by Ash Harlow
Oliver stood with me, insisting he give me a lift.
“That’s kind of you, but I’ll be fine,” I told him, because I needed some space right now to figure out how I was going to manage my past to stop it from colliding with my future.
“I’m sure you are, but we’re almost neighbors and I won’t have you walking alone at night,” his glance slipped down my legs, “in those pretty shoes.”
I followed his gaze to my feet. The shoes looked okay from above but a single misstep would probably snap the cheap heels. We walked side-by-side to a small parking lot where he directed me to a late-model Range Rover.
Once seated, I stole a deep breath of the scent of leather mixed with his cologne while he made his way to the driver’s side. The look he gave me before starting the engine was unreadable, but the air between us was so charged it’s a wonder we didn’t leave a trail of sparks down the road. It took only minutes to reach home, and Oliver drove right down the unpaved driveway, a length of grass sandwiched between two stripes of bare earth which would undoubtedly turn to mud with a little rain.
I laughed as he maneuvered the vehicle right up to my door, engulfing the tiny front porch of the cottage.
“Can I see you in?” he asked.
“Thanks, but I’m good,” I said, making a grab for the door handle.
“I wasn’t going to jump you, Darcy.”
“That’s a shame.” Hell, kill me now. I could not believe I said that aloud.
“I just wanted to be sure you were home safe. Of course, officially you haven’t signed a contract yet, so we don’t work together at this moment.”
I closed my eyes and gathered my thoughts. It would be so easy to offer him a cup of tea...No. “And, like I said, it’s a contract, not employment,” I added.
“I’ll walk you to your door.”
I laughed. It was forced and nervy. “You’ve all but driven me there.”
We made it to the door together. I put my back against the door frame and looked up at Oliver. I was tall but he was a good head higher. Our eyes met and my body tingled. He was going to do it.
He placed his hands on both sides of my head and despite the rush move, his mouth covered mine so softly. Well, that’s how it started but I was greedy and had to have more. I searched with my tongue and felt a huff of breath, like a truncated laugh, before he met my tongue with his. Softness and control deserted us as he held me against him, and we explored.
I felt completely claimed by a simple kiss that seemed to last a week. Finally, we broke apart, our breathing ragged.
He brushed a hand down my cheek, leaving a tingling comet trail in its wake. “I’ll pick you up in the morning at eight and we can go over the contract. You need to meet the other guys. Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me?” he teased.
Not sure at all, but I’d already broken one rule and now wasn’t the moment to cave in. I shook my head, rubbing my lips that felt swollen and wanted more. “Thanks for the lift, I’ll see you in the morning.”
I stayed on the porch until his car’s tail lights disappeared as he rounded the bend in the road, and then I picked up my purse and faced the dark, empty cottage.
A shoulder nudge and the front door opened without the need of a key. Nothing in the cottage seemed to close or lock properly. It was a testament to a lack of crime in this town, or possibly good neighbors, that meant Jen’s grandmother never found a need to have locks fixed.
I flicked on a light and looked around. Here I was freeloading in a dead woman’s home.
I was tragic.
At twenty-four I had nothing to my name except for a load of debt and a few belongings, which included my phone and laptop that escaped the inferno. Add to that a massively toxic relationship with a man I should have ditched at the first sign of trouble, instead of holding on while I hoped we’d make it together over the hump, and you could see I wasn’t hitting life goals yet.
Only one friend, Jen, knew I was back in New Zealand, and she was in London, so I wasn’t about to run into her.
Looking at the gear on the kitchen table you’d have thought my life was okay. Nice laptop, phone, decent handbag. Besides the wallet with too few coins, my possessions told the story of a previous life I could no longer maintain. Beyond what lay in front of me, plus the few clothes hanging in the closet, I had nothing. It amounted to the collection of stuff you throw together when you have to get out of your house in a hurry.
Would I have made off with a different collection if I’d had an inkling that there would be nothing to come back to but ashes?
I knew there were many worse off than me and self-pity didn’t sit comfortably. I pulled out the business card Oliver had given me and dropped it on the table.
An old wired-in phone with the most enormous number buttons sat on the counter. I presumed it had been disconnected, so when it rang I almost crapped myself. I stared at it for a moment, debating whether to answer it, because I knew it couldn’t possibly be for me. I didn’t even know what the number was. If I didn’t answer it, though, the caller would only call again.
I picked it up.
“Darcy, you sexy beast. How are you settling in? Any ghosts?”
It was Jen, of course. “Hi, Jen, you almost killed me with fright. I had no idea the phone was connected.”
“Thought I’d leave it on for you. There’s internet, too, but you might have to hack it to figure out Gran’s password.”
“Where’s that bastard ex of mine when I need him?”
“Rob? Imprisoned, I hope.”
“Haven’t heard, and I’m not looking at the news. How’s jolly old England?” I’d give anything to be there right now. Jen’s accent had refined with the addition of a plummy edge to her Kiwi vowels. The Home Counties boyfriend was obviously rubbing a bit of polish into her speech.
“Jolly cold, with rain. How’s the beach?”
“Jolly sandy, with sun and surf.” We carried on like this for a bit before she asked me if I’d met anyone interesting. Having just returned from town with almost half a bottle of wine in me I was happy to share.
“Do you mean besides the man-god down the road who has offered me a job?”
“Who? Sackville-of-gold? He moves fast!”
“Is he a player?”
“Plenty of rumors as I recall, but they’re probably based on wishful thinking and fantasies.”
“Have you screwed him?” There were certain rules Jen and I stuck to and one was that we didn’t share guys. Not that I was thinking of Oliver…much.
“You’ve only been in town a few days. Looking for sexy-fun-time already?”
“I haven’t touched a guy in over a year. I tell you, one searing gaze from Oliver and I swear my panties all but melted.”
“Watch out, melting underwear is one of his techniques.”
We talked for another half hour about Jen’s job and her fiancé, who I had yet to meet. It was great to hear from her and I was grateful to have her help with my living arrangements. And, now it seemed, the internet.
When I finished the call I set about cracking Gran’s wifi password which took all of a matter of minutes. The modem box was in a kitchen drawer with the password written in a spidery hand inside the flap. Once connected, I searched for Oliver Sackville.
There weren’t a lot of results beyond his business. A few social page photos with a bevy of women. A consistent one in more recent times by the name of Annabelle; tall, stunning, dark hair to her waist. Mr. Sackville, it appeared, was off the market.
Either Oliver needed to keep his panty-melting gaze in check, or Annabelle needed to make sure he wore dark glasses when she wasn’t around.
4 ~ DARCY
The following morning I scowled at my meager wardrobe as if a cold stare might force a hot outfit to magically appear, but magic was off the agenda. The royal-blue, too-short skirt and cream silk blouse would have to do.
I stepped into the small hallway hoping to coax some enthusiasm out of the
impotent shower in the vintage bathroom and was met by water oozing between my toes from the sodden hall rug. Had I left a tap running in the bathroom last night? Gathering my robe at my waist, I squelched along the hall. In the bathroom, none of the taps was dripping, let alone running.
Opening the utility closet I discovered the water heater tank had sprung a leak and emptied its entire contents.
“Is there anything else up your sleeve for me, universe?” I shouted, and typically received no reply. After rolling up the rug which had quadrupled in weight and was difficult to handle, I found a bucket and mop from the broom closet and got to work cleaning up. Soon my back ached and the hallway still resembled the estuary at half-tide.
Making it worse, I caught the bucket on the hem of my robe and tipped the entire contents over the floor.
“Thanks, universe. Back to square one.” I threw the mop to the floor. “You can shove the handle where the sun doesn’t shine.”
“Everything okay in here?”
Crap, Oliver. I’d completely forgotten the time.
There was probably not a lot that stopped him in his tracks but the sight of me, ankle deep in water had done just that.
“Wow, Darcy,” his gaze swept over me, “you didn’t have to go to so much effort. Love your outfit, though.”
I glanced down at myself. The thin robe I wore was not the sort of thing I paraded around in front of strangers, let alone my hopefully new boss. I shot him a look that said my sense of humor had drowned.
“Sorry, seriously, let me guess, hot water tank?”
His voice did that weird thing to me again so I nodded and made a grab for modesty, clutching the robe at my neck.
He was quite the gentleman, though, and had his head in the utility closet looking at god-knows-what on the tank. I heard him muttering something about antiques before he re-emerged. “It needs replacing. I’ll get someone over to do that today. I’m guessing you haven’t had a shower.”
“Not even coffee.”
“Worst start ever to the first day at a new job, eh?”
“Made worse by having your boss catch you in nothing more than a robe.”
“Didn’t even notice.”
“Liar,” I said, and picked up the mop because I needed something to wrap my hands around for distraction.
Oliver held out his hand. “Give me the mop.”
“You can’t—”
He motioned with his fingers. “I’ve cleaned filthy bilges on boats, Darcy. This is only water. Now pass me the mop.”
The look on his face said there was to be no argument. When I relinquished my grip on the handle, he thanked me. “Go and grab your stuff; I’m taking you back to my place to shower.”
He mopped as if that last line he’d thrown out was nothing more than a fast food order. I hoped he hadn’t intended it to sound quite so Neanderthal. Jane, my place, shower. Judging by the way he watched me, I wasn’t so sure.
I ducked into the bedroom, grabbed my clothes and found a bag for shower stuff. It would be a squeeze in the hallway to get past him to the bathroom. He whistled. Did nothing faze him? I froze at the sight of myself in the mirror. My robe gaped open, and forget grabbing the edges together above my breasts because the light cotton was transparent. No wonder he was whistling. I hastily pulled on shorts and a T-shirt and went back into the hall.
“Oh, you’ve changed.” He beamed at me.
Half a night awake in a lumpy bed convincing myself Oliver was a butt-ugly womanizer who’d use me and kick me to the kerb, flew out the window. I wanted to roll like a puppy and bask in his gaze that made my hormones come out to mess with my intelligence. I was in a bad situation with this guy holding the key to so many things I wanted.
I thought about the contract and work so I could pull off a professional smile. “I’ve noticed my robe doesn’t make very good visiting attire.”
“It didn’t bother me.” Oliver wrung the mop into the bucket. “This looks good now. I’ll send one of the guys up this morning to see about replacing that water heater.”
“Could he quote first, just in case?”
“It’ll be done at cost.”
My stomach sank. It didn’t matter if cost equaled five dollars, because I couldn’t afford it. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve already been enough of a nuisance.”
“You can’t be without hot water, and I doubt you know any plumbers in town.” He paused from his position of dragging the mop through the wringer. “Oh, I get it. It’s the cost, huh?”
I studied his hand on the mop handle. “Yeah, well, things are tight, temporarily.”
That hand reached toward me. “Come here.” He pulled me through to the kitchen. My kitchen. “Your hot water tank will be replaced today. It won’t cost you anything and it won’t be mentioned again.”
“You can’t do that.”
He grinned. “Let me prove that I can.”
“I’m not a charity case.” Well, I was, but he didn’t have to know that.
“I’m not treating you as one. You have important work to do with a tight deadline. I also want you to look presentable when representing the Trust, so it is in my best interests to make sure you have hot water. Also, your back door doesn’t shut properly. I’ll get my guy to look at it.”
My front door didn’t, either, but he didn’t have to know that. “This isn’t my house.”
“I’m not talking about knocking out walls and adding a deck, just a couple of things to make your life easier. Now, come and have a shower, and a giant mug of coffee and we can start our day.”
At his house he showed me to a guest bathroom, pointed out where to find towels and toiletries and left. I closed and locked the door, more to keep me in than any concern about keeping Oliver out. One look at the bathroom and I experienced a different kind of instalove. If I brought over a comforter would he let me live in this sleek, tiled place? I could sleep in the enormous bathtub.
One entire wall was made up of floor-to-ceiling windows which looked out onto plantings of mamaku and kawakawa, under-planted with smaller ferns. It was a beautiful garden that gave you the feeling of showering outdoors, and a view down to the river.
I stepped into the spray. “So good, so good.” I repeated the words like an incantation because I never wanted this to end. This was my first decent shower since arriving in the country so I messed around with the mixer for a bit, letting the water pulse across my shoulders and down my spine in the closest thing to a massage I’d be having for a while. I did that countdown from ten, promising myself I’d shut off the water and get my ass into gear when I reached zero, but ended up working through a best of three and then managed a further minute under the divine full-pressure shower spray.
The bathroom had everything a guest would need including a luxurious thick robe. I felt a bit snoopy, rummaging in his cupboards but Oliver had insisted I help myself to whatever was there, and this was the guest bathroom after all. I found a hair dryer, fixed my hair and dressed.
Oliver called to me when I left the bathroom and I followed the sound of his voice and found my way through huge rooms with artwork I wanted a better look at, onto his back patio.
“Better?”
“Oh, god, I can’t imagine guests ever wanting to leave here. That shower is fabulous.”
“Good. Sit for a moment and have coffee. We’re late now so we might as well wait until rush-hour is over.”
I laughed. “From what I’ve seen the only thing that holds up traffic in Waitapu is when a mother duck tries to usher her offspring across the road.”
“I know. Gridlock, right?”
I looked away from his smile before I turned to mush.
“This morning I’ll show you the Lodge where the event will be held, and we’ll go over your contract. Cole should be there so you can meet him. Luther isn’t available, and Beck is in Auckland. What matters is that we get you settled in an office and started.”
***
The road out of Waitapu Bay wound
and climbed through the hills. Eventually we made a turn onto a dirt side road that took us through some spectacular native bush. Nikau palms stood like feather dusters among puriri, and the road diverted around a massive ancient rimu in a hairpin bend with an alarming steep drop.
Soon we approached the massive gates to the Lodge. The complex was impressive, not only for its size but the way it flowed across the land, following its contours. Like the bend in the road, it embraced rather than destroyed the area’s natural features. The place was so secluded it was hard to imagine the town of Waitapu sat just over the hill.
Oliver parked and was at my door before I’d released my seatbelt. Stepping down from the Range Rover I felt myself falling in love with the area as I took in the view. Oliver said nothing, allowing me to absorb everything at my pace. After a minute I turned to him. “I don’t know what to say. This is beyond words.”
He nodded, quite serious. “I’m glad you like it. We feel privileged to be here. Come inside and meet Maraea, then I’ll show you around.”
Maraea was the go-to girl for whatever I needed. She took care of the guests in a PA sort of way and could organize anything from a feed of crayfish to the most hair-raising outdoor adventures. Oliver excused himself and disappeared into an office. Within minutes of our meeting, Maraea had ensured I would meet her and her friends on Thursday for a drink at a local bar. That could be embarrassing as I still suffered from empty-wallet syndrome.
Oliver returned carrying a folder, and our tour began. The place was understated luxury, sympathetic to its landscape but without compromise. The views out to the islands astounded me and below where we stood was just over a mile of white-sand surf beach.
“Is that the Lodge’s private beach?”
“Anyone can use it if they can get to it, but it’s a tricky climb over the cliffs from the Waitapu end, and the other end heads into Department of Conservation land. The forest is dense. Visitors who aren’t Lodge guests usually come in by boat, but we don’t get a lot.”