Walking in Fire: Hawaiian Heroes, Book 1 (12 page)

He would have answered, but Pele pulled him down into rest.

Chapter Nine

Recipe for forced intimacy—take one remote resort, one tropical storm and two people in the grip of desire. Using threat of danger, push firmly together
.

When she came back with plates of fresh fruit and pulled-pork sandwiches that she’d warmed in the microwave, Malu’s eyes were closed, his lashes dark fans on his cheeks. As his back rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, she realized he was asleep. He needed the rest. She’d have to wake him in an hour or so to check his vision.

Suddenly exhausted herself, Melia put his plate on the bedside table, and curled up on the settee, a cushion behind her back and the gun beside her, to eat her own sandwich. As she chewed the fresh bread and tender pork, dripping with barbecue sauce, she nearly moaned with delight. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

She made quick work of the sandwich and fruit, sighing with repletion as she set her empty plate down. Then she yawned deeply.

She’d slept little the night before. Now that she could just sit, she felt exhausted. She could finally relax a little too. Her relief at Malu’s innocence was boundless. Which made little sense, given the way he pushed all her buttons. He could piss her off faster than any man she’d ever met. And really, she hardly knew him. He was just a big Hawaiian who happened to look like the carvings of ancient heroes she’d seen in the paintings at the hotel. A mythic hero come to life, with the sensual appeal of the islands in male form.

Sliding her fingers into her hair, she lifted it off her neck, bundling it high on her head and twisting it into a rope. The familiar motion soothed her. Tilting her head, she let the rope of hair slide down across one shoulder, pulling the ends slowly through her hands.

She looked over at Malu. He took up the length of the bed, his large feet hanging over the end. The feminine colors of the quilt and towel emphasized his utter masculinity. In the soft lamplight, his golden skin seemed to glow with vitality.

With a sigh, she leaned her head back on the cushions. If only she could trust him. Oh, she’d trust him with her safety, absolutely. He was a real hero. He’d tried to rescue Cherie, and perhaps he’d saved her, Melia, from being beaten, as well. Dane had been working himself up to something before Malu took him down.

But trust Malu with herself, her body, in the island fling in which he was clearly interested now that the other women were gone? Bad idea. Because who was he, really? He was Hawaiian. A good guy, according to Frank. An artist who painted beautiful, almost primitive paintings of his native landscape, according to Leilani. And a total hottie, according to her and probably every other woman he met.

He was as intoxicating as island rum, and just as certain to leave her with deep regret at having imbibed too much. He’d walk away with a smile, and she’d be left yearning for one more taste, even though she knew how much it hurt when the high was over.

But, oh, how she yearned. Now that she knew he was innocent of wrong-doing, she could admit that much to herself. She’d never felt anything like the sensual pull he exerted, like a slow, subtle earthquake—Kilauea itself moving under her, pulling her to him. Melia imagined those big hands sliding under her dress, over her bare skin. Those wide, firm lips on hers, soft and sweet. Those dark eyes watching her as she came…aided by the parts under that darn towel.

With a silent groan, Melia stuffed another cushion behind her head and closed her eyes. Maybe if she stopped watching him, she could stop fantasizing about him.

Instead, she fell asleep as well.

She dreamt that she hid in the shrubbery, watching Malu walk, naked and wild as the night, into the jungle. As she watched, fascinated, aroused and yet fearful, he stopped at the edge of the raw lava where it had flowed down, burning the forest before it. He looked up toward the crater and held out his arms.

His huge body began to glow, the air around him shimmering red gold and steam hissing up around his feet. Above them, the mountain rumbled, the ground shook. Out from under the foliage skittered geckoes of all sizes, all glowing with the same red-gold fire.

Frightened, Melia tried to step back, but instead found herself drawn out in the open, fascinated. Her body reacted helplessly to his, her nipples peaking, her pussy tightening in a spiral of intense need.

Slowly, Malu turned his head and looked at her. He beckoned, and his voice rumbled like the mountain. “E hele mai, ku’u ipo.
”

Smiling shyly, she stepped toward him. Only to watch him disappear in a swirl of fire as the mountain rumbled again, harder and louder.

She woke with a gasp and stared wildly at the bed, half expecting to see Malu gone.

Instead, the room was lit with the bedside lamp, the air warm and heavy with humidity. A breeze through the open window flapped the wall hanging over the bed. Thunder rumbled again, and she realized it had not only awakened her but probably caused her dream. At least the part about the volcano. She wasn’t sure why the heck she kept dreaming about Malu, except that he occupied way too much of her waking thoughts.

The object of her fantasy sat quietly on the bed, one leg on the floor, eating the sandwich and fruit she had prepared for him. He seemed to be chewing mostly on his good side, but his face already looked better, the swelling not as noticeable. That seemed odd. He was watching her, his dark gaze intent.

Melia sat up, pushing back her hair to cover her embarrassment. She was still aroused from the dream. She just hoped she hadn’t been writhing around and whimpering. Criminy. Fantasizing about a fiery Hawaiian—she was losing it.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, getting to her feet. “I was supposed to stay awake and watch you.” She glanced at the bedside clock and stared in shock. It was seven o’clock. They’d both slept for hours. No wonder she had such a crick in her neck.

He swallowed a bite of sandwich. “I’m not concussed. No worries.”

Forgetting her self-consciousness, she walked over to him. “Are you sure? How many fingers?”

He looked up at her, ignoring the finger before his nose. “Melia. Relax.”

She perched cautiously on the corner of the bed. “Do you need more painkillers?”

“I wouldn’t say no to another glass of water.” He put a chunk of pineapple in his mouth and licked his fingers. Melia watched the motion, and rose quickly. Oh, darn, that dream had seriously weakened her resistance to him. No more sitting cozily on the bed with him.

She padded barefoot into the bathroom, where she filled two glasses at the tap. Many tourists insisted on bottled water, but she liked the island water. The flavor seemed to change with the weather, and it was never really cold, but it had the faint scent of the islands.

Looking at her face, flushed and sleepy-eyed, in the mirror, she finger-combed her hair, frowning sternly at her reflection. “No!” she mouthed. “Down, girl.”

Back in the bedroom, she handed him his glass of water, then turned to sit on the settee. His big hand caught hers and drew her back to the bed. She found herself sitting against Malu’s knee, her hand still in his. She watched, bemused, as he drank his water, draining it in one draft as he had the Coke.

He lowered the glass and looked at her. The bandage was white against his dark hair and golden skin. His uninjured cheek was flushed with sleep, his black hair flattened to his head, emphasizing his wide cheekbones and jaw. His eyes still held a deep exhaustion. She needed to convince him to go back to bed again.

He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand in a small caress. When he opened his mouth, she waited, her heart accelerating. Would he ask her to lie down with him? Of course she’d say no, but it was exhilarating to spar with him.

“Where’s my gun?” he asked.

Let down with a thump, Melia glanced over at the settee where she’d left the weapon, and saw from his expression that he’d caught the telltale glance. Fine, but she wasn’t trotting over to hand the gun back without an explanation.

“Why did you put it in
my
bag?” she demanded.

He squeezed her hand gently. “Because I knew no one would think of looking for it there, and if you found it, you’d give it to Frank. I had nowhere to lock my bag up; people were coming and going all the time, and I figured Gifford would search my gear. He was suspicious of me hanging around. Didn’t want to hand him a gun.”

She pulled free of his huge, warm hand before she begged him to put it somewhere more intimate. “I don’t appreciate you rummaging through my things.”

“Gotta admit, I enjoyed it.” His eyes gleamed. “You wearing the little peach undies or the blue?”

Melia shot off the bed and stalked over to pick up the pistol. She ignored her burning cheeks as she returned to hand him the gun.

“Neither.” She smoothed one hand suggestively over her hip. “I’m wearing a thong.”

He made a sound deep in his chest, his eyes following her hand. “Ah, Pele, now you’re torturing me.”

Power sizzled in her veins, although a blush burned her cheeks. “Good.” He didn’t need to know she was lying.

He cast her a look from under his dark lashes. “I’m not wearing anything under this towel. Wanna see?”

She scowled at him. “I’d rather eat a coconut husk. Where are your clothes, anyway? I’ll get them for you.” Perhaps, covered up, he wouldn’t be so…beguiling.

“My things are upstairs. And I’ll come with you,” he said, serious again. He rose, wrapping the towel more securely at his waist, then scooping up the gun.

“Why? Do you really think Dane’s drug-runner friends might be hanging around Nawea Bay?” she asked, following him from the room.

“I don’t know, but we’re not taking any chances.” He bent over and scooped up her duffle in his free hand, and turned toward the door, leaving Melia frowning after him.

“Where are you taking that?” she demanded.

A gust of wind blew one of the shutters open, blowing her hair back off of her shoulders and swirling her dress around her legs. It carried the sounds of palm branches clattering and the surf pounding on the reef.

“Wind’s getting stronger,” he said, crossing to push the shutter closed again, and fastening it firmly. “We’ll close up the house.”

“I’ve already done that,” she said. “This was the only one I couldn’t fasten. I think you hit it when you were fighting with Dane.”

He nodded. “Good work closing the rest. Let’s go. You’re moving upstairs with me.”

“What? No, I’m not!”

He walked away from her. Melia grabbed her purse. A door slammed upstairs, and she jumped, hurrying after him out of the room, fuming silently. She would set him straight. He might be the size of a small Hawaiian mountain, but she was her own boss. Wanting him near was fine, but she was not a child.

Malu stopped to switch the hall lights on. Like the other lamps, the old-fashioned globes gave off soft light that added to the plantation feel of the airy, open house. Melia hurried after him, but when he tried to pick up her bag again at the foot of the stairs, his wahine would not listen to reason.

Malu closed his eyes, asking for patience. He was exhausted, and his head was pounding like all the
menehune
were dancing on it. “Pua, I need you right with me, where I can keep you safe. I can’t do that if you’re down here. And your bed isn’t big enough for both of us, so we’ll stay in my room.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth rounding into an “O”. “I’m not sleeping with you!”

“Oh, yes, you are,” he said, certainty a heat in his groin, but a rumble of thunder swallowed his words. Then the wind hit the house, peppering the side with leaves and flowers, rattling the shutters.

“Am not!” She plopped down on her duffle where he’d left it at the foot of the stairs and crossed her arms.

The hell with patience. He reached down for her.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked, batting at his hands.

“Putting you over my shoulder if I have to.”

Either she remembered he’d already picked her up once, or she was just afraid he’d fall on her. For whatever reason, she shut her mouth and scooted off her duffle onto the bottom stair, watching him warily.

He picked it up without a word and stalked up the stairs. If the damned towel fell off, that was too bad.

He led the way into the first room on the right, the front room that looked over the lawn and little Nawea Bay. His room was nearly the same as hers, except the quilt was brown on ecru and the cushions on the settee and footstool were patterned with monstera leaves in shades of brown and green. The bed was larger too. The painting over the bed was of the mountain, bathed in golden light.

The sliding door stood open onto the tiny lanai balcony. A flash of lightning suddenly lit the western horizon, dancing jaggedly from sky to sea and then cloud to cloud, lighting the evening. A sullen rumble of thunder followed. It was close, nearly overhead.

He dropped her duffle on the far side of the big bed. Then he straightened, looking across the room at her. “Bathroom’s right there. That’s as far as you go without me, you got it?”

Before she could answer, the wind howled again, and the lights went out. When they came on again just as abruptly, she was halfway across the room to him, her eyes as big as saucers. She stopped in her tracks and wrapped her arms around her middle, pursing her lips, looking anywhere but at him. Amusement bubbled through him. One time soon he would kiss that prissy little frown off her face.