Breaking All Their Rules

His heart was back in the bure, lying next to Olivia. His mind was seeing the despair and fear that sometimes altered her expression and briefly filled those eyes that usually reminded him of flowers. Whatever had caused her grief, she wasn’t prepared to talk about it. Yet.

Come on. Why should she choose to bare her soul to him?

Because they were connected. They mightn’t have known it before but the threads were becoming more obvious by the day. They both had issues holding them back from getting into a serious relationship. What Olivia’s troubles were he had no idea, but they were there. He recognised his own stock standard coping mechanisms in her now that he’d started looking for them.

He wanted to hold her, protect her for ever.

Kind of strange for a guy who had no plans to commit to settling down. Yet all the reasons for why he shouldn’t were slipping away, one by one dropping off the edge, leaving him exposed and cautious yet strangely ready to try for the rainbow.

Was Olivia the pot of gold at the end of his rainbow?

No. There wasn’t any rainbow. The hardest lesson of his life had been that night of the accident when he’d learned his parents didn’t love him unconditionally. Didn’t love him enough to support and help him through the trauma of what he’d done. Sometimes he wondered if they’d loved him and Mark at all; as in deep, for ever, parent kind of love. Their careers had been their priority, taking all their time and concentration, with nothing left over for their sons. Why did they have children? They clearly hadn’t wanted to be with their sons. Zac had asked his grandfather about it on numerous occasions but Grampy hadn’t been able to come up with a satisfactory answer. Not one he was prepared to tell his grandson anyway.

Zac swallowed the usual bile that came from thinking about his parents. Coming from a dysfunctional family, the odds were he’d be bad at parenting too. Another reason not to settle down with a wonderful woman and contemplate the picket-fence scenario.

Zac’s sigh was long and slow. Around him everything had gone quiet, and lights were being turned off. With nothing to do after dinner most people would be settled in their bures. He pushed with his foot again, swinging the hammock high, sighing as the movement slowed and the arc became less and less. Beyond the edge of the lawn the waves rolled up the sand, then pulled away, rolled in, pulled away.

‘Zac, come inside.’

Someone was shaking his arm gently.

‘Come on. Wake up. You’re getting wet from the dew.’

Hauling his eyelids up, he saw her leaning over him, her long hair framing her face. ‘Olivia.’ His Olivia.

‘The one and only.’ She tugged at him. ‘You can’t spend the whole night out here.’

Swinging his legs over the side, he awkwardly pushed out of the hammock. ‘What time is it?’

‘One o’clock.’ She took his hand and led him inside to that damned bed with its row of pillows down the middle.

Zac shucked out of his shirt and trousers, jerked the bedcover back and threw the pillows on the floor. Dropping into bed, he reached for Olivia where she now lay on her side, facing him. ‘Roll over,’ he whispered. ‘I want to hold you all night.’

If only it were that easy.

CHAPTER TEN

AT THE END of the next day Zac stretched his legs out and laced his fingers behind his head. He would not think about night number two and lying beside Olivia again. Nope, he’d have a drink and watch the sunset. ‘Come on, woman, bring me that beer you promised.’

‘Sack the last slave, did you?’

‘Hell, no. She’s good for bed gymnastics.’ So much for not thinking about bed.

‘For that you’re going to have to wait. Or, novel idea, get your own drink.’ Olivia laughed. ‘I’m changing out of my bikini.’

Phew. Those two narrow strips of red fabric had kept his head in a spin all day. Had had him swimming in the sea four times, and in the pool once. Then there’d been the cold shower half an hour ago. He’d even taken a kayak out to paddle around the island. Anything to keep busy and the need strumming through his veins under control. Huh. As if. One look at Olivia and his blood was boiling and his crotch tightening. This sex ban would be his undoing. Who knew what state he’d be in by the time he got back to Auckland? Ruined for ever, probably.

‘Here.’

An icy bottle appeared before his eyes. ‘Thank you, and whoever’s responsible for these things.’ Then he made the mistake of looking at Olivia and pressed the bottom of the bottle over his manhood. The bikini would’ve been preferable.

‘You’re staring.’ She sank onto the deckchair beside him. ‘You don’t like my dress?’

While the skimpy piece of floral material did cover more of that exquisite body than the bikini had, the way the fabric draped was plain punishing. Mouth-watering, muscle-tightening, hormone-fizzing, blood-heating cruel. ‘You call that a dress?’ he hissed over dry lips.

She laughed, low and sexy. ‘Well, it’s not a T-shirt.’

How in hell was he to sit here drinking beer and not choke? Then he had to take her to dinner where every male on the island was going to gag, and their women would beat them around the head. ‘You’re a danger to mankind.’

‘I’ll change before dinner. Put a T-shirt on.’

‘Does that come with trousers?’ The beer was cold in his over-hot mouth; cool as it slid past the lump in his throat. One bottle wasn’t enough. Holding out his empty one, he growled in a mock bossy tone, ‘Another one, as soon as possible.’ His eyes were fixed on the horizon, glazed over for all he could see. His imagination was so busy dealing with pictures of Olivia’s hot bod and that handkerchief that was apparently a dress, nothing else about him seemed to be in good working order. Except the one muscle he wasn’t allowed to use.

‘Here you go, sir.’ A bottle held around the neck by slim fingers waved in front of his face.

He was going insane. Had to be. Grabbing the bottle, he raised it to his lips and gulped. Do something. Talk about anything, just get your brain working. Glancing around, he came up with, ‘So you’re not into spiders.’

Olivia shuddered. ‘Not at all, but until today I thought one the size of my thumbnail was a problem. But those things hanging over the path in webs wider than our bed?’ Another shudder. ‘Ugh. You were my hero, clearing those monsters out of the way.’

Our bed? This wasn’t helping. He tried again. ‘The outlook from the top of the hill showed how small the island is.’ Not exactly scintillating conversation. ‘It’s hard to imagine living on such a tiny spot in the ocean. I’d go stir-crazy if this was home for me.’

‘I guess if you’re born here it’s what you’re used to.’

‘Have you ever thought how lucky we are just because of where we were born?’ Deep, Zac, boy. And diverting. ‘Imagine how different our lives would be if we’d been born in the Sahara, or on the Indian continent.’

‘I’d have five kids and look ready to retire, except that wouldn’t be an option.’ Olivia grinned. ‘You’re right. It does come down to luck.’

‘I’m going to give that fishing a crack tomorrow. Donny—he’s the gardener—is lending me a hand line.’

The guy had strolled up to him as he’d watched the local men work the sudden rush of fish churning up the water at the shoreline and told him, ‘Trevally chase the Pacific sardines into the beach in a feeding frenzy. It happens about twice a day at this time of year.’

‘Do the men catch many?’ Zac had asked.

‘Good days and bad days. No one relies on trevallies as a regular supply of food for the family.’

‘I’ve never seen anyone use a hand line and no rod. The skin on those men’s hands must be tough.’ Zac had introduced himself and before he’d known it he’d had a fishing date for tomorrow. ‘I haven’t fished since I was a kid and Grampy took me out.’

Olivia was chuckling. ‘This I have to see. The immaculate surgeon getting his hands stinky from fish.’

‘I’m taking that as a positi

ve sign. You obviously think I’ll catch one.’

‘And if you do? What will you do with it?’

He hadn’t thought that far ahead. ‘Ask the chef to cook it for us? Other people must’ve caught fish and taken them to the kitchen.’

‘Talking of kitchens, shall we stroll across to the outdoor lounge for a cocktail before dinner? I’ve never had one but this seems the place to give it a try.’

‘Good idea.’ Hopefully there’d be some diversions from that dress. ‘You’ll get one of those tacky little umbrellas to keep as a souvenir.’ He grinned.

‘Thought I’d start with a mimosa.’ She returned his grin.

‘Start? Are we in for a session?’

She shook her head, that shiny mane sliding over her shoulders. ‘You want me off my face and losing my mind?’

If it meant forgetting their promise—then, yes. But if he was being a gentleman—then, no.

*

‘I’ve caught one,’ Zac shouted triumphantly early the next morning as he wound the hand line in as fast as possible.

‘What? A sardine?’ Olivia teased. She’d strolled down the beach to join him, after opting for a leisurely start to the day by reading in bed after Donny had knocked on the door to tell Zac the fish were running.

‘A damned big trevally,’ Zac scowled. ‘This nylon’s hard on the hands.’

‘Toughen up. You don’t see the locals complaining.’ Looking along the beach, she could see two Fijian men also winding in taut lines. ‘You’ve got to get in the water and use your foot to scoop the fish up onto the sand.’

‘Glad I’ve got an expert telling me what to do.’ He started walking backwards up the beach, hauling his catch out of the water. ‘Look at that beauty.’

Trying not to laugh, she bent down to admire Zac’s fish. ‘Should keep a toddler from starving.’

‘Any time you want to go read your book again feel free. This is man stuff. Where’s Donny?’