style="font-size:15px;"> She hadn’t expected it to be so...balmy.
Ophelia Reid squared her shoulders as she stood at the doorway of the Okina Inn, the bed-and-breakfast where she’d booked lodging until she completed her mission in Hawaii.
She’d endured merciless teasing from her coworkers in the time before her flight: how privileged she was, as the CEO’s daughter, to snag this assignment. Yet, even in such lighthearted banter, there had been the glint of sympathy in their eyes. This was no simple placement such as those Reid Recruiting Agency normally performed. This was the assignment that would make or break her career and fulfill the dreams she had nurtured since childhood.
Clearing her throat, Ophelia raised her hand and rapped upon the door with solid determination. Only as her fist withdrew did she notice her hand was trembling slightly.
Frowning, she rested her arms at her sides and willed her fingers to still their shaking. She tapped out the seconds in her designer sling backs, resisting the desire to smooth her black slacks.
Minutes passed, and she again marveled at the temperate climate. Not too hot, not too cold—just as her assistant, Holly, had told her it would be. The trade winds offered a consistently sweet breeze, and the air held only the faintest hint of ocean moisture. Paradise.
For a moment, her shoulders sagged, and she let her head fall back, feeling the delicious pull of her tense muscles as they stretched along her spine.
The door opened, and she snapped her head forward, wincing at the abrupt movement.
A squat, round-faced woman with Polynesian features narrowed her eyes to slits at the sight of Ophelia standing on the doorstep.
“I’m Ophelia Reid.” She paused, hoping this introduction would be sufficient.
Apparently not. The woman stared.
“I’m a guest of the inn. I’ve booked the Lilly...koloni suite.” She stumbled over the Hawaiian name, and the stubby woman scowled.
“Liliuokalani,” she offered in a slightly accented voice, her tone disparaging.
Ophelia’s smile felt strained after her long flight. “That would be the one.”
The woman huffed and folded her short arms across her more-than-ample bosom. “Where’s your husband?” she demanded.
Ophelia’s mouth dropped at this question. “I don’t have a husband.” She winced at this statement, thinking of her longtime boyfriend, Cole. The two of them had broken things off shortly before she’d boarded the plane to Hawaii. The possibility of her moving to Paris had ignited an argument between them that could reach no satisfactory conclusion, and she had ended things after four long years of dating.
Her statement only served to heighten the woman’s suspicions. “What sort of haole woman books the Liliuokalani suite only for herself?”
“Haole?” Ophelia repeated, suspecting she had just been insulted.
“Foreigner. White,” came the clipped reply.
Ophelia flared her nostrils. “I will have you know that just because I am a single woman does not mean I cannot enjoy a luxury suite! This is the twenty-first century, and women are entitled to...to—” she flagged as she mentally cataloged her list of feminine rights “—to stay in luxury suites by themselves!” she lamely finished. “If they want to,” she added.
The other woman looked Ophelia up and down. “Maybe you’re single because you’re too skinny. A man wants a woman who can feed him. That’s the problem with you mainland girls. You starve yourselves and think that’s what a real man wants.” She reached out and pinched Ophelia’s bare arm to demonstrate her point.
Ophelia gasped in indignation, jerking her arm beyond her criticizer’s reach. “I can cook!” She automatically defended herself and then considered the relative dishonesty of this statement. “When I have to,” she tacked on to the end.
This elicited another harrumph from the Polynesian lady. “Microwave dinners don’t count. Neither do reservations at fancy restaurants.”
Frustration and fatigue churned madly in Ophelia’s stomach. “Are you going to show me to my room or not?” she demanded.
The irritating woman unfolded her arms to rest them on her wide hips. “The rooms are not ready. You’re too early to check in.”
“What do you mean the rooms aren’t ready? My assistant made the reservation on Friday. She was assured I could check in as soon as I arrived”
“I said—” the little woman amplified her voice by several notches, as if this might impart understanding “—the rooms are not ready!”
Ophelia felt pinpricks of tension shooting along her nerves. She had never been treated so abominably when trying to check in to a room. Except that one time in Paris when Holly had booked her at the wrong hotel. But even the most snooty of French concierges didn’t compare to the feisty lady before her. “Well...what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
The woman shrugged, as if this was a matter beyond her concern. Despite her upbringing, where appearances were everything, Ophelia suddenly wanted nothing more than to sink to the porch of the inn and cry with aggravation. It had been a long flight to the islands with a combined travel time of over twelve hours on two planes, and she had not expected to encounter such a greeting upon her arrival in this tropical paradise.
“Pele? Is there a problem here?”
The woman turned toward the voice at her back. Ophelia’s weariness suddenly evaporated at the appearance of the man behind her tormenter. Six feet, two inches tall with a scruffy jawline, russet-colored hair and the most startling blue eyes she had ever seen, Ophelia immediately recognized the singular presence of Dane Montgomery. Her stomach jerked with what she could only assume was relief at the presence of the very man she had been sent to find.
“Mr. Montgomery.” She smoothly extended a hand. “I’m Ophelia Reid.”
This poised introduction caused Dane to hesitate for a fraction of a second before slipping his hand into hers. His grip was firm, cool and brief, his expression guarded.
“I’m sorry. Did we...have an appointment?”
Pele answered for her. “This haole woman booked the Liliuokalani suite...for herself.”
The sight of Pele’s eyebrows, arched with meaning, stung.
Ophelia fought the blush threatening to stain her complexion. “There seems to be a bit of a misunderstanding,” she explained.
Dane looked from Ophelia to Pele and back to Ophelia again. “My apologies. You’re one of our guests?”
Ophelia nodded, trying to keep the pleasant this-isn’t-bothering-me-at-all smile stuck to her lips. “The Liliuokalani suite,” she confirmed, taking pains to pronounce the name correctly.
“I apologize,” Dane repeated and attempted to nudge Pele’s considerable girth from the doorway’s entrance. “Won’t you come in?”
“She has no husband!” Pele reminded him. “And the
