The Affair: Week 1 (8 page)

He realized he’d tightened his grip on her firm biceps. Without speaking she removed the straw hat and tossed it on the grass. Brown hair with golden highlights spilled around her shoulders. The glasses landed on top of the hat. Exotically tilted hazel eyes studied him coldly through thick, long lashes.

He knew those eyes. He knew that face. So did half the population.

He dropped his hand.

Okay, so half the population wouldn’t recognize her. She wasn’t pop-star famous by any means, but she did have a loyal following, not to mention the fact that her work commanded the respect of blues and jazz aficionados across the globe.

“Show me what you got,” he said grimly. He watched her as she gracefully came up into a surfing stance.

“I told you,” she said coldly over her left shoulder.

Jason spread his hand on the back of her thigh. “You know the actions, but you need to loosen up. You’re too tight. Relax.” He almost broke out in a huge smile when he slapped her thigh lightly. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

“Get your hand off me.”

“Give me a break, lady,” he muttered as he slid his hand down to her ankle, urging her to widen her stance an inch or two. “You saw me touching your friend as well. You need to relax more than just your body. Your attitude could use a Hawaiian adjustment as well.”

“Think I should just
hang loose
, dude?”

He paused with his hand on her firm calf and glanced up at her. Her face was livid with fury.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear that particular expression on the front cover of a magazine. I guess that’s for the best, considering the publisher wants people to
buy
their magazine, not be repulsed by it.”

She clamped her jaw shut. He watched in fascination as her face smoothed into a beautiful mask of impassivity. He stroked her satiny skin ever so lightly, preferring her fury for some reason. Must be turning into a masochist in his old age. When she tensed even further, he knew she’d noticed his subtle groping. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Melanie approaching with a short board under her arm.

“Lana.” Her name lingered on his tongue. “That wouldn’t be short for ’
Ailana
now, would it?”

This was interesting, Jason thought when he saw her cheek muscle twitch. He rose slowly until he looked down at her, holding her gaze all the while.

“It means ‘loving’ in Hawaiian. Of course without the
okina
, the word
ailana
refers to raw, fuck-me-till-I’m-blind sexual intercourse,” he said softly, referring to the punctuation mark before the name. He saw the fury return to her expression and smiled insolently. “Ah—I see you already knew that, ’Ailana.”

“There isn’t a damn thing you can teach me that I don’t already know and wish I didn’t, Mr. Koa.”

He leaned closer, catching her fresh, floral fragrance combined with healthy, sweet sweat.
Onaona
, he thought, instinctively using his admittedly primitive knowledge of the Hawaiian language to describe her scent. She even
smelled
like the islands.

“I beg to differ.”

He saw her nostrils flare. His eyes fastened on her lush mouth.

“Is this board okay, Jason?” Melanie called out. He stepped back, glad for the interruption. He was only too happy to consider something else beside the fact that his cock had just stiffened to a lead pipe as he verbally sparred with a prima dona who clearly had some
serious
issues.

Not his problem.

So what if her personality was a far stretch from what he’d thought it would be given her low, sultry singing voice. Her voice, face, and body had thrilled many a male before him. He didn’t need to be a fan of the entertainment industry to know that most famous people were whacked. Why should it surprise him that Lana Rodriguez was no different?

Still, Jason acknowledged he was disappointed. Her voice and bluesy arrangements brought out the pensive, moody side of him—the side he rarely showed others, certainly not in his role as an athlete or as an extroverted businessman in the Hawaiian tourist industry. In truth, he’d always been a little haunted by her songs.

He suppressed a frown when he fully registered his thoughts and gave an easy grin instead.

“Yeah, that’s perfect, Melanie. Why don’t you go and pick a board, Lana, and we’ll catch a wave.”

“Bitchin’,”
he heard Lana mutter scathingly under her breath before she walked away.

Beth Kery
loves romance, and the more emotionally laden and sexy the romance, the better. She holds a doctorate degree in the behavioral sciences and enjoys using her knowledge of human nature to add depth and intensity to her stories. She is the
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling novelist of over thirty novels.