"Rise and shine, Princess," a voice whispered into her ear. Janelle groaned and rolled away from the warm breath on her neck, one arm batting lazily at the air.

"Too early ... need sleep ... go ‘way," she mumbled into her pillow. He chuckled, tugging on a lock of her hair.

"Come on, Princess. I promised to take you to Hana today. Don’t make me break my word." Javen traced a fingertip down her neck, causing her to shiver and laugh breathlessly. When she shifted and rolled back towards him, he bent down and scooped her into his arms, lifting her from the sheets. She opened one eye and regarded him languidly.

"Tallyho then, Jeeves, and on to the shower," she commanded in Queen’s English still groggy with sleep, head lolling over his arm. He grinned and carried her in the direction of the bathroom.

An hour later they were descending the ancient wooden staircase from Janelle’s bungalow suite, Janelle clutching a small black bag; Javen hauling a large blue-and-white striped tote which held their lunch and large blanket. They’d just reached the bottom when Janelle gave a tiny squeal and dropped her bag.

A small anole was eyeing her from its perch on the dark wooden rail. Without hesitation, she reached out and grasped it carefully in one hand and placed it on the flattened palm of her other hand. She smiled brilliantly as she stroked the vividly colored skin that matched her lime green eyes. She laughed with delight and her eyes lit with wonder when the little lizard scurried up and down her arm.

"And here I thought all women were terrified of creepy, crawly things," Javen murmured from behind her. He chuckled.

She turned and arched a slim brow at him, eyes cool. "I used to work as a volunteer docent in a discovery hall for the county museum. I handled two corn snakes, four rosy boas, a ball python, two gila monsters, a pair of anoles, a defanged lyre snake and an iguana. I daresay I don’t have any overwhelming fear of ‘creepy, crawly things.’" She frowned and turned her back on him, bending down to deposit the lizard gently onto the neatly trimmed grass.

He chuckled again. "Princess, you never cease to amaze me." Janelle merely sniffed and retrieved her bag from the concrete path.

Javen’s car wasn’t at all what she’d expected. She’d been expecting a bright red sports car, or a dirty pickup truck, or ... well, anything but this. The old midnight blue Buick parked in the employees’ lot of the resort took her by surprise.

"Don’t mind the mess, sweetheart," he said as he opened the left-side rear door. A Big Mac wrapper and an empty potato chip bag drifted to the asphalt. Janelle peered inside the back of the car and couldn’t quite suppress a giggle. Wrappers and bags and boxes of all sorts covered the back seat, all piled on top of what appeared to be a guitar case. It looked like a fourteen-year-old boy had passed through.

"Well, well, isn’t this is just a chick magnet? Tell me, darling, do you bring all the ladies here?" Her eyes danced with mirth.

"Just the beautiful ones," he quipped. He wedged the tote on top of the pile, and held out his hand for her bag.

"Oh, no, Senor Pig Roaster. You put this back there, and it might never resurface. I’ll just keep this up front with me, thanks." He shrugged and went around to the passenger side door and opened it for her. She slipped into the seat and gave him a mock salute of gratitude.

The sun was shining boisterously on the island that day, illuminating everything in an almost otherworldly glow. Lush trees and tropical plants raced by; fields of pineapple and skies of blue made her smile. She’d missed Maui.

They spoke nary a word for close to half an hour. Then Javen slipped a CD into the console and turned up the volume.

Janelle perked up, sitting up in her seat. "I know this song!" she cried.

He looked over, brows drawn together, startled. "It’s Israel Kamakawiwo’ole. How did a mainlander like you ever come to hear of Iz?"

"I was here on Maui about six years ago. Mom and I were poking through the CD bin at Hilo Hattie’s, when I heard his voice coming from the sampler speakers. I bought Facing Future on the spot." She bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut. “I wept when I heard that he died," she said softly. "Such a beautiful voice." Javen nodded, his throat closing.

They were quiet for a few minutes.

The rest of the ride to Hana was as Janelle remembered - wild! There was a reason that t-shirts were sold on that island that read "I Survived the Road to Hana." The highway (if it could even be called such) was riddled with potholes and missing sections, and the drivers made New York cabbies look like little old ladies in Cadillacs on a Sunday drive. Janelle howled with mock fright and laughter as Javen played chicken with a mainlander in a rented sedan.

The sun was high in the sky by the time they pulled into the parking lot designated for visitors to the Seven Sacred Pools of Hana. Theirs was the only car in sight.

"Kinda quiet here, even for a Thursday," Javen said as he turned off the ignition. Janelle merely shrugged and unlocked her door, stepping out onto the blazing hot asphalt and squinting in the sunlight.

Bags in hand, they trudged down the sides of the cascading pools, down towards the sea. They encountered not a soul. They decided to call a halt at the third pool from the ocean. Javen pulled the large green blanket with its fancy white bamboo pattern from the tote and spread it out on a patch of grass near the edge of the pool. Janelle dropped her bag on the blanket and kicked her sandals off.

"You know, it is kind of quiet here, isn’t it? No one in sight. No one at all. No one to see me ..." She trailed off, unbuttoning the snap of her jeans.

His eyes widened. "You wouldn’t dare."

"Oh, but I would, Senor Pig Roaster, I would." Her eyes twinkled as she hooked her fingers under the hem of her pink t-shirt and pulled it over her head. Janelle’s laughter rang out across the waters.

Javen’s eyes caressed her bared skin, coming to rest on her back. Across the small of her back was an intricate tattoo: a side view of a tiger stalking some unseen prey. Javen had been admiring it the previous evening, and his fingers itched now with the need to brush his fingers over her skin.

He frowned, remembering what else he'd discovered the previous evening. Janelle Cody was a writer; a romance novelist, no less. She was so young, and yet she'd already published three highly successful books. He wasn't sure if he should be intimidated, amazed, or a little of both.

Javen chuckled then, wondering if their little interlude together here on the island would find its way into one of her books.

She suddenly turned back to him, interrupting his reverie. An indefinable emotion was in her eyes. She held out her hand to him.

"Come with me. There’s a spot I want to show you."

She took him by the hand and led him up the dirt path between the rocks and the lush vegetation until they came to an outcropping that overhung the sparkling pool. She let go of his hand and stood regal and proud on the edge of the outcrop. However, when she spoke, her voice was a pained and quiet whisper.

"I remember sitting in this very spot when I was fifteen. God, I was such a shy and lonely kid then. I didn’t even go into the water. Just sat up here among the bushes and watched everyone else." She bit her lip, eyes infinitely sad. "I was so ashamed of the way my body looked, that I didn't want anyone to see me in my swimsuit. Hell, it took a lot of out of me just to wear shorts. And the worst part is, I wasn't even a f-fat kid." Her voice broke but she kept on. "I hate that, Javen. I hate that I was ever so shy, and ... and ... I hate, I hate that I thought such a thing of myself. Do you understand what I mean?"

He stroked her hair tenderly, from the top of her head to halfway down her silky back. "Yes, I do. And Princess," he whispered, "You’re not that girl anymore. You’re a strong, beautiful, confident woman now. Please, don’t ever be shy with me." He squeezed her shoulder gently.

She merely looked at him quietly for a moment. Then her lips curved in a tremulous smile as her hand came to rest on his on her shoulder. "I won’t, sweetheart. I won’t."

They walked hand-in-hand back down the path to the blanket in the grass.

Cold fried chicken, cool lemonade, sharp cheddar cheese, green grapes, and chocolate cake made for a pleasant midday meal. Janelle wiped her mouth and sprawled out on the blanket with a groan.

"Lord, man, are you going to have me mounted now that you’ve stuffed me?" Javen laughed richly, the sound carrying in the stillness. He cupped her cheek in his hand and stroked her skin with the pad of his thumb.

"God, how I like you, Red."

Her brow furrowed. "You called me ‘Red.’ You’ve never done that before." Confusion and pleasure mixed in her eyes.

He reached out and brushed the back of his hand over her cheek. "Yes, I did. It suits you ... Red." He smiled almost tenderly, causing her to blush. "Oh-ho! Wait, wait, is that a blush I see? The infamous Ice Queen is actually blushing?" Javen laughed with irreverent humor as Janelle socked him playfully in the shoulder.

The sound of nearby voices pierced the air.

They stilled, heads cocked. Then remembering her state of undress, Janelle grabbed her clothes and scrambled to dress, tugging on her jeans hastily. Javen groaned inwardly at the disappearance of her lovely skin.

"Javen," she whispered. "Something doesn’t feel right here. I ... don’t feel right. Please, let’s hide. Something’s not right." A hint of panic crept into her voice.

He placed a hand on the small of her back to steady her. "Your place, then, Red." He gave her a gentle shove and she obediently began to move towards the dirt path back up to the outcropping.

They knelt down in the brush, crouching like a pair of tigers lying in wait for their prey. Two pairs of eyes narrowed as they watched two men steal cautiously towards the edge of the pool, and exchange envelopes.

"Ah, yes. Looks like someone’s scoring a little Maui Wowie. I should've known."

"Marijuana?" Her voice hit the upper register.

Javen nodded, his mouth a thin line that spoke volumes of his displeasure. "It’s not all peace and tranquility here on the island, Red. That stuff fuels quite a bit of the local economy. You didn’t really think we made it through on bike tours and two-dollar sandals, did you?" Janelle flushed.

She peered closely at the men, and then her eyes widened. "Wait. That uniform that man’s wearing. Isn’t that ...?"

"Law enforcement? Yep."

"But ... but ... he’s a cop!"

"You sound so surprised. Why? Aren’t you the novelist here, the one who writes about cat burglars and crooked cops? Come on now." She glared.

"Javen, I write fiction. Guys like this aren’t supposed to exist."

"...Says the woman from California whose own LAPD’s corruption scandal still makes headlines."

Janelle started to respond, but her attention was drawn by the two men below. The officer had moved back into the undergrowth, but the dealer had apparently discovered their blanket and bent down for a closer look. She gasped as he picked up her bag and upended it, rifling through it.

"Sonofa ...!" Janelle shot to her feet. Javen grabbed her arm and yanked her back down.

"Easy, Red, easy. Those things are replaceable. You are not." She growled at him, and he arched a brow. "Don’t you growl at me, Red. Just sit down and shut up, will you?" She gaped at him, and he chuckled. "Good girl."

They watched quietly as the man fished all the cash out of Janelle’s wallet and dropped it carelessly onto the blanket. He pocketed the wad and scanned the area briefly, then turned and slunk away from the pool. They waited a few minutes until they were certain that he had gone, and crept back down from their perch.

"Well, at least he had the decency to leave you your credit cards."

"Oh, how very kind of him," Janelle muttered drolly. She heaved a great sigh as she scooped all of her cosmetics and other feminine paraphernalia back into the bag.

"Come on, Red, let’s go back to Lahaina and catch some Zs. I’m bushed."

She sighed again. "Yeah, I guess we should head back now. No point in hanging ‘round here any longer." She slipped the strap of the bag over her shoulder and stood patiently while Javen stuffed the blanket and the remains of their lunch back into the tote. "Say, what’re we gonna do for dinner tonight, Senor Pig Roaster? If you say ‘room service,’ you’re gonna be in a world of hurt." He chuckled.

"Actually, I was thinking of doing Mama's Fish House tonight. Perhaps we could order mahimahi, or maybe a little ...," he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, "Roughy?"