Walking in Fire: Hawaiian Heroes, Book 1 (15 page)

Hell, yeah. At her words, desire, always close to the surface now, unfurled in his loins. His cock stiffened, fighting the constraints of his tight briefs. He inhaled, drawing in her feminine scent, savoring it as he savored the sight of her lying in his bed, lissome and tender.

Melia was tempted, almost beyond the limits of her self-control. But she was also exhausted, worn out by lack of sleep and the tumultuous events of the last days and hour, and by his story, which she very much feared was true. It was all beyond her experience, stretching the limits of her beliefs about the mundane world around her. This kind of thing never happened in Wenatchee.

Emotion welled up in her, sharp and painful. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she turned her face into the pillow, embarrassed.

“Hey, wahine, what’s up?” he asked. She felt the bed move under them, and then he reached out and gathered her into the heated shelter of his big body.

Melia let him, relaxing a little into his heat, her head in the curve of his throat, and took a deep, shuddering breath. His arms closed around her, so big and strong, his hand stroking down over her hair in a tender caress. Just for a moment, she would stay here and let him hold her. Men hated to be cried on—it would quench his fire better than her protests.

“What’s up?” he repeated softly.

“I thought you—you and Cherie went off together,” she tried to explain. “And I couldn’t sleep. And then today, Frank found her so horribly beaten. And you were still gone, and I—I thought maybe you did it, but not
really
—it’s just that Dane kept saying horrible things about you. Then you jumped out of the bushes and scared the h-hell out of me, and attacked him. And he’s some kind of drug runner, which makes me an idiot to come on a cruise with him.

“And to top it all off, you’re some kind of—of superhero. And in a story, wh-when the scary guy tells the heroine all his secrets, it’s because he’s p-planning on killing her anyway. And I know that’s stupid, but I can’t help it.”

The flood of words was interrupted only by tears clogging her throat. Giving up, Melia burst into tears. All the emotions of the past hours poured out of her in shuddering sobs.

Malu held her through it. When at last she had cried herself out, he tucked a piece of soft cloth, one of his T-shirts, in her hand to dry her face with.

“You’ve had a hell of a time on my island, eh, ku’u ipo?” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble under her ear. “You really think I’m gonna do away with you?”

She shook her head, swiping at her face with the soft cotton, and then dabbed his chest, which was damp with her tears as well.

“No, of course not, but…why did you tell me about your family and your powers? Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell everyone?”

He sighed. “In the first place, I trust you. I knew the moment I looked into your eyes that you were different from those other fools on this trip—different from all other wahines.”

She pulled back enough to frown at him. “You can’t know me that well,” she protested. “Not yet.”

He merely looked at her, but his dark gaze arrowed deep inside her, heating the area around her heart. “No? Then why did you believe me instead of Gifford? Why didn’t you do as he asked and help him? The shape I was in, you could have knocked me over and held me down without his help.”

She squirmed, her cheeks hot under that knowing gaze. “Because…I trusted you,” she admitted.

He smiled. Then his eyes twinkled.

“And second…you really think anybody gonna believe you?”

He was right about that. She wasn’t sure she believed all of it herself. But she was so tired. His big arms felt so good wrapped around her. Apparently, he was tougher than her ex-boyfriend when it came to emotion.

“Are the others coming back tonight?” she asked, not really caring as long as she could stay where she was.

“Nah. Talked to Frank while you were napping. They’re at the hospital in Kona. Cherie’s being cared for, and Dane is in jail.”

Melia sighed, her breath catching. “I’m so glad Cherie’s all right. Malu,
why
did he beat her like that?”

“I think she saw something. Maybe where the drugs are stashed. He couldn’t risk her coming back and mentioning it.”

She imagined Cherie’s fear as Dane turned on her, his usually smiling face ugly with rage. Imagined him striking her over and over. She shuddered. It must have been terrifying, as well as painful. She tipped her head back, looking into his eyes. “Are you going to be able to stop his horrible partners?”

His face hardened, his eyes glowing with that dark fire. “Oh, yeah. I’ll stop them.”

“Good.”

She moved, shifting her hips against him. She forgot to breathe. Something long, thick and hot was prodding her, right in the vee of her thighs, against her mons. His penis. It was huge.

She peeked up at him again. He was simply watching her, a slight smile on his face. She thought confusedly that he looked like one of the carvings she had seen of benevolent Hawaiian kings, secure in the knowledge that they were rulers of all they surveyed.

“Quit it,” she mumbled.

“Can’t, wahine. Might as well tell the waves to quit washing up on the shore or the storm not to blow through.”

“Well, your waves are not washing up on my shore,” she sniffled. Even though she wanted them to. Oh God, just the very thought of having that penis inside her made her shiver.

“Not now. One time soon.” He stroked his hand down over her hair again. The heat of his palm settled in the small of her back, his fingers massaging gently. She shivered again as pleasure sang from his touch. Then she yawned and let her body relax against him, heat and strength and safety.

“’S okay,” he murmured. “Sleep now.”

Chapter Twelve

Recipe for utter humiliation—take one Hawaiian hunk, and one erotic dream. Wake up.

She drifted into slumber as easily as slipping into a hot pool, settling with a sigh. For hours, she simply slept, her body gathering the rest it needed.

Then the dream returned.

Malu reclined on a splendid couch, carved of rich tropical wood and piled with deep, soft cushions. He still wore his crown of flaming leaves and burning kapa-cloth kirtle. Around him, the light was soft and golden, even red in the shadows.

He smiled at her, the slow, sensual smile of a lover, and held out one hand to her, welcoming her to him.

Shyly, her body already readying itself for him, nipples tight, her pussy clenching with need, Melia went to him, putting her hand in his. She shook back her hair and stood before him proudly, letting him look his fill. His gaze drifted down over her bare breasts, her small waist, and down to where her brief kapa-cloth skirt covered her hips and thighs.

“You are so beautiful,” he said. “E ho’oipoku’u ipokaua.”

Turning her hand palm up, he bent his head and pressed a soft kiss into the center of her palm.

“O ‘oe ka’u mea e li’a mau ai. You are the one I will always yearn for.”

His words, his breath were a delicious caress, sending pleasure shivering through her so hard she swayed on her feet.

“Come,” he urged. “Let me hold you.”

Desperate to be held in his arms, to feel his mouth on hers, to touch his satin skin, learn every inch of his big body, she hesitated one last time. “Won’t your fire burn me?”

“Only in the most delicious ways, wahine. Come into the fire with me. Ohohia, I need you.”

She looked into his dark eyes and nodded. How could she refuse him? In some way, deep in her heart and body, she needed him more than her next breath.

“Ah,” he sighed. “Ah, ku’u ipo.”

Sitting up, he pulled her gently onto her knees on the edge of the divan, his hands hot and powerful on her waist. Her breasts were even with his face. Melia bit her lip. “I have so many freckles,” she mumbled.

He cast her a look from under his heavy brows. “Mm-hmm, and I intend to taste every one of them.”

“I
—
I have them everywhere.” She blushed, her face and chest hot.

“Oh, I will find them all,” he promised her. “Your kiko are too pretty to miss even one. They were each painted by the hand of the master artist.”

He thought she was a work of art? She discovered that the idea of him tasting her everywhere was so delicious that she could barely remain upright, even in his grip.

His hands tightened on her waist, supporting her. “But, first, these.”

He pressed a kiss to one breast and then opened his mouth, swirling the tip of his tongue around her thrusting nipple, pulling it into his mouth. Oh, at last. At last. His mouth was hot, but that only added to the pleasure. She wanted him to go on suckling her, tugging sensation from her sensitive breasts and down, through her body to her pussy, contracting in need with every swirl of his tongue, every tug.

“Malu, oh, Malu.”

He groaned deep in his chest, pulling her closer, his hands molding her waist as he treated her other breast to the same lavish caress. Finally, when she thought she would fall, her thighs quivered so, he lifted his head just enough to speak, his lips grazing over the swell of her breast. He looked up at her, his eyes black with need.

“Now, take off your skirt for me, popohe mohala. I want to see your sweet treasures.”

Her hands trembling, she fumbled for the tie that held the kappa cloth around her hips. Pulling the tie, she let the skirt fall. It whispered down her legs and fell softly at her feet, leaving her naked to him.

He leaned back, his gaze falling to her mons, and for a long moment, he simply looked at her, his hands stroking down to mold the swell of her hips and then curve around to cup her ass, squeezing the full globes luxuriously.

“Ah,” he approved gutturally. “So perfect. Your scent is the sweetest perfume in the islands. Let me worship you as you deserve.”

One of his big hands slipping down behind her knee, he urged her to crook one leg up and to the side, so her heel was planted at his hip. Then he leaned back on his elbow and slid farther underneath her, his face level with her mons.

Her hand on his shoulder for support, Melia let him look his fill. She was quaking with need like a blossom awaiting the approach of the sun. Heat from his flaming crown, from his gaze, met her labia, but she knew it was nothing to the fire he would ignite when he touched her.

He reached up carefully with one fingertip and traced the seam of her labia, a sleek caress that began deep between her parted thighs and ended in the triangle of curls on her mons. She shuddered as he found her clitoris, swollen and needy.

Looking up into her eyes, a knowing, wicked look, he circled his fingertip around the tiny knot of nerves. It was exquisite. With a choked whimper, she dug her fingertips into his shoulder, arching her hips to offer herself to his mouth. Oh, if only he would put his mouth on her.

“Please, Malu,” she pleaded. “I need you.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “As much as I need you.”

“Melia. For Pele’s sake, wahine, wake up!”

Her eyes flew open, and with a shock as physical as the big hands clutching her, one on her leg, one on her bottom, Melia awoke. Her eyes widened in utter shock.

Malu was looking up at her, and they were in exactly the same position as in her dream, only they were in his bed. And she had climbed up on top of him, offering him her pussy. She still wore her briefs, but they were twisted to the side, baring her to his gaze like a slipped G-string.

“Oh my God,” she choked, utter embarrassment flooding her. She twisted desperately in his grip, shoving at his hands, heat flooding her face and chest. “Oh my God. Let me go!”

“Shh,” he said hoarsely. His eyes were dark and hot, just as they had been in the dream, his face taut with desire. “It’s all good, ku’u ipo.”

“No, it’s not. I-I was dreaming. Oh my God. I’m sorry—” She turned her face away, hiding behind the curtain of her hair. She’d climbed all over him as if she were desperate for him, or just for sex. This was the most embarrassing moment of her life, now and forever.

He held on to her firmly, his grasp hot and implacable. “Ku’u ipo, hush. I like your dream.” He stroked her bottom, his fingers on the bare swell below the twisted rope of her briefs. His other hand slid up her thigh, slowly, his touch as hot and seductive as his deep, soft voice. “I dream of you too.”

Melia gazed down at him through the strands of her tumbled hair. “Y-you do?”

He nodded, utterly serious. “Every night, you come to me in my dreams.”

He looked down, his hot gaze dropping over her like a caress, clear to her mons with its rakish decoration of tangled briefs. And she let him look at her, caught by the hushed urgency of the moment.

It was utterly still, the storm over. The only sound was her uneven breathing and a tiny, succulent sound of wetness as he reached between her open thighs and drew one fingertip up along the swollen, wet seam of her labia to her clitoris, waiting in the dark blonde curls on her mons.