JIMI CALLOWAY COULDN’T comprehend a destination wedding in Hawaii that wasn’t on a beach. The wedding was inland. On a ranch! No beach in sight. Her words echoed in her ears. Please just take care of the arrangements. Tell me when I have to be at the airport, she’d told Jose, her assistant, when the invitation had arrived a couple of months ago. Now she wished she’d not been so damn preoccupied with the finishing touches to her first commissioned gown for the Oscars and paid more attention to the finer details of this event.
Jimi sweated under the hot Hawaiian sun. Raising her face to the sky, she closed her eyes and absorbed the sun’s energy. It was a whole lot better than dreary, gray and cold New York City. She got bumped from behind and nearly toppled off her Christian Louboutins.
“Oh, pardon me,” Jimi said, and scampered not to sprawl into the dirt.
“My apologies.” A heavyset man in a straw hat and tropical flowered shirt steadied her by grabbing hold of her elbow.
Jimi gently pulled from his grasp. “It’s okay. No problem,” she said, smiling at him.
She glanced down at her Chanel dress. It had held up pretty well until now, after the twelve-hour flight and the bus ride from the airport to this Hawaiian ranch. She swept her hand over the fabric—covered in dust and travel wrinkled—finally giving up when her sweaty palms smudged the dirt. Shit, her hair would be 1980s huge in this humidity. Trying to blow the damp tendrils out of her eyes, she watched the luxury coach drive away, stranding her in the boonies of the Big Island. She’d had enough of the farm life growing up on a commune. Jimi shivered—a time she didn’t particularly want to remember.
And to top it all off, her suitcase was lost. Panic began to set in. How would she face the day without the suitcase that housed her full armor of makeup, clothing and essentials? A habit she’d started years ago, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d gone without makeup. Why hadn’t Diana chosen the Four Seasons to have her wedding instead of here? Jimi swung her gaze back to the lady ranch hand who had delivered the upsetting news about her suitcase. Out of habit, she eyed the young woman all decked out in cowgirl clothes. The cowgirl looked at Jimi with clear gray eyes and confidence. Jimi bet she didn’t have a worry in the world. She seemed so amazingly comfortable that Jimi almost envied her. The woman shifted her feet and spurs jangled in the dust. Jimi glanced down at the impressively tooled creations.
“Wow, I love your cowboy boots.”
“Thank you.”
They were great boots, with turquoise leather inlay and stitching. Jimi looked up and met the young woman’s eyes, doing her best to not let aggravation over her lost bag ruin the day.
“I’m really sorry about your suitcase.”
“It’s not your fault. I’m just thrown a little off-kilter by all this,” Jimi admitted.
“I understand, but I’m sure it will arrive soon. My name is Larson and I’ll definitely keep an eye out for your bag.”
Jimi nodded, trying not to let her disappointment show. She’d been looking forward to unwinding in Hawaii after the wedding. It was a treasured bit of time between moments of chaos. She so needed to decompress. Vacation time that had been almost impossible to carve out of her busy schedule, but she managed and had lived for these precious weeks in Hawaii. Twenty-one days of sleeping in, relaxing in a cabana by the pool or beach, spa treatments and hopefully a bit of man time.
She’d been without a man’s touch for far too long and desperately needed some attention from the male species. She’d been so busy and the promise to design Diana’s dress was fit it in between the other orders. It was a beautiful creation.
Diana’s dress! It was lost over the Pacific. In her suitcase. How would she ever explain this to her friend?
“Aloha, folks! Welcome to Broken Creek Guest Ranch!”
Jimi spun around, startled by the loud voice, which resonated in her chest like a loud bass drum. Deep, masculine and surprisingly seductive, it held a mild twang that completely caught her attention. Lost bags, Diana’s dress and wrong destination momentarily forgotten, Jimi sucked in a breath as she pinned her eyes on the owner of said voice. Struck dumb, she hadn’t expected to see such a hot cowboy. But of course there would be cowboys, right alongside cows, horses, flies and shit—a crazy mix next to the tropical foliage, beautiful blue skies and gorgeous flowers.
Hello, Hawaiian Hottie!
Jimi couldn’t stop staring at the man standing on the front porch of the rustic-looking building. His head almost brushed the overhang he was so tall. She’d never been so drawn at first glance to a man before; he oozed a dangerous sexuality that reached across the dusty ground and lit her like a sparkler. He. Was. Gorgeous. It was like he snagged her with a lasso and yanked it tight. Jimi caught her breath and placed her hand over her heart as it tripped into double time.
This Hawaiian cowboy was large, muscled and tanned. He had it all going on. She smiled when she noticed the collar of his Western-style shirt. The pattern on the fabric was a ring of deep red hibiscus flowers. Only here could he get away with that. Her mind tumbled over itself as she considered ways she might be able to get this devilishly sexy cowboy on his own. Had a silver lining just appeared on the clouds of doom?
Jimi crossed her arms and hugged herself to keep from trembling, unable to drag her gaze away from him. She wasn’t opposed to a holiday fling—preferably at a five-star hotel with butlers, vintage wine and gourmet dining and not on a ranch. Finally being able to afford the finer things, she’d become accustomed to them. Something told her this smoking-hot cowboy would transplant well and be a sweet distraction. As long as he showered.
She nodded to herself. She’d be able to make do for a short time without her bag. Seeing this delectable male specimen made her realize how travel weary she must look. The urge to step behind the cowgirl to hide herself made her shuffle backward without looking away from him.
His gaze
