TroubleinParadise (3 page)

Clarissa’s first week in Honolulu, the rusted-out Dodge Colt
she’d purchased from a used-car dealer—aka the Hoopty-mobile—overheated on the
Kalanianiole Highway. Strong, handsome and tallish for a local boy, Mika
materialized from his surfer van as if he were a bronzed god climbing down from
his place on high.

“What wen’ happen?” he asked in Pidgin, the local language.
It was actually Hawaii Creole English—a mélange of English, Hawaiian, Japanese,
Chinese and several other languages brought to the islands by waves of
immigration. But she didn’t know that then.

“Pardon?”

“Ah, you’re new around here.” A grin parted his lips and lit
up his espresso-colored eyes. “I asked what happened to your car.”

“Oh. Hell if I know. I think it’s the radiator.”

Displaying great machismo, Mika popped the hood, took a look
around her car’s innards and declared it was indeed the radiator. It had run
dry. He offered her a ride to the nearest service station and when she
demurred, he made the trip himself.

Upon his return, he performed some unfamiliar ritual on the
car, mixing this, filling that. As if by magic, the car sprang to life as soon
as he turned the ignition key.

“Thank you so much. You’re my hero,” she teased, though
half-serious.

“No problem. Where you headed?”

“Nowhere in particular. I was just driving around. I’m going
to school at UH and it’s my first time in the islands.”

“Your first time? Then you need one
kama’aina
fo’
show you around.”

“A kama—what? What’s that?”

Mika winked at her. “That’s me.”

They spent the rest of the day traveling along the H1 and H2
highways. It took only four hours to circumnavigate the entire island. They
stopped to eat at Mika’s favorite spots. He showed her the best beaches, the
ones the tourists didn’t know about. At sunset, they shared a six-pack of
ice-cold Primo at Kaaawa, watching the last rays of sunlight bathe the sky in
outrageous gold and fuchsia tones. It was then that Mika stole their first
kiss. Little did he know, he’d also stolen her heart.

Only a few weeks later, she gave him her body. That evening
had begun much the same way their other dates had—a cookout and a few beers on
the beach—but on the drive home, she told Mika to take her to his place.

“Really?” He gulped, eyes wide.

“Really.”

He ground the gears of his van and laid heavy on the gas.

As soon as they reached his small cottage, they latched on
to each other as if they couldn’t bear one more second apart. Shirts, flip-flops
and other articles of clothing dropped to the ground, a trail of passion
rushing them through the screen door.

Mika kissed his way down to her abdomen, dropping to his
knees and sliding her bikini bottoms to her ankles. Tongue flicking over her
warm skin, he traced the curves of her breasts and hips. Her sun-drenched body
burned, the cool trail of his licks drawing her nipples into tight buds. She
sighed, wrapping her arms around his head. The saline scent of the beach mixed
with his natural aroma and the clean smell of his shampoo.

Need claimed her pussy, tension and pleasure rolled through
her like the tide. She sank to her knees. Dragging her tongue along his neck,
she tasted the salt clinging to his skin. Another shiver passed through her,
his breathtaking beauty overwhelming. Bronze skin was marked with dramatic
black tribal tattoos, broad shoulders sculpted by ropes of thick musculature.
Allowing her hand to stray to his firm penis, she stroked his erection and
cradled his sac. Shudders and faltering breath shook him.

Making her way down his taut abdomen, she licked at his
head.

“Oh shit,” he groaned.

She had encircled his cock with her hand, but he nudged her
backward then pounced on her, pinning her wrists to the floor.

His mouth engulfed her sex, his tongue invading her warm,
soft and wet. He pressed long, languid kisses onto her clit and labia. Her
pulse skyrocketed, her cunt contracting with each swipe of his tongue.

Tremors rippled through her core. She held tight to his
shoulders, writhing against the tatami mat. Gasping, she sucked in a ragged
breath. It had been so long since anyone had touched her like this and really,
she was sure no one had ever touched her quite like Mika. Quickly, he’d brought
her to the brink of orgasm.

Pussy swollen and throbbing, she pulled his face up to look
at her. “Not like this. I want to come with you inside me.”

Clearly no more explanation needed, he helped her to her
feet and then swept her off them, carrying her to his bedroom. Once he’d placed
her on the bed, he slid up her body, brushing his lips over her bare thighs,
torso and neck.

“Just a second,” he murmured in her ear.

Squeezing her legs together, she savored the pulsing need.
Her hands strayed to her breasts as she watched him fish a condom from his bedside
table and roll it down his cock. Clarissa could hardly stand the wait.

As if sensing her impatience, Mika quickly nestled between
her thighs and stroked her moist slit. Slowly he eased inside, exhaling as the
base of his shaft met her mound.

Gasping at the intense sensation, she wrapped her legs
around him, overcome with arousal. Though she grasped at his back, urging him
to thrust harder and faster, he used a long, drawn-out stroke, sliding from tip
to base, in and out. Body rippling against hers, he made love to her. Her pussy
grew wetter and more swollen, an unbearable heat piercing her center. Moans
vibrated in her throat, her inner walls clamped around his cock.

“You feel so good,” he murmured.

“So do you.” She met his gaze, saw the fire dancing in his
eyes.

Pleasure washed over her, seeping into her every pore, every
breath. Nipples brushing against his chest, she rocked back and forth, meeting
his forward thrusts. Filled with emotion, she clung to him, tears wetting her
lashes.

He pushed deeper and deeper, his cock stroking her G-spot.
She bit her lips, whimpering. The stimulation was too much to bear. Trembling
and panting, she closed her eyes, color and light playing behind her eyelids.
Release tantalizingly close, she drew in a deep breath and held it. Her pussy
contracted, pumping ecstasy through her. The orgasm shook her, racking her with
wave after wave of sensation.

Tears leaked down her face. Unable to suppress a sob, she
buried her face against his chest. Spasms continued to shake her though they
lessened in intensity.

“Hey.” He cradled her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I-I don’t know why I’m crying.” She stole furtive
glances at him, trying to calm down. A crooked smile warmed his heavy-lidded
expression.

Holding her close, he kissed her cheeks and neck. Gentle
thrusts pushed him deeper. She gasped, squeezing her eyes shut, teardrops still
wetting her lashes. Pleasure blossomed again in her core, need and heat
tightening her inner walls.

Their mingled scent surrounding her, she trembled. Her body
tingled, every synapse crackled with anticipation. Her pussy swelled and
throbbed, needing release. Breath ragged, core tense, she writhed, moaning.
What was happening? Was she going to come again?

“Oh…M-Mika.” Her voice cracked as her nipples brushed his
chest.

“Yeah, baby?” He grazed his lips over hers.

She couldn’t reply but managed several gasps, every breath
taking her nearer to climaxing. The second orgasm hit her and she cried out.

“Kala,” he groaned as he too exploded, his thrusting more
frenzied.

Cock twitching, his whole body spasmed. She hugged her arms
around his neck and shoulders, riding out the storm of pleasure. Little by
little, he came to rest atop her.

Gently he withdrew and disposed of the condom, then settled
her onto his chest.

“You okay?” he asked, nuzzling her head.

“Yeah, sorry I cried. How embarrassing.”

“Nah, it’s sweet.”

Still, her cheeks flushed. Clearly, this had been more than
just sex. At least for her. Peppering his chest with soft kisses, she closed
her eyes, desperate to block out the noise in her head.

Was she already in love with him? That wasn’t possible…was
it? Heart pounding, she tried to rein in her emotions. They’d only been going
out a little while. How in the world could she feel this way so quickly?

“Kala,” he murmured, breaking her internal monologue. “I
think I’m falling for you.”

She gave a halfhearted chuckle, shifting to look at him.
“I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

Meeting her gaze, he shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

“Well,” she swallowed hard, “I feel the same. It’s not like
we have to define it or put labels on each other or anything—”

He cut her off with a deep kiss.

After that, no other man existed for Clarissa. She’d barely
noticed Mika’s cousin, though the two were joined at the hip. The same age, the
boys had grown up together, more like brothers than distant relatives. Sione
had been Mika’s best man at the wedding. But unlike Mika, Sione always had some
drama going on, usually in the romance department. One too many girlfriends or
a girlfriend with one too many husbands.

The man was a mess. He drank too much, smoked too much
pakalolo
and held little regard for other people’s expectations. Sione enjoyed his
bachelorhood and didn’t intend to give it up any time soon, no matter how many
pretty travel agents or retail clerks his aunties set him up with.

Clarissa’s trouble with Sione didn’t begin until a year ago.
About the time Mika turned up the pressure about starting a family, Sione’s
brand of freedom became intoxicating—his looser morals, his less-stringent
ideas about commitment. So what if he played around a lot? Sione wasn’t the
type of guy you married, but the dalliance would be one hell of a ride while it
lasted. She’d heard as much from Michelle, who’d dated him for several months—yet
another reason Clarissa knew Sione was off-limits. Aside from the obvious fact
that screwing Sione would mean screwing up her marriage, her life, her…well,
everything.

The smell of French toast pulled her from her memories. She
plaited her hair into a long braid and squeezed into a pair of ultratiny jersey
shorts before she made her way to the kitchen.

“Oh my God, that smells divine,” she said.

“Order up in five minutes.”

She set the table and poured the coffee. If her nose did not
deceive her, Mika had made syrup from pureed tropical fruits. A scoop of
vanilla ice cream would round out the dish—his famous Pacific Rim French toast
à la mode. Thoughts of Sione ebbed further from her mind. Mika had it all over
his rebel-without-a-pause cousin. Clarissa admonished herself to remember this
fact.

After breakfast, she settled in on the couch with her
e-reader and a second cup of coffee. With little time for pleasure reading
during the week, she often stole a few hours on Sunday to indulge. A far cry
from the heavy art theory tomes the university expected her to master, a light
whodunit or contemporary romance gave her a vacation without ever having to
leave the house.

Mika headed to the gym for a couple hours to run and lift
weights before he’d shoot hoops with Sione and the rest of the cousin posse.
The man had more cousins than Clarissa had family members. Their Sunday game
was his way of blowing off a little steam.

In an attempt to give him a break from the kitchen, Clarissa
volunteered to make dinner. To say that her cooking skills didn’t match her
husband’s would be like saying a toddler lacked Michael Jordan’s ability to
dunk. Still, she put forth her best effort and kindly, Mika never complained.

She thought tonight she might tackle the mysteries of
chicken cordon bleu. Whatever the result, Sunday dinners proved an adventure.

She kissed him on the cheek and bade him a good workout as
she turned the virtual page to find out the latest Stephanie Plum predicament
and steep herself in Steph’s number one question—Ranger or Morelli? Clarissa
could sympathize with this plight. Sione or Mika?

“Mika,” Steph whispered.

“I know, I know.” Clarissa waved away the imaginary voice.

Blobs of chicken sat tense and forlorn on a porcelain
serving platter, burned on the outside but still too pink on the inside.
Clarissa had not a clue how to fix this catastrophe. And all the cheese had run
out of the center, forming a chewy brown collar around the cutlets. Damn it to
hell. She’d seen Mika make this dish a thousand times. He’d even left the
recipe card out for her. And she’d followed the instructions…at least she’d
tried to.

The sound of the front door closing drew her from the
kitchen.

“Something smells…interesting,” Mika said.

“It’s a disaster, another disaster. I don’t know why I
bother. Next time let’s just get takeout from the get-go. Honestly, I don’t
know why I feel the need to try.”

Sweaty from his workout, Mika stripped off his shirt and
toweled dry before heading into the kitchen. As usual, her gaze was drawn to
his elaborate tattoos. If she’d seen them once, she’d seen them a million
times, but they never ceased to draw her in.

Mika’s ink had taken weeks of work by a relative who
utilized old-school methods—a mallet and sharpened combs made of shark’s or
pig’s teeth to apply the dye, literally carving the tat into Mika’s skin. An
unbelievably painful process and one Clarissa could not imagine enduring.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He inspected the chicken.
“Maybe I can fix this.”

Folding her arms, Clarissa watched as he did his best to
repair the meal to no avail.

“I’m going to have to call it.” He shook his head playfully.

“You did your best, doc.”

“Mama Ding’s?”

She sighed. “Mama Ding’s it is.”