Island of Flowers Read online

  Outside she found, to her astonishment, a helmet being thrust in her hands as she faced a shining, trim motorcycle. Clearing her throat, she looked from the helmet, to the machine, to Dillon. “We’re going to ride on this?”

  “That’s right. I don’t often use the car just to run to the airport.”

  “You might find this a good time to do so,” Laine advised. “I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle.”

  “Duchess, all you have to do is to sit down and hang on.” Dillon took the helmet from her and dropped it on her head. Securing his own helmet, he straddled the bike, then kicked the starter into life. “Climb on.”

  With amazement, Laine found herself astride the purring machine and clutching Dillon’s waist as the motorcycle shot down the drive. Her death grip eased slightly as she realized that the speed was moderate, and the motorcycle had every intention of staying upright. It purred along the paved road.

  Beside them, a river wandered like an unfurled blue ribbon, dividing patterned fields of taro. There was an excitement in being open to the wind, in feeling the hardness of Dillon’s muscles beneath her hands. A sense of liberation flooded her. Laine realized that, in one day, Dillon had already given her experiences she might never have touched. I never knew how limited my life was, she thought with a smile. No matter what happens, when I leave here, nothing will ever be quite the same again.

  When they arrived at the airport, Dillon wove through the main lot, circling to the back and halting in front of a hangar. “Off you go, Duchess. Ride’s over.”

  Laine eased from the bike and struggled with her helmet. “Here.” Dillon pulled it off for her, then dropped it to join his on the seat of the bike. “Still in one piece?”

  “Actually,” she returned, “I think I enjoyed it.”

  “It has its advantages.” He ran his hands down her arms, then captured her waist. Laine stood very still, unwilling to retreat from his touch. He bent down and moved his mouth with teasing lightness over hers. Currents of pleasure ran over her skin. “Later,” he said, pulling back. “I intend to finish that in a more satisfactory manner. But at the moment, I’ve work to do.” His thumbs ran in lazy circles over her hips. “Cap’s going to take you around; he’s expecting you. Can you find your way?”

  “Yes.” Confused by the urgency of her heartbeat, Laine stepped back. The break in contact did nothing to slow it. “Am I to go to his office?”

  “Yeah, the same place you went before. He’ll show you whatever you want to see. Watch your step, Laine.” His green eyes cooled abruptly, and his voice lost its lightness. “Until I’m sure about you, you can’t afford to make any mistakes.”

  For a moment, she only stared up at him, feeling her skin grow cold, and her pulse slow. “I’m very much afraid,” she admitted sadly, “I’ve already made one.”

  Turning, she walked away.

  Chapter Six

  Laine walked toward the small, palm-flanked building. Through her mind ran all which had passed in twenty-four hours. She had met her father, learned of her mother’s deception and was now readjusting her wishes.

  She had also, in the brief span of time it takes the sun to rise and fall, discovered the pleasures and demands of womanhood. Dillon had released new and magic sensations. Again, her mind argued with her heart that her feelings were only the result of a first physical attraction. It could hardly be anything else, she assured herself. One does not fall in love in a day, and certainly not with a man like Dillon O’Brian. We’re total opposites. He’s outgoing and confident, and so completely at ease with people. I envy him his honest confidence. There’s nothing emotional about that. I’ve simply never met anyone like him before. That’s why I’m confused. It has nothing to do with emotions. Laine felt comforted as she entered her father’s office building.

  As she stepped into the outer lobby, Cap strode from his office, glancing over his shoulder at a dark girl with a pad in her hand who was following in his wake.

  “Check with Dillon on the fuel order before you send that out. He’ll be in a meeting for the next hour. If you miss him at his office, try hangar four.” As he caught sight of Laine, Cap smiled and slowed his pace. “Hello, Laine. Dillon said you wanted a tour.”

  “Yes, I’d love one, if you have the time.”

  “Of course. Sharon, this is my daughter. Laine, this is Sharon Kumocko, my secretary.”

  Laine observed the curiosity in Sharon’s eyes as they exchanged greetings. Her father’s tone during the introductions had been somewhat forced. Laine felt him hesitate before he took her arm to lead her outside. She wondered briefly if she had imagined their closeness during her childhood.

  “It’s not a very big airport,” Cap began as they stepped out into the sun and heat. “For the most part, we cater to island hoppers and charters. We also run a flight school. That’s essentially Dillon’s project.”

  “Cap.” Impulsively, Laine halted his recital and turned to face him. “I know I’ve put you in an awkward position. I realize now that I should have written and asked if I could come rather than just dropping on your doorstep this way. It was thoughtless of me.”

  “Laine …”

  “Please.” She shook her head at his interruption and rushed on. “I realize, too, that you have your own life, your own home, your own friends. You’ve had fifteen years to settle into a routine. I don’t want to interfere with any of that. Believe me, I don’t want to be in the way, and I don’t want you to feel …” She made a helpless gesture as the impetus ran out of her words. “I would like it if we could be friends.”

  Cap had studied her during her speech. The smile he gave her at its finish held more warmth than those he had given her before. “You know,” he sighed, tugging his fingers through his hair, “it’s sort of terrifying to be faced with a grown-up daughter. I missed all the stages, all the changes. I’m afraid I still pictured you as a bad-tempered pigtailed urchin with scraped knees. The elegant woman who walked into my office yesterday and spoke to me with a faint French accent is a stranger. And one,” he added, touching her hair a moment, “who brings back memories I thought I’d buried.” He sighed again and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know much about women; I don’t think I ever did. Your mother was the most beautiful, confusing woman I’ve ever known. When you were little, and the three of us were still together, I substituted your friendship for the friendship that your mother and I never had. You were the only female I ever understood. I’ve always wondered if that was why things didn’t work.”

  Tilting her head, Laine gave her father a long, searching look. “Cap, why did you marry her? There seems to be nothing you had in common.”

  Cap shook his head with a quick laugh. “You didn’t know her twenty years ago. She did a lot of changing, Laine. Some people change more than others.” He shook his head again, and his eyes focused on some middle distance. “Besides, I loved her. I’ve always loved her.”

  “I’m sorry.” Laine felt tears burn the back of her eyes, and she dropped her gaze to the ground. “I don’t mean to make things more difficult.”

  “You’re not. We had some good years.” He paused until Laine lifted her eyes. “I like to remember them now and again.” Taking her arm, he began to walk. “Was your mother happy, Laine?”

  “Happy?” She thought a moment, remembering the quicksilver moods, the gay bubbling voice with dissatisfaction always under the surface. “I suppose Vanessa was as happy as she was capable of being. She loved Paris and she lived as she chose.”

  “Vanessa?” Cap frowned, glancing down at Laine’s profile. “Is that how you think of your mother?”

  “I always called her by name.” Laine lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she watched the descent of a charter. “She said ‘mother’ made her feel too old. She hated getting older … I feel better knowing you’re happy in the life you’ve chosen. Do you fly anymore, Cap? I remember how you used to love it.”

  “I still put in my quota of flight hou
rs. Laine.” He took both her arms and turned her to face him. “One question, then we’ll leave it alone for a while. Have you been happy?”

  The directness of both his questions and his eyes caused her to fumble. She looked away as if fascinated by disembarking passengers. “I’ve been very busy. The nuns are very serious about education.”

  “You’re not answering my question. Or,” he corrected, drawing his thick brows together, “maybe you are.”

  “I’ve been content,” she said, giving him a smile. “I’ve learned a great deal, and I’m comfortable with my life. I think that’s enough for anyone.”

  “For someone,” Cap returned, “who’s reached my age, but not for a very young, very lovely woman.” He watched her smile fade into perplexity. “It’s not enough, Laine, and I’m surprised you’d settle for it.” His voice was stern, laced with a hint of disapproval which put Laine on the defensive.

  “Cap, I haven’t had the chance…” She stopped, realizing she must guard her words. “I haven’t taken the time,” she amended, “to chase windmills.” She lifted her hands, palms up, in a broad French gesture. “Perhaps I’ve reached the point in my life when I should begin to do so.”

  His expression lightened as she smiled up at him. “All right, we’ll let it rest for now.”

  Without any more mention of the past, Cap led Laine through neat rows of planes. He fondled each as if it were a child, explaining their qualities in proud, but to Laine hopelessly technical, terms. She listened, content with his good humor, pleased with the sound of his voice. Occasionally, she made an ignorant comment that made him laugh. She found the laugh very precious.

  The buildings were spread out, neat and without pretension; hangars and storage buildings, research and accounting offices, with the high, glass-enclosed control tower dominating all. Cap pointed out each one, but the planes themselves were his consummate interest.

  “You said it wasn’t big.” Laine gazed around the complex and down light-dotted runways. “It looks enormous.”

  “It’s a small, low-activity field, but we do our best to see that it’s as well run as Honolulu International.”

  “What is it that Dillon does here?” Telling herself it was only idle curiosity, Laine surrendered to the urge to question.

  “Oh, Dillon does a bit of everything,” Cap answered with frustrating vagueness. “He has a knack for organizing. He can find his way through a problem before it becomes one, and he handles people so well they never realize they’ve been handled. He can also take a plane apart and put it back together again.” Smiling, Cap gave a small shake of his head. “I don’t know what I’d have done without Dillon. Without his drive, I might have been content to be a crop duster.”

  “Drive?” Laine repeated, lingering over the word. “Yes, I suppose he has drive when there is something he wants. But isn’t he …” She searched for a label and settled on a generality. “Isn’t he a very casual person?”

  “Island life breeds a certain casualness, Laine, and Dillon was born here.” He steered her toward the communications building. “Just because a man is at ease with himself and avoids pretension doesn’t mean he lacks intelligence or ability. Dillon has both; he simply pursues his ambitions in his own way.”

  Later, as they walked toward the steel-domed hangars, Laine realized she and her father had begun to build a new relationship. He was more relaxed with her, his smiles and speech more spontaneous. She knew her shield was dropped as well, and she was more vulnerable.

  “I’ve an appointment in a few minutes.” Cap stopped just inside the building and glanced at his watch. “I’ll have to turn you over to Dillon now, unless you want me to have someone take you back to the house.”

  “No, I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Perhaps I can just wander about. I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

  “You haven’t been a nuisance. I enjoyed taking you through. You haven’t lost the curiosity I remember. You always wanted to know why and how and you always listened. I think you were five when you demanded I explain the entire control panel of a 707.” His chuckle was the same quick, appealing sound she remembered from childhood. “Your face would get so serious, I’d swear you had understood everything I’d said.” He patted her hand, then smiled over her head. “Dillon, I thought we’d find you here. Take care of Laine, will you? I’ve got Billet coming in.”

  “It appears I’ve got the best of the deal.”

  Laine turned to see him leaning against a plane, wiping his hand on the loose coveralls he wore.

  “Did everything go all right with the union representative?”

  “Fine. You can look over the report tomorrow.”

  “I’ll see you tonight, then.” Cap turned to Laine, and after a brief hesitation, patted her cheek before he walked away.

  Smiling, she turned back to encounter Dillon’s brooding stare. “Oh, please,” she began, shaking her head. “Don’t spoil it. It’s such a small thing.”

  With a shrug, Dillon turned back to the plane. “Did you like your tour?”

  “Yes, I did.” Laine’s footsteps echoed off the high ceiling as she crossed the room to join him. “I’m afraid I didn’t understand a fraction of what he told me. He carried on about aprons and funnel systems and became very expansive on wind drag and thrust.” She creased her brow for a moment as she searched her memory. “I’m told struts can withstand comprehensive as well as tensile forces. I didn’t have the courage to confess I didn’t know one force from the other.”

  “He’s happiest when he’s talking about planes,” Dillon commented absently. “It doesn’t matter if you understood as long as you listened. Hand me that torque wrench.”

  Laine looked down at the assortment of tools, then searched for something resembling a torque wrench. “I enjoyed listening. Is this a wrench?”

  Dillon twisted his head and glanced at the ratchet she offered. With reluctant amusement, he brought his eyes to hers, then shook his head. “No, Duchess. This,” he stated, finding the tool himself, “is a wrench.”

  “I haven’t spent a great deal of time under cars or under planes,” she muttered. Her annoyance spread as she thought how unlikely it was that he would ask Orchid King for a torque wrench. “Cap told me you’ve added a flight school. Do you do the instructing?”

  “Some.”

  Pumping up her courage, Laine asked in a rush, “Would you teach me?”

  “What?” Dillon glanced back over his shoulder.

  “Could you teach me to fly a plane?” She wondered if the question sounded as ridiculous to Dillon as it did to her.

  “Maybe.” He studied the fragile planes of her face, noting the determined light in her eyes. “Maybe,” he repeated. “Why do you want to learn?”

  “Cap used to talk about teaching me. Of course—” she spread her hands in a Gallic gesture “—I was only a child, but …” Releasing an impatient breath, Laine lifted her chin and was suddenly very American. “Because I think it would be fun.”

  The change, and the stubborn set to her mouth, touched off Dillon’s laughter. “I’ll take one of you up tomorrow.” Laine frowned, trying to puzzle out his meaning. Turning back to the plane, Dillon held out the wrench for her to put away. She stared at the grease-smeared handle. Taking his head from the bowels of the plane, Dillon turned back and saw her reluctance. He muttered something she did not attempt to translate, then moved away and pulled another pair of coveralls from a hook. “Here, put these on. I’m going to be a while, and you might as well be useful.”

  “I’m sure you’d manage beautifully without me.”

  “Undoubtedly, but put them on anyway.” Under Dillon’s watchful eye, Laine stepped into the coveralls and slipped her arms into the sleeves. “Good grief, you look swallowed.” Crouching down, he began to roll up the pants legs while she scowled at the top of his head.

  “I’m sure you’ll find me more hindrance than help.”

  “I figured that out some time ago,” he replied. His to
ne was undeniably cheerful as he rolled up her sleeves half a dozen times. “You shouldn’t have quit growing so soon; you don’t look more than twelve.” He pulled the zipper up to her throat in one swift motion, then looked into her face. She saw his expression alter. For an instant, she thought she observed a flash of tenderness before he let out an impatient breath. Cursing softly, he submerged into the belly of the plane. “All right,” he began briskly, “hand me a screwdriver. The one with the red handle.”

  Having made the acquaintance of this particular tool, Laine foraged and found it. She placed it in Dillon’s outstretched hand. He worked for some time, his conversation limited almost exclusively to the request and description of tools. As time passed, the hum of planes outside became only a backdrop for his voice.

  Laine began to ask him questions about the job he was performing. She felt no need to follow his answers, finding pleasure only in the tone and texture of his voice. He was absorbed and she was able to study him unobserved. She surveyed the odd intensity of his eyes, the firm line of his chin and jaw, the bronzed skin which rippled along his arm as he worked. She saw that his chin was shadowed with a day-old beard, that his hair was curling loosely over his collar, that his right brow was lifted slightly higher than his left as he concentrated.

  Dillon turned to her with some request, but she could only stare. She was lost in his eyes, blanketed by a fierce and trembling realization.

  “What’s wrong?” Dillon drew his brows together.

  Like a diver breaking water, Laine shook her head and swallowed. “Nothing, I … What did you want? I wasn’t paying attention.” She bent over the box of tools as if it contained the focus of her world. Silently, Dillon lifted out the one he required and turned back to the engine. Grateful for his preoccupation, Laine closed her eyes. She felt bemused and defenseless.

  Love, she thought, should not come with such quick intensity. It should flow slowly, with tenderness and gentle feelings. It shouldn’t stab like a sword, striking without warning, without mercy. How could one love what one could not understand? Dillon