Page 119 of Seduction Under the Southern Stars

“None of the options?”

“I stay. I leave. Or you come with me.”

My jaw drops. I honestly hadn’t considered that he might want to do anything but leave when the week is over.

“Listen,” he says, “we’ve only been together a few days, and it’s a lot to ask us to make big decisions about the rest of our life after such a brief time. But we’ve got a bit longer together. Let’s wait and see how we feel when it’s time to part, and we’ll talk about it again then, okay?”

I nod, because I don’t really have any option. I can see he doesn’t want to talk about it now. He’s a man who runs on instinct; he always was, even back then. Dad often used to ask one of the boys to lead the forest retreats, and he’d follow along at the back of the group, only stepping in if they got into trouble. When it was Fraser’s turn, he’d plan the route meticulously and have plenty of checkpoints. Joel was a little more flexible, but he was always careful to mark the trees as he passed them and memorize landmarks.

Linc was a loose cannon—half the time he’d get lost, and Dad would have to lead them back onto a track. But at other times his naturally explorative method would lead them to discover things they hadn’t seen before—a tree struck by lightning, a cave in the hillside they hadn’t spotted previously, and even, one night, a Kiwi nest, all the boys lying in the bush while they watched the flightless bird wandering through the undergrowth.

So he’s not going to plan for the future. It makes sense that he wants to wait and see how things pan out.

I feel frustrated, because I’m not like that; I like to plan, to make lists of advantages and disadvantages, and to debate possible outcomes. But that’s not going to work this time, and I’m going to have to learn to deal with that.

He turns and looks over the barrier as the ship’s horn sounds, long and loud. “We’re leaving port,” he says, and I join him and watch the ship sail slowly away from the quay, Lyttelton gradually disappearing to our left as we head out to the bright blue waters of the Pacific. Before long, the ship is heading around the Akaroa peninsula before it begins its journey southwest toward Dunedin.

“We should explore the ship,” he announces. He’s like the sun—I can almost see energy shooting out from his fingers and toes and the roots of his hair. I feel like a planet orbiting him, my light just a reflection of his, and doubt flickers in my mind. He’s such a free spirit. And I’m not. Nobody would use the word free to describe me. They’d use words like constrained, constricted, restrained, controlled. If we were a couple, I’d only hold him back. He’d want to travel and experience new things. And I just want to hole up in my office and stick my head in a book. How long would it be before I drove him mad? Before he found someone else who was a much better match for his personality?

I don’t say anything, but it simmers at the back of my mind as we leave the cabin and begin our tour of the ship.

We start by going down to Deck Five—taking the stairs, as I don’t like elevators—and discover the main shopping center, which sells all manner of clothing, souvenirs, and snacks, then wander along to the Cabaret Lounge and its connected theater. It’s bigger than I thought it would be, with tiered seating like an amphitheater, and it’s quiet at the moment, but a board by the door announces that this is where the archaeology conference is taking place. Bluegills Restaurant is quiet at the moment too, although the Snapper Bar has a few couples sitting by the window, watching the Pacific sail by as they sip their first cocktails of the day.

The next few decks only have cabins, so we go up to Deck Nine, which is focused on fitness and relaxation. There’s a beauty spa, a pool—onboard a ship, wow!—with a café and a bar, and a fitness center, all of it spotless and gleaming.

Deck Ten is much more my sort of thing, though. It has an Italian restaurant, Pescare, a restaurant called Butterfish that serves all kinds of food from steak to vegetarian dishes, a quiet drawing room with shelves of books we’re free to borrow, a card and games room, a more informal living room with sofas, armchairs, and big TVs, and two more bars.

Deck Eleven is a sun deck, and also where they show movies, although at the moment it’s quiet, with just a few couples and a group of older women—friends escaping for a private adventure—sipping cocktails. We lean on the railing and look out at the magnificent view of the Pacific.

“Liberating, isn’t it?” Linc says, lifting his chin so the breeze riffles through his hair.

“Mmm.” I close my eyes and try to imagine how it must feel to not be scared. To feel as if the world is your oyster, and you can do anything, achieve anything you want.

When I open my eyes again, Linc is watching me.

“You’re absolutely stunning,” he says.

The compliment takes me back, and I blink a few times before smiling shyly. “Thank you. That’s a nice thing to say.”

“Are you okay?” he asks. “I didn’t upset you, back in our room?”

“No, of course not. Don’t mind me if I’m quiet. I know this must seem very tame for you, but it’s quite an adventure for me.”

He stares at me, obviously only realizing now how going away with him, on the ship, is a huge step out of my comfort zone.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, turning to face me and putting his arms around me, “I didn’t even think about that. I’m such an idiot.”

“No, it’s okay. I like that you push me to try new things. It’s just…” I play with the placket of his shirt. “I must seem very dull to you.”

He slides a hand under my chin and lifts it so I’m looking up at him. “What are you talking about? You fascinate me.”

“Aw, Linc, come on. I’m Little Miss Boring. I don’t set foot out of the museum from week to week.”

“You’ve forgotten I’m an archaeologist.”

“No, I haven’t. But you’re this famous figure who’s been on hundreds of digs, and traveled, and you speak at conferences, and everyone knows who you are… All my knowledge is dry and dusty, from books, and I’m so…” I was going to say small, but it sounds pathetic, like I’m baiting him, trying to provoke a compliment.

He frowns, though, pulls me against him, and gives me a big hug. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. I know you’re introverted and quiet. But sweetheart, you just shine. You’re so incredibly smart. Joel told me you came top of your cohort at university. That you got ninety-one for your dissertation.”

---