have believed in his right to do so.
He and the two others stood still, legs spread, fists planted on their hips. The singer called out again and then began to chant rhythmically, and Daniel and the two other men moved. In perfect concert, they raised one arm and swept it across the audience, their eyes following as if they gazed at the far horizon, Daniel and David like kings surveying their people. Even Zane carried himself with a dignity that suited him as well as his endearing goofiness had earlier.
They swept their other arm across in the same manner and stomped their feet. Then, with a raw grace and beauty Claire knew she would never forget if she lived to be one hundred, the Ho’omalu men danced.
They turned and paced and stepped, changing formation so that David was in the front, and then Zane, using their arms and bodies as instruments as they danced, beseeching a greater being for something. The something became clear as they sank to their knees, leaned back, raised one arm high and, with utter unselfconsciousness, thrust their skirt-clad hips skyward in a graphic representation of the sexual act.
Heat coiled in Claire’s abdomen as Daniel Ho’omalu danced. He and the other men leapt to their feet, sprang and paced, only to fall to their knees and roll pelvises skyward again, arms raised in supplication, in demand.
The dance went on for several moments, and yet it was over far too soon. The three men sank back, frozen in male beauty, and then rose to their feet facing the audience.
For one searing instant, Daniel Ho’omalu’s jet gaze met Claire’s—marking her indelibly. The heat in her loins washed through her in a rush, leaving her trembling and weak. If she’d had to rise, her legs would have dumped her on the grass at his feet—and that was exactly where she wanted to be.
The singer called out a last, long imperative note, and the audience broke into applause. Daniel’s fiery gaze passed on. He, David and Zane bowed. The drum thumped as they turned and walked into the bushes. Claire took a long, shaky breath, astounded by the force of the feelings tumbling inside her. Just desire, maybe, but holy passion fruit, she’d never known she was capable of desire this strong.
She peered around her. Had anyone else noticed her perturbation? No, Bella and Grace were still preoccupied, and everyone was exclaiming over the dance.
“As good as the dancers at the Merrie Monarch festival in Hilo,” one older lady said loudly. “These boys should compete there.”
The music turned soft and lovely, the Hawaiian with sunglasses joining the small group with a ukulele. He and Jason Mamaloa began another tune, this one lovely and lilting. The audience cried out with delight as several young women paced into the enclosure. They wore leis and crowns of flowers with their flowered sundresses. Claire recognized most of them from the crowd.
Their dance was lovely, graceful and poignant, each gesture of their hands clearly telling part of the story. It wasn’t nearly as much fun as the men’s dance, but maybe that was just her.
When the dance ended, something odd happened. Jason Mamaloa and his musician bowed, spoke briefly with Homu Ho’omalu and then walked straight to Claire’s table.
“Ladies, do you mind if we join you?” the ukulele player asked.
Grace and Bella looked at each other. Grace nodded. Claire blinked—what the heck was going on?
The musician chose the chair next to Bella, and Jason Mamaloa sat down next to Claire. He smiled at her, and she couldn’t help smiling back. The guy had charm by the boatload.
“I love your music,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Claire Hunter.”
He took her hand and bowed over it with courtly grace. “Jason Mamaloa. Very nice to meet you, Claire.”
“And this is Daro Kai,” Grace said in a brittle voice. “Jason’s…partner.”
Realization struck as Claire looked into Daro Kai’s beautiful, sooty eyes. Of course, they were a gay
He and the two others stood still, legs spread, fists planted on their hips. The singer called out again and then began to chant rhythmically, and Daniel and the two other men moved. In perfect concert, they raised one arm and swept it across the audience, their eyes following as if they gazed at the far horizon, Daniel and David like kings surveying their people. Even Zane carried himself with a dignity that suited him as well as his endearing goofiness had earlier.
They swept their other arm across in the same manner and stomped their feet. Then, with a raw grace and beauty Claire knew she would never forget if she lived to be one hundred, the Ho’omalu men danced.
They turned and paced and stepped, changing formation so that David was in the front, and then Zane, using their arms and bodies as instruments as they danced, beseeching a greater being for something. The something became clear as they sank to their knees, leaned back, raised one arm high and, with utter unselfconsciousness, thrust their skirt-clad hips skyward in a graphic representation of the sexual act.
Heat coiled in Claire’s abdomen as Daniel Ho’omalu danced. He and the other men leapt to their feet, sprang and paced, only to fall to their knees and roll pelvises skyward again, arms raised in supplication, in demand.
The dance went on for several moments, and yet it was over far too soon. The three men sank back, frozen in male beauty, and then rose to their feet facing the audience.
For one searing instant, Daniel Ho’omalu’s jet gaze met Claire’s—marking her indelibly. The heat in her loins washed through her in a rush, leaving her trembling and weak. If she’d had to rise, her legs would have dumped her on the grass at his feet—and that was exactly where she wanted to be.
The singer called out a last, long imperative note, and the audience broke into applause. Daniel’s fiery gaze passed on. He, David and Zane bowed. The drum thumped as they turned and walked into the bushes. Claire took a long, shaky breath, astounded by the force of the feelings tumbling inside her. Just desire, maybe, but holy passion fruit, she’d never known she was capable of desire this strong.
She peered around her. Had anyone else noticed her perturbation? No, Bella and Grace were still preoccupied, and everyone was exclaiming over the dance.
“As good as the dancers at the Merrie Monarch festival in Hilo,” one older lady said loudly. “These boys should compete there.”
The music turned soft and lovely, the Hawaiian with sunglasses joining the small group with a ukulele. He and Jason Mamaloa began another tune, this one lovely and lilting. The audience cried out with delight as several young women paced into the enclosure. They wore leis and crowns of flowers with their flowered sundresses. Claire recognized most of them from the crowd.
Their dance was lovely, graceful and poignant, each gesture of their hands clearly telling part of the story. It wasn’t nearly as much fun as the men’s dance, but maybe that was just her.
When the dance ended, something odd happened. Jason Mamaloa and his musician bowed, spoke briefly with Homu Ho’omalu and then walked straight to Claire’s table.
“Ladies, do you mind if we join you?” the ukulele player asked.
Grace and Bella looked at each other. Grace nodded. Claire blinked—what the heck was going on?
The musician chose the chair next to Bella, and Jason Mamaloa sat down next to Claire. He smiled at her, and she couldn’t help smiling back. The guy had charm by the boatload.
“I love your music,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Claire Hunter.”
He took her hand and bowed over it with courtly grace. “Jason Mamaloa. Very nice to meet you, Claire.”
“And this is Daro Kai,” Grace said in a brittle voice. “Jason’s…partner.”
Realization struck as Claire looked into Daro Kai’s beautiful, sooty eyes. Of course, they were a gay
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