“Girls just wanna have fun,” I sing out loud into the handle of my duster, terribly off tune to the eighties hit from Cyndi Lauper. Perks of the job. No one is around to hear me butcher songs. Swinging my hips to the beat, I round the corner to start on the bedroom.
Oh my!
Tall, tan, and toned is passed out cold on the bed. Did I mention, naked? Very naked. My gaze travels from his closed eyes down his muscular tanned stomach, ripple after ripple, to his… Wow! I mean, my island experience is limited, but I didn’t know they came in that size. It rests, long and hard, against his thigh. My cheeks heat at the sight and a tingle buzzes in my lower belly.
I whip around, yanking the earbuds out of my ears and fan myself as the wall holds me up. My gaze darts around the room. Empty whiskey bottles top the coffee table. Clothes thrown haphazardly on the couch. The sliding glass doors are wide open and salty sea air fills the room, but that’s normal. People that come to the island like the humid air.
“No. I’ll lose my job,” I whisper to my subconscious telling me to take another peek. “That, or the ancestral spirits are planning my punishment already.” I shake my head, fighting with myself.
What if he’s dead?
He’s obviously had a lot to drink and I have a responsibility to make sure he’s all right. Put the customer first. Always. My singing didn’t wake him up, he might very well need my help.
Pushing off the wall, I peek my head through the door and zone in to his torso. See, I’m making sure he’s alive. In the corner of my eye, his dick pulses, and I jerk my head up to see his face and our eyes meet.
“Whiskey, there’s enough room for you to join me.”
I gasp at the rough, sexy voice, not hearing a word he said, rather focusing on the fact that he was talking.
To me.
This is not good. Men that come here are usually arrogant assholes, and I was just caught watching one sleep naked. He could ruin me and I just handed him the power to do it.
“Orana.” The word flies out of my mouth, over my shoulder, as I rush toward the door. The word we’re trained to say whenever we interact with a guest. For a quick beat, I squeeze my eyes shut. Why did I just say hello?
Dashing out of the last bungalow, I speed walk, pushing my cart down the walkway, until I spot Mama Doe’s cart outside bungalow four.
Flustered and irritated with myself, I dash into the hut. Her singsong voice carries through the place from the back bedroom. I stand in the living room, shake out my hands while I gather my thoughts.
“Aspen, girl, what are you doing? You should be working.” I jump at the strong Tahitian voice coming from behind me. Spinning on my heel, I decide lying would be the best.
“I’m not feeling so well.”
“Girl, you look flushed.” She places the back of her hand against my forehead, her eyes filling with concern. “You’re sweating.” She would be too if she saw what I did and then got caught. “You need to go to Dr. Blaise. Maybe you caught the same sickness as the others.” The person’s shift I’m covering is out sick.
I shake my head. That won’t be necessary. “It’s not that serious.” Dr. Blaise creeps me out. He’s an old man that stares at me like I’m a buffet, waiting to be devoured. I’d like to tell him I’m rotten meat so he’ll stop. That is the last place I want to go. “Actually, I must have needed a break. I’m already better.”
She eyes me, crossing her arms over her chest. This was a stupid idea. One thing about Mama Doe, she can smell a lie. That’s one of the prime reasons she’s referred to as Mama Doe. She sees all and hears all.
“What has you rattled, girl?”
A man, built like a god.
“Your face is turning red.” Her howling laugh ripples out. “Did you walk in on something?”
It happens. I’ve learned while working at a hotel, there are some guests who like being caught in the act. Some things you can’t ever unsee. Except, we’re supposed to exit with a hushed sorry and act like nothing ever happened.