Four Months Later
Sterling Knight exitedthe southbound highway, following the sign toward Haven Bay, determined that this visit to the township would end differently than his previous one. This time, he’d done his research on Katarina Hopa and he wouldn’t be dissuaded by a bunch of cantankerous old ladies.
He rehearsed his verbal offer under his breath. “Mrs. Hopa, I’m prepared to pay above market value for your property. The lodge itself is worth nothing to me. You may have it relocated elsewhere, should you wish to.”
No, that wasn’t right. Something told him the woman wouldn’t enjoy hearing he considered her lodge worthless. Even if it was, objectively speaking. While he hadn’t managed to get a hold of her financial records, based on the way the place looked, it couldn’t possibly be operating at a profit. No, the lodge was irrelevant. It was the property he wanted. A large block of land sandwiched between the beach and the forest. Prime real estate.
Navigating around the edge of the township, located on the northwestern coast of New Zealand, he pulled onto Marine Parade, which ran parallel to the beach. He passed a surf school, an ice cream parlor, and a seafood restaurant clustered together around a pavilion with dozens of cars parked nearby. A few more buildings spotted the coast, and beyond them, grass gave way to an area of native flaxes and trees, with tents nestled between.
The road ended at a parking area on the other side of a bridge over a small stream. Bush rose up to his left, lush and green, and birds twittered in the trees. He wound down the window and listened to the waves lap at the shore in the distance. Paradise, just as he’d remembered it. In his boss’s hands, this place had the potential to be a real moneymaker.
Beside the graveled parking lot, a lawn sprawled before a 1900s era building. A sign in front read, “Sanctuary.” Coming to a stop beside a muddy four-wheel drive, he turned the engine off and took a moment to collect his thoughts.
Four months ago, he’d been railroaded, but now he wouldn’t be put off. He’d driven all the way from Auckland to talk to Mrs. Hopa, and he wouldn’t be leaving until she heard him out. No number of manipulative white-haired grannies were going to send him on his way with his tail between his legs. Not again. He wouldn’t stand for it.
Stepping out of the car, he straightened his business suit, which had become crumpled during the drive and, with the press of a button, locked the car and headed to the lodge. He let himself into the foyer, a rectangular room with gray carpet and fold-out glass doors on the opposite wall that opened onto a garden. No one was around. Sterling checked his watch. Early afternoon, as he’d thought—time for guests to begin checking in. So why was no one here?
With a sense of foreboding, he crossed the room and went out into the garden, stopping abruptly when he noticed half a dozen old ladies kneeling in the flowerbeds that crisscrossed the sloping lawn as far as the cabin on the border of the forest. One of the ladies, whom he recognized from his previous visit, caught sight of him and her smile morphed instantly into a scowl.
Rising to her feet, she peeled off her gardening gloves and croaked out, “You again.”
Sterling held his ground, refusing to be intimidated. “Me, again.”
The woman, who had a deceptively sweet face and mischievous eyes, reminded him of Betty White, although maybe that was because they shared a name.
“Miss Betty,” he said, beginning as he intended to continue, polite but firm. “I’m here to speak with Mrs. Hopa. Where can I find her?”
“That’s Mrs. Betty to you,” she corrected him, as two of her cronies joined her, standing one at each shoulder as though the three of them—with an average height of five-one and a combined age of over 200—could frighten him into leaving.
To be fair, they had managed to get rid of him last time. But it had been a strategic retreat. He’d regrouped, and this time, he was ready for them.
He obliged her. “Mrs. Betty, your friend will want to hear what I have to say, and I’d very much appreciate it if you could steer me to her.”
Her eyes glinted. “Why would we let you anywhere near her, Mr. Knight? We have so much fun dealing with you ourselves.” She turned to her friends. “Ladies.”
The two women by her side moved forward, one gliding like a wizened ballet dancer, the other hobbling, both with their arms outstretched and lips puckered. Sterling stumbled backward, gasping in horror. This, he hadn’t expected.
“Where are you going, handsome?” the hobbler cackled.
Reinforcing his spine, he planted his feet and refused to be cowed. They wouldn’t actually kiss him, surely. It was a bluff. The more graceful of the women reached him and he clenched his fists but held very still, right up until she went onto her tiptoes and smacked a moist kiss onto his cheek.
That did it. He was waiting in his car, and locking the door. He spun around and strode back to the foyer but as he reached the exit to the parking lot, the door swung inward and he had to leap out of the way. All dignity lost, he clutched a hand to his chest, looked up, and came face-to-face with the most breathtaking woman he’d ever seen. Katarina Hopa.
Photographs of her had been plastered through the papers a few years ago when she’d scaled the international rankings in women’s rally racing, but they didn’t do her justice. Her skin was creamy brown and flawless, her dark eyes had a lively spark, and the hair spilling over her shoulders down to her waist was a lustrous inky black. His heart beat a rapid tattoo against his ribcage, so forcefully he worried he might go into cardiac arrest. When his eyes watered, he realized he’d forgotten to blink.
“Hello,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.
“Hi.” She smiled, and he could have sworn his heart gave an extra thump. Dear God, could attraction be fatal?
Then Katarina Hopa tucked her silky hair behind her left ear and all of the breath whooshed from his lungs. In a haze of lust, he’d failed to notice the pale scar stretching from her earlobe, along her jawline, and down the side of her neck. A souvenir of the crash that killed her husband. His gut twisted with sympathy. How awful would it be to look in the mirror every morning and see a reminder of one of the worst days of her life?
It’s not your business.
He was here to negotiate a deal, and nothing more. Katarina Hopa, with her pretty smile and tragic scar, was none of his concern.
* * *
Kat’s smileweakened as long seconds stretched out and the blond man she’d almost knocked over stared at her like she was an exhibit in a curiosity museum. While it was awkward, she was accustomed to being ogled by strangers with either horror, pity, or a combination of the two.