Chapter Three
Zoe
We land at the Bay of Islands airport in Kerikeri just after eleven a.m. Joel has booked a rental car, and we pick up the keys for an SUV—a rather nice Toyota Prado. We put our cases in the back, then climb in, and Joel heads out of the airport.
We haven’t talked much since he made his announcement on the plane. It gives me goosebumps now just thinking about it. He completely shocked me. I thought his interest in me was purely physical. I genuinely assumed that if we had sex, he’d forget about me the next day. His declaration that I want to take you to bed… and I want to keep taking you to bed for the rest of my days… flummoxed me. He can’t mean it. And yet he looked perfectly serious when he said it.
I can’t make him out. He seems so young at times—I think of him as my age or even younger, but he’s not; at twenty-eight he’s four years older than me. His scruffy appearance doesn’t help, or the fact that he’s so insouciant and irreverent. He doesn’t seem to care about anything other than his work. He doesn’t give a fuck what people think of him, which is both sexy and irritating. He only seems to live for today. He does exactly what he wants, when he wants to do it. And I believe him when he says he always gets his own way.
I shiver. So what does that mean for me?
Well, obviously, he’s not going to force me to do anything against my will—he’s not that sort of guy. But it does mean that if he’s fixed his sights on me, he’s going to be—just like his ship—relentless.
I don’t understand why he’s decided to obsess about me, though. There really isn’t anything interesting about me. Okay, I like archaeology, but there are plenty of other girls out there interested in the discipline. I’m not stunningly beautiful, I don’t have an amazing figure, or big boobs, I’m not super-intelligent, or incredibly witty. I’m normal. I’m just me.
“You okay?” he asks.
I glance across at him. He’s leaning one arm on the windowsill and driving with the other hand, his arm outstretched and resting on the top of the steering wheel. Today he’s wearing his faded blue jeans that hang off his hips because they’re about five years old and he’s obviously lost weight since he started his job. The left knee has a tear in it. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with a picture of the Mary Rose—the Tudor flagship of Henry VIII. It’s also faded and creased. He needs a shave, and his hair is all over the place. He’s so fucking scruffy. And so incredibly gorgeous.
“Yeah,” I say.
He scans my face, then returns his gaze to the road.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he turns right at the roundabout, away from Kerikeri.
“Paihia,” he says. “It’s where the dinner is tonight.”
“Where are we staying?”
“At the Sea Breeze. It’s a resort. Real nice. I’ve booked us both suites.”
My eyes widen. “Suites?”
“Yeah. The place has a pool out the front and these little hot pools as well. And a spa, if you fancy a massage.” He glances at me. “Or I can provide that, if you really want one.” His lips curve up.
“Joel!”
“What?”
I shake my head. “You’re making me flustered.”
“Good.”
“You’ve got to stop.”
He just chuckles and returns his gaze to the road.
“Why now?” I ask. “You’ve never been like this before.”
“Before, you were with Charlemagne, and I don’t romance other men’s girls. Since you broke up with him, I have been asking you out.”
“Yes, but you’ve not been quite so…”
“Horny?”
We both laugh. “Insistent,” I correct. But my gaze lingers on him. What would it be like to go to bed with him? I like sex, and I have a feeling that Joel, with his wry sense of humor, his easygoing personality, and his quiet impertinence, will be very good indeed in the sack.
I tear my gaze away. I mustn’t go down that road. I mustn’t let him tempt me.
Luckily there’s plenty to look at out of the window. The steep-sided gorge we’re driving through soon leads to rolling hills and valleys on either side, and then eventually to a patch of mangroves as we pass over a river. The landscape flattens out, and then in front of us, out of the cerulean, the Pacific Ocean appears. It’s a beautiful day, the sun almost directly above us, and the sea is sparkling. The sand is only sprinkled with people, a far cry from the photos you see of other beaches elsewhere in the world.
“Nice,” Joel says, king of the understatement. He indicates and turns right, heads along the seafront, then almost immediately signals right again and turns off the main road and onto a winding drive which loops around and leads to an underground car park.
He parks, and we get out and retrieve our cases, then head up the slope to the door at the top. We go along a corridor and emerge into a large foyer. Joel walks over to the reception desk and announces we have two suites booked.
I stand there, feeling a little awkward as he checks us in. When she asks for a credit card, I take mine out, wondering how much the suite costs and whether I have enough money in the account to cover it.
Joel gives me an impatient look, gives my card back to me, and hands his card over, instructing her to use it for both rooms.
“I can pay my own way,” I protest.
“You’re my guest,” he says. “I have an expense account with MOANA, and I rarely spend it, so I’m going to use it on you this week.”
I don’t know much about his position at MOANA. It’s a big company with branches in most of the major cities in New Zealand. I know he’s a maritime archaeologist, but I assumed he was just a field worker, one of the eight or so in the Wellington team. His mention of an expense account suggests a higher position than that, though.
The receptionist gives us our key cards and explains how to get to the suites, and we leave the foyer and walk out through the front doors. We turn right and head along the long, covered walkway.
Any questions I have vanish as we approach the two suites. Their doors are next to each other, and Joel leaves his case propping open the door to mine and follows me inside.
“Oh my God.” I walk right up to the sliding doors and stare at the fantastic view of the Pacific Ocean. From here I can see right across to the old capital of New Zealand on the other side of the bay—Kororareka, also known as Russell. The bay is full of boats, both motor and sailing. In the distance I can see a cruise ship moored—that must be the one hosting the ANZAS tour.
In front of us is a private balcony, with a slope that leads down to the main swimming pool and the smaller hot pools.
“Jesus, that’s an amazing view,” Joel says, joining me at the window.
We both stare at it for a moment. Then I turn and look around the room. We’re standing in a living room, with a comfortable-looking light-gray sofa and armchairs facing a large-screen TV. A dining table and chairs sit just down from us by the window, and there’s a kitchenette over the other side. I walk through to the bedroom, which is huge, with a king-size bed facing the window, the bedding keeping the ocean theme with crisp white sheets, sea-blue pillow slips, and a turquoise band across the bottom. Big paintings of the sea hang on the walls, and a driftwood mobile twists slowly in the breeze from the open window.
Joel stands beside me, and I feel the warmth of his body against my arm.
“Big bed,” he says.
“You smell like the sea,” I murmur.
“It’s Jimmy Choo’s Man Aqua.”
“It’s nice.”
“Thank you.”
He doesn’t move. I turn my head a little. I’m looking straight at his throat. He’s warm—the hollow there is glistening. If I touched it with my tongue, it would taste of salt.
I lift my gaze to him. He’s not smiling.
“Your eyes are the same color as the sky,” I whisper.
“Yours are incredibly green.” His lids lower a little, and his gaze drops to my mouth. He’s thinking about kissing me.
If he dips his head now, I won’t be able to stop him. My willpower is rapidly vanishing where this guy is concerned. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re going to put me off, because it won’t work. I always get what I want in the end . How can I resist him when he says things like that?
But then I think about what would happen if I let him kiss me. If I let him push me back onto this huge bed, and take off my clothes, and move inside me. It’ll be heavenly; I have no doubt about that. But I would fall for him, I know I would, and I can’t let that happen.
I move back into the living room, walk over to my case, and clear my throat. “How long do we have?” I ask, bringing it into the bedroom.
He looks at his phone. “The dinner starts at six, and it’s only just after midday. I might go for a swim, if you’d like to join me.”
That brightens me up. “Oh, sure, that sounds nice.”
“I’ll meet you down by the pool in ten? We can order drinks and food down there, I think.”
I nod happily. “Okay.”
He goes to the door and collects his suitcase. Then he hesitates and looks back at me. We study each other across the room.
“About what I said on the plane,” he says.
I wait for him to apologize. To say he overstepped the mark. That he didn’t mean it. That he was kidding, and it was all a joke.
“I meant every word,” he says. He doesn’t smile.
Then he walks out, letting the door close behind him.
I stare after him for a moment. Then I go into the bedroom, flop onto the bed on my back, and cover my face with my hands.
*
We go into the main pool first. It runs the width of the resort, and it’s been warmed by the sun, so it’s a perfect temperature. I sit on the side, dangling my legs, and watch Joel walk up to the edge in his blue swim shorts. He stands there for a moment, looking down at the water, and butterflies flutter momentarily in my stomach. He has an athletic build—he’s slim, but with swimmer’s shoulders, wide and well-muscled, and although he doesn’t quite have a six pack, he’s all tight, toned, and tanned. He has a scattering of light-brown body hair, which I like. His eyes meet mine, and his lips curve up, just a fraction, as if he’s reading my mind and is aware I’m ogling him. Then he swings his arms forward and dives effortlessly and cleanly into the pool. The momentum carries him halfway up, and he swims the rest of the way under the water, then turns and swims the whole of the way back, also underwater.
Wow. That’s sexy.
He stops just in front of me, emerges into the sunlight, and takes a deep breath. Then he lifts up easily onto the side next to me and brushes back his hair. Droplets run down his brown skin, which glistens in the sun.
“You’ve taken off your makeup,” he says. He’s right—I have my eyelashes dyed, but I’ve cleansed my face for the swim, and it’s probably the first time he’s seen me without my usual black eyeliner. I wonder if the reality is a bit of a shock.
But his gaze skims my face, and he says, “You’re even more beautiful without it.”
“I know you’re the sort of guy who’d enjoy ducking me,” I tell him.
His lips curve up, and his eyes turn sultry. “I’ll duck you as often as you like.”
Ohhh… I want this guy so bad.
Sulkily, I push off and slide into the water, then swim away from him. I hear him laugh, then a splash as he joins me, and soon he’s swimming beside me, toward the far end of the pool.
I don’t get to swim as much as I’d like. Driving to the local pool is a hassle and I’m usually tired after work, and often busy at the weekend with seeing family and friends or catching up on chores. So it’s a real treat to swim in a pool like this.
The resort is set above ground level in the hills that circle the main center of Paihia, and therefore there is a spectacular view from the pool across to Waitangi, Russell, and the one hundred and forty-four islands that give the bay its name.
It’s a beautiful day. Around the pool, potted palms and ferns lend it a sub-tropical feel, interspersed with loungers and tables that are about half-filled at the moment. Waiters walk around with trays carrying drinks and food, and after we’ve swum a few lengths, Joel stops one of them and asks me what I want for lunch. The waiter passes us a laminated menu, and we choose a couple of toasted sandwiches and mocktails—alcohol-free cocktails, made with various fruit juices.
As the waiter goes off, Joel sweeps me up into his arms, making me squeal, “Put me down!”
“Not until I’ve ducked you senseless.” Laughing, he tosses me away, and I land with a huge splash and come up spluttering.
He catches me in his arms again, and I splash him back with exasperation.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks.
The nerve of him! “No petting in the pool,” I scold, wriggling away from him.
“Aw.” He sighs theatrically and lets me swim away. My heart is racing—I was so close to letting him kiss me then. I’m really going to have to keep my wits about me this week if I want to keep him at arm’s length.
We get out of the pool when lunch arrives and sit on a couple of loungers under an umbrella to eat and drink. Joel starts talking about the Relentless, and I ask him about some of the other wrecks he’s dived on, and that’s it—we talk about archaeology, and order dessert, and swim, and have another drink, and laze on the loungers again, still talking about archaeology, and it’s with some shock that I check my phone later and discover that it’s nearly four p.m.
“I need to have a rest and a shower before I get ready,” I tell him.
“Yeah,” he concedes, “me too.”
We rise and make our way up to our rooms. “Meet you in the lobby?” he suggests. “5:30?”
“Sounds good.”
He smiles. “Thank you for the nice afternoon.”
“Yeah, it was fun.”
His eyes sparkle, but he doesn’t say anything else, and he opens the sliding door to his suite and goes inside.
I do the same, going into my suite, locking the door, and walk through to the bathroom. I take off my bikini and put on a bathrobe, then go back into the bedroom. It has a small private balcony, and I open the sliding doors to it, then curl up on the bed, setting my phone alarm for 4:45 p.m.
I pull the pillow down and hug it. I’m glad of the sea breeze that blows across me as it’s very warm. It reminds me of Joel’s cologne, the light smell of grapefruit and patchouli with an undercurrent of the ocean.
I think of this morning, when I was in the middle of an argument with Mum and Dad, and I looked over to see him standing there. I’m pretty sure Olivia must have asked him to come in, because I’m certain that otherwise he’d have been happy to stay outside—nobody enjoys taking part in another family’s quarrels.
But he didn’t look awkward or cross, and his easygoing, nonchalant manner immediately disarmed us all.
I think about how he ruffled Rory’s hair with tender affection, recognizing the boy’s pain. He’s such an enigma. He seems like a true guy so much of the time—only interested in work, beer, food, and sex—but I’ve seen what he’s like with Elora, how he’s looked after her, and he obviously has layers that intrigue me.
I hug the pillow, thinking about Charles. The wounds from that relationship are still fresh and raw. He broke my heart, and his callous treatment of me when I opened my heart to him isn’t going to dissipate anytime soon.
I loved Charles, or thought I did anyway—sometimes I wonder whether I was in love with the idea of him, rather than with the man himself. The reason I think that is because the way I feel about Joel is different from how I felt about Charles. Joel and I are friends, and the thought of being with him in that way gives me a funny feeling in my stomach that I never really had with Charles.
But how would it feel if I opened up to Joel, and he treated me the same way? If he took my fragile heart and stomped all over it?
My stomach flips uneasily. I’m not prepared to take that risk. Joel will have to stay in his friends box, and I don’t care how much he complains about it.
*
At 5:25 p.m., I collect my purse, go out of the front door, and make sure it’s closed behind me. A little nervously, I lean on the railing while I wait for Joel. I’ve had a shower and washed my hair, and I’ve blow-dried my bob under at the ends, carefully applied my makeup, and slotted in my hooped earrings. I’m wearing the cinnamon-colored dress and my sandals. Even though I’m not trying to tailor my appearance to attract Joel, I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t want him to think I looked nice.
I’m a little nervous, too, about the awards dinner. I don’t know many people in the industry, and it’s going to be a long evening if we’re just sitting there listening to the conversation and clapping politely when some stranger goes up to get their award. I have no idea what Joel is going to be like. It’s true that at the museum opening he helped Fraser by welcoming guests and showing people around, but from memory he’d worn chinos and a white shirt he’d taken straight out of the packet, still with creases where it had been folded, and his hair was exactly the same as usual—all over the place. So I’m expecting the same tonight.
I hear his door opening behind me, and I turn around. He comes out and closes the door behind him, then sees me and stops walking.
We stare at each other for about twenty seconds.
He’s wearing a black jacket with what looks like silk lapels—a real dinner jacket or tux. He’s also wearing a black waistcoat, a white shirt, and a black bow tie. His trousers have black silk braid down the side seams. His black shoes are polished, and the breast pocket contains a neat white pocket square.
He’s clean shaven, his jaw so smooth that my fingers itch to touch it. And he’s styled his hair. He’s smoothed down the wild, scruffy strands with some kind of product, and he looks… Oh my God… fucking magnificent.
“Jesus,” he says. “Zoe, you look incredible.”
I glance down at myself. I’d forgotten I was wearing the dress. I’m only a B cup, and my figure is far from hourglass, but the simple, elegant cut of the dress suits me. I look back up at him. His eyes are filled with heat.
He walks toward me and stands in front of me. Even though I’m wearing heels, he’s still inches taller than me.
My heart bangs on my ribs at the look in his eyes. “You look passable, I guess,” I say.
His lips curve up. “You ready to go?”
I nod, and he offers me his elbow. I slide my hand into it, and we head out.
I’m not supposed to be going as his date. I’m just here as a friend, or maybe a business companion. But I can’t help but feel a secret thrill as women’s heads turn when we pass. They think we’re a couple. And there are worse things than being matched with a gorgeous guy like Joel.