Authors: Anya Forest
Glad to have the last detail for the trip sorted out, Christie thanked Ian before sitting down with a drink to wait for Lisa. She was exhausted even though she was looking forward to catching up with her friend, who had mentioned asking a few other hotel staff to join them.
Smothering a yawn, Christie sank back into her chair, sipping her drink and checking her text messages while she waited.
It’s no wonder I’m so tired,
she thought. Each night she fell asleep instantly, each night she woke before dawn after a sleep often troubled by nightmares that had her stirring restlessly, echoes of Paul’s voice fading as she woke, calling out. Lisa had told her some of the casual staff shared accommodation and Christie was relieved there was no one sharing the crib to hear her nightmares.
At least they’re not happening as often now,
she thought to herself.
As she flicked through the text messages, Christie acknowledged that, like her nightmares, her thoughts of Paul were fading as the friendliness of the island community and the remote beauty of the island allowed her emotions to recuperate. And Blake. She had spent the day looking up as each person walked into the reception area, each time hoping it would be Blake, replaying the scene in the office, analysing what he had said and the way he had said it. She had taken extra care with her makeup that morning, not acknowledging the real reason, telling herself it was for the group drinks this evening.
Blake had not said when he would return to the island and her anticipation had heightened each time an influx of check-ins told her a ferry had docked. She closed her mobile, looking around for Lisa. “Looking for someone, Christie?” Blake said, looking down at her. He raised his eyebrows slightly, putting his hand on the chair opposite her, checking it was free. Christie smiled tentatively as he sat down.
“Lisa,” she managed to say. “There’s a group of us meeting for drinks.” To see him sitting opposite her, his dark eyes sparkling, fixed on her, made Christie catch her breath with sudden longing. Blake studied her, his eyes narrowing at her words, wondering who would be in the group as he noticed her flawless makeup, the way it emphasised her striking blue eyes. Christie blushed as she met his gaze, struggling for composure, torn between protecting her damaged emotions or acting on her feelings.
“So have you made all your plans?” Blake asked, clearly making an effort to be conciliatory. “Ready to see the kiwis?”
Christie took a deep breath. “I thought when the ranger mentioned kiwis he meant something like the exhibit at Auckland Zoo.”
Blake’s gaze softened; he chuckled. “The bay’s an amazing place,” he said, smiling at her, recognising her peace offering. “No cell phone reception though. So you’ll have to keep that in mind if anyone starts a conversation.”
He was back to his usual gentle teasing; Christie smiled back at him, determined not to let Paul’s shadow intrude on an opportunity to be with Blake. “Yes, you can tell I’m from the city, can’t you,” she said, holding up her mobile. “Can’t leave home without it.”
“Well at least there’ll be one less thing in your pack.” His eyes were warm as he looked at her, paying careful attention as she mentioned more details of her planned trip. “That must be my signal to leave,” Blake said, grinning as Christie’s mobile rang with an incoming call.
Laughing, her eyes sparkling, Christie picked up the phone to turn it off, not wanting to answer it now. Her smile faded instantly as she realised the number was Amanda’s, her face bleak as she turned the phone off. She knew she had nothing to say to Amanda now, would not have answered the call anyway. Blake watched her reaction intently, his eyes narrowed. “Who was that?” he asked tersely. Christie bit her lip nervously; he leaned forward, picking up on her reluctance to talk to him, a stark contrast to the joking openness of only a few moments ago. She met Blake’s eyes, agonised, torn between confiding in him and her fear of again becoming the focus of gossip and speculation.
Frustrated at her patent unwillingness to trust him, Blake stood up abruptly, clearly controlling his words with difficulty. “It’s a simple question, Christie. If that call has upset you so much, why not tell me who it was?” He strode across the bar to the pool table without another word. Dully, Christie watched him go, overcome with sudden weariness.
— # —
Christie left the bar early after meeting Lisa and her friends only briefly, pleading tiredness, wanting to return to the crib and simply relax. Stifling a yawn, she walked out the main door onto the patio, realising with a shock Blake was just outside the hotel, looking at his mobile phone. He looked over at her silently, his dark eyes glittering in the low light. Christie caught her breath, her blue eyes wide, troubled, reflecting her inner turmoil.
“Off home already?” His voice was neutral, polite. Christie listened desperately for any hint of the usual teasing tone, the cheeky suggestiveness. She smiled hesitantly, searching his face for any hint of expression. “I’m feeling tired, thought I’d have an early night.” Blake’s face relaxed slightly. “You looked tired earlier,” he said abruptly. “You must be working too hard.”
Relieved, Christie saw a slight smile appear on his face. She thought of the nightmares; her face clouded briefly. “No, Blake, I—” She stopped as he took a step closer to her. “I haven’t been sleeping that well recently,” she said quietly. His eyes narrowed as he watched her. “But it’s nothing, really,” Christie said hastily, shocked at what she had revealed, her face tinged pink.
“Just when I was going to offer to help,” Blake said mischievously. He looked down at her, the brazen double meaning of his words balanced by the concern in his eyes.
An involuntary smile touched Christie’s mouth as she registered his outrageous sense of humour, acknowledging her own sense of longing. She realised Blake was moving closer, his hands resting slightly on her hips, before encircling her, pulling her towards him, watching her intently. Christie slid her hands around his back, clinging to him, unable to release her gaze from his face, conscious of his strength. Blake moved his hands slightly, holding her tightly as he bent down to kiss her.
Christie relaxed against him, responding to his touch, insensible to reality. Gradually, she became aware Blake had raised his head, his gaze fixed on her, his hands lightly moving over her back. Christie’s senses swam back to reality as she tried to regain her composure, only to relax again as she realised she was still held in Blake’s arms. “And is your lack of sleep anything to do with tonight’s telephone call?”
Christie tensed as she heard Blake’s voice, remembered Amanda’s telephone call and all it represented. Blake’s voice became Paul’s voice, telling her he didn’t love her, wanted to be with Amanda instead. Blake’s embrace had allowed Christie to forget Paul as if he had never existed; Blake’s words now allowed the memory to rush back. Sensing Christie’s sudden coldness, Blake instantly relaxed his arms. “Christie—” She stepped away, Paul’s face momentarily blinding her, tears glittering in her eyes.
“Goodnight,” she said woodenly, not looking at him.
“Come on, Christie, you’re exhausted. Jump in the truck and I’ll take you home,” Blake said, all joking gone from his tone. Christie shook her head, still shaken by Blake’s embrace, her response, embarrassed by her admission of weakness. “Christie.” Blake’s voice was taut, dangerously low. “You are tired. You are suddenly upset and I don’t know why. You are not walking home. I’ll drive you. No arguments.”
She glanced at him quickly, his uncompromising words strangely reassuring, easing the doubts sweeping through her mind. She smothered an involuntary yawn, nodded slightly. A sudden smile tugged at Blake’s mouth. “I’m glad the offer of a lift home with me fills you with such excitement.” Christie’s heart ached as she heard Blake’s comment, thoughts of his touch filling her mind. She longed to reply, silently repeating the responses she wanted to make.
Instead, she walked quietly to the car park with Blake, sat next to him silently, watching his hands on the steering wheel, his shadowed profile. He, too, was quiet as she automatically gave him directions; he pulled up outside the crib only a couple of minutes later. Blake turned off the engine; the night air was quiet, the only sound the muffled breaking of waves along the shore below.
“Thank you,” Christie said in the quiet of the cab. Blake nodded, watching her. Christie held her breath, aware of the stillness between them as Blake gazed at her, making no move to touch her. As if pinned to the seat, Christie did not attempt to open the door, remembering Blake’s kiss, his arms holding her.
“What do you want, Christie?” She flushed as she registered Blake’s words, opened the car door abruptly, walked quickly towards the crib without looking back. Automatically, Christie fumbled for the door key as her tears spilled over, only dimly aware of Blake starting the engine and driving off.
—#—
Christie woke up on the morning of her trip to Mason Bay full of restless energy, pleased to realise her ever present tiredness had lifted. Settling her pack on her back she thought immediately of Blake lifting her pack up on the wharf, adjusting the straps over her shoulders, his hot gaze on her chest and hips. Her eyes became troubled as she thought back to the night he had given her a lift home, his voice burning her, asking what she wanted.
And his embrace…
Christie shut the front door of the crib with a slam as she started walking down to the settlement and then over the hill to Golden Bay.
I just need some time to myself,
she thought. The small close-knit community meant that Christie had made friends quickly, easily, but she also knew she would enjoy time exploring the national park, away from Blake’s disturbing presence. It was a glorious early summer day and Christie stopped to appreciate the view out into Golden Bay as she walked towards the wharf. She knew she was in plenty of time, could see Ian and the boat he had described to her. Her step quickened as she walked down the wharf; Ian had seen her but was talking to someone in the boat. Christie could feel the wharf trembling slightly as others stepped onto the wharf, their footsteps heavy on the old wood. She drew level with the boat, smiled at Ian.
Chapter Three
“I’d better lift this pack, Ian.” Christie stopped, stunned at the sound of Blake’s voice. She looked into the boat disbelievingly, her heart loud in her ears as she struggled for composure. Blake stood there unsmiling; Christie quailed at the look in his eyes. She glanced down, unable to meet his gaze for any length of time.
Ian gave her a perceptive look. “Blake’s a last minute fill-in for a group going to the Homestead Block.”
“Homestead Block?” Christie repeated, still unable to believe Blake’s presence.
“Hunting,” Blake said, stepping from the boat onto the wharf.
Mesmerised by his nearness, Christie unclipped the straps of her pack as if in a dream, meeting Blake’s gaze with a flaming face as she recognised the amusement in his eyes. She barely heard Ian explaining that the rest of the hunters were flying into Mason Bay from Invercargill. Silently, Blake took the pack from Christie, putting it in the boat and then turning back to Christie.
“I can—”
Before she could protest further, she felt Blake’s arm encircle her waist in an iron grip, steadying her as he swung her into the boat, setting her down on the deck. “Too late,” he said roughly.
Unable to speak, her senses reeling, Christie sat down abruptly on the padded bench, looking around for Ian, trying to calm herself. Others climbed onto the water taxi, the boat rocking slightly as each person climbed aboard. Christie stared unseeing out into the bay, focusing her anger on Blake, silently asking him furious questions in her mind, oblivious to the conversation of the other passengers.
“Ready to go, Christie?” She turned around, saw Ian looking at her, nodded politely. Soon the boat was skimming over the bay and despite Blake’s unexpected presence Christie started to relax, captivated by the scenery and watching for the approach of the tidal estuary that she knew they would turn into before stopping at Freshwater Landing. Although the water taxi was small, Blake had ignored her after lifting her into the boat and setting her down; she could see him talking to another passenger, his back turned, his casual tramping clothes not detracting from his tall, powerful frame. Other passengers recognised her as being part of the hotel staff and Christie was soon drawn into a discussion about the national park and the Mason Bay area.
“Incredible that the park is 85 percent of the island, isn’t it?” one tourist said. “And the entire beach at Mason Bay is 19 kilometres long.” Christie smiled politely, listening to the tourist continuing to recite facts and trivia about the area, thinking of her own plans for the next two days. She had purchased a detailed map from the information centre, confirmed that she could walk right down the beach to what the ranger had described as a wild and desolate area known as The Gutter.
Christie was determined to put her heartbreak aside and make the most of the trip, thinking back to the many trips she had enjoyed years ago as part of the university tramping club, the weekend camping trips with her parents as a child that had fostered her love of the outdoors. And then she had met Paul, both of them focusing on their careers, the cocktail parties and networking, the business dinners.
And so I stopped tramping
, Christie said softly