If any other woman had soaked me in champagne, and then run off on me, I would have just let her go without a second thought. I don’t have the time or energy to chase after someone who loathes me. But the brunette fidgeting around on the yellow and pink surfboard isn’t just any woman. She’s the girl next door—literally. The woman I can’t get out of my head. She’s played a leading role in half the thoughts that have rolled around my mind since I met her. Judging by her flush and the way she’s licking her lips, I’m not the only one who’s been distracted.

“Aloha, neighbor,” I say with a grin that belies my irritation. For two days straight, I’ve woken up alone, with a hard-on that won’t quit, but I’m not about to let her know how bad I’ve got it for her. Her nostrils flare, and my lips curl up even more. She calls me a dick under her breath as I glance out at the sea. “It’s fucking crazy, huh? We’ve both been all over the world, and nothing compares to this—surfing in the middle of winter.”

“Thank you for that wonderful plug for the tourism authority.” She gives me a bored look but the corner of her mouth twitches when my gaze settles on it. “And you have no idea where I’ve been, Carter.”

Maybe not, but I know enough. I’d gotten up pissed off yesterday morning, ready to confront her for that shit she pulled on the beach, but my business manager stopped me with housekeeping concerns. Since he’s from the island and knows the hotel industry like the back of his hand, I’d casually dropped Maggie’s name. From what he told me, running away is her MO. She’d taken off when she was nineteen to join the Army with little notice and hasn’t been back since. My party is her first appearance in O’ahu in five years. I should feel flattered that she picked my place for her comeback, but blue balls are a real bitch.

“Look, Gabe,” she starts, interrupting my thoughts, “I’m busy, so … what do you want?”

You, Maggie. I want you, and there’s no way in hell you’re running away from this island again without that happening first. “I want to be a good neighbor,” I drawl. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“You can be a good neighbor from your hotel, can’t you?” She scrambles to a standing position and crosses her arms over her chest. My attention instantly zeroes in on her breasts. They’re perfect, a nice, firm handful. Everything about her is a handful. “Well?”

I give my head a deliberate shake and bring my stare up to hers. “The view from my hotel is nowhere near as good.”

Making a strangled noise, she drops her arms to her sides and angles her body away from mine. I don’t bother to point out that she looks even more delicious now because she’s giving me a front row seat to that ass I couldn’t keep my hands off the other night.

“Like I asked before,” she huffs, “what do you want?”

Cocking a brow, I toss my board down in the sand right next to hers. I shift my focus between it and her big green eyes. “Surfboard. Board shorts. No shirt.” I feel a pulse of pride when she stares at my chest and swallows hard. No matter how busy I am, I make time for the gym and it shows. I’m in better shape now than I was when I was playing baseball, and I’ve been done with that for nearly five years. “What the fuck does it look like I want?” I ask.

“Can’t you surf somewhere else?” She shuffles her feet, curling her toes in the wet sand. “Anywhere? I mean, it’s a big ass ocean. There has to be a hundred other spots you can pollute.”

“Pollute?” I release a low whistle. “Fuck, if I had any idea you hated me this bad, I might not have been so willing to have that drink with you.”

That’s a lie. I still would’ve gone for the kill even if she would’ve been hissing what a bastard I was the entire time my fingers were inside of her.

“I don’t hate you.” A sour look puckers the corners of her sexy mouth. “I don’t hate anyone. I’m just not a fan. Of your baseball career or the fact you have that monstrosity right next door to my parents’ place.”

She’d looked me up in the last thirty-six hours. The thought of her pouring over my Wikipedia write-up after I made her come makes my lips arc upward. “That monstrosity was there long before your parents opened their place. I just fixed it up real pretty.” She balls her hands into fists as my smile expands. “And you know, I figured you’d at least like the way I looked in my cup, but I’ll buy that. You’re not a fan of mine—join the club.”

“I have,” she responds with a sneer. “I’m actually considering running for the president of it.”

This woman sure as fuck knows how to rip a man’s pride to shreds. Ignoring her jab, I continue, “As far as moving to another spot? You’re right, sweetheart, it is a big ocean. You go. Like I said, I like the view here.”

I’m not lying either. It’s one of the reasons I bought the place once it went into foreclosure. I also can’t deny that the image of her tits coming dangerously close to spilling out of the top of her red bikini makes everything twice as nice. Even if she is shooting flames at the center of my forehead from those green eyes, it’s worth being able to watch her breasts jiggle every time she hauls in an exasperated breath. If this is what I have to look forward to every morning, I’ll be doing a lot of surfing.

I hold one arm out, motioning down the beach. “You’re welcome to—”

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were right away?” She stalks close to me with both hands on her hips. She’s close enough now that I can see the tiny scar above her belly button, no doubt from an old piercing. “You should have said something before you let me make a fool of myself.”

Is she shitting me? Since she took off on me, I’ve had plenty of time to replay the details of that night in my head. I know for a fact I introduced myself by my full name. I also remember that she was distracted. By another man. And I plan to make damn sure that never happens again.

“Should I have reintroduced myself another four or five times? And it’s not like you came right out and told me you were the Maggie Kinsella.” She breathes noisily as a sexy flush slowly makes its way up her chest. It stops at her cheeks. “That’s right, beautiful, I would’ve definitely reiterated who I was if you’d told me your last name.”

“I didn’t hear the first part of what you said,” she argues, glaring down at the patch of sand between our feet. “And hiding from some other guy? That won’t happen again.”

“Sure it won’t. I just hope the next poor motherfucker you decide to swap saliva with isn’t another one of your enemies or else he’ll have good booze wasted on him after you use him for an easy out and a quick orgasm.”

Her eyes snap up to meet mine again, flashing angrily. “That won’t happen again either. If I had known you were the asshole who did all … this”—she waves her hands wildly around her, one in the direction of my hotel and the other toward hers—“I would have kicked you in the balls, not…”

“Not been ready to get them wet?” Smirking, I study her conflicted expression as she scoops her fingers through her hair. Damn right she should be confused because those hands of hers should’ve been in my hair the other night instead of wrapped around the bottle of champagne she’d used to fuck up my evening. “You know, the offer’s still on the table,” I say, and she lets out a hoarse cry.

Those breasts that I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off? They tease me viciously as she bends over and snatches her board from the sand. “You’re ruining my family’s business.” Her movements are jerky as she tucks the board under one toned arm. She’s so petite it looks like she’ll tilt over from the weight, but she stands her ground. “I plan to fix all that.”

She storms off, her hips swishing from side to side as she heads back toward her family’s place. It’s hard not to follow her, not to drag her to me and convince her that she made a mistake when she left the other night. But she’s angry. And my pop always said you catch more bees with honey than vinegar.

What she fails to realize—or maybe she does know and just doesn’t give a fuck—is that it hadn’t been my intention to hurt her parents’ business. The Hawaiian Bungalow was already failing long before I put in the offer on my property. Well before the renovations started at Elite, guests had started to stray from the place next door, citing outdated amenities and faulty plumbing. Nobody wants to go on vacation where they’ve spent thousands of dollars for the flight alone, just to find three inches of standing water in their hotel bathroom. If anything, I did Lia and Henry Kinsella a favor by opening a thriving business. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had guests approach me to say the only reason they were next door was because they wanted to stay close to friends or family who’d booked with us. In a few short years, I’ve turned a rundown dump into a four-star resort, and I have no plan of stopping there.

Which is going to piss Maggie off even more.

Grabbing my board from the sand, I take off into the water before I have to go back in and get ready for my first meeting of the day.

* * *

“The investors aren’t going to go for it,” Milo says the second I phone in to our conference call. He’s been my lawyer and financial advisor for years, ever since my former coach recommended him when I was still pitching for the Portland Mavericks. Since I was raised in Hawaii—and Milo split his time between Portland and Honolulu—he was an obvious choice.

I just wish his phone skills weren’t so awful.

“Normally, you start a conversation with hello. Maybe a how are you,” I respond calmly, but my chest sinks at his news. Sitting down behind the desk of my lobby-level office, I prop my feet on the surface of it and squeeze the bridge of my nose. “And why the hell aren’t they going for it?”

“You’ve got a bit of a reputation, Gabe.”

Well, no shit. My teeth grind together, and I automatically shrug my shoulders defensively. I know what Milo’s talking about—the reputation I earned when I was still playing baseball—but that has nothing to do with the success of my business. Yeah, maybe I fucked around a little more than I should have and maybe I had a bad habit of getting into fights every time a camera was shoved into my face, but I’ve worked my ass off to shed that history. My business is important to me.

After my parents died in a car crash when I was eight, my maternal grandparents raised me in their hotel on Big Island. Even though they were both gone by the time baseball was no longer an option, opening my own place was the only thing I wanted to do. I had committed Bad Business Move #1 when I sank my own money into the hotel’s initial purchase and remodel, leaving me nearly broke. Now that things are going so well, I figured getting investors to go along with my idea of opening a spa and restaurant would be a fucking breeze.

Obviously, I’m wrong.

“My reputation isn’t that bad,” I say. Milo groans. He names a bank—a big one—then asks if I know who its CEO is. After I tell him that I don’t know or care, he groans.

“Maybe you should care. Sierra Foster’s his new wife.”

Oh. Well, fuck. The last time I saw her was a year ago, right after my condo finally sold in Portland. She’d stopped by while I was packing, wearing nothing but designer panties under a coat and using terrifying words like “back together” and “rings at Tiffany” and “love.” I might have gotten over it—maybe—but then she went full-on belligerent once I told her I’d call her.

I still remember assuring Sierra that, while I appreciated her reminding me about how much money her daddy had and that she was a very in-demand Instagram model, I still didn’t give a shit nor was I interested in continuing to see her. She’d responded by dragging garden shears across the back of my ten-thousand-dollar leather sofa.

I sigh. “Then go with a different bank, Milo. We both know you’re the best at what you do.”

“Working on it, but it doesn’t look good. Investors want someone who’s stable and grounded. They’re afraid you’re going to take off and give up on O’ahu Elite.”

“And the fact I’ve used my own money to make this place what it is today isn’t stable or grounded enough for them?” I snarl. “By the way, I’ve never given up on anything I truly wanted.”

“You’re marketing Elite as a family resort. The investors want a family man, Gabe. One who isn’t punching reporters in the face or banging every island girl within a ten-mile radius.”

There’s no point reminding him that I haven’t punched a reporter in the face since my days as pitcher, so I grind out, “What should I do?”

“Find a desperate woman and settle down immediately.” My brow wrinkles as he has a good laugh at his own joke. He’s talking about something else now—moving up the free baseball camp I normally host at the batting cages in Kapolei over summer vacation—but I can hardly hear what he’s saying. My thoughts have pinged to a woman.

A desperate one.

A desperate woman I can find just by walking through the lobby of my building and going right out the fucking front door.

“I’ve got an idea,” I interrupt. Milo remains silent, waiting for me to divulge more details. “Give me a day or two, but I think I know how to turn this around.”

“You’re not going to share?” he asks in an annoyed voice.

I move my feet off my desk and walk toward the door of my office. “When I have what I want, you’ll be the first to know.”