Where or When: A Pearl Harbor Romance Read online

  He nodded. "So when do you want me to pick you up?"

  "Eleven," she said, mustering up her most sophisticated tone.

  "You got it," he said. "See you.” He tendered her a mock salute then disappeared back down the driveway to the Oldsmobile. He was gone by the time she closed the front door, leaving Eden with the disconcerting feeling that she'd lost the upper-hand and might never get it back.

  #

  Rick felt as if every single nerve ending in his body was on screaming red alert. Old Father Wisniewski back in Chicago would have been proud of him. Eden Forrester was an occasion of sin, plain and simple, and he'd come close to giving in to temptation. Call it brains or call it the age-old instinct for survival, but somehow he'd managed to keep from kissing her long and hard and as many times as she'd let him.

  "Geez," he said, shifting into first as the Olds climbed a hill. Who was he kidding anyway? Like she'd ever let him kiss her even once. You probably needed a commission to Annapolis just to hold her hand and a bank statement topping six digits to get a kiss from her full, luscious lips.

  "There you go again," he said out loud to the empty seat beside him. "You gotta stop thinking about her like that.” Fantasizing about Eden Forrester had gotten the last six drivers fired and he'd be damned if the same fate would befall him.

  Rick knew better than that. He had watched other men lose ground in many other ways and he'd always taken his cue from their mistakes. If you made a mistake, Owen Forrester never let you forget it. He was a tough taskmaster, one who didn't hesitate to chew your butt out in front of an audience. Fortunately, he appreciated a job well done and recognized when you'd gone the extra mile for him. If you wanted to move up the ladder of success, you'd be lucky to have Owen Forrester in there helping you climb from rung to rung.

  Forrester was notoriously protective when it came to his baby girl and Rick would be on the next battleship headed for nowhere if he so much as stepped out of line. Damn good thing Eden wasn't his type. The last thing he was looking for was complications of the female persuasion. Women--at least women like Eden--liked to talk about love and marriage, the sort of commitments that sent a shudder up Rick's spine. She might seem independent and looking to play the field but Rick knew that beneath her flashy surface she was probably as hungry for the cottage with a white picket fence as the rest of them. Sooner or later even glamour girls like Lana Turner or Betty Grable started talking about trading in their evening gowns for frilly aprons.

  He braked as a feral pig lumbered across the road, followed closely by another, larger one. Turn around, he wanted to say to the male. You'll end up with five little pigs before you know what hit you. No matter what you did you couldn't escape biology. Rick might not have a fancy degree from some Ivy League university, but he knew the way it was between men and women and where it usually ended up if you let nature take its course.

  That's why Mama Kate's in Pearl City appealed to him. The girls there were cute and spunky and they couldn't spell the word "matrimony" if their lives depended on it.

  #

  Eden stood at the open living room window and watched as the Oldsmobile's tail lights faded in the distance. He certainly was in a hurry to get out of there. Well, she could hardly blame him. They hadn't exactly gotten off to a rousing start, what with Art and Harry and that dreadful interlude at the Blue Grotto.

  She knew her reputation had preceded her and it would take an act of Congress to convince her new driver that she was anything but the spoiled little daddy's girl he believed her to be. Not that she cared a fig over what he thought of her, mind you, still it irked her just a bit that a nobody like Rick Byrne could take her measure and find her wanting.

  The least he could have done was try to kiss her.

  She couldn't think of one sailor, whether enlisted man or commissioned officer, who wouldn't have tried. Lord knew, Rick Byrne had had ample opportunity, what with them being alone on a deserted road in the middle of the night. She wouldn't even have been too terribly insulted if his arm had lingered about her shoulders for an instant longer than necessary as he helped her back to the car following the spectacle of the burning sugar cane.

  She lowered the fragile bamboo blinds over the front window then crossed the room as quietly as her crutches would allow. A pair of pale beige couches faced each other across a low glass-topped table while a Turkish carpet in tones of peach, Wedgwood blue, and ivory lent subtle warmth to the room. Two crystal tumblers rested atop the shiny oak bar in the far corner, each with a small amount of creme de menthe still in the bottom. A smudge of Lilly's carmine-red lipstick tattooed the mouth of one. A used shot glass rested near the decanter of Scotch whisky that her father adored, along with an ashtray that contained a half-smoked Cuban cigar.

  She was surprised that her saintly sister-in-law hadn't seen fit to tidy up before going to bed. Eden tossed her hair off her face with an impatient gesture. "I'd hate to make extra work for you, Mali," Lilly had said to the housekeeper the last time she and Tony had come for a visit. "You have enough to do. We'll take care of our own room."

  What nonsense, Eden sniffed as she made her way down the spacious hallway toward her bedroom. Mali was paid to cook and clean. If you did her work for her, she wouldn't have a job and that certainly didn't make sense. After all, it wasn't as if Mali were part of the family. Lilly had been born with money. Her father, who had originally emigrated from Japan to Hawaii where he'd met his wife, owned some expensive shops near San Francisco. Eden had heard that Mr. Aoki was worth a king's ransom. You'd think Lilly would know the proper way to treat a maid.

  But then nothing about Lilly was quite the way it was supposed to be. Eden paused in front of the closed door to the guest room. She heard the faintest squeak of bedsprings and a hushed sigh. Her face burned and for the longest moment she just stood there, mind ablaze with the most disturbing thoughts, most of them featuring her new driver. She'd never once given any thought to the physical relationship between her brother and his wife. Truth to tell, she hadn't spent much time thinking about physical relationships, including her own. Her sexual imagination rarely ventured away from kissing--and she wasn't overly fond of that activity. The notion of tangled limbs and heavy breathing had always seemed almost comical.

  That was, until tonight. The last few hours she'd been tormented with feelings she could scarcely put a name to, much less explore. Maybe there'd been some ancient Hawaiian love potion at work in the Mai Tais or released in the burning cane fields. Certainly there had to be some rational explanation why she was suddenly obsessed with these unnerving thoughts.

  Rick Byrne.

  "Ridiculous!" she said aloud as she crossed the threshold into her bedroom suite then closed the door behind her. He was nothing to her, absolutely nothing. Just another one of those poor, unfortunate enlisted men solicited by her father to drive her around for the duration.

  She sank to the edge of her bed and tossed her crutches in the corner. Nothing about her room seemed right. The bed lamp was too bright. The breezes through the window were too fragrant, too filled with promise. Her own dress seemed too tight, as if all the emotions swirling about inside her chest threatened to burst through her rib cage.

  Struggling with the zipper, she shimmied out of her sarong, then lay back against her pillows, clad only in a half-slip and a strapless cotton bra. The pillows were cool against her heated skin, and she shivered, trying to focus her mind on something other than the images tumbling inside her brain.

  Lilly's dark hair drifting across Tony's tanned chest...Vivian Leigh's dreamy face as Scarlett O'Hara the morning after Rhett Butler carried her up the stairs...the way Rick Byrne had looked in the savage glow of the fire....

  Too much to drink. Too little sleep. When she woke up tomorrow morning everything would be familiar and comforting. Her bed lamp would cast a rosy glow. The breeze through her window would soothe, not inflame. And Rick Byrne would be her driver and nothing more.

  Chapter Eight


  The next morning Rick was busy polishing the chrome on the Oldsmobile and daydreaming about Eden Forrester when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  "Did my daughter give you any trouble last night?" asked a familiar voice.

  Rick dropped his chamois cloth and jumped to attention. If Owen Forrester could read minds, he'd shoot Rick dead on the spot. "Sir.” He wiped his hand on the side of his pants and offered a salute, noting the bag of golf clubs slung over his C.O.'s shoulder. "You took me by surprise.” He should have gone to Mama Kate's after all last night. If he had, maybe he wouldn't be daydreaming over the boss's daughter. "Good thing I'm not the enemy," said Forrester with his booming laugh. "Not that we have any, you understand."

  This time Rick laughed along with him. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the Germans escalated the war to a point where the United States would have to put aside her technical neutrality and fight alongside her British and French allies. And you couldn't walk the streets of Honolulu without wondering about the Japanese presence on the islands. Not too many thousands of miles away Tojo was claiming land far beyond his island homeland in the name of Nippon. Rumor had it President Roosevelt was chomping at the bit for an opportunity to stop Japanese aggression before it came perilously close to U. S. shores.

  "Good game today, sir?" asked Rick, gesturing toward the five-iron poking out of the battered bag.

  "Let's just say the younger generation doesn't appreciate the joys of an early morning game.” Forrester was known for hitting the links at daybreak and reporting to work not long after. He touched the St. Christopher medal dangling from a silver chain around his neck. "Even my lucky golf charm failed me this time.” He motioned for Rick to go on polishing the Oldsmobile. "So tell me about my daughter, "he said. "Any problems?"

  "No, sir," said Rick, buffing the fender with even more vigor than usual. "I'd say we got along fine."

  "She didn't bemoan the loss of Billy?"

  "No, sir. At least, not once I introduced myself and explained the situation.” He didn't mention the barbed comments she'd tossed his way, the aborted trip to the Blue Grotto, or the sexually charged interlude near the burning cane fields. "I don't see any problems on the horizon."

  "Then you don't know my little girl, Byrne. She's a hell raiser. Four weeks in a cast haven't exactly sweetened her disposition. I'd take care if I were you."

  "Yes, sir. I plan to do that.” He saluted as his commanding officer disappeared up the stairs and headed toward the office.

  Owen Forrester was one of the good guys, at least as far as Rick was concerned. Forrester wasn't overly impressed by Annapolis grads, preferring to surround himself with men who'd worked their way up through the ranks the hard way: with their brains, not with their daddy's money. Rick had done a little digging on his C.O.'s history, and he'd discovered that Forrester's background wasn't a hell of a lot different from his own. The Admiral had grown up in a rough part of Milwaukee, son of parents who worked at one of the breweries in town. Details were sketchy, but somehow Forrester had managed to get himself through high school and into the navy where he'd made his mark during the great war and the rest was history.

  There was an old saying Rick remembered from school: history repeats itself. He sure as hell hoped so. You could do a lot worse than patterning your own career plans on Owen Forrester's life.

  Besides, he got a kick out of knowing Eden Forrester was just one generation away from living next to a brewery in Milwaukee. He'd spent a lot of time last night thinking about her coppery hair and brilliant turquoise eyes--more time than he'd ever spent thinking about a girl he hadn't a chance of getting close to. His body had been coiled tighter than a mainspring ready to pop. A visit to one of Mama Kate's girls had seemed the answer to a serviceman's prayer but once he pulled up in front of the welcoming stucco house in Pearl City, something happened to Rick that had never happened before. He lost interest.

  There was nothing to be found at Mama Kate's that he hadn't heard or seen or done before. He knew the jokes before they were told. He knew the drinks would be cold and the women warm. And he knew that no matter what he did that night, Eden Forrester would be watching over his shoulder, her full lips curved in a smile.

  He'd opted instead for a solitary midnight swim at a deserted beach not far from the naval base. The cool water had helped bring his temperature down but nothing, not even exhaustion, had been able to wipe the memory of Eden's laughter from his brain. There was a real woman beneath the bratty exterior. A flesh and blood woman who had feelings and desires that went far beyond the newest dress shop and the latest dance at the Royal Hawaiian. If he were one of the privileged men with bars of gold on his chest, Rick would make it his business to find out more.

  She was stubborn and sharp tongued, more in love with herself than with anybody else, except maybe her daddy who spoiled her rotten. She was the ultimate challenge to a guy from the wrong side of the tracks, but a challenge he'd have to leave untested.

  He wanted success, not romance. He needed to impress the father, not the daughter.

  He looked at the length of the Oldsmobile, gleaming in the morning sun. If he didn't finish polishing the boss's car, he'd find himself peeling potatoes in galley of a beat-up old battleship on its way to oblivion.

  #

  If Eden had had her way, she would have avoided breakfast entirely the next morning. Her head ached from last night's champagne and her mood had darkened considerably, as well. She'd tossed and turned until nearly daybreak, trying to get Rick Byrne out of her mind but to no avail. Each time she closed her eyes she saw him silhouetted against the flaming night sky like some pagan god she'd read about in high school. There was something untamed about him, as if the uniform were only a disguise meant to soothe the more civilized folks and lull them into a false sense of security.

  She had seriously considered phoning her father's office to leave a message telling Rick she wouldn't need the car today but the tantalizing aroma of freshly perked coffee worked its magic. "You don't have to do that, missus.” Mali's voice drifted toward Eden where she stood near the entrance to the kitchen. Mali never sounded that happy this early in the morning. "You sit down and let me tend to things."

  Lilly's laughter was warm and friendly. "You work hard enough for three people, Mali. The least you can do is let me refill my own coffee cup."

  "You're a doctor, missus. Sure you need someone to wait on you now and again. You're ohana, like one of my own to me."

  "Mahalo," Lilly thanked her. "You're going to spoil me, Mali. Who's going to make my coffee when Tony and I go back home?"

  Wasn't that just like Lilly, trying to sweet-talk Mali into coming to work for her at their home on Lanai. If Eden didn't hightail it into that kitchen in the next thirty seconds, Mali would have her bags packed.

  Tossing her hair off her face, she adjusted her crutches then made her way into the room.

  "Eden!” Lilly leaped to her feet as soon as Eden appeared in the doorway. "You've become quite the expert with your crutches since I last saw you."

  Eden flashed a quick smile. "I've had some practice.” A moron could become an expert on crutches with four weeks' practice. "I'm dying for a cup of coffee, Mali," she said to the small, plump housekeeper in the brightly colored dress. "And would you toast some of that sweet bread you make?"

  Mali nodded and bustled off in the direction of the toaster.

  "You're looking splendid," said Lilly, pulling out a chair for Eden.

  "Thanks.” Eden took the seat, resting her crutches against the glass-topped rattan table. She tried not to stare at Lilly's enormous stomach. "So are you."

  Lilly's throaty laugh echoed in the sun-swept kitchen. "With this belly? Now you sound like your brother."

  Eden winced inwardly. Leave it to Lilly to twist Eden's words around until they sounded like more of a compliment than she'd intended. "How much longer?" she asked politely, wishing Mali would hurry with the coffee and toast.

  "Six
weeks," said Lilly with a sigh. "It might as well be six years. I'm getting anxious to meet this baby."

  Eden gave her a sidelong glance. "I wouldn't think babies are anything new to you, Lilly, what with your family and all."

  Lilly had two older brothers and four younger sisters upon whom she believed the sun rose and set. It was her love of babies and children that had inspired her to pursue the lofty goal of becoming a doctor. The idea of a woman doctor was surprising enough; that the woman doctor was of Japanese extraction never failed to shock people, Eden included.

  "Caring for other women's babies and having one of your own are two different things," Lilly pointed out in that gentle voice of hers.

  Eden shrugged. "I suppose.” She turned toward the housekeeper. "I'd like that coffee now, Mali."

  Lilly placed her hand on Eden's, her long and capable fingers cool as a night breeze. "Mali has been busy since five a.m.," she murmured. "Perhaps you shouldn't--"

  "Mali knows I'm not trying to overwork her, Lilly."

  Lilly withdrew her hand and leaned back in her chair, absently rubbing her huge belly. "With her daughter's difficulties, it seems to me that Mali deserves some leeway."

  "Her daughter's difficulties?” Eden frowned.

  "Nani has rheumatic fever," Lilly continued. "She was diagnosed three weeks ago and Mali is beside herself. Surely you've noticed?"

  The truth was, Eden hadn't noticed very much of anything since fracturing her leg. She'd been consumed with her own pain, her own inconvenience, and she doubted if she would have noticed anything short of a bomb dropping on her head. She certainly hadn't noticed anything different about Mali and she resented Lilly for making her feel guilty about that fact. Just because her sister-in-law had her nose in everybody's business was no reason for Eden to follow suit.