Do I ever.
He ground his teeth together. Yep, she was mocking him all right. Somehow—and he wasn’t quite sure why—she seemed to think she had a very strong chain to yank where he was concerned.
Like hell you do.
“No, what I had in mind, Ms. Montrose, was—”
“Please. Call me by my first name,” she purred, winking at him. “You do remember my first name, don’t you, Jager?”
“Yes, of course. It’s Anjelee. So Anjelee it’ll be, then,” he said on a sigh, doing his best to keep his eyes from rolling heavenward. “But getting back to why I’m here. You see, Mitch Wulfrum would really like his privacy in this personal, intimate union. He, the ’Alohi family, and KPCS, all can’t afford any potential…negative publicity.”
She sipped, regarding him over the rim of the glass. “So it’s your feeling that I might compromise the reputations of all these people. And most especially, for the celebrity in question who you worry—at your own expense, as well—might end up between the pages of Superstars.”
They were statements, not questions. “Yes. Well, possibly.”
She slid off the bar, her small breasts bouncing within the confines of the snug little shirt, and sashayed toward him, ice jingling in the tumbler as she went. Very primly, she kept her back straight and held the glass between both hands, lowering herself onto the plush sofa opposite him. The corners of her mouth curved up in a smile so faint, he wondered if he imagined it.
“How, might I ask, could the news of Mitch Wulfrum’s nuptials to the gorgeous KPCS heiress ruin anyone’s reputation, or be a bad thing to announce in a magazine?”
He started to speak, snapped his jaw shut.
“Well?”
He wiggled in his seat, leaned back, crossed and uncrossed his legs. “It’s rather…complicated.”
Batting her eyelids, she asked, “You wouldn’t be referring to the gay rumors, now would you, Jager? Are you worrying I might photograph evidence that this whole hasty relationship and ensuing wedding are nothing more than a farce to cover up his fondness for men? And that I might secretly sell my story and photos to Superstars?”
Shit.
“The gay rumors are just that. Rumors.”
“Right. How could they be anything else if he’s getting married to a woman?”
Goddamn it, Punk-rock Polly was a sly one.
“Look, I apologize. But the truth of the matter is, it was a big mistake for me to hire you on such short notice. You’ll still be compensated very well, if not better than if you’d completed the job.”
She gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Are you firing me?”
“No, it’s just that I’ve got someone else already lined up. You’ll still be paid for your time and trouble. But in this business where celebrities are involved, it’s very—”
“Mr. ’Alohi already paid me.”
For one long moment, her words ricocheted between his ears.
Fuck me.
Jager tried like hell to keep his jaw from dropping open. He clamored to his feet. “Excuse me?”
She stood up slowly, shoulders held back, eyes daring him to look away. But he couldn’t help it. His gaze lowered against his will, drawn to the peaks now tipping those two just-a-handful mounds. Crap, exactly as he’d suspected, she wasn’t wearing a damn bra. Her pink little nipples perked up and strained against the thin white fabric. He could well imagine the flavor of them in his mouth, and whoa, the feel of them against his chest as he slipped his cock into her—
“You heard me. I just came from KPCS and a meeting with Mr. ’Alohi. He paid me a very tidy deposit equivalent to half my fee, and he thanked me for coming all the way here on such short notice. He instructed me on when and where to report, and directed me to get tons of pictures…all to be viewed and approved by him the day following the ceremony. Even before the bride and groom get to see them.”
“He did? B-but he told me to pay you after the—”
“You must be mistaken, about that and one other thing…”
Her many telling words amassed in his head like a pile of shit. The stench, the horror of what this could mean for Jager, made him want to vomit. Then there was the before the bride and groom saw them thing. What the hell was Heloki up to? Sonofabitch, this could only mean one of two things. Either there’d been a misunderstanding between Jager and Heloki, or Heloki was beginning to suspect something wasn’t right with this wedding, and had therefore taken the bull by the balls, himself.
Did he think—or rather, had he discovered—that the marriage was all a sham, and that Jager had orchestrated the hasty love match behind Heloki’s back? Heloki rarely kept up with the news or media, so Jager was almost certain he was oblivious to the gay buzz. But maybe he’d somehow found out, and then had learned of Anjelee’s connection to the tabloid?
He paid me a very tidy sum. Her words echoed in his head, making him dizzy with apprehension. Was Heloki buying her silence about the rumors, or paying her to find evidence to keep his daughter and KPCS from associating with its bad publicity? Or could he be devising some sort of bribery plan to get Kol out of the picture for good?
Goddamn it, Jager hated being put in the position of sleuth in order to cover his own ass.
“One other thing? What one other thing?” Jager asked hesitantly, swallowing a lump of bitter dread.
Her kissable pink mouth curved into a chilly smile, complete with dimples and sparkling gems in her eyes. “Eh, never mind. That other thing is confidential between me and my…employer.”
He thrust a hand through his short hair. “But I’m the one who contacted you and—”
“Jager?”
“What?”
She crossed her arms over her midriff. “I believe, if I have my facts straight, that you were just the messenger. Correct?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“I need this job very badly. You have no idea just how much. So I believe I’ll be taking my orders from the top, which is where the money’s coming from. Got it?”
Mother fucker.
He could almost feel the heat of ire steaming out of his ears and nostrils like a pissed-off dragon. It appeared this little slip of a woman was going to try to single-handedly ruin his career and the long-standing, father/son-like relationship he’d built with Heloki.
Like son of a bitching fucking hell!
He folded his arms, mimicking her insolence, and rounded the coffee table. There was now only two inches of space between them. He could feel the warmth of her body, smell her alluring scent, and this close, he looked down into eyes that burned with something more than greed, more than ambition. If he didn’t know better, he’d call it fear and vulnerability.
Jager snorted at his own foolish thought. The last thing this woman should be called was vulnerable. “Oh, I get it all right. I get that you’re a ruthless, ladder-climbing golddigger who’ll apparently do anything for money.”
She sucked in a breath of distain. Her upper lip curled. “Why, you son of a—”
“And I get that you have an agenda that has nothing whatsoever to do with being loyal to your employer. Yeah,” he nodded, “I get it all right.”
She was so small, she had to tip her head back to snare him with her hissing cat’s glare, and he could feel her warm breath against his arms and neck even as she spoke through clenched teeth. “You son of a bitch. You know nothing about me. Nothing.”
“And I’d like to keep it that way.”
“What the hell did I ever do to you?”
“Nothing, really, but I know what you can do to patch things up…”
“Not on your life, you bastard. I’ve already cashed the check, and it’s mostly already spent. I’m not backing out on this job.”
“Figures.” He turned and stalked to the door. It was useless. He was wasting his damn time. He should be using it trying to talk Heloki into his other recommendation instead.
“What figures?” Anjelee stomped along
just one step behind him. “What?” she demanded, her small, cool hand curling around his biceps and yanking barely hard enough to swat a fly aside.
He swung around to face her, obliging out of nothing but morbid curiosity at what she would do when he answered her question. “That you would already have the money spent. Supports my theory.”
“Fuck you and your theory.” Her voice was like acid, burning his ears.
He spun and reached for the knob. Fuck this. I’m out of here. Rather than beat his head against her barricade of stubbornness, there were other ways of solving this problem. He needed to get to Heloki, like yesterday.
“Oh, Jager?” Her tone suddenly turned sweet again, albeit dripping with sarcasm, all traces of the ire gone.
“What?” He couldn’t help growling the word out. The woman was just so exasperating.
She lifted one hand and wiggled her fingers in a girlish wave. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the fake smile on her face had been painted on. “See you at the wedding.”
He yanked on the knob, stepped out into the hallway, and slammed the door shut behind him.
Mother fucker. I’m done for.
Chapter Nine
“Thank you, Father, for hiring the wonderfully adept florist.” Kiona rose on bare feet in her floral luau wedding dress and kissed Heloki’s cheek. The camera flashed. She ignored it and brushed his perspiring brow, inhaling the familiar scent of antacids mixed with martini on his breath. The camera flashed again. “And for finding us such a…thorough photographer.”
“Where’d you get her, anyway? She looks kind of familiar.” Mitch slid an arm around Kiona’s waist and drew her curves against his hard body. The evening ocean breeze blew in through the tent openings where the florist had tied back the flaps with colorful strings of leis. It stirred his scent, and she smelled some sort of expensive, faint aftershave she couldn’t quite place. It was entwined with brine and the sharp aroma of hibiscus. Now and then, she also caught the essence of the white blooms on the naupaka bushes edging the beach. In the background, beyond all the soft ukulele music and tinkling laughter of the lingering guests, she could hear the crash of waves upon the shore as the tide moved in.
Their vows suddenly swam through her head, altered as, “’til bliss do we part.” All Kiona could think of was all that muscle and man taking her to the gates of that particular bliss…while Kol watched…and then joined them.
Her pulse skittered at that wicked thought. Soon it would be time for them to retire. Hoping to cool her ardor until then, she looked away, yet her eyes seemed to have a mind of their own. She gave up and studied her husband—God, had she truly married Mitch Wulfrum?—but that only made her horniness worse, her pussy wetter.
He held a glass of champagne in one hand, and to her quiet surprise and delight, he hadn’t let go of her with the other hand since the ceremony had ended hours ago. Maybe it was just for show, but nonetheless, something about it made her heart and her loins stir with lust and pride.
She glanced around in search of Kol. Where was he anyway? She hadn’t seen him since she and Mitch had been pronounced man and wife. He’d held her gaze from the last row of guests, watching with an indiscernible glitter in his dark eyes as Mitch had kissed her senseless in front of all their guests. Kol had risen then, crossed to the outdoor bar, downed two shots of tequila in a row, and to Heloki’s seeming glow of satisfaction, strode into the house. Had he changed his mind and left? Was he angry and jealous again?
God, she hoped not. With smoldering heat igniting in her belly, Kiona took one more sweeping glance of the tent area. There were only perhaps a dozen people remaining out of the original seventy-five guests, mostly employees of KPCS and a few local friends. Unable to locate Kol, she bit her lip and prayed he awaited them in their wedding bed as the three of them had planned.
She swung her thoughts back to Mitch in hopes of easing her worries. He wore a lei strung around his neck. It lay on his wide chest over a red, yellow, orange, and green Hawaiian shirt, and he’d paired it with crisp white trousers. Kiona’s system had been in overdrive since she’d laid eyes on his striking handsomeness while walking up the aisle. She’d felt as if she were the heroine in one of his movies, but this was far from fiction.
It was reality in all its bizarreness.
The florist and caterers had done a fabulous job forming their tent-covered, seaside wedding atmosphere on the rear deck of Jager’s house, complete with a spread of various luau hors d’oeuvres, fire-lit torches, a tinkling, soft-lit champagne fountain, a Hawaiian-decorated, dark-chocolate cake, and all the Polynesian decor and flora needed to give it just the right romantic touch.
If Kiona didn’t know better, she would think she’d just gone through a traditional wedding. With a traditional husband. With a traditional life ahead of her.
But oh no, there would be nothing traditional about her marriage to movie star Mitch Wulfrum.
And the thought of that sent a renewed tremor of sexual electricity racing through her system and swimming in her groin.
“Of course, Jager found her for me,” Heloki replied curtly. His voice sounded distant, almost cross, but Kiona knew her father couldn’t be happier that she’d finally gotten married. And to a famous man, at that, one whose association would boost KPCS’s sales and world visibility.
“You know her?” Mitch asked, directing his question at Jager.
Jager shuffled his stance. He was used to dressing in suits, and other than lei-print swim trunks, he’d always despised wearing Hawaiian garb. Being a tall, well-built man with short-cropped, chestnut hair and penetrating hazel eyes, he didn’t look Polynesian in the least, but he was a good-looking man in that sexy, businesslike, GQ sort of way. He’d donned the floral shirt and white pants with just one quick grumble of protest, and had stood at Mitch’s side as his best man.
He took a long draw on his beer now, and narrowed his gaze on the photographer. “No, not really. When Heloki phoned me to ask if I knew of anyone who could take on the job with such short notice, I contacted a client of mine on the mainland. One I figured could give me a good recommendation.”
The slim blonde photographer, Anjelee Montrose, sent Jager a chilly smile. She lifted the 35mm camera, peered through the lens, and it seemed she defiantly aimed it at Jager. Flash!
Jager blinked and rubbed his eyes. With a sigh, he added, “Sorry, the fact is, I didn’t know who, or what, I was recommending. Until it was too late.”
Heloki sipped his martini. “Ahahana. She’s working out just fine.”
“Right, shame on me,” Jager mumbled. Kiona knew he fully understood the translation of Heloki’s chastising words. Demonstrating some insolence of his own, Jager guzzled his beer, his narrowed stare never leaving the woman.
Hmm, what’s this all about? Kiona wondered. For someone who claimed not to know the photographer, there sure appeared to be something going on between them.
“Don’t know a damn thing these days,” Jager added with a bored drawl to his tone.
“That’s enough,” Heloki snarled. “We already went through this. You did fine, just fine in finding her for me. She’s doing just what I hired her to do.”
“Is there a problem?” Mitch demanded to know, his eyebrows arching in suspicion.
Jager blinked. “No, of course not. Not at all.” He tipped the bottle and drained the last few ounces of his beer.
“Well,” Heloki said on a sigh, “I believe it’s time for the newlyweds to retire and for me and all the guests to go.”
Thank goodness. Kiona didn’t think her small G-string could hold anymore wetness. “It was a lovely wedding, Father. Thank you for everything.”
“Yes,” Mitch added. Kiona shivered when his palm grazed up and down her arm. “I know it was all on such short notice, so it’s very much appreciated. Handpicking the guests and using discretion with all the wedding coordinators made it much more memorable for us all. It was very refreshing not to have a media circus at every turn
.”
Jager cleared his throat.
Heloki’s lips thinned. “It was my pleasure. No one could be prouder than me to have a renowned person such as you as a son-in-law. Now I really must be going.” He raised a hand and snapped his fingers at the head staff member.
The plump woman nodded at Heloki and rushed over to the DJ, whispering in his ear. The DJ glanced up from his CDs and took his cue, halting the music immediately.
“I’ve just been informed,” the man announced over the microphone, “that it’s time for us to depart and offer our farewells and final congratulations to the bride and groom. Thanks to everyone for coming. It was an honor to MC the wedding of Mitch Wulfrum and the outrageously gorgeous Hawaiian princess, Kiona ’Alohi.”
Unintelligible chatter and laughter followed, and the lingering guests walked over one by one to offer their best wishes for a long and happy union. As Kiona hugged each friend or relative, bidding them good-night, excitement swirled in her belly. Soon she would be in bed with two intense men, one her lover, the man she loved beyond life, and the other her husband, a man she’d already become extremely fond of.
That is, she’d be with them both if Kol hadn’t changed his mind and left.
Heloki held out his arms to her. “Come here. Give your daddy a big hug.”
She let go of Mitch and walked into the circle of her father’s thick arms. He was soft, warm, and as big as a bear. She inhaled the faint scent of his cologne and the alcohol on his breath. He squeezed her tight and whispered in her ear, “My little Kabana girl, all grown up now. I love you, Kiona—my valuable company CEO.”
“Love you, too, Papa.” She ignored his mention of her job and the odd tone to his voice. Instead, she kissed his rotund cheek, surprised to taste the salt of tears.
He framed her face in his thick hands and said, “I will bring by the paperwork tomorrow before you leave on your honeymoon.”
“Paperwork?”
“The documents showing transfer of the trust fund over to you.”
Thank God! “Oh yes, thank you.” She pursed her lips and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth. The camera flashed.
Kabana Heat Page 15