Just This Once (7 page)

When they were seated, Hannah leaned forward and told him
quietly, “That guy just took your picture.”

“I mentioned I was a rugby player, eh. Part of the job. Some
people know my face. And these days, people see anything, they take a photo.”

She gave him a searching look. “That’s so true,” she said at
last. “I went for a long hike today by the ocean. I couldn’t believe how many pictures
people take. Whenever I came across someone at a spot where there was a good
view, they’d just, boom, take a picture or two and move on. Instead of looking,
I mean.”

They were interrupted by two young men bearing napkins and
pens, asking for autographs. Drew signed good-naturedly, but turned away with a
firm “Cheers,” leaving them with no choice but to return to their seats.

“It’s a scenic country,” he continued, as if the
interruption had never occurred. “Everyone wants to post their photos and show
their friends back home.”

To his relief, she clearly sensed his desire to ignore the
attention he had attracted. “But how exciting is it, really, to look at
somebody’s pictures?” she asked. “That’s what I was wondering. How interesting
is it to see somebody in front of a fern tree? And then in front of an ocean
view? And then in front of a rock?”

He smiled. “Reckon they don’t think they’ve been on holiday
if they don’t have the photos to prove it. But I’m more like you. I’d rather
just look. People talk too much too, don’t they?”

“Yes!” she agreed. “Exactly! They pull up in their car, walk
onto the beach, talk to each other about it, take pictures, and then drive
away! What’s the point of coming to New Zealand if you aren’t going to walk, or
swim, or kayak, or
something?”

“On behalf of my country,” he said solemnly, “I have to be
grateful for every tourist who comes here, however they want to enjoy
themselves. Maybe,” he teased, “they’ve heard it’s easy to drown here.”

“You aren’t supposed to keep reminding me,” she told him
loftily. “I’ve moved beyond that. I asked about safe swimming beaches and am
now fully informed. In fact, I went for a swim this morning at one of them.”

“You need to be careful, still,” he warned. “Especially
swimming alone.”

“Duly noted. I swam parallel to shore, and stayed close.
Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson. I can’t always count on a handsome prince
to rescue me. I’m trying my best not to be a damsel in distress anymore.”

At his suggestion, she ordered the snapper, which came
fileted and pan-fried, crispy and delicious. She exclaimed, and he nodded.

“Heaps of snapper in Waitemata Harbour, too, in Auckland.
You can stand right on a dock or a bridge and catch them in summer.”

“Is the water clean enough, then, that there are so many
fish right there by the city?”

“Not perfect yet, but yeh, not too bad. Nothing like pulling
a big snapper out of the water and filleting it for your tea. That’s what the
North Island is supposed to be, you know.”

“What? Your tea?” she asked, confused.

He laughed. “Nah. A fish, hauled from the sea by Maūi.
He used blood from his nose for bait, and a bit of his grandmother’s jawbone
for a hook.” He chuckled again at her expression. “His brothers mutilated the
fish after he caught it. That’s why the surface is rough and the shape is so
flattened. When you look at a map, you can see it. Lake Taupo is the eye. The
Maori name for the North Island is Te Ika a Maūi, the fish of Maūi.”

“That’s quite a legend. How did you know that?”

“Everyone knows that. The South Island is Te Waka a Maūi
—the canoe of Maūi. And Stewart Island, at the bottom of the country, is
Te Punga a Maūi —the fishhook of Maūi. Have a look at the map, and
you’ll see it.”

“You pronounce the names so easily,” she wondered. “And some
of them seem quite long and complex. Do you learn these things in school?”

“It’s a bicultural society. A fair few Kiwis have some Maori
blood. Loads of intermarriage over the years. And the Maori language, the
songs, the legends—they’re part of our heritage, even for Pakeha—for Europeans,
like me. If you’d ever watched any New Zealand sport, you’d know that we sing our
anthem in Maori first, then English. And don’t tell me you’ve never heard of
the haka.”

“No idea. What is it?”

“You’ll see, when you go to Rotorua. It’s a chant, a
challenge. A bit hard to explain. One of En Zed’s most famous exports, along
with kiwifruit and wool.”

“And rugby,” she reminded him.

“That too,” he agreed. “We like to think so, anyway.”

“I had no idea,” she repeated. “I’d like to learn more about
it, though.”

“Well, Rotorua’s the place for that.” But he frowned as he
spoke. “When do you leave?”

“On Tuesday. Three days from now.”

“Not much time. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“I hadn’t decided yet. I’m trying to take a break from
planning too much on this trip. I do a lot of that. Planning.”  

“Why don’t you let me take you tramping, then? Since I know
you won’t snap photos all day, or natter about the views.”

“You mean hiking? Are you sure? Isn’t this supposed to be
your fishing vacation?”

“I’m sure. I can fish any day. Not many beautiful women want
to go tramping with me, though.”

“Then yes, I’d love to go. I like to walk more than
anything, in beautiful places,” she confided. “Except maybe swimming. And
walking is much safer, isn’t it?”

“Long as you don’t fall off the track. Reckon I’d better be
there, just in case.”

After dinner, Drew suggested a walk on the beach, and Hannah
gladly accepted. Her tension returned, though, as they left the
restaurant—getting his picture taken again in the process, she noticed. She was
ridiculously attracted to him, but reminded herself how awkward she would feel
afterwards, sleeping with someone she had just met. She had tried it once
during her college years, and still winced at the result. The guy hadn’t called
again, and when she’d seen him later on campus, she’d wanted to hide. After
that, she had become even more guarded. She just didn’t seem to have the casual
sex gene.

If Drew wanted to take her to dinner, it would have to be
for the pleasure of her company, she told herself firmly. And if he didn’t want
to see her again because of that—well, who knew if he’d want to see her again
if she
did
sleep with him? She wasn’t sure she’d be much good at it
anyway, after this long.

She pushed the thought from her head and focused on the
sights and sounds of the ocean at night as they walked down wooden steps onto
the long beach stretching to either side beneath the restaurant. She shivered a
little in the breeze, and Drew turned to her.

“Too cold?”

“No, I brought a sweater,” she told him as she pulled it out
of her bag.

He took the cardigan and held it for her to pull on, then
took her hand as they continued to walk. The heavy, rhythmic swish of the waves
approaching the shore, the steady pace, his warm hand around hers began to
relax her, and she sighed with enjoyment.

She smiled. “It’s like a personals ad, do you realize?”

“Pardon?”

“You know. I love a glass of wine and moonlit walks on the
beach.”

He laughed. “We aim to please.” He turned and pulled her in
to him. Put his hands on either side of her face, then just stood and looked at
her, her eyes raised to his.

“I love your mouth,” he told her. “This little bow on your
top lip.” He traced the shape of that protruding bow lightly with his tongue.
“Been wanting to do this all night.”

His mouth closed over hers, gently at first. She sighed and
moved further into his arms. He smiled down at her, then kissed her again, his
hands cradling her head, his mouth moving over hers as her arms crept up to
hold his shoulders. He felt her slide her hands down his back, and reached out
to pull her closer. He’d been waiting to do this all evening. Watching her
mouth as she talked and ate, looking at her smooth, untanned skin and her
slender hands. Wanting to feel that skin under his hands, his mouth. Wanting to
feel her hands on him. He ran his own hands down her sides to her waist, held
her there.

And kept kissing her, until he had to have more. He pulled
back, looked around for the bench he remembered, pulled her into his lap.

“I’m too heavy,” she protested. “You don’t want me here.”

He settled her more comfortably, his hands on her hips. “Oh,
I want you here. I couldn’t want you here much more. Can’t you tell?”

She was blushing again, he knew, even if he couldn’t see her
in the dark. “It’s all right,” he reassured her. “Let me hold you.”

Hannah felt herself melting against him as he kissed her
again, pulling her hair back from her neck to run his hand down her back. She
shivered as his lips moved to trace the line of her jaw, down to kiss the
sensitive spot under her earlobe, then further down her neck. Felt a rush of
sensation as his hand slid down to cup her knee, then ran slowly up her thigh.

His thumb reached around to stroke her inner thigh, and she
squirmed a little against him as a moan escaped her. The hand on her leg held
her, thumb stroking, while his other hand moved to find her breast, and he took
her mouth again in a deep kiss. She gasped into his mouth, his hands burning
her where they touched her, her body straining towards him. 

“You feel so good,” he muttered at last. “Let’s get out of
here, eh.”

She came back to herself, pulled the ragged remnants of her
self-control around her. “I can’t. It’s too soon for me. I can’t do this, not
now.” She pulled away to slide down next to him on the bench, hugging her arms
around herself in distress. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at this casual thing.”

He leaned his head back, took a deep breath. “Right. I’ll
take you home, then, shall I?”

She nodded miserably. She wasn’t sure if she was being
smart, or making a big mistake.

“Oi.” He put his hand under her chin to turn her face to
his. “It’s all right. Your choice. Wouldn’t have been mine,” he grinned
ruefully, “but we can’t always get what we want, can we.” He reached for her,
kissed her gently. “Come on, let’s get you home. Before my good intentions
desert me.”

She laughed a little shakily. “Before mine do, more like.” She
let him pull her to her feet and walked with him, her hand in his, back to the
truck. He helped her up, then swung around into his own seat for the short
drive back to the motel.

“It’s OK if you don’t want to take me tomorrow,” she
ventured. “I’m guessing here that women don’t say no to you very often.”

“Probably good for me. But why wouldn’t I want to take you
tramping tomorrow? I’ll admit, I’d rather take you back to my bach tonight—my
house. But I’m patient. I’ll let you get to know me a bit better, see if you
can resist my charm.”

“I can barely resist it tonight,” she admitted. “Just . . .
just let me be sure, OK?”

“I can do that,” he agreed. But he reckoned he was allowed
to kiss her a few dozen times more, give her something to think about overnight.

It was hours before Hannah slept that night. Her dreams were
erotic, full of images that embarrassed her to remember when she woke. She
admitted to herself that her body was pulling her in one direction, while her
sensible brain gave exactly contrary advice.

It was a good thing they were going on a hike today, she
thought as she pulled on shorts, boots, and a collared shirt to protect her
skin from the intense Southern Hemisphere sun. She wanted more time with Drew
before she made any moves she might regret.

Well, to be honest, she simply wanted more time with him. Maybe
he was only looking for another notch in his bedpost before moving on, but at
least she’d get a better idea of whether it would be worth it. She was moving
on too, she reminded herself. The day after tomorrow. And felt a pang at the
thought.

Nothing sexual about hiking, anyway, she thought with a
mixture of relief and regret. Today should give her a chance to get to know Drew
in a less charged situation. If she weren’t looking at his bare chest all day,
it would be a lot easier to make a rational decision she could live with
afterwards.

But when she opened the door to his knock, she was forced to
amend her opinion. He stood smiling at her, filling the doorframe. Arms, chest,
thighs, check, she sighed as she looked up at him. Why couldn’t he have just a
little bit of a pot belly?  

“Morning. Glad to see you’re ready to go. Bang on time, like
always,” he said, giving her a kiss that did nothing for her good intentions.
Especially as she couldn’t resist sliding her hands up his upper arms to his
shoulders for the pure pleasure of holding onto them again. Which made him
shift his weight, put his hands on her waist to pull her in closer, and kiss
her just a little bit more.

“Sure you want to do this walk?” he said at last, with a
devilish grin. “I’m feeling a bit tired. Maybe we could think of something else
to do instead.”

She laughed. “You said you were taking me on this thing. I
think I’d better hold you to it. And I don’t believe you’re a bit tired.”

“I don’t know. Didn’t sleep so well last night. Something
missing. How did you sleep?”

She turned red, cursed her fair skin yet again. “Not so well
myself. Let’s go on this hike, OK?”

“I meant to ask you,” she said once they were on their way. “The
morning paper had some stories about rugby games. I’m confused. I thought the
season was over. Why are there still professional rugby games going on?”

“That’s Sevens, not Union.” Seeing her bewilderment, he went
on to explain. “Different version of the sport.”

“So there are two different kinds of professional rugby, and
they’re both played in New Zealand? That seems like a lot of rugby, especially
for such a small country. Do people watch both?”