Hawaiian Honey (Sweet & Dirty BBW #7)

By: Cathryn Cade

BOOK DESCRIPTION


He’s in Hawaii to deal with his past.

She’s on the run from hers.

They find sanctuary together, but will their passion explode into betrayal?

‘Moke’ Ahuelo is riding hard to forge a future.

But on Hawaii’s Big Island, the heartache of his past nearly brings this big man to his knees. Until he rescues a pretty squatter from the beach. Now he must claim his family’s legacy, and keep her safe from the killers on her trail…and from the inner darkness that drives her.

Shelle Mason is running from her past.

She flew all the way to Hawaii to escape from an evil biker gang. But now she’s broke and alone, and her only rescue may be from one of the men she fears and distrusts—a biker.

Can these two loners find the way to trust each other, and their own hearts?

Will love’s sweetness be worth the sting?

Escape to the tropics with another hot, alpha Devil’s Flyer. The bigger the alpha… the harder he falls.

Each book can be read as a standalone, with a HEA, no cheating, and honey-sweet, turn-up-the-heat romance!

Read all the books in the Sweet&Dirty BBW MC Romance series by USA Today bestselling author Cathryn Cade:

Show Me the Honey - only .99 cents!

Honey for Nothin’

The Man With All the Honey

Follow the Honey



Box Set; Books 1-4

Honey in the Rock

Take the Honey and Run



Christmas Honey - a novella

Hawaiian Honey

New Honey in Town - coming November 2018





CHAPTER ONE


Temptation was a twat.

A scheming twat who hid around every corner, ready to strike.

This morning in August, temptation appeared to Shelle Mason, struggling waitress-slash-college student, as a sparkly gold, designer wallet. The kind women carry when they have the money to pay extra for a certain brand. The kind that was also guaranteed to be packed with credit cards and probably cash.

The wallet’s owner was a flashy brunette in designer clothing. She’d sashayed into the Cross-Roads Travel Center Cafe that morning, ready to make someone’s life miserable. Since Shelle had the worst luck in western Washington state, or at least in the greater Seattle-Tacoma area, the bitch sat in Shelle’s section.

The brunette, dressed in skin-tight white jeans, a very low-cut gold lame top that didn’t do much to cover her full breasts, a white leather jacket, and gold, wedge-heeled booties, looked completely out of place in a cafe that catered mainly to truckers. So just by walking in and sitting, she had most eyes on her.

Next, to the covert amusement of Shelle’s fellow waitresses and the middle-aged couple in the next booth, the woman proceeded to ignore the cafe’s breakfast menu. Instead of ordering, say, a No.7 with pancakes, eggs and bacon, like a normal customer, she ordered as if the cafe kitchen was staffed by a personal chef who had unlimited materials and time to serve her.

She wanted her eggs coddled—not poached, and not soft-boiled. She wanted her toast hot, but not buttered. And she wanted, not the cafe’s regular coffee, but a latte prepared with skim milk and espresso. She also wanted a bowl of fresh cut fruit on the side.

Shelle managed to keep a pleasant expression on her face while she took this ridiculous order. She had to bite her tongue to keep from asking the woman what she was doing here instead of at the Starbucks across the Travel Center’s huge parking lot, where the woman could have any fancy-ass coffee drink she wanted. Although probably not coddled eggs. Shelle was pretty sure the only eggs Starbucks served were in little sandwiches. Yummy, but not exactly low-fat.

But for her special breakfast, the woman could also have gone to the Western Shores Inn and Restaurant, up the road, or a myriad of other places nearby in this metro area. Heck, she could’ve stopped in at the Emerald Queen Casino over on I-5 and gambled while she ate her breakfast.

Judging by the size of the white and chocolate diamonds on her hands and at her ears and throat, she probably could fly to Hawaii and eat breakfast there if she so chose.

Of course, Shelle had Hawaii on the brain lately, as her foster mom Vicky—the one who’d shepherded Shelle through most of high school—had recently moved there with her new husband, and extended an invitation to Shelle to come visit, anytime.

Shelle couldn’t afford the plane ticket, not without nearly emptying her little bank account. But this woman looked as if she could do so, in a first-class seat. Instead, she was in a somewhat rough truck stop cafe in the industrial edge of the Seattle metro area.

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