Disclaimer: SM owns Twilight

Rating: MA for themes/ loads of lemons.

All Human.

Ch1:The Man Eater

Leah Clearwater's eyelids narrowed suspiciously as she watched the curvaceous red head in the microscopic bikini follow their surf instructor to a back room. She thought she recognized the expression of devious excitement on the young woman's face.

Undoubtedly a man with their instructor's looks—the annoyingly potent, flashing grin and copious gleaming muscles—had female tourists throwing themselves at him with the consistency of a perfect Oahu day. Irritation bubbled up to the surface, an annoyance that went far beyond her presence in Waikiki and taking a stupid surfing lesson.

Leah slammed the skin suit back into place, causing a brisk bang of the hanger against the metal rack. Her personal assistant and longtime friend's face fell at the evidence of Leah's temper.

"Well shit, you weren't kidding when you said you hated Waikiki, were you?" Rosalie pulled her skin suit top down over her bathing suit. "You really didn't have to come Leah. And you definitely didn't have to agree to take these surf lessons with me. I've taken vacations by myself before, you know."

Regret immediately lanced through Leah's flash of temper. Rosalie was in the midst of a soul scarring divorce that had already gone on for two years more than it should have. Sure, Rosalie might have gone on a few vacations by herself before she married that sleaze ball Royce King II. Still, there was no way in hell Leah was going to allow her friend to be alone when she was still raw and hurting from her soon-to-be ex-husband's latest conniving courtroom scheme to get full custody of their four year old daughter, Tia.

She gave Rosalie an apologetic grin. "Sorry, didn't mean to go all bitch mode on you."

Rosalie laughed. "Girl, if you ever showed a hint of the bitch gene, I'd have abandoned you eons ago."

"Your shirt is too loose, hun." Leah chose a shirt that read Embry Call Surf Schools, Waikiki over the left breast and handed it to Rosalie before she picked one for herself. The tight long sleeved shirt would partially protect them from the shearing Waikiki surf and the friction burn of surfboard against bare skin… as well as guarantee that a woman's bikini top would stay in place.

Rosalie motioned out of the top and took the one that Leah handed her. "Why do you hate Waikiki so much?"

"Too touristy." A shudder went through Leah as she said the word.

Rosalie eyed her. "You seem really tense. And on the plane geez, Leah, I thought a few times you were going to have a panic attack like you used to have before you went onstage, back when you were still a kid."

Leah waved her hand impatiently. "Flying to Hawaii is worse than flying to Europe. I should have asked my doctor for something to help me sleep."

For the whole fucking trip, she added to herself.

"Are you afraid people will recognize you? You could be anybody under that hat and ginormous pair of sunglasses." Rosalie's blue eyes dropped doubtfully over her friend's figure. "Of course… there's not much I can do about disguising your body when you're wearing a bikini. The boring, baggy clothes I usually buy for you just won't work in Waikiki. Even the homeless people wear swimsuits."

Leah was only half listening. Her gaze had wandered back to the hall where their surfer guy instructor had disappeared with the red head on his tail.

"I'm not worried about being recognized. People don't care about the blues in Waikiki." Leah said grimly.

"There are blues and jazz lovers everywhere, Leah and you know it."

Leah scowled. She hadn't actually been referring to a genre of music. "Waikiki is all shallow and no substance—a flashy whore all bedazzled in skimpy designer clothes, a perfect tan highlighting a perfect boob job… It's so fake."

So vicious.

So set to use the poor and underprivileged to serve the tourist industry's endless greed, she thought privately.

Rosalie's eyebrows shot up. Leah realized she'd allowed her bitterness to show and immediately made her face settle into her pokerface.

"Well it's certainly a hot spot," Rosalie said. "I needed someplace with this kind of energy and excitement after what Royce pulled over the past month. An isolated tropical island just wouldn't have done the trick," Rosalie stretched the dark blue fabric over her generous breasts. "I need the distraction of a party atmosphere. And these native guys are sex on legs. Don't tell me you didn't notice how gorgeous our surf instructor is. He's like a walking god. He could be the inspiration for a tropical drink… oohhh like the Hawaiian Wet Dream."

"He's awfully tall to be a Hawaiian." Leah muttered.

Rosalie paused in the action of readjusting her bikini top. "You don't think he's Hawaiian?"

Leah shrugged negligently. "Sure, he might have been born here and have some roots. I just meant there are few pure Hawaiians left. He's part asshole. And I'm pretty sure he's got some jerk influence, I'd guess, in addition to Hawaiian and something else."

"You're crazy." Rosalie laughed. "Whatever the combination is one hundred percent illegal." Rosalie's blue eyes sparkled mischievously. "I'd love to have him help me forget about Royce on this this vacation."

Leah smirked.

"Don't give me that look, Leah. Not you—of all people. No one knows better than me how single minded you are when it comes to men. Surely you wouldn't deny me the pleasure of a few rounds of sex with a gorgeous stranger when you're such an expert on the activity."

Leah leaned down after shrugged to put on a pair of surf shorts. "You're right. I'm here to see that you have a good time, after all, and I'm going to make sure it happens. No better way to celebrate saying sayonara to that loser husband of yours than baking up the sheets on your vacation. Hell, I'm only too happy to do the same." Leah nodded toward the back room. "Just don't count on doing it with our hunky surf instructor, though. It seems he's already occupado."

Rosalie checked her waterproof watch. "Geez, he's already twenty minutes late. If he doesn't hurry it up, we're going to be rushing to make the luau I scheduled."

Leah clinched her back teeth together. "You have yet to learn about Hawaiian time, hun," she muttered with a scowl.

Rosalie laughed. "Care to explain how you're such an expert on Hawaiian time? I've worked for you since you were a nineteen year old kid recording your first album. That was ten years ago, and I've never heard you mention Hawaii once in that time period. Did you spend time here before you came to the states?"

"You know this loser is really starting to bug the shit out of me," Leah said, choosing to ignore Rosalie's questions. She dropped her beach bag on the floor and stalked toward the dim corridor at the back of the facility. "He's a little old to be playing irresponsible surfer dude, don't you think? I've got half a mind to report him to his boss."

"Leah, maybe you should just hang loose…"

But Leah ignored her friend. The familiar Hawaiian phrase made her clench her teeth even tighter.

Leah turned into a large room that contained several surfboards on tables in the process of being repaired and waxed. Her eyes immediately found the figure of the tall man and the curvy woman, despite the dim light. He leaned back casually, one foot propped against the wall, his hands tucked behind a pair of tight buns that Leah hadn't failed to notice as he strutted around, giving instructions about preparing the lesson earlier. He looked down at the red head, a half amused, half irritated expression on his shadowed face. His profile was as arresting as the rest of the package. That straight bold nose had immediately pointed out his heritage to her, along with his height.

Leah cleared her throat loudly. "Excuse me, my friend and I have a schedule we'd like to keep. You would think you did as well, considering the fact that between the two of us, we're shelling out four hundred dollars an hour for your services."

The woman started and gasped in surprise. Her hand jerked, and she hopped back with a guilty glance at Leah.

Leah was glad she wore the dark glasses so neither of them saw how wide her eyes went. He had the nerve to not even hurry as he lowered the pant leg of his board shorts, covering a long, shapely, semi-erect cock. Even with his shorts lowered she could still perfectly make out the outline of it next to his thigh.

It was far from being the first cock she had ever seen, and it wouldn't be the last. But that quick glance informed Leah it was the most beautiful. A flash of pure, primal heat surged through her along with a lightening bolt of irritation.

She was comforted by the fact that she knew her face gave nothing away. "Four hundred dollars an hour should help you get over your discomfort. If you start doing your job now, I'll agree not to tell your boss about your negligence, Mr…?"

He didn't move from his lazy pose against the wall. She couldn't really make out his eyes in the dim room but sensed his stare boring into her. She'd noticed earlier that his eyes were a singular color—dark gray with flecks of green and amber.

"Call. Embry Call. And I'll be happy to reimburse you for the half hour of your lesson and still give you the full two hours."

"Oh you better." She replied briskly, unmoved by the fact that he was apparently the owner of the two bit surfing school. She started down the corridor, only to notice when she turned around that he hadn't moved. "Well, aren't you coming?"

He gave her a lazy grin though his eyes were anything but, "That gives me another eight minutes. I'll be with you in a moment, undoubtedly more comfortable and better prepared for teaching what I don't doubt will be a challenging lesson."

Leah stiffened when he reached for the giggling red head. She thought of where she'd like to tell Embry Call to shove his disrespectful attitude and gorgeous smug face, but then she thought of Rosalie. She imagined her friend's look of disappointment if Leah marched out there and self-righteously informed her that they were leaving.

She doubted her sunglasses disguised the glare of pure loathing she threw him before she turned away.

Embry set down the board in the grassy area near the beach and clapped his hands together once. "Okay. Which one of you ladies is up first?"

Embry was glad when the blonde with the pretty face and nice smile stepped forward. He'd have to work with her man-eater friend at some point, but he was still pissed off by her insulting display of arrogance back at his shop. He wasn't sure why her bitchiness had gotten to him so much, but it had. He had been so preoccupied by her bitter-cold authority that he hadn't been able to concentrate when pretty little Victoria eagerly resumed her hand job.

Not that he had really been interested to begin with. Victoria had taken a lesson from him three days ago. He had taken her up on her blatant offer of her body that night, but he had quickly become exasperated by her pursuit of him. Her California-girl good looks, large breasts, and curvy hips and ass went a long way to making him forget his rule not to get involved with customers. He had been irritated when she followed him into the back room today and thrown herself at him. His dick had responded to her willing hands but not with much enthusiasm.

Still, if she'd kept it up, he would have grudgingly let her finish him off. He was just a guy after all.

But then the man-eater interrupted and ruined a little afternoon delight. He had pushed Victoria's hardworking hand away after the woman left and made small talk with Victoria about her job as a financial analyst.

Apparently Victoria had a hell of a head on her shoulders. That was the vacation mentality for you. Embry seriously doubted Victoria was in the habit of throwing herself at males in the everyday business world, but give her the tropical breezes and the sensual rhythms of the island, and she was suddenly shameless.

He had made his customers wait the full eight minutes, which caused him to feel a little guilty, he realized, as he positioned the blonde named Rosalie belly down on the board. Rosalie was obviously nice and excited about her lesson. It had been rude of him to make her wait longer just because she had shit taste in friends.

Five minutes later, after he was content that Rosalie had the basics of paddling, kneeling, positioning herself in a standing position in the center of the board, and falling in the safest way, he suggested that she go and pick out a board from the beginner rack he kept on the beach.

He gave Rosalie's silent glaring friend a bland look. "You're up."

"I don't need instruction on the basics." She waved her hand indignantly in the air.

"Is that right?" he asked mockingly.

Embry glanced down over her. He had to admit she had the body of an athlete. It wouldn't shock him if she knew exactly what she was doing. He had immediately taken note of the easy manner in which she took off her sundress earlier in his shop. She was as used to showing her body as the female swimmers he knew—as most local Hawaiians, for that matter.

Embry didn't want to acknowledge it, but she definitely had a reason to be completely relaxed stripping down in public. The infuriating woman had one of those bodies that were firm and lithe, but soft and feminine too. And even though she wasn't as dark as him, her smooth skin held a golden hue that promised to soak up the sun hugrily. If she stayed long enough, she would probably be ready to compete in a contest with all the other locals.

"I'll be the one to decide whether or not you need instruction. Get up on the board, and show me the basics."

Her muscles locked. For a second, he thought she would refuse, which would be fine by him. He would be more than happy to leave her on the beach.

However, she shocked him by stepping up on the board.

He stopped her with a hand on her elbow when she started to go lie down on her stomach. "Take off the hat and glasses."

She started, despite her off-putting behavior, her skin felt warm and smooth beneath his approving fingers. "Why? What difference does it make?"

"I like to be able to look into the eyes of my students. Got a problem with that?" He cocked his head to the side.

He felt her glower on him from behind the dark glasses.

"Look, Waikiki, isn't like the other advanced beaches on this island. But it aint the wave pool at the water park either lady. Those waves can pound the hell out of you. If you don't do what I say, it can be dangerous. Call me an ass, but I tend to like to know what I'm dealing with before I take responsibility for you out there. If I can't look into your eyes, it makes it a little difficult for me to know what you're made of. Play by my rules, or don't play at all." He realized he had tightened his grip on her firm biceps as he spoke to her.

Without speaking she removed the straw hat and tossed it on the grass. Black hair with light brown highlights spilled around her shoulders. The glasses landed on top of the hat. Exotically tilted hazel eyes studied him coldly through thick, long lashes.

He knew those eyes.

He knew that face.

So did half the population.

Okay, so half the population wouldn't recognize her. She wasn't pop star famous by any means, but she did have a loyal following, not to mention the fact that her work commanded the respect of blues and jazz enthusiasts across the globe.

"Show me what you got," he said grimly. He watched her as she gracefully came up into a surfing stance.

"I told you," she said coldly over her left shoulder.

Embry spread his hand on the back of her thigh. "You know the actions, but you need to loosen up. You're too tight. Relax." He almost broke out in a huge smile when he slapped her thigh lightly.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Get your fucking hand off me."

"Give me a break lady." He muttered as he slid his hand down to her ankle, urging her to widen her stance an inch or two. "You saw me touching your friend as well. You need to relax more than just your body. Your attitude could use a Hawaiian adjustment as well."

"Think I should just hang loose, dude?"

He paused with his hand on her firm calf and glanced up at her. Her face was fuming with fury.

"You know I don't think I've ever seen you wear that particular expression on the front cover of a magazine. I guess that's for the best, considering the publisher wants people to buy their magazine, not be repulsed by it."

She clamped her jaw shut. He watched in fascination as her face smoothed into a beautiful mask of impassivity. He stroked her satiny skin ever so lightly, preferring her fury for some reason.

Must be turning into a masochist in my old age, he mused.

When she tensed even further, she had noticed his subtle groping. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rosalie approaching with a short board under her arm.

"Leah." Her name lingered on his tongue. "That wouldn't be short for 'Aileah now, would it?"

This was interesting, Embry thought when he saw her cheek muscle twitch.

He rose slowly until he looked down at her, holding her gaze all the while. "It means 'glorious' in Hawaiian. Of course without the okina, the world Aileah refers to raw, fuck-me-till-I'm-blind sexual intercourse." He said softly, referring to the punctuation mark before the name. He saw the fury return to her expression and he smiled cheekily. "Ah—I see you already knew that, 'Aileah."

"Don't call me that. And there isn't a damn thing you can teach me that I don't already know and wish I didn't, Mr. Call." She practically snarled as she clenched her fingers.

He leaned closer, catching her fresh, floral fragrance combined with healthy sweet sweat. Onanona, he thought, unconsciously using his admittedly primitive knowledge of the Hawaiian language to describe her scent. She even smelled like the islands.

"I beg to differ."

He saw her nostrils flare. His eyes fastened on her lush mouth.

"Is this board okay, Embry?" Rosalie called out. He stepped back, glad for the interruption. He was only too happy to consider something else beside the fact that his dick had just hardened to a lead pipe as he verbally sparred with a prima dona who clearly had some serious issues.

Not his problem.

So what if her personality was a far stretch from what he had thought it would be given her low, sultry singing voice. Her voice, face, and body had electrified many mean before him. He didn't need to be a fan of the entertainment industry to know that most well-known people where whackos. Why should it surprise him that Leah Clearwater was no different?

Still, Embry had to admit he was disappointed. Her voice and bluesy arrangements brought out the brooding temperamental side of him—the side he rarely showed others, certainly not in his role as an athlete or as an extroverted businessman in the Hawaiian tourist industry. In truth, he had always been a little haunted by her songs.

He suppressed a frown when he fully registered his thoughts and gave an easy grin instead.

"Yea, that's perfect Rosalie. Why don't you go and pick a board Leah, and we'll catch a wave."

"Bitchin'" he heard Leah mutter scathingly under her breath before she walked away.

Embry nodded once when his bartender Jared held up the coffeepot. Embry rubbed his eyes, took a sip of warmed up coffee, and focused once again on the books. Even though it was two thirty in the afternoon on a Tuesday, there wasn't a seat available in Bry's. His beachside restaurant was debatably the most popular location for casual tropical atmosphere and high quality cuisine in Waikiki.

And the books informed him that it would be yet another record breaking month—at least for Bry's. So much for the price of gallon gas stifling the tourist industry. True, his surf school—at which he only seldom taught these days—was doing only fair to average in this economy. But Embry would never consider giving that up. He treasured the chance to introduce people to his true love too much.

Of course, there were exceptions to that rule, he acknowledged grimly as he reflected on the less he had given Leah Clearwater yesterday.

Not that he had actually been able to teach her much. She was a natural on a surfboard. He had heard her friend question her about it, and Leah had grumbled something about learning to surf as a kid in Cancun. He guessed it was possible for her to have learned there, but he somehow doubted it. He had tried to surf in Cancun and Cozumel and thought the waves sucked.

She was lying and he couldn't help but wonder about it. Why was Leah Clearwater so intent on denying her Polynesian roots? The only thing she actually admitted to the reporters was that she was Quileute. He had never caught a hint of her origins when he had scanned her CD covers—usually too preoccupied to take much more in than her beautiful face and body made of sin.

He rolled his eyes when he realized where his mind had wandered. Why did his mind keep coming back to her?

He redirected his attention to his books. The boat marina he owned in Honolulu also had taken a hit with the economy. Nothing major, but noticeable nonetheless. Not too shocking given the cost of fuel for powering a motorboat or Jet Ski.

People had their priorities on a vacation, it would seem. Fortunately sipping an icy mai tai and munching on some seared ahi tacos while they lazily watched the surf roll in was not something the typical vacationer was to sacrifice.

"What's the word?" someone asked from behind him. "If your business is doing as well as mine, we won't have to sell any of Grans's farms—at least for another month."

Embry didn't bother to turn around when he heard the familiar voice. He tensed at the familiar theme of selling a portion of his grandmother's enormous estate—no matter that the topic had been brought up in a joking matter. Embry was Emma Call's chosen executor, probably because Emma knew he wouldn't bow to family pressures and would carry out her wishes, no questions asked.

"Guess we picked the right industries. Food and sex are always in demand. Gran's farm should be safe for a while," Embry replied in a light tone.

"Good news. There's no telling what Grandma would do if she discovered her golden grandson as perfect as everyone claims."

Embry calmly closed his account book when his cousin, Sam tried to reach for it.

"Why so secret, cousin?" Sam asked scowling.

"My accounts are none of your damn business. What are you doing up and about so early? I thought the light of day would turn you to ash or something." Embry teased over his shoulder.

He referred to his cousin's nightly profession as the owner of a nightclub and strip bar Hawaiian Heat. Sam also ran a high class escort service, Hawaiian Nights, but that part of his business didn't go on the official books. It also was a major secret that members of the Call clan kept from their matriarch, their energetic grandmother Emma.

Sam's scowl didn't do much to ruin his looks. His father may have been part Hawaiian, but Sam favored his sophisticated Native American mother more than the Call side of the family. With his slicked back black hair and expensive clothing that he always got shipped out to him. He even preferred going by his last name of Uley instead of Call.

Embry noticed the way his cousin still stared at his closed account book. Was his cousin wondering if Embry kept any Emma's accounts here in Bry's? Well he could be as nosy as he wanted. Embry kept his grandmother's books locked up on the private place of his house boat.

"You keeping secrets from me, Bry? Careful—I'll get you back," Sam teased with a raised brow. The couple sitting next to Embry at the bar stood and walked away. Sam sat down next to him without an invitation.

"Sam, my man," Jared said from behind the bar. The two men exchanged a handshake. "Can I get you something?"

"Nothing for me, Jared. I'm just here to tempt my cousin," Something seemed to occur to Sam as he stared at Embry's bartender. "Hey did Edward Masen ever call you about working that big campaign event in Loa ridge? I told him you were the best bartender on the island."

Jared gave Embry a quick glance, but Embry's face remained impassive. "Yeah, Masen called. Thanks for the recommendation but I have to work for Bry that night."

"You turned down Edward Masen?" Sam asked dubiously.

"Maybe it's something you ought to be considering doing as well," Embry's tone was mild enough, but the look he gave his cousin held a warning. Practically everyone in Hawaii knew that despite his influential political ties Edward Masen was a major figure in organized crime in Hawaii. It just made things ten times as complicated that many of the people Masen dealt with were legit—at least on the surface.

Embry couldn't run Sam's life for him, but he could certainly prevent his morally challenged cousin from involving the Call family or Embry's employees with his shady comrades. When Jared had explained to him about Edward's phone call several weeks back, Embry had advised against working for the crime boss and then left the decision up to Jared. He had been relieved when Jared refused the offer.

The Call's were an old family with extensive land holdings and contacts all over the islands. Personally, Embry thought Edward was using Sam for his connections and possibly as an 'in' for that windward strip of Call land where Edward and his cronies wanted to develop a hotel casino complex. Embry's warnings to Sam had bounced through one ear and out the other, however.

"Edward is a good guy Embry. He thinks the world of you. Always saying he could make you govna of Hawaii if you would just let him get his hands on you. He says he could have gotten Grandma into the white house," Sam said with a flashing grin and a pump of his dark eyebrows.

"You're not inspiring my confidence in our government officials if you're saying winning an office requires passing through Masen's hands first," Embry muttered in amusement. "Now… what did you really come down here for in the full light of day."

"I knew you would want in on this juicy bit of gossip I just got from Emily. You're not going to believe who called for a date tonight."

Embry chuckled when he saw the mischievous sparkle in his cousin's black eyes. He may not trust Sam, but he liked him nonetheless. His cousin had been gifted with no small amount of Emma Call's famous charm. Besides, Sam resided in Embry's earliest memories.

He knew Emily Young was the administrative assistant who did the scheduling and details for Sam's escort service. Embry worried about Sam's less than legal dealings in the sex industry… along with who knew what else, considering his connections to people like Edward Masen. It wasn't that Embry was being uptight; from all accounts, Sam ran a pretty classy operation. The thing he resented—like many of his relatives—was the necessity for constantly having to his the truth from his grandmother Emma. Emma would erupt if she had ever discovered her oldest grandson's crooked dealings.

But worse, she would be hurt. Embry would do anything in his power to prevent that.

Sam himself had a cavalier attitude in regard to Emma discovering what he did for a living a fact that pissed the family off to no end. But Embry knew it was useless to lecture Sam about his lifestyle. Sam would just be dreaming about his next scheme for fun, sex, and profit the entire time you ranted.

"I've got a celebrity alert," Sam chanted in a singsong voice, as though he were dangling a delicious fruit in front of Embry's face.

Embry paused in the action of reaching for his coffee cup. Hearing the word celebrity immediately made Leah Clearwater's beautiful, defiant face pop into his head. But surely Sam couldn't be referring to her.

But how many celebrities visited the island on any given week? Strange to think of the brittle, cold woman he had verbally argued with yesterday paying for a night of guilt free sex.

Even as Sam leaned forward and whispered Leah Clearwater's name, Embry altered his opinion. Leah Clearwater was exactly the kind of woman who would want to make sure she called all the shots with her sex partner.

His lips curled in irritation.

"You don't look surprised. Has she already been to Bry's" Sam looked a little jealous.

"No she hadn't been to Bry's."

"You don't seem very interested cuz. The woman gives sexy a whole new meaning. I know how much you like her music. How many times have I heard her CD blaring from your little boathouse hmmm?"

"You got your fucking lazy ass out of bed just to come here and tell me that Leah Clearwater is hiring a male prostitute for the night?" Embry sidestepped.

He didn't particularly like the fact that the overly curious Sam had caught him during his isolative, thoughtful moods on two or three occasions. He preferred to keep that part of himself private.

"She hired an escort." Sam corrected clearly insulted. "And technically she called to hire one for her friend. But I've trained Emily well when it comes to sales. According to Emily, when she smoothly asked Mrs. Clearwater if she'd need any of our services for herself, Clearwater paused for a moment and then said, 'sure why not?'"

Embry could perfectly imagine her low, smoky voice uttering the question as blandly as someone might agree to another mai tai when Jared offered. His focus fractured when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Embry twisted around on his stool to see a sunburned, brown haired woman in her early thirties. She pointed to a spot on the wall the displayed a photo of him, his eight gold medals from the Olympics fanned out over his abdomen. He gave a slow practiced grin while his mind still churned over what Sam had just told him.

"That's a younger more in shape version of me, but yeah. I'm Embry Call."

Her brown eyes flickered down warmly over his body. "You look like you're in great shape to me. Do you still swim."

"As much as I walk."

The woman grinned flirtatiously. "I figured you had to do something to get a body like that. Can I buy you a drink?"

Embry chuckled, she was easy on the eyes, but that wasn't saying much. In his opinion, even the drabbest of women bloomed in the sultry Hawaiian climate. He probably wouldn't have given this woman a second glance on the mainland, but the combination of the adventure of her getaway and the tropical nights had awakened the carnal woman in her.

It was just one of the many reasons he loved Hawaii so much.

"Oh, I forgot you own the place." She stepped closer. "How about you buy me one then?"

"Sure," Embry agreed without pause. He waved at Jared who immediately ceased his banter with one of the customers. "Have you tried one of our famous mai tais yet?"

The woman shook her head.

"You don't know what you're missing. I stole the recipe from my gran. It's become a Call tradition. You would love the brew," Embry grinned even though his mind was otherwise occupied.

"Sounds like it'll have a serious kick."

"Well my gran's a serious kick. Jared, fix her up will you? Free of charge." Jared winked at the woman before he went to make her a drink.

Sam tapped him on the shoulder. "I'm leaving."

Embry leaned in closer to his cousin. "No. Hold on a minute." He said under his breath.

"I haven't got time to sit here and watch you seduce the tourists," Sam whispered scowling.

"I'm not seducing her. It's just business. Just let me make nice for a second. People don't tend to like a rude restauranteur."

Sam rolled his eyes and started to get off the stool.

"Sit down. I want to talk to you about this Clearwater thing." Embry hissed.

Sam paused. His surprise at Embry's intensity segued to a sharp speculative look. He sagged back on the stool. Embry turned and smoothly asked the woman what she thought of their beautiful island.

It was his job to charm the tourists, after all. Still, he had to admit it was hard to be charming when he was thinking about what he planned with Leah Clearwater.

Onaona – Sweet Smell

Okina— ' punctuation

Aileah— glorious