Nabbed in New Zealand

by Christine Edwards

  “He definitely feels the same about you. Why don’t you just make a move?”

  “Mmm, I just may have to. Think I may have a shy one.”

  What I really want to divulge to her is that my ultimate fantasy would be the powerful stud leaning by the front entrance, but I keep quiet.

  Against my ear I hear another hushed, “Oh shit, girlfriend, how could I have missed that fine bad boy by the counter? Oh hell, it’s no wonder you were completely distracted. So I guess that is how they build them in the wilds of New Zealand? I’m so saving up to move here. They have diving programs, right? I just need a work visa, asap!”

  At her silliness, I nearly spit my jasmine tea across the wooden table. I whisper, “Yes, I confess, he’s quite fine, but let’s change the subject. He’s going to see us gawking at him like teenagers. Besides, with his looks women must constantly be ogling him.” I pause and take one last look at the vision in front of me before turning reluctantly to Lana. “Anyway, Guy is such a total catch and that accent is foreplay in itself, Lana. The heat between you two is nearly volcanic. I’ve noticed him stealing glances at you in the rearview mirror while he’s driving. It’s a damn good thing the man knows these roads like the back of his hand, that’s all I’m saying.” I finish with a knowing shrug.

  This elicits a stifled giggle along with a seductive bat of eyelashes in Guy’s direction. “Mmm, think I can teach him a thing or two ….”

  Guy watches her for a long moment before standing and informing us in his thick accent, “All right, ladies and gents, lunch is on Mick and me today, so let’s finish up and head on out. We need to hustle if we want to make it to camp in time for the sunset.”

  I stand and quickly thank them both for the delicious lunch before heading toward the door, hoping that he will turn around so that I might once again catch a glance from those magnetic eyes, perhaps up close this time. As I move closer to him, I see that he’s even larger than I initially realized. He is more overwhelming and daunting up close, and I can sense the raw power rolling off him. But he does not turn my way as I push open the screen door, a mere two feet away from him, and step out into the crisp afternoon sunshine.

  A shudder runs through me as I ponder whether or not I’ll ever have such a carnal attraction to a man again in my lifetime. And if I did, what dark path wouldn’t I follow him down? With a man like that, ‘vanilla’ would not exist. Period.

  Chapter Two

  ***

  Careful What You Wish For

  Our campsite is a sprawling, grass-laden meadow. One side lies close to the woods while the other provides an open view of the ocean. We’ve gotten the hang of things by now and have our hunter-green dome tents set up in record time. As we unroll our thick sleeping bags, Lana and I can clearly make out the constant roar and crash of waves.

  Lana unzips the window, letting the crisp air into the tent. “Talk about a serene setting.”

  I look up from my black Patagonia backpack and say, “Yeah, after putting in so much overtime at work this year I can certainly appreciate evenings like this.”

  “Hell yeah. Let’s get a move on. I can’t wait to take some pictures. I bet the light is perfect right about now.”

  “Yeah, I’m good to go.”

  She snags her black camera bag and I follow her out of the tent. We quickly catch up with Jack and Kano, who are also headed toward the water.

  We’ve been cautioned, should we decide to brave the frigid water, to only swim in pairs. The surf can be rough and this area is not patrolled by the surf and life patrol.

  Created by past volcanic eruptions, the beach is a large, swooping arc of dark sand, which perfectly frames the turquoise water. With the snowcapped mountains off to the left, the view is a wonder of nature.

  I call out over the crash of the surf, “Hey, Jack, I bet you’re the only one here who could swim out two hundred yards and back without freezing like a popsicle.”

  Kano nods in agreement, confident of the bad-ass Seal skills her brawny husband still possesses. She is lovely, a four-foot-ten contrast to his well over six-foot frame. Her jet black hair is luscious and falls past her shoulder blades, and her skin is unblemished, ivory perfection. He’s a blond all-American guy who we’ve been told grew up on a twenty-acre ranch in Northern Texas. Although physically polar opposites, they seem to share a mutual understanding and adoration.

  He looks amused. “Well, Valla, the last time I took the Seal’s test was seven years ago, but I suppose I could make it, if need be.”

  “Oh, I know you could, Jack,” Kano says.

  “Hey, I could give it a shot,” Lana pipes in. “Remember, I’m a diving instructor. The pool is my playground, people.”

  “Ah, no harm, no foul, Lana,” I say. “I have no doubt you could make the swim, but this water temperature is brutal. It has to be in the forties. I think that you could smoke us all with a full wetsuit on, but Navy Seals are hardcore. They train for hellish conditions.”

  “Oh my God, Valla. Look over there!” Distracted, Lana points out to an area on the horizon.

  Jack, Kano, and I whip our heads in the direction she is pointing, and at first the water is unbroken. Then, suddenly, a huge, sleek, black whale surfaces a few hundred yards from us and does a side body splash. Its massive tail kicks out as it descends once again.

  Readying his Nikon, Jack proclaims in awe, “That was amazing!”

  We watch in fascination as it surfaces twice more, the last time with what appears to be a juvenile.

  As we walk to the edge of the sea’s white froth, I turn to ask Lana, “Have you ever seen the film, The Piano?”

  “Oh right, that movie was set here. Oh God, was that not the most intense love story? I mean, the passion between Holly Hunter’s character and that sexy, savage man left me panting. Yeah, that was so damn sexy.”

  I stare out at the crashing waves, keenly wishing for that intensity, as dangerous as it may be. We turn back and head for camp, just as the clear evening sky is starting to streak with hazy purples and oranges.

  Our tents, four sturdy structures, encircle the large, ready-to-be-lit bonfire. I pull my camp chair closer to the pit, excited about the coming heat. The temperature has rapidly dropped since sunset.

  Guy informs us, “If you haven’t already, you may want to add a jumper or a jacket for dinner. It’s supposed to be colder than a witch’s tit tonight.”

  I burst out laughing as Lana coos, her voice breathy, “Ooh, yes, better for snuggling. Hopefully with a hot Kiwi. Oh shit, yes!” She nods in Guy’s direction. She and I have had a ball sharing a tent and laughing together non-stop. I know we’ll stay in touch after returning to the States.

  Already starting to shiver, we both heed Guy’s advice and head into our tent to change into jeans and warm sweaters. Even on a camping trip, I like to look nice, so I wiggle into sassy Seven brand jeans and snuggle into a soft cashmere cardigan and matching camisole.

  “I love that color of aquamarine,” Lana says. “It’s the same color as your eyes! But will you be warm enough?”

  I laugh—she’s right, of course—and cover the ensemble with a black, North Face zip-up fleece. I also add a pair of thick wool socks.

  As Lana touches up her lips with the help of a hand-held compact, I whip out my paddle brush and run it through my hair. It falls down to my lower back and requires too much attention, but it’s my one decadent luxury. Several of my friends are into facials and more complicated beauty regimens. Instead, I have a standing appointment every five weeks for a trim and a protein mask. Every girl has their thing, and my long, straight ebony hair just happens to be mine.

  We push aside the flap of our tent and step outside into the now shadowed twilight. Lana crosses over to ask Guy, “What’s our dinner duty tonight?”

  “Right, then! Mick and I have decided to take you all into town to our favorite local pub—Dingo’s. It’s just a ten minute drive. Good times, eh?”

  His smile really is stunning and I ca
n easily see why Lana’s attracted to him. As long as that bare ring finger and open approval of Lana’s sleek everything really is a “go” sign, then she is totally in.

  I happily chirp, “I’m always game for new sights.”

  We secure the tent flaps and load up into the trucks to take off into the night.

  ***

  The headlights of the two Land Cruisers illuminate the metal roof of the building as we approach our destination. An oblong swinging sign above the front door reads, ‘Dingo’s Pub.’ It looks like the letters have been branded into the wide plank of hanging wood.

  We step out into the brusque air with Mick leading the way.

  “Can’t pass through this area without a pint or three at old Dingo’s, eh, Guy?” Mick says. With a sly grin toward his buddy, he adds, “Did I fail to mention to you lot that tonight is karaoke as well?”

  My eyes fly to Lana’s at the exact second she proclaims, “Awesome!”

  Mick continues, “Yep, any newcomers must sing. It’s mandatory. Zero exceptions, and if you’re a shy one, just get enough grog in you and you couldn’t care less.”

  Guy nods in agreement. His lips are tight, trying to stifle the laugh that’s threatening to burst out.

  Ugh! Fat chance. I could never get intoxicated enough to belt out a pop song in front of my tour group, much less a bar full of strangers. Hell, no. Note to self, find a seat close to a wall … a shadowed corner will suit me just fine. An exhibitionist I am not!

  A tug at my fingers drags me from that mortifying thought. “Hey, Valla, let’s think up a fun duet.”

  Oh great, here we go ….

  “Um, I would, but I’m not great at public speaking, or singing. A pass?” I ask as we approach the building.

  She touches my elbow and tosses out, “Oh, you’ll be game after a few pints, Valla. You heard what Mick said: we’ll all end up on that stage at some point.”

  Mick gives me a knowing wink as he swings open the hefty wooden door.

  Nervousness surges through me at the prospect of taking any sort of stage. Claps and hoots combined with the unmistakable tune of Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” greets us as we step inside the dark, heaving space. There is an enthusiastic brunette in her fifties up on the stage. Lit by a bright spotlight, her curvy body sways effortlessly as she belts out the pop lyrics.

  Lana clasps my hand and dips her chin toward the stage. “See, Valla, look at her. A natural. We’ll be up there before you know it, girlie. Now, where in the hell can I find the dj with that list so I can get us a prime song?” Her eyes cut around the room, wide with excitement. She is obviously far more adventurous than I am.

  I begin to panic, feeling like a cornered mouse. Shit. Stall her!

  I pull her back a tad. “What’s the rush, Lana? Let’s have dinner and a few drinks, loosen up, then we’ll go down that road, okay?” I nearly plead in desperation.

  She shakes her head. “Valla, I’m going to break you out of that shell of yours, my sweet. Okay, I’ll be patient for now, but we are so up there tonight! How often can you say you sang karaoke in an out-of-the-way New Zealand pub? We have to to do it.”

  Thankfully I’m given a pass as Mick rejoins our group, still lingering in the entryway. He is grinning big-time as he calls out, “All right, then, we just got lucky. I’ve snagged us a choice table for eight, right by the action.”

  We follow behind him, weaving around the bustling young waitresses all sporting five inch shortie shorts and tight black baby tees that read across their backs, ‘Of all the martial arts, karaoke inflicts the most pain!’ Others say, ‘Warning! Excessive drinking may cause karaoke!’ Brilliant. And in this scenario, undoubtedly true.

  The party has clearly been in full swing for a while now, because each and every wooden bench-style table is jammed with people, pints of frothy beer, and red plastic baskets filled with every fried food imaginable.

  Wait …. Are those fried pickles?

  Sawdust covers the rickety floor and I shake it off my boots as I lift my leg to climb into the worn bench. I settle in and look up to check out the long bar when everything stops …. There he is. His vivid blue eyes are watching me. He’s like a hawk avidly studying a chipmunk.

  Oh my, how long have his eyes been on me? I instantly flush crimson, relieved that it’s dark in the pub. I take the worn paper menu from our waitress, thankful for the distraction. Is this possibly large enough to hide behind? I wonder, mortified. What are the chances that he could be here? This is just so bizarre. Shit, breathe, Valla.

  “Valla, look over there,” Lana whispers in my ear as she tilts her head discreetly toward the bar.

  I struggle to push out the words, “Yes, I just saw him.”

  “He’s staring hard, lady. Go chat him up!”

  I scoff. “What? No way. That man is pure, raw sex for certain, but with his level of ‘drop your panties now’ power he must certainly come with some issues. Therefore, no ma’am!”

  I’ve always been naturally apprehensive around fine men, and this gorgeous specimen is no exception. The majority of the hotties I crossed paths with back home were arrogant to the extreme. Total players for sure. There is no way I could ever bring myself to stroll right up to him. Absolutely out of the question.

  “God, Valla, your shyness is unparalleled. Well, no worries, because it looks like it won’t be long before he comes to you. Look.” She nods again in his direction and I chance another glance. He’s leaning with his lower back against the bar, one elbow propped behind him on the distressed wood and the other tilting a pint up to his full lips. A massive, tattooed Maori man stands beside him, leaning in close to say something, but his cobalt eyes remain latched onto mine.

  Thankfully the waitress returns with our tall beers, and the smoldering connection is broken for the second time. I can breathe again. We take Guy’s advice and go with a selection of sampler plates to share amongst ourselves. As our waitress departs, Lana hops up after her. “You can’t stall all night, Valla. I’m signing us up for a duet. Right now.”

  “Wait!” I catch her wrist just as she is about to slip away.

  She turns, not caring in the least that my features are frozen in panic. “Nope, too late for a change of heart.”

  “No, I wasn’t backing out. I just …. I would like to do my own song.” She’s raises an eyebrow in suspicion. I whisper my choice into her ear before pulling back. “But I want to wait at least an hour before I go up there. I need the liquid courage. Badly.”

  She lands me with a victory grin. “You got it,” she says before she prances off toward the young dj sitting in a tiny booth at the end of the stage.

  ***

  The lemony lager is stronger than I’d imagined and I find it hard to believe that after just two of them I’m nearly ready to take the stage … nearly.

  A thick Kiwi accent cuts across the speakers. “Thank you, Dean, always good times to hear you belt out Elvis. And now, all the way from Oregon in the western part of America, we invite Lana Cole to join us onstage! Let’s put our hands together for the sexy Yank!” Our entire buzzed table jumps up and claps wildly as the ever-confident Lana sashays to the stage. I’m incredibly curious to hear what song she has chosen.

  Stealing a glance at Mr. Mysterious, I see that he is still studying me. He’s removed his outback hat so that I have a full view of his chiseled features and jawline. He is so masculine. Yet it’s those eyes, so very clear in their rich cobalt color, that unnerve me. The gray-blue fitted cotton shirt and black down vest he’s sporting really brings them out. The only other person in the bar remotely close to him in size is his huge, tanned buddy.

  The dj’s voice interrupts my thoughts as my eyes cut across the room to Lana. “A hot choice for a beautiful singer. Lana, anyone you’d like to dedicate this song to?”

  She smiles and purrs into the mic, “Oh, I’m certain he knows.”

  A proud, beaming smile crosses Guy’s handsome, stubbled face as Mick slaps him on the shoulder
and says in an exuberant voice, “You lucky bastard! You’re well sorted with that one, eh, mate? It’s a good thing I’m married ’cause I’m still devilish enough to give you a run for your money with the women.”

  Guy busts into a rumbling laugh at Mick’s taunts, his heated stare never leaving Lana’s lovely face.

  “All right, then, little Lana from Oregon, lay it on us.”

  The funky and erotic old school song “Kiss” by Prince begins and she astounds us all with a silky voice fairly dripping with sex. Holy shit! Who knew Lana was such a karaoke goddess? I down the rest of my beer and watch her give a mini-concert, complete with hair tosses and swaying hips. Guy’s eyes sparkle, and with the intense way he’s watching her, I bet the place could catch fire and he would still be sitting right there, hard as a rock for that little minx. Let the vacation games begin ….

  As she finishes her mesmerizing performance, we all jump to our feet with whoops of approval. Guy, clearly enthralled, puts both fingers in his mouth and delivers a series of shrill whistles. Lana’s beaming as she exits and makes her way back to us. Guy throws back the last drop of beer in his pint glass then surprises us all by picking her up and twirling her about in a tight circle, to the utter delight of the still howling crowd.

  “And now, ladies and gents, hot on her awesome friend’s heels, we have another lovely American named Valla who has come to sing for us all the way from a state called South Carolina. Let’s have a big Kiwi welcome for Valla!”

  Oh. My. God. Fuuuuccccck ….

  At this moment in time, Mick’s alcohol-related prediction has come true. Thank goodness for the invention of strong beer. Here goes nothing ….

  “Step on up, little lady. Good God, do you all agree that these Americans here tonight all look like they stepped right off the pages of Maxim, boys? Wow! Here’s the mic, little Valla, and I’m excited because I haven’t played this terrific song for anyone in quite a while. Now I have to ask, is there any lucky bloke in particular you would like to dedicate this to tonight? If not, I’m sure there will be plenty of them waiting for you when you finish.”