Obsession Under the Southern Stars (Southern Stars #2)

Chapter One

Zoe

“So, have you decided whether you’re coming?” While he waits for me to reply, Joel studies me with enough amusement to tell me he made that double entendre on purpose.

Joel Bell is my best friend Elora’s older brother. I’ve known him for a couple of years, and over that time we’ve developed a strange friendship. He’s always trying to discombobulate me. In return, I tease him to distraction. It’s what we do. It remains to be seen which one of us will drive the other mad first.

Some people might call it flirting, but he’s nothing like my usual type. I like older guys, often in their thirties. Lawyers, doctors, and accountants. Tall, big, suave businessmen in suits who are erudite and knowledgeable about hedge funds and capital gains tax, who can hold discourse on music, art, and literature, and who play rugby at the weekends.

Joel is twenty-eight. A tad over six foot. Lithe. Muscular. And a maritime archaeologist who likes to wear wetsuits that leave nothing to a girl’s imagination. I call him the Diving Bell, because I like the way he rolls his eyes at me when I say it.

He’s exceedingly scruffy, with hair that looks as if he’s been dragged through two hedges and a couple of fields backwards and forwards, permanent stubble because he can’t be bothered to shave every day, and he clearly doesn’t possess an iron, as his current navy shirt looks as if it dried in a ball.

He’s also not the sort to wax lyrical about the arts, science, politics, or anything really, except archaeology. Trying to get his opinion on anything is like trying to get liquid out of a hard inanimate object. He doesn’t like crowds, or gatherings, or people in general. He once said he’d rather spend the day in the ocean in the company of fish than go to a party, and I don’t think he was joking.

But he is gorgeous. And since I broke up with my ex, Charles, two months ago, he’s asked me out precisely fifteen times. It’s taken every ounce of willpower I’ve possessed to say no.

I want him. But I know if we sleep together, I’m going to want more. And I don’t want more. Not with him. Not with anyone right now. I’m the Ouroboros, the ancient symbol of a serpent eating its own tail. Full of yearning, and yet denying myself in equal measure. It’s a never-ending cycle.

We’re in the apartment I share with Joel’s sister, Elora, having finished an impromptu dinner party we’ve held for Linc, an old friend of theirs who’s visiting New Zealand. Elora and Linc are talking quietly by the door. Joel’s brother, Fraser, is saying goodbye to our friend and colleague Hallie. It means Joel and I have a moment to talk, and although I’ve been thinking about his offer non-stop since his text suggesting it this morning, irritation rises within me, because I can’t decide.

To cover it, I pick up my glass of wine, smirk, and finish off the last mouthful. “You really have to ask?”

He grins and leans on the breakfast bar. “I meant did you want to come to the Bay of Islands with me so we can find you an artifact for the exhibition?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I scoff, opening the dishwasher and sliding my wine glass into the top tray. “Stop pretending to help. You just want to get in my knickers. Go on, admit it.” I send him a mocking glance.

He shrugs. “I’m not denying it’s a factor. But I swear my motives are ninety percent honest.” He purses his lips as I send him an amused glance. “Maybe eighty-five.”

I giggle. Then I say, “Thanks, but I’d better not.”

“Why?”

“I have a job, remember? Fraser needs me.”

“He won’t mind letting you go for a week,” Joel scoffs. “Come on, you know you want to. It’d be terrific fun. Just you, me, and Nemo and all his friends.”

“I’m not sure I want to dive twenty thousand leagues down. I’m not that great a swimmer.”

“I was talking about Finding Nemo and Dory.”

That makes me laugh. I close the dishwasher drawer then straighten, nibbling my bottom lip. The truth is that I love the idea of taking part in a maritime excavation. I love my job working in conservation, but every archaeologist loves the chance to get their hands dirty.

“I am interested,” I admit eventually, “but I’d need to ask Fraser.”

“Need to ask Fraser what?” Joel’s older brother walks over to us, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers. They’re corduroy, for Christ’s sake, and his tweed jacket has professor patches on the elbows. All he needs are the hat and whip and he could easily double for Harrison Ford in Raiders of the Lost Ark .

“Joel thinks he’s found the Relentless,” I tell him. “He’s asked if I want to take part in the excavation in the Bay of Islands this week to see if we can find an artifact.”

Fraser is the director of the National Museum of New Zealand, where Hallie, Elora, and I work. This morning he told us that he wants to hold a Valentine’s Day exhibition called Love Under the Southern Stars, and he’d like the three of us to source artifacts to display in it.

Hallie joins us at the breakfast bar, her eyebrows rising. “The Bay of Islands? I thought the Relentless sank somewhere in Whāngārei Harbour?”

I’m not surprised that Hallie has heard of the ship. It’s famous amongst Kiwi archaeologists because, when it sank in 1851 on its way back from Sydney, its hold supposedly contained a large chest of the first opals mined in Australia, including a rare opal necklace the captain had bought for his wife. Countless surveys have been done around Whāngārei Harbour where it was thought to have foundered, but nobody has ever found a single plank of the ship.

“It never made it to Whāngārei,” Joel says. “I found this letter in the City of Sydney Library written by the captain, Gilbert Mair, to his wife.” He extracts a sheet of paper from his pocket. It’s a copy of the original, written in what must be Mair’s hand, and at the bottom is a sketch of the necklace. It’s beautiful, the large opal held securely in a gold frame.

“It says he’s calling in at the mission station in Kerikeri to deliver a cargo of potatoes and pork, and then he’ll be home,” Joel points out. “Nobody knew about that last port of call. We surveyed the Kerikeri inlet and found it off Moturoa Island, on the Black Rocks. The reefs are fairly shallow there, so it’s not too deep to dive. We’ve cleared a good portion of it already, and we’re about to excavate the hold.”

“Joel!” Hallie exclaims. “That’s amazing! Why haven’t you announced the find?”

“We don’t want the publicity yet. It’s nice and quiet out there, and we don’t want multiple boats churning up the silt and damaging the visibility, because it’s relatively clear at the moment. I thought Zoe might like to join me for the week, and we can try to find the Mair Necklace for her.”

“You can dive?” Fraser asks me.

I nod. “I did a scuba diving course a few years back.”

“Scuba,” Fraser says distractedly. He’s always doing this—going off on a tangent. “It’s such a weird word. I wonder what the etymology is?”

“Fraser!” I roll my eyes. “Please tell me you’re joking. Your brother is a maritime archaeologist, for God’s sake.” He continues to look puzzled, though. Joel meets my eyes and gives me a look that says, ‘I give up’. Hallie tries not to laugh. “It stands for Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus,” I tell him.

“Oh. Well. You learn something new every day.”

“So… can I go? I’ll take it as annual leave.”

“No need,” he says. “We’ll call it professional development. The Mair Necklace would be a terrific find. Would you sell it to the museum?” he asks Joel.

“I’ll even offer you a discount,” Joel replies. “Mate’s rates.”

Fraser gives a short laugh and walks to the door, and Hallie winks at me, then follows him.

“I’ve got a charter flight booked for ten a.m. tomorrow,” Joel says. “You want me to meet you at the airport or your flat?”

I hesitate. “I’m going to my parents’ place first thing. Mum asked me to call in on my way to work in the morning, and I said I’d be there at eight.”

“Okay. I can meet you there if you like, and we’ll Uber in together.”

“Sure. I’ll text you the address.”

His gaze scans my face. “Everything okay with them?”

I frown. “I’m not sure. I know they’ve been arguing a lot lately.” I bite my bottom lip. He always does this to me. Spots an undercurrent, a riptide beneath the surface when I’m trying to swim above it. “Mind your own business,” I add.

He chuckles and gets to his feet, turning to head for the door.

“Joel…”

He turns back.

“If I go with you… You know it doesn’t mean anything, right? This is purely about work.”

His eyes meet mine. They’re dark blue, the color of the sky on a stormy evening. They flash now the way lightning lights up the sky, betraying the fact that he’s hoping for more.

But he just says, “Of course. Purely professional.”

I give him a wry look. His lips curve up.

Then he pauses, and his gaze skims down me and back up, sending tingles through me, before he says, “Oh, you might like to bring something special to wear.”

“Are you talking lingerie?”

He laughs. “No. You know that Linc said he’s picking up the ANZAS cruise from Christchurch next week?”

I nod; the Australian and New Zealand Archaeological Society is holding its yearly conference on a cruise around the two countries this year, and Linc has been invited to speak. He’s joining the cruise halfway through, boarding the ship in the South Island.

“Well,” Joel continues, “tomorrow the ship arrives in Paihia, and they’re holding the ANZAS Annual Dinner there.” MOANA—which is the Māori word for the sea—stands for the Maritime Organization of Aotearoa Nautical Archaeology, the company that Joel works for. “I thought you could come with me,” he adds.

“I’m not going as your date,” I point out.

He stretches out his arms, palms up, in an innocent gesture. “Purely professional, I told you.” His eyes dance before he turns away.

I open my mouth to reply, but Fraser has opened the door, and the guys are heading out. I watch them go and blow out an irritated breath. He only asked me because he didn’t want to go to the awards dinner alone. That was sneaky.

Still, it’s an opportunity to do something different for a few days, and I haven’t dived since I took my certificate, so it’ll be fun to do so in an archaeological context. I don’t know much about maritime archaeology as Joel rarely talks about himself or his job when we’re all together, so it’ll be interesting to find out firsthand what he does.

And we’ll be going to the Awards Dinner, too. That’ll be interesting.

Elora has finally finished locking the apartment door, and she comes over to where Hallie and I are finishing clearing up the dinner things. “Did I hear you talking about going up to the Bay with Joel tomorrow?” she asks.

I fill the chili pot with water and set it aside to soak. “Yeah. He’s excavating the Relentless, and he thinks we might be able to find the Mair Necklace.”

Her eyes light up. “Oh, that would be amazing!”

“He’s also invited me to the ANZAS dinner tomorrow. How posh do you think it’s going to be?”

“It’s black tie,” Hallie says.

My eyes nearly fall out of my head. “What? He said, ‘you might like to bring something special to wear.’ Talk about an understatement.”

“Does that mean he’s going to wear a DJ?” Hallie asks, amused. “I’ve never seen him in one.”

“Neither have I.” He usually wears cargo shorts or swim shorts in summer, and faded jeans in the winter, with scruffy tees, the occasional creased shirt, and hoodies. “If you look up the word ‘unkempt’ in the dictionary, there’s a photo of Joel next to it,” I add. “I can’t imagine him in a tux.” I push away a ripple of interest at the thought of Joel Bell dressed to the nines. That’s never going to happen. He’ll turn up in black trousers and a creased white shirt, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t own a hairbrush, so his hair will all be standing on end.

Even so, there are going to be a lot of people there involved in the business, and I don’t want to look like an idiot. Panic rises inside me. “I don’t own anything suitable for an event like that.”

“Neither do I,” Elora says. She dresses like a librarian and is even less likely than me to own a fancy gown.

“It needs to be floor-length,” Hallie says. “And made from silk or satin, ideally. Hmm.” She taps a finger on her lips. “I’ve got an idea. I’ve still got the bridesmaid’s dress I wore last year.” Her sister married her childhood sweetheart in what Hallie called ‘a sickeningly wonderful wedding’ in Fiji last summer.

“You’re taller than me,” I point out.

“Only by an inch.”

“And you have bigger boobs.”

She looks down at them. She’s on the curvy side. “Well, now I do, but I lost a lot of weight for the wedding. And anyway, you’re not exactly flat chested.” She gets up and retrieves her keys from the table. “I’ll go and get it, and you can try it on. It’s a beautiful dress, and it’ll go well with your hair.”

“If you’re sure…”

She grins and goes out, closing the door behind her.

Elora gets up and slides the chain across, then checks it a few times. She was assaulted in her teens and developed OCD as a result. We don’t talk about it now, but it makes me sad to see how much it continues to affect her.

Still, there’s a glow about her tonight, due in no small part to the fact that Linc is here. “So… you’re seeing him tomorrow?” I ask, because I heard them making plans.

She gives a nonchalant shrug, but her eyes aren’t nonchalant at all. “He’s going to see if he can track down what happened to the Bell Ring. We might meet up for a coffee or something.”

My lips curve up. It’s lovely to see her cheeks flush as she talks about a man.

But she waves a hand and says, “Don’t give me that look. He’s off on his cruise soon, and after that he’s going back to the UK, so there’s no time for anything to happen.”

“There’s always time,” I say, amused. “It doesn’t have to end in marriage. He looks like the perfect guy to have a holiday fling with.”

Her face turns scarlet. “Oh my God, Zoe! I couldn’t!”

I laugh and get up to pour myself another glass of wine. “You’re both young, free, and single. What’s the problem? Don’t you think it would be fun to hook up for a few nights?”

“Zoe, stop. I don’t want to talk about it.” She’s serious now, flustered and embarrassed.

My smile fades. Personally, I think it would do her a world of good to have a fling with an old friend she obviously likes a lot. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t been with anyone since her assault at eighteen.

We met at university and got on immediately, even though we’re quite different people. She’s quiet, studious, and serious. I’m… well, not exactly loud, but louder than she is, flirty, and more inclined to take risks.

I once read that most people think they’re in control of eighty or ninety percent of their lives, when in fact the reality is more like five or ten percent max. It really hit home to think we don’t have control over our thoughts, feelings, or other people. It sounds scary, but I found it liberating, and I was happy to accept the control I do have and work on that and leave everything else up to the universe.

‘Life’s too short’ became my motto, and I do my best to say yes whenever an opportunity comes my way. Sometimes it’s been a mistake, but most times it’s led to a positive outcome, and I wish I could pass on that state of mind to Elora.

I bring my wine back and change the subject, talking about our theses, as we’re both taking a master’s degree at the moment in heritage management, concentrating on the indigenous archaeology and heritage of New Zealand and the Pacific Islands. Elora is focusing on osteology—specifically the bones of extinct birds, whereas I’m more interested in conservation, but we’re taking some of the same papers.

It’s only another five minutes before there’s a knock at the door, and Hallie comes in carrying a dress wrapped in plastic over her arm.

“Here you go,” she says, letting it drop. She removes the plastic cover and hooks the hanger onto the doorframe, and the dress unfurls.

It’s long, made from satin, and very simple, with spaghetti straps and a crossover skirt that reveals the left leg almost to the hip.

“The color’s called rust,” she says. “But I think it’s more chestnut.”

She’s right—it’s more brown than red, a glorious rich color that could also be called cinnamon or gingerbread. I get up and go over to it, and run my fingers over the silk skirt. “It’s beautiful.”

“Try it on,” Elora prompts.

I unhook it and take it into my bedroom.

As I remove my jeans and top, I’m convinced it’s not going to fit. Or that even if it does, it’s going to look weird. I can’t honestly remember the last time I wore a skirt. They irritate me—if they’re long they get in the way, and if they’re short I feel as if I’m trying to show off my legs, which aren’t bad, but it makes me feel as if I’m asking for attention, and I don’t particularly want men I don’t know looking at my legs or breasts. So I usually wear trousers and loose-ish tops, and I rarely go to events where I need anything dressier than that. I haven’t been to a wedding in years. I did go to the formal reopening of the museum last year, but I wore a black pantsuit and had my dark hair cut very short. Joel said I looked like Liza Minelli in Cabaret—I never did work out whether that was a compliment. My hair is longer now, and it’s in a chin-length bob, which I know Joel likes.

Jesus, what does it matter what Joel thinks? Irritated with myself, I take the dress off the hanger and lower it over my head. Ooh. It slips sensually over my skin, and I wriggle until it falls into place. I am a tad slimmer than Hallie, but the bodice hugs my breasts and waist, and the skirt parts to reveal my thigh, making me look taller than my five-feet-six. I could wear my cream sandals with it… I retrieve them from the wardrobe and slip them on; they’re strappy and not super high, but very elegant, and look good with the dress.

Unsure, I go out into the living room. “What do you think?”

Hallie and Elora stare at me, their faces lighting up.

“Oh my God,” Hallie says. “It looks so much better on you than it did on me.”

“Hardly,” I reply, embarrassed, smoothing down the skirt. “You have a much better figure than me.”

“Zoe,” Elora scolds, “you’re gorgeous, stop putting yourself down. The dress looks amazing on you—you should totally wear it.” She gets up and takes a plate we missed out to the kitchen.

Hallie gives me a mischievous smile. “You’ll knock his socks off.”

I meet her eyes. “I don’t know who you’re referring to.”

She chuckles. “Don’t tell me you’re not going up to the Bay to discover what Joel’s hiding in his wetsuit.”

I lift my eyebrows. “And don’t tell me you weren’t sitting there flirting with Fraser during dinner.” We’re both speaking quietly, as they’re Elora’s brothers.

Hallie immediately turns scarlet. “I wasn’t doing anything of the sort.”

I let my lips curve up, and eventually her smile matches mine. “He was very… attentive,” she admits.

“He fancies the pants off you,” I inform her. “Don’t you find him a bit… formal?”

She shrugs. “He’s old-fashioned. I quite like that.”

“He seems… strait-laced. Do you think he’ll be like that in bed?”

Her flush deepens. “I have no idea. As we both know, I’m hardly dynamic in the bedroom anyway.” Her tone holds a touch of sarcasm. When she arrived at the flat tonight, she announced that she’d broken up with her boyfriend, Ian, and revealed he’d accused her of being dull in bed.

I drop onto the sofa next to her and take her hand. “I’m so sorry about that. It was a really unfair thing to say. You mustn’t take any notice of him.”

“I won’t,” she says, although she will, of course. That will have done irrevocable damage, unless she can find a guy who’s willing to take the time to show her how wrong he was. Is Fraser that man? I guess that remains to be seen. I can’t imagine him taking the initiative somehow. She’s going to have to seize the bull by the horns or the two of them will still be sitting here this time next year talking about the weather.

“So you like the dress?” she asks.

“I do. Are you sure you don’t mind me borrowing it? Joel will probably spill red wine all over it or something, you know what he’s like.”

“I doubt I’ll wear it again. Go and stun them all, Zo. You’ll be the sexiest girl there.”

“I don’t know about that,” I mumble, getting to my feet. “But the dress does make me feel… I don’t know… as if it has a mind of its own. I think it wants to be naughty.”

She giggles. “Yeah, that’s not you at all.”

Grinning, I go back to my bedroom and take it off. I slot it on the hanger and hook it up. I wonder what Joel will make of it? And what it will make of Joel?