Free This Year's Black by Avery Flynn Page B

tropical shades, the traditional garb taken upscale by the addition of enough diamonds to make even Harry Winston consider it overkill—and he ’ d owned the Hope Diamond.
    Supermodels mixed with photographers, designers, and the lucky few able to afford the creations that would be displayed during Andol Fashion Week. Waiters carrying silver trays strolled between the groups, handing out fresh glasses of champagne, which was accepted immediately, and mouth-watering Hors d ’ oeuvres, which were not.
    A long table sat in an open, grassy area and was covered in a beautiful white linen table cloth and dishes of exotic fruits and seafood. Ryder’s stomach growled and Devin’s echoed it. Considering the crowd, she doubted anyone would be elbowing her aside to get seconds at the buffet table.
    A broad-shouldered man who looked as though he spent his life surfing between modeling gigs hurried to their side. “Mr. Harris and Ms. Falcon, I am The Palm Inn ’ s manager, Borja. I ’ m so sorry about the room. To make up for the mix-up in accommodations for such honored guests as you, we ’ ve prepared a blessing ceremony for you. Please follow me.”
    “Really, it ’ s not necessary,” Devin said.
    “ But I insist. ” Borja turned and walked across the courtyard.
    After exchanging a let’s-just-follow-along glance with Devin, Ryder followed the man past the table and through the sparkling crowd. At the edge of the brick patio, Borja removed his shoes. She and Devin followed suit. The cool grass pricked the soles of her feet and tickled between her toes as they crossed to a tall palm tree standing alone in the volcano’s dark shadow.
    The other man clasped his hands together, his dark brown eyes misty with emotion.
    Ryder’s insides bounced around just as they did before a sparring match at the gym with a determined opponent. Anticipation, nerves, and something undefinable skittered through her veins. As if sensing her unease as he had on the jet, Devin pressed close to her side. The move turned out to be as much of a torment as a blessing, as her body responded to his nearness with a hungry yearning.
    “May our own De Mis Promesas watch over you and your futures. May the gods, both old and new, grant you favor.”
    Borja withdrew a pair of thin bracelets from his pocket. The bracelets were made up of gold threads woven into a rope. He fastened one around Devin’s wrist, then turned to Ryder. It was like being in a dream where she watched herself hold up her right arm. The gold bracelet felt warm against her skin as he encircled her wrist with the threads and fastened it.
    Smiling, Borja grasped their hands and joined them under his calloused palm. “Bless you and bless your future.”
    A shiver danced up her spine, and she turned to Devin. Gone were the tension lines around his eyes and the grim set to his way-too-kissable mouth. They’d been replaced by something that looked a lot like awe.
    “It is traditional for those who are blessed to exchange a kiss.”
    Devin went dead still next to her.
    Borja winked and squeezed their hands. “Go on. You do not need to be shy at your own blessing ceremony.”
    He continued to talk, but all Ryder heard was the wah-wah-wah voice from the Charlie Brown TV specials.
    “Kiss! Kiss!” the small group in the courtyard chanted.
    “No, really,” Ryder told Borja. “He ’ s my boss. I ’ m his assistant. We can’t do that. It’s against the rules.”
    Borja smiled. “Don’t you think it’s good to try something unexpected?”
    The volcano in the distance wavered a bit as the crowd’s catcalls and laughter became louder. Fine. As if in a hazy dream, she leaned in and brushed her lips against Devin’s. She’d give him a quick peck to silence the islanders.
    He let out a strangled groan before his hands were tangled in her hair, his palms bracketing her face. The look in his eye was anything but professional—unless she counted the world ’ s oldest profession. He