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Tempting the Negotiator
Zana Bell
“You’d better be careful.”
Jake added, “The sun here is fierce and you’ll soon fry, with that white skin of yours.”
Sass met his eyes in the mirror. “Thanks for the warning, but I’ve come prepared for things to be pretty hot down here.”
He knew she wasn’t just talking about the sun.
“Wise,” he said. “Foreigners get burned very quickly.”
Jake thought he saw her eyebrows arch slightly, a smile of challenge flitting across her face, but it might have only been the effect of sun and shadow from the overhanging trees flashing past.
“Don’t you worry about me, Mr. Finlayson. I can take care of myself.”
Dear Reader,
This book was conceived in friendship. I grew up in Zimbabwe with my two best friends. We laughed and squabbled and shared all through our childhood and teenage years. Now one lives in Houston, the other in Tulsa and I’m in New Zealand.
I want to write books that link our lives. This story is the first of hopefully many where Americans and Kiwis meet and fall in love—and encounter many obstacles, misunderstandings and adventures along the way.
Having always been a fan of Westerns, visiting Texas was a dream come true, and I was sure I could detect cowboy DNA in those long-legged men and women with their slow, lilting voices. I was especially touched by Texan warmth and generosity. Sass, my heroine, has the same mixture of intelligence, Southern charm and underlying resilience that I encountered there.
Sparks often fly when people from different countries meet. It’s not always comfortable, but it is always vivid. I wanted to capture that flare when Sass first confronts Jake, a big wave surfer and typically laconic Kiwi male. Going to another country is also unbalancing and it’s good for my headstrong heroine to have her world tilted—especially as she’s busy turning Jake’s completely upside down.
I had lots of fun writing this U.S./N.Z. book—checking out what makes us different, what makes us the same. I hope you enjoy reading it.
Zana Bell
P.S. I love to hear from readers, so visit me at
www.zanabell.com.
P.P.S. And yes, N.Z. truly is fairy-tale beautiful. Even after living here for many years, it still takes my breath away.
Tempting the Negotiator
Zana Bell
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Zana Bell was born and raised in Zimbabwe, which she left in her early twenties in search of adventure. Her travels ended abruptly a few years later when she came to New Zealand, fell in love with a Kiwi and stayed. The daughter of British parents and the mother of Kiwi children, she delights in the misunderstandings, laughter and insights that occur when nationalities and cultures mix. She lives with a mountain at her back and a harbor before her, a constant source of joy.
To Geoff, Zoe, Tayga and Whanau
With thanks to the Whangarei branches of the New Zealand Ornithological Society and Department of Conservation for giving me their time and support regarding the fairy tern.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u383a0f0c-5d1e-5771-9e09-d44da46050e9)
CHAPTER TWO (#u8699c815-f6a8-5f3b-a837-2c98f71233b3)
CHAPTER THREE (#u033b68d2-3656-5cb3-92eb-d27b6cf98b01)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uc1c93e96-a2c4-5cc2-9068-b1fca915352e)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u855602e7-18bf-5b59-8d0c-b421b1265d76)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
TRYING TO IGNORE the high thrum of the airplane engine, Sass leaned back against her seat and shut her eyes. She’d forced her shoulders into a semblance of relaxation but her hands remained clenched in her lap. Only another ten minutes.
“Feeling sick?”
Sass opened her eyes and looked into the sympathetic face of the woman across the tiny aisle. She tried to smile.
“I don’t like flying too much.”
Sass Walker was a terra firma kinda gal. She liked to feel the earth beneath her feet, preferably with a comforting layer of asphalt. She also liked maps and lists. Fine print was her forte, which made her great at her job. She liked order and control. Especially control. And right now this tin can of an airplane didn’t feel at all controlled. Neither did her life.
The woman smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s really very safe.”
The six-seater sure didn’t feel it. Sass bet that if she punched the side, her fist would go right through.
“Besides, we’re nearly there,” the woman continued. “See, there’s the harbor coming into view right now.”
Every one of the six passengers had a window seat, and Sass forced herself to look out. Most people, she knew, would have been spellbound by the generous antipodean harbor surrounded by shaggy green mountains, but she was horribly jet-lagged and still smarting from life’s unfairness.
“American?”
Sass nodded. She saw the woman’s gaze travel down her caramel Prada suit to her black Christian Louboutin pumps with their trademark red soles.
“I know who you are! You’re the lawyer come to set up the tourist resort in Aroha Bay.”
The heavy-jowled man diagonally in front of Sass spun around. “Come to destroy the bay, more like!”
“Oh, come off it, Reg, the town could do with a boost to its economy and you know it.”
Inwardly Sass groaned. It was starting already, the dissidence she was here to calm. Kurt the Incompetent had ballsed up big-time, rushing in with multimillion-dollar schemes without consultation, without checking the facts, and now she’d been sent in to clean up the mess. And while she was exiled here at the Back-of-Beyond at the bottom of the world, Kurt would be smarming his way into the promotion she’d been killing herself with eighty-hour weeks, years on end, to win. All her frustration, her fury, now turned on New Zealand, though Sass was careful to smile.
“I’m just here to listen to what all you folks have to say. My company is concerned to discover there’s local opposition to what they thought would be a wonderful business opportunity for Whangarimu.”
“And it is!” the woman agreed.
The man scowled. “We don’t need Americans coming in and taking over. It’s a bloody disgrace. Did you see the plans? Amazon ruins in the middle of New Zealand forests? What did he call it—Jungle Paradise? Utter tosh.”
The man had a point. Sass herself had been speechless when Kurt had unveiled his brainchild back in New York. Paradise Resorts prided itself on its theme-based holiday locations, and Kurt had seen the New Zealand forest as the perfect setting for a Mayan complex topped by a large “temple” casino.
The plane’s shrill engine changed tone as it began its descent. Sass was deeply relieved to see the airport below; grateful not to have to continue the discussion any longer, grateful that this interminable trip of nearly thirty hours was over. She craved the silence of a hotel room, a hot shower and a glass of chilled white wine. Most of all she craved a cigarette.
Touchdown was soft, and within seconds the pilot had flung open the door of the plane and lowered the stairs.
“Welcome to Whangarimu!”
Knees wobbly, she stepped out of the plane. The brilliant late afternoon sunlight was like a slap in the face. She walked across the small runway toward a one-level building she assumed was the airport. Several people were gathered, waiting to greet the arrivals, and she searched for someone holding up a card with her name on it, Kurt having assured her she’d be met. Nada. Great, just great. She began to make her way to the counter when a hand on her arm waylaid her.
“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.”
