[4 Seasons 01] Seducing Summer (19 page)

She hesitated, and he wondered whether she
was expecting him to kiss her goodnight. Fuck. This was awkward. And if the
threat on her life increased, it was only going to get worse, because he couldn’t
be seen being intimate with her at all. If he had to increase the number of
officers shadowing her, it was going to make things very difficult between them
if he couldn’t even hold her hand.

But she turned, opened the door, and got
out of the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow, around two o’clock, then?”

“Sure.”

She shut the door and walked toward the
house.

He waited until she’d gone in and closed
the door. Giving a brief nod to Ian, who was parked across the road in his car,
Gene drove away.

The next day promised rain, the sky heavy
with gray thunderclouds, lending a humidity to the air that Callie knew would
only get worse as they traveled further north.

“I think the skies are going to open soon,”
Gene observed as they passed the sign for Napier. It had just gone five, and
they’d been traveling for a few hours.

“Hopefully we’ll get to the hotel before it
comes down.”

Their first appointment wasn’t until eight
the following morning. It was an early start, but the manager of the largest
clothing store in Napier was leaving at nine for a flight to Australia. It was
the only time she’d been available to meet on the day, which was the main
reason they’d driven up the afternoon before.

“So,” Callie said as he checked the GPS for
directions to the hotel, “are you excited to discover what your birthday
present is?” She’d wished him happy birthday when she’d first gotten in the
car, and had promised he’d get his present later.

He glanced at her, his lips curving up. “I
think so.”

“You’ll like it, I promise. A birthday and
Valentine’s Day present rolled into one.”

He returned his gaze to the road,
continuing to smile, but she sensed wariness behind it. Not for the first time,
doubt flickered inside her. Was he regretting becoming involved with her? His
words the night before had been encouraging, but he was so reticent, so
withdrawn and private, that it was difficult to know what was on his mind.

She cleared her throat. “I feel I should
make something clear. We had a great time last week, but I’d like to say that
if you’ve changed your mind and would rather we held back from a… physical
relationship while we are away, I understand.” The fact that he’d not stayed in
her room that night still played on her mind, and she didn’t want to assume.

He glanced at her again, and this time his
smile was warmer. “Are you saying you don’t want to sleep with me anymore?”

“Um, no.” Her face filled with heat.

He surveyed her reddening cheeks, grinned,
then looked back at the road. “Good. Because I have a little Valentine’s Day
gift for you, too.”

Pleasure filled her. “Oh?”

“Something I bought at Willow’s party.” He
looked impish then, and suddenly younger, throwing off all the cares and
worries that appeared to weigh heavily on him at times.

“Oh…” Callie hadn’t asked Neve what he’d
bought, not wanting her to be suspicious about them, but now she was intrigued.
“What is it?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise,
would it?”

“I hate surprises,” she grumbled.

He just laughed. “Too bad.”

He refused to tell her more, even though
she spent the next five minutes badgering him, so in the end she gave up and
decided she’d have to wait until later. Together with her own present, it
promised to be an exciting evening.

Gene found the hotel without too much
hassle, and he parked outside and they checked in. Rebuilt after an earthquake
in 1931, the city boasted some distinctive art deco architecture, and the hotel
on the waterfront was a terrific example of this. The front bore the
distinctive clear, simple lines associated with Manhattan during this period,
and its decor was filled with sunbursts and fountains symbolizing the dawn of a
modern age. The foyer boasted a skyscraper mural on one large wall, and when
they went up to their rooms, Callie discovered they were decorated in black and
gold with the geometric shapes that characterized the period.

“I’ll call for you at six?” Gene asked her
after they’d admired the decor.

“Okay. See you in a bit.”

Gene went into his room and closed the
door.

Callie walked into her own room and sat on
the bed, feeling a bit flat. Part of her had wondered whether he would suggest
they only book one room while they were away. But then, they weren’t a couple,
she reminded herself, not yet. Maybe he was the sort of man who liked his own
space. Or maybe he didn’t want her to assume anything, not this early on in
their relationship. She would just have to wait and see how things developed.

So she took the opportunity of being alone
to shower, slather herself in cream, and sort out his birthday present to be ready
for when he hopefully came back to her room at the end of the evening. If he
chose not to, well, she’d worry about that then.

At six o’clock, a knock came at the door,
and she answered to see him standing there. As usual, he wore his three-piece
suit, apparently intent on remaining professional even on his birthday.

“Wow.” His gaze slid down her and made her
tingle all over. “You look fantastic.”

“Thank you.” She’d made an effort that
evening. Not that she didn’t normally take care of her appearance, but usually
she wore comfortable, classic cuts and kept her makeup to muted skin tones.
Tonight, though, she wore a sleek little black number that reached to just
above the knee, with thigh-highs and black high heels, and she’d used smoky
gray on her eyelids and emphasized her lashes with black mascara. Her dark red
lipstick matched the clutch she carried.

He offered her his arm like Cary Grant.
“Shall we?”

She slid her hand into the crook of his
arm. “Yes, let’s. I’m starving.”

Luckily, Gene had possessed the foresight to
book, because as the waitress showed them to their table, she informed them
that they were completely booked right up until nine because it was Valentine’s
Day.

Callie flicked through the menu, her eyes
going straight to the barbecued ribs, which she adored. She sucked her bottom
lip as she debated. There were unspoken rules about what to choose to eat for a
romantic meal. Spaghetti, or anything else with sauce that could be flicked or
dripped down one’s clothes, was a big no-no. Ribs could never be eaten daintily
either, but then it wasn’t as if they were two ordinary lovers, was it?

“I feel such a fraud,” she said.

Gene gave her a quizzical look. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Well, we’re not exactly
sweethearts, are we? More like…” She’d been about to say fuck-buddies, but the
look on his face made the words trail off.

“I’m sorry I can’t be all hearts and
flowers,” he said quietly. “I would like to be, and it’s only what you deserve.
It’s really important to me that I stay professional while we’re working
together. Just for a while. I hope you can understand that.”

“Including not sleeping in the same room?”

He looked pained. “I know that makes me
sound like I’m taking advantage of you. I honestly don’t want it to be like
that.”

“Gene, it’s okay. I’m not criticizing. This
situation won’t last forever. I know you didn’t want to give in and go to bed
with me, and it’s kind of flattering that it happened anyway. But I understand
that you want to keep your distance for a while. We can be grown up about this,
can’t we? I like you. And you like me. We’re having fun while we’re traveling.
For now, isn’t that enough?”

His lips curved up. “No. But I think it has
to be, for now.”

“That’s fine. It’s more than enough for me
to deal with, I can assure you.” She rolled her eyes and studied the menu. “Now,
then, what sounds good?”

“They’ve won lots of awards here,” he said.
But when she looked up, he was still watching her, his eyes filled with the
affection he couldn’t—for his own reasons—portray.

As the evening drew on, the restaurant grew
busier, but Callie didn’t mind, because the lively, romantic atmosphere made it
easier to pretend she and Gene were involved, even if they weren’t.

The trouble was, it felt as if they were.
He might not have held her hand or told her he loved her, but throughout the
evening, his gray eyes hardly left her face and they were filled with warm
amusement and genuine affection.

After a whole week where they’d hardly been
apart, Callie felt that they were beginning to feel comfortable with each other,
and to delve beneath the initial conversations of who liked what music and
their favorite foods to deeper issues. They discussed politics for a while,
discovering their views were close enough to ensure they were unlikely to argue
about many substantial issues. The same was true when it came to religion and
family values, both of them having a modern approach, but with an underlying
sense of tradition that kept them from wanting to be too revolutionary.

“I think tradition’s underrated,” she said
as she made her way through the barbecued ribs stacked high on her plate,
interspersing them with crispy fries and the wonderful chipotle slaw. “As long
as you accept that change is a necessary thing, and it’s important not to think
that the past is always better than the present, there’s something about
traditions—family ones and national ones—that give you a sense of belonging, of
roots, don’t you think?”

“I do. I would love to have had some.” He
looked up from cutting his medium-rare Angus fillet steak with blue cheese
sauce and laughed.

“What?”

“You have barbecue sauce on your cheek.”

“Of course I do. The better the ribs, the
more sauce you have to have on your face.” She wiped delicately at her cheek.
“What did you mean, you would love to have had some traditions?”

He chewed the steak thoughtfully and
shrugged. “I can’t think of any family traditions. My folks weren’t keen on
that sort of thing.”

“Oh, come on. You must have. What about
dressing the Christmas tree, for example? Everyone has a tradition around
that.”

“Not me.” He speared a carrot with rather
more force than was necessary, she thought. “We didn’t have one.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Why not? Because your
mum died?”

“No, even before then. Dad hated the
commercialization of that time of year and said the tree was a British creation
he had no intention of following.” Gene had explained that his father disliked
being reminded of New Zealand’s European roots and wanted the country to break
free from the Commonwealth.

“Actually, it was a German creation,”
Callie pointed out, “but whatever he thought, it seems cruel to take away the
pleasure of dressing the tree from your children.”

“Well, his children’s pleasure was always
low on his list.” Gene ate another piece of steak, his expression guarded.

“And your mum? Did she never contradict
your father?”

“I remember one year, when Freddie and I
were small, she baked some tree-shaped cookies for us to decorate with icing.
Dad refused to eat any of them.”

“Good Lord.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you have presents?”

“Yes. But they weren’t left at the bottom
of the bed or anything. There was never any attempt to pretend that Santa had
delivered them.”

Callie finished her last rib and dipped her
fingers in the bowl of water, rubbing them with lemon. “That makes me sad.”

“You had a better experience, I presume?”

She dried her hands and then speared a few
fries with her fork. “Yes and no. Dad was in the Army, so we moved around a
lot. But we had a Christmas tree, and they kept up the pretense of Santa as
long as they could. I didn’t have a bad childhood. I was brokenhearted when my
parents broke up.”

“When was that?”

“About… ten, eleven years ago now. They’d
lived apart for a long time, since I was about seven or eight, I suppose. Mum
made the decision to stay in New Zealand with me when Dad was away. She didn’t
want me to have to keep switching schools. Plus, of course, she had her own
career by then as a lawyer, and she was getting very good at it. She used to go
out to visit him, and they seemed quite content with their arrangement—they had
their own space, but the security of being married, I suppose. I think she
wanted him to leave the Army, but he refused—the Army was his life.”

“He’s a major, isn’t he?”

“Yes, although he’s retired now. Anyway,
that year he was stationed in Afghanistan. She’d been away visiting him, but I
remember her coming home a week early, and she announced she’d left him. I
never did find out exactly what happened. There was some sort of accident—she
fell down a flight of stairs or something. She looked awful, bruises everywhere.
She wouldn’t talk about it. My guess is that it was the straw that broke the
lawyer’s back—she needed his support and begged him to leave, and he wouldn’t.
So she walked out.”

Gene ate the last mouthful of steak and
pushed his plate away. For a long moment, he was silent.

Callie raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He took a long swig of his Diet Coke. She
had the strange feeling he was trying to decide whether to tell her something.

He put down his glass and wiped his mouth
on a serviette. “So,” he said. “Dessert?”