Chapter Fifteen
Joel
It takes around ninety minutes to get to Waewaetorea Island. We pass several boats—most of them fishing boats with rods on the back, some with motors, some with sails, and at one point a luxurious yacht.
“Wow,” Zoe says, eyes wide as it slides past us. “Look at that.” A group of young women dressed in bikinis and sunglasses are sipping from champagne glasses, and they all wave, whistle, and then laugh when I wave back.
“I bet it’s a hen party,” I say.
“You want to hop on board? You could do a striptease for them or something.”
I snort, and she chuckles. “It’s such a beautiful day,” she says, tilting her face up and closing her eyes as the sun beams down on her. “It’s hard to believe there’s going to be a storm later.”
I look at the clouds on the horizon, which are like the faux-fur trim on a woman’s coat. Heavy rain, thunder, and lightning are forecast, so I want to make sure we’re back well before it hits. But I don’t say anything to Zoe. She’s distracted by a pod of dolphins that are swimming alongside the boat, and I smile when one leaps out of the water, and she squeals.
“Oh my God, Joel, did you see that?”
“I did. They’re amazing.”
“Are they bottlenose dolphins?”
“Yep.”
“Look how fast they’re swimming beside us. Hey, are we likely to see any orcas out here?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Are they really dangerous?”
“Nah. Not to humans.”
“Why are they called killer whales, then?”
“They’re predators and hunt other whales, seals, and dolphins. They were originally called ‘whale killers’ by sailors and that just got changed to killer whales.”
“You’re such a smart ass,” she says.
I chuckle. “Have you put sun lotion on?”
“Ahhh… not yet. We’re going swimming, aren’t we?”
“We’ll still need lotion. You can easily get burned in the water. Out here, with the breeze, it’s like standing in front of a furnace. I hope all those women on that boat applied their factor fifty or they’re going to look like a pot of boiled lobsters.”
She retrieves the lotion from the bag. “If you’d gone on the yacht, you’d have been able to rub oil into all those nubile bodies.”
“There are more than enough nubile women on this boat for me to cope with, thank you very much.”
“I’m hardly nubile,” she scoffs.
“You’re a young, sexually attractive woman of marriageable age. It’s the very definition of nubile.”
“It makes me sound fourteen.”
“Well, you’ve got the mental age of a fourteen-year-old.”
“See, that’s what I’m used to,” she says, taking the hem of her tee and peeling it up. “Being mocked and ridiculed. I’m on familiar territory.”
“I wouldn’t want to disappoint—” I stop as I glance at her and do a comedic double-take. “Whoa.”
She looks down at herself, then back up at me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, what?”
“Are you trying to give me a coronary?”
“It’s just a bikini.”
“Zoe, those are the smallest triangles I’ve ever seen.”
She giggles and squirts some sun lotion onto her palm. “When we arrive you can rub some into my chest if you like. And I’m not talking about lotion.”
“Jesus.”
She laughs and starts applying it, rubbing it over her arms, neck, and face. “Have you put any on?”
“Not yet.”
She moves closer and stands behind me, and then I feel her hands on either side of my neck, spreading the lotion over my skin. I don’t say anything, pretending to concentrate on the ocean ahead of me, but all my focus zooms into her touch and I close my eyes temporarily as she strokes up the sides, over my jaw, around my ears, and across my throat, covering all the sensitive places that usually catch the sun.
I open my eyes, but my gaze is unfocused and blurry as she continues to massage the lotion in. Man, that’s hot. Her touch is firm and yet gentle, the lotion letting her fingers glide over my skin as she brushes up to the tender spot behind my ears, then down and around to the hollow of my throat. She strokes up it, over my Adam’s apple, to my jaw, then applies the lotion to my face, her fingertips passing over my nose and cheeks, drawing the liquid across my forehead, and then making sure it sinks into the skin by circling the pads of her fingers.
When she’s done, still standing behind me, she takes the hem of my tee in her hands, peels it up, then drops it to the floor. I don’t say anything, afraid to break the spell, as she tips a little more lotion onto her hands, places them on my shoulders, and spreads it down my arms, taking time to make sure it’s rubbed into my biceps and down my forearms. Then, when they’re well covered, she pours a little from the bottle between my shoulder blades. I feel the cool liquid trickle down my spine, and then she smears it with her hands across my back, using her thumbs to give me a little massage while she does it.
She covers all the way to the top of my shorts, pours some more onto her palms, then slides them around my ribs to my chest. While I continue to steer the boat, she moves close to me, pressing against my back, and strokes up to my collarbone. She spreads the lotion across it, and continues down over my pecs, making sure every inch of my skin is covered.
Her touch is slow and unhurried, and neither of us speaks while she does it. I’m in a sexual fog by now, aroused by both her firm massage and the way she skates her fingers lightly over my skin. She continues down over my abs, making sure all my skin is covered, then finally reaches the top of my shorts and runs her fingers around the edge. My stomach quivers in response.
She slides a hand over the band and down the front of my shorts.
“Joel…” she scolds when she discovers I have an erection.
I give her a wry glance over my shoulder. “Are you really shocked?”
“I was only applying sun lotion…”
“Yeah, yeah.” I move her hand away.
She returns it. “You sure you don’t want some help with that?”
I move it away again. “Absolutely not. Stop distracting me or we’ll end up in Fiji.”
She moves away. “Spoilsport.”
“Make yourself useful and get me a drink, would you? It’s thirsty work steering the boat while being massaged to within an inch of your life.”
She giggles and retrieves a couple of cans of flavored sparkling water from the chilly bin. “Here you go.”
We pop the cans and drink while the boat skims along the waves. To our right, misty in the distance, are the towns of Russell, Paihia, and Waitangi, while a cluster of smaller islands lie ahead of us. We pass Motungarara Island and Okaru Island, and then ahead of us is Waewaetorea Island, resplendent in the morning sunshine.
I circle the island, heading for the beach on the west side, go right to the northernmost edge of the white sand, stop the boat there, and drop the anchor. Zoe’s right; at the moment it’s impossible to believe there’s going to be a storm later. The sun is rising in the bright-blue sky, while the white sand glitters with gold sparkles in its rays. The hills and valleys of the island are lime-green, while the forested slopes are dark. The sea is cerulean where it’s deeper, and turquoise closer to shore. I itch to slide into the water; it’s going to be warm and silky. There’s nothing like the sensual slide of subtropical water over your skin.
I think of Zoe rubbing in the lotion. Well, almost nothing.
“So many shades of blue,” she says, gazing out at the view. “It’s so beautiful here.”
I toe off my deck shoes. “Come on, get your flippers on and let’s have a swim around.”
“Flippers?” she scolds. “You told me they were called fins.”
“It’s interchangeable, but at MOANA we tend to call the longer diving ones fins and the shorter ones we use for recreational swimming flippers.” I tug mine on, trying not to look as she strips off her shorts, revealing long, lightly tanned, bare legs. I grab a couple of snorkels while she puts on her flippers, and then we go to the stern and sit on the swim platform, dangling our legs in the sea. As I knew it would be, the water is warm this close to shore, and it swirls around my legs, soft and silky.
“Ready?” she says.
The sun’s rays bounce off the metal railing of the boat, incredibly bright; or maybe it’s Zoe who’s half-blinding me. The sea breeze lifts her dark hair. Her skin glistens from the lotion. She looks young, happy, and healthy, the gorgeous day having blown away the shadow of what happened on the dive. Our gazes lock, and I find myself tongue-tied by her beauty and my feelings for her.
“You know I’m in love with you, right?” I say.
Her eyes widen. “What?”
My gaze drops to her mouth. “I’m just saying.”
Her lips part, and she inhales. “Joel!”
I lift a hand to cup her cheek and brush my thumb over her skin. Then I move it to the back of her head and lower my lips to hers.
It’s possibly the slowest, most sensual kiss I’ve ever had, sitting there on the edge of the boat, the Pacific Ocean lapping at our legs, the boat moving gently with the motion of the waves. The hot sun beats down on us, and my nostrils are filled with the salty smell of the sea and the subtle scent of Zoe’s perfume.
I press my lips across hers, just enjoying touching her in that special, intimate way you only do with someone you really like. I’ve spent so long admiring her from afar, and I feel honored to finally be sharing myself like this with her. I almost don’t want to breathe in case I break the magic.
She tilts her head a little, changing the angle of the kiss, and both our mouths open automatically, while our tongues slide against each other in a sensual caress. Mmm… I’m half tempted to lift her back into the boat and make love to her right now. But I don’t want our first time to be like that, uncomfortable and rushed.
So eventually I lift my head and smile as I caress her cheek. “Come on. The sea’s waiting for us.”
We don our masks and snorkels, lower ourselves into the water, and head toward the rocks at the end of the beach.
We stay in the water for over an hour. It’s incredibly clear here, perfect for snorkeling. We see huge schools of Blue Maomao fish, slow-moving John Dory, and large, silver Parore. We spot a couple of eagle rays, several octopus, and moray eels tucked up between the rocks. We see various crustaceans and soft corals, and large, brown kelp forests that make it feel as if we’re swimming through a fantasy landscape. Everything is bright and colorful, and we swim together, constantly gesturing and pointing out different things to one another.
Eventually, though, I get hungry, and so we swim back to the boat, climb aboard, and dry ourselves off. The boat has a simple bimini top or retractable canopy, and I pull it across to give us some shade as it’s getting close to midday, while Zoe opens up the small fold-up table, retrieves the chilly bin, and starts lifting food out.
“Oh my God,” she says, “look at these.” She puts a dish of various tiny pies on the table. I take one and eat it in one mouthful.
“Steak and ale. That’s amazing. I’m so hungry.”
“Yeah, me too. Talk about work up an appetite.”
I sit on the bench next to her. While she spreads thick butter onto the homemade bread, I pile food onto the plates—cold meat and cheese, more pies and one of the frittatas, a big dollop of hummus with the crackers, and bits and pieces of fresh and dried fruit. I open the bottle of white wine and pour out two small glasses, and we sit back and eat our lunch looking out at the amazing view of the Pacific Ocean.
“It feels like Paradise,” Zoe says, leaning on the side of the boat and looking at the island. “All that white sand… the deserted beach… the turquoise water… hot sun…” She turns her head and rests it on her hand as she looks at me and smiles. “And a gorgeous guy. Talk about icing on the cake.”
“You’re trying to make me blush again.”
“Maybe.”
I pick up a strawberry and hold it out to her. She closes her lips around it and bites it near the stalk, then eats it dreamily. It’s similar to the expression she had on her face when she came, and it makes me shift closer to her on the seat, then lower my lips to hers for a passionate kiss. As I sweep my tongue into her mouth, I can taste the strawberry, making her seem like the personification of summer.
I lift my head, and her lips curve up as she says, “What was that for?”
I tuck a strand of her damp hair behind her ear. “You’re like Hineraumati, the Māori goddess of summer, one of the two wives of the sun.”
“Who was his other wife?”
“Hinetakurua, goddess of winter.”
“Are you thinking about taking two wives? I don’t think that’s legal in New Zealand these days. Plus, I don’t do well with competition.”
My heart skips a beat at the implication that there’s even a small chance that she might consider marriage in the future. But I don’t want to spoil the moment by getting deep and meaningful—it’s not the day for that.
“I have needs,” I tease. “I don’t know that one woman would be able to cope with them all.”
“Ooh.” She moves a little closer. “Tell me about these needs.”
I chuckle and kiss up her cheek. “I’m very demanding,” I whisper before tracing the tip of my tongue around her ear.
She sucks her bottom lip, and when I move back, her eyes have turned sultry. “Mmm. Joel.” She studies my mouth, then takes a sip of wine. Sliding her free hand to the back of my neck, she pulls my head down for a kiss. When I open my mouth to her tongue, I feel the cool sweetness of the wine flood my mouth, making me instantly hard.
With a guttural growl, I crush my lips to hers, and we indulge in a steamy, sensual kiss that leaves us both panting and breathless.
“Ooh,” she says when we eventually part. She glances at the bottom of the boat. “We could always spread out a blanket…”
“Absolutely not,” I scold. “I want our first time to be much more comfortable and romantic than this.”
“It’s pretty romantic, having your first fuck in paradise.”
I frown at her. “Don’t say that.”
She laughs. “Are you going all prudish on me?”
“No. But that’s not how I feel about you and it’s not what I want from you, so I’d rather you didn’t describe it that way.”
She looks a tad surprised, and I assume she’s going to mock me, but she just says, “Okay, sorry.”
I look away, at the white sand and turquoise water. “How about we swim to shore and have a doze under one of those trees?”
“That would be lovely.”
“Come on. We’ll pack up a few things in a bag.”
The boat contains several waterproof bags, including one emergency pack with things like a flashlight and first aid kit. Leaving that in place, I collect one of the empty bags and put towels, sun lotion, some food, and bottles of water in it, while Zoe packs away the rest of the food in the chilly bin. I seal the bag, and then the two of us go to the back of the boat, slide into the water, and start swimming toward the island, with me towing the bag. It’s only a short swim, and soon I’m able to put down my feet and curl my toes in the sand.
We wade ashore and walk along the deserted beach to the bunch of pōhutukawa trees at the other end. They no longer bear their red Christmas flowers, but their rich green leaves supply plenty of shade.
We spread our towels on the sand, then decide to go for a float in the ocean for a bit before our snooze. Zoe insists on reapplying my sun lotion, and after she’s spent a good five minutes massaging it in, leaving me with another raging erection, I torture her for a while by smoothing lotion all over her arms, neck, and tummy. It backfires, of course, and by the end I’m so turned on that I’m seconds from tossing her onto the towel and doing her there and then. But the threat of getting sand in unmentionable places is enough to deter me, and in the end I run and dive into the ocean, which feels colder now my body is hot, and soon sorts my erection out.
Zoe joins me, and the two of us swim up the beach and back again, and then float on our backs for a while, enjoying the sensation of the warm sun on our skin and the cooler water on our backs. Eventually, sleepiness overcomes us, and we wade to shore and collapse onto the towels. Zoe lies on her front, and I lie on my back with an arm over my face, and within a few minutes the two of us have fallen fast asleep.
I’m not normally much of a dozer. I rarely nap during the day, and when I do, it’s usually only for five minutes or so. I’m therefore shocked when I open my eyes and see the sun much lower in the sky than I expected.
I blink and sit up, startled. I don’t wear a watch, and as I check the bag, I realize I’ve left my phone on the boat. What the hell’s the time? We got to the island around eleven, eleven-thirty, I think. We snorkeled for an hour, then had lunch until around one-thirty. We swam here on the beach for an hour, which would have been about two-thirty.
By the position of the sun, it must be late afternoon, maybe three-thirty, or even closer to four. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem, but with some alarm I spot the clouds gathering on the horizon in the direction we’re going to be traveling. They’re dark and troublesome, and we have a ninety-minute journey home.
“Zo.” I put a hand on her arm.
She jerks awake, blinks a few times, then focuses on me and sits up. “Ooh, I’m all stiff.” She stretches and yawns. “Wow, how long did we sleep?”
“Too long. We need to get going.” I gesture at the clouds in the distance.
She laughs. “They’re miles away!”
“They’re closing in. Can’t you feel the drop in temperature?”
“No.”
I stand and start shaking the sand off my towel. “Come on. Let’s get back to the boat.”
She stares at me for a moment, then gets to her feet. “Is this just you being you? Or are you really worried?”
I hesitate. Then I force a smile onto my face. “Just me being me. But better to be safe than sorry, right?”
Relief washes over her features. “Yeah, of course.” She shakes the sand off her own towel and rolls it up to put it in the bag.
I add the other bits and pieces and seal it, and we head to the water. I don’t want to worry her. Besides, she’s probably right, it’s just me being over-cautious as usual.
We swim the short distance to the boat, climb up the ladder, stow our stuff, and then I start the engine. With a reluctant look back at the beautiful beach, I steer away from the island, heading back toward Opito Bay.
Behind us, it’s a beautiful day. The sun beats down, and the islands we pass glow like jewels in the sunshine. All I can see, though, are the clouds in front of me, bunching and furling, moving at an alarming speed. I’ve seen an amazing array of weather in my time on the ocean. Fantastic sunrises and stunning sunsets. Usually as the sun starts to descend, the sky and sea take on the colors of a fruit bowl—rich cherry and raspberry reds, warm tangerines, and golden kiwi fruit. Today, though, the clouds look bruised, with touches of purples and greens, and the rest of the sky is turning a slate gray. I read this morning that a tropical depression is moving down from the subtropics, and the wind has shifted northeasterly, bringing in the warm, moist air from the Pacific.
We’re about halfway back when it starts to rain.
“Shit,” Zoe says, hunting in her backpack for her waterproof jacket. She struggles into it, then gets mine out for me, and helps me on with it. We’re wet from our swim, so it’s not going to keep us dry, but the jacket does at least give a bit of protection from the brisk breeze.
Hoods up, we both stand in the cockpit behind the screen that protects us a little from the spray. I’m going as fast as I dare, and the boat bounces along the top of the rising waves. Zoe was singing for the first part of the journey, bright and happy, but now she huddles up to me and slides her arms around my waist, and I hug her, conscious that she’s now aware of how dangerous the ocean can be.
We’ve passed the main cluster of islands and are heading across open water toward Moturoa Island, where the Black Rocks are, when the heavens open, and real subtropical rain starts coming down in sheets.
“Jesus,” Zoe yells, clutching hold of the handrail. “That’s what I call rain!”
I’m too busy to answer, trying to keep the boat steady as the swell tosses us about like a piece of driftwood. I start to wonder whether we’d be better off getting to shore somewhere rather than trying to make it all the way to the marina. I have my Day Skipper Certificate, but usually Clive or Manu takes the helm when we’re out diving, and my knowledge of boats is limited.
Just then, lightning cuts the sky in half, and only a few seconds later, thunder crashes as if Tangaroa himself is roaring his fury at us. I curse as a wave lifts us right up into the air, then slams us down on the ocean that feels as solid as concrete. “Can you get the life jackets out?” I yell, gesturing at one of the lockers.
She nods and retrieves them, and we both struggle into them and clip them on. I feel a bit better once I see her wearing hers.
“I’m going to head for the island,” I say. Zoe nods, and I steer toward the south side of the island, knowing I have to avoid the reefs.
I’m halfway there when Zoe goes white as a sheet and squeals, “Joel!”
I turn just in time to see a gigantic wave approaching us, presumably created by the motion of the water on the Black Rocks. It looms over us, a huge dark shape, filling me with terror.
“Hold on!” I yell, knowing it’s pointless to do anything else. When Tangaroa loses his temper, there’s little us mere mortals can do to fight his ire.
The wave is easily over ten feet high, and it washes right over the boat. I grab Zoe to make sure she’s not swept overboard, holding her tightly as the full force of the wave hits us. I hook an arm around the handrail, and I hang on for dear life.
The roar of the wave is deafening, the wall of water rushing toward us like a taniwha —a Māori kraken. We duck instinctively, but it slams into us, knocking the breath from my lungs. The boat creaks and shudders, as if its very bones are being torn apart by the ocean.
As it recedes, I straighten, soaked from head to toe and feeling as if I’ve gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer. “Are you okay?”
Zoe’s hood was knocked off and her hair is plastered to her head, but there’s no sign of blood, and she’s in one piece. She coughs and gives me a thumbs up, and we look around to assess the damage.
At that moment, the engine coughs, splutters, and dies.
“What’s happened?” Zoe yells.
Fear fills me as I remember Manu scraping the boat against the reefs yesterday. It must have been damaged… and I never thought to check. “I think the water’s got into the fuel tank.”
Even though we’d lowered the canopy and strapped it in, it’s hanging by one corner, and there’s no sign of the fold-up table.
My heart bangs, and I turn immediately to the VHF radio that’s mounted on the dashboard near the steering wheel and engine controls. I flick it on—it buzzes briefly and there’s a hiss of static, but it’s immediately snuffed out, and the box goes dead.
We have no way of contacting the coastguard or other emergency services. We’re out on the ocean, in a storm, with no engine and no radio, completely on our own.