10 ~ DARCY

Oliver dropped me at home and I jumped from the car, grabbing my stuff and dropping a shoe on the path as I mumbled about a shower and getting the salt out of my hair, and, no, I didn’t need help to find my way to his house. It was only a five-minute walk at most.

After showering I adopted my customary stance in front of my wardrobe wishing the fairy seamstress had popped by while I was out to throw an awesome collection onto the hangers. No such luck, but I found a simple, figure-hugging but modest-length dress to wear. It was neither flashy nor casual and I thanked the other fairy, the one who had dropped off all those clothes made exactly for me, at the charity shop in town. Shoes were a different thing altogether but I had a reasonable pair of plain black sandals that were neither orthopedic or fuck me heels.

I made myself a cup of tea because I didn’t want to appear too eager to be back in his company. I had no idea about the science behind why I believed a five-minute delay would make him think more of me than if I showed up two minutes early, but I was nervous enough to think it mattered.

That kiss on the boat. There was no denying I forced it, even if he pretty much instigated it. I threw myself at him. He’s my boss. Catching fish was a perfect distraction, but motoring home, pinned between Oliver and the console, we were even more liberal, less guarded, about the way our bodies molded against one another.

I tried to walk at a normal pace to Oliver’s house, even stopping to pat a ginger cat which called to me from on top of a wall as I passed by.

Oliver met me at the door before I had a chance to knock. I liked to think he’d been standing there, brimming with anticipation, but he probably had a clever security system alerting him to anyone crossing the threshold from the street into his walled property. His jeans hung low on his hips and the tight, faded, navy blue T-shirt hugged him in a way that almost made me jealous of the stretch cotton. There was the glimpse of hard abs, and the low arrow of muscle. Pleasure this way.

He stood back from the doorway, his eyes roaming over me, and a small crease appeared on his forehead. Something bothered him. My shoes? The dress? I chewed my lip.

He reached up and touched a finger to my mouth. “Don’t bite your lip like that, Darcy, it does unbearable things to me.”

Those words, said in that voice, brought a rush of heat to my cheeks.

“Great dress, it suits you. I couldn’t have chosen better myself.”

Now I was the puzzled one as I followed Oliver through the house toward the kitchen. Once through the doorway the room opened out onto the large patio and lush lawn that flowed down to the river. The kitchen had bi-fold windows and French doors all flung wide to welcome the settled spring evening.

“Would you like a drink, wine, or an aperitif?” he asked.

“My mother and her cronies drank Dubonnet before dinner.” Oliver’s eyes widened. Why on earth had I said that?

“I don’t think you’re old enough to drink Dubonnet,” he joked.

“Or regal enough.”

“Are you sure, princess?” he winked.

Princess. Oh, god.

“Anyway, when it comes to aperitifs, my liquor cabinet doesn’t run beyond a dusty bottle of Campari. That said, I make a wickedly dry martini. Interested?”

“Yes, but no. One martini and I’ll be falling over.”

He looked as though the idea of me horizontal wasn’t such a bad one.

I shuddered. “It would be ugly, I’ll stick to wine.”

Standing here in his kitchen suddenly felt so intimate. I propped a hip against the bench and watched him prepare dinner. Some men are awkward with food prep, but Oliver built a salad of gourmet standard, simple but with clever touches, and made a dressing from scratch. All the while we chatted comfortably about our day and the dolphin experience which was still blowing my mind.

He washed his hands, dried them and stepped toward me taking hold of my hips. His hands closed around each side, his long fingers almost making it to that sensitive spot low down on my back, and my knees threatened to buckle. I thought he was about to kiss me.

“Jumpy?”

I nodded. I’d left my spontaneity on the boat, and now his casual touches felt super-charged with sex and innuendo.

“I need to move you slightly in this direction,” he steered me to the right, “because there’s a dish I want in this cupboard.”

I’d overreacted again. “Sorry, I’m in your way, I’ll go and sit over there.” Reluctantly I pulled out of his grip, heading for the other side of the island which had a row of stools.

“Stay where you are.” He held onto the hem of my dress, crouching to retrieve the bowl, then he placed me right back where I’d been standing. “I like having you there. You improve the kitchen decor immensely.”

Annabelle, the ex, must have spent nights like this with him and I had a moment of feeling totally inadequate. It was an emotion I thought I’d banished doing those exercises from a self-help book, but in truth the feeling of never being enough for someone to love simmered just within my manufactured exterior. I imagined them preparing meals together, as a team, and I pinged that thought out of my head.

By some sort of miracle the fish we’d caught now lay in neat fillets on a plate he pulled from the fridge. Oliver seasoned them with a little sea salt and threw them into a pan with some butter. While the fish was cooking he removed from the oven a heavenly-smelling potato dish where the potatoes looked all crispy and the scent of fresh thyme and garlic filled the room.

We sat at a table on the patio. Oliver lit a mass of candles arranged haphazardly on a rough piece of driftwood. They were all different sizes and stages of use with intricate layers of wax drippings that had built up over time. I had the feeling he sat out here often.

“Did you honestly cook all of this?” I asked.

“Sure. When my mother left us I became fairly self-sufficient. If I didn’t want to live on eggs, beans and bacon—the only dish my father managed to cook—for the rest of my life, I had to do something about it. After a few months Dad hired Drake to help with housework and cook a meal for us most nights, but I guess I never believed the women in my life would stick around. Drake taught me the basics and I pestered my friends’ mothers to teach me specific dishes.”

“Mrs…Ms. Drake—”

“She prefers Drake. She never married and I guess that removes the spinster label for her.”

“Does she still come here?”

“Up until a year ago. She’s retired.” He picked up his fork and sliced off a piece of fish on my plate. “Taste this and tell me what you think.”

I opened my mouth and he slipped the warm fish onto my tongue. The texture of the fish was perfect, the flesh falling apart in my mouth, the flavor delicate and unique. I swallowed. “Stunning. Those women taught you well.”

“Which fish is it?”

I was no expert when it came to fish and it had been a long time since I’d had it fresh from the sea. I guessed it wasn’t the snapper, which has a distinct, full flavor. “My fish, the John Dory.”

“You’re right, and thank you for catching it.”

I made a dismissive wave with my hand. “It was nothing. Beginner’s luck and an expert teacher.”

The wine relaxed me and after dinner we sat on low chairs by the outdoor fire. I couldn’t think of a better day I’d had in a long while.

Oliver nursed a whisky and I had the remains of wine in my glass. I stared at the fire wondering where the evening would go now. He’d been attentive through dinner, filling my glass, adding to my plate until I had to stop him or hunt for a larger-sized dress.

“I wanted to say, Darcy, that I really appreciate the dedication you’re putting into the project.” The ice rattled in his glass as he placed it on the ground beside him.

Ah, so today was a ‘thank you’ for my work.

“Getting the rehab center going in Waitapu is so important to me.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask about that. What’s your motivation? I mean, there are so many worthy causes out there. Why drug rehab?” I needed his answer for a number of reasons, although part of me was scared to hear his truth. When I saw the pain in his eyes I wished I’d never asked.

“Rocco Alberini,” he said.

I shook my head, the name meant nothing to me.

“My half-brother. My mother’s son from her second marriage to Ant Alberini. Rocco was four years younger than me, and grew up in Australia.”

Referring to his half-brother in the past tense meant only one thing. My stomach knotted. I had a good idea how this story would pan out, and if I was right then I had no future with Oliver Sackville.

He carried on speaking as he walked to the outdoor fireplace and added more wood. “Rocco came and stayed with us some holidays. Only now that strikes me as odd because Dad was no relative of his at all. Sure, he and I were half-brothers but I was loathed by my stepfather and I would have thought he’d have wanted to keep Rocco well away from us.”

“Perhaps he thought two brothers should have a chance to bond.”

Oliver swung to face me. “Believe me, my stepfather is not that compassionate, and Mother can’t think beyond the fifty-eight facets of her next diamond.”

I said nothing. He didn’t need my opinion on his dysfunctional family.

He went back to the fire, prodding the embers with a poker. “Whatever the reason, I was grateful to have a firm base to our relationship when Rocco needed help.” He took a moment to set the poker against the wall. “When he was twenty-two Rocco turned up on my doorstep. He’d been kicked out of the home, dropped out of varsity, and was addicted to meth. He’d stolen and sold some of Mother’s jewelry to fund his habit. I took him in to care for him, tried to get him into rehab, but he died before a space in a unit became available.”

Holy crap, this was worse than I’d imagined. “I’m sorry.” Never had words sounded so inadequate. I felt a rush of panic and it was all I could do to keep my hand steady as I raised my glass to my mouth.

“I was so bloody angry on so many levels, and in the end I knew I had to channel that anger into something meaningful before it destroyed me. We have a meth problem in Waitapu at the same proportion of any other town in the country. There is nowhere for these kids to get help. Public units are way oversubscribed and private facilities have a waiting list that’s just as long. Most of the addicts in this town couldn’t afford private care, anyway. If I can provide a rehab facility here for them, perhaps a few damaged people can be saved.”

“Good, thanks for telling me.” My voice didn’t sound as shaky as I felt. “Sometimes a personal story can be useful in a PR sense. I’m sorry, I know that sounds brutal and insensitive, but we could use it for the cause if necessary. If you wanted to.” I was doing my best to shift myself from the realm of friendship and return our relationship to a purely working one.

“Not at all. I’ll use anything to help make this rehab center a reality.”

He gave me a soft smile. “Sorry to unload all that onto you. It’s not something I tend to share, but it’s no secret and someone’s likely to mention it. I don’t want you caught off-guard.” His shrug looked awkward. “Talk about bringing the evening down. I never intended to do that. I’ve enjoyed today, Darcy.”

I had too, until now. I felt terrible about Rocco and deep sympathy for Oliver. When I looked at him I could see he needed closeness, some sort of physical comfort to smooth this moment for him, yet what raged in my mind was the unfairness that Rob was still fucking up my life.

“I have to go to Auckland this week for a Trade and Enterprise function. Come with me. You’ll help make a stuffy dinner more pleasant.”

His abrupt change of subject pulled me out of the black hole I was about to fall into. Auckland had been right off my places to visit list for the next few months. I wracked my brains trying to think of any old contacts I might have who would be at a T&E dinner, but couldn’t come up with anyone.

Oliver cocked his head. “Ah, she hesitates. Is it the idea of a dinner with the Trade people, or a visit to Auckland?”

“I—”

“No, let me guess. Auckland.”

I knew the look on my face told him he’d nailed it.

“Sorry, that was an easy call. You obviously have issues with Auckland, otherwise you’d still be there where all the high-flying jobs are, the ones that you are more than capable of making yours. Want to share?”

He took a couple of huge cushions off some built-in seats and threw them on the ground near the fire. Taking my hand he pulled me from my seat. “Come and sit with me.”

“I should probably get going.”

“It’s early.”

It was, and most of me didn’t want to leave at all. But Oliver and I had a problem that he didn’t even know existed. I should tell him, but it was painful, hard, and a risk. First, I’d lose my contract and I knew that I could do a fantastic job for him. In the short timeframe, I doubt he’d find anyone better than me to get it done. I should focus on that because how could I make this next move unless I was completely honest with him? Yet, if I tried to explain I’m sure he’d hear the key words and not the story.

Fuck Rob, and his stupidity, and his weakness, and his total disregard for the people who loved him, and his selfish inability to see how his actions impacted on others. Fuck my wasted love. Oliver didn’t want to hear about that, and I deserved to move on.

“Darcy, are you okay?”

The look Oliver gave me enveloped me in warmth. I felt vulnerable, and he looked safe, so I took those steps toward him.

“I’m fine,” I said, my self-restraint and my sadness evaporating. I wanted to be back to what we had on the boat, so I settled into the cushions by the fire, and decided I could burn in hell another day.

He was beside me in a flash. “This is different…you’re different.”

In a single move he rolled me on my back and jerked a couple more cushions down, lifting my head before slipping one beneath. He straddled my hips and it was all I could do to stop them bucking toward him for some relief from the relentless pulse between my legs.

He leaned over me, pressing the heels of his hands either side of my head. His kiss was surprisingly gentle, to start with, anyway, just a brushing of our mouths and light flicks of his tongue along the seam of my lips. I opened for him. I was hungry and inside me were things I needed to shatter. He teased a bit more then reached for my tongue with his. He stroked inside my mouth the same way I wanted him between my legs. Then he traced my palate with the tip of his tongue and I shuddered with need. He pulled back and sat up.

“That’s better,” he said. “Now that I have your attention, some questions.”