by Ash Harlow
Oliver smiled. “I did. From that first time I kissed you on the cottage porch, I was hooked. Been craving you ever since.”
“What about now?”
“Still craving you, Miss Darcy. I don’t care what you tell me, the craving will never stop.”
That weight of the secret I’d carried with me had shifted with my confession to be replaced with something new. A different weight that involved trusting myself to love again.
“I’d prefer we kept this between ourselves, Oliver. In my experience, most people aren’t generous enough to listen the way you have. I’m not going to rescue my career if this sordid little story accompanies me to every interview.”
He kissed me. Quickly, firmly, telling me he’d keep me safe. “I know. Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.”
“Thank you. You came back early from Auckland.”
“I missed you. There was a dinner tonight, but I got out of it. Thank god I did.” He laughed. “Hell, Darcy, it’s impossible to say which of us has the worst ex.”
Suddenly, I laughed. It bubbled out of my chest unleashed and uncontrolled. Oliver joined me, and I ended up doubled over, my face buried in his chest. I finished, inhaling him in long gasps, his shirt sucking into my mouth, the scent of his skin, the trace of his cologne that reminded me of fjords and ocean and flowering manuka after summer rain.
His safe arms engulfed me and he rocked us as I gasped for breath.
“He’s not part of us. Neither is Annabelle. We’re fresh, and new, and we’re doing something good. We’re moving forward, Darcy, and the past can fuck off back to where it belongs. History.”
He claimed my mouth with his, and kissed away my past until I was liquid. His hand sneaked behind the waistband of my shorts, stroking my stomach, going lower until I quivered, and parted my legs for him. His mouth never left mine as he tugged down my zipper, and jerked my shorts and panties off. He stood, one hand on the back of my head holding our lips together as he got out of his slacks and underwear.
Joined together, we crab-walked across the kitchen to the seat built into the bay window. Oliver sat, and finally, he broke our kiss. I straddled his lap. His hand on my hip kept me up on my knees, hovering over his magnificent cock. He pressed it against my entrance, and took hold of my chin. Our eyes locked.
“You are not defined by something an asshole did in your past. Tell me you understand?”
“I do.”
“Promise me you believe it.”
“I promise.”
“Say it for me.”
The head of his cock was wedged right at my entrance, but his fingers dug into my skin, preventing me from sliding him inside. He wanted my pledge. It was silly, really, bribing it out of me with the promise of a hot fuck. That’s one way you could look at it.
The other way? That was the way I chose. It wasn’t just another fuck, it was more. A joining of our bodies and our hearts, respect and trust and all the pretty words that layered upon each other until you were left with the big, all encompassing word that I wasn’t ready to think about. Love.
But I could make the first step and go live with the words he wanted to hear before he fucked me. “I, Darcy Austen Kennedy, am not defined by something an asshole did in my past.”
Oliver slid inside me with a long sigh, as if he’d been holding his breath while I made sense of the circus in my head.
“I’m going to remind you of that, every day. Open your eyes, I want you looking at me when you come.”
“It’s impossible, you know. Eyes close for sneezing and orgasms.”
“So much knowledge in this clever brain of yours, Darcy.”
We fucked slowly, building up, stopping, edging, until between us was thick, slick, soaked skin. Twilight was swallowed by night and still we fucked in the bay window in the dark. Finally, with his fingers wedged between us, he teased me enough to make me come. My eyes were closed, my head on his shoulder, hands gripping his hair.
In the warm, post-orgasmic ambience I wondered if I could trust him with my love, or if he’d be careless with it, too. I could have slept there, I was that relaxed, but as my body grew heavy, Oliver spoke.
“Darcy Austen Kennedy?”
“Mother is a fan. It could have been worse. If she’d loved Dickens I’d probably have been Cratchit or Fezziwig.”
***
By the end of the week we had signed contracts from Pearl and Reuben. I spent a day going back and forth between Pearl’s management and Luther, preparing a press release to announce her one-off performance. Reuben would remain as a secret guest unless he changed his mind. The ad agency guys in Auckland came to us, and we spent an afternoon at the Lodge, locked in a room throwing ideas around for promotions and ads. They wanted Oliver to have another try at convincing Reuben to go on the bill, but Oliver said we’d lose him.
In the end, we decided on Pearl + One.
This was where I thrived. I was in my element, and I finished the day on a pure high. We had dinner at the Lodge in a private room and all drank far too much.
Luther sang a Pearl hit, tapping out a rhythm with a pair of spoons. I don’t know if it was the amount of alcohol I’d consumed but I thought his effort was well on the mark.
“So many talents, Luther,” I teased.
“That’s just the start. You should see me dance.”
“The happy drunk,” Oliver said. “Remind him of this tomorrow and he’ll deny it with that famous surliness we know and love.”
I wondered if this was the side of Luther that Ginger saw, because this way he was funny, and charming, and most appealing. The agency team stayed at the Lodge and Oliver called someone to drive the three of us home.
Luther lived in what could only be described as a gothic mansion. It had an exterior skeleton of scaffolding, and the grounds looked like the aftermath of a disaster.
He lowered the window of the car and hung out. “My poor, scarred Ormidale,” he said, gazing at the building.
“Still living in the boatshed?” Oliver asked.
“Yeah. I should demolish this monstrosity. The boatshed is quite adequate for me.”
“Tell me that again when we get an easterly storm and a king tide.”
“I shall sleep wearing a life jacket.”
“This is why Luther is single,” Oliver explained. “No woman would put up with living in a boatshed.”
Luther held up a finger. “That’s where you’re wrong. My boatshed is very desirable. Marcus Truebridge stayed there recently and tried to buy it from me.”
“He probably wanted to knock it down and build a hotel. You do own the best piece of land in Waitapu.”
“Ormidale is the only woman I need. The behemoth is my mistress. She spends twice as much money as I earn.”
“I doubt that. You’re loaded. You’re also drunk. Go to bed.” Oliver leaned across me and popped Luther’s door handle. He tumbled out, stood, saluted us, and closed the door. “Careful on the path,” Oliver called as we sped off.
“Does he really live in a boatshed?” I asked.
“It was a boatshed, but he’s turned it into an incredible guesthouse. From the exterior, it still looks dilapidated. Inside is stunning. It’s on piles at the edge of the water and the sea laps around it at high tide. Ormidale is his family home, but it sat empty for about thirty years after his grandparents died. Luther bought it off the Trust. He’ll do a good job renovating, but then he’ll probably rattle around in it until he grows old and tiresome.”
“Why doesn’t he have a girlfriend? His looks almost override his volatile temperament. There are a lot of women out there who’d love the drama.”
“He says he’s too busy. Are you getting ideas about him?”
“Are you jealous?” I teased.
“You’re mine, Miss Darcy. From your head, through your soul, across your heart and all the way deep, deep into that always-ready-to-fuck pussy.”
“Classy, Mr. Sackville.”
“We’re nearly home, s
ir,” the driver said, as if concerned Oliver had forgotten we weren’t alone.
31 ~ OLIVER
We spent Sunday morning going through the weekend papers. Darcy critiqued every mention of the fundraiser.
“Do they not employ journalists these days? These lazy bastards used the press release word for word.”
“Well, at least they’ll get the story right.”
Darcy lowered the paper and made a face at me. “People don’t buy papers to read press releases.”
The next paper made her laugh. They’d devoted an entire page of their pullout entertainment guide to the event. “They’ve run a list of who they think the plus-one will be. They’re not even close, but I’m glad they’re interested.” She drained her coffee, leaned back and stretched. “Everyone’s picked it up. That’s a good start. We need to get you back on the television talking about it. Radio, too. Why hasn’t anyone called?”
She started tossing the papers around and I had to slap my hands down before the newspapers resembled a kitten attack.
She made her annoyed face at me. “I’ve lost my phone.”
“I’ve confiscated it.”
“Oliver!”
“It’s Sunday, goddess, your day of rest.”
“I don’t have time to rest.”
“Everyone does. I’m going to take you into the wilderness today, and force you to relax.”
“Oliver, I don’t know you if you’ve noticed, but we’re in Waitapu. It is the wilderness.”
“It’s a thriving town. Come on, we’re going to hike, and I’m going to show you places you’ve never seen.”
“Shall I pack lunch?”
I shook my head. “Your day is planned. Wear your sneakers because it’s a bit of a trek in.”
Eden, the place I was taking her to, is a retreat designed for overworked people. Ideally, you’d stay a week. Luther and I invested in it a couple of years ago, but we’re silent partners. Josh and Gabi, who run it, had their own dream which was sound, and we didn’t want to interfere. Electronic devices were banned. That was one of the reasons I’d hidden Darcy’s phone because I was certain she’d try to sneak it in.
We were going to hike in even though I could have taken the car right to the gate. This place was as off-grid as possible, but rather than having any sort of hippie vibe, it was pure, unadulterated luxury. The clientele read like one of those fantasy dinner guest lists, and Eden took pride in the fact it could get famous people in and out of the country without anybody knowing they’d been there. They never advertised, and getting a booking was by recommendation only.
“Tell me where we’re going,” Darcy said, five minutes into the drive.
“It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises. What if it’s something I’m allergic to?”
“What are you allergic to?”
“Surprises.”
I laughed. “You’re just annoyed because you don’t have your phone.”
“I might want to take a photo.”
“Photography isn’t allowed.” I swung off the main highway onto a narrow dirt road and after a few sharp corners we were heading into the wilderness.
“You see? Right there, that tree? I should photograph it. Quick. Pass me my phone.”
“It won’t work, Darcy. Your phone is hidden away at home.”
“What if I sulked?”
“I’d spank you.” I pulled over into a small clearing. “Look, we’re here.”
Darcy made a play at looking out every window, then tapped my shoulder. “Oliver. We’re nowhere.”
“That’s the point. Out of the car, we’re walking in.”
One minute along the track and Darcy became enthusiastic.
“Wow, this is stunning. I feel as though we’re in another world. The Jurassic one.”
“Pure virgin forest. Untouched since the planet was made. Let me help you down here, we’ll walk along the stream.” I jumped down the bank, then took her by the hips and swung her down with me. We followed the stream all the way to a small waterfall. The sun broke through the forest canopy throwing rectangular shafts of light across the spray, creating miniature rainbows.
“You’ve blown me away, Sackville. Is this public land?”
“No, it’s private property.”
She stopped on the track. “Don’t tell me it’s yours.”
“It’s not mine. Well, a bit of it is, I guess. Luther and I are partners with a couple of others.”
“Is there anything in this area you and Luther aren’t involved in?”
“Waitapu was dying when we were growing up, but its natural features are world class. We decided we had two choices. Get out and move to the city, or turn the town into something. The decision wasn’t that difficult and now we’re getting investment from all over the world. Luther’s the brains, though. He convinced me we had to buy whatever we could afford while it was cheap, because the only thing we couldn’t create ourselves was more land. We were young and foolish, but it worked, which makes us look intelligent and wise.”
“I think you’re intelligent and wise. I’m going to think you’re a miracle worker if you’re going to feed me lunch anywhere around here. Are you packing protein bars in your back pocket?”
“It’s a surprise, Darcy.”
We climbed up the side of the waterfall and along the ridge until we looked into a small valley. Specimen trees remained throughout the pasture where a small mixed herd of horses and Nubian goats grazed. On a northern hill was an orchard and, out of sight, a vast vegetable garden.
“It looks like the Garden of Eden,” Darcy said.
“It’s called Eden, and it’s a magical place.”
Accommodation was built around trees and rock formations, each guesthouse well-spaced to give clients privacy. The main building had a restaurant and a spa area. A helicopter rose from behind a small copse, as the track we were on opened to a broader path.
Josh and his Brazilian wife, Gabi, escorted by a couple of mixed-breed dogs, walked up to meet us. With the introductions done, Gabi sized up Darcy with a critical eye, then took her hand.
“Oliver was right. You need to slow down.”
Darcy gave me a questioning look, and I shrugged back.
“Gabi’s part-therapist, part-witch. She can see you’re out of balance. Go with her. I’ll see you in a more balanced state in a couple of hours.”
She gave me a little wave over her shoulder and I watched her disappear with Gabi, looking sexy as hell.
“You like her a lot,” Josh said.
“Why do you say that?” Was I that obvious?
“For a start, you’ve never brought anyone here before.”
“Dead giveaway. She’s special. I like her immensely, but she’s pretty stressed right now.”
“Gabi will take care of her.”
Josh and I walked to the orchard where he proudly showed me the heritage fruit trees. “We’re picking the first plums, and the other stone fruit are coming on beautifully.”
“And how’s business?”
“One hundred percent occupancy. We could take more if we increased the accommodation—and believe me, we regularly get offers from clients wanting to invest—but that would defeat our purpose. It amuses me that I have to point out to them that bigger means they’ll lose their privacy.”
When Josh was called away, I went to one of the private hot mineral pools fed by a thermal spring, and settled in for a soak while I waited for Darcy. A member of staff brought me lunch, and Darcy would be fed, too, along with being massaged and pampered. I wouldn’t see her again until it was time to leave.
Gabi stopped by for a chat, and told me Darcy would be ready by four. I planned to walk back and get the car because I’d been through one of the therapy sessions and if they’d done their work properly, she wouldn’t feel like doing much more than sleeping once she was done.
“Watch her, Oliver,” Gabi said. “She carries guilt and sadness, and she is protecting her he
art.”
“Her last relationship was toxic.”
“I sense that. You need to be patient with her, but she will be worth it.”
Deciding Gabi was closer to eighty percent witch and probably shared DNA with Stella, I climbed from the pool smelling like the earth, and set off to walk back to the car.
I waited another half-hour for Darcy, even though I was already late. She hopped into the car bringing with her the scent of almond and spices, her skin faintly pink.
“I’m exhausted. Thank you. It was amazing, I could stay there a week. It feels like a dream already.”
“Are you sleepy?”
“Sleepy, and happy, and thankful. That was so kind of you to take me there. Were you bored waiting?”
“Not at all. I soaked in a mineral pool, and was fed a delicious lunch.”
“Ah, but did you have magic hands, scented oils, hot rocks, and deep, probing, philosophical conversation?”
“No. It was just me and the birds.”
“Gabi’s one of those clever women who are all sweet and nurturing, and before you know it, you’ve dropped your guard and are telling her things you never intended to tell a soul.”
“Wow, you got the full treatment.”
“Have you had it?” she asked.
“Yes, I have, several times. It sticks with you, and it’s helpful. You know what they say: Life isn’t meant to be easy, but it doesn’t have to be hard. Find someone you love to roll through it with you, to help you over the hard parts, celebrate the good parts, and walk beside you when it’s just plain ordinary.”
“You’re never plain ordinary, Oliver.”
“Nor are you, Darcy Austen Kennedy.” I turned onto the highway back into town. “You know, Gabi was the person who put the idea into my head that my best revenge was not to be an asshole. She didn’t say it in so many words, but she led me in that direction, because believe me, I was hellbent on revenge.”
“In that case, I have a lot to thank her for.” She took my hand to her mouth and kissed it. “You smell like a hundred good minerals, and you have lady-soft hands.”