by Meryl Sawyer
"See something you like?" he asked.
"Drop dead," she mouthed, then quickly turned to gather her clothes. She grabbed the first dress she saw and fresh undies. It took all her willpower not to slam the bathroom door shut.
Inside, she leaned against the door, letting it support all her weight. She'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit she found Rob disturbingly attractive. "Don't be a fool," she muttered to herself. But even after she was in the shower the image of Rob standing there half-undressed stayed with her.
She stepped out of the shower and wound a towel turban-style around her freshly shampooed hair. She was reaching for another towel to dry herself when there was an insistent knock on the door. "What do you want?"
"Telephone."
Still wet, she shrugged into one of the terry robes that hung on the back of the door. She walked into the living area and picked up the phone. It was Lillian Hurley. Guilt swamped Dana. Hadn't she promised to call her elderly neighbor yesterday? Yes. And she'd forgotten.
"Lillian, is anything wrong?" Dana asked, turning her back on Rob. He was stretched out across the king-size bed, his tanned legs casually crossed at the ankles. His shorts were now unbuttoned at the waist, the zipper threatening to open.
"The night marchers," Lillian responded. "I heard them again last night. Someone is going to die."
"It's just the wind in the palms," Dana insisted, alarmed that Lillian's mind seemed to be slipping. "You know how those dry fronds rustle when they haven't been trimmed. That's what you're hearing."
It took Dana a full five minutes to calm her friend. By the time she returned to the bathroom her hair was half-dry and its natural curl had sprung to life. She tried to blow it straight, but it didn't do any good. Chalk it up to another bad hair day, she thought as she inspected her reflection in the mirror.
The spaghetti-strap sundress, a deep shade of lilac, made her eyes appear greener, and the pleated bodice made her breasts seem fuller. Not bad, she told herself, suddenly wondering what Vanessa would be wearing. It didn't matter; Vanessa was always the center of attention.
She always had been.
Dana emerged from the bathroom and saw that Rob had fallen asleep. She stood over him, taking the opportunity to study him without him knowing it. There wasn't a spare ounce of flesh on his tall frame. You could count his ribs below his well-honed pecs. You could see the jutting bones of his hips. You couldn't miss the fullness between his legs, the stark evidence of his maleness.
A secret thrill shot through the barrier of her self-control. She'd never been in a situation like this. She had to admit she found Rob exciting. Oh, she knew he was the wrong man for her. From his powerful torso to his strong biceps, Rob Tagett radiated masculine virility. And domination. Here was a man who'd take command of every situation.
No telling what he might try in bed.
Wake him, she told herself, before you forget why you're here and how much trouble you're in. Don't look for any more.
"Darling," she said for the benefit of the stupid bug that was just above Rob's head, "it's time to shower. We're going to be late for dinner."
He didn't open his eyes. At least she didn't think he did, but she couldn't be sure. Quicker than a snake, he grabbed her waist and pulled her down on the bed.
He stared directly into her eyes, their sharp breathing the only sound in the room except for the blood pounding in her temples. His lids widened, any trace of drowsiness gone, replaced by a more intimate look. A new awareness swept over her, bringing with it some hidden emotion that rose like a phoenix from the core of her being.
What was happening to her?
Without warning his mouth covered hers, hot and firm and unbelievably insistent. She twisted her head away, determined not to let him take advantage of her, yet aware she couldn't curse him the way she wanted to. The intrusive bug was inches from them.
Moving her head only gave him access to the sensitive curve of her throat. He ran the tip of his tongue along the soft skin, gently nipping as he went. The sound that escaped from her lips wasn't a moan, was it?
He responded by kissing the base of her neck where it met her shoulder, an unbelievably erotic spot. She hadn't known it existed until this very second. Gooseflesh blossomed across her breasts and down her legs.
With the palm of his hand he turned her face toward his. Their lips almost touching, their breathing sharp and deep, she gazed into his eyes. His irises were nothing more than a narrow band of blue around dilated pupils; his heavy lids were spiked with thick black lashes.
She'd never been faced with such an uninhibited look of passion before. She should have been frightened—considering all she'd heard about him—but she wasn't. Just the opposite.
The warmth of his bare chest so intimately brushing hers and the heat of his powerful thighs snug against her legs demanded a corresponding reaction in her own body. She radiated the warmth of a woman willing—and ready—to make love.
Her logical brain insisted she damn him to hell. When she parted her lips he instantly took advantage, his mouth coaxing hers to open even more, his tongue invading the moist chamber. The motion was rhythmic and sensual, as if he wanted to remind her of how another, harder part of his body could perform.
Why was she responding? she asked herself. Because you can't help it, came the answer as her tongue sought his. The contact jolted her, erupting in a surge of heat between her thighs.
She twisted her body against his in a primitive rush of passion she'd never experienced before. She wanted to feel the entire hard, oh-so-masculine length of him against her. She wanted… she didn't dare think what she wanted, allowing herself to be swept away on a swift-rising tide of arousal.
Rob pulled his head back and surveyed her with an insolent grin as he sat up. "Time to shower."
No! He wasn't leaving her here like this. "You jerk—"
He was on his feet now, his finger to his lips, reminding her about the bug. "Temper, temper." He had the audacity to wink. "I'll take care of you later."
With two loose-limbed, athletic strides he was at the bathroom door. For a second he paused, and she had the feeling he wanted her to see just how aroused he was. An impressive erection jutted against the confining fabric of his shorts, a promise and a threat.
A half hour later they were on the terrace having cocktails. Dana hadn't said a word to Rob on the way over. That little stunt he'd pulled still had her so furious—and humiliated—that if she hadn't been trapped by circumstances she would have told him to drop dead.
But here she was, sipping Cristal champagne, holding Rob's arm like a possessive girlfriend, and chatting with the half dozen guests who'd already arrived for the extended birthday celebration that would culminate with a luau on Saturday night. The Coltrane brothers were on the far side of the terrace talking to Big Daddy and Minerva Mallory, the society widow whom Dana had met at dinner last night.
Where was Vanessa? she wondered. Just then her sister appeared out of the shadows at the far end of the terrace, wearing a white sheath that emphasized each luscious curve, provocative but still classy. The white set off her tan, a rich golden color that gave her a healthy glow.
Just right, Dana thought. Everything—physically —about her sister was just right. She instantly saw that all the men present, except Vanessa's husband Eric, agreed. Male eyes swung in Vanessa's direction; masculine voices halted midsentence.
Rob stared at Vanessa, an unreadable expression on his face, his glass halfway to his lips. Even Big Daddy, who saw Vanessa every day and should have been immune to her charms, was gazing at her. Dana left Rob to drool in his wineglass, half-wondering how her sister would have handled the little scene back in the cottage. She walked up to Vanessa and gave her a hug.
"I like your Rob," Vanessa said, her eyes on him.
Dana wanted to scream that he wasn't "her" anything. She reined in her temper, reminding herself that she needed Rob Tagett. "He's nice," she managed with a smile that had to be as f
lat as her voice.
"I hope he likes me," Vanessa said.
"Of course he does."
"What did he say?" Vanessa asked with girlish enthusiasm that somehow bothered Dana.
Actually, she couldn't recall Rob making any direct comment about Vanessa. He'd said over and over what a great kid Jason was, but he hadn't verbalized anything about her sister. Still, only a fool could have missed the look on his face when Vanessa had appeared tonight. He had practically stepped on his tongue.
"Rob thinks you're fantastic."
"I'm not so sure. He didn't seem very friendly." Vanessa gazed at Rob, who was now in the center of a cluster of people. "Be careful of him, Dana. He's the type of man that women can't resist. That kind of man is nothing but trouble."
She knew Vanessa was right. Even now several of the women, two of them married, were bombarding Rob with "I'm available" glances.
Dana tried to allay her sister's concerns. "We're not serious."
"Really?" Vanessa said, shocked. "The way he looks at you, I assumed he was nuts about you."
Dana shook her head. Rob must be a whole lot better actor than she'd thought. They drifted toward the main group and one of the men stopped Vanessa. Dana kept walking rather than link up with Rob again.
She went inside the house and stood alone in front of the wall where glass cases held leimano, ancient Hawaiian weapons made from sharks' teeth. The war clubs and spears were studded with teeth from two of the most dangerous sharks in Hawaii, the great white and the tiger shark.
"The native Hawaiians didn't have metal, you know." Big Daddy suddenly appeared at her side.
He was tall, with a muscular body kept trim by hours in the saddle and skin tanned a rich caramel color. His full head of white hair and dark brows added to his impressive bearing. As usual he wore an aloha shirt, but this wasn't one of the cheap versions sold in Waikiki boutiques. Like the original aloha shirts, which were made from the cast-off kimonos that the Japanese islanders wore, this shirt had a more oriental print and was made of silk.
"Sharks' teeth were the sharpest thing around," he informed her. "That's why Captain Cook was able to take advantage of the islanders so easily. For a handful of nails they traded barrels of fruit and casks of 'awa."
This was another of his favorite stories. How many times had he told her that the 'awa, made from kava roots, had a druglike effect that Cook's men craved? Waiting for an opportunity to get away, Dana reminded herself to be polite. She didn't want him to suspect Vanessa was really leaving.
"The ancient Hawaiians believed the shark was a symbol of fertility."
Undoubtedly, Big Daddy would now "talk story" in the typical Hawaiian fashion and launch into how he had speared three sharks in one day. Hawaiians liked to retell family stories as much as they did Hawaiian lore, thoroughly enjoying each retelling even though everyone already knew the tale. But Big Daddy didn't have the Hawaiian flair for details, nor did he have a sense of humor. He did nothing more than brag.
"Really? The shark was a fertility symbol?" she asked, playing along the way everyone did when someone was talking story, pretending she didn't know the legend.
"Yes." Big Daddy studied her, his dark eyes ominous beneath those wild black brows. Or was it her imagination?
Dana turned away from his piercing gaze and tried to imagine what kind of man put fertility symbols on his living room wall along with a surfboard. "Interesting."
"In old Hawaii," he continued, and she could tell he was on a roll now. When he got going there was nothing to do but wait him out. "The shark was believed to be all-powerful. The islanders thought he was Pele's brother."
Dana couldn't resist. "That's what I love about old Hawaii. They understood power."
"What do you mean?"
"Notice their chief deity wasn't a god, but a goddess. Pele was the goddess of fire and volcanoes. She gave birth to these islands. Pele was a woman, an all-powerful woman. Next in line was her brother… a man. A shark."
He chuckled, but she doubted he found her comment funny. Barefoot and pregnant was his vision of the ideal woman, not a fiery goddess superior to his beloved sharks. She couldn't help wondering what he thought about Rob. She'd introduced them and Rob had thanked Big Daddy for his hospitality, but the older man hadn't said much. Surely he knew about Rob's column in the Honolulu Sun. But if he read it he didn't mention it.
Odd, Dana thought, studying Coltrane. He'd always been strange, but now that she knew he eavesdropped on his guests and had forced Jason to watch a pig sticking, she positively despised the man. She strolled outside, hoping to get away from Big Daddy, but he followed her.
At the far end of the terrace Rob and Vanessa stood alone. Vanessa was talking and Rob had an odd expression on his face. He stepped away from Vanessa to take a drink from a passing waiter, and Dana stole a quick look at Big Daddy. Sure enough, he was watching. Her gaze swung back to the couple and a thought niggled at the back of Dana's mind. Vanessa had moved forward.
She was standing in Rob's space.
10
At dinner Dana was seated in the place of honor next to Big Daddy, with Travis Coltrane beside her. How lucky could she get? The floor-to-ceiling doors were open and another table had been set up on the terrace. Rob was seated there with Vanessa at his side, and judging from the laughter they were having fun.
She could hardly imagine the Coltrane brothers really enjoying themselves. They were too intimidated by their father to have fun while he was around. She cast a quick glance at Travis. Like his brother, Eric, who'd married Vanessa so quickly, Travis Coltrane was the image of his father. He had thick dark hair that would never creep backward like most men's, jet black shark's eyes, and the distinctive Coltrane cleft chin.
To give him credit, Travis had a better personality than his brother or father. He wasn't sullen like Eric or a domineering braggart like his father. Travis was always nice to her, and she had the impression he'd be a lot more fun if he ever got away from his father.
"I'm surprised you're here with Rob Tagett. Ho'omano," said Travis.
A fitting description, Dana thought with a sigh. Ho'omano meant that Rob behaved like a shark with women. On the mainland they would call him a wolf.
"Rob and I are just friends," she responded, though she could see she'd be more likely to sell him a bridge than convince him that she wasn't having an affair with Rob.
"Your timing stinks," Big Daddy added, obviously listening intently to their conversation. "You're up for a superior court appointment. Why would you get involved with a man with a reputation for—"
"It's my life," Dana cut him off, not surprised that he knew about the appointment. The Coltranes had numerous political connections. She couldn't help noticing Travis's smile of approval. No one put Big Daddy in his place, certainly not his sons. He pointedly turned his attention to Minerva Mallory, discussing his upcoming birthday luau with the red-haired widow.
"How are your girls?" Dana asked, curious about his divorce.
Travis shrugged. "I haven't seen them in over a year."
So Travis didn't see his children. Would Eric even want to see his son? Dana glanced down the table to where her brother-in-law was sitting. She'd never had the impression Eric cared one whit about Jason.
Big Daddy, though, doted on the boy. He would insist on seeing his grandson and force Eric to press for custody. Like it or not, Vanessa had no chance of getting rid of the Coltranes entirely. Any judge would grant Eric and Vanessa joint custody.
Travis leaned close and whispered, "Looks like your sister is about to steal your man."
Dana glanced up and saw Vanessa and Rob's heads close together. They were engaged in an animated conversation that didn't include anyone else at the table. "Vanessa's just being friendly," Dana said, determined not to allow Travis to incite a competitive situation with her sister.
"She's a flirt, and she doesn't know when to quit." Travis glanced meaningfully at Big Daddy, who was watching Vanessa gaze into Ro
b's eyes as if he were about to impart the location of the Holy Grail.
That kind of man is nothing but trouble. Her sister's prophetic words echoed in her ears.
Dana summoned a smile, aware that Travis was studying her, but she couldn't forestall a twinge of anger. She wanted to march over and tell Vanessa that she wasn't a child anymore. She didn't need her help.
She already knew Rob Tagett wasn't the man for her.
* * *
Garth Bradford looked at the clock as he hung up the telephone. 10:30. Was it too late to call Dana in Maui and give her the news? Probably not.
"Sue the bastards, sue the bastards," chanted Puni, moonwalking along his perch. "Sue their asses."
He picked up the telephone, wondering for the hundredth time if Dana could possibly be involved in a murder. He doubted it, but still, Rob had been incredibly cagey when he'd given Garth a preliminary report. All Rob would say was that he was "checking."
There wasn't any answer at the number Rob had given him, so Garth tried the main house. "May I speak with Dana Hamilton?" he asked and was told to hang on.
Garth waited, thinking it had been divine inspiration to throw Dana and Rob together. Not that he'd misled Dana. Rob Tagett was the best detective in the islands, but he was also a lonely, troubled man. And Dana Hamilton, despite her successful career, was a lonely, troubled woman.
He'd deliberately not told Rob who was coming to see him. He didn't really know how Rob felt about Dana, but he thought that if Rob saw her in person he'd have trouble refusing her request for help. And he'd been right.
"Hello?" The voice was as sultry as a tropical night. "This is Dana's sister, Vanessa." Garth conjured up an image of Dana, but with long, dark hair and makeup. "Dana left some time ago, but they must have stopped somewhere. Is there any message?"
The breathless quality of Vanessa's voice gave Garth a glimpse of how provocative Dana could be —if she wanted to. Should he tell her sister why he'd called? It might be better if Vanessa broke the news to Dana. "Please tell Dana that Garth Bradford called. The superior court appointment went to Craig Olsen."
