Aloha in Love

by Watts, Jennifer

  “Take some of the haupia.” Kane slides a few white squares onto a separate dessert plate.

  “What is it?”

  “Basically hard coconut pudding, but you’ll love it.”

  I know it’s just pudding, but it makes my eyes blister with dormant tears. They cluster together, waiting for the force of gravity to pull them down my cheeks. He just gets me—from my love of food to my willingness to try new things. This one small gesture speaks volumes, and I can’t help but think about my ex-husband, who never would’ve filled a dessert plate for me, let alone encouraged me to try anything new. In fact, he probably would’ve launched into a passive-aggressive lecture about the evil effects of sugar on my waistline.

  I look up at Kane, who’s watching me like a hawk. I don’t know how to explain my gratitude towards him, so I just give him a wide smile.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  His mouth goes slack. “I’d fill the back of a dump truck with haupia, if it earned me one minute of seeing you smile that way.”

  We carry our plates back to the blanket and dig into the food. “How do they manage to cut up the pig so quickly?” I say, through a mouthful of Kalua pork.

  He just snorts. “I doubt it’s the same one that’s turning above the fire. The haole might be eating day old pua.”

  Kane gets up and disappears, only to reappear with a glass of white wine for me and a bottle of water for him. As the sky fades from crimson to the deepest of navy blues, the drums sound with a base that I feel deep down in my bones. I lean forward and place my chin on my knees, enraptured by the show unfolding before us. The swaying hips of the hula dancers and the sweet melodies of their voices, at times mournful and haunting. When the fire-knife dancers come out for the finale, I’m so enthralled that I barely notice when Kane pulls me into the V of his legs. He’s wearing board shorts and the heat of his bare skin sparks against my thighs, caging me inside his legs. He guides my head back until I’m resting gently against his chest. A shudder moves through my entire body as he presses his warm lips into the shell of my ear.

  “In ancient Hawaii, Hula was used as a form of religious storytelling. Each movement, gesture, touch, sway, and tilt of the hips holds a special meaning.”

  As he speaks, his hands roam all over my body, skimming down my sides and across my stomach. He slides one hand across my chest and cups my throat with the other, ravaging my neck with kisses. When he finally tears his panting mouth away, my skin pebbles and burns in response to the loss. “There’s something so primal about it, don’t you think?” His voice is hoarse as he speaks into the curve between my neck and shoulder.

  “Kane,” I moan out, causing his fingers to tighten around my throat. It’s not uncomfortable, but firm enough to let me know who is in control.

  “Tell me.” He flexes his hand. “Tell me what you need.”

  “I need you,” I keen out.

  “Need me to what?”

  “I need you to be inside of me right now.”

  He pulls me even closer and digs his hard length into my back. “Just remember that you asked for it,” he growls, getting to his feet and taking me with him. I accidentally kick over my glass of wine in the process, sending it into my half-eaten dinner plate with a crash and pursuant shatter.

  “Stay in front of me,” he demands, bending down to thrust against my ass once more. I’m guessing he wants me in front to cover the state of his arousal, but I probably couldn’t pull myself away from him even if I tried. He maneuvers me back into the interior of the hotel and down another narrow hall to a set of doors. One of the doors is marked Change Room, and he leans forward to try the handle. “I noticed this when we were back here earlier with Niko.”

  The door pushes open and he guides us both inside. When the lock clicks behind us, he shoves me up against the doorframe and ravages my mouth. It’s dark inside, with only the light from the hall filtering through the door. We fumble around, panting heavily, until we both crash into something that makes a loud clang.

  “It’s a chair,” I say, pulling my mouth away long enough to inhale a breath of air.

  “Sit on me,” he barks out, collapsing onto the hard, cold metal.

  I slip off my underwear and hike up my dress before straddling his lap. He yanks down the thin straps of my sundress, bringing his hands up to palm my breasts. They’re sun-kissed and heavy with need.

  “No bra,” he whispers, craning his head to feast on them. I start moving on his lap, slowly at first but picking up speed as the friction of my bareness against his board shorts starts to drive me wild. I can feel the pressure building as his hands clamp down on my waist, holding me in place.

  “You are drenched,” he pants out, scraping his teeth against my ear. “I love having you on top of me, feeling you soak through my clothes. Come for me.”

  It’s too much. I throw back my head and scream, riding crest after crest before collapsing into his shoulder. His hands rub circles on my bare back, and I work to bring my breathing back to normal. “Thank you.” I whisper into his neck, feeling his hands slip under my dress to squeeze the backs of my bare legs.

  “You just came in my lap, with barely any prodding at all, and you’re thanking me? I think you truly are a gift from heaven, but I’m not even close to done with you.” I can just make out his smug smile in the darkness.

  “Let me have some fun with you first.” I slide off his lap and onto my knees. He doesn’t even try to hide his tented board shorts. There’s no embarrassment or hesitation as he unties the strings and pushes the shorts down his powerful thighs. He strokes himself lazily, his beautiful eyes never leaving mine.

  “What kind of fun did you have in mind?” He rasps, and I answer by scooting forward to wrap a hand around the top of his impressive length. He hisses out a breath as my thumb circles the tip. I take as much of him as I can in my hand and proceed to stroke him up and down. When I finally wrap my lips around his hardness, he yells out my name. He runs his hands down the front of his thighs as his muscles shake, barely restrained. I relax my throat to take him deeper into my mouth, and he releases a guttural moan. “Ashley, if you keep doing that, I’m not going to last long.”

  I hum against his warm skin, feeling the vibrations in my teeth as I suck even harder. “Fuck, woman!” He shouts, almost as if in pain. “You have to stop, or I’m going to come in your mouth.”

  He starts to push me away, but I shake my head no and join my mouth and hand together, coaxing him to the brink. I look into his eyes, loving that I have the power to make him feel this unhinged. He grabs a handful of my hair and thrusts harder into my mouth, and I know it won’t be long. He yanks on my hair hard enough to bring tears to my eyes and cries out my name. I swallow his release and sit back on my heels.

  He lays boneless against the chair, his breathing ragged. “You.” He cups my head with both hands and tilts up my chin. “That was amazing, but I’m still not done with you—and I’m not going to be gentle, not when I’m this riled up. You understand?”

  I nod briskly, unable to speak as the words catch in my throat. He bends down to lift me up and guides my legs around his waist, backing me against the wall once more. His shirt is still on and my dress bunches around my hips, but I don’t care—I can’t be bothered to care with the way he’s looking at me right now—a combination of lust, possession, and something else entirely. He flattens his palms against the wall, and when my back hits the rough plaster, he drives into me in one powerful thrust. He keeps his promise to me, because he isn’t gentle at all. Not one bit. I like men who are good at keeping their promises.

  Chapter 21

  It’s a gorgeous Monday morning beneath a cloudless blue sky with all the birds chirping in harmony. You’d think that working six days a week would have me run off my feet, but I’ve never felt more alive than I do working at Salty’s. I love it, despite that my feet ache constantly and I smell like fryer grease most nights. The bar has been open only about an hour, and it’s alread
y slammed with tourists and surfers fresh off their morning sets.

  I’m back in the kitchen when Vampire Weekend’s song “A Punk” comes on the radio. I crank the volume up and dance over to the stove while waving my spatula high in the air. “Look outside at the raincoats coming, say oh, eh, eh, hey, hey!” I’m singing at the top of my lungs, so when Kane comes up behind me, brushing the hair from my shoulder to kiss my neck, I let out a squeal of surprise.

  “You are so damn cute.” His hands circle my waist and slide down the front of my cutoffs to play with the hem. “But still so damn sexy,” he whispers in my ear.

  His fingers maneuver my panties out of the way as he slips two of them inside me, causing me to buck against his hand.

  “Kane! I’m cooking!” I hiss.

  “I don’t fucking care.”

  “This isn’t food safe. My skewers are ruined now.”

  “So make another batch.” He moves his fingers ever-so-slowly in circles. “It’s your fault for being so irresistible.”

  The new guy, who Kane hired to help with the hungry crowds, chooses that exact moment to stick his head inside the kitchen.

  “Ashley, someone is here for you.”

  “Thanks, Ben,” I manage to croak out, thanking God that Kane’s back is towards him.

  Kane removes his hand. “You expecting someone?”

  “No one that I can think of.” I head to the sink to wash my hands and wipe them off before heading out. I look at Kane before I leave, laughing when I see what condition he’s in below the belt. “I guess you’ll have to stay back here for awhile.” I gesture to the monument in his shorts.

  “You’re a tease, Lani.” He shakes his head, smirking. “But I’ll make you pay for it later.”

  “I look forward to it,” I say, biting my lip. He groans, and I rush from the back room into the car, coming up short when I see who’s waiting for me.

  “Hello, Ashley.” Despite all the years that we spent together, the sound of Dale’s voice suddenly makes my skin crawl.

  “Dale.” I spit out his name, not giving anything away.

  “And how exactly is my little runaway wife doing these days?”

  “Ex-wife, Dale, emphasis on the ex.” I glare at him, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Semantics, sweetheart, and the ink isn’t dry on anything yet.”

  “You don’t ever get to call me sweetheart again.” I speak through clenched teeth. When I glance over Dale’s shoulder, I notice that we’ve started to attract a crowd. Pancho and Kayla openly gape at us from the bar. “Not here,” I snap, stomping over to one of the available tables.

  Dale follows and takes the seat directly across from me. He’s wearing a suit, of course, but he’s forgone the tie and left his collared shirt unbuttoned at the neck, which is Dale’s version of holiday-wear, if I remember correctly. He has the same lean frame and stereotypically handsome features, and his neat blond hair is slicked back from his face. Still, I struggle to remember what I saw in him in the first place. All I see now is a soft jaw, thin lips, and arms that proved too weak to hold me, even when it mattered most.

  “What a charming spot you’ve found for yourself,” he deadpans. “Are you an actual waitress now?”

  “I’m a chef,” I shoot back, but he just chuckles.

  “And how long, pray tell, do you think that is going to last?” He crosses his legs and leans back in his chair, in that annoyingly patronizing kind of way, and I bristle at the thought of him staying a while.

  “You look good.” He gives me the once over. “A little feral, maybe, and you’ve had too much sun, but otherwise good.”

  “I like the sun,” I snap.

  “Tans are for field workers and white trash, Ashley. You looked better the way you were.”

  I sigh in frustration. “What do you want, Dale?”

  “Look, I get it. I made a mistake with Erin, and you’ve made mistakes, too, but it’s time for this charade to end. I want you to come home.”

  I choke out a laugh. “Are you crazy? I’m not moving back to San Francisco. I quit my job, we sold our place, and in four months, we’ll sign on the dotted line and be rid of each other for good.”

  Dale gives me a pointed look. “What makes you think I’ll sign anything?”

  “Don’t be a child, Dale, we’ve talked ourselves to death about this. You know exactly how it ends.”

  He snorts. “You’re calling me a child? That’s rich—you’re a twenty-seven year old woman who just shirked all her responsibilities for a Hawaiian holiday, simply because her feelings got hurt. You sold your belongings, cut ties with everyone you knew, and then left me behind, all within a month. I mean, how selfish can you be?”

  “Selfish?” I scream—I don’t even care about the audience anymore, now that Dale has me all fired up. “Having my body poked and prodded for the last two years—being swollen, nauseous, sore all over, tired and anxious, all while you were putting your thin dick inside someone else—and I’m SELFISH?”

  “Look, I realize that I carry some of the fault in this situation, but you really need to take some ownership as well.”

  “Excuse me?” I can feel my eyebrows shoot up into my hairline.

  “You were so obsessed with having a baby! All those treatments made you moody, and it became more about you than me.” He shrugs.

  I can actually feel my blood boiling inside my veins. It takes everything I have not to scratch his eyes out. “I’m sorry, let me get this straight. You mean to say that, in a failed attempt to conceive the child for whom you begged me, I was regularly injected with hormones that made me feel half crazy, and that it’s my fault for not paying attention? Is that about right, you selfish prick?”

  “Alright, Ashley, you’ve made your point. There’s no need to cause a scene.” He leans forward in his chair. “Have your tantrum if you like, but one way or another, you’re coming home with me.”

  “She isn’t going anywhere.” I look up to see a furious Kane eclipsing the sun. Kane braces his big hands on either side of Dale’s chair. His eyes are wild, and for a split-second, I’m actually worried for Dale.

  Dale whips around so fast, I’m surprised that he doesn’t pull a muscle. He’s still wearing his usual air of confidence, but his smile seems uncertain. “And who the hell are you, exactly?”

  “This is Kane Keo, the owner,” I croak out.

  “I’m her boyfriend,” Kane declares.

  Boyfriend? It sounds so juvenile. Kane Keo is no boy, but him officially claiming the title makes me tingle all over. Dale turns back around slowly and narrows his eyes at me.

  “I see what this is. You’re angry with me, so you let this Neanderthal fuck you to get back at me. I have to say, I’m sort of proud of you, sweetheart. Who knew my wife could be such a little slut?”

  Kane releases an actual animalistic growl, yanking Dale up by the armpits and dragging him from his chair. The bar erupts with excited chatter as a number of patrons crowd around the men. Lance takes Kane’s side, more than ready for a fight and meanwhile glaring daggers at Dale. Kane tosses Dale to the ground, towering over him like a noble savage. “Don’t ever call her that.”

  “Call her what? Sweetheart, or slut?” Dale spits back, struggling to stand on two feet.

  “Either.”

  Dale manages to stand up and straighten himself into a totem pole, but Kane still has a good half a foot on him. He adjusts his shirt sleeves and straightens his collar. “Wow, she really has you fooled with that magic pussy of hers—and believe me, it is magic.” Dale looks my way and flashes me a lazy grin, perusing my body like I’m naked.

  I know he’s baiting Kane, and it works. Before I can even blink, Kane cracks him across the jaw with a powerful right hook. Dale’s head whips to the side, and he falls to the ground. The crowd goes wild. I hear one of the regular surfer dudes chant: fight, fight, fight. Kane breathes heavily with his fists clenched at either side, but he doesn’t make another move toward Dale. He start
s getting to his feet, a river of blood leaking from his nose and onto his pristine white dress shirt.

  “You people are all animals.” He wipes the blood from his nose and turns toward me. “You don’t seriously think you’ll last here, do you, Ashley?”

  “Of course I will. This place fits me better than my old life ever did.”

  “But doesn’t that old life mean anything to you anymore?” For a moment, I feel bad for him, but it doesn’t take long to remember what brought us here.

  “Did you ever even love me, Dale?”

  He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Of course I did, Leelee.” He uses the nickname he gave me in college, and it pinches my heart.

  “Just not more than you love yourself.” It feels freeing to say the words aloud—the same words I’ve been thinking for years—like a weight off my chest. I’m about to say more, but Pancho beats me to it.

  “Hey, haole, Ashley is one of us now!” He shouts, hiding himself behind Kane. “Go back to the fucking mainland and leave us alone!” The bar erupts in a round of applause.

  Dale looks between me and Kane, weighing his words against the atmosphere of the bar. “You people don’t actually believe that she’s one of you, do you?” He runs a hand through his wispy blond hair. “I bet you don’t know that Ashley is one of the best commercial real estate brokers on the West Coast. She works for me, at Silverdale Developments.”

  “Worked,” I say, correcting him.

  “Oh, is it past tense? Then you won’t mind me telling these lovely people about the plans we sent you weeks ago—you know, for the construction of a full-scale five-star resort in Paia?”

  “It’s not like that—” I start, but he cuts me off.

  “You see? She isn’t even denying it, and why would Ashley Silver deny her affiliation with the company that shares her name?”