Blazing Hot Getaway

  BLAZING HOT GETAWAY

  BLAZE FAMILY ROMANCE

  DARIA BLAKE

  FS ROMANCE PRESS

  Blazing Hot Getaway, A Blaze Family Romance

  Copyright © 2022 by Daria Blake

  All rights reserved.

  Originally published as Spring Break Surprise in 2019 by Daria Blake’s pseudonym Fiona Starr

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  220214

  Cover art by: Poppy Parkes

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  About Daria Blake

  Also by Daria Blake

  CHAPTER ONE

  BRIDGET

  * * *

  “Hola! Welcome to La Concha Azul. Are you checking in?” The woman at the counter wears a pale blue suit with a bright turquoise scarf tied at her neck. Her dark hair is twisted into a low bun that sits over one shoulder.

  The front desk of the resort hotel is like many in this part of Mexico with an enormous open-air pavilion and high ceilings that arch way up, giving the feeling of being outside.

  I place my bags on the floor and pull out my wallet. “Yes. Thank you. I’m Bridget Blaze.” I hand her my driver’s license and credit card and wait while she pulls up my reservation.

  “Miss Blaze. Yes, here you are. You’re booked in Tortuga House with the Susannah Mitchell party.” She returns my cards, hands me my room key, and waves to someone over my shoulder. “Ricardo will see you to your rooms. The rest of your party has already arrived. Have a wonderful stay with us.”

  A young man dressed in khaki shorts and a tropical shirt in the same shade of turquoise as the woman’s scarf appears by my side. “Buenos días, Miss.” He nods once, grabs the handle of my rolling suitcase, and lifts my computer bag onto his shoulder. “This way, Miss.”

  I follow him through the pavilion and down the familiar sprawling staircase to the wide cobblestone main avenue that runs through the resort and ends at the beach. When we step into the sun, I put my sunglasses on and try to settle into vacation mode. I feel like I am out of practice with truly relaxing, and watching Ricardo with my computer bag, I’m reminded that despite being in the most gorgeous resort with my best friends, I won’t be enjoying too much actual vacation time while I’m here.

  Oh, well.

  Spring Break at La Concha Azul has become a tradition with me and a group of my friends since our freshman year in college. Susannah Mitchell and I met on our first day of orientation as roommates, and have been inseparable ever since. Our dorm suite-mates, Lizzy and Rosa, quickly made us a foursome, and our across-the-hall neighbors, Tina and Dionne rounded out our six-pack.

  The first year, when Spring Break rolled around, my dad used his connections in the hotel business to get us a suite at La Concha Azul. That trip was one that cemented our friendship, and we’ve been coming here every year since. Now in our seventh year, it’s become the only time we really get to see each other, and we’ve all vowed to never miss a trip—no matter what.

  The no-matter-what clause of our pledge has led to some interesting happenings—like the time Tina was on video calls with her rockstar client negotiating a new album contract that ended up with him giving us an impromptu mini-concert over the computer. Or the time that Dionne’s water broke and her daughter arrived six weeks early with all five of us standing in as birthing coaches who are now favorite aunties.

  So, yeah… the no-matter-what pledge is the reason I find myself here, planning to work on my thesis during Spring Break. I’m only a couple of months away from completing my Masters in Environmental Engineering, and I really need this week to make some progress before the deadline becomes a problem.

  Also, I really need a break.

  I’ve been going full throttle since starting school, focused solely on my work. As important as it is to me, I’m starting to feel the strain. There’s only so long this girl can go without some serious downtime.

  Ricardo takes a right turn at the end of the avenue and follows the path that leads to Tortuga House, one of several two-story beachfront townhouses nestled into the hill on this side of the resort. He takes my key, opens the door, and we step inside. He places my bags near a wooden bench by the door and gives me a wide smile. “Enjoy your stay with us. I am Ricardo if you need any assistance.”

  “Thank you, so much.” I hand him a tip and close the door, then slip off my sandals and head upstairs to the balcony. The interior has been updated a bit since last year, but Tortuga House is gorgeous as always. I push open the sliding glass door and step outside, letting the warmth of the terra cotta tiles seep through the soles of my feet.

  “Bridget!” Susannah waves up at me from the sandy beach below. Each of these townhouses in the resort shares access to a private beach area just outside their back doors.

  I wave. “I’ll be right down!”

  I step back inside and bring my bags to the bedroom I share with Susannah. In a few minutes I’m transformed from my travel clothes to my bikini and wrap, floppy hat, and sandals. I toss a bottle of sunscreen into a tote and head to the beach.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ASH

  * * *

  Griffin’s Sand Bar is hopping this afternoon while the celebrity beach volleyball tournament is heading into the championship match. It’s been like this all week. They’ve got television crews, reality TV stars, and swarms of college students packed into every inch of dry land. Everyone is drinking too much, and wearing very little. There are going to be some scorching sunburns by the time the sun goes down tonight.

  I’m behind the bar, covering my ear with one hand and holding my phone up to the other while my partner, Luis, scrambles to keep up with all the customers. “Don’t worry, sis. I’ve got it all under control.” I hold a finger up to a patron, letting her know I’ll be right there.

  My sister’s voice doesn’t hide her worry that I’m going to fuck everything up. I learned long ago not to take her control freak personally. She’s Type-A Annie, Annie the Achiever, super organized, and when she’s not able to be in control, it really, really freaks her out. She is running through all of her mental lists for me, ticking off everything that she had to drop when she went into labor.

  I have everything written down, but I know I need to hear her out or she’ll just call back. “Yes. I remember. The door to the dishwasher sticks. Yes.” I run my finger down my list. “And I called the guy to come look at the ice machine leak, he’ll be here at six.” Between Luis and me, we have slipped on the puddle from the stupid water line a dozen times already.

  She reminds me of the new rules for trash disposal at the resort. I remember but I jot it down anyway. “Yes. Got it. Yes. Don’t worry.”

  Leave it to my sister, the owner of Griffin’s Sand Bar, to have her baby right in the middle of the Spring Break. Not that I mind;
I would have come to help her out regardless. I mean… Spring Break in Cancún? Yeah… twist my arm.

  Anyway, it’s not like I had anything else going on…

  That thought, that my life was kind of free-flowing, used to be a comfort to me. I liked not being chained to a desk or tied down to anything. I liked working manual labor gigs and construction jobs. That was me: Ash Griffin, free and open.

  But now, since Derek died… that same thought has started to haunt me.

  My best friend was killed three weeks ago in a motorcycle accident. He was cruising on the highway when some asshole who was distracted while driving veered into his lane and just ran him off the road. Derek hit a cement pylon—died instantly. The driver had no idea; he just kept on going. It was the people behind them who saw it all go down and called the police. Thankfully, someone got the plate number and the driver was held accountable, but that doesn’t feel like it will ever be enough.

  Derek left behind his wife, two kids, and a successful, growing law practice. He had everything, and now he’s gone.

  At his funeral, we all talked about all the things he’d done with his life and career, and his family. He volunteered with his sons as a Boy Scout leader. He coached soccer. He had goals. He had plans. He had a life.

  His death made me look at my own life and ask myself, if I died tomorrow what would I leave behind? My parents and siblings would mourn, of course, but I haven’t done anything, I haven’t built much of a life.

  My goal of being free and open has resulted in a big empty hole. I’m 27 years old; I shouldn’t be able to just hop on a plane and spend a month in Mexico. I should have something else going on, shouldn’t I? Trouble is, I have no idea what I want to do with my life.

  More customers arrive and wave me down. I nod at them and point to the phone. “Annie, relax. Look, I have to go. Luis and I are in the weeds here. Call you later, ok? Kiss that baby for me.”

  I hang up and do a lap around the bar, taking orders from customers, checking IDs, making drinks, and settling tabs. It’s a frenzy in the best way. I’d forgotten what it was like to be this busy… to just go into super-bartender mode as the hours fly by. It’s the perfect way to stop thinking about anything… which, as it turns out, is exactly what I need.

  CHAPTER THREE

  BRIDGET

  * * *

  The following morning, we are having breakfast on the balcony and planning out the rest of the week. Tina is in the kitchen making pancakes.

  “Are you sure you can’t come with us?” Susannah’s pleading with me while she makes a reservation for everyone to go on a party boat cruise on a yacht this afternoon.

  I sip my coffee and try to hide any hint of regret from my voice. If they spot a weakness in my defenses, they’ll never stop trying. “I’m sure. I promised myself I’d put in a few hours every day on my thesis or I won’t have it done by the deadline.”

  Dionne crunches a piece of bacon. “All work and no play, Bridget. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Right?” Rosa says. “And you know that never worked out for anyone!” She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms, nodding like she’s sharing sage wisdom.

  I know they don’t mean it, but their words sting a little. That line is just about exactly what my ex-boyfriend used to say whenever he felt like I was taking my work too seriously—which was all the time.

  He was a high-powered corporate attorney and what he was really saying was that I was putting my work ahead of him. Thing was, he had no problem putting his own work first, and I never complained when that happened because I understood.

  I refuse to be in a relationship where one person’s life is more important than the other person’s. It’s possible for both people to respect the things that matter to their partner and maintain a relationship at the same time. Too bad I wasted two years with that guy before I figured it out. But no more. From now on, I won’t settle for someone who doesn’t respect me and my work.

  I smile at my friends. They know I’m not going to budge, but they tease me about it anyway. “You guys go. Make whatever plans you want during the days. I’ll join you for the nighttime fun when you get back.”

  Lizzy pours herself a mimosa from the wet bar and sighs dramatically. “All right. If we forced her to come she’d be miserable the whole time thinking about recycling or composting, anyway. Right, Bridge?”

  “It’s called sustainability,” I say, sticking my tongue at Lizzy. “And besides, you’re exactly right.” I scrunch my nose at her and we all laugh.

  My skin feels tight from the salt in the sea and from sitting in the sun all morning. The girls are off to their party boat cruise, and I’m alone, eager to work and also starving.

  I shower and throw on a sundress and sandals and take my computer with me in search of a quiet place to get some food while I write. I walk along the path toward the resort’s main avenue which is lined with restaurants, a spa, a coffee shop, and boutiques. I pass a restaurant down by the pool, but it’s packed with people, and the deck is busy with families and children. That’s not going to work. I try the next place a few doors down and quickly realize that I’m not likely to find any quiet restaurants at the peak of lunchtime.

  I’m about to head back to the house and order room service when I remember a small place down along the beach from previous trips. I decide to try my luck there. I step out of my sandals and into the sand, and follow the shoreline.

  Griffin’s Sand Bar is located in a small half-moon cove between the resort and the nearby village. There’s a boardwalk and a pier, and a dock a little farther down the beach where tourists can hire a Jet Ski or go parasailing.

  I step up to the bar and wait for the bartender to turn my way. He’s busy working on something, writing in a notebook. I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment. Like I should leave and come back and make noise the next time to signal my approach. But he’s got a warm, inviting face and besides, I’m really hungry.

  I smile at him. “Are you serving lunch?”

  When he finally looks up, he’s got a distant stare and seems distracted. Then he notices me and our eyes lock. He flashes a wide smile.

  Oh my.

  My entire body responds to his gaze. The whole world goes bright for a flash and then it’s as if something is squeezing my chest. I have to concentrate to take a breath, and when I do, it’s tight.

  I grab hold of the nearby chair as my knees seem to wobble. All while leaving my eyes locked exactly where they are… on his.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ASH

  * * *

  It’s finally quiet with the volleyball tournament over. The beach cove is deserted and clean-up crews spent the morning getting everything torn down and the sand cleared of trash. As good as it is for business, it’s nuts how much of a mess the Spring Break parties leave behind. There will be another big event bringing in more crowds in a few days, but for the time being, the cove is a ghost town.

  Luis is on tonight, so I don’t have to be here, but I’ve been working through Annie’s list of chores and calls that need attention. I’ve also started another list of my own—brainstorming things I can do with my life, and… I am drawing a blank. It’s so hard when everyone around me has it all figured out.

  My parents are both successful running their own businesses in Miami. Mom is a pediatrician, and Dad is a real estate developer. Each of my siblings have their lives together too. My twin sister, Annie, has the bar and her family here in Cancún. My brother, Tim, is a dentist in San Diego, and my other brother, Mac, trains Olympic and X-Games skiers and snowboarders in Utah. And that leaves me. My parents never insisted on anything except that we all finish college. So here I am with a degree in journalism and no real itch to use it.

  So far, my list includes the careers my family members have chosen. Doctor, Real Estate Developer, Bar Owner, Dentist, and Elite Athlete Coach. None of these appeals to me. I write Journalist on the list and stare at the word. There’s a pull there, of
course. It’s what I spent my college years focused on—once upon a time I was all in.

  I got a job working for a paper in Miami when I graduated, but it never felt right to me. As the new guy I was put on the local happenings beat and I’ve covered more births, bar mitzvahs, weddings, and deaths than any one person should have to. When it came right down to it, I couldn’t make it fit.

  My editor suggested perhaps I needed something with more meat, like investigative journalism, but by that time the fire had gone out and the embers were ice cold. I ended up leaving after only a year.

  When I left that job, my girlfriend at the time left me. She said that she didn’t sign up to take care of a guy who had no life path, and she definitely did not enjoy the unpredictable nature of my schedule or my paychecks. After she’d covered our joint rent for the third month in a row, she’d had enough.

  I don’t blame her. You’d think that would have pushed me to adjust and get back on track, but honestly, it really just left me with even less motivation. My last few relationships ended on the same note. Now I’m in this place where I feel like maybe I should get my shit together—give my next relationship a fighting chance before it starts.

  “Are you serving lunch?” The woman’s voice breaks me from my thoughts.