Jack scooped her up in his arms, kicked the car door shut, and strode quickly from the parking lot and into the bridge-walk.
Keely slung an arm around his neck and pressed her face next to his collarbone and the pulse that leaped there.
This might be the last time she’d ever be held by Jack Sloane, never mind that his sexy mouth was flattened with annoyance that she would dare to fall apart on him.
She was just glad, so glad to have gotten away from that bitch Tayra Lipscomb before she could carry out on her threats. Only this time, Keely had given her something to think about, and she didn’t have to run anymore—except from Jack.
Although, after baking in the sun in her stupid sweater, stockings, and wool-blend skirt, she was no longer feeling so high and mighty.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sloane,” she mumbled as he unlocked the door to their offices.
“You might just be,” he muttered, kicking the door aside.
“I’m okay—”
“Shut up.”
She said not a word as he stalked into the darkened offices and deposited her on his couch. Seconds later, he handed her a glass of water.
“Sorry,” she apologized, wiping at her lips after she slurped the glass empty.
“Feel better now?”
She nodded, and swallowed as memories flooded back of being on this very same couch with him two nights ago. Goosebumps beaded her skin. She scrambled to sit, jerking the flaps of her sweater together.
“I called down to the lobby boutique and asked them to bring something up to replace your sweater,” Jack said. The couch cushion dipped as he sat next to her, his hands clasped between his knees.
He studied her clothing, from her crumpled skirt to her drab stockings and the shoes on her feet. In danger of fainting from his hawk-eyed assessment, she stammered, “You didn’t have to do that. I-I should get back to work. I’ve got a lot to catch up on since I was out yesterday.”
“Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell me, Keely?”
She squinted and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, looking everywhere but at him. “It can wait.”
“Okay. Dinner tonight. You can tell me over dinner.”
Over dinner? “I’m b-busy!”
“T-T-Too bad,” he mocked. “I realize I’ve not paid much attention to you these past few months, and I need to fix that.”
“You don’t need to fix anything. Everything’s fine the way it is!”
“I’m not asking you to marry me, Keely,” he explained matter-of-factly. “I just want to know you better. Dinner, that’s all. So, I want you to take the rest of the day off, go home and freshen up, take a nap—whatever—and I’ll pick you up at seven. It’ll be my treat for dragging you out today and messing up your bun.”
He was teasing her, and she’d nearly suffered heatstroke and a heart-attack thanks to Tayra Lipscomb.
“What about what I want?” Keely asked, a spark of temper flickering inside her. She didn’t want to be alone with Jack. She didn’t want him paying her— Keely—any attention because then he’d know what—or rather who—she was hiding.
“What do you want?” he asked gently.
You, she thought, being unreasonable again. What she should do, she thought irritably, was give him her two weeks’ notice. What she said instead was, “I’ll call you and meet you in town somewhere.”
“Okay, Keely, have it your way.” 6:02 p.m.
Jack admired the panoramic view of Diamond Head as the sun descended into the South Pacific. The night lights of Waikiki from the heights of cool, upcountry Makiki reminded him of unstrung pearls scattered down below. He steered his Jag to the curb, two houses away from his destination.
He locked his car and walked toward the cottage tucked along the hillside, under white-blossomed plumeria trees with a killer view of downtown Honolulu.
The property had no driveway, just a column of stone steps accessible from the sidewalk that climbed up to a front yard whose retaining walls spilled over with bougainvillea vines in pink bloom. Jack took the steps, two at a time.
Lights shown brightly inside the house.
Someone was home.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Keely’s number. She answered on the second ring. “It’s me. Where’re you at?”
“Oh. Hi Mr. Sloane. I’m still at home getting dressed, but I’ll be on the bus to town in about fifteen minutes.”
“Did the cab get you home safe and sound?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. She did seem a bit relieved to be sent home early.
“Yes, and thanks so much for the T-shirt. I promise I’ll pay you back.”
“Forget it,” he said, thinking about the way the shirt hugged her breasts, how it tapered along her waist before hitting the clumped up waist of her skirt. “Have you recovered from this afternoon?”
“Yes. I showered and took a nice nap.”
“So, you’re well-rested for whatever the night might bring?”
“Y-you said it was just dinner,” she stammered. “Hmm. Well, we’ll just keep an open mind.”
“Mr. Sloane, I’m not going to keep an open anything!”
Jack held the phone away from his ear. Interesting, he thought, a bit of emotion showing up in her voice. It was also a very pretty voice when she wasn’t forcing it to sound dull and flat. His gaze narrowed and he pressed the phone back to his ear.
“What-what about Lei?”
“What about her?” Jack shrugged. “I can’t call her, I can’t find her. She obviously doesn’t want to see me, so what am I expected to do?”
“So you’re just giving up?” she asked in a small voice.
“Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Keely, but in a nutshell, Lei gave me the best night of my life and then disappeared into thin air. She’s done this sort of thing before.”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Sloane,” Keely protested. “She’s nice—”
“Yeah? So are con artists,” he snapped, cutting her off.
“Umm…where are we eating tonight?”
“Well, there’s Dexter Hu’s pool-warming party at the Pandanus this evening. We’ll need to make a pit-stop there.”
He arrived at the top of the landing and saw the kidney shaped pool tucked in the corner of the landscape, surrounded by buttercup-yellow hibiscus hedges for privacy. Mounds of lavender impatiens curved around a small, grassed lounge area where one empty lone chaise sprawled. The front door was carved from koa wood, and in its center hung a funky wreath made of curly twigs.
What a sweet little home, Jack thought. Cozy.
Perfect.
He rang the doorbell, and heard an identical sound on her end of the line. “And afterwards we’ll go somewhere else to eat. You’re more than welcome to pick a place, Keely—”
He paused and heard the sound of footsteps rushing to get the door.
The door swung open to reveal a homely lady in a shapeless mu’u-mu’u, her hair secured in a bun by a set of chopsticks, and those evil, horn-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.
She gasped in surprise, and Jack said coldly, “— or is it Lei?”