Sun Kissed (7 page)

“Which is a moot point since she assured me that she’s no more interested in getting married than I am.”

“Then she’s lying either to herself or you… And you must really be getting along like gangbusters to have discussed marriage your first day on the island.”

“Only in regards to your passion pit.”

“Now see, you’ve got to be exaggerating, because my sister has excellent taste. She flew up and helped me decorate this house when I moved in. She definitely doesn’t do tacky.”

“Okay. So, maybe the bedroom is sensual, not tacky. But the fact remains that Lani and I are both single adults, capable of making our own decisions. So, why don’t you do us both a big favor and butt out?”

The silence extended so long, Donovan thought his phone had dropped the call. Finally, Nate responded. “From where I’m at, marriage seems like a pretty good institution.”

“Says the guy who’s never been there,” Donovan said. “Look, I’m sincerely happy for you and Tess. You’re both great people who deserve each other. But—”

“Did you ever wonder why you’ve never remarried?” Nate cut in abruptly.

“Maybe because I’ve been there, done that, and ended up giving away the T-shirt when I got hammered in the property settlement?”

“Well, there is that. But my job is to delve beneath the surface of things.”

“You write horror novels.”

“I write stories about horrifying things happening to ordinary people,” he corrected. “Which means I spend a lot of my life walking in my characters’ shoes. And while I hate to dis a pal, you’re pretty stereotypical.”

“Thanks for the ego boost.”

“Just telling it like I see it. Also, having watched you all these years, I’ve come to the conclusion that the reason you’ve never really fallen in love is because with the exception of Tess, whom you thankfully let get away before things turned romantic, which gave me the golden chance to snatch her up, you’ve dated a series of identical, proper, predictable women. Admittedly, they’re beautiful and intelligent, but they’re all cut from the same boring cookie cutter.”

“Thanks for the lecture on my love life,” Donovan responded, annoyed when the accusation hit too close to home for comfort. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go back to sleep, and for the sake of our friendship, I’ll forget this conversation ever occurred.”

“You do that,” Nate agreed in an obliging manner. “But, Donovan—”

“What now?”

“You don’t have to marry Lani. But don’t hurt her.” The edge to Nate’s voice reminded Donovan that the writer wasn’t as easy going as he usually appeared.

“I’ve no intention of hurting anyone. Least of all your sister.”

“Just make damn sure you don’t,” Nate said seriously. Then he cut off the call before Donovan could respond.

Frustrated, Donovan turned his phone off just as he heard a light tapping at his door. “Now what?”

Tugging on a pair of jeans, he marched into the front room and threw open the screen door.

Damn. His annoyance dissolved like a sandcastle under high tide as he viewed Lani, scantily clad in a bright pink bikini, looking as if she should be served up in a sugar cone. She was wearing a flowered shirt over the bikini but hadn’t bothered to button it. At the enticing sight of all that golden flesh, the erotic dream Nate’s phone call had interrupted came crashing back.

Lani didn’t falter under Donovan’s glare. After lying awake all night considering the matter, she’d decided that he was in dire need of a strong dose of fun. And she was going to see that he learned to enjoy himself, whether he wanted to or not.

“Good morning,” she said, brushing past him into the beach house. “You seem to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed.” The familiar tropical floral scent tantalized as she breezed by him.

“Sorry. Your brother just woke me up.”

“I hope you told him that we didn’t appreciate his devious plan for you to seduce me. As if we were merely two of his characters he was moving around on that Technicolor screen in his warped writer’s mind.”

“Not in so many words, but I did tell him that we’re capable of handling our own affairs.”

“Interesting choice of words,” she murmured as she opened a cupboard. “Is that what we’re going to have? An affair?”

As she reached up for the mugs on the second shelf, her shirt rose, displaying a weakening amount of tanned hip, causing Donovan’s mouth to go dry. “At this point, I’d say that’s up to you.”

“It’s an intriguing idea,” she mused aloud as she put the mugs on the counter and took a bag of coffee beans from the freezer. “The only hitch is that I gave up sex for Lent.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve been inside a church. But I do remember that Lent ends at Easter.”

“Got me there,” she admitted cheerfully. “But, as I said last night, time moves at a different pace here on the island. We have another saying that the smiles you collect along the way are more important than the miles covered…

“Meanwhile, I’m going to make you a cup of the best coffee you’ve ever had. Then after breakfast, I have plans for you.”

“Now I’m intrigued.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. At the moment, my plans don’t involve tangling any sheets. But we
are
going to get wet.”

After the erotic dream Nate had interrupted, the thought of the two of them breaking her sexual fast together was almost more than he could take before coffee.

“You don’t have to make me breakfast,” he said over the sound of dark beans being ground.

“It’s obvious you haven’t been eating properly,” she said as she put a large glass measuring cup of water in the microwave. “Last night was a start—”

“Your mother’s a fantastic cook.”

“Isn’t she? I can’t possibly live up to her kitchen skills, but I make a hell of an omelet.” She reached into another cupboard and retrieved a French press.

“Fancy,” Donovan said.

“These are peaberry beans,” she said. “They deserve royal treatment.”

“I thought Kona was the big coffee deal around these islands.”

“It is. And it’s fine enough. And these are actually Kona, but they’re extra special because unlike most beans, which grow together like connected twins, these make up the five-percent that are only children.”

She held out the small, round dark bean on the palm of her hand. “Since they get all Mother Nature’s attention while growing, they’re denser and sweeter. And also more expensive, because there’s no way to tell whether you’re dealing with doubles or singles inside the coffee cherry. So, each peaberry has to be plucked out by hand. But you’ll see that they’re worth the price.

“Which, by the way, you don’t have to worry about,” she said, as she measured the ground beans into the press, “because I charged them to Nate’s account. And before you argue about that, may I point out that you are, after all, not only his best friend but his guest, so I know he’d want you to have the very best.”

She added boiling water in stages, pressed the plunger to filter the grounds, poured the coffee into a white mug, put it in front of him, and stood there, arms crossed. “So tell me what you think.”

As the fragrance rose almost visibly upward, like in those Saturday morning cartoons Donovan had watched when his parents were out of town, he took a taste of the rich, dark brew. “I’m pretty certain I hear angels singing.”

“I told you.” Her pleased grin was like the sun bursting out from the dark and heavy clouds that had been hanging over his head for so long.

He took another, longer drink. “I’m beginning to rethink the marriage question. Especially if I could start every day with this.”

Which beat stopping by Starbucks on the way to work. Which had him thinking if Lani had been waiting at home with her French press, he may not have gotten run over on the way back from Tess’s townhouse that night of her bomb threat.

“It seems more practical to send you back to Portland after New Year’s Day with a grinder, a French press, and a bag of beans.”

“You’re right about the practicality. But the scenery’s a helluva lot better here.” Looking at her over the rim of the mug, his gaze moved over her tanned, bikini-clad body.

“I’ve always claimed Orchid Island is the prettiest of the Oceana group,” she said, purposefully missing his meaning as she broke three eggs into a bright yellow bowl. “Why don’t you take your shower while I make breakfast?”

A cold one, Donovan thought as he left the kitchen, headed toward the bathroom made for sex.

“I was going to replace your bathroom tile today,” Lani announced when he returned to the kitchen. “But it’s stuck in a bottleneck at the port in Honolulu. Hopefully it’ll arrive tomorrow.” She added cream cheese and smoked salmon to the eggs she’d poured into a pan.

“Did you ever reach your friend?” The woman hadn’t answered her phone when Lani had called her from the Breslins’ house.

“No. I called her again last night after I got home. And three times this morning.” She shook her head. “But there wasn’t any answer.”

“Maybe she and that Ford guy eloped last night,” he suggested. “And she was calling to tell you before they left the island.”

“Perhaps,” Lani murmured, clearly unconvinced as she snipped fresh chives into the mix. “But you’d think she’d at least answer her phone.”

“Probably not if they’re on their honeymoon.”

“I suppose that’s a point. But I can’t believe she wouldn’t have called me first. Ford runs a charter boat. I thought it would be fun if we could all have a twilight dinner sail this evening, but if she doesn’t call back, I guess that’s off the table. Meanwhile, we’re taking you shopping.”

“I am not, under any circumstances, going to wear one of those damned flowered shirts.”

Lani sighed and reminded herself to be patient. He was, after all,
a malihini
—a newcomer—and should be allowed time to adjust. “May I remind you that my dad wore one last night? And that I thought he looked great?”

“It fit him,” Donovan agreed. “He’s not only a native, he’s the king of the island. Literally. Which means he can pretty much wear whatever the hell he likes.”

“Point taken. But you can’t deny that Tom Selleck looked hot in them in Magnum P.I.”

“Selleck is an actor. He was playing a part. The shirts were part of his character’s laid-back image.”

“But not part of yours,” she guessed.

Just when she thought he might be beginning to unwind, he reverted to the man who’d shown up here yesterday. “Lani, I’m a police detective. My image is supposed to be a symbol of authority.”

Lani decided that this was not the time to point out that she’d never been all that fond of authority figures.

“All right.” She took the pan off the range and tipped the folded omelet onto a plate. “I’ll let you off the shirt hook for now, but those jeans have to go because they’re heavy and bulky, and don’t dry fast when they get wet. Which they will. The same as your shoes. Except for hiking over the lava on the volcano, you’ll need slippahs.” When she saw him about to argue, she clarified. “Otherwise known as flip-flops on the mainland.”

“No. Period. Way.”

“They’re more than an island fashion statement. They’re practical because they dry fast and it’s easy to shake the sand off them.”

“I don’t remember any fashion police when I was down here with Nate.”

“Maybe not. But I’ll bet you ended up borrowing his stuff.”

His brow furrowed as he thought back. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

“See?” She flashed him her best smile. The same one she’d pulled out while contestant wrangling on
Beauty
in order to urge intimate sharing in the “confessional” segments.

“The thing is,” Donovan argued, “I don’t need to worry about getting wet or sand in my shoes today because I’d planned to sit out on the lanai and get some studying done.”

“Wrong again,” she answered cheerfully, ignoring his frown. “Since the library’s not open today, and the tile hasn’t arrived, as soon as you finish that omelet, we’re going sightseeing. And, if you’re very, very nice, before shopping, I’ll even take you snorkeling and introduce you to Moby Dick.”

“Since I had to wade through the damn book in freshman English, Moby Dick isn’t really a draw.”

“You’ll like this one. He’s an
uhu
, or parrotfish I feed every day.” She nodded at the untouched plate sitting in front of him. “And if we keep arguing, we’re going to be late, and believe me, it’s no fun being scolded by a fish.”

“You’re telling me you’ve befriended a fish named Moby Dick. Who talks.”

“Would I make something like that up?”

“I’m not sure. Especially after you led me to believe your father considers Horatio your brother.”

“My bad,” she said cheerfully.

He shook his head and scooped up a bit of the omelet. “I don’t know which one of us is crazier—you for talking to a fish, or me for agreeing to tag along to watch you do it.”

Lani had only a split second to decide whether to be annoyed or amused by his aggrieved tone. She opted for amusement.

“Don’t knock it,” she said with a jaunty grin, “until you’ve tried it. You know, Donovan, it certainly wouldn’t hurt if you allowed yourself a little fantasy now and then.”

She took his mug, intending to put it in the dishwasher when Donovan snagged her wrist. “What makes you think I don’t allow myself any fantasies?”

His voice was low and smoky, and his eyes, as they locked onto hers were like a tempest-tossed sea. Slowly, deliberately, even as those nagging little body parts that had been too long ignored began doing the tango, Lani forced herself to relax.

“I was simply teasing, Donovan. Gracious, must you take everything so seriously?”

“I’m a serious person, Lani. I always have been.”

The fact that he had said it so simply, without apology, had her stifling her sigh. It also had her wanting to ruffle dark hair still damp from his shower and tell him to lighten up. Maybe they should tangle those sheets sooner rather than later. Surely morning sex would loosen him up.

With a fingertip, she traced his smoothly shaven jawline, breathing in the wood and sandalwood scent of the soap she’d bought at Natural Indulgences Soap and Candleworks next door to Taylor’s Sugar Shack.