by Haymore, J.
“Great. Just great.” Now what? Rocking back on my heels, I brushed the rust from my hands. A cold drop of water plunked on my head from the leaves overhead.
“Need some help with that?”
I jumped, then glanced over my shoulder. The man behind me wore nothing but black board shorts resting low on his hips, exposing rippled abs. My gaze moved up his bronzed, chiseled chest. A tattoo, a bold, crisscrossed, symmetrical pattern of curving stripes and triangular arrowheads covered his arm and shoulder and moved down his front over his nicely shaped pec.
I looked up farther, past the strong lines of his jaw, to his wide, bow-shaped lips, which quirked with amusement. His eyes were almond shaped, their color a golden brown that sparkled in the cloudy light. His lips cracked into a grin, showing white, straight teeth. Dimples formed on each of his cheeks.
I did a little mental shake, flinging away the unbidden image of brushing my mouth over those dimples. Then the thought of my last kiss speared through my mind. Manning.
I was done with kissing. Dating Mike had been a disaster, and Manning’s oyster-alcohol-flavored lips were the last straw.
Anyway, men were a distraction, and they weren’t worth it. My career needed complete focus.
His smile grew wider. He had a great smile. He flicked a glance at the lockbox. “So…um…you need some help with that?”
Trying not to stare at his lips, I rose to my feet. “Sorry…yes, I do. I can’t get it to move at all. I think it’s rusted shut.”
Beyond his un-tattooed shoulder, I saw a banana-yellow surfboard propped against my convertible.
He was a surfer. And it was Wednesday afternoon, when most people, including me, should be at work. Since high school, I’d always gone for the hyper-ambitious workaholics: the class presidents, the valedictorians, the college students who owned three businesses before even graduating. This guy was definitely not my type. I probably wasn’t his either.
The goal was to get into the house, unpack, check my emails and rest. Then drive back into Hilo, have dinner and try to find some practical shoes. The rest of the day was planned. The next ten days were planned, for that matter.
I’d brought along my laptop with several important files on it in order to get ahead on some of my upcoming projects, strategizing and planning. Nothing, not even the fiasco with Manning, would break my stride. Caleb and the other partners needed to know that I was serious, in this with LBG for the long haul.
None of that had anything to do with the tall, dark, and handsome Hawaiian standing beside me.
He studied me, his eyes slightly narrowed, but not in a mean way. In an interested, curious way. “You staying at Aunty Nanette’s house?”
That was the name of the woman who was renting this beach house. “Nanette’s your aunt?”
He shrugged. “She’s everyone’s aunty.”
I held out a hand, businesslike. “I’m Celeste McMillan.”
His lips quirked, but he grasped my hand. “Kanoe Anakalea.” His grip was firm, his hand warm and dry in spite of the rain and general dampness.
“Kah-no-ay,” I repeated, enunciating each syllable. “Nice to meet you.”
He gestured toward the house. “How long you staying?”
“Ten days.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes.” On impulse, I added, “I’ve never vacationed alone before.”
His eyebrow arched, but he didn’t comment. I glanced down at our hands, still clasped together in a handshake that had lasted way too long.
Clearing his throat, Kanoe dropped my hand and turned to the gate. “What’s the combination?”
Was it safe to give him the combination? I studied his back, which rippled with bronzed muscle. Instinct told me this guy was nothing like Manning—but why was that? I knew nothing about him. I should be wary. But he really didn’t give off any creepy or scary signals. He had a nice smile, and there was something genuine about the look in his eyes.
Still, I knew better. I wasn’t the best judge of people. Take Mike, for example.
I glanced down at the paper crumpled in my fist and took a leap of faith anyway. “It’s three-six-seven-six-eight.”
As if it were the easiest thing in the world, he spun the dials, aligned the numbers, and opened the lockbox. He took the keys out and unlocked the gate. It squealed on rusty hinges as he swung it open.
I laughed, shaking my head. “You made that look way too easy.”
Wiping his hands on his shorts, he rose and offered me the keys, his golden-brown gaze locking with mine. “Here you go.”
My cheeks heated. I couldn’t even look at this guy without blushing. He was so, so hot. My stomach fluttered with a greedy sort of anticipation, and I rolled my eyes inwardly. He was a complete stranger, a surfer, for God’s sake…and I felt like a twelve-year-old with a crush. Maybe this was the result of spending too long hunched over a desk.
I took the keys from him. “Thanks.”
“I’ll carry your bags down for you.”
Before I could protest, he grabbed both my suitcases and descended toward the house.
I followed at a much slower pace. The cement was wet and slick with moss, and the soles of my sandals had no traction. Carefully, I dodged the slick patches and negotiated my way down the winding path.
When I was halfway down, it started to rain again. The heavens opened, and the jungle came alive with pattering raindrops, adding a soothing layer to the sound of distant crashing waves.
I blew a wet strand of hair out of my face in aggravation. By the time I got down to the house, I’d be sopping wet. I was out of my element. I didn’t belong here, slipping down a mossy path, probably looking about as appealing as a wet rat. I belonged in L.A., on the forty-second floor, wearing a dry-cleaned business suit and drinking Starbucks. Clean. Dry. Safe. Caffeinated.
I doubted I could be any of those things here—except maybe caffeinated. I’d seen a sign for a place selling Kona coffee on the way through Hilo.
No one had told me this part of Hawaii was a rainforest. Glistening foliage in every shade of green bordered the path. The house came into view between the thick trees and vines, wedged into the side of the cliff a few steps up from the beach. Though I was a stranger here, innately at odds with this place, there was no denying its wild beauty.
Now empty-handed, Kanoe strode back up the path and assessed my appearance with one sweeping glance. “You’re wet.”
“So are you.”
“But I’m dressed for it,” he pointed out. “You’re not.”
“It’s okay. It’s not cold.” I motioned down to my feet. “I’ll fall and break my neck if I go any faster.”
“You need different shoes. Or you should go barefoot like me.” He wiggled his toes and grinned, and I went lightheaded—those dimples again. “Come on.”
He took my hand and guided me the rest of the way down.
I focused on my footing to avoid how the feel of his fingers wrapped around mine sent tingles radiating from the small of my back. I slanted a glance at him. His torso glistened with raindrops that crawled downward over the dips and valleys of muscle.
I’m just admiring him. Appreciating a fine male form like any woman in her right mind would when she looked at this guy.
This wasn’t actual attraction. That wasn’t possible, for about a hundred different reasons. At the top of the list was that I was an out-of-place drowned rat, and he belonged here. He was just performing his friendly islander duty to a poor, pale tourist woman wearing the wrong shoes.
We stepped onto the wraparound porch, and I unlocked the door. When I opened it, Kanoe followed me in, carrying my suitcases.
“Thanks so much,” I said as I disabled the alarm. “Really, I could’ve taken—”
“Yeah, and fallen on your ass.”
I grinned. Which was weird, because I wasn’t the grinning type. “You’re probably right. Anyway, thank you.”
“You’re dripping wet. Come out on the lana
i and I’ll get you a towel.” He set the suitcases down and led me through the small but serviceable kitchen and living room decorated with wicker furniture and big, flowery pillows, to a sliding glass door.
“The…lanai?”
“Yeah…the, uh, the deck. The porch. Balcony?”
I grimaced. “I’m sorry, I don’t know much Hawaiian. Well, any Hawaiian. Except aloha, I guess.”
“No problem. Now you know your second Hawaiian word. You’ll learn more while you’re here.” He slid the glass door open, and we went out onto the lanai.
Kanoe’s fingers brushed my back. “Be right back.” He disappeared into the house.
I probably should have gone inside with him, or left him out here while I found a towel, but the sights from the balcony fascinated me.
The length of the black sand beach stretched out below. Coconut trees skirted the edge of the sand as if to hold back the encroaching jungle, and a river opened up into the ocean on one side. A wave broke far in the distance, and a surfer rode it for a few seconds before leaping off in a spray of water. Smaller waves broke closer to shore. Those nearer waves collided with the river current, creating confused eddies near the beach.
This was nothing like the coral reefs, placid waters, and white sand I’d imagined in Hawaii. Nobody sunbathed here, or drank mai tais with little umbrellas in them. This was pouring rain, a rough jungle, a rocky beach, a raging river, and a relentless, pounding sea. Nature at its finest.
I was so focused on the incredible scene laid out before me that it startled me when Kanoe spread a big, fluffy towel across my shoulders.
“Oh! Thank you.”
Glancing down at myself, I saw that my white tailored shirt was plastered to my body, completely transparent. The lace of my tan-colored bra and the dusky color of my nipples beneath were clear to see.
Kanoe had noticed—he must’ve, but he hadn’t gawked or stared, instead he’d gone and gotten me a big, warm towel to cover myself. A gentleman in surf shorts, I mused. Much different from Thomas Manning, asshole in gentlemen’s clothes.
I liked Kanoe. No sense denying it.
I tugged the edges of the towel to cover my chest and motioned to the beach, the jungle, the river, all of it. “This is really beautiful.”
“You like it?” Standing beside me, Kanoe looked out over the beach. He had a satisfied expression on his face, as if he knew this place, as if it belonged to him, and he was proud of it.
“Yes,” I said truthfully. “It’s not exactly what I expected, but it’s…amazing.”
“Yeah, I think so,” he said.
“You’re so lucky to live here.” I hadn’t realized that was true until the words came out of my mouth, but it was. “It’s nothing like where I live.”
“Where do you live?”
“Los Angeles.”
“Ah. I’ve been there.”
“And I see why you’d want to come back here.” I laughed softly. “I’ve never seen anyplace so…alive.” I reached out to where the rain dripped over the edge of the lanai’s roof and watched the droplets wash over my hand before rubbing my fingers together. “Even the rain feels different.”
Suddenly, I didn’t want to spend all my time inside the house. This wild island was something new, something to discover. Tiny buds of excitement bloomed within me. This was the Big Island—the biggest island in the Hawaiian chain. I could spend all ten days exploring it. I could explore during the day and work at night—still getting everything done that I’d planned for work.
I glanced up at Kanoe. He was gazing at me—not my chest, though the towel had fallen open, but at my face. I couldn’t define the look in his eyes, but I knew a man had never looked at me like that before. It was a combination of curiosity, interest, confusion, appreciation and—yes, it was definitely there—heat. Warmth flooded through me as I stared back at him, breathless.
He wrenched his gaze away and stared at the ocean, gripping the railing with both hands.
I watched his chest rise and fall. His dark eyes and kissable dimples, his ripped body, his dark skin and bold tattoo… Even his smooth, low voice seemed to glide under my skin and make me feel jittery and warm.
“So,” he said, “are you originally from L.A.?”
His light tone brought me back down to earth. He had visibly relaxed, his grip on the railing loose now, and his easy smile had returned.
“I grew up on the East Coast. What about you?” I raised my hand. “No, wait, let me guess. Umm…” I looked him up and down. “I got it! You grew up here, right?”
“Good guess.”
“Thank you.” I grinned at him. “Chalk it up to my amazing people-observation skills.”
“Definitely amazing,” he said with a low laugh.
“So did you grow up here on this island or one of the others?”
“I was born and raised here in Hilo. I have family on Oahu, though. Dozens of aunties, uncles, cousins…”
“I don’t have a big family. It’s just me and my mom.”
“Does your mom live with you in L.A.?”
I shook my head. “She’s back in New York.”
“So what are you doing on the West Coast? Going to college?”
“I graduated back in December.” I straightened my spine, always proud to tell people about my job. Analyst positions were highly competitive and sought after. “I started working this summer as an analyst at a management consulting firm, Lowenstein, Barrett and Galindo. Have you heard of it?”
“No.”
“Oh.” I mentally kicked myself. Of course he hadn’t heard of it. He wasn’t the kind of guy who’d be up to date on all the premier management consulting firms in the U.S. “Well, it’s a good company to work for.”
“Sounds like you like your job.”
“I do. I’m good at it, so that helps.”
He looked out toward the ocean. “It doesn’t surprise me you’re good at it.”
Really? Huh. I’d felt like I’d come off as a bumbling idiot since the moment we’d met. But it made me feel warm inside that he thought so. I said softly, “I bet you’re a good surfer.”
He grinned… Wow, that grin was going to be the death of me if I wasn’t careful. “I am. Very good at it. And I like it too. A lot.”
On the water, a surfer had caught a wave and was making wide turns as if he were on a slalom course. Finally, he flipped his board up over the crest of the wave. The board, and the surfer, went flying into the air. The guy had clearly done it on purpose.
“It looks fun,” I said.
“It is fun. Have you ever surfed before?”
“I haven’t, but maybe I’ll try it sometime.” My tone was flirtatious, even though I hadn’t intended it to be, and I felt another blush prickle my cheeks.
He smirked as if he could read exactly how attracted to him I was. “Maybe you should.”
There was an edge of a challenge in his voice, and he’d also lowered it to a tone that made a sweet shiver run up my spine. I wasn’t sure if he’d intended it to be so seductive, but I was definitely seduced.
Suddenly I had an insane urge to run my fingers over his tattoo, trace those strong, dark lines, feel the hard muscles beneath the exotic design… Every nerve in my body seemed to stand on end in anticipation.
I shook myself inwardly, trying to fling those thoughts away. He was a stranger. I really didn’t know anything about this guy.
It must be all the humidity, because I never got hot and bothered like this. Anyway, I was not the vacation-fling kind of girl. I wasn’t an any-sort-of-fling kind of girl.
Again, that crazy urge to touch him tingled in my fingers. This time I couldn’t control it. Just a little touch—that was all I needed.
I inched my hand toward where his was clasped over the railing. As soon as my skin made contact with his, I stopped. Simple contact, a basic connection, but it felt right. I wanted more.
Trying to inhale some sanity, I drew in a deep, long breath. He still gazed out ov
er the water, his expression perfectly blank, giving no hint as to what he was feeling, whether he was having this same electric reaction to me as I was to him.
Maybe he was…
Probably not.
“Thanks again for your help,” I said softly. “I don’t know how I would have gotten in the house without you.”
He looked down at me, and when our gazes locked, my heart slammed against my chest double time. Long black lashes framed his gorgeous golden-brown eyes. One corner of his lips quirked into a smile, showing that dimple again, and I melted.
“You’re welcome.”
His voice licked heat under my skin. I didn’t want him to go, but there were so many things wrong with wanting him to stay, I couldn’t even begin to tick them off in my mind.
In any case, I needed to unpack, clean up. Check my email, send some emails, review the Goderich file to see if we’d missed anything in the analysis. Take a nap, though I suddenly didn’t feel tired, despite my general lack of sleep for the past thirty-six hours.
“I’ll see you around, maybe?” My voice was low, huskier than usual. Still, it was a clear hint for him to go, and a part of me regretted it as the words escaped my mouth.
He inclined his head. “Maybe.”
I led him to the front of the house, thanked him again and watched him stride to the top of the cliff. I tried not to stare at his butt, but the flexing muscles as he walked up the hill had everything inside me standing up and paying attention.
At the top, he took his bright yellow surfboard from where it leaned on my rental car, then turned away and walked up the road toward the line of cars parked along the guardrail at the cliff’s edge. The rain started coming down hard, and he disappeared into it like an apparition.
I released a heavy sigh. He was gone. That was probably a good thing.
But a part of me wanted him to come back.
Day Two
Celeste