Rolling in the Deep: Hawaiian Heroes, Book 2 (2 page)

David had glared until Daniel broke the intensity of the moment by grimacing horribly at him. David laughed, once more his good-natured self, and hugged Daniel, patting him on the back.

“Besides,”
he said,
“there’s not an artist in the world who tattoos better than Pele’s menehune. And you got the best ink in da islands, brah.”

Menehune, little people of the forest, indeed. No human hand inked the tattoos that marked the sites of the wounds on Pele’s ho’omalu. They simply appeared, bringing with them swift healing of wounds, no matter how horrific.

Daniel rolled his shoulders impatiently under his blue tank, emblazoned with a Kona Brew label. Having used his daylight hours on his investigation, he’d been up half the night working on a new carving. 

When he finally slept, he was plagued with vague, erotic dreams of an elusive
wahine
who led him on a chase through the shadows along the edge of the sea, her laughter floating back to him, the warm night air perfumed with her scent, ripe and sweet. Each time he neared her, she slipped away, her footsteps splashing in the surf.

He’d awakened tangled in his linen sheets, aching with arousal. Had to get up and go out for a swim to cool off. His aching cock hadn’t subsided until he took himself in hand, that husky laughter still twining through his mind as he jerked off into the warm water of the bay. Or maybe it had been Kanaloa’s laughter he heard. The patron god of Hawaiian seas wasn’t above teasing.

In the bright afternoon, Daniel was tired and grouchy. His new tattoo still itched too. He’d smeared his skin with cooling aloe cream, but he knew from hard experience it would take days or even weeks for the prickling on his back and ribs to subside. Ah, well, better than the alternative. He snorted to himself—as if he cared. With a face like a slab of
pāhoehoe
lava, he wasn’t too worried about a few scars. 

His mother informed him, however, that traditional tattoos were easier for a mother to look at than actual disfigurement. As David had reminded him, when a Ho’omalu was wounded in battle for his patrons, he received tattoos, badges of honor, like stars and bars on a soldier’s uniform.

Anyway, for now, he was on family time, not his own. He scanned the shady benches around the life-size bronze statues of hula dancers. In the afternoon heat, families sat surrounded by piles of luggage, waiting to be shuttled to the car rental lots. A breeze stirred the leis hanging on a kiosk, enough to waft their sweet perfume through the damp air but not enough to cool the June afternoon. A blonde, a brunette and an older redhead. Shouldn’t be too hard to pick out a trio like that in this small courtyard, even with all the other arrivals milling around.

Nearby, a group of Asian tourists clustered around their Hawaiian tour guide, a pretty girl with a plumeria in her artfully streaked hair. A pair of honeymooners with pale skin and wilted leis stood entwined. Shark bait, the natives called pale haole visitors—he’d give ’em two days to be hungover and burnt to a crisp.

Looking past them, he locked his gaze on a tall blonde with killer curves standing by a pile of luggage, arms lifted to shove her hair up into a messy updo, as if she’d just crawled out of bed. She had a mouth to match her breasts, full and lush, high Nordic cheekbones and a determined jaw. And her legs—they went on fo’ days.
Ka nani,
so
pretty.

She turned her head as if feeling his gaze, and lowered her arms, her sea-blue gaze fastened on him like a homing beacon. Then she smiled. That full mouth curved up at the corners, a dimple hitching up one cheek. Her eyes warmed to the welcoming hue of a shallow bay.

Daniel hardened as if his dream wahine stood before him personified. He thanked God for his heavy khaki shorts and loose tank, not to mention the sunglasses that hid his own gaze. Eyes gave away a lot, and he couldn’t afford to let this island visitor perceive that he returned her attraction in spades.

Because his brother might be marrying a haole wahine, but David was younger, one hell of a lot more easygoing and more…domesticated.

And this blonde had to be Claire Hunter, one of Melia’s best friends. The combination of wahines was right. Grace Moran would be the oldest one, a rounded woman with flowing red hair. Her daughter, Bella, was a surprise—he’d known she was a brunette, but she looked like an island girl with her pale golden skin and long skein of glossy hair.

His gaze pulled back to the blonde as if by a magnetic force, Daniel groaned inwardly. Damn it all, why now? All he wanted to do was get through the wedding and get back to his hideaway by the sea.

He’d been expecting more haoles like Melia—attractive but essentially uninteresting to him. Not that he didn’t like his prospective sister-in-law, because he did. She was brave, pretty, and cooked like a dream. More important, she looked at his little brah like he’d hung the moon, and David was crazy in love with her.

She wasn’t Hawaiian, but hell, nobody was perfect.

But while Melia might be right for David, Daniel knew himself—he was a rough, mean warrior. And his own experience with a sexy haole tourist hadn’t worked out so well.

Now he stuck to seeing Kahni, a local
tita,
tough wahine, who could handle him. She didn’t make him hard as
pohaku
wood just at the sight of her, but he helped her out with her rent, and she helped him stay sane. Until now.

Kanaloa, help me, he prayed silently. Don’t let me mek ass, my patron.

He felt no answer, no help even from that quarter. Was everyone and everything conspiring against him here?

Gritting his teeth, he strode forward to meet his family’s guests.

Claire Hunter could not believe her eyes. The huge, muscular Hawaiian was not only lingering where she could feast her eyes on him, he was actually coming straight to her. Her heart gave a great
thump
and began to beat double-time. Omigod, he was drop-dead, macho, muscle-man gorgeous.

She had come to the islands hoping to meet hot guys, of course, but this was no beach boy. He was a primitive warrior straight from Hawaii’s mystic past.

Polynesian, that was obvious, from his great stature—a head taller than those around him, he had shoulders the size of the mountain she’d glimpsed from the plane window coming in—to his golden skin and the ebony hair swept back from his face.

Not to mention his tattoos. Not only did they swirl over one brawny arm and shoulder in large circular patterns and even one leg below his shorts, but they decorated one side of his face. A band of small triangular shapes ran from his hairline down over his temple and cheek.

And what a face. Broad and hard, with a wide mouth, high cheekbones and straight nose. A short raven beard and mustache covered the area around his mouth, but even that could not disguise the power of that square jaw or the sheer force of his persona. The tattoos only emphasized his untamed look.

His eyes, unfortunately, were hidden behind sport sunglasses. She wanted to gaze into them, wanted to know if they were as black as his hair. If they held a flirtatious spark or a hard challenge to match his body language. He carried himself as if he was ready for trouble. As if he wouldn’t back down from any threat.

She smirked at the way people scurried aside as he strode across the open-air lobby. The little Asians looked awed as if a
kii
god statue had come to life to stalk among them. Conversely, the pretty Hawaiian tour guide was smiling admiringly, her charges forgotten.

Mine, thought Claire. Pleasure purred through her veins as he halted before her. It lasted until he looked past her as if she weren’t standing there.

“You must be Mrs. Moran,” he said to Grace in a deep, rough voice that rumbled up out of his broad chest and shivered through Claire like thunder. “
Aloha.
I’m Daniel Ho’omalu, David’s brother.”

Claire blinked. David’s brother? Melia was marrying into this man’s family?
Omigod
.

Of course, now she saw the likeness, superficially, at least. David was built much the same, with ebony hair and golden skin, but there the resemblance ended. Melia’s fiancé was laid-back, mellow. When he’d traveled to the mainland to meet Melia’s family and friends, Claire had relaxed right away under the influence of his infectious smile.

This man was full of an inner fierceness, giving her the same jittery excitement as standing next to a blowhole on the rocky coast, waiting for the wave that would explode up, shooting foam and spray into the air.

“Yes, I’m Grace Moran,” Grace said. “How nice of you to come and pick us up, Daniel. My daughter, Bella.”

He nodded at Bella, who was still perched on her big suitcase, slender legs crossed. She smiled up at him.

Claire didn’t wait to be introduced. She held her hand out, upping the wattage on her best smile. “Hi, I’m Claire. Nice to meet you, Daniel.”

He stared down at her, impassive behind his darned sunglasses. “Aloha.”

He seemed to be studying her hand as if unsure whether he wanted to touch her, and Claire’s cheeks burned. She had to hold on to her smile instead of pouting like a little girl.

Finally he lifted his own huge hand and closed it around hers. He shook her hand once, firmly, and then let go. Just an impersonal handshake, but it rocked Claire to her toes. His hand was warm, calloused, full of the latent power of a man who worked with his hands. As his touch fell away, she fought the instant and irrational desire to hang on, pull herself closer to him.

She was bemused by her reaction—it wasn’t as if she was a slut who boinked every guy she was attracted to. She was darned picky, in fact. She’d grown up in Astoria, Oregon, a town small enough that everyone in the local high school knew who was in the backseat together, so she’d waited. At college in Portland, she’d remained careful, even with the newfound power of an attractive woman on her own for the first time. After the first fumbling time, she’d learned to enjoy sex—a lot. But she’d been with only a few guys.

But something about her best friend finding love had ignited a desire for a taste of something more. Just the way Melia looked at David revealed not only love, but also a deep sexual excitement. And having met Daniel Ho’omalu, she understood better how Melia had fallen so hard and so fast for his brother. David was handsome, but Daniel was…amazing.

Yeah, she wanted to hang on to him. Heck, she wanted to melt on his chest like ice cream in the hot Hawaiian sun. Wanted to sniff him and see if it was he who carried the scent of the sea teasing her nostrils through the smells of hot pavement and even hotter tourists.

When he drew back his hand, she did the same, tucking in a wayward strand of hair and watching as he bent to pick up Grace’s bags. Later, she promised herself. Somehow, even if she had to find her courage in a pitcher of mai tais, she was going to end up in his arms.

Preferably naked as the day she was born.

Staying away from her was key, and that included absolutely no more touching. Especially that silky skin of hers. Claire Hunter was sending all the signals that let him know she was interested in him sexually. Yeah, until she found out what he liked. Then she’d dart away like a reef tang fleeing a hungry moray.

In the interest of self-preservation, Daniel handed Grace Moran into the front seat of his big, silver Chevy truck. He stashed their luggage in the bed. Claire Hunter climbed into the backseat with her friend, flashing her long legs under her short skirt, and proceeded to chat in her husky voice as he drove out of the airport and east along the Queen K highway, back to Kona.

“I like your truck,” she said, leaning forward between the bucket seats. “Cushy.”

“Thanks.” He hoped the brevity of his answer would discourage her, but instead she reached past his shoulder to point. Her nails were short and rounded on her slender, capable hands. Damn, another point in her favor—he hated long, painted talons on a woman.

“What are those big white roofs down by the shore? The ones that look like tents?”

He followed her gesture with his gaze. “That’s the Natural Energy Lab. Built to harvest energy from wind and waves. Never took off. Fossil fuels are still too cheap to make this pay.”

“They’re studying something like that off the Oregon coast too,” she said. “Maybe one of these days, huh?”

It was a subject dear to his heart. Like all Hawaiians, he wanted his islands clean, unravaged by pollution. Clean energy that wouldn’t harm the sea and would create local jobs was perfect, but he wasn’t getting into any such discussion with her. Didn’t need to find common interests. She was here for a few days, then gone, and he could forget her.

“Maybe.” He checked his side mirror before pulling out to pass a slow-moving car full of silver-haired haoles. Claire Hunter sat back, murmuring something to her friend.

Daniel reached over to turn his CD player on. The honey-smooth tones of Hapa poured from the speakers, harmonizing in a traditional Hawaiian melody.

Grace Moran sat silently, one hand fisted on her thigh. He wondered if she was always so tense, then forgot about it. Not his problem, and anyway, he had to keep his gaze forcibly on the road, despite the temptation to gaze into the rearview mirror at the bundle of blonde sex appeal in his backseat.

Claire Hunter kept shoving strands of her hair back into her casual updo. Made him want to take her damn clip and toss it out the window. His fingers flexed on the wheel, fighting the need to run through that silky hair, use it to tilt back her head and expose her neck and find out if hers was the elusive yet somehow familiar scent teasing his nostrils.

The other girl, Bella, gazed quietly out the window of his truck. The airport was built on an old lava flow, the sunbaked plain enlivened only by the weird coral arrangements left by passersby on the lava-strewn roadsides. The only beauty out here was the glittering expanse of the sea and the white surf breaking out on the point past Wawaloli Beach.

Of course Claire wanted to know about the phrases spelled out in bleached chunks of coral along the road, white against the mottled charcoal of the lava. She leaned forward, confirming that it was her sexy perfume he smelled. She pointed out a phrase reading
Jay and Dawn Forever
.