“I bet he did,” Cullen muttered. “He’s not only paid for nothing, but he’s stolen your savings.”
Grace scowled. “Put that way, I sound like a real loser.”
“Not a loser,” Cullen corrected. “You’re trusting. You thought he was the man you’d spend the rest of your life with, so why shouldn’t you place your faith in him?”
“I feel stupid,” Grace muttered.
“He’s the wrong man for you,” Cullen said. “The right one will be out there somewhere. Just give it time.”
Grace snorted. “Easy for you to say. My biological clock is tick, tick, ticking.”
“You want children soon?”
“Yes.” Rawness shot through her glance. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting children, a family.”
Cullen smiled, and the tightness in her chest eased. He didn’t think she was weird. Jeff had recently informed her he didn’t want children, and she was probably too old, anyway. A snort erupted from her. On reflection, there were so many warning signs of their lack of compatibility. She’d swept them aside, thrilled Jeff wanted to marry her. Idiot.
“Stop torturing yourself. Everyone makes mistakes or missteps. It makes us human and keeps us humble.”
“Yeah? What mistakes have you made?”
Cullen hesitated. “I should’ve paid better attention at school and tried to get a qualification behind me.”
“But you love the army.” She got the sense of something else that gave him regrets, but he’d decided not to share. “Didn’t you tell me you intended to stay in the army?”
“I do enjoy what I do, but some days the missions are tough, and good people suffer. Administration-types hamper us, and it makes our missions frustrating.”
“It’s not too late for you to change paths.”
“Maybe.”
Grace changed the subject. “Have you met the prime minister?”
“I have. I dropped ‘round at Josh’s place before leaving for my last mission. Ashley was there and had coffee with us. She made blueberry muffins.”
Grace’s mouth dropped open as she stared at Cullen. “I’m not sure whether you’re kidding.”
“Not,” Cullen said with a grin. He downed the last of his brandy. “Come on. It’s getting late, and we have a holiday in our future. You can help me pack tomorrow.”
“Do you have something I can sleep in?”
Cullen scanned her up and down, his gaze fast and impersonal. “A T-shirt? Will that work?”
Grace followed Cullen up the stairs and tried not to gawk at his backside too hard. The man was fine, and the woman who won his heart would be so lucky. She shadowed him into his bedroom and came to a halt. Last night she’d been out of it, and this morning, her presence in Cullen’s bed had rattled her too much to pay attention to detail. During his last break, he’d renovated, but she hadn’t seen the result properly until now.
The single bedroom next to the master was no longer since he’d knocked down the internal wall and combined two into one. He’d also added an en suite bathroom, and the result was lovely.
“Wow, it’s beautiful,” she said. “I didn’t register the changes this morning. Perhaps I can do something—” She came to an abrupt halt because she realized she no longer had a financial cushion.
“Thanks, I’m glad you like it because I turned my spare bedroom into a gym. Tonight will be excellent practice for when we share at Stewart Island.”
An explosive noise ripped through the silence that had fallen between them. Cullen strode to the window and glanced outside while Grace squeezed in beside him. The wheels of a car shrieked as they gripped for purchase.
“Was that gunfire?” she asked.
“Yes,” Cullen said. “I’m going to ring the cops. They can deal with this. If someone out there has a gun, we’re safer indoors.”
He wouldn’t get an argument from her.
“I’ll grab my phone. I left it downstairs. The towels are in the en suite. If you want to take a shower, go ahead. If I know the cops, this won’t be a five-minute phone call.” With that, he strode away.
Another shot fired, and Grace winced. Cullen was right. She didn’t know what was going on, but some strange people loitered around their suburb tonight.
7
THE HONEYMOON
Cullen woke with Grace in his arms. Obviously a heavy sleeper, Grace was lying on her side and had thrown her leg over his. He could smell her old-fashioned lavender scent and the weight of her breast pressed against his arm. The temptation to kiss her rocked him, but he reluctantly stayed the urge. Grace required time. Once they were alone, sharing a room on Stewart Island, he’d try to show her he cared and perhaps seduce her to his school of thought to make her understand they had possibilities.
A future together.
Or he could go with Plan B—a slightly amended Plan A—and let her become comfortable with the idea of them as a couple. She’d fight him once that amazing brain of hers kicked into gear, and he expected a challenge.
He glanced at his watch. It was six in the morning. He knew from experience he’d never slip into sleep again, so he untangled himself from Grace and left her to rest. After dressing rapidly, he walked down to the kitchen and put on the coffee. Packing wouldn’t take long, so perhaps he’d go for a run. Exercise always cleared his mind and helped him see possibilities whenever he encountered a problem.
Deciding to leave the coffee until his return, he grabbed his running shoes from the hall cupboard and pulled them on with quick efficiency. A few minutes later, he jogged down the damp driveway. He dodged a fishy-scented wheely bin on the edge of the curb, the first of many green bins stretching before him, which told him this was rubbish collection day. Summer flowers dipped in their beds, somewhat bedraggled under the weight of the heavy dew.
As Cullen increased his speed, he noted the pair of shoes balanced on the oak tree branch bordering his and Grace’s property. He stared up at the scruffy white runners tied together by gray laces. Wasn’t this a covert sign for a tinny house? An obscure way of advertising drugs for sale here.
His mind clicked into gear, adding clues and skidding to a halt at his conclusion.
Was the dickhead involved in the drug trade?
Cullen recalled everything Grace had told him about her ex-fiancé. The longer he pondered the possibility of drugs, the more it seemed to fit. But how to prove the cretin’s involvement? The drug angle would undoubtedly explain the strange people in the neighborhood. Cullen headed away from his house at a jog, his mind busily working, prodding at his theory.
If he were right, Grace’s eviction of the creep would heap problems on the man’s head.
Cullen ran for five miles before he turned back toward his house. He arrived to find a silver sedan idling at the curb. A skinny white man in an oversized black hoodie thumped on Grace’s door, and when no one replied, he stomped back to the car.
Cullen stopped by the vehicle but continued to jog on the spot. “The owner isn’t home,” he said. “They’ve gone out of business. A police raid last night.”
“Fuck,” the skinny man said. He jumped into the rear of the vehicle, and the driver sped off before he’d even shut the door.
That answered Cullen’s question, and he wondered if he should tell Grace. Cullen unlocked the door and let himself inside, striding toward the kitchen. The scent of coffee filled the air, and after guzzling two glasses of water, he poured himself a cup. He had to tell Grace.
Cullen poured a second cup, added a little milk, and carried it up the stairs to his bedroom. He paused in the doorway, enjoying the sight of Grace still asleep, her strawberry blonde hair strewn across his pillow. Deciding not to wake her, Cullen set the coffee on the nightstand and grabbed a bag from the wardrobe. He could start packing without making too much noise.
Grace still hadn’t stirred by the time he’d finished. He ran through his mental list and decided he had everything apart from his camera downstairs. The battery needed char
ging. He retreated to take care of that, poured another coffee, and sat down to read the paper online.
Stewart Island jumped to the fore when he spotted a travel article detailing the pleasures of a visit. Kiwis. Hunting. Tramping. Fishing. These were among the myriad activities available. He made a note of the bush tucker walk. Grace would love that. Uncertain of Grace’s full itinerary, he noted the phone number and their location in the Oban township.
Cullen heard the shower and stood to brew another pot of coffee.
“Morning,” Grace said half an hour later. She hovered in the doorway, a faint pink flush in her cheeks.
Cullen wanted to smile, wanted to go to her and wrap her in his arms. Protect her. He did none of these things, instead rose from his stool at the breakfast bar. “Coffee?”
“Please. It’s almost eleven. You should’ve woken me.” She approached and perched on the second stool near him.
Cullen reached into the cupboard for a clean mug. “You had a rough day. I figured you could do with the extra rest.”
“It took me a while to get to sleep,” she confessed. “I’m glad I’m leaving town and won’t have to face Jeff’s dramatics.”
“Talking about Dickhead,” Cullen said. “I went for a run earlier this morning. A guy was loitering near your place. A car parked outside your house.”
Grace shook her head. “I’ve noticed a few strangers around. They stick out in our street since it’s a cul-de-sac.”
Yeah. Cullen agreed, which made his conclusion a bit out-there. Why would the numbskull risk easy detection in an established neighborhood? Unless he was too stupid to realize selling drugs in a family suburb like this asked for trouble. The residents noticed anything out of the ordinary. They spotted strangers. They were the type who policed their area and contacted the cops under suspicious circumstances.
“The guy was looking for your ex and left when I told him the police had raided here last night.”
Grace’s expression grew slack as she gaped at him. “Why would you tell him that?”
“Because there is a pair of white shoes hanging in the oak tree straddling our property boundaries. That’s like a signpost for those searching for a tinny house.”
Grace raised her eyebrows. “A tinny house that sells drugs?”
“Yep.”
“But Jeff doesn’t take drugs.”
“Are you sure? Do you know where he lived before he moved in with you? You told me he was away a lot.”
“A place in Papatoetoe. He shared it with two other guys. It’s why he told me it thrilled him to move into a nice place in a decent area. Their neighbor wore gang colors, and he’d have lots of people around at all hours of the day and night. Sometimes they’d have parties that turned into fights, and the cops would arrive. Jeff told me the street name, but I can’t remember right now. It will come to me.” She tapped her hands on the counter and sent him a worried look. “It bothers me that Jeff might’ve been into drugs.”
“It’s a working theory,” Cullen said. “It’s probably an excellent idea you’re away for a week. Give time for the dust to settle.”
“Should we mention this to our other neighbors? To the cops?” Grace asked.
“No proof.”
Grace’s scowl dug into her forehead. “I guess we need to wait and see if anything happens, although I can’t believe Jeff…” She shook her head. “Surely, I would’ve noticed drugs.”
“Not necessarily. As for watching events unfold, we won’t be here,” Cullen pointed out.
Grace frowned. “Why don’t we mention our concerns to Chris at number twelve? He won’t mind monitoring our places since they’ll both be vacant. We don’t need to mention drugs. We can tell him we’re away for a week, and Jeff is being an arse. Both accurate statements.”
Cullen considered this before taking a sip of coffee. “Works for me.”
* * * * *
Their flight to Invercargill took just over two hours. After they collected their luggage, they waited for the next leg of their journey—the short fifteen-minute hop to Oban in Stewart Island.
“How come you didn’t take the ferry over?” Cullen asked as they strapped into the small six-person plane.
“Jeff gets seasick, and the Foveaux Strait crossing can be fairly hair-raising. I didn’t tell Jeff the flight can be as bad as the ferry.” She glanced out of a small window. “Looks as if we’ll have excellent views given the sunshine.” She turned to grin at him. “I’m so excited.”
Cullen smiled back. He had a strong stomach, and seasickness or airsickness didn’t bother him. “I remember the sea crossing from when I was a wee lad. We had a family holiday over here for a week.”
“Oh, you should’ve said,” Grace murmured. “The last thing I want is for you to feel bored.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to come. I was five, so the only thing I remember is the bumpy sea, the gigantic waves, and my mother puking. A lot.” He wrinkled his nose. “It was disgusting, but she exploded like a fountain.”
Grave gave a disbelieving laugh as the pilot taxied the plane onto the runway. “I’m sure she likes the reminder of your Stewart Island holiday.”
“That story makes the rounds at family get-togethers. My brother and I like to reminisce with her.”
Cullen clasped her hand and pressed closer to peer out of her window. The plane rose until the airport, and the city of Invercargill resembled miniature dioramas. The buildings huddled together in the city center before giving way to a patchwork of paddocks in varying colors of green or brown. Next was the sea and the Foveaux Strait, which separated the South Island and Stewart Island. Today, it was a flat and vivid blue-green with minimal whitecaps to mar its surface.
“How is your brother? I haven’t seen him for years. The last time…” She trailed off with a moue of distress.
“My grandmother’s funeral. Grace, while I loved my grandmother and miss her, you don’t have to tiptoe around the fact.”
“Noted. Oh, look. There it is. The island looks so green. I can’t wait to walk in the bush.”
Five minutes later, the plane landed on a strip set among more trees. It was a quick hop to their accommodation where Marie and Susan, the owners, allocated rooms and keys.
The Stewart Lodge sat atop a hill. It was a long, flat building with a deck in front that took advantage of the gorgeous view over Oban township and Halfmoon bay. Tui and fat wood pigeons flitted from tree to tree and let out raucous calls as they chased other birds that got too close.
Their room was one of the five with direct access to the deck and incredible views.
“Breakfast is from seven until nine each morning, and you’re welcome to use the kitchen. All we ask is that you clean up after yourself,” Susan, a dark-haired woman, said with a bright smile.
“It’s even better than I imagined,” Grace said to Marie, a blue-eyed blonde. “Thank you.”
Cullen noticed Grace glance at the king-size bed dominating the space and frown. He hid his smile. This situation was perfect for his plan, and he intended to try everything in his bag of seduction tricks to get Grace to think of him romantically.
Grace dragged her gaze from the bed. It looked soft and inviting, and the faux kiwi-feather rug gave the bed a luxurious air, as did the multitude of pillows.
“What would you like to do first?” Cullen asked.
“I’d like to unpack and go for a walk to the town. Maybe have a drink at the pub and book a table for dinner there? I understand it’s a busy place this week, and we’ll need a reservation.”
“Works for me,” Cullen said. “What side of the bed do you want? Same as last night?”
Grace’s head bobbed up and down when she found it difficult to speak due to mouth dryness. She’d woken during the night to find herself clinging like a passionfruit vine to Cullen. Grace had untangled herself, but when Cullen had woken, she’d been all over him again. She hadn’t liked to admit she was awake, too embarrassed by her forward
behavior, even if it had been unconscious.
Cullen hadn’t mentioned her lapse, though, much to her relief. But it worried her. What if she did it again? Already, she was conscious of his virility, his strength, and his sexy grin. She did not need to spoil their friendship by getting a silly girlish crush.
Cullen cocked his head, humor gleaming in his blue eyes. “Grace? Hello, Grace. Where did you go?”
She shook herself and prayed she wouldn’t blush. Unfortunately, her cheeks turned hot straightaway. “Same as last night is fine,” she blurted. “Are you okay with the plan to go exploring?”
“Yep. I found something you might like to do during a free afternoon or morning,” he said. “Which days do we have things booked?”
“Tomorrow, we have a bus tour in the morning. It can’t be an extensive tour because the island has only thirty-two kilometers of roading. We’re going fishing for blue cod in the afternoon. The next night we’re going out looking for kiwi, and the following afternoon, we have a walk on Ulva Island, a native bird sanctuary. I booked dinner at the special restaurant on the same day as the Ulva Island walk. The rest of the time we can go walking or swimming if the weather is fine. There’s also a jet boat ride up a river to a walking hut that looked fun. I think it’s the start of one of the week-long walks.”
“Perfect. Have you ever seen a kiwi?”
“No,” Grace said. “I’m excited at the thought of spotting one and maybe getting a photo.”
Ten minutes later, they were on their way.
“I can’t believe how steep this hill is,” Grace said. “I’m not looking forward to the return journey.”
“Lucky for you, you have a powerful soldier to carry you,” Cullen murmured.
The idea of his hands on her body had her shuddering. Not for you, Grace. Friend, remember? She changed the subject. “Is there anything you want to do while we’re here?”
“I wouldn’t mind exploring some of the nature tracks. If there is a supermarket, maybe we could pack a picnic lunch.”
“Yes! I like that idea.”
Their accommodation was at the end of the bay, and they followed the beach around, walking past the primary school, the Kai Kart, which according to Grace’s research, sold burgers and fish and chips. They stopped outside the pub.
Protecting the Bride Page 7
