“I will, if he doesn’t stop.”
“Are you thinking about getting back with him?”
“No.”
“Why did you break up? Did he cheat on you?”
“No, nothing like that. He was just so prickly, so intense and argumentative. I was tired of the accusations andarguments. I just want peace and quiet.” She smiles and has another bite of muffin.
I study her while she looks out at the gardens, no doubt checking what work needs to be done. She looks like a nymph, like a tree deity dressed in green with her red hair tumbling past her shoulders. She hated the color when she was young, always wearing it cropped short and even dying it occasionally, but now it’s gloriously red, a true Titian, glinting with golden highlights in the sun. She was wearing a sweatshirt when she was digging, probably to keep the sun off her pale skin, and she won’t be wearing sun lotion after her shower, so I stand and put up the umbrella in the middle of the table, casting a shadow over the two of us so she doesn’t catch the glare of the New Zealand sun, which can be harsh even at this time of year.
“Thank you,” she says. “God knows I have enough freckles.”
“I love your freckles.” I sit and have another bite of my muffin. “I’ve always wondered if they’re all over your body.”
She coughs into her drink, throws me a look, then wipes her chin with a serviette.
“Sorry,” I add, “did I say that out loud?”
That makes her laugh. “You’re incorrigible. No wonder you get into such trouble.”
“Life’s too short to watch what you say.” I lean back, holding my cup, and sigh. “I hate polite society. Actually I don’t like people much at all. I’m happier when I’m off on my own in the wilderness and I don’t have to worry about talking or, you know, washing.”
She chuckles. “I wondered whether the current look reflected a recent excursion.” She gestures at my hair and beard.
“I cut it all off for a friend’s wedding back in February. Nobody recognized me. So I haven’t had it cut since.” I sip my coffee, feeling mischievous. “So, are they?”
“Are they what?”
“All over your body? Your freckles.”
She snorts. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I tip my head to the side. The skin on her face and arms is pale, so the rest of her body is going to be even paler. I bet she has freckles all over her breasts. Down her tummy. Up her soft thighs. Between her legs, on that sensitive, possibly hairless skin?
I lift my gaze back to hers. She’s blushing.
“Stop picturing me naked,” she scolds. “It’s weird.”
“Why is it weird?”
“You’re like my brother, for God’s sake.”
“I can safely say, Chessie Ross, I have never thought of you like a sister.”
It’s actually a lie. I used to think of her like that… until I kissed her.
She meets my gaze now, her green eyes wide, her expression clearly baffled.
“I’m sorry,” I relent, thinking about the Foundation and feeling suddenly guilty at my behavior. “I’m being inappropriate.”
Her lips curve up. “I don’t mind the teasing. We’ve known each other long enough that I know you don’t mean it.” She chuckles and looks away, sipping her coffee. She honestly thinks I’m joking. She obviously has no idea how beautiful she is. Tiny and perfectly proportioned. She’s not tall or stick thin like Sabrina; her muscles are toned from her physical job, and she’s pleasingly rounded. Definitely a C cup, maybe even a D.
I catch myself thinking about it and tear my gaze away. What the fuck is wrong with me? See, Kingi, this is what Mikaere and Moana meant when they said you need to be more respectable. You’re about to head a foundation that teachesyoung men how to—including other things—be respectful to women. What kind of fucking role model are you going to be?
I clear my throat. “So… how are you enjoying being in charge of the business? Do you like being the boss?”
She pulls a face. “God, no. I’m terrible at it. I struggle with the paperwork. And I’m no good at managing people. Luckily most of them know what they’re doing and they organize themselves.”