Relapse In Paradise. Roxanne Smith
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Cover Copy
She likes Hawaii, but she just might love Boston…
Still stinging from her recent divorce, Emily Buzzly heads to majestic Hawaii to soothe her wounds. But once she arrives on Oahu, Emily discovers that a man she assumes is a beach bum is in fact her personal tour guide, hired by her sister. With his long hair and tattoos, Boston Rondibett is everything Emily detests—despite his sun-kissed surfer body. And with her straight-laced, executive persona, Emily is everything Boston rebels against. But both have a lot to learn about making snap judgments…
As it turns out, Boston’s real job, the one he truly cares about, is running his soup kitchen and homeless shelter. Embarrassed by her assumptions, rather than lazy beach days, Emily soon finds herself feeding the hungry, and even involved in the search for an AWOL soldier. And to Boston’s surprise, she’s loving every minute of it—and he’s loving seeing her loosen her chignon and be the admirable, beautiful woman she is. As each works through the challenges of the past, these two very different people just might find their hearts are on the very same page…
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Books by Roxanne Smith
Long Shot Romance Series
Men Like This
Relapse In Paradise
Running the Numbers
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Relapse In Paradise
A Long Shot Romance Novel
Roxanne Smith
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Copyright
Lyrical Press books are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2015 by Roxanne Smith
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First Electronic Edition: November 2015
eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-691-9
eISBN-10: 1-61650-691-1
First Print Edition: November 2015
ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-692-6
ISBN-10: 1-61650-692-X
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
I dedicate this book to Sergeant Jesse Lain of the U.S. Army in thanks for his service.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to acknowledge Jesse Lain, to whom I’ve dedicated this book, for his insider tips about life on Oahu. Any mistakes or misinterpretations are mine alone, either by accident or with intent.
Tarran Clack, Spencer Lain, and Dakota Lain have all lent an ear or offered advice as I needed it. Finally, a shout out to my beta readers, Tabatha Frazier and Dani-Lyn Alexander, who provided valuable feedback and lovely compliments.
Thank you.
Chapter 1
Boston rubbed his forehead and let his exasperation show plainly in his tone. “Hani, I don’t have time for this, man.”
Even doubled over with his head stuck inside the cold oven, the overgrown Hawaiian took up most of the space in the dark galley kitchen. The one narrow window set above the porcelain sink had been scrubbed just last week. Boston had watched Akela bring down the threadbare curtains and take a sponge to the glass pane with his own eyes, but the room seemed to stay gloomy.
Boston blamed Hani’s giant body blocking out the sunlight. Or scaring it away.
Hani’s head came out of the oven and cocked to one side in annoyance. Despite it, his clear, dark eyes held only concern. Maybe a hint of fear. “Don’t push me, haole. If we don’t get this stove working, we ain’t feeding nobody. Akela’s bringing plates she made from home, but that won’t get us through the day. And if Mama finds out she’s helping here, Bos, it won’t be good.”
Fair point. Hani’s sister did a lot around the shelter, without her family’s consent or knowledge. Since Hani had left home and landed on the streets, they’d had little to do with him. Less so after he took up running The Canopy with Boston. Except Akela, who refused to disown her only brother.
Boston pulled a wad of bills from the side pocket of his maroon cut-off shorts with tired reluctance. The frayed end of his shorts tickled his shins and got caught in his leg hair, but they were his favorite pair.
Probably because Hani hated them. Boston figured he’d picked them out this morning in a subconscious effort to antagonize his business partner.
He held the fat wad of cash aloft to give Hani a better view. “Relax, big guy. See this? It’s my paycheck from the job I picked up last week. Money just came down the wire.”
His friend didn’t appear impressed. Hani had never much cared for money. It was hard to work up a whole lot of concern for something they never had. “Whatcha gonna do, huh? Hand it out? We’re trying to give these poor folks a decent plate of rice, not send them back to the liquor store.”
Boston put zero effort into hiding his impatient groan. “Your brain’s as thick as your barrel chest sometimes. Hell no, I’m not about to sprinkle cash on a bunch of homeless guys. But I bet I’ve got enough right here to pick up an old used oven at the appliance yard downtown. Relax, man. We’re in paradise, remember?” He gave Hani his best cheesy smile, the one he might use on folks if he ever turned to selling cars to make a buck.
The big man stopped fooling with the lost cause of an oven to put a hand over his large belly and laugh lazily.
Like Boston knew he would. If the famous Chef Hani of The Canopy, Honolulu’s poorest and smallest soup kitchen, didn’t have a sense of humor, no one did.
He shook his head, a slight smile on his wide mouth. “You’re funny, Boston. Real funny. You try that paradise talk on the next straggler who finds his way in here. Wait till I can watch, though, ’kay? It’s been too long since I seen you get your ass handed to you. In fact, I think it was Jordan who gave you your last shiner, huh? A girl, even.”
Boston’s