Thrust Under, Page 3

  “And just know that’s never going to happen. Like I said, I’ve moved on. There’s nothing you and I need to talk about.”

  He opens his mouth to say something else, but I can’t stand here and listen anymore. He’s pouring salt on a wound that’s been slowly mending itself for the past five years. Ryan crushed me, but in an odd way he also made me stronger. Running away and joining the military pushed me in more ways than I could’ve possibly imagined. It taught me to not be afraid and face the things that scare me. For the most part, I haven’t veered away from a challenge since I moved off this island, but seeing him again reminds me of that weak girl who allowed others to step all over her.

  I refuse to let him have that kind of power.

  “You need to leave.” I draw my shoulders back and point toward the party. “Now.”

  “Fine.” He holds his hands up in surrender. He starts to leave but then he backpedals. “Just … promise me you’ll stay away from Carter. I don’t want to see you get hurt again. Your parents need you, and I would hate to see you take off again because of something that asshole did.”

  This. Coming from the man who cheated on me. I cross my arms over my chest and force a tight smile. “Thanks for your concern, but I can take care of myself. Goodbye, Ryan.”

  He takes another step back, in the direction of the Elite party. “I’m serious, Maggie. That guy is trouble.”

  I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting he’s right, so I keep my mouth shut as he stalks off into the darkness. Little does Ryan know that I have no intention to ever have anything to do with Gabriel Carter after tonight.

  It’s only a quarter past eight, but I can’t sleep. I stayed up chatting with Lani into the wee hours of the morning, and once she passed out, I spent way too much time reading up on the douche next door and his short but eventful pro-baseball career. Physically, my body is exhausted, but the time change has my internal clock all screwed up.

  I roll over and sit up, pausing on Lani who’s still sleeping off all the liquor she drank last night, before I scoot off the bed. I make my way over to my bedroom window. My family’s apartment is on the first floor of the hotel, right over the lobby. My view of the ocean is limited, but if I crane my neck just right, I can check out the swells. It’s been forever since I felt the rush of riding my board over the uncertainty of Mother Nature’s greatest accomplishment. The sea is as beautiful as it is dangerous, and it’s one of the things I missed the most about being away from home. Surfing will have to take a backseat today, though, because I hear movement in the hallway. No doubt it’s my parents.

  Grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, I slip on a pair of PT shorts poking out of my bag then hurry across the room and throw open the door.

  Mom’s across the hall with her fingers poised a few centimeters from their doorknob. The second I clear my throat, she goes still. Slowly, she lifts her gaze to mine and blinks. Several times. “Maggie, what in the—”

  “And here I was thinking you were room service,” I tease but don’t give her time to speak before I throw myself in her arms. She smells like Dial soap and hibiscus perfume, like home. I breathe in her scent as she tightens her grip around me. “I missed you.”

  Mom’s short—even smaller than my five-foot-five—so she has to look up to meet my gaze when she leans back. Everyone says I look like my mother. I definitely inherited my deep tan and dark hair from her Samoan heritage. My green eyes, though, definitely came from my dad.

  “Is everything okay?” She fusses with the hair flowing over my shoulders, smoothing a strand down over the “A” on the right side of my Army tee shirt. “When did you get in? How long are you—”

  “Everything is fine. I got in last night.” I pause for dramatic effect then wiggle my brows. “And I’m here for good—I signed my discharge papers yesterday. Surprise!”

  Once again, her eyes bug. I laugh as I reach around her and finish unlocking the door to my parents’ suite. From the far end of the hallway, I hear the sound of my father’s motorized chair headed in our direction. I dart into their foyer, press my fingers to my lips and wink at Mom. Dad’s going on about the tropical storm that’s set to hit the island next week, so he doesn’t take in her expression until he comes to a stop just outside the door.

  “Lia … what’s wrong?” She responds to his question by darting her gaze toward the inside of the room, where I’m standing and waiting to surprise him. He lets out a low groan and a curse under his breath. “Please, please don’t tell me it’s flooding again in there.”

  My heart lurches. Flooding again?

  “Lia?” he gently probes, and she jerks her head to each side to stop him. But he’s already said plenty. Apparently, the plumbing is just another issue they’ve kept a secret so I wouldn’t have to worry. Swallowing hard, I take a step forward and put on my best smile.

  “No flood,” I whisper. “Thank god, because I’m a shitty plumber.”

  Several emotions cross his features. Resignation, probably from thinking they were about to have another bill they couldn’t afford, rapidly turns to shock. And then there’s confusion, excitement, and sheer happiness. No matter how worried I am about the fate of this place, about my parents’ financial situation, I can’t resist smiling when my father casts that megawatt grin.

  Mom always says it’s the first thing she noticed about him twenty-five years ago, when they met at Sandy Beach while he was stationed here as a young Marine. That and his Brooklyn-accent and the big ass chip on his shoulder. It must not have been too much of a turn-off because they were married four months after they met and had me less than a year later.

  “I missed you, old man,” I say, and he laughs at the endearment.

  “Old, my ass.” He shakes his head and laughs again. “I should’ve known this would happen when you called last week just to talk about surfing. I’ve got to say this is the best surprise I’ve had in a long time, kid.”

  He’s out of his chair with his arms around me before I can protest. When I left O’ahu five years ago, the MS had progressed to the point that he only needed a cane. The walker followed a couple years after that, and he’s been using the motorized chair for the last nine months. He’s never complained. I talk to my parents weekly, and not once have they complained. About anything.

  There’s a million and one things I want to say to them, but when I draw away from Dad and he’s settled back in his chair, I’m not ready to ruin the reunion. Not yet, when this is the first time I’ve been home in years and there’s a nagging voice in the back of my head telling me that I shouldn’t have left. So I smile.

  “How about I cook you guys breakfast?”

  The early sun shines down on me as my fingers curl around the wax while I prep my board the next morning. It’s been a few seasons since I caught a wave, but the beaches in North Carolina can’t hold a candle to this. I’m so excited to get out there I can practically feel the sting of the waves at my back and the spray of the salty water in my face.

  I’m about to pick up my board, when a shadow falls over me. The presence of someone looming over me courses a tingle down my spine. I turn to find none other than the one man I was hoping I’d never see again. The one man I wish I hadn’t allowed to make me come. For the past two nights, all I’ve dreamt about is that I hadn’t ran out on him—that I had stayed and allowed him to finish. The dreams were so vivid, so real, that I was still horny for him when I woke up this morning.

  “What do you want?” I force out between my teeth, hating that it sounds so winded.

  This being neighbors shit is going to get old really fast.

  4

  Gabe

  If any other woman had soaked me in champagne, and then run off on me, I would have just let her go without a second thought. I don’t have the time or energy to chase after someone who loathes me. But the brunette fidgeting around on the yellow and pink surfboard isn’t just any woman. She’s the girl next door—literally. The woman I can’t ge
t out of my head. She’s played a leading role in half the thoughts that have rolled around my mind since I met her. Judging by her flush and the way she’s licking her lips, I’m not the only one who’s been distracted.

  “Aloha, neighbor,” I say with a grin that belies my irritation. For two days straight, I’ve woken up alone, with a hard-on that won’t quit, but I’m not about to let her know how bad I’ve got it for her. Her nostrils flare, and my lips curl up even more. She calls me a dick under her breath as I glance out at the sea. “It’s fucking crazy, huh? We’ve both been all over the world, and nothing compares to this—surfing in the middle of winter.”

  “Thank you for that wonderful plug for the tourism authority.” She gives me a bored look but the corner of her mouth twitches when my gaze settles on it. “And you have no idea where I’ve been, Carter.”

  Maybe not, but I know enough. I’d gotten up pissed off yesterday morning, ready to confront her for that shit she pulled on the beach, but my business manager stopped me with housekeeping concerns. Since he’s from the island and knows the hotel industry like the back of his hand, I’d casually dropped Maggie’s name. From what he told me, running away is her MO. She’d taken off when she was nineteen to join the Army with little notice and hasn’t been back since. My party is her first appearance in O’ahu in five years. I should feel flattered that she picked my place for her comeback, but blue balls are a real bitch.

  “Look, Gabe,” she starts, interrupting my thoughts, “I’m busy, so … what do you want?”

  You, Maggie. I want you, and there’s no way in hell you’re running away from this island again without that happening first. “I want to be a good neighbor,” I drawl. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “You can be a good neighbor from your hotel, can’t you?” She scrambles to a standing position and crosses her arms over her chest. My attention instantly zeroes in on her breasts. They’re perfect, a nice, firm handful. Everything about her is a handful. “Well?”

  I give my head a deliberate shake and bring my stare up to hers. “The view from my hotel is nowhere near as good.”

  Making a strangled noise, she drops her arms to her sides and angles her body away from mine. I don’t bother to point out that she looks even more delicious now because she’s giving me a front row seat to that ass I couldn’t keep my hands off the other night.

  “Like I asked before,” she huffs, “what do you want?”

  Cocking a brow, I toss my board down in the sand right next to hers. I shift my focus between it and her big green eyes. “Surfboard. Board shorts. No shirt.” I feel a pulse of pride when she stares at my chest and swallows hard. No matter how busy I am, I make time for the gym and it shows. I’m in better shape now than I was when I was playing baseball, and I’ve been done with that for nearly five years. “What the fuck does it look like I want?” I ask.

  “Can’t you surf somewhere else?” She shuffles her feet, curling her toes in the wet sand. “Anywhere? I mean, it’s a big ass ocean. There has to be a hundred other spots you can pollute.”

  “Pollute?” I release a low whistle. “Fuck, if I had any idea you hated me this bad, I might not have been so willing to have that drink with you.”

  That’s a lie. I still would’ve gone for the kill even if she would’ve been hissing what a bastard I was the entire time my fingers were inside of her.

  “I don’t hate you.” A sour look puckers the corners of her sexy mouth. “I don’t hate anyone. I’m just not a fan. Of your baseball career or the fact you have that monstrosity right next door to my parents’ place.”

  She’d looked me up in the last thirty-six hours. The thought of her pouring over my Wikipedia write-up after I made her come makes my lips arc upward. “That monstrosity was there long before your parents opened their place. I just fixed it up real pretty.” She balls her hands into fists as my smile expands. “And you know, I figured you’d at least like the way I looked in my cup, but I’ll buy that. You’re not a fan of mine—join the club.”

  “I have,” she responds with a sneer. “I’m actually considering running for the president of it.”

  This woman sure as fuck knows how to rip a man’s pride to shreds. Ignoring her jab, I continue, “As far as moving to another spot? You’re right, sweetheart, it is a big ocean. You go. Like I said, I like the view here.”

  I’m not lying either. It’s one of the reasons I bought the place once it went into foreclosure. I also can’t deny that the image of her tits coming dangerously close to spilling out of the top of her red bikini makes everything twice as nice. Even if she is shooting flames at the center of my forehead from those green eyes, it’s worth being able to watch her breasts jiggle every time she hauls in an exasperated breath. If this is what I have to look forward to every morning, I’ll be doing a lot of surfing.

  I hold one arm out, motioning down the beach. “You’re welcome to—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me who you were right away?” She stalks close to me with both hands on her hips. She’s close enough now that I can see the tiny scar above her belly button, no doubt from an old piercing. “You should have said something before you let me make a fool of myself.”

  Is she shitting me? Since she took off on me, I’ve had plenty of time to replay the details of that night in my head. I know for a fact I introduced myself by my full name. I also remember that she was distracted. By another man. And I plan to make damn sure that never happens again.

  “Should I have reintroduced myself another four or five times? And it’s not like you came right out and told me you were the Maggie Kinsella.” She breathes noisily as a sexy flush slowly makes its way up her chest. It stops at her cheeks. “That’s right, beautiful, I would’ve definitely reiterated who I was if you’d told me your last name.”

  “I didn’t hear the first part of what you said,” she argues, glaring down at the patch of sand between our feet. “And hiding from some other guy? That won’t happen again.”

  “Sure it won’t. I just hope the next poor motherfucker you decide to swap saliva with isn’t another one of your enemies or else he’ll have good booze wasted on him after you use him for an easy out and a quick orgasm.”

  Her eyes snap up to meet mine again, flashing angrily. “That won’t happen again either. If I had known you were the asshole who did all … this”—she waves her hands wildly around her, one in the direction of my hotel and the other toward hers—“I would have kicked you in the balls, not…”

  “Not been ready to get them wet?” Smirking, I study her conflicted expression as she scoops her fingers through her hair. Damn right she should be confused because those hands of hers should’ve been in my hair the other night instead of wrapped around the bottle of champagne she’d used to fuck up my evening. “You know, the offer’s still on the table,” I say, and she lets out a hoarse cry.

  Those breasts that I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off? They tease me viciously as she bends over and snatches her board from the sand. “You’re ruining my family’s business.” Her movements are jerky as she tucks the board under one toned arm. She’s so petite it looks like she’ll tilt over from the weight, but she stands her ground. “I plan to fix all that.”

  She storms off, her hips swishing from side to side as she heads back toward her family’s place. It’s hard not to follow her, not to drag her to me and convince her that she made a mistake when she left the other night. But she’s angry. And my pop always said you catch more bees with honey than vinegar.

  What she fails to realize—or maybe she does know and just doesn’t give a fuck—is that it hadn’t been my intention to hurt her parents’ business. The Hawaiian Bungalow was already failing long before I put in the offer on my property. Well before the renovations started at Elite, guests had started to stray from the place next door, citing outdated amenities and faulty plumbing. Nobody wants to go on vacation where they’ve spent thousands of dollars for the flight alone, just to find three inches of standin
g water in their hotel bathroom. If anything, I did Lia and Henry Kinsella a favor by opening a thriving business. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had guests approach me to say the only reason they were next door was because they wanted to stay close to friends or family who’d booked with us. In a few short years, I’ve turned a rundown dump into a four-star resort, and I have no plan of stopping there.

  Which is going to piss Maggie off even more.

  Grabbing my board from the sand, I take off into the water before I have to go back in and get ready for my first meeting of the day.

  “The investors aren’t going to go for it,” Milo says the second I phone in to our conference call. He’s been my lawyer and financial advisor for years, ever since my former coach recommended him when I was still pitching for the Portland Mavericks. Since I was raised in Hawaii—and Milo split his time between Portland and Honolulu—he was an obvious choice.

  I just wish his phone skills weren’t so awful.

  “Normally, you start a conversation with hello. Maybe a how are you,” I respond calmly, but my chest sinks at his news. Sitting down behind the desk of my lobby-level office, I prop my feet on the surface of it and squeeze the bridge of my nose. “And why the hell aren’t they going for it?”

  “You’ve got a bit of a reputation, Gabe.”

  Well, no shit. My teeth grind together, and I automatically shrug my shoulders defensively. I know what Milo’s talking about—the reputation I earned when I was still playing baseball—but that has nothing to do with the success of my business. Yeah, maybe I fucked around a little more than I should have and maybe I had a bad habit of getting into fights every time a camera was shoved into my face, but I’ve worked my ass off to shed that history. My business is important to me.

  After my parents died in a car crash when I was eight, my maternal grandparents raised me in their hotel on Big Island. Even though they were both gone by the time baseball was no longer an option, opening my own place was the only thing I wanted to do. I had committed Bad Business Move #1 when I sank my own money into the hotel’s initial purchase and remodel, leaving me nearly broke. Now that things are going so well, I figured getting investors to go along with my idea of opening a spa and restaurant would be a fucking breeze.