Island of Flowers

by Nora Roberts

  “We had a rather unpleasant discussion when Dillon left us alone. When he came back…” Laine paused and drew her brows together. “I shouted at him.”

  Miri laughed, holding her middle as if it would split from the effort. For several moments, her mirth rolled comfortably around the room. “So you can shout, Skinny Bones? I would like to have seen that.”

  “I don’t think Dillon found it that amusing.” In spite of herself, Laine smiled.

  “Oh, that one.” She wiped her eyes and shook her head. “He is too used to having his own way with women. He is too good-looking and has too much money.” She placed a comforting hand over the barrel of her belly. “He’s a fair boss, and he works in the fields when he’s needed. He has big degrees and many brains.” She tapped her finger on her temple, but looked unimpressed. “He was a very bad boy, with many pranks.” Laine saw her lips tremble as she tried not to show amusement at the memories. “He is still a bad boy,” she said firmly, regaining her dignity. “He is very smart and very important.” She made a circling movement with both hands to indicate Dillon’s importance, but her voice was full of maternal criticism. “But no matter what he thinks, he does not know women. He only knows planes.” She patted Laine’s head and pointed to the length of silk. “Tomorrow, you wear that and put a flower in your hair. The moon will be full.”

  It was a night of silver and velvet. From her window, Laine could see the dancing diamonds of moonlight on the sea. Allowing the breeze to caress her bare shoulders, Laine reflected that the night was perfect for a luau under the stars.

  She had not seen Dillon since the previous day. He had returned to the house long after she had retired, and had left again before she had awakened. She was determined, however, not to permit their last meeting to spoil the beauty of the evening. If she had only a few days left in his company, she would make every effort to see that they were pleasant.

  Turning from her window, Laine gave one final look at the woman in the mirror. Her bare shoulders rose like marble from the brilliant blue of the sarong. She stared at the woman in the glass, recognizing some change, but unable to discern its cause. She was not aware that over the past few days she had moved from girlhood to womanhood. After a final touch of the brush to her hair, Laine left the room. Dillon’s voice rose up the staircase, and she moved to meet it. All at once, it seemed years since she had last heard him speak.

  “We’ll be harvesting next month, but if I know the schedule of meetings far enough in advance, I can…”

  His voice trailed away as Laine moved into the doorway. Pausing in the act of pouring a drink, he made a slow survey. Laine felt her pulse triple its rate as his eyes lingered along their route before meeting hers.

  Glancing up from filling his pipe, Cap noted Dillon’s absorption. He followed his gaze. “Well, Laine.” He rose, surprising her by crossing the room and taking both her hands in his. “What a beautiful sight.”

  “Do you like it?” Smiling first at him, she glanced down at the sarong. “I’m not quite used to the way it feels.”

  “I like it very much, but I was talking about you. My daughter is a very beautiful woman, isn’t she, Dillon?” His eyes were soft and smiled into Laine’s.

  “Yes.” Dillon’s voice came from behind him. “Very beautiful.”

  “I’m glad she’s here.” He pressed her fingers between the warmth of his hands. “I’ve missed her.” He bent and kissed her cheek, then turned to Dillon. “You two run along. I’ll see if Miri’s ready, which she won’t be. We’ll be along later.”

  Laine watched him stride away. She lifted one hand to her cheek, unable to believe she could be so deeply affected by one small gesture.

  “Are you ready?” She nodded, unable to speak, then felt Dillon’s hands descend to her shoulders. “It isn’t easy to bridge a fifteen-year gap, but you’ve made a start.”

  Surprised by the support in his voice, Laine blinked back tears and turned to face him. “Thank you. It means a great deal to me for you to say that. Dillon, yesterday, I …”

  “Let’s not worry about yesterday right now.” His smile was both an apology and an acceptance of hers. It was easy to smile back. He studied her a moment before lifting her hand to his lips. “You are incredibly beautiful, like a blossom hanging on a branch just out of reach.” Laine wanted to blurt out that she was not out of reach, but a thick blanket of shyness covered her tongue. She could do no more than stare at him.

  “Come on.” Keeping her hand in his, Dillon moved to the door. “You should try everything once.” His tone was light again as they slid into his car. “You know, you’re a very small lady.”

  “Only because you look from an intimidating height,” she returned, feeling pleased with the ease of their relationship. “What does one do at a luau, Dillon? I’m very much afraid I’ll insult a local tradition if I refuse to eat raw fish. But—” resting her head against the seat, she smiled at the stars “—I shall refuse to do so.”

  “We don’t hurl mainlanders into the sea anymore for minor offenses. You haven’t much hip,” he commented, dropping his eyes for a moment. “But you could have a stab at a hula.”

  “I’m sure my hips are adequate and will no doubt be more so if Miri has her way.” Laine sent him a teasing glance. “Do you dance, Dillon?”

  He grinned and met her look. “I prefer to watch. Dancing the hula properly takes years of practice. These dancers are very good.”

  “I see.” She shifted in her seat to smile at him. “Will there be many people at the luau?”

  “Mmm.” Dillon tapped his finger absently against the wheel. “About a hundred, give or take a few.”

  “A hundred,” Laine echoed. She fought off unhappy memories of her mother’s overcrowded, overelegant parties. So many people, so many demands, so many measuring eyes.

  “Tommy has a lot of relatives.”

  “How nice for him,” she murmured and considered the advantages of small families.

  Chapter Eleven

  The hollow, primitive sound of drums vibrated through air pungent with roasting meat. Torches were set on high stakes, their orange flames shooting flickering light against a black sky. To Laine it was like stepping back in time. The lawn was crowded with guests—some in traditional attire and others, like Dillon, in the casual comfort of jeans. Laughter rose from a myriad of tones and mixed languages. Laine gazed around, enthralled by the scene and the scents.

  Set on a huge, woven mat were an infinite variety of mysterious dishes in wooden bowls and trays. Ebony-haired girls in native dress knelt to spoon food onto the plates and serving dishes. Diverse aromas lifted on the night air and lingered to entice. Men, swathed at the waist and bare-chested, beat out pulsating rhythms on high, conical drums.

  Introduced to an impossible blur of faces, Laine merely floated with the mood of the crowd. There seemed to be a universal friendliness, an uncomplicated joy in simply being.

  Soon sandwiched between her father and Dillon, Laine sat on the grass and watched her plate being heaped with unknown wonders. A roar of approval rose over the music as the pig was unearthed from the imu and carved. Dutifully, she dipped her fingers in poi and sampled. She shrugged her shoulders as Dillon laughed at her wrinkled nose.

  “Perhaps it’s an acquired taste,” she suggested as she wiped her fingers on a napkin.

  “Here.” Dillon lifted a fork and urged its contents into Laine’s reluctant mouth.

  With some surprise, she found the taste delightful. “That’s very good. What is it?”

  “Laulau.”

  “This is not illuminating.”

  “If it’s good, what else do you have to know?” His logic caused her to arch her brows. “It’s pork and butterfish steamed in ti leaves,” he explained, shaking his head. “Try this.” Dillon offered the fork again, and Laine accepted without hesitation.

  “Oh, what is it? I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

  “Squid,” he answered, then roared with laughter at
her gasp of alarm.

  “I believe,” Laine stated with dignity, “I shall limit myself to pork and pineapple.”

  “You’ll never grow hips that way.”

  “I shall learn to live without them. What is this drink … ? No,” she decided, smiling as she heard her father’s chuckle. “I believe I’m better off not knowing.”

  Avoiding the squid, Laine found herself enjoying the informal meal. Occasionally, someone stopped and crouched beside them, exchanging quick greetings or a long story. Laine was treated with a natural friendliness which soon put her at her ease. Her father seemed comfortable with her, and though he and Dillon enjoyed an entente which eluded her, she no longer felt like an intruder. Music and laughter and the heady perfume of night swam around her. Laine thought she had never felt so intensely aware of her surroundings.

  Suddenly, the drummers beat a rapid tempo, reaching a peak, then halting. Their echo fell into silence as Orchid stepped into view. She stood in a circle of torchlight, her skin glowing under its touch. Her eyes were gold and arrogant. Tantalizing and perfect, her body was adorned only in a brief top and a slight swatch of scarlet silk draped low over her hips. She stood completely still, allowing the silence to build before she began slowly circling her hips. A single drum began to follow the rhythm she set.

  Her hair, crowned with a circlet of buds, fell down her bare back. Her hands and lithesome curves moved with a hypnotic power as the bare draping of silk flowed against her thighs. Sensuous and tempting, her gestures moved with the beat, and Laine saw that her golden eyes were locked on Dillon’s. The faint smile she gave him was knowledgeable. Almost imperceptibly, her dance grew in speed. As the drum became more insistent, her movements became more abandoned. Her face remained calm and smiling above her undulating body. Then, abruptly, sound and movement halted into stunning silence.

  Applause broke out. Orchid threw Laine a look of triumph before she lifted the flower crown from her head and tossed it into Dillon’s lap. With a soft, sultry laugh, she retreated to the shadows.

  “Looks like you’ve got yourself an invitation,” Cap commented, then pursed his lips in thought. “Amazing. I wonder how many RPMs we could clock her at.”

  Shrugging, Dillon lifted his glass.

  “You like to move like that, Skinny Bones?” Laine turned to where Miri sat in the background. She looked more regal than ever in a high-backed rattan chair. “You eat so you don’t rattle, and Miri will teach you.”

  Flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and the longing to move with such free abandonment, Laine avoided Dillon’s eyes. “I don’t rattle now, but I think Miss King’s ability is natural.”

  “You might pick it up, Duchess.” Dillon grinned at Laine’s lowered lashes. “I’d like to sit in on the lessons, Miri. As you well know, I’ve got a very discerning eye.” He dropped his gaze to her bare legs, moving it up the length of blue and white silk, before meeting her eyes.

  Miri muttered something in Hawaiian, and Dillon chuckled and tossed back a retort in the same tongue. “Come with me,” Miri commanded. Rising, she pulled Laine to her feet.

  “What did you say to him?” Laine moved in the wake of Miri’s flowing gown.

  “I said he is a big hungry cat cornering a small mouse.”

  “I am not a mouse,” Laine returned indignantly.

  Miri laughed without breaking stride. “Dillon says no, too. He says you are a bird whose beak is sometimes sharp under soft feathers.”

  “Oh.” Unsure whether to be pleased or annoyed with the description, Laine lapsed into silence.

  “I have told Tommy you have a bauble to sell,” Miri announced. “You will talk to him now.”

  “Yes, of course,” Laine murmured, having forgotten the locket in the enchantment of the night.

  Miri paused in front of the luau’s host. He was a spare, dark-haired man with an easy smile and friendly eyes. Laine judged him to be in the later part of his thirties, and she had seen him handle his guests with a practiced charm. “You will talk to Cap Simmons’s daughter,” Miri commanded as she placed a protective hand on Laine’s shoulder. “You do right by her, or I will box your ears.”

  “Yes, Miri,” he agreed, but his subservient nod was not reflected in his laughing eyes. He watched the graceful mountain move off before he tossed an arm around Laine’s shoulders. He moved her gently toward the privacy of trees. “Miri is the matriarch of our family,” he said with a laugh. “She rules with an iron hand.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed. It’s impossible to say no to her, isn’t it?” The celebrating sounds of the luau drifted into a murmur as they walked.

  “I’ve never tried. I’m a coward.”

  “I appreciate your time, Mr. Kinimoko,” Laine began.

  “Tommy, please, then I can call you Laine.” She smiled, and as they walked on, she heard the whisper of the sea. “Miri said you had a bauble to sell. I’m afraid she wasn’t any more specific.”

  “A gold locket,” Laine explained, finding his friendly manner had put her at ease. “It’s heart-shaped and has a braided chain. I have no idea of its value.” She paused, wishing there was another way. “I need the money.”

  Tommy glanced at the delicate profile, then patted her shoulder. “I take it you don’t want Cap to know? Okay,” he continued as she shook her head. “I have some free time in the morning. Why don’t I come by and have a look around ten? You’ll find it more comfortable than coming into the shop.”

  Laine heard leaves rustle and saw Tommy glance idly toward the sound. “It’s very good of you.” He turned back to her and she smiled, relieved that the first hurdle was over. “I hope I’m not putting you to any trouble.”

  “I enjoy troubling for beautiful wahines.” He kept his arm over her shoulders as he led her back toward the sound of drums and guitars. “You heard Miri. You don’t want me to get my ears boxed, do you?”

  “I would never forgive myself if I were responsible for that. I’ll tell Miri you’ve done right by Cap Simmons’s daughter, and your ears will be left in peace.” Laughing, Laine tilted her face to his as they broke through the curtain of trees.

  “Your sister’s looking for you, Tommy.” At Dillon’s voice, Laine gave a guilty start.

  “Thanks, Dillon. I’ll just turn Laine over to you. Take good care of her,” he advised gravely. “She’s under Miri’s protection.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Dillon watched in silence as Tommy merged back into the crowd, then he turned back to study Laine. “There’s an old Hawaiian custom,” he began slowly, and she heard annoyance color his tone, “which I have just invented. When a woman comes to a luau with a man, she doesn’t walk in monkeypod trees with anyone else.”

  “Will I be tossed to the sharks if I break the rules?” Her teasing smile faded as Dillon took a step closer.

  “Don’t, Laine.” He circled her neck with his hand. “I haven’t had much practice in restraint.”

  She swayed toward him, giving in to the sudden surging need. “Dillon,” she murmured, offering her mouth in simple invitation. She felt the strength of his fingers as they tightened on her neck. She rested her hands against his chest and felt his heartbeat under her palms. The knowledge of his power over her, and her own longing, caused her to tremble. Dillon made a soft sound, a lingering expulsion of breath. Laine watched him struggle with some emotion, watched something flicker in his eyes and fade before his fingers relaxed again.

  “A wahine who stands in the shadows under a full moon must be kissed.”

  “Is this another old Hawaiian tradition?” Laine felt his arms slip around her waist and melted against him.

  “Yes, about ten seconds old.”

  With unexpected gentleness, his mouth met hers. At the first touch, her body went fluid, mists of pleasure shrouding her. As from a distant shore, Laine heard the call of the drums, their rhythm building to a crescendo as did her heartbeat. Feeling the tenseness of Dillon’s shoulders under her hands, she stroked, then circled hi
s neck to bring his face closer to hers. Too soon, he lifted his mouth, and his arms relinquished his hold of her.

  “More,” Laine murmured, unsatisfied, and pulled his face back to hers.

  She was swept against him. The power of his kiss drove all but the need from her mind. She could taste the hunger on his lips, feel the heat growing on his flesh. The air seemed to tremble around them. In that moment, her body belonged more to him than to her. If there was a world apart from seeking lips and caressing hands it held no meaning for her. Again, Dillon drew her away, but his voice was low and uneven.

  “We’ll go back before another tradition occurs to me.”

  In the morning, Laine lingered under the sun’s streaming light, unwilling to leave her bed and the warm pleasure which still clung from the evening before. The taste of Dillon’s mouth still lingered on hers, and his scent remained fresh and vital on her senses. She relived the memory of being in his arms. Finally, with a sigh, she abandoned the luxury of her bed and rose to face the day. Just as she was securing the belt of her robe, Miri glided into the room.

  “So, you have decided to get up. The morning is half gone while you lay in your bed.” Miri’s voice was stern, but her eyes twinkled with indulgence.