are coming to the luau, are you not?’
‘The what?’
‘There’s a clearing at the west corner of the lake on which we’ve created a beach. The staff put on a controlled bonfire there once a week. Have you even read the brochure?’
‘I glanced at it. Briefly.’ Trying to find chocolate, trying to find the Wellness Building. Both times she’d only found more of him. ‘Look, I’m not sure what our plans are for tonight—’
‘The St Barts team will be there tonight so I was thinking about putting in an appearance. For their sake,’ he said. Adding, ‘There’ll be marshmallows.’
She couldn’t help herself. She licked her lips.
And he laughed. Throaty, loud laughter that resonated through her bones as though her marrow were a twanged guitar string.
‘Real marshmallows?’ she asked, her voice comically low, amazed at the cool she could still find within herself when she needed it most. Thank heavens for her years of training. ‘Or soy-based, gluten-free, sugar-free sticky balls?’
‘Real marshmallows. Bags and bags of them. Pink and white. Sticks supplied if you’re a toaster.’
‘Sure I’m a toaster. You?’
‘All the way. But just in case you need something to keep you going until then …’ He tossed her a small package wrapped in the ubiquitous Juniper Falls pale green. He tipped his cap at her, then bounded across the rocks to join the St Barts crew.
Meg tore it open to find herself holding a small packet of M&Ms. She laughed out loud, then pressed her finger to her mouth before her fellow hikers discovered her laughing to herself and realised they ought to have been paying more heed to the frizzy brunette in their midst.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ZACH stood on a corner of the lake’s beach not lit by the blazing fire, feet bare as the day he was born, dressed top to toe in linen he’d ironed himself, and a hot pink lei someone he didn’t recognise had thrown over his head.
‘You’re a fool,’ he muttered to himself for about the seventh time in the past ten minutes. ‘You and Ruby might have had a good morning because of something she said, and maybe you can’t get that kiss out of your mind, but by poking your head out of your perfectly adequate cave again and again just to get another glimpse makes you a damn fool.’
His hands gripped the lei, crushing the flowers, but before he had the chance to whip it over his neck the sound of female laughter split the night.
Glitter twinkled in the darkness. Three distinct voices wafted towards him, followed by three female forms. The other two must have been her friends. All he saw was Meg.
Her dark hair had been pulled back into a slick ponytail. Huge hooped earrings hung from her ears to her shoulders, encrusted with more diamond dust than most women would ever own. But it was the dress that had him clenching his fingers into his palms.
Fire-engine red it was, made of some sparkly material that clung to her torso like second skin, cinching tight at her waist then billowing all the way to her ankles. Her shoulders were bare, her décolletage on display within a deep V, and around the middle she was tied up with a big red bow.
Never had he been given a gift quite like that. He’d obviously kept the wrong friends.
She leaned in as a staff member explained the ‘no shoes on the beach policy’ for the luau, and without hesitation she rested her elbow on someone’s shoulder, hitched her voluminous skirt as high as her knee and proceeded to uncurl a good metre of red leather strap wound about her calf.
Zach closed his eyes and prayed for mercy.
When he opened them it was to see Meg, barefoot, bouncing onto the sand with the exuberance of a puppy. Mid-twirl he got a load of the back of the dress—she was completely bare from a small clip at the back of her neck all the way to her waist. It wasn’t quite low enough to give him a glimpse of the tattoo he knew was there, but low enough he ran a hand hard over his mouth.
He knew what it was about her that had him tempting fate. For the past twenty years he’d spent every waking minute dedicated to turning himself from a kid with nothing into a ruthless businessman. For the past several months he’d had to completely strip away that part of himself in order to pour all of his energy into becoming a father.
Meg Kelly simply let him feel like a man.
It was energising. It was addictive. It could so easily prove to be his undoing.
Look at her, he said to himself. The diamonds, the flashy friends, the artless va-va-voom. She revels in the flash and flare of public life. And look at you, hiding in the shadows.
In allowing this infatuation to continue he was setting himself up to lose too much—he’d certainly lose Meg, and there was every real possibility he might yet lose Ruby. As for the fact that he could look in the mirror and see a guy who’d learnt from the alienation of his past? Gone.
Convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt leaving was the right thing to do, he took one step in that direction when a local reggae band on the other side of the fire struck up their steel drums with a little ‘How Deep Is Your Love’ Bee Gees action.
His eyes searched for Meg’s. She looked up and clapped, radiating pure joy as he’d known she would when he’d put in the request with the entertainment director.
Her gaze began flicking back and forth across the crowd and he knew too that she was looking for him. Instead of sliding deeper into the shadows where he belonged, his feet held firm until her eyes found his.
She smiled with her whole body—ravishing red lips, sparkling blue eyes, the happy shrug of her creamy shoulders. A deeply felt attraction slid through him like slow, hot lava. God, it felt good—like gut instinct, abandon and release. Feelings he’d never allowed himself to come close to feeling for another person his whole adult life.
She made a beeline his way, her friends following in her shimmering wake.
‘Zach,’ she said on a release of breath when she was close enough he could see the firelight flickering in her eyes.
‘Good evening, ladies,’ Zach said, purposely including all three. ‘Don’t you all look beautiful this evening?’
One gave Meg a small shove forward. ‘Don’t we just.’
Meg glared at her friend, while Zach pretended not to notice.
‘Ready for a big night?’ he asked.
‘I heard rumours of a marshmallow roast,’ said the brunette. Tabitha.
‘Bring ‘em on,’ said the blonde, her voice wry.
The hairs on the back of Zach’s neck twitched under the blonde’s incisive gaze. That one was the journo. At the very least she knew that something was happening between her friend and him. She who probably kept a lipstick camera and microchip microphone on her person at all times.
Meg slapped her friend on the arm, which he approved of heartily. ‘Don’t
