Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Before he knew it, Oliver was describing to Lucy what it felt like to sail alone off the New South Wales coast.
He heard himself talk about the hiss of the hull cutting through the water at night, the wind filling the sails, the absolute silence when the engine was off.
He was so buoyed by her attention, so carried along by her intelligent questions and small, pleased smiles, until her voice snapped him out of it.
‘Oliver.’
He blinked.
‘The ma?tre d’ is waiting.’
The man stood at his elbow, patient, menus tucked against his arm.
‘A different wine, sir, with your next course?’
What was happening? Oliver had brought Lucy here to shower her with charm, to cast a spell over her so she’d be on his side in the forthcoming battle over the hotel. He stopped short of admitting to himself he’d brought her here to use her. Even in his head, the word was brutal.
‘Lucy?’ he said.
She was smiling at him in a way that made him… uncomfortable. As if she believed she was the one winning.
He glanced down. She’d eaten most of her dinner and barely touched her wine. His plate was still almost untouched.
‘No, I’m fine with this,’ she told the ma?tre d’.
When the man had gone, Oliver sat back and studied her. Somehow, she’d taken control of the conversation. He’d underestimated her, and worse, lowered his guard.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to anyone about his love of sailing.
Her lashes dipped as she took a sip of wine. When she lifted her gaze again, it was sharp, probing.
‘You’re staring at me,’ she said.
He set his glass down. ‘Isn’t that normal when you’re having dinner with a friend?’
‘I’m a friend already?’
‘I hope so. I like you. You’re smart, funny, beautiful and, no doubt, if I give you the chance, you’ll be a good conversationalist.’
She laughed. ‘I enjoyed hearing about what you enjoy. It gives me a sense of you.’
Her choice of words made him uneasy. He cleared his throat and leaned forward.
‘So now it’s your turn. Give me a sense of you.’
Her lips pursed briefly in disagreement. ‘I’m not as interesting as you.’
He laughed. ‘You clearly don’t believe that.’
She laughed with him. ‘True. Oh well, I suppose it’s only fair. What would you like to know?’
‘Same thing. What do you enjoy?’
‘Oh, that’s easy. My life.’
He stared. It was rare that anyone surprised him. ‘Your life?’
‘Yes. All of it. Love it.’
‘So…’ He really needed to understand this. ‘You love running a café?’
‘Absolutely. What’s not to love? I’ve always enjoyed cooking — which is just as well, because no one else in my family is particularly interested.
’ She warmed to her theme, leaning forward, eyes bright.
‘And then there are my customers. I know the regulars really well, and then I get the visitors. People walking the Escarpment Track, spending a day at the beach, checking out the artists’ studios.
’ She smiled, her joy unmistakable. ‘I have all the world in my café.’
‘So there’s no reason to leave it, then.’
‘No.’
‘What else?’
She shrugged. ‘Family, friends, café. That’s my world, and that’s how I like it.’
‘No travel? No hobby that takes you out of your world from time to time?’
‘No.’
The word was short but heavy enough to tell him a guard had just come up. Miss Lucy MacLeod was not as straightforward as she appeared. Her world was curtailed, and there was a reason for that she wasn’t telling him.
‘Well, I’m not surprised,’ he said lightly. ‘MacLeod’s Cove is a…’ Inspiration deserted him.
She laughed. ‘You hate it.’
‘I don’t hate it. It’s just… not somewhere I’ve been before.’
‘You should spend some real time there. You might like it.’
And hell might freeze over, he thought.
‘I go where the work is.’
‘And that’s in Wellington. You still haven’t told me exactly what you do.’
There was a reason for that.
‘I buy things that aren’t working and develop them… into something profitable.’
She held his gaze, and his stomach dipped. ‘And what’s not working in MacLeod’s Cove?’
He forced a charming smile. ‘Nothing I’ve seen. I was just… curious.’
His reply clearly didn’t wash. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she thought she was on to something. So much for keeping things vague.
‘So when you say you “develop them”… What do you actually do?’
‘I’m in urban planning and development strategy,’ he said. True, he reassured himself. Vague, but true. ‘Mainly in Australia,’ he added, hoping to head off questions about local projects. He really didn’t want to go there.
She crossed her arms on the table. ‘A Sydney developer in MacLeod’s Cove at 8am on a Wednesday. That’s not curiosity, Oliver. That’s reconnaissance.’ She’d barely dropped the bombshell before continuing. ‘I wonder if you know my sister’s boyfriend, Sam Boyd?’
Sam Boyd? What the hell?
So much for keeping things vague. He’d forgotten how small New Zealand was. For a moment he longed for the anonymity of Sydney, or New York, or anywhere else. As soon as Lucy spoke to Sam, the cat would be out of the bag. That bigger bombshell had just changed everything.
He had only tonight to win her over. If he didn’t, he’d be forced into Plan C — and he didn’t want to smear his grandparents’ legacy by bribing officials if he could avoid it.
He pretended to think. ‘Name sounds familiar,’ he said with a tight smile.
‘Hm.’ Lucy grunted softly. ‘I’ll have to ask him to dish the dirt on you.’
His smile stayed in place. ‘And what makes you think there’s any dirt to discover?’
She tipped her head, leaning back, one arm folded, the other cradling her glass as if she were appraising him. ‘You just strike me as someone very determined to get what he wants. I bet you’re a tough negotiator. And tough negotiators tend to leave a trail of damage behind them.’
This was heading somewhere he really didn’t want to go. But if she knew Sam, the clock was ticking anyway. She’d know everything sooner rather than later.
He shrugged. ‘I always win. I make sure of it.’
‘Sounds like business is a contest to you.’
‘No. More like a war.’
Her brows lifted. She sat back and took a thoughtful sip of wine. ‘That’s… quite fierce. Puts you in the warrior category.’
‘It’s a jungle out there — at least in the cities.’
She pulled a wry face. ‘You’ve obviously never lived in a village. There’s as much drama in a village as in a city. Which brings me back to my original question. Why were you really in MacLeod’s Cove?’
He leaned in, folding his arms and locking his gaze to hers. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, gratified to see her eyes darken with interest, ‘I needed my preconceptions about village life confirmed.’
‘And why would you need that? Looking to widen your portfolio?’
Even the best player would’ve flinched at that shot. From the way her eyes sharpened, he feared he’d given something away.
‘No,’ he said, truthfully enough. His portfolio was already stretched to the limit.
‘Hm, interesting.’ She sat back again, arms folded.
He didn’t like the pose; it put him under a microscope while she held the controls.
‘You don’t like me asking about MacLeod’s Cove. I wonder why.’
He spread his hands. It seemed there was no avoiding her question.
‘I heard MacLeod’s Cove has changed since the new motorway bypasses it.
It’s become quieter, more like it was decades ago.
House prices have risen. I know people who have holiday homes there.
Just curious about investment opportunities. ’
‘Curiosity,’ she echoed, leaning in, ‘killed the cat.’
‘Good thing I’m more of a shark.’
She laughed. ‘That still doesn’t explain what you were doing in a rundown hotel at eight in the morning.’
She rested her elbows on the table and cupped her face, her expression all sweetness and faux-innocence. She was playing him as much as he was playing her.
‘Maybe…’ he said, raising a hand for the waiter before turning back to her with what he hoped was an easy smile, ‘I had a late-night rendezvous with a woman that ran into early morning. It would explain why I was out of place so early.’
‘It would,’ she agreed. ‘It would also suggest a not-too-successful rendezvous if she kicked you out of the house and sent you for coffee at the worst establishment in the village.’
His teeth clenched. He didn’t enjoy that image.
She laughed. ‘Somehow, I can’t see it.’
He was both relieved he didn’t fit the profile of a failed lover and irritated she was still steering the conversation.
‘Another bottle of wine?’ the waiter asked.
‘Yes,’ Oliver said, accepting the recommendation without really listening. He wanted her to relax, to stop scrutinising everything he said with her razor-sharp brain.
‘If you’d like?’
‘Sure, that’d be lovely,’ she said.
She took a long sip, and he watched her throat move, heat punching low in his abdomen. He imagined that mouth, that throat, in a very different context.
‘So… where were we?’ he asked lightly, even as his brain worked at selecting an explanation that would be acceptable. It had to be the truth — or something close to it.
‘The real reason you were in MacLeod’s Cove.’
He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. ‘OK, you’ve got me. I love the buzz of a big city, but there’s something I love more.’
Her head tipped as the waiter refilled her glass. ‘And what’s that?’
‘Money.’
‘Hm.’ The humour drained from her expression. ‘And there’s money to be made in MacLeod’s Cove?’
‘Nothing that would make money on its own,’ he said. That, at least, was true. The Old Colonial was only useful as a box-ticking exercise.
‘Ah.’ Her face brightened. ‘So you’re thinking leisure. A beach house for the perfect weekend getaway.’
‘You know,’ he said, sitting back, determined to shift the trajectory, ‘I’ve always thought if you need a “getaway”, you probably haven’t built a life you want to stay in.’
She lit up. At last he’d managed to divert her onto a safer topic.
‘I so agree,’ she said. ‘I love my world and only leave it for specific reasons. I’m not missing anything where I am.’
‘You’ve created your perfect life,’ he said.
Her smile faltered.
He wanted to know why. ‘But even when our lives are as near-perfect as we can make them,’ he said, ‘sometimes when you get home, there are moments when you feel… lonely.’
It was a guess. An educated one. And judging by the way her beautiful face crumpled, a painfully accurate one.
The tension slid from her features. She blinked twice and dropped her gaze. She looked, he thought, like a fallen butterfly — wings rumpled, colours dulled — and he had the strangest urge to rescue her.
He reached out and touched her hand. He wasn’t sure which of them was more shocked.
She looked up with wide, startled eyes — utterly vulnerable. In that moment, any thought of using her fell away. He’d wanted to divert the conversation. Now he almost wished he hadn’t. This was worse.
‘Lucy,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry. I can see I’ve said something that upset you.’
She cleared her throat. ‘Not at all. It’s just that…’ She trailed off and looked around the room, blinking hard.
‘How about we get some fresh air?’ he suggested. ‘It looks like a beautiful night for a walk along the waterfront.’
She gave him a quick, grateful smile. ‘Yes, please.’