Hot Nights in Honolulu

However, the guest in room 1850 was obviously not like the normal clientele Melissa Wyman encountered on the night shift.

"Him again?" she asked as Hailee dropped her headset on the counter.

Hailee nodded. "He's called three times in the last ten minutes."

"What's his problem?" Melissa asked.

"He says the sink doesn't work properly. I've called engineering, but you know they have a skeleton crew on staff at this time of night. No one picked up."

"I'll take care of it?" Melissa said.

"Are you sure?" Hailee frowned.

"Of course, I'm sure. I can fix anything in this hotel, including Mr. 1850."

"You know that's against company policy."

"Do you want to tell that to Mr. 1850?" Melissa raised her eyebrows.

Hailee smirked.

"What's his name, by the way?" Melissa asked.

"Scott. . .Jordan Scott."

"Including Jordan Scott. If he calls again tell him, I'm on my way." Before she made it to the end of the reception area, the phone rang.

Melissa removed her red uniform jacket and donned a smock from the Engineering closet. She grabbed a toolbox, checking that it had the requisite supplies neatly stored in place and headed for the employee elevators. She knew this wasn't part of her job, but she was in the customer service business. It was only when she stepped out of the small room and started down the hall, that she realized she was still wearing the two-inch pumps that were standard for any female employee who greeted the public.

"Too late now," she said to the subdued walls and patterned carpeting. Room 1850 was a corner room situated furthest from the center of the building on the East side. Its ocean view, balcony, and wall of windows made up for the distance, although she was surprised that Jordan Scott hadn't complained about the long walk.

She knocked on the door. "Engineering," she called.

"It's about time," the occupant said as he yanked the door inward. "Oh."

Obviously, he was surprised to see a woman standing there. But Melissa's breath was nearly ripped from her body as a bare-chested man clearly a head taller than she was looked her over.

"I wasn't expecting you," he said.

She could say the same of him. Melissa has seen a lot of men in various stages of dress and undress. Living on Oahu for the last two years, she'd witnessed so many Hawaiian dances that she'd become immune to the delights of a male body.

But this man!

In less than a second, she was salivating over the contours of his body. He had dark hair, not as black as the Polynesians, but very dark. His brown eyes were sparkling, and she could see the hint of attraction in them. It took all she had not to smile. Melissa felt her body go hot and knew it was time she remembered why she was there.

"You have a sink that needs attention," she said. Her voice sounded normal, a surprise to Melissa who expected it to come out several notes higher.

For a moment, he didn't say anything. He kept looking at her. At the point when Melissa began to feel uncomfortable, she said, "The sink, Mr. Jordan?"

"Yes. . .yes, the sink."

He stood back, opening the door to its fullest. Melissa set her toolbox down, blocking the door from automatically closing. She passed him, smelling his cologne. Obviously, the sink had not kept him from bathing and grooming. He had that clean, fresh-out-of-the-shower smell along with a subtle cologne.

She went into the bathroom. Water dripped at a steady pace of one drop every few seconds. She turned the handle. The stream she expected to run freely only trickled into the basin. Melissa concentrated. She knew how things worked. She just needed to get her mind on the sink and off the man in the other room. Thank goodness, he hadn't followed her. It took a second, but she focused on the sink. The trickling water indicated there was a blockage. Her brain kicked into gear, and she thought it might be the cartridge.

She'd discovered in her learning process that the simplest solution was usually the correct one. It could be a clog, or something broken in the mechanism. Choosing an Allen wrench, she unscrewed the handles and removed them. Inside she pulled the cartridges out, finding one of them clogged and grimy. She replaced both cartridges with new ones and reassembled the controls. Testing the water, it flowed steadily with normal pressure. Melissa smiled at her handiwork. She let the water run for a few seconds, testing the hot and cold to make sure there was no problem with either.

Mr. Scott stood in front of the television. He gazed at her the moment she stepped into the bedroom. Melissa took a deep breath. He needed to check that everything was done. She hadn't asked him to describe the problem when she came in. She could have fixed something that wasn't the issue he was concerned about. The cartridge needed changing, but was there anything else?

"Mr. Scott," she called. "I think the sink is all right now."

He came to the door, now wearing a Hawaiian shirt. It was open to the waist, showing his chest. Melissa tried to keep her eyes on his face. The room seemed to diminish in size as he stepped through the door. She turned on the cold water. Tiny pin pricks hit the skin on her hand, but its coldness wasn't enough to compete with the heat his presence generated. She turned the water off and repeated the procedure with the hot control.

"I also checked your shower and bath controls."

His brows rose. "It looks like you've covered all my complaints," he said.

She picked up the small plastic container the replacement cartridge had come in and took a step toward the door. Jordan Scott didn't move. She was only a step away from him and his cologne still aroused her.

"Is there anything else?" she asked.

"I was wondering why an engineer comes to fix a sink wearing high heels."

Melissa instinctively glanced down at her feet. "Double duty," she said. "A guest was incessantly complaining of a water problem. Someone had to come and check it out. You didn't seem like you wanted to wait any longer for someone to check out the problem."

"Thank you," he said.

She glanced at the plastic in her hand and looked up at him. He moved and she went out of the bathroom, breathing hard. Retrieving her toolbox, she turned to him. "Good night, sir. Enjoy your stay."

The door shut automatically when she picked up the toolkit. Melissa took a long breath and held it. She should have asked if that was all that needed attention, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything more. She wanted to escape his presence.

She let her breath out slowly. What was that she asked herself, squeezing the handle in his hand. The man was a nuisance. He was a complainer, impatient, someone who wanted his way and wanted it immediately. He was the type of man that least interested her. She wouldn't want to get to know him. So why did she react like she had? Why was sweat trickling down between her breasts and wetting her concealed bra? And why did she feel as if she'd never seen a naked chest before, one that looked as if it had been chiseled for maximum sex appeal?

Thank goodness he wouldn't be around the hotel long. He was a pilot, and they came and went like ocean waves. The hotel always had a crew in residence, but generally they stayed a night or two before flying off again. Pushing herself away from the wall, Melissa was sure he was one of them and he'd be gone before she encountered him again.

And that's the way she wanted it.