“Wow,” Lani murmured, tilting her head back to stare into his storm-filled blue eyes. “I think I feel an earthquake coming on.”
“I feel it, too,” Donovan agreed with a slow, inviting smile. “And as much as I’d love for us to make Richter scales go crazy all over the South Pacific, I need to go check out some stuff.”
“Now?”
“You’re the one who asked me to help find Britton,” he reminded her. “I’d much rather stay here and rock the island with you.”
“Later,” she said on a long sigh. “I am worried about Ford. Even more so now that you believe the FBI’s involved in whatever has happened to him.”
“Later,” he agreed reluctantly. “What’s the name of the police chief on the island?”
“Manny Kanualu.”
“I think I’ll pay Chief Kanualu a little visit.” Donovan rubbed his jaw. “Professional courtesy, and all that. And afterward, I’ll check out The Blue Parrot, since that’s where Ford supposedly hung out.”
“Taylor’s telling the truth about that,” Lani said. “Call me when you’ve left the police station, and I’ll meet you there.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, but this is something I need to do alone. Not that you’re not an intelligent woman, but I’ve spent more time questioning people than you have. You wouldn’t want to tip any bad guys off, would you?”
“Of course not. But what am I supposed to do while you play cops and robbers?”
“You can always finish up my tile,” he suggested.
Lani’s answer was a brief, pungent curse.
16
“Well? Where’s your young man?” Margaret’s bright eyes observed Lani with interest.
“He’s on his way to the police station. Then some sleazy waterfront bar for thrills and adventure,” she muttered grumpily. “And he’s most definitely not my young man.”
The elderly woman chuckled. “Try telling that to him,” she advised. “And while you’re at it, would you care to explain why even the mention of Donovan Quinn makes you blush?”
“This isn’t a blush,” Lani insisted. “I never blush.”
“Of course you don’t,” Margaret agreed knowingly.
“It’s this room; it’s like a rain forest in here.”
The purple head bobbed. “It is nice, isn’t it?” Margaret’s pleased gaze circled the room, enjoying the colorful display of tropical plants.
Recognizing her chance, Lani changed the subject to her grandmother’s ingenious green thumb. For the next five minutes they discussed the spectacular crimson blooms of the royal poinciana, the lacy pink and white shower trees, and a new night-blooming cereus Margaret had acquired and had high hopes for.
Unfortunately, Lani was soon to discover that her reprieve was only temporary. With the tenacity of a bull terrier worrying a particularly succulent bone, Margaret deftly returned the conversation to its initial topic.
“You and Donovan are lovers, aren’t you?”
Knowing her grandmother’s penchant for speaking her mind, Lani tried not to take offense at the forthright question.
“Really, Tutu,” she protested with a weak smile, “that’s a very personal question.”
Margaret tilted the Belleek shamrock teapot, filling their cups. “It doesn’t matter. If you haven’t made love yet, which, I’d bet my Golden Globe that you already have, there was enough electricity between the two of you to set this entire island on fire.”
“There’s no future for me with Donovan Quinn.”
Still-bright eyes, sparkling with intelligence, looked straight into Lani’s. “Are you telling me that you’re not going to take him as a lover because he hasn’t promised you fifty years of married bliss?”
She made it sound so easy, Lani mused. And why not? She had no doubt that if her grandmother had found herself in Lani’s position, she would have reached out for whatever Donovan had to offer with both hands. Margaret Breslin lived for the moment. In that respect, Lani had believed that the two of them had shared a lot in common as she, herself, had breezed through the past few years taking one sun-filled day at a time.
It was coming as a distinct surprise to discover that she was not quite as carefree and impulsive as she had thought. Somehow, when no one was looking, the no-nonsense, practical stock of Thomas Breslin’s New England whaling ancestors had slipped into the family’s gene pool, ultimately ending up in her.
“I’m not like you, Tutu. Yes, you undoubtedly had love affairs over the years. But you had one grand passion in your life, which resulted in my father. And when that relationship was over and Palmer Winfield dutifully returned to his wife, the automobile heiress, you threw yourself into your work and never looked back. No recriminations, no regrets.”
The sudden rattling of the delicate china cup against the saucer captured her attention, and Lani was appalled to realize that her hands were trembling.