Lana stiffened when he reached for the giggling blonde. She thought of where she’d like to tell Jason Koa to stuff his insolent attitude and gorgeous smug face, but then she thought of Melanie. She imagined her friend’s look of disappointment if Lana 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.
* * *
He set down the board in the grassy area near the beach. “Okay. Which one of you ladies is up first?”
Jason was glad when the blonde with the round face and nice smile stepped forward. He’d have to work with her man-eater friend at some point, but he was still steamed 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’d been so preoccupied by her frigid superiority that he hadn’t been able to concentrate when pretty little Katie eagerly resumed her hand job.
Not that he’d really been interested to begin with. Katie had taken a lesson from him three days ago. He’d taken her up on her blatant offer of her body that night, but he’d quickly become annoyed 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’d been irritated when she followed him into the back room today and thrown herself at him. His cock had responded to her eager 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’d pushed Katie’s industrious hand away after the woman left and made small talk with her about her job as a financial analyst. Apparently Katie had a hell of a head on her shoulders. That was the vacation mentality for you. Jason seriously doubted Katie 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’d made his customers wait the full eight minutes, which caused him to feel a little guilty, he realized, as he positioned the blonde named Melanie belly-down on the board. Melanie 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 satisfied that Melanie 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 Melanie’s silent friend a bland look. “You’re up.”
“I don’t need instruction on the basics.”
“Is that right?” he asked mockingly.
He glanced down over her. He had to admit she had the body of an athlete. It wouldn’t surprise him if she knew exactly what she was doing. He’d immediately taken note of the casual manner in which she took off her sundress earlier in his shop. She was as used to baring her body as the female swimmers he knew—as most native Hawaiians, for that matter.
He hated to admit it, but she had excellent reason to be comfortable stripping down in public. She had a jaw-dropping body—strong and supple, but soft and feminine, too. And even though she wasn’t tanned, her smooth skin held a golden hue that promised to soak up the sun thirstily. If she stayed on the island for two weeks, she’d probably be ready to contend in a Miss Hawaiian Tropic contest.
“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 stiffened. For a second, he thought she’d refuse, which would be fine by him. He’d be more than happy to leave her on the beach.
She surprised him by stepping up on the board, however. He stopped her with a hand on her elbow when she started to go lie down on her belly.
“Take off the hat and glasses.”
She started. Despite her frigid nature, her skin felt warm and satiny beneath his appreciative 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 felt her stare on him from behind the dark glasses.
“Look, Waikiki isn’t Waimea in March—or even Sandy for that matter,” he said, referring to a few Oahu advanced surfer beaches. “But it ain’t 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’d tightened his grip on her firm biceps. Without speaking she removed the straw hat and tossed it on the grass. Brown hair with golden 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.
He dropped his hand.
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 aficionados 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.