That isn’t good, Chase admitted to himself. She was dangerous, sexy, and completely untamed. He had to keep himself on a real short leash. That was the only way he would win.
Pele had met her match. She would burn in his arms, not in Dane’s. She wouldn’t even know that she had lost her chance at the Wilcox wealth until it was too late. She was way too hungry to be cautious about having an affair with one brother while pursuing the other.
And this Wilcox brother had the bitter experience required to keep the upper hand in the sexual battle to come.
“Did you get your stuff moved in?” Bobby asked Chase.
Reluctantly he pulled his glance from Nicole’s flushed, moist lips and looked at the man he had known for only a day and already liked, despite the irrational stab of jealousy. “Yes. Thanks. The cottage is perfect. But your mother isn’t.”
Bobby grinned. “Talked your arm off?”
“Nope. She was just damned stubborn.”
“Insisted you call her Grandmother?”
“I don’t mind that. It was when she refused to accept cash, credit cards, or traveler’s checks that I got my back up.”
The Hawaiian’s laugh rumbled like a sleepy volcano. “We don’t charge rent to family.”
Beneath the dark mustache, Chase’s lips softened into a whimsical smile. “Bobby, even if you checked all the way back to the Garden of Eden, I doubt you’d find much blood in common.”
“So? You need a transfusion or something?”
Chase gave a bark of laughter before he shot back, “I need someone to take my damned rent money.”
The smiling giant shook his head. “Ask Nicole about blood and family and rent money. She’s lived with us for years.” He whacked Chase on the shoulder. “Talk you more later, brudder. Sure-sure.”
With that, Bobby disappeared through the curtains into the noise and friendly professional wrangling.
Nicole waited for Chase to release her.
He didn’t even look her way.
She tried one tug on her captive wrist. Nothing budged. She made a throat-clearing sound.
He turned and looked at her from head to toe. Glowing eyes. Lush breasts. Breathtaking skin. Hips that should have been against the law.
In a distant kind of way, Chase didn’t blame her for wanting the richest man she could get. Women had been trading beauty for wealth for a long, long time. Why should she be different?
Because Bobby’s family was rich both in land and in money, Chase didn’t doubt that she and the big Hawaiian were lovers now or had been in the past. But whether old or new, the affair hadn’t led to an offer of marriage yet. If it had, Nicole wouldn’t be hunting Dane. Maybe Bobby hadn’t been quite wealthy enough. Or maybe his wife had dug in and fought for her man until Pele let go and went on the hunt for easier prey.
For an instant Chase wished that his sister-in-law was a fighter, that he could pursue Nicole just for the pure, hot pleasure of the sex. But Jan wasn’t a fighter. She was simply too gentle and too good for gutter brawling. If Dane asked for a divorce, she would give it to him even if it killed her.
Not that Jan’s temperament made any real difference. No woman could measure up to Pele in a fight, in a bed, or anywhere else.
Every way Chase looked at it, Jan lost.
Unless he could get Nicole out of Dane’s hair by getting her into bed. Soon. Very soon. Before she had a chance to do any more damage.
And after that kiss, soon shouldn’t be a problem.
7
Nicole’s wrist tugged against Chase’s hot, hard fingers. Nothing gave way.
“You have something of mine,” she pointed out in a voice that was caught between exasperation and humor.
“You mean this?” Forcing himself to smile, Chase held up her wrist as if he had just discovered it attached to his fingers.
“Must be. See?” She put her left wrist alongside her right. “Perfect match with my other one.”
“Can’t argue that.” He ran his fingertip from wrist to elbow, first along one of her arms and then the other. The visible shiver of her response shortened his breath and quickened his heartbeat. “It’s hard to find that kind of perfection,” he said, looking into her eyes.
For a moment he forgot that he was going for a quick, cold seduction. In the slanting light from the stage wings, Nicole’s eyes were a startling, luminous gold. The color was as vivid and as unexpected as the pure fire of her body arched against his had been.
“And it’s even harder to let go,” he added thickly. “But I’m feeling generous tonight. I’ll give your wrist back if you’ll use it to have a drink with me.”
Normally Nicole would have turned aside the invitation with a smile and a humorous excuse, but there was nothing normal about tonight. There hadn’t been since the moment she had heard Chase’s fingers seducing the drums, filling the night with sensual throbs that still quivered deep within her.
He was a stranger, yet during the dance she felt like she had always known him, always searched for him, always yearned toward the instant in time when he would come to her out of darkness and wrap his power and his hunger around her, teaching her something shattering about herself.
“I—” Her voice broke in a husky intake of breath.
She made herself look away from the clear, crystal depths of his eyes. She couldn’t think when he looked at her like that. She could only feel, and what she felt was a sense of fire and rightness that would have frightened her if her mind had been working at all.
“All right,” she said, her voice almost as thick as his.
His smile made her breath stop. Distantly she remembered that she was still hot and messy from the wild dance. “I’ll shower and meet you back here in ten minutes.”
He didn’t release her wrist. “It takes longer than ten minutes to get to the Kamehameha estate and back.”
“There’s a shower behind the changing room,” she said, tilting her head toward the backstage area.
“Big enough for two?”
Chase felt Nicole stiffen instantly and withdraw. Silently he cursed himself for being a headlong fool. Just because she was in the business of selling herself to the highest bidder didn’t mean that she was cheap, much less easy. Coming on to her like a boy who had just discovered a built-in Erector set wasn’t the way to make her want him more than she wanted Dane. His brother had always been such a smooth, elegant, civilized bastard.
“Sorry,” Chase said, stepping back. He released Nicole’s wrist in such a way that his fingertips slid gently across her palm. “I’m hot and sweaty and must smell like old socks, but I’ll wait my turn.”
For an instant she closed her eyes, both savoring the sweet brush of his fingers and regretting her automatic retreat at his half-serious, wholly sexy invitation. But she didn’t know him well enough to explain her own past, her own reasons for fearing sex.
She smiled hesitantly. “You don’t smell like old socks.”
Her low voice curled down his spine like a caress. “You sure?” he asked.
She nodded.
He gave her a slow smile that was made even hotter by his relief that she wasn’t going to make him pay for trying to rush the seduction.
“Then how do I smell?” he asked teasingly.
“Like a man who enjoys the strength of his own body.”
Surprise showed in his eyes. He had been expecting a sassy double entendre or outright flattery. He couldn’t have said which surprised him more—her honesty or her insight.
She turned away and walked into the wings.
“Do you?” he asked.
She looked back. “Do I what?”
“Enjoy the strength of a man’s body.”
With what could have been a shiver, she looked away and walked toward the wings again. He watched her retreat for a long breath before he called out.
“Nicole? Do you?”
A husky murmur came back to him, a word that could have been once or tonight or both together.
But that didn’t make sense. He must have been hearing things. He called out again, his voice low and resonant.
She didn’t answer again. She simply tucked a towel around her hair, turned on the shower, and stepped within reach of the hot, pulsing spray. She enjoyed the rhythmic slide of water over her body and the feeling of renewal that came after a good dance.
Good?
She almost laughed out loud like a giddy schoolgirl. “Good” didn’t even begin to describe what she had felt. If part of her hadn’t been scared rigid, she would have pulled him into the shower with her and . . .
And what?
The shiver that came this time had nothing to do with pleasure. A hot kiss didn’t make her less frigid when it came down to where it counted. In bed. She was a fool for forgetting what she had learned at such painful cost. When it came to the opposite sex—to sex, period—she just didn’t get it.
That was something she had to remember. A man as sexy as Chase Wilcox would expect and deserve a hot partner. She wasn’t it. Having her nose rubbed in her failure as a woman wouldn’t teach her anything new. Her ex-husband had covered that ground quite thoroughly.
Deliberately she turned off the hot water. The shock of the cold made her gasp. When her skin felt as cool as her mind, she stepped out of the shower and dried herself. Thinking about nothing at all, she pulled on fresh thong underwear and went to the long cupboard where Bobby kept lavalavas of all sizes. She picked out an emerald green cloth with black orchids and a matching black halter.
After a long hesitation, she pulled out an indigo lavalava that looked like it would fit Chase. She left the cloth draped on the sink where he couldn’t miss seeing it.
A few quick motions of her body had the lavalava and halter settled in the right places. She spared only a few moments more to weave her hair into an elegant mass that added defiant inches to her height. Years ago she had chosen the style simply because it discouraged men. There were few things the male of the species liked less than a woman who was taller than they were.
Her hands hesitated. The hairstyle wouldn’t intimidate Chase. Even if she wore heels, he would still be taller than she was. With a shrug, she piled her hair up anyway. The style was cool, and Hilo was always warm. She needed no other reason than that to wear her hair as she pleased.
She opened her purse and took out a small vial of perfume whose fragrance had haunted her since she had first discovered it a year ago. The scent was like a breeze whispering in a rain-swept tropical garden: delicate, tantalizing, sensuous, deeply feminine—all the things that she knew she wasn’t.
And I won’t think about that either. Whimpering about it won’t do one damn thing but make my throat sore.
Nicole picked up two slender ivory chopsticks. Each wore a cap of tassels made of strings of tiny golden bells. When the chopsticks were anchored securely in the coils of her hair, the bells gleamed and chimed sweetly with every movement of her head. She smiled at the pretty sounds. They reminded her of the past Christmas, when the Kamehameha family had given her the beautiful hair ornaments.
Feeling more like her old self, she opened the door.
“Your turn,” she said as she brushed past Chase in the semidarkness behind the stage. “I’ll be at Dane’s table.”
The fleeting caress of soft skin, the elusive fragrance, the delicate chiming of bells exploded silently in Chase’s senses. For an instant he was too stunned to move. Then he reeled in his jaw and opened the bathroom door with a jerk, angry at himself for being taken off guard all over again by Nicole’s spellbinding sensuality.
My hat’s off to you, little brother, Chase thought bleakly as he turned the shower on full. And cold. How did you hold out this long, even for Jan and the kids?
It was a fast shower. Chase wasn’t going to leave Dane within reach of Nicole’s fire for one second longer than he had to. Ignoring the lavalava draped over the sink, he wrapped a towel around his hips and got his clothes from Bobby’s office, where he had traded them earlier for the lavalava he wore onstage. His slacks were black cotton, and his shirt was the same cold silvery gray as his eyes. He kicked into a pair of black beach walkers, settled his short, damp hair with a few impatient swipes of his palm, and stalked out to rescue Dane.
He arrived just in time to see Nicole leave a tableful of laughing, politely drooling men and go to Dane. Rage flickered through Chase when his brother stood up and wrapped her in a big, close hug.
“They’re going to pass a law against you.” Laughing, grinning, Dane shook his head and released Nicole. “Whoa, babe! I still don’t believe I saw that.”
She winked. “Blame it on your brother.”
“Yeah, he plays a mean set of drums. Only thing he’s better at is volcanoes. Speaking of unpredictable, how’s your car? Is it up to taking you home tonight, or do you—”
Coolly Chase stepped between his brother and Nicole, cutting off the questions. “If she needs a ride, I’ll take care of it.”
Dane knew his brother well enough to recognize the anger beneath the outwardly civilized words. He gave Chase an odd look, shrugged, and said, “Fine.”
“Where’s Jan?” Chase asked him bluntly.
“Working on the grant proposal, where else?”
“Maybe she could use some help.”
“I’m staying out of her hair,” Dane said, smiling. “What more could she ask?”
“Moral support?” Chase suggested, his voice both soft and cold.
Dane crossed his arms over his chest and said sardonically, “Who put the worm in your tequila? You know Jan. All she wants when she’s working is peace and quiet. Hell, I’m the same way when I’m programming. The last thing she needs is me leaning over her shoulder every five minutes and asking if I can help. She’s had enough trouble with this proposal as it is. Now that school is out, the kids are always underfoot. They’re making us both crazy.”
Silently Chase wondered if the proposal was taking so long because Jan was spending more time worrying about her husband and a certain redheaded hula dancer than she was about grant language and sponsors.
Rather bleakly, Chase congratulated himself on arriving in Hawaii just in time to keep his brother from fucking up big-time.
“Hey, my little jalapeño, that was one hot dance!”
The voice came from halfway across the room. The distance closed quickly as Fred towed a well-built blonde through the crowd toward Dane’s table. Though small, the woman wasn’t quite petite—certainly not from the waist up.
“Hello, Fred.” Smiling wryly, Dane took in the blonde before he glanced back at the scientist. “Is this your latest entry into the haole summer sweepstakes?”
Fred grinned. “This is Dr. Marsha Sumner. Seismologist. You can see why—she walks through a room and everything quivers.” He winked broadly at the blonde, who winked back. “Marcie, meet Dr. Dane Wilcox, computer wizard, Nicole Ballard, sex wizard, and Dr. Chase Wilcox, who claims to know volcanoes.”
“Call me Chase,” he said, holding out his hand. “It’s a pleasure, Dr. Sumner. I saw the article you did for Nature comparing the summit tilt deformation of Kilauea preceding eruption to the movement before a Strombolian eruption. Very impressive.”
She smiled. “From you that’s praise indeed. Please, call me Marcie.”
“Marcie,” he agreed, releasing her hand slowly.
Nicole watched the two scientists and wondered how the brilliant blonde would look in a luau pit with an apple in her mouth. Then Nicole reined in her irritation and smiled at the other woman. As she did, she reminded herself that it wasn’t Marcie’s fault that she was blond, eight inches shorter than Nicole, and therefore much more feminine in the eyes of men.
Oh, let’s be a teensy bit honest, she told herself bitingly. You wouldn’t care if Marcie sent every man in the room into a slavering frenzy—as long as Chase wasn’t one of them.
“Hi, Marcie,” Nicole said, shaking hands and mentally cringing at the image of a redheaded giraffe
looming over a Dresden china doll. “Did Fred initiate you into the hotshot pool?”
Marcie gave Fred a sideways glance out of very green eyes. “Did he ever,” she murmured. Then she looked back to Nicole again. “You know, when I met you last week at the lab, I couldn’t believe you were Pele. No offense,” she added with a smile. “You just didn’t come on like a professional hula dancer. But tonight—Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Bet they registered that performance on every seismograph from here to Afghanistan.”
“It was Chase,” Nicole said, glancing at the tall man who stood beside her. Close beside. “He added something extra.”
Marcie looked Chase over with frank female appreciation. “I’ll just bet you did. You’re enough to start harmonic tremors in granite. Speaking of which,” she said, turning back to Fred, “have you seen the paper from four to six P.M.? Swarms of the sweetest little shakers you’d ever want to see. The mountain’s warming up right on the schedule I predicted. No doubt about it.”
Fred shrugged. “Maybe, darlin’. Maybe. Remind me to show you some of the paper from last September. She shimmied and she shook and she looked like she was going to come in six kinds of harmony. No juice, though. Not even any decent moans. Same thing happened later. The old fissure zone is still plugged solid. If she’s going to come, Pele’s going to have to find some new tricks.”
A man at the next table overheard the discussion and offered his opinion as to the size and placement of the magma pool that was Kilauea’s heart and which zones were the most likely avenues for future eruptions. Fred and Marcie turned toward him, both talking at once, their eyes alight with pleasure. The three-cornered argument spread with the speed of a burning fuse to other tables. Soon the discussion turned into the kind of scientific free-for-all that was the Kipuka Club’s major attraction for its loyal members.
Chase listened to the voices raised in loud, decisive, sometimes in-your-face conversation. Smiling, he shook his head. “And to think you left home to get away from scientific shouting matches,” he said to his brother.
“Yeah, and I promptly fell for a girl who became a botanist with a flair for writing grant proposals. Talk about being able to line up arguments in support of your position . . .” Dane smiled crookedly. “Jan in action is awesome.”
Eden Burning / Fires of Eden Page 6
