Touch Me Now. Donna Hill

      Desiree, her husband, Lincoln, and Layla were seated at the on-site bar relaxing and catching up while listening to the backdrop of soft jazz and calypso floating in from some unseen source.

      “We have three vacancies, for now. But they’re already booked. Of course everyone isn’t staying for the entire season. The majority are here for about two weeks,” Desiree said, then popped some peanuts into her mouth.

      “Surprisingly, business has remained pretty good, even in the off-season,” Lincoln said.

      “During hard times people need some kind of escape, even if it’s only temporary,” Layla added.

      “True, that’s why we work really hard to keep the prices down and the service up,” Desiree said. “And at least once every quarter we have a half-price weekend special with all amenities included.”

      “That must really help to draw in the business and make people want to come back.”

      “It does. And of course Melanie recommends all of her clients to come and visit. When she has functions up at her place and clients want to stay over, some of her guests will stay here.”

      “Can’t wait to see Mel. I haven’t seen her since the wedding,” Layla said.

      “She’s out of town but she should be back early next week. She insisted on hosting our anniversary party, so I know she will have plenty to do when she gets back. And she has a long list of very eligible men she wants you to meet.”

      “Meeting men is not on my list of things to do. I came here to get away from the city, help you out and get some sun in. That’s it.”

      Desiree and Lincoln shared a quick “sure you’re right” look, between them.

      Layla pushed out a breath and slowly gazed around at the tranquil setting. Singles and couples walked along the beach, gathered beneath umbrella covered tables or swam in the pool. Several guests were entering the restaurant and the sound of happy voices filled the air. She could easily get used to living like this. The whole notion of not having to think about where she was going to park her car every day was more than worth the price of admission.

      “Did you show Layla her place?” Lincoln asked.

      “Yes.”

      “Love it,” Layla said. “I get the feeling that the two of you have intentions of me being around for a while.” She looked from one guilty face to the other.

      “We just want you to be happy and comfortable,” Desiree offered, putting on her sweet as syrup voice.

      Lincoln draped his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “And if you decided to stay,” he hedged, “you’d be all set up already. As a businessman I have to always think ahead.”

      Layla deadpanned the two of them and then laughed. “You two are a mess.”

      “We try,” they said in unison.

      “Listen,” Lincoln pushed back from his seat. “I’m going to leave you ladies to do whatever it is that you do and I’m going to check on some inventory.” He leaned over and gave his wife a slow, sweet kiss and whispered something against her lips that Layla couldn’t make out, but whatever it was it had Desiree’s face flushed with heat.

      Desiree’s gaze followed Lincoln until he was out of sight. She sighed deeply. A light smile softened her lips.

      “You two are still as hot for each other as boiling oil.”

      “Is it that obvious?” Desiree teased. She reached for her glass of white wine.

      “Uh, yeah.”

      The friends laughed.

      “So when did you want me to start? Did you let your guests know about the new massage therapy services yet?”

      “I’ve been working on a small flyer to hand out, but I wanted your input first to make sure I had all the details right and I wanted you to have a couple of days to unwind and relax.”

      “Girl, around here, I could get too relaxed and you wouldn’t get any work out of me!”

      “I know the feeling. But that’s the kind of atmosphere Lincoln and I want at The Port. A real getaway, you know what I mean. If you look around, you don’t see anyone hunched over laptops and checking BlackBerries and iPhones every five minutes. They’re actually here to enjoy themselves. At least that’s what I see when they come out of their rooms,” she added as a caveat.

      Layla nodded in agreement. “In that case,” she raised her hand to get the attention of the bartender, “another mojito please.”

      * * *

      Layla couldn’t stay in bed a minute longer. And as much as she wanted to simply loll around on the sandy shores like a careless beach bum, the urge to be busy grabbed hold of her. She was actually anxious to get her massage room ready and her fingers moving. All night she’d dreamed of how she was going to set up her space and the atmosphere she would create. This would actually be the first time that a work space would truly be all hers and not the vision of whomever she was working for. A twinge of memory tried to pull her back to those times with Brent, with him teaching her the techniques that made her successful, that they practiced on each other late at night. She shook off the vision. That was the past she reminded herself once again.

      It was barely seven a.m. and she was bathed and dressed. She tucked her iPad into her tote bag and headed out.

      The morning was simply exquisite. The sun was at a perfect pitch. The sky was clear enough to see for miles and the gentle warmth that blew in from the ocean was invigorating. She spotted several guests jogging along the shoreline and there were already a few out for an early morning swim in the pale blue ocean.

      Layla drew in a long breath and smiled. Whatever reservations she may have had about packing up and leaving the city were fading fast.

      Desiree had given Layla the key to the massage suite the previous evening after their cursory tour. It was during the night that her wheels started spinning and she woke up knowing exactly what she wanted.

      She let herself in and stood in the center of the room and looked around. She took out her iPad and opened it to the Notepad icon and began jotting down a list of the things that she would need, from thick towels, to oils, literature on massage therapy, robes, slippers, lighting and music. She would also need cases of water and a place to keep them cold.

      Lincoln and Desiree didn’t cut corners on design layout or expense. Connected to the therapy room were shower stalls and a sauna room.

      Layla guessed that what Desiree said was true; that if she didn’t take this spot someone else would. And she would be right. It was perfect and she couldn’t wait to get started.

      She could already envision the space as a full-time operation with a staff. She grinned, knowing that she was getting way ahead of herself. The first thing she needed to do was make a list and then go shopping for supplies before she started reviewing resumes.

      Layla switched off the lights and locked up, her mind on the task ahead as she came around the short corner and came face-to-face with Maurice Lawson.

      She came up short, and started to apologize for nearly causing a collision, but the words hung somewhere in the back of her throat, stuck there with all the air that refused to move of out of her lungs and fuel her brain.

      Her center ignited and she could feel the fine hairs on her arms and along the back of her neck begin to rise. Good Lord, the man was…was…

      It was her. The woman that he’d spotted yesterday. She was real. “Sorry,” he said.

      The two-syllable word sounded like a love song in her ears.

      “No, you’re fine…it’s fine. Really.” Did she just say that? “I’m always in a hurry,” she babbled. She couldn’t think straight, not with those haunting dark eyes staring at her and that chiseled upper