Blooming in the Wild Page 0,1

the world.

Joel Girand was damn tired of waiting for the last passenger for the Hawaiian Dive boat. Tipping his head back against one of the tall pilings that supported the dock, he heaved a sigh, willing himself to calm. Behind him, the forty-foot catamaran rocked gently on the water of the small yacht-club basin, the evening sun sliding through the clouds to gild the tall mast and glint off of the white hull.

Joel had arrived at the Kona Yacht Club dock forty minutes ago to make sure all the equipment had arrived for this weekend expedition to a remote area of the Big Island. Even though he wasn’t technically in charge, the gig had his name on it alongside DelRay Sporting Goods, and he always made sure everything was in place before he went into the backcountry. Missing equipment made for an uncomfortable or downright dangerous expedition. He didn’t mind doing uncomfortable if it was necessary, but he’d rather his danger had some fun attached, instead of being caused by sloppy gear prep.

Of course, this particular trip was all about gear, so there was a plethora. DelRay wanted an expert, him, to try out their new summer line of clothing and camping equipment, and give them lots of photo ops while he did so, in one of the most beautiful places on earth, Hawaii. They’d managed to find a wild spot that was less than two hours south by boat along the Kona coast, and the company had taken care of all logistics. Everything was long-since packed on the boat—tents, mess kits, clothing and his own duffel.

There were plenty of people along too, three of them a lot prettier than his usual crew. He grinned as he thought of the pithy comments Al and Jorge would make about that comparison. His photographer and assistant had bitched about being left out of this plum assignment, but he knew Al was off to spend time with his family, and Jorge planned to do some fishing in Baja. He wouldn’t have minded having them along, either. This trip might not be physically dangerous, but it was crucial if he wanted to hang on to his career.

All but one of the other passengers had arrived shortly after he did. The photographer and a guy who was her boyfriend or assistant, as well as two younger women and a man, were relaxing in the shade. He figured the latter trio to be the models. The pretty redhead was hanging on the guy, playing some game on his phone with him.

The blonde was tall and reed-slim, except for her breasts. She smiled at Joel and gave him a special viewing in her low-cut sundress as she took off her little jacket. He was pretty sure those melons weren’t real, but he was a guy—he enjoyed the show anyway.

She spent the rest of her time inspecting her nails, so his interest cooled a bit. He appreciated a pretty woman, but he’d just as soon she wasn’t wrapped up in her appearance, especially when she was headed out into the wild. Although she got paid for looking good, so maybe on her personal scale, a chipped nail counted as a real tragedy.

The redhead was shorter, her hair in wild curls around her head and shoulders. She had a tattoo around one slender ankle and wore a halter and tight shorts that displayed her curves. A guy had to love the tropics, where the wahines wore no more than they had to.

The photographer wasn’t a knockout like them, but she looked interesting. Elegant. A slender, fit woman in her thirties or early forties, she wore a hat over her dark auburn hair, and a light top and shorts. She was smiling to herself as she watched the others, as if she found them amusing. Her assistant, a youngish Asian man with hair bleached a strange platinum Joel had last seen on a hooker on a street corner in LA, sat flipping a fancy folding knife end over end. He looked as bored as Joel.

Joel rolled his head against the dock post behind him, looking without hope toward the parking lot. The small area was framed by a high bank overgrown with the huge philodendron vines the locals called monstera, glossy leaves hanging quiet in the warm, damp air.

Not that Joel minded hanging around a quiet Hawaiian waterfront, but he’d just as soon do it with a cold beer and some music. He was about to haul out his own