Where or When: A Pearl Harbor Romance Read online

  The thought occurred to him that maybe some of these second looeys were using Forrester's daughter to score a few points with the boss. He felt a mild irritation, though why that should bother him was anybody's guess. That's why he was there, wasn't it?

  Driving her around had seemed like an entree to bigger and better things a few hours ago when Billy tossed the keys to the Oldsmobile into Rick's waiting hand. It's not like he had any feelings for her. Once her cast was off, she'd be out of his life for good and that was fine by him.

  And yet there was something about her that drew his attention despite his better judgment. A great figure for starters, an annoying voice whispered. No doubt about it: the girl was built like a movie star. Even if she weren't the admiral's daughter she'd still have her fair share of lovesick swains worshipping at her feet.

  But still it was more than her obvious charms that called to him and had his gut in a knot as he thought about the officers falling all over their polished shoes to get close to her.

  Maybe you're jealous, the same voice persisted. Maybe you'd like to be one of the guys she smiles up at with those big beautiful eyes of hers.

  "Forget it," he said out loud. He was no slouch himself when it came to the opposite sex and if he wanted company it was usually only as far away as the nearest telephone. He sure as hell didn't need the complications that romancing his C.O.'s daughter would bring.

  It was late. He was tired. Tomorrow morning all of these uneasy feelings would disappear and he'd get his bearings back. This weird sense of destiny, of being exactly where Fate had intended him to be, would vanish as if it had never existed. Eden Forrester was a means to an end, nothing more and he'd be smart if he kept that thought uppermost in his mind.

  And then he saw her. She was no more than twenty feet away, hobbling along the curved pathway toward her father's Oldsmobile. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth and her brow was furrowed as she painstakingly maneuvered herself on crutches over the unpaved walk. She looked small and fragile, like one of the fragrant hibiscus blooms perfuming the air near him. But for the first time he detected a thread of steel behind her delicate appearance, an unalloyed strength that he wondered if she even realized she possessed.

  He stepped out from the shadows. "Ready to go home, princess?"

  The voice came from nowhere, penetrating her concentration and bringing her up short. "Is that you?"

  Cloud cover slid past the moon and she saw Rick Byrne approaching her. "It's me.” He glanced over her shoulder. "Where are your pals?"

  She shrugged as best she could without losing her balance or her crutches. "At the bar, I imagine."

  "Leaving without them?"

  "They'll never notice.” Instantly she regretted her words. He would probably turn them against her, making her feel worse than she already did.

  A few sharp rejoinders occurred to Rick but to his surprise his desire to use them disappeared before the look of vulnerability in her eyes. Vulnerable? Not the little ice princess. If somebody had told him that five minutes ago, he wouldn't have believed it but there was no denying the shimmer of tears trembling on her lashes or the way her lower lip quivered despite her best efforts to conceal it. Rick Byrne could stand up to almost everything life threw in his path but a beautiful woman on the verge of tears wasn't one of them.

  She hesitated, waiting for the smart remark but it never came. To her surprise he simply nodded and stood there, no more than two feet away from her, and waited. His expression was bland but the sharp interest in his glance couldn't be disguised.

  She lifted her chin slightly, trying to gather her usual bravado about her but failed. She couldn't have felt more naked before him if all of her clothing vanished in a puff of smoke. "I'd like to go home," she said, wishing her voice sounded more strong, more self-assured. More normal.

  He squinted at his watch. "It's not even midnight yet."

  "A few hours ago you were ordering me to get home at a decent hour."

  He moved a few inches closer and she felt an irrational urge to take a step back. He seemed more dangerous there on the darkened street without Harry or Art lurking in the background. Taller, darker, he radiated more masculine power than she was accustomed to dealing with and for a second she contemplated making a hasty retreat back inside the Blue Grotto.

  She took a deep breath. "If you won't take me home, I'll have Harry drive me."

  "Ol' Harry's sloshed to the gills," he observed. "I wouldn't let him ride a kid's bicycle."

  "I want to go home."

  "Come on," he said gruffly, opening the door of the Oldsmobile. "Climb in."

  Eden's sigh of relief was audible. She still didn't like him but at least he hadn't taken advantage of her situation. She'd certainly given him ample opportunity to do so, but for some reason, he'd let the chance slip by. Amused and grateful, she fumbled with her crutches, trying to get herself into position to enter the car.

  "Try the front seat," he said, taking the crutches from her then tossing them into the back. "Easier to get in and out."

  "The front seat?"

  He laughed, some of that wicked glint reappearing in his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "Like your average commoner."

  A giggle bubbled up in her throat and she coughed to cover it up. The last thing she needed was to let him know she found him amusing.

  "You getting in or do you plan on standing here all night?"

  Any warm feelings she might have harbored disappeared. "I have a good mind to take those car keys from you and drive myself home."

  "I'd rather take my chances with one of your sloshed friends."

  She considered the feasibility of operating the clutch, the brake, and the gas pedal with her left foot and her right cast. "I'll sit in the front."

  "I thought you'd feel that way."

  "This doesn't mean I'll sit in the front tomorrow," she warned as he helped her into the spacious auto. "I reserve the right to change my mind."

  "A woman's prerogative," said Rick, his hand brushing against her skirt as she got settled in her seat. "You're the boss."

  For the first time in four weeks and seven drivers, Eden wasn't entirely sure.

  Chapter Five

  They were barely one mile away from the Blue Grotto when Eden realized that she'd made a dreadful mistake. She should have sat in the back the way she always did. There was something terribly intimate about sitting close together in the darkened car with the sweet night air wafting through the open windows.

  Turning her head slightly to the left, Eden cast a glance at her new driver. He hadn't said a word to her since he started the engine and his silence was unnerving. She was accustomed to men who made flirtatious conversation, trying to engage her in lighthearted banter. Rick Byrne did none of that. He merely kept his eyes on the endless dark ribbon of road unrolling ahead of them and kept his own counsel.

  Maybe he had a girlfriend or even a wife waiting for him somewhere. He was certainly handsome enough with his straight nose and full mouth, that wide and determined jaw. His close-cropped hair was a dark chestnut shade and his eyes, if she remembered, were hazel with flecks of green and gold. She might be wrong about the color of those eyes, but there was no forgetting the look in them: one of total disinterest.

  He must have sensed her scrutiny. "Something wrong?"

  She cleared her throat, aware of heat flooding her throat and cheeks. "I think you missed the turn on Kalakaua."

  His grin flashed white and dangerous even in the darkened car. "You're observant, princess. I like that."

  Instantly she recovered her balance. This, at least, was familiar territory. "I don't particularly care what you like. Why didn't you turn on Kalakaua? That's the only way back to the house."

  "I know," said Byrne.

  She turned more fully toward him, as far as the bulky cast on her leg would allow. "Go back," she ordered in her sternest voice. "Immediately."

  "Afraid that's not such a hot idea. The road's closed."

 
"What do you mean, the road's closed?"

  He shot her a quick look. "Didn't you notice the barricades at the foot of the street?"

  She shook her head.

  "Guess you're not as observant as I thought. Road was blocked plain as day."

  "What are we going to do?" she cried, voice rising in agitation. Wasn't anything going to go her way tonight? "The only other route home is all the way around Ewa."

  "There's another way."

  "Don't be ridiculous. We've been in that house for four years now. If there were another way home, I'd certainly know about it. There simply isn't another passable road anywhere."

  "You're right," said Byrne, his tone unconcerned, "but who said anything about a passable road?"

  She thought longingly of the smoky, noisy Blue Grotto as he veered off the paved street onto a dirt path. "If anything happens to this car, my father will have your head on a platter."

  "Nothing's going to happen to daddy's car. You're in more danger than the Olds is."

  Her heartbeat accelerated. The road was dark and it was late and he looked more dangerous than ever. Awkwardly she slid closer to the passenger door.

  "Don't look so nervous," he said with a short laugh. "I'm talking about the pin on your corsage. If you're not careful, you're going to get jabbed."

  She looked down at the wilted gardenia pinned to the bodice of her sarong. Darned if the straight pin wasn't about to stab her in the chest. "Very observant," she drawled, angling the pin in the other direction, "but perhaps you should keep your eyes on the road.” She tried to pretend his scrutiny didn't set her hands to trembling.

  "If you're fishing for compliments, you've come to the wrong guy. I don't play those games."

  "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

  "I'm not flirting with you and it's driving you crazy."

  An unladylike hoot of laughter escaped her lips. "You're erratic driving is the only thing that's driving me crazy."

  "The hell it is," said Byrne, veering sharply onto yet another non-existent road. "You're used to having guys eating out of the palm of your hand."

  "And what if I am?" she countered testily. "That's certainly none of your business."

  "It is if you're trying to get me to join the crowd."

  "Your ego is something to behold. I'm not the one who asked to sit up front."

  "So that's it. You thought I wanted you up here so I could be close to you."

  "Well, didn't you?"

  His laughter was most unflattering. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I was just trying to make you comfortable."

  She sniffed and turned toward the open window. "Whatever you say.” Did he have to be quite so adamant about it? It wasn't that she wanted him to flirt with her exactly, but it might be nice if he at least acknowledged the fact that she was a woman. The way he treated her you would think she was a sack of potatoes dressed in a sarong. Married, she thought, dismissing him.

  Definitely married.

  #

  Rick watched from the corner of his eye as Eden deftly adjusted the stickpin that held her corsage to the flimsy top of her dress. Admiral Forrester wasn't exactly another Clark Gable or Gary Cooper but somehow he'd managed to have a daughter who looked like a Hollywood movie star. For the last half hour he'd been suppressing a desire to sink his teeth into the succulent flesh of her delectable bosom. Steamy fantasies of moonlit lagoons and lots of skin made it hard to drive. She was spoiled rotten, short-tempered, and generally too damn full of herself for his liking but still he couldn't think of anything he'd rather do than crush her curvy little body up against his and kiss her long and hard.

  He was half-tempted to stop in front of the first house he came to and ask if anyone minded if he took a cold shower.

  The air was hot and sweet but he had the feeling her kisses would be infinitely hotter and sweeter still. He could almost feel her yielding beneath him, her mouth opening to his, the taste of her--

  "Did you say something?"

  He cleared his throat. "No," he managed after a long moment. He'd better get his mind on his driving or they'd end up in a ditch somewhere and he'd join the long list of Eden Forrester's former drivers.

  She leaned forward and he tried valiantly to ignore temptation. If women understood half the power they held over men, they'd rule the world.

  "Look!” She pointed up ahead. "See the light flickering through the trees."

  Suddenly he realized the air held more than perfume. "I smell smoke," he said, gunning the engine. "Let's go see what's happening."

  "It might be dangerous."

  "Danger's good for you.” He met her eyes for an instant. "Keeps you on your toes."

  "Maybe we should just go back the way we came," she persisted.

  "This is on our way."

  "If anything happens to this car--"

  "I know, I know," he said with a laugh. "Your father will have my head on a platter. I've heard it all before, Eden. I'll take my chances."

  #

  The sound of her name on his lips sent Eden into a spin. It was the first time he'd called her anything but "princess," and the effect it had upon her was ridiculous. Admittedly she'd been giddy from champagne and cocktails back at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, but that pleasantly foolish feeling had disappeared ages ago. She hadn't even sampled the legendary Mai Tais at the Blue Grotto, opting instead for a tall ginger ale and now here she was feeling lightheaded and warm and all because a man she disliked called her by her given name.

  "We're getting closer," said Rick as he slowed the Oldsmobile down to a crawl. He held his hand outside the open driver's window. "You can feel the heat."

  "This is foolhardy," she said, trying to sound coolly angry. "I demand you turn around before something dreadful happens to daddy's car."

  He braked suddenly and she placed her hand against the dash to steady herself. "Why don't you admit it, princess," he said, his eyes glittering by the light of the flame beyond the trees. "You're not worried about the car, it's your own pretty hide that has you in a sweat."

  "It would serve you right if my father shipped back stateside," she said, feigning indifference to her surroundings. "This is insubordination."

  "It would be if you were an admiral, but I don't think it would hold up in court."

  "You really do think you're wonderful, don't you?" she lashed out. "Mr. Bigshot driving a fancy car that isn't even his."

  Without a word he opened the driver's door and stepped out. Now you've done it, she thought, heart pounding wildly. He's going to leave you here in the middle of nowhere with a fire burning out of control and--

  Her door suddenly opened and he hunkered down to reach for her. "Come on," he said. "Get out."

  "Are you crazy? I absolutely refuse."

  "I'll give you the count of three," he said easily. "One...."

  "I have a broken leg," she protested. "I'm--"

  "...two...."

  "--in a cast. I can't--"

  "...three.” With one smooth motion he slid his hands under her hips and lifted her from the safety of the automobile and set her on her feet. "I want you to see this."

  "I'm not interested in fires."

  "You'll be interested in this one."

  She placed her palms against the wall of his chest and shoved him. "Put me down."

  "Not before you take a look."

  She wanted to bury her face against the safety of his shoulder and squeeze her eyes as tightly shut as she could but pride, both her friend and foe, kept her from betraying her fear. She didn't want to see the flames licking the roof of some poor person's home or hear trees crackling in the heat or hear a child crying for her mother....

  And then she saw it, the tongues of red and gold fire dancing against the night sky in precise rows that bisected the landscape like some kind of crazy checkerboard. Men, bare-chested and in loose cotton pants, stood on the hill. Some held huge scythes that glittered in the flickering light. Another group of spectators, ranging i
n age from children to old people, sat cross-legged a few feet away from Eden and Rick, mesmerized by the red and yellow flames leaping into the blackness of the moonless night.

  There was something almost pagan about the scene spread before Eden, something powerful and disturbing. The savage beauty of the flames should have terrified her. She wanted to turn away from the fire but found her gaze drawn again and again to the controlled fury spread out before her.

  "Sugar cane.” His lips brushed her ear. "They burn the fields.” He explained something about setting fire to the dry stalks to clear the fields but she paid little attention. Why they did it scarcely mattered. The splendor of the spectacle was reason enough.

  "It's beautiful," she whispered. "I never imagined...” She'd heard the Forrester housemaid, Mali, mention the burning of the sugar cane, but not in her wildest dreams had Eden conjured up the magnificent reality of it. Mali had said it was special, something Eden would never forget, but for the life of her Eden couldn't muster up enthusiasm over the notion of watching a group of farm workers perform their duties.

  Now she understood. Greedily the artist in her eagerly memorized the precise angles of the cane fields and the graceful arc of the flames. The irritations she'd felt earlier in the day vanished. She forgot about Harry and Art, about her father, about the inconvenience of the plaster cast on her leg and the fact that she was in the middle of nowhere with a total stranger. She was pure sensation; alive to the moment in a way she had never been before. She was conscious of his heart beating strong and steady, of his measured breathing, of the unexpected intimacy of the situation.

  The heat warmed her face. The touch of his hands seared her flesh through the thin, silky fabric of her dress. She found her eyes drawn to those powerful hands much as her gaze was drawn repeatedly back to the fire. She'd never paid much attention to a man's hands before, to the size and symmetry, to the promise of strength. Images, erotic and more frightening than fire itself, flared to life inside her and she struggled to recover her composure. She would rather die than ever let someone like the arrogant young seaman suspect the disturbing effect his touch was having upon her.