Melting Into You (Due South Book 2)

by Tracey Alvarez

  “But there’s no reason why you couldn’t marry Ben. Then I’d have a sister, and you’d have someone to talk to after I go to bed.”

  Someone to talk to. Instead of reading a book, watching another medical drama on TV, listening to the clock tick until Shaye got home so there’d be another adult to share her day with. How pathetic was she?

  But she couldn’t deny that the idea of being wrapped up in Ben’s arms at the end of the day, that whispered conversations and hot kisses by firelight held a secret appeal. A dangerous appeal—one which she immediately squashed.

  “Cara, you’re forgetting something very important. People marry because they love each other, and both people have to want to get married. Ben and I don’t love each other, and we don’t want to get married.”

  “Well, he could still be your boyfriend.” Zoe patted her hand.

  “How about a boy who is just a friend?”

  Her eyebrows pinched together, and she crossed her arms. “I want Jade to be my sister.”

  Kezia stroked her daughter’s velvety-soft cheek. “I used to want a sister too. But do you know what? Now I have Piper and Shaye, and they’re sisters here.” She touched a palm to her chest. “Where it counts.”

  “I still want a real sister.”

  “I hear you.” Stubborn little minx. “But it’s time for lights out.”

  “All right, Mamma.” Zoe stretched her arms out for one last hug. “Love you.”

  Kezia held Zoe close, burying her face in her curls, loving her daughter so hard she expected her heart to explode.

  “I love you too.”

  Kezia switched off the lamp and left the room, pausing in the darkened hallway, with a half-smile on her lips. Any second now…

  “Mamma?”

  “Yes, Zoe?”

  “Bet Ben would like to be your boyfriend.”

  “Goodnight, Miss Matchmaker.”

  Bittersweet humor ached in her throat as she closed her daughter’s door. She couldn’t place her heart in a man’s hand for safekeeping ever again.

  Chapter 10

  One day he’d hook up outside speakers and blast the theme to Jaws while a Great White approached the submerged cage holding his clients. You made your own fun here on the Island.

  Ben glanced down at the cage secured to The Mollymawk’s stern. A flurry of bubbles foamed up from the six wetsuit-covered bodies inside. Piper, in the group’s center, turned and gave him a thumbs up, then flashed her open palm twice. Ten more minutes.

  Two clients pointed at the sleek, grey and cream shape cruising through the water. The ragged dorsal fin broke the surface before the shark slid soundlessly into the depths. Ben held a healthy respect for the big bastards. Respect with a thin layer of horror, as one could’ve taken his father’s body.

  Scrubbing a fist over his chest, Ben examined the divers’ air hoses. All remained untangled. He leaned out a little more to peer into the cage again—just a quick check. Wouldn’t it chap her ass knowing he still worried for her?

  Nine years ago, when their father failed to surface after a thirty meter dive, Piper risked her life to bring him up from the deep. Alone, unable to muscle him back into the boat, she’d made a gut-wrenching decision to let their dad go. Searches by the coastguard and the Police’s National Dive Squad failed to find him. Michael Harland’s body was never recovered.

  Ben stubbornly blamed himself and Piper for the accident for years—hadn’t spoken to her from the day she left Oban until she returned to help run his dive tours in January. After their mother finally divulged the family secret of Michael’s alcoholism, Ben manned up and apologized to Piper for being such a jackass.

  Ancient history—and too much of a downer to dwell on. He’d catch grief if Piper spotted him “brooding.”

  An hour later, with a boatload of hyped-up, happy clients, Ben steered south toward Oban. Piper entered the wheelhouse carrying a steaming mug of coffee.

  “Here you go, skipper.” She passed it to him and flopped into a helm seat.

  The Mollymawk crested another wave and wallowed into the trough.

  “How’s your stomach?” He nodded at the camouflage-print band wrapped around her wrist. A band claiming to prevent seasickness.

  Piper glanced down at the thin cuff. “So far, so good. I would’ve thrown you overboard if you’d gotten me the striped pink ones.”

  “Am I the most thoughtful big brother ever, or what?”

  “Wish I’d had one before I nearly puked all over West.”

  “Nearly puking worked out well for the two of you in the long run.” He sipped the coffee and winked. “How did your hot, Saturday-night date go? Get your money’s worth?”

  “Yeah, right.” The breath she blew out ruffled her short fringe. “Five hundred bucks down at the auction to sit in Due South with Betsy Taylor eyeballing us from the corner. An octogenarian chaperone making sure I didn’t give West a crotch rub under the tablecloth. We should’ve stayed home.”

  Ben grimaced, took another sip. “God, that charity auction. I swear I’ll rip the tongue out of the next person to ask if I’ve figured out the mystery bidder’s identity.”

  “Oh…mmm.” Piper fiddled with a hole in the knee of her jeans.

  A light switched on. A light connecting Piper’s continual insistence she didn’t know who wrote the check for two grand, to Kezia’s admission that her late husband was an architect. He hadn’t known the man’s occupation then—other than he’d been some sort of professional suit. But later, like all nosy bastards, he’d used the internet to find more information. He’d Googled Callum Murphy and discovered he’d been a partner in his father’s Wellington-based architectural firm. Callum’s fatal car crash had left his wife a wealthy woman.

  “Kezia.”

  Piper’s gaze zipped sideways. “What?”

  “Kezia’s the mystery bidder. She never came forward to claim the date she’d won because she doesn’t want to be seen with a man like me.” He injected just enough self-righteous indignation into his tone to needle Piper’s temper.

  Piper jabbed his leg with her purple combat boot. “That’s not true, and you know it. Kezia didn’t claim the date because—” Her eyes locked on his and her mouth dropped. “You sneaky bugger.”

  “Too easy, Pipe. How many years were you a cop again?”

  She slumped farther down in her seat. “Kez’ll kill me if she finds out I told you.”

  “Relax. I guessed. I’m just yanking your chain for conformation.”

  “I repeat—sneaky bugger.” She stretched out her long legs and crossed her ankles. “It really wasn’t because she didn’t want to be seen with you, okay?”

  Across the choppy waves, thick streamers of low cloud topped Stewart Island’s bush-covered hills. A petrel arrowed into the sea off starboard side, and through the open wheelhouse door rose shouts of excitement as a client spotted the sleek head of a sea lion.

  Ben pulled his gaze away from the windshield and shrugged.

  “Look,” Piper said. “She told me how you protected her from Gav. She didn’t like being in your debt.”

  What a stroke to the ego. Kezia paid two grand for a date with him to settle an imaginary debt. So much for Mrs. T’s “hunk” description.

  “Kezia didn’t owe me a thing. Any other guy would’ve done the same if they’d seen that prick manhandle her.” Imagining any man putting his hands on her, roughly or otherwise, fired a bolt of volcanic heat into his gut.

  “Yeah. But she knew you wouldn’t accept money from her if she offered it outright.”

  “Fuck no.”

  “So she kept her donation anonymous. Saving your manly pride and all.”

  His gaze narrowed, peering through the salt-splattered windshield to the island looming closer. “She bid for a date with me, a date she should get.”

  “Maybe you’ve done something to change her mind since the auction?”

  Did an orgasm that left her quaking in his arms count? He snorted. “Would
she have gone out with Kip or Ford, if they’d helped her that night?”

  Too late. The words could’ve come straight from the mouth of a sulky teenager. Damn.

  “Aw, sweetie,” she purred, swinging the helm seat toward him. “Are you asking if Kez likes you better than the other boys? Like me to find out if she wants to go steady?”

  “Bitch.”

  She laughed. “Asshole.”

  “I’ll tell Mum you’re planning a Goth-themed wedding.”

  “Whatever. I’ll make you wear black lipstick and a top hat.”

  Easy silence slid between them. Up until a couple of months ago, when Piper became his business partner, nothing had been easy. Now they’d slipped back into the comfortable role of their childhood. Bugging each other. Kicking the ass of anyone stupid enough to put a Harland in their crosshairs.

  Piper drummed her fingernails on her knee. “Remember that time you warned me off West and told me there were plenty of other guys in Oban to sleep with?”

  Coffee nearly spurted out his nose. “Bloody hell! Do we have to rehash that painful conversation?”

  Piper wriggled her eyebrows at him. Then her expression went cop-serious. “You butted your big head in my business. Now I’m butting mine in yours. If you only want Kez for casual sex, back off. Find someone else to scratch your itch.”

  “I can sense an, or else.” He hoped the tips of his ears weren’t glowing.

  “The ‘or else’ is, I love you.”

  He recoiled and coffee dregs spilled on his shirt. “Jesus, Pipe! Are you on drugs or something?”

  “I tell West I love him every day now…”

  He flicked coffee droplets off his chest and held up a palm. “Spare me the details. Anyway, Harland’s don’t do that—”

  “This Harland does. And there’s more, stop interrupting.” She stood, plucking the coffee mug out of his hands. “I love you, but if you break my friend’s heart, I’ll make you suffer in creative ways only a cop knows of. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  “And Ben?” She jabbed a finger into his ribcage, a spot guaranteed to make him flinch. “Mum and Shaye will disembowel you if you hurt Jade or Zoe.”

  Nothing less than he’d want to do to himself. God knew he still couldn’t cope with Jade’s occasional teary outbursts—so Christ, two little girls bawling because he’d accidently led them to believe something temporary could become permanent?

  He raked both hands through his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp. “Yeah.”

  “So,” she said, as they motored into Halfmoon Bay harbor, “where do you plan to take Kezia when you claim your mystery date?”

  Say what? “Didn’t you threaten to disembowel me or worse? Why would I still be interested in Kezia now?”

  Piper raised her index finger. “One, you haven’t been scared of me since you were nine and I threatened to free a weta in your bedroom, and two”—she counted off another finger—“you’re halfway in love with Kezia already, so my piddly little threats won’t deter you.”

  “In love?” His stomach flipped into his throat, momentarily leaving him speechless. He choked it back down. “Bollocks.”

  “De-ni-al,” Piper sing-songed.

  He tried not to snarl. Nearly succeeded. At least he didn’t stamp his foot like a child.

  “West and I are available for a sleepover with the girls should you want to take Kezia on a date more memorable than dinner at Due South. How about it?”

  He squinted at the wharf buildings growing steadily closer. The sooner he could dock, the sooner he could get rid of his sister and her relentless questions.

  “When was the last time you went on a real date?” she said.

  He rolled his shoulders and avoided eye contact. “Not that long ago.”

  “The redhead you hooked up with at the charity auction, eh?”

  Not exactly. He hadn’t eyes for anyone but Kezia. But she’d rejected his offer to buy her a drink, so the redhead, Natalie or Natasha—something starting with “N”—locked onto his arm for the rest of the evening. Natalie/Natasha dropped hint after hint, wrapping around him like ivy after he’d walked her to the hotel. But he’d scraped her off with an apology and went home alone.

  Because he only wanted Kezia.

  “I dropped her off at Due South. End of story.”

  A man shouldn’t have to discuss his lack of dating skills. Least of all with his bossy younger sister.

  “Turning down sex with a gorgeous and willing tourist who’s leaving the next day?” She tutted and shook her head. “Had it bad, even then, huh?”

  “I’m working here.” He powered down the Mollymawk.

  “And you were thinking about taking Kezia to dinner and a movie.”

  The females in his family weren’t the only ones with a now you die stare. “Leave it alone, Pipe.”

  “Okay, okay. Just do something completely unexpected. Dazzle the crap outta her—she deserves some dazzle, and so do you.”

  An image popped into his brain—Kezia in her pretty yellow dress with sunbeams playing in her hair, a hint of a smile on her lush mouth. Dazzled. Yeah, he was pretty dazzled already. But no way was he halfway in love with her.

  “Fine. Now piss off, and let me get this boat in before I plow into the wharf.”

  Piper sashayed to the door and mock saluted. “Aye, aye, skipper.”

  Once their clients had disembarked with Piper, Ben turned The Mollymawk toward the harbor. Mooring his boat kept his mind occupied, but his eyes were drawn to Due South as he rowed the dinghy to shore.

  Kezia was there, Piper said. Some book club meeting with other local women, gossiping in the cozy atmosphere of the pub. Women only, evidently.

  Ben hopped out of the dinghy and dragged it through the shallows. He secured the dinghy next to the others, then zipped his jacket and climbed the bank to the kids’ playground. Laughter drifted across the road as someone opened Due South’s door. He caught sight of a guitar slung over a broad back, disappearing inside the pub. Warm light spilled from the windows, and the faint aroma of hot chips made his mouth water.

  Maybe he’d join his mate for a beer and a bowl of chips. Listen to Ford play his guitar…Ben nodded. Yeah, he’d relax a bit, let the familiarity of being in his place, his island—his home—smooth off the rough edges.

  And if Kezia happened to be in the same room? A fluttery sensation skimmed through his chest.

  Well, she was easy enough on the eye too.

  ***

  “I tell you, it’s pornography.” Mrs. Taylor shook her head, her permed curls remaining exactly in place, thanks to the miasma of hairspray she’d applied a few moments ago.

  Kezia shifted on her chair, wrenching her gaze away from Due South’s windows and the man standing across the road.

  Discussions of Jodi Picoult’s latest novel, crammed with the usual ethical dilemmas had swirled around her for the last hour, but she kept returning to the windows. Waiting for The Mollymawk to return. Waiting for Ben.

  And how pitiful, how totally juvenile, that her pulse kicked up a notch at the sight of his boat entering the harbor. Worse, she’d deliberately positioned her chair so she could catch a glimpse of him.

  “What do you think about Erin’s choice, Kezia?” Mrs. Taylor’s voice sliced through her daydreams.

  “Huh? Oh.”

  Erin, owner of the Great Flat White café, had placed a stack of paperbacks on the table while Kezia stared mushily out the window.

  The book cover depicted a woman’s slender leg from panty-covered buttocks to needle-thin red heels, a black leather riding crop resting along the length of her thigh.

  Kezia sipped her wine to moisten a suddenly parched throat. “Switch. An interesting title.”

  “Everyone’s talking about it online. I thought it’d be a fun change”—Erin flicked her long, blonde plait over her shoulder, turning on a butter wouldn’t melt smile—“since we’re all young at heart, aren’t we, Mrs. T?”
>
  Well into her eighties, Mrs. Taylor still had an eye cast toward the opposite sex.

  “Hmmph.” Her walking sticks rattled as she shuffled around in her chair. “Well, I’d like a more unbiased opinion. Ben?” Her shrill voice cut through Ford’s guitar strumming and the rumble and glass clinks of pub noise. “Would you come over for a moment, dear?”

  At the bar, Ben’s shoulders hunched as his head turned. Over the crowd of locals and late-season tourists enjoying the rustic charm of a genuine Kiwi pub, Ben’s eyes locked with Kezia’s. A muscle clenched in his jaw. He muttered to Kip, making the younger man pull a face and shrug.

  Ben approached their table and Mrs. Taylor purred out a greeting, batting her eyelashes.

  “We girls need your male perspective on this month’s book selection,” she said.

  No, they didn’t. No they really, really didn’t. Sweat popped out on Kezia’s forehead. Eyes on the wine glass! Away from the paperbacks, and most importantly, away from Ben.

  A tanned and corded forearm slipped into her peripheral vision, placing a beer mug on the table and picking up a copy of the book. A rapid flutter of pages being skimmed through.

  “Looks like the kind of book even I would enjoy reading.” Humor coated Ben’s words.

  “Have a seat.” Mrs. Taylor poked a spare chair out from the table with a walking stick and her signature shark-like smile. “Make an old lady’s day.”

  Kezia’s gaze flew to Ben; his face paled slightly under his tan.

  “Ah, well—”

  No male under fifty was safe from Mrs. Taylor’s wandering hands. On the other side of the empty chair, Denise Komeke patted the seat.

  “Sit, sit.” She directed a warning stare at Kip and Ford, who’d joined his friend at the bar.

  The two men grinned like Cheshire cats.

  “Yes, please join us,” Rhonda McCullum, Kezia’s boss, said from next to her.

  Ben sighed, grabbing his beer and sinking into the chair, subtly edging it toward Denise. She took pity on him and shifted hers over so he remained out of reach of Mrs. Taylor’s gnarled hands.