10 Days in Paradise (Tropical Nights)

by Haymore, J.

  Day Three

  Kanoe

  After shifting the tray of coffee to my other hand, I rapped softly on the door to Hiwa’s apartment, not wanting to wake the neighbors. It was only a little past sunrise, and I’d abandoned my Friday-morning dawn patrol to come see her.

  Hiwa opened the door, wearing a pink robe and rubbing a towel over her damp hair. “Oh, Kanoe. Come in. Sorry, I’m running late for work.” She turned away and walked toward her bathroom. “Have to be there for a seed shipment coming in this morning,” she said over her shoulder. “What’s up?”

  I closed the door with my foot and followed her inside. In any other circumstance, this might be awkward. But things had never been awkward with Hiwa. She knew me in a way nobody else did, and she had a talent for figuring people out. I damn well couldn’t figure myself out right now, so I needed all the help I could get.

  “I brought you some coffee.” I handed her one of the paper cups.

  “Ah.” Hiwa took it, sniffed it appreciatively, then took a sip. “Mmmm. Thank you.”

  I leaned against the doorframe and watched Hiwa turn on her blow dryer and comb through her thick black hair as she aimed the hot air at each individual strand. I stood silently, drinking my coffee as she worked on her hair. After several minutes, she gave me a sidelong glance. “So you gonna tell me what’s up?” she asked over the loud drone of the hairdryer’s motor.

  “I think—” I frowned. This wasn’t the quiet, intimate confession I’d imagined. “I think I met someone.”

  “What was that?”

  “I met someone! I think.”

  Hiwa smiled but didn’t stop blow-drying. “You don’t need my permission to see someone, Kanoe. I mean, we talked about this. It’s okay, yeah?”

  “I know.” I hadn’t expected her to throw a fit or get jealous—it wasn’t her style. Then again, she’d never really loved me passionately enough to be jealous. I had no doubt that she loved me—but she loved me like a brother or a good friend, not like someone she wanted to sleep with every night for the rest of her life. That was why it had seemed in our mutual best interests when I’d called off our engagement. In the end, I knew she was more relieved than anything.

  It was Kimo who’d been heartbroken and angry. He’d always looked at Hiwa like a big sister, had always expected the two of us to be together.

  Hiwa turned off the hairdryer and leaned toward the mirror to pluck her eyebrows, and I spoke hesitantly. “This is…different.”

  Hiwa arched an eyebrow at me in the mirror. “What d’you mean?”

  I took a deep breath. “She’s a haole from L.A.”

  “So?”

  I stared at her. So? What did she mean, so? The very fact that I was the least bit interested in a mainland haole tourist was enough to rock my world.

  “She’s only here for another week.” Maybe that would give Hiwa some pause. When she didn’t flinch, I added, “I met her two days ago, taught her how to surf yesterday. Then I kissed her, and before I thought about how lôlô it was, I asked her to come to Kona with me today.”

  When Hiwa didn’t say anything, I raked a frustrated hand through my hair and continued. “This has got to be a mistake. Me with a tourist? Me?” I slapped my palm against my forehead. “What the fuck was I thinking? We’re too different.”

  Hiwa plucked at a hair above her nose. “She surfed with you,” she pointed out.

  I sighed. Hiwa turned her nose up at anything to do with water sports. She’d watched me in a couple of surfing competitions, but I’d told her not to come anymore when she complained about sand getting into everything.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “We don’t even know each other, and we don’t have time to get to know each other. She’s going back to California in a few days. This is crazy, right?”

  Hiwa set the tweezers on the counter, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at me. “You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I think you shouldn’t mess this up by sticking too closely to your high makamaka image of local-boy perfection. Yeah, okay, I get it. You never saw yourself with a haole. You’ve never dated a white girl before. You never really even interact with tourists except when you’re working. But who cares? Things get tossed at you when you least expect them, and sometimes you just have to go with them, you know?”

  I squeezed the bridge of my nose between two fingers. “What are you saying?”

  She pushed out a puff of breath. “You like this girl?”

  “Yeah, I like her.” The words came out, low and gruff and full of certainty, before I had a chance to think about them.

  “Then stop worrying about where she fits into your life. Take her to Kona. Have fun. All that matters is that you like her and you have a good time. Be yourself and show her Kona.”

  My jaw hung open in surprise—that answer hadn’t been at all what I’d expected. “But is that the right thing to do?”

  “Of course it is. Now stop giving me the mempachi eye and go have fun, okay?”

  She was right. If there was one thing Hiwa was good at, it was putting me in my place.

  I nodded firmly. “Okay.”

  Celeste

  “All right,” I muttered. “I’ll have another one.”

  Kanoe grinned and passed the pink box across the pickup’s bench seat. “I told you they were good.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” I couldn’t respond more than that because my mouth was full of sugary doughnut, but different from any doughnut I’d ever had, really. It was a malasada, a Portuguese doughnut without a hole, Kanoe had explained when we’d stopped a while back at a little cafeteria-type restaurant an hour into the drive.

  “Okay.” I licked the sugar off my lips. “I admit it. They’re good.” And they were especially good with coffee. I rotated the Styrofoam cup in my hands.

  “I always stop there on my way to Kona. Love them with coffee.” He glanced at me, winked, then turned back to the road. It was starting to drizzle again, but it wasn’t anything like the pelting rain of Hilo. We’d gone swimming in the rain this morning before leaving, but it had started coming down so hard, it had begun to sting my skin. This was different—a soft mist accompanied by lots of fog

  I sighed in agreement, then looked at him curiously. “So how old are you anyway?”

  “Twenty-four.” He slid a glance at me. “You?”

  “Twenty-one. But I’ll be twenty-two in a few weeks.”

  “Ah. I wasn’t sure. That’s young to be a college graduate.”

  I shrugged. “I graduated early.”

  “I couldn’t figure out your age, exactly.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “Well, you seem kinda innocent, like someone younger than twenty-one—sometimes. At other times, you seem decisive and ambitious, like someone maybe a few years older.”

  “In my job I need to portray myself as completely professional, competent, and in charge. But really…I’m pretty sheltered. I studied hard for four years in high school, then I studied hard for four years in college. It wasn’t the usual high school or college experience. I never went to football games or frat parties. I never drank, and I didn’t socialize much. I was too busy studying.”

  “And you never went on vacations by yourself,” he said, remembering what I’d told him when we’d met.

  “No, but I did go with a group to Costa Rica for spring break last year.” I laughed softly. “I guess, until now, that was my biggest adventure.”

  “I’m glad I can be a part of this one,” he said, giving me a smile that melted me from the inside out. His dimples were going to bring me to my knees.

  I leaned against the door of Kanoe’s pickup, watching the scenery drift by. Cow and horse pastures dotted the sides of the road.

  “So what are the plans for the weekend?” I asked after an extended silence.

  “Tonight I’ll be dancing at the luau, but you decide what you want to do for the weekend. Kona is different from Hilo, more tou
rist-friendly. I thought maybe you’d want to shop, sunbathe—you know, do the whole resort thing.”

  “I keep wondering where the mai tais and flower leis are, to be honest.”

  He chuckled. “You’ll see plenty of mai tais and flower leis at the hotel.”

  *****

  Several hours later, I sat at a table in the crowded open-air theatre of one of Kona’s most luxurious resorts. I couldn’t stop fidgeting. Spending the weekend with Kanoe had been an impulsive decision. I didn’t usually make impulsive decisions, and I’d never done anything this reckless. Coming to Hawaii on my own had felt daring and bold, but agreeing to come here with him was about a thousand times more daring and bold than that.

  An unsettling feeling coiled in my stomach, a strange concoction of nerves and anticipation.

  Still, I couldn’t deny it—I was having the time of my life.

  I was hugely attracted to Kanoe. Yet I wasn’t the type of girl to have sex with someone I hardly knew.

  But it wasn’t as if Kanoe would get in the way of my career, like Mike would. Kanoe lived here; I lived in L.A. We could have a little fun and then it would be over, without any worry of a messy, time-consuming entanglement. I couldn’t handle another one of those.

  I took a sip of my drink. Miranda might actually be pleased with my level of relaxation if I returned home calm, sexually sated and ready to pounce on the heavy workload awaiting me.

  Yes, this might be a good thing. A very good thing. I smiled as I watched a hula dancer glide toward the center of the stage.

  Kanoe and I had talked and laughed the whole way on the drive to Kona. Kanoe was laid back, sexy, masculine and easy to talk to. He’d told me enthusiastically about the different places we drove past. He obviously loved this island.

  He was so, so different from Mike.

  Mike. I gulped my mai tai. I didn’t want to be thinking about him. I was over him—had been for weeks. Months, actually. No thinking of Mike now. No, thoughts of him were banned from here on out, completely disallowed.

  Instead, I would think of the anti-Mike. Sexy, steamy surfer boy, with his delicious body and sparkling golden-brown eyes.

  A Hawaiian melody emanated from speakers on either side of the stage. The hula dancer, smiling widely, sashayed across the platform, her hips undulating.

  I raised my hand to my temple, fingering the tiny lump at my hairline, the remnant of yesterday’s surfing debacle. It made me think of Kanoe and his washcloth caresses. A pool of warmth spread like butterscotch through my body.

  Cupping my chin in my hands, I gazed at the woman onstage. She wore a tight dress with a flower print and a plumeria tucked above her ear. Would Kanoe be her male counterpart? Would he wear a flowery shirt, tight white slacks, and a pink lei? Would he wiggle his hips, strum on a ukulele, and sing a gentle Hawaiian ballad? Would he smile at all the middle-aged ladies, show off his dimples, and make them swoon?

  I scanned the audience in the semidarkness. The crowd consisted of wealthy mainland people, people like myself, smiling, drinking fancy exotic drinks, snuggling up against their partners, and gazing at the hula dancer. Many of them had pink skin, the result of not wearing enough sunscreen in the harsh Kona sun.

  I clapped as the dancer finished, then I scratched at a mosquito bite on my arm as the stage went dark and the audience stilled.

  A chant broke through the silence, a strong male voice. Fire burst from cauldrons on both sides of the stage, sending a blast of heat out over the audience. I smiled at the dramatics, then sucked in a breath as the lights came on, strobes of red and yellow.

  Kanoe stood center stage, dressed in a loincloth and holding a spear. Four other identically clothed men flanked him, holding their spears hand over hand straight out in front of them, frozen in place. Off to the side of the stage, two older, meatier men sat on their knees chanting, their hands resting on fat gourds. Kanoe’s gaze sought mine through the darkness, found me, and locked on.

  The air filled with the sound of the chant. Then the seated drummers started drumming on the gourds, and as the music swelled, Kanoe broke his gaze from mine.

  In perfect unison, the dancers’ bodies began to move. Arms and legs swung in a purely male rhythm. Muscles flexed. Sticks hit the ground in time to the beats of the gourds. The low-pitched chant resonated across the theatre and through my chest. No sashaying here. No undulating hips.

  This dance was a hundred percent masculine. This was a group of warriors protecting their people, ready for battle. Their lips pressed together. Their eyes were dark, their expressions fierce. And Kanoe was there, in the middle, leading. So hot.

  The lights gleamed off the planes of Kanoe’s chest. His muscles rippled, first in his legs as he crouched, then in his abs as he raised his spear overhead, then in his arms as he jabbed the spear at an imaginary opponent.

  Warm air passed over my lips as I breathed in and out. My chest tightened. I needed more oxygen. I wanted him even more now.

  My logical mind had had enough. Breathe. Replace tongue, close mouth. Get a grip!

  I sighed, got a grip on my mai tai, motioned for the waitress to give me another, and watched the show.

  *****

  After his performance, Kanoe joined me in the audience. He’d taken off the loincloth in favor of board shorts and a T-shirt. Hand in hand, we finished watching the hula show, then he tugged me out of my chair, negotiated our way through the crowd, and led me away from the hotel into the warm Kona night. We passed outside the resort boundaries, and though I could hear the sound of the distant surf, it was peaceful out here. No strobe lights, no tourists. No mai tais either, although two of the watered-down drinks was enough.

  “Come on. I’m going to show you something.” Kanoe tucked a couple of large hotel towels under his arm, so I assumed it had to do with swimming, either at the hotel pool or in the ocean.

  Honestly, my plans of celibacy were a distant memory. The hula had taken me over the edge. I was burning for him, and the buzz from the alcohol increased the sensation. All I wanted was to pull him into my hotel room, rip the T-shirt from his body, throw him down on the bed, peel off his shorts, and have my wicked way with him.

  However, he led me away from the hotel, not toward it.

  Biting back the argument on the tip of my tongue, I followed him. Kona, from what I’d seen of it, was a massive lava field descending in a gradual slope from the top of a volcano to a crystalline ocean. Scrubby plants dotted the landscape, and tropical oases—resorts catering to the wealthy—peppered the seashore. During the day, the ropy black lava shimmered and rippled in the sun, giving the place a surreal quality. It was like being on another planet. So different from muddy, vibrant-green Hilo.

  I picked my way across the cool lava a few yards from the shoreline, admiring Kanoe’s perfect butt as he climbed over a hunk of black rock.

  “There,” he said triumphantly, moving beside me and gesturing forward.

  “Wow.” I couldn’t come up with any better response. Ahead of us, a depression in the lava formed what looked like a tide pool as big as one of LBG’s billionaire clients’ swimming pools. Moonlight glinted silver off the surface of the water. A wave crested over the rocks separating the ocean from the pool, and a skin of white water washed over it, its force rippling the surface to the far end.

  We maneuvered our way over the lava, finally stepping onto an enormous, somewhat flat rock slightly angled to the water’s edge.

  We stood there for a moment, and I tipped my head up to him, ready to tell him how amazing this was, when Kanoe dropped the towels and pulled me to him. Just before his mouth collided with mine, he whispered, “I’ve wanted to do this all day.”

  I reveled in his tropical, sun-kissed taste as he led the dance between our tongues. I slid my hands up his arms and beneath the sleeves of his shirt, stroking his hard biceps. His mouth moved to my jaw, and he grasped the hem of my shirt, hiking it up over my belly until it snagged on the undersides of my breasts. He took a small
step back, a question in his eyes.

  I hesitated, glancing back in the direction we’d come from. Moonlight shimmered over the lava, but nobody was there.

  Fixing my gaze on him, I dragged in a deep breath and lifted my arms. He tugged the shirt over my head and dropped it on the rock beside them. With trembling fingers, I reached between my breasts to release the clasp of my bra.

  A low sound came from his throat as the bra fell at my heels.

  “Your turn,” I murmured as he raked his gaze over my upper body. I never behaved like this. Getting naked from the waist up, out in the open with the stars staring down at us, for a man I hardly knew? This was a version of myself I’d never met before. And right now, I liked her very much.

  I felt crazy, reckless, wild. I wanted to go skinny-dipping with him, out here, tonight.

  He yanked his shirt off, and I gazed at his bare chest. Hard. Solid. So close I could feel the heat radiating from it. The tattoo made dark, sexy slashes over the front of his chest and down his arm.

  He didn’t touch me; instead, he knelt and untied my sneakers. Now I understood why he’d asked me to wear them—for the hike out here. Though he’d only worn flip-flops, he definitely had a much better handle on walking over the rugged landscape.

  I gazed down at his black hair and then his shoulder. The lines of his tattoo rippled as he moved one of my shoes aside.

  He had this all planned out. A stab of some foreign emotion surged through me, and before I could think to censor my thoughts, I asked, “How many women have you brought out here?”

  I nearly groaned aloud. Good one. Way to ruin the moment.

  He froze and then rose to his feet, his face dark, his mouth flat at the corners, and growled, “You think I bring all the nani haole chicks out here to go puinsai with them?”

  “Um…er…” I might’ve been able to answer the question had I understood it. At times, his accent and the words he used were completely undecipherable. At other times, he spoke like one of my colleagues back at home. It had never occurred to me that I wouldn’t understand the pidgin English they spoke here.