Page 3 of Broad Shoulders

She laughs, a warm sound that cuts through the now-quiet bar. “Well, savor it while walking toward the door. We’re closing up.”

I follow her cue, heading outside. The night air is warm and fragrant with tropical flowers. Alana follows shortly after, keys jingling as she locks the front door. She peers over at me, tilting her head.

“Let me guess,” she says. “You’re staying at The Palm?”

“Lucky guess.”

She shakes her head, mock disappointment on her face. “Next time you come to Hawaii, you should stay somewhere with a little more character.”

“Maybe you can recommend a place?”

“Maybe I can.”

We start walking away from the bar together. Glancing at the handful of parked cars along the street, I ask, “Which one is yours?”

“None. I walk to work.”

The protective instinct in me flares up before I can stop it. “You walk home alone at this hour?”

“Every night,” she says, seeming amused by my concern. “It’s perfectly safe here. Everyone knows everyone.”

I glance around again at the quiet street. The neighborhood is undeniably peaceful, the distant sound of waves the only thing breaking the silence. Still, something in me doesn’t like the idea of leaving her on her own. “That might be true, but I’d feel better if you’d let me walk you home.”

She laughs. “Is this your way of inviting yourself over to my place?”

“Not at all,” I say. “Just want to make sure you get home safely.”

She studies me for a moment, then smiles. “Tell you what. I’m enjoying talking to you. How about I walk with you back to your hotel instead? That way we can keep chatting, but no one has to worry about ulterior motives.”

I want to point out that this defeats the whole point, but I’ve got a feeling she’s used to taking care of herself.

“Deal,” I agree.

We walk slowly toward the resort area, neither of us in a rush to end the night. Alana points out local landmarks and businesses, telling me stories about them. When my hotel comes into view, she lets out a low whistle. “Okay, I’ll admit—that is a pretty impressive place.”

“Yeah, but there’s no character to it,” I say with a shake of my head, and Alana’s laugh rings out into the quiet night.

Instead of heading toward the main entrance, we wordlessly veer onto a stone path that winds through the hotel’s sprawling grounds. Twice, her hand almost brushes mine.

“These are white torch ginger,” Alana says, pointing to some unique flowers glowing faintly in the landscape lighting. “They’re not native to Hawaii, but they’ve made themselves at home here. They’re some of my favorite flowers.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Her eyes meet mine. “It’s a good thing you came here, then. Or you would have missed out.”

Never has it felt more right to kiss a woman. I lean in, closing the space between us as I dip my mouth to hers. The warm night air seems to vibrate around us as our lips meet, and when she presses into the kiss, a wild rush of heat surges through me.

2

ALANA

This isn’t something I do. Ever. I don’t go home with men from the bar, no matter how charming their smile or how good they look in a fitted t-shirt. My rule has served me well for years—keep things professional, keep the boundaries clear.

So what the hell makes Jackson King different? I wish I had a better answer than the obvious truth: he’s the most physically perfect man I’ve ever laid eyes on. His broad shoulders, strong jaw, and those dark eyes that lock onto mine like I’m the only woman on the island—fuck. My body responds to him in ways my brain can’t override. Sure, he’s got a nice personality too. He’s sweet, and the protectiveness he showed tonight should have annoyed me but instead just cranked up the heat.

So here I am. In his hotel room. Pinned up against the wall as he kisses me, our tongues sliding together, his hands digging into my hair. When he pulls out of our kiss, we’re both breathing heavy.

I press my hands against his chest, creating just enough space between us to speak. “I need you to understand something.”

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