Lana scowled. She hadn’t actually been referring to a genre of music. “Waikiki is all surface and no substance—a flashy whore decked out in skimpy designer clothes, a perfect tan highlighting a perfect boob job . . . It’s so fake.”
So vicious. So primed to use the poor and underprivileged to serve the tourist industry’s endless greed, she thought privately.
Melanie’s eyebrows rose. Lana realized she’d allowed her bitterness to show and immediately made her face settle into impassivity.
“Well, it’s certainly a happening spot,” Melanie said. “I needed someplace with this kind of energy and excitement after what David has pulled over the past month. A secluded tropical island just wouldn’t have done the trick.” Melanie stretched the dark blue fabric over her generous breasts. “I need the distraction of a party atmosphere. And these native guys are phenomenal. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice how gorgeous our surf instructor is. He’s a walking god. He could be the inspiration for a tropical drink—Hawaiian Wet Dream.”
“He’s awfully tall to be a Hawaiian.”
Melanie paused in the action of readjusting her bikini top.
“You don’t think he’s Hawaiian?”
Lana shrugged negligently. “Sure, he might have been born here and have some roots. I just meant there are few pure Hawaiians left. He’s part Anglo. And he’s got some Filipino influence, I’d guess, in addition to Hawaiian.”
“Well, the combination is one hundred percent phenomenal.” Melanie’s blue eyes sparkled mischievously. “I’d love to have him help me forget about David on this vacation.”
Lana smirked.
“Don’t give me that look, Lana. Not you—of all people. No one knows better than me how single-minded you are when it comes to men. Surely you wouldn’t deny me the pleasure of a few rounds of sex with a gorgeous stranger when you’re such an expert on the activity.”
Lana shrugged and leaned down to put on a pair of surf shoes. “You’re right. I’m here to see that you have a good time, after all, and I’m going to make sure it happens. No better way to celebrate saying sayonara to that louse husband of yours than steaming up the sheets on your vacation. Hell, I’m only too happy to do the same.” She nodded toward the back room. “Just don’t count on doing it with our hunky surf instructor, though. It seems he’s otherwise occupied.”
Melanie checked her waterproof watch. “Jeez, he’s already twenty minutes late. If he doesn’t hurry, we’re going to be rushing to make the luau I scheduled.”
Lana clamped her back teeth together. “You have yet to learn about Hawaiian time, hon,” she muttered with a scowl.
Melanie laughed. “Care to explain how you’re such an expert on Hawaiian time? I’ve worked for you since you were a nineteen-year-old kid recording your first album. That was ten years ago, and I’ve never heard you mention Hawaii once in that time period. Did you spend time here before you came to the states from Mexico?”
“You know, this loser is really starting to bug the shit out of me,” Lana said, choosing to ignore Melanie’s questions. She dropped her beach bag on the floor and stalked toward the dim corridor at the back of the facility. “He’s a little old to be playing irresponsible surfer dude, don’t you think? I’ve got half a mind to report him to his boss.”
“Lana, maybe you should just hang loose . . .”
But Lana ignored her friend. The familiar Hawaiian phrase made her clench her teeth even tighter.
She turned into a large room that contained several surfboards on tables in the process of being repaired or waxed. Her eyes immediately found the figures of the tall man and the curvy woman, despite the dim light. He leaned back casually, one foot propped against the wall, his hands tucked behind a pair of tight buns that Lana hadn’t failed to notice as he strutted around, giving instructions about preparing for the lesson earlier. He looked down at the blonde, a half-amused, half-irritated expression on his shadowed face. His profile was as arresting as the rest of the package. That straight, bold nose had immediately pointed out his Caucasian heritage to her, along with his height.
“Excuse me. My friend and I have a schedule we’d like to keep. You would think you did, as well, considering the fact that between the two of us, we’re shelling out four hundred dollars an hour for your services.”
The woman started and gasped in surprise. Her hand jerked, and she hopped back with a guilty glance at Lana.
Lana was glad that she wore the dark glasses so neither of them saw how wide her eyes went. He had the nerve to not even hurry as he lowered the pant leg of his board shorts, covering a long, shapely, semi-erect cock. Even with his shorts lowered she could still perfectly make out the outline of it next to his thigh.
It was far from being the first cock she’d ever seen, and it wouldn’t be the last. But that quick glance informed Lana it was the most beautiful. A flash of pure, primal heat surged through her along with a lightning bolt of irritation.
She was comforted by the fact that she knew her face gave nothing away.
“Four hundred dollars an hour should help you get over your discomfort. If you start doing your job now, I’ll agree not to tell your boss about your negligence, Mr. . . . ?”
He d
idn’t move from his lazy pose against the wall. She couldn’t really make out his eyes in the dim room but sensed his stare boring into her. She’d noticed earlier that his eyes were a singular color—dark gray with flecks of green and amber.
“Koa. Jason Koa. And I’ll be happy to reimburse you for the half hour of your lesson and still give you the full two hours.”
“Good,” she replied briskly, unmoved by the fact that he was apparently the owner of the two-bit surfing school. She started down the corridor, only to notice that he hadn’t moved. “Well? Aren’t you coming?”
“That gives me another eight minutes. I’ll be with you in a moment, undoubtedly more comfortable and better prepared for teaching what I don’t doubt will be a challenging lesson.”