by Jena Petrie
"My brothers were there, too." And with that little tease of information, she picked up a stone and hurled it towards the river. That done, she grabbed the backpack and marched away.
Sibling rivalry? Jealousy? Or parental favouritism? Something bothered her, for sure.
As other couples approached, heading towards the village, Bailey exchanged greetings with each individual like a guide welcoming them into her tour group. Using them to repel the negative feelings from minutes earlier? Such a quick adjustment must indicate a willingness to get on with strangers so she'd cope fine with his mates' girlfriends in Sherdon.
Maybe he should learn her tactics of putting the past behind her and moving on. Sure needed to do something about this depression before Monday.
On a higher area of track she stopped to lean on the railing, pointing at the view.
"Another bridge. Cool." Beside her, he watched her features. "Should I carry you over my shoulder so you can't see? Or carry you in both arms like a sling? Or stand you on my shoes, facing me as we walk across together? Whichever way you pick, Macho Man here will keep you safe."
"Safe is not a synonym for blind, so I'll walk across by myself as I did last time, thank you very much."
"Why go alone when you could have company? No fun in that."
"You forget; I'm not looking for fun."
"Going first or last?"
"Last, so I can watch you."
So he started off, walking normally until he reached the middle. There, he stopped, looked down at the river and gave an almighty shiver. When he checked that Bailey watched, the cheeky woman lowered her camera.
"Disobeying orders, huh?" he shouted, advancing on her in a mock-threatening manner. "Come on! I'll teach you to behave!" He grabbed her hand and hauled her towards the middle of the bridge where he stopped, released his support, and turned her to face upstream, at the ice floes. How would she cope now?
Cope? Oh, yes. No petrified scaredy-cat this babe. No sound like a yelp or scream came from her, no terrified action like a grab of the side wire, and no plea for help. Not even a shiver.
Instead, the crazy woman planted her feet astride, raised her camera, and snapped. Only after taking several photos did she look up at him, laughing.
So the joke was on him. Well, good on her.
Still chuckling, she sank to the ground on the other side. Wisps of hair stuck to her damp forehead and her cap sat askew.
Intuitively, he reached out and gently straightened the hat. Like a magic genii, she'd answered his first wish and woken his dormant interest in rowing. If only he could keep her, but persuading her to move to Sherdon and continue giving him good vibes could be a bigger challenge than winning that Olympic gold medal.
CHAPTER 4
The sun sat just above the mountains as Connor walked down the path. Twenty-four hours since he'd arrived with Bailey and look at how much they'd achieved. This next plan had to work!
Reaching the ticket office, he hooked thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans so the New Zealand Rowing logo showed clearly on his black T-shirt.
The idea had come with the first booking when he'd called the airline. His name and request—two return flights to Mt Cook for some R and R—had been enough for the agent to offer a discount.
'Last minute deal,' she'd added and since then, he'd hinted every time.
Except now, at the most expensive activity in the village, his stomach churned and boiled like a Rotorua mud pool.
Finally the couple in front moved away and Connor approached the counter, smiling at the clerk. "Hi. Can I book a scenic flight for two, please."
Behind her, a man looked up, nodding at Connor's logo. "Hey, aren't you one of the Olympic rowers? A gold medal winner?"
"That's right. Connor Freeman, from the Men's Four."
"Well, good to have you here. Having a break, huh?"
"Yeah. Back into training next week."
"And you want two tickets? When for?"
"Tomorrow morning, if you've got room."
"Is your partner as tall as you?" the man asked, and Connor cringed at the implication he might not fit in a tiny helicopter.
"No. She only comes to here," and he indicated Bailey's height against his arm.
The man looked over the clerk's shoulder at the computer screen. Okay, so there are two spare seats on the Deluxe Flight leaving 8.30 a.m. that you could have for half price."
Yes! "Awesome. Thanks very much." Tickets and a brochure in hand, Connor turned away, a grin so wide he had to cover his mouth so the clerk wouldn't notice as she grabbed the outside advertising sign and wheeled it into the office.
Back in the motel, Connor peeked in at Bailey. Asleep on her bed, the damp ends of her hair resting on the pillow, framing her face. She looked so peaceful, so lovely, he could watch her all day and never tire of the view.
Did she have any idea how enormously she influenced him? Her positive attitude, quick comments and musical laughter affected him on a deep, personal level, reaching right into his soul. They stirred his doubts, tossed them in the air and had even batted a few out the window. Not since the exhilaration of his Olympic win had he felt so optimistic, and all because of Bailey.
Slipping out of his black T-shirt he replaced it with a smart cotton shirt. Tonight, he'd make really special, for her. Like a date. Every activity—hell, every minute—counted when his whole future was at stake. Without this happy genii in his life he could fail, and what sort of future would he have then?
Warm sunshine poured through the windows as he slipped back into Bailey's room, his shirt still open. Watching her created enough heat on his skin without extra help. "Wake up, sleepy. Time to get ready for our big night out." He bent over, his hand on the hair that lay on the pillow. Like silk, and so intriguing the way the curls always bounced back onto her shoulders, like they'd been programmed to a set pattern. "I've finished in the bathroom."
"Mm. Thanks." With a yawn she stretched, threw back the duvet, and frowned as she slid from the bed. "Did you cover me?"
"Yeah. Thought you might get cold and wake early if I didn't. Can't have my date too sleepy to enjoy the evening." And didn't that sound good? Bailey, his date, going for dinner to this classy hotel's restaurant.
With her gaze on his chest, she asked, "Bathroom, did you say?" Her voice sounded hoarse, shifting pitch like a teenage boy's in the process of breaking.
Yup. Turned on.
And just like that, his own body responded and he had to leave her room before she noticed the bulge in his jeans.
Ten minutes later she still hadn't appeared so he knocked on the door. "Ready yet?"
"No way. Not if you want me to look my best."
"Course. Do I have to come in and check your progress?"
"Come in if you want. I'm decent."
An invitation too appealing to miss and he grinned as he entered, and tried not to stare.
Impossible, with this beautiful woman. He lounged against the door frame and watched her paint a dark line along each eyelid, flick a brush on her lashes...
Lipstick in hand, she stopped to look at him in the mirror. "Are you going to dinner with your shirt undone?"
"Need help. These buttons are tiny."
In little increments her lips stretched until laughter bubbled out and her fingers holding the tube dropped. "Yeah, and you're a helpless baby."
"'Fraid so, when it comes to buttons." He sauntered towards her, watching their mirror image the whole way but the closer he got, the more turned on he became. "Come on, babe. Help a fella out."
Reflected gazes clashed and she lowered her eyelids but only till she saw the image of his bulging crotch. Her cheeks reddened, her shoulders jerked and like a statue she stared as seconds ticked by. "Do your own buttons, and change into good pants. I'm almost done." Grabbing the lipstick she smeared it on while he chuckled, backing away.
Until she turned around and his amusement died. God, with her lips covered in that shiny dark pink she
looked... stunning. Even better than the mirror image except for one thing. The green dress covered her front almost to her neck with gathers to soften her shape. Of course that picture just left everything to his imagination and memory, and his mouth dried as he watched. "I enjoyed the mountain view this afternoon. Why cover it up now?"
"Mountain?" She stared at him like he'd gone bananas. "Is that what you call... it?"
"Yours, yes." He grinned as he buttoned the shirt, feeling his way because watching her was such fun. "Appropriate, don't you think, given our surroundings?"
"No comment."
He laughed at that. "Come on. I paid you a compliment. Every guy likes watching a woman's... assets, and yours are particularly appealing."
"Too bad. It's still hands off this weekend."
This weekend? Did that mean...? Exhilaration returned, shooting to the top of the Richter scale with such force, he had to reach out and grab the door frame. Thank God she didn't seem to notice as she marched past him, leaving her gorgeous flowery perfume behind.
At least he'd recovered by the time they arrived at the restaurant. After giving their wine order he pulled Bailey from her chair. "Come on. You should be hungry so grab a plate. I dare you to pile it as high as mine."
"Why would I want that much when I'm nowhere near as tall as you?" She gave him a haughty look before selecting some slices of chicken. "Besides, I'd rather see everything on my plate."
"Adds to the surprises if you can't." Still, she hesitated in front of another meat dish, as if tempted. "Be a devil and just try it, babe. You won't know if it's any good otherwise."
She must have been hungry after all because by the time they returned to their table, nothing of her plate showed under the food.
While they ate, he recounted more tales of his experiences overseas, trying to make them funny so she'd laugh. That soft, melodious tone would sooth anyone's anxiety.
Her voice. Her appearance. Her. She was all that mattered now. Instead of the weekend being for his R and R it had turned into an exercise in getting to know Bailey. Pleasing her. Hoping she'd like him enough to stay in his life.
With laughter fading at his latest joke she fiddled with something on her lap. Cell phone? Recorder?
"Do you intend to try for another Olympic gold medal?"
Yup. Back in reporter mode. "And more."
"Medals?" Enlarged eyes, raised brows and screwed-up nose all indicated extreme shock. "Plural? Really?"
"Really." Surprise he'd expected, concern or criticism, but not the smile that played around her soft lips.
"How many?"
"Four more wa... is my aim." Happy genii, remember?
"Four?" She'd almost shouted the word. "That's a pretty high ambition. Good luck with it."
Ouch. Sarcasm filled her tone, disbelief as evident as the bounce of her curls, and condemnation flicking like a growing flame around the edges of her opinion. Her valuable opinion. With her support, could he achieve that goal, or would she continue to scoff and doubt his ability? "Steven Redgrave did it for Britain, so why can't I at least try to replicate it for New Zealand?"
"So you're planning the next sixteen years?"
"Hey, you're good at arithmetic after all." As he lifted his glass in a mock toast, she lowered her head. "We all need something to aim for, babe. Yours is to write an in-depth story on me but long-term, you want to write for magazines. Same basic goal: to work hard and gain recognition for our achievements. Different fields, that's all."
When no response came he had to continue. Had to convince her. "You're already achieving goals. Made it to the lake today, didn't you? Something you've wanted to do since you were seven. How many years, exactly?"
"It wasn't a goal. Just something I'd do if I ever came back. And okay, I get your point. It was seventeen years ago."
"Making you twenty-four."
"Clever."
"Thanks. Anyway, I don't think it matters how long it takes to reach a goal as long as you make progress along the way. And now you've done something you missed doing seventeen years ago, you'll know what a buzz you can get from the achievement. Multiply that about... oh, a hundred times, and you'll have an idea of what it meant to win that Olympic gold."
"A hundred!"
"Success does that. Every time. I already know you're an honest and hardworking reporter. You'll write for magazines I'm sure of it, either with this article or another. With so much determination, you'll make it happen."
"You reckon?" Her eyes brightened and a slight smile touched her lips.
"We all need perseverance and practice to achieve our aims, you know."
"But why have such a long career goal?" The little vase of flowers in the centre of the table turned around, clutched by her slim fingers. "And what is it that drives you to carry on, race after race, year after year?"
He chewed at a mouthful. What had it been like at the beginning? What had driven him to aim for better? Always another goal, another race, another grade to climb until he was in the elite squad, rowing internationally and aiming for the top spot. "I guess it's the thrill of taking my crew to victory, proving we're a good team and work well together. Proof that they believe and trust me as their leader. And when we win an international event, the thrill we get in knowing we're the best Men's Four in the world."
The last mouthful of her meal disappeared and she chewed slowly, as if thinking up the next question. "Do you have plans for when you've finished with rowing?"
Might be sooner than she imagined if he couldn't gain her support. "Why? Got some suggestions?"
"I'd say inspirational speaker, except you'd have to travel a lot and you could be married with six kids by then."
"Another offer?" Desire headed south again, but she shook her head. Tough job, persuading her to stick around.
"Isn't one of your crew-mates married?"
"Aaron, but he's known Suzy since university."
"You think that makes a difference?"
"Suitability is what makes the difference. In their case, they've learned to accept each other's needs and timetables. Suzy was a rower way back so she understands him. For a long-term partnership to work, both members need to have something in common, but I don't expect any of my crewmates to carry on as long as me. Are you shocked?"
"No. You're unique in having—"
"Oh, babe, I'm unique alright." Grinning, he squeezed her hand and wiggled his eyebrows, and when she squirmed and tried to pull away, he laughed.
"What's wrong with a 'wait and see' attitude?"
"Bor-ing." Letting go, he leaned across the table. "I need action, honey. Probably a result of rowing taking up most of my time for the last few years."
"Like me, you loved it from the first day." She ended with a smile so bright and sunny, he almost forgot to respond.
"See, sweetheart? That's more proof we've got a lot in common."
The smile vanished and she sat back. "Last night you mentioned doing sightseeing trips overseas. What's the most memorable?"
His fingers tapped on the table top. "Must be our trip to Chateau Versailles in France. The whole national squad went, had our own guided tour and then wandered around the gardens. Saw amazing paintings, frescoes, furniture, gardens Awesome day out and great for group bonding. You should go some time, watch a world champs and have a look around. I love Europe. You might, too."
"So your overseas trips aren't all work and no play."
"We do get plenty of downtime but usually we need it for eating and resting." Standing, he snagged her wrist, pulled her out of the chair and towards the sweets.
"In that order?" She looked up at him instead of at the huge selection in front of them.
"Oh, you've got us sussed." He turned to the desserts. "Now, what would you like? Chocolate gateaux? Pavlova? Brandy snaps?" As he spoke, he put some of each on her plate, ignoring her protests. "Come on, be a devil. Bet you don't do this at home so spoil yourself while you can. Cream's in the bowl over there."
&nb
sp; Back at their table she picked up her spoon but didn't start eating straight away. "At home, do you have time for much besides training, eating and sleeping?"
"Not a lot. You see my dilemma in finding a girlfriend? She'd need to be totally understanding and supportive of my lifestyle. Not many young women would suit." Bailey would, for sure. "You can switch off your recorder now and answer a few questions of mine."
Colour rose in her cheeks.
Embarrassed, was she? Too bad. "Like, apart from career goals, what else do you plan for your future? Stay in Mosgiel? Move to a city so you have easier access to well-known people? Or—"
"You don't live in a city, yet you're well-known," she pointed out, watching as he spooned too-sweet Pavlova into his mouth.
"True, but most high-profile New Zealanders live in Auckland. Would you move there? Anywhere?" Like Sherdon.
"And leave my two best friends and my rowing position? Not likely. I'd need a very good incentive to shift away and to date, none has come up."
Not even him, so far. At least he knew she'd need more persuasion. "Plenty of other towns have rowing clubs, and most are based closer to the town than Mosgiel is to the harbour."
"Except we row on the river, ten minutes away."
Damn. This had better not turn into a no-win situation. Hopefully, her attitude would change with tomorrow's surprise.
***
Bailey folded her good green dress and placed it carefully in her bag. Given Connor's frequent sexual allusions, the high neck should have been perfect for last night's flash dinner. Hadn't stopped his comments though. In fact, he'd made them fun. They'd made him fun.
He appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Want a hand? We've only got another twenty minutes."
Her fingers paused over the half-full bag. "Twenty? Thought you said to hurry!"
"So you'd spend less time packing than you did on Friday." A cheeky grin stretched over his gorgeous face.
If only she could whack the mischief out of him! "I can manage, thank you. Still don't understand why we have to finish here so early." Her make-up purse snapped closed. "Things to do, you said, but what?"
