Blooming in the Wild

by Cathryn Cade

  Dangers in paradise…

  Hawaiian Heroes, Book 3

  On Hawaii’s Big Island to supervise a photo shoot for her sporting goods company, Bella Moran is looking forward to relaxing with her newfound family. As the island works its magic on her Ho’omalu blood, though, something strange begins to happen.

  In her dreams, she is at one with the untamed rainforest, able to command the trees and flowers with a terrifying power. Unfortunately, she finds no rest in her waking hours, dealing with the sexy, boy-in-a-man-suit star of the shoot.

  Joel Girand, star of his own TV adventure show, signed on for a relaxing weekend showcasing tropical camping gear. He never expected to fall for an uptight executive type like Bella, but there’s something about her lush native beauty that excites the wild places in his soul.

  In Joel’s arms, Bella feels her civilized veneer peeling away. But when it becomes clear someone with a grudge against her family is using deadly force to sabotage the shoot, Bella’s frightening dream power manifests in the very clear light of day. And Joel must decide if his heart will let him stand back and let her sacrifice everything—even her life—for her native home.

  Warning: A wahine who’ll stop at nothing to claim her man. Steamy interlude in the tropical forest, including illicit use of flowers.

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

  Cincinnati OH 45249

  Blooming in the Wild

  Copyright © 2012 by Cathryn Cade

  ISBN: 978-1-61921-370-8

  Edited by Linda Ingmanson

  Cover by Kim Killion

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: November 2012

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Blooming in the Wild

  Cathryn Cade

  Dedication

  To The Rose City Romance Writers 2007-12, without whom I would never have been published. You’ll always be my home crowd!

  With special thanks to Jessica Smith, Viola Grace, Mike Garzillo, Denice Gordon and Jessa Slade for reading early versions of these stories, to Cheryl Kennedy and Teri Patrick for promo advice, to Remy Stone, Laurel Newberry and Elizabeth Parker for sharing the joy, to Deanne Wilsted, Maggie Jaimeson and Kim Wollenberg for leading the chapter with vision, to Delilah Marvelle for providing an example of a successful author who is never a diva, to Christy Caughie for her splendid artwork, to Nancy Lytle for her example of grace and perseverance, and to Sabrina York for showing us a meteoric career takeoff.

  And to Delle Jacobs, one of the pioneers of digital romance publishing success. Thanks for leading the way.

  Prologue

  If she’d been awake, of course she would never have jumped.

  But in the dream, she stood on the edge of a cliff. The mountain fell away below her in a cascade of misty green. Down between the tall trees, a wild profusion of shrubs and vines clung to the rich soil.

  Standing on the brink, she tipped back her head and lifted her hands, palms upward in a hosanna of joy to the misty clouds above and the warm rain pattering down. Her island drank, and she was grateful.

  At her gesture, the trees stretched out their branches to her. She laughed, and they leaned farther, obeying her summons, their leaves caressing her bare skin. Delight filled her. They were hers, all of them. And she was theirs.

  She wore nothing but a brief kapa skirt, crown and lei of fragrant plumeria and red hyacinth, their petals soft against her forehead and bare breasts. Odd but right.

  A cry slashed the quiet—a scarlet ‘I’iwi bird, swooping from an ohia tree to call a warning.

  She frowned in displeasure as a motor growled through the quiet forest. Reaching out her hand, she commanded the trees to part. Below her, a large vehicle rumbled along a narrow road. She couldn’t see the occupants behind the shaded windows, but she knew they’d come to do harm to those who dwelled here.

  Rage sprouted inside her, an explosive growth that must be released.

  She beckoned, and a long vine slipped down from its supporting tree and twined through the air into her hand. Without hesitation, she launched herself out and down, swooping through the rain like an avenging angel, supported only by the vine. Around her, the forest came alive, the trees swaying, branches lashing, rain flying in silver streams from their leaves. The shrubs and plants lining the ground shivered, as if they would follow her.

  They were all hers, and they would obey her, help her destroy the intruders.

  Wait—destroy?

  She wasn’t a killer. The forest had hypnotized her. Lulled her into believing she belonged to it, that she must fly to the rescue of those in it.

  But she couldn’t fly. She wasn’t a creature of the forest, she was…

  No! She couldn’t remember who she was. Was she this wild wahine, or her quiet, everyday self?

  Bereft of belief, she began to fall, plummeting toward the ground below. The speed of her descent sucked the breath from her lungs, branches slashed at her, the hard dark lava of the road bed rushed up to meet her.

  She woke with a strangled scream of terror, her heart pounding, skin damp with perspiration, to find herself sitting upright in the middle of a strange bed. Struggling to steady her gasping breaths, she peered around her in the shadows. A tidy hotel room, with a desk, a chair, a lamp and a suitcase, open on the rack. Her suitcase, her business suit hanging in the open closet beside it. Her tablet computer, ready on the desk.

  This was her reality. She was Bella Moran, businesswoman.

  She was here on Maui, Hawaii, for a meeting with her company’s financial officers and local manager, ready to open DelRay Sporting Goods’ first Hawaiian branch factory and store.

  In a day and a half, she’d be leaving by boat for the wild stretch of coastline south of Kona on Hawaii’s Big Island, in charge of a photo shoot to showcase the new summer line of outdoor products. She was in charge of making sure the expedition went smoothly, that everyone got along and worked well together.

  She was Bella Moran, from Portland, Oregon. And she was afraid she was losing her mind.

  Blinking at the hot tears that filled her eyes, Bella crawled through the tangled sheets to the edge of the bed and reached out to grasp her cell phone. She swiped her wet cheeks with a corner of the sheet and peered at the bright little screen in her palm. Four thirty in the morning, local time, but she had to talk to someone, had to hear the voice of someone who might understand.

  Finding a name, she hesitated, and then tapped it with her thumb. She lifted the phone to her ear and waited until a male voice answered, rough with sleep.

  “It’s Daro. What’s wrong, nani, pretty one?”

  “I’m sorry to wake you,” she managed, her voice trembling. “But I need to know. Do you ever have…dreams?”

  Chapter One

  To Do: Organize one group of pampered divas, a boatload of camping equipment and gourmet provisions. Escort them into the tropical Hawaiian wilderness.

  God save him from the princesses of the world.

  Joel Girand was damn tired of waiting for the last passenger for the Hawaiian Dive b
oat. Tipping his head back against one of the tall pilings that supported the dock, he heaved a sigh, willing himself to calm. Behind him, the forty-foot catamaran rocked gently on the water of the small yacht-club basin, the evening sun sliding through the clouds to gild the tall mast and glint off of the white hull.

  Joel had arrived at the Kona Yacht Club dock forty minutes ago to make sure all the equipment had arrived for this weekend expedition to a remote area of the Big Island. Even though he wasn’t technically in charge, the gig had his name on it alongside DelRay Sporting Goods, and he always made sure everything was in place before he went into the backcountry. Missing equipment made for an uncomfortable or downright dangerous expedition. He didn’t mind doing uncomfortable if it was necessary, but he’d rather his danger had some fun attached, instead of being caused by sloppy gear prep.

  Of course, this particular trip was all about gear, so there was a plethora. DelRay wanted an expert, him, to try out their new summer line of clothing and camping equipment, and give them lots of photo ops while he did so, in one of the most beautiful places on earth, Hawaii. They’d managed to find a wild spot that was less than two hours south by boat along the Kona coast, and the company had taken care of all logistics. Everything was long-since packed on the boat—tents, mess kits, clothing and his own duffel.

  There were plenty of people along too, three of them a lot prettier than his usual crew. He grinned as he thought of the pithy comments Al and Jorge would make about that comparison. His photographer and assistant had bitched about being left out of this plum assignment, but he knew Al was off to spend time with his family, and Jorge planned to do some fishing in Baja. He wouldn’t have minded having them along, either. This trip might not be physically dangerous, but it was crucial if he wanted to hang on to his career.

  All but one of the other passengers had arrived shortly after he did. The photographer and a guy who was her boyfriend or assistant, as well as two younger women and a man, were relaxing in the shade. He figured the latter trio to be the models. The pretty redhead was hanging on the guy, playing some game on his phone with him.

  The blonde was tall and reed-slim, except for her breasts. She smiled at Joel and gave him a special viewing in her low-cut sundress as she took off her little jacket. He was pretty sure those melons weren’t real, but he was a guy—he enjoyed the show anyway.

  She spent the rest of her time inspecting her nails, so his interest cooled a bit. He appreciated a pretty woman, but he’d just as soon she wasn’t wrapped up in her appearance, especially when she was headed out into the wild. Although she got paid for looking good, so maybe on her personal scale, a chipped nail counted as a real tragedy.

  The redhead was shorter, her hair in wild curls around her head and shoulders. She had a tattoo around one slender ankle and wore a halter and tight shorts that displayed her curves. A guy had to love the tropics, where the wahines wore no more than they had to.

  The photographer wasn’t a knockout like them, but she looked interesting. Elegant. A slender, fit woman in her thirties or early forties, she wore a hat over her dark auburn hair, and a light top and shorts. She was smiling to herself as she watched the others, as if she found them amusing. Her assistant, a youngish Asian man with hair bleached a strange platinum Joel had last seen on a hooker on a street corner in LA, sat flipping a fancy folding knife end over end. He looked as bored as Joel.

  Joel rolled his head against the dock post behind him, looking without hope toward the parking lot. The small area was framed by a high bank overgrown with the huge philodendron vines the locals called monstera, glossy leaves hanging quiet in the warm, damp air.

  Not that Joel minded hanging around a quiet Hawaiian waterfront, but he’d just as soon do it with a cold beer and some music. He was about to haul out his own phone and look for a game. He’d taken to playing strategy games on his last trip into Asia, with long waits at every airport. His current favorite involved freeing an explorer from a mythical forest full of strange traps in the fewest moves possible—without getting killed, of course.

  That was when he saw her—finally. A dark-haired beauty strode down the dock toward them, hips swaying, high heels tapping on the dock. He recognized the red duffel she pulled behind her. It was one of the new lines they’d be testing. He’d never seen the woman before. He would have remembered. She was Hawaiian, but the Honolulu version, from her red stilettos to her little white froth of a suit.

  She stopped before him. He rose in one lithe motion.

  “’Bout time, Princess,” he drawled.

  She cocked her hip, planted one hand on it and looked at him from behind her sunglasses. “Did I keep you waiting? Well then, I’ll have to make up for lost time, yeah?” Her voice was low and clear, and laced with sweet sarcasm.

  Letting go the handle of her duffel, she opened the single button of her little jacket and shrugged out of it in one lithe motion. It dropped onto her bag. He just had time to note the red spaghetti-strap tank she wore beneath it when she unfastened her skirt too.

  The short garment slithered down, revealing a tiny pair of bikini bottoms, cut high on sloping rounded hips that lengthened into a pair of toned, pretty legs, every inch the color of Hawaiian honey. She stepped out of the skirt and tossed it onto the duffel as well, leaving her standing there in the undies and red fuck-me heels like a contestant in a dockside beauty pageant. She lifted her arms and unfastened her dark hair from the coil high on her head. As she shook her head, her hair slithered down her back in a fall of near-black silk.

  Stepping out of her shoes, she wriggled her bare toes on the dock. She had a little red flower thing painted on one of her dainty toenails. His gaze slid back up the line of her legs, over those hips, her small waist and breasts, and up to her face.

  The designer shades hid her eyes, but her soft, red lips curved up in a smirk that said she knew he’d been riveted to every move of her little strip show. “Fast enough for you, moke?”

  She cocked her head to look past him, and her smile widened into the real thing, flashing white teeth and dimples at the corners of her mouth.

  “Hi, Frank. Sorry I’m so late—the meeting ran long.”

  Released from his sensual spell, Joel blinked. He sucked in a long breath and shook his head slightly. Damn! He’d stopped breathing about the time her skirt slid down. Of course, her tiny tease of a garment was really a swimsuit, and not the barest one he’d seen in Hawaii. However, the shock of her little strip show had had his mind going further, fast.

  He watched in bemused lust and irritation as she bent over, her back to him, to gather up her suit and shoes and bundle them into the duffel. The move presented her heartshaped ass and rounded legs as if she were offering to let him finish undressing her. Yeah, he’d like to run his hands right under those little bottoms and pull them down, letting them drift to her ankles as he slid his fingertips between her thighs and cupped her where she’d be soft and wet and hot.

  Her ass was surprisingly lush on her fit body. And that thin top—as she straightened, pulling the duffel toward the boat, the move outlined her breasts. They might be small, but on her they were…ka nani, so pretty, like halves of a ripe papaya.

  The captain of the boat, a lean, wiry Hawaiian with silver in his dark hair, grinned back at her, his amusement clear. “Aloha, Bella. Welcome back to Kona.”

  “Mahalo. Let me get my bag, and we can get going.”

  Going—right. They needed to get going. He was going somewhere, not having hot monkey sex on a public dock. Blowing out a long breath, Joel leaned over and grabbed her duffel, swinging it forward and onto the boat, where it was scooped up by a skinny Hawaiian in a white Hawaiian Dive T-shirt and baggy shorts. Kobe—no, Frank had introduced him as Eddy. The stocky one was Kobe.

  Ms. Hawaii’s dark brows scrunched together, a crease between them, but then her face smoothed as if a curtain had fallen. “Mahalo.”

  Joel gestured with ironic courtesy that she should board the boat first. She s
tepped up onto the cat and walked across to the far side. She balanced lightly, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. It shone in a last ray of sun, glossy as a bird’s wing with reddish highlights among the espresso-hued strands. “All right, everyone,” Frank called. “Welcome aboard. Let’s go to Na’alele.”

  Damn straight Joel was ready to go—a mellow three-day cruise into a gentle wilderness with few bugs, no large predators or hostile natives, with full cell phone service and great food, surrounded by gorgeous women, even if one of them was by turns seductive as a hula dancer and prickly as a noni fruit. At least she didn’t smell like a noni. The small, prickly Hawaiian fruit was known for its medicinal qualities and its stench.

  He didn’t know what he’d been worrying about. This gig was going to be a cinch. He’d get some great publicity, and take it back to the network execs, as proof that he was a bankable commodity. Joel was smiling to himself as he stepped onto the boat.

  Bella flung herself onto the bench seat, only to recoil when her backbone connected painfully with the boat rail. She gritted her teeth against the pain and then deliberately made herself relax, letting her back curve into the railing. She was not going to allow herself to be rattled by some equipment cowboy with a macho swagger.

  Although she’d had a little fun with him. She couldn’t quite believe she’d done that—stripped off her business suit right in front of him and everyone else on the dock. All the irritation and frustration of the long day of meetings and last-minute checks to ensure everything was in place not only for the store opening but for this trip had channeled into a flush of anger, and she’d sort of…snapped.

  Their celebrity star had watched every move, she could tell. Bella straightened her sunglasses and eyed him surreptitiously through the dark lenses. As he sauntered past her, she crossed her legs, swiveling her knees away.