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  PASSION IN PARADISE 2: PARADISE REVIVAL

  An Ellora's Cave publication, Month 2003

  Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

  PO Box 787

  Hudson, OH 44236-0787

  ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-684-4

  Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

  Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

  PASSION IN PARADISE 2: PARADISE REVIVAL (c) 2003 JACI BURTON

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors' imaginations and used fictitiously.

  Edited by BRIANNA ST. JAMES.

  Cover art by SCOTT CARPENTER.

  PASSION IN PARADISE 2:

  PARADISE REVIVAL

  By Jaci Burton

  Dedication

  To Charlie, for giving me all that you have, and making it easier for me to write about that special love between two people. I can't write it if I don't feel it. I feel it because of you. I love you.

  Chapter One

  Morgan Brown inhaled deeply and blew out a sigh, trying to banish the queasy feeling in her stomach.

  This whole idea was ridiculous. She didn't have time for it. Owning and managing Paradise Resort kept her plenty busy. Conducting a week-long interview with a freelance writer wasn't on the agenda.

  Besides, he would be intrusive. Under foot all the time--watching her, studying her, asking probing, intimate questions like reporters always did. Something she had avoided like the plague ever since her divorce from David.

  It wasn't good to dredge up the past. She'd successfully buried it, along with her marriage to that slimeball, and that was where it was supposed to stay.

  So why had she agreed to the interview in the first place? She knew why. Much as she hated the idea of opening herself up to scrutiny, a magazine spread would be good public relations for the resort. She couldn't let her personal fears get in the way of bringing potential new clients to Paradise.

  All those fears. Get a grip, Morgan. You have nothing to be afraid of. David can't get to you here. He doesn't know where you are, and even if he knew, there's no way he'd approach you. Your secrets are safe. The reporter will never find out about what happened.

  Forcing thoughts of the past aside, she stepped out on the front porch of her home, welcoming the feeling of total solitude. Nestled away in the jungle-like overgrowth, it stood a good distance from the resort, completely isolated. Just the way she liked it.

  The warm, Caribbean breeze blew a red curl in her face. With her usual annoyance, she quickly flipped her hair behind her ears. With a smile, she entered the gardens. The gardenias bloomed this time of year, and she couldn't resist taking a walk through the gardens to enjoy their scent. The sweet smell of the flowers reminded her of her childhood, a time when she was still innocent. Every time she surrounded herself with gardenias, she felt clean and whole again. Her idyllic little hideaway always calmed her.

  She felt safe here. No one intruded, no one bothered her, and she could enjoy being alone.

  It had taken her a trip through hell and back to get here, and this is where she'd stay.

  Paradise was her home, her livelihood, and her reason for existence. The reason she'd started the resort was to give people a venue to live out their fantasies. No recriminations, no repercussions. It was a safe place. And when she'd finally wrenched free of David, a safe haven was what she'd craved. That, and the feeling that what she'd done hadn't been bad, that she shouldn't feel ashamed of who she was. Her desires had been normal. David's had been sick and perverted. Hence, Paradise was born. Paradise was the only place where sexual pleasures had no boundaries as long as the parties involved consented.

  She might never experience that kind of freedom again, but at least others would.

  A quick glance at her watch told her the reporter would be arriving soon. She'd better get ready. With a wistful sigh she left the gardens, always loath to leave her scented sanctuary. She strolled through the front door, delighting in the warm breeze the open windows provided. Her sandals clipped noisily on the hardwood floors, but didn't disturb her Persian cat, Phoebe. The ball of white fluff rolled over on its back and purred loudly, then went back to sleep.

  Morgan smiled at her companion's laziness. Phoebe was her only buddy, and after three years together the cat had gotten used to Morgan talking to it as if it were human.

  "What would I do without you, Phoebe?" She bent down and stroked the cat's belly. "My only friend. Now how pathetic does that make me?"

  Fortunately, Phoebe didn't answer. But at least Morgan had someone to converse with, even if the conversation was one-sided.

  Who else would she talk to? It wasn't like she invited people over on a regular basis. She didn't socialize with the resort staff, and she would certainly never get to know the customers on an intimate level.

  Intimate. Right. No intimacy, don't get close, keep your distance, Morgan. Don't let anyone find out about you. Don't develop relationships, don't have friends. If you get friendly, something might slip and then they'd know.

  In so many ways, David still controlled her. She was even afraid to make friends here at the resort. When would she be free? Would she ever be, or was she doomed to this life of solitude she'd created for herself?

  She stepped into her bedroom and changed from her shorts and tank top to a long red and yellow flowered sarong. Tying it off and tucking the ends between her breasts, she stepped in front of the mirror and turned around to make sure none of the scars were visible. She wound her hair up in a twist and secured it with a clip. Satisfied, she headed to the resort to meet Anthony Marino.

  *

  Tony Marino surveyed the lobby of Paradise Resort. Not at all what he expected. He'd been there five minutes already and had yet to spot any whips, chains or naked people. Hell, he'd expected to find couples screwing on the front step, but this place looked just like any other tropical hotel. Women wandered around in bikinis, men in shorts and stupid flowery shirts.

  They weren't all beautiful, either. All shapes, sizes and ages. The resort wasn't the typical hedonistic type of private vacation spot catering to the twenty-something crowd. This place could have easily been any hotel in any part of the world.

  Except it wasn't just any hotel. It was Paradise Resort, quickly gaining in popularity as the place for sexual frolic. Anything you could imagine could be had here. With anyone who was game enough to have it with you.

  If he wasn't on assignment, he'd consider dabbling in some of the recreation himself. Unfortunately, he was only here to observe. And gain whatever dirt he could on the owner and manager of this place, the mysterious Morgan Brown.

  Despite all his research skills and resources, he hadn't been able to find anything personal about this woman. Business tidbits, information on her purchase of the resort, yeah. Personal information was nonexistent. She sure as hell hadn't dropped onto Earth three years ago. But that's how it seemed.

  Which only made her more intriguing. If there was one thing Tony loved, it was a mystery. Mystery typically led to scandal, and scandal led to big money.

  "Anthony Marino?"

  He turned at the sound of the soft voice behind him, and his knees wobbled.

  Holy shit--she was some gorgeous woman. Flaming red hair curled atop her head, a few loose pieces twining against her face. She had a cute little nose and pouty, full lips that instantly grabbed his cock's attention.

  Down boy.

  And where the hell had his power of speech gone? Christ, he'd just regressed fifteen years to those awkward, fumbling teena
ge days.

  "Yeah?" was all he could manage.

  She held out her hand. "I'm Morgan Brown."

  Well, that figured. This was hell, and she was his personal Beelzebub. His eternity would be spent in look but don't touch torture.

  "Ms. Brown," he finally said, shaking her petite hand.

  "Call me Morgan." Her voice melted over him like butter on a hot English muffin. Smooth.

  "I'm Tony."

  She raised a brow and smiled. "Very well, Tony. Welcome to Paradise Resort."

  If she kept looking at him that way he was going to be one painfully hard Tony in no time at all. She tilted her head to the side, studying him, then looked down at his jeans and tennis shoes and back up again at his polo shirt, concentrating on his chest.

  When her gaze swept back up to meet his, she frowned.

  What? This was a resort. He was a reporter. Was there a dress code no one told him about?

  "When can we get started?" he asked, hoping to focus his attention on work and away from her body and face.

  "I'm very busy."

  "You also agreed to this interview."

  She lifted her chin. "I know. However, you will have to work around my schedule."

  "Fine." Morgan Brown wasn't the first reluctant interview he'd conducted. He had ways to gain her cooperation. "I have to greet the incoming arrivals tonight."

  "And after that?"

  "After that I go home."

  "That'll work. I'll just meet you at your place."

  She pursed her lips and glared, her blue eyes frosty. "I think not. My house is not within the resort grounds."

  "Which means what, exactly?"

  "It's a distance away."

  He smirked. "The island is only so big. Can't be that far."

  She sighed.

  "You could stay at the hotel while I'm here," he suggested. "Make it easier on both of us."

  "No."

  That was definite. "Why not?"

  "The rooms at the resort are for the guests. I don't stay in any of them. Besides, we're usually full."

  "Well, Morgan, seems to me you have two choices here. You can make yourself more available to me during the workday, or I can do the interview at your place. As you know, you're under contract with the magazine and you agreed to give me access to you during this week."

  Daggers shot out from her ocean blue eyes. "I suppose that only leaves us one choice."

  "Which is?"

  She studied him again for a few seconds, then said, "We'll go to my place where I don't have to worry about other people listening in."

  Did she have something to hide? And if she did, why would she be telling him about it? He filed that mental note away for later. "Wherever. When can we start?"

  The desk clerk handed Morgan a clipboard, which she rapidly scanned before looking up at him. "You're here not only to interview me, but observe the activities at the resort, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "This is welcome night for the new arrivals. You can take a seat in the bar, have an hors d'oeuvre and a drink, and when I'm finished we'll head to my place."

  He followed her through the lobby and into the lounge, a large room open to the beach and ocean. Pale wood floors gleamed with a fresh wax. The tables and chairs were surrounded by potted palms and oversized hibiscus swaying gently from the ocean breeze. Stairs led down directly to the beach and swimming pool. They sure made it easy for guests to have access to all the amenities.

  Morgan left to mingle with the arriving guests. After finding the bartender and ordering a double Crown and Coke, Tony settled in at the back of the room and took out his laptop to take notes.

  The lounge was already packed with the new arrivals. Tony found it interesting to watch couples gravitate toward one another, strike up conversation and size each other up. The meetings either ended with the couple sitting down at a table together or separating in search of other prey. He bit back the urge to laugh out loud.

  Who would be desperate enough to come to a place like this just for sex? Were these people such losers that they couldn't find compatible partners in their own neck of the woods? That couldn't possibly be the reason, since more than half of the guests in attendance were quite attractive. So what was it that drew people here?

  He'd never had any trouble getting laid, wherever he was. Not that he was a stud or anything, but he did okay. More likely his success rate had to do with his job. Women, for some inexplicable reason, gravitated toward writers. Like he was some famous author or something.

  He snorted. Not likely. He wasn't patient enough to sit still and write a book. That's why freelance writing worked for him. Research, write and then get the hell outta town and on to the next project. Not conducive to stability, marriage or family, but those things were for other people. Not someone like him. He enjoyed the freedom to travel way too much to ever be tied down in the traditional family way.

  He made notes on questions he wanted to ask Morgan later. He'd kept one eye on her the entire time. She smiled and greeted every one of the guests, and even made a few introductions when she discovered the shy types standing alone.

  Morgan stepped to the stage and asked for everyone's attention, then gave a speech about how everyone was free to do whatever they liked as long as the other participants were in agreement. She warned that if anyone forced another guest to do something against their will, the local authorities would deal with them.

  Her eyes darkened in what he could only surmise was barely suppressed anger when she talked about free will and force. She took the security of her guests seriously. Not that he blamed her. All it took was one psychopath and all hell could break loose.

  After she finished and spoke with a few other guests and resort staff, she headed over to him. He admired her full hips in the tropical getup she wore. It fit her snugly in all the right places, accentuating every one of her lush curves. Damn if his cock didn't begin clamoring for attention again. He liked his women to look like women, not skinny little boys.

  Morgan Brown was his perfect type of woman.

  Wrong. She might fit his type, but he wasn't going to have her.

  "Sorry it took so long," she said as she stopped in front of him. "Part of my job."

  He shrugged, mentally counting backwards from one hundred in the hopes of getting his wayward penis to behave itself. "No problem. I'm here to observe as well as interview."

  She nodded. "Shall we go, then? Might as well get started tonight. I'll be busy with the guests and staff tomorrow morning."

  "Shouldn't I check in first?"

  "I thought you'd already done that. Come with me."

  She led him to the front desk, where a harried clerk was busily working with a few of the new arrivals. Morgan went behind the desk and pulled up his reservation, then frowned.

  "Something wrong?" Tony asked.

  "Yeah." She looked to the clerk. "Remind me to fire our reservationist tomorrow. We're overbooked again."

  The clerk glanced up, shock evident on her face. "Again?"

  "Yes." She looked up at Tony. "And everyone has checked in. The resort is full."

  Why did this shit always happen to him? "I don't suppose there's another place I could stay."

  "Well, we do have private cabins on the other side of the island. We could--"

  "Booked already," the clerk interrupted.

  Morgan sighed and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm really sorry. We've had computer problems lately, and a reservationist who will be out of a job come tomorrow. But that's not your problem, it's mine."

  She skirted around the counter and motioned him toward the exit. "Grab your luggage."

  He reached for his bags. "Where are we going?"

  "My place. I have a spare bedroom. You'll have to stay with me."

  "Stay there?" he asked. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

  "Yes." She stopped and stared at him, impatiently tapping her foot, her irritation evident. "Unless that's a problem?"
/>   Problem? With his cock, maybe. With him, no. Easier to watch her, talk to her, follow her around if he had access to her twenty-four hours a day. Maybe he could snoop around and find something about her. This was working out better than he thought. Although Morgan didn't seem thrilled about it. Not that he could blame her. Nothing like a nosy reporter invading her private space. "No problem. Let's go."

  They exited the hotel and Morgan led him to a vehicle which looked a lot like a golf cart. He stopped and looked at her.

  "It's a ways to where I live," she explained.

  "I guess I expected you to live behind the hotel."

  She let out a sigh as they slipped into the vehicle and took off down a well-lit path. "Hardly. I value my privacy."

  The trail was bumpy and narrow. Morgan expertly navigated low hanging tree branches and palm fronds as they headed deeper into the tropical forest. The air grew thicker the further they traversed. Tony wished he'd worn shorts instead of jeans, but then again when he'd left New York it had been a helluva lot cooler than here. Sweat poured from him and he pulled his now soaked shirt away from his chest.

  Morgan glanced at him and smiled. "It's a little humid here in the tropics. You need to wear fewer clothes."

  Tony looked at her, searching her face. Did she want to see him with fewer clothes on? Was she hitting on him?

  Yeah, right. Wishful thinking on his part. And not likely considering her cool reception. Her gaze once again focused on the road ahead of her.

  For someone who ran a sex resort, she sure seemed prim and proper. Except for the lush body in the barely-covering-her-thighs dress. Her body was anything but conservative. She had curves made for a man to worship.

  They finally reached a clearing, and Tony was stunned to see a nice sized ranch style house in front of them. The sandy colored siding and forest green shutters fit right in with the tropical surroundings.

  Morgan pulled into a covered carport. Tony jumped out and grabbed his bags, following along behind her, watching her nicely rounded rear end sway back and forth. His cock twitched, reminding him once again how long it had been since he'd had sex.

  Oh sure, women gravitated to him all right. Except during his last few assignments. Those had consisted of nothing but men. No women around. Jungle, war, politics. And no female within miles.