by Karina Bliss
“I’m the one who needs to concentrate.” Luke bent forward over the board and she took the opportunity to study him, a smile hovering on her lips. Their growing friendship had been an unexpected bonus.
The man needed a shave. His rugged jaw was shadowed with a weekend’s growth. Tendrils of black hair, sun-dried after an earlier sea swim, stirred in the warm breeze and his eyebrows were touched white with sea salt.
She experienced a sudden shocking urge to push his sun-warmed body into the chair and kiss that firm mouth until it softened under hers. To run her hands down the taut muscle of his shoulders and—
His gaze suddenly lifted to hers and awareness tightened between them like a bow. No, she thought dazedly. No, that’s impossible. Missing sex was one thing, doing something about it…She wasn’t ready. Reaching up for the sunglasses on her head, she slipped them down to hide her confusion.
Luke’s biceps stretched taut as he leaned back and rested an arm across the back of his chair. “I think we have a stalemate.”
LUKE COULD TELL by the blush staining the mayor’s cheeks that she knew he wasn’t talking about chess.
But Liz wasn’t ready to discuss their growing attraction. “We’ll call it a draw, then.” Retying her crimson sarong more firmly around her bathing suit, she stood up, barely glancing at her wrist before she said, “Goodness, is that the time?”
“You took your watch off to go swimming,” he reminded her.
All credit to the mayor; she rallied. “My inner clock tells me when it’s time to go.”
Lazily, Luke pushed to his feet. “Aren’t you lucky to be so attuned to your body.” Her startled gaze shot to his and he smiled innocently. Oh yeah, he recognized the signs of someone desperate to get laid. He’d lived with them for months.
The nervous energy, the almost obsessive focus on training in the search for physical exhaustion. Liz’s build was naturally athletic, and he could already see swim-specific toning in her arms and legs, a tightening in her glutes. Hell, who was he kidding?
The mayor had always been desirable, but her disinterest had made his interest academic. Luke didn’t need to chase women; they chased him. But for some reason Sleeping Beauty was stirring—he’d felt the heat of her gaze on his body—and he wanted to be the guy who kissed the reluctant princess awake.
Their swimming lessons had become a torture. Every time Liz bent over to pick up her towel he knew exactly where her tan would change to creamy white across her bottom. A glimpse of her cleavage and his mouth went dry. He felt like a teenage boy in the throes of first lust—but was far better at hiding it.
Unlike Liz, who seemed to be in a permanent state of shock at finding herself prey to such base desires. Her naïveté turned him on, made him want to take her to bed and find out what else shocked her.
When she’d left he returned their glasses to the kitchen, then opened the dining-room doors to the sea deck.
The only movement on the dunes leading down to the beach was the swaying of spiky, cotton-tailed grasses in the early sea breeze. It would grow with the heat of the day until by midafternoon it shook them like rattles.
Since regaining his single status, Luke’s sexual encounters might have scratched an itch, but that was all. He’d been married a long time and casual sex didn’t sit well with him. He liked Liz and he was hot for her—a friendship with benefits seemed the obvious next step. Both of them needed to safeguard their public images in Beacon Bay, which meant any affair had to be conducted discreetly, with someone they could trust.
And that was the problem. Luke didn’t entirely trust her.
Elizabeth Light made time for things that were important to her—like these swimming lessons—and could recite her appointment schedule for the next month. Yet every time he suggested a tour of the camp, she made up some excuse or pretended she’d forgotten. It contradicted her public support, made him suspicious.
But there was another, more important reason. She’d brought Harriet to lessons with her a couple of times and he’d seen how much she loved that baby. She probably wanted another husband, one to father the children she’d never had with Harry. Luke wasn’t that man.
Since his separation, Luke counted the cost of every liaison with a woman, and this one was priced too high. With a sigh of resignation, he reached for his running shoes.
LIZ WAS SO TIRED she forgot to turn her mobile phone off during an afternoon council meeting and the theme tune to Rocky I interrupted Councilor Bray’s monologue on item nine—approving security cameras on the council building to discourage graffiti.
The tinny melody rang out again. Those who recognized the tune started to laugh. With arms that ached from daily swimming practice, Liz fumbled through her bag, silently cursing her campaign manager.
Kirsty had insisted on reprogramming the phone’s ring tone to encourage Liz to think like a winner. Feeling like a complete idiot, Liz switched it off, but not before she saw Luke’s number flash up. “Sorry about that,” she murmured, then took advantage of the interruption. “And thank you, Councillor Bray, for that useful summary on modern youth.”
“But I haven’t fin—”
With the ease of long practice, she cut him short, restated the notice of motion and took a vote. “Surveillance cameras approved. Meeting closed—” she glanced at the clock above the portrait of the queen “—at 2:55 p.m.” As soon as she got the chance, Liz stepped into the corridor and returned Luke’s call.
“Liz, I have to cancel our session today.”
The stress in his voice was almost palpable as they rescheduled for nine-thirty the following night.
“Is everything okay?”
“No,” he said bluntly. “Most of my staff has gone home with food poisoning. Social Services’ final inspection is tomorrow and we’re nowhere near ready.” She didn’t have to see him to know that he was pacing.
“Call for volunteers.”
“I’ve put the word out, but too many locals are still ambivalent about this facility.”
They weren’t the only ones. Liz’s hand grew clammy on the phone. All she had to do was say goodbye, hang up. But she’d never been any good at looking the other way. “I’ll come,” she croaked, “for a couple of hours.”
“Thanks.” With that casual acceptance, he rang off. See, Liz reassured herself, it’s no big deal. But she clasped one hand around her other wrist like a frightened child. You’re an adult now, she reminded herself, deal with it.
Back in the boardroom, Snowy canvassed for more allies. With elections less than a month away, Liz was falling behind in public-opinion polls because, as a frustrated Kirsty kept pointing out, she kept doing her job instead of schmoozing like everyone else.
“Excuse me,” she said. The others stopped talking and looked around, Snowy impatiently.
Liz relayed Luke’s predicament and asked for volunteers.
“I’ve got council business to attend to,” Maxwell said. Only an hour earlier she’d heard him book a tee at the local golf club. Others immediately seized his excuse.
“I completely understand. Of course, council business takes priority over self-promotion.”
Snowy’s gaze sharpened. “What are you talking about?”
“The Beacon Bay Chronicle showing us all pitching in, getting the camp ready for the underprivileged kiddies.” Liz picked up her briefcase. “But if you’re too—”
“The Chronicle’s doing a story?” Maxwell interrupted. He smoothed his comb-over.
She crossed her fingers behind her back. “It’s a suggestion.” Which she’d make as soon as she had the privacy to call the editor.
Everyone suddenly found a reason to leave immediately until only Snowy lingered.
“Why would you share the glory…I can’t figure it out.” Their relationship had deteriorated over recent weeks.
“That’s because my motives are pure,” Liz said sweetly.
“Look deeper,” he suggested.
Stopping for gas on the way to
camp, Liz damned Snowy’s acuity. Morally, it was the right thing to support the camp, but only her friendship with Luke had pushed her into confronting her phobia.
And, heaven help her, not all her thoughts of that man were pure.
Pulling out her cell phone, Liz dialed the editor of the Beacon Bay Chronicle, and for the second time that day crossed her fingers. A third-generation family business, the newspaper was so firmly entrenched that no rival had ever survived. The monopoly allowed the Swann owners to operate according to their own idiosyncratic code.
The current editor, Josephine Swann, was a thirty-year-old Katherine Hepburn. “I won’t stab you in the back,” she’d told Liz at their first interview. “I always attack from the front.” Liz had a couple of scars to remind her never to mistake their mutual regard for friendship.
Fortunately Jo loved the idea of photographing politicians doing manual labor.
“I need a new angle for the weekly electoral countdown,” she said. “Incidentally, you do realize that you’re the only politician who hasn’t been hounding me for coverage? Does that mean you’re confident of winning?”
“Oh, no, you don’t. I’m not giving you any reason to use the headline Mayor Declares Competition Sucks.”
Jo laughed. “You’re getting too clever for me. See you there.”
“Make it as late as you can, will you? Let’s get some work out of them first.”
While she waited for her gas tank to fill, Liz washed the sedan’s windscreen, trying to distract herself from the impending ordeal.
“Beth?”
She dropped the squeegee back into the water bucket and turned around automatically. And found herself looking at a stranger, a tall, slim brunette in cutoff shorts and a baggy pink T-shirt.
Then the name the woman had used registered and she hid her shock under a polite smile.
“I’m sorry…. What did you call me?”
“Beth…Beth Sloane.” Doubt entered the woman’s voice. “It is you, isn’t it?”
Her childhood name…Liz opened her mouth to agree. “No,” she said instead. “If I look familiar it’s probably because you’ve seen me on election billboards. I’m Elizabeth Light, the mayor.”
“That could be it.” Liz tried not to flinch as the woman’s curious gaze lingered on her face. “The likeness is amazing.”
“Really?” Liz turned back to her car and replaced the petrol cap. She’d been expecting this day for years; now it had come, she couldn’t deal with it. “I get that all the time. Apparently I have doubles in Bluff, Christchurch, Hamilton….” She rattled off a few more towns and cities, nowhere near Auckland. “Does nothing for the ego I can tell you.” Shock made her ramble; she’d finally recognized this woman. “You’re passing through?” she asked as casually as she could. Please God, be passing through.
“No, my husband and I just moved here. I’m Rosie Cormack, by the way.”
Reluctantly, Liz took the woman’s outstretched hand, hoping her childhood acquaintance wouldn’t notice her cold fingers. “Welcome to Beacon Bay, Rosie. So what brings you to our neck of the woods?” Tell me you’re isolated on a dairy farm somewhere.
“I’m a counselor at Camp Chance. Though today I’m a de facto decorator.” Ruefully, Rosie scraped at a paint spot on her T-shirt. “I’ve been picking up extra paintbrushes in town.”
“Camp Chance,” Liz repeated. It was the last thing she expected.
Wariness came into Rosie’s eyes. Obviously she’d already met a few detractors. “That’s right…well, I should be getting back. Luke’s waiting on these.”
It was the perfect moment to say, “I’m heading there myself, so see you soon.” Or take a deep breath and admit, “Rosie, I am Beth Sloane…Light is my married name.” But Liz didn’t. Couldn’t.
Instead she said goodbye, paid for her petrol, got back into her car and fastened her seat belt. And sat. Deeply ashamed…and relieved she’d gotten away with it.
A horn tooted behind her, reminding her to move. Starting up the engine she pulled forward into the car park and picked up her cell phone. The incident had proved one thing. She wasn’t ready for the camp. With trembling hands, Liz sent Luke a text message.
Sorry, can’t make it. But the cavalry is coming.
At home, she dropped her keys on the polished mahogany hall table, then hesitated. From the lounge the mantle clock chimed the hour with silvery bells, the sound trembling through the house.
Coward.
Liz climbed the stairs to her bedroom, dominated by the dark, intricately carved four-poster. She’d lightened its solemnity with white silk-and-satin bolsters, crisp Egyptian-cotton sheets, the bed overhung with billows of snowy chiffon.
Her princess bed, Harry had called it, completely at odds with the rest of their furniture, which was classic comfortable.
When he’d died she’d forced herself to clear his books, his clothes, his golf clubs…determined not to make a shrine to him. But she’d kept one thing. Opening her closet, Liz pushed aside her power suits.
Her fingers closed on merino wool and she pulled out Harry’s favorite sweater, the faded, misshapen garment he used to haul on for winter gardening, the one she’d always nagged him to throw out.
I just need a little more time.
Her grip tightened as she buried her face in it and breathed deeply.
Sometimes if she tried really, really hard she could still evoke the faint smell of wood smoke, the light astringency of his aftershave, perhaps even a whisper of warmth.
She stood there a long time but today, it didn’t happen.
“DAMMIT, I’m driving down.”
“In your Ferrari, I suppose?” Mobile phone pressed between ear and shoulder, Luke picked up his spanner and tightened the bolts on the bunk he was assembling in one of the new dorms. “Yep, that’ll make the locals feel like helping out the poor little rich boys.”
“Fine,” Christian said grudgingly. “I’ll borrow Kezia’s car.” Despite his predicament, Luke grinned. His partner’s wife insisted on driving a station wagon, a newer model than the one she’d once pursued Christian in, but still affectionately derided by her husband as an H.O.S…heap of shit.
“We’ve been over this. I’m the ex-foster kid who got us into this. You’re the guy in the black hat.” Christian Kelly had spearheaded the original hotel proposal that had generated such heated opposition.
“Then I’ll ask Jord to fly back from Sydney to—”
“What? Come be diplomatic and unobtrusive?” Months earlier, the Beacon Bay Chronicle had raised concerns about Jordan King’s fitness to be a camp trustee after a respected columnist questioned his ethics. Though the disparaging story had been disproved—and Jordan was shortly to marry the journalist—they’d decided it was politic for him to stay away until the camp opened. “Besides, you two need to keep earning the big bucks to pay for this.”
They’d been naive about the level of sponsorship the camp would attract and were way over their original budget.
Luke hesitated before he added, “If the camp doesn’t get new sponsors soon—”
“I’ll tell the tobacco companies we’ll put a cigar in every kid’s welcome pack,” Christian finished for him. “One problem at a time, buddy. Right now, I’ll organize a crew of friends and relatives to come down and help.”
“Uh-uh. Not until we’ve exhausted local options,” Luke insisted. “I don’t want to perpetuate the ‘them and us’ mentality.”
His friend gave an exasperated sigh. “I don’t like this, Luke. You’re taking on too much alone. We’re all in this together, remember?”
“Yeah, mate, this is temporary.”
“How many months have you been saying that?”
“I’ll keep you posted,” Luke promised and hung up.
Christian switched off his mobile and, frowning, looked across his wide veranda toward the blue sky over the flat, golden fields. If the Ferrari was out, then Luke definitely wouldn’t approve of the helicopter.
He heard his wife’s footsteps on the wooden deck, then she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her cheek against his back.
“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”
Feeling her warmth, some of Christian’s tension dissipated. “Maybe it’s the sensible thing to stay away, but it’s almost as if he doesn’t want us there.”
One hundred meters down to his left, a duck came to land in the pond, webbed feet skidding across the surface of the water. The golden willows he and Kez had planted around it last autumn barely lent shade to the waterfowl hunkered under it.
“His reasons are sound, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, but…” Staring over their land, Christian tried to articulate his growing sense of disquiet. “He’s working too hard and he’s alone too much. His Auckland visits are getting fewer and they’re all about Triton business or the camp trust. When was the last time he came to stay here? Or the last time he, Jordan and I played pool and talked shit in a bar?” Kezia said nothing, a sure sign she had a theory.
Christian turned and cupped her face. “Okay, out with it.”
Her golden-brown eyes widened. “It’s a busy time with the camp, things will settle down.”
“I’m waiting.”
“Isn’t his divorce final this month?”
“My God, has it been two years already? But what’s that got to do with anything? After what Amanda did to him, he’ll be painting the town red.”
She pushed a strand of long hair behind her ear. “You and I are playing happy families, Jordan’s about to get married…”
“Which is exactly why we’ve been trying to fix Luke up lately.”
“I don’t know if you and Jord are the best—Hey!”
Christian, relieved, had dropped his hands to her sweet ass and squeezed. “It’s not easy,” he admitted. “Luke has some cockeyed notion he’s better off alone.”
Kez gave him her old schoolteacher look but didn’t remove his hands from her butt. “Huh. Where have I heard that cockeyed notion before?”
He pulled her closer, nuzzled her soft, dark hair. She smelled of rosemary and redemption. “The most fervent saint is always a reformed sinner.”