“Taylor Young’s scuba man’s ipo,” Lani corrected.
“Scuba man been makin’ fastime with a new ipo,” the man insisted. “Dat lady got mo’ dolla than can count. Scuba man buy drinks for the house udda day. He say by’m’by he be a f*ck
ing rich man.”
Lani couldn’t believe Ford would leave Taylor for another woman. Even a rich one. “ Mahalo ,” she murmured absently as she considered this new aspect of Ford’s disappearance.
As the man’s dark eyes skimmed down Lani’s body with unmistakable interest, Donovan slipped a folded bill into the pocket of the dock worker’s flowered shirt. “Thanks,” he said.
After checking out the denomination of the bill, the man’s face lit up in a broad grin that was missing a front tooth. “Hey, brah, mahalo yourself.”
When he noticed two guys at a nearby table watching them closely, Donovan grasped Lani’s bare upper arm. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s time to go.”
“But I haven’t finished my drink.”
“Yes, you have.”
“Really, Donovan,” she complained as she found herself being unceremoniously hauled out of the waterfront bar. “Has anyone ever told you that you can be very bossy?”
“All the time. And I do my best to live up to it. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get out of here before those Feds come to the mistaken conclusion that we know more about all this than we do.”
“Feds?” Lani looked back toward The Blue Parrot as Donovan practically dragged her across the parking lot. “As in FBI?”
“Not the IRS,” he agreed grimly. “Although at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that they had a hand in all this, too.”
“Had a hand in what?” Lani asked, clearly confused.
“Give me the keys to the Jeep. We’ll come back for the rental car later.”
“Okay,” she murmured distractedly as she dug the key ring out of her purse. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” he said as he shoved her ungently into the Jeep. “But I’m sure as hell going to find out.”
They drove for a while in silence, immersed in thought.
“By the way,” Donovan asked, “where the hell did you get that dress?”
Lani smoothed the skirt of the red sarong-style strapless dress that could have been sprayed on. “I borrowed it from a friend who dances in a show at one of the resorts on Maui. I didn’t have anything that looked appropriate for a place like The Blue Parrot,” she added as an afterthought.
“That’s a relief.”
“What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?”
“You look freaking amazing. Even if you did look as if you were trolling for Johns,” he tacked on. “The guy sitting next to me practically fell off his stool when you strolled in the door.”
Lani’s face lit up with a bright smile. “Why, Donovan Quinn, I do believe that you’re jealous.”
“I just don’t like you looking like the sort of woman who belongs in that kind of place,” he muttered.
She leaned over, running her fingers through his hair. “Hey, brah,” she murmured silkily into his ear, “you wanna come over to my place, find out da kine woman you got?”
Donovan caved, as she’d known he would. He ran his hand up the long expanse of leg bared by the deep slit in her skirt. “Lady,” he growled seductively, “thassa mo’ betta offer than I get all day.”
18
“It’s a boat,” Donovan said suddenly as he and Lani lay together, arms and legs tangled, in her bed after having, what she’d assured him, was primo, number-one sex.
He’d also discovered that the Hawaiian pidgin could sound really sexy coming from those luscious lips, especially when she used dirty words that didn’t need any translation.
It was the first time they’d been together in her place and the minute he’d walked into the beach house, he’d decided it definitely suited her. The bleached wood floor reflected the light of the Orchid Island sun, bathing everything in a warm yellow glow. The furniture was light and airy white wicker and rattan, the cushion covers printed with a brilliant tropical print.
Flowers were everywhere—scarlet and gold hibiscus blossoms floated in a pair of bright blue ceramic bowls, and branches of purple bougainvillea and snowy-white oleander were stuck haphazardly into colored, one-of-a-kind bottles. On the sunshine-yellow walls, a veritable garden of oversize tropical flower prints bloomed within the borders of narrow aluminum frames.
The entire atmosphere in the small house—the furniture, the flowers, the whimsical goddess figurine made from the leaves of the hala tree—was as free-spirited and unpretentious as its owner. As different as it was from his modernistic Portland apartment, Donovan was surprised to find himself feeling at home.
“What’s a boat?” Lani asked, snuggling up against him, her head on his chest.
“ Wainani . She’s not Britton’s new girlfriend. She’s a damned boat.”