It’s Love, Dude Page 4

‘You will NOT.’

  Oops.

  Chapter 4

  Being frog-marched out of the swamp was an interesting and not altogether enjoyable experience for Molly. Zane seemed to have excellent night vision. He strode along at an angry pace and hauled her straight whenever she tripped on a tree root or tussock of grass.

  The swamp ended suddenly, opening to the grassed roadside where they’d parked their cars. Zane’s shiny new 4WD dwarfed her fuel-efficient runabout and Tom’s elderly ute. The moonlight was almost dazzling after the darkness of the swamp. It also showed Zane’s expression, which was grim.

  She shrugged out of his hold. He actually had good reason to be annoyed, and it was sweet that he cared about what happened to Tom and her but, discretion being the better part of valour, she decided to put some space between them. She stamped down the regret that, as annoyed as he was, there’d be no dinner date tomorrow.

  ‘I can’t believe my own grandson has turned into a nervous Nellie.’ Tom crashed open the door to his ute. As always, he hadn’t locked it.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re stupid enough to risk yourself and Molly.’ Zane swung around.

  Molly back-stepped quietly.

  ‘What if you fell and broke your leg? Or your hip? You’re old, Granddad.’

  Tom revved the ute engine and roared out in a spatter of gravel. The tiny stones pinged against the paintwork of Zane’s 4WD, who swore.

  Molly slipped into her car and locked the door.

  In five long strides, Zane closed the distance between them and tapped on the window.

  She shook her head. Her fingers shook, too, as she fitted the key in the ignition. She’d never handled conflict well. The fact that she felt guilty put her at an additional disadvantage. She got her car started and pulled out slowly. In her rear-view mirror, Zane was a dark silhouette climbing into his car.

  Two minutes later he was a relentless pair of headlights tracking just behind the point where he’d blind her.

  Freaking fishes. He wasn’t about to let this go.

  She drove at the speed limit into town and down High Street. Two of the local pubs were open. The third was boarded up for renovations before the summer tourist season started. The bright lights made her lift her foot from the accelerator. She could stop at a pub or at the small convenience store. Her car slowed. Zane wouldn’t make a fuss if people might …

  Yes he would. She had the conviction Zane had something in common with his grandfather: neither cared what others thought.

  She pushed her foot firmly on the accelerator. If she didn’t want an audience, there was only one place to go.

  The neon sign of Phil’s Pizzas loomed to her right. She turned in the side street, drove down the familiar road lined with twisted peppermint trees and turned left. Three more driveways and she parked in her carport. Her small rental house was close enough to walk to work and, tonight, it had the added benefit of privacy.

  Zane’s 4WD pulled in behind her.

  For an instant she felt as silhouetted as a bunny rabbit in a hunter’s gun sight. Then Zane switched off his headlights.

  She grabbed the goggles and camera, and got out of the car.

  He met her at the bumper and took both from her. ‘Getting information out of Granddad is like getting blood from a stone, but I want to know what he’s mixed up in. So you’re going to tell me. I’ve never known him to give two hoots about wildlife.’

  ‘People acquire new interests as they age.’

  The moonlight showed Zane’s scowl.

  She bit her lip. Now was not the time for a sensitivity lecture on respecting the dignity of the elderly. Plus she’d managed to sound both prim and censorious. ‘You’d better come inside while I explain.”

  He followed her up the uneven concrete path, but not up the steps to the back door.

  She turned and looked at him.

  If anything, his scowl had deepened. That or the back veranda light highlighted the disapproving lines of it.

  ‘Are you always this trusting?’ he demanded.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You don’t know me, not really. It’s pretty obvious that my temper’s not the best at the moment. And you’re inviting me into your house. Unless — do you live here with someone else? Your parents?’

  ‘No. This is my house!’ Okay, so she rented it from Uncle Trevor and she knew he was significantly under-charging her, but it was her home.

  ‘Then you’re an idiot.’

  She let go of the security door. It banged shut. ‘I am not an idiot. You’re Tom’s grandson. You’re famous. Everyone in town watched that stupid showy car of yours.’ She waved her hand to where the monstrous 4WD squatted in her driveway. ‘They watched it drive down High Street behind my car. Mrs Embleton across the road has probably taken an extremely bad photo of it with her mobile phone to send to her grandson Eliot who likes to surf and thinks you’re brilliant. They all know you’re here. The only thing letting you into my house achieves is that they don’t actually hear our conversation — although judging by the fact that I’m shouting at you on my veranda…’

  ‘They can hear it.’ He reached around her and opened the security door. ‘Sorry. I forgot that Jardin Bay isn’t as anonymous as the city.’

  And now he looked amused. His mouth fought a grin.

  She turned and stalked into the house, flicking on lights. Without asking, she filled the kettle and put it on to boil. If he wanted a beer, he should have gone to the pub. She selected a relaxing herbal teabag from her stash of teas. ‘What would you like?’

  His nose wrinkled. He put the camera and goggles on the kitchen table and took the basket of herbal teas from her.

  ‘Peppermint’s okay for macho men,’ she said. ‘It won’t ruin your street cred.’

  He grinned.

  She sighed and opened the pantry. ‘Or I have instant coffee or a choc mix.’

  ‘Coffee.’

  ‘You won’t sleep, tonight.’

  ‘I’ll risk it.’

  And there was the difference between them. He’d risk it, while she went for a relaxing cuppa.

  She fixed their drinks and sat down at the table. He’d stretched out his long legs, so she tucked hers to the side.

  The kitchen was cute, but it wasn’t big. Uncle Trevor had renovated it in an easy to clean, easy to rent white, but she’d added colour with the patchwork printed tablecloth, matching curtains, retro canisters and colour-coordinated red kettle, toaster and mix master. The latter always sat on the counter since she made her own biscuits — which reminded her...

  She hauled out the rather squashed shortbread biscuits from her jacket pocket and put them on the table. Then she shrugged out of the jacket.

  The sweet spiciness of carnations from the vase on the table scented the room, with the aroma of Zane’s coffee adding a darker note.

  Molly curled her fingers around her mug and sipped, avoiding eye contact.

  He nudged her foot with his.

  Her gaze leapt up to his and was snared. He really had the most beguiling smile.

  ‘About Granddad, and was it the wily?’

  ‘Woylie,’ she corrected. ‘It’s like a small bandicoot. Only 30 centimetres, a foot, high.’ She put her mug down and measured its height with her hands. ‘They’re rare and no one’s found a woylie population near a town, but it is theoretically possible — and we needed something cute. The woylie is the closest we have to a bilby.’

  ‘There’s always you.’ He saluted her with his mug of coffee before taking a swallow.

  She stared blankly.

  ‘I’m saying you’re cute.’

  ‘Oh. Ohh.’

  He grinned. ‘So you’re saying the woylie is a cute marsupial like the bilby. I take it that the woylie is also endangered?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you want to find it in Big Swamp because…?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Do you remember how Tom had a property developer after his land?’

>   He nodded and bit into a biscuit.

  Absently, she helped herself to one too. The sugar helped. ‘I maybe made it sound simpler than it was. The developer had plans for Tom’s land and there was a bit of a fuss before Sergeant Forrest got involved and I gave him the evidence to help the property developer to move on.’

  ‘Define fuss,’ Zane said, all humour gone.

  ‘Some letters from a couple of the newcomers to town, written to the council complaining about Tom’s yard. But his yard is in accordance with zoning laws and it was there well before the houses these people live in were built. Still, I organised a petition in support of keeping the yard and I had a banner printed saying “Save Tom’s yard”. We hung it along his fence. It was vandalised. Tom was never in any danger.’ She leaned forward earnestly. ‘In fact, I think he enjoyed it — and that’s what led to the woylie.’

  ‘I need another biscuit.’

  She got up and brought the biscuit barrel, a cute pottery beehive, to the table. ‘I like Tom and I don’t want to be rude because he’s your grandfather, but he can be a bit grumpy.’

  ‘That’s an understatement.’

  ‘Hmm. The thing is, when he battled the property developer, he found a way to channel that grumpiness into a powerful, and socially acceptable, force. He became a hero.’

  ‘Flip.’

  She smiled sympathetically, grateful that Zane seemed to anticipate where she was headed with the story. ‘Exactly. So when a local developer — who is actually a good guy — put a proposition to the council to rezone Big Swamp for housing, which would mean draining it, then levelling the site, the people in favour of saving the swamp contacted Tom. He’d already fought one developer successfully.’

  ‘So he decided to fight again.’ Zane wasn’t asking. He knew his grandfather.

  ‘Except this time, as I said, the developer is local and the issue isn’t as clear-cut. I’m in favour of keeping the swamp. The evidence is that they operate as natural sinks for excess rainfall. Big Swamp also has lots of life. I’d hate to see it concreted over. But the other side of the argument is that Jardin Bay is growing and we need to be smart about our expansion. A new housing development on the site of the old swamp would be near enough for its residents to walk into town.’

  She sipped her tea. ‘The mayor doesn’t want the issue to divide the town, so she negotiated a compromise. People who want to keep Big Swamp have until the end of October to provide evidence of an endangered species within it. Otherwise at the beginning of November the council will sign off on the rezoning.’

  ‘Enter the woylie.’

  ‘Actually, we tried for rare plants first. Just because they’re not as likely to run away.’

  He grinned.

  She realised what she’d said, and smiled lopsidedly. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Yeah. And I assume there were no rare, legless plants in the swamp?’

  ‘No, but Annie came forward with her sighting of the woylie. It really is our best chance of saving the swamp. Even the pro-development camp would protect Big Swamp if it housed a tourist drawcard like the woylie. Hence our night-time visits to the swamp.’

  ‘They’re dangerous, Molly.’

  ‘We always go with a partner.’

  ‘An old man and a girl.’

  ‘A woman.’

  ‘Still not sensible.’ He reached across the table and caught her hand. ‘I’m sympathetic to what you’re trying to do and I admire your commitment.’ His hand tightened as she tried to tug free. ‘But you’re more important than a swamp.’ He studied her for a long moment. The stern line of his mouth curved. ‘You don’t believe me.’

  He stood, pulled her up from her chair and into him as he leaned his back against the bench. She ended up standing between his legs, the position intimate. His arms went loosely around her waist.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘What about another argument?’

  ‘I don’t like to argue,’ she said honestly. He laughed and the vibrations of it travelled through her.

  ‘I meant I’d try a different line of reasoning to keep you out of the swamp at night. Although I think you’re under-estimating your arguing power. You told me off on the veranda.’

  She ducked her head.

  He put a finger under her chin and tilted it up so their eyes met. ‘I deserved it. I was being condescending. And it’s good to know that you’re not a pushover.’

  She frowned.

  ‘Definitely not a pushover.’ He put his hand back at her waist. ‘But have you thought what would happen if you were attacked at night in the swamp? No. Not just the personal implications.’ He forestalled her protest. ‘If you were attacked there it would be the perfect, most inarguable reason to clear the swamp. No swamp, no hiding place for weirdos.’

  ‘That’s stupid thinking. If I was attacked in the swamp, it would be my fault for being there.’ At the expression in his eyes, she replayed what she’d said. ‘Oh rats.’

  ‘Light dawns.’ It was amused, even affectionate.

  ‘All right. I promise to stay out of Big Swamp at night unless I’m with a large group of people. And I’ll talk to Tom about it.’

  Zane sighed and his arms tightened. ‘Do you think he’ll listen to you?’

  ‘He was pretty annoyed with you. He might dig in his heels and be stubborn.’

  ‘I’d put money on it. I should have handled it better, but I lost my temper.’

  ‘You were worried about him.’

  ‘And about you.’ One of his hands left her waist and travelled up her spine.

  The slow caress sensitised her whole body.

  ‘Do you think any of your neighbours will be looking in the window?’

  ‘Uh. Why?’ His hand was massaging her neck and she was losing the ability to think.

  ‘Because I think you’d hate for Mrs Embleton to get a photo of our second kiss.’

  She stretched out her left hand and flicked off the kitchen lights. His lips touched hers the same instant she realised what she’d done. She’d said ‘Yes!’ with a light switch.

  The kiss in his car had been amazing, but kissing him while standing pressed up against him, his arms hard around her, was incredible. When her muscles melted, he easily took her weight. All she had to do was concentrate on the magic his mouth was creating.

  He tasted of coffee, warm and addictive.

  She learned other things about him.

  He was thorough. He traced the shape of her upper lip, the plumpness of her lower one. He tested them with his lips, his tongue, his teeth.

  She gasped at the tender violence of teeth against her swollen mouth. Then he suckled the hurt.

  His fingers dug into her butt as she instinctively arched into him. ‘You make me want to —’ He gentled the kiss.

  That wasn’t what she wanted. She flicked her tongue against his lips and felt a rush of heat at her own daring.

  ‘Be kind, Molly. I’m trying to be good.’

  ‘You are good.’ A fervent reassurance.

  He smiled against her mouth. ‘Babe.’

  ‘Kiss me.’ Properly, she meant.

  ‘Neighbours.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You have nosy neighbours. We escalate this kiss and you won’t get me out the door before morning. You ready for that?’

  With his voice all low and growly, and his hands running from her waist, up her ribcage and down again, she had to think about the question. On the ‘no’ side was the fact she’d only met him this morning and she did not do casual sex. On the ‘yes’ side was, well, everything else. Everything Zane and how he made her feel.

  ‘I wish I was,’ she whispered.

  He hugged her, ducking his head to rest against hers. ‘Me too.’

  Standing there, all wrapped up in him, a deeper warmth eased her frustration. Zane understood who she was and he cared enough to respect that. He’d called a halt when she’d been too caught up in sensation to do so.

  ‘Thanks, Zane.’
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br />   ‘Dinner, tomorrow.’

  Apparently he didn’t want to be thanked.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up at seven.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Are you always this agreeable?’

  ‘Um, yes?’

  He laughed under his breath. ‘How did I get this lucky?’

  Chapter 5

  ‘No.’ Zane dropped the dumbbell to give his full attention to the phone call from his manager. Early morning here in Western Australia meant late afternoon over in California. Max wasn’t calling to ask how he was going. Max had orders to deliver.

  ‘You don’t get to say no, Zane. This is the sort of chance most people would kill for. I know Graydon’s manager. The guy’s puking in the toilets. Rage always gets him in the guts. So damn mad at Graydon for screwing up the choicest gig in years. And now his screw up is your chance. Are you getting what I’m talking about?’

  Zane stared out the window. Even the downstairs games room that he’d converted into a gym had a view of the Indian Ocean. ‘I get you. Graydon was the face of Cloo-in Gear which is the outfit that’s all about high morals and good health. Now a video’s hit the net of Graydon on a drug-fuelled sex romp.’

  Max chortled. ‘The kid made headlines, just not the ones he was paid for.’

  ‘So Cloo-in Gear needs a new “face” and you’re thinking they’ll take me on.’

  ‘No scandals in your past. You don’t do drugs.’ Max’s voice sharpened. ‘You weren’t kidding that time you told me you’ve never puffed a cigarette or anything stronger? I told Cloo-in that. It was a clincher.’

  ‘It’s true.’ Zane hated being out of control and he’d never been interested in jeopardising his health for some twisted notion of cool. ‘I’ve had hangovers.’

  ‘Who hasn’t?’ Max wasn’t interested in hangovers. ‘Unless there’s video of you acting dumb?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then we’re good. The deal’s in the bag. You just need to get your ass back to LA. This contract’s going to raise your profile to the stratosphere. It won’t just be surfers who know you. It’s fan-frigging-tastic. This’ll set you up for life.’

  ‘I’m already comfortable, Max.’