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.

Oliver stood with me, insisting he give me a lift.

“That’s kind of you, but I’ll be fine,” I told him, because I needed some space right now to figure out how I was going to manage my past to stop it from colliding with my future.

“I’m sure you are, but we’re almost neighbors and I won’t have you walking alone at night,” his glance slipped down my legs, “in those pretty shoes.”

I followed his gaze to my feet. The shoes looked okay from above but a single misstep would probably snap the cheap heels. We walked side-by-side to a small parking lot where he directed me to a late-model Range Rover.

Once seated, I stole a deep breath of the scent of leather mixed with his cologne while he made his way to the driver’s side. The look he gave me before starting the engine was unreadable, but the air between us was so charged it’s a wonder we didn’t leave a trail of sparks down the road. It took only minutes to reach home, and Oliver drove right down the unpaved driveway, a length of grass sandwiched between two stripes of bare earth which would undoubtedly turn to mud with a little rain.

I laughed as he maneuvered the vehicle right up to my door, engulfing the tiny front porch of the cottage.

“Can I see you in?” he asked.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” I said, making a grab for the door handle.

“I wasn’t going to jump you, Darcy.”

“That’s a shame.” Hell, kill me now. I could not believe I said that aloud.

“I just wanted to be sure you were home safe. Of course, officially you haven’t signed a contract yet, so we don’t work together at this moment.”

I closed my eyes and gathered my thoughts. It would be so easy to offer him a cup of tea...No. “And, like I said, it’s a contract, not employment,” I added.

“I’ll walk you to your door.”

I laughed. It was forced and nervy. “You’ve all but driven me there.”

We made it to the door together. I put my back against the door frame and looked up at Oliver. I was tall but he was a good head higher. Our eyes met and my body tingled. He was going to do it.

He placed his hands on both sides of my head and despite the rush move, his mouth covered mine so softly. Well, that’s how it started but I was greedy and had to have more. I searched with my tongue and felt a huff of breath, like a truncated laugh, before he met my tongue with his. Softness and control deserted us as he held me against him, and we explored.

I felt completely claimed by a simple kiss that seemed to last a week. Finally, we broke apart, our breathing ragged.

He brushed a hand down my cheek, leaving a tingling comet trail in its wake. “I’ll pick you up in the morning at eight and we can go over the contract. You need to meet the other guys. Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me?” he teased.

Not sure at all, but I’d already broken one rule and now wasn’t the moment to cave in. I shook my head, rubbing my lips that felt swollen and wanted more. “Thanks for the lift, I’ll see you in the morning.”

I stayed on the porch until his car’s tail lights disappeared as he rounded the bend in the road, and then I picked up my purse and faced the dark, empty cottage.

A shoulder nudge and the front door opened without the need of a key. Nothing in the cottage seemed to close or lock properly. It was a testament to a lack of crime in this town, or possibly good neighbors, that meant Jen’s grandmother never found a need to have locks fixed.

I flicked on a light and looked around. Here I was freeloading in a dead woman’s home.

I was tragic.

At twenty-four I had nothing to my name except for a load of debt and a few belongings, which included my phone and laptop that escaped the inferno. Add to that a massively toxic relationship with a man I should have ditched at the first sign of trouble, instead of holding on while I hoped we’d make it together over the hump, and you could see I wasn’t hitting life goals yet.

Only one friend, Jen, knew I was back in New Zealand, and she was in London, so I wasn’t about to run into her.

Looking at the gear on the kitchen table you’d have thought my life was okay. Nice laptop, phone, decent handbag. Besides the wallet with too few coins, my possessions told the story of a previous life I could no longer maintain. Beyond what lay in front of me, plus the few clothes hanging in the closet, I had nothing. It amounted to the collection of stuff you throw together when you have to get out of your house in a hurry.

Would I have made off with a different collection if I’d had an inkling that there would be nothing to come back to but ashes?

I knew there were many worse off than me and self-pity didn’t sit comfortably. I pulled out the business card Oliver had given me and dropped it on the table.

An old wired-in phone with the most enormous number buttons sat on the counter. I presumed it had been disconnected, so when it rang I almost crapped myself. I stared at it for a moment, debating whether to answer it, because I knew it couldn’t possibly be for me. I didn’t even know what the number was. If I didn’t answer it, though, the caller would only call again.

I picked it up.

“Darcy, you sexy beast. How are you settling in? Any ghosts?”

It was Jen, of course. “Hi, Jen, you almost killed me with fright. I had no idea the phone was connected.”

“Thought I’d leave it on for you. There’s internet, too, but you might have to hack it to figure out Gran’s password.”

“Where’s that bastard ex of mine when I need him?”

“Rob? Imprisoned, I hope.”

“Haven’t heard, and I’m not looking at the news. How’s jolly old England?” I’d give anything to be there right now. Jen’s accent had refined with the addition of a plummy edge to her Kiwi vowels. The Home Counties boyfriend was obviously rubbing a bit of polish into her speech.

“Jolly cold, with rain. How’s the beach?”

“Jolly sandy, with sun and surf.” We carried on like this for a bit before she asked me if I’d met anyone interesting. Having just returned from town with almost half a bottle of wine in me I was happy to share.

“Do you mean besides the man-god down the road who has offered me a job?”

“Who? Sackville-of-gold? He moves fast!”

“Is he a player?”

“Plenty of rumors as I recall, but they’re probably based on wishful thinking and fantasies.”

“Have you screwed him?” There were certain rules Jen and I stuck to and one was that we didn’t share guys. Not that I was thinking of Oliver…much.

“You’ve only been in town a few days. Looking for sexy-fun-time already?”

“I haven’t touched a guy in over a year. I tell you, one searing gaze from Oliver and I swear my panties all but melted.”

“Watch out, melting underwear is one of his techniques.”

We talked for another half hour about Jen’s job and her fiancé, who I had yet to meet. It was great to hear from her and I was grateful to have her help with my living arrangements. And, now it seemed, the internet.

When I finished the call I set about cracking Gran’s wifi password which took all of a matter of minutes. The modem box was in a kitchen drawer with the password written in a spidery hand inside the flap. Once connected, I searched for Oliver Sackville.

There weren’t a lot of results beyond his business. A few social page photos with a bevy of women. A consistent one in more recent times by the name of Annabelle; tall, stunning, dark hair to her waist. Mr. Sackville, it appeared, was off the market.

Either Oliver needed to keep his panty-melting gaze in check, or Annabelle needed to make sure he wore dark glasses when she wasn’t around.