Rolling in the Deep: Hawaiian Heroes, Book 2

by Cathryn Cade

  He felt no answer, no help even from that quarter. Was everyone and everything conspiring against him here?

  Gritting his teeth, he strode forward to meet his family’s guests.

  Claire Hunter could not believe her eyes. The huge, muscular Hawaiian was not only lingering where she could feast her eyes on him, he was actually coming straight to her. Her heart gave a great thump and began to beat double-time. Omigod, he was drop-dead, macho, muscle-man gorgeous.

  She had come to the islands hoping to meet hot guys, of course, but this was no beach boy. He was a primitive warrior straight from Hawaii’s mystic past.

  Polynesian, that was obvious, from his great stature—a head taller than those around him, he had shoulders the size of the mountain she’d glimpsed from the plane window coming in—to his golden skin and the ebony hair swept back from his face.

  Not to mention his tattoos. Not only did they swirl over one brawny arm and shoulder in large circular patterns and even one leg below his shorts, but they decorated one side of his face. A band of small triangular shapes ran from his hairline down over his temple and cheek.

  And what a face. Broad and hard, with a wide mouth, high cheekbones and straight nose. A short raven beard and mustache covered the area around his mouth, but even that could not disguise the power of that square jaw or the sheer force of his persona. The tattoos only emphasized his untamed look.

  His eyes, unfortunately, were hidden behind sport sunglasses. She wanted to gaze into them, wanted to know if they were as black as his hair. If they held a flirtatious spark or a hard challenge to match his body language. He carried himself as if he was ready for trouble. As if he wouldn’t back down from any threat.

  She smirked at the way people scurried aside as he strode across the open-air lobby. The little Asians looked awed as if a kii god statue had come to life to stalk among them. Conversely, the pretty Hawaiian tour guide was smiling admiringly, her charges forgotten.

  Mine, thought Claire. Pleasure purred through her veins as he halted before her. It lasted until he looked past her as if she weren’t standing there.

  “You must be Mrs. Moran,” he said to Grace in a deep, rough voice that rumbled up out of his broad chest and shivered through Claire like thunder. “Aloha. I’m Daniel Ho’omalu, David’s brother.”

  Claire blinked. David’s brother? Melia was marrying into this man’s family? Omigod.

  Of course, now she saw the likeness, superficially, at least. David was built much the same, with ebony hair and golden skin, but there the resemblance ended. Melia’s fiancé was laid-back, mellow. When he’d traveled to the mainland to meet Melia’s family and friends, Claire had relaxed right away under the influence of his infectious smile.

  This man was full of an inner fierceness, giving her the same jittery excitement as standing next to a blowhole on the rocky coast, waiting for the wave that would explode up, shooting foam and spray into the air.

  “Yes, I’m Grace Moran,” Grace said. “How nice of you to come and pick us up, Daniel. My daughter, Bella.”

  He nodded at Bella, who was still perched on her big suitcase, slender legs crossed. She smiled up at him.

  Claire didn’t wait to be introduced. She held her hand out, upping the wattage on her best smile. “Hi, I’m Claire. Nice to meet you, Daniel.”

  He stared down at her, impassive behind his darned sunglasses. “Aloha.”

  He seemed to be studying her hand as if unsure whether he wanted to touch her, and Claire’s cheeks burned. She had to hold on to her smile instead of pouting like a little girl.

  Finally he lifted his own huge hand and closed it around hers. He shook her hand once, firmly, and then let go. Just an impersonal handshake, but it rocked Claire to her toes. His hand was warm, calloused, full of the latent power of a man who worked with his hands. As his touch fell away, she fought the instant and irrational desire to hang on, pull herself closer to him.

  She was bemused by her reaction—it wasn’t as if she was a slut who boinked every guy she was attracted to. She was darned picky, in fact. She’d grown up in Astoria, Oregon, a town small enough that everyone in the local high school knew who was in the backseat together, so she’d waited. At college in Portland, she’d remained careful, even with the newfound power of an attractive woman on her own for the first time. After the first fumbling time, she’d learned to enjoy sex—a lot. But she’d been with only a few guys.

  But something about her best friend finding love had ignited a desire for a taste of something more. Just the way Melia looked at David revealed not only love, but also a deep sexual excitement. And having met Daniel Ho’omalu, she understood better how Melia had fallen so hard and so fast for his brother. David was handsome, but Daniel was…amazing.

  Yeah, she wanted to hang on to him. Heck, she wanted to melt on his chest like ice cream in the hot Hawaiian sun. Wanted to sniff him and see if it was he who carried the scent of the sea teasing her nostrils through the smells of hot pavement and even hotter tourists.

  When he drew back his hand, she did the same, tucking in a wayward strand of hair and watching as he bent to pick up Grace’s bags. Later, she promised herself. Somehow, even if she had to find her courage in a pitcher of mai tais, she was going to end up in his arms.

  Preferably naked as the day she was born.

  Staying away from her was key, and that included absolutely no more touching. Especially that silky skin of hers. Claire Hunter was sending all the signals that let him know she was interested in him sexually. Yeah, until she found out what he liked. Then she’d dart away like a reef tang fleeing a hungry moray.

  In the interest of self-preservation, Daniel handed Grace Moran into the front seat of his big, silver Chevy truck. He stashed their luggage in the bed. Claire Hunter climbed into the backseat with her friend, flashing her long legs under her short skirt, and proceeded to chat in her husky voice as he drove out of the airport and east along the Queen K highway, back to Kona.

  “I like your truck,” she said, leaning forward between the bucket seats. “Cushy.”

  “Thanks.” He hoped the brevity of his answer would discourage her, but instead she reached past his shoulder to point. Her nails were short and rounded on her slender, capable hands. Damn, another point in her favor—he hated long, painted talons on a woman.

  “What are those big white roofs down by the shore? The ones that look like tents?”

  He followed her gesture with his gaze. “That’s the Natural Energy Lab. Built to harvest energy from wind and waves. Never took off. Fossil fuels are still too cheap to make this pay.”

  “They’re studying something like that off the Oregon coast too,” she said. “Maybe one of these days, huh?”

  It was a subject dear to his heart. Like all Hawaiians, he wanted his islands clean, unravaged by pollution. Clean energy that wouldn’t harm the sea and would create local jobs was perfect, but he wasn’t getting into any such discussion with her. Didn’t need to find common interests. She was here for a few days, then gone, and he could forget her.

  “Maybe.” He checked his side mirror before pulling out to pass a slow-moving car full of silver-haired haoles. Claire Hunter sat back, murmuring something to her friend.

  Daniel reached over to turn his CD player on. The honey-smooth tones of Hapa poured from the speakers, harmonizing in a traditional Hawaiian melody.

  Grace Moran sat silently, one hand fisted on her thigh. He wondered if she was always so tense, then forgot about it. Not his problem, and anyway, he had to keep his gaze forcibly on the road, despite the temptation to gaze into the rearview mirror at the bundle of blonde sex appeal in his backseat.

  Claire Hunter kept shoving strands of her hair back into her casual updo. Made him want to take her damn clip and toss it out the window. His fingers flexed on the wheel, fighting the need to run through that silky hair, use it to tilt back her head and expose her neck and find out if hers was the elusive yet somehow familiar scent teasing his nostrils.


  The other girl, Bella, gazed quietly out the window of his truck. The airport was built on an old lava flow, the sunbaked plain enlivened only by the weird coral arrangements left by passersby on the lava-strewn roadsides. The only beauty out here was the glittering expanse of the sea and the white surf breaking out on the point past Wawaloli Beach.

  Of course Claire wanted to know about the phrases spelled out in bleached chunks of coral along the road, white against the mottled charcoal of the lava. She leaned forward, confirming that it was her sexy perfume he smelled. She pointed out a phrase reading Jay and Dawn Forever.

  He shook his head. “Tourists. Big Island equivalent of carving or spray-painting initials, I guess. Some have been here for a few years.”

  “Aw, that’s sweet.”

  He snorted to himself. Wahine liked silly, sentimental ‘ōpala like that. Ah, well, at least it was environmentally harmless. One good tsunami, and the whole west shore would be washed clean, the old chunks of coral tumbled back into the ocean from which they’d come.

  “Look at that one,” Bella chimed in. “I love U, Skinny.” The two girls laughed delightedly, Claire in a deep, husky chuckle that ricocheted under his skin as if she’d trailed her fingers over his bare flesh.

  That laugh was as familiar as her scent. He’d heard her, smelled her before…in his dreams. He clenched his hands on the steering wheel as reaction shot straight to his groin. His cock, still half-aroused from his first sight of her, stiffened again.

  He stifled a growl of sheer male frustration and glared at the road. Ten more minutes max, and he could get her out of his truck and be on his way.

  Claire was torn between elation at actually being in Hawaii and impatience at the lack of scenery on this godforsaken west shore of the Big Island—seemed to be mostly lava rubble so far. The ocean was pretty, but being from Astoria, she was used to that. This tropical sea, although a lovely color viewed from the plane, was far from the highway.

  She’d had the aisle seat on the plane, and the sulky teenager she’d been seated with had glued herself to the small window, so Claire had caught only a few glimpses of green and blue as they flew in. She’d seen a few palm trees around the airport and a couple of flowering trees, but although the mountainside above was green, down here the land was barren and brown.

  The pretty parts were here somewhere, or people wouldn’t strew beautiful photos of their Hawaiian vacations all over the Internet. A beach, that was what she wanted to see, preferably accompanied by a lounge chair and a smiling waiter with a mai tai. And some shade. It was brighter here than in Oregon. The tropical sun had a real kick to it.

  She remembered the sunglasses perched on her head and slid them down onto her nose. Polarized lenses, light and strong, a travel gift from her mother. They cut the glare better than the cheap kind she could afford on her college-student budget. And with shades on, she could study their driver without getting caught. Now that was some fine scenery—even his back view was impressive.

  Claire slid over a little in her seat, pretending to get more comfortable, and tilted her head to peer around his seat back. His long hair was braided in fat plaits, tied at his nape with a leather thong. She flexed her fingers on the leather armrest, wondering if his wavy hair was as soft as it looked or coarse. And how would his golden skin feel—smooth and silky even under those dramatic ink markings? Tipping her head a little more, she followed a line of twisting triangles over the bulge of his huge shoulder and down into his blue tank top.

  Bella nudged her with her elbow, and Claire looked over, startled. Her friend arched a brow over the top of her designer sunglasses.

  Claire wrinkled her nose—busted.

  Bella shook her head slightly in incomprehension. Claire’s mouth dropped open. How could her best friend not see what magnificent male real estate was just inches away? Oh, well, that meant one of them wouldn’t be disappointed. Because it wouldn’t have mattered if Bella was attracted—she was not getting him.

  Claire stared at the side of Daniel Ho’omalu’s hard, bearded face as he turned his head, turning the steering wheel as well. The big truck wheeled onto a different road, south toward the sea, but Claire hardly noticed. She was too busy dealing with the strange feelings swelling inside her. Not shock, closer to outright panic.

  This was just good old-fashioned lust, that was all. She just needed to get him naked, and they’d have a great time, and then it would be time to go back to Oregon, to her real life—studying for finals, working on her Web site design projects.

  Sure, she dated, but she’d been careful not to get too serious with anyone. She couldn’t afford to—she was at school on a scholarship and money carefully saved by her parents. Her father fished with his brothers, and her mother was a secretary at the local elementary school, but times were tight in the little fishing town. Claire could always move back home to save money, but she’d end up checking at the local grocery store or something. As much as she loved her parents, the thought of being stuck in Astoria at minimum wage made her shudder.

  Nope, she needed to stay focused and get superb marks on her final project so her professors would recommend her to future clients. Only another month until she graduated, and then she had plans—she was going to travel, going to live by a beach somewhere.

  So her feelings for Daniel Ho’omalu were no more than desire—they couldn’t be. She just wanted a tropical fling with an incredibly sexy guy.

  His initial reticence aside, she was pretty sure he wouldn’t say no, unless he was already taken. Uncertainty slashed through her reassuring litany. What if he was with another woman? No way would she try to cut in on a relationship. But how was she going to find out? She couldn’t very well ask him in front of Grace and Bella. She drummed her fingers impatiently on the leather armrest. She’d ask Melia.

  The big truck turned into a wide gateway, past a sign with white letters on a rock face that read Royal Kona Resort. What she thought was a swordfish leapt over the words. Salmon, halibut, those she knew. This fish was tropical; that was what mattered.

  Lush plants lined the drive. Flowering trees and clusters of tall palms swayed in the afternoon breeze, their green fronds fluttering over the manicured lawns. Beyond them soared the hotel, all sand-hued angles against the blue sky. This was the Hawaii she’d been looking for.

  Daniel stopped next to a sign that read Aloha in huge, cheerful letters. A Hawaiian man in shorts and a flowered shirt stepped out to open the truck doors. Claire stepped down into the shade while their host handed off their luggage.

  “My mother will phone you,” he told Grace. “She’d like you to join her for dinner this evening.”

  “How nice. Thank you again for picking us up, Daniel.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Claire smiled and waggled her fingers at him in a little wave good-bye. His only response was the lift of one heavy brow over his sunglasses. Then he jumped back into his truck and was gone with a rumble of the big engine.

  She scowled after him, chagrin heating her cheeks. Good grief, so far he was about as friendly as a Rottweiler.

  “Claire, come on,” Bella urged.

  “Coming.” Turning, she followed the other two women under the awning.

  Water burbled as they crossed a bridge over koi ponds, past fountains and trailing plants to an open, airy lobby. Her pique forgotten, Claire stared wide-eyed at the huge columns holding up the roof, the paintings of traditional scenes on the walls, and the view of the lush grounds and breaking surf beyond. This turn-of-the-century ambience was in complete contrast to the ultramodern exterior of the hotel.

  “Wow,” she breathed to Bella. “This isn’t the Astoria Budget Inn, girlfriend.”

  “No kidding. We definitely need to have a drink at that bar.”

  Claire nodded, following her friend’s gaze to view the large, circular tiki bar on a lanai hanging over the surf.

  “Come along, girls,” Grace said. “You can explore in a bit. I want to
get up to my room and change into something cooler.”

  An elevator carried them up to the third floor and a wide, quiet hallway. The concierge unlocked a door and motioned for them to precede him. Claire followed the other two women into a large, open suite with Asian-style wood-and-bamboo furniture and an entire wall of windows.

  “Oh, an ocean view,” Grace exclaimed. “How thoughtful of the Ho’omalus.”

  Grace walked, spellbound, to the open lanai doors and through them. She emerged into the bright sunshine, only the sky overhead. The side of the hotel swooped out below in tiers, and beyond lay the sea. Bright turquoise-blue, glittering in the sun that poured down, rimmed with palm trees waving gently in the afternoon breeze.

  Flowers bloomed everywhere, even in the trees, most of which she didn’t recognize. Their sweet perfume danced elusively on the air. She took a deep breath. Even the ocean smelled different here. Gentler, lacking the sharp, briny scent of the cold waters off Oregon’s coast. Shock zinged her middle as she realized the scent that filled her nostrils was Daniel Ho’omalu’s. He smelled like the sea, mysterious and inviting.

  She gazed out at the bright water dancing in the sun. Its mild look was deceptive. This tropical sea was every bit as dangerous as the ocean off the coast of Oregon, deserving of caution and respect by tourists who didn’t understand its ways.

  Perhaps another attribute shared with Daniel Ho’omalu. She narrowed her eyes, her hands tightening on the railing. She’d be on the island for over a week, and she could handle its challenges—both of them.

  Chapter Three

  He needed to get her the hell off his island.

  Daniel drove away from the Royal K with his hands clenched on the steering wheel. A few more days, and David’s wedding and all the festivities would be over. All Daniel had to do was stick to his part. Then he could get back to his life.

  As a plan, it was simple. Which didn’t mean it couldn’t turn into an utter shipwreck. And he had a bad feeling—maybe the same way the kanaka on guard duty had felt when he’d sighted Captain Cook’s sail on the horizon. Those faraway sails must have looked so pretty, shining in the sun. Until the ship sailed into port, and the natives learned what they had to contend with—haole invaders who wouldn’t take no for an answer.