Headstrong (5 page)

“I can be extremely pleasant when we’re on the same side, lover. If you want to negotiate, come find me on a Thursday, or here, in my little blue boat.” She aimed her broken finger down the dock. “Or perhaps I’ll find you first,” she added with a smirk.

“You’re cracked. You can’t blackmail me into blackmailing you.”

“I can do a lot of things that might surprise you,” she said, wide lips pursing. “Drive safe. Maybe talk it over with your brother?”

With that, Libby turned and flounced off into the night.

Chapter Three

What a shitty Monday this was shaping up to be.

Libby trudged through the downtown Wellington lunchtime bustle on Willis Street. A gorgeous day, sunny and unseasonably warm for late June but gloomy in spite of it all. A whole weekend gone and no sign of Reece Nolan. If this kept up she’d have no choice but to do some actual work.

She’d felt sure her offer was irresistible. But now three days had passed, wasted, spent acting normal, doing unobjectionable normal-people things just in case that handsome glacier of a man was still watching her. Being respectable was such a strange way to go about one’s life…but even if it equaled admitting defeat, Libby didn’t want to give her father cause for concern. Her resources were impressive, but they were nothing compared to his.

A cyclist whipped past on a slim orange bike, weaving between the cars and curb. Libby knew those red shoes…knew them well as she knew her own, quite literally.

“Colin!”

He slowed, trapped behind a boarding bus, and when he turned at Libby’s shout, Colin’s face lit up. Flipping his bike around, he glided back, hopping himself onto the sidewalk and startling pedestrians.

“Gidday, Libby?” He parked beside her and leaned on his handlebars, blocking the flow of the walking traffic and irritating harried businessmen. He had on cargo shorts and a black zip-up jacket, a brimmed racing cap over his buzzed hair. A long portfolio tube was slung diagonally across his back, strapped down by the flap of a canvas messenger bag.

Libby smiled. “Hey, stranger. Where are you off to?”

“Near Lambton. Delivery.” He tapped the cargo on his back.

“Courier?”

He nodded. “I’ve got nothing on after this one, far as I know. You fancy a coffee?”

Libby perked up for the first time since Thursday. “Sure.”

“Excellent.” He nodded to the café a block behind them. “Give me five minutes? Order me a flat white.”

He was already back in motion, disappearing into traffic like a trolling shark, the bike a reckless extension of his body.

Libby had just enough time to secure them a table near a window and order two coffees. The waitress delivered them as Colin entered, bike propped on his shoulder. He leaned it against the wall and lifted his brim at the barista who’d made their drinks. The girl smiled back, then soured abruptly when he sat opposite Libby.

Colin tugged off his cycling gloves, and Libby noted that, like his brother, he wore no wedding ring.

“Ta,” he said, sliding his cup and saucer across the table.

“You always drag your bike around, everywhere you go?”

“I don’t leave it out when I can help it. You have no idea how many hours I spent rebuilding that bloody thing.” He squinted a hateful eye at it.

Libby grinned at him. “You’d be right at home in Boston.” She pictured the aggressive types who risked their necks on two wheels in the Financial District and across the river in Cambridge.

He took a drink, then set the cup down with a sigh and stretched his neck from side to side. “So what’s the good word, Libby?”

“I think the barista likes you.”

Colin didn’t even bother glancing at the counter. “What’s not to like?” His arrogance was clearly a put-on. He picked up his cup and gazed over the rim with kind eyes. His irises were lit by the sun coming through the window, shining bright blue-green. He was every bit as handsome as his brother, but more dramatic—dark brows and eyelashes, and that scar. Libby had spotted others as well, hidden now by his cap, a couple of long, thin lines that interrupted the otherwise even shadow of his hair. He also had a tattoo Libby hadn’t noticed before, black writing across his neck, obscured by the collar of his hoodie.

“So what are you up to this fine day?” he asked. “Keeping out of trouble?”

“I was just on my way to type up some research at the university.”

“What sort of research?”

She waved a hand self-aggrandizingly. “Oh, all about the potential chemical applications of the bioluminescent properties of the
arachnocampa
.”

“Glowworms?”

She nodded. “You’d be amazed by the sorts of nonsense you can get grant money to come and study.”

“Bugger me, I wouldn’t have pinned you for a scientist.”

“I’m sure you’d pin me if you could,” Libby murmured.

Colin smirked, not taken in. “You’re a cute one.” He leaned back in his chair with the air of cowboy poised to light a cigarette. He was the sort of handsome that hit women over the head like a mallet or a stiff drink, one of those men whose easy smile promised extremely enjoyable trouble. A man no father would approve of, especially not Libby’s.

“Why glowworms?” he asked.

She swirled her coffee in its cup. “Well, they’re pretty fascinating. My master’s is in biochemistry and it’d be a good start for a PhD… But to be honest, it meant I could wrangle a six-month semi-paid vacation in your gorgeous country.”

He looked impressed. “As long as you’re doing it on your country’s dollar… Shouldn’t you be up in Otorohanga or someplace?”

“I might get up there…but the folks at the Karori Sanctuary agreed to give me all the access and expertise I want. Plus I like it in Wellington. It reminds me of Boston, actually.”

“Well, lucky Wellington—oh, shit.” Colin set his cup down and fished in a pocket, pulling out a buzzing pager and scanning its screen.

“Duty calls?”

“Sadly.” He replaced the device and drained his cup. “Did you see the forecast? There’s meant to be a whopping great storm coming in. I hope you’ve got someplace besides the marina to crash.”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Well, you should come up to Kaiwharawhara some night, to the pub. Our family owns it. I’m working tonight actually, from six onward. I’ll slip you a free pint for the coffee, and we’ve got a roomy couch if you’re looking to dock on dry land. I’m sure Reece would love the surprise.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted a business card. He borrowed a pen from the counter, scribbling, and the barista pretended not to watch. Colin stood before Libby and held the card up, displaying the side with his handwriting.

“That’s the pub.” He flipped it over to the printed side. “And that’s the courier dispatch, if you’re ever on Victoria Street and you need something.”

Libby took it. “Thanks.”

“I’ll see you around.” His warm grin gave him a dimple on one side.

“You should be wearing a helmet,” she reminded him.

“And you shouldn’t be getting into cars with strange men like my brother.” He headed for the door.

“Come back for karaoke some Thursday!” Libby called to his back. “I need a good duet partner.”

“Your wish is my command. But I hope to see you sooner.” Colin tipped his hat and carried his bike down the front steps. Libby watched through the window as he careened off the sidewalk and into traffic.

She glanced down at the card and smiled. Monday was looking distinctly better.

Reece switched off the Laser’s ignition and dragged his exhausted body into the pub just as the streetlights came on. He dumped his gym bag in the corner and turned to greet his mother, who was chatting to a lone patron.

Oh, you
have
to be winding me up.

Libby was perched on a stool at the center of the bar, talking to his mum. She swiveled and flashed him a pageant-queen grin, a glass of their abysmal house merlot perched primly in her palm.

“Reece, your friend Libby’s stopped by,” his mother announced. A look of pure delight twinkled in her eye, asking Reece if this might be her future daughter-in-law.

“Yes, apparently she has.” He kept his face unreadable. “Hi, Libby.”

“Marjorie was just telling me all about your childhood, Reece,” Libby said in a voice he didn’t trust one bit. “Were you
really
petrified of the tooth fairy?”

“May I speak to you in private?” he asked coldly.

“Of course.” Libby slid off her stool.

Reece dragged her by the elbow to the corner by the jukebox. “What are you doing here? And why are you on a first-name basis with my mother?”

“I tried to call her Mrs. Nolan but she wouldn’t let me—”

“Come off it, Libby. What is this? Are you stalking me or something?”

“I think you’ll find you’ve got that backward.” Her breath smelled of peppermint. “Your charming brother invited me, actually. There’s a storm coming tonight. A big one.”

“Yeah, I know. What’s your point?”

“And your mother said it was okay, didn’t you, Marjorie?” Libby added over Reece’s shoulder.

“Oh yes! Very smart of you to ask,” his mother called back. “She’s a very clever girl, Reece. Did you know Libby went to
Harvard
?”

“Yes, thank you, Mum.” He turned back to Libby. “What in the flipping hell are you on about?”

“Chill out, lover. You’re all sweaty.” She smiled her approval.

Reece stared her down.

“I can’t stay in my boat tonight,” she said. “There’s practically a hurricane on the way.”

“Well, you can’t stay here, either. We’re…you and me. We’re not
anything
. Leave me alone. And my family.”

“Libby.” Colin came down the stairs that led to the flat above the pub and spotted them in the corner. “Oh hey, Reece. Libby, for games we’ve got Trivial Pursuit from, like, 1985, and we’ve got Jenga.”

“Gorgeous. Thanks, Tiger.”

Reece turned on her and mouthed “Tiger?” He pointed to the door. “Get out.”

“Reece.” Her eyes were suddenly, unmistakably sincere. “I don’t have anywhere to go. Please?”

“Ever heard of a hotel? You’ve got the money.”

“Yeah, but I’m lonely. I’m spooked. I don’t have any real friends in Wellington. And I took the bus all the way up here.”

She scanned the jukebox’s selections, not meeting Reece’s stare. He wondered if that thing even worked anymore—it was ancient, purchased in the early eighties, the kind that still had actual records in it. One of their father’s “half-arsed attempts to class the place up”, as their mother would say.

“It’s getting late,” Libby said, still not meeting Reece’s eyes. “Please? Just let me use your couch. I’ll forget the whole Peeping Tom thing.”

“You should have done already. You know that’s not why I was there.”

“Uh-huh, because what you were really doing was so astoundingly altruistic.” She raised her head. “Please, Reece?”

He trained his eyes on the ceiling and exhaled. “Do not talk to me.” He aimed himself toward the bar.

“Is that a yes?” Libby asked his back.

He didn’t reply, addressing his mother instead. “Half a lager please, Mum.” He sat down and ran his hands over his face. “Good day?”

“Quiet,” his mother said glibly, setting the beer before him. “As usual. How were your classes?”

“Good.” He was agitated beyond words. “I’ve got to go shower.” He left the untouched glass on the bar and grabbed his bag on the way upstairs.

“What about Libby?” his mother asked.

“Libby will be fine on her own, won’t you, Libby?” He shot their guest a warning look and departed.

A handful of quiet drinkers had arrived in the last hour, and most of them were now staring at the television mounted behind the bar, at the uneventful national news. Rendered shy by her encounter with Reece, Libby had sequestered herself at a corner table, half-invested in a newspaper she’d found there. Reece had disappeared for his shower a good long while ago, and Marjorie had bid everyone a good night at six sharp, leaving Colin on duty.

Colin caught Libby’s attention from across the room, and his smile drew her over. She sat at the bar, setting her duffel bag with its many international flag patches on the stool beside her.

“Ahoy there, Odysseus,” Colin said. “That’s quite a passport you’ve got.”

“I’m a bit of a transient.”

Colin glanced to the front windows, where rain was already pelting. “It’s really pissing out. Good thing you came ashore.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Libby knew she sounded uncharacteristically timid but for some reason she didn’t mind it, at least not in front of Colin. She ran the balls of her hands over her face and let a long breath sputter from her lips.

He grinned mildly at her, and in the gesture was everything Reece withheld. Colin was his brother’s perfect foil. Warm to Reece’s coldness, charming to Reece’s shuttered self-possession. Trouble, to Reece’s cautiousness. He should have been intimidating—all the elements were there—but he simply wasn’t. Colin was too open to be properly tough, and anything he felt he wore as plainly as any other feature on his face. As plain as his scar. At the moment he looked sad but kind.

“Well,” he said. “I’m assuming you’ll wander no more, now that you’ve landed on the finest little island in the world.”

Libby shrugged. “I don’t stay anywhere very long.”

“Shame.”

She glanced around the bar, settling into the easy company Colin exuded. Taped to a wooden post beside the register was a sticky note that read,
PLEASE DO NOT PROCREATE WITH THE STAFF.
A photocopy of a sonogram was pinned beneath it, and below that, a photo of a woman holding a newborn baby.

Colin stole Libby’s attention back, sliding a fresh glass of wine across the bar. “Hey. Sorry about Reece. He’s being a stroppy little bitch tonight.”

“Don’t blame him, Tiger.” She flashed him a tight smile, stopping short of flirtation. Colin was too easy. Reece was the challenge, and she craved it as much as she feared Colin’s pointed attraction.

“He’s not used to losing at things,” Colin said. “And I suspect you aren’t, either.”

“I won your couch, didn’t I?”

“If you want some kind of friendly rematch with Reece, I left the games up in the telly room…though I’m not sure he’s up for it.” Colin extracted a ring of keys from the loaded carabiner on his belt and handed it to her. “In case you want to head up early. Reece’s room’s off to the right, the kitchen’s to the left. Loo’s next to Reece’s. Should be an extra towel in there.”