10 Days in Paradise (Tropical Nights)

by Haymore, J.

  “I see that. You’re bleeding.”

  “I am?” She raised a cautious finger to her forehead. It came away covered with blood. She studied it curiously. “Oh. I had no idea.”

  “We should go to the house. Clean you up.”

  She gazed out over the water with something like longing in her eyes. “I really want to learn how to stand up.”

  “We can do it again another day.” Blood and a metallic swimsuit. Shark bait to the max. I reached out to clasp her hand. “Come on. We’re going back to the house.”

  Kimo stepped onto the beach, yanked his surfboard out of the water, and started stalking toward us. Squeezing her hand tighter, I motioned with my chin. “That’s my little brother, Kimo. Kimo, this is Celeste McMillan.”

  “Howzit.” My brother’s voice was flat and unfriendly, his eyes narrowed. I gave him a hard look, silently demanding he behave. Kimo ignored me. Fucking teenagers.

  Celeste grinned. “It’s good. Well, it’d be better if I could go back out.” She shot me a brief accusatory glance, and I almost smiled despite my annoyance at my brother. She was even more adventurous than I’d originally thought.

  Kimo stared at my fingers twined with hers, and a sneer curled his lip. “Going get some sauce?”

  Oh, fuck no. I let go of Celeste’s hand. Hands balling into fists, I rose, teeth clenched. “You got a pilau mouth, bro.”

  Kimo crossed his arms over his chest and scowled.

  “You talk like that, you going get bus’ up.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nalani paddling in. Good. Me and my brother would have words later. I motioned roughly to our cousin. “Go home with Lani.”

  “Whatevah.” With a final hostile glare at Celeste, Kimo spun around and stalked away.

  I brushed my hand over Celeste’s shoulder, my annoyance fading. “You’ve got chicken skin. Let’s go inside.”

  She looked blankly down at the goose bumps on her arms, then back up. “Wow. That was… Your brother wasn’t very… What was he talking about? What’s sauce?”

  I spoke tightly. “He asked if we’re going to sleep together.”

  She let out a sharp breath. “Oh.”

  I looked at her out of the corner of my eye to gauge her reaction. No sign of horror or disgust—that was good. But she didn’t offer any encouragement either; instead, she gazed intently at the sand.

  “Kimo’s being an asshole.” I reached up to massage the stiff muscle in my jaw. “Forget it.”

  I knelt to undo her leash, hiding the lie on my face. I did know what my brother’s problem was. This was about Hiwa, about my split with her three months ago. Hiwa and Kimo were close, and Kimo hadn’t forgiven me for breaking up with her. Kimo still got defensive when I so much as looked at another woman, and I knew it pissed Kimo off even more that the first woman I’d shown any interest in was a haole fresh off the airplane from the mainland.

  I took one board under each arm, feeling lopsided because my board was so much shorter and lighter, and motioned for me to lead the way.

  “Oh, I can carry—” Celeste began.

  “I got it.”

  She hesitated, then released a deep breath, as if letting me carry her surfboard represented a serious relinquishment of power.

  “Thanks.” She turned toward Aunty Nanette’s house. Feeling strangely like I’d just won some little battle I didn’t understand, I followed her, unable to tear my gaze away from her curvy ass, shimmering in the silvery bikini bottoms, as she made her way up the beach.

  We made slow progress as she hobbled over the rocks ahead of me. Haole feet. I bit back a groan. She was definitely hot, but why was I so attracted to her? She could hardly walk across a beach.

  She’s adventurous, funny, different. I liked the roundness of her ass. I liked her smile. I liked the pink flush in her cheeks. I liked the spark of intelligence in her eyes. I liked how she’d looked at the beach when I’d first arrived, how she connected to it immediately in a way I’d never seen before from a tourist, or anyone for that matter.

  I liked her ecstatic expression after she caught a wave.

  She glanced back over her shoulder as she led me toward Aunty Nanette’s property, piercing me with her glittering green gaze. “What did you tell him? I couldn’t understand a word. Something about busses?”

  “What? Oh, Kimo. I told him—” I considered, translating the pidgin English and Hawaiian in my mind. “I told him he had a dirty mouth and, uh, basically to go home with our cousin Nalani or I’d kick his rude little ass.”

  “Ah. Very big brotherly of you.”

  “He deserved it.”

  Celeste

  Feeling another ridiculous blush coming on, I turned back to the path. Kanoe was right behind me, balancing the surfboards under his arms. Just looking at him made me feel hot and flustered all over…for more reasons than I cared to consider.

  I opened the chain-link gate to the twisting path leading up to the house. Kanoe had been nice, but I knew how he and his brother and cousin saw me. I was a freakishly pale girl who didn’t understand his local lingo, who had to be rescued from treacherous riptides and was hopeless on a surfboard. More embarrassed by the ordeal than I’d thought possible, I straightened my spine and pressed on.

  All this was simply more proof that I was out of my element. At the office, I impressed people every day. Here, I could hardly walk across a beach.

  My irritation with myself growing, I marched up the mossy path to my rental. Why was I so embarrassed? Why did I wish, deep inside, that I could’ve impressed him out there? Why did it even matter?

  Pausing in my step, I glanced back at him. Well, it was obvious. I remembered the smoldering way Kanoe had looked at me when we were out on the water, with his golden-brown eyes slightly narrowed, focused. As if he wanted more of me. The look had heightened sensation throughout my body and even out there, it had been hard to keep from touching him.

  It meant nothing. A little chemistry never meant anything.

  I sighed, thinking of how I’d been so giddy on the beach after that first time I’d caught a wave. What the hell had happened to my self-control? First of all, nobody rode in all the way to the sand. Nobody jumped up and down afterward. Nobody laughed like a maniac.

  Nobody but me, the white woman who liked to pretend I belonged but didn’t. What was I trying to prove? Celeste McMillan never lost control, never abandoned her cool reserve. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d behaved like that. It was amazing Kanoe hadn’t run for the hills hours ago. He had to think I was a complete idiot.

  Then that awful wipeout and my bleeding head sealed the deal. I was an idiot.

  I heaved a sigh. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. I might as well be myself—there was nothing to lose at this point.

  Kanoe set the boards upright on the lanai and followed me inside. There, he sat me on the couch, then found a towel and wet a washcloth. He sat beside me and began to bathe my forehead with gentle strokes.

  I gave him a rueful look. “This is becoming a habit. You helping me out, I mean. First with my gate and my luggage, and now with surfing and my stupid head injury. Maybe I should keep you around.”

  “Maybe you should,” he said mildly.

  Maybe I should.

  There it was, the same dark gaze he’d given me out in the surf, before I’d made a complete idiot of myself.

  Maybe he hadn’t minded my overexcited behavior, my inexperienced klutziness.

  “I’m sorry I was an idiot.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  “You know. The riptide. Surfing on my stomach all the way to the shore. Jumping up and down like a…” I frowned at his smile. “What?”

  His smile transformed into a low chuckle as he gently pressed the towel to my wound. “I liked watching you out there.” His laugh diminished, and his face turned serious again. “Not many people are as enthusiastic as you.”

  I snorted softly. “That’s a nice way of putting
it.”

  He shook his head. “No, it isn’t. It’s the truth.” He glanced toward the window, then back at me. “I’ve been surfing with Nalani since we were little kids, but I’ve never met a woman I—” Breaking off abruptly, he stood and raised the bloody towel in his hand. “I’m going to rinse this off.”

  I watched him walk over to the sink. With his back to me, he rinsed off the towel. What had he meant? He’d never met a woman he…what? I was dying to know.

  No point in dwelling on it. He was here now, and something was happening between us. The tentative first steps toward…something. What it could possibly end up being, I couldn’t imagine.

  He wrung out the towel and headed back to the couch, lowering himself beside me. His expression was shuttered now—unreadable.

  Impulsively, I reached out. My hand hovered above his shoulder. Then I swept my fingers across the broad black stroke of ink just below his collarbone.

  He drew in a sharp breath.

  The hair on the back of my neck prickled. His skin was taut, warm, smooth. The air between us felt electric, charged with something I couldn’t define.

  “What does it mean?” I whispered, continuing to trace the line across his shoulder.

  “It’s a tapa design. For my family and ancestors.”

  “What about this?” I trailed the path to the outside of his upper arm, circling a leaf inside the pattern. Kanoe drew the washcloth down my shoulder.

  “The ti leaves are symbols of rank and power.” Was it my imagination, or was his voice hoarse? “They’re also talismans against evil, to encourage the favor of the gods.”

  I exhaled. “Why do the arrowheads wind around the leaves?”

  “They represent the path of my life.”

  He hooked his finger under my bikini’s shoulder strap, caressing the flesh underneath. “You got blood on it.”

  It would take only a flick of his finger, and the strap would be down, exposing my breast.

  I wanted him to do it. To strip me until I was naked, then lay me on the couch and— I swallowed that thought down.

  “Ah, well. I have other bathing suits,” I said, trying to bring myself back to the realm of “light conversation with a guy I barely know.”

  “Maybe a good idea not to wear this one again, anyway.” His fingertips stroked my collarbone.

  “Why not?”

  He stared at my mouth. “I think I like you. I don’t want you to get eaten.”

  He thought he liked me. I swallowed hard, then frowned.

  “Eaten? What, is there a giant silver-bathing-suit-eating manta ray lurking in these waters?”

  He laughed gruffly, showing off his dimples.

  I couldn’t tear my focus from him. He was so sexy, he took my breath away.

  “No. I mean, there are rays, but not the kind that like to eat bathing suits. The sharks, though—they’re attracted to shiny metal things. Makes them think of fish scales.”

  I frowned. “Really?”

  His gaze dropped to my bikini top. He rubbed the bloody strap between his fingers. “Yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  His eyes locked with mine. “I didn’t want to scare you. Don’t worry, there hasn’t been a shark attack at this beach in…” he pondered a moment, “…two years, I think.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Two years? That’s not very long at all.”

  “It’s long…” His voice seemed to come out in slow motion. The way his gaze had locked on to my lips sucked the air from my lungs. “Very…very…long.”

  I stiffened. This guy was a stranger. This wasn’t part of the plan. I didn’t want this.

  But that was a lie. I wanted it. Bad.

  His fingers closed around the back of my neck, drawing me close. His lips brushed against mine, feather-soft. Then he kissed me.

  The stiffness drained from my muscles like a strong tide. His lips were like velvet. He kissed with just the right amount of pressure—not too hard or too soft, nor too wet or too dry. His kiss nudged and probed, asking ever so gentle questions. His fingers swept over my cheek, sifted through my wet hair.

  His kiss roused something, some forgotten part within me. It warred with the solid, rational part I knew best and was most comfortable with. This hidden part of me was greedy, lustful, demanding. It wanted him. It wanted to be wild. It wanted to sleep with him, here and now, just beyond the glass door, in full view of everyone on the beach. It thrust images in my mind of things I wanted to do with him, things I’d never done before, never even imagined.

  It told me I needed him. Right. Now.

  The cold, ever-rational part of Celeste McMillan cringed, cowered in the corner, and covered her eyes.

  Sighing, I let the tide recede completely, let myself go. I melted, opened to him, gripping his shoulders as if they were a life preserver.

  Kanoe gathered me to his chest and dipped his tongue into my mouth. He tasted of saltwater and exotic, tropical heat. I whimpered, slid my arms around his neck, and pulled him closer.

  He swept his hands down from my wet hair to the nape of my neck, to the small of my back. Under the cloth of my bikini top, my breasts crushed against him. Achingly sensitive, my nipples tightened, and with them, my whole body tightened. I leaned into his kiss.

  Minutes passed, or hours. I had no concept of time. His hands roamed my body, skimmed my thighs, my back, my shoulders. The bikini straps came down, and the warmth of his palms covered my breasts. Thumbs rubbed over my nipples. I arched my back, pressing myself into his hands, tracing the muscles of his back, moaning softly into his mouth. His erection strained against the fabric of his damp surf shorts, and my fingers itched to feel it, stroke it, explore it.

  If he laid me on the tiled floor right now, I would let him. I’d be wet and ready. I’d take him deep into myself, as deep as I could.

  I wanted it. Needed it.

  Suddenly, he wrenched away from me.

  I stared at him, blinking and dazed.

  As if to avoid meeting my eyes, he turned toward the glass doors, dragging in a lungful of air.

  I returned to the world slowly, as if I’d just risen from a drugged sleep. In only three days, I’d gone against my personal pledge to avoid intimacy with the opposite sex and made out with this guy, a virtual stranger. If he’d chosen to take it, I would have given him more, much more.

  I’d become irrational.

  He was still turned away. All I could see of his face was the muscle that ticked in his jaw. “I’m, uh, sorry about that,” he said.

  I crossed my arms over my bared chest. I was the one who was sorry. This was all wrong. My behavior… It was almost laughable. Celeste McMillan, the girl they nicknamed “Little Miss Frigid” in high school. If they could see me now. In the space of a few hours, I’d done a happy dance on a public beach and practically jumped a near stranger.

  Turning back to face me, he cupped my jaw in his hand, tilting my head toward him. His dark, sincere eyes riveted me. As much as I wanted to look away, I couldn’t break my gaze from his.

  “It’s not you,” he said.

  Oh God. I managed to make a small, disbelieving noise. “Okay.”

  He shook his head. “No, really. It isn’t you. I wish… I want…” He pulled my bikini straps up, keeping his eyes fixed on my face. “I’m just…sorry.”

  I wiggled into the cups of my bikini and gave him a shaky smile. A line of blood trickled down the side of my face, but before I could wipe it with the back of my hand, he raised the washcloth to it. I let out a breath through pursed lips. “That’s all right. I…uh…don’t know what came over me.”

  But I was crushed. I was also horrified. What had happened to my pledge to forgo men? What had happened to my self-control? I couldn’t explain it to myself, much less to this exotic stranger.

  Worse, my skin prickled with the harsh sting of his rejection. My cheeks heated yet again, but this time out of humiliation.

  He didn’t want me as much as I w
anted him.

  Kanoe watched me through narrowed eyes, and I stared back at him, trying to keep my expression flat, determined not to let him see how crushed I was.

  “I’m going to the other side of the island tomorrow. I dance at one of the resorts in Kona four nights a month.”

  The non sequitur made me blink in confusion, feeling unbalanced. “Wait…what? Are you saying you’re an exotic dancer? A…stripper or something?” He definitely had the body for it.

  He snorted. “Hula. Kahiko.”

  I stared at him. “You’re a hula dancer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is that your job?”

  “Every other weekend, it is.”

  So that was why he was out surfing in the middle of the day. He was a hula dancer.

  Kanoe set his hands on my shoulders, then slid them down my arms, threading our fingers together. “Will you come?”

  Hadn’t he just rejected me? I frowned. “You’re saying you want me to come to Kona? With you?”

  He raised our hands, kissed my knuckles one by one, and nodded, watching me with his amazing eyes as if he were drinking me in. “For the weekend.”

  Emotions flitted through me like butterflies. Confusion, anticipation. Most overwhelming, however, was a pleasure that buzzed through me, up through my skin, a tingling in my blood.

  He wasn’t lying when he said he liked me.

  And I liked him. The way he behaved around me—he was a gentleman to the core. The way he touched me, so gentle but so confident. The way my skin smoldered when he was near. The way he maneuvered a surfboard. Not to mention that he was completely off the charts in the hotness factor.

  This was a vacation. A vow to stay clear of all men didn’t necessarily have to apply to vacations…right?

  A smile curved my lips.

  “Will you come?” he asked again.

  I was having fun, I realized. Surfing, being with Kanoe, even kissing him. It was fun. I’d spent so long working so hard, I’d forgotten what fun was. And I wanted to have more of it. Much more.

  I leaned toward Kanoe and brushed my lips against his mouth. “I’d love to.”