Close to You (12 page)

Fourteen

A
LLIE PEERED UP AT THE
evening sky as the minivan pulled in to a spot on Wellington's wharf. The occasional cloud waltzed far above and the air still held the remnants of the warm day. The lights of Eastbourne sparkled in the distance across water as flat as her mood. At least the weather was perfect for the evening cruise. Thank goodness. Late April could go either way, and it wasn't the same on a cold, rainy night.

She studied the boat sitting alongside the wharf. This whole dinner cruise on the harbor was a new addition to the itinerary. In the past, this night had been designated for a low-key quiet dinner at the hotel for people to order room service or do whatever they liked, since they were exhausted from another big day and needed time to pack for the flight the next morning.

But nooo. Someone had to go and complain that they hadn't come all the way to New Zealand and paid through the nose for a luxury tour to be left to eat in the hotel and—ta-da!—here they were.

Her suggestion that she would happily organize dinner out for anyone in the group who wanted it had been met with a determined silence from the head office. The updated itinerary now came with a price increase that more than covered the cost of the cruise.

She sucked in a breath, stared out the front windshield, and tried to pull herself together. Derek's phone call still had her shaken up. The guy always,
always
, had an ulterior motive. It unnerved her not being able to figure out what was behind yesterday's call.

And now, she had to spend the evening stuck on something she ordinarily avoided at all costs—a boat. What a fitting end to a stinking couple of days.

Good grief! She dug around in her handbag, trying to sift through the contents in the dim light. She'd totally forgotten to take her seasickness medicine before they left the hotel. Oh, this was not good, not good at all.

“Are we here?” Elroy's voice called out from the back.

“We are indeed.” Twisting open her bottle of water, she liberated two pills from the packet of Kwells and knocked them back.
Please act fast. Please act fast.

Swallowing another gulp of water, she put the lid back on and turned around. “All right. Everyone ready?” It wasn't really a question, so she didn't wait to hear any answers. Opening her passenger door, she dropped onto the pavement and slid open the back door, holding out her hand to help Mavis—thanks to Louis's little tip, she could now tell the two sisters apart—then Ethel, down the awkward step and onto the ground.

“Oh, we've been so looking forward to this. We're going to head right up to the stern, if that's okay with you.” Ethel
beamed up at her. Hobbiton seemed to have breathed new life into the spinsters. They'd been virtually brimming over with enthusiasm ever since visiting it.

Allie summoned up a smile. “Of course.”

Sofia popped out next, followed by Hans's lumbering form, which appeared in the doorway. How the man managed to squash his bulk between the seats was beyond her, but he had claimed the second-row window seat from day one, leaving poor Sofia perched precariously on the seat beside him. Every time they turned a corner, Allie half held her breath, expecting the long-limbed girl to fall into the aisle.

The German dropped to the ground with the grace of a buffalo and grabbed his wife's waist. “Such a beautiful night. So romantic. We like you, Dr. Shire. But we are going to have some alone time before dinner. Okay?”

“Sure. Great. The boat is all ours. Just remember, dinner will be served at eight.” The last thing she needed today was to have to find them and interrupt their canoodling.

“Yes, of course.” He nodded and grinned at his wife.

“The board is set, the pieces are moving.” Sofia offered up the cryptic Gandalf quote with a mischievous smile. What was that about?

Allie stepped away from the door before Jackson could appear. Leading the group toward the boat, she chattered away about the harbor, the boat, city history, anything she could think of to fill the air and keep her mind distracted.

Walking up the gangplank, she half listened to everyone chatting as she checked in with the captain and made sure everything was set. At least on a boat she didn't have to worry about losing anyone.

Everyone boarded and scattered around the deck to take in the views. Two waiters walked around trying to find people to disperse drinks and nibbles to. There seemed to be a ridiculous amount of food for only nine people.

Their minivan still lingered on the wharf, so she gave Marge a thumbs-up to signal she could go. The driver returned her sign but made no move to leave.

Oh well. As long as he was back for them when the boat docked at nine-thirty, it wasn't for Allie to worry about what their driver did in the interim.

Walking around the prow of the boat, she almost collided with Elroy coming from the opposite direction. “Everything okay?”

“Great. Great boat. Lovely view. Looking forward to an unforgettable night.”

Everyone was far more enthusiastic about this than she had been expecting. She had thought they'd be dead on their feet by now.

She put a hand to her stomach. So far, so good. The Kwells must be doing their thing. Usually she was feeding her breakfast to the ocean within a few minutes of being on the water. Relieved, she snagged a couple of rice paper rolls from a passing tray. With all the drama of the day, she hadn't had much to eat since breakfast.

“How's the shoulder?”

Jackson stood beside her, chicken wing in hand, the lights of Wellington arranged around his head like a halo.

Be civil, Allie. He's still a client.
“Much better than your face, if it feels anywhere near as painful as it looks. Can you even see out of that?”

He raised a finger to his purple, puffed-up eye and winced. “A little.” He moved his hand to his mouth to smother a yawn. “Sorry. I'm beat. Can I apologize in advance if I fall asleep face-first in my potatoes?”

She couldn't help but laugh at the same guy she'd wanted to choke a few hours ago. “Only if you forgive me the same thing.”

The boat gave a slight shudder as it pulled away from the dock. She looked around. “Where's Louis?”

“He said he was going to the little boys' room.”

She couldn't see anyone else. It was a ridiculously large boat for so few of them. She'd have to tell the head office that the exclusive use for their group was a tad over the top—not that they listened to her opinions.

“I need to go and talk to the chef.” She was pretty sure the spinsters came up with dietary restrictions just to mess with her. When they were getting in the van to drive to the boat, Ethel had announced that her personal psychic had told her to abstain from red food for the rest of the week. Why? Had the woman seen choking on a tomato in the elderly lady's future?

Walking around the side, she saw their van was still parked there. And . . . She stumbled, clutching at the railing in an attempt to remain upright. No. They didn't. They couldn't have.

“What are you doing?” She yelled the question across the thirty odd meters at her seven charges lined up along the dock waving merrily at her.

“What's going on?” Jackson was beside her.

“We're going on that boat!” Esther yelled with a grin as she pointed with both arms and her body to a luxury launch tied up a bit further up.

How weird that the first thing that went through her mind
was that at least now she wouldn't have to worry about the little thief stealing anything off this boat. Then she realized she had much bigger issues.

“You two have fun!” Hans's grin practically took up his whole face—they'd have nowhere near as much fun as he was planning to have, she would bet.

“Tell the chef sorry about the red-food thing!”

Allie turned to the sailor guy standing by where the gangplank had been. “You turn around and take us back there right now!” She hissed the words at him.

“Sorry, ma'am. No can do. The old guy promised to double this if we continued the sailing as originally planned.” And he opened his fist to reveal a thick, folded-over wad of hundred-dollar bills.

She turned back to see them all walking toward the launch, except for Mr. Duff, who stood on the wharf. Seeing he had her attention, he gave a big smile and offered up a salute.

She was going to kill them. All of them.

* * *

H
e was going to kill him. Rich old man who held his destiny in his hands or not, his uncle was a dead man.

“Is this one of my character challenges? Am I supposed to jump off and swim?” Jackson yelled the questions at the top of his lungs, the distance between him and Allie and the wharf rapidly increasing. Like he hadn't already had enough experiences with New Zealand's aquatic life.

The old man held a hand to his ear, pretending he couldn't hear him. Giving them another salute, he turned and headed toward the other boat bobbing on the water.

“Unbelievable,” Jackson muttered under his breath, sucking back the few choice words he wanted to add. There was no way this was a character test, when the old guy wouldn't even be here to observe it. At some point, Louis had turned into a full-throttle matchmaker. With very deep pockets. If Jackson had had any idea this was part of what he was signing up for, he would've been on the first plane home.

At least he wasn't alone in his anger. Allison couldn't have looked more horrified if she'd somehow mistakenly found herself in the cast of
The Bachelor
.

His pride hurt a little. So they didn't exactly get along like a house on fire, but he'd thought, after the last couple of days, they'd at last found their way to some sort of truce. Okay, until he riled her up so bad today that she hadn't acknowledged his presence the rest of the afternoon. Though, as far as he could tell, she hadn't given the game up to his uncle yet. Right now he just wasn't sure whether to be grateful or wish she'd put him out of his misery.

“So how long are we stuck on this thing?” He directed his question straight ahead to the enormous expanse of ocean and sky that was now their vista.

“Two hours.”

She muttered something under her breath that sounded like a mumbled reference to having to explain her runaway tour to the head office.

“C'mon.” He quirked a smile at her. “It's not that bad.”

“Says the guy who's never met my boss.”

“Was that who was on the phone yesterday?” It was none of his business, but after the phone call, she'd seemed on edge the rest of the day. Jittery.

Something crossed her face. “No.” She ran a hand through her hair, tousling her updo. Staring at the receding wharf, she groaned. “As if I don't already have enough paperwork to do tonight.”

He shrugged. “So don't tell them. This is hardly your fault.”

“That's not what they'll think.” Allie bent over and rested her head on the metal rail. He tried not to notice how perfectly the bodice of her green cocktail dress hugged her curves. Unfortunately, that would entail jabbing himself in the one good eye he had left.

Allie tipped her head sideways and her green-eyed gaze slid up to his face. She looked at him in silence for a couple of seconds, lips pursed as if she were deciding whether to deign to continue speaking to him. “So what are we going to do?”

“Have dinner? I'm starving.”

“Fair enough.” She pushed herself up from the railing. “Especially since I don't have wads of hundred-dollar notes on me to buy our way back. Do you?”

He made a show of pulling his empty jacket pockets inside out. “Definitely not.” What was his uncle up to? And how and when had he gotten everyone else to sign up for it?

Allie walked ahead of him toward the dining room, the full skirt swaying in the breeze. Wisps of hair that had fallen from her pulled-back do danced in the light breeze around the nape of her neck.

Stop it, Jackson! Done with women, remember? Done with women.
He tugged at his shirt collar. Man, it was a warm night. In spite of it being autumn in April, he still couldn't get his head around it.

Allie opened the door and stepped in. He followed, only to
find she had stopped right inside the doorway. Smacking into her back, he caused her to stumble, and his hand leapt out to snag her around her waist before he could think about it.

“Are you—” His language skills failed him as he saw what had caused her abrupt halt. Little sparkly lights were strung around the entire room, a female singer crooned from somewhere, and by an expanse of windows in the middle of a sea of dining isolation sat a table for two. Complete with candles, roses, and a bottle of champagne on ice. Like something staged straight out of the world's most clichéd dates.

A groan escaped Jackson's lips before he could stop it.

Allie cast him a scathing look. “You mind?”

Huh?

She jabbed her chin toward where his hand still rested on her waist, and he dropped it faster than a scalding iron.

Letting out something that sounded like a cross between a whistle and a sigh, she strode forward to their table, blew out the candles, picked up the ornate candelabra, and dropped it into a trash can in the corner of the room. Returning to the table, she picked up the roses and delivered them, vase and all, to the same trash can.

On the final trip, she plucked out the bottle of vintage Moët from the ice bucket standing beside the table and waved it in his direction like a club. “You want any?” From the tone of her voice, there was only one acceptable answer.

She wasn't going to be getting it from him. There was no way he was letting a bottle of expensive champagne get thrown away.

“Easy, tiger.” Walking toward her, he pried the champagne from her fingers. If Allie kept shaking the bottle around like
that, it would explode like a fountain when opened. And he, for one, could use a glass.