Page 79 of Seduction Under the Southern Stars

I nod. “Just give me one minute.”

“Sure.”

I go back into my room, closing the door behind me.

Then I lie on the bed, flop onto my back, and cover my eyes with my hands.

Argh… Desperately, I will my erection to go down, trying to think about anything except Elora and her soft body and what she might taste like, but it’s like trying not to think of the number seven—suddenly it’s all I can think about, and all I can picture.

But it’s ridiculous, and I’m going to drive myself mad doing this. It’s only because I haven’t got laid in a while. Pull yourself together, Linc. Build a bridge and get over it. Eat some concrete and harden up. She’s a good friend, and I need to treat her like my sister. Or like Fraser’s sister, anyway. I need to stop kissing her, and I certainly need to stop thinking about sinking my tongue into her soft flesh…

In the end, it takes me close to five minutes to calm down before I collect my wallet and car keys and go into the living room.

She’s checking her phone, and she looks up and smiles. “You okay?”

“Fine.” I decide to remain brisk and businesslike. “Come on then.” I let her precede me out, and we walk down to the main building.

Inside, it’s relatively quiet, too late for lunch, too early for dinner. A few people are checking in, but only one businessman sits in the bar, reading on an iPad while he sips a cappuccino.

We take a table by the window and look at the menu.

“I think I’ll just have a toasted sandwich,” I say eventually. “I’m too nervous to eat anything else.”

“Aw.” She smiles. “I’ll have the same.”

We order the sandwiches and two coffees, then look out at the view while we wait for the food to arrive. Two jet skis paint white trails on the blue lake, and a boat carrying tourists meanders slowly up the valley, giving them plenty of time to take photos of the mountains. It’s an amazing view.

But all I can think of is meeting Edmund, and my heart begins to race. Well, it’s not every day you meet your real father for the first time.

“Tell me about Saqqara,” Elora says. “The second dynasty child burial you helped to excavate.”

I bring my gaze back to her. Her eyes are gentle, understanding. She knows how I’m feeling.

I clear my throat and start to talk.

We’ve already spent hours discussing archaeology, but I feel as if I could talk to her for days and never run out of things to say. She asks lots of questions about the digs I’ve been on, her big blue eyes studying me with fascination as I reply.

When we were young, she used to look at me the same way. I played up to it back then, swaggering a little, the cocky young guy trying to impress the sweet, innocent girl.

Maybe we haven’t changed so much.

“I wish I’d done some traveling,” she says an hour later. We’ve finished our sandwiches, and now we’re sitting back and drinking our second latte, while the bright sun dances on the small waves in the lake.

I chuckle. “You’re only twenty-four. Plenty of time yet.”

She lowers her gaze to the table and draws a finger through a droplet of water that’s run down the bottle the waiter brought over when we first sat down—something I love about New Zealand that doesn’t tend to happen in the UK.

“Don’t think it’s in the stars for me,” she says. “I’d never have the courage to travel on my own.”

“Honey, you will meet someone. You’re too beautiful not to.”

She doesn’t look up, and she doesn’t answer.

I frown, aching inside for her. Confidence and trust are as precious to a woman as the Sutton Hoo grave goods are to an archaeologist. We have a saying in archaeology—all excavation is destruction, and for women I believe it’s a similar thing—once she loses her confidence and trust, it’s almost impossible for her to regain it.

“Perhaps Zoe or Hallie would enjoy traveling,” I add. “I’m sure Fraser would encourage the three of you to go to Australia together so you can see the museums there.”

“Maybe.” She finishes off her glass of water and looks at her phone. “It’s three-thirty. How long will it take us to get to Edmund’s house?”

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