by Angel Payne
Wet
Honor Bound: Book Five
Angel Payne
This book is an original publication of Angel Payne.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
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Copyright © 2018 Waterhouse Press, LLC
Cover Design by Waterhouse Press, LLC
Cover Photographs: Shutterstock
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All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For my Mau Loa…my forever love.
You are the most amazing husband and father a woman could ask for.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Continue the Honor Bound Series with Book Six
Excerpt from Hot: Honor Bound Book Six
Also by Angel Payne
Acknowledgments
About Angel Payne
Chapter One
“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear the first time, gentlemen. If either of you moves, I cut your balls off. Got it?”
The two men sprawled at Lani Kail’s feet—and the end of her Bowie diving knife—gave instant silent nods. Hell. Why did she have to have trespassers stumble onto her West Kauaˋi beach tonight? And why did they have to be a pair of the most beautiful males she’d ever laid eyes on?
Trepidation gripped her again. Maybe they hadn’t stumbled at all. They were breathtaking, the kind of hunks a resort developer bully like Gunter Benson liked on his support team. The first of them, though clearly between three and thirteen sheets to the wind, was a mesmerizing mix of rugged and beautiful. His blazing amber eyes were framed by a messy head of hair in a slightly darker shade. The other filled out the yin to that yang, his silky gray gaze and spiky dark hair no less arresting. They were both built like the walls of Waimea Canyon, huge and hard and covered in taut bronze skin. Their open shirts, thrown over wrinkled khaki shorts, made it sinfully easy to confirm the conclusion.
Throwing them into a comparison with her island’s stunning tourist attraction brought a warning pulled straight from the canyon’s hiking brochures. Distracted by the scenery? Prepare to fall to your death.
She gulped, tightened her grip on the knife, and re-firmed her face. No sense in letting the hulks think their presence here was a shock, despite the fact that it was. Since the main highway ended a mile away, the sunset-seeking tourists kept mostly to the beaches south of the Barking Sands base, and thrill-seekers on their way to Na Pali usually only made breakfast stops here. So where had these two come from, and why had she found them in the middle of a fight that looked like a failed audition for a UFC slot?
There was only one answer that made sense. They had to be part of Gunter’s goon squad, sent out here in preparation for the “casual meeting” their boss had requested for tonight up at the ranch’s main house. And this move just screamed casual, didn’t it?
She glowered harder, though she thanked the gods she’d discovered the intruders now, thanks to being paranoid enough to conduct a preliminary property sweep. The only thing she regretted about the decision was not thinking out her wardrobe better. With her mind consumed by anxiety about the appointment, she’d walked out of the house without thinking, still dressed in nothing but her bikini and thigh sheath—a factor clearly noticed by her detainees.
Damn it.
The gray-eyed stranger tried playing chief negotiator. He raised a placating hand, as if her knife was nothing but a quill pen. “We got the message loud and clear, sweetheart. So why don’t you just lower—”
“I’m not your sweetheart.” She flicked the knife, making sure the blade reflected the light back into his face. But that meant she had to meet his gaze once more. Why did the man have to possess such mesmerizing eyes?
He lowered the hand. “Fair enough. Maybe you have a real name I can use?”
“Nice try.” Like he didn’t know her name already. The man’s persistent sociability, even with her Bowie at his nose, answered that well enough. What the hell was Benson’s game this time? Why had he sent in a pair of his “cabin boys” to act like drunk frat brothers on the beach like this? Did he think she wouldn’t see through this game? That she wouldn’t see him trying to “survey” the beach that wasn’t even his yet?
She winced at her mental default.
His yet?
No. No. This battle was far from over, no matter what Benson believed or connived to make her believe. There was nothing on this ranch—her ranch—that belonged to Benstock Development, including this sand. And, she vowed with renewed determination, no grain of it would. She knew what the man and his company did to the lands they gobbled, to the people they took from their homes in the pretty and not so pretty ways.
Right now, Benson was making a run for the “pretty” angle. Shallow, devious coward.
“All right,” she snapped. “Stand up. Both of you. Slowly. Hands visible. No funny shit. I can gut a bluefin in two minutes with this thing, and your testicles won’t be half the challenge.” She rolled her eyes as Golden Eyes mangled his obedience, staggering more than straightening. “Okay, the act’s going to get old real fast, pretty boy.”
“Huh?” It was the first thing she’d heard out of the guy since she’d found the pair wrestling out here, pretending they were out for each other’s blood, even hurling booze bottles into her garden during the performance. But she knew better.
“The soused and stupid act?” she countered. “It’s all right to cut it now. I know what’s really going on here, okay?”
“Oh?” He managed a sarcastic grin that looked lopsided due to a slightly crooked canine tooth. “Hmmm. Maybe you can fill me in, dreamgirl, ’cause I’m a little lost.”
He leaned over, forcing her to deny better sense and steady his gait with a hand to his waist. He really was as solid as a granite cliff. Thanks to the wind, she confirmed he really had hundred-proof vodka breath too. Aue. She didn’t know whether to slap him or laugh at him. Normally, guys who did “drunk with a twist of cute” were more tempting to her than chocolate, but right now, she was much more ready for a Godiva than any of Benson’s brutes. Still, a new resolve took root. She’d have to keep her guard up with both these bozos.
“A ‘little lost,’ huh?” She shoved him away and pulled up on her stance again. “And I’m the goddess Hina, newly awakened for my nighttime adventures.”
“That explains a few things.” Mr. Intense Eyes and Dark Hair—and, she observed now, Endless Legs—surrendered that in a tone of a thousand nuances. She dared a glance at his face, to find his stare still fixed on her, looking like he deliberated the pieces of an intricate jigsaw puzzle.
She looked away before the man evoked the pull of a god
in his own right. Just as fast, she added an angry huff. God? He barely should’ve gotten the courtesy of “man.” Both of these hulks were on Benstock’s payroll, which placed them somewhere between banana slugs and heroin dealers in the evolution chain.
“I’m taking you both back to the house,” she declared. “Sorry to cut your romp out here a little short, but since our friend arrives in less than fifteen minutes, you’ve given me no choice.”
“We’re goin’ to your place?” Golden Eyes cracked a woozy grin. “Suh-weet.”
To her surprise, McDark-And-Dreamy was just as ready with his hospitality. “Like I said before, we’re not here to cause trouble. And I’m sure any friend of yours will be a friend of—”
“Save it.” She hardened her posture, still baffled by the angle these guys were playing. Usually Benson selected his groupies for the clean-and-cute image so he could be the alpha dog with his fitted suits and expensive charm. These two apes didn’t fit an inch of that MO. But Gunter had never sent any of his men to play real-estate recon on her beach before, either. The bastard was busting out an arsenal of new tactics, which only made her queasier about his agenda for the upcoming meeting itself. “Let’s go.” She pulled Gray Eyes forward by fitting the knife’s tip into one of his shirt’s button holes. “You’re taking lead, Yin-man.”
Confused crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes. “Huh?”
“Yin and yang. It fits you two, in a demented way.”
He smiled. The look wasn’t a copy of his cheeky smirks so far. It grew from the middle of his mouth and then moved outward in an ocean-like undulation…wreaking strange havoc on her stomach in the process. “Yeah. It probably does.”
His voice was different now too. A little more serious. A lot more velvety.
Guard up, Hokulani!
“The path to the house starts there,” she ordered, “between the two papaya trees. Look for the bamboo planks. Got it?”
“Had it scoped about five minutes back, sweetheart.” He turned and trudged toward the trees, flexing calves the size of hams. For once, Lani was thankful for his strange cockiness. It made her consider the logistics of her order. Damn. The path was only wide enough for single-file travel, meaning there was no way to police both the men at once.
Or was there?
“Stop.” Her slam on the syllable was sufficient to freeze them both.
Yang swiveled his amber gaze back at her. “Dear Christ, I like the way she says that.”
“Down, T-Bomb,” cautioned Yin.
“Well, don’t you?”
Gray Eyes didn’t say anything—until he looked again to Lani. Though his lips remained motionless, his answer slammed through every inch of her body like a tidal wave of fire. Gods. The man wanted her. To be honest, that part would be easy to handle, if this was just a case of a jerk letting his dick control the guidebook. But the way he took her in, as if he’d never seen a woman before and marveled over everything about her, was something she’d never experienced from a man before. From another person before.
What the hell was he doing this for? He didn’t relent, freezing her in place, binding her—terrifying her.
And elevating her next command to the stratosphere of crazy.
“Give me your pants.”
Golden Eyes slid out another smirk. “I like the way you say that even better.”
Gray Eyes glowered. “What the fuck?”
“You heard me.” Lani jerked her chin, making sure to keep the Bowie directly in his view. “Benson sent you down here ahead of the meeting for a reason. I don’t know what that is yet, and I’m not going to risk finding out when one of you runs ahead to warn the man. Your shorts are my insurance against that. Hand them over.”
Golden Eyes, having already shucked his khakis, finished tearing off his shirt, as well. His new outfit, nothing but his black briefs, left no doubt in her mind that every part of him was as mighty as a boulder. He extended both with another crooked grin. “Do I qualify for extra credit?”
Hell. How the man could make her want to scowl and smile in the same reaction was a mystery she didn’t have time to untangle. She diverted her attention by turning to his friend, who still shifted uneasily on the sand.
“You sure about this?” Gray Eyes finally charged. “You already have his. Do you really need both—”
“Take them off or I’ll cut them off. Your choice.”
The tension continued in his face for another two seconds. When it suddenly disappeared, she wondered why a thread of uneasiness dragged through her nerves now—thickening to straight-up alarm as he drawled, “Your mandate, sweetheart.”
Hell. He justified her anxiety the next moment—in hard, huge, and damn near erect detail. And the man, with that sensual smirk again sliding across his lips, just let her stare as he dropped the shorts, blatantly revealing he was a commando kind of guy.
Chapter Two
You should be gloating. Standing on the beach wearing nothing but a doofus gawk does not qualify as gloating.
The reproach jabbed at Kellan Rush’s brain. Correction: it pounded at him with more ruthless demand than the blood blasting in his cock, stirring confusion into his mental mix.
He’d finally trumped the woman, at least for a second. Normal protocols, Sergeant Rush style, dictated that his next step be a well-earned wallow in glory. So why the hell was he stalling?
Because “normal” didn’t exist in the same world with this woman.
And it was freaking him the hell out.
In the last fifteen minutes, she’d knocked him flat on his back, reduced him to speechlessness and, for the first time in his life, made him wonder if lightning strikes from fate weren’t metaphysical bullshit. One second, he’d been ready to pummel some sense into the buddy who’d decided to give up on life by backstroking through a vodka bottle. The next, he was paralyzed by this beauty with the magic of blue silver in her eyes, the grace of mist in her steps, and a goddess’s strength in every curve of her body.
Dear fucking God, her body.
What the hell was wrong with him? As a member of the US Army’s First Special Forces Group, he’d seen physical beauty like hers in every corner of the globe. But this insane draw to her…it wasn’t understandable, let alone controllable. Wasn’t as though he could blame this sexy fuckery on anything substantial, either. He didn’t know her name, let alone anything else about her.
He only knew she’d had the moves to topple him and Tait, two experts of unconventional battle, like they’d simply been pieces of driftwood.
He also knew she’d been ready to put a knife through their balls if they so much as sneezed on her beach.
Most importantly, he knew that behind all her She-Ra posturing, her grip on that knife faltered when referring to some asswipe named Benson. Her fear of the guy had her so spazzed, she’d instantly lumped Tait and him in with the guy and his goons. Kell thanked fate that Tait, even with half a bottle of Grey Goose in his system, was alert enough to throw a look indicating he’d hopped on Kell’s page about revealing their true identities. The mutual gung ho? They weren’t. Not yet. When a guy’s work suit was often the cloak of subterfuge, he became best friends with anonymity. With whatever shit was about to go down with Benson, they might help her best if they lay low for now.
At the moment, that was easier said than done. With his personal “tiki god” stiffening by the moment simply from her stare, his body was mighty stingy with the secrecy. In this case, that wasn’t a bad thing. Kell reveled in watching her eyes on his cock. And her breasts, so full and perfect, pushing against her bikini’s halter top with the new air pumping into her lungs. He fixated on the strawberry tint of her lips as she parted them, as if her body had gotten the direct download on his fantasy. Damn, he could even picture it. Her bow-shaped mouth sucking on him shyly at first but soon pulling as much of his erection down her throat as she could. Moaning around him. Devouring him…
“Shit.”
Her gasp was husky—the
perfect envelope for a hard-on. Kell cleared his throat and glanced at the pole jutting from his crotch. Fat fucking chance of a stand-down now. After looking back up, he gave her a fast shrug. “I tried to warn you.”
“Shut up,” she snapped. “And don’t you dare think of getting back into those things before I say.” Her glare referred to the tentative step he took back toward his shorts. “Kick the khakis over here, point man. Then get moving.” A trace of mirth seemed to flicker through her crystalline eyes. “Guess you’re uniquely qualified for the position.”
Kellan dared a wink. “Just want to serve to the best of my abilities, ma’am.”
The humor vanished from her gaze. “Your service isn’t important to me, Yin-man. Your silence is. Lock the mouth. Then walk the feet.” She nodded at Tait. “You’re right behind him, Stolichnaya.”
Tait wobbled a finger through the air. “Technically, it was Grey Goose.”
“Technically, I don’t give a damn.” She flicked her Bowie toward the path. “I wasn’t sure what I saw flying through the air a few minutes ago. Now that I realize it was your bottle of hooch, you’ll have the honor of picking it out of my roses once we get to the garden, anyhow.”
“Not a problem, dreamgirl.”
Tait’s vodka-inspired flirt confirmed a suspicion to Kell. His friend was as captivated by the goddess as he. No surprise there, given how her long ebony hair had picked up the sunset’s lavender streaks when she first came upon them, but he hoped—fuck, he prayed—that once T sobered up, he’d see that “dreamgirl” was nothing like Luna Lawrence. Nor could she be expected to live up to the memory of the woman who still tortured Tait’s soul.
