Page 27 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

She presses her lips together at the stutter, but neither of us comments on it.

“Let’s have a cocktail,” she says. “If you think you’ll still be okay to do your talk tonight if you have a drink.”

“It’ll help,” I admit. “I get nervous before I speak in public.”

“Really?”

I nod. “I’m all right when I get going, but I get a bit anxious beforehand.” I pick up the room service menu. “Come on, then. Let’s place an order.”

We look through the options.

“Sex on the beach?” Hallie asks innocently.

I give her a wry look, and she giggles.

“You were put on this earth to torture me,” I tell her. “B-behave.” Clearly, The Stutter isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I’m just going to have to deal with it.

She grins and chooses a Mojito—white rum, sugar, lime juice, soda water, and mint. I decide on a White Russian—vodka, coffee liqueur, and cream, and I phone the order through. Then we open the sliding doors and go out onto the deck. It’s small but it has a magnificent view across the Bay of Plenty. It’s the height of summer now, and it’s warm and humid today, but luckily the deck is in the shade, so we pull the two chairs out from the round table and sit as we wait for our drinks.

Hallie’s brought a bottle of sun lotion with her, and even though we’re shaded, she pops the lid, pours some on her left palm, then rubs her hands together before smoothing it on her arms. I watch, fascinated, as her light-brown skin glistens, and I try not to stare as she applies some to her chest.

Don’t even go there, Fraser.

“Top five archaeological sites,” Hallie says. “And… go!”

I chuckle. “All right.”

We start discussing our favorite sites, get up to answer the door when our cocktails arrive, take them out to the deck, then continue our conversation as we sit and watch the boats coming and going on the ocean.

I stretch out my legs as I listen to Hallie extolling the virtues of Skara Brae in the Orkney Islands, and feel a sweep of happiness and contentment I haven’t felt for some time. This is pretty much a perfect moment for me. Sitting in the peace and quiet, watching the sun play on the water, talking about archaeology with a beautiful woman. My problems are all still there, but they fade into the background listening to Hallie talk about the Neolithic period and the ‘Scottish Pompeii.’

The slight breeze lifts her long hair, which gleams in the sunshine like brown ribbons. Her skin is flawless, even withoutthe heavy layer of foundation that Ginger used to prefer. There’s something very natural about Hallie, very unaffected.

I like that.

“Mmm,” she says, sucking a mouthful of Mojito through her straw. “This is delicious. What’s your White Russian like?”

“Try it.” I push it over to her.

She picks it up and sips it. “Ooh, that’s lovely.” She licks her top lip, removing the line of cream that was sitting there. “What a nice way to spend an afternoon.”

I nod, because I’m having trouble forming words in my brain. She gives me an innocent smile, and I know she has no idea how beautiful she looks sitting there, with the Pacific Ocean behind her, the breeze ruffling her hair.

She lifts her eyebrows, and I realize she’s asked me a question.

“Sorry?” I ask guiltily. “I was… thinking about s-something else.”

Her lips curve up. “I asked what you were talking about tonight.”

“They want me just to talk generally about the National Museum. What I changed when I took over, and my vision for it going forward.”

“Have you prepared a speech?”

“Nah. I can talk about the museum until all the farmyard animals come home.”

She giggles and sips her cocktail. “Tell me more about your plans for the west wing,” she says.

I swirl the vodka concoction over the ice, watching it coat the glassy cubes. “Not sure if I should,” I mumble. “I feel as if I’m tempting fate.”

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