Rolling in the Deep: Hawaiian Heroes, Book 2 (24 page)

Daro Kai and Jason Mamaloa had stayed for supper. They sat across the table from Claire, in embroidered island shirts, while the younger men wore tank tops.

Bella was arguing with Zane, as usual, over who had hiked the fastest up another trail into Kau Forest Preserve, up and to the south on the mountain side.

The others laughed, Daro watching his daughter with his face alight. Grace laughed too, and when she and Daro made eye contact, she didn’t look away. That was good—Claire didn’t know Daro, but she loved Grace and Bella, and she wanted them to be happy with this new version of their family.

“Don’t give da stink-eye to our guests, eh, Zane?” Frank said as he set down a huge bowl of salad greens on the table. “Take away their appetite. We got mahimahi tonight.”

Zane grinned at Bella and scooted back his chair to rise. “’Sokay,” he said. “She knows I won.” He followed Frank up to the house.

“You should’ve come snorkeling with us this afternoon, Claire,” said a deep, lazy voice to her left. “Saw another great big eel. Thick as my arm.”

Jack’s blond hair was ruffled, his handsome face ruddy with sunburn. “I’ll come tomorrow,” she promised. “If you’ll wear sunscreen. You’re going to scare the fish, glowing like that.”

“Yeah, you’re shark bait, moke,” drawled Gabe from across the table. He grinned, his teeth white in his face, while his wife giggled. “Look like a real
kanaka maka’ika’i
, a tourist.”

Jack responded, but Claire didn’t hear, her glance sliding over his shoulder as a large silhouette moved in the shadows of the palms. Her body tightened in response as Daniel Ho’omalu strolled into the circle of flickering light. His skin gleamed, his eyes glinting. For an instant, they stared at each other, heated memories smoldering between them.

Claire shoved back her own chair. “Come on,” she said, grabbing Jack’s hand with a smile. “Let’s go help bring the dinner out.”

She led him up across the lawn to the house, chattering vivaciously. He smiled down at her but pulled her to a stop on the lanai outside the kitchen, out of earshot of the group down on the beach. “You trying to get me flattened?” he asked mildly.

She tossed her head. “What are you talking about? No one has any claim on me.”

He squeezed her hand and let it go, looking amused and regretful. “Better tell him that, honey. When I see that look in a man’s eyes, I back off.”

He gestured toward the open kitchen door. Speechless, Claire preceded him into the lighted kitchen, where Leilani bustled about, putting the finishing touches on the assortment of dishes. “Here, you take the fish,” Leilani told Jack. “Careful, it’s heavy. You got it?”

He nodded, sniffing appreciatively as he hefted the huge platter of delicious-looking browned fish. Frank and Zane held the rice dish and the fruit salad.

Leilani handed Claire a basket of cornbread and a dish of butter. She followed Jack back out into the evening, not sure what to say.

“We used to call him da
Nalu
,
the Roller, back in college,” Jack told her as they paced carefully back down the path. “When he charged down the football field, he just carried everyone else before him, like a big ol’ wave crashing in.”

Claire could easily picture it. She cast a swift look at the dinner table and tripped on a small bump in the paving stones, nearly dropping the basket of bread. Daniel Ho’omalu had appropriated the chair beside her own. He leaned back, smiling at Bella as she waved her hands, describing something to him.

Time seemed to slow, taking on a liquid laziness. Claire set the cornbread carefully on the table and then turned. Daniel put his hand on the back of her chair, turning it so she could slip into it. Their eyes met, his turbulent gaze like a touch, a physical claim. She felt the thud of her heart, the warm puff of the breeze ruffling her hair, and the heated power in the big hand that brushed the back of her bare shoulder.

Jack set the fish on the table to a chorus of
ahhs
.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel murmured under the hum of conversation.

She looked demurely at her plate. “Really, Nalu? Good luck with that.”

His snort of laughter made the corners of her own mouth curl up as well. Warmth blossomed in her breast, although her cheeks flamed as they all served themselves dinner. Daniel didn’t fawn over her or whisper in her ear or smile at her. He simply watched over her. He saw that she was served before himself from every dish. When she dropped her spoon onto the sand, he handed her his.

Claire watched the other diners’ gazes flicker from her face to his and back again, smiles dawning. She groaned inwardly. Oh, hell, this was as embarrassing as high school, although these people were much too sophisticated to indicate outwardly that they saw anything of note.

The conversation was casual, about the snorkeling that afternoon, about whether the Warriors would do well that fall, about the possibility of going fishing with Frank in the morning, about Jason and Daro’s next concert in Honolulu.

Claire listened as well as she was able. Her thoughts were almost entirely on the man at her side. Okay, so she no longer wanted to use him for fishing bait. That didn’t mean she was letting him get his hands on her again. She had her pride, after all.

When the company finally rose from the table, the sky was dark, the torchlit beach a small island in the sea of night. The Paalanis said good night and wandered off across the lawn, hand in hand. Jack winked at Claire and strolled up to the house. Zane and Bella offered to help clear the supper table. Daro and Jason insisted on helping. Loaded with dishes, they all trooped up to the kitchen. Claire moved to follow them, but a big, calloused hand engulfed hers.

“Come with me,” Daniel urged.

Claire turned on him, her eyes slitted. “The hell I will. If you think I’m having sex with you again after the sweet way you said good-bye, think again, buster.”

He opened his mouth, shut it again, shook his head and then turned, still holding her hand in his implacable grip. Then he strode off across the lawn into the shadows of the fig trees that leaned over the beach, towing her with him.

“Let go of me.” She tried to wrench her hand from his as they hurried along, yet looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching. She wasn’t going to cause a scene. “You don’t get back in my good graces just by passing me your goddamn spoon at dinner.”

He snorted again, this time in clear disgust, and continued to tow her along the path toward his house. Once Claire figured out where they were going, heat of a different kind blossomed inside her, especially when he slowed to hand her carefully over the stone fence. She gritted her teeth, furious with herself as well as with him. If she rolled over on her back now, she’d deserve to be treated like a whore.

She’d go to his house, all right, so she could tell him exactly what she thought of his behavior. Then she’d go right back to Nawea and lock her bedroom door.

Soft lights flicked on as they walked onto his lanai. Daniel bent and picked something up. Turning, he held it out to her.

“Yeah, I thought you could wear this,” he said.

She stared at it and then in spite of her annoyance, a laugh bubbled up. He held a scuba tank. She shook her head at him. “You’re something else, Ho’omalu.”

His eyes gleamed, the light gilding the side of his head, his hair black as midnight, his tattoos darker, more primitive. “Yeah, I get that a lot. So, you wanna dive?”

“Yes, I want to dive—damn you.”

“Good. Come on.”

“What, now?” she asked, startled.

“Yeah, now.”

Claire looked out at the inky ocean, only a line of white surf visible. “But…it’s dark out there.”

“Yeah, so the mantas are feeding.”

She gaped at him. “Manta rays? You’re taking me to see manta rays?”

He nodded, just the suspicion of a smile in his eyes, and she squealed, jumping up and down on her toes, not caring how undignified she sounded. “Oh, let’s go, let’s go.”

He nodded, put down the air tank and stripped off his T-shirt, exposing his torso. Claire watched with fascination and then blinked. She looked down at herself. “I don’t have my swimsuit.”

He shrugged. “Go natural. Or you can wear your panties and bra.”

She thought about it and realized he was right. Her undies were as good as a swimsuit, and he’d seen everything she had to offer, anyway. And she didn’t want to take the time to walk to Nawea and back again.

“Here’s a shorty wet suit that should fit you,” he offered, mistaking her silence for reluctance.

“Okay.” She accepted the flexible garment, made with T-shirt-length sleeves and short legs. She wasn’t going to think about whose wet suit it was. Focusing on the dive, Claire pulled her top over her head.

She discovered, however, that there was something different about stripping down to her skimpy panties and bra under his gaze. He watched blatantly. She looked down and saw what he did—her breasts cradled in translucent Lycra and lace, nipples poking through the thin fabric, her bare torso and belly, the shadow of her pubic hair flattened behind the lace panel of the little panties.

“Nani,” he approved gutturally, but he made no move to touch her. Claire told herself she was relieved, not disappointed. Then she rolled her eyes at herself. Yeah, like her pussy wasn’t already wet just from his gaze.

As she wriggled into the wet suit and struggled to zip it up, he bent to pick up the air tank. Distracted from her task, she eyed the hard, tight swell of his ass in his swim shorts and the hard concavity of his flank, the long, thick shape centered behind the placket of his shorts as he turned back to her. OMG, he was partially erect. Her pussy clenched harder, readying itself for him despite her earlier pep talk.

“You keep looking at me that way and we’re not gonna make it to see the mantas,” he said roughly.

Her face burned, but she looked him in the eye. “Looking at mantas is
all
we’re doing tonight, Ho’omalu.” She tugged her zipper up under her breasts, and then gave up. She’d kind of like to be able to breathe on the dive.

He smirked but said nothing. He stepped forward and helped her don the harness with the air tank hanging from it, running his hands over the straps to make sure it was fastened securely. He looked her over and then patted her hip. “Got something fun for you.”

“Yeah, ’cause none of this is fun at all,” she shot back incredulously. “Daniel! I don’t need anything else.”

“Yeah, but you’ll like this. Here, put your mask on.”

“Now?”

“Just do it, tita.” She shrugged, and with the air of a woman humoring a fool, pulled her mask on and looked at him. “What?”

Daniel put his own mask on and whispered to her. “You look no ka oi in dat wet suit.”

She gaped at him. “I can hear you—as clearly as if you were whispering in my ear.”

He winked at her. “That’s ’cause I am.”

She lifted her hands to her mask, feeling carefully along the strap. “That’s what this little thing is. There are walkie-talkies in these masks. Oh, wow.”

He nodded, his face softening in a grin.

“You look pretty hot in those trunks too, Roller.” He looked at her, startled by the sultry whisper in his ears, and she giggled.

“One time, we’ll dive natural,” he promised.

“In your dreams.”

He smiled at her, slow and wicked. “Oh, yeah.”

Claire took the flippers he handed her, blushing all over. He’d fantasized about her diving in the nude? Well, that was nothing compared to the dreams she’d had about him. She wondered what he’d say if she described them. Probably nothing—just have her on her back in a heartbeat.

She followed him down to the water, her eyes on the ground, as he shined a big flashlight to light her path. The stones were worn, as if by countless footsteps.

Standing on the small crescent of sand, Claire shivered as she looked at the dark waves curling on the beach. Daniel switched off his dive light, and there was only the light of the moon on the water and the faint glow of the tiki torches over at Nawea.

“Scared?” he asked. His voice was uncharacteristically gentle.

She nodded without looking at him. “A little. Never dove at night.”

“That’s natural. But, tita…” He waited until she looked up at him. He wasn’t smiling, but he stood as solid as a slab of the lava piled around them. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“
What about your manō?
” she asked, frowning up at him. “I know they hunt at night.”

He shrugged as if to say that, yes, there were predators, but that he was one of the biggest. “You’re safe with me.”

Strangely, she believed him. Maybe it was the wicked dive knife on his belt or simply his complete self-assurance, but in a face-off with a shark, she just might bet on Daniel Ho’omalu. Which was nuts, because he was just a guy—only crazy as it sounded even to her, somehow he was more than that.

She took a deep breath. “Okay, you keep the
manō away, and I’ll follow instructions, deal?
”

He patted her ass, his hand lingering to stroke the taut neoprene curve. “That’s my tough tita. I’ve got the dive light. You’ve got a smaller one here on your belt, if you want it. I put a little weight on you, just enough to help you stay below. We’ll swim out past the reef and follow it north. If the mantas are in to feed tonight, we’ll see them pretty soon.”

“What do they eat?”

“Zooplankton—tiny shrimp, crabs. They scoop them up and filter them out of the water. Their mouths look pretty big when they’re open, so don’t let it scare you. Our
hahalua
are harmless unless they’re startled. Then they might knock you over as they swim away. That’s their only defense.”

She nodded. She knew that touching ocean wildlife was a big no-no, as it could compromise their immune systems. She wasn’t about to mess with any creature the size of a manta.

Daniel rinsed their masks with salt water to prevent fogging, then checked again to make sure her mask and mouthpiece fit correctly. “You have any trouble or your mike cuts out, you do this,” he said. He drew his hand across the front of his throat. “We’ll head up if you need to. We can easily swim in on the surface—we’re not going that far.”