Chapter Two
Spencer
The beautiful girl sitting across the table from me gives a mischievous smile, and my pulse quickens.
It’s been impossible to drag my gaze from her tonight.
She’s wearing a short summer dress in a burnt-orange color that compliments her brown skin, and even though she’s not tall, her legs seem to go on forever, especially as she’s been barefoot all evening.
Earlier, when she joined some of the others in the pool, she stripped off her dress by the poolside to reveal wonderful curves that were barely hidden by a bright blue bikini, giving me an instant hard-on, which meant I had to spend the next half an hour sitting with my back to the pool so I couldn’t see her wet skin.
Her brown hair shines in the fairy lights, looking like glossy melted chocolate where it curls over one shoulder.
Her eyes imprison a wealth of emotions and secrets in their amber depths.
She’s gorgeous.
She’s also sixteen years my junior and the daughter of my business partner. Some relationships are doomed even before they start.
“You should go to bed,” I tell her. “It’s late.”
She just laughs. “I’m not fourteen anymore.” Her gaze turns sultry. “I’m a woman now. Or haven’t you noticed?”
“Yes, I’ve noticed.” How could I not? She was the most beautiful girl at the club tonight.
Her gaze drops to my mouth, and she moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue. She’s thinking about kissing me. My heart bangs on my ribs as I picture leaning forward, sliding a hand to the back of her head, and crushing my lips to hers. I should put a stop to this now.
“You’re in your twenties,” I state firmly. “You’re far too young for me.”
“I’m twenty-nine,” she scoffs. “I’m thirty next month. Thirty!”
“Even so. You’ll always be the little girl who cried when she dropped her teddy bear in the pool. Do you remember that?”
Although I’d known her father at high school, he was older than me, and it wasn’t until my last year at university that we connected through a friend.
I told him about the financial business I was in the process of setting up and, maybe impressed with my ambition and drive, he invited me to his house on Waiheke Island for a summer barbecue.
I was already married by then with a baby the same age as his son.
Our wives got on well and were happy to sit by the poolside and talk motherhood, keeping one eye on Marama splashing about in the shallows, while Rangi flipped burgers and discussed business.
When she dropped her bear, I was the one who jumped in and fished it out for her.
She’d looked up at me with these big amber eyes that were glassy with tears as she’d mumbled, “Thank you.”
“I remember,” she says softly. “You kissed its nose before you gave it back to me. You said, ‘All better.’”
“Did I?” I act nonchalant, but the moment is vivid in my mind.
She runs a finger around the top of her champagne glass. “I’ve got something to admit to you.”
“Oh?”
Her look turns impish. “Do you remember when I used to sketch the guests at Mum’s parties?”
“I do.” Huia Davis used to let her daughter sit in the corner of the room with her sketchbook until dinner was served.
She sucks her bottom lip. Then she says, “The other day I found a box in Dad’s attic full of my old art books. I was flicking through them. They’re nearly all of you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
I’m secretly flattered, but I just drawl, “I’m not surprised. I know I’m irresistible.”
She giggles. “In one of them was a drawing I did when I was sixteen. You were standing by the window, looking out at the garden as you talked to Dad. I sketched you quickly and then completed it later when I went upstairs. I… um… made a small alteration.”
“Oh?”
Her eyes dance. “I sketched you naked.”
This time both of my eyebrows shoot up. I’m sure it’s common for sixteen-year-olds to dream about older men, but I’m shocked that I was the subject of her fantasies. She’s been attracted to me since she was a teen?
Uh-oh.
I decide to make a joke of it. “Do you mean you were naked while you were sketching, or that you drew me without clothes?”
That makes her laugh. “I still can’t believe I did it. Blame my teenage hormones.”
“Naughty girl,” I admonish, lips curving up in spite of myself. “How did you know what a naked man looked like?”
“My friend didn’t have parental controls on her internet.”
“Well, I hope you made me look impressive.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“If you did, for Christ’s sake don’t exhibit it—the female population of Auckland would sue you for false advertising.”
She giggles again. “Are you being honest or self-deprecating?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Her eyes flare. “Maybe.”
Ahhh… steady, Spencer. Stop flirting.
She sips her champagne. “The female population of Auckland? Been making the most of being single, have we?”
I give a short laugh. “That would be telling.”
She smiles. “Is there anyone special?”
I meet her eyes. “No.”
“Why not? You’ve been alone for… what? Six years now?”
I nod slowly.
“It’s a long time,” she says.
“It is.”
She surveys me curiously. I think she’s itching to ask if I’ve had girlfriends in that time, but instead, when she eventually speaks, it’s to say, “Do you miss Eleanor terribly?”
The question surprises me. Nobody has asked me so openly before. I hesitate, not sure how to answer. I don’t want to appear callous and unfeeling. I realize with surprise that I don’t want Marama to think badly of me.
“I’m sorry,” she says hastily. “I shouldn’t have asked that. Of course you miss her. It was a stupid thing to say.”
“No, it’s fine.” I turn my glass in my fingers. It’s late, I’m tired, and for some reason Marama’s big, gentle eyes make me want to confess. “Do you want an honest answer?”
She nods.
“The truth is that my feelings toward my late wife are mixed, and thinking about her makes me uncomfortable.”
A frown flickers on her brow, but I don’t think it’s a disapproving one; she’s just curious. “Uncomfortable?”
Her eyes are a beautiful amber. It makes me think about Eleanor’s, which were light green, cold, and hard, like a stone that lies beneath a forest river. “Our relationship was… complicated. She treated it more like a business transaction. She wasn’t an easy woman to love.”
She looks surprised, but I’m not sure whether it’s because of what I said or the fact that I was so open.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I add, feeling guilty.
“It’s okay. I’m glad you did, after I poured out all that about Connor. Was she always like that?”
I nod slowly, my eyes growing distant. “She was stunning when she was young. English-rose complexion, that beautiful blonde hair. Always smiling. I felt like a planet orbiting around the sun. But when I got to know her, I realized she was more like a comet, blazing her own trail, and made mostly of ice.”
“Ooh.” Marama gives a little mock shiver. “Why did you marry her then?”
“Because she got pregnant.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “That was careless of you,” she teases.
“She told me she was on the pill.” Even after all these years, I’m embarrassed to admit I fell for it.
But Marama doesn’t laugh or mock me; instead her brows draw together, and she says, “Oh my God, that’s awful. She got pregnant on purpose?”
“Yeah. She’d decided I was a good prospect and wanted to snare me, and she knew I’d do the right thing.”
“Not every man would have. Most men would have said no way were they going to commit themselves to a woman who got pregnant on purpose.”
“I’m not most men.”
“No,” she says softly, “I can see that.” She leans her head on a hand. She’s obviously tired, but I think that, like me, she’s enjoying this conversation and doesn’t want to go home. “How did you cope with the resentment?” she asks curiously. “There must have been some, surely?”
I breathe in, then let it out slowly in a half-sigh.
“Yes. At times. But we were compatible in a lot of ways. She was a good hostess and companion socially. She was supportive of my career and didn’t mind me spending long hours at work.
Lots of people think I’m cold and hard. It could be argued that we were well matched. ”
Her lips slowly curve up. “I don’t think you’re cold.”
“Well, thank you. But I’m under no illusions what people think of me.”
“The Wolf of Waiheke?”
I chuckle.
“I think you rather like that nickname,” she teases.
“It’s better than the Wanker of Waiheke. Or the Asshole of Auckland. I’m sure I’ve been called both of those in the past.”
We both laugh.
“I think it’s all for show,” she says. “I think you’re a pussy cat beneath the tiger image.”
“ Rawr .”
She giggles, then swallows the last mouthful of champagne in her glass. I’m close to finishing my drink, and I was about to retire for the night, but suddenly I don’t want the evening to end.
“Do you want one more?” I ask, gesturing at her glass.
She looks surprised. “Oh!” She glances at the poolside bar. “I think they’ve closed for the night.” Les, the bartender, is wiping down the bar.
“They won’t mind serving us.” I hold up a hand and attract Les’s attention, and he comes over. “Can we have the same again?” I ask.
“Sure.” He smiles and goes off to get them.
“I forgot you own the place,” Marama says.
“Not just me,” I correct. “There are eight of us in the Midnight Circle.”
“Wasn’t the land yours, though? I seem to remember Orson saying.”
“Yes, that’s true. I inherited it when my father died.
Huxley had approached us to ask whether we would be interested in joining a consortium with the idea of setting up a resort, and I put forward the idea of basing it here.
” Oliver Huxley runs a business club in the city, and he liked the idea of setting up another exclusive club with the intention of donating the proceeds to various charities.
The rich businessmen and women who are part of the Midnight Circle were all keen to use some of their wealth to help others.
“It was a great idea,” Marama says. “And very altruistic.”