10 Days in Paradise (Tropical Nights)

by Haymore, J.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  With narrowed eyes, he stared at me as I pulled off my shirt. His chest rose and fell with every breath.

  Watching me strip aroused him.

  A smile tugged at my lips, and I took my time, swiping my fingers across my rib cage as I went to unclasp my bra in the front. The clasp came free, and I pulled the fabric away from my breasts, running my fingernails lightly over my nipples.

  The straps slipped down my arms, and the bra dropped to the floor. I could hear his breaths now, feel the heat radiating from his body. Glancing down at his hands, I saw his fingers curling at his sides.

  “You want to touch me, don’t you?” And how I wanted him to. But it was against the rules of my fantasy.

  “Yeah.” His voice sounded rough.

  I unbuttoned my shorts and tugged the zipper down, then pulled the shorts over my hips, letting them slide down my legs.

  His hand rose, as if drawn by puppet strings, toward my ice-blue lace panties. I stepped back through the doorway, out of his range.

  “Keep them on,” he said. “I want to touch them afterward. Feel how wet they are.”

  “They’re already wet,” I whispered.

  He stared at me for an intense, heated moment, then went across the room, kicking off his shorts on the way. Turning, he kept his gaze locked on mine as he crawled onto the bed and pushed the covers aside so I’d have an unobstructed view. He sat up, his back against the dark wooden headboard. I saw his cock, thick and ready, touching his bellybutton.

  A memory of it sliding inside me, filling me, coursed through my mind, and my body flushed with heat. My nipples tightened, begging to be touched, and my hands reacted, itching to touch them.

  He curled his fingers over his cock, then moved them, gently stroking up and down its entire length, from base to head. I watched, unable to tear my gaze away. The heat in my body pooled at my core, then expanded through my limbs. Leaning back so the doorframe pressed between my shoulder blades, I turned my head sideways so I could see him, and raised one hand to my breast, idly swiping my fingertips over my nipple in time to his strokes.

  He blinked hard, still watching me, and covered the head, palming it, then curling his hand over it, fingers pressing, not so gentle now.

  Reflexively, my other hand came up to caress my other breast. I squeezed my nipples between my fingers. I could feel my clit now, a tight, aching bud trapped inside the lacy panties.

  Grasping his cock within his fist, he pumped slowly, moving down and then up. His skin glowed dark; the muscles in his arms and chest tensed and flexed. His free hand clenched, bunching the bottom sheet.

  The ache between my legs was unbearable. Knowing he watched every move I made, I inched my hand downward from my breast, splayed my fingers over my stomach, and then dipped beneath the top edge of my panties.

  A door slammed.

  “Kanoe?”

  A woman’s voice. I froze, then heard footsteps behind me. Without looking back, I leaped into the bedroom, pulling the door behind me. But it wouldn’t shut—my clothes were caught in the doorway.

  I turned in a half-crouched position, looking to the right and left, searching for a place to hide.

  The woman’s voice was shrill, annoyed, as she called out, “Who is that, Kanoe?”

  “Oh shit,” Kanoe said, leaping across the bed. “It’s my mom.”

  *****

  I had never been so mortified in my life. The scramble to hide, then to get dressed, had been like something out of a painfully bad comedy. I sat across from Laura Anakalea now, fully clothed, guzzling down a very strong cup of coffee. As if that would somehow calm me.

  Kanoe stood behind me, hands on my shoulders, pressing gently. His presence kept me from crawling into a hole somewhere, or running out the door screaming.

  Laura was a stern-faced woman, large-boned and tall, with thick black hair pulled back in a fat bun. She wore a muumuu, the long Hawaiian dress, in a hibiscus-print pattern. Her face was round and hardly lined, and I wondered at her age—she looked much younger than my mother.

  To make things worse, Kimo was here too. He stood in the corner, next to Kanoe’s TV, glowering at me.

  What a bad way to meet your…ahhh…vacation fling’s parent. What a nightmare.

  Clearly, both Kimo and Laura knew exactly what had been going on when they’d arrived. There was no way around it. Kanoe’s mom had seen me naked, probably seen me touching myself. A flush of humiliation traveled over my skin, and I buried my face in my cup to hide it.

  Laura scanned me up and down with an expression bordering on disdain. “So what do you do, Celeste?” Her voice had the island accent and rhythm, but her grammar was perfect.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m an associate at a management consulting firm.”

  “I see,” Laura said tightly. “And when do you return home?”

  This woman didn’t beat around the bush, did she? I put on my game face and answered lightly, “The day after tomorrow.”

  “Good,” Kimo snapped.

  “Shut the hell up, Kimo.”

  I put one hand over Kanoe’s to show him that I was okay. I could handle this. I turned to Kimo. “Have I said something offensive to you?”

  He shrugged and turned away, as if he didn’t find my question important enough to bother with a response.

  Laura changed the subject. “We came to make sure you were home, that Lehua was fed,” she said to Kanoe.

  “I’m a grown-up, Mom. I can take care of my dog. No worries.”

  Laura’s face softened. “I know that, ku’u hiapo. But a mom always worries.” She glanced swiftly at me and then back to Kanoe. “You haven’t spent so much time away from home or work since—well, since I can remember.”

  “I was planning on working today until—” He paused. I held my breath. “Until you interrupted.”

  Kimo snorted loudly. My face grew even hotter. It must be crimson, all the way down my throat and to the tips of my ears.

  “Yes, well, we won’t stay long, so you can get back to…work. Maybe we can offer you a ride home, Celeste? Kimo says you’re staying over at Nanette’s place.”

  “Yes, that’s right, but—”

  “She’s staying with me,” Kanoe said flatly.

  “All right.” Laura’s voice was mild but her expression was not. She shot daggers from her eyes. So did Kimo, from his position in the corner. If looks could kill, my heart would stop beating any second now.

  Laura rose abruptly and walked into the kitchen. Water ran, and dishes rattled in the sink. After a few moments, she popped her head out the kitchen door. “Have you heard about Hiwa?”

  Kimo shot Kanoe a malevolent grin. “We saw her over at the store right now. She misses you a lot. She said you called her the day before yesterday.”

  I felt like smacking him. What kind of game was this? I ground my teeth to keep from saying anything.

  But wait, the day before yesterday—that was the day we’d come home from Kona—the day we’d gone flying. Had Kanoe called a woman that day? When? Why?

  “Who is Hiwa?” I asked, falling into the trap and knowing it.

  “His fiancée,” Kimo said.

  “Ex-fiancée,” Kanoe corrected.

  “But they going get back together,” Kimo said confidently.

  Laura came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Hiwa was promoted to manager at the store. Isn’t that great?”

  “Yeah, Mom, that’s great,” Kanoe growled. “Kimo, we’re not getting back together.”

  “She said you asked her to come over Saturday.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face, and a totally irrational feeling welled in my gut. What the hell was Kanoe doing calling another woman on purpose when we were together? And what was he doing inviting her to his house the day after I left?

  As if he’d read my thoughts, Kanoe squeezed my arm again. “We’re friends. Nothing more.”

  “Yeah, right,” Ki
mo scoffed.

  Laura smiled and looked straight at me, her dark eyes sparking with dislike. “They’re going through a rough time right now. They’ve been together for so long, since they were very young. Childhood sweethearts—true soul mates. But don’t think you’re going to get in the way, Celeste. It’s good that Kanoe has a little fling before he settles down. Hiwa will understand.”

  I stood abruptly, forcing Kanoe’s hands to slide from my shoulders. “I think I’ll go…uh…wash my hands now,” I said stiffly, and walked out of the room, giving Laura a wide berth in the doorway.

  Once out of sight in the kitchen, I collapsed against the fridge. Was this killing rage…was it, could it be, jealousy? I’d never experienced such an emotion before. It was blinding, terrifying, awful.

  And I had no right, absolutely no right, to be jealous.

  I’d handled that poorly. Like a wimp. Whatever had happened to the Celeste who was cool under pressure, the Celeste hardly anything could faze?

  Kanoe had happened.

  My eyes welled with tears, another weird, unusual sensation.

  Kanoe had a fiancée, or an ex-fiancée, whatever. Someone he clearly still loved, spoke to often, had a strong bond with. Someone he’d had sex with for years, might be planning to have sex with this weekend. Someone who’d spent way more time with him than I ever could.

  And that was the worst of it. I was only a drop in the deep bucket of Kanoe’s life, could never be more than that, would always be just a few days’ fling. This Hiwa, though, she’d had him for years and would still have him after I left. It was jealousy, and I knew now why it was called the green-eyed monster. Hiwa was lucky she wasn’t here right now, or I might seriously consider mauling her in some permanent, painful fashion.

  I hated a woman I’d never seen, didn’t even know. Because Hiwa had the one thing I wanted but could never have.

  Kanoe

  My brother’s and mother’s words alone were enough to incite a murderous rage, but the look of pain in Celeste’s eyes had sent me over the edge.

  I didn’t move. Because if I moved, I’d do something I’d regret. Instead, I squeezed the chair’s back to stop my hands from shaking and looked down into the seat Celeste had just vacated.

  Count to ten. Count to a thousand. Don’t move until you’ve calmed down.

  That was what they’d told me to do after my dad died, when anything and everything pissed me off. I hadn’t had to use that technique in years.

  Both Kimo and my mother stood still, as if suspended in Jell-O, anticipating my reaction. What did they expect me to do? Thank them for scaring her off? Or maybe they expected me to smack my head and announce that I’d been an idiot, what had I been thinking spending time with an unworthy tourist when I should be having babies with Hiwa?

  I wished Hiwa were here right now. She’d set them straight with much more efficiency than I ever could.

  I relaxed my hands. They weren’t shaking anymore. Must mean I was calming down. Maybe I could speak now without being too harsh. I raised my head to look at my mother.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” I’d never spoken to her like that, but I didn’t care. She deserved it.

  “Kanoe!” She blanched and staggered backward.

  Kimo stepped beside her, all righteous fury that I had dared speak to our mom like that. “Are you lôlô? What’s that high makamaka tourist doing to you?”

  “You’re the one acting high makamaka, Kimo. She’s just trying to be nice, but you never gave her a chance.”

  “She is nobody, Kanoe,” my mom said.

  The thought of dropping everything, going home with Celeste, living with her in her big-city apartment and becoming her permanent boy toy, seemed suddenly reasonable. People surfed in California, so I wouldn’t even have to give that up, though I’d probably have to wear a wetsuit. I’d have to sell my part of the company. It would take time, but my partners would help. I’d also have to sell the house. Or maybe Celeste and I could make it a vacation home.

  My mom seemed to take my silence as agreement. She took a step toward me. “I just want you to be happy. Kimo and I shouldn’t have come today. We’ve just felt so strongly about what you’re doing to Hiwa, but I can see now that it’ll be okay. It’s only a couple more days.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I gritted my teeth. “Hiwa and I are never going to get back together. It’s not going to happen.”

  Why couldn’t they see that, to me, Hiwa was a cousin, a sister, a family member, a close friend? I’d never sleep with her again. Not if we were the last two people on earth.

  My mom looked pained. “Well, then. There are so many others, Kanoe. Pick someone who is more like you. Someone who will understand your ’iwi and your life here. If you don’t, you will only get hurt in the end.”

  “Get out.” My voice was amazingly calm compared to the riot of emotions swirling in my chest.

  “What?”

  “Get out, Mom. If you want to apologize to Celeste, call me later. She’ll be here. With me.”

  “I’ll call you in a couple of days.” My mom raised her chin. “When she’s gone.”

  With that, she left. Kimo trailed sullenly behind, his head bowed. I held my breath, letting it out in a rush when I heard the front door slam.

  “Kanoe?”

  As I looked up, Celeste came to me. I enfolded her in my arms, not knowing if I should be comforting her or the other way around.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked gruffly.

  “Yes. Well, the last bit, anyway.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Really. I’m sorry to have caused you so much trouble with them.”

  “Don’t worry about it. They…” I shook my head. “They don’t get it.” Hell, a couple of weeks ago, I wouldn’t have understood either. “If they had time to get to know you better, things would be different.”

  She shuddered in my arms. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “I want to show you something.” I kissed the top of her head, then took her by the hand and led her into my office. The room’s big bay window faced the ocean, and she sat in the window seat, gazing out over the water as my laptop booted up.

  I logged on to the Kunoa Hawai’i homepage, then clicked on the about tab. “Here it is.”

  She came over. There was no other seat at my desk, so I pulled her onto my lap, brushing aside a lock of her hair so I could see her reaction.

  “What is it?” She raised her brows at me. “I can’t read Hawaiian.”

  I clicked the English tab and told her, “It’s a cultural Hawaiian page I maintain. It’s a starting point to help people with Hawaiian ancestry learn more about their roots.”

  She rested her back against my chest. “Is this what you and your mom mean when you talk about your ’iwi?”

  “Yeah. It’s part of it.”

  She stared at the screen for a long moment, then turned back to me. “You know, I’m not a pure-blooded Hawaiian, but I can understand this. I never had a father, and I don’t know much about my roots. It’s always sort of felt like that part of me is just…missing.”

  I smiled into her hair. “I’m not pure-blooded Hawaiian either.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I’m less than three-quarters. One of my grandmothers was Portuguese, and one of my grandfathers was part Filipino.”

  “Hmm.” She settled deeper against my chest. “I’m part Irish—my maternal grandparents emigrated from Ireland—but I don’t know what I am on my father’s side.”

  “You could find out.”

  She paused, staring at the website. “I guess I could. I’ve tried not to think about it too much. There’s never been enough time.”

  “If it makes a part of you feel empty, then maybe you should find the time,” I said softly.

  She gave a small nod, and I didn’t push her further. Instead, I clicked on a link. “This is my blog.”

  The page was stored in th
e cache and appeared almost instantly. I’d written my last entry last week, and it was about the origins of hula kahiko.

  She scrolled down, skimming it quickly, then turned toward me and buried her face in my neck. “You are an enigma, Kanoe. When you go flying this afternoon, I’m going to explore your site—well, the English part of it—and learn as much as I can about you.”

  Strangely, after all that had gone on today, I felt at ease. I pulled her closer, tighter against me, running my hand up and down her bare thigh.

  “Mmmm…”

  I brought her hand to my mouth and pressed a kiss on the inside of her wrist. “Ipo, can I take you to bed now?”

  She stood, took off her shirt, turned, and sat down again, straddling me. “Why don’t you take me here?”

  So I did.

  Day Nine

  Celeste

  Tomorrow, I would fly away.

  From the moment I opened my eyes that morning, I had ceased to live in the present. I could only live in the future. But not too far into the future—I didn’t think of the long road of my career ahead of me, or of having to deal with Mike and Manning, or even of the huge amount of work I knew would be stacked on my desk when I got in to work on Monday morning. All I could think of was tomorrow, saying good-bye to Kanoe, and flying away. Of the distance between us growing as a jet swept me across the sky, until I’d be a vast ocean away from him.

  He had to take a couple of tour flights in the afternoon, and I was already feeling the separation. I resolved to visit the quaint downtown Hilo waterfront for the last time.

  The first stop was lunch at Kimo’s Drive-In, which proved to be the island version of a greasy-spoon diner. Something called “Spam musubi” was featured on the menu. I asked the waitress what it was.

  “It’s rice covered with Spam fried in sugar and shoyu and wrapped in seaweed,” said the woman impatiently, as if I had asked the dumbest question ever.

  Spam sushi. Hmm…no. Instead, I ordered the most local-sounding dish, the loco moco. When the waitress set it before me, I gawked at it. At least three cups of cooked white rice had been dumped onto a Styrofoam plate. A humongous hamburger patty lay on top of the rice. Two hardly cooked sunny-side-up eggs covered the hamburger patty. Brown gravy drenched the concoction.