by Nikki Logan
‘Ready …’ she whispered, and then surged to her feet, yelling, ‘Leonidas!’
‘Boudicca!’ Across the lawn, Hayden leapt the barrier, thrusting his spear skywards and shouting.
Two mini armies exploded in opposite directions and both let the other pass to run to their real targets. Shirley backed away from the bucket-foil-and-brush-wearing Spartans. As one, they let their missiles fly and she curled her arms up over her head and turned side-on to the assault. Fifteen fat little balloons hit her and burst into a watery mess. High, low, middle. She had to admit, the Spartans were pretty well-coordinated little fighters, whereas her Celts missed more than they hit, then dashed off to pick up the unburst balloons and try again, giggling.
Hayden made much of his watery death, eventually falling flat in a blaze of glory on the suburban lawn. The Celts piled on, cheering. Then the Spartans piled on top.
‘Okay, warriors …’ Tim’s mum intervened loudly, plucking the first of the children off a beleaguered Hayden. ‘You have restored peace to this land and now a mighty feast awaits the victors in the kitchen.’
The boys and their bottomless energy fled into the house on a chorus of cheers.
Shirley plucked at her saturated bindings and dragged the wet fabric away from her legs. Her hair and the beaded Celtic inserts she’d woven in dripped more water onto her.
Hayden sauntered towards her, grinning. ‘Quite the battle.’
Her pulse sky-rocketed. ‘You were annihilated; dead men can’t speak,’ she puffed.
‘You took a few mortal wounds yourself, judging by all that blood.’
It wasn’t red but it dripped off her like the real thing. It dawned on her then that she hadn’t really thought through the rest of this day. Or brought a fresh change of clothes. She’d imagined she’d be getting back into her car in the same state she’d got out of it.
Spot the one with no experience with children!
‘They’re amazing. So much energy.’ She peeled her skirt from her thighs again but it returned, limpet-like, and so she gave up. ‘I need a rest.’
She crossed to the Spartan camp and flipped both chairs upright and then dragged one into the sun. Half-in, half-out. Hayden flopped down next to her and thrust a tube of wet wipes at her.
‘Here … Your face seems to have worn most of the carnage.’
Given how heavily tattooed it was with eyeliner, that didn’t surprise her. She pulled a couple of the wet wipes out and set to work erasing the evidence of her slaughter, while the rest of her body slow-dried in the afternoon sun. But wiping off the Celtic make-up also took her regular make-up with it.
Still, no real choice unless she wanted to sit here looking shambolic.
Hayden lay stretched out on his lawn chair in his full Spartan glory, practically glistening from the paraffin added to the water balloons to stop them from popping too easily. Shirley stole a couple of peeks as she methodically removed every trace of make-up from her face.
‘Leonidas suits you,’ she said absently. Golden. Lean. Strong. Not bad for a hermit. Or a CEO.
He tipped his head sideways. ‘I have to admit feeling very much like I could have been in his army a hundred lifetimes ago.’ He didn’t go back to studying the sky. ‘You missed a bit.’
He tapped his nose but that wasn’t terribly helpful without a mirror.
‘Here …’ He swung his legs over the edge of the lawn chair, plucked a fresh wipe from the container and slid his sunglasses up onto his head. ‘Sit still.’
The move brought him closer than he’d ever been. Breath-stealingly close. He methodically removed the last of her make-up, gently turning her face side to side to make sure he missed none. When he was done, his eyes came back to hers. Her chest squeezed.
‘And there she is …’ he murmured, a half-smile twisting his lips. ‘Nice to finally meet you, Shirley.’
The intensity of his gaze was infectious. Her breath struggled for function. ‘We’ve met, actually.’
The smile grew. ‘Not like this. Not formally.’
‘You don’t remember?’
He lowered his fingers, frowned. ‘At the funeral?’
She shook her head. ‘Before that. Long before that.’
He stared, his busy mind working furiously. ‘I don’t remember. I’m sorry.’
No. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to. It was nothing, from your point of view.’
But it had changed her life. She’d hit puberty on the spot. At eleven.
He sat back but didn’t lie down again. He held her trapped in his gaze. Silence fell between them.
‘Seriously, how long before your black hair comes back?’ he blurted.
She laughed. ‘For a man who’s only ever been photographed with blondes, you certainly have a fixation with my hair colour.’
‘I don’t hate the red but I really liked the black.’
That brought a very different colour to her cheeks and she knew that he’d clearly see it, sans make-up. ‘Actually it’s called “Raven”. The colour.’
He laughed. ‘Of course it is. Very Edgar Allan Poe.’
Luc emerged with two tall glasses of iced water and he passed them one each. ‘You guys should hire yourselves out as a double act,’ he said. ‘That was awesome.’ Then he reached out and passed something else to Shirley. ‘I got these from your bag for you, I hope you don’t mind. It’s bright out here.’
Sunglasses! As good as a face full of make-up when they were the size hers were. She slid them on. It was like sliding a mask back into place.
‘Thank you, Luc. And thanks again for the other week at the Concert Hall; it was so wonderful.’
His eyes dragged quickly over Shirley’s still drying, still snug form. She felt much more exposed when Luc looked at her than when Hayden had, but when Hayden looked she felt naked. In a good way. A dangerously good way.
Hayden glared pointedly at his friend.
‘No problem,’ Luc said, oblivious. ‘You more than paid it off today.’
‘I told you, it’s going to be hard to top,’ Hayden joked. ‘You haven’t forgotten that the next one is yours, have you, Shirley?’
She turned her focus more fully back to him, sitting perched on the chair still facing her. Seriously, had a man ever looked more ridiculous or more comfortable in a short skirt? Or more gorgeous?
‘Not only have I not forgotten, but it’s all arranged. I was going to tell you about it today.’
His eyes grew keen. Warmed with challenge. ‘How? You’ve either done everything else already or it’s overseas …’
She stared at him.
He frowned. ‘We’re going overseas? On no money?’
‘Okay, this one is on some money, but not much. About one hundred dollars each way.’
His eyebrows lifted.
‘And …’ she said, readying to deliver her coup de grâce ‘… we get to tick off two things from the list.’
‘For one hundred dollars?’ Disbelief saturated his voice.
She smiled and turned her un-made-up face to the sun for some rare vitamin D. ‘You’ll just have to trust me.’
‘Dangerous words, bro,’ Luc said, standing, and looking at Hayden. ‘Now, you need to throw some clothes on before all the mums start arriving and drive through my sister’s hedges in distraction,’ he said with a smile, then turned to her, ‘and you need to cover up before Hayden tips right off that lawn chair. I have the important job of distributing the party bags.’
She glanced at Hayden, who busied himself studying the underside of the eaves.
Luc sauntered back into the house and an awkward silence fell. Until that moment she’d really not been all that bothered by the suction of her clothes to her curves, but it bothered her now. Luc’s suggestion bothered her.
As in hot and bothered.
She stared at the MΩΛΩN ΛABE tattoo on his shoulder. Shoulder seemed suitably modest.
‘I think you should stay as you are,’ she joked. ‘And go out onto the street
to welcome the mums.’
Even white, teeth sparkled. ‘You’re evil.’
‘I’m a student of human nature. Isn’t that what you once said?’
‘Luc’s right; I need to cover up.’ He pushed to his feet and peered down at her. She lifted her hand to screen the bright sun. He was gloriously broad in silhouette but it meant she couldn’t see his face.
‘And he’s right about why you need to cover up, too.’
‘So what’s her story?’ Luc said from behind him as Shirley’s purple monstrosity drove away. With a still dripping Boudicca in it.
‘No idea,’ he murmured, still following her departure until she turned the corner. Then he dragged his eyes back to his friend. ‘She’s just a girl. The daughter of one of my lecturers.’
Luc laughed. ‘She’s not just an anything.’
He turned back to the empty road where her car had just been. No. Not even close.
‘I assume you know what you’re doing?’ Luc went on as he thrust two party bags in the hands of the last departing nine-year-olds.
Hayden looked up. ‘Meaning?’
‘First the symphony, now Tim’s party? That’s not your usual playbook. And she’s a total deviation from your usual type. I assume you’re working an angle?’
Really? That was Luc’s first assumption when his mate brought a nice girl over. Not that he didn’t deserve the suspicion. ‘No angle. I’m helping her with something.’
‘Yeah, you’re a regular Sir Galahad,’ Luc snorted. ‘You’re hot for her. It’s obvious.’
‘That’s not why I’m helping her …’ Not that there wasn’t a lot to be hot about. ‘It’s just a chance to get to know her.’ That generated a modicum of stunned silence from his usually unflappable mate. Hayden turned. ‘What?’
Luc masked his surprise. ‘Nothing. Just never thought we’d have this moment.’
‘Me standing in a skirt on your sister’s verge?’ No doubt.
Luc wasn’t deterred. ‘You admitting to interest in a woman.’
‘I’ve had a lot of female interests. Far more than you, mate.’
Luc wasn’t biting, either. ‘Not like this, Hayds. Not someone normal.’
A laugh shot out of him. ‘Shirley is far from normal.’
‘You’re doing stuff together, getting to know her, flirting …’
He turned for the house. ‘That wasn’t flirting. I was just entertaining myself.’
‘Please. It was practically foreplay. If you’re just amusing yourself then you might want to think about what that will do to her. She’s not in the same league as the other women you’ve dated.’
Luc’s words produced a fiery, blazing desire to be sure Shirley wasn’t tarred by the brush of the many women he’d been with. Which in turn produced the confusing question—why? So of course he said the exact opposite of what he thought. ‘She seemed up for it. She’s stronger than she looks.’
‘Steel’s strong, too, until the moment it’s not.’
Time for a new conversation. He swished back towards the house, Luc in tow. ‘It’s not going to be an issue. She’s far too switched on to have a bar of me.’
‘You might surprise yourself, Hayden. If you let someone in, they might want to stay.’
A dark, thick pool deep inside burped up a puff of uneasiness like a boiling tar pit. ‘Maybe I should leave you my skirt, mate. If you’re going to get all huggy on me.’ He snagged up his sports bag full of street clothes. ‘I do this for a living, Luc. For entire corporations. I think I can read one twenty-four-year-old woman, don’t you?’
‘I’m not worried about whether you can read her, Hayds,’ he said. ‘I’m worried that you don’t read you all that well sometimes.’
Yeah, he did; better than his friend thought. Well enough to recognise when he had no idea what he was doing. Yet. But being in the dark wasn’t the same thing as being oblivious. Leonidas would have agreed. Even if you didn’t know exactly how many were in the opposing force or what weapons they were carrying, just knowing they were over the horizon was a huge advantage.
Forewarned was forearmed.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘YOU realise the next time you say “Trust me, Hayden” I’ll just laugh and remind you of this moment.’
They stood, suitcases in hand, on the dock of the port. The wrong side of the dock. The bright white, multi-storey cruise liners all lined up on the far side. On this side the dirty barnacleencrusted freight liners slummed it.
Hayden stared at the hulking great vessel in front of them, with its towering patchwork of sea-containers. ‘When you said pack for a sea voyage I had something very different in mind.’
Beside him, Shirley smiled. ‘What did you expect for a hundred bucks each way?’
He sighed and closed his eyes. What had he expected? He’d had vague dreams of crewing on a maxi-yacht, or working for their passage on one of the leisure behemoths on the far side of the port. ‘Not this.’
‘I have a friend at the port authority. She gave me the tip about this vessel. It comes in fully laden and then offloads half its cargo and crew for shore leave before heading on to New Zealand to drop the rest and return half-full. Then they pick up their shore-rested crew and new cargo.’
She was staring at him with such enthusiastic expectation. He just kept staring at the vessel.
‘So they have room for passengers there and back,’ she went on. ‘The catch is that you only get one day in New Zealand. But that’s all we’ll need.’
He nodded slowly. How else were they going to get to New Zealand for the bungee jumping or Venice for the gondola ride, or the base camp of Everest? The list wouldn’t have been easily achievable even for her mother. Some parts of it they had no hope of delivering.
This was pretty clever. But he wasn’t about to give her that just yet.
‘I hope they’re not expecting me to haul containers?’
She nudged him bodily. ‘Come on, Leonidas, I’ve seen your muscles.’
And that was all it took. An unexpected bit of full body contact and he was totally on board with this crazy plan. He stared at the Delphi Paxos and worked hard to ignore the tingling place in his arm where the curve of her breast had just brushed. ‘As long as I can get a satellite signal then I can keep the shareholders happy for the week I’ll be away.’
She glanced up at him. ‘I know it’s not the Ritz—’
Oh, honey, it’s not even The Ritz’s off-site warehouse.
‘—but it’s a virtually free ride to New Zealand and it puts two ticks in boxes.’
Ticks in boxes. Right. Everything was about the boxes with her. How had he forgotten?
She set off across the dock tarmac, pausing to let a kamikaze forklift whizz by. They reached the bottom of a long skinny gangplank. Shirley ground to a halt just in front of him. He peered around her to check her expression.
‘I just … urn …’ she muttered.
He stepped around her and looked at her fronton. ‘You okay?’
She took a deep breath. ‘It’s stupid …’
This whole thing was stupid but it meant something to her so here they were. ‘What is?’
‘I’ve never been on a boat. It looks so much bigger from here.’
Uh-oh. ‘Never?’
She shook her head. ‘Only river ferries.’
‘Well, that’s exciting then.’ God loved an optimist. Yet the hint of vulnerability certainly wasn’t unappealing.
She chewed her lip and raised her eyes up the side of the enormous hull. ‘I hope so.’
‘Once you’re up there it won’t look so big. I promise.’
But he couldn’t promise what a novice would make of the pitch and roll of the Tasman Sea. Her clever solution wasn’t going to look too great when she was face down over a toilet bowl for four days. Or the bow of the ship.
He took her hand and drew her upwards. Took a step. Then another. She followed him up the long skinny gangplank. They were met at the top by a smiling man who
greeted them in heavily accented English.
‘Welcome to ship!’
He glanced around at the heavy fittings, the utilitarian paint job. Yup, definitely a working vessel. But it did at least look solid. And clean. And much less daunting from on deck for his suddenly nervous novice.
Their crew member told them in broken English that Immigration would come through before the ship was cleared for departure and to have their passports ready, and to stay in their cabin until they’d been cleared.
Amongst so many mispronunciations, that little one slipped him right by.
At least until the man flung a small door wide and cheerfully announced, ‘Room!’
The cabin was tiny but it had two neat beds in it. Skinny single beds. Shirley looked at the seaman sideways. ‘Whose room?’
‘Yes. Your room.’
‘But which? Mine or his?’
The lines on his weathered face multiplied. Shirley grew dangerously still and the man started babbling in his own tongue. It was Greek. Greatly evolved from the ancient Greek Hayden had studied during his classical units, but close enough.
He stepped in and fumbled his way to offering to help in classical Greek. The man instantly refocused on the closest approximation to his own language in the room.
‘How many cabins did you book?’ he said quickly to Shirley.
‘Two. Of course, two.’ Furious colour crept ever higher.
He did his best to communicate the dilemma. The crewman nodded and shot back in rapid-fire Greek.
‘I think he’s agreeing with you.’ The man held up two fingers. ‘Two.’
‘Damn right he is …’ Shirley started to fan her hot face with her passport.
The crewman picked up Hayden’s suitcase and placed it on the foot of the bed and then he picked up Shirley’s and walked out of the room with it, crossed the tiny hallway and opened a door there to a room the twin of the first. He dumped her suitcase on the end of a bed in there. And then turned to check her understanding. Baffled but optimistic.
‘Okay …?’
‘Okay,’ she said through a tight smile.
On the bright side, the distraction seemed to have made her forget all about her sea nerves.
She moved into her cabin.