Cassie groaned as she slipped into the warm, bubbling water. The hot tub—an excellent idea. Far from the messy bachelor pad she’d expected, Hone’s place in Papakura was a house. Rented from a school friend who’d met a woman and moved to the nearby country town of Sloan, Hone had told her. Native trees, punga, karaka and manuka gave the property a sense of privacy from the nearby neighbors and provided a screen for the deck without limiting exposure to the sun. Birds sang from the trees, and somewhere in the distance a lawnmower droned busily.
Hone had said she’d have privacy and didn’t need to wear a swimsuit. Not that she’d gone with his teasing, punctuated with a sly wink, suggestion.
Her tummy did a funny shimmy as her mind fixed on the sexy rogue. If only he were a keeper. Manu had confirmed he and his cousin weren’t relationship material. The little voice at the back of her mind tempted her to ignore Emma, her negative-Nelly friend.
“I’m not a casual kind of woman,” she muttered, going for the crux of her problem. No matter how much that little voice warbled at her, she preferred a permanent relationship with an end in sight. A man to hold her in good times and bad. She needed snuggling and arguing and make-up sex. Unfortunately, a luxury with her career.
Huh! Work. Time to concentrate on music and her upcoming slot at the vineyard. She hummed a few bars of one of her more upbeat Katie-Jo songs. Gave a decisive nod. Yes, that one would work. A breakup song as a contrast. She sang a recent hit, penned not long after her split from Kevin. Ah, yes. A reminder of the fickleness of men.
Her two new songs, of course, and she’d choose two popular covers. If she alternated them with her stuff, that would keep her audience guessing. Perfect.
Costumes… She frowned. Since she was singing as Katie-Jo, she was stuck with her persona and she hadn’t brought stage clothes with her. Dang it. She’d have to buy a blonde wig, the necessary makeup and clothes. Two sets of clothes.
And musicians. That one was trickier. A, she wasn’t acquainted with the local musicians and B, if she hired someone, she’d jeopardize her identity. She tapped her chin, pondering alternatives. Huh, the obvious solution. Play her guitar and do a stripped-down, unplugged version of the songs.
Her skin had started to prune by the time she clambered from the tub. She grabbed her phone to text Emma.
Need an emergency shopping trip. When can you help?
Her phone remained silent, so she retreated indoors out of the sun, donned the spare set of clothes she’d grabbed—one of her vintage dresses—and picked up her guitar. She worked through her mental list of six songs.
A thump on the door came midway through her he-did-me-wrong song. Her fingers paused on the strings, a burst of fear tensing every muscle in her body. Should she answer?
“Hone, you home?” a familiar voice called.
Her alarm dissipated immediately. Cassie set her guitar aside and answered the door. “Hone isn’t here.”
Manu straightened from his sprawl against the wall, not blinking at her presence. “Did he say when he’d be back?”
“A few hours. He didn’t give a specific time.”
“I’ll wait.” Manu strode forward, reminding her of a bulldozer with his powerful build and flexing muscles, displayed to perfection in a plain black T-shirt.
Cassie retreated before he mowed her down, or worse, stood on her bare toes.
“Want a cold drink? Hone will have beer.”
“Ah, sure.” Cassie followed him to the kitchen. She supposed it was okay for Manu to make himself comfortable. Hone had told her to help herself to anything in the fridge. “Did Hone know you were coming?”
Manu paused, bottle of beer in hand. “Nope. Do I make you nervous?”
“Of course not.”
He handed her a beer and ambled past her into the lounge, just off the deck. “Hone must have a new guitar. He didn’t tell me.”
“It’s mine.”
“You play?” He cocked his head, studying her as if she’d grown an extra head.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing. Play me a song.” His chin lifted in challenge as if he suspected she’d refuse. She would’ve bet he was aiming for innocent. He missed by a mile, and since she’d played for thousands of people in packed-out arenas, singing for one person—no problem.
Cassie set down her drink, picked up her guitar and settled. She glanced at Manu, who now smirked, shrugged inwardly and started playing her first Katie-Jo hit.
“She sings as well,” Manu said as she began crooning the first verse. It was a song that started slow and swelled with emotion. She reached the end and played the final soft notes.
“Wow,” Manu said. “That was incredible, though I didn’t recognize the song. The girl has talent.”
“Thanks. The song was big in the States.” She didn’t mention it was her own—a song she’d written and her breakout single. “You probably know this one.” She broke out into an old Beatles tune.
Manu flashed her a grin and joined in, their voices melding well. She clapped once they finished.
“Wait, let me get Hone’s guitar. He won’t mind.” He disappeared and returned with a guitar. Seconds later, he settled beside her on the brown leather couch. “What about this one?”
One song flowed into another, and Cassie couldn’t remember having such a fun jam session.
They finished the next song, and Manu wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her close.
“Well.” Hone stood inside the room, his arms folded across his chest. His gaze fired salvos of anger. “This is cozy.”
Cassie jumped, gave an eep of fright at his unexpected appearance. Manu’s arm tightened fractionally before he released her and stood.
“I stopped by to see if you could help me with work stuff.” Manu paused as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t because she was present.
Hone folded his arms over his chest. “I have a phone.”
“I tried to ring you. I figured you were in a blind spot, and I’d catch you here.”
“So you made yourself at home.”
Hone’s flat tone had Cassie frowning. What was with him? All they’d done was play music together.
Manu lifted his chin. “Yeah. I didn’t think you’d mind, not after our discussion last night. Plus you have rules, remember?” The strange emphasis on his words raised curiosity as to the content of their chat.
Hone prowled closer, tension broadcast in his tight jaw and rigid shoulders. “I mind.”
Manu’s quick scrutiny lurked with devilment, like a child intent on skullduggery. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m entitled.”
“You understood my position,” Hone snapped.
“Snooze and you lose.”
Hone sucked in a breath, and somehow, he swelled, his face and arms changing color.
Cassie blinked. Was that red?
“Cuz, your temper is on display.”
Hone roared and sprang at Manu. They grappled. Fists swung. Hone growled. The coffee table tipped over, clipped by a foot.
Cassie jumped to her feet, rescued her guitar, squeezed against the wall. She gawked at the pair, heart misfiring at the fierceness of their clash, the fury pulsing in the air, the lash of danger.
A chair went flying. A big chair.
They weren’t mucking around.
“Stop it,” she shouted.
They ignored her entreaty.
Hone punched Manu, grazed his jaw. Manu toppled and hit the floor. Hone sprang at his cousin, growling like an enraged dog.
Blood. There was blood. She swallowed, spied her handbag beside the couch and scooped it up. Handbag and guitar in hand, she retreated, not understanding the cause, the fierce fighting, the brutality.
Cassie strode out the door and left them to their bloody war.