Walking in Fire: Hawaiian Heroes, Book 1 (2 page)

Usually he enjoyed watching visitors’ first impression—their awe at the mighty bulk of Pele’s citadel soaring in emerald grandeur up into the misty clouds. Their pleasure at her lush skirts of palm and flowering trees, punctuated with black lava rock and splashing surf. Some simply sat and looked; some snapped photos as fast as they could.

This bunch wasn’t too interested. The two younger guys, whom he’d already silently dubbed the twins, disposed themselves in the sun and leaned back, their eyes closed. The party girls plopped into seats beside him. On a different trip, he’d have enjoyed the attention and the additions to the scenery.

Right now, though, he was royally pissed,
no wela
. He was on this trip for one reason—to watch someone. He could’ve dealt with these girls, flirted ’til the sun went down, even singled one of them out for some hot sex and still done what he came for.

He enjoyed women, their pretty faces, their curvy bodies and the sound of their voices. He respected their differences, took care with their fragility, and he liked to make them happy. There was nothing finer than a pretty woman crying out in ecstasy, especially with his cock buried in her sweet, hot depths.

But things had just gotten complicated. What he hadn’t planned for, on this of all trips, was that he’d look into a pair of big green eyes and feel a blow to his midriff as if he’d been sucker-punched. A pretty face under a big, floppy straw hat, nothing he didn’t see every day in Kona. But then this Melia looked into his eyes, and hers widened, those soft, guava pink lips curving up a smile, just for him. He felt as if he knew her, which was
hupo
, crazy—he’d never seen her before.

And it wasn’t that she was ripe for the picking, like the two on either side of him, one’s breasts brushing his arm, the other’s perfumed hair blowing across his shoulder.

Melia looked fresh and wholesome, the kind of girl who’d really come to snorkel or dive, not toke up and get laid. So why did he have the crazy urge to get her away from this crowd? He wanted to look into those green eyes, see if they were really as deep and mysterious as they seemed. Wanted to get that little shirt off of her and see the color her nipples were on those high, round breasts. He’d bet they were guava pink, like her lips.

He wanted to see how far those ridiculous freckles went. Did they spangle her breasts and her round ass as they did the skin exposed to the sun? They were an anomaly, like that blush as she’d looked away from him, lashes covering her eyes, soft mouth pursing primly. He was used to women who looked him over boldly and let him know they were available, like these two.

He wished they’d shut up. He wanted to listen to Melia’s soft, husky voice while she told him all about herself. He wanted her to ask him questions the way she was pretty-boy Dane and listen to him as if he were the most interesting guy on the island.

He hoped she wasn’t taken in by that fool. He hoped even more that she wasn’t involved with him. He was almost certain she didn’t know Gifford well.

He watched her, knowing his gaze was hidden behind his sunglasses. She was laughing at something Gifford was telling her, one hand holding her silly hat on while her hair blew out in long, tousled blonde curls, gleaming like silk in the bright sun. She sat with her slender, curvy legs crossed, one bare foot arched, her flip-flop hanging from her toes.

Damn it, why now? He moved his shoulders restlessly and then turned his face into the wind, trying to lose the sensation that a rope had just settled around his thick neck.

Nawea Bay was a forty-minute boat ride from Kona, south along the increasingly rugged coastline. Houses and small businesses sprinkled the green mountainside above the shore. It was thrilling scenery for Melia.

“Some of those houses are so high on the mountain,” she marveled. “Great view, but I’d want to live down here, by the beach.”

“Cooler up there,” Dane said. “These volcanoes are so tall the island has several climate zones. The locals live up there where it stays in the seventies. They let us crazy
haoles
have the coast. Plenty hot down here in full summer.”

“Have you lived here long?” He was deeply tanned, and although his hair was salon streaked, it had plenty of sun-bleach as well. A tattoo of a mako shark bared its teeth on the outside of his calf.

He shrugged. “Awhile. I’m from So-Cal. How about you?”

“I’m from Wenatchee, Washington, the heart of apple-growing country.” She grinned at the look he gave her. “I live in Portland, Oregon now.”

“Ah, now that I’ve heard of,” he said. “What do you do in Portland, Oregon?”

“I’m an assistant chef at Greenwood Café, in Portland’s arts district.”

“Whoa, a chef. Nice.”

“It’s hard work, but I love it.” She also had a cooking blog, which she considered a lot more exciting, but she doubted he wanted to hear about that.

Besides, the scenery was more interesting. She couldn’t get over the sheer size of the mountain towering over them, or the lushness of the forests spilling down to the sea. As they rounded a point, she could see a white statue shining in the morning sun.

“What’s that?” She pointed.

“That’s Captain Cook monument,” answered a deep voice. It was Malu, leaning forward. She was embarrassed to realize he’d been listening to her conversation with Dane. “Kealakekua Bay is where he died.”

She looked around at him, startled, her hair blowing across her face. “Did he drown?”

He shook his head, his wide, full mouth quirking in what looked like amusement, although his eyes were hidden now behind sunglasses. “Nope. The Hawaiians discovered he wasn’t the god they’d believed him, so they killed him.”

“Oh.” She stared at the white spire presiding over the bay, chilled by this grim fact. Every school kid had heard of the famous explorer, but she hadn’t realized he’d been killed here. The original Hawaiians must have been a fierce people.

Gazing at the wild bay, she saw a flash of silver in the water of the bay. Another flash, and another. “Look, what’s that?”

Dane turned to look, then shrugged. “Just dolphins.” He tipped his head back in the sun.

“
Nai’a
, spinner dolphins,” answered Malu again. “They come into the bays to rest during the day.”

“Ooh, dolphins,” cried Cherie. “I heard you can swim with them.”

“Yes,” agreed Leilani, who was sitting near Melia. “Although you must be careful not to bother them. They are wild creatures. Still, if they like you, they’ll surface to breathe right next to you.”

“Hawaiians believe the nai’a a tribe equal to mankind,” Malu said. “They live and play together, even working as one to hunt. They have a language all their own.”

“Sounds like you communicate with them,” Dane joked. Although he was smiling, he lifted a challenging brow at Malu. “Maybe you can teach us how to speak dolphin.”

Melia turned back to Malu. His face gave nothing away. “Not me. Others do.”

His voice was calm, but a shiver ran over Melia’s skin. There was an odd note in his voice—a warning, perhaps?

“I’d be afraid, unless Malu was with me,” the redhead cooed.

He murmured something Melia couldn’t hear. His two acolytes giggled. Turning away, Melia rolled her eyes, then saw Leilani twisting her lips as if hiding a grin. Oops—she needed to keep her feelings to herself. Her hosts apparently knew Malu well if he helped them with the boat. He didn’t seem to be an employee, so that left friend or perhaps neighbor catching a ride.

Melia watched the dolphins until they were out of sight. They looked so happy and carefree. She continued to lean on the rail as they motored south, the sail snapping in the wind over her head. The colorful rainbow stripes rose against the clear azure sky like a flag of adventure.

South of the bay, a long, black streak ran down the mountainside, cutting through the verdant green. A recent lava flow. As they passed another point, she saw the flow had reached the sea, covering everything in its path. It was a harshly beautiful reminder that the island had been created in fire. Melia looked up to where the top of Mauna Loa hid in a cap of misty clouds and hunched her shoulders. Despite the heat of the day, she felt a nervous chill.

“Is the volcano still erupting?” she asked Leilani.

The other woman shook her head. “No, Kilauea is our active volcano, but she’s quiet now. The last eruption was several months ago. Are you nervous of Pele’s volcanoes?”

Melia grimaced. “A little, I guess. We have volcanoes back home, but they’re different. They don’t pour molten lava. And we can get away from them,” she added, trying turn her apprehension into a joke.

Leilani shrugged. “No lava flowing near here. All over on the other side of Kau Forest.” She gestured over the south end of the island toward which they were traveling. “
Ka nani.
Very beautiful.”

Melia smiled politely, but she eyed the mountain with caution through her tinted lenses. The lava might be flowing on the other side of the island now, but the black streak showed clearly that it had come this way in the recent past, and might again.

She shook herself mentally. Thousands of tourists visited here every year, and the Hawaiians lived on this mountain. They would certainly know if danger threatened.

The next bay held a lovely surprise, a flat, sandy point with a traditional village and
heiau
, or traditional place of worship. The blocky heiau, built of lava rock, rose dark among the steep-thatched roofs of the village. Wooden
kii
gods, faded to silver by the sun, scowled fiercely from the beach.

“The traditional home of the king,” Leilani told her. “Also known as
Puuhonua o Honaunau
, Place of Refuge. In the old days, if a Hawaiian broke
kapu
, the law, he would die unless he could reach this place safely; then he was pardoned of his crime. It’s a national historic park now, to protect the site.”

The black lava rocks around the other side of the bay were lined with sunbathers. A tour boat floated in the center of the bay, surrounded by small groups of snorkelers, bright snorkels poking up from the water.

“Some of the best snorkeling on the island here,” Frank called. “We can come back if you want.”

“Sounds great,” Dane answered genially. “Whatever my friends want to do.”

Melia wanted to tour the historical village too. She looked back wistfully as they passed. If only she had a month here instead of just a week.

After several more miles of increasingly rugged coastline with few signs of habitation, they rounded a point clustered with palm trees. Frank slowed and turned the boat into a small bay.

“Here we are,” he called. “Welcome to Nawea Bay.”

Melia caught her breath in delight. Palm trees framed an idyllic scene. Black lava rock rimmed the turquoise water of the little bay, punctuated by a small beach. Behind the beach, tables and chairs sat around a fire pit. A green lawn sloped up to a two-story yellow house with a deep roof and shady lanais set in masses of flowering shrubbery. Above loomed the mountain.

Frank guided the boat to the side of the cement dock on the left end of the bay, alongside another, much smaller boat with a single engine and enclosed cockpit. An array of fishing rods were secured upright along the back, and two large outriggers were folded neatly back along the sides.

“That your boat?” one of the twins asked Frank.

He nodded. “Fish out of her four or five days a week.”

Melia looked dubiously at the small boat bobbing on the waves generated by the catamaran’s slow approach. He took that out on the ocean? She had enjoyed the ride here on the cat, but the other boat looked more suited for Portland’s Willamette River.

A traditional thatched grass roof shaded most of the dock, with benches and wooden cupboards built into the corners. Malu helped Leilani tie the craft to the moorings, and everyone rose, ready to file off the boat.

The craft rocked under them. Startled, Melia turned to see a splash as Malu dove into the water. He cut through the water like a big, brown fish.

“Oh, me too,” squealed Cherie. Melia had to act fast to grasp the sunglasses and flowered beach bag thrust into her hands. The other woman crossed her arms protectively over her breasts and jumped into the water. She and Malu looked like a scene from a sexy movie as they swam through the clear, turquoise water. Melia wished that was where they both were—far from her.

Chapter Two

Recipe for relaxation—take one tourist, place on a tour to remote, tropical spot, add sun, water and snorkel gear. When ready, drizzle with sunscreen.

Melia set Cherie’s bag on one of the tables by the beach, repressing the urge to accidently drop her expensive sunglasses on the ground and step on them. To the sounds of splashing and feminine shrieks of delight, she followed Leilani up the path to the house.

There she forgot her pesky fellow guests. The house was open and airy, with huge ceiling fans stirring the air in the foyer. A wide staircase rose to the second floor. A few rattan settees and tables were grouped around a large wood carving of a whale leaping from the waves, a study in raw power. She paused for a moment, caught by the beauty of the gleaming wood.