by Diana Fraser
Rachel looked at Amanda nervously. Amanda never looked thoughtful but she sure did now. “Amanda… what’s on your mind?”
“You know what’s on my mind, Rach. And as the day went on, my initial thoughts were only confirmed. You work well here. The footage shows it and the viewing audience will confirm it. I’ve been around this industry long enough to know a star performance when I’ve seen it.”
“But there’s the States.”
Amanda shrugged. “Sure, you can go there if you want to. I know you needed to get away and that’s why you agreed initially. But, in truth? The Americans would go for this like a shot. We could film the series here and have it syndicated to the US and around the world.”
“But I don’t know how long I’m going to stay here.”
“I could give you another good reason to stay.” Rachel followed Amanda’s gaze to Zane who walked past, carrying something which looked far too heavy for a man to carry single-handedly. Amanda winked at Rachel. “See what I mean?”
She walked off, leaving Rachel watching Zane drop the piece of furniture where he thought it should go, rather than where Sean had told him to put it. Zane then ignored Sean and brushed past him to finish the job.
Rachel grinned. Was Zane a good reason to stay? He was certainly different to the Wellington crew, people she’d been used to hanging out with for years. She looked away. It wasn’t about Zane.
It wasn’t until the film crew had piled into a van and gone off looking for a social life, ably led by Jim Connelly, that Rachel went looking for Zane. She knew he hadn’t left yet because she could hear the sound of a saw coming from the woods. She’d pleaded a headache and had managed to get everyone else away. She wanted to be alone with Zane.
He was around the back, where the low sun filtered through the trees which edged the property, finishing tidying up in the garden. It was hot up here and he’d taken off his t-shirt and he’d tucked it in his worn shorts—shorts that had definitely seen better days, thank God. Her eyes lingered there, as he cleaned the blade of the saw with an old cloth. Sweat glistened on his body, highlighting the broad shoulders, and muscled chest and stomach. She wanted to smooth her fingers along his sweaty chest and lick it, taste its saltiness and maleness. A warning bell rang inside her. This was madness. Finally she’d found someone who respected her, who treated her like an individual, not someone literally and figuratively to be screwed, and all she could think about was having sex with him? And, not only that, she wanted to use him to find her daughter. The conflicting thoughts made her head explode. She should leave.
But at that moment he looked up and caught her gaze and she knew there was no going back now.
He put down the saw, smoothed his hands down his shorts and walked over to her, seemingly unaware of his lack of decent clothes.
“Rachel,” he said with that super sexy voice of his, as if he were purring her name in her ear. A tingle flowed through her before coming to rest somewhere low inside, where it nestled like an impatient fledgling, creating havoc in her gut and lower.
“Zane.” She stepped forward out from the darkness of the trees into the golden light of the garden and held out a tray.
“Drink?”
“Water, thanks,” said Zane, dusting off the sawdust. “It’s been some day off!”
She passed him a glass of water. “You’ve been brilliant. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”
“Nothing, I suspect.” He drank the whole glass and her gaze was fixed on his throat. He replaced it on the tray. “Apart from you, of course. All the others seemed to hang around, watching.”
She shrugged. “That is, actually, their job.”
“Well, they did nothing very well.” He grinned. “I don’t know how you put up with it all.” He shook his head. “It’s a weird world.”
She frowned and poured herself another glass of Champagne. She sipped her wine. “It’s my world,” she said quietly. “It might appear a bit over the top to you, but it’s not really. It’s only a bit of acting for the cameras. If I didn’t, it’d make one hell of a boring show.” She shook her hair back as she thought about the show.
“You see,” said Zane thoughtfully. She looked up. “There you go. With that flippy thing you do with your hair. You do that on TV.”
She clamped her hand to her hair and then smoothed it down. “I didn’t know I did.”
“I know you don’t. It must be something you do for an audience. But there’s only me here now. I’m not one of those men from your past who liked you because of your persona. I like the real you, not the manufactured you.”
Rachel opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. She swallowed and he stepped toward her and pushed her hair back from her face. “There, like that.”
Whatever he’d done at that moment would have been right.
He narrowed his eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”
He held out his hand and she took it and they walked around the corner of the deck, down the steps and out onto the lawn which fell away into the sandy beach. “Where are we going?”
“Fancy a walk?”
“Sure.”
“Good,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
They walked along the drive and out, onto the road. A little way along, Zane opened a gate in a field, down one side of which a pathway ran up the hill. With a rush of excitement, Rachel suddenly she knew where she was being led. At the top of the path, on the summit of the hill, they looked down.
Across the other side of the bay the other arm of the harbor caught the last of the sunlight, before it dipped behind the hills. The tide was out and the mudflats where the river ran into the harbor were golden. Before her was Belendroit, peeping from behind the trees, open veranda, grassy slope leading down to the small sandy beach, the jetty and the bay.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Zane, looking out.
She followed his gaze, seeing its beauty but not truly feeling it, not like she used to, so many years ago.
She shrugged. “Yes, it is.”
He looked at her strangely, as if sensing her appreciation was only superficial. “You don’t sound convinced.”
She shrugged again. “Sometimes it’s hard to disassociate a place with what you felt here.”
“And what you felt was bad?”
She shrugged. “Sad, more like.” She drew in a deep breath. “But hopefully not for much longer.”
It wasn’t until he kissed her that she realized he’d thought she was referring to him. She should tell him the truth about why she’d returned to Akaroa. She should tell him that the lurch of excitement she’d felt when she realized he was taking her to the marae was all to do with the fact that he might lead her to her daughter.
He took her hand. “Come on, there’s some people I want you to meet.”
Suddenly Rachel was scared. What if Zane’s grandmother blurted out the truth about her past, warned Zane away, and prevented her from finding her daughter? After all, she’d made it totally clear all those years ago that the child would have nothing to do with the Connelly family, just as both sides of the family had wanted.
Zane grinned, obviously imagining her reluctance to be shyness. “Okay. Let’s keep it for us today. I’ll take you back to my place and we can have a beer. Besides, the main person I want to introduce you to isn’t there. Gran’s away at a neighboring marae which means half the kids are too.”
Relieved, she nodded. “How come you have a different surname to your gran?”
“Black was my step-father’s surname. He wasn’t married to my mother for long, although long enough for us to form a bond and for him to adopt me, but he was a good man and helped me out of a bad situation. It was through his influence that I got into a good boarding school. He died trying to settle a dispute between gangs. I kept his name out of respect.”
“And your birth father didn’t mind?”
“Not so much. He had his hands full with my step-mother, here at t
he marae, and all the children they had.”
Including Tommy, thought Rachel. The father of her child.
“But you didn’t want to stay in Auckland.”
“No. This is my home. I’ll show you.”
They turned their backs to the harbor and walked along the ridge to the next valley toward the marae, and the cluster of houses which were on Maori land, where Zane lived.
“I’m sorry about the whole scene down there with Sean. He’s… well, he’s used to doing things like that. I mean he’s a great camerman but…”
“But he’s a…” There was a pause when all the words which Zane had every right to call Sean floated between them. “He’s not a very nice man.”
Rachel grinned. She knew exactly what he was going to say, but Zane being Zane wasn’t about to say such things in front of a woman. “Exactly. In fact, I’ve heard people say a lot worse things about him than that.”
“And I’m sure they’re accurate.” His eyes searched her face for a few moments as if trying to make his mind up about something.
He reached forward and plucked a small twig from her hair. “Looks like I didn’t clear the garden very well.”
“Why are you doing all this anyway? I mean, don’t get me wrong, Dad’s real appreciative and accepts your offers of help in a way he never does with us. And not in the way Sean does, either.”
Zane huffed a brief laugh. “I like your Dad. We get along.”
“Yeah. With you, he’s not crazy competitive, he’s quieter somehow.”
“That’s because you lot are all like him. You need some Maori blood in you to make you chill a bit.”
“You’re hardly chill. You never stop working.”
He shrugged. “That’s different and you know it. I’m not talking about being busy, or being productive, I’m talking about working yourselves up into stupid whirlwinds of ego and competition. None of that’s worth it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s what I used to do, darlin’.” He stepped closer and brushed his knuckles lightly over her cheek, pushing her hair back from her face in the process. “So, would you like a beer with me on the porch?”
She smiled in agreement, unable to do anything else because her whole body still lingered on the sensation which his fingers had created on her skin. It skittered down and caused the fledglings in her stomach to get over-excited again.
“My house is over there.” He indicated toward a cottage which stood apart from the others. His cottage was one of the older ones, late nineteenth-century she’d have guessed, but it had recently been renovated. It must have been one of the original homesteads because it looked pretty grand on the outside.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s old, is what it is. But it will be beautiful when I’m finished with it.”
Beyond it was the marae, outside of which a cluster of kids played and she could hear a band practising from inside. A group of elderly people sat around a table sharing a beer and a laugh.
Rachel searched the kids, stopping on each one, trying to see if there was anyone who was around the age of her daughter. “Any of your nieces and nephews here?”
He laughed. “They’re all my nieces and nephews, irrespective of their parentage. I feel responsible for them all.”
He took her hand and they walked across the grass to the rear of his property. A hand-made wooden bench sat next to an old sofa which was on a totally different scale to the old sofas at Belendroit. This sofa sagged, its springs were falling out, and one side was kept up by bricks.
Rachel sat on the wooden bench which was sturdily made and softened with bright cushions. The view looked out across the valley, away from the marae toward the sea, with the trees coming close to one side, overhanging the veranda.
“This is lovely.”
“Yeah. When I came back here, there were a few houses that were empty and I decided on this one straight away. It was a wreck with a view. I could do something about the wreck part.”
“But you didn’t have to do anything about the view.” She looked around at the books, the magazines and a laptop whose cable went through the window inside. “I bet you spend most of your time out here.”
He grinned and handed her a beer from the fridge which was also outside, sheltered from the elements in a corner of the veranda. “Yep. I never could stand feeling hemmed in.”
“So you don’t miss your old life?”
He leaned against the balustrade of the old veranda which was partially re-built. With the view behind him and him standing in front of her, his hips at eye level, Rachel reckoned this was one of the best views ever.
He was silent for a few moments and looked away. Rachel frowned. Her question hadn’t really meant anything. She would have bet anything that he’d have answered with an immediate ‘no’.
“You do,” she said. He caught her gaze and his expression was different to normal. There was a sadness there she hadn’t seen before. “I’m surprised. I thought you were happy.”
“Sure, I’m happy. But do I miss the old life? Of course I do. They were the best of times. I was an All Black—it’s an ambition for any Kiwi kid. And I was damn good one.”
Rachel’s eyes widened in surprise at the swear word. It was the first time she’d heard him swear, albeit it mildly.
“But isn’t there any way you could still be a part of that world?”
He looked at her steadily as he took a swig of beer. “You don’t understand, Rachel. I have no interest in the ‘world’ of rugby. Only in playing. You can’t imagine what it’s like to catch a loose ball, turn things around and run up the field, your heart pounding, watching and sensing where the opposite team would try to tackle you, avoid them with a few choice steps, see the line ahead, make the decision, try for the line or pass it on. It’s like every part of you is working together, at the peak of performance—your brain, your body, and not least, your instincts…” He exhaled heavily and looked away. “It’s magic.” He pursed his lips together and shook his head and took another swig of beer and looked directly at her again. “And I miss it every day of my life.” His voice was the usual sexy, deep, soft voice, but this time it held a hollowness and bleakness which seeped into her. She felt his pain as if it were her own.
“I’m so sorry, Zane. I had no idea.”
He shrugged lightly. “It’s okay. That’s life.” He stamped his foot. “My knee’s fixed and good for everyday use, just can’t risk it anymore for extreme use. I tried and they can’t patch it up anymore.”
She glanced down at the knee. It looked so strong and solid she couldn’t imagine it wasn’t working in top condition.
“Are you hungry? There’s a hangi steaming which they’ll be opening up soon.”
“Thanks, but no. I’ve done enough tasting today.” She rose. “Besides I should get back to prepare for tomorrow’s session.”
“Let me walk you home,” he said, slipping his hand into hers.
“No, thanks.”
He frowned. “There are no street lights down the hill. I’ll walk you. I know the path like the back of my hand.”
She pressed her hand against his chest, trying to focus on what she was about to say, rather than the heat emanating from his body, rather than the hairs that tickled the palm of her hand.
“No,” she repeated and stepped a little closer. She looked up into his eyes. “No.”
He drew in a sharp intake of breath and tugged her toward him. She came hard into contact with his body. She spread her fingers over his bare chest, the dark nipples, the firm strong muscles of a natural athlete, not bulked up unnaturally by a gym.
He tilted her chin up and his eyes roved over her face. He thrust his fingers through her hair and held her face steady. Slowly he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her. His lips weren’t as soft as they looked as they pressed against hers. For all his gentleness, this big man was holding back and as soon as he felt the small gasp against his mouth, the kiss int
ensified. He put both hands around her back, feeling carefully at first and then holding her tight as if he never wanted to let her go.
She gasped as his tongue slid along her lips and parted her mouth, meeting her tongue in a sliding tangle that turned her wet with desire. From gentle arousal to raging need, her libido roared into life as she slid her hands up around his naked chest and back, fingering, gripping and stroking the dips and contours of his muscled body.
Suddenly he gripped her hands and pulled them straight down, and pulled away from the kiss. They stood, foreheads pressed, panting with desire.
“I don’t want this, Rachel.”
“Yes, you do.” She could tell. His shorts were old and his desire was very much evident.
He grimaced. “Of course I want you, but not like this. I’m not interested in messing around with no future. I’m here to stay. I want to settle down, marry, have children. I don’t want one night stands, especially with someone like you.”
“Someone like me? What do you mean?”
“Someone who could break my heart.”
She swallowed, blown away by the thought that she could do such a thing. It had always been the other way around.
“I wouldn’t break your heart.”
“Are you sure about that? Think about it. Believe me, I’d love nothing better than to carry you inside and make love to you.” Rachel shivered with desire and looked up hopefully because she as sure as hell would like nothing better, too. But his expression was firm. “But I won’t. I’ve had years of that kind of life and it didn’t bring me happiness. Maybe a momentary kind, but it only left me hungry for more.”
“Like eating food stuffed with calories and no goodness?”
He grinned. “Exactly. Like fast food. Don’t get me wrong, I wolf it back given the chance, but it doesn’t last the distance. And”—he touched her cheek gently—“I really want to last the distance with you.”