The Seduction of Suzanne

Chapter One

Suzanne
sighed in contentment under the blazing sunshine, a stiff breeze fingering her exposed skin. It was perfect.

The beach was quite crowded. Crowded for a beach on Great Barrier Island, at least.
Suzanne had decided long ago if one had to come alone to a place full of people, they should be happy people. Here, caught in the haze of determined sun-worship, tanned bodies sprawled. Children ran shrieking between them, kicking up the white powder sand and laughing. Parents kept a watchful eye on their toddlers, who dug little holes in the beach and then carefully ferried water to them from the sea’s edge. Further out the surfers played.

As the day drifted on into towards afternoon and early evening, a few people
were packing up their towels, swimsuits and beach umbrellas. Tired and salty, some had gone already.

But many remained, nothing more in their world than sunshine and warmth, fine grains of white sand and fresh air. The blue, blue sea and the wide, upside down bowl of the azure sky.

As she sat on the swell of a dune looking out over carelessly happy island residents and holiday-makers, Suzanne smiled a little to herself, one hand resting on the page of her open book. It was a good place to be.

It would be even
better if she had a really excellent novel. A gripping mystery, or a romance. Regretting her own misplaced virtue, Suzanne glanced down at the English Syllabus Sourcebook propped open on her knees.

She had planned to spend today finishing the last of her new lesson plans for her students. The school year would be starting in a month. But she had worked flat out for the past two weeks, until there was barely anything left to do. So this morning the bright sun and flawlessly clear sky was a lure too strong to resist. She postponed her duties. After all, there was little enough that needed doing, and it could wait another day.

Then at the last minute she replaced the novel in her tote bag with the textbook, to do some worthwhile reading. There was the mistake. She should have cast aside any last-minute qualms of conscience and brought something decent to read. It was too hot for real thinking.

Suzanne
tilted her romantically large straw hat to a better angle, and went back to watching the surfers.

Great Barrier Island - so-called because it forms a protective barrier to the harbour of Auckland, New Zealand - is a Mecca for surfers. Every summer the population swells as holiday-makers come to the island. Back-packers, cyclists, kayakers and yachties all travel there for the natural beauty and rugged
landscape.

In particular the canny surfers come, knowing that this is one place where perfect waves, rolling in from across the Pacific Ocean, will never be over-crowded by too many tourists. For all its appeal, the island is relatively unknown. Most of those who visit over summer have been coming for years. They think of the Barrier as their own special retreat.

When the visitors go home, the residents cheerfully wave them goodbye and then settle into the more peaceful routines of autumn, winter and spring.

Suzanne
had lived on the island all her life, bar the three years she had taken to go to Teacher’s Training College in Auckland. Even then she had come back to the island every holiday, and many weekends.

It was in her soul.

Idly she ran her fingertips through the hot sand, sifting it, making small mountains and valleys. The top layer was scorching but several inches below the surface it was cooler. She picked up a handful in a clenched fist, feeling the hard ball of it hollow out and give way as she let it trickle out again. A whisper of a breeze carried the falling sand sideways to stick to her slender, smoothly muscled leg.

Her wandering attention came to rest on five people who were standing in the shallows, boards held firmly under their arms. Two women and
three men, each with that classic well-honed look. Surfing is a hungry mistress, and leaves little fat on those who love her.

Two of the surfers turned to wade back out, while the other three walked slowly up the beach, legs heavy without the buoyant lift of the water. All three looked healthy and muscular, their skin tanned and hair slicked back against their skulls.

With the sun shining so brightly on the sea and sand behind them, they were little more than dark silhouettes, gradually increasing in size as they approached. After a while they were close enough that the wind carried their voices to where she sat.

“. . . know what they’re like on a day like this. With waves so good, they won’t be in ‘til it’s nearly nine,” said the shorter of the two men.

“Yeah,” said the woman. “Wish I had that kinda stamina. These days I can only go a few hours before I run out.”

“I don’t think I can even make it all the way up the beach,” said the taller man, and
Suzanne noticed that he had a light American accent, unlike the other two, who were clearly New Zealanders.

“Hah!” said the woman teasingly. “You’re out of shape.”

“Perhaps, but then some of us have to take breaks from surfing to earn a little cash,” he replied wryly.

“Y’know, that’s just what my accountant likes to tell me,” she said, with an infectious chuckle.

“Accountant? Since when do we have an accountant?” asked the dark-haired man as they walked past Suzanne, and then stopped behind her at the top of the dune. The woman just laughed. Then the American said:

“I think I’ll stop here for a moment. I’ll see you guys later.”

The three said casual goodbyes, and Suzanne heard the sound of the couple’s footsteps fading away. There was silence for several minutes. She watched the breeze stir the fine white grains of sand around her half-buried toes, which were dug in as she savoured the baking warmth of the long day’s sunshine. Her ears were virtually pricked as she listened for a hint that the tall American was still standing close behind her, a peculiar awareness crawling down her spine, so that she had to control an atavistic shiver.

Then he spoke, his voice a deep, smooth rumble, making her flinch slightly, startled.

“Do you have the time?” he asked.

“Do I . . . ? Oh, yeah, it’s . . . quarter past five,” she said, glancing quickly at her watch and then looking over her shoulder to meet his eyes.

She was transfixed. While he had been walking toward her, he had at first been too far away for her to see his features, and then she had been loath to visually track the three surfers as they approached, which would have made it obvious she was listening in on their conversation.

He was quite literally breathtaking.

He had high, moulded cheekbones, a straight nose and firm jaw, and eyes of such a clear, piercing blue that she could see the colour even from where she sat. Her gaze flicked quickly, involuntarily over the broad shoulders and narrow waist within his wetsuit, and came to rest on his left wrist.

His left wrist with its chunky diver’s wristwatch.

She resumed breathing as her eyes narrowed and leapt back to his face. His lips parted in an easy grin to reveal perfectly straight white teeth.

He was offering her a line!

She gritted her teeth, refused to blush, and offered him a tight little smile in return. There was no way that she was prepared to encourage him. The last thing she needed or wanted in her life was a feckless transient surfer.

Certain that her politely cold shoulder would be enough to send the
man on his way, she turned back to her book.

There was a pause in which she tried not to listen for the shush of retreating footsteps in the sand.
All was silence. Perhaps he had already left?

But no, she was not so lucky.

“What are you reading?” he asked in his rich voice.

She leaned over the book a little more, turned a page and, seized by a
n imp of perversity, said sweetly: “The Kama Sutra.”

A moment later she regretted the impulse as he let out a startled laugh. Stupid! Making jokes would only egg him on. Go away go away go away.

“I love this look you’ve got going on. All drapey mystique. Very counter-beach culture,” he said, sitting down beside her. “And your version of the Kama Sutra has a lot more words in it than mine.”

Now there was no controlling the warm tide of pink blush that heated her skin. She drew both knees and the book close to her chest like armour, folds of her sarong caught up between the two, and glared out defiantly from under her big hat.

“Skin cancer kills 200 New Zealanders every year.”

He cocked his head to one side and smiled crookedly at her at her, his good cheer unabated. “Well that explains it then. With such fair skin you should take care.”

She stared at him, blinked twice, held her breath and blushed even harder. Damn it. Damn it!

He was so big.

The proximity of his large, masculine body set her on an edge of nervous awareness. As a tall woman, she was unused to feeling diminutive, but now he was so close, his sheer size was overpowering. With an effort of will she kept her gaze from scanning his body again. It would be just the reaction he was waiting for.

When she didn’t reply to his provocative statement he lifted his hand and ran the backs of his fingers lightly down her cheek.
Suzanne only just kept herself from reacting as she felt the impact of his touch all the way to her toes, like a hot current of electricity.

No one had touched her in a long time.

With an effort she held on to her dignity, wanting to snarl at him for invading her personal space so casually. His eyes grew more intent, though his tone was unchanged as he said:

“No, too warm and soft to be porcelain.”

Her annoyance surged full force. Couldn’t the wretched man see that she wasn’t interested?

“Look,” she began tightly, “I don’t mean to be rude--”

“Yes you do,” he interrupted, with a sparkle in his eye.

“But would you please leave me alone.”