Summer Fling (3 page)

In a daze, she headed for the small
building with “Sky High” emblazoned above the door.

“Still in one piece?” asked Huia, the
Māori woman at the desk.

“Only just.” Chloe’s heart continued to
race, the adrenalin shooting through her veins. “It was fantastic,” she
admitted. “I’m surprised how much I enjoyed it.”

“Why surprised?”

Chloe unclipped her harness. “I’m not a
risk taker. I don’t know how Garth does it all the time.”

Huia came forward to help lift off the
harness and carried it over to the hooks on the wall to hang up. “Yeah, I know.
Can you imagine being married to someone who jumps out of a plane for a living?
I’d have a heart attack five times a day.”

Chloe hadn’t thought of that. She frowned
at Huia’s words. It didn’t matter how many precautions he took, every time
Garth pulled a parachute cord, he put himself at risk. She’d jumped in an
effort to prove that her sensible lifestyle was just that, sensible, and not
boring as Ethan had insisted. But she shivered at the idea of living with
someone involved in such an unstable occupation.

Still, she couldn’t help but be curious
about Garth. “Is he married?”

“No. Why, are you interested? I wouldn’t
blame you. He’s hot enough to fry eggs on.”

Chloe’s cheeks warmed again, and she tried
to erase the image of snuggling between his thighs, his solid chest pressing
against her back. “God, no. Like you said, I could never get involved with
someone who did this sort of thing for a living. I’d die of exhaustion, and not
in a good way. I’m dull as tarnished silver, I’m afraid. Too much excitement
sends me into overload.” She turned around as she unzipped her jumpsuit. Garth
stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb. Crap. How much of that
conversation had he heard?

He pushed himself off and came in to help
her tug the tight jumpsuit from her shoulders. She wriggled out of it, unable
to look at Huia, too embarrassed at having asked if he was married.

He’d already shucked his own jumpsuit and wore
khaki shorts and an All Blacks shirt. He waited for her to hang her suit up on
the peg. “Ready?”

“Sure.” Feeling strangely light in her thin
navy trackpants and white vest, she flashed Huia a smile and followed him out
of the premises and across to the main terminal. He held the door open for her,
and she preceded him into the small building.

At the coffee bar, she studied the coffee
list awkwardly. She should have said no to his offer for a drink. She didn’t
want him to think she was interested in him.

Yeah
, said
the devil on her shoulder.
But if you’re not interested at all, why’s your
heart pounding?

“Shut up,” she mumbled.

Garth glanced at her. “Pardon?”

“Nothing.” She bit her lip.

He looked back at the list. “What would you
like? My treat for being so brave.”

She tried to think, but being in such close
proximity to him scrambled her brain. He towered over her, which was no mean
feat when she reached five foot nine in her bare feet. He must be six two or
three. Mmm. She glowed inside at the memory of his lips on hers but forced her
attention back to the list. “Double shot espresso, please.”

His eyebrows rose. “You a caffeine junkie?”

“A bit. I like my coffee dark and rich.”

“Like your men?” He grinned.

“Maybe. Are you rich?” She had to stop
flirting. She lowered her lashes to avoid looking into his amused, interested
gaze.

“Now that would be telling. You might only
want me for my money.”

“True. Best not tell me, then.”

He laughed and ordered a latte, and they
took a seat on either side of one of the small, round tables by the window. Outside,
the Air New Zealand plane from Auckland taxied in. The tarmac shimmered in the
heat. A trail of sweat ran between her breasts, and she suppressed the urge to
scratch it.

He leaned back in his seat, one arm hooked
over the back, his long legs in the cargo shorts stretched out before him,
crossed at the ankle. He smiled.

“What?” she asked self-consciously.

“I’m thinking about what you said. ‘Too
much excitement sends me into overload.’ It’s a strange thing to say when
you’ve just jumped out of a plane.”

She played with the packets of sugar.
“Jumping out of a plane wasn’t my idea.”

“I thought you did it to prove the bastard
he was wrong.”

“Well, yes, I did, kind of. But my friend
Stella suggested it.”

He raised his eyebrows, obviously demanding
more details, and she sighed. “I split up with my ex a while ago, and I’ve been
a bit depressed. He accused me of being dull and boring because I don’t like
taking risks. I admit I’m not impulsive or spontaneous.” She shrugged. “But I
don’t see it as boring. I’m sensible and down-to-earth, and usually I’m happy
with that. I like being me. But what he said—it struck a nerve, that’s all. So
Stella booked this jump to try and convince me he was wrong.”

Of course that wasn’t the only reason she’d
broken up with Ethan. But she didn’t want to admit the whole truth. That she’d
left him because she’d loved and trusted him and had loaned him all her savings,
and he’d spent all the money. And of course the small matter of discovering him
in bed with a bimbo. The embarrassment and humiliation hadn’t yet faded. No way
would she admit all this to the gorgeous Garth.

“And did it? Convince you he was wrong
about being boring, I mean?”

“Not really. You saw me—I was terrified. It
took some careful...manipulation for you to get me out of the plane.”

He grinned at her choice of words.
“‘Manipulation’ or not, you still jumped.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

He leaned forward then, forearms on the
table a foot away from her, and looked into her eyes. “Ah, but that’s where
you’re wrong. When a person pushes themselves to do something that scares them,
the gloves come off. In a situation like that, where you’re waiting to leap out
of a tin bucket fourteen thousand feet up in the air, a person’s true nature
shows itself. And do you know what I saw in your eyes?”

He was bullshitting her, but she couldn’t
look away. “What?”

“Desperation.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“No, you misunderstand me. You were desperate
to make that jump. You want to be impulsive and spontaneous, deep down. You’re
a thrill seeker, same as me.”

She opened her mouth to respond and then
hesitated as the waitress delivered their coffees. She sipped the strong
espresso. Only then did she reply, “I’m really not.”

He leaned back, taking a swallow of his
latte. “If you say so.”

They studied each other for a moment. His broad
shoulders led to muscular brown arms and large, strong hands. The new,
skin-tight All Blacks rugby tops were not for the faint-hearted. They showed
off every ounce of fat on the wearer, but emphasized Garth’s lean, toned body
perfectly, the material clinging to sculpted muscle. Fine brown hairs highlighted
his tanned legs. She raised her gaze back to his just in time to see him
looking at her breasts before his eyes met hers. The amusement had vanished
from them, and now they positively sizzled.

Chloe gulped her coffee. This reckless
risk-taker was the absolute last thing she wanted in her life. The sooner she
finished her drink and left, the better.

Garth met Chloe’s eyes and saw the shutters
came down. Her body language spelled it out—whereas before she’d been leaning
forward on the table, eyes dancing, now she leaned back and folded her arms,
and the light in her eyes dulled. She’d decided not to nurture the spark that
had sprung up between them.

The chase had never been the part of a
relationship that interested him. Also, he had enough emotional baggage to fill
the luggage claim area of the airport, so her obvious reluctance should have
made him decide to end it there.

It didn’t.

Her phrase “Too much excitement sends me
into overload” intrigued him. She’d been thrilled after the jump. He knew
another thrill seeker when he saw one. But she was obviously determined to deny
any desire to take a risk.

He swirled the coffee in his cup. “What’s
so scary about being impulsive?”

She looked at the plane outside the
terminal. The flight assistant lowered the steps and passengers began to cross
the tarmac. “My mother’s Bipolar Type I. She’s reckless enough for the both of
us.”

Ah. That made sense. He didn’t know anyone
personally who was bipolar, but he understood enough about the condition to
realize why she craved stability. “That must be difficult for you.”

She continued to watch the passengers,
although she’d fixed her gaze in the distance. “It’s not so bad now I
understand what’s wrong with her. It was harder as a youngster. Being promised
a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Disneyland, only to have it cancelled at the last
minute because she couldn’t cope with the journey. Coming up with all these
great, enthusiastic ideas for businesses, hobbies, places to go, which
invariably ended up being unfulfilled.”

She met his gaze then. “Having a steady
stream of men through the house, each one the man of her dreams, whether the
relationship lasted for one year or one night. I counseled her through numerous
heartbreaks, even to the point of talking her out of suicide.” She spoke
firmly, full of conviction. “I’m
not
going to be like that.”

“I see.” She was worried about turning into
her mother. Fair enough. But using it as an excuse never to do anything
impulsive meant missing out on the excitement of spontaneity. And yet she’d
done the jump because she’d been hurt that her ex had interpreted her sensible
lifestyle as boring. She wanted to be exciting but was afraid where it might
lead.

As a man who very much valued his freedom,
he had to battle with the urge to help her discover her impulsive streak.

He decided to tease her. “So you’ve never
had a one-night stand, then?”

Her eyes widened. “Honestly. I’ve known you
for less than an hour and you’re asking questions about my sex life.”

“Just curious.”

Her lips curved. They’d been soft under
his, and she’d obviously had a piece of chocolate before she’d got on the plane
because he’d been able to taste the sweetness of it. He wanted to kiss her
again.

“Stop it,” she scolded him. “Jeez, you’re
an incorrigible flirt. It might work on all the other women you come across, so
to speak, but it’s not going to work on me.”

“Well, that’s a damn shame.”

She bit her bottom lip, and he suspected
she was fighting a smile. He held his hand up in submission. “Okay, I’m sorry.
I don’t normally flirt like this. I’m a bit out of practice. You appear to
bring out the worst in me.” He decided to change tack. “Tell me more about why
you smell of chocolate. You said you are a chocolatier?”

“Yes, I’m a qualified chocolate taster.”
She laughed as he widened his eyes. “I know, terrific job, isn’t it? The
equivalent of a guy taking photographs of lingerie models for a living, I would
think.”

Images of Chloe Jackson in various pieces
of lingerie flickered through his mind. Sheesh. He was only human. Why did she
insist on tormenting him like this? No wonder the urge to flirt kept rising to
the fore. “Where do you work?”

“A small chocolate factory in Whangarei.
It’s a bit of a commute, but I’m happy to travel for now because I like living
in the Bay of Islands. I love being near the sea. I go for a swim most mornings
in the summer.”

Now he was picturing her in a bikini. Not
good. He had to divert his mind from any lewd topics. Her job. That might work.
What could be sexy about working in a factory? “So what does being a chocolate
taster involve? Apart from the obvious.”

“I test the chocolate when it’s made to
ensure it’s up to scratch. I also travel to try chocolate from different parts
of the country. One day I’d like to go to places where the cocoa beans are
grown, like Venezuela, Brazil, and the Ivory Coast, as well as countries
notorious for their chocolate, like Belgium. I also come up with different
flavors and ideas for new products.” She glowed with enthusiasm.

“If I did that job, I’d be grossly fat.” His
gaze skimmed her slender form. “Is it like being a wine connoisseur?”

“Are you asking me if I spit or swallow?”
She kept her face carefully blank for about five seconds, then burst into
giggles. “Sorry. That one was totally my fault.”

“And you accuse me of flirting?” So much
for being safe talking about her job.

“Yeah I know. I won’t do it again, promise.
Anyway, in answer to your question, a chocolate taster is only supposed to
sample half a dozen pieces of chocolate at a time or it weakens the palate.”

“So it’s a serious business, then? Not just
breaking off a chunk and...sucking it?” He couldn’t help it. Everything about
this woman made him think of sex.