Sun Kissed

by JoAnn Ross

  “It’s obvious you haven’t been eating properly,” she said as she put a large glass measuring cup of water in the microwave. “Last night was a start—”

  “Your mother’s a fantastic cook.”

  “Isn’t she? I can’t possibly live up to her kitchen skills, but I make a hell of an omelet.” She reached into another cupboard and retrieved a French press.

  “Fancy,” Donovan said.

  “These are peaberry beans,” she said. “They deserve royal treatment.”

  “I thought Kona was the big coffee deal around these islands.”

  “It is. And it’s fine enough. And these are actually Kona, but they’re extra special because unlike most beans, which grow together like connected twins, these make up the five-percent that are only children.”

  She held out the small, round dark bean on the palm of her hand. “Since they get all Mother Nature’s attention while growing, they’re denser and sweeter. And also more expensive, because there’s no way to tell whether you’re dealing with doubles or singles inside the coffee cherry. So, each peaberry has to be plucked out by hand. But you’ll see that they’re worth the price.

  “Which, by the way, you don’t have to worry about,” she said, as she measured the ground beans into the press, “because I charged them to Nate’s account. And before you argue about that, may I point out that you are, after all, not only his best friend but his guest, so I know he’d want you to have the very best.”

  She added boiling water in stages, pressed the plunger to filter the grounds, poured the coffee into a white mug, put it in front of him, and stood there, arms crossed. “So tell me what you think.”

  As the fragrance rose almost visibly upward, like in those Saturday morning cartoons Donovan had watched when his parents were out of town, he took a taste of the rich, dark brew. “I’m pretty certain I hear angels singing.”

  “I told you.” Her pleased grin was like the sun bursting out from the dark and heavy clouds that had been hanging over his head for so long.

  He took another, longer drink. “I’m beginning to rethink the marriage question. Especially if I could start every day with this.”

  Which beat stopping by Starbucks on the way to work. Which had him thinking if Lani had been waiting at home with her French press, he may not have gotten run over on the way back from Tess’s townhouse that night of her bomb threat.

  “It seems more practical to send you back to Portland after New Year’s Day with a grinder, a French press, and a bag of beans.”

  “You’re right about the practicality. But the scenery’s a helluva lot better here.” Looking at her over the rim of the mug, his gaze moved over her tanned, bikini-clad body.

  “I’ve always claimed Orchid Island is the prettiest of the Oceana group,” she said, purposefully missing his meaning as she broke three eggs into a bright yellow bowl. “Why don’t you take your shower while I make breakfast?”

  A cold one, Donovan thought as he left the kitchen, headed toward the bathroom made for sex.

  “I was going to replace your bathroom tile today,” Lani announced when he returned to the kitchen. “But it’s stuck in a bottleneck at the port in Honolulu. Hopefully it’ll arrive tomorrow.” She added cream cheese and smoked salmon to the eggs she’d poured into a pan.

  “Did you ever reach your friend?” The woman hadn’t answered her phone when Lani had called her from the Breslins’ house.

  “No. I called her again last night after I got home. And three times this morning.” She shook her head. “But there wasn’t any answer.”

  “Maybe she and that Ford guy eloped last night,” he suggested. “And she was calling to tell you before they left the island.”

  “Perhaps,” Lani murmured, clearly unconvinced as she snipped fresh chives into the mix. “But you’d think she’d at least answer her phone.”

  “Probably not if they’re on their honeymoon.”

  “I suppose that’s a point. But I can’t believe she wouldn’t have called me first. Ford runs a charter boat. I thought it would be fun if we could all have a twilight dinner sail this evening, but if she doesn’t call back, I guess that’s off the table. Meanwhile, we’re taking you shopping.”

  “I am not, under any circumstances, going to wear one of those damned flowered shirts.”

  Lani sighed and reminded herself to be patient. He was, after all, a malihini —a newcomer—and should be allowed time to adjust. “May I remind you that my dad wore one last night? And that I thought he looked great?”

  “It fit him,” Donovan agreed. “He’s not only a native, he’s the king of the island. Literally. Which means he can pretty much wear whatever the hell he likes.”

  “Point taken. But you can’t deny that Tom Selleck looked hot in them in Magnum P.I.”

  “Selleck is an actor. He was playing a part. The shirts were part of his character’s laid-back image.”

  “But not part of yours,” she guessed.

  Just when she thought he might be beginning to unwind, he reverted to the man who’d shown up here yesterday. “Lani, I’m a police detective. My image is supposed to be a symbol of authority.”

  Lani decided that this was not the time to point out that she’d never been all that fond of authority figures.

  “All right.” She took the pan off the range and tipped the folded omelet onto a plate. “I’ll let you off the shirt hook for now, but those jeans have to go because they’re heavy and bulky, and don’t dry fast when they get wet. Which they will. The same as your shoes. Except for hiking over the lava on the volcano, you’ll need slippahs.” When she saw him about to argue, she clarified. “Otherwise known as flip-flops on the mainland.”

  “No. Period. Way.”

  “They’re more than an island fashion statement. They’re practical because they dry fast and it’s easy to shake the sand off them.”

  “I don’t remember any fashion police when I was down here with Nate.”

  “Maybe not. But I’ll bet you ended up borrowing his stuff.”

  His brow furrowed as he thought back. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

  “See?” She flashed him her best smile. The same one she’d pulled out while contestant wrangling on Beauty in order to urge intimate sharing in the “confessional” segments.

  “The thing is,” Donovan argued, “I don’t need to worry about getting wet or sand in my shoes today because I’d planned to sit out on the lanai and get some studying done.”

  “Wrong again,” she answered cheerfully, ignoring his frown. “Since the library’s not open today, and the tile hasn’t arrived, as soon as you finish that omelet, we’re going sightseeing. And, if you’re very, very nice, before shopping, I’ll even take you snorkeling and introduce you to Moby Dick.”

  “Since I had to wade through the damn book in freshman English, Moby Dick isn’t really a draw.”

  “You’ll like this one. He’s an uhu , or parrotfish I feed every day.” She nodded at the untouched plate sitting in front of him. “And if we keep arguing, we’re going to be late, and believe me, it’s no fun being scolded by a fish.”

  “You’re telling me you’ve befriended a fish named Moby Dick. Who talks.”

  “Would I make something like that up?”

  “I’m not sure. Especially after you led me to believe your father considers Horatio your brother.”

  “My bad,” she said cheerfully.

  He shook his head and scooped up a bit of the omelet. “I don’t know which one of us is crazier—you for talking to a fish, or me for agreeing to tag along to watch you do it.”

  Lani had only a split second to decide whether to be annoyed or amused by his aggrieved tone. She opted for amusement.

  “Don’t knock it,” she said with a jaunty grin, “until you’ve tried it. You know, Donovan, it certainly wouldn’t hurt if you allowed yourself a li
ttle fantasy now and then.”

  She took his mug, intending to put it in the dishwasher when Donovan snagged her wrist. “What makes you think I don’t allow myself any fantasies?”

  His voice was low and smoky, and his eyes, as they locked onto hers were like a tempest-tossed sea. Slowly, deliberately, even as those nagging little body parts that had been too long ignored began doing the tango, Lani forced herself to relax.

  “I was simply teasing, Donovan. Gracious, must you take everything so seriously?”

  “I’m a serious person, Lani. I always have been.”

  The fact that he had said it so simply, without apology, had her stifling her sigh. It also had her wanting to ruffle dark hair still damp from his shower and tell him to lighten up. Maybe they should tangle those sheets sooner rather than later. Surely morning sex would loosen him up.

  With a fingertip, she traced his smoothly shaven jawline, breathing in the wood and sandalwood scent of the soap she’d bought at Natural Indulgences Soap and Candleworks next door to Taylor’s Sugar Shack.

  “I’ll bet you were a Boy Scout.”

  “Eagle.”

  She smiled at that. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “I wouldn’t think anything could ever surprise you.” Proving that he could, indeed, surprise her, Donovan stroked the inside of her wrist and caused a jolt in her pulse.

  How could what should have been a casual touch make her tremble? Because, Lani realized, for Donovan, there were no casual touches. No simple conversations. Everything the man did, what he said, was serious and seemingly meticulously planned.

  Would he be so controlled in bed? No. From the pheromones jolting back and forth between them like lightning bolts, she’d bet her new titanium diver’s watch with electronic depth meter that Donovan was a sex god. After all, so much pent up energy had to go somewhere.

  Lani grieved for the young man she had not appreciated when they’d first met: the rookie patrolman who had acted on his instincts. Instincts that were undeniably dangerous, perhaps even a bit foolish. That young man probably would not have risen through the ranks as far as the one now sitting with her in Nate’s sunny kitchen. But she doubted he’d have that aura of sadness hovering over him like a heavy Oregon fog.

  She could make him happy. That was what she did. Her true talent, like her father’s bedside manner, her mother’s art, Nate’s writing. Hadn’t her baby-chick contestants assured her it was her calling? Which was, of course, why she’d had no choice but to leave them.

  Right now, even as part of her wanted to strip off her clothes and lie beneath him, hot, sweaty, and naked, while he did anything and everything to her needy, tingling body, an equally strong part of Lani wanted to put her arms around him, put that beautiful dark head on her breast, and assure him that he deserved better than the life he seemed to have made for himself back on the mainland. That she could make things better. That he could have that life with her right here on Orchid Island.

  And wasn’t that a dangerous, impossible fantasy?

  Oh, Nate , she thought with an inward sigh. Even if I had been wanting to fall in love, you couldn’t have sent me a more unlikely candidate.

  “You’ve surprised me, Donovan,” she admitted quietly. She’d never been one to hide her thoughts. Not even when it cost her a lucrative and satisfying career. “More than I would have thought possible.”

  Instead of looking pleased by her admission, Donovan frowned. “Lani—”

  “We’re losing the day,” she said with forced brightness as she pulled away. Nothing about Donovan Quinn was going to be easy. Then again, was there anything really worth having that was? “Come on, Detective. I’m going to get you to unwind if it’s the last thing I do.”

  The hell with Nate and the hell with island time, Donovan decided. Lani Breslin was no longer Nate’s petulant underage sister. She was, as he’d informed her brother, an adult woman.

  An adult, deliciously scantily clad woman he wanted with every awakened atom in his body.

  He ran a slow, insinuating hand up her bare thigh. Hadn’t she told him to go with his impulses? “I can think of better ways to relax than running around playing tourist all day.”

  She backed away so quickly you’d think she’d been zapped by one of his unstable, electrically charged breakaway atoms. “There you go again, city man. Rushing things.” She patted his cheek. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that anticipation is half the fun? Unless you’re up for skinny-dipping, go put some swim trunks on beneath those jeans, because you’re going snorkeling.”

  Knowing determination when he saw it, Donovan did as instructed and returned to where she was waiting in the great room.

  “Well?” she asked over her shoulder when he hesitated for a glance at the abandoned laptop sitting on the table. “Are you coming or not?”

  Apparently, he considered, as he followed her out the door, not any time soon.

  6

  “Sugar is one of Orchid Island’s major industries,” Lani said as she steered the fire-engine-red Jeep through the forest of tasseled sugarcane.

  For all her talk of the pleasures of life in the slow lane, Donovan estimated that she was going at least sixty miles an hour down the pitted dirt road.

  She shifted gears and pressed down on the accelerator, passing an enormous truck loaded with freshly cut sugarcane on the right. Donovan resisted the impulse to close his eyes.

  “Actually,” she said, waving gaily at the truck driver she was fast leaving behind in a cloud of dust, “sugar’s so dependable that it’s almost a religion on the island.”

  “I thought you said that things move more slowly down here,” he said as the sugar cane became a blur.

  “Time,” she corrected. “I don’t remember discussing driving.”

  “Do you think we could take this tour at a pace somewhat less than the speed of sound?”

  She looked somewhat surprised by his ironic tone, but eased up on the accelerator. “That’s the Sleeping Lady.” She pointed toward a rock formation that did indeed resemble a reclining woman. “Kekepania was a giant akua , or goddess, who befriended the Menehune.

  “Little people,” she explained at his questioning look. “They were here even before the first Polynesians arrived. They were two feet tall and did all their work at night. They also had magical powers.”

  “I suppose you believe in them,” Donovan responded, venturing a guess.

  Lani turned her head to give him a knowing grin. “I like to,” she admitted, “although there are those horribly unromantic souls who persist in believing that the Menehune were actually a class of pygmy laborers from Tahiti.”

  “You have to admit it makes more sense than the idea of pixies.”

  Apparently Lani was not prepared to concede any such point. “To some. Those with limited imaginations. However, while historians and anthropologists continue to argue about the Menehune, no one has come up with a logical explanation for all the stone water projects that were supposedly built by them in a single night.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “one night Kekepania was asleep when enemy canoes were threatening to beach on the shoreline. The Menehune threw boulders onto her to wake her up so she could come and protect them, but she was snoring and swallowed some of the boulders and died.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Isn’t it?” she agreed on a sigh. “Still, a few rocks ricocheted off her breasts and sank the invaders’ canoes, so it all worked out in the end, I suppose.”

  She belonged here, Donovan determined. In fact, he had never met an individual more suited to her environment. Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, King Arthur, all would feel at home in this fantasy land of nature and legend. Donovan was having difficulty picturing Lani living anywhere else.

  “That’s Moon Cove Beach,” she said, waving her right hand in the direction of a quiet stretch of sand they were passing.
“The water’s calm there; it’s ideal for swimming.”

  She downshifted, slowing the Jeep to allow Donovan a leisurely look at the glistening beach. “Because it’s so old, Mother Nature has more time to create our gorgeous beaches.

  “Shipwreck Beach is great for windsurfing, Nalu Beach and Makani Beach are good for bodysurfing, windsurfing, and catamaran rides. Makalapua Beach is also where you’ll find a lot of swimmers, Crescent Beach is good for surfing—”

  “I get the point,” he broke in. “And it’s nice of you to play tour guide, Lani, but I don’t really think I’ll have time for surfing and catamaran rides. I do have—”

  “Work to do,” she said, cutting him off, just as he had interrupted her.

  Donovan thought he detected the hint of an accusation in her dry tone. “Studying,” he corrected. “I have an exam coming up when I get back that scores twenty-five percent on the written, and seventy-five percent for the interview.”

  “Both of which I have no doubt you’ll ace,” she assured him.

  “That’s probably what most of the would-be agents who made it through the first part of the acceptance process thought, despite knowing the odds. Which can be as low as one percent of the applicants.”

  “If you’re serious about becoming a special agent, you’ll make the grade.”

  “I appreciate your confidence, but I need to study. I bought these guides.” All, on their online sales pages, promising success in winning one of the toughest, most prestigious jobs in the world.

  “If all you plan to do is keep your nose stuck in a book, why did you come down here?” she asked, genuinely curious. “Surely you could have studied in Portland.”

  “Of course I could have. But Nate and Tess convinced me a change would be helpful.”

  “A change of location? Or pace?”

  “Is there a difference?”

  As they continued down the highway, the scenic bay curved out toward the backdrop of mountains. Rainwater scored the lush green mountain face in rivulets of molten silver. Donovan tried to remember when he had seen anything so magnificent.