Page 11 of Duty and Desire

He blinked. “You know what Bora-Bora means?”

I recalled what I’d read. “Pora pora mai te pora? Created by the gods?” That earned me another blink, and I chuckled. “I probably mangled that. As for how I know, I’m used to doing a lot of research. Before I left the US I made a point of learning all I could about the place.”

Nick bit his lip. “You’re remarkably well-informed.”

The more he spoke, the more obvious it became that Nick was an articulate, intelligent man.

“I know they speak Tahitian and French here. Do you speak either of those?” I was still trying to place the slight accent filtering through his speech. It definitely wasn’t French, but maybe German, Danish, Icelandic or even Dutch. His English was excellent.

“I speak French, which I hated learning when I was growing up, but for which I’m thankful now.”

“Where did you grow up?”

Nick glanced at me, his smile reserved. “Not around here.” He returned his attention to his steering. “What do you write? Are you an author, a journalist, an academic?”

“I write fiction.”

His eyes lit up. “And would I have heard of you?”

I let out a wry chuckle. “I don’t think I’d find one of my titles on your Kindle, put it that way.”

“An observant writer, clearly.” He fired me anotherglance. “You’re not going to give me your pen name, are you? Or do you write as yourself?”

“No, on both counts.” If he could be reserved, then so could I.

Nick drove the boat around the northern headland, and I tried not to smile when we passed Roger’s bungalow. He continued to point out various landmarks, and it was clear he knew a lot about the island.

“So this is what you do for a living?” Except I already knew the answer to that.

What intrigued me was what his response would be.

“I do this and that,” he said with a wave of his hand. “It depends on the weather and the season. I have plenty to keep me busy.” His impassive expression came as a surprise. Up until that moment he’d been relaxed and friendly, and it was as if his last statement had served to remind him of something.

I had the impression it was something unpleasant.

I studied him surreptitiously.

Why do you need to be occupied? Is it to keep your mind from taking you to places you’d rather not go?

There was a depth to him, and it drew me in, compelling me to learn more. Our conversation was casual, and I yearned to hear more, to fathom the sharp mind I was certain he possessed.

I listened as he talked. For all his knowledge of the island, I couldn’t shake off that feeling of… disconnect, that he was a man out of place, far from home.

Like me.

A lonely man, perhaps?

And that was also like me.

When the impulse seized me, I went with it. “You mentioned hiking. Is that something else you do? I mean, do you take tourists on excursions?”

There was a pause. “I’ve been known to conduct a few tours of the interior, yes.”

“Great. When we get back to dry land, do you think you couldgive me a business card? In case I’d like to arrange such a tour.” I held my breath.

Say yes. Please say yes.

For reasons I didn’t understand, I wanted to know more about him. For a book? Very possibly, but I knew my motives were more personal than that.

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