“Actually, I finished a bachelor’s and a master’s in four years while growing a full-time real estate business.”

  She looks shocked. “Did you ever sleep?”

  “It’s overrated, and another one of those things I’m not very good at. That’s fine. I have more important things to do.”

  Her expression says she can’t imagine what but she politely doesn’t say so. “So, Maxon, the workaholic real estate agent who puts me to shame academically, what do you do for fun?”

  Interesting question. “Besides close big deals? Well…I like a good game of pool. I read a lot.”

  “Fiction? It’s a good escape. I read tons. And I love self-help. I’m reading this book called Riding the Wings of Joy about finding inner peace and—”

  “Not what I meant.” I laugh. “One of my favorite books is Master the Close about killer sales techniques. I also read a lot of trade mags about turning lookers into buyers, that kind of thing. I also need to keep up with the latest in landscaping, staging, marketing… I’m always reading. Any edge I can get over the competition is one I’ll take.”

  I plant that seed. I’ll give it time to germinate in her head. Tomorrow, I’ll see if I can harvest it.

  “So no meditation for you, I guess,” she teased.

  “How do you keep your mind still that long?” I really can’t imagine.

  “It’s an art. I learn every day new ways to exercise self-control.”

  It sounds like a crock of shit to me. My base instinct is to crush competitors and seduce beautiful women. I don’t see any reason to change that.

  “Fantastic,” I assure her.

  She laughs. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  The owner of the downscale bar trips over a couple of cords as he stumbles his way to the mic and grabs it. “Keeley Sunshine again, everyone.”

  While the audience applauds, the vivacious beauty beside me chugs down the last of her Crown and Coke. “Gotta go. If you’re still here when my last set ends…we’ll see.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Once Keeley hits the stage, I return to the table to find Britta gathering her purse. “You’re leaving?”

  She nods. “I can’t sit here and watch you pick up yet another woman you’ll probably never be serious about. I know you believe in the work-hard-play-hard thing, but when are you going to truly give a relationship even half that much effort? You wasted years pretending with Tiffanii. Invest in your heart for once. Fall in love. Care about someone who can love you back. Worry less about closing the deal and open yourself to someone who can share your life. Or you’re going to wind up bitter.”

  Like my old man. And my brother. I’ve heard this speech. Britta brings this up more often these days, especially when we’re away from the office and she’s had a glass of wine or two. “I don’t see you till-death-do-us-parting.”

  “I tried. God knows I did. I couldn’t want forever more than Griff.”

  Instantly, I feel contrite. She’s right, and if my bastard of a brother hadn’t broken her heart so utterly, she would have loved him until she died. I volunteered to break every bone in his miserable body on her behalf. At the time, it would have made me feel good. She refused to let me. In her words, if he didn’t care enough about her to stay, then she didn’t want him feeling obligated to hang around.

  “You were right to let him go, Britta.”

  “Damn right I was. And I started dating again within a few months. I’m still open to something serious. I think this thing with Makaio is leading somewhere. He’s a good guy.” She shrugs. “If it doesn’t work out, at least I’ll know I’m not alone for lack of trying. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Then she’s gone, pushing her way out the door and into the night.

  Rob tosses down some bills to pay the check. “You owe me, buddy.”

  I nod absently. “What’s with her?”

  “You know Britta. She might be younger than us but she’s a mother hen. She thinks you’re wasting your life alone. If it makes you feel any better, she’d like to see me on the matrimony train, too. In her words, I either love Alania or I don’t. So I should move forward or move on. Maybe she’s right.” He pauses. “About both of us. G’night.”

  I frown, puzzled. “Night.”

  Calling for another martini, I toss their words around in my head and focus on Keeley. I’m a man of my word, waiting through two more sets of sensually dipped songs, everything from the Peggy Lee classic “I’m a Woman” to Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” to “Can’t Feel My Face” by The Weeknd. I love that she’s both musically eclectic and well-versed. Tunes are something we have in common. I’ll do my best to dazzle her later at my place with killer views and my deep playlist. Maybe that will impress her. I’m not sure my…ahem…sparkling personality did that earlier.

  Finally, she tucks her mic onto the stand for the final time and gives the enthusiastic crowd a playful little curtsy. The ovation becomes a standing exercise in adulation. She looks thrilled.

  “You killed it,” I assure her when she heads my way.

  “It’s really a rush. I wasn’t sure if I could do it without the vocal track in the background to keep me on key. But once I stopped worrying about it and just relaxed, everything came together.”

  “You’re a natural.”

  “I’d love to make a living at this, but who does? I’m hardly going to be the next Adele, so…I’ll focus on finishing school. But before the last set started, Gus, the guy who owns this place, asked me if I’d be interested in playing again, so I’ve got a gig on Saturday night.” She shrugs. “It will be fun if nothing else.”

  “That’s great. I’m sure you’ll do well. You’ve got something.”

  “You’re saying that to get in my panties,” she challenges with a grin.

  “Well…yeah. But I actually mean it.”

  Her smile becomes a laugh. “Fair enough. So what’s next?”

  “I thought I’d feed you, then take you back to my evil lair, ply you with good booze, then seduce you.”

  “It sounds like you really thought through that plan. I’ll be way more amenable to seduction after some protein, veggies, and sugar. If you want a sure thing, I’m partial to crème brûlée.”

  “Aren’t you helpful, aiding me in your own downfall?”

  “Right?” She nods. “I just need to grab my purse from the back.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Minutes later, she appears with a slouchy hobo bag that I think is meant to be some shade of brown. The tab to the zipper is missing, so the purse hangs open, but she’s offset all that by tying a colorful scarf at the base of the handle and dangling some little charms off the loop of the shoulder strap. I’ve got to give her style points.

  “Japengo sound good? I hear the crème brûlée is killer.”

  “So this isn’t a run through the convenience store for Boone’s Farm, followed by the Taco Bell drive-thru? Impressive.”

  “You describing your last date?”

  “Basically. So you really are a gentleman. Or more determined to get laid.”

  “Probably both.” I smile. I’m not sure closing the deal with Keeley is going to be as easy as she makes it sound, but I can be persistent and persuasive.

  Tomorrow is soon enough to tell her I want her to distract my brother.

  As we leave the restaurant with full stomachs, I lead her to the valet stand. The night—like so many others in Maui—is balmy, slightly breezy. It’s heaven. I might not have loved moving here as a teenager because being pale and green-eyed hardly made me liked by all my native public school peers. But now that adolescence is behind me, I admit that I love the temperate, year-round weather.

  Once the valet pulls up in my new vehicle, I edge the teenager out of my way and help Keeley into the passenger’s seat. She strokes my Range Rover Evoque convertible in Waitomo Gray. It’s almost sexual watching her touch my car, which is great for showing clients the best of Maui, top down, while sporty enough to keep me from feeling like I’m driving my old man’s Lincoln.

  After tipping the valet, I climb in beside her and take the wheel. As I pull away, I wonder what the night will bring. I feel an urge to ensure she doesn’t slip through my fingers, so I rack my brain for some way to impress her—beyond the expensive Japanese food, the hot car, and my stylish suit. She’s not a tourist, so I doubt I can wow her with sights around the island. So…I’ll have to rely on conversation. Not my first choice. But she looks relaxed, almost happy. I’ll go with the presumptive close and see if that will get this deal done.

  “That was the best crème brûlée I’ve ever had.” She puts a hand to her stomach. “Good wine. Good company. Good evening.”

  “It could get even better.” I send her a wry grin. “I could ask you if you’d like to come to my place to see my art collection…”

  “You don’t have any art, do you?” She laughs. “If I’m wrong, I’ll be shocked.”

  I shake my head.

  “You’re too driven and bottom-line to spend money on old stuff to watch it gather dust.”

  “Bingo.”

  “And you’d never stop to simply stare and appreciate it.”

  That sounds faintly like an admonishment, though I’m not sure she means it that way. Maybe Britta’s speech is still lingering in my brain. “You’ve got me pegged, sunshine. I can think of a lot of things I’d rather spend time on. And people I’d rather spend it with.”

  As we stop at a light, the trees part. The moon glows on her skin. She looks alabaster and flawless with her soft smile. Her blue eyes seem to shine silver. I can’t remember the last time I found a woman so beautiful.

  “Come home with me. No pressure. No bullshit. Just you and me and all the pleasure we can stand.”

  She reaches across the console and drops her hand on my thigh. My whole fucking body lurches, and it takes all my restraint not to pull over, rip off my seat belt—along with her dress—and get as deep inside her as I can.

  When did I turn into a caveman?

  “Yes.” Her one word has me sweating. I can just imagine how perfect she’ll feel against me once I have her naked in my bed.

  Traffic is thin now. Maybe if I run a light or two, we’ll make it to my condo in the next five minutes. Screw that. I’m shooting for three.

  “I like you,” she elaborates. “I never spend the night with a stranger. Seriously. But I guess there’s a first time for everything. You…kind of do it for me, so yeah.”

  “Kind of?” Okay, I feel myself preening, but come on. This quirky, amazing, funny girl is into me. “You kind of do it for me, too.”

  She gives me that crooked smile I noticed when I first laid eyes on her. Just like then, my chest beats in some mad rhythm, like John Bonham himself is pounding out a signature Zeppelin drum solo on my heart. I’m a sucker for classic rock. Sue me.

  I’m pretty sure my driving is worth a speeding ticket as I head up Highway 30 toward my place. When we reach the complex, Keeley turns to me. “The Ritz? You’re bringing me to a hotel?”

  I chuckle. “I live here. It’s a residence, too. I get all the hotel’s amenities as a part of my homeowner’s dues.”

  She still looks confused. “Don’t you have tourists underfoot all the time?”

  “Not in my building, and some facilities are reserved just for the owners. We always get the first and best service. The food is decent. The housekeeping staff is fantastic. It works for me.”

  As I drive through the gated entrance, I glance over at her wide eyes. She looks dazzled, and I’m feeling good about giving her an early thrill before the good stuff starts.

  “You like it?”

  “I totally take back whatever I said. It’s beautiful here. The grounds…”

  “They’re meticulous. And people rave about the views of the water.”

  “I love the ocean. It’s why I came here.”

  “You moved here just to see the Pacific from Maui?” To me, the view of the ocean is pretty much the same all over Hawaii. L.A. isn’t much different from Honolulu, honestly. Just a few more palm trees and Hawaiian street names.

  “Not exactly. I came with an ex-boyfriend because we wanted to see the views around the island. But we could only afford a one-way ticket. We figured we’d work all winter at a resort or something, save a little, then fly back home when we were ready.”

  “But you loved it so much you decided to stay?”

  “No. After work one day, I returned to our little shithole apartment to find that he’d moved out, taken our savings, and flown to Denver.”

  “Bastard.”

  She shrugs. “It wasn’t going to last. He liked smoking pot more than working, which explains why he headed to Colorado, not home. Besides, the sex was really average.”

  Keeley doesn’t look like she’s brokenhearted over this jerk, but I know how crazy someone hung up on the wrong person can behave. Griff was such a dumb ass about Tiffanii.

  As I pull up to the front of my building in resident parking, I kill the engine. “How long ago was that?”

  “Almost three years go.”

  She surprises the hell out of me with that answer. “You’ve stayed here all this time? You must like it. Maui is paradise, right?” I toss over my shoulder as I step out of the car and jog around to her side, then open her door.

  “I could never afford the roof over my head and a plane ticket off the island at the same time. In the ages-old tradition of saying ‘I told you so,’ my mom won’t lend me the money to leave. So…here I am.” She stands. “Can we talk about something else?”

  “Sure.” I shut the car door and lock it as I lead her toward my unit.

  I want to keep things light between us. If I’m going to ask her tomorrow to tempt my brother into losing his mind, I don’t need to get too involved in her life. We’re here to have a good time. Yet all these questions run through my head. How long had she and dirtbag been together? Keeley seems to have a soft heart, so how devastated had she been by his betrayal? Has she found it hard to forget this guy? Already I know the sex between the two of us won’t be anything but amazing, but I wonder if she still misses the ex. Will she think of him—even accidentally—while I’m inside her?

  Okay, I need to stop that train of thought. What the hell is wrong with me? I never ask questions, much less want to know a one-night stand’s personal shit. We have a few drinks, a few laughs, a few orgasms, then it’s over. I give her a fond memory, and we move on. I don’t remember anything more than her name—if that.

  Already, I’m pretty sure Keeley will be different.

  Worry less about closing the deal and open yourself to someone who can share your life.

  Damn it, Britta needs to get out of my head.

  Keeley follows me up the stairs with a grateful nod and stands quietly while I unlock the door at the end of the breezeway. It’s a pretty standard layout: short hall, closet on the right, kitchen with a bar top overlooking the living room on the left. Hardwoods, granite. It’s neutral. I wonder what she thinks.

  Keeley barely looks at it. She heads straight for my balcony, which overlooks a portion of the pools and a nice slice of the ocean. It tends to be quieter on this side of the complex. All that will totally help with resale someday.

  “Wow, this is amazing.” She sinks down into a patio chair, looking mesmerized, and stares at the moonlight beading over the quiet grounds and the waves crashing with a dull thud in the distance. “You must spend all your time out here.”

  “No.” I can’t remember the last time I even opened the lanai door. Sure, I look at the view through my window, but to just sit out there? “I’m not home that much.”

  “Seriously? I’d find reasons to be home. I’d live out here. I could clear a spot for meditation. Studying with this view would be fantastic. The sound of waves helps me concentrate. I’d eat out here…” She turns to me. “And you never use it?”

  Her words feel like an indictment, and my knee-jerk reaction is to defend myself. “I don’t really have time. Drink?”

  “Sure. I’ll take a glass of wine.” She turns to me as I head back to the kitchen. “But when you’re home, you don’t come out here just to enjoy it?”

  “No.” I’m getting a little irritated, mostly because I know she’s right. Why don’t I look at the natural beauty I paid a fortune for? “I don’t. Inside is nice, too. All my creature comforts are here. Honestly, I just don’t think of it much.”

  I pour her a glass of red and myself a brandy before heading back outside and sinking into the chair opposite Keeley. As she sips her vino, I watch her. Every move has a quiet female sexuality I don’t think I’ve seen—or noticed before. It’s fascinating, her fingers holding the glass with unconscious elegance, the delicate pursing of her lips as she imbibes. Her chest rises and falls, and a pink curl tumbles over one shoulder, then dives between her breasts. They’re a nice handful—just right for her body—and obviously natural. I like that she’s real. Grabbing fake boobs can be like caressing rocks.

  She sets her glass down. “Why would you spend your time inside when the place was clearly the hotel decorating staff’s attempt to appeal to the unimaginative? It’s not you at all.”

  I sit back and sip. I’ve never really thought of all the browns, tans, and creams as being dull, but to Keeley, they would be. “I have some blue throw pillows on the couch.”

  “They’re aqua,” she corrects. “And I didn’t see a single personal knickknack or photo anywhere in the living room.”

  “You hardly looked at it.”

  “There wasn’t much to see after the sectional, coffee table, and big-ass TV. Sorry. I’m not criticizing. I’m just surprised. Your car is so…you. This place isn’t.”

  “You think you know me?”

  She shrugs. “You have a certain vibe. It’s way more bold and masculine than this Tommy Bahama pad. Why haven’t you made it your own? Or do you have that male inability-to-decorate gene?”

  I don’t know how to answer her. I’ve never tried to decorate. “Probably.”

  “Describe your first place.”

  I picture it in my head. Early macho dorm room. Two monster truck tires and a sheet of glass made my first coffee table. Posters of hot chicks straddling hot cars… I frown. Come to think of it, that was all Griff’s doing. But I didn’t object.