Mr. Unforgettable (3 page)

John looked at him blankly for a minute then reddened. “Sorry, mate, but—” his gaze swept over Luke's expensive suit “—you don't have any idea what you're taking on.”

“Oh, I'll soon have them singing Gilbert and Sullivan and calling me sir.” Luke opened the stair door, gallantly gestured Caroline and Dunn through into the council foyer. “And I'm looking forward to learning how to rap.”

John looked at him closely. “You're having me on.”

“I'm sorry.” Losing his temper wouldn't help anybody. “Look, most of these kids aren't bad, just without choices or role models. And we're not expecting quick fixes. Every kid comes back to camp at least twice and there'll be follow-up scholarships for those willing to take them.”

Luke became aware that his voice was ringing through the foyer, and shut up. The other two were staring at him, embarrassed. God help me, he thought, I've become an evangelist.

“Your heart's in the right place, mate, but…” John's gaze slid over Luke's suit again. “I grew up around kids like that and they don't change.”

“I
was
a kid like that. And I did change.” Luke thrust out his hand. “Give them a chance, that's all I ask.”

John shook it. “Chance. Guess that explains the name of the camp. Well, good on you for giving something back.” With a nod to Caroline he turned toward his office.

“I never knew that about you.” Her curiosity rescued Luke from painful memories.

With a shrug, he followed her out of the building. “It's not something I broadcast. But if it helps change prejudices, I guess I should use it.” He looked down at the new permit in his hand, then kissed it. “Yeah, baby.”

Caroline laughed. “Come over for a drink tonight to celebrate.” Her invitation implied more than a drink and for a moment Luke was tempted, but these days moments were all he allowed himself. “Thanks, but I need to work.”

“You know what they say about no play…”

“Makes Jack a dull boy. Yep, that's me.”

Driving back to the building site to break the good news, he wondered if dull Jack was the same Jack who sat in a corner saying, “What a good boy am I!”

If it was, he reflected dryly, Horner had been misspelled.

 

T
HE HOUSE
, when Luke got home midafternoon, was stifling from being closed up on a day when the beach shimmered in a haze of heat, and even Beacon Bay's white sand could scorch the soles of bare feet.

Opening all the doors and windows, he stripped to a pair of running shorts and a loose T-shirt, then leaped off his deck, down the sand dunes and onto the beach. It was too damn hot for a run but fitness was engrained in him so he picked up his stride, his trainers digging into the soft sand.

Besides, he'd be stuck in his home office all evening catching up on Triton business. While he'd delegated his day-to-day responsibilities in order to set up the camp, as a partner he still had a strategic role.

His property was at the less populated end of the three-kilometer beach, close to a tidal lagoon. But it took the length of the beach and back before Luke had run out the day's frustrations.

Panting, he walked the jelly out of his legs alongside the green lagoon, with its shady overhang of gnarled pohutukawas.

Kids had recently created a deeper swimming hole by damming the sea end, but to counter protests from parents of toddlers they'd also formed a smaller, shallow pool between the sea and the sandbank.

On an incoming tide it made a perfect wading pool, but today only one mother—wearing a modest lime swimsuit, a big straw hat and sunglasses—stood knee deep supervising a blond baby.

In addition to wearing yellow water wings, the girl had a bright pink blow-up ring around her solid little middle and looked like the Michelin Man in drag. But she had a yummy mummy. Luke allowed his libido a quick scan.

A golden Labrador tore past him and thundered into the water with a joyful bark, sending spray over the woman, who yelped and then laughed. “Go home, Tolstoy, or I'll have you impounded,” she warned and Luke realized he'd been admiring the mayor's shapely legs and beautifully rounded rear.

Tolstoy was a well-known sight on the beach; his elderly owner let the dog walk himself.

She turned back to the splashing baby, gently floating on the ripples over the sandbank and into the main lagoon. “Oh, shit!”

Luke grinned. So the mayor hid a great body and swore when she thought she was unobserved. The Lab swam to shore where it shook itself off in a whir of flying golden fur and raced up to Luke.

Giving him a cursory pat, Luke watched, amused, as the mayor gingerly waded in up to her armpits and grabbed for the baby, who floated just out of her reach.

Obviously, Her Worship didn't want to get her hair wet. As the baby drifted away from her, she made another grab and went under, her hat bobbing to the surface. Luke laughed until Liz's face broke free of the water and she tore off her sunglasses. She was terrified.

He exploded into motion, hit the water as the mayor went under for the second time, reaching her in three fast strokes, then hauled her, coughing and spluttering, into the shallows.

“Harriet,” she gasped, all her attention on the child.

“She's fine.” He retrieved the spinning tube with the splashing baby, the hat and the sunglasses. Liz grabbed Harriet, and the plastic squeaked under the pressure of her hug.

Rivulets of water streamed off her dark blond hair and down her face, splashing on the child, who began to whimper. With a shock, Luke realized the mayor was crying.

She thrust out the baby, and he took Harriet awkwardly and walked away, instinctively giving Liz privacy and himself space. The baby stopped fussing and stared at him with wondering eyes. He ventured a smile. The baby stared at his teeth.

“Can you talk?” he asked. The baby didn't answer. She was older than his goddaughter…Maybe two? He freed her from the inner tube and water wings conscious of the big brown eyes that traveled, fascinated, over his face. Now he understood the safety-gear overkill.

She seemed much younger and smaller without all her floaters, and he wished he'd kept them on.

“I'm sorry.” Liz came over and took the kid from him. She looked pale. Barefoot, she was level with his shoulder. She tried to dry Harriet with a towel but her shaking hands made her clumsy. The baby's lower lip started to tremble.

Luke took Harriet back. “My house is nearby, let me make you a cup of tea.”

As she hesitated, a group of beachgoers trudged into view, heading their way. Mayor Light jammed on her sunglasses. “Let's go.”

B
EACH BAG IN HAND
, Liz followed Luke Carter up the dunes, focused on pulling herself together. Slowly, the shaking stopped and she became conscious of her wet swimsuit, her rat's-tail hair and the freckles on her nose, normally covered by makeup.
Of having fallen apart in front of a ratepayer
.

They stepped onto his deck, the same sunbleached cedar as the two-story house. Most of the beach frontage was glass, currently reflecting the sand dunes, blue sky and a bedraggled woman. “You know,” she said calmly, “I won't stay…if I could just refill Harriet's bottle with water?”

“I think your first task is more urgent than that.” He handed her the baby and she nearly reeled at the smell.

“Oh!” The swimming nappy was supposed to be leakproof. Too late, Liz realized one tab had come loose. She held Harriet at arm's length and looked at the smear on her swimsuit. “Ugh!” To her dismay there was also a brown stain on Luke's sodden red T-shirt. “I'm
so
sorry…”

He followed the direction of her gaze and grimaced. “I wondered why the smell didn't go away.” Gingerly hauling the wet T-shirt away from his body, he indicated a direction. “You two take the downstairs bathroom, I'll take upstairs.”

The situation was so ridiculous Liz had to smile. “I haven't even thanked you yet.”

He smiled back. It steadied the last jangle of her nerves. “A true knight errant wouldn't flinch from damsels who weren't potty trained. How old is your…your…?” She watched him try and work it out.

Harriet could be her child, Liz was young enough. For a moment she wanted that fiercely. “Step granddaughter,” she said. “Fifteen months.”

“Granddaughter,” he repeated. “What are you, all of thirty-two, thirty-three?”

“Thirty-five.” Being precious about your age was a waste of time when you were in public service. “How old are you?”

For a moment he looked surprised then grinned as he took her point. “Thirty-three.”

It relieved Liz that he was younger. Made him less dangerous, somehow. Holding Harriet well clear, she followed him through the open-plan kitchen/dining room to the bathroom and caught a better view of herself in the mirror.

“Oh!” Harriet gave her a beatific smile and pointed at her nappy. “Pooh,” she said proudly.

Fifteen minutes later, Liz was naked when Luke nearly gave her a heart attack by tapping on the door. “You okay for towels?”

“Fine,” she gasped, dragging one out of her bag. Then remembered the door was locked and relaxed.

“How do you have your tea?”

Harriet, now cleaned up and dressed, toddled to the door and reached up for the handle. “Out?” She looked expectantly at Liz.

“Wait for me, honey.” Liz toweled down and reached for her underwear. “Milk, no sugar, please.”

“I'll see what I can rustle up for the baby.”

“Out,” Harriet bellowed. The handle was low and her little fingers caught the edge. The niblock popped out and the door swung open. With a yelp, Liz dropped her bra and grabbed the towel, holding it against her front. Briefly her eyes met Luke's.

He turned his back, reaching one hand behind him to fumble for the handle. Harriet grabbed his fingers instead. “Juice,” she demanded, and started leading him down the hall.

“Nice towel,” he mentioned casually over his shoulder.

Liz shoved the door shut, turned back to the mirror and started rebuilding her shattered image.

 

T
HE MAYOR CAME
into the kitchen while Luke and Harriet were staring into the fridge.

The mayor, not the woman. She'd pulled her wet hair into a French twist and covered her cute freckles with makeup. The ice-blue dress she wore was calf length and her heeled sandals matched perfectly.

“I gave her water,” he said, “but she's hungry. Is there anything suitable for a baby in this fridge?” He looked again at the row of brightly colored sports drinks, the raw steak, a bar of chocolate and a small carton of long-life milk.

“That's kind of you,” she said formally, picking Harriet up, “but I carry food.” Out of the voluminous bag she produced a can of baby custard and a banana and sat with Harriet at the breakfast bar.

The baby ate it with lip-smacking relish while Luke finished making tea and brought Liz a mug. She avoided meeting his eyes. “Thank you.”

Taking a stool next to her, he said curiously, “How did you grow up in Beacon Bay and not learn to swim?”

For a moment he thought she'd deny it, then she sighed. “I'm not from around here.”

“Auckland?”

Scraping banana custard off Harriet's chin, she didn't answer.

“I feel compelled to mention the mayoral swim-safe campaign.”

“Ironic, isn't it?” She took off Harriet's bib and finally looked at him. “So now you know my terrible secret. The poster girl for water safety can't swim. It's an initiative I inherited.”

He read the anxiety in her eyes. “I can keep secrets. Why don't you take lessons?”

“Because no one can see me learning. It would undermine the campaign.” She put down a squirming Harriet who immediately toddled into the adjoining lounge toward a coffee table holding a crystal chess set. Liz caught her as she got there and turned her in another direction.

“This is lovely.” She picked up a chess piece and caressed it with a tactile appreciation that surprised him. He didn't think of her as a sensual person. “It must be a joy to play with.”

“I haven't had a game since I've been here.” Too few friends in Beacon Bay and none of them chess players. “You play?”

She put the knight down. “I used to.”

Luke followed Harriet, who had her nose and palms pressed against the ranch slider that separated the western side of the lounge from a private courtyard. “Let me make sure this is locked, little lady. We don't want you falling in.”

The baby stared beyond the glass to where the lap pool sparkled sky blue in a garden of hibiscus, palms and frangipani.

Retrieving Harriet, Liz asked, “What, the ocean isn't big enough?”

“A pool lets me swim year-round. Old habits die hard, I guess.” He checked the catch on the ranch slider, but Harriet had already lost interest and had begun playing with the fine silver chain around Liz's neck.

“I saw you win the gold medal,” the mayor said as they sat down again, “on TV. I was very proud to be a Kiwi that day.” She misread his expression. “I'm sorry. You must get tired of being public property, having everyone claim a connection.”

Smoothly he turned the subject. “You know how that feels, I imagine.”

“I think your fan club's bigger.”

“It was a long time ago.” They weren't good days for him.

“People don't forget achievements like that,” she said softly, and he realized she was thinking of her late husband. Tension uncoiled in his chest.

Harriet wandered off again. “I'll get her,” he said, welcoming the interruption. “Finish your tea.”

Left alone, Liz assessed her surroundings. Rimu floorboards gleamed red in the sun pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows to the east, but the lounge itself was barely furnished.

There were no cushions to soften the big leather couches, no artwork on the cream walls, no photographs on the fireplace mantel. It looked like the house of a man who had stripped his life down to its bare essentials.

So it surprised Liz when Luke reappeared carrying Harriet and a small basket of toys. “I bought them for my goddaughter to play with when her parents come to stay.”

Liz looked at the eclectic selection, which ranged from rattles to sophisticated counting games. “How old is your goddaughter?”

He spanned his big hands, “About this big…sits, crawls, can't walk.”

“Nine months to a year?”

“There you go.”

She hid a smile and accepted the offer of a refill, knowing Harriet would squeal blue murder if Liz denied her a short play with the toys. And there'd been enough drama for one day.
No, don't think about it
.

Instead she focused on Luke, padding over to the kitchen to put the kettle on again. He wore a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled up, over casual pants. Creamy white, they accentuated his tan.

She'd noticed Luke Carter's good looks before in the same incidental way she noticed the weather. Now it struck Liz what an extremely handsome man he was. With his damp dark hair sleek against his head, the perfect proportions of his strong cheekbones, straight nose and square jaw stood out.

He had a wide mouth, often quirked at one corner, and his eyes were an unusual light gray, piercing, yet giving little away. Idly she decided that women would find him very attractive, with his height and athletic build, radiating vitality and peak health.

She had a vague recollection that he'd been through a messy separation. The council gossip, Mary, would know the details if Liz cared to ask. But Liz wouldn't ask. Being in the public eye had only reinforced her belief that people's private lives were their business.

Her gaze returned to Harriet, busy gumming a red ball. The baby dropped it to pick up a rattle, her arm movement getting more and more frenzied with the joy of the resulting noise. Liz started to laugh with her. A sob caught in her throat, taking her by complete surprise.

If anything had happened to her…if Luke hadn't come along…Desperately she tried to hold the thoughts at bay but they kept coming. The next sob escaped. Jumping up, she headed blindly for the bathroom and almost collided with Luke.

“You're crying.”

Liz kept her head down. “I have something in my eye.”

Luke put down the mugs. “Let me see.”

“It's gone, I think.” She smiled brightly through the tears.

“Let me see.” He tilted her chin while she blinked furiously. He gave her a gentle shake. “Breathe.” She breathed, but that only vaporized her bravado. As Luke checked her eye, she tilted her head back farther but the brimming tears overflowed.

Desperately, she pushed his hand away. “I think I've cried it out—the thing.”

“You don't have something in your eye, do you?”

Tears streamed down her face. She couldn't speak.

Luke drew her into his arms. “It's delayed shock—nothing to be ashamed of.” His hug was light, friendly, unthreatening, but it was the first time a man had held Liz in over two years and she couldn't handle it.

“Please don't touch me.”

Immediately he released her. “I didn't mean to frighten you.”

She wiped away the tears. “You didn't…it's just…” How to explain the fear that came with bereavement, the shock of the new after the familiar.

“You don't like to be touched,” he finished.

She nearly laughed. Touch was what she missed most, but not the comfort of strangers. Yet when she looked into his eyes, read his empathy, Luke didn't feel like a stranger. So she was honest with him. “I'm not used to being touched anymore,” she said.

To her surprise he took her shaking hands, cradled them lightly between his. “Okay?”

She nodded. His warmth seeped into her fingers, her shaking eased to trembling, then stopped. “If I'd lost Harriet, too…” No, she wouldn't cry again. Liz broke contact. “I should never have taken her near the water. But I thought with the safety tube and staying in the shallows…” She straightened her shoulders. “No excuses.”

“How about I teach you?” he suggested. “Swimming lessons for chess games.”

“Oh, that's kind but…” She searched for a polite excuse. “My schedule is erratic.”

He grinned. “Bring your chaperone if you like.”

She shook her head vaguely. “I don't understand.”

“You're feeling awkward because you think I've seen you naked—I haven't.”
Only half-naked
. Fully concentrated on covering her front, the mayor had forgotten her back was reflected in the mirror.

Luke had turned away quickly but he could still summon an image of the long pale slope of her back, faintly pink from the sun, her apple-cheeked bottom and slender legs. But she didn't need to know that.

A blush tinged her cheeks. “You're very frank, aren't you?”

“I'm not a politician,” he agreed. “You might find that refreshing.”

She laughed. “
Being
a politician, I can't answer that.”

“No pressure,” he said. “Think about it.” He almost regretted the impulsive offer already.

“I should get Harriet home.”

His driveway opened to the cul-de-sac next to the public walkway to the lagoon, where Liz had parked her Ford sedan. Despite her protestations, Luke insisted on carrying the baby for her.