Temptation, p.2
Temptation, page 2
Right.
Drawing in a deep breath, I timidly attempted to pry off one of the tentacles when a gruff voice boomed over the ocean waves.
“Stop!”
Startled, I snapped my head up as a tall, well-built man rushed toward me.
The same tall, well-built man I’d been checking out before stepping on the jellyfish.
Karma truly was a cruel bitch. And there was no doubt she was a woman. Only a female could be so conniving as to ensure I came face to face with the reason I was in this predicament in the first place. I typically didn’t spend much time ogling the opposite sex. You could line up the ten most gorgeous men on the planet, and I normally wouldn’t give them so much as a second glance, too focused on every other aspect of my life.
But there was something different in the air this morning.
Maybe because I still suffered the effects of jet lag.
Maybe because I was over five thousand miles away from home, a giant ocean protecting me from my problems.
Maybe because I was on the cusp of turning forty.
The reason was irrelevant. All that was relevant was the fact I had over a dozen jellyfish tentacles wrapped around my leg, causing indescribable pain. I needed them off me, and quickly.
“I got stung,” I insisted, jaw clenched. “I’m not keeping this thing on my leg.”
I reached for the jellyfish once more, ignoring any trepidation over the mere idea of touching the slimy thing. It was creepy looking. Just a giant blob with tentacles. But anything was better than enduring the burning that grew more excruciating with every second.
“If you do that, it’ll sting your hands, too,” he barked in an Australian accent. “Jellyfish don’t have a brain. Or eyes. So they sting anything they encounter.” He knelt in front of me and splashed ocean water over my leg.
To my surprise, most of the tentacles fell away.
“Stubborn bastard,” he muttered in a rugged, deep baritone that was a little rough around the edges.
While his intense gaze remained focused on my leg, I took the opportunity to study his features. Square chin that sculptors would love to chisel into stone. Proud nose. Full lips. What appeared to be a week’s worth of growth along his jawline. Clear, blue eyes so haunting they sent a shiver through me.
Which only increased when he unzipped his wetsuit to his waist, treating me to a physique that should be criminal. Broad shoulders. Sculpted chest. Defined abs. And that delicious little V disappearing into the bottom of his wetsuit. This man was a walking Adonis. But he didn’t seem to realize it. Or perhaps he didn’t care.
Using the sleeve of his suit, he managed to peel the remaining tentacles from my leg before nudging the jellyfish back into the water.
“Do you have any tweezers or a razor on you?” he asked evenly.
I shook my head. “Sorry.”
He grunted and unzipped a hidden pouch in his wetsuit, pulling out a hotel keycard. Then he scooted forward, propping my leg in his lap. When he dug the card into my skin, I winced and attempted to pull my leg back, but he tightened his grip on me.
“Don’t.” His voice was almost a growl. “I have to clean out the barbs.”
“Bobs?”
“Barbs,” he enunciated, forcing his accent to sound more American. “Stingers.”
I nodded. While this may have been my first experience with a jellyfish, I was no stranger to bee stings. My meemaw often joked that I must have been made of honey since bees always seemed to be attracted to me. And each time, Meemaw had to pull out the stinger lodged in my skin in order for the pain to subside.
Based on the intense throbbing in my foot and leg, I had a feeling I was dealing with more than just one stinger this time.
He brought the card back up to me. I squeezed my eyes shut, exhaling through the ache. It had been a while since I’d been stung by a bee, but I didn’t remember it hurting like this. Back then, my meemaw often started talking about something that piqued my interest. I needed that kind of distraction now, too.
“Where are you from?” I asked through my labored breathing, clenching my jaw as he forced out yet another stinger.
“Melbourne originally.” His answer was clipped. Apparently, he wasn’t a big conversationalist.
“What brings you to Hawaii?”
“I’m certainly not here by choice,” he grumbled.
When he dug the key card into my skin even harder, I yelped, but he didn’t care, continuing what he was doing without concern. He’d make a pretty shitty doctor, if you asked me.
“I’m here for work, too,” I offered sweetly.
He lifted his eyes to mine, parting his lips, a response seemingly on the tip of his tongue. Then he shook it off.
“I’m not here for work.”
“Oh.” My expression fell. If he wasn’t here by choice, but it wasn’t because of work, what did that mean? “What are—”
“I think I got them all,” he interjected gruffly, lowering my leg back to the sand as he stood and extended his hand. I studied it for a beat, then eventually placed mine in his.
His scent teased my senses as he bent and wrapped his arm around my waist, helping me to my feet. Leather. Citrus. And something else I couldn’t quite pinpoint.
Once he was certain I had my balance, he dropped his hold. I tilted my head back, taking in the full effect of his physique.
He was much taller than me, which wasn’t that big a feat, considering I was only five-two. Couple his height with his muscular build, and I couldn’t help but feel tiny compared to him. He was like Thor come down from Asgard to bless us mere mortals with his presence.
It didn’t hurt this man bore a slight resemblance to Chris Hemsworth. And his brother, Liam. I couldn’t decide which one he looked more like. He definitely had Chris’ bulk, yet Liam’s features. Did it matter, though? They were both ridiculously attractive.
“You’ll want to wrap your leg in a vinegar cloth for about fifteen, twenty minutes,” he stated curtly. “Then you’ll want to soak in a hot bath for about a half-hour. Use some shaving cream and shave your legs. That should get rid of any lingering stingers. The pain should go away in about an hour or two. Your skin will be red and blotchy for a day, which will give way to red lines where the tentacles stung you. Those will probably remain visible for about a week or two. In the meantime, you’ll want to take some acetaminophen. I also recommend picking up some hydrocortisone cream and keeping it in the refrigerator. If your leg and foot begin to itch, you can apply some.”
“You really know your jellyfish stings.” I laughed nervously as I pushed a few wayward tendrils of hair behind my ear.
The auburn shade I’d colored it still occasionally caught me by surprise, a stark contrast to the blonde I was most of my life. But I was determined to leave the woman I once was behind.
“I’d ask if you were a doctor, but you look too young for that.”
Maybe I was fishing for information, since he didn’t look like he could have been more that twenty-five or twenty-six. At the very least, I hoped to engage him in some sort of conversation.
“I’ve just spent a lot of time in the water.” He nodded toward the surfboard lying on the white sand.
“I bet you’ve got some doozies in Australia, huh?” I rambled, shifting from foot to foot, wincing when I put too much pressure on my sting. “Granted, I haven’t spent a lot of time there, but I’ve heard horror stories about spiders and snakes.”
He shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”
I nodded, silence descending between us.
God, this was awkward. I normally had no problem getting people to engage with me. I was most decidedly a people person. I was raised in the south, owned a successful bakery that I grew from a home-based operation, to a popular boutique chain, to now being one of the most popular bakery brands in the nation. My ability to talk to and connect with people was what helped me grow my business to what it was today.
Yet I couldn’t seem to engage with this man. He was mysterious. Intriguing. Troubled.
And perhaps I saw parts of myself in him. Parts I masked with a friendly smile and upbeat persona so nobody saw the real me.
He cleared his throat and gestured to my leg. “Will you be okay to walk?”
I put a little more pressure on it. It ached, but it was nothing compared to mere moments ago.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Good. Take it slow. And stay out of the shallows before daylight. Jellyfish tend to inhabit the waters this time of year.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I forced out a smile that seemed overly sweet and friendly. “And for your help.”
He barely acknowledged my gratitude as he turned away and grabbed his board, leaving me with this strange, unsettling feeling in my stomach.
Chapter Three
Lachlan
The brilliant sun reflected on the ocean waves about a hundred yards from my current perch, which happened to be a bench at the rear of the beachfront property I’d called home during my high school years.
It wasn’t as massive as some of the other houses along the shore. When my father died and my mother decided to return home, she wanted to live on the beach. After I permanently relocated to the mainland, Claire still following herself, we still held onto this place, if for no other reason than the memories contained within the four walls of the charming two-bedroom house.
But now that I was back for the first time in five years, those memories were suffocating, the guilt over what happened to Claire tormenting me.
“So it’s true then.”
At the sound of the familiar voice, I tore my attention to the right as a man with an intimidating physique approached from the beach. His black hair was slicked back, sunglasses covering what I knew to be dark eyes, tribal tattoos on his naturally tanned skin peeking out from under the sleeves of his polo shirt. Couple that with the neatly pressed khaki pants, detective shield around his neck, and gun holstered to his belt, it was evident he was about to head to the precinct.
“Yes, Nikko. It’s true.” I stood, pulling him in for a quick hug, our foreheads touching briefly.
“Pohili has returned,” he bellowed as he patted my back with his free hand, the other one holding a tray containing two coffees.
“Pohili has returned,” I repeated, using the nickname he’d called me for as long as I could remember, the Hawaiian term for baseball.
Even though I was born in Australia, my mum was born and raised right here on Oahu. Despite moving away from the island after she fell in love with my father, an Australian, she made it a point to bring us here every year during summer and winter breaks from school, which was when I discovered baseball. Once we permanently moved here when I was thirteen, it was all baseball, all the time.
Now here I was, fulfilling my childhood dream of being a professional player.
“How did you find out?” I asked.
He shrugged and removed one of the cups from the tray, handing it to me. “It’s a small island.”
I brought the cup to my lips, savoring that first sip of authentic Kona coffee from the restaurant his family owned just up the beach.
“Word travels fast. You know how it is.”
“That I do.”
We may have been just a quick drive from Honolulu and the crazy, city nightlife, but away from the tourist area, life was different. Slower. Easier.
Still, I had no doubt my return to the old neighborhood would be front-page news in the local newsletter…if anyone ever cared enough to put one together. But no one did. People here may have been nosy, but they also tended to mind their own business. To an outsider, the dichotomy was probably peculiar. That was just the way of life here. We watched out for each other, yet also gave each other space.
“Plus, Mrs. Young called the station earlier this morning. Said she saw some hot rod pull into the driveway. Was worried some drug dealers had broken in and were having an orgy.”
I arched my brows. “Really?”
He held up a hand. “Honest to God, bruh. She actually said that. You haven’t lived until you try to keep a straight face listening to an eighty-year-old woman voice her concerns that an orgy may be taking place in her neighborhood.”
I barked out a laugh. The sad thing was I could picture Mrs. Young being genuinely concerned about drug dealers having orgies overrunning her neighborhood. I was surprised she didn’t come over and knock on the door herself, shotgun in hand. She was well known for sitting in her recliner, TV tuned to true crime documentaries, cigarette hanging out of her mouth, shotgun lying across her lap.
The fact she wasn’t quite five feet tall and probably only weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet made the image even more amusing.
“Glad it was you and not me.”
He nodded, pausing before he spoke again.
“How are you?”
Judging by his tone of voice, I sensed he wasn’t simply asking to find out how I was on a superficial level. His question went deeper. It always did.
I shrugged. “How do you think?”
He blew out a breath, lowering himself onto the bench, shifting his attention to the crashing waves. I joined him, my gaze focused forward, as well.
“Is it true you punched a detective?” He rested his forearms on his knees, then glanced at me. “I never know what to believe when it comes to celebrity gossip.”
“Maybe.”
He chuckled slightly. “That means yes.”
“He deserved it,” I answered evenly.
“Why? And I’m not asking as a cop,” he quickly clarified. “But as a friend.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “As ohana.”
I briefly squeezed my eyes shut. We may not have been related by blood, but Nikko was ohana, was family. Our mothers had been friends since they were in diapers, their fathers partners in the police department. That in and of itself created an impenetrable bond between our two families. One that still continued, which was why I always referred to him and his siblings as my cousins. In reality, he was more like a wise, older brother. Always the voice of reason in my chaotic life.
“He brought up what happened to Claire the night Piper…” I trailed off, not needing to finish my sentence.
After all, he was there all those years ago, helping me put the pieces together, albeit in a limited capacity since he hadn’t made detective yet. That didn’t matter. Not when Piper was his sister. The baby of the family. He wanted justice as much as I did.
“Why?”
“Because she died five years to the day of that night, he figured she killed herself. They all did. Couple that with her being diagnosed with depression, and she obviously must have committed suicide,” I mocked. “What other explanation could there be?” The more I spoke, the more frustrated I became.
“But you don’t think she did,” Nikko stated after a beat.
I lifted my gaze to his, shaking my head. “The last time I saw Claire was two months ago. We got into an argument.”
“About?”
“That night, actually.”
“Really?” His brows creased in concern. “What about it?”
I exhaled a sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face.
Ever since I’d received that phone call, I’d replayed my last conversation with Claire over and over in my head. Recalled her agitated demeanor. Her desperation. Her grief.
“Everything. She wanted to go over it all again. Every single detail.”
“Why? They arrested the guy responsible. Sure, he was killed in a prison altercation before his trial, but if you ask me, he got what he deserved. The evidence was conclusive. No way he would have been able to deny it during trial. They found his DNA under Piper’s fingernails. And his semen was also found on her body. It was pretty open and shut.”
I ran my hands over my thighs. “Unless there was another reason for it. That was what Claire was trying to tell me. What our argument was about. She was pretty adamant Caleb was telling the truth when he insisted he’d been sleeping with Piper behind my back.”
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard the same from men accused of rape? Men whose semen was also found? If I had a buck for every time they either claimed it was consensual or they’d been having an affair, I could retire from the department a very wealthy man.” He paused. “But I wasn’t living with Piper.”
Remorse flickered in his expression. We all went through it after Piper’s death, questioning if we could have done something to prevent it.
It was one of the reasons Nikko pushed to become detective. To prevent anyone else from suffering like we had.
“Neither was I, really. From February through October, I spent most of my time on the mainland. I tried to get back as often as I could. Flew her out when it fit her schedule, but our seasons overlapped. She seemed to have a surfing competition every weekend during the summer.” I shrugged, sighing. “I suppose anything’s possible.”
“I don’t know, bruh.” Nikko shook his head. “The lead detectives did their due diligence on that investigation. It was like one of their own was killed that night. We tried to corroborate Caleb’s statement, but no one could. Your neighbors did see his truck in the vicinity of your house around the time it happened. He ran a red light, too, and a camera less than a mile from your house caught him. Not to mention Piper’s hair and a few droplets of her blood were found on the clothes he was wearing when he was arrested.”
“I know.” I pushed out a breath. “I told Claire as much. She tried to press the issue, wanted me to come back here with her, walk through the house, see if I remembered anything.”
“And how did you respond?”
I swallowed through the thickness in my throat, guilt festering deep within. Would things have ended differently if I hadn’t taken out my frustration on her? If I’d offered to help?
I’d never know.
“How do you think?”
“I think you’re a stubborn ass who probably didn’t want to listen to what she had to say.”
