Trying to ignore the high thrum of the airplane engine, Sass
leaned back against her seat and shut her eyes. She'd forced
her shoulders into a semblance of relaxation but her hands
remained clenched in her lap. Only another ten minutes.
"Feeling sick?"
Sass opened her eyes and looked into the sympathetic face of
the woman across the tiny aisle. She tried to smile.
"I don't like flying too much."
Sass Walker was a terra firma kinda gal. She liked to feel
the earth beneath her feet, preferably with a comforting
layer of asphalt. She also liked maps and lists. Fine print
was her forte, which made her great at her job. She liked
order and control. Especially control. And right now this
tin can of an airplane didn't feel at all controlled.
Neither did her life.
The woman smiled. "Don't worry. It's really very safe."
The six-seater sure didn't feel it. Sass bet that if she
punched the side, her fist would go right through.
"Besides, we're nearly there," the woman continued.
"See, there's the harbor coming into view right now."
Every one of the six passengers had a window seat, and Sass
forced herself to look out. Most people, she knew, would
have been spellbound by the generous antipodean harbor
surrounded by shaggy green mountains, but she was horribly
jet-lagged and still smarting from life's unfairness.
"American?"
Sass nodded. She saw the woman's gaze travel down her
caramel Prada suit to her black Christian Loubou-tin pumps
with their trademark red soles.
"I know who you are! You're the lawyer come to set up
the tourist resort in Aroha Bay."
The heavy-jowled man diagonally in front of Sass spun
around. "Come to destroy the bay, more like!"
"Oh, come off it, Reg, the town could do with a boost to
its economy and you know it."
Inwardly Sass groaned. It was starting already, the
dissidence she was here to calm. Kurt the Incompetent had
ballsed up big-time, rushing in with multimillion-dollar
schemes without consultation, without checking the facts,
and now she'd been sent in to clean up the mess. And while
she was exiled here at the Back-of-Beyond at the bottom of
the world, Kurt would be smarming his way into the promotion
she'd been killing herself with eighty-hour weeks, years on
end, to win. All her frustration, her fury, now turned on
New Zealand, though Sass was careful to smile.
"I'm just here to listen to what all you folks have to
say. My company is concerned to discover there's local
opposition to what they thought would be a wonderful
business opportunity for Whangarimu."
"And it is!" the woman agreed.
The man scowled. "We don't need Americans coming in and
taking over. It's a bloody disgrace. Did you see the plans?
Amazon ruins in the middle of New Zealand forests? What did
he call it—Jungle Paradise? Utter tosh."
The man had a point. Sass herself had been speechless when
Kurt had unveiled his brainchild back in New York. Paradise
Resorts prided itself on its theme-based holiday locations,
and Kurt had seen the New Zealand forest as the perfect
setting for a Mayan complex topped by a large
"temple" casino.
The plane's shrill engine changed tone as it began its
descent. Sass was deeply relieved to see the airport below;
grateful not to have to continue the discussion any longer,
grateful that this interminable trip of nearly thirty hours
was over. She craved the silence of a hotel room, a hot
shower and a glass of chilled white wine. Most of all she
craved a cigarette.
Touchdown was soft, and within seconds the pilot had flung
open the door of the plane and lowered the stairs.
"Welcome to Whangarimu!"
Knees wobbly, she stepped out of the plane. The brilliant
late afternoon sunlight was like a slap in the face. She
walked across the small runway toward a one-level building
she assumed was the airport. Several people were gathered,
waiting to greet the arrivals, and she searched for someone
holding up a card with her name on it, Kurt having assured
her she'd be met. Nada. Great, just great. She began to make
her way to the counter when a hand on her arm waylaid her.
"Sass Walker?"
She didn't know who she'd been expecting, but certainly
hadn't pictured a man who could tower over her, even when
she was wearing her highest heels. She also hadn't expected
such breadth of shoulders under his faded T-shirt or the
green eyes, so startling against the tanned face.
"Yes?"
"I'm Jake Finlayson."
Surprised and very wary, she asked, "As in one of the
Finlayson brothers spearheading the protests?"
"That's right."
She took in his battered surf shorts, his tawny,
salt-encrusted curls. His long legs. He must be the one
who'd upended the scale model Kurt had presented at a town
meeting three weeks earlier. The one who'd thrown Kurt out
of the hall. The reason she'd been sent in Kurt's place.
"An act of lunacy," Kurt had explained to The Boys.
"This Finlayson is a deadbeat surfer who rents a house
on Aroha Beach. Nothing to worry about, he's a nobody."
Though it was amazing how quickly this nobody and his lawyer
brother had whipped together enough ecological concerns to
keep Paradise Resorts tied up in legal battles for months if
not years. Was this guy here to bundle her back onto the
airplane?
"I'm here to take you to your accommodation."
His voice betrayed no emotion, but he radiated hostility,
and Sass was damned if she was going anywhere with a man
who'd threatened to emasculate her colleague—however
much he deserved it.
"That's very kind of you, Mr. Finlayson," she said
brightly, "but don't you worry, I can manage by myself.
If you tell me the name of my hotel, I'll take a cab."
The Kiwi raised one eyebrow. "Hotel? We were informed
that you were insistent on staying out at Aroha Bay, despite
the lack of facilities. Of course, seeing as your company
owns the land now, you are entitled to be there."
Kurt! He was really out to get her on this trip. Already
he'd failed to give her the files, with apologies for a
crashed computer. He'd briefed her quickly, of course, but
she knew he'd been holding out on her. He wasn't about to
let her succeed where he'd failed.
Sass smiled tautly. "Seems like wires got crossed
somewhere over the Pacific, Mr. Finlayson, but hey, no
problem. I'll book into whichever hotel has a vacancy."
"Call me Jake. We don't stand on ceremony in New
Zealand. I don't see what the problem is. Branston," he
said, making the name sound like a swearword, "was
explicit that you would be staying in the sleep-out at my
house. It's right on the beach where you want to build your
resort. He said you were very keen on getting the full
ambience of the place."
Sarcasm and accusation were equally balanced. For a second
Sass could only stare as the full extent of Kurt's perfidy
dawned on her. He was sending her straight into the lion's
den. Looking up at the implacable face in front of her, Sass
saw that Kurt had, at the same time, revenged himself on his
enemy, too. As low-down, dirty tricks went, it was pretty
inspired.
Jake frowned. "Look, if you've changed your mind—"
"No, not at all."
She couldn't afford to seem indecisive, would have to bluff
through for the moment, the best she could. Just wait till
she got her hands on that conniving son of a bitch, though.
"That's fine," she added. "Of course it is.
Great. Now, where's the baggage claim?"
"It's in the shed out back. I'll take you."
He led her around the tiny airport building to a shed where,
in the gloom, she saw the other passengers sorting through
the pile of luggage on a trolley.
"Which one's yours?" he asked. She pointed and he
swung the large suitcase off easily. "Good, follow me."
"Wait. There's also that one, and that bag, too."
He didn't need to say anything; his expression said it all
as he scooped up her other luggage. Well, she thought
defensively, who knew how long she was going to be here?
Also, not knowing what setup she was coming to, she'd packed
outfits to suit every occasion. He didn't need to look like
that!
Her current outfit, however, didn't fit this occasion. Jake
led her to an open-topped Jeep where a large dog of
indeterminate lineage presided in the front seat, tongue
hanging out with the heat. Jake walked to the back of the
vehicle, shifted a surfboard to one side and began throwing
her suitcases in. Exhausted and bad-tempered as she was,
Sass couldn't help noticing his easy athleticism. In another
situation she might have found him attractive, sexy even, in
a rumpled, outdoor man kinda way. But Sass never mixed
business and pleasure. Besides, this guy was dangerous.
"I can move Gerty to the backseat if you like, but she
leaves a shocking mess of hairs behind her. You might not
want to get them on your clothes. It's your call."
Again, there was nothing overtly hostile in his manner, but
Sass knew he resented her almost as much as she resented
this whole damned country.
"No problem, I'll take the backseat."
It was a challenge. Sass pulled her tight skirt halfway up
her thighs to scramble in. She wished she hadn't changed in
Auckland, but it was her creed never to be seen tousled or
crumpled. Her immaculate appearance was one of her strongest
weapons—and defenses.
Jake swung himself into the front seat and adjusted the
rearview mirror slightly. He surveyed her, his eyes cool,
green and unwavering, like a knight staring through the
visor of his helmet. Yet there were laughter lines, too. As
she wriggled, trying to pull her skirt down to her knees,
Sass wondered what he looked like when he smiled. The
backseat was scorching and the seat belt metal burned as she
buckled herself in. Her eyes were scratchy from the long
flight and she narrowed them against the glare. Damned
sunglasses were in her other bag.
In silence, they drove out of the airport and came almost
immediately to a T-junction where the left-hand sign read,
Whangarimu City Centre and the right-hand sign read,
Whangarimu Heads. They turned right.
Jake watched her profile as she took in the scenery, and
wondered how it would strike a stranger. The road hugged the
contours of the harbor, threading through the myriad bays,
each rimmed by a horseshoe of modest homes and with a
cluster of small yachts bobbing on the late-afternoon tide.
A seagull wheeled above with its hoarse, stuttering cry, and
Jake's stomach churned at the thought of developers coming
in to ruin it all. He blamed the
Lord of the Rings
movies for alerting developers from all over the world
to the beauty of New Zealand. Locals didn't stand a chance
against foreign currency, and coastal properties advertised
on the Internet were now being snapped up at insane prices.
That American braggart had bought Aroha Bay for a few
million dollars in one brief visit. Money no object. People,
place, nature of no concern. Well, Jake had got rid of him
but it seemed the Americans were using a different sort of
attack now. Easier on the eye, but this lady gave nothing away.
"Those are nice," Sass said, nodding at the huge,
ancient trees that reached sprawling, gnarled branches out
over the water's edge. Her accent was warm and made him
think absurdly of honeysuckle and soft summer nights.
"They're pohutukawa. We call them our Christmas tree
because they have red flowers in December."
"They're really something." Her hand was halfway to
her handbag. "Mind if I smoke?"
"I do, actually. I hate the smell of smoke in the car."
Their eyes locked. The wind was whipping her long hair about
her head, and the smell of dog punctuated the air. He knew
she knew he was just being contrary.
"No problem," she said, and sat back, breaking eye
contact and looking out over the water as though she didn't
give a damn. It gave him a chance to examine her. Nobody
should look that good after a thirty-hour flight. Her eyes
were so blue, he wondered if she wore colored contact
lenses. She had delicate bones, white-blond hair and a fair
complexion.
"You'd better be careful," he said. "The sun
here is fierce and you'll soon fry with that white skin of
yours."
Her eyes met his. "Thanks for the warning, but I've come
prepared for things to be pretty hot down here."
He knew she wasn't talking about the sun.
"Wise," he said. "Foreigners get burned very
quickly."
Jake thought he saw her eyebrows arch slightly, a smile of
challenge flitting across her face, but it might only have
been the effect of sun and shadow from the overhanging trees
flashing past.
"Don't you worry about me, Mr. Finlayson. I can take
care of myself."
With that, she captured her flying hair and somehow twisted
it into a knot, untidy but tamed.
"Jake," he corrected. "Where's your name come
from? I've never met a Sass before."
"It's a nickname from Sasha."
"As in sassy?" he hazarded.
She laughed. "No, as in pain in the proverbial. I had
two younger brothers who resented their bossy older sister.
Our mom didn't allow cussing."
Their gazes met again. For a second he saw humor glimmer in
her eyes, then Jake looked back at the road. He wasn't about
to start liking her—Miss Pain-in-the.
They fell silent, and instead of trying for more lame
conversation, he switched on the stereo, letting the Chili
Peppers take them down the length of the harbor. Just as
they were about to swing onto the dirt road leading to Aroha
Bay, she called out, "Stop."
It sounded like
"Staap." Jake pulled over
and waited as the lawyer took stock. It was, he resentfully
acknowledged, an idyllic location for a resort. The Jeep sat
on the top of a long, narrow ridge that flattened and
rounded into a small peninsula, ending in a long sand spit.
The view was almost three-sixty, looking down the harbor on
the right-hand side and over the open ocean on the left. It
would suit all types of holiday-makers. Aroha Bay below them
was flat and tranquil, offering safe swimming all year
round. On the seaward side, waves unfurled with lazy
uniformity right along the coast. On both sides pohutukawa
clung to the cliff faces while flax bushes fanned the sands.
The only sign of habitation was his dilapidated house near
the beach. Jake wondered what Sass saw—the bay as it
was now or some future travesty of it in her head.
"Aroha Bay is a pretty name. What does it mean?"
"Aroha is the Maori word for love." He
sounded curt, but couldn't help it.
She just nodded and asked, "What's that?" pointing
to where the ridge ended in a hill with grassy terraces.
"The pa—an old Maori fortification. Maori used to
have pa up and down the coast, but this one is particularly
significant."
"Oh?" It was hard to read her expression. "Kurt
never mentioned it."
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