“It’s perfect,” I tell her, my heart racing. Oh, I can’t wait to see Poppy’s face when we arrive.
I give the woman my name, address, and credit card details, then hang up and sit back, studying the screen with a smug smile. A whole week with Poppy to myself in this amazing place. This is what dreams are made of.
And now I really should get some work done. I give Jack some fuss, then, somewhat reluctantly, I pull a pile of invoices toward me and start signing.
I leave the accommodation on the screen, though, and glance at it occasionally through the rest of the day, a smile on my face.
Chapter Seven
Poppy
On Sunday, the Yonder Star takes off mid-afternoon, heading for the region of Hawke’s Bay on the east coast.
“Who’s looking after Jack?” I ask Marc. “You two are usually inseparable. It’s odd to see you without him.”
“Yeah, I miss him,” he says. “But I’m trading him in for more interesting company.” He smiles. “Ryan’s got him this week. He’ll spoil him rotten. He’ll probably be ten pounds heavier by the time I get back.”
“Ryan or Jack?”
He laughs. He has very nice teeth. It’s not normally something I would comment on, but he has a lovely smile, when it does appear. Today he’s wearing a casual navy shirt, open at the neck, hanging loose over black jeans. He looks equally good in this as he does in a suit or in coveralls. He’s had a shave, too, although his hair is still a little long.
I can’t believe I’m escaping with him for a whole week. We’re going to have sex. Holy moly.
“Have you been to Hawke’s Bay before?” Marc asks me.
“I haven’t,” I admit. “I’ve been to the Bay of Plenty and Wellington, but for some reason never got to Hawke’s Bay. How about you?”
He pauses as Chris, our flight attendant, brings us over a latte each and a plate of club sandwiches.
“Mmm, thank you,” I tell him. I love flying on the Yonder Star. I flew quite a bit in economy class when I was younger, which is almost always a trial, especially on long haul. There’s nothing like being on your own private plane. I appreciate the luxury of the peace and the space.
“You’re welcome.” Chris smiles and retreats behind the curtain at the end of the cabin, leaving us alone.
Marc chooses a sandwich and then looks out of the window. I get the feeling he’s thinking about what to say. I eat my sandwich while I wait, but he’s lost in thought for a long time, and eventually I say, “You okay?”
He brings his attention back to me. “Sorry. I was thinking.” He has a bite of his sandwich. “I’m not used to talking about myself.”
“I know what you mean. Me neither.”
He puts the sandwich down and leans on the table. “I haven’t told anyone about my time in Hawke’s Bay. Only Izzy knows.”
“Oh. Okay.” I’m flattered that he wants to confide in me, but puzzled that he apparently has a secret. “I won’t tell anyone. Especially Albie, if you don’t want the whole Ark to find out.”
He studies his drink for a moment. “I used to live in Napier. I moved there for a while toward the end of my Army days.”
“Did you have to do training there or something?”
“No.” He sighs. “It was because of a woman.”
For some reason, I’m surprised. I don’t know why. Did I really think he’d get to his early thirties and not have met someone special? I feel a pang of something and analyze it for a moment. Oh. I think it’s jealousy. How strange. It’s not an emotion I’ve encountered much in my life. Even when I was with Daniel, I rarely felt jealous, even when I saw him with female teachers at school.
Maybe it’s not jealousy, maybe it’s more envy. I’m envious that another woman was close to him. And yet it obviously didn’t work out.
He’s watching me as if gauging my reaction, although I’m sure my feelings aren’t playing on my face like a movie screen. Daniel always said he couldn’t tell what I was thinking.
Marc clears his throat. “I was very nearly married.”
My eyebrows rise. “Really?”
He nods. “Her name was Carmella, but she was known as Mel. She was the sister of a mate of mine. I was in the Army when I met her. We dated whenever I came home on leave, and about seven years ago now, I asked her to marry me. She said yes, and we moved in together and started planning the wedding. And then I had the accident.”
He looks out of the window. “They flew me home, and I was in hospital for a while, then in therapy. I fractured my pelvis and damaged a couple of vertebrae. I had to have titanium plates screwed in. I had to learn to walk again.”
I’m shocked. “Oh Marc, I didn’t know.” No wonder he has a limp and an achy back. He walks amazingly well considering.
“It was a tough time. Looking back, I think I was so tied up in my own problems I didn’t realize we were growing apart. A week before the wedding, she rang to tell me she was calling it off.”
My jaw drops. “Oh no.”
“She kept saying she was sorry, but she couldn’t give me a reason why; she just said she’d changed her mind. I was absolutely stunned. I’d had no idea she was unhappy.”
We sit quietly for a moment as I process what he’s told me. The story explains a lot about him. Why he’s so quiet, and keeps to himself. Why so many people think he’s grouchy.
“Was she seeing someone else?” I wonder.
He shrugs. “Never found out. I suspect so, as she married someone else within a year. Either she’d met him while I was on Scott Base, or maybe she didn’t like the idea of being married to a man who was less than whole.” His lips twist.
“You’re hardly less than whole,” I scold. “If I didn’t know about your accident, it would be difficult to tell there was anything wrong. Lots of people have backache.”
“I didn’t mean that,” he says. “I meant mentally.”
“What do you mean?”
“The accident changed me. I was happy-go-lucky before. Life and soul of the party, you know? I did a lot of sports—rugby, soccer, cricket, hockey. I was super fit. After the accident, I couldn’t do any of that. It was an effort just to walk. I felt resentful and angry. I had bouts of depression. I guess I wasn’t the person she fell in love with.”
“But when you love someone, you should support them in a crisis like that,” I protest.
He gives me the ghost of a smile. “That’s a nice thing to say, but I know I was hard work. Still am. You were probably right to say no to dating me. I don’t mean that to sound self-pitying, but everyone’s right when they call me grumpy and a grouch. I know I am. I’m not easy to live with. Even I struggle with myself sometimes.”
“That’s not why I said no,” I tell him softly. I feel a twinge of guilt at turning him down. That can’t have helped his ego. “My reasons were purely personal; nothing to do with you. I like you, Marc. I think any woman would be lucky to have a man like you.” I mean it. I know the others at the Ark think he’s monosyllabic and cantankerous, but he’s never like that with me. He’s always trying to get me to talk, always teasing. “I don’t care what you were like back then,” I tell him. “But I like you the way you are now.”
“That’s only because you didn’t know me back then,” he points out.
“Maybe. The point is, I think you’re perfectly lovely.”
That makes him chuckle. “Well, thank you.”
“So have you dated much since then?” I’m curious. I haven’t seen him with any women at the Ark.
He shakes his head. “I went on a couple of dates with a girl last year, but that’s about it.”
“Why didn’t you see her again?”
He shrugs. “She was nice enough, but there was no spark. She was very… talkative. Which isn’t a problem in itself as it’s nice to keep the conversation going, but ever since the accident…”
“You treasure your solitude.”
“I do. Partly because I also had a whack on the back of th
e head and a concussion, and I find since then it takes me longer than it did to process things. Loud noises, too many voices, too much conversation… It makes my head hurt.”
“I’m glad you told me,” I say. “I won’t be offended if you tell me to shut up.”
He smiles. “Oh I don’t get it with you at all. You’re very softly spoken, and you don’t chatter on about nothing. When you talk, it’s always because you have something to say. I like that.” His gaze caresses me gently.
The truth is, I like his quiet manner, too. I find him restful. Many of the other guys I know are very ‘in your face’—Albie can be a sweetheart but he’s always joking around; Hal’s larger than life and has a witty answer to everything; Leon shouts a lot—I have no idea how Nix puts up with him. It’s nice to be with someone who also prefers the quiet life.
“You said you partly treasure your solitude because of your concussion,” I say. “Is there another reason?”
“Just that the accident changed how I feel about things. I don’t enjoy… frivolity the way I used to.” He frowns.
“I would imagine a brush with death can send a person either way,” I tell him gently. “It could make you more outgoing, with an urge to squeeze every last drop out of life. Or it could make you more mindful, with a desire to appreciate each moment, especially in nature.”
I’ve seen him take long walks with Jack over the clifftop. I presumed it was for exercise for them both, but now I think maybe it was as respite for his soul, too. There are few places more beautiful in the world than the Bay of Islands. I can think of worse parts of the world in which to heal.
His gaze lingers on me. “There aren’t many people who understand. I’m glad you do.”
I choose another sandwich to hide my bashfulness. “So tell me about the Army. Were you posted to places other than Scott Base?”
He brightens a little. He obviously enjoyed his time in the New Zealand Defence Force. “Afghanistan and Iraq. I was an officer, in Training and Development.”
“You liked your job.”
“I did. I enjoyed the lifestyle. It’s good for a young guy—lots of exercise, activities, travel, a great social life.”
“You couldn’t have stayed in after your accident? Taken a desk job?”
“I could have, but I couldn’t bear it—the pity, the sympathy. I needed to get away from it all. Do something completely different.”
“What got you into working at the Ark?”
“Izzy, Hal, and Stefan had graduated from veterinary college the year before, and were in the process of setting up the Ark with Noah. I’ve known the guys for years—most of us went to the same school, and I kept in touch with them all mainly through Izzy. It was she who mentioned to Noah that I’d left the Army, and he called me up and invited me in for a chat. Said he was looking for someone to run the estate, and he thought I’d be an ideal candidate. I was floored—it wasn’t really in my line of business, but I like to think he saw something in me I couldn’t see in myself.”
He smiles, but there’s a touch of vulnerability there. I’m sure he’s right, and Noah saw in him a wounded soldier who needed rescuing. Rescuing is what Noah does best.
“Do you enjoy your job now?” I ask him.
“Yes, there’s always something to do, we’re helping animals, and it’s busy there without being crazy. Plus, of course, I get to see you.” His eyes twinkle.
“Stop it,” I scold. “You’re not supposed to be flirting with me.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is strictly a business arrangement,” I remind him.
“I understand, but I’m not an automaton. Girls aren’t the only ones who need warming up.”
“Warming up?” His expression amuses me.
“Don’t smirk,” he says. “I’ve never had a one-night stand. I like to get to know a girl first.”
His words remind me that we’re sleeping together tonight. I keep forgetting then remembering and receiving this little shiver all the way down my back.
“So, anyway,” he says, “enough about me. I want to know more about you.”
I chew my sandwich. “I’m not used to talking about myself.”
“Daniel wasn’t interested?”
I shrug. I don’t want to think about Daniel.
“Well, I am,” Marc tells me. “So you haven’t been to Hawke’s Bay before. Have you traveled much?”
Chapter Eight
Fitz
Poppy eats her sandwich, obviously thinking about how to reply to my question. She usually wears jeans and T-shirts for work because she’s with the animals, but today she’s wearing a pale gray pantsuit with a cream blouse. She’s braided her glorious hair into one long plait that hangs over her right shoulder. She looks amazing. I’d be happy to get started on the baby-making and do her on the table, but I think flight attendant Chris might have something to say about that.
She’s still thinking silently. I understand her reticence. It took a lot of courage for me to admit to what happened with Mel. Not even Noah or Leon knows about her, although it wouldn’t surprise me if Izzy’s told Hal.
I suppose it’s because I’m ashamed of what happened. All relationships take work, and I was so caught up with my own feelings about the accident that Mel must have felt as if she’d taken a back seat. Maybe Poppy’s right, and if Mel had truly loved me, she’d have stayed by my side to help me through it, but I certainly don’t consider myself blameless. I was selfish, and I don’t want my friends to know that.
So why did I tell Poppy? Especially since I’m planning to take her to bed?
It was instinctive; I want to deepen our relationship. What I said was true—guys need warming up, too, and although I find her physically attractive and I’ve fantasized about making love to her ever since I’ve met her, I don’t want this to be all about sex. And the only way to make it more is to talk.
I’m not a natural at it, but at least I’m trying.
I wonder whether she’s asking herself the same questions about admitting things to me. She’s certainly pondering what to say. Maybe she feels that because I’ve opened up, she should, too. I hope so.
“I did my OE when I was twenty,” she replies eventually, referring to the ‘overseas experience’ that many young Kiwis go on either before or after university. “I was… having a bit of trouble.”
I choose another sandwich. “What kind of trouble?”
“Well, you know that Albie and I… we’re both… on the spectrum,” she says. She rubs her nose. She doesn’t like the phrase, and I don’t either. It sets her apart from everyone else, as if she’s different, and she’s not. But I nod, because I don’t want to interrupt her. “Dad is, too,” she says, “and so I suppose he could spot it in the two of us. We’re at the high-functioning end, but all three of us struggle with communication sometimes.”
I’ve met Charlie King, and I would never have realized he had this problem, but I guess he’s grown adept at covering it over the years. I’ve seen Albie crash headfirst into trouble because he’s not been able to read other people, which means he’s put his foot in it, so I’m guessing his father is the same.
“School was difficult for me,” she continues, somewhat reluctantly. “It was difficult for Albie too, but he’s a guy, and he was able to cover his awkwardness with his sense of humor and typical guy antics. I wasn’t able to do that. I didn’t make friends easily, and I didn’t have a boyfriend all through school—I was far too shy. I was top of most of my classes, but my intelligence isolated me. I wasn’t a sporty person, so I didn’t fit in with that type either. I hated school, and I had no idea what to do with myself in the big wide world. I didn’t want to go to university and waste time and money because I had no focus. I was sort of… lost.”
“So you went traveling?”
She nods and sips her drink. “It was Dad’s idea. Both he and Mom were convinced I’d find my calling in time, and that it was best not to rush into anything. Dad suggested I tra
vel for a while. Mom wasn’t that happy at first; she thought it would be dangerous for a twenty-year-old girl who wasn’t very worldly-wise to travel on her own. But I was excited by the idea, and eventually she agreed.”
“Where did you go?”
“I flew to London, traveled around England a bit, then went on to Europe, through France, Germany, Italy. I enjoyed it, looking around art galleries and museums, learning some of the languages, but I was conscious it wasn’t solving anything. And then I went to India, and I ended up in Nepal.”
That surprises me. “You liked it there?”
“I loved it. I went to Kathmandu, and to Boudhanath and Swayambhunath, which are the two most important religious places for Tibetans living outside Tibet. And I was walking through the busy streets of Swayambhunath when I heard sounds of drums and tubes. I rounded the corner and found that they were coming from a beautiful monastery, painted in bright colors, where monks were having a puja, or a prayer. I spoke to a Tibetan guard at the gate, and he said I could enter the temple and join the puja. I sat there for over two hours, watching two hundred monks praying and playing on these instruments. I ended up staying there for two weeks.”
Her eyes are alight and filled with dreamy memories. I’m spellbound by her expression and her words. It obviously had a profound impact on her.
“So these were Tibetan monks?” I ask.
“Yes, they’d come from Tibet after the Chinese invasion in 1959. It took them a month to cross the Himalayas. Parents from Tibet often sent their children to Nepal to keep them safe, and to get them education and food. There are Tibetan monasteries all over Nepal that are supported by Buddhists from countries like America, Australia, and countries in Europe.”
“So what did you do during your stay?”
“By sheer luck, I’d arrived two days before a ten-day-long celebration. They celebrated ‘bardo’, which is a Tibetan word for ‘in between’, which is the state in which souls stay when the body dies and before they are reborn. The lamas—the older Tibetan monks—had special meditations, and I was invited to watch. There were dances and singing, and they wore costumes and masks.”
My Wounded Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 5) Page 6