“Bring your hat,” he instructed, pulling his own cap on. “It’s still warm out here.”
She jammed the straw hat onto her head and rose from the chair. “Are you always this bossy?”
“Yes, ma’am. Better get used to it.”
Her lips curving, she walked to the edge of the deck, paused as he offered a hand, and held onto it as she descended the steps. Her fingers were surprisingly cool, her skin pale against his deep tan. He imagined what her thighs would look like pressed against his, and his groin tightened even farther.
“Thank you.” She went to remove her hand, but he tucked it into the crook of his elbow. Unwittingly, he was sure, her fingers curled around his biceps, tightening on the firm muscle.
“First of all, a promenade around the grounds.” He smiled and began walking slowly along the lawn.
She was very elegant, her spine stiff and her chin up, as if she’d been taught at finishing school to walk with a book on her head, which might not be that far from the truth, he mused.
As they walked, he pointed out the work he and his crew had been doing, and named some of the plants he thought she might be unfamiliar with. “Those are Queen palms, and those are Bangalows. These are called Pungas—silver ferns.”
“Oh, like in the All Blacks logo?”
“Yes, and the Silver Ferns are our national netball team. Look, the new shoots are curled up. This is called a koru, and you can see that shape in Maori and other Kiwi designs.”
She bent to look at the fern. Danny admired her bottom from behind.
“They’re lovely.” She straightened. “You wear a koru pendant don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, surprised she’d noticed. He lifted it free of his shirt, and she held it in her fingers and bent to examine it. Her perfume rose to ensnare him, and he had to fight not to lean forward and press his lips to her temple.
“What’s it made of?” she asked.
“It’s greenstone—what you’d call jade.” He watched her rub her thumb across it. He wanted to lower his lips to hers and see if they were as soft as they looked. “Maori say it symbolizes that the spirit of the person inhabits the pendant. If you give a pendant to someone else, you’re supposed to wear it for a while so you give them a part of your spirit as well.”
“That’s a lovely idea.” She let the pendant drop and rested her fingers on it, and they happened to brush against his skin. He inhaled, feeling as if an electric shock had passed through him.
She raised her gaze to his. She had large chocolate-brown eyes, the warm color belying her initial cold personality. There was depth to this girl, he thought, watching her lips part as her gaze fell to his mouth. Yes, she was uppity and she acted superior, but he had the feeling a rip tide ran beneath the calm surface.
She moved away, breaking the spell, and they continued walking along the lawn. She slipped her hand through his arm again without him asking, and he didn’t miss the way her thumb brushed across his skin.
He felt as if he was holding his breath, captivated by the beauty of the afternoon, as well as the woman beside him. In the line of trees to the west, a few russet leaves fell onto the grass, but the breeze was warm on his face and arms.
He showed her the terraces, and as they walked around the palm island he pointed out the new irrigation system he’d installed to keep the palms watered.
“You’ve worked hard,” she said.
“I have. I’m glad you noticed.”
“I hope Mr. Love appreciates you.”
“Oh, he knows a good thing when he sees it.”
“Still, it’s a bit off for him to leave you to do all the hard work.”
He stifled a laugh. “True, but he trusts me to get the job done.”
They reached the bottom of the lawns, passed through a new wooden gate he’d erected, and crossed the grassy bank to the beach. Danny checked over his shoulder—he’d given the guys an extra-long lunch break, and they’d all shot off to the sports bar down the road. He had the place to himself for at least an hour.
They approached the end of the bank, and Hermione stopped and gasped. The Pacific Ocean stretched away before them, a brilliant blue in the afternoon sunshine. In front of them, on the sand, lay a blue-and-white checked tablecloth beneath the shade of a large umbrella, two plates and glasses, a bottle of wine in a cooler, and a wicker picnic box.
She looked up at him, eyes wide. “What’s this?”
“Lunch.” He indicated for her to sit on one side of the blanket.
She hesitated. “I have lunch prepared at the house.”
“I’m sure the salad can wait. I have chicken and brie, and strawberries, and the wine’s been cooling for hours...”
Her lips curved up. “I don’t know that I should accept an invitation from a strange man.”
“Oh, we’re good friends now, aren’t we? Besides, you can trust me.” He winked at her.
Unfortunately, that sentence was far from true. He had every intention of seducing her, and judging by the heat flaring in her eyes, she had every intention of giving in.
Chapter Four
Hermione sat on the blanket, heart racing. Not because of the picnic, although her mouth watered when Danny opened the wicker basket to expose the plump strawberries and creamy brie inside, but because she knew why he’d asked her there, and it wasn’t for lunch.
He sat beside her, took off his cap, and began lifting tubs out of the basket—crackers for the cheese, green grapes to go with the strawberries.
She removed her hat. “Did you organize all this yourself?”
“I did.” He took the wine out of the ice bucket, unscrewed the lid, and held a glass out to her.
“That’s very kind of you.” Lord, she thought, he must really want to get in her knickers.
“Least I can do for a visitor to our country.” He filled her glass.
She sipped the wine, promising herself she wouldn’t drink too much. She had to keep her wits about her. It was like having a picnic with a very hungry tiger. She shivered in the breeze that blew off the ocean.
Slicing off a piece of soft brie, he placed it on a cracker and handed it to her. She bit into it, enjoying the taste of the cheese, and followed it with a juicy strawberry. “Mmm. Lovely.”
“Yes.” He smiled, as if he wasn’t talking about the food. Lying on his side, he propped his head on a hand and bit into a strawberry. The All Blacks top rode up a little, exposing his flat, toned stomach with its sprinkling of hair. His happy trail was really more exultant in his case, she thought, tearing her gaze away from where it disappeared into the waistband of his shorts.
She looked out at the view, to where the sea crept up the sand with white fingers, leaving it golden and glistening. It felt as if they’d captured a piece of the end of summer. England was so busy with its sixty million-plus inhabitants, but here in New Zealand she could almost imagine they were the only two people left in the world.
Danny bit into another strawberry, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth to mop up the juice. She knew he’d brought her here to try to seduce her. She wasn’t so innocent that she couldn’t tell when a man wanted her.
Of course she had no intention of giving in to his demands, but she’d dreamed about him all week, imagining how his shiny muscles would feel beneath her fingertips, how warm and firm his lips would be pressed against hers. At five feet seven she’d never considered herself a small woman, but he made her feel tiny, which she liked. He must be at least six three or four, and everything about him was big, from his shoulders to his hands to his...feet.
She didn’t dare let her gaze drop to his crotch. She’d dreamed about that area too. Her face flamed just to think about it.
Desperate to distract herself, she decided to ask him some questions. Maybe if she found out more about him, it would remind her of the vast gulf between them and convince her that giving in to the temptation in his eyes would be a huge mistake.
“So tell me about yourself, Dann
y.” She plucked a small twig from the bunch of grapes. “Do you like your job? Do you enjoy working with gardens and plants?”
He popped a grape into his mouth. “I love it. Always have, ever since I was a boy. Other kids played in the sandbox, but I was always to be found stirring water into earth and covering myself with mud.” He grinned.
“So you’ve been dirty since an early age, then.” She couldn’t stop herself.
His grin spread. “I guess you could put it like that.”
She couldn’t hold back her curiosity any longer. “Is there a special girl in your life?”
“Apart from you, you mean?” He winked at her. “No. Hasn’t been for a while. How about you? Are you married?”
She waggled her fingers at him, showing him her ringless finger.
He cut a huge wedge of brie and sandwiched it between two crackers. “I saw that you don’t wear a ring, but that doesn’t mean much nowadays. You could be engaged, or living with someone.”
“Dad—” She just stopped herself from adding -dy to the end of the word. “My father would never allow that.”
“And you always do as you’re told?”
She gave a sharp laugh. “Most of the time, no. Some things I have little say in, though.”
Danny tipped his head, studying her with interest. “You’re such a puzzle. On one hand you seem very modern—independent, spirited, rebellious. But there’s a deeply traditional streak to you, isn’t there?”
“My parents are very old fashioned.” She concentrated on plucking grapes from the stalks.
“What about when you went to university? You must have had some freedom there? Aren’t all the colleges co-educational?”
“Yes, now they are. There are lots of opportunities available if you wish to take them.”
“And you didn’t?” he pressed.
She sighed and leaned back, admitting defeat. “I had a great time, but it was hard work stepping out of the shadow of my heritage. It’s difficult to explain if you’re not from that sort of life. Some families allow their children more freedom than others. I’m the eldest of three daughters and my father doesn’t have any sons, so there are a lot of traditional expectations there.”
“Providing a son and heir to carry on the family line?”
She smiled. “Something like that. Dad has very clear ideas of how he sees my life panning out. He’d much rather I stay at home, do charity work, get married, and have children. He wasn’t too pleased when I said I wanted to get a job, and even less pleased when I told him I wanted to open my own business.”
Danny’s eyebrows rose. “You run a business?”
She nodded. “I started my own company when I left Oxford.”
She’d clearly surprised him. He looked impressed. “Doing what?”
She hesitated. “I don’t want to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll mock me.”
He looked offended. “I wouldn’t. I swear I wouldn’t. Unless it’s pole dancing. Or selling vibrators. Please tell me it’s selling vibrators.”
“No...” She fought against a blush. “I organize romantic getaways.”
He stared at her. His lips curved up, and she wondered whether he was going to make a joke. Then he shook his head. “Look, whatever I think of romance, I can understand what an achievement that is. Setting up your own business is—must be—incredibly tough.”
A little glow in her belly warmed her through. He hadn’t laughed or dismissed her achievements. “Thank you. It’s been hard work but worthwhile.”
“You’re based in London?”
“Yes, although I have contacts right across Europe. Actually, I’ve been toying with the idea of offering trips here in the southern hemisphere. Starting with romantic retreats in the Northland, and then perhaps other places throughout New Zealand and even Australia.”
“Sounds great. So you can do some research while you’re here.”
“Yes. I’ve been collecting brochures and contacting a few exclusive hotels. I think there could be a market in England for people who want to escape to an exotic location.”
He nodded. “I’m impressed. Why did you think I’d mock you for it?”
She shrugged and sipped her wine. “You strike me as the kind of guy who laughs in the face of romance.”
“Now who’s making judgments? I happen to be very romantic.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, quoting a common Kiwi phrase. “Inviting me to sit on your dick five minutes after you’d met me.”
He laughed. “I did say that, didn’t I? Sorry. Yeah, you’re right, I’m not a great believer in romance.”
“How about true love? Soulmates? Do you believe in that?”
He popped another grape into his mouth. “Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Experience has taught me otherwise.” He spoke flatly, his eyes hard, and Hermione knew what had happened. Someone had broken his heart. How sad. “What about you?” he asked. “I guess you believe in all that?”
“Yes, I think it exists, but I also think there’s more to a good marriage than magic. Even if you’re soulmates, it takes hard work. Romance doesn’t just happen. That’s where I come in.”
He opened the bar of chocolate, broke it up into squares, and offered her the packet before taking a piece himself. He sucked it as he examined her thoughtfully. “You’re not at all what I thought you’d be like.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were quite snotty the first time we met.”
“Was I?” Her face warmed as she vaguely recalled telling him he was filthy. Jeez, had she really said that out loud? “I’d had a long journey,” she pointed out. “I was tired and had jet lag. It’s very strange what it does to the brain.”
“Fair enough. But if you’d asked me to guess what business you were in, the last thing I would have chosen would have been romance.”
She didn’t know what to make of that comment. “Ouch.”
“It wasn’t an insult. Much. Doesn’t being romantic involve a certain amount of impulsive behavior? I’d have thought you were too organized for that.”
“I’m organized so my clients don’t have to be.”
His eyes took on a sexy twinkle. “I bet you write lists for your love life. Number seven, have an orgasm. Tick.” He made a tick sign with a finger, then grinned.
She blushed, partly because she did sometimes put it on her to do list as a joke, because there was rarely any chance of ticking that item off, and partly because he looked very interested in the notion of her having an orgasm. “Danny. Goodness.”
He chuckled and ate another piece of chocolate. “Anyway, you never answered my question. Is there someone special?”
She poured herself another glass of wine. “Actually, yes, sort of. I’m getting married.”
Danny’s eyebrows rose. “Oh.” He managed to look surprised, disappointed, and regretful all at the same time, which made her smile.
Then his eyebrows dropped into a frown. “So what do you mean, sort of?”
“It’s difficult to explain.”
“You’re not in love with him?”
“Um... Not yet.”
“Not yet? He’s not the man of your dreams? Your Mr. Right? Your Prince Charming?” His voice held enough sarcasm to tell her that he definitely didn’t believe in the idea of soul mates.
She tipped her head from side to side and wrinkled her nose. “He’s nice enough.”
“Nice enough... What the fuck? Why are you marrying him, exactly?”
She shifted on the blanket. “It’s been sort of...planned for a long time.”
“An arranged marriage?” He sounded appalled.
“Goodness, no! Well, sort of. I mean, it’s not like we’ve never met or anything. I’ve known him since we were children. His father owns the estate next to ours. Everyone wants to make sure the land remains in the family and so it’s always been accepted we’d marry.”
“Jesus.
That’s positively medieval.”
“It might look that way to you, but it’s pretty normal where I come from. I’ve known since I was a child that I’d end up with him. He’s a decent man, and that’s the whole point about romance—I know there’s more to a marriage than magic. It takes work, and I’m willing to work at it. I’m not unhappy.”
“That’s not the same as being happy.”
No, it wasn’t, but it was difficult to explain the situation to this guy who had no idea of her background.
Danny sat up, his arms around his knees, fingers linked. “You’re a smart, independent, modern woman. You’ve just told me how you set up your own business against your father’s wishes. Why don’t you tell him you don’t want this?”
“It’s not a question of not wanting it. Would I rather marry a man who makes my heart race? Of course I would, and if I’d met someone like that, it would be a different story. But I haven’t, and I know you don’t understand but I feel some responsibility to marry someone of equal social standing to myself, the right person to manage my father’s estate. I can’t marry just anyone.”
Chapter Five
Danny knew his feelings must be registering on his face, because Hermione bit her lip, suddenly wary.
He understood what had happened. She’d been brought up to believe that she was going to marry this man from a young age. She didn’t love him—she wasn’t in love with him—but she’d told herself that magic in marriage was something that could be cultivated. That was what her business was about—proving she could make it work with this guy, that she could create romance and love where none existed beforehand.
Why did that upset him? Wasn’t that what he believed too? He certainly didn’t believe in true love. But even so, it seemed pointless going into a marriage with such low expectations.
“It’s wrong,” he said, his stomach churning with emotion.
“Lots of cultures have arranged marriages,” she pointed out.
“It’s still wrong. Relationships are hard enough without having a loving foundation to fall back on.”
Her eyebrows rose. She hadn’t expected him to say that. “You have experience in this?”
An Ocean Between Us Page 3
