Page 11 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

I don’t understand why he’s decided to obsess about me, though. There really isn’t anything interesting about me. Okay, I like archaeology, but there are plenty of other girls out thereinterested in the discipline. I’m not stunningly beautiful, I don’t have an amazing figure, or big boobs, I’m not super-intelligent, or incredibly witty. I’m normal. I’m just me.

“You okay?” he asks.

I glance across at him. He’s leaning one arm on the windowsill and driving with the other hand, his arm outstretched and resting on the top of the steering wheel. Today he’s wearing his faded blue jeans that hang off his hips because they’re about five years old and he’s obviously lost weight since he started his job. The left knee has a tear in it. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with a picture of the Mary Rose—the Tudor flagship of Henry VIII. It’s also faded and creased. He needs a shave, and his hair is all over the place. He’s so fucking scruffy. And so incredibly gorgeous.

“Yeah,” I say.

He scans my face, then returns his gaze to the road.

“Where are we going?” I ask as he turns right at the roundabout, away from Kerikeri.

“Paihia,” he says. “It’s where the dinner is tonight.”

“Where are we staying?”

“At the Sea Breeze. It’s a resort. Real nice. I’ve booked us both suites.”

My eyes widen. “Suites?”

“Yeah. The place has a pool out the front and these little hot pools as well. And a spa, if you fancy a massage.” He glances at me. “Or I can provide that, if you really want one.” His lips curve up.

“Joel!”

“What?”

I shake my head. “You’re making me flustered.”

“Good.”

“You’ve got to stop.”

He just chuckles and returns his gaze to the road.

“Why now?” I ask. “You’ve never been like this before.”

“Before, you were with Charlemagne, and I don’t romance other men’s girls. Since you broke up with him, I have been asking you out.”

“Yes, but you’ve not been quite so…”

“Horny?”

We both laugh. “Insistent,” I correct. But my gaze lingers on him. What would it be like to go to bed with him? I like sex, and I have a feeling that Joel, with his wry sense of humor, his easygoing personality, and his quiet impertinence, will be very good indeed in the sack.

I tear my gaze away. I mustn’t go down that road. I mustn’t let him tempt me.

Luckily there’s plenty to look at out of the window. The steep-sided gorge we’re driving through soon leads to rolling hills and valleys on either side, and then eventually to a patch of mangroves as we pass over a river. The landscape flattens out, and then in front of us, out of the cerulean, the Pacific Ocean appears. It’s a beautiful day, the sun almost directly above us, and the sea is sparkling. The sand is only sprinkled with people, a far cry from the photos you see of other beaches elsewhere in the world.

“Nice,” Joel says, king of the understatement. He indicates and turns right, heads along the seafront, then almost immediately signals right again and turns off the main road and onto a winding drive which loops around and leads to an underground car park.

He parks, and we get out and retrieve our cases, then head up the slope to the door at the top. We go along a corridor and emerge into a large foyer. Joel walks over to the reception desk and announces we have two suites booked.

I stand there, feeling a little awkward as he checks us in. When she asks for a credit card, I take mine out, wondering howmuch the suite costs and whether I have enough money in the account to cover it.

Joel gives me an impatient look, gives my card back to me, and hands his card over, instructing her to use it for both rooms.

“I can pay my own way,” I protest.

“You’re my guest,” he says. “I have an expense account with MOANA, and I rarely spend it, so I’m going to use it on you this week.”

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