Just for Fun (4 page)

Emma. How could she look the same, but seem so different? He
could still remember the feel of her when she’d landed in his lap, that first
time.

He’d been leaning back in his aisle seat in the small jet,
headphones on and eyes closed, when he felt the lurch and sickening drop as the
aircraft hit the air pocket. His eyes had snapped open and his hands gone up
automatically to catch the girl who landed hard against him at the jolt, then
lost her footing and fell, sprawling, across his lap.

“Oh! Sorry,” she squeaked, struggling to sit upright. He had
his arms around her now as the plane lurched again. The “Fasten Seatbelt” sign
came on with a
ding,
then the pilot’s voice over the intercom, asking
passengers to return to their seats “just till we’ve got through these few
bumps.”

Nic grabbed the girl close again and tugged his headphones
off as the plane took another lurch. He couldn’t help but notice how good she
felt against him, the soft curves of her under the thin white cotton sundress.
Or the faintly floral scent of her honey-colored hair, the curls streaked with
blonde. Or that she’d been crying.

“Think you’d better stay here a minute,” he said,
reluctantly lifting her off his lap and sliding into the empty window seat as
the aircraft continued to bounce. “Till we’re out of this.” He saw her grab
unsteadily for the armrest and reached out to fasten her seatbelt. “There,” he
said as he snapped the belt together around her, pulled it tight around the
narrow waist. “Good as gold.”

She reached with both hands to wipe the tears away. Turned
to him, big blue eyes still swimming with tears. Her soft little mouth, with
its strongly defined cupid’s bow, trembled as she looked up at him.

“I’ve lost my shoe,” she told him tragically.

He looked down, saw one slender foot in its high-heeled,
slip-on sandal, the other bare. Leaned over to check under her seat, fish out
the other shoe. He slid it onto her foot, noticing while he was down there how
slim her ankles were, and how smooth and firm her bare legs looked in the short
sundress.

“Bad flight?” he asked her after he’d reluctantly returned
to his upright position and resecured his seatbelt. “Scared of the bumps?”

“No.” She shook her head decisively, then kept shaking it.
She was more than a bit drunk, he realized, as well as whatever else was wrong.
And there was an accent. Something, he couldn’t tell quite what. “But this was
a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. And I have to stay for a
week.”
The
round blue eyes were looking more tragic than ever, and her mouth drooped. She
looked like a kitten who’d just got some very bad news.

“A week in Fiji, eh. That
is
sad.  Wrong partner? Is
that it?”

That started the tears again. “I’m on my honeymoon,” she got
out. “My honeymoon. Can you believe that? I’m on my honeymoon?”

“Uh . . .nah.” Figured. “Hubby back there?”

“No. He’s not here. He’s not coming. We didn’t get married.
Because he wants Karen
Fuchs
instead,” she said fiercely, her tears
drying up at the thought. “But I’m prettier than Karen Fuchs. Don’t you think I
am?”

“Never met Karen,” he pointed out. “But I’ll bet you’re
prettier.” She was prettier than just about anyone, he reckoned, even in her
current state.

She nodded with certainty. “I don’t have a pig nose,
either.”

“You’ve got a beautiful nose,” he agreed solemnly. “Running
a bit now, though.” He fished in his seatback pocket for the serviette he’d
stuck in there earlier. “Here.”

“Thanks.” She wiped her nose, sniffed, then turned those eyes
on him again. “He says Karen understands his work, because she’s getting her
masters in engineering. That she can help him. They can sit around and solve
equations together before bed,” she said, her mouth getting firmer and losing
the tremble. “In their matching pajamas.”

“What are you? Eighteen, nineteen? Too young to get married
anyway, aren’t you?”

“I am
not,”
she said indignantly. “I’m twenty-one.
And I have a degree.”

“But not in engineering? Not up to Karen’s standard, eh.”

“In Fine Arts. Which isn’t easy.” She glared at him. “Just
because it’s not engineering, doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

“No worries,” he said hastily. “I’m not judging. Didn’t
finish Uni myself, so I’d be the last.”

“Anyway,” she said glumly. “I’m supposed to be married now.
He said I should go on the honeymoon. Because the bookings are nonrefundable.
Because he got a deal.” She glared again. “Isn’t that romantic? Nonrefundable?”

“Couldn’t find someone else to go with you?” Nic hazarded.

“On my
honeymoon?”
she asked incredulously. “I was
supposed to be with my
husband.
Look at my hair,” she demanded. “Look!”

“Uh . . . something wrong with it? Looks good to me.”

“It’s
highlighted.
It took
hours.
Do you know
what I’ve done this week? I had a facial, and a body scrub, and a wrap.” She
ticked the items off on her fingers. “And my hair. I had my brows and lashes
done, and I had a manicure and a pedicure, and I had everything waxed. I got a
Brazilian
wax
.
And it
hurt.
For
nothing.”

That got his attention. Every part of him. He’d bet it
looked choice. And he’d like to see it.

“And Karen Fuchs doesn’t shave her legs. Would you want to
go to bed with somebody who didn’t shave her legs? Or her armpits? Instead of
me?”

“Nah,” he answered honestly.

“You’d choose me, right?”

“Yeh. Yeh. I’d choose you,” he agreed. In a heartbeat. Well,
as long as she wasn’t crying. Maybe. He wasn’t sure even that would matter.

She gave a satisfied nod.

“So this bloke wasn’t any real loss, then,” Nic said.
“Seeing as he was blind, and had no taste. And he’s, what, an engineer?”

“An Assistant Professor of Sanitary Engineering,” she said
gloomily.

He had to laugh. “Sounds dead sexy. Too old for you, too.”

“How old are you?” she demanded.

“Twenty-two,” he grinned. “How old was—whoever he was?”

“David. Twenty-eight. That seemed like a good idea. I
thought, OK, he’s boring, maybe. But he’s older, settled. Responsible. Good for
me. And he’s
safe.
Ha. What a joke
that
turned out to be.”

“Why d’you want to be safe?” he asked with real surprise.

She looked surprised in her turn. “Doesn’t everybody want to
be safe?”

“I don’t. I want to have every adventure there is. The more
unsafe, the better.”

“Then you’re not an engineer,” she said firmly.

He laughed again at that. “About as far from it as you could
get, I reckon. I’m a rugby player.”

“Are you really?” She stared at him in fascination. “How
come you’re going to Fiji? For a game?”

“Nah. Holiday. Off to England to play, in a week or so.
Decided at the last minute to have a bit of a holiday in the Islands before I
turn into a bloody Pom in the frozen north. No booking, refundable or otherwise.
Just turning up and taking my chance.”

 “Better than me,” she said glumly. “You might even find
somebody to hang out with. What am I going to do, at a honeymoon resort by
myself?
Not that I know what I’d have been doing with David,” she added in another
burst of candor. “You’re supposed to be getting shagged up, down, and sideways
on your honeymoon, right?”

He choked a bit at that. “I’ve heard,” he managed. 

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve heard too. Oh, well.” She sighed. “I
brought books. It was never going to be that kind of honeymoon anyway.”

“The more I hear,” Nic offered, “the more I think you got
off easy.”

“You think?”

“Would he have packed books too?” he demanded.

“Yeah. He did. And some work. I saw. Before he told me, I
mean. That I was going alone.”

“Maybe you should take me with you instead,” he suggested
with a grin. “We could have a non-honeymoon, put some of that waxing to use. Because
I didn’t bring any work, or any books. And I’m fairly sure I could deliver on
the up, down, and sideways bit. Give you everything you want.”

That had been a hell of a week. Up, down, sideways, and then
some. He felt a surge of heat at the memories that rushed back, still strong
after all this time. No wonder, the way they’d played out in his head for years.
His mind insisted on going there again for a few pleasurable minutes before he
snapped it back to the present, took the final turn onto Seabreeze Road and up
the sloping drive that led to the big house, sitting well back from the street.
The lights were on, he saw. Claudia was home, then. He punched the button on
the visor for the automatic garage door, pulled the car in and punched again to
shut the door behind him. Then sat for a minute, gathering his wits.

Claudia was in the lounge, working on her laptop. “Hi,” he
said, leaning over and giving her a kiss. “Long day?”

“Yeh.” She frowned lightly. “Chinese food? Ugh, Nic. Awful.”

“Sorry. What about you? Did you eat?”

“At the office. I’m assisting at that Fonterra meeting
tomorrow. Heaps to do before that. How are you getting to the airport in the
morning? I could give you a lift, but it’d have to be early.”

“Nah. I’ll drive, save you collecting me Sunday. It’ll be
late. Midnight.”

She nodded, her attention already drifting back to the
computer. He sat on the couch next to her. “Mind if I watch
Top Gear?”

“Do you have to? It’s not like you need a new car.”

“It’s not about a new car,” he tried to explain. “I just
want to relax for a bit. And they’re funny.”

“More like silly,” she complained.

“Want me to watch upstairs, then?”

“Would you mind? I could move to the office, if you’d
rather.”

“Nah.” He got up again. “I’ll go.”

“Before you do, we really do need to schedule a time to sit
with my mum and go over the guest list.”

“Do I need to be there for that? I gave you my list.
Whatever you decide is good. Anyway, does it have to happen now? More than six
months away.”

“And we need to send Save the Date cards,” she said in
exasperation. “I told you. I’m not asking you to help decide on flowers, or the
band, or anything else. You’ve hardly had to do a thing. All I’m asking for is
one afternoon.”

“Have to be Saturday week, and in the morning. I need the
afternoon, before the game.”

“Fine.” She clicked again, typed in the appointment with her
usual brisk efficiency. “I’ll make that work. And send you a reminder, so you
can calendar it.”

He sat down again. “D’you ever want to chuck all this?” he
asked her suddenly, causing her to look up from the laptop in surprise. “All
the planning? The arrangements? I don’t mean not get married,” he said
hurriedly at her shocked expression. “But maybe we should just . . . run off.
Between the work, and doing this place up, and the wedding, don’t you get a bit
fed up?”

She stared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. We can’t run off.
We have a deal, remember?
Woman’s World
might have something to say
about that.”

“Still sure you want to do that, though? Doesn’t it feel a
bit intrusive?”

“They’re paying well for that intrusion,” she reminded him.
“It’ll cover the cost of the wedding,
and
the honeymoon.”

“We can afford it, though,” he argued. “Do we really need
this?”

“We discussed it. We agreed. Why not get it, since we can?
It’s just a few photos, for heaven’s sake. You’re on TV every week. What’s the
difference?”

“You don’t think there’s a difference? That’s work. This
should be the most private thing there is.”

“Which we’re sharing with four hundred people,” she said.
“It’s not
that
private.”

“OK,” he said reluctantly. “Just wondered if you’d had any
second thoughts.”

“No. None.”

“Well, it’s your day. If this is what you want.”

“It is,” she said. “And no, I don’t feel like running off.
That’s pretty impractical, Nic. We both have way too much on our plates to be
thinking that way.”

“I know we
can’t.
Just wondering if you ever wanted
to, that’s all. Just talking, I guess.”

Her eyes strayed back to the screen again. “Well, if that’s
all, I’m sorry, but I really do need to get this done before tomorrow. Maybe
you could ring me from the hotel tomorrow night, once you get in. I’ll be able
to give you my full attention once I have this meeting behind me.”

He considered telling her about Zack, but was overwhelmed
with unaccustomed fatigue at the thought of the explanations, the discussion.
She was right. It was late, she had a meeting tomorrow, and he was leaving in
the morning. This wasn’t the time.

He sat up in bed a half hour later, muted the advert
interrupting
Top Gear.
Not that he was really watching anyway. He needed
to go to sleep. Twelve hours on the plane tomorrow. He wished Claudia would
come to bed. He would’ve liked the security of her body next to his. Even if
she were still working on that bloody laptop.

He switched the TV off, turned out the bedside lamp. Punched
the pillow and tried to get comfortable. South Africa would be a relief, he
decided. Time to focus on the footy for a bit, get his mind back on its usual
disciplined track. Keep it from straying off to thoughts of Zack. And Emma.

E
mma sat curled at
one end of the couch, pulled the knitted afghan more closely around her,
needing the comfort of its warmth. A single lamp on the end table provided a pool
of light. She was knitting, of course. And, ostensibly, watching
Top Gear,
absently
observing as a car made its skidding, precarious way around the track to the
accompaniment of the usual caustic commentary.