by Cathryn Cade
Moke stepped inside a little while later. He'd shed his tee, and his big body glistened with sweat too. Holding a water bottle in each hand, he stopped short, looked around, and let out a long whistle. "Holy shit, woman. Can't believe all you got done."
She swiped her wet face with her tee, and took the chilled water bottle he held out to her. "Thanks."
As she guzzled the water, he shook his head at her. "That your first water? What the fuck? Don't be stupid. You need to drink a bottle every hour, at least. This heat takes the water right out of you. People come over here, don't drink enough, they end up in emergency care."
"Okay," she said, catching her breath after gulping the water. "You're right."
He handed her the other bottle. "Drink that one too."
She made a face at him, but took the bottle. "Fine, you're the boss."
He snorted, and slanted her a look. "I wish."
They washed up at the sink—Shelle scrubbed her hands three times—and used a beach towel from Moke's truck to dry off. Then they ate their lunch in the shade of a spreading tree, looking out over the ocean. Other than the beach at Nawea, it was the prettiest place Shelle had ever eaten a meal. She ate two pieces of the cold, barbecued chicken, a big helping of potato-mac salad, crunchy potato chips, pineapple and two cookies.
But since Moke ate twice as much, she didn't feel one bit self-conscious about her appetite. She'd missed some meals in previous days, and heavy cleaning was hard work.
Leaning back against her perch on a weather-smoothed lava boulder, she gazed down the mountainside. Directly below, it was covered with rows of gnarled bushes with shiny green leaves. White PVC pipe was laid out crookedly on the rocky ground under the bushes.
"What are those?" she asked.
"Coffee plants," Moke said, following her gaze. "Kona coffee. We used to farm it, but now a neighbor leases the ground, grows her coffee here."
"Oh, cool." She peered down at the shrubs, which held red berries. "Can you, like, just grab a coffee bean and chew it, instead of drinking a cup of java?"
He chuckled. "Nah. Coffee cherry has to be picked, then roasted. You wouldn't like it raw."
"I knew I smelled roasting coffee," she said triumphantly. "When we were driving through that town east of here."
"Yeah, the growers bring in their coffee cherry, it gets roasted and milled, then packaged. Smells good, yeah?"
"Uh-huh. So did you pick coffee beans—I mean cherry—when you were a kid?"
"Betta believe it. When coffee cherry is ripe, everybody picks."
She looked out over the vista again. "What made you leave here? I mean, perfect weather, beautiful surroundings..."
He shrugged. "Wanted to see the mainland, see lotta of the places I'd only seen on TV, and in the movies."
"And did you?" she asked wistfully.
"Yeah, seen a lot. Drifted down to Cali, then up through Nevada. That desert is something. Then back up to Washington state."
"So what do you do now?" she asked. "I mean, you have a job, obviously." Everyone did, unless they were born wealthy, or lived on the street.
"Obviously?" His eyes twinkled and his lips turned up in a little grin. "Maybe I don't. Maybe I just...steal shit for a living."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Shelle stared at Moke for a second, his words echoing in her ears.
Then she noted his smirk, and rolled her eyes. "Uh, no. Trust me, I've known guys who did that, and you are not like them."
His face darkened, and he stiffened. "You've known guys who stole for a living. What da fuck, Shelle?"
She really liked the way he said her name—except not this time, because he growled it. "Hey," she protested, "I didn't say I took part, just said I've known guys."
"Yeah, and you shouldn't be hanging around them. Any guy who's willing to live like that, isn't safe for you to be around."
Was he for real? "I'll be sure and keep that in mind, Captain America. Thanks."
Too bad two of them had been her foster brothers, and a little hard to avoid. Vicky had finally told the two to get gone. But as with all her other foster kids, she'd done her best with them.
"Fuck that," he ordered, leaning toward her. "I ain't trying to pretend to be anyone's hero, woman. I'm telling you, a woman like you doesn't belong anywhere around low-lifes like that. They'll drag you down with 'em, sure as fuck."
Yeah. Little did he know she didn't have so far to fall. She crumpled her empty water bottle, keeping her eyes on that.
"You asked what I do," he said, his voice gentler. "I'm an auto mechanic. My buddy T-Bear and me, we run an auto repair shop. JJ's Auto in Airway Heights."
Oh, that was cool. He worked with his hands, and knew how to fix cars. Everyone needed a good mechanic. "Where's Airway Heights?" Must be around some kind of airport, with that name.
"Just out of Spokane, near the eastern border of Washington, and Fairchild USAF base. You been over there?"
"Once, I think. When I was little. I haven't...traveled much."
"But you're here," he said.
She sighed. "I know. Pretty big jump for me."
"How about you?" he asked. "What are your plans—gonna stay here awhile, or go home after you visit your foster mom?"
And just like that, Shelle's lunch knotted in her belly. "Uh, no. I, uh, can't go home right away." She rose and tossed her crumpled water bottle and napkin into the cooler. "What's next?"
He gave her a look that said the convo wasn't through for good, but then he rose as well. "More of the same, I guess."
Three hours later, they were hot, tired and filthy. To clean the tiny bathroom, Shelle had literally poured bleach and cleaner around the room, and into the toilet and shower, followed that with hot water, and used the mop to swamp it out, because she was not getting any closer to that toilet than broom's length. She left the window open and hoped it would dry.
Then she went back into the kitchen and washed off her face and every other bit of bare skin with cool water and a few drops of cleaner. She went and stood outside in the fresh air to dry off, not to mention to breathe deeply.
Moke stopped what he was doing and looked over at her. "You okay?" he called.
She blew out a breath and then waggled her hand, palm down, back and forth. "Worst is done. So I'm okay."
He looked at her, and then nodded. "C'mon," he said. "Work’s done, pau hana. Time for a swim."
"Woo-hoo!" Shelle crowed. She threw her arms up and did a little dance, wiggling her hips. Thank you, baby Jesus. She wasn't sure how much longer she' could've kept going. She felt like a limp, wet bar rag, and probably smelled that bad, too. "Day-um, I don't think I've ever been this hot."
He grinned at her as he dropped his tools in the back of the truck. "Eh, you're okay, but you look better when you're cleaned up."
She swatted his arm with her gloves. "Watch it, big man."
He was chuckling as he set the cooler in the back of the truck. The happiest moment of her day—hey, maybe of the entire month—was when he started the motor and the air conditioning began to blow chilled air. She adjusted the vents on her side to aim at her face and chest, and sighed with relief. Sometimes it was the little things.
"Just so you know," he said as they drove along the highway toward Nawea. "I'm paying you whatever it would've cost me to hire a cleaning service. Worth it to me, and you deserve it after what you got done today."
She stared at him. "Wow. Thanks." She might be able to show up at Vicky's with some cash. Pay for her share of the groceries, at least. Further than that, she dared not look. If she thought too far ahead, cold fingers of panic reached for her. And they'd pull her right into big trouble if she let them.
"'Course I'll have to deduct for all the beer you drink," her employer added.
"Oh, funny," she retorted. "I had two yesterday. You put away a six, at least."
He grinned, that enticing flash of white in his golden-brown face. "Nah. Used to, but I've cut back. Can't be getting up
and heading to work every morning with a fuzzy head, not when it's my own business."
That was true. She nodded and then relaxed, enjoying the view. They were driving under another one of those purple trees, the dangling sprays of blossom nearly brushing the cab roof. Underneath, giant glossy philodendron leaves covered the dirt bank. A fence made of lava rocks wandered along the edge of the field, where a couple of horses grazed. A little fruit stand next to the highway bore a pile of fruit under a hand-lettered sign, 'Mangoes 50 cents'.
"So how you like it here, other than sweating your ass off working in the heat?" he asked.
"Love it. But, I cannot wait to dive into that bay," she sighed.
"Right? One thing I don't miss about the islands is the fucking humidity."
"So Eastern Washington's not like Sea-Tac, huh? A lot drier over east of the Cascade Range."
"Yeah. Lot more sunshine. And the air feels drier, like Seattle in the summer. Gets cold in the winter, but the snow is pretty. At least until about March, when everyone's ready to move south to get away from it."
She laughed again. "Or here."
He nodded. "Be a perfect world, spend three seasons there, and winters here."
"Like retired people. My foster mom Vicky loves it here. Well, at least until the volcano erupted."
"Lucky she's just renting, 'cause lot of homes lost over there. Lot of land gone, buried under a new layer of lava. Won't be any building on that for few hundred years."
"Wasn't it scary, growing up on an island with a live volcano?" She couldn't see any smoke, or laze today, because the southern mountain bore a cap of fluffy clouds.
He gave her a look as if she was a few cards short of a full deck. "You mean scarier than living in the shadow of Mt. Rainier? If that blows, it's gonna wipe out the entire city of Seattle."
"Oh, right." She shrugged. "I guess no one there really believes it's ever gonna happen. Even though Mt. St. Helens did blow in the '80s...so Rainier could too."
"Eh, anywhere you live there's gonna be something. Hurricanes, tornadoes, forest fires...it's always something."
"That's true." Shelle turned to look out the window as they slowed to pass through Kealakekua. The tourists were out in droves, some dressed up in summer whites, some in swimsuits or brief workout gear, wandering along the sidewalks in front of little art galleries, tourist traps.
One candy store had, strangely, a cutout of a cartoon donkey standing over the entrance.
"Hey," Moke asked, stopping to let two tourists with shopping bags cross the road. "You ever had a Donkey Ball?"
"Uh, no," she said. "Is that a thing?" If so, gross, because she'd heard the term 'sucks donkey balls', and not in a good way.
He laughed, that deep huh-huh that men made. "Not what you're thinking. They're big chocolate balls with nuts or whatever. You like chocolate?"
"Sure." Show her a woman who didn't.
"Cool, me too." He turned the wheel, diving into a parking spot that had just opened up along the curb. "Be right back."
Shelle watched him jog across the road. She opened another bottle of water and glugged, then held the chilled bottle to her hot cheeks. Cold water and air-conditioning, bliss. Hawaiians were tough. Many drove older vehicles with the windows open, and Moke's little family home sure didn't have any air-conditioning. Or a heater, but she guessed the temps didn't change much in the winter, this close to the tropics.
Moke emerged from the candy store, a white bag in his hand. A big, handsome Hawaiian bearing chocolate. Her mouth watered.
And she wasn't the only one who noticed. A pair of young women in shorts and bikini tops were just coming out of a store near the pickup. They tossed their hair and one smiled as he approached.
Shelle waited for him to grin back at the women and maybe say something. He didn't even seem to notice them, just yanked the truck door open and vaulted in, tossing the bag in her lap. She wouldn't have been human if she hadn't smiled at him. "Thank you."
"You bet," he said, smirking as he put the truck in gear. "You can lick 'em both if you want."
Of course, he had to bring sex into it—he was a guy.
She would have banged her head on the dash, but it was too far away. She settled for dropping the candy bag onto the console between them. "And just like that, you destroyed my appetite for chocolate."
His smirk widened. "That's all right. Hawaiians are more like caramel, you know? Sweet and salty."
She groaned, slapping a hand over her face. Because man balls—euww! Why were guys so convinced women loved them, and couldn't wait to get up close and personal with them—why?
He chuckled, a deep smug sound that made her want to slap him.
"Or maybe we're more like honey," he went on, as if talking to himself. "Yeah, that's it. Like those honey-and-nut granola bars. Plenty sweet nuts in there. You can lick 'em all you want."
"You know what I like to do with those granola bars?" she asked. "I like to rip open the package and bite them—hard. Crunch those nuts in my teeth, grind 'em up really fine. And then gulp! They're all gone."
He winced playfully, but then gave her a sidelong look and smirked again. "You swallow, huh? Really good to know."
She growled under her breath. Then, as he laughed, she leaned over and poked the stereo button hard. Maybe music would shut him up. But, Mick Jagger's nasal voice filled the cab, wailing about 'brown sugar'.
Shelle had not known that anyone could drive a vehicle while laughing so hard, but Moke managed it.
She rolled her eyes and looked out the window, but she was laughing too, because she had to admit—at least to herself—he was pretty funny.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Back at Nawea, Shelle was ready to head up to the shower.
Moke carried the cooler around the side of the big house, and set it in the shade outside the kitchen doors.
"You going inside?" he asked her, yanking off his filthy tee to toss it on the grass. Next he kicked his sneakers off, and peeled off his short socks, also filthy. His shorts were dark gray, so they were probably just as dirty, it just didn't show.
"Well, yeah. Aren't you?" She ripped her gaze from his mighty chest, and the bulge of his biceps. Although, as far as she was concerned, he could just keep on stripping down right here...that would be okay. More than okay. If he wasn't so dirty, she might even be tempted to do some of that licking and sucking he was so obsessed with.
"Fuck no," he said, giving her an incredulous look. "Here's the keys if you wanna go up. Me, I'm diving right in."
She watched him jog away down across the lawn, and acknowledged that she was feeling a new kind of heat now. It had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature and humidity, and everything to do with him. She felt as if she'd been waiting forever to see the rest of him, under those long, loose shorts.
But yeah, definitely time to get in the water.
Kicking off her own sneakers, she balanced on first one foot then the other to yank off her socks—eeuw. They were gross. The grass felt great under her bare feet. She loped down the lawn, not stopping until her feet were in the water, her toes in the wet sand.
Moke flopped into the water, causing a huge splash. He surfaced with one hand pushing his hair back from his face, and eyed her across the water. God, he was gorgeous when he was all sleek and wet. He ought to come with a warning label, 'Do not immerse in water'.
"Coming in, haole girl?" His deep voice was a dare, and his dark gaze met hers with a challenge—a dirty one. One that if she accepted it, would probably end up with her regretting her recklessness. But she'd have one hella good time along the way.
And why shouldn't she be reckless with him? She'd been watching herself for months, since she threw Eric out, and what had that gotten her? Bad shit had happened, through no fault of her own.
This time, she got to choose. And she chose this time, this place and this man.
Shelle smiled slowly. "Yeah, I'm coming in, Hawaii boy."
Reaching down,
she pulled her tee up and off, flinging it behind her. Her cutoffs dropped on the beach, and she walked into the water, clad only in bra and panties—not a matched set in any way, but she was fairly certain he wouldn't care.
She dove in, the cool water flowing over her hot skin and through her hair. Ahh, felt so good. And salt was a kind of cleanser, right? If not so good for cuts or scrapes, great for work sweat.
She surfaced face to face with him. Hip deep in the water, he gazed down at her, his eyes hot and turbulent, lids heavy. "Yeah? Or no," he said roughly. "Tell me now."
In answer, this new, reckless Shelle reached up, grabbed his huge shoulders, slick and wet. She pushed off the bottom and surged up to kiss him.
Her senses nearly exploded with all that was him.
He smelled of healthy, virile male, of sweat and salt. He was huge and hard and alive under her hands, his skin sleek wet satin, but his hands rough with callous as he palmed her ass, holding her to him as he returned her kiss with interest.
His lips were warm, softer than they looked, and his tongue—holy wow. Slick and supple, it traced her lips, then slid against hers as he traced the edge of her teeth. He tasted of something purely male and mysterious that made her desperate to get more of him.
He grunted as her thighs met on either side of his hips, and put one hand under her ass, holding her there—so strong. The other hand flattened on her back, holding her there for his kiss. He kissed her like she was the best thing he'd tasted in a long, long time too.
She let go of his shoulder with one hand so she could touch more of him. Acres of Hawaiian muscle, and she wanted to explore it all, every bulge and hollow, every plane and crevice.
But apparently, he had the same idea. Clamping his hand tighter on her ass, he moved his hand around her side to cup her breast through the bra. But though thin, it was in his way. She felt the same—she could not wait to feel his big, calloused hands on her breasts. Her nipples tightened with sheer need at the thought.
Until he let go of her mouth and bent her back in his arms to nuzzle his way down her throat. His lips were soft, his tongue clever, his breath hot. "Fuck," he groaned. "This bra needs to come off. Wanna see your gorgeous tits. Wanna taste 'em."