Tears prick my eyes at his praise, and I swallow hard. “Thank you. That’s a nice thing to say.”
“I mean it. I had no idea when we did that work with Women’s Refuge that you’d had personal experience with it.”
“They were terrific, just what I needed at the time. I talked a lot with other women in the same position. They understood what I was going through. I decided I didn’t want to change my name, although I sort of have—everyone at home called me Nicky.”
His lips curve up. “Really?”
“Yeah. I was relieved when Hal nicknamed me Nix, and you’ve always called me Nicola anyway. But I did dye my hair. I had the feeling it took me a step further away from the person I used to be.”
He leans back as the waitress comes over with our coffees. “I feel ashamed,” he says once she’s gone.
“Ashamed?”
“At my sex. That so many men use their strength against women. It’s appalling that a place like the Refuge even has to exist.”
“I know, but it’s not all one way. You know as well as I do that a quarter of all intimate-partner violence is perpetrated by women. The whole thing is terrible. That’s why I like working at the Ark. I feel as if we’re doing good, and it makes me feel as if we’re fighting back, in a way, against that tide of darkness.”
He rests on the table, takes my hand, and looks into my eyes. “It’s important to me that you tell me if you think I overstep the mark at all. I know I get short with people sometimes, and that I can snap. I don’t always think of the other person—I just get frustrated and have to express it. You try to tell me, and I appreciate that. But please, let me know, whether we’re in the office, or… in bed…”
“Sweetheart…” I lift his hand and kiss it. “There’s a huge difference between unwanted attention from a stranger, and the way we are in the bedroom. We both enjoy the differences between the sexes, and it’s fun to explore those in bed. It’s not an issue at all.” I definitely don’t want him to think that.
He reaches out and cups my face. “You are very special to me. Whatever happens, whatever we decide… I want you to know that.”
Chapter Nineteen
Leon
When we’ve finished our coffees, I take Nicola along the seafront to the pier, and we board the boat I’d booked earlier. Within half an hour, we’re heading out to sea, the cold wind whipping across our faces. Luckily we’re both wearing our thick jackets and Nicola has her hood pulled up to protect her ears. I’m glad I bought her the coat—she’d have frozen without it.
There is an inside cabin, but even though it’s cold we go onto the upper deck and lean on the railing, me behind her, my arms wrapped tightly around her. I don’t ever want to let her go. I can’t believe the story she told me in the café. When she told me, I felt anger like I’ve never felt before, and that’s saying something, as I can be a pretty irritable guy. But I’m going to have to work on that. The last thing I want is to remind her of the man who made her life a misery.
I wince when I think of all the times I’ve yelled at work, when I’ve been grumpy or impatient. How did she put up with me for so long? I’m stunned to think she wants any part of me at all. And yet now she’s snuggled back in my arms, her head resting on my shoulder, and when I bend my head and press my lips to her cheek, she gives a happy sigh.
We’re given a talk by the crew operating the tour, who explain how they find the whales using hydrophones or underwater microphones that pick up the echolocation of a sperm whale up to eight miles away. Nicola and I don’t talk much, listening to the man speaking and looking out at the view, but she remains in my arms, and I think she’s enjoying being together as much as I am.
We see lots of Kekeno, or New Zealand fur seals, on the rocks by the road that hugs the Kaikoura coast, and several species of Shearwater birds that come to investigate the boat and dive for any fish it’s churning up. The guide informs us the three-kilometer-deep Kaikoura Canyon runs up the coast, which creates a rare system of sea currents and a rich marine food chain that brings the whales close to shore.
He tells us that we might be lucky enough to see a blue whale, who have hearts the size of a car and a tongue that weighs as much as an elephant. But we’re more likely to see sperm whales, which are named after the spermaceti oil they produce in the spermaceti organ in their head. They used to be hunted for this oil to make smokeless candles in the nineteenth century, but now they’re safe in New Zealand waters, unbothered by the visitors who come to view from a distance.
Sure enough, within only twenty minutes the guide informs us that they’ve spotted a sperm whale. Nicola gasps and I catch my breath as the whale curves out of the water, showing a sleek black spine, gives a large spray of water from the blowhole, and then reveals the distinctive fluke—the tail formed from two lobes with a deep notch in the middle.
“It’s amazing…” she whispers. “I never thought I’d get to see this. Thank you so much, Leon.”
“Thank you for coming with me.” Despite her thick coat, she feels small and vulnerable in my arms. I think of the man who touched her when she didn’t want to be touched, and have to fight against clenching my fists and gritting my teeth. I want to pound the guy into the consistency of mashed potato. How dare he take out his sexual frustrations on this gentle, funny, beautiful woman?
We watch the whales play around us for thirty minutes before the boat begins to head back, and Nicola turns to face me and rests her cheek on my shoulder, cuddling up against me as the boat rocks beneath our feet. I want to protect her from the world, but she’s not mine to protect. We’re living on borrowed time, and soon it’s going to come to an end.
I’m tempted to tell the boat to sail on, to continue to Fiji or Rarotonga, and then we can hop off, find a little hut on the beach, and live there for the rest of our lives. What a fantasy that would be. But of course we can’t. This is the real world, and in the real world we have responsibilities, and reputations, and duties. That’s what happens when you grow up.
We’re escorted back to shore by a pod of dolphins, and we spend a happy fifteen minutes watching them swimming alongside the boat and occasionally leaping out of the water. Nicola laughs a lot at their antics. They’re amazing, but my attention is drawn more by the beautiful girl in my arms.
Eventually, we reach the pier, and we disembark, thank the guide, and head back into town. We ate not that long ago, but we buy ourselves a takeaway coffee and walk along the seafront for a while, and when we end up by the town’s small cinema, we decide to go in and watch a movie. We buy tickets to a sci-fi film we both want to see, and a big bucket of popcorn, and we sit at the back in the nearly empty cinema in the middle of the afternoon and watch the movie, kissing in between feeding each other popcorn like a couple of teenagers.
Afterward, we catch a taxi to our hotel. It’s nearly five o’clock now, so we check in and are shown to our suite overlooking the ocean.
“This is amazing.” Nicola walks through the large living room to the huge windows overlooking the rocks of the headland, the seals basking there clearly visible.
“The hotel is in a great location,” I admit.
“Yes, it is, but I meant the room, Leon. It’s huge! It must have cost a fortune.”
I shrug. “I didn’t ask the price.”
“Oh my God, I love having a rich boyfriend.”
I give a short laugh and toss my phone and wallet onto the table. She comes over to me, her teeth tugging her bottom lip.
“I was joking,” she admits. “I know you’re not my boyfriend.”
“Well, I’m nearly thirty for starters. I haven’t been called anyone’s boyfriend since I was a teen.”
“You know what I’m saying,” she says softly. “I’m not assuming anything.”
My smile fades, because we both know our time away is coming to a close. I don’t want to think about it.
“Shall we have dinner here?” I ask her. “I saw the menu at reception, and it looked pre
tty good.”
She turns away and walks off toward the bedroom. “Sure. I’ll get unpacked.”
I watch her go, knowing I’ve disappointed her. She wants me to make a dramatic declaration of love, to say screw everyone at the Ark, stay working for me and we’ll date like ordinary people. But I can’t do that. She knows I can’t. I did tell her that in the beginning. I’ve spent too long deriding others for having relationships in the workplace. It would be hugely hypocritical for me to turn around and do the same. It would set a terrible example for the Ark’s employees.
Still, I feel like a heel, especially after her admission of what happened in Christchurch. But it’s hardly the same. I’m not like her father or the man who assaulted her. This is a completely different situation. I haven’t misled her, and I’m not abandoning her. We’re two consenting adults who hooked up during a weekend away, and will soon be returning to normal.
Ignoring the voice in my head telling me that my naivety is signaling impending doom, I head for the bedroom to get changed for dinner.
*
The menu is sublime, and it turns out to be one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time, better even than that at The Milky Way the previous night. I’d wondered whether Nicola might be quiet, worried about what’s going to happen tomorrow, but she’s bright and cheerful, and we talk for several hours about our lives, our pasts, our childhoods, about politics and music and movies, learning about each other and just enjoying being together.
We finish off with an Irish coffee, taking it into the bar lounge to drink it, and sit beside each other on a sofa. The sun has set now, and there’s a sliver of moon, casting a faint light over the water and the rocks below.
“I was thinking,” she says, poking me with her toe. “You seemed very interested in what I told you about my previous occupation.”
“The exotic dancing?” I raise an eyebrow. “Well, yeah. I have a fairly active imagination, and it had a field day picturing what you got up to.”
“Want a demonstration?” she asks.
Both eyebrows now rise of their own accord. “You mean… you’ll dance for me? In our room?”
She rolls her eyes. “Well I didn’t mean here in the lounge.”
I give her a sarcastic glare. “That’s not what I meant.”
She laughs. “I know.” Her eyes are bright, teasing. “What do you think? Would you like a private performance?”
I have a brief flicker of unease at the thought of her dancing for the guy who assaulted her. Does it put me in the same bracket as that nutjob if I find it a turn-on? But I can’t think like that. Being turned on by your sexy girlfriend while she’s wearing lacy lingerie isn’t unusual, or wrong, or a crime. It’s stalking a girl and sexually assaulting her that crosses the line.
I don’t miss that I called her my girlfriend in my head. Careful, Leon.
Her smile has slipped a little. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you what happened,” she says. “You look at me differently now.”
I don’t want her thinking that’s the case, so I push away the confusion I feel at labeling her as my girl and concentrate on the moment. “Of course I don’t.”
“It doesn’t bother you that I did that for money?”
“No.” Should I be honest? I study her face, her eyes, her mouth, wanting to kiss her, to touch her. “Truthfully, and I’m a little embarrassed about it, I find it a turn-on.”
“Embarrassed?”
I shrug. “Concerned is probably a better word. I’m worried it makes me like that guy.”
Her brow creases, and she moves closer to me so she can reach up and touch my face. “Leon, you are nothing like him. You have to stop worrying about that.”
“You’re right, I know, it’s just… what with Angela… sometimes I think I’ve been cursed where relationships are concerned.”
“You’ve not been cursed. You’ve been terribly hurt, and now you’re wary. Frightened, even. And don’t glare at me, you know I’m right. You’re terrified of falling for someone and it all going horribly wrong.”
She’s right—I am. For a long while now I’ve been convinced that a happily ever after isn’t on the books for me. I don’t tend to have trouble getting girls to go out with me, but I’ve not clicked with anyone for a long time, and I know that’s my fault, because I’m too reserved. If any of them have been interested in more, I’ve backed away.
“Poor Leon,” Nicola murmurs, her eyelids falling to half-mast. She traces a finger around my ear, her gaze turning sultry. “All that passion, and no way to let it out.”
“It’s not as much fun on your own,” I admit, distracted by the desire in her gray eyes.
They widen at my words. “Oh my,” she whispers. She shifts a little closer on the sofa, her gaze dropping to my lips. “You’re definitely going to have to show me how you do that.”
I chuckle and put my arm around her. “That turns you on?”
“It does, Mr. Lion King.”
That makes me laugh. “Does that make you Nala?”
“Why am I not surprised you’ve seen the movie?”
“Hakuna matata, babe.”
She giggles and reaches up to kiss me. “I think we should go to our room,” she says softly. “I feel a need to hear you roar.”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” I rise and pull her to her feet, only just stopping myself picking her up and throwing her over my shoulder like a caveman. This girl drives me wild. Maybe there is a little lion in me, after all.
Chapter Twenty
Nix
Leon leads me by the hand back to our room, striding out so I almost have to run to keep up. I can tell by his pace and the heat in his eyes that he’s in the mood for some serious sex. My heart hammers, and my mouth goes dry. I want this man more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life before. More than chocolate, which is saying something.
We reach our door, and he swipes the key card, then turns and lifts me in his arms so my legs are wrapped around his waist and carries me in. Laughing, I kiss him as he closes the door behind us, and he goes over to the bed, bumping us into a table, then a bookcase, along the way.
“I’d better stop before I knock your head on the lightshade,” he says, lowering my feet to the ground.
“Go and sit on the bed,” I tell him. “I need a few minutes to get ready.”
His eyes widen. “Ready?”
“You want the whole experience, don’t you? Lingerie and high heels?”
His pupils are dilated, and when he pulls me against him I can feel his erection. “If you insist.”
“I do.” I push him toward the bed. “Get comfortable. I won’t be long.”
I pick up my bag, go into the bathroom, and close the door.
I don’t want to keep him waiting too long, but I want to put on a good show. After rummaging around in the bag, I withdraw the best underwear I brought with me—a lacy black bra and panties set. I also retrieve a pair of sheer black thigh-highs. I hadn’t planned on doing this, or on sleeping with Leon, but it’s best to be prepared for any eventuality. If my wildest fantasies did play out, I didn’t want to do a Bridget Jones and be caught in a pair of Magic Knickers from ribs to thigh.
I take off my jeans and shirt, put on the underwear and thigh-highs, slip on my black high heels, and then as quickly as I can, I unravel my braids so my hair spreads around my shoulders in tight ripples. I apply some more black eyeliner, smear some dark gray shadow over my lids, then slick on a load of lip gloss. Finally I cue up some songs on my phone before I open the door, take a deep breath, and saunter out.
I expected him to be on his laptop, or at least on his phone, checking his emails. To my surprise, though, he’s sitting back on the pillows, a glass of whisky in his hand, looking out of the window, although he glances across at me as I come out. He’s taken off his shirt, shoes, and socks, and he’s just wearing his jeans, which is uber-sexy. Wow. This guy’s hot.
His gaze fixes on me, but he doesn’t say anything
as he watches me walk across the room. I exaggerate the wiggle of my hips in the high heels, crossing to a chair I’d already spotted earlier. It has ornate legs and a high back with an embroidered cushion. I drag it a short distance to in front of the bed and turn it sideways on, so I can hold onto the back.
Finally, I press play on my phone. Rhianna’s Pour It Up spills out, and as the sultry music fills the room, I face Leon and start to move.
I’m nervous, and it takes me a minute or so to relax. He told me the idea of my dancing at the club turns him on, but I’m unsure how he’ll feel when he sees the reality. I half wish I hadn’t told him about John the Sleaze—I don’t want Leon to worry he’s cast in the same mold if he likes watching me dance. But if he can’t feel comfortable about this, we have a serious problem. It’s part of me and my past; I enjoy dancing, and I’d like to be able to share that with my man, whoever he ends up being.
After a while, the music gets a hold of me, and I begin to lose my self-consciousness. Leon’s still the focus of the dance, but I start to enjoy the movement of my body, the stretch of my muscles, the idea of dancing in a few scraps of lingerie for a man. Using the chair for balance, I run through my routines as the song changes to George Michael’s I Want Your Sex, a fun, cheesy song that has a great beat, and then Peggy Lee’s Fever, a song that makes me think of smoky clubs late at night. Leon only moves to sip his whisky, his arms stretched out and resting on the pillows, his gaze fixed on me, hot and full of desire. The more I dance, the more I relax and the sexier I get at the thought that it won’t be long before this man’s lips are on mine and he’s touching me, before he’s inside me.
His chest rises and falls faster than normal, and I can see from the bulge in his jeans that he’s turned on, but he stays sitting, and I wonder whether he’s unsure how to react, what to say or do. Not every guy has been to a strip club, and maybe a girl hasn’t done this for him before.
My Boss, the Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 2) Page 15