Zana Bell - Tempting the Negotiator

“Sass Walker?”

She didn’t know who she’d been expecting, but certainly hadn’t pictured a man who could tower over her, even when she was wearing her highest heels. She also hadn’t expected such breadth of shoulders under his faded T-shirt or the green eyes, so startling against the tanned face.

“Yes?”

“I’m Jake Finlayson.”

Surprised and very wary, she asked, “As in one of the Finlayson brothers spearheading the protests?”

“That’s right.”

She took in his battered surf shorts, his tawny, salt-encrusted curls. His long legs. He must be the one who’d upended the scale model Kurt had presented at a town meeting three weeks earlier. The one who’d thrown Kurt out of the hall. The reason she’d been sent in Kurt’s place.

“An act of lunacy,” Kurt had explained to The Boys. “This Finlayson is a deadbeat surfer who rents a house on Aroha Beach. Nothing to worry about, he’s a nobody.”

Though it was amazing how quickly this nobody and his lawyer brother had whipped together enough ecological concerns to keep Paradise Resorts tied up in legal battles for months if not years. Was this guy here to bundle her back onto the airplane?

“I’m here to take you to your accommodation.”

His voice betrayed no emotion, but he radiated hostility, and Sass was damned if she was going anywhere with a man who’d threatened to emasculate her colleague—however much he deserved it.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Finlayson,” she said brightly, “but don’t you worry, I can manage by myself. If you tell me the name of my hotel, I’ll take a cab.”

The Kiwi raised one eyebrow. “Hotel? We were informed that you were insistent on staying out at Aroha Bay, despite the lack of facilities. Of course, seeing as your company owns the land now, you are entitled to be there.”

Kurt! He was really out to get her on this trip. Already he’d failed to give her the files, with apologies for a crashed computer. He’d briefed her quickly, of course, but she knew he’d been holding out on her. He wasn’t about to let her succeed where he’d failed.

Sass smiled tautly. “Seems like wires got crossed somewhere over the Pacific, Mr. Finlayson, but hey, no problem. I’ll book into whichever hotel has a vacancy.”

“Call me Jake. We don’t stand on ceremony in New Zealand. I don’t see what the problem is. Branston,” he said, making the name sound like a swearword, “was explicit that you would be staying in the sleep-out at my house. It’s right on the beach where you want to build your resort. He said you were very keen on getting the full ambience of the place.”

Sarcasm and accusation were equally balanced. For a second Sass could only stare as the full extent of Kurt’s perfidy dawned on her. He was sending her straight into the lion’s den. Looking up at the implacable face in front of her, Sass saw that Kurt had, at the same time, revenged himself on his enemy, too. As low-down, dirty tricks went, it was pretty inspired.

Jake frowned. “Look, if you’ve changed your mind—”

“No, not at all.”

She couldn’t afford to seem indecisive, would have to bluff through for the moment, the best she could. Just wait till she got her hands on that conniving son of a bitch, though.

“That’s fine,” she added. “Of course it is. Great. Now, where’s the baggage claim?”

“It’s in the shed out back. I’ll take you.”

He led her around the tiny airport building to a shed where, in the gloom, she saw the other passengers sorting through the pile of luggage on a trolley.

“Which one’s yours?” he asked. She pointed and he swung the large suitcase off easily. “Good, follow me.”

“Wait. There’s also that one, and that bag, too.”

He didn’t need to say anything; his expression said it all as he scooped up her other luggage. Well, she thought defensively, who knew how long she was going to be here? Also, not knowing what setup she was coming to, she’d packed outfits to suit every occasion. He didn’t need to look like that!

Her current outfit, however, didn’t fit this occasion. Jake led her to an open-topped Jeep where a large dog of indeterminate lineage presided in the front seat, tongue hanging out with the heat. Jake walked to the back of the vehicle, shifted a surfboard to one side and began throwing her suitcases in. Exhausted and bad-tempered as she was, Sass couldn’t help noticing his easy athleticism. In another situation she might have found him attractive, sexy even, in a rumpled, outdoor man kinda way. But Sass never mixed business and pleasure. Besides, this guy was dangerous.

“I can move Gerty to the backseat if you like, but she leaves a shocking mess of hairs behind her. You might not want to get them on your clothes. It’s your call.”

Again, there was nothing overtly hostile in his manner, but Sass knew he resented her almost as much as she resented this whole damned country.

“No problem, I’ll take the backseat.”

It was a challenge. Sass pulled her tight skirt halfway up her thighs to scramble in. She wished she hadn’t changed in Auckland, but it was her creed never to be seen tousled or crumpled. Her immaculate appearance was one of her strongest weapons—and defenses.

Jake swung himself into the front seat and adjusted the rearview mirror slightly. He surveyed her, his eyes cool, green and unwavering, like a knight staring through the visor of his helmet. Yet there were laughter lines, too. As she wriggled, trying to pull her skirt down to her knees, Sass wondered what he looked like when he smiled. The backseat was scorching and the seat belt metal burned as she buckled herself in. Her eyes were scratchy from the long flight and she narrowed them against the glare. Damned sunglasses were in her other bag.

In silence, they drove out of the airport and came almost immediately to a T-junction where the left-hand sign read, Whangarimu City Centre and the right-hand sign read, Whangarimu Heads. They turned right.

JAKE WATCHED HER PROFILE as she took in the scenery, and wondered how it would strike a stranger. The road hugged the contours of the harbor, threading through the myriad bays, each rimmed by a horseshoe of modest homes and with a cluster of small yachts bobbing on the late-afternoon tide. A seagull wheeled above with its hoarse, stuttering cry, and Jake’s stomach churned at the thought of developers coming in to ruin it all. He blamed the Lord of the Rings movies for alerting developers from all over the world to the beauty of New Zealand. Locals didn’t stand a chance against foreign currency, and coastal properties advertised on the Internet were now being snapped up at insane prices. That American braggart had bought Aroha Bay for a few million dollars in one brief visit. Money no object. People, place, nature of no concern. Well, Jake had got rid of him but it seemed the Americans were using a different sort of attack now. Easier on the eye, but this lady gave nothing away.

“Those are nice,” Sass said, nodding at the huge, ancient trees that reached sprawling, gnarled branches out over the water’s edge. Her accent was warm and made him think absurdly of honeysuckle and soft summer nights.

“They’re p hutukawa. We call them our Christmas tree because they have red flowers in December.”

“They’re really something.” Her hand was halfway to her handbag. “Mind if I smoke?”

“I do, actually. I hate the smell of smoke in the car.”

Their eyes locked. The wind was whipping her long hair about her head, and the smell of dog punctuated the air. He knew she knew he was just being contrary.

“No problem,” she said, and sat back, breaking eye contact and looking out over the water as though she didn’t give a damn. It gave him a chance to examine her. Nobody should look that good after a thirty-hour flight. Her eyes were so blue, he wondered if she wore colored contact lenses. She had delicate bones, white-blond hair and a fair complexion.