“Of course,” she said. “We’ve all had it tough, including Sam and Mac.” She smiled up at Jace. “What about you? How has your year been?”
“Terrific,” he replied. “I met you.”
She laughed and lowered her arms as the song finished and everyone started clapping. Ginger threw her arms around her new husband, and they exchanged a long, lingering kiss as the band started up the next song.
“I’m not keen on disco,” Jace said. “I’m a bit big for boogying on down.”
Sandi grinned. “That’s all right. I’ve got enough disco fever for the both of us.”
“I’ll get us some drinks,” he said, amused, as Fred grabbed her sisters, and together with some of their friends, they started to dance.
Jace stood and watched for a moment, entranced by the sight of Sandi swaying her hips to the music. Man, the girl had rhythm.
Sam stood beside him and took a long swallow from a beer bottle. “I can think of worse ways to spend an evening,” he said, admiring his wife as she stood back to back with Fred and they both did a shimmy that Jace could imagine them practicing as girls when they were teens.
“They seem happy,” Mac said, joining them. “They were so quiet when they first arrived. It’s nice to see some of their spark has come back.”
“Entirely due to us,” Sam said. “Obviously.”
Mac smiled wryly and gave Jace an appraising look. “You and Sandi looked good together.”
“Did she finally agree to a date?” Sam asked.
Jace tipped his head from side to side. “Not in so many words. I’m working on it.”
He gestured with his head for them to follow him away from the dance floor, and the three of them wandered out onto the lawn. The music was still loud, but he could hear the cicadas playing their summer song, and smell the jasmine again, reminding him of the feel of Sandi in his arms.
“Do either of you know why Sandi broke up with her ex?” he asked.
Mac and Sam exchanged glances. Then Sam shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground. Mac pursed his lips. “Fred and Ginger have sworn us to secrecy. So if Sandi hasn’t told you herself, it doesn’t feel right us telling you. I’m sorry.”
Although he was disappointed, Jace shook his head. “No, that’s fair enough. I just wondered, that’s all. I like her, but I don’t want to get caught up in some kind of love triangle, you know? If she still has feelings for the guy...”
“She doesn’t,” Sam said. “I can tell you that much.”
“Oh.” That made him feel better. “And he’s not likely to turn up on her doorstep, hoping she’ll start seeing him again?”
“Not unless she’s got a ouija board,” Mac said.
Jace’s eyes widened. “He died?”
Sam thumped Mac. Mac glared at him. “That’s not saying too much.” He looked back at Jace. “Let’s just say he’s not in the picture anymore, and Sandi wants to put that relationship behind her. If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask her.”
Jace nodded. “All right. I’m going to get Sandi a drink. You want another?” They shook their heads, and he left them to talk, crossing to the small bar at the back of the restaurant, and asking for a glass of red for Sandi and a whisky for himself.
He scratched at a mark on the bar while he waited for the drinks, more puzzled now than ever. So her ex had died, but from what the guys had said, it didn’t sound as if she was pining over him. Why would the issue not be as simple as her being upset over his death? Had he died under strange circumstances? Maybe while in bed with another woman or something? That was a possibility, and he could understand why she would want to keep that quiet. But would it be enough to convince her to stay single for the rest of her life?
Who could understand the depth of someone else’s hurt, though? What one person might laugh off might cause another terrible pain. Jace might not have ever been in love, but he’d suffered loss, and the consequences of that loss had had far-reaching effects.
He took the drinks from the bartender, carried them back to a table near the edge of the dance floor, and sat. He removed his morning coat again, and leaned back to watch Sandi dancing while he sipped his whisky.
It would be a crime, he thought, if she stayed single. She deserved to have a happy marriage, and children running around her feet. She deserved to grow old with a man who loved her.
Was he that man? Jace sipped his whisky, feeling the magic of the evening wind around him like silk ribbons, Puck and the fairies out doing their work, no doubt. A year ago, he’d have laughed in the face of anyone who suggested it was time he settled down. The last thing he’d wanted was to be a husband or father. His world, he would have argued, was perfect. He had a dream job at an up-and-coming law firm where he would undoubtedly make partner over the next five years; he owned his own house on the banks of the Kerikeri inlet; he’d made a great group of friends through the rugby club; and he was rarely short of female company if he wanted it. Equally, he had his independence and his freedom, and he’d smirked inwardly when his married friends had complained that they couldn’t go out for the evening because they had to look after the kids.
But he was nearing thirty, and there came a time when leading the single lifestyle became sad rather than cool. He was hardly a playboy, but even so, whereas once he’d imagined his young married friends might have looked at him with envy, he could see there might come a point where that would change. Eventually, they would watch him go home after a rugby match to a quiet, dark house, and feel pity as they returned to their loving wives and houses with their kids’ paintings on the fridge. They would play ball with their sons in the garden and show them the moves they’d done in the game that day, and then give them a bath and read stories to them in bed.
He felt a wistful tug inside he’d never thought to feel. Must be the whisky, he thought. Or the fairy lights. There was something about fairy lights that took you back to your youth, to Christmases gone by, to lying awake in the dark wondering if Rudolph was sweeping past your window at that moment. He’d never wanted kids, because he’d been afraid of passing on his genes, and of letting the dark thread that ran through his family filter down into future generations. But was he right to think that way? Was it possible to use the experience of having children as a way to cleanse himself of that dark thread—to put right with his own son all the things that had been done to him as a lad?
“You look thoughtful.” Sandi collapsed into the chair next to him, breathing heavily, her face glowing from the warm evening and the exertion of dancing. “Planning your next speech in court?”
“Not quite.” He smiled, scolding himself. Sandi hadn’t even agreed to go on a date with him yet, and here he was thinking about kids and forever.
But that wasn’t it. All that had happened was that, for the first time in his life, he’d met a woman who’d made him think that maybe the notion of something more than a fling might not be the worst thing in the world. That didn’t mean it would be with Sandi. Just that she was the catalyst for the change inside him.
He studied her face, her flushed cheeks, her curved lips. He could imagine how those lips would feel beneath his, how she’d look when swept up in the heat of pleasure.
If the woman in his fantasy was Sandi, he thought he’d probably be able to cope with that.
Chapter Eight
THE HEAT IN JACE’S eyes sent tingles all the way through Sandi’s already warm body.
She wasn’t drunk—she was making sure to have a glass of water for every one of wine she imbibed—but she felt a little lightheaded and dizzy, her racing pulse making her chest heave with every large breath.
It was just the dancing, because she was so unfit, and the fact that the temperature hadn’t dropped at all. And evening was so beautiful, from the ribbons and the fairy lights of the grotto-like restaurant, to the jewel colors of the ocean, turned ruby and amethyst and topaz in the setting sun.
But she was kidding herself, wasn’t she? H
er pounding heart had nothing to do with the weather or the surroundings. They were just a backdrop for the drama playing out on the stage—the magic developing between her and Jace.
She might not have had lots of partners, but neither was she an innocent virgin. She knew when a man liked and desired her, and she’d never felt it as strongly as she did looking into the eyes of the man sitting beside her.
No, she was no idiot, and she had to keep her wits about her. He was lusting after her, that was all. There was nothing wrong with that—it was the perfectly ordinary reaction between two youngish, healthy people, and provided that everyone knew where they stood, everything would be okay.
She took a few swallows from a glass of iced water. “It’s so warm this evening.”
“I know. Aren’t the cicadas loud?”
“We don’t have them in England,” she admitted. “They sound so exotic to me.”
“You have grasshoppers though,” he pointed out. “They sing in the summer, don’t they?”
“Not like this. It’s a lovely sound.”
He looked out toward the vineyard, giving her a view of his profile—his straight nose, firm mouth, his strong jaw, the stubble beginning to show through. That would scratch her thighs if he wasn’t careful.
She blinked. Maybe she’d had more to drink than she thought.
“They only live up to fifty days,” he said. He had such a lovely deep voice, like Nat King Cole’s, all honey and treacle, smooth and mellow.
“That makes me sad,” she said somewhat wistfully.
“Nah.” He had a mouthful of whisky. “What a life that would be! Fifty days and then you’re done. I’d like that.”
She smiled. “What would you do if you had only fifty days, then?”
“Leave work. Buy a boat. Sail out to the Pacific Islands somewhere, find a tiny desert island, and watch the sun rise and set.”
“Sounds wonderful,” she said honestly. “What would you take with you?”
“A crate of whisky bottles.”
“Should be rum, shouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, but I got drunk on rum and Coke as a teenager and I can’t go near the stuff now.” He grinned.
She smiled at the thought of him as a teen, all elbows and knees and swagger. Every girl for miles would have been writing his name on her school books.
“What else would you take with you?” she asked. “Music?”
“I wouldn’t want my phone. I’d leave that behind. I’d take an old-fashioned record player with some vinyl—some rock, some classical, depending on my mood.”
“And books?”
“Well, Robinson Crusoe, obviously.”
She laughed. “What else? Shakespeare?”
“I don’t mind the bard, but I’d take an atlas.”
“An atlas?”
“Yeah. And a book about space. I want to know more about the stars.” He tipped back his head and looked up. She followed his gaze and saw the constellations beginning to pop out against the darkening sky.
“All right,” she said softly, “so, whisky bottles, a record player, and an atlas. But why not your phone? Wouldn’t you want to keep in touch with loved ones?”
His smile faded, and eyes remained distant, focused on the twinkling pinpricks so far away. “No,” was all he said.
Once again, a mysterious answer about his family. She was intrigued. He was hiding something, but she had no right to ask him, not when she was keeping her own cards close to her chest.
It was none of her business, anyway. Tonight was a time out of time, an escape. It wasn’t an evening for heartfelt conversation and the telling of secrets. It was an evening for exchanging fantasies and whispering erotic thoughts in the darkness.
“So there’s no lovely lady back in Auckland whom you’d be texting from under the palm tree?” She kept her voice light, showing him she was teasing him.
His gaze came back to her then, amused. “I wouldn’t be chatting you up tonight if there was.”
“It wouldn’t stop some men.”
“I’m not your average guy,” he said.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
His eyelids lowered to half mast, and his sultry gaze slid down her. He was enjoying this gradual slide into flirting. He knew he’d gotten to her, had wooed her, if that was the right word, or seduced her, until she’d realized it was pointless to try to refuse him. Only hours before, she’d been convinced she never wanted a man within an inch of her again. But that was before Jace had danced with her, had looked into her eyes with desire that had melted her insides until she was as gooey as a chocolate caramel. She wanted him—they both knew it, and she knew how the evening was likely to end, if she carried on like this.
She’d never had a one-night stand. All her relationships had developed after weeks, if not months, of dating, progressing slowly into intimacy. But then she’d never felt this immediate white-hot heat before, not even for Brodie—this overwhelming physical desire for a man who was still very much a stranger.
Maybe that was why it was so exciting, and why she was even considering it—because they were still strangers, technically. Going to bed with him wouldn’t have to involve her heart, not yet—there wouldn’t need to be any deep discussions about the future, no promises or trust needed to be exchanged. It was all physical, about sating their desire.
She couldn’t do it. Could she? Go to bed with him tonight, just because she wanted to?
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “About being alone on the desert island. I think I’ll kidnap you and make you come with me.” His eyes glittered.
She leaned her elbows on the table and sipped her wine, enjoying the taste of plum and blackberry on her tongue, and the frisson of desire his words gave her. “You could just ask me.”
He tipped his head to the side. “All right, then. Would you come away with me for my last fifty days on Earth?”
He held her gaze, his eyes begging her to say yes. Her lips parted, the word ready to tumble from her lips. But still she hesitated. Because even though she was answering a fantastical question, they both knew the real meaning behind it.
That final step... Could she bring herself to take it?
“Uncle Jace!” A voice brought his attention away from Sandi, and she watched him look with surprise at the young girl standing next to him. Maybe eight or nine years old, she wore a delightful pink ballet dress that she obviously loved so much her mother couldn’t get her out of it. She was tapping one of her matching pink ballet shoes impatiently. “You promised me a dance,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and sticking out her bottom lip.
Jace grinned. “I did indeed. I’m so sorry. Excuse me, Ms. Cartwright.” He stood and, with a flourish, presented his hand to the girl. She slipped her tiny one into it, flushing a little, and he led her right to the middle of the dance floor. As the band changed to a popular dance song, he proceeded to twirl her backward and forward before him, making her ballet skirt flare out with every twist, to her delight.
“She’s the daughter of one of the guys from the rugby club,” Sam advised, dropping into the chair beside her. “She usually comes with her mum to pick Lee up after a game, and she’s got a thing about Jace. She’s been begging him for a dance for weeks.”
Sandi smiled. “He’s very good with her.”
“He’s great with kids. He runs the Under 10s rugby team, did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“He drives the bus to the games most Saturdays in the rugby season. He’s a good guy, Sandi. One of the best.”
She looked at Sam and narrowed her eyes. “Did Ginger send you to talk to me?”
“No. Well, yes, but that’s not the point.”
“Please tell her to stick her nose where the sun doesn’t shine.”
“I don’t think I’ll do that as I don’t want to be in the doghouse on my wedding night. Besides which, she has a point. He’d be good for you.”
“I think I’ll
be the judge of who’s good for me, thank you very much.”
Sam shrugged. He’d lost his tie somewhere along the way, and he looked relaxed and happy, his hair all ruffled, his lips curving up in a smile. “Fair enough.”
“Having a good day?” Sandi asked softly.
“The best. I’m married.” He held up his hand to show her the gold band on his finger.
She gave a little laugh. “Yeah. I know.” She watched him admire the band, turning his hand so it shone in the fairy lights. “Does it feel odd?” she asked curiously. “Knowing that you belong to someone now?”
“I’ve belonged to Ginger since the moment I met her,” he said absently, still looking at the ring.
“Aw, Sam. You trying to make me cry?”
His gaze came back to her then, and he chuckled. “It’s cool,” he said, turning the ring on his finger. “It’s like... even when we’re apart, we’re still together. Does that make sense?”
Sandi nodded, her throat tightening. “Yes.”
“It’s a good feeling, Sandi. You should try it.” He grinned.
She dropped her gaze, her smile fading. “I was going to, but it didn’t work out so well.”
He winced. “Ah, shit, sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. I can’t believe he did that to you. If he was still alive, I’d find him and punch his teeth down his throat.”
Sandi’s eyebrows rose. He’d obviously had a few to drink, but his fierce look told her he wasn’t joking. “Sam Pankhurst, you’re a regular knight in shining armor deep down, aren’t you?”
He blew out a breath and gave her a wry look. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I really wasn’t. I’m touched.” And she was. She didn’t have any brothers, but she had two brothers-in-law now, and she liked the feeling that they were looking out for her.
“Don’t let that fucking bastard ruin the rest of your life,” Sam said. “You’re too beautiful, Sandi. Too lovely.”
Her face warmed. “Sam!”
“The Cartwright girls,” he said. “How any man could bring himself to hurt any of you, I have no idea.” He got to his feet, leaned over, and kissed her forehead. “Give him the benefit of the doubt,” he murmured. “He’s been a good mate, and I know he likes you.”
As Timeless as the Sea Page 6
