Walking in Fire: Hawaiian Heroes, Book 1 (24 page)

“My turn now.” Shyly, loving the hoarse groan of pleasure and how his big body quivered as she delicately wriggled her fingertip into the tight ring of muscle, Melia caressed him as he had her. Then she arched her back and began to move on him, fucking him in short, sinuous movements.

He held himself perfectly still, rigid in her grasp, until with a rumble that began deep in his chest and rose to an aching groan, he climaxed. This time, she felt his come, hot and wet, leaking out, spilling down her thighs.

Her eyes opened wide, and she stared at his rapt, sweat-soaked face.

His lashes fluttered, and he opened one eye, peering at her. “What?” he grunted.

“N-no condom,” she managed.

He eyed her warily. “Uh, ku’u ipo, we need to talk.”

Chapter Nineteen

Recipe for keiki—take one virile Ho’omalu, one chosen
wahine
, and unwrap. Leave alone together.

Note: condoms do not work with this recipe.

“Pregnant? What do you mean, Pele told you I’m pregnant?”

Malu winced. His ku’u ipo could shriek like a steam whistle. She was not happy—the understatement of the century.

He sat naked on the end of the big bed, elbows on his knees, watching as Melia stomped around the room, as much as a barefoot little woman wearing a sheet draped around her ankles could stomp. Her face was tearstained, her cheeks bright red, her soft mouth drawn into a straight line. Her tumbled curls hung in a sexy tangle.

She turned on him again. “This is not fair,” she wailed. “I should have gotten to choose whether I wanted to—to have a—a…”

“Keiki?” he supplied helpfully. “Baby?”

With an inarticulate growl, she whirled away, kicking the sheet viciously as it got in her way again. He bit back a grin.

“You tricked me, you big—big Ho’omalu,” she accused. “Probably used your powers or something.”

He pointed a finger at her. “Hey. We used a condom every time, even though I hate the damn things. This wasn’t my choice, either.”

She turned and tripped on the sheet. Ah, Pele, she was going to hurt herself. Springing off the bed, he caught her by the waist just before she went down.

“You let me go,” she demanded, yanking away. Her hair fell over her face, and he let loose a chuckle just as she tossed her head angrily.

She glared at him. “Are you laughing at me?” He winced as her voice rose dangerously again.

Well, yes, he was. He could no longer contain it. She was so pretty, and he loved every freckled inch of her. He wanted to cuddle her on his lap and kiss the tears from her face…and then let things take their natural course again.

“Stop laughing, you big handsome, arrogant, fertile…Hawaiian!” She shoved him, and he let her push him onto the bed, grinning like a fool as he was attacked by a naked female, the sheet left in a drift over the edge of the bed.

She smacked him on the shoulder, and he lifted his hands to protect himself from her fists, laughing. The next thing he knew, she was on top of him, straddling him, her eyes slitted as she grabbed his wrists. She could only reach halfway around them, but he let her pin them back to the bed.

She leaned over him, her face close to his. “I—didn’t—get—to—choose!” she repeated, rocking on him for emphasis.

“I know, ku’u ipo,” he said. “I know. Neither did I. Believe me, I would have liked to wait ’til you were ready.”

She squeezed him with her knees, plopping down on top of him with a little growl. She was soft and warm, her center sleek and hot. Arousal seized him, stiffening his cock underneath her.

Following her incredulous gaze to where the broad head poked out, dark and engorged against her damp blonde curls, he stared raptly at the contrast between his golden skin and the narrow trail of black hair on his belly, framed by her lightly tanned thighs, spangled with freckles, and the little triangle of whiter skin and blonde curls.

“You,” she gasped, her eyes widening. “This is the whole problem. You’ve had a hard-on practically since I met you.”

He couldn’t argue that. His eyes crossed as she moved again. Gritting his teeth, he fought the urge to grab her hips and drive up into her tight, wet heat.

“Ah, pua,” he groaned. “Can’t help it. Everything you do turns me on. Let me—”

“No.” She sat up straight and glared down at him, imperious as Pele, ready to sacrifice a mortal.

“
Aloha nō au iā ‘oe.
I love you,” he said. “Let me show you how much. Let me show you another way—you’ll like it, I promise.”

Arching his hips, he moved under her, sliding along the soft, hot furrow of her sex.

She shook her head, and tears filled her eyes again, spilling down her flushed cheeks. “No. For heaven’s sake, Malu, that’s the last thing I want right now. “

He let her go, watching as she slid off of him to the edge of the bed, her back to him. He gave a calming stroke to his cock and sighed.

“You want keikis, don’t you?” he asked quietly. They hadn’t had time to talk about that, or many other things.

“Of course I do,” she sniffled. “But I wanted to be m—um, I wanted it to be on my schedule. We hardly know each other.”

“We have a lot to talk about,” he agreed. He smiled to himself. She wanted to be married before she had this keiki, eh? Well, he could see to that.

“How about a nice warm shower?” he asked, stroking his knuckles down the dimples in the small of her back. “Then some food?”

She nodded dolefully. Levering himself off the bed beside her, he led the way into his huge master bathroom. Her eyes widened as she took in the dark polished stone and soft green walls, the paintings and plants accentuating the space. He led her into his favorite part, the huge shower with three spray heads.

“You like it?” he asked as he turned the water on hot, protecting her from the spray with his body.

“I feel like I’m in the jungle,” she said, turning her face up to the spray. “I should have known you’d have a bathroom like this.”

“But do you like it?” He turned to pick up a bottle of shampoo. When he turned back, she was staring at him, her eyes wide, the water running unheeded down her back.

He looked down as she reached out to touch his chest. “Turn around again,” she said.

Malu did as she asked, and Melia reached out to touch his back, her fingers trailing down over the wet skin.

“You have more tattoos,” she said wonderingly. New marks covered the middle of his broad back in connected circles, with intricate patterns inside like webs of triangles and swirls. Her stomach clenched as she realized—the tattoos were where the bullet holes should be, except his skin was smooth and sleek, with no scars.

Bullet holes and burn marks. Both should have marred his golden skin, all twenty acres of it. Instead, he had new tattoos, making him look even more like an ancient warrior chieftain.

He turned back to her, steadying her with his big hands on her shoulders. “
Au’e. Ho’ohanohano.
They are badges of honor.”

She stared at the tattoos across his chest and around his shoulder. “You mean…these too?”

He nodded somberly. “Those too. But I’m here, pua. I’m alive and well, thanks to Pele’s power and the grace of our Creator. And to you, my brave wahine.”

She moved closer, tipping her head against his chest, needing his heat, his heart beating steady and strong under her cheek. His arms closed around her, sure and strong.

“But you could die,” she said around the huge lump in her throat. “One time, when you’re out doing…what you do.”

“Ku’u ipo, people die all the time,” he said. “Of illness, accidents and old age. I am protected from much of that.”

She sighed and nodded. “Okay, I get that. It just…it’s all so overwhelming.”

He gave her a swift kiss. “I know, I’m a lot to take. But you are a tough wahine with self-defense techniques, yeah?”

She smiled, as she knew he meant her to, and accepted the bottle of shampoo he handed her.

Melia felt a little better when she got out of the shower, and dried off with one of the huge green towels. There was lotion in a custom set of bottles and tubes on one of the counters. Smoothing it on, Melia waited for Malu to find her something to wear. Although if he brought her any peek-a-boo Cherie-type garments from former girlfriends, she was leaving, in a sheet, if necessary.

He came back wearing a pair of black silk pants and a tee, carrying a kimono of soft white silk. It was his, which meant it was yards too big, but she used the belt to wrap it around her so it hung to mid-calf.

“This is all I have,” he said, frowning doubtfully. “Later, we can go shopping, or I can call and have one of the shops send some things up for you. Might be tomorrow before we get your things from Nawea.”

Feeling more cheerful now that she knew his girlfriends—ex-girlfriends, she corrected herself—weren’t allowed to leave their things here, Melia rolled the sleeves up above her elbows and followed him down the wide stairs to the main floor of his house, an open expanse of polished wood floors and muted rugs in tropical leaf patterns, with furniture of soft beige leather built on a Malu-esque scale.

A few more of his paintings hung on the walls. She would examine them in detail later, especially the one of the Kona waterfront. Looking beyond them, she walked, spellbound, through the open doors to the lanai.

Below, the mountainside fell away in a glossy tangle of green tree tops moving slowly in the morning breeze. The forest was interspersed with strips of meadow and a meandering lava flow, old enough that it was punctuated with bursts of verdant growth. A few rooftops nestled among the trees, and cattle dotted the meadows.

And beyond lay the sea, a magnificent sweep of blue under the tropical sun. White waves licked at the shore and burst on the rocky points of land. Far out to sea, a line of clouds cast their shadows on the water, rain below them misting the horizon. Although the sun shone brightly, the air was cooler than down by the shore, a comfortable seventy-plus.

“That’s Maui, off to the north,” Malu said, coming to point over her shoulder. “And that way…nothing but ocean until you get to Tahiti.”

“Oh, Malu. It’s so…beautiful,” she whispered in awe. “You get to see this every day?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He settled his chin on her hair and gathered her close in his powerful arms so she could feel his heart beating against the back of her neck. “Wait ’til you see the sunset from up here.”

She nodded, but she looked around her at the carved wood on the lanai railing, and the big house behind them. “So, you must do all right with your painting, hmm?”

He chuckled. “You figured it out, yeah? Not great works of art or anything. Tourists love them.”

“What?” she demanded, craning her neck to glare up at him. “They’re beautiful, powerful.”

He searched her gaze with his and then smiled, hunching his shoulders slightly. “Just simple stuff.”

Melia snorted. “Simple, maybe—I don’t know a ton about art, but I know I love your paintings.”

“Mahalo.” His cheeks reddened slightly. He leaned over and kissed her, hard.

She kissed him back, startled to realize that her approval was obviously important to him. Apparently, her handsome Hawaiian had a few insecurities of his own. Hard to believe, with all he had going for him, but she liked it. He needed her just as she needed him, for a lot more than sex.

“Your paintings are gorgeous, evocative of this island,” she said, gazing into the distance. “All I do is cook. I’ve got my blog, but it’s not much yet.” She was a little embarrassed that she’d been so proud of it.

It was his turn to snort. “I can’t eat paintings. And I love to eat, pua. So does everyone else. Good food is one of the chief pleasures of life. You help people with their cooking, and you’ve not only fed them, you’ve made their lives easier, better.”

It was her turn to smile. He was right. “I hope someday to make my blog an active business. But it’s going to take time to get advertisers, and a large following. Your painting is obviously lucrative now.”

He shrugged. “I do all right. But, the family’s been in business for a long time here too.”

“What kind of businesses?” she asked cautiously.

He pulled her back against him, one hand on her belly, caressing her through the robe. “Ah, boats, land development, a few other things. We own a couple galleries, showcase local art.”

“Oh,” she said faintly. Criminy, on top of everything else, he was wealthy. Her family did okay, they were all solvent, but they didn’t move in circles like this. Her best friend Bella’s mother, Grace Moran, had made a bundle writing epic romances. But even she was a quirky individualist who lived pretty quietly.

“Hey,” he said, a grin in his voice. “It’s not like we’re jet-setters, pua. We’re Hawaiian—we live
‘olu’olu
—comfortably.”

Right. She happened to know living on Hawaii was incredibly expensive. To be able to afford this place at his age meant he was more than ‘olu’olu
.
She wasn’t sure what that meant in terms of their relationship, either. She wasn’t even sure what their relationship was. They were apparently having a baby together, but beyond that, they hadn’t had time to talk about…so many things.