Northwest on Earth (closed)

AntonTovaras

Really Really Experienced
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Sep 8, 2012
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380
Charlie Ward stepped out of the plane into the baking tropical sun and smiled. The flight from LA to Tahiti was punishingly long, and even though he had flown first class, he was stiff and uncomfortable. Fresh air, with a taste of the sea even at the airport, and the sun on his skin went a long way to restoring him. Even if he still had a long way to go to reach his final destination.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked down the steps onto the tarmac. A young man held up a sign "Charles Ward," and chatted with an official looking woman Charlie chuckled as he walked over to him.

"Don't I have to go through customs?" Charlie said.

"It's ok," the young man said, and jogged off to the plane.

"Passport, Sir?" the woman said. Charlie handed over the passport and she stamped it. "Welcome to Tahiti, Sir. Enjoy your stay."

The young man returned with Charlie's luggage, and instead of heading to the airport terminal, they headed to the side. A car was waiting for them, and in a few minutes the young man was driving them down to the harbor.

"Mister Carter arranged all of this?" Charlie said.

"Yes Sir. Everything taken care of."

*

A year ago, Charlie was starring in a production of A Midsummer Night's Dream in a run down little theater in Santa Monica. A friend of a major producer saw the performance, and was impressed with the actor playing Puck, who brought a balance of good looks, cool wit and hot sensuality to the role. The next night, the producer himself came, and saw Charlie's performance. The producer, Randy Carter, liked what he saw, and he checked up on Charles Ward.

The next day, Charlie's agent called him, so excited he could hardly talk. Randy Carter was getting ready to shoot Northwest of Earth, a space opera loosely based on an old pulp sci fi character that was slated to be a major blockbuster. Carter was known for taking unknowns and making them legends, and apparently, he wanted to use Charlie in the title role.

"The character's name is Northwest?" Charlie asked.

"Just get there! He wants to do a screentest on you yesterday!"

Charlie lived in a tiny apartment that he shared with his best friend Eric, a guitar player. For five years, they had both been struggling to get noticed, scraping by and learning just how tough Los Angeles could be. Charlie was out the door fifteen minutes later, on his way to Carter's Dreamland Studio. He did a screentest, and they thanked him and sent himon his way. Two weeks later, he got a beer commercial. It was four months before Dreamland got in touch, telling him they wanted him for Northwest

The next few months were a blur. He was cast in the part. The story was classic sci-fi action, and he spent a month in intense training until he was lean and carved like a greek god. The next thing he knew, they were shooting in Iceland and then Morocco, and then he was back in LA.

Another producer put him in another movie, a small drama which would be released after Northwest, to capitalize on his name, and which would give him some credibility as something more than a pretty face. By the time that was finished shooting, there were three more offers, and Northwest hadn't even finished post-production.

"I need a break," Charlie said. "We don't even know if Northwest is going to be a hit."

"Yes we do," Randy Carter said. "And we need you to start promoting in a month, so take your break. Get out of town. Where do you want to go?"

"I have this surf movie coming up. I thought I might actually learn to surf, but I don't have to get out of town...."

"Tahiti. I know a place. I'll have my people set it up, but your ass is back here ready to do the promo tour in thirty days. Deal?"

"Tahiti?" Charlie repeated, stunned by the offer.

"You want it or not?"

*

Three days later, he was getting on a boat in the Papa'ete harbor, bound for a little B&B in a cottage overlooking a small bay on the island of Mo'orea. The young man that was delivering him chattered on about surfing, diving, sailing, and Charlie let it flow over him like the breeze. He had a month to spend in paradise.

After an hour of riding over the swells, the boat cut into a quiet bay and pulled up at a dock. Charlie tried to pay the driver, but he shook his head and explained it was taken care of. He tied the boat off and carried Charlie's bags towards the house. Charlie followed, moving slowly, looking around him. He could have been the only person in the world for all he could see. There were no other houses on the bay, nobody surfing the spot that the driver had pointed out at the mouth of the bay. A few small craft were tied up, and a larger sailboat was moored near the dock, but nobody was on the porch.

He stepped through a french door into a luxurious living room, with curtains billowing in the sea breeze.
 
Misha Lawrence had just stepped out of the shower and spotted the boat pulling in from her bedroom window. "Shit!" she hissed, pulling a brush through her long black hair.

She had been out most of the morning, excited to get at the early morning surf, and lost track of time. She hadn't been too careful about getting back in time, since no one was currently at the B&B she managed in any case. Their last guest had left late yesterday, and she'd finished changing over their rooms last night. She knew she had a guest coming in today, but there was still ten minutes before check-in time technically started when she got out of the shower and saw them tying off the boat.

She yanked a t-shirt on over her head, and a pair of jean shorts up over her long legs, and practically ran down the stairs, ignoring the fact that her hair was still wet and clinging to her shoulders. At least it wasn't still full of sand.

She walked, barefoot, into the living room on time to see a young man, not too much older than she, standing just inside the open doors. He had incredible good looks, and she could see the lines of his muscles even under his shirt. She bit her lip, smiling at him.

"Hi, I'm Misha. I'm the manager here. You must be Mr. Ward." She extended her hand to shake. She didn't know who this guy was, but she was certain he was important. She had been instructed to extend him every courtesy.

"Your room is just over here," she informed him, leading him down a hallway, up the stairs and into their largest room. The house was quite large, and very beautiful. It was an old colonial mansion, and had been kept in good repair rather than renovated, so it had kept much of that old-world charm that made such places so unique without sacrificing comfort.

She watched him walk into the room with his things, and paused at the door before she left. "Um, normally breakfast is between 7 and 10, lunch is between 12 and 2, and dinner is severed between 5 and 8, but since you're the only guest at the moment, I can work on whatever schedule you'd like. Just let me know, okay?"
 
Charlie was admiring the building's design. They just didn't make houses this way anymore, he thought. Here it was, in the tropics, with no apparent AC, yet it was comfortably cool inside. The man who had driven him here came down, with Charlie's bags apparently stowed, and gave him a brief nod before disappearing. Charlie stood, bemused, watching the man race down the dock and drive off in his boat.

Then he heard another set of footsteps, nearly silent on the old wood floors, coming out of the back of the house. He turned and smiled, and then his eyes found her. She had obviously just come out of the shower, her hair was wetting the shoulders of her t shirt. She was lithe and athletic looking, with a deep tan and a delicious roundness in all the right places.

"Wow," he said, and then realized he was staring. It didn't seem to bother her, maybe because she was staring right back, but he gave a soft chuckle. "Sorry. You sort of took me by surprise. My friend set me up here, and, well, nobody warned me there was a beautiful girl."

"I'll try to be a little less cheesy, after this. Can we just chalk it up to jetlag?" he said, as he followed her up to a beautiful master bedroom. His bags were arranged on the dresser, and a wide door opened onto a balcony that overlooked the bay. He wasn't sure, but he had the feeling this place was costing someone a fortune.

"The guy on the boat said the surf off the point is pretty good," he said. This girl was going to be cooking for him? he thought. It was hard not to like that. "But he said dawn is the best time for a beginner, so I'll probably be having breakfast after that."

"I don't want to mess up your routine, but if it's just me here, how about we do a late breakfast and an early dinner, and leave it at that?" He smiled at her. It was hard not to stare at her legs, her body, her pretty bare feet, the way her tee shirt was clinging to her. "And please, call me Charlie." He held out his hand.
 
Misha blushed at his compliment, smiling in spite of herself. She happened to like cheesy compliments. "Well, believe me when I say I don't mind. You can be as cheesy as you want, I won't complain." She laughed softly at herself. She wasn't normally so forward - certainly not with guests - but there was just something about him that rubbed her the right way. That chiseled physique and winning smile certainly helped.

She took his hand and shook it. It was warm and large, enveloping hers almost entirely. "A pleasure to meet you, Charlie." She had intended the sentiment to be genuine but platonic. Instead, her distraction at the pleasant roughness of his palm against hers made her tone a little lower and made the comment seem to carry an innuendo she hadn't intended (though she couldn't exactly say it was inaccurate). She looked sheepishly up at him, ready to apologize for her inappropriateness, but if the look on his face was any indication, he didn't seem to mind.

Misha wanted something to distract her. She was standing there, her hand in his, searching for something to say while the awkward silence stretched. She latched onto his comment about surfing, perking up at the thought. "Oh, if you're looking for good surf, I know the best places around the island. I could take you out to this little bay, maybe ten minutes from here, tomorrow morning if you'd like." She motioned out the window, towards a little peninsula visible from the balcony. "Just past that point. Do you have any gear? We have some here that you can use if you need it."
 
“As cheesy as I want hm?” he said, and bounced his eyebrows up and down, Groucho style. “Can I call you cracker, then?” He liked her blush, and the smile that came with it. He was a good looking guy, but good looking guys were a dime a dozen in LA, so he'd learned his way around women's expressions, and he was pretty sure that this one was warming up to him on rocket fuel.

Any doubt he had was removed by the handshake. It was a little too long to be polite, and the flirty tone to her most innocuous remark made him sure.

“Hopefully just the first of many pleasures,” he said, and then winked playfully, backing off. “For example, I can go out and come back in and you can meet me again.” She looked a bit shy. Of course she did, he thought. She was a beautiful woman working in a place like this. He was sure she had more than her fill of customers hitting on her. Mostly rich guys, he imagined, accustomed to getting what they wanted. He took a deep breath and swallowed the impulse to throw her down on the bed immediately. It left him with nothing to say for a moment, but she filled the gap, talking about surfing.

“Yeah, that would be great,” he said, waggling his eyebrows again. “You know, any excuse to spend time with you in a bikini. Especially if you're the one in the bikini. Then again, I wouldn't mind getting in your bikini.” The tone made his words playful, and he frowned a moment later. “Gear would be good. The guys I talked to said I'd do better to get a board here than bring one from LA, so if you know a good place to get one, maybe I could get that done today.” He yawned then, hugely.

“Sorry. It's past midnight my time.” He looked her over, thoughtfully. “You're not from here, are you?”
 
Misha laughed aloud as he started joking about her bikini, and only laughed harder at the sudden image that popped into her mind of Charlie wearing her bikini. It was made only funnier by the fact that her bikini of choice was a tiny little string one, in quite a lovely indigo colour, but perhaps more to the point, was about as small as a bathing suit could get without becoming utterly inappropriate.

"I'm sorry to have to disappoint you," she answered, her voice still thick with mirth, "but I wear a wetsuit when I surf. I can't wear my bikini, because I'd almost certainly lose it the first time I wiped out." She stuck her tongue out, giggling suggestively, "Not that you'd mind, I'm sure." She blushed again. What the hell was wrong with her, flirting so openly with him? And he was a guest! She was being terribly unprofessional, and she considered it really only a matter of good luck that he didn't seem offended by it. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate." She lifted a hand to the back of her neck, rubbing at it a bit awkwardly. "I can take you into town later, and we can get whatever gear you need." She paused, smiling as he yawned. "Maybe after you have a nap?"

“Sorry. It's past midnight my time. You're not from here, are you?”

Misha shook her head. Her skin was well tanned from days spent out in the sun either working, surfing, swimming, or just lying on the beach. Her skin had a bit of a ruddy tone - an outward indication of her half-native american heritage, alongside her jet-black hair. But regardless, she wasn't surprised by the comment. She didn't look anything like the locals. "I'm actually from Alaska, originally. What about you? Where are you from?"
 
“I'm sorry,” he said. He frowned thoughtfully. “Why can't you wear your bikini? I'm having trouble picturing how that could be a bad thing.” He smiled gently. He could see the uncertainty on her face, and if he'd had any doubt that she was a bit uncomfortable, her apology dispelled it. He chuckled.

“Hey,” he said. “No need to apologize. If that's inappropriate, you can be as inappropriate as you want.” He gave a heavy sigh. “Even if it means you wear a wetsuit.” He started to give her another smile, but it was interrupted by another yawn.

“Town would be good,” he said. He glanced at his watch, looked thoughtful again. “No nap though. I'm not going to bed without you.” He grinned. “Plus, my body thinks it's time to really sleep. If I lay down now, I won't wake up til tonight. I'll just take a quick dip and tough it out til dark. Though, if you'll make me a pot of strong coffee, I'll let you have your way with my body.” He peeled his shirt off, exposing his lean and chiseled torso. He opened his bag. After a little digging, he came up with his swim trunks.

“Holy shit, Alaska?” he said, and looked at her hard, trying to see something that betrayed her origin. She was beautiful and exotic, but she could have told him almost anywhere and he'd have believed her. “Is too soon for a 'drill, baby, drill' joke?”

“Me?” he said. “Born and raised in California. Now I'm going to change into my trunks, and there's no spectators allowed, so if you aren't going to help, scram.” He grinned, but he also opened his belt. The buckle, if she looked closely enough to see, said Northwest of Earth.
 
Misha at least had the self-control to wait until Charlie wasn't looking at her to ogle his bare chest. If she thought he was well muscled before, it was nothing compared to the view she had now... She was thankful for the time it took him to find his trunks in his bag. It gave her more of an opportunity to check him out.

A moment later, however, he was telling her to either 'help him change' or leave. He had this devastatingly tempting smirk on his face as he pulled open his belt buckle, and Misha had to admit, she kind of wanted to stick around. But that was the kind of behaviour that was going to get her fired, so instead she squeaked and covered her face with her hands, giggling as she retreated from the room and shut the door behind her.

"I'll have some espresso waiting for you downstairs when you're ready!" She called through the door. She bit her lip, blushing as she imagined having x-ray vision so she could see a little more of that carved body of his, then ran off down the hall to grab her own suit. He had mentioned that he wanted an excuse to see her in a bikini, and she had been instructed to extend him every courtesy. Besides, a little flirting couldn't be too harmful, right? As long as she kept it under control? She tried to ignore that little voice in her head that said she wasn't going to be able to keep from giving in to his charms for the entire month if she kept up the way she was but, at the moment, she didn't care.

*

When Charlie came down the stairs a few minutes later, Misha was changed into her bikini with a rather sheer little sundress on over top. She was waiting for him in the kitchen/dining room, which was one large open space, only divided by an island with several little stools pulled up to the dining room side of it. She was sitting on the counter with a cup of either side of her, both chilled and sweetened espressos.

She was kicking her bare feet idly, her sandals on the floor, and braiding her hair when he entered. She smiled at him, flashing her teeth in a genuine grin. "I hope you don't mind, I'm going to use the excuse of safety first to go swimming with you."
 
At least she was giggling when she left. That was a good sign. Though he hadn't really expected her to jump his bones right then and there, ten minutes after meeting him, he wouldn't have objected. Just the thought was enough to make him feel a stirring of lust. He stripped down and then pulled on his trunks, an old pair he'd had for a long time. He lived a long way from the water, and didn't get to the beach as often as he'd like. There were large, colorful beach towels in the bathroom, and he grabbed one and headed downstairs.

“Did you say espresso?” he said, smiling, as he strolled into the living room. He froze when he saw her sitting at the counter. She had changed into a little sundress that did more to suggest modesty than actually provide any. He could plainly see she had put on a bikini under it, and for a long moment, he just stared. It wasn't that he was unused to beautiful women. They swarmed around LA like flies, and since his name was becoming known in anticipation of Northwest's release, they had been swarming around him. But they were studied, they were smug, their beauty was a tool they used to get what they wanted, and often a weapon. She was as lushly curved, as exoticly pretty as any of them, and there was none of the arrogance that they had.

“I'm pretty sure I need mouth-to-mouth,” he said, walking towards her, trying to think about the cool tile underfoot instead of the swelling in his trunks. She was flirting with him, but he had earned most of his money waiting tables until very recently, and he knew that didn't necessarily mean anything. Some people just flirted. Even if she was interested in him, they both knew he was heading back to LA in a month, so it wouldn't be anything but a fling. Besides, sleeping with customers was probably a pretty big no-no. He told himself these things and forced himself to look her in the eye, and gave a warm, grateful smile as he picked up the espresso and sipped. It helped a little.

“Nice,” he said, lifting the cup, and letting his eyes drift down over her figure. “Thank you. This is perfect.” He sat on the stool beside her, a foot propped up on the bar so his opinion of her wasn't too obvious. He scanned the room quickly for anything to distract him from how much he wanted her, and his eyes fell on a shelf full of DVDs.

“Quite a collection,” he said, gesturing with the cup and taking another sip. He strolled over, head tilted to the side to read the titles. There were a lot of Asian and European films in with all the familiar Hollywood titles, but nothing less than a year old that he could see.
 
Misha hopped down off the counter and picked up her cup of espresso, then padded across the kitchen to join Charlie in front of the DVD shelf. The shelf was positioned in the wide arch between the kitchen and living room. Misha stopped behind Charlie, smiling shyly.

"Yeah, I'm a bit of a film nerd," she admitted. "I love movies. Most of those actually belong to me, rather than the B&B. We don't get cable or anything, so these are all we have to watch here."

She leaned forward and plucked one of the cases off the shelf. "I love movies. I love stories but movies in particular. They just transport you into whole other worlds. I just..." Her voice had gotten kind of dream-like and displayed a real passion for the medium. She seemed to realize abruptly just how much she was opening up to this man, who was almost a stranger. She blushed brightly, sliding the DVD back onto the shelf. "Sorry, you probably don't want to listen to me wax poetic about movies..."
 
“I'm kind of into movies, myself,” Charlie said, smiling to himself. He wondered how she would react if she knew that he was a bona-fide movie star about to happen. He looked at the titles again, reaching up to touch the spines of a few particular favorites, grinning when he saw a film he had actually been in, though he had only had two scenes and in one of them, he didn't speak. He looked back over at her and grinned. It could wait. He wanted her to know him just as a guy before she started thinking of him as someone in movies.

“I've always love that about movies,” he said. “For at least an hour or two, you get to step into a different universe. Live a different life. Though, coming here from California seems like I'm in a different world. I can't imagine how different it must seem coming from Alaska.” He stepped away from the movies, walking back towards her, his eyes intent on her, but a smile playing around the corners of his lips. “But as long as you're around, I'm not sure I want to be transported to anywhere else.”

He stopped a few steps away from her and took a deep breath and shook his head. He gave her a tight little smile. There was no reason to pretend he didn't want her. Let her know that he was stopping himself from making a move. Hopefully she'd understand he didn't want to stop, but that he knew what an awkward position it could put her in.

“Nowhere, except the dock,” he said, looking out the open doors down to the bay and sighing again. He walked out, letting the sun hit him. It was almost painful, but it seemed to bake the cares out of him.

“You know, this place is almost as beautiful as you are?” he said as she came out with him. He ran down the stairs to the dock then, dropping his towel over the rail, and then diving into the crystal blue water of the bay.
 
Misha couldn't help the blush that just kept colouring her cheeks as he continued to flirt playfully with her. She was beginning to think that a blush was going to simply become a permanent part of her features with him around.

It wasn't hard for her to see that he wanted her, and that he was only holding himself back out of respect for the usual boundaries of a employee-client relationship. She found it perhaps a little frustrating that it just made him seem particularly sweet and considerate - most men who came here and flirted with her didn't seem to realize that there was a line Misha couldn't cross if she wanted to keep her job. That Charlie seemed completely willing to respect that just made her like him (and wish that there was no such line) even more, the irony of which was certainly not lost on her.

She followed him outside onto the dock, watching appreciatively the sight of him running full tilt and then diving into the water. That sculpted torso of his looked even better in athletic motion. Once he dove in, she walked slowly down the steps, kicking off her sandals, onto the dock. She told herself that it was only chance timing that saw her peeling her little sundress off over her head after he surfaced, that she wasn't trying to stretch and show off her figure as she stripped it off and tossed it down onto the dock. Then, with a bright laugh, she launched into a sprint down the remaining length of the dock and made a high, arcing dive into the brilliantly blue water.
 
Charlie hit the water and the speed of his dive carried him out and down. When he started to slow, he kicked and turned. The water got deep quick, and he could barely see the bottom. Sunlight filtered down, cut by the waves and making everything seem to dance in the golden light. It was warm as a bath, though it cooled a bit as he kicked deeper. Enough to take the edge off of his arousal.

As his head popped over the surface, Misha was just peeling her little dress off. Her bikini was a cruel joke. It barely covered her at all, but if she'd just been naked, it would have been less of a tease. Her body was perfect, athletic but still holding tight, womanly curves, her skin tanned a deep golden shade that he could never hit. Her Native American heritage came through in that tone, and in the shape of her eyes. He let out a soft groan and ducked his head under the water for a moment, and when he surfaced again, she was running, diving towards him, cutting into the water like a pro, hardly making a splash. If her body was amazing still, it was a whole other level in motion, and he could think of plenty of motions he'd like to see it making.

As he thought about this, a dark shape in a tiny bikini glided under him, and a moment later, Misha popped out of the water a good ten yards past him. He blinked, surprised, and then laughed. “OK,” he said. “You can swim farther underwater than me. That's just one thing.” He dove and kicked towards her, but the sight of her body under the water, stopped him. He glided towards her, wanting so badly to grab her, but knowing it would be hard to let go. The last thing he wanted was to scare her. He angled away at the last moment and swam past her, coming up a little ways out and floating on his back, his face up to the sun.

“To hell with movies,” he said. “This is where I want to be transported to.”
 
Misha watched as Charlie glided gracefully under the water toward and then past her. Her heart had leaped into her throat for a moment as he approached her, thinking that he was going to reach out at touch her. She was still fighting with herself over whether she wanted him to or not when he simply swam straight past her and surfaced behind her.

“To hell with movies,” he said. “This is where I want to be transported to.”

Grinning at the sentiment, Misha echoed his position and spread her arms out to keep herself floating over the calm, lazy waves in the bay. She shut her eyes, loving the feeling of the hot sun on her exposed skin, contrasted with the lukewarm water underneath. This place was truly heaven.

"You know, my mom doesn't understand why I would move so far from home for a job. She doesn't get that it's not the job I moved here for. That's just the means to an end. I get paid to live in heaven." She sighed happily, her eyes still closed.

A moment later, she felt her arm brush against a length of warm, smooth skin. She gasped and opened her eyes, sitting up (in a manner of speaking) from floating on her back to treading water. It seemed that she had drifted straight into Charlie. She smiled apologetically, even though most of her wanted to touch him again. "Sorry, I should watch where I'm going, I guess."
 
“Your mom lives in Alaska,” he said. “It would be cruel to expect her to live there and understand that this exists. My parents couldn't understand why I would move to LA when I could wait tables in Stockton.” He was just telling himself to stop blathering when he felt something brush against his leg. He looked up, startled, and realized it was her hair. He was pretty sure he was going to have a heart attack when her arm brushed against his knee and she gasped.

“Not if watching where you're going means less bumping into me,” he said, grinning as though he wasn't aroused to jaw-clenching agony by her touch. He shifted his position in the water to a more upright one, so that his periscope wasn't sticking out of the water. For a moment, he had just been content to lay back and float, basking in the sun and sea, but just the briefest contact with her had shattered that contentment. She was much too close, much too tantalizing, and he felt his feet brush against hers underwater. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He'd been here an hour, and he was all twisted up. How was he going to survive a month of this?

“I think maybe I will rest a little before we head to town,” he said, swimming lazily towards the dock. A cold shower. Maybe he could find a calculus textbook or something. The whole place was so perfect, it cried out for romance and passion. He thought it would be tempting no matter who was there, but to be alone here with a girl like Misha was almost unbearable. Not only was she beautiful, but she was actually fun. She flirted and gave as good as she got, and she liked movies, she knew how to surf.

He reached the dock and laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. It was like some mythological punishment, where everything you want is right in front of you, but impossible to reach. He climbed out of the water and turned to watch her swimming. He told himself not to give in to his impulse, not to put her in an awkward position, not to ask for something she would have to refuse.
 
Misha watched Charlie go inside from the water, frowning slightly. His decision had been abrupt, and it hadn't escaped her notice that it came almost immediately after her accidental touch. It had left the skin of her arm tingling pleasantly and her mind wondering what it would be like to touch more of him. She hoped that his decision to go in hadn't been because she had made him uncomfortable... But no, she decided, it would be self-centered to presume he had gone in because of her. The time change was probably killing him.

She climbed out after Charlie had disappeared into the house, collected her dress and shoes, then walked off the dock onto the white sand beach. She had intended to go inside, but the sun was so warm and she didn't want to drip all over the floor, having forgotten her towel. So she dragged a lounge chair out off the porch and reclined in it, enjoying the afternoon sunlight, at least until she was mostly dry.

*

Misha went inside a little later, her bathing suit barely damp and her skin feeling pleasantly baked. She changed back into her shorts and t shirt combo, then set about making dinner while Charlie slept. She figured they could have a quick bite once he woke, then they could head down into the little town on the coast a few miles south

She was lost in thought while she worked, frying up vegetables and chicken in a light sauce so they could have stir fry for dinner. She'd been thinking about whether they should take the Jeep or the boat, which had turned into a series of fantasies about being alone out in the woods or on the water with Charlie. Hey, just because she wasn't supposed to act on her desires didn't mean she couldn't fantasize about them.

She had music playing while she worked, a upbeat tropical sound that got into your bones and felt infectiously energetic. It wasn't a surprise, then, that she had started bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet, her hips swaying slightly. She was humming happily, and even singing for parts - she could keep herself on key, but she wasn't exactly a fantastic singer. Rather, it was the sound of someone singing for the love of it, because she was happy. And because she had no idea whatsoever that Charlie had come downstairs and wandered into the kitchen behind her.
 
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He didn't actually sleep, but paced around the room like a caged tiger, trying to stop himself from thinking of the beauty downstairs. It was impossible, of course. The whole place stank of romance: the sultry heat, the sea breezes, the tropical flowers filling the air with their scent. He would have had a hard time resisting any attractive woman in the circumstances, but she had to be so different than the hard-edged, calculating beauties he knew in LA. She laughed at his silliness, flirted with him as foolishly as he flirted with her. She liked movies, but as far as he knew, she had no idea who he was. She liked him for him, not for whatever second-hand fame might rub off on her. AND she was beautiful, in a completely natural way. No nip and tuck, no heavy make-up, no hours long process of fixing her hair.

He stared out the window. He was not not thinking about her. He was not not fantasizing about her. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her bikini bottom snugged tight across her mound. He wasn't sure how much he could take. The best thing was probably to let off some of the pressure, but it seemed too pathetic to come to paradise and then lock himself up in a room to jerk off in the middle of the day.

He started the shower, slipped off his trunks. His cock slapped against his belly as it sprang free, and for a moment he reconsidered jerking off. It wouldn't take but a second in the state he was in, and then maybe he wouldn't feel quite so tightly wound. But he couldn't. It would be a kind of surrender. Instead, he climbed into the shower. He bit back a howl of protest as the icy water splashed across his skin, and then stood there, teeth clenched, taking it.

It had the desired effect, though he was shivering by the time he got out. He toweled off and soon the tropical air had warmed him up again. He pulled on a pair of loose linen pants and stepped into his sandals. He pulled a white shirt on but left it unbuttoned, and then he went downstairs.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs when he heard her. At first he thought she was in distress, and for a moment, he imagined himself as her knight-in-shining-armor. Then he realized she was singing. Once he caught the tune, he realized she wasn't really all that bad, but clearly no one had ever taught her a thing. He had been trained by teachers who believed that if you couldn't sing, dance AND act, you shouldn't bother with any of them, and when she reached the chorus again, he came in, his velvety baritone putting a much needed bottom under her birdlike soprano.

Then he saw her, her hips swaying as she danced around the kitchen, and he felt another wave of desire sweep him off his feet and dash him against the rocks. He couldn't help himself, but came behind her and caught her hand. He slipped an arm around her waist as he turned her to face him, grinning. The beat was just a quick waltz, or maybe a cha-cha.

He managed to not step on her toes as his feet disagreed about the steps, and he nearly dropped both of them to the ground. He turned the stumble into a dip, and then he found the beat, and led her around the kitchen in a basic foxtrot for a few measures. He spun her once, and held her hand to make sure she had her feet under her.

He grinned. "What's cooking?"
 
Misha had lost herself entirely in the simple pleasure of singing and dancing as an expression of her very good mood. Every time she thought about the fact that it was just going to be her and Charlie here for the rest of the month, she was struck again by a giddy excitement that only pushed her to let go a little more, to lose herself in the music as an expression of her mood a little more.

The sound of another voice joining hers was foreign enough at first that she hadn't even recognized what it was. She jumped in surprise, her note cut off by a little yelp, and turned around. She very nearly choked when she saw Charlie crossing the kitchen toward her. He was grinning with that effortlessly charming smile of his, his hair still damp from what had to have been a shower. He had changed, and she could see flashes of his chest and stomach thanks to the motions of his open shirt. She felt a bush blossoming on her cheeks as she realized she had no idea how long he'd been there, listening to her singing. She knew she wasn't particularly good, and after only the one line that he'd managed to belt out by the time he reached her, she knew he was amazing. She would probably have been less embarrassed if he'd been just as bad as she, but his voice was incredible.

Misha started laughing the way one does when they're caught doing something embarrassing, and was about to bring her hands up to her face to hide behind them, but Charlie caught one of them and pulled her against him with his other arm around her waist. She squeaked, surprised by the way his shirt parted and she found herself pressed against the bare skin of his chest. Her body's reaction to the sensation was immediate. Her heartbeat stuttered and every inch of her skin that brushed against his, even for a moment, even through the cloth of their clothing, tingled pleasantly with that sensation that comes of being hyper-aware of someone's closeness and touch. Her free hand ended up tracing a path up over the exposed sections of his chest to his shoulder. She could feel his muscles moving under his skin, and another blush rose on her cheeks just as the first was fading.

She hadn't expected him to be a good dancer as well, though given the way he could sing, she probably should have assumed he was simply musically talented. He dipped her easily, drawing a surprised and delighted laugh from her, and then they danced around the kitchen, making one full circuit. Misha didn't exactly know what dance it was they were doing, but he led her so easily and so confidently that it didn't even occur to her that there were steps she probably should have known until afterwards. She broke out until another bout of laughter as he spun her once they finished their little dance. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd had this much fun with someone, a thought made all the more amazing by the fact that they hadn't even know each other a day yet.

"What's cooking?"

Misha grinned back at him, feeling almost giddy from the unexpected pleasure of their little dance. "I'm making stir-fry for dinner," she answered distractedly, finding herself oddly unable to meet his gaze. There was something unmistakably romantic about the atmosphere now - after having lived in Tahiti for a year, she'd become rather accustomed to the natural atmosphere of the place. She recognized its beauty, certainly, but it didn't have quite the same effect on her, didn't demand romance or passion the way it did for Charlie, or for her when she had first arrived. Something had changed, now. It was something about their dance and their closeness, the smell of soap on his skin and the scent of the flowers outside wafting through the open windows. Or maybe it was just something about Charlie himself, but suddenly everything about this place seemed sensual. Given the way they were flirting, Misha wasn't sure she'd be able to resist him for the rest of the week, never mind the entire month.

She felt yet another blush rising on her cheeks - she was right, it seemed that they really were just going to become a permanent part of her features around him - and she pulled gently out of his arms, crossing the kitchen to stir the food while it cooked. She couldn't stop smiling. The food was just about finished, so she turned off the stovetop and served the food out onto plates. "Since it's just the two of us," she observed, putting the plates down on a table in the dining area, "you should let me know what sorts of food you like. I might as well cook to your tastes, since you're the only guest." She was trying to distract herself with the mechanics of running the bed and breakfast, so she'd stop thinking about how her hand felt in his, how her body felt pressed up against him like that, how devastatingly handsome he was when he smiled - well, all the time, but especially when he smiled. "Oh, and I thought we could go find you some surf gear after dinner. There's a town up the coast with a surf shop. Do you want to take the boat, or the Jeep? The views from both a pretty incredible." She smiled at him, taking a seat across from him and began to eat.
 
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"Stir fry," he said, following her towards the stove and breathing the scent. "Smells fantastic."

"You'll find I'm pretty good at eating almost anything you put in front of me," he said. "Not that you should put that to the test or anything. I guess if I had to pick I'd want whatever the local eat. Fish and fruit? Pigs with apples in their mouth?" He shrugs. "No point in eating something that was shipped in from the mainland, if I can help it."

He realizes his eyes were devouring her as he rambled, and he looked away quickly. "Well, I mean... you know. Food-wise."

He retreated from the kitchen, before he actually took a bite of her. The kitchen island had a couple of stools he could sit at and talk to her, at a safe distance. He sat, and for a second he couldn't think of anything to say. Fortunately, she was still on the ball.

"Yes," he said. "Surf gear is a must, if I'm going to learn how to surf for this movie." He blinked and tried to pull the words back. Since that was impossible, he tried to blather over them so she wouldn't notice. It was so nice not to have to talk about movies as a professional for a change. "And fishing gear. There's fishing here, right? Of course there is, I mean, there's an ocean right there, isn't there? Hey, maybe I can catch dinner tomorrow? So do you actually stay in the house or do they keep you somewhere else?"

"I swear I'm not planning on coming to visit you in your sleep or anything, I was just curious." He closed his eyes and shook his head. When had he turned into a total blithering idiot? Oh yes, when he met Misha. "Not that you shouldn't come visit me if you want to, but I'm warning you, I snore like a warthog."
 
Misha perked up a little when he mentioned something about needing to surf for a movie. Thinking back to their earlier conversation, she realized that made sense. He had mentioned moving to LA to apparently wait tables, which sounded like the beginning of the story of every actor or actress ever.

A split-second later, however, she recognized a momentary look of panic on his face, and then he started talking a mile a minute, asking her a bunch of questions in quick succession. It wasn't difficult for her to put two and two together. Whatever it was about this movie he was apparently involved in, he didn't want to talk about it. She wondered idly if it was a his first gig - she'd never seen him in any movie before now. Maybe he wasn't happy with how his career was going? Though, she couldn't imagine that could be the case, not if he could afford a month-long vacation in Tahiti. Not that it mattered much - if he didn't want to talk about it, they wouldn't talk about it. The last thing in the world she wanted was to alienate him.

She listened for a few moments longer to his rambling, barely able to contain the little bubble of laughter that was rising in her throat as his mouth ran away from him. It was actually quite endearing, especially listening to him when he asked about where she slept before he realized the kind of implications it carried, only to try to simultaneously reassure her that's not what he meant while still flirting with her.

The little giggle she was holding back finally managed to escape her at his comment about snoring like a warthog. "Yes, there's fishing here. Most of what you'll catch isn't particularly good for eating, but if you catch anything good, I'd be happy to cook it up, if you want." She took another bite of the stir-fry. Then she winked at him, a wide smile appearing on her face. "And they keep me in the house, yes. My room is back there," she motioned to a smaller door leading out of the kitchen into a small addition on the back of the building - two rooms designed for the personal use of whoever was managing the B&B. "Though I'm very curious as to who you think they are," she teased. "Besides, you can't snore that loudly. I've had a guests who snore loudly enough that I can't sleep even when I stay at the opposite end of the house from the guest bedrooms." She paused, wondering for a moment if she should say the next bit. It wasn't strictly appropriate conversation for her to be having with a client, but she found it secretly hilarious and very much wanted to see his reaction. "I learned my lesson and bought earplugs after I had a young couple staying here who had sex so loud every night that I barely got any sleep the entire week."
 
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“You know … THEY,” he said, grinning. She had given him a look when he mentioned the movie he would start shooting after Northwest premiered, but hadn't pursued it. Maybe she wasn't interested. Maybe she already knew but just didn't care, a place like this would be crawling with rich, powerful people. Maybe an almost movie star just wasn't that big a deal. But she seemed interested in him. Maybe she just didn't want to press him. A terrible thought. “The they in that's what THEY say. Just because THEY say you're paranoid, doesn't mean THEY're not out to get you. I don't know. Someone must own this place, right?” He paused for a moment, thinking. Carter had said he knew the owner. A him, or had he just made that assumption? “Unless you own it....”

It didn't fit with the way she talked about the place. She talked about it as a job in paradise, not an investment or a home or anything. But she was talking about other guests snoring, and he was nibbling at the stir fry, finding that while he didn't actually feel all that hungry, his body was pretty excited about food. It made sense. It was a little too early for breakfast in LA, but having opted out of the so-called food on the plane, he hadn't eaten in close to 24 hours.

Earplugs, he laughed. Sex, he tried to laugh, but somehow it came out sounding forced. Just her talking about sex … not even herself having sex … made his ears perk up like some cartoon wolf. He had a feeling if she winked and beckoned him he'd actually levitate out of the seat and float towards her on a cloud of lust. He looked at her, blushing a little, like she always seemed to. He knew she was interested. He knew he could push and probably have her in bed with him, maybe even tonight. The trouble was that if he pushed her into it, she'd regret it later, and he didn't want her to regret it. He didn't want her to remember him as a mistake, as a guy who took advantage of her. He took a deep breath and looked out the window. It would be a lot easier if she was some Hollywood starfucker who wanted to get with him before he was too big to notice her. Of course, he wouldn't like her if she was like that. And he did like her. And want her. Not the other thing, though, he told himself. It was too soon for that. That was just an illusion born of desire and exhaustion and this place. The sun was getting lower. Night would fall soon, and he could finally sleep. Maybe tomorrow it wouldn't seem like such torture.

“So, if it's ok, let's take the boat to town,” he said, sounding a lot more serious than he wanted to. He chuckled. Like this situation – a beautiful house with a beautiful girl who he liked and who seemed to like him was some tragedy. “Looks like we might catch the sunset on the way back. And, you know, I won't be having any sex tonight. Unless....”

He looked at her, gave a little sigh and then shrugged. He didn't need to finish the thought. She knew what he was interested in.
 
Misha smiled half-heartedly in response to Charlie's unasked question. She knew how this went. He wasn't the first guest to ask her into his bed. He was just the first she wanted to say yes to. Normally the game was fun - a little flirty, but never serious. It was less fun to play hard to get when she didn't want to say no.

Still, she was certain that this was just a fling for him. And why shouldn't it be? He was only here for the month. But she couldn't justify risking this job in paradise for lust and a month-long fling, no matter how tempting it might be at times.

She shook her head, sighing. "If only we were different people. If only my boss wouldn't kill me." She had intended it to sound light, almost teasing. She succeeded, mostly, but there was unquestionable a note of regret tinging her words. Anxious to escape the increasingly awkward direction of the conversation, she stood and collected their plates, taking them into the kitchen to put them into the dishwasher.

"Have you ever been surfing before?" she asked conversationally, coming back around the island. "There's a little surf shop in town where we can get you everything you need. It's not a cheap prospect though, if you need all new gear. Are you sure you don't want to rent or something?"
 
Charlie shook his head, looking away. Had he gone too far? He wondered, but one look at her told him he had. The only thing he could do now was to back off and let her know she was safe. Still, it stung. Not that he wasn't used to rejection. As a nobody in Hollywood he'd gotten more than he share of it, but it was different with Misha. For reasons he didn't dare think about just yet, it mattered more. He shrugged his shoulders and gave a smile.

“Hey,” he said, hearing the sadness in her tone. He waited until she met his eye. “Hey. If you can't, you can't. Not worth getting killed over.” Or fired, or whatever it was she actually meant by killed. He wondered for a moment about her boss. He'd had this vague image of some rich, grinning Tahitian in mind, but suddenly the face he pictured was scowling. He wondered if he could buy the place. Carter was telling him he was going to have more money than he'd know what to do with. Of course, then he'd be the boss, and that would make it all even creepier.

He followed her quietly down to the dock and into the boat, and as they sped out of the bay, he turned back to look at the island. It really was like something out of a dream. He smiled and let out a last sigh, then shook himself. It was just a girl he couldn't have. He didn't need to get all depressed over it. Somewhere in this town was a bar and in that bar were girls who could be picked up. It was a law of nature, and experience had taught him that the best way to get over a girl.

“I'll just go ahead and buy it,” he said. Carter would be so proud. “Maybe I'll find time to surf a little when I get back home. I hear California's got some ok spots.”
 
Misha pulled the boat out of the dock, feeling glum. She knew the question was going to come up eventually, and that it she would have to say no, but that didn't change the fact that she regretted it already. Yes, her boss would fire her ass in a moment if he found out that she was sleeping with a guest, but suddenly there was this little corner of her mind wondering quite insistently how he would know. And she hated how suddenly withdrawn and distant Charlie had become. She had been enjoying the ease and pleasure of his company quite a lot, and though she wasn't surprised that he'd withdrawn after she'd rejected him, she was still saddened by it. So she was glad when he responded to her question about gear, hoping they'd be able to get back at least in part to what fun they'd been having with each other all afternoon.

"California has some wonderful spots, yeah. It's a bit of a hassle to get your stuff home with you, but you'll have plenty of good places to go when you get home." She steered the boat out of the little bay and onto the open water, following the coast at a distance. The breeze and ocean spray kicked up by the boat was a pleasantly cool relief to the heat bearing down on them.

She watched him sitting in the front of the boat, and the sight made her regret her decision to reject him all the more. He was as perfect a specimen of a man as any she had ever seen. His expression, the way the wind tossed his hair around his face, the peeks of his chest and abs that she kept getting as his shirt blew open in the sea breeze, all of it made her want nothing more than to throw herself at him. They were out in the middle of the ocean anyway, who was going to know? The compulsion was made worse by the fact that he wasn't smiling, and she was pretty sure that she was the reason why. She wanted to see that smile again, to hear his laugh again. Part of her knew that she had to be insane to be thinking this way about a man she'd only met this afternoon, but she couldn't help it. He was sweet, and flirty, silly and incredibly funny. She desperately wanted to know more about him. She shook her head. All it took was one wrong word, and she'd lose her job. She'd be kicked out of heaven on earth and be made to return to Alaska with her mother and the dreary cold waiting for her there. She couldn't risk it. He wasn't worth losing this paradise... Was he?

She pulled into another bay, further down the island, and a small town came into view. There were docks along the beach, dotted with boats, and people moving around on the streets. Several of the sea-side buildings were little B&Bs or hotels, and others were restaurants with what had to be a stunning view. She pulled the boat into the dock and tied it off, then climbed out. "Come on, I'll show you the way to the surf shop. Do you mind if I go do a little grocery shopping while we're here? I can go while you're getting your surf stuff, unless you want a second opinion on what you're buying..." She smiled. "Temaru is pretty good at making good recommendations, but I'll come if you want."
 
"I think I can manage...." he said, as they strolled down the dock into town, and then he stopped. He gave her a pained look and shook his head slowly. His hands slipped into the pockets of his pants, and then into the back pockets. He stood there, looking at her with his mouth open. For a long moment he stared and then he slowly shook his head.

"So, I changed out of my jeans into my swim trunks," he said, frowning. "Then I took a shower and changed into these pants. But, um, my wallet never actually left my jeans. I was so focused on ... well, you know ... hitting on you that I completely forgot."

He looked back at the boat. He shook his head and closed his eyes, and an embarrassed grin crept across his face.

"So, we can go back and I'll grab my wallet, or, you know, you can just grab the groceries you need and we can come back tomorrow," he looked at her. He was tired from jetlag, and a little frustrated with himself for making things awkward with her. Hell, he was frustrated with her, though he knew it wasn't her choice not to sleep with him. At least, not entirely. It was her choice to play by the rules. And now he'd come to town without his wallet.

"I don't suppose Temaru will take an I O U?" he said. "I mean, he'll know where to find me for the next month, anyway."
 
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