His smile faltered. “On what?”
“On how close of a partnership you’re talking about.”
He pulled her towards him. Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed her. “Is this close enough?”
Instead of answering, she led him to her dark bedroom. “You can get closer. How’s your night vision?”
Mitch grinned. “Excellent.”
Pele’s Tears
Catherine Mulvany
Dillon Makua stared glumly at the two empty bottles on the bar in front of him and contemplated the wisdom of ordering another beer. He was scheduled to meet with a new client in a few minutes. And dreading it.
Oh, hell. Reason enough. He rapped on the counter. “Hey, Keoni! How about a Primo over here when you get the time.”
His cousin, Keoni O’Rourke, owner of the Shamrock Bar and Grill, plopped a paper parasol into the Mai Tai he’d just mixed and handed it to a waitress in a green-flowered pareu before glancing Dillon’s way. “You sure? That makes three, brah.”
“I can count.”
“Well, excuse the hell out of me.” Keoni set a beer on the counter in front of Dillon. “What’s your problem?”
“My new case.” Or more specifically, his new client.
Keoni raised a questioning eyebrow. “How bad can it be? Wait. Don’t tell me you got conned into taking another dog-napping case. Not after the way that schnauzer you rescued chewed up your ankles.”
“No canines involved this time.”
“That’s a plus.” Keoni, the eternal optimist.
Dillon took a healthy pull on his beer. “The minus is I’m going to be stuck holding the hand of a spoiled little rich girl.”
“Doesn’t sound so bad to me,” Keoni said.
Dillon was about to explain the downside when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
“Excuse me?”
Damn. Dillon swivelled around slowly. The beer hadn’t helped. He still wasn’t ready for this. For her. Noelani Crawford. First girl he’d ever kissed.
Only she wasn’t a girl any more.
She still had the same long, glossy brown hair, big hazel eyes and kissable mouth he remembered, but her face was thinner, her cheekbones more defined. As for her body, gone was the coltish teenager. In her place stood a slim, elegant woman with curves in all the right places. Noelani Crawford had been a pretty girl; she was a gorgeous woman.
“Mr Makua?” A trace of impatience coloured her voice, but he couldn’t find even the faintest glimmer of recognition in her expression.
Well, hell, what did he expect? It had been what? Sixteen years? And from her perspective maybe that kiss hadn’t been as earth-shattering as he remembered it. Not to mention, he didn’t look much like his scrawny fourteen-year-old self. And, thanks to Uncle Lopaka and his Gunsmoke obsession, Noelani had never known his real name. “Hey, Marshal!” Uncle Lopaka would yell. “Saddle a horse for Miss Crawford.” “Hey, Marshal! Clean out the stalls in the east barn.”
“Are you Mr Makua?” Noelani asked again.
“Yes.” Dillon couldn’t decide which was harder to swallow, the fact that she didn’t recognize him or the fact that he cared.
She raised an eyebrow. “I’m the spoiled little rich girl, the one who needs her hand held.”
Behind him, Keoni stifled a snort of laughter.
Noelani tilted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “If you don’t want my business, just say so. I can take it elsewhere.”