Page 17 of Bay of Plenty

He leaned toward me. Confused, my brain freaked out.Why is your face coming at me? Oh, are you going to kiss me?I wasn’t ready, and our teeth clanked. He gave me a quick peckon the lips, his scruff scratchy. He smelled of lemons and something very male.

He grabbed his duffel bag and computer case from a car parked across the road. That’s what he was doing over there.

“What plane did you catch?” Mum asked. “When did you decide to come?” It was obvious by her eager, now-awake eyes she was gearing up for details of his entire journey.

“Joyce, you must be exhausted,” Declan deflected. “Why don’t we all head to bed, and we’ll talk in the morning.”

Self-consciously, I took his hand and led him through the house, pausing for him to scratch Fred under the chin in greeting. Outside my bedroom, I hesitated. He gave me a reassuring smile. Okay, we were really doing this. With a deep breath, I opened the sliding door.

In the room, I stood awkwardly in front of him. All my senses were magnified by his presence. I was very aware of what a small space it was, how close we were standing, and, despite my exhaustion, everything about him—board shorts hung low on a narrow waist, wide shoulders in a faded blue T-shirt, and jandals on his feet. Even straight from the plane, he was all loose-limbed, breeze-blown, and tan.

“You look like you fit right in at the beach,” I said. “How do you do that?”

He shrugged and smiled modestly. “I work undercover, after all.” His eyes and smile made me aware of myself too. I tugged down my tiny sleep shorts, then clamped my arms over my thin tank top. Why did my stomach fizz at the sight of him? And why did parts lower down suddenly sit up with interest despite how tired I was? Well, let’s see—he wore the hell out of those shorts, and I’d been experiencing a bit of a dry spell lately. Mystery solved.

His eyes flicked to something behind me. Spinning around, I saw what it was.

“There’s only one bed,” he said.

Slapping my hands over my face, I groaned. “Why hadn’t this occurred to me?”

He shrugged. “Fair play, you’ve never done fake dating before, and you’ve probably been consumed with worry about your mum and dad. I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said quickly. “I’ve slept on dirt floors for months. Honestly, your carpet is luxury compared to that. If you can grab me a duvet or even a sleeping bag, I’ll be grand.”

A rustle from outside. I pressed an index finger to my lips. “Everything okay, kids?” Mum asked.

“Brilliant, thank you,” I called back cheerily. She walked away. “Asking for more bedding in summer will make her suspicious.” I stared at the bed. “Look, it’s fine. We’re adults. We can put some pillows down the middle.”

He dropped his duffel bag and suppressed a yawn.

“Quickly, I want to address the elephant in the room.” I winced. “This is embarrassing. I was soooo drunk on my birthday night. Ineverget that drunk.” Fingers and toes crossed for the lie.

“Oh, please, don’t worry about it.” His accent was British with a hint of Irish, which was how I remembered him. His eyes radiated kindness, and his lips curved into a smile that seemed sincere. “I’m the last one to judge, believe me. Everyone blows off steam on their birthday. You put on a great party, by the way. The craic was ninety.”

The Irish expression made me laugh, and I relaxed a bit.

He looked bleary-eyed. “We can talk about the details of the fake dating in the morning.”

“I know you’re exhausted, but I won’t sleep if I don’t know. Why are you investigating my parents?”

He sat in the corner wicker chair. “They are funding an operation, Ohope Beach Winery, which we believe is trafficking heroin.”

“Heroin? What?” An electric jolt burned through my veins. I paced the room.

He leaned forward over his knees. “Two months ago, my source at London Port reported that his boss had put himself in charge of checking in a monthly container from an obscure New Zealand winery. After hours of work, my source found traces of heroin inside the container. This coincided with a premium new heroin on the streets—purer than China White, the name given to the highest grade—rumored to be grown in a remote part of the world. The London buyer is a wine importer.” He bit his bottom lip. “We don’t know the ultimate seller yet. I’d sent Kiwi undercover agents to Ohope but was forced to pull them following a police complaint from someone called Rosemary Fox about ‘pervs’ following her everywhere.”

I burst out laughing. “Rosemary is my mother’s best friend—sounds like her.”

He ran his hands down his thighs. “I need to be up-front about our deadline. We have two weeks to solve this case. Being here longer will ruin my credibility as someone with a job in London. And five days after the two weeks, I’m up for a promotion. I made some mistakes on my last assignment. I need this bust. So I’m committed to our partnership and making this case work.”

He left that in the air—he was one of those people who didn’t feel the need to fill the awkward silence. He stood upand gathered clothes from his bag. “Feel free to turn out your light. Okay if I take a quick shower?”

“Yes, of course, sorry, make yourself at home. You don’t have to ask.”

While he was in the bathroom, I lined up pillows down the middle of the bed and slipped under the sheet.

He emerged in sweatpants and a T-shirt. I looked straight ahead even though he was decent.

“Did the pillows,” I said awkwardly, clutching the sheet to my chin.

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