by Ash Harlow
“I’m too distracted already.” His eyes swept over me and I should have been offended, but his looks and charm were his pass card. “And I’m not here to snatch your bag,” he added.
“If you’re trying to pick me up, your technique could use a makeover.”
“I’m out of practice. When I buy a drink for a woman I’m not usually punched, and for the record, your fighting technique could use a makeover, too.”
My face flushed. I’d never hit anyone in my life and my little display hadn’t gone unnoticed by the others in the bar. Thankfully, their drinks called to them when the fight went no further.
“You did grab my bag…” my fight was leaving me.
“To stop you leaving. You’re still here, so as a technique it worked pretty well.”
I sipped my wine trying to figure out where this was going.
“I’m guessing you’re new in town. What brings you to a sports bar?”
I glanced around. The place was a bit of a dive, and not somewhere I’d normally choose to drink, much less work. Television screens hung off the walls, broadcasting everything from horse racing to darts.
“I had an appointment to meet the manager, but he reneged.”
“Coincidence. I stopped in to see him, too, but I guess he was called out.”
“I guess.” If it wasn’t true, the manager sure went to elaborate means to make me believe he wasn’t avoiding me.
Oliver removed his jacket, hanging it on the hook under the bar beside my bag. He worked at his cufflinks, slipping them into the jacket pocket then rolled his sleeves exposing tanned, muscled forearms with a light sprinkling of dark hair. A watch. The last man I saw wear a watch was my father, and his certainly didn’t look as expensive as the one Oliver wore. I tried to identify the make and was caught by Oliver. He gave me a sly grin.
Yes, I was watching every move. He looked as though he was preparing to do something with his hands, and part of me, the part between my legs in particular, was hoping it had something to do with me.
He rolled his shoulders. “That’s better,” he said, holding his glass aloft. “So, welcome to Waitapu Bay. What brings you here, Miss Darcy?”
God, I hated being called that. Usually. The way Oliver said it though, lengthening my name into a sexy drawl, I forgave him. I trotted out the line I’d practiced on the plane throughout my Trans-Tasman flight. “I’ve been working in Australia—Sydney—and my contract finished. I decided to return to New Zealand, so here I am.”
“But you’re not originally from Waitapu?”
“I’m from Auckland. I didn’t have the gap year after college that my friends had and I’ve been full-on working in Auckland and Sydney since I graduated. So this is me,” I said, spreading my arms wide. “Waitapu Bay for summer.”
He sat back in his chair, his dark eyes softening to that dense muddy-green you find when you bite into liquorice. We stared at each other and although it wasn’t a challenge to see who would break first, after some seconds I felt a desire to say something. I touched my throat and he smiled because the self-conscious move spoke more than had I merely averted my gaze.
He was gorgeous and for just a moment I was almost happy. Earlier today I’d been counting the coins that rattled around in my handbag, poking my finger in the corners, hoping a hole in the lining might reveal a forgotten stash of bills. Now I kept my focus on the condensation on my glass because each time I looked at him, I couldn’t pull my gaze away.
“You look nervous, Darcy.”
How could I reply? Tell him his voice warmed me like a lick of flame from a fire? Explain that I couldn’t look at him because, as shallow as it seemed, I was attracted to his handsome face and magnificent body. That I fought a desire to reach across and do something intimate, like fix the little part where his shirt was caught at the second button he’d undone.
“Is that your intent?” I asked.
His mouth opened, the corners lifting in a way that suggested his intent was anything but honorable.
“My intent, Darcy, is to give you an interesting experience in your new town.”
I think I shivered before I began to formulate a plan to get away from him. He was too attractive, the package too perfect, and I knew full well he was too much for me to handle.
“You want to go,” he said.
It was a statement. His perfect lips might have been pressed together, but his smile danced in his eyes. I hadn’t seen that before. My ex’s eyes had been vacant for the last couple of years of our relationship.
For the past twelve months I’d been single, and scraping a living together. This thing I felt with Oliver woke pieces of me that I thought had died, so I guessed I should thank him for that. He wanted to fuck me. It was clear in his body language, the way he teased me with glances held a fraction too long, and the few words he’d spoken.
And I wanted to run with it.
One night with a stranger. I’d never done anything like that before. But if I wanted to make this town my home, putting out for the sake of a physical need, for actually wanting to feel something, certainly wasn’t worth ruining my reputation for.
After all, I was in Waitapu to restore my reputation, wasn’t I?
But maybe he was only visiting Waitapu, too? Except, probably not. His knowledge of the place, the way the barman knew him, suggested he was a permanent resident.
In the end, I shrugged. I wanted him to sweep me off my feet and take away my need to make a decision. I hoped my nonchalance was all the permission he needed.
Oliver leaned toward me. “This isn’t my favorite place to drink. How about we go somewhere a little quieter?”
Maybe he was one of those pickup artists. Identify a target and isolate them from the pack. Was I about to allow myself to become a check in the win column of his scorecard?
Except? Except he was different. Confident, sure, but not in a way that solely relied on the size of his cock and what he could do with it.
The bar was turning noisy and boisterous and we were two people out of place. I was basing my personal-safety decision solely on the cut of a man’s suit and an expensive watch. Then he smiled and I melted a little.
“Oliver!”
We both turned as a man approached, hand outstretched, broad grin. He took Oliver’s hand, pumping it enthusiastically. “The year-three class loved the tour of the boatyard. At the moment every one of them wants to be a boatbuilder or a yachtsman when they leave school. I just hope you can employ them all.”
“They’re good kids, I’d give any of them a job,” Oliver replied, before introducing me to the headmaster of the local school.
“Arch MacDonald,” the man said, gripping my hand with only slightly less enthusiasm than he’d used with Oliver.
“Darcy’s new in town,” Oliver explained.
Arch grinned. “Welcome, Darcy. You couldn’t find a better person than this guy,” he elbowed Oliver, “to show you around. Enjoy your stay.”
With the headmaster’s testimonial erasing my concern, I eased off the bar stool and tested the steadiness of my feet on the floor.
Oliver was only a second behind me. In a single move he dropped some bills on the bar, slung his suit jacket over his shoulder and took me by the elbow, steering me through tables and jostling patrons until we made it onto the street.
In the last light of the spring day, everything seemed so normal.
2 ~ OLIVER
“I should probably go,” she said once we reached the street.
I wasn’t convinced. It sounded as though leaving was the last thing she wanted to do.
“But you don’t want to. Let’s walk. There’s a quieter bar down the road here.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off her mouth. Even as she watched me now, weighing up her options, running through some sort of checklist that would help her decide whether I’d fuck her over, or whether I was safe, that serious mouth tipped up at the corners. It was a mouth shaped by an angel into a constant smile.
The angle of light from the sunset highlighted chestnut flecks in her brown eyes, a spray of freckles, and the coppery tone of her hair. Right then I knew I wanted her, certain that everything I discovered about Darcy from this moment forward would only make me want her more.
I took her elbow and focused on the rectangle of the ocean at the end of the road. I aimed for the horizon because if I looked at her again I’d have her up against the window of the nearest shop, tearing at her clothes. The arousal shot she’d given me would pass but not until it flooded my veins with heat, and filled my head with need.
And made me want her again.
The bar I led her to was down on the waterfront. Small, definitely smarter than the pub we’d just left, but equally busy. I nodded at the striking brunette—Lisette?—working the bar and kept walking through, past the restrooms, along a narrow hallway, pushing open a door to a small, empty courtyard.
“Huh, it’s so busy out in front, yet we have this area to ourselves.”
“Owner privileges,” I said. “Take a seat, I’ll be back in a minute.”
I ducked behind the bar, crouching at the bank of fridges, humming in time to the thrum that vibrated through my body. I chose a wine that would make up for the crap they’d served Darcy in the sports bar, and grabbed a couple of glasses. I called out an order to the kitchen as I passed. They would have been prepping the cold plates for the past hour, ready for the early-evening customers.
“Three minutes, boss.”
“Bring it to the courtyard.”
My movements were urgent, as if any delay and Darcy would vanish.
She hadn’t, of course. She sat waiting at the table, staring into the distance.
When she heard me approach, she turned, laser beam smile on full wattage. I opened the bottle, poured, and sat opposite just as the food arrived.
Darcy eyed it as the waiter set out plates, utensils and napkins. She chose an olive, and nibbled.
“You’re insulting the kitchen,” I said. “Stop being so polite. Eat, I can see you’re hungry.”
She paused for half a second then stabbed a tuatua fritter with her fork. “I forgot to eat lunch. Thank you, this is great.”
“Do you know Waitapu well?” I asked. She was hungry, and it was refreshing to share a meal with a woman who actually ate instead of playing with her food.
She swallowed. “Not at all. Never set foot in the place until last week.” She wiped her mouth, sipped her wine. “I have this friend, Jen Wilmott. She lives in London right now. Her Gran died and left her an old cottage up by the river—”
“Sara. Jen’s Gran was Sara, I’ve known her all my life.”
“Right. Small world.”
“Not really, just a small town.”
She laughed. “Jen suggested I use the cottage for summer and I decided to take her up on the offer.”
“So you’re going to be a beach bum for summer?”
“That’s what I’m doing in my dreams. In reality, I’m looking for work, hence hanging around in a dodgy sports bar on a Wednesday.”
“You did look out of place. What’s your experience?” With my partners I owned four bars along the waterfront, a couple of restaurants, and an exclusive Lodge just out of town. There would be work for her at one of them.
“Marketing, advertising, PR, that sort of stuff. But I’ll do anything.”
“I might be able to help you,” I said carefully, because this was just a little too coincidental. We had a project going. It was short-term, but it needed somebody who understood marketing and PR to run it.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m serious, but I’m selfish, Darcy.” All of my companies had a no-fraternization rule. If she worked for me, I couldn’t touch her. I picked up a piece of smoked fish, dipped it into the green-tinged wasabi mayo and held it toward her. “Taste this.”
She held out her hand to take the food, and I shook my head. “Open your mouth.”
She did, just a little.
I leaned forward. “Show me you mean it, Darcy. Relax your jaw and let your mouth fall open.” My dick jumped when she complied. “Tongue out.”
What the fuck was I doing? She needed a job, I needed her skills, but right now all I could think about was giving her a couple of orders that were nothing more than a mirror to what I really wanted. Darcy on her knees.
She closed her eyes, and looked as if she was waiting for communion, or my cock. I placed the fish carefully on her tongue and as if she understood, she stayed just like that.
Fuck.
“Very nice. Eat, and next time, don’t close your eyes.”
Her gaze challenged me as she chewed and swallowed.
I tipped some wine into my mouth. “Now, back to this work thing. There’s a contract that might suit you. And yes, I’m serious.”
As if shifting into work mode, Darcy pushed her wine to one side, leaning forward on her forearms. “Thanks, I really appreciate that—”
“Don’t you want to know what the job is?”
“I’m all ears.”
“It’s a three-month contract coordinating a gala fundraising dinner and auction that I host with my business partners. We run this event every year. It started small, but it’s grown. Last year it was a massive success, which is great, but it means this year will be so much bigger. We need someone to handle it.”
“I’m interested. Do you want to interview me now?”
“No, I don’t want to interview you now. I’d rather keep things social. We can talk about the contract tomorrow, in my office.”
“Tomorrow, your office. Okay.”
“There’s one small issue. I don’t mess with my staff, Darcy, and I really want to mess with you.” I’m not that arrogant asshole. Not entirely, but if she decided to take the job, I wanted her to have all the facts.
I wanted to fuck her. Fact.
Darcy laughed. “You mentioned a contract, so, technically I wouldn’t be working for you. I would be like, say, the gardener who tended your plants once a week.”
“I like the way your mind works.”
She smiled. “There’s a lot to me, Oliver Sackville, and I have to be honest with you. I need a job. Any job. But I’d prefer a job where I can use the talent and skills I have. Running your gala sounds an awful lot more fun than wiping tables.”
“It’ll be hard work.”
“That doesn’t scare me.”
“Good, because we’re behind. The last person we hired started, then resigned a month later having achieved nothing. We can’t push the date out so it’s going to be chaotic. What we can do is support you.”
She chewed another piece of fish and swallowed. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“You’re going to need it. Starting from scratch you’ll have to find entertainment, organize branding, ticketing, advertising.”
“That’s quite a challenge.”
Her gaze was direct and she seemed undaunted.
“Tell me about your experience?”
“I have a degree in marketing and advertising. I started out of university in Auckland at Carlton Advertising and worked my way up to account manager in ten months. The budgets were hefty. After two years I spread my wings and headed to Sydney. I was at Prism the entire time and latterly, moved into their PR department. Specialty, sports teams. You’ll appreciate it was a 24/7 role. Monday’s were particularly busy.” She laughed.
“Putting out fires from weekend exploits.”
“Constantly. Big egos and bad decisions. Those guys are crazy.”
“You’ve impressed me, Darcy.” I’m not sure my partners would be thrilled that I was offering the position to a woman who’d caught my attention in a dimly lit sports bar, but I had to run with the gut feeling I had that Darcy was capable.
Luther, in particular, would suggest it was a feeling in my dick that made me dispense with caution. I knew I should be asking for more details.
“Have you got a CV?”
“Sure, I’
ll bring that with me tomorrow.”
“HR will want to check references, obviously.”
“No problem.”
For the first time, she looked uneasy, but she recovered well. Maybe I’d been hanging around too much with Luther, who made it his job to be suspicious. Or maybe I really was thinking with my dick.
3 ~ DARCY
I was excited. There was a chance Waitapu was going to be the place that put me back on my feet. I’d make a call to the company I worked for in Sydney and ask them to give me a break and a good reference.
I wanted the job. It sounded like a challenge and that was exactly what I needed, so I asked him for more information.
Oliver looked away for a moment, and swallowed. Something flashed across his features before he rearranged them to a business face.
“We’re raising money for the ongoing funding of a drug rehabilitation center in this area. You don’t know this place, so let me explain. This is a great town, but in the past decade there’s been an insidious creep of harder drugs. Through the sixties into the eighties, Waitapu had a burgeoning hippie element and a closet marijuana-growing industry. Eventually that shut down, and although Waitapu Gold still has a place as a premium marijuana brand—more from myth than actual supply—crystal meth, P, ice, whatever you like to call it, has taken hold.”
He became enthused in the manner of someone whose passion was driven by personal circumstances. I should have concluded the evening right at that moment but I was warring with the fact that he was offering me the best job available, and I was perfectly qualified. I only had to hold everything together for three months and I’d be out of town with something successful in my immediate past to relaunch my future.
He made the offer.
I accepted, breathing carefully to calm the ball of panic that bounced in my chest.
Sitting straighter in my seat I thanked Oliver for his hospitality and told him it was time for me to go home. I didn’t have transport and it would take fifteen minutes to walk to the cottage. Already the sun had dipped behind a western hill and although the town felt safe, I wasn’t naïve. I didn’t want to be walking alone when the pubs and bars closed.
