Page 36 of Forbidden Hawaiian Nights
If only she could truly relax! She had been to the island many times and she directed them to the Halfway to Hana café, where they indulged in banana bread and shave ice. It was on a busy beach, with lots of noise and music. She vaguely remembered feeling smug at the thought of him in surroundings just like this—sitting in a hot café and being jostled on all sides, informal and brash, with loud music and lots of people and food to be eaten without knives and forks. Yet, when she looked at him, he couldn’t have appeared more at ease in his surroundings.
She heard herself jabbering away about all manner of things throughout the course of the day, and it was blessed relief when at last they were back at the hotel at a little after four.
‘Meet me at seven,’ he told her, naming one of the fancy restaurants in the hotel as she was about to head to the lift, leaving him behind. There were few minutes in the day when he wasn’t working and the day’s outing had taken up quite a few of those precious minutes.
Back in her hotel room, she forgot what she’d hastily picked in the boutique. She pulled out the assortment of clothes and it was almost as though she was seeing most of them for the first time.
Her hand hovered over a dark blue shift…and then veered away to something smaller and more figure-hugging in just the sort of bold pattern she wouldn’t usually wear…but loved the look of.
She used to wear dresses like that…
Back in the day. Before, she suddenly realised, a broken marriage had instilled a level of reserve she never really used to have.
Once upon a time, she used to laugh a lot more, wear brightly coloured clothes and let her hair lie long and loose over her shoulders and down her back.
Suddenly pierced with nostalgia, she stuck on the dress and looked at herself in the mirror, and was startled when someone much younger looked back at her.
Where had that girl gone and how had she not noticed her absence?
Mia made her way down to the restaurant. She carried the crutch, but she didn’t really need it, and she almost regretted having brought it along because it felt like a prop.
The restaurant was small and intimate, and yet busy. Waiters buzzed around with huge circular trays. The atmosphere was casual, but nothing could quite disguise the fact that it was a mega-expensive venue. There was something about the tasteful pale green of the walls, the soft, faded silk rugs underfoot, the crisp white linen of the table cloths and the mellow lighting…
She saw him as instantly as she’d seen him in the bar the evening before. This time, he was dressed more formally in a white, short-sleeved shirt and a pair of charcoal-grey trousers. He looked so heart-stoppingly masculine that she faltered for a few seconds and then powered on.
Max had managed to secure the perfect table in a corner of the room, and he watched her progress with a veiled expression. He’d been waiting for fifteen minutes in a state of keen anticipation that was uncool, to say the least.
Why the hell was he playing with fire? Since when had that been a recommended game for a guy who exerted such control over every aspect of his life?
But today it had been torture, being with her for hours, breathing in her fresh, floral scent, his eyes stubbornly lingering on her startlingly pretty face.
He had given up trying to rein in his imagination.
He wanted her. It was something he couldn’t quite explain to himself.
Maybe if he hadn’t sensed that chemistry between them, hadn’t tasted the softness of her mouth or watched the hungry flick of her eyes when she thought she was unnoticed… But he had and it fired him in ways that were shocking.
Now, watching, he felt the hot rush of blood heavy in his veins.
She was wearing a dress and it was the first time he’d seen her in one.
She looked so…delectable. He breathed in slowly, taming his body. He didn’t play games when it came to women but now…this…felt like a game, a dangerous game, and he couldn’t wait for the starting gun to be fired.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AFTERWARDS, MIA WAS hard-pressed to figure out just when the atmosphere between them had shifted.
The dress had done something for sure, flicked a switch in her head, because as she walked towards him, barely using the crutch at all, she felt like a million dollars. The brush of cool silk against her skin was seductive. And then his eyes…veiled and hooded…as he watched her get closer.
The food was amazing and there was champagne.
And the conversation was so work-orientated as he plied her with questions about bits of the island they hadn’t got round to seeing. They discussed the various financing avenues for some of the plans his sister had begun to put in place. They worked out what would make sense and what wouldn’t. More champagne was poured. He all but brought out his laptop so that they could study costs and projected revenues.
It was a conversation that should have relaxed her, because it reinforced the status quo between them without her having to remind herself of it every five seconds.
But behind the affable exchange of ideas, and discussion of timetables and supply chains, there was the steady pulse of something else, something she glimpsed just like a shadow, when she felt the brush of his knee against hers under the table or caught the glitter of guarded amusement in his eyes and in the curve of his mouth.
Another conversation was being had under the surface and it was exciting.
