A Wilder Heart

by Loki Renard

  “Chuckulute mulk,” the attendant said. “Swuut as.”

  “Swuut as,” Aster repeated, hanging up the phone.

  Owen chuckled. “Enjoying the local flavor?”

  “Swuut as what, I wonder?” Aster pondered, swinging the menu between her thumb and forefinger.

  “The Kiwi equivalent of ‘no problem’ ” he said. “In that context, anyway.”

  “What other contexts are there?”

  “Any and all, to be honest.” Owen finished his toast.

  “I was thinking I’d go shopping today,” Aster said, lounging carefully in a chair.

  “You’re not going anywhere until they’re done with my laundry,” Owen replied. “I can’t go out in my boxer shorts, and if I’m not going anywhere, you’re not going anywhere.”

  Aster’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “That’s not fair!”

  “Actually it is. Call it being grounded if you like. Consequences, Aster. There are always consequences.”

  Aster’s eyes narrowed. She was about to come back with a snappy retort, but there was a knock at the door at that moment and the pancakes arrived. Pancakes and coffee and strawberries and fresh whipped cream. That was more than enough of a distraction from Owen’s latest disciplinary gambit and for a few minutes, there was peace.

  “I didn’t think coming to New Zealand would involve being trapped in a hotel room with a control freak,” she eventually said through a mouthful of whipped cream.

  “You wouldn’t be if you hadn’t messed with my things,” Owen replied as he got up to refresh his coffee. Aster swallowed her cream, thinking to herself that the consequences weren’t as dire as he imagined. Owen looked good in his underwear. He had powerful muscular thighs and his buttocks were displayed prominently under dark soft material, firm glutes that begged to be squeezed. As he walked past, Aster reached out and swatted at his ass. She made contact with his right cheek and grinned as he shot her a quizzical look.

  “If you can slap me, I can slap you.”

  “That’s not really how this works,” Owen said, continuing on his way. She noticed that he wasn’t mad about it. In fact, he was smiling as he poured more coffee. Aster was smiling too. His butt had felt nice in her hand. Yes, he was an overbearing ass, but what an ass – hard and well shaped, toned and athletic.

  An idea struck. If she seduced Owen, he would undoubtedly fall under her sway. Everybody knew that once a man slept with a beautiful woman he would do as she said. Aster had seen that routine play out in her father’s life many times over through a series of divorces.

  It would not be hard to seduce Owen, she was sure of that. Men were unable to resist a display of cleavage and a pleasing personality. She would have to tailor hers to fit the mission, but she could do that. That was acting. And she was an actress.

  After breakfast Aster put on a dress. Not just any dress. A dress which barely covered her bottom and which clung to her body all the way up to her navel, where it began a split, which traveled all the way up to the straps at her shoulders. The construction of the garment left a significant part of her midriff and much of her cleavage bare. It was a dress designed for the runway or the red carpet, but Aster had other purposes planned for it. No man was capable of refusing her when her long, shapely legs, toned stomach and full breasts were so flatteringly displayed.

  She sashayed casually into the main room of the suite, pretending not to pay any attention to Owen. He was watching a rugby game, which involved men in very tight shorts slamming into one another at high speed without the benefit of pads. Aster didn’t understand how they managed to survive an average game.

  “Wow,” she said, settling herself on the arm of his chair, her shapely bottom nestled next to his shoulder. “What a game.”

  “Yeah,” Owen agreed without looking at her. He seemed to be glued to the spectacle. Aster was not impressed by that, but she knew how she could get his attention. Sliding off the chair, she took a step forward and bent over in front of him to pick up an imaginary something.

  When she straightened, he was looking at her and not the game, but he didn’t seem overly impressed. His left brow was raised and his expression was what Aster could only call dour.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Miss Wilder?”

  “Just making conversation,” she said, reaching up to twirl one sleek strand of hair around her finger. “We’ve never really had a conversation before, you know that?”

  “That’s because you’re usually misbehaving,” Owen replied. He looked quite stern, filling the hotel chair with brawn and muscle and a certain amount of dubious disbelief. “And I’m fairly sure you’re still doing that.”

  “Me?” Aster batted her eyelashes. “But I’m just trying to have a nice conversation. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to get to know you a little better, is there?” She perched on the coffee table as she asked the question, knowing full well that he would be able to see a great deal of cleavage with her in that lowered position.

  “Aster...” he said her name like a purr, his tone slightly rougher than usual. Was that lust in his eyes as he leaned forward? Was he about to fall under her sway like a cobra to a charmer?”

  She leaned forward until her lips were inches from his, so close that she could scent his musk and his need. “Yes?”

  He spoke in a deep masculine drawl. “You’re blocking the television.”

  A lesser woman would have given up then and there, given way to insulted screeching, but Aster was not so easily dissuaded. She let out a coquettish laugh. “So I am,” she said, lifting her bottom from the table and swiveling around so that she was now sitting sideways across his lap. He had become the chair and now she was displayed in all her glory right in his lap, her bare midriff and her swelling breasts rising against him.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  That was it. Thanks. Aster said nothing for a moment or two, waiting to see what would happen next. But what happened next was on the screen, when there was a try.

  “Hot damn!” Owen slapped his palm against the arm of the chair. “Good one.”

  Aster’s ego was starting to take a beating. There she was, draped across his lap in all her feminine glory and he was far more interested in big men throwing their little ball across a line.

  “Oh, I see,” she said, unable to keep the tension out of her voice. “You prefer looking at hot sweaty men to women.”

  “Or I just prefer rugby to whatever game it is you’re playing,” he replied, shifting under her.

  Aster frowned. Somehow Owen seemed to be maintaining higher levels of thought. How could that possibly be? By this stage he should have been a quivering erection and not much more. Aster glanced down, making sure that her breasts were indeed on display and that they hadn’t somehow accidentally been covered up. No. There they were. She could see a sliver of pink on one side where her nipple was peaking out. Why wasn’t it working?

  She tried batting her lashes coquettishly and giggling. “You’re so funny,” she said in high-pitched tones. “So cute.” Reaching out, she let her fingertip trail along his jawline.

  “Cut it out, Aster,” he said, brushing her away as if she were an annoying fly.

  Pouting and hurt, Aster stood up. She was one of the most desirable young women in the world – and that wasn’t her opinion, that was fact according to several men’s magazines. But Owen was apparently entirely immune to her charms. He wasn’t interested in her in the slightest. He treated her like she was just some annoying unworthy little... she didn’t even have words for the way he seemed to think of her.

  At that moment, room service knocked on the door. Owen’s clothes were done being laundered and were being returned to him. Aster took that to mean her grounding was over. Even if it hadn’t been she would have left anyway.

  “I’m going out,” she said. “I’ll see you later.

  “Put some clothes on first,” Owen instructed. “I won’t have you wandering around like that. It’s an invitation
for trouble.”

  Aster rounded on him. “I can wear what I like. If other people behave inappropriately toward me, that’s on them.”

  “Actually, it’s on me,” Owen replied. “It’s my job to keep you as safe as possible, and that’s difficult to do if you’re drawing unnecessary attention to yourself by dressing like that.”

  “What are you now – bodyguard and the fashion police? There’s nothing wrong with the way I’m dressed.”

  “Would your father want to see you going out in that?”

  “It doesn’t matter what my father wants,” Aster informed Owen tersely, her irritation reaching epic proportions at the mention of her father. In addition to the embarrassment of being flat out turned down by a bodyguard who would have been lucky to have her so much as spit in his direction, it seemed that Zach Wilder cast a shadow all the way to New Zealand. “I’m a fully grown woman, not some wayward teenager. If I want to go out in nothing but bikini panties and nipple pasties then I’ll do it, and you’ll keep your mouth shut about it.”

  “Go get changed,” Owen said calmly, well clear of the tempest of her emotions. “Save the temper tantrum for another time.”

  “You are not the boss of me,” Aster said, immediately wishing that she’d phrased it differently. “I make the decisions around here. Me, not you. I’m going out. Goodbye.”

  Owen got out of his chair faster than she had given him credit for being able to move. One moment her hand was on the doorknob, the next one of his arms was looped around her waist and his hand was making stern contact with her derriere. The dress gave precisely zero protection against spanking as it rode up over her cheeks almost immediately to reveal her thong clad bottom already blooming pink.

  “Let me go!”

  To her surprise, he did. “Go and get changed,” he said, still in that oh, so calm voice. “This is New Zealand so you can stow your fancy clothes. Jeans and a tee shirt will do almost anywhere.”

  Aster fled to her room, thoroughly annoyed, ashamed and embarrassed. She had never imagined that there would be a man she could not seduce. Owen had not just made her bottom sore, he had hurt her pride very deeply.

  “Stupid man,” she sniffed to herself. “Stupid, stupid... stupid me.”

  She locked herself in her bathroom, though she needn’t have bothered because Owen was watching his game again, completely unaware of and unconcerned by the effect he’d had on her. Aster perched on the corner of the oversized bath and sniffed to herself, blinking back tears, which insisted on falling even though she really didn’t want them to. It wasn’t fair. This was her time to shine, her big break, and it was being ruined by a man who steadfastly refused to be swayed by her in any way.

  Thoroughly frustrated and embarrassed, Aster returned to her original plan. She would not speak to Owen unless she absolutely had to. She would act as if he were not there at all. She would certainly, never, ever attempt any kind of intimacy with him ever again.

  “He missed his chance,” she told the mirror. “And he’s not getting another one.”

  She had conveniently forgotten that it had never been a real chance for intimacy. Her annoyance was more that of a spider having watched a fly dance through the weave of her web than a jilted would-be lover. That didn’t make a difference to her however, annoyance was annoyance and hurt was hurt.

  He probably expected her to pout and stomp, she figured. He expected her to throw a tantrum, but Aster decided against all of that. She had decided that she was going to indulge in the adventure of a lifetime and Owen was not going to stop her.

  Gathering her composure, Aster came up with a new plan, one which would get her out of the city and maybe even away from Owen, too, with any luck. He thought he was so smart with his Milo and his rugby. Well, he’d see how smart he was when he realized he’d lost his big money client.

  There was one suggestion of his she did take: she put on jeans, a sweater and some sneakers, then grabbed a ball cap and some sunglasses too. For her plan to work she was going to need to be able to blend in.

  “Have you finished sulking?”

  Aster ignored him and walked right out the door.

  She knew that he would follow her. She knew that she had about three seconds to get out of sight before he caught up with her. To that end, she didn’t take the elevator down but instead scuttled down the stairwell onto the floor below. The floor beneath them was not comprised of luxury suites, but normal hotel rooms and its warren-like corridors provided plenty of places to hide.

  She found herself a little nook to stand in and waited. Minutes ticked by and he didn’t find her so she risked creeping out. She found that the coast was clear and, grinning to herself, made her way down to the lobby. There was no sign of Owen there either and her smile grew wider. She’d actually done it. She’d sneaked away from him. So much for Owen being a crack bodyguard.

  With her hat and sunglasses on, Aster wandered around Wellington for a few hours. It was a quaint little boutique city with a distinct bohemian vibe in some streets. She spent a few minutes watching the bucket fountain with its brightly colored scoops tossing water about the place and got herself a panini and a latte. The range of shopping was not nearly as broad or as sophisticated as that available in Los Angeles and what was for sale seemed quaint and anachronistic to her.

  Sighing to herself, Aster finished her coffee. This was not going to do. She couldn’t spend weeks in Wellington. New Zealand had more to offer, she was sure of it. The guidebook had contained pictures of some stunning scenery and she wanted to see it for herself. Growing up in Montana had given her a love for and appreciation of nature, and seeing as New Zealand seemed to have about three clothing stores and an ice cream shop to its name, it was just as well.

  Sitting among the crowds of New Zealanders with their penchant for extremely short shorts, flip flops and a passing interest in cosmetics, Aster decided that it was time she truly lived up to her last name. It was time to be wilder than she’d ever been before.

  She had her smart phone, her credit cards and her passport in her pocket. Everything she needed to do anything. So armed, she made her way to where she’d seen a bunch of taxi cabs lined up, got into one and gave instructions that would throw everyone who knew her for a loop.

  “Airport, please.”

  * * *

  By the time she arrived at the airport, she was brimming with excitement. This was real adventure. She paid the taxi driver with the funny New Zealand money, which felt more like plastic than paper and made her way into the terminal.

  Just as she stepped through the doors and into the air-conditioned interior, someone coming the other way grabbed her by the arm and drew her out. Aster let out a little shriek of surprise before realizing that it was Owen. She let out another sound, this one more a grunt of confused annoyance as he dragged her away from the entrance where a line of laid-back people were smoking cigarettes and swapping stories about the rugby match.

  “Let me go!” Aster hissed the words at him. “I don’t want to miss my flight.”

  Owen pushed up the sunglasses that had been covering his eyes and glowered down at her, keeping his firm grip on her arm lest she run away. “Your flight to where, exactly, you brat? Are you running home?”

  “You wish,” she said. “I’m going to Te Anau. Well, I’m going to some place called Invercargill first, then I’m going to Te Anau.”

  “Te Anau?” Owen released her and laughed. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “Actually I do,” Aster replied. “I’m getting myself into a luxury bed and breakfast in the middle of a world heritage site.”

  “Okay,” he chuckled, still grinning broadly. She’d thought the sudden change of venue and plans would throw him off, but he seemed more than able to roll with her. “Let’s go to Te Anau then.”

  “Your things are still at the hotel,” she reminded him. “And how the hell did you follow me here?”

  “Tricks of the trade.” He winked
. “Don’t worry about the room. It will be held until we get back.”

  “Extravagant,” Aster observed.

  “I’m working for a very rich man.” He winked.

  The worst thing about Owen, Aster decided, was the way his mood was so entirely self-contained. Her actions seemed to just roll off him like water off a duck’s back. Seduction got no results, running away got no results, and now announcing that she was going to the furthest flung corner of the earth didn’t have any real effect either. The man was unflappable. Unmovable. She was starting to wonder if he’d removed the part of his brain responsible for responding to things like a normal human being.

  Maybe he didn’t take her seriously. Maybe he thought she was just throwing a tantrum. She’d prove him wrong. She marched right into the terminal, right up to the nearest airline counter and asked for a flight to Invercargill. She did so looking over her shoulder at Owen with narrowed eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said, snatching the ticket once it was printed. “Thank you very much.”

  * * *

  The flight from Wellington to Invercargill was short at just under two hours. The time flew for Aster, who was glued to her window most of the way, staring out at the Southern Alpine mountain range, a thick band of white peaks and spreading forests which formed the spine of the entire South Island.

  “It’s like nobody ever actually settled your country,” she breathed. “So much of it is still so wild. Look at it.”

  “New Zealanders never really got the hang of expansion,” he agreed. “Aside from sheep and dairy. Plenty of sheep and cows around.”

  She’d seen those from the plane too, great green fields stretching on for miles and miles. Most of New Zealand was just sort of empty, it seemed. The place had a strange vibe, relaxed, yes, calm, yes, respectful of nature, definitely, but there was something else too. As she looked at the great ranges and saw the thick green forests surrounding the peaks, a little shiver went right through her bones. It was as if, for one brief moment, the land itself spoke. She did not understand what it said, but the feeling was one which overwhelmed her and sent her scrabbling back to the interior of her glossy magazine where a snarky writer had noted that someone had worn boots that made her ankles look fat and wasn’t that funny.