Guests splash and laugh, their bodies glistening in the sunshine. I watch a group of twenty-somethings engaged in a heated game of volleyball, their movements fluid, their laughter carefree. They all look so...comfortable, so at ease with their nudity and with this whole experience.

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