Page 60 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

“You look permanently puzzled.”

“I am permanently puzzled.”

“By what?”

“People. They baffle me.”

“Not me, surely?”

“Especially you, Zoe.”

It’s her turn to frown, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she moves her hips a little, and I blow out a breath.

“Are you sticky?” she asks.

“Extremely.”

“Large load, was it?” I just give her a wry look, and she giggles. “That was extremely hot,” she says.

“Well, I’m going to have to shower and change, but yeah, it was.”

She studies my mouth. “You want to shower with me?”

“Jesus, absolutely not. There’s no way I’d be able to have you in my arms all wet and slippery and naked and not have sex with you.”

“Aw, spoilsport.”

I grab her by her upper arms and push her upright. “Go on, off you get. I need to clean myself up.”

She moves off me and stands, and I rise, grimacing. She looks down and tries not to laugh at the sight of my shorts all stuck to me. I glare at her. “It’s all your fault.”

She looks at the wet patch on her gray yoga pants that’s doubled in size. “I’m not in much better condition.”

“Go and get changed,” I scold. “Then we’ll decide what to have for dinner.”

She walks off, giving me one last look over her shoulder before she disappears into her room.

I huff a sigh, go into my room, through to the bathroom, and turn on the shower. When it’s hot, I take off my tee, then go into the cubicle with my shorts still on and let the hot water run over me. Eventually I take the shorts off and give them a good scrub, then clean myself before turning off the shower. When I’ve toweled myself dry and dressed in a clean tee and shorts, I wring the wet shorts out and take them through the house and outside to dry in the sun.

She still hasn’t emerged from her room. I’ve been thinking about an idea, so I take my phone outside with me, and spend a few minutes googling shops in Wellington. I call the one that looks the most promising and ask to speak to the person in charge. I send him a file, and when he sees it, he insists he can do exactly what I’m asking. I end the call feeling pleased with myself, and secretly excited at the thought of showing Zoe what I’ve ordered.

By this time, she’s showered and changed into a clean tee and a pair of cutdown jeans. We meet in the kitchen, giving each other twisted smiles.

“Hello,” she says, sitting at the breakfast bar, resting her elbows on the bar and her chin on her hands.

“Hello.” I get two water bottles out of the fridge, take the stool opposite her, undo a bottle, and pass it to her. She has a long drink of water, and I do the same.

“At least the weather’s cleared up,” she says.

I follow her gaze out of the window. The clouds have cleared, and the sky looks like a piece of lapis lazuli—a bright blue streaked with gold from the late sun.

“The sky is the same color as your eyes,” she says. I look back at her. “You have gold flecks in your irises,” she says, studying them with interest.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” She blinks slowly. “What color are mine?”

I examine them. “A very bright green, with turquoise flecks. They look like the sun coming through strands of seaweed waving in the sea on a bright day.”

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