FINDING LOVE

By Serenity Woods

Featuring:

The Perfect Gift (Three Wise Men Book 1)

Seducing Summer (The Four Seasons Book 1)

Treat with Caution (Treats to Tempt You Book 1)

My Christmas Fiancé (Love Comes Later Book 1)

Stranded with a Scotsman (Bonus Short Story)

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Copyright 2017 Serenity Woods

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Copyright Page

The Perfect Gift | Three Wise Men Book 1 | by Serenity Woods

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Continue the story of the Three Wise Men in Charlie and Ophelia’s story, An Ideal Present (Three Wise Men Book 2)

Sneak Peek at Chapter One of An Ideal Present (Three Wise Men #2)

Seducing Summer | The Four Seasons Book 1 | By Serenity Woods

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Epilogue

Treat with Caution | Treats to Tempt You Book 1 | By Serenity Woods

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

A Sneak Peek at Treat her Right (#2)

My Christmas Fiancé | Love Comes Later Book One | by Serenity Woods

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Follow Rich’s story in My New Year Fling – Love Comes Later : Book 2 | Jess

Rich

Stranded with a Scotsman | A bonus short story | by Serenity Woods

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Note from the Author

About the Author

The Perfect Gift

Three Wise Men Book 1

by Serenity Woods

Chapter One

It was early December, supposedly the start of summer in New Zealand, but clouds had covered the sky for weeks, and spring still gripped the country with cold, gray fingers.

Brock’s waterfront apartment was as dark, cool, and unwelcoming as a mortuary. He dropped his keys onto the table by the door and stood with hands on hips for a moment, hanging his head.

Two years ago, he would have been walking into his house on the outskirts of Auckland. He could still picture it—the living room glowing with Christmas lights, Fleur in the kitchen, making mince pies and singing carols, his dog curled up in his basket, soaking up the last dregs of sunlight.

Jeez, how much life could change in twenty-four months. His wife had finally succumbed to the cancer that had tortured her for years, and then—shortly afterward, as if from a broken heart—his dog had also died.

Brock was left with a depressing apartment, a cold bed, and the prospect of a microwave meal to look forward to.

Life truly sucked.

He blew out a breath and massaged the bridge of his nose. He’d fought against the despair that had threatened to overwhelm him for two years, but it continued to cling to him, like a piece of plastic wrap he couldn’t shake off no matter how hard he tried.

Dispiritedly, he walked across to the large windows overlooking the City of Sails. On a Saturday night, the waterfront was always busy, and tonight so near to Christmas was no exception, the streets of Princes Wharf filled with couples and groups on their way out for the evening. Reflections of the red, gold, and blue lights from the restaurants and clubs shimmered on the water like sequins. Half of him wanted to go down and join the throng of partygoers, force himself to shake off his depression. The other half wanted never to set foot out of his apartment again.

Of all nights, he supposed, the anniversary of his wife’s death would be the most likely to break through the iron barrier he’d erected around his heart and emotions. As he wasn’t on call, he was going to allow himself the luxury of a fair portion of a bottle of Islay malt whisky and some melancholic playing of his guitar before he passed out on the sofa. But he wouldn’t succumb to his grief completely. Fleur wouldn’t have wanted him to. For that reason, if nothing else, he wouldn’t give in.

So he switched on a few lamps throughout the apartment to give it a warm glow, changed out of his suit into a sweatshirt and a pair of tracksuit bottoms, put some folksy jazz on his iPod, and stared into the fridge for a whole minute as he decided what to have for dinner.

His heart told him to cook something healthy, while his tired brain demanded he stick a frozen ready meal in the microwave. He compromised by taking out of the freezer a portion of spaghetti Bolognese he’d made a few weeks ago, and reheating it. While he waited for the microwave to ping, he tipped half a bag of prepared salad onto the plate and poured a glass of red wine. After adding the pasta to the plate when it was done, he took it and the glass to his favorite chair by the window.

For a while he just ate, looking down at the lights and the people, letting his mind and body settle after his busy day. The Bolognese wasn’t bad and the wine warmed him through, and he began to relax for the first time that day as the alcohol threaded through his veins.

After a while, he leaned forward and picked up his laptop from the table, balanced it on the arm of the chair, and opened it up.

As chief consultant pediatrician at Auckland Hospital, he always had a batch of emails waiting in his inbox, but as he scanned through the twenty or so messages currently sitting there unread, he decided they could all wait until the next day.

Shoveling another forkful of spaghetti into his mouth, he paused the cursor over the icon of a crown on his desktop. He debated whether to load up the forum for We Three Kings, the charity side of the business he ran with his brothers making medical equipment for children. The website had online forums and chat rooms for concerned parents to talk to each other about their sick kids. They could also ask questions of the group of doctors who volunteered spare time to help out. Barely a day went by when Brock didn’t go on there, but he wasn’t sure he had the energy tonight.

At that moment, a message popped up on Skype.

Yo bro. Wassup?

His lips curving, Brock clicked the call button and waited for his brother to answer. The button went green, and Charlie King’s face appeared on the screen. As always, he wore an All Blacks rugby top, and his longish hair looked as if he hadn’t brushed it in a week. Which, knowing Charlie, he probably hadn’t.

“‘Yo bro, wassup?’” Brock quoted. “You sound like a parent singing along to his son’s rap music.”

“I was trying to sound cool,” Charlie said, taking off his glasses to clean them.

“It didn’t work.”

Charlie slid his glasses back on. “There’s always a first time.”

Brock gave a short laugh. Their upper class English mother had been determined her boys would speak “properly.” As a result, although they all had a hint of a Kiwi accent, their diction was more refined than rough. Add the fact that Charlie had no interest in anything to do with popular culture and didn’t even own a TV, and it made the notion of him sounding cool amusing to say the least. Luckily, Brock thought, his brother had about forty-five IQ points on most people, otherwise he would have been a hopeless case.

Charlie took a swig from the bottle of beer in his hand. “What are you up to?”

“About to down half a bottle of a forty-year-old Laphroaig.”

Charlie snorted and opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment Skype pinged again showing another caller. “Hold on,” Brock said, “I’ll add Matt to the call.”

Another window popped up with their younger brother’s face. “Evening,” Matt said. His hair also looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed, but Brock knew it would have taken his brother thirty minutes to achieve the same look of casual indifference that Charlie managed with no work at all.

“I’m about to convince Brock to save his forty-year-old Laphroaig until we meet up,” Charlie told him. “He said he’s going to down it himself tonight, but after the first two glasses he won’t remember the rest and it’ll be a waste.”

“Damned straight,” Matt said. “Stick to the ten-year-old and save the forty for Christmas Eve.”

Brock grinned. “Fair enough.” Their father had instilled in them all a love for a good Scotch. Brock was hosting a party on Christmas Eve in a vain attempt to encourage some Christmas spirit in himself, and he guessed it was as good a night as any to share the whisky with his brothers.

“So how’s it going?” Matt settled back, sketchpad in hand, and began to doodle as they talked.

Brock shrugged. “Only just got in.” He checked the clock in the corner of the screen and his eyebrows rose. Ten p.m.? He hadn’t realized it was quite that late. No wonder he was hungry.

“That’s late even for you,” Charlie commented.

“There was a case in emergency that took a while to sort, and then I had to hand over to the night staff.” Because he specialized in respiratory diseases, the emergency staff called Brock whenever children came in with breathing difficulties. Kids always seemed to get sicker in the evenings, so it wasn’t unknown for him to be there until well after dark.

“What are you doing now?” Charlie asked.

“Talking to you.”

Matt gave a wry smile while Charlie rolled his eyes and said, “I meant what are you going to do after you hang up?”

“I told you—down half a bottle of whisky and pass out on the sofa. I’m not on call tonight.”

Charlie ran his hand through his hair, and Matt scratched his cheek with his pencil.

Brock smiled. They were concerned about him but didn’t know what to say. “It’s all right, guys, I’m okay. Yeah, it’s a crappy day, but I’ll get through it.” He decided to change the subject before he started sniveling. “Hey, Charlie, what’s this about Ophelia resigning?”

His brother’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t know. Who told you?”

“One of the nurses. She gave her notice yesterday. She’ll be leaving in the New Year.”

Ophelia Clark was in charge of Te Karere Hauora, the department that connected the hospital with the local community, including the volunteers who ran the hospital radio. Brock had a sneaky feeling that Charlie had a thing for her, which was confirmed by the shocked look on Charlie’s face.

“Why’s she leaving?” Brock asked him.

“I’ve no idea.”

“I thought you two talked.”

“We meet at the breakfast cart in the morning. Job satisfaction doesn’t tend to feature when you’re discussing whether to have a blueberry muffin or a bagel.”

“I thought you liked her,” Matt said.

“I do.”

“Have you asked her out?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s married,” Charlie stated.

“Not anymore. They separated about six months ago.”

Charlie’s eyebrows rose so fast that Brock had to hide a smile. “What? How did I not know that?” Charlie asked.

“Everyone was talking about it,” Matt said. “I assumed you knew.”

“Is Summer okay?” Charlie was referring to Ophelia’s daughter, who was also Brock’s patient. The six-year-old girl suffered from Cystic Fibrosis and came into the hospital for intravenous antibiotics and other treatment from time to time.

“She’s living with Ophelia, I think,” Matt said. “I have a feeling she might have jacked the job in so she can focus more on her daughter.”

They were all silent for a moment. Brock himself had given Ophelia all the platitudes after he’d diagnosed Summer—the medical world was progressing all the time, new cures were always being invented, survival rates had quadrupled over the last century... But Matt and Charlie were as aware as he was that the average life expectancy of CF sufferers was only between thirty-seven and fifty in the developed world.

He was hopeful that medical research would continue to advance that figure, though. Charlie had recently requested extra funding from Three Wise Men for a new research project into CF, which Brock had been certain had something to do with Ophelia and her daughter.

“Ask her to the party,” Brock said.

Matt snorted. “It would mean having a conversation with a woman that wasn’t about muffins. Charlie doesn’t do conversation about real stuff.”

“Damn straight,” Charlie said.

Brock rolled his eyes. “You’re six-foot-four, smart, mildly amusing, and rich as Croesus. How come you’re so bad with women?”

“Practice.”

The other two laughed. “Ask her,” Matt said with more kindness than he usually had in his voice. “What have you got to lose?”

“My dignity?”

“What dignity?”

Charlie blew out a breath. “Good point.”

Brock chuckled and promised himself he’d call Charlie in the morning to talk him into it. “What about you?” He directed the question at Matt. “Are you bringing anyone?”

Matt’s expression turned gloomy. “Probably not.”

“Georgia still resistant to your advances?” Brock knew Matt had his eye on the girl who ran the Northland office of their business.

“I don’t know about resistant—more like immune. I’ve tried everything.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing as a woman who was impervious to your charms,” Charlie said.

Matt scratched his cheek. “Neither did I.” Of the three of them, Matt was the only one who could have been considered a womanizer, and his girlfriends rarely lasted longer than a few months before he got bored and broke up with them. He’d been after Georgia for ages, but Brock wasn’t sure whether he was truly crazy about her, or if he only wanted her because he couldn’t have her.

“Have you asked her to the party?” Brock queried.

“Yep.”

“What did she say?”

“Nope.”

Brock grinned. “Keep trying.” He sighed. “I thought it would be reassuring to know I won’t be the only sad loser this Christmas, but it makes me kinda sad.”

Charlie cleared his throat. “Have you been on the forums this evening?”

“Not yet. Not sure if I have the energy.”

“You should,” Matt said. “Ryan’s in hospital again.”

Brock placed his plate on the nearby table with a clatter and sat up. “Erin’s boy? Shit. What happened?”

“Another asthma attack. Don’t know much more than that—she left a brief message on the asthma thread. I think she was looking for you.”

“Fuck.” Brock leaned back and frowned. About a year ago, he’d started talking to a young mum called Erin on one of the forums. Her son had been hospitalized after having an asthma attack, and she’d wanted to tell them that the revolutionary inhaler they’d developed had saved Ryan’s life.

Through Three Wise Men, the guys developed medical equipment designed with babies and young children in mind. Charlie had invented a more effective asthma inhaler with Brock’s help, and they’d decorated it with the Ward Seven characters from Matt’s series of children’s books. It had proved so popular that Charlie and Brock had since invented a whole range of medical equipment featuring Ward Seven toys, such as tiny animals that could be clipped onto pulse oximeters to encourage the children to sit still while they were being monitored.

Brock had talked to Erin online frequently since then. In the beginning, they’d mostly spoken about ways to manage childhood asthma, but over the months they’d taken to messaging most days. Although their chat had turned a bit more personal, it hadn’t quite stepped over the line to become intimate, but she had a good sense of humor, and he rather liked her.

“Okay. I’ll go on now.” He pulled the computer onto his lap.

“Before you go,” Charlie said, “just checking you’re still on for the Ward Seven December tour tomorrow?”

Brock chuckled. Although the travelling could be tiring, he enjoyed their visits to the children’s hospitals. “Yeah. Waikato for me.”

“The Coromandel for me, and I think Matt’s at Whangarei,” Charlie replied.

“Yep.” Matt nodded. “Talking of which, I’ve been working on a new Ward Seven character. What do you think?” He turned his sketchpad around to show his brothers. He’d drawn a possum with bulging eyes and a dopey smile. “I’m going to call him Squish,” Matt said, presumably referring to the fact that possums tended to be seen only when flattened on the middle of the road.

They both laughed. “Terrific,” Charlie said.

Brock agreed, then said, “Okay, I’m signing off. Speak later.”

“See ya,” Matt replied.

“Stay loose,” Charlie said. “You know where we are if you need us.”

“Yeah. Catch you online.” Brock ended the call.

He double-clicked on the crown icon and loaded up the forum.

The brothers had been relatively wealthy even before they’d opened their business, but they’d been so successful that a few years ago they’d started the We Three Kings Foundation. Through the Foundation they granted wishes for children with life-threatening illnesses, as well as running a twenty-four-hour online help center for parents with sick kids.

Brock often helped out the doctors by answering questions in the online medical chat room, while Matt chatted to parents and sometimes the kids as well in the Ward Seven chat room. All three of them had worked hard to make the Foundation a success, including dressing up as Ward Seven characters and visiting children’s hospitals to deliver vital medical equipment as well as more fun gifts for the patients.

The guys had started using pseudonyms on the forums in an attempt to remain anonymous, although that had flown out of the window when the New Zealand Herald had done a feature on them announcing that the creator of the famous The Toys from Ward Seven books was one of the three brothers behind the We Three Kings Foundation, but they’d continued to use their pseudonyms anyway.

Brock logged in as Balthasar like he always did, and pulled up the front page to see what new threads were there. His eyebrows rose as he saw one titled “Hugs for Balthasar,” created by Charlie under his pseudonym, Caspar. Brock clicked on it and read the opening post.

Today is the second anniversary of the passing of Balthasar’s wife. If anyone wants to send him an e-hug, feel free to do so here—I’m sure he’d appreciate it.

Charlie had finished with a smiley face.

Brock stared at the replies beneath. There were a hundred and seventy two, and it had only been up a few hours. Scrolling down, he read every one, his throat tightening the more he read. The messages were filled with thank yous from grateful parents saying how the new asthma inhaler had saved their children’s lives, as well as from many explaining how the Ward Seven decorated equipment made their kids’ visits to the hospital a much more pleasant experience, to the extent that sometimes the children couldn’t wait to go for their checkups because they got to play with the toys. All the messages sent hugs and kisses and best wishes for him on such a difficult day.

His eyes stung, and he put the laptop to one side and rose to pour himself a whisky—following his brothers’ advice and choosing the ten-year-old malt and not the forty. He took a big swallow and welcomed the burn of it down into his stomach, looking out at the lights on the harbor through blurred eyes. He thought about Fleur and how proud she’d be of him, and then he thought about his sister, Pippa, who’d died of an asthma attack when he was fourteen, and who was the main reason he’d become a doctor.

He’d been lucky enough never to have to worry about money, but money couldn’t buy love, and it couldn’t buy life either.

So much of his life had been about loss. Didn’t he deserve some happiness? He looked down moodily at a couple standing under a street lamp, kissing. What he wouldn’t give to have a woman’s arms around him tonight.

Then he blinked and caught his breath at the thought, guilt flooding him. What a thing to think on the anniversary of Fleur’s death. He’d promised himself he’d never look at another woman again, let alone date or fall in love. For two years he’d been celibate and had barely given women a second thought. He’d loved Fleur with all his heart, and when she’d died, his heart had not only broken but had shattered into so many pieces he’d thought he’d never be able to fit them all back together again.

But for the first time, Brock acknowledged to himself that he was lonely.

You left me, he thought, looking up at the star-studded sky. You left me alone, and I miss you, and I’ve tried to go on by myself, but I’m only human.

Six months after Fleur had died, friends had started inviting him out on dates, but he’d refused every suggestion of meeting someone. He’d grieved for two years. Was it disloyal to feel he was finally ready to move on?

He ached to feel a warm body against him, and to feel the shared bliss of sexual release, but equally it wasn’t just about that. He missed talking to Fleur, telling her his hopes and fears, and just knowing someone was there for him. That kind of love came around only once in a lifetime, but if someone else existed who could provide even a fraction of the joy he’d felt with his first wife, he knew he would be a lucky man.

Glancing at the laptop still resting on the arm of the chair, he thought about Erin. He had no idea what she looked like, where she lived, or much about her private life, apart from that she was a single parent and had a young son. But he liked her, and she made him laugh. Was that so terrible?

He shouldn’t talk to her. Maybe another night he could have a chat, but tonight wouldn’t be right. Would it?

What would Fleur say? He could almost hear her voice, a little impatient, slightly amused. Her boy’s in hospital, Brock. For God’s sake, just talk to the woman.

His lips curved up, and he went back to the chair and pulled the laptop toward him.

Chapter Two

Erin shifted onto her back on the tiltaway bed and looked up at the ceiling. The Christmas fairy lights strung around the hospital ward glowed in the semi-darkness, the tinsel glittering where it caught the light.

It was only ten o’clock, but she hadn’t slept at all the previous night, and her eyes were scratchy with tiredness. For some reason, though, they refused to shut, and images continued to flitter through her overactive brain.

Actually, now she came to think about it, she felt as if she hadn’t had more than a few hours’ sleep a night since Ryan was born. Until he was eighteen months, he’d kept her awake half the night with his constant coughing, but repeated trips to the doctor had resulted in antibiotics at the best, or being told it was a virus and there was nothing they could do at the worst. One doctor had offered a half-hearted diagnosis of possible asthma and had given her an inhaler with a children’s breathing mask, but he’d not shown her how to use it, and Ryan had made such a fuss when she tried that in the end she’d given up.

It had taken a full blown asthma attack and hospitalization for her to come to terms with the fact that he truly had asthma, and to learn how to treat it in a way that was safe and stress-free for both her and Ryan. He hated the nebulizer, but the doctor at Three Wise Men has reassured her that using an inhaler with a spacer was just as effective when used regularly, and Ryan didn’t mind using that because he could play with the Dixon the Dog toy that clipped on the side. But she hadn’t slept soundly since, terrified she’d wake up to find he’d had an asthma attack in the night and she hadn’t heard him. As it happened, his most recent attack had started mid-morning after a few days of developing a respiratory infection, but she doubted she’d sleep any easier because of it.

Here in the hospital, she knew she shouldn’t be worrying because the nurses were monitoring him, but even so, it was difficult to stop a habit when it involved whether your child lived or died.

She pushed herself up to a sitting position and peered over the adjacent bed. Ryan slept on his side facing her, his lashes dark against his pale cheek. He had an IV in his hand administering hydrocortisone. His other chubby little hand clutched the paw of the Dixon the Dog toy clipped to the tube beneath the mask over his face. The Ward Seven toys played a huge part in comforting Ryan when he had to take his medication.

Swallowing hard, she lay back and stared up at the ceiling again. She wasn’t going to cry.

Gritting her teeth, she picked up her phone and brought up the We Three Kings forums. It had grown to mean much more to her than a place to get medical advice. She’d made many friends on the forums and chat rooms who were in a similar position to herself with sick children, and they all provided support and comfort for each other when things got tough.

She’d seen the message from Caspar earlier. It was the first time she’d realized that Balthasar—the doctor she’d conversed with in the past—had lost his wife two years ago. She’d joined in with everyone else in sending her thoughts and wishes, but he hadn’t appeared, and she knew he would probably have other things on his mind tonight.

To her surprise, though, he’d recently been on and replied to the messages on the forum.

Hi everyone, he’d written. Thank you so much for all your kind wishes. I appreciate every one of you for taking the time to write. Fleur died two years ago after a long battle with breast cancer. I miss her every day, and of course anniversaries are always difficult, so it’s lovely to read all your messages. The Foundation was her idea, and she understood that communication and support are key in dealing with sickness. She would be thrilled to know how much these forums have grown. I’m glad that I, Caspar, and Melchior have been able to help people in even a little way.

His words had already been followed by a dozen messages from people reiterating their best wishes and saying how We Three Kings was the only thing that had gotten them through a difficult time.

She was just about to add another comment when a direct message box popped up.

Evening, Erin. I understand that Ryan is back in hospital—so sorry to hear that. I’m sure you’re busy, but if you want to talk, I’m here.

Her eyes widened as she saw it was from Balthasar.

She’d talked a lot with him the first time Ryan had been hospitalized. She’d been terrified and, as she didn’t have asthma herself, she hadn’t really understood the ins and outs of the disease. Although the hospital staff had been patient and kind, Balthasar had answered every tiny question she’d had, suggesting many medical and alternative therapies for dealing with asthma, as well as reassuring her that, providing it was well-managed, it didn’t have to be debilitating for the child.

Their relationship—if you could call it that—went deeper than medical help, though. There was no way she could be sure, but she suspected he didn’t have the time to talk to every person on the forums for as long as he talked to her.

Smiling, conscious of her heart picking up its pace a little, she tapped the reply box.

Good evening Balthasar, she typed. Lovely to hear from you.

It was only seconds before another message popped up. Hey, Erin. How are you and Ryan doing?

He’s okay, a little better. They’ve got him on a hydrocortisone drip and the nebulizer, and his breathing’s stabilized.

Is he all right using the neb?

He didn’t want to, but he got better when they clipped Dixon to it :-) Erin sighed. She’d said thank you to him so many times that she was sure he was tired of her repeating herself, but it had to be said. Please thank Melchior and Caspar again for me if you see them. I can’t explain how much difference it makes to Ryan having the Ward Seven toys with him in hospital.

I will. I’ve just been speaking to them. You can tell Ryan there will be a new toy joining Ward Seven soon—a possum apparently called Squish.

Erin covered her mouth with a hand to stop herself laughing out loud. I love it, that’s wonderful.

She paused with her finger over the keypad. Although they’d talked a lot about a variety of things, they’d rarely overstepped the boundary to deeply personal issues. Should she say something about Caspar’s post?

Up on the bed, Ryan coughed, and she sat up to see whether he’d woken up, but his eyes were still closed. She bit her lip, then lay down again. Screw this, she thought. Life was too short not to take chances.

I’m sorry to hear about your wife, she typed. That’s very sad.

For a long time, maybe around two minutes, he didn’t reply. He was probably busy, she thought. Just because his wife had died didn’t mean he was alone, or perhaps he’d put his computer down and wandered off.

She was just about to lay her phone to one side and try to sleep again when a message came back.

I know this is a bit unusual, and of course please say no if you feel uncomfortable, but I wondered whether you’d like to talk properly for once? I’d be happy to call you if you send me your number. But I understand if you’d rather not, and we can carry on talking like this if you wish. Or not. Whatever. I’ll shut up now. An embarrassed emoticon followed.

She caught her breath, her cheeks warming. He wanted to talk to her? Her mind spun, but she scolded it for leaping to conclusions. He only wanted to make sure Ryan was okay—he’d probably talk medical matters and that would be it.

So why was she blushing?

Heart racing, she tapped reply. I’d love to talk to you, if you’re not too busy. She finished with her mobile number, pressed send, then waited, biting her nail. The phone was already on vibrate so she didn’t have to worry about waking Ryan, who could usually sleep through an earthquake anyway.

Her mouth had gone dry, and she sat up and turned around on the tiny bed so her back was against the wall. Ryan and the other boy in the ward were asleep, so she’d have to keep her voice down.

The phone vibrated in her hand, and she tapped the answer button and held it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, is that Erin?” The man’s voice was deep and husky, and it sent a shiver all the way down her spine.

“Yes, hello Balthasar.” She felt all flustered. “It’s lovely to speak to you at last.”

He chuckled. “Please, call me Brock. That’s my real name. The three of us use pseudonyms on the net, even though I’m sure everyone read that article in the Herald.”

“What article?”

“You didn’t read it? Wow, you must be the one person in the whole country. They did a feature on us—my two brothers and I. Our surname is King.”

“Ah, hence the names for your company?”

“That’s right. Charlie—he’s Caspar on the website—suggested Three Wise Men for the name of our medical business. Matt and I weren’t so sure. We thought it was just begging the press to point out all the stupid things we’ve done over the last few years.”

Erin laughed. “I’m sure there haven’t been that many.”

“You’d be surprised.” His voice was wry. “Hey, it’s nice to talk to you at last. We should have done this much sooner.”

Her face glowed again. “I know. We must have been talking online for nearly a year now.”

“Yeah it was about this time last year that Ryan was first in hospital, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“He’s obviously susceptible to summer colds. I’m guessing your doctors there have suggested he has a flu shot from now on?”

“Actually, no.” She hadn’t thought about it either. Now he’d mentioned it, it made perfect sense. “I think they’ve been concentrating more on getting him better right now than on the big picture stuff.”

“Fair enough, but he should have one as soon as he’s better, and then every year from now on. I was thinking it’s possible that his asthma might be irritated by pollen. Was there a thunderstorm where you are before his attack?”

Erin’s jaw dropped. “Yes. How did you know?”

“Just a guess. Changes in air pressure can lead to the bursting of pollen grains, creating smaller particles. These carry the allergens which can be inhaled deep into the lungs. It would make sense to step up his Flixotide inhaler from August maybe to February or March. We really need to work on preventing these attacks from happening rather than curing them when they do.”

“Okay, Brock, I’ll think about that, thank you.” She spoke rather shyly, touched he genuinely seemed to care.

He didn’t reply, and she hesitated, waiting for him to say goodbye now he’d done his doctoral duty.

Instead, though, he said, “And how are you?”

She rubbed her nose. “I’m okay.”

“Having a child in hospital can be incredibly stressful, I know. Have you eaten today?”

“Yes, Dad.”

He laughed. “Just checking.”

“My parents sat with Ryan for a while and I went down to the cafe. I wasn’t hungry but I made myself eat a steak and cheese pie.”

“Was it nice?”

“Not bad actually. I can’t cook to save my life so anything’s better than microwave meals.”

He laughed again, and Erin smiled, glad she’d cheered him up. Should she broach the subject of his late wife? It seemed rude not to.

“Hey, I’m very sorry to hear you lost your wife a few years ago. That’s very sad.”

“Thanks.” He spoke softly. “Yeah, it was tough. She’d been ill a long time.”

“How are you doing? Have you eaten?”

“Yes, Mum.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Compared to some other people, I can actually cook a decent meal. I’d frozen some Bolognese that I’d cooked a few weeks ago. It wasn’t bad, even reheated.”

It didn’t sound as if he was living with anyone. She scratched at a mark on her jeans. Why did it matter? It wasn’t as if she was interested in him.

She touched the back of her fingers to her warm cheeks. Yeah, right.

He cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I know so little about you. Is Ryan’s father there with you?”

She scratched again at the mark on her jeans. “No. Jack left while I was pregnant. He wasn’t interested in being a dad.”

“Huh.” Brock sounded distinctly unimpressed.

“Yeah. He lives in Australia somewhere—I don’t know where. He doesn’t want to know Ryan. He won’t even pay child support.” Erin swallowed. It still hurt to say the words. The authorities had tried to force him to pay, but he moved often and they had trouble keeping tabs on him. She’d long ago stopped expecting miracles.

“Christ. That’s harsh.” Brock’s voice was sharp.

Erin blew out a breath and rested her head back on the wall. “It’s more complicated than it sounds. He told me when I met him that he didn’t want kids. I didn’t think much about it—I just thought it was something young guys say, you know? We’d only been dating six months when I fell pregnant. He still thinks I did it on purpose, out of spite I guess. I didn’t, but that doesn’t matter if he doesn’t believe it.” Hell, why was she blurting all this out? Surely Brock wasn’t interested in her life history?

But she heard the glug of liquid being poured into a glass, and then an exhalation, as if he’d returned to his chair and stretched out to relax. “There are always two sides to every story. I wouldn’t presume to make judgements about your... husband?”

“We never married.”

“Partner, then. But after saying that, I don’t think it says much about him that he’d turn his back on his son, whatever the circumstances—or perceived circumstances—of his conception.”

“Thank you.” His comments warmed her from the inside out. “It’s easy to think it’s my fault that Ryan doesn’t have a visible daddy. It’s nice to hear someone say otherwise.”

“Your ex doesn’t see him at all?”

“Nope. It’s Ryan’s birthday tomorrow—nice to spend it in hospital, eh?—but Jack hasn’t even sent him a present.” She sighed.

Brock fell silent for a moment. Then he said, “What hospital are you in?”

“Whangarei. Why?”

“Just wondered.” He didn’t elaborate, and she heard the clink of ice cubes being swirled in a glass.

“What are you drinking?” she asked.

“A very nice ten-year-old Islay malt.”

“Ooh. Bowmore? Ardbeg?”

“Laphroaig actually. I’m impressed. You like whisky?”

“I do. I haven’t had a glass since Ryan was born, though. He doesn’t sleep well and I get up several times a night. I worry that I won’t hear him if I’ve had a drink, especially since he started having asthma attacks.” She gave a long sigh. “I’d kill for a drink now though. Maybe I’ll treat myself to one next weekend.”

“Why, what’s happening then?”

“It’s my birthday.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. The ripe old age of twenty-seven! Obviously it depends whether Ryan’s out of hospital, but I think he’ll probably be discharged tomorrow as he’s doing so well. Mum wants to give me a break and said she’d stay with him once he’s asleep so I can have the night off. She wants me to go away somewhere.”

“Sounds like a great idea.”

“Yeah, although I probably won’t go. You know what it’s like. The guilt weighs too heavily.”

“You have to look after yourself too, Erin.”

She loved the way he said her name. “I suppose.”

“I mean it. We’re no good to our children if we’re exhausted. We all need time off to regenerate. You should take your mum up on it if she’s generous enough to offer to help.”

“I’ll think about it.” She knew she’d probably say no, though. As appealing as a night on her own in a hotel sounded, she’d only end up lying awake worrying about Ryan, and drinking on her own was rarely fun.

She yawned, and Brock laughed. “I’d better let you go to sleep. I’m sure you’re shattered.”

A surge of disappointment nearly made her complain like a toddler having to leave a party, but she bit her lip and just said, “Well, it was lovely to talk to you.”

“Likewise. I’m glad Ryan’s on the mend.”

“I’m sorry about your wife, Brock.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t drink too much, eh?”

He chuckled. “Nah, I won’t. I was planning to sit up and play some moody guitar, but you’ve lifted some of my melancholy. I think I’ll go to bed soon, too.”

“I’m glad I could help,” she said sincerely. “It’s the least I could do after all the times you’ve helped me.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” His voice was filled with smiles. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

“Night.” He ended the call.

Erin slipped the phone back into the pocket of her jeans. She stood and leaned over Ryan, bent and kissed him on the cheek, then climbed back onto her bed.

Her eyelids drooped, and she turned onto her side, studying the Christmas lights through her lashes.

A smile remained on her lips until she’d drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Three

Brock had forgotten how hot the dog suit was.

That morning, the clouds that had covered the country for weeks had finally cleared, and summer had hit New Zealand with a vengeance. The children’s ward of Whangarei hospital had air conditioning, but the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows felt like a blowtorch on the fur that covered him from head to toe.

Luckily, he’d been sensible enough to wear shorts but, beneath the suit, sweat ran down his back and his T-shirt stuck to his skin. Christ knew what his hair would look like when he eventually removed Dixon’s head.

“Stop moaning,” said the woman standing by his side. Georgia ran the Far North branch of We Three Kings, coordinating fundraising opportunities and the wishes for sick kids, and organizing the guys’ visits to the hospitals. “Matt never moans like this.”

“Matt absolutely moans as much as me,” Brock grumbled. “It’s a family trait. All the King males are renowned for it. You only think he doesn’t because you’re soft on him.”

Even through the tiny eyeholes of the suit, he saw the way Georgia’s cheeks reddened. He was right—she was soft on his brother.

But she just said, “Rubbish,” turned on her heel, and walked off to the next ward.

Chuckling, Brock picked up the large sack of presents and followed her. He and Georgia had already delivered some free medical equipment to the hospital, and now it was time to help the kids. Compared to the families in the hospital, his troubles were inconsequential, and he pushed his discomfort away, ready to concentrate on the two children in the room who were sitting up in their beds, eyes wide at the sight of the real Dixon the Dog coming to visit them.

When his gaze fell on the woman standing at the side of the bed on his right, Brock stopped in his tracks. It was Erin—he knew it instinctively. How he knew, he wouldn’t have been able to say. He’d had no idea what she looked like. She could have been four feet tall, weighed two hundred pounds, and had hair like a scarecrow for all he knew. Not that it would have made any difference if she had, he reminded himself. This wasn’t a romantic visit—he was here because it was Ryan’s birthday and he felt sorry for the boy.

Even as he thought the words, he knew he was fooling himself. He couldn’t deny he was here for Erin too.

The woman whose jaw had dropped when he’d entered the room walked around the bed and stopped, staring at him with wide eyes. It had to be Erin. She looked exactly the way he’d pictured her when he’d talked to her the previous night: tall, curvy, and with blonde hair in a simple braid that hung over one shoulder. She also had a pretty face and a beautiful smile that shone as bright as the summer sun.

Wow.

Georgia looked over her shoulder and beckoned to him with a frown. He wrenched his gaze away from the woman and walked into the room.

“Hello boys,” Georgia said. “Santa heard that you have both been unwell, and he’s sent someone special to see you. Do you know who this is?”

“It’s Dixon!” Both boys screamed in delight.

The adults in the room laughed, and Georgia grinned at Brock. “That’s right,” she said. Turning to look at the boy on the left, she asked, “What’s your name?”

“Tom,” the lad said, eyes open so wide Brock worried they might pop out and roll across the floor.

“Well, Tom, Dixon has a special present for you,” Georgia said. “Would you like to see it?”

Tom bounced on the bed, clearly thrilled to meet the dog from the Ward Seven gang. Brock’s throat tightened. Tom had a Carmel the Cat bracelet holding the tube going into his hand and a Koru the Kiwi attached to his pulse oximeter, while the boy opposite him—who must be Ryan—had a Dixon spacer lying on his bed and a Pepper the Pukeko hanging from his drip. He made a mental note to tell Matt, who would be thrilled to know his characters were helping kids right across the country.

Lowering the sack on his back, he reached in, pulled out one of the boxes, and took it over to Tom. The boy accepted it with an open mouth.

“Say thank you, sweetie,” his mother prompted.

“Thank you,” the boy mumbled, holding the box as if it were a priceless artefact.

Brock patted the boy on the head with his big paw. The box only contained a large plush Dixon, but he had no doubt that to Tom it would be more precious than gold.

Georgia moved forward, holding up her phone. “Would you like a photo taken with Dixon?” she asked Tom. “Then you can show your friends that you met him.”

The boy nodded, and Brock leaned down and put his arm around him. Tom beamed, and Georgia took the shot as the adults around them laughed. “I’ll get it printed and put into a nice frame, and I’ll send it on to you,” Georgia told Tom’s mother.

Brock waved goodbye, and then it was time to move to the next patient. He walked across the floor, suddenly conscious of the huge feet he wore and hoping he didn’t trip up as the young woman standing patiently beside the bed watched him approach.

“And what’s your name?” Georgia asked the boy.

“Ryan,” he said shyly, lifting his spacer so he could suck on the paw of the miniature Dixon.

It was Erin with him—Brock had been right. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He was only a foot away from her now, and up close she was even more beautiful than she had been from across the room. She wore faded jeans and a T-shirt that had been tie-dyed with an orange sunburst pattern, but it still didn’t outshine her dazzling smile. I should have brought sunglasses, he thought. He wouldn’t see properly again for hours.

Georgia’s mouth formed an O of fake surprise. “Oh, Ryan, a little bird told me it’s a very special day for you.”

Ryan rose up onto his knees. He was a cute lad with dark curls, a button nose, and innocent It wasn’t me, it was like that when I got here eyes.

“Was it Pepper?” Ryan asked.

Erin tipped her head at him. “Was what Pepper, sweetie?”

“The little bird who said it was my birthday.” He pointed up at the toy clipped to his drip. “Was it Pepper the Pukeko?”

“Aw.” Erin gave the sexy laugh that Brock had heard on the phone, and he was lost. For the first time in two years, he thought maybe his heart wasn’t as frozen solid as he’d feared.

Georgia chuckled at Ryan’s comment. “That’s right, honey. Pepper told me it was your birthday today. How old are you?”

“I’m two,” Ryan announced proudly.

“No sweetie, you’re three now,” Erin reminded him.

“Oh.” Ryan looked confused. “I forgot.”

“Because it’s your birthday,” Georgia reminded him. “You’re a whole year older. And Dixon has a special something for you.”

Brock held up Dixon’s big paw and curled his thumb and little finger so they touched, leaving the rest of the dog’s big fingers pointing up.

“Three special somethings,” Georgia corrected. “What do you have in the sack, Dixon?”

He pulled out the same sized parcel he’d given to the rest of the kids in the hospital—a large, plush Dixon in a box, neatly wrapped by Georgia herself. Ryan squealed and took the box with a big “Thank you!”

Next, Brock took out a flat parcel, which was a DVD of the newest series of the cartoon TV show of Ward Seven. Ryan took the present with an open mouth.

Brock held out his hand, palm uppermost.

“How many presents do you have, Ryan?” Georgia bent and asked him.

“Two,” Ryan counted, holding them up.

“And how old are you?”

He grinned—his mother’s smile, bright and beaming. “Three!”

“One more present please, Dixon!” Georgia declared.

Brock pulled out the last, special parcel and gave it to Ryan. It was a large, flat box.

“Can I open it, Mummy?” the boy asked, eyes wide. Erin glanced at Brock as if asking permission.

Putting his arm around the boy, Brock tugged a little at the wrapping paper, and Ryan tore it off. He squealed at the sight of the box of Lego dinosaurs, then turned and threw his arms around Dixon.

Brock hugged him back, touched by the boy’s affection, and glanced up at Erin. She was staring at them, clearly baffled as to how he knew that was what her son had been asking for. Next to her, the older woman who was presumably her mother smiled.

Ryan had his photo taken with Dixon too, and then it was time to move on to the next wards, as Georgia wanted to finish giving the children presents before their tea was served.

Brock waved goodbye to everyone and walked to the door, then stopped when he felt a hand on his arm.

“Wait.” It was Erin. He turned and looked down into her bright eyes. “Um... I just wanted to say thanks,” she said. She bit her lip, and he could see she was dying to ask how he knew about the Lego set.

Georgia—who was in on the whole thing—grinned at them. “Aw, does mummy want a hug from Dixon too?”

Brock chuckled and put his arms around Erin, and she laughed and hugged him as the children cheered. As a rule, he didn’t speak in the Dixon costume, but he put his mouth close to her ear and murmured, “I’ll be back when I’ve finished. Need to talk to you.”

He moved away. Her eyes had widened, but he didn’t wait for her to say anything, just smiled inside the suit and followed Georgia out of the room.

Chapter Four

Erin watched Dixon the Dog walk off to the next ward. Her heart hammered and the surprise had made her breathless. When he’d said those words, she’d been certain it sounded like the man she’d spoken to the night before.

Brock was here? Had he been coming all along or had he organized the event just for her?

A nurse stopped next to her and smiled at the squeals that echoed from the next ward. “That’s cheered them all up,” she said.

Erin cleared her throat. “Has the visit been organized for a while or was it arranged today?”

“Oh we booked it months ago,” the nurse advised. “Dixon comes here every few months to give gifts to the kids.”

Erin nodded, annoyed at her own disappointment. Of course he hadn’t arranged it all for her. It had just been a coincidence that Ryan had been admitted the day before Brock was due to visit.

And yet how had he known about the Lego dinosaur box that Ryan had seen before he went into hospital? Erin had already bought him a box of Lego for his birthday, and he’d been delighted with it, but she’d made a mental note to get the new dinosaur box for him for Christmas. How had Brock known that, or again, was it just another coincidence?

Her mind whirling, she went back to Ryan’s bed. He’d already opened the box of Lego, and her mother was helping him sort out the pieces.

“Well that was weird,” Erin said. “Totally didn’t expect that.”

Karen Bloom looked up and winked at her daughter. “The universe has a strange way of working things out.”

Erin narrowed her eyes. Her mother had a mischievous look about her that suggested she knew more about Brock’s visit than she was letting on. Erin opened her mouth to ask another question, but a nurse appeared to do a series of checks and then it was teatime, so she pushed everything to the back of her mind and concentrated on her son.

She’d bought him a cake, and Karen nipped out to light the candles then brought it in while some of the nurses and the adults in the room sung him happy birthday. Erin’s throat tightened as Ryan’s eyes glowed and he rose to blow out the candles.

For a panicky hour the day before, his breathing had gotten so bad she’d worried he wouldn’t see his birthday. Closing her eyes, she said a quick thank you prayer to the hospital, the nurses, Three Wise Men, and anyone else who might be listening for their help in saving his life.

“Ms. Bloom?”

Erin opened her eyes as she felt a hand on her arm and turned to see the pretty young woman who’d come into the ward previously with Dixon.

“Hi,” the woman said. “Do you have a moment?”

Glancing at Ryan, Erin saw him busy sorting out his Lego again. Her mother flicked her fingers at her, shooing her away.

“Sure,” Erin replied.

“I’m Georgia,” the woman said, leading the way out of the ward and down the corridor. “Dixon wondered whether you had a minute for a quick chat.”

“Oh, yes of course.”

“He’s in here.” Georgia stopped outside a closed door. Glancing around to make sure there were no children watching, she opened the door, waited for Erin to enter, then closed it behind her.

It was a tiny office, the table at the far end stacked with papers and folders, the window above it casting late afternoon sunlight across the man in the process of removing the Dixon the Dog head of his costume. He’d already taken off the large fur paws and, as she watched, he lifted the head and tucked it under his arm.

Jaw dropping, Erin stared at him.

After he’d mentioned the Herald article on the Three Wise Men, she’d made a mental note to check him out on the internet, but when they’d finished their phone call she’d gone straight to sleep, and today she’d been so busy she hadn’t had time to look him up.

She’d had no idea what he looked like. All she’d known was that she liked the sound of his voice. She would never have expected him to look so... well... gorgeous.

True, all she could see was his head, but he had short dark hair threaded with gray at the temples, warm brown eyes, and a face she could have stared at for hours without getting bored.

“We meet at last,” he said, and grinned, his eyes creasing at the edges.

“Brock.” She couldn’t have fought the smile that spread across her face even if she’d wanted to. “How lovely to finally meet you.”

He put Dixon’s head into a large black bag and gestured at the rest of the costume. “I’m so hot in this outfit. You could cook muffins in it. You don’t mind if I strip off, do you?”

Is the Pope Catholic? Erin shook her head. “No, of course not. Go ahead. Do you... ah... want me to turn around?” Please, please, don’t say yes.

An impish smile curved his lips. “It’s okay, I am wearing shorts.” He opened a Velcro flap at the front and undid the zip. “Do you think Ryan enjoyed his surprise?”

“I know he did. He’ll talk about nothing else for weeks.” She tried not to stare as Brock eased the suit off his shoulders, let it drop, and stepped out of it. He hadn’t lied—he wore a T-shirt and shorts underneath, but he was obviously hot because the T-shirt was soaked through and sticking to his muscular body.

Ooh.

“Yuck,” he said and pulled a face. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think this through. It’s not the best way to meet a lady for the first time.” Grabbing the wet T-shirt at the back of his neck, he tugged it off, then gestured to a clean one hanging over the nearby chair. “Pass me that, will you? Sorry.”

Wordlessly, she handed him the clean tee, trying to resist the urge to fan herself at the sight of his naked torso. Jeez, the guy had a body that made her mouth water. He wasn’t ripped, exactly, but his muscles were tight and toned enough to tell her he took care of himself without standing in front of the mirror with weights every day preening.

She cleared her throat. “I’m so glad you happened to be visiting today. What a great coincidence.”

Tugging on the T-shirt, he appeared oblivious to the drool she was sure must be coating her chin. He ran a hand through his hair before meeting her gaze. His lips curved up again and an embarrassed look crossed his face. “Well, ah, it wasn’t that much of a coincidence. My brother, Matt, was supposed to visit Whangarei and I was off to Waikato, but I asked him if we could swap at the last minute.”

He tossed the top he’d removed into a sports bag and the rest of the costume into the black bag, then faced her, sliding his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to give Ryan something to cheer him up.”

Warmth had flooded her cheeks so she knew she must be blushing, but she didn’t look away, needing to understand how much of this was coincidence and how much he’d engineered. “How did you know he wanted that Lego?” she asked curiously.

The sheepish look returned. “I rang your mother.” His brows drew together. “Actually, now I say it out loud it sounds a bit creepy. Does it help if I say I asked Georgia to track your mum down?”

“Um...” Erin didn’t know what to think. He’d actually spoken to her mother? She was going to kill her for keeping that to herself. “Not really.”

They studied each other for a moment. Erin was too startled to think straight. Brock looked wary, as if concerned she might accuse him of stalking her.

He glanced away for a moment, out of the window at the deep blue sky, giving Erin the opportunity to study his profile. Straight nose, sculpted lips, a touch of bristle on his cheeks. Had he really gone to all that trouble to find out who her mother was so he could buy Ryan a present? She didn’t know whether to feel alarmed or incredibly touched.

Brock blew out a long breath, still looking out of the window. “The thing is, I felt sorry for Ryan being here on his birthday, and I wanted to cheer him up. That’s what We Three Kings is for, making kids feel better. But that wasn’t the only reason I came.”

He looked back at Erin. His eyes held a warmth that heated her from the inside out. “We’ve talked online for a long time,” he said, “and... well, I like you. I wanted to meet you. To see if you looked as gorgeous as you sounded.” He smiled.

“Oh.” She tried to catch her breath and failed. “Goodness.” She tried to act casual, as if gorgeous rich men threw compliments at her all the time, and failed, a smile curving her lips.

“You do, by the way,” he clarified. “Just so you know.”

She held his gaze as long as she could, then stared at her shoes for a moment, her cheeks burning. Jeez, she was acting like she was fifteen again, but she couldn’t help it. No man had talked to her like this in an ice age, if ever.

Brock chuckled. “I’m embarrassing you, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s nice. I’m just not used to compliments.”

“I sincerely doubt that, but if it is the truth, all it tells me is that the male population of the Northland must be blind.”

“Brock, stop.” She covered her cheeks with her hands. “You’re making me blush.”

He laughed and looked at his watch. “Look, the kids are having their tea at the moment. I wondered whether you’d like to take a break and join me for a coffee in the restaurant?”

“Oh. Um...” Her mind whirled. Her mother would be happy to stay with Ryan for half an hour and he wouldn’t even notice she was gone while he had his new box of Lego. “Okay, that would be nice. Thank you.”

“Come on then.” He gestured to the door with his head. “Georgia tells me they make a great mince pie here, and I’m starving.”

Chapter Five

“So come on then.” Brock sipped his piping hot coffee, trying not to burn his lip. “Tell me about yourself.” He smiled at the woman sitting opposite him, who looked as if she was also trying not to burn her lip, both of them as self-conscious as if they were on a date. Which they sort of were, he supposed, even if it wasn’t a very romantic one.

Erin gave a sexy shrug of her shoulders. “I think you already know everything about me.”

“Aw, come on. I know all about Ryan and how you’ve looked after him. I don’t know anything about you.” It was true—they’d talked often about the difficulties of looking after a sick kid, but they’d never made the step across that unspoken boundary into personal details until now.

“What would you like to know?” she asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

He leaned forward on the table, wanting to know more about this mysterious woman who pressed all his buttons, though he had no idea why. “Tell me about yourself, Erin. Do you work? What music do you like? What books do you read? I want to discover the woman behind the mother.”

Her smile faded, and she poked at the cream-covered mince pie on her plate with a fork. “I’m not sure there is one anymore.” Her tone was wry, but he sensed a touch of despair behind it. “I’ve been a mum for so long I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be me.”

He nodded, took a bite of his mince pie, and ate it with enthusiasm. Georgia was right—it was terrific. “Yeah, that happens with both parenthood and demanding careers. I know sometimes I’m not home until ten, and I walk into my apartment and think right, time to myself, and I’m, like, okay... What do I do now?”

Erin laughed, her face lighting up, and Brock melted inside. He wanted to make her laugh like that all the time.

“That happens to me too,” she said. “I finally persuade Ryan to have a nap or get him to bed at night, and I think great, me time, and sometimes it’s all I can do to sit and watch the TV.”

“That’s natural,” he said. “Parenting is incredibly hard. Nowadays we’re all told we’re supposed to be super-parents, holding down a demanding career while being a terrific mother or father and partner, and it’s not that easy.”

“Well I don’t have a partner, I only work part-time at the local bookshop, and I’m a terrible mother, so I’m not sure what that says about me.” She laughed before eating her mince pie.

“You’re hardly a terrible mother, Erin. Look at all the research you’ve done into how to cope with an asthmatic child—not every mother can say the same. You’d be surprised.”

Her eyebrows rose. “I suppose.” Then an impish smile crossed her face. “But I can’t cook. I mean it—somehow even when I follow a recipe it always goes wrong, probably because I’m impatient and can’t be bothered to measure anything.” She gave a girlish giggle that made him grin. “I can’t sew,” she continued, “or knit. Too impatient to learn.”

“I’m sensing a theme here,” he said. “Patience not your strong point?”

“Um, no. Not really. Life’s too short to stuff a mushroom, you know?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “So you work in a bookshop?”

“Three mornings a week while Ryan’s at playgroup. Keeps me sane. Kind of.” She rolled her eyes. “I like yoga. I paint a bit, not well, terribly messy abstract stuff that doesn’t mean anything to anyone but me, but I like doing it. I listen to funky rhythm and blues and jazz, and I can sing a bit. I like watching comedies that make me laugh and emotional dramas that make me cry. I love chocolate and I hate ginger. How’s that?”

Brock studied her face, watching how it lit up as she talked about the things she enjoyed doing. She’d look a million dollars in a designer dress with her hair done, makeup applied, and expensive jewelry glittering at her ears and on her fingers, but equally he loved her fresh-faced look, her sheer joie-de-vivre. She obviously thought she’d lost it since becoming a mother, but it was still there, like the Christmas baubles hanging by the counter that glittered when they caught the light.

“So,” she said, a light pink touching her cheekbones as he continued to watch her. “You’re a consultant pediatrician at Auckland Hospital?”

“Yes. My brother Charlie works there too—he develops medical equipment. My other brother you know as Matt King—he of Ward Seven fame.” He waited for her to quiz him about Matt the way most women did, captivated by the guy who was famous nationwide for his Kiwi cartoon characters.

“So what made you want to be a doctor?” she asked instead. “And a pediatrician at that?”

Warmed by her interest, he finished off his cake, pushed away the plate, and sat back in his chair. “My sister, Pippa, died when I was fourteen. She had an asthma attack. She was only eight. I was looking after her while my parents took Matt and Charlie to a school football competition. It was the middle of winter, freezing cold, but Pippa was bored and annoyed that the guys had gone to play football without her, so I took her into the garden for a kick around.”

It was still surprisingly difficult to talk about it, even after all these years. Brock concentrated on the table, picking at a black mark on the plastic with his nail. “I stuck her in goal, which she wasn’t happy about, but I was six years older than her and she tended to do whatever I wanted. We played for a while, and then she started complaining she was wheezy. Now, I recognize she’d had signs of asthma for a while. She had a recurrent cough. After playing sports and in the cold weather she’d sometimes complain of shortness of breath, but it always went away after a while. One doctor prescribed her an inhaler, but she didn’t like using it as none of us really understood asthma, and we didn’t realize how important it was. In a family of four kids, nobody has much sympathy with illness.”

In spite of his attempt at humor, to his surprise Erin reached out and held his hand, so she’d obviously spotted that this was still difficult. “Go on,” she said.

He shivered as she brushed her thumb across the back of his hand. “Eventually Pippa stopped playing,” he said distantly, “and sat on the grass. I teased her for a moment, then realized she was really in trouble. I carried her inside but by then she was barely breathing. I rang for an ambulance but she died before it turned up.”

Erin pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Oh, Brock. That’s awful.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, and neither did she. Her hand was warm on his, and he concentrated on the feelings that gentle stroking of his skin aroused in him. He’d been too long without human touch, he thought. He hugged his mother, occasionally kissed a female friend on the cheek, but this was different. It felt intimate and sensual, and it stirred up a confusing swirl of emotions, from guilt to comfort to pleasure.

He swallowed and tried to concentrate. “I’d not been great at school before that—I was bright but messed around a lot, and my grades were all over the place. After she died, though, I decided I was going to become a doctor and do my best to make sure others didn’t have to go through what I went through. I want to raise awareness of asthma, and make treatments easier and more readily available for everyone, and to try to take away the fear of medical equipment for kids.”

“It was a great idea,” Erin said softly, “and you’ve made such a difference to a huge number of people.”

“Well, it’ll never bring Pippa back, but it’s better than doing nothing.”

“It’s a lot better than doing nothing.”

They smiled at each other. Brock knew she was about to pull her hand away, and he turned his over to hold hers so she couldn’t remove it. He ran his thumb over her knuckles. Strange how such an innocent gesture made him feel as if they were the only two people in the room.

Erin looked down at their hands, but she didn’t pull away. “So tell me about yourself,” she said. “I only know that you’re a doctor.”

“Well, I can cook, a bit. I’d do more but it’s time, you know? I play the guitar, nothing fancy, just strum along to songs and irritate everyone.” He grinned. “I like comedies too, and I love a good drama series. I read to relax, thrillers and crime mostly, books that don’t take too much brain power. I used to play football and rugby, but don’t have the time to commit to a team now, so mainly I just run to keep fit.”

“You sound very committed to your work.” Erin smiled. “I do admire that. Is it the main reason you’re still single?”

He brushed her knuckles again. “Kind of. There’s not been much time or opportunity to meet anyone else. But I’ve not been looking either. Two years sounds a long time but it doesn’t feel like it. When Fleur was dying, I told her I’d never look at another woman again. She just laughed, but I meant every word. Now though...” He paused and then gave a long sigh.

“I know what you mean,” Erin said. “It’s not quite the same for me, obviously, but when Jack left, I decided I was done with men. I’d had the hassles of pregnancy, then all the issues of a newborn, then the complications of a toddler. It’s been hard doing it on my own, but I’ve managed, and I’ve told myself I don’t need a man. I haven’t had time to devote to another person anyway. But sometimes...” Her voice trailed off.

Brock’s eyes met hers as she looked up at him, and then his gaze slid to her mouth. He’d not had feelings for a woman for so long, and yet even before he’d met Erin, he’d felt a connection with her he couldn’t explain.

It was so complicated. He didn’t know if he’d ever get rid of his guilt about betraying Fleur. She’d told him she didn’t want him to stay single for the rest of his life, but he’d promised her he’d never love again. What kind of man would it make him if he broke that promise?

And yet in another way it was so simple. He liked Erin. She was gorgeous and he wanted to lean across the table and kiss her, but it was also more than that. It was nice just to talk to someone about something other than work. To have a woman look at him with warmth in her eyes.

For God’s sake, he scolded himself, he didn’t have to ask her to marry him. And asking her out on a date didn’t mean he’d stopped loving or missing his wife. Only that time had moved on, and although a piece of him had died along with Fleur, he was ready for something—or someone—to bring him back to life again.

One step at a time, Brock. No need to rush.

“Next weekend,” he said, “providing Ryan’s well enough for you to leave... I wondered if you’d like to go away somewhere with me for your birthday. A nice hotel in the Bay, maybe, for a treat after all the stress you’ve had.”

Erin stared at him. Her eyes widened to saucers and she leaned back in her chair, withdrawing her hand from his grip.

Suddenly, he realized how his offer might have sounded. “Oh, I meant separate rooms,” he added hastily. “Christ, I’m not that forward.”

Her lips curved up, but her face flushed a beautiful shade of pink.

Brock ran a hand through his hair. “I’m making a real hash of this. Can you tell I haven’t asked a girl out for about ten years?”

“A little, yeah.”

He sighed. Best to be honest now you’ve nearly screwed it up, dude. “I’m sorry. I should have just asked you to dinner. But seriously, I thought it would be a nice gift for you. A night in a hotel with a room to yourself. We could have dinner in the restaurant—a fancy steak or whatever you wanted, a glass of red wine, and a Lagavulin to finish the night off. And then imagine it—a night in a Queen bed on your own, without a small person playing starfish beside you. You could have a decent bath without being interrupted and watch a real movie on the TV without having to turn over for cartoons. And you could drink the whole contents of the mini bar without having to worry about being there for Ryan.”

Erin was smiling warmly by now. “Actually that sounds like heaven.”

His heart swelled. “Is that a yes?”

She gave a noncommittal shrug. “It’s a maybe. It’s a lovely gesture, Brock. And you’re right—we’ve been communicating for a long time, but ultimately I don’t know you very well. It feels odd accepting such a generous gift from a man.”

He reached out and took her hand again, and this time she didn’t pull away. “I’m really sorry, I honestly didn’t mean it to come out the way it did. I just want to spend some time with you and get to know you a little better, and you’ve obviously been through a lot lately. You deserve a special treat. I sincerely meant separate rooms, I swear.”

“I believe you,” she said softly.

“The We Three Kings Foundation often helps out toward accommodation costs for parents, as usually only one person can stay in hospital with the child. We can say we’ll pay for your room out of that fund if it makes you feel better.”

An impish smile crossed her face. “The fund pays for glasses of Lagavulin, does it?”

He grinned. “No, you’d have to let me pay for that.”

She looked down at where he was brushing his thumb across her knuckles. “May I think about it and see how Ryan is toward the end of the week?”

“Of course. I’ll book the rooms anyway, but if you decide you’d rather stay with Ryan or you feel too uncomfortable, maybe we can just do lunch at a nearby cafe or something instead.”

She nodded. “Okay.” Clearing her throat, she pushed back her chair. “I’d better get back upstairs.”

“Of course. I’ll come with you and pick up my bags.”

He accompanied her up the stairs, pausing when they reached the room where he’d changed. “I’ll give you a call toward the end of the week, if I don’t speak to you before,” he said.

“Okay.”

He wasn’t quite sure what emotion was in her eyes—excitement? Wariness? Amusement? Her lips curved, though, so he knew it was nothing bad.

They were only inches apart, close enough for him to smell her light, flowery perfume and to see the freckles across her nose. Her lips looked soft, and he wanted to kiss her, to dip his tongue into her mouth and see if she tasted as sweet as he suspected. To pull her against him, slide his hands under her T-shirt, and feel her warm skin.

Smiling, he bent his head and touched his lips to her cheek. “Goodbye, Erin.”

“Bye.” She blushed and walked away, giving him a quick glance over her shoulder before she disappeared into the ward.

Brock grinned and picked up his bags, then headed for the stairs. Georgia was waiting there, and she raised her eyebrows as he walked up.

“Did you pull?” she asked.

He tipped his head to the side and gave her an exasperated look. “Subtle, Miss Banks.”

“You don’t pay me for subtlety,” she said as they walked down the stairs.

He laughed. “Thanks for organizing this. I know you were hoping to see Matt.” He winked at her. He had a special fondness for the young woman who worked so hard for sick children. An absolute beauty, Georgia Banks had a troubled past, and he wasn’t at all surprised she wasn’t interested in his brother. He waited for her to say so.

Sure enough, she said, “Not at all,” but to his surprise, her cheeks turned a rosy pink.

He smirked. He’d made two women blush in the space of two minutes. That wasn’t bad going.

He opened his mouth to query her further, but they’d reached the bottom of the stairs and Georgia was clearly not going to let herself be questioned. “See you later,” she said, and walked away to her car.

Brock hefted his bag over his shoulder and tucked the bag with Dixon’s costume under his arm, heading out to the taxi Georgia had arranged to take him to the airport. Someone was playing Christmas carols in their car, and he chuckled when he heard the song We Three Kings.

Humming along, happier than he had been in a long while, he got into the taxi and sat back to daydream as the car drove away.

Chapter Six

“So your father and I were wondering if you’d like to go out for a meal on Saturday for your birthday?”

It was Wednesday lunchtime. Ryan had been released from hospital on the Monday, and after a couple of days’ rest, like most kids he’d bounced back as if there had never been anything wrong with him. Erin had been keeping a close eye on him, but he seemed fine.

She was in the middle of making him a sandwich. She’d buttered two slices of bread and was halfway through opening a tin of tuna. Her hand gave an involuntary twitch, and the tin slipped out of the opener and clattered onto the breakfast bar.

“Oops.” She picked it up again and carried on, attempting nonchalance. “Um, I’m not sure what I’m doing yet, but thanks. Can I let you know?”

“Of course.” Karen Bloom sat on the stool opposite her. Erin knew her mother hated doing nothing and was itching to take over and make the sandwich for her, but to her credit she remained still and didn’t comment on the fact that water had leaked from the spilled tin all over the counter. “Are you thinking of going out with your friends? I can babysit if you like.”

“I... um...” Erin had always been unable to lie to her mother. Lying to her teachers, her friends, her partners, even her father, had been easy, but there was something in her mother’s eye that made her feel as if Karen saw right through her to the fourteen-year-old girl inside.

“Okay, out with it.” Karen gave in to her instincts and rose to get a piece of kitchen towel to mop up the spill. “Are you having a party or something?”

“I haven’t had a birthday party since I was eleven, Mum.”

“And I still can’t believe you wanted to wear a Spider-man outfit and not that beautiful princess dress I made for you.”

Erin chuckled. “I stood out a bit, didn’t I?”

“You did rather. So? What’s the plan?”

Concentrating hard, Erin tipped the tuna into a bowl, added mayonnaise, and gave it a stir. “I’ve... um... had an... um... offer. Sort of.”

“An offer? Of what?”

Possibly hot sex with a gorgeous man if I play my cards right.

She cleared her throat. “Brock’s asked me out to dinner.”

Karen’s eyes widened. “Dixon the Dog?”

Erin glanced over her shoulder to where Ryan sat on the floor, playing with his Lego and watching his favorite Disney movie for the hundredth time. He showed no sign of having heard her. The Dixon the Dog plush toy that Brock had given him sat by his side as if also watching the movie. It had been permanently attached to Ryan’s hand since his birthday.

Hiding a smile, she brought her gaze back to her mother. “Yes. Although he probably won’t be wearing the dog suit.”

Karen gave her a wry look. “Well, that’s nice. Where does he want to take you?”

Erin tried very hard not to give a rude answer to that one. “That’s the thing. He’s offered to pay for a night away in a hotel.”

Silence fell like early morning mist. Erin spread the tuna mayo on one slice of bread, topped it with a cheese square out of a packet, and put the other slice of bread on top.

“You shouldn’t give him that plastic cheese,” Karen said. “I bet it has a thousand E numbers in it.”

“Ryan likes it. He doesn’t like real cheese.” She cut the sandwich in half with more force than was necessary, making the tuna squeeze out of the sides onto the counter.

“Or real meat,” Karen said, referring to the fact that her grandson would eat chicken nuggets but not chicken, meatballs but not beef, loved sausages but wouldn’t go near a slice of pork, and only ate fish if it had fingers.

Erin paused, counted to ten, and placed the sandwiches on a plate with a packet of chips. Her parents had been invaluable after Jack had left her. Karen had come to all her ante-natal classes, she’d been at the birth, and she never said no if Erin asked her to babysit. Although Erin lived in a tiny house and barely had two cents to rub together, her father, Pete, made sure they never went hungry, and that Ryan always had enough clothes and toys so Erin didn’t feel a complete failure as a mother. She couldn’t have coped without them, and she was incredibly thankful they only lived ten minutes up the road and were willing and able to help out.

Still, it didn’t mean they never made her want to pull her hair out. She managed her money as well as she could, but occasionally she gave in and treated herself to something—a pretty scarf in the sale, a sparkly crystal to hang in the window, a pot of flowers for the table—things that, to her, made life worth living. Her father worked in a bank, and he’d pointed out more than once that these things weren’t necessities, and until she got herself a proper job and earned enough to clear the bills, she shouldn’t waste her money on frivolities. At the ripe old age of twenty-six, she wanted to tell him to stick his advice where the sun didn’t shine, but he meant well, he was her father, and she knew he had no real understanding of how hard it was for her to get through the days sometimes, so she let it slide.

With her mother, it was slightly different. Karen had brought up her three children on very little money, and often said how tough it had been, so Erin knew she understood not just not having money to buy stuff, but also not being able to pay for a nanny or kindergarten. Now Ryan had turned three, Erin was officially able to place him at a kindergarten for twenty hours a week for free, but that depended on vacancies, and at the moment the kindie nearest to her had no places until the following February when the oldest children would start primary school.

She knew she had it no harder than the majority of single mums across the world. She had only the one child, and she had both her parents around to help out—not every woman was that lucky. But there were times she felt her mother could have made her life easier. Karen had no problem with pointing out areas where she thought Erin could do better, whether it because she thought her daughter had waited too long to toilet train Ryan, when it was connected to her grandson’s eating habits, or when she felt Erin could have been stricter with his behavior. Again, she meant well, and her protectiveness was entirely due to the fact that Erin had struggled to cope when Jack had abandoned her. But even so, it didn’t make life easy.

“What hotel?” Karen said eventually, curiosity getting the better of her disapproval.

“I don’t know. Somewhere in the Bay, he said.”

“He owns Three Wise Men, doesn’t he? He must have a few dollars to his name.”

“Well, he owns it with his brothers, but yeah, I’m guessing he’s not hard up.” Erin took the plate into the living room and gave it to her son.

“Dinosaur’s starving,” Ryan said, and let the T-rex he’d built take a bite out of the tuna sandwich.

“That’s cool. One bite for him, one for you.” Erin walked back into the kitchen.

Karen frowned. “You shouldn’t let him play with his food.”

“Mum...” Erin fought the urge to bang her head on the counter and threw the tin into the sink with a clatter. “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?”

Karen waved her hand. “It won’t matter if I’m a few minutes late. What have you said to Brock?”

“I told him I’d let him know.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow. “You know he only wants one thing, Erin. And a man with money knows how to get it.”

“Mum!”

“I’m telling it like it is, that’s all.”

“You were the one who encouraged him on the phone! You told him what to buy Ryan.”

“Buying a sick child a birthday present is one thing. Proposing an affair is another. I know what you’re like—a man flashes a smile at you and everything goes out of the window. You need to keep your wits about you with this one.”

Erin bit her lip hard, then blew out a breath. “I admit I didn’t see through Jack until it was too late, but one incident doesn’t make a trend.”

“Oh sweetheart, come on, Jack was hardly the only one. You have terrible taste in men.”

Opening her mouth to protest, Erin thought about it, then slowly closed her mouth. She wanted to yell at her mother, but Karen spoke the truth. Erin’s first boyfriend had cheated on her with her then best friend. Her second boyfriend broke up with her the day before Valentine’s Day. The third had seemed to prefer spending time with his mates to being with her, and when she’d tentatively suggested they see more of each other, he’d dumped her for being too possessive. Ironically, the fourth had wanted to be with her every minute of the day and had been jealous to the point that he’d scared her, flying off the handle whenever he caught her even exchanging the time of day with another man.

The fifth had been Jack. Karen was right—she had a terrible taste in men, and the realization brought angry tears rushing to Erin’s eyes.

Karen sighed. “Oh, honey...” Hastily, she walked around the breakfast bar and enfolded her daughter in her arms.

Erin gritted her teeth. Karen’s arms were warm, her hand gentle as it stroked her arm. Her mother always had to pick up the pieces after each disastrous relationship ended. It wasn’t surprising she was wary for her daughter.

“Surely statistically I’m due to meet someone nice?” Erin sniffed.

“You’d think.” Karen went over to switch the kettle on.

“He’s really nice, mum,” Erin said softly, thinking of Brock’s smile, and his gentle concern on the phone.

“I’m sure he is. And I suppose he’d be able to provide well for you and Ryan.”

Erin stiffened. “That’s not why I’m thinking about going out with him.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, love. It’s animal instinct, isn’t it? Choosing the best mate we can find who we think will care for our young.”

“Even so. I’m not interested in his money.”

“So you’re paying for this hotel, are you?”

Erin locked gazes with her mother. “I’m not allowed presents on my birthday now?”

“A bunch of red roses is a gift. So is a box of chocolates. You’ve just met the man. You’re really saying you’ll let him pay for a night away in a hotel. What’s he going to do, book two rooms?” Karen laughed.

Erin’s cheeks warmed. “That’s exactly what he’s doing.”

“Oh, sweetheart, come on,” Karen scoffed. “You are so incredibly naive. You’re twenty-six, not sixteen.”

Erin glared at her. “Don’t you think it’s possible for someone to be altruistic in this day and age? To give a gift without wanting something in return?”

Karen folded her arms. “No.”

“Then I pity you,” Erin said harshly. “What a terrible world you must live in.”

“I live in the real world. And I’m not the single mother struggling to make ends meet because her idiot boyfriend wouldn’t recognize his child.”

That really hurt. Erin inhaled and swallowed hard. “Ouch.”

Immediately, regret crossed Karen’s face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Damn it, I always go too far. I only want what’s best for you, my love.”

“I know.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“I know.”

“Just be careful. It’s possible this man is being unselfish. Maybe he genuinely wants to be nice. But money is a strange thing—it’s like mistletoe. It’s attractive, but it’s parasitic—it drains all the good things out of you. I’m not saying he doesn’t like the look of you, but once he sees your lifestyle, he’ll think you’re after his money. It’ll eat at him, the same way it will eat at you every time you wonder whether you’re only with him because of it, and don’t look at me like that. I know you, and I know how your brain works.”

“I think I’ve had about as much honesty as I can take today.” Erin got her mother’s handbag and held it out to her. “You’d better go or you’ll be late.”

Karen looked suddenly distressed. Although she was often outspoken, the two of them rarely argued. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re probably right. I just need to think about it.”

Reluctantly, Karen kissed her on the cheek, then went and kissed Ryan goodbye before following her daughter to the door. “I really am sorry,” she said when they reached it. “I’m so worried about you getting hurt again, that’s all.”

“I know, Mum. Don’t worry, it’s all good. I’ll see you tomorrow—are you still okay to babysit for Ryan while I go and visit Caitlin?” Erin was due to meet her old school friend up in Mangonui for the afternoon. They’d arranged it ages ago, and although she was reluctant to leave Ryan after he’d been unwell, he was so full of spirits now that she felt able to leave him with her parents for an afternoon.

“Of course. I’ll see you around eleven?”

“Sure. Bye.”

Erin closed the door behind her mother, and went and sat on the sofa.

Ryan had finished his sandwich, and he got up, came over to her, and climbed onto her lap. “I’m still hungry,” he announced. “Can I have a biscuit?”

“I think we should have a walk down to the shop and buy a huge bar of chocolate,” Erin said, knowing that would annoy both of her parents.

Her son’s eyes lit up. “Milky Bar?”

“Absolutely. We’ll get two bars. Milky Bar for you and Dairy Milk for me.”

He flung his arms around her and planted a wet kiss on her cheek. “Can Dixon come?”

She hugged him back, fighting tears once again. “Of course. Does he like chocolate?”

Ryan thought about it. “He likes Smarties.”

Erin laughed. “Then we’ll get some Smarties as well.” The money in her purse was put aside for the week’s shopping, but screw it. She would spend a couple of dollars of it on chocolate and eat beans on toast for a week if it meant making Ryan’s eyes light up like that for once.

She closed her eyes and buried her face in Ryan’s soft neck. Her mother was right—if she met someone with money, she’d never have to scrimp and save again, but she’d never be able to stop herself wondering if that was why she was with him. Whenever they argued, he’d always be able to throw it in her face, and it would turn things sour very quickly.

As much as she hated to admit it, it was probably best that she didn’t go away with him. She’d text him later and say no.

Chapter Seven

“He said what?”

Caitlin’s voice was loud enough to cut across the cafe, and Erin winced as the other customers glanced over at them with amusement.

It was Thursday, and they were catching up in Caitlin’s Treats to Tempt You chocolate, coffee, and ice cream shop in Mangonui. Erin had gone to school with Caitlin, and she’d missed Cait and her sister Elle a lot after they’d moved from Whangarei eighty or so miles away to Doubtless Bay. It was easier now Erin lived in Kerikeri and it only took forty-five minutes to drive.

“Sorry.” Caitlin pulled an eek face. “You shocked me.”

“Imagine how I felt. A night away in a hotel! It’s like something out of a movie.” Erin carved out another scoop of the sumptuous Christmas pudding ice cream Caitlin had dished up. She’d debated long and hard whether to tell Caitlin about Brock. She’d spent all of Wednesday evening with her phone in her hand, trying to text him to tell him she wouldn’t be going at the weekend, but for some reason her fingers had refused to type the message. In the end, she’d decided she’d tell Caitlin about him, and if Cait agreed with her mother that it was a terrible idea, she’d text him there and then.

And if Cait disagreed... Erin had spent most of the night dreaming about what that would mean.

“Seriously,” she said, “what was I supposed to say to that?”

“How about ‘excuse me while I bite your hand off’?” Caitlin laughed and sipped her latte, then stared at her friend. “Wait, don’t tell me you said no?”

“I said maybe. That I’d let him know toward the end of the week.” Erin sighed and sucked the ice cream off the spoon. “I don’t know what to say, to be honest.”

Caitlin drew her brows together as if Erin had said she’d refused a free truck load of chocolate. “I don’t understand. You’re not making sense, woman. He’s gorgeous, right?”

Erin thought about the muscular chest she’d caught a glimpse of. “Mmm. Dreamy as.”

“And he’s as rich as Rockefeller’s richest uncle.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I have no idea.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes. “Jeez. Didn’t you read the article in the Herald?”

“No, I missed it. I meant to look it up but I forgot.”

“Erin, the King family was wealthy to start with, but the three brothers have made an absolute fortune. For God’s sake, they give more to charity each week than I’ll make in my lifetime. They’re billionaires, all three of them.”

Erin didn’t know a person could choke on ice cream. She grabbed a serviette and covered her mouth as she struggled to catch her breath. “What?” she said when she was finally able to speak.

Caitlin raised an eyebrow. “Now tell me you’re going to say no.”

Her jaw dropping, Erin tried to process this new information. Brock was a billionaire? Oh dear God. She’d had no idea. She’d known he ran the Three Wise Men with his brothers, and she’d guessed he wasn’t exactly hard up. But a billionaire... Erin couldn’t even conceive of how much money that was.

Across the table, Caitlin started to giggle at her expression.

“Stop it.” Erin put her face in her hands, thinking of her mother. “Oh... what am I going to do?”

“Seriously? I don’t understand the problem.”

“I can’t go out with him, Cait, he’ll think I’m just after his money.”

“But you didn’t even know he had any until now.”

“Well, I knew he had money, although I didn’t know how much. But he doesn’t know that.”

Caitlin sighed. “Oh give the guy a break. Okay so he doesn’t have to worry about where the next meal is coming from—does that mean he doesn’t want to date anymore?”

“Don’t you think it’s weird though? I’d only just met the man and he offered to take me away for the night.”

“But you said you believed him when he told you he meant separate bedrooms.”

“I did. That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“I don’t know.” Erin couldn’t seem to vocalize her angst. “Mum said—”

“Argh!” Caitlin stuck her fingers in her ears. “No. Talk. About. Mothers. Please don’t tell me you’re making a decision based on Karen’s advice.”

“She put doubts in my mind. And since then I’ve found it difficult to believe he’s genuine.”

Caitlin’s expression softened. “Just because Jack was a bastard doesn’t mean all men are the same. Not everyone is out for themselves. Sometimes people genuinely want to help.”

It was almost exactly what Erin had said to her mother but, wanting reassurance, she just said, “Really?”

“He came all the way from Auckland to give your son a birthday present and to meet you because he liked the sound of you on the phone. That doesn’t sound selfish to me.”

“I suppose. So you don’t think he’ll expect anything from me in return for treating me to a night away? He’s not going to expect me to go back to his room?”

An impish light filled Caitlin’s eyes. “Would it be a problem if he did?”

“Cait!”

“Well. How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”

“Uh... Let’s just say it’s been a while.”

For the past three years, life had consisted of high chairs, Disney movies, toddler groups, and doctor’s visits. Erin couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a skirt, let alone anything that had any shape to it. She wore her hair permanently in a ponytail and never painted her fingernails. She’d been a mum for so long, she’d forgotten how to be a woman.

“I’m not sure I even remember how to do it,” she said.

Caitlin grinned. “I bet he has a few techniques up his sleeve to help you remember. Don’t you think a one-night stand would be fun?”

“Oh my God, I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know... Stretch marks? Baby tummy?”

“You’re not fifteen, Erin. He won’t expect you to have a fifteen-year-old’s body.”

“Yeah but...” Desperation mingled with a growing excitement. She couldn’t possibly have a one-night stand with Brock King. Could she? Of course she couldn’t.

Panic overrode the excitement. “I couldn’t, Cait. It’s been so long. And he’d expect all sorts of things.”

“Like what?” Caitlin said with amusement.

“I don’t know. Fancy stuff.”

“Clowns outfits and trapeze work?”

“Don’t make fun of me. You know what I mean. Special techniques and... stuff.”

Caitlin laughed. “Sweetie, you’re gorgeous, you’re sexy beneath all the angst, and you’re willing. That’s all a guy needs, believe me.”

“What’s all a guy needs?” The male voice made them both jump. Erin hadn’t seen him walk up. It was Caitlin’s fiancé, the sexy chef who ran the restaurant a few doors down from the chocolate shop.

“Hey, Fox.” Erin smiled as he bent to kiss her on the cheek.

“Hey.” He pulled up a chair, turned it around and straddled it.

“Go away,” Caitlin said. “We’re having a private conversation.”

“What’s all a guy needs?” he asked, ignoring her. He raised his eyebrows at Erin. “Are you dating?”

Erin blushed. “No. Yes. Maybe.”

Fox grinned. “Who is he?”

“He’s a gorgeous billionaire,” Caitlin said. “By the way we’re breaking up so I can date his brother.”

“Yeah, right.” Fox caught her long blonde braid and pulled her toward him for a kiss.

“Ow.” She glared at him, then gave in and kissed him back. Afterward, she tried to push him away, but he refused to let her go, and the kiss turned into a long smooch.

“Oh, get a room you two.” Erin rolled her eyes and stuck her spoon back in her ice cream.

Fox let her go and laughed. “So, a billionaire?”

“He wants to take her away for a dirty weekend,” Caitlin said.

Erin closed her eyes. “Cait...”

“I hope you said yes.” Fox stuck Cait’s spoon in Erin’s ice cream and stole a spoonful.

“She’s thinking of saying no,” Cait advised.

Fox raised an eyebrow. “I hope you took her temperature because she’s clearly coming down with something.”

“That’s what I said. She’d be bonkers not to go.”

Erin sighed. “He’s a great guy, a doctor who I’ve spoken to lots of time on the forums. He came all the way from Auckland for Ryan’s birthday, and he’s offered to pay for one night in a hotel for me for my birthday on Saturday. I’m just worried about what he’d expect in return. He told me he’ll book two rooms but... well. Do you think it’s possible for a man to be truly altruistic?”

Fox took another spoonful of ice cream and gave her an amused look. “You’re asking me if it’s possible he’s arranged this out of the goodness of his heart?”

“Yes.” She knew her voice expressed her doubt.

He considered her as he sucked the ice cream off the spoon. His eyes had a hint of steel about them. “You’re asking me, a guy, whether it’s possible that another man might, for once, want to do something nice for you without having an ulterior motive. You don’t have a very high opinion of our gender, do you?”

Caitlin smacked his wrist. “Don’t embarrass her. You never met Jack. He was a dick. Sorry, Erin, I know he’s the father of your child, but he was.”

“I’m not arguing with you,” Erin said wryly.

“Look,” Fox said. “Let’s assume this new guy isn’t a dick, and he’s actually one of the good guys. Let’s assume it was me, and I was in his position, and I met this girl who lived a few hours away that I really liked. I’m a billionaire so money isn’t an issue.”

“I like this fantasy,” Caitlin said.

He grinned but carried on. “I want to get to know this girl better, and it’s her birthday, and her son’s just been in hospital, so I decide to treat her to a night away in a hotel. I book myself in the same place because I live three hours away and I want to take her to dinner and have a drink with her, but I book a separate room because I’m a nice guy and I’d never assume a woman would just go to bed with me.”

Caitlin snorted. This time he didn’t smile but raised his eyebrow at her. She bit her lip and lowered her eyes. Erin hid a smile. Fox Wilde was the only man who’d ever been able to tame the inimitable Caitlin.

“I like her,” he said. “I want to treat her. Get to know her. I might secretly hope that things will develop, and if they do, then we’re in the right sort of place where we can take it further if we both feel like it. But I wouldn’t expect it. And I think it’s a real shame a guy can’t treat a girl without her suspecting he has ulterior motives.”

Erin studied her ice cream bowl. “Sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t mean to sound insulting.”

He sighed. “Like I said, I’m sure he won’t be disappointed if things develop, but if this is a first date I’m sure he’s not expecting anything. I don’t see why you shouldn’t go and have fun. Go to dinner with the guy. Get to know him. Have a drink. Enjoy yourself. And if you like him...” He shrugged and a smile curved his lips. “See where it leads.”

“Wouldn’t he think I was a slut if I went back to his room?”

That made Fox laugh. He rose from the chair and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “He’d think he was the luckiest man on earth, I’m sure. This is the twenty-first century, Erin. I don’t think you’ll be shunned from society if you’re seen alone without a chaperone.” He winked at his fiancée. “See you later.”

“See ya.” Caitlin watched him go, then turned amused eyes back to her friend. “Did that help?”

“I insulted him,” Erin said. “I didn’t mean to. Sorry.”

“Of course you didn’t. He would have been angry that guys like Jack give men a bad name and make us not trust the good ones. We joke about it, but let’s face it, none of the guys I know would take advantage of a girl.”

Erin thought about the men married to Caitlin’s friends up in Mangonui whom she’d met on a few occasions: Kole, Joss, Stuart, and Owen, all of whom were good, decent guys. “I suppose Fox is right. Hoping is different to expecting.”

“Of course it is. It’s annoying, but he’s usually right. Look, you’d be daft not to go. Forget about Brock being rich.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

“I appreciate that. What I mean is, try not to let that influence the way you think about him. If anything, it probably means he’s more generous than your ordinary guy. He wouldn’t think twice about giving a gift that other men might falter at. A night in a hotel will be peanuts to him. What hotel is it, anyway?”

“He didn’t say. I’m guessing it’s not going to be a cheap B&B.”

“Yeah. But my point is that it wouldn’t even enter his head that a gift like that would make you feel uncomfortable. It’ll embarrass him more if you say no.”

“I suppose.” Excitement rose inside her. “Am I really going to do this? Go away for a night with a man?”

“You are. You’d better get your legs waxed.”

“Cait!”

“And your bikini line.”

“Oh my God.”

Caitlin giggled. “I hope you have fun. And look, if you feel too awkward about taking things further, just thank him for a lovely meal and go back to your room. It doesn’t mean you can’t see him again. I’m sure he’ll be expecting you to take it slow. He knows you’re a single mum and that it’s been a while since you went out with anyone. He sounds like a nice guy, Erin. Why don’t you treat him like one?”

“Yeah. In a way I feel ashamed for having such low expectations.” Anger surged through her. That’s what Jack had done to her. He’d ruined her for every other guy because he’d been such a complete and utter bastard. “I don’t know why I ever liked him. I can’t believe I went out with him.”

Caitlin had obviously kept up with Erin’s change of tack. “You trusted him—and why wouldn’t you? The majority of men are nice. The majority of the human race is nice. But there is a small percentage that isn’t, and they spoil it for everyone else, destroying our trust. It’s Christmas though. Isn’t it a time for miracles? Maybe this is the guy you’re supposed to be with. Maybe this is Mr. Right.”

“Maybe,” Erin said doubtfully, “let’s not jump to conclusions. I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

Caitlin reached out and rubbed Erin’s arm. “Jack really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

Erin knew she didn’t have to explain how hard it had been when her ex had shown his true colors. She’d spoken to Cait a lot on the phone at the time, so Cait was perfectly aware how difficult it had been.

“Don’t let him spoil this thing—whatever it ends up being—with Brock,” Cait said. “I know you doubt your own instincts now, but try to trust them at the weekend. Go with your gut feeling, and believe in the magic of Christmas.”

“I’ll try.” Erin finished off her ice cream. It wouldn’t be easy to get rid of all her doubts. Jack had destroyed her trust, and it seemed impossible to get it back. Could Brock really be as nice as he seemed?

Chapter Eight

Brock glanced across at Erin. She sat beside him in his car, looking out of the window at the countryside flashing by. True, it was a splendid view, the hills an emerald green in the summer sun, the sea glittering on either side of them as they headed along the peninsula to Opito Bay. But even though it was magnificent, it didn’t explain why she wasn’t saying anything.

It had taken until Thursday for her to accept his invitation to go away for the night. He’d texted on Monday to ask how Ryan was doing, and she’d replied to tell him he’d finally been discharged from hospital. After that, over the next few days, they’d exchanged several chatty, light-hearted texts a day, mostly about Ryan, sometimes about what they were up to and how their day was going. He’d fought against his urge to ask if she’d made up her mind, knowing he had to let her come to her own decision without seeming to pressure her, and he’d been relieved when she’d finally sent the text on Thursday.

I’ve decided, by the way. The answer’s yes.

His heart had leapt like a sixteen-year-old boy’s after he’d asked a girl to go to the school ball. Excellent, he’d replied, a big grin on his face, shall I pick you up on Saturday at one o’clock?

I look forward to it, she’d said.

They hadn’t mentioned it again, although they’d continued to exchange texts. He’d grown used to his mobile vibrating in his pocket. He liked holding appointments with the delicious anticipation of knowing he had another message to read from her, and he didn’t miss the glow it gave him every time he saw her name on the screen.

He’d arrived at Erin’s house on Saturday shortly before one to find her ready and waiting with her bag packed. Her eyes had been bright with excitement, and she’d even given him a quick kiss on the cheek before she’d gotten into the car. He’d wondered whether she’d find it difficult to leave her son, but the boy had waved goodbye to her at the door, holding his grandma’s hand, and she’d seemed happy enough when they’d driven away.

Over the last ten minutes, though, she’d grown quiet, and Brock had the feeling she was regretting her decision to go with him.

As he glanced over at her again, he saw that her brow had furrowed.

“I thought we were heading to Sandcombe,” she said, referring to the small but pleasant hotel nestled in the bush overlooking the marina. He’d just passed the turnoff for it. “Where are we going?”

“Paua Cliffs,” he said.

Erin’s eyes widened. “Oh my God, seriously?”

He gave her an amused glance. “Have you been there?”

“Of course I haven’t been there. A room costs more than a month’s rent! Are we really going there?”

“You want me to turn around? I can get a room for ninety bucks at the motel on the main road if you’d rather.” He was joking, but as he saw the look on her face, he realized Matt had been right.

The day after he’d met Erin at the hospital, he’d told his brothers what he’d organized for the following weekend. Charlie hadn’t seen anything wrong with what he’d done, but then Charlie knew more about his laboratory than he knew about women, whereas Matt was more attuned to the female species than both his brothers put together.

“You fucking idiot,” Matt had said. “We finally get you to go out with someone and you want to take her to a hotel. She’s going to wonder what you want in return.”

“I don’t want anything in return,” Brock had said, puzzled. “It’s a gift. It’s her birthday.”

“Dude, even men who’ve known their wives for thirty years only buy them an ironing board for their birthday. No wonder the poor girl’s concerned. It looks as if you’re taking her away for a dirty weekend.”

“I...” Brock had remembered the look on her face when he’d first mentioned it. “But I told her I’d book two rooms.”

“So sex didn’t enter your head at all then?”

“Well I wouldn’t go that far. But I swear that’s not why I suggested it. I thought I’d take her to Paua Cliffs. I thought she’d enjoy it—a nice dinner and then a room to herself. Women like that.”

“Aah,” Charlie had said, “Paua Cliffs. Nice. Classy.”

“Yeah. She’ll definitely think you want sex if you take her there,” Matt had advised. “You should have gotten her a box of chocolates and a dozen roses.”

“She’s a single mum. She doesn’t want flowers scattering petals over all the Lego on the carpet, more mess to clear up. What she wants is time to herself.”

“With you knocking on the door asking for a cup of sugar halfway through the night?”

Brock had sworn at his brother and hung up. Sometimes he felt as if they were all still teenagers.

Now, though, he had to acknowledge that, as usual, his brother had been right, and he should have stuck to chocolates and flowers.

Seeing a picnic stop ahead, he signaled and pulled over, then turned off the engine. A family sat at a table further along, munching on their sandwiches as they looked over the bay, but Brock ignored them, unclipped his seatbelt, and turned in the seat to look at Erin.

Her eyes were wide, puzzled. “What’s up?” she asked.

“Perhaps we should get something out in the open,” he advised. “As a family, the Kings don’t struggle to make ends meet.”

“I’ve gathered that.”

“All three of us work hard—I can’t honestly remember the last time I took a whole weekend off. I save lives on a regular basis—I’m not being flash, it’s just a fact, and I give an alarming amount to charity. So I’m not going to apologize for having money, or for wanting to spend a tiny proportion of it on the first beautiful woman I’ve seen in two years who presses my buttons.”

Her lips curved up a little. “I press your buttons?”

He sighed. “You do, Miss Bloom. I hope it’s acceptable to say that.”

“You’re being very generous,” she said. “I must sound terribly rude to you.”

“Not at all. Matt’s already given me a lecture about the appropriateness of asking a woman I barely know to go away with me. I know I’ve made a faux pas and I’m sorry—if I had my time again I would have just asked you to dinner. Rest assured I meant well, and I just want you to have a nice break and a good time. The thing is, if you’ve changed your mind, I’d rather you say now. I won’t be upset. I can’t say I won’t be disappointed because I was looking forward to having dinner with you tonight, but I’ll understand. But if you decide to come with me, then maybe we can put this behind us, move on, and just have a nice evening.” He heard a hint of steel creep into his voice and he stopped talking. He didn’t want to spend the rest of the day apologizing for having money or for wanting to treat her on her birthday. Equally, he wanted her to feel comfortable, or what was the point?

He wondered whether she’d be angry at his tone, but to his surprise a small smile played on her lips. “I know you meant well,” she murmured. “I’m just a bit nervous.”

That surprised him. “Nervous?”

She gave the little sexy shrug he was beginning to adore. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date. I’ve forgotten the... protocol.” She wrinkled her nose.

He smiled. She wore jeans and a white shirt, and she was as fresh and summery as the warm breeze blowing through the open window. “There’s no protocol,” he told her. “Not with me anyway. I just want you to be yourself. To have a good time.” He decided honesty was the best policy. “Look, there’s no doubt it’s strange for both of us. I haven’t dated anyone since Fleur died, and I have to admit I feel odd about it.”

Erin’s expression softened. “Of course, I’m sorry, I didn’t think of that.”

“Why would you? I know most people think it’s weird to have waited so long before getting back into the dating game. Charlie and Matt have been trying to get me to go out with girls for ages, but I just wasn’t ready, I guess.”

“Are you ready now?” she asked softly. Her eyes were the color of the ocean behind her, a deep blue. The breeze lifted the strands of hair that had fallen out of her clip, and they fluttered around her face. Outside, the soothing wash of waves and the singing of cicadas were the only sounds to be heard. He felt as if time had paused, and even the birds were listening with bated breath to their conversation.

“Part of me feels disloyal,” he admitted. “That people will think I don’t love her anymore, and that breaks my heart. But equally, I need something else in my life other than work. I can’t tell you how happy I’ve been over the last few days, waiting for my phone to buzz in my pocket to say you’ve texted. I’ve felt like a schoolkid, and it’s been good. I’ve felt alive again, and I want to keep on feeling alive.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “We’ll take it slowly.”

“Step by step,” he said. “Today, dinner in a nice restaurant to celebrate your birthday. And we’ll see how it goes.” He meant in the future—whether she’d want to see him again, but the mischievous light in her eyes told him she thought he was talking about what happened after dinner. “Erin,” he scolded.

She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh, but she wasn’t able to stop a giggle breaking out. “Your face is a picture,” she said.

He shook his head. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t know the protocol.” He hadn’t even kissed a girl for over two years, let alone done anything more intimate than that.

Her expression softened again as if she’d read his mind. “It must have been difficult for you, losing your wife. It’s bad enough when you’re seventy, but when you’re only... How old are you?”

“Thirty-one.”

“...thirty-one, I can only imagine how hard it must be. Brock, what you said about not expecting anything, it goes both ways. Whatever happens between us, if at any point you feel as if you want to slow down, I want you to say. I don’t want to make you feel bad.”

He smiled at the sheer lunacy of that statement. “You don’t make me feel bad. Quite the opposite.”

“I’m glad.”

“In fact,” he said softly, his gaze dropping to her mouth, “I know it’s inappropriate this early on a date, and Matt would kill me if he could hear me, but all I can think about is how much I want to kiss you. Is that terrible?”

Erin moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Well, maybe we should test the water, so to speak. Try it and see how we feel afterward.”

“Maybe we should.” His heart thundered, but he told himself, Take it slow. He waited for a moment as she unclipped her seatbelt, and he inhaled the sweet summer breeze that filtered into the car, bringing with it the smell of the sea and the scent of sun lotion from Erin’s skin.

She turned and moved forward a little in her seat, leaning an elbow on the rest between them, and tipped her head to the side as she met his gaze.

Brock moved to meet her, resting one arm on the seat behind her, and lifted the other hand to cup her face. He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, across the freckles that peppered her lightly-tanned skin, and lowered his mouth, stopping when his lips were a fraction of an inch from hers.

Her breath whispered across his lips as she exhaled. So close, and yet he hadn’t kissed her yet. There was still time to stop, to put off this last, final betrayal. If he moved back now, he’d be able to tell himself he’d remained faithful to Fleur. He would have fought his weakness and stayed strong in his grief, encased in the shadows in which he’d hidden for the last two years.

But the day was too beautiful, full of light and life. A couple of huge Red Admiral butterflies fluttered past the window, and a flash of color behind Erin told him a rosella had swooped over the grass. In the distance, the children of the family having lunch at the picnic table laughed as they threw a Frisbee to one another, and someone called out from the boat further down on the water. It was summer, and it was almost Christmas, a time to celebrate the birth of things, not the end.

Erin was waiting patiently, maybe sensing his internal struggle, her gaze gently caressing his face. Her hand came up and she trailed a finger along his eyebrow, removing a strand of hair that the breeze had blown into his eye, and her touch—even though it was innocent and innocuous—was enough to flick a switch inside him.

He let out the breath he’d been holding, a long slow sigh of acceptance.

Erin’s lips curved up a little, and then she moved the last fraction of an inch to touch her lips to his.

They were as soft and light as if one of the butterflies had brushed against him, the briefest of kisses, tentative and shy enough to make him melt.

She moved back a little and met his gaze again as if to say, Okay?

Brock felt as if he’d been kissed by summer itself. How could anything as beautiful as that be wrong?

After giving a short, exultant laugh, he slid his hand into her hair, and lowered his lips again.

This time he kissed her, moving his mouth across hers slowly but firmly, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation of being near to someone again, being intimate. Her hair felt silky in his fingers, her cheeks warming beneath his palm as he continued to kiss her. She murmured low in her throat, a purr of approval, sliding her hand into his hair, and he shivered when she clenched her fingers in the short strands.

It was a brief kiss, hardly a steamy smooch, and yet it was the most erotic thing that had happened to him in years. His blood raced around his body, and his jeans tightened as his erection miraculously sprang to life. He wanted to plunge his tongue into her mouth and deepen the kiss, pull her toward him and slide his hands under her white shirt, but this was only supposed to be a trial, a peck, a testing of the water.

Startled at the speed of his arousal, he lifted his head. His breaths came quickly and, to his surprise, she was breathing fast too. Her eyes fluttered open, and she swallowed, moistened her lips, and said, “Wow.”

Chapter Nine

Erin’s heart thundered like a set of tracks with the approach of a train. To her relief, Brock appeared to be similarly affected, his pupils dilated and his chest heaving with fast, deep breaths.

“Yeah,” he said at her outburst. “Wow.”

They both moved back, studying each other cautiously. Erin felt an urge to giggle, but held it in, afraid he was about to tell her he felt too disloyal and he was going to have to take her home.

He didn’t though. Instead, he gave a mischievous smile. “That was nice.”

“Mmm.” Understatement of the year, she thought. “It didn’t make you feel bad?”

He laughed and looked out of the window, scratching the back of his neck. “No, Erin, it didn’t make me feel bad.” He turned back to face the wheel, started the engine, then gave her an exasperated, slightly apologetic look as he shifted in the seat and adjusted his jeans. “Sorry.”

This time the laughter wouldn’t be stopped. She clapped her hand over her mouth, but it burst from her in infectious giggles.

“Yeah, you can laugh,” Brock said wryly as he pulled away. “It’s unfair that men can’t hide their... feelings like women can. And put your seatbelt on.”

She clipped it in, still chuckling, feeling a burst of happiness brighter than she’d felt for years. “Thank you so much for this. Even if we were to turn around and go home now, I’ve had a wonderful time.”

He laughed and reached out to take her hand. “Well that’s a good start. Let’s try to carry that feeling through to tomorrow, eh?”

She smiled and squeezed his fingers, and he squeezed them back before releasing her hand to hold the wheel.

Looking out of the window again, she pressed the button to lower it right down so she could feel the warm summer breeze across her face, and closed her eyes.

“I can put the air con on if you want,” he reminded her.

“I prefer having the window open,” she said without opening her eyes. “Like a dog. I’d hang my tongue out if I could.” She heard him laugh and smiled, breathing in the fresh Kiwi air.

She hadn’t expected the kiss. And what a kiss it had been... It had felt as sensual and erotic as if they’d been naked in bed together. Erin shivered at the thought. For the first time, she felt that if the evening ended that way, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all...

“There it is.”

Erin opened her eyes to see a slope leading down to the exclusive Paua Cliffs hotel overlooking the glistening Pacific Ocean. She’d seen a TV feature on it once. They’d said movie stars often had their honeymoons there. She’d never been anywhere like it.

Brock was right though—if she was going through with this, she had to deal with the fact that he was loaded. Even rich guys had to date, and it wasn’t his fault that she wasn’t used to having money. He could have picked some diamond-studded bimbo to take out, but he hadn’t, he’d picked her, and he didn’t deserve to have her getting on her high horse every five minutes, acting noble and refusing to accept his generous gift. She had to move on. She’d been given a fantastic opportunity and a wonderful birthday present, and it would be rude to keep bringing up how much he’d spent.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, meaning it. The white buildings had terracotta-colored roofs that glowed warmly in the sunlight. A huge golf course lay spread out to the west, while to the east the Pacific sparkled like tinsel.

“It’s a nice place by all accounts.” Brock signaled and took the turnoff, heading down the long drive to the buildings.

“You haven’t been here before?”

“No. Never got around to it.”

For some reason that pleased her. She had no issues with him having been married before, and she was touched to be the first woman he’d come close to dating. But it was nice to know he hadn’t brought his wife here.

The road snaked alongside the golf course and up to the complex of buildings. “What a beautiful day.” Erin lowered her sunglasses against the glare of the bright December sun.

“Warmest December for five years apparently.” Brock headed the car around the looping drive to the building marked Reception, parked, and turned off the engine. “Let’s check in, and then we can head up to our rooms for a look around. Maybe after you’ve settled in, you’d like to go for a walk down to the beach?”

“That sounds lovely.” Erin got out with him, shut the door, and hesitated. “Should I get my bag now?”

“Someone will bring them up to the rooms shortly,” he advised with a smile.

Erin had never had someone carry her bags up for her before. Her cheeks warmed. “Oh.”

Brock grinned and held out a hand. “You’ll soon get used to it. Come on.”

She walked forward and took his hand, a tingle descending her spine at the feel of his warm skin on hers. “I should have dressed up a bit, sorry. I didn’t think.” Not that she looked skanky, but her white shirt and faded jeans had seen better days.

“You look gorgeous,” he said as they walked into the foyer. “But it wouldn’t matter what you wore. This is New Zealand, remember? There will be guys eating dinner tonight wearing shorts and a T-shirt, I’m telling you.”

“Oh, I have a nice dress for dinner,” she said as they crossed the elegant tiled floor to the main desk.

Brock raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Mmm.” She felt a surge of naughtiness at his sudden interest. “Quite low and revealing. I hope it doesn’t put you off your meal.”

They stopped at the desk, and for a brief moment she could see she’d completely thrown his concentration. He stared at her, then stared at the receptionist as he struggled to remember what he was doing there. “Um... Ms. Erin Bloom and Dr. Brock King checking in, please.”

“Of course sir.” The receptionist tapped in their names. “Two luxury rooms with sea views?”

“That’s right.” Brock slid his credit card across to her and took the paper to sign.

Erin tried not to let her jaw drop. Not only were they staying at Paua Cliffs but they were in luxury rooms. What did that mean? Was everything plated gold? Were there slaves waiting inside to fan her with giant palm leaves?

It wasn’t quite that luxurious, but it wasn’t far off. A young man dressed in a dark gray uniform collected their bags and took them out of the foyer and across a courtyard to a row of long, low buildings. He stopped outside one and opened it with a key, then stood back to let Erin pass.

She walked into the room, and this time couldn’t stop her jaw dropping. It was all open plan, one enormous room, easily as big as her house. The whole front wall was made from glass panels with a magnificent view of the bay. Outside the large glass sliding doors in the center, a generous deck housed a table and chairs and, in the corner, a large hot tub that would easily fit two people.

Trying not to think about climbing into bubbling water with a tall, muscular billionaire, she looked past it to the private, fenced grassy bank leading down to the hotel’s sandy beach. The Pacific Ocean beckoned invitingly, the same color as the baby-blue summer sky.

She was half aware of Brock standing in the doorway, leaning against the wall and watching her with a smile while she turned and investigated the room. To the left was a living room area with a cream suite, a TV that must have been at least fifty inches from corner to corner, and a chrome-and-glass table and chairs. The whole floor was made from rich red rimu wood, polished to a high shine. Large green ferns and simple paintings of seascapes on the walls provided an elegant touch of color. There was also a small kitchen far to the left near the table and chairs with all the modern conveniences a woman could need, should she be mad enough to want to cook her own meal and not eat out like most normal people.

To the right, a huge bed faced the view, with white and red pillows and a luxurious white duvet, and surrounded by four posts from which hung gorgeous shimmering drapes to provide privacy—not that it was needed, as nobody would be able to see in from the beach.

She’d have to take loads of photos or Caitlin would never believe her!

The porter disappeared to take Brock’s case into the room next door. Brock pushed himself off the doorjamb and walked toward her.

“Do you like it?” His smile told her he’d guessed her answer.

“It’s beautiful.” Laughter burst from her. What an understatement! Nothing in this place would be missing, chipped, or dirty like in some of the cheap motels she’d stayed in. Everything would be clean, polished, and in perfect working order. “I don’t know what to say. It’s amazing. It’s like somewhere the Queen of England would stay.”

He grinned and glanced around. “Yeah, it’s pretty fancy.” His gaze came back to her, and he tipped his head. “Too fancy?”

Erin took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to bring up the subject of money again. “It’s wonderful. I’m absolutely thrilled, Brock. Thank you.”

Pleasure lit his face. “Okay then.” A hint of relief crossed his features—he really had expected her to say she couldn’t accept it and leave. “Well, I’ll leave you to settle in for a while.” He checked his watch. “It’s just gone four. Is thirty minutes long enough for a rest? We could go for a walk for an hour or so, then come back and have a little while to get ready for dinner at seven.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“Right, see you in a bit.” He winked at her. “Don’t forget, this is your birthday treat. Help yourself to the mini bar or order room service—whatever you want. Make the most of it. But it’s a five star restaurant and seafood is their specialty so you want to make sure you’re hungry.”

“I will.” She walked up to him, placed her hands on his chest, and rose onto her tiptoes. “Thank you,” she whispered before pressing her lips to his.

His hand rose to cup her head, and the quick peck turned into a longer kiss that sent her heart racing all over again.

“Ooh,” she said when he eventually let her go.

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” He smirked and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Erin stared after him for a while, then turned and looked at the room again. Throwing her arms in the air, she laughed and twirled in the center. It was her birthday, she was staying in a palace, and a gorgeous billionaire was in the room next door. Life didn’t get much better than this!

Chapter Ten

Thirty minutes later, Brock knocked on Erin’s door. “Ready?” he asked when she opened it.

“Have you put sun lotion on?” she said.

“No, but I have a hat.” He tugged on a baseball cap.

“That doesn’t cover your ears. Wait here.” She disappeared and then came back with a bottle of lotion in her hand. Squeezing a little onto her fingers, she smoothed it into his ears, then massaged the rest into his face.

Brock let her, tingling at the touch of her fingers as they trailed across his cheeks and down his neck, and watched with amusement as her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she scolded. “Sorry. I forgot you weren’t Ryan.”

He chuckled. “I’m not complaining.”

She kept her gaze fixed on his neck, but a smile touched her lips, and he was sure she was taking longer than was necessary to massage the cream in. She stroked across his cheekbone, around to his ear, then down to the neckline of his T-shirt.

“I’ll shave before dinner,” he said, conscious of the slight rasp of her fingers against his stubble.

She gave a distracted nod, spreading the cream around the back of his neck to cover the strip from his hairline to the edge of his T-shirt that always caught the sun. She’d changed into a pretty blue sundress, and one strap had slid off her shoulder leaving her skin uncovered from the base of her neck to her upper arm. It was hardly an intimate area, but he felt like a Victorian gentleman must have felt on seeing a lady’s ankle, turned on because the area wasn’t normally visible. That creamy brown expanse of skin bore a white strip like a bra strap, although she obviously wasn’t wearing one. Her breasts would be soft and unrestricted in his hands—he could imagine their weight in his palms, and the way her nipples would be relaxed in the warm sun, although they’d tighten if he brushed his thumbs across them.

His body responded, aroused by the thought as well as her tantalizing touch, and before he could stop himself, he moved forward, pinned her up against the doorjamb, and lowered his lips to hers. Erin laughed and returned the kiss, her fingers fanning into his hair, and they exchanged several long kisses before he finally forced himself to move back.

“Sorry,” he said. “But that’s what you get when you spread sun cream on an unsuspecting male.”

She chuckled, clearly enjoying herself, popped the bottle of lotion back inside, and came out with a small handbag. Brock held out his hand, and she lifted the long strap of the bag over her head so it could rest on her hip, and slid her hand into his.

Walking slowly, they headed across the courtyard to the signposted path to the beach. It was a gorgeous day—Brock couldn’t have planned better if he’d tried. As they turned the corner and took the path over the grassed area toward the sand, his heart lifted at the sight of the Pacific spread before them like a sparkling blue blanket. The light summer breeze that lifted the strands of Erin’s hair around her face teased the ocean into tiny waves that ran up the beach. It took the edge off the heat, but he knew they’d have to be careful not to burn in spite of the lotion she’d applied.

The path led down a series of sand-covered steps, and then they were on the beach. Brock toed off his Converses and Erin slipped off her sandals, and they carried them as they walked along the waterline, the sea warm in the shallows, refreshing to his feet.

Erin held his hand again, and Brock closed his fingers around hers while she started talking about the time she’d been to the Mediterranean, and how it was fairly similar to the Bay of Islands, although with a lot less people.

He was surprised at how much he was enjoying just touching another person again. Sometimes it felt as if Fleur had only died yesterday—at other times he felt as if he’d been alone for millennia. He’d started to wonder if he’d forgotten how to communicate with a partner.

Being on his own had more disadvantages than advantages, but there was no doubt that after time, even though sometimes he hated his lonely, cold apartment, he had grown used to being the only one there. When alone, he only had to concentrate on himself, and he was conscious he’d become selfish. Relationships were often about compromise, he thought, looking down at where the clear water covered his toes. People watched TV programs they wouldn’t normally watch because their partner liked them. Wore the clothes their partner liked because they wanted to look nice for them. Ate the food their partner preferred and saw people their partner liked. It’s what people did to keep a marriage happy, and while Fleur was alive he’d had no issues with it, but he’d come to like having to please nobody but himself over the past two years.

Part of him had wondered whether, if he started to date again, he’d feel irritable and resentful for having to think about someone else, but for now he felt nothing but pleasure at the notion of spending the day with the woman by his side.

“Penny for them,” she said, causing him to look at her in surprise. She wore dark sunglasses that hid her eyes, but she was smiling, suggesting he’d been lost in thought for a while.

“Sorry. I was just thinking how much fun this is.”

Her smile spread. “I know what you mean. It’s nice to just... be, isn’t it?”

He nodded. She was right. Maybe it was because they were older, or perhaps because they’d talked for a long time online before they’d met in the flesh, but he didn’t feel any need to impress her or force the conversation.

“You’re very easy to be with,” she said, confirming his thoughts.

“You don’t feel nervous anymore then?” he teased.

She laughed and swirled her feet in the water. “No. I feel better after our talk in the car. I hope I didn’t come across as rude because I was hesitant about accepting your gift. I understand your family has always had money?”

“Yes, my parents are wealthy.”

“Not having money, it’s a bit difficult to understand the motive behind giving it away. My parents manage, but they’re hardly well off. When I started work, I was well paid for a while, but then I met Jack and got pregnant, and since then it’s been hard. Every penny I have goes towards clothes and toys for Ryan, and saving for birthdays and Christmas. There’s rarely any left for treats. I can’t imagine having so much money that you don’t notice if you give it away. Every cent is precious, and giving it to someone carries meaning. Does that make sense? I’m not explaining myself very well.”

“Yes it does. I do understand. You don’t want to feel beholden. But that’s the thing about a gift—it doesn’t require something in return. I mean it, Erin. If we have a lovely dinner tonight, share a bottle of wine and a glass of Lagavulin, maybe have a walk in the moonlight, I’ll have considered it money well spent. Although I arranged it because it’s your birthday, I also wanted to spend time with you, don’t forget. Like I said, I don’t have a day off very often. This is a treat for me too! A day without the phone constantly ringing, without having to worry about anyone but myself and a pretty girl. It doesn’t come much better than that.”

Erin blushed and looked up at him with a shy smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re stunning. And as it’s your birthday, I’m very happy to tell you at least once an hour.”

She stopped walking, and Brock stopped too and turned to her, surprised.

“You’re very sweet,” she said. Still holding his hand, she moved closer to him.

“Don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”

In typical New Zealand fashion, the beach was empty save for a couple walking right at the other end. Brock felt like a teenager, his stomach fluttering with a mixture of excitement and nerves at this innocent, gentle exploration of each other, and at the promise of a pleasant evening and night to come, whatever it held in store.

“Thank you,” Erin said, lifting a hand to cup his cheek. “For being so kind, and for being prepared to take this slowly.”

He inhaled at her touch, a shiver descending his spine. “I’m just thrilled you chose to come at all.”

“It means a lot to me. Jack hurt me badly, and honestly there was one point where I didn’t think I’d ever date anyone again.”

He leaned his cheek into her palm, letting a smile curve his lips. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

“You changed my mind,” she corrected. “You make me feel alive again.”

His eyebrows rose, as they were the exact words he could have said to her. But before he could say as much, she lifted up to press her lips against his, and everything fled his mind.

This time, she lifted her arms around his neck and leaned into the kiss. Brock rested his hands on her hips, then slid his arms around her and tightened them, enjoying the feel of her soft body against his. She murmured her approval, a low purr deep in her throat, and the sexy growl fired him up, pushing him to take it to the next level.

Opening his mouth, he touched his tongue tentatively to her bottom lip. Erin inhaled, her lips parting, and he lifted his head. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment he felt as if they were teetering on the edge of something. If she moved back, she’d be saying this was just a friendship for now. If she didn’t...

He held his breath, conscious of the crash of the waves, the cry of seagulls overhead, the smell and taste of the ocean. Behind Erin, on the edge of his vision, the blue sky was framed by a magnificent array of pohutukawa trees, their bright red flowers bringing a Christmassy, magical feel to the moment.

Her breasts were soft where they pressed against his chest, her body warm through her thin dress. Brock felt as if it was already Christmas Eve, the air sparkling with anticipation and hope. Stay, he thought, hoping his desperation didn’t show in his face. Please don’t move away.

To his relief, her lips curved up. Exultant happiness washed over him, warm and refreshing as the water on his feet, and he lowered his head and kissed her again.

Erin opened her mouth to him, and he touched his tongue to hers, then slid it into her mouth, the sensation so incredibly intimate to his sex-starved body that it flooded him with heat. Crushing her to him, he deepened the kiss and let his passion flow, his internal thermostat continuing to rise when she returned the thrust of his tongue with one of her own and pressed her hips to his.

He moved his hands down her back, enjoying the womanly curve of her waist and the flare of her hips, then tightened his fingers on her bottom and held her to him, pressing his now obvious erection against her mound. Erin gave an unmistakable rock of her hips, pushing against him, and suddenly the sensation of being innocent teenagers on their first date vanished. A very mature, passionate heat burst into flame between them, and it left Brock gasping, his body tight with desire, aching for release.

Lifting his head, he released his grip on her, and she moved back, straightening her dress with self-conscious hands as she glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone had seen them.

“Don’t worry. There’s nobody else on the beach,” he said. The couple at the other end had disappeared, leaving the stretch of pale gold sand empty.

“Is it me or has it just got incredibly hot?” She fanned her face.

He smiled and held out his hand. “Happy birthday.”

She slid hers into his and grinned. “Thank you. That gift was even better than the hotel room.”

Laughing, they continued along the sand. Brock squeezed her fingers, pleased to see her face alight with a happy glow. That was all he wanted for her—to relieve the pressure of motherhood for a day, to make her feel beautiful for a while.

Yeah, right, the little devil on his shoulder whispered in his ear. Kissing her had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted to see her naked. That he wanted to strip the sundress from her and cover her breasts with his hands. That he wanted to slide inside her, and find his own pleasure in her soft body.

He closed his eyes momentarily against the brilliant sun, unable to argue, and mentally gave the finger to the grinning devil.

Chapter Eleven

They walked to the end of the beach and back, taking their time and talking while they splashed through the shallows. Erin listened while Brock told her about his job at the hospital. She was full of admiration for his dedication and the number of hours he devoted to making children better.

“What job did you do before you became pregnant with Ryan?” he asked.

Erin told him about the publishing company she used to work for, editing and writing features for magazines, and by the time she’d finished they were back at their rooms.

“So I’ll call for you just before seven?” Brock said.

“Sure. I can’t believe I actually have ninety minutes to myself.”

He laughed. “Make the most of it. See you in a while.”

He walked to the door of his own room, gave her a wave, and disappeared inside.

Erin let herself in, feeling oddly disquieted. Was it her imagination, or had he been a little... distant since their kiss on the beach? He’d mentioned the difficulty of moving on after the death of his wife. Did he regret getting intimate with Erin now?

She sighed. If he did, there was little she could do about it. She went into the room and wandered across to the deck. A high fence separated her deck from the others so she couldn’t see if Brock was out there too.

Leaning against the post, she looked down at the beach, thinking of how she’d felt when he’d kissed her. It made her sad to think he might be feeling regretful. Two years was a long enough time to grieve, wasn’t it? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t even got past the first anniversary of his wife’s death. Erin wondered what it must feel like to think you’d found your soulmate and married them, only to lose them at such a young age. It was difficult for her to imagine the depth of grief he must be feeling.

She touched her fingers to her lips, feeling the smile there. His desire for her had been evident, his kiss gentle but passionate. His body wanted her, whatever his heart thought. Caitlin’s suggestion of a one-night stand lingered in her mind and wouldn’t be banished. Would Brock be interested, or would he decide he wasn’t ready to move on?

Erin checked her watch. She liked the idea of trying out the hot tub on the deck, but she decided it would be more fun to use in the dark and instead decided to have a lie down for a while to refresh herself for the evening. The thirty minutes turned into forty-five after the long walk and the fresh sea air, but she still had plenty of time for a shower and to get ready for dinner, and a quick call home to her mother to make sure Ryan was okay.

By the time Brock knocked on the door, she was ready, and she opened it with a smile. The smile turned into an open-mouthed stare at the sight of the gorgeous guy standing on the step. He’d been leaning against the post, looking out across the courtyard, but turned as the door opened and pushed off to stare back at her. So far she’d only seen him in shorts and T-shirt, but tonight he wore smart, dark jeans and a sexy, light-gray shirt that had a contrasting dark-gray strip where the buttons were and along the edge of the collar.

“Wow,” she said, unable to hide her admiration.

“I second that.” His gaze slid down her, then back up to return to her face with generous warmth.

Erin looked down at herself. Disliking black, and not sure whether to go for smart or casual, she’d followed Caitlin’s advice and treated herself to a new summer dress that could fit both categories. A beautiful aqua color she knew complemented her eyes, it reached just above her knees at the front but fell to her ankles at the back in a light gauzy fabric that lifted in the breeze. The bodice wasn’t as revealing as she’d intimated, with thin straps and a wide dark belt at the waist, but she knew it drew attention to her curves, and she’d purposely not worn a bra beneath it. Pretty high-heeled sandals completed the look, and she’d washed her hair and left it to bounce around her shoulders, adding a touch of makeup to give herself confidence.

She felt like a million dollars—a perfect complement to a billionaire—and for the first time in three years she felt like a woman first and a mother second rather than the other way around.

“You look fantastic,” he said, his eyes filled with admiration.

“Thank you.” Picking up the small clutch she’d left by the door, she stepped out and pulled the door shut, then took his outstretched hand.

“You looked beautiful before, but you look amazing tonight,” he said, his fingers tightening on hers.

Erin bumped her arm against his as they walked. “I feel amazing. Funny what half an hour on your own without someone constantly wanting you to feed him or play with his dinosaurs will do for a woman.”

Brock laughed and pulled her close so he could put his arm around her, and they walked together to the restaurant in the main block.

This was even more impressive than the rooms, if that were possible. Round tables covered in white cloths bore shining silver cutlery and sparkling wine glasses. A waiter showed them to their table, which nestled in a private corner in prime position on the deck overlooking the bay. A deck heater stood nearby in case the sea breeze picked up as the sun sank below the horizon, and a pretty row of tea lights in glass holders were strung on tinsel along the glass barrier.

“This is wonderful,” Erin said as she took the seat the waiter held out for her. She reached out to touch the glittering table decoration made from a red candle surrounded by scarlet pohutukawa flowers with deep green leaves and tiny golden baubles. “I feel really Christmassy all of a sudden.”

“I know what you mean.” Brock sat opposite her. “I’m half-expecting the chef to come out in a sleigh pulled by reindeer halfway through dinner.”

“I’m sure he’s far too busy sorting out the menu to do that,” she said, accepting it from the waiter.

“As long as he’s checked it twice,” Brock said.

Erin bit her lip until the waiter had withdrawn and then let the giggle loose. “Sorry,” she said at Brock’s amused look. “I had one of those small bottles of wine from the mini bar and it’s gone straight to my head.”

“Excellent,” he said, looking pleased. “I plan to get you completely drunk tonight.” His eyes widened at her laughter. “Because it’s your birthday,” he clarified, “not because... Oh I give up.”

Chuckling away, thoroughly enjoying herself, she studied the menu, her jaw dropping at the sight of all the wonderful dishes. “I could eat everything on this list.”

“You’re very welcome to try.” Brock appeared impressed by the choice. “This place lives up to its reputation.”

“It does,” Erin agreed, hoping she looked as if she spent every weekend at a restaurant where the bill would no doubt come to well over a week’s rent. “I honestly don’t know what to have.”

“Well, we’re in no hurry, are we? It’s only seven. Why don’t we start with something like the seafood platter, and we’ll just take our time. It’s amazing how much you can eat and drink when you spread it over a few hours.”

Erin shook her head in bemusement. If someone had told her a few weeks ago she’d be spending her birthday with a billionaire at Paua Cliffs, she’d have laughed them out of the room!

They shared the seafood platter, nibbling at the tempura battered prawns, the maple-pepper salmon bites, and the Bloody Mary oyster shots, and Erin had a glass of Pinot Gris from the local vineyard, while Brock had a glass of Merlot.

While they ate, they talked about everything under the sun, music, movies, sports, art, gradually feeling their way around each other’s lives and discovering what they liked and disliked. As they progressed onto their mains—medium-rare Angus fillet for Brock and Tuscan-style grilled tuna steak for Erin—they moved on to talking about deeper things, enjoying their exploration of each other.

Brock asked her lots of questions, and whereas normally Erin would have been hesitant to discuss her personal thoughts on delicate topics, especially on a first date, his genuine interest and the way he listened to her opinion meant she gradually relaxed and opened up.

That might have had a little to do with the wine too, she conceded as the evening progressed. She made sure she sipped water alongside the Pinot Gris, but there was no doubt the alcohol was having an effect. As they moved onto a rather splendid trio of chocolate desserts and then coffee, Erin welcomed the warmth and slight haze that accompanied the wine, enjoying not having to worry that someone might need her.

For the first time in a while, a silence had fallen between them, and Erin’s gaze drifted across the bay. They’d been sitting at the table for nearly two-and-a-half hours, and the sun had set, flooding the sea with orange and then purple. Inside the restaurant, a grand piano sat in one corner next to a small dance floor, and about an hour ago a man in a suit had started playing Christmas songs while a beautiful young woman in a silver gown sang along. Now, she was singing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and a shiver descended Erin’s spine.

“Would you like to dance?”

She turned startled eyes to her dinner partner. He was watching her, his head tipped to the side, a smile on his lips. She glanced across to the piano. “There’s nobody else dancing.”

“So?” He got to his feet and held out his hand. From the things he’d told her throughout the evening, Erin had gradually come to understand that beneath his quiet, gentle facade was the steely determination of a man who hadn’t got where he was by taking no for an answer, and who didn’t care a jot what other people thought of him.

She stared at his hand, her face warming, then slowly got to her feet and took it.

Chapter Twelve

Erin slipped her hand into Brock’s, smiling as his fingers closed around hers. He led her into the restaurant, threading through the diners to the wooden floor by the piano, then turned her into his arms and pulled her close.

After several hours of sitting there, watching him across the table and listening to his low, sexy voice, it felt blissful to finally being able to touch him. He held her right hand in his left, and rested his other hand on her hip. Erin placed her left hand on his shoulder, conscious of the smell of his aftershave rising from his warm skin. He’d told her he was going to shave before dinner, and sure enough, his jaw was smooth, free of the bristle that had darkened it earlier.

Conscious of some of the other diners watching them, she kept her gaze lowered, the heat in her face telling her she was blushing.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he teased, lowering his head to touch his lips to her cheek. “Every man in this room is wishing he was the one dancing with you.”

“And every woman is wishing you were holding her.” She looked up, meeting his gaze for a moment, then looked back at his collar again. “I like this shirt.”

He gave a short laugh and pulled her a little closer as the song changed to “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,” starting to sing along softly to the song. He had a lovely voice, deep and smooth like Nat King Cole’s, and Erin closed her eyes, feeling as if she were made of chocolate that was slowly softening under the heat of his gaze.

Now he was humming, his mouth close to her ear, and she knew if she turned her head his lips would brush her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered open, her gaze captivated by the sparkle of the tinsel around the windows. It was like creeping down the stairs as a child on Christmas Eve and spotting a large parcel in front of the tree with a big red bow. She wanted to sneak up and shake it, slowly pull the bow undone, and see what was inside. Part of her didn’t want to spoil it, wanted to prolong the anticipation, just in case the gift wasn’t as wonderful as she imagined, but equally she knew she couldn’t make it last forever.

Turning her head, she lifted her face a little, and he looked down, his lips almost touching the corner of her mouth. Gosh, he was tall, at least four or five inches taller than her in her heels, and as she moved her hand across his shoulder, her fingers tightened on firm muscle.

They were moving more slowly now, and she felt his hand splay on her lower back, not descending onto her butt, but daring nonetheless, pulling her to him so their bodies were flush from hip to chest. Something was happening between them, she could feel it, changing subtly the way flour and eggs and raisins and cinnamon turned to delicious Christmas pudding in the oven.

She giggled and felt his lips curve against her cheek.

“What are you laughing about?” he murmured.

“I’m comparing you in my head to Christmas pudding.”

“I’ve been called worse in my time.”

She laughed, caught up in the spell of the evening, and Brock chuckled, turned her nimbly around on the dance floor, then slowed again.

“You’re incredibly sexy,” he said, nuzzling her ear.

“Thank you.” She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, knowing he shouldn’t kiss her in the middle of the dance floor, desperately hoping he would. “I’m having such a lovely evening.”

“I’m glad.”

She wondered if he’d say And it’s not over yet, or something equally as suggestive to tell her he was interested in taking this further. He didn’t, but his breath was warm on her skin.

Erin lifted her face a fraction. He dropped his head a tiny bit more. And then his lips were touching hers, and they exchanged a long, sedate kiss that nevertheless sent her pulse racing.

When he eventually lifted his head, she glanced around the room, wondering if anyone had noticed. Judging by the smiles, several people had, and she returned her gaze to his collar, embarrassed and also gleeful at having been caught smooching in the middle of the dance floor with such a gorgeous guy.

“I like the way you make me feel fifteen again,” she said.

“I expect you to pass me notes in Science tomorrow.”

She giggled. “Only if you promise to meet me behind the bike sheds.”

“It’s a deal.”

They both laughed. Erin closed her eyes again, drifting off into a dream world. She didn’t want tonight to end. If only they could keep dancing here forever, Brock’s arms warm around her, his lips grazing hers from time to time.

But of course all good things come to an end, and eventually the song finished. Brock took her hand and led her from the dance floor, smiling as the other diners clapped and one older man whistled.

“You make a lovely couple, dear,” the old man’s wife said as they passed. “So romantic.”

“Thank you,” Erin said graciously, deciding it would take too much effort to describe the situation.

Brock gave her an amused gaze before giving the waiter his room number for the bill, and then they left the restaurant and walked slowly across the courtyard back to their rooms.

Although far from cold, the temperature had dropped a little, and the cool evening air cleared the wine-induced haze from Erin’s mind. Her heart started to race as they neared her door. What was Brock going to say? Would he ask her back to his room? And what would she reply if he did? She couldn’t possibly have a one-night stand with him. Could she? Did it make her a terrible person that she desperately wanted to get him naked? She hadn’t had sex for so long that the notion of letting this man strip off her sundress and make love to her in the gorgeous bed made her as nervous as it did excited.

They stopped outside her door, and Brock turned her to face him. He was smiling, and he pulled her close and lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you have a nice evening?” he asked.

“I did, thank you, the best in... well... ever, I think.”

“I’m glad. Happy birthday, Erin.” He bent his head and touched his lips to hers, but it was a demure kiss, just a press of lips, and within seconds he lifted his head again. “I hope you sleep well,” he said softly. “I’ll call for you in the morning, around eight, and we’ll catch some breakfast before we go, eh?”

She nodded, surprised at the intensity of the disappointment that rose within her when she realized he was going to leave. “Sure.”

Their eyes met, but she couldn’t read his expression. Was he thinking about his wife? She opened her mouth, but no words would come. If she asked him to stay, he might say no, and how would she feel then?

“Goodnight.” He gave her a last smile, turned, walked to his door, and let himself in.

The door closed.

“Fuck.” Erin looked up at the Southern Cross constellation that glittered in the sky above her, more beautiful than any of the Christmas baubles in the restaurant, and blew out a long breath. She’d practically forced him to state that he didn’t expect anything in return for taking her away for the night, plus he was still struggling to get over losing his wife.

It had been a lovely evening, and she had to take it for what it was—a pleasant date with a nice guy, rather than be disappointed because it hadn’t turned into a steamy sex session.

She would have loved some steamy sex. But it didn’t mean there wouldn’t be any in the future. It wouldn’t surprise her if he asked to see her again, so maybe in a few weeks’ or months’ time, when he’d got used to the idea of seeing someone else, they’d get around to it. It would have to be baby steps for both of them, and that was much more sensible than diving into bed on the first date.

Sighing, she went in and closed the door. She crossed the room and opened the sliding doors onto the deck, and turned on the hot tub, heating up the water ready for the dip under the stars she’d promised herself earlier.

Returning inside, she slipped out of her dress and put on her bikini, not quite brave enough to get into the tub naked even though nobody would be able to see her, then went over to the minibar and studied the contents. She didn’t want anything to eat and she’d already drunk several glasses of wine, but she fancied taking something into the tub with her.

There were a few little bottles of spirits, and she surveyed them moodily. Brock had promised her a glass of Lagavulin, but they hadn’t gotten around to it before they’d left the restaurant.

Perhaps she should ask him if he fancied a nightcap.

Her heart rate picked up at the idea, but she scolded herself for it. How desperate would that look? She couldn’t just bang on his door and say Do you want a whisky to finish off the night? Could she?

Biting her lip, she grabbed the complementary white bathrobe and slipped it on, shoved her feet into her sandals, and walked to the door.

Then she stopped. This was stupid. She couldn’t possibly knock on the guy’s door and practically beg him for sex. How cheap was that?

She walked back to the bed and took it off.

Put it back on.

Took it off again.

Growling at herself, she went to the hot tub and tested the water. She retrieved a towel from the bathroom and laid it on the table next to the tub, along with a hair clip, a tumbler and a miniature of Jack Daniel’s, and a small pack of mint chocolates from the minibar. She put her phone into the speaker system on the table and chose a playlist of Christmas songs. Then she tidied up her clothes.

Finally, she swore out loud, put on the bathrobe, marched across to the door, and wrenched it open.

She stopped with a gasp. Brock stood outside, still dressed in his jeans and shirt, carrying a bottle of something that look suspiciously like an Islay malt whisky, obviously in the process of pacing up and down.

They stared at each other, their lips gradually curving up.

“How long have you been out here?” she asked.

“About five minutes.” He scratched his cheek, then lifted the bottle to show her the Lagavulin label. “I thought you might like a nightcap. Then I told myself I’d promised you I didn’t want anything in return for arranging the trip and you might feel obliged to say yes. Then I thought if I didn’t ask you, you might think I’m not interested in you, and that is so far from the truth it seemed idiotic not to ask. Then my brain started to hurt.”

Erin sighed. “I think we know each other well enough by now to understand what’s going on. I’d love a drink, and the hot tub’s all ready to go, so for God’s sake come in and pour us both a glass before one of us dies from old age.”

Laughing, he walked past her into the room. Erin closed the door behind him, filled with relief and a heady sense of excitement. Thank God. He felt the same way about her that she felt about him. They were two consenting adults who enjoyed each other’s company, and it was the twenty-first century, and it wasn’t anyone else’s business what went on in this room except hers and Brock’s.

Chapter Thirteen

Erin directed Brock to go out onto the deck while she collected another glass from the kitchen, so he wandered across the room and through the open sliding doors, taking the bottle with him.

In spite of the warm weather that day, the breeze from the sea was cool enough to make him shiver, although that could also have been due to the situation, he thought as he closed his eyes and breathed in the warm and fragrant summer air. He’d been on the verge of turning around and going back to his room, certain that if he knocked on Erin’s door she’d either give him an outright no, look exasperated as if he’d confirmed her worst fear that he’d had ulterior motives, or sigh and let him in with the air of not having any alternative. Instead, she’d clearly been about to call on him, and her face had lit with pleasure.

His skin tingled at the notion of where the evening was heading. He’d fought with himself for a while, staring at the bottle of whisky he’d bought earlier as the devil on his shoulder argued with the angel on the other side. He’d kissed her already, the devil had argued—that was the difficult bit, the moment where he’d crossed the final boundary from grief into moving on with his life. The symbolism was important, not the actual act, and the next step of taking things further wasn’t important at all in the big scheme of things.

But of course it was, and the angel knew that perfectly well. Kissing a woman was one thing—taking off his clothes and making love to her was most definitely another. If he went home now, he could convince himself that he hadn’t been unfaithful—that he’d dipped his toe in the water but had managed to fight the urge to dive in, and he knew he’d be able to forgive himself for the brief transgression. If he went further, though, if he went to bed with Erin, he’d be accepting that Fleur had gone and that part of his life was done, and it made him immeasurably sad.

Brock knew he was only human, but all his life he’d fought to be more than the sum of his parts. He didn’t want to be one of those guys who used animal passion as an excuse for not being a gentleman. In another lifetime, he would have entered a monastery and taken vows, determined he’d never sully his memory of Fleur by bedding another woman.

But this wasn’t medieval England, and when it came down to it, he was young and healthy, and he liked sex. A lot. He missed it—the heat, the excitement, the intense physical release that just wasn’t the same when he achieved it on his own, as well as the joy of giving someone else pleasure. But it was more than that, too. Erin wasn’t just convenient—the first port in a storm. He met a lot of women in his job, and he could have dated any number of times, but he’d not even come close to being interested until he’d met Erin. He liked her. She made him laugh, and they got on well, which was no small thing.

Plus she was hot. He wanted to kiss her again, and he wanted to make love to her, and he even though his brain wanted him to have idealistic tendencies, he was tired of fighting that basic need.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Erin joined him on the deck and looked up at the stars. “The Milky Way is so clear here.”

“Hardly any light pollution,” he agreed, trying to think about something else other than taking off her clothes and crushing his lips to hers.

She put the other glass next to the one she’d already brought out along with a small bowl of ice, then popped a few cubes in each glass. Brock unwrapped the seal from the whisky, took out the cork, and poured the amber liquid over the ice.

Erin sipped it and shuddered. “Wow. I can feel that going all the way down.”

He inhaled the peaty, medicinal smell then took a big swallow, feeling a similar burn down to his stomach. “Aah. That’s nice.”

Leaning over the tub, she tested the water with her hand and giggled. “It’s hot. You want to get in?”

He suddenly remembered he was still wearing his jeans and shirt. “Ah, I didn’t bring any swim shorts.”

“You’re wearing boxers or something though, right? Or are you going commando?”

He gave her a wry look. “No, I’ve got boxers on.”

“They’ll do. Come on, kit off.” Grinning, she tugged the belt of her robe open and let it fall off her shoulders onto the floor.

Brock’s eyes widened at the sight of the red bikini barely covering her generous breasts and other more interesting areas. She had a womanly, curvy figure, and it sent bells ringing right through him. “Wow.”

Laughing, she sat on the side and swung her legs in, then lowered herself down into the bubbling water. “Ooh, that’s nice.”

One hand on his hip, he had another mouthful of the whisky and pursed his lips as she winked at him.

“Come on,” she said. “Don’t be shy.”

“Erin, what you’ve just done, you know how unfair that is, right?”

“What?”

“You’ve stripped off to almost nothing and now you’re expecting me to do the same while you watch.”

“So? It is my birthday.”

“Do you remember what happened in the car? And you were fully clothed then.”

Her lips gradually curved up as she realized what he was getting at. He could almost see her fighting against lowering her gaze to his jeans.

She sipped her whisky. “I’m definitely going to watch you now. In fact, because it’s my birthday, I expect you to strip to the music.” She leaned back on the tub, one arm stretched out, and raised her eyebrows. Her gaze held more than a little heat.

He sighed. “Yeah. I walked into that one.” Putting down his glass, he took out his wallet and phone and put them on the table. Then he began to unbutton his shirt, taking it slow, moving a little to Wham’s Last Christmas as he did so.

Her eyes widened so fast it was almost comical—clearly she hadn’t expected him to agree to her demand. “Nobody is ever going to believe how I spent my twenty-eighth birthday.”

“If I see any sign of a phone taking photos, I’m outta here.” He held her gaze while he popped another button, more than aware he was turning them both on by undressing.

She laughed, but her expression softened as he continued to undo the buttons. He raised an eyebrow when he reached the bottom of the shirt, and he started to peel it off, then turned his back on her before he let it slowly slip from his shoulders.

She gave a long, contented sigh, and he chuckled and turned to face her, working on his belt.

Her eyes were full of flattering admiration, which only intensified when he finished with the belt. Abandoning any pretense of looking anywhere except at his crotch, she held her breath as he unzipped his trousers.

Brock decided it was pointless to be coy and pretend he wasn’t turned on by the notion of slipping into a hot bath with a sexy blonde, and he slid the zip down and pushed the trousers over his hips to the floor. Erin inhaled deeply, and her gaze came up to his, her cheeks flushing a deep pink.

He picked up his clothes and put them over a nearby chair, sat on the side of the hot tub, and lowered himself in. Leaning back with a sigh, he met her gaze and raised an eyebrow.

She started to giggle, and he joined in and laughed, then took another swallow of his whisky.

“This takes some beating,” he said. “Sitting in a spa with a gorgeous girl looking out at that view.” Night had descended on the Bay of Islands, and the Pacific was a deep shade of blue, the night sky sparkling with silver stars that only added to the Christmassy atmosphere.

“Mmm,” she said, looking at him.

“I was talking about the stars.”

“Those too.” She smiled.

He laughed and swirled his legs in the water. It was a big tub, easily large enough for four people, and Erin sat on the ledge a foot to his left so they were both looking out to sea. Beneath the water, his feet touched hers. He thought about apologizing, then decided that was stupid considering they were both sitting there nearly naked.

Leaning across, she picked up a hair clip from the side, twisted her blonde hair, and pinned it up, letting a few tendrils fall around her face.

He tipped his head, watching her. “I love the way women do that. So sexy. I guess it’s because it’s not something guys do, in general.”

“Yeah, like watching a man put on cufflinks.” She chuckled and pushed his foot playfully beneath the water. “I’m glad you were there when I opened the door.”

“So am I.” He looked into his glass for a moment, swirling the whisky over the ice. “Erin, I meant what I said about not expecting anything in return—”

She reached out and touched two fingers to his lips, halting his words. “I know. Come on, we’re both grown-ups. It’s stupid to pretend we don’t know what’s going on. We’re attracted to each other, that much is obvious.”

He rolled his eyes, assuming she was referring to the erection that had nearly speared its way through his boxers. She laughed and said, “That’s not what I meant, but yeah. I know you like me, and I like you. A lot.”

To his surprise, she shifted in the tub, moving next to him on the seat so their arms touched. The water came to halfway up her chest, and in spite of the bubbles he could clearly see the curve of her breasts in the red bikini top. He swallowed and tried to focus on her face. It wasn’t difficult—her soft mouth promised enough delights to hold his attention.

“The nice thing about being an adult,” she said, “is not having to beat around the bush. We’re old enough that we can be frank, aren’t we? It’s been a long time since I dated, but I would make it quite clear if I wasn’t interested in you. I wouldn’t have come away with you at all if I didn’t have a little hope that dinner and a walk on the beach might develop into something more. But obviously you’ve been grieving for a long time. I know you feel reluctant about moving on, and of course I don’t want to force you to do anything you’re going to regret later on.”

She moistened her lips, her gaze dropping to his mouth. She was thinking about kissing him. He almost groaned out loud. There was no way his erection was going away anytime soon.

She continued, “So if we have a drink and that’s... um... all you want to do, that’s okay, I mean, I understand if you’d rather...” Her voice trailed off as she looked into his eyes.

“Erin,” he said slowly, as if he was talking to a child, “I’m sitting in a hot tub with a hard-on I could use as a battering ram to break down a medieval castle if I wanted. You really think I’m not interested?”

She tried not to laugh. “Well you are a guy, and I know sometimes your brain—or rather your body—and your heart want different things.”

“My heart knows perfectly well what it wants,” he said, only realizing when he said it that it was the truth. “It wants you, honey, there are no two ways about it. You’re right in that I haven’t been with anyone since Fleur died, and it feels odd to be moving on again, but there’s no question in my mind that I’m ready. I want you. I want to kiss you, I want to strip that gorgeous scrap of material off you, and I want to make love to you. And if that’s not what you want, you ought to make it clear right now. Because in five seconds I’m going to kiss you, and once I start, I’m pretty sure we’re not going to be able to stop.”

Chapter Fourteen

Erin inhaled sharply. Brock’s words had taken her by surprise. She’d been so certain he was fighting with himself as to whether this was right for him that his complete and utter certainty shocked her to the core. He spoke with lazy sincerity, and now, as he swallowed the last mouthful of whisky, replaced his glass on the side of the tub, and turned his hot gaze back to her, she had no doubt he meant every word. He wanted her, and providing she gave the go-ahead, the direction they were heading was as clear as the night sky above their heads.

She finished off the last mouthful of the liquid in her own glass, feeling the need for some Dutch courage, and placed her tumbler next to his. Her hand shook a little, although she wasn’t sure if he’d seen it. He’d stretched out his arm along the edge of the tub so it was almost around her, but not yet touching, as if in spite of his confident statement he was still uncertain what her reaction would be.

Did he really have no idea how hot she was for him at that moment? His sexy strip, the obvious—and generous—erection he hadn’t bothered to hide, the heat in his eyes, his provocative words... They’d all combined to cut through any willpower that might have remained like a laser through butter.

Excited, aroused, and extremely flattered all at the same time, she threw caution to the summer breeze and pushed herself up. After moving in the water to sit astride him, she knelt on the ledge on either side of his hips.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her until she’d settled herself comfortably and linked her hands behind his neck. The water kept her afloat enough that she didn’t have to worry about squishing him, although at that moment she had the feeling he wouldn’t have minded being squished.

“Hello,” she said, loving the way the water turned his tanned skin shiny like polished mahogany. Her fingers itched to touch him, so she did, running them up the muscles of his upper arms, across his broad shoulders, and down over the defined muscles of his chest. Nice.

“Hello.” He met her gaze and smiled. She smiled back, knowing that now they’d made the decision to take this final step, there was no rush, and once again she was back to admiring the wrapped gift in front of the Christmas tree, and prolonging the excitement by trying to guess what was inside.

He rested his hands on her waist, then slid them around to her back, trailing lightly over her skin the same way she’d just done to him. She shivered, and he smirked, clearly aware of how he was affecting her, and enjoying this forgotten power, this ability to tantalize and tease with the promise of sensual delights to come.

Two could play at that sexy game. Sliding her fingers into his short hair, she tipped her head to the left and bent to touch her lips to his. As he moved the last fraction of an inch to meet her, she moved back, denying him the kiss, tipped her head to the right instead, and chuckled at the curve of his lips before she finally gave in and closed the distance between them.

It was blissful to finally kiss him properly, without worrying who was watching, and what he might think, and whether she was doing the right thing. Instead, she concentrated on the firm warmth of his lips, the slick slide of his tongue against hers, the heady taste of the whisky, the silkiness of his short hair in her fingers, and the swirl of the water around her, teasingly warm on her skin.

Brock’s hands slid down her back, into the dip of her waist, over her hips, down her thighs, exploring her curves and just, she suspected, enjoying touching her, being close to her, the same way she felt sheer delight at being in contact with a man after so long. While he continued to kiss her, his hands reached her knees, then slowly returned, sliding up her thighs to her hips, spanning her waist, and eventually reaching her breasts, which he finally cupped in his palms.

Erin sighed as he ran his thumbs over her nipples, and when he lifted his head, he didn’t have to ask—she nodded, and he moved his hands up to the ties behind her neck and pulled them undone.

The ties drifted down into the water, although the material clung to her breasts as if reluctant to let go. He took the ties in his fingers and pulled them down, peeling the triangles off. He watched as they revealed her nipples, the dusky pink circles turning to tight buds from the sensation of both the water and his light touch.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice husky with passion.

Erin pulled the ties of the bikini behind her back and dropped the top onto the deck beside the tub. She moved a little closer to him on the ledge, feeling his erection pressing against her through the thin fabric of his boxers and her bikini bottoms. He was long and hard, more than ready for her, and she ached to have him inside her, but equally she didn’t want to rush this. They’d both waited a long time to meet the right person to help them take this step, and the last thing she was sure either of them wanted was for it to all be over in a flash.

So she kissed him again, conscious of passion slowly growing between them, their mouths become more demanding, hungry to claim and possess. He stroked her back and breasts, clearly enjoying the lift of them in the water, the easy way his hands glided over her skin. His fingers settled on her nipples, teasing them, tugging gently, and Erin moaned against his mouth. It was no good. She couldn’t wait any longer.

Lifting off him, she slid her bikini bottoms down, stepped out of them, and dropped them over the side of the tub. He removed his boxers and let them fall on top of her wet bikini, and then reached over to pick up his wallet where he’d left it on the table. He took out a condom and tore open the wrapper.

Erin watched, eyes wide, as he stood briefly out of the water to roll the condom on. Damn, that was an impressive erection, thick, hard, and long, exactly what a girl would wish for in her Christmas stocking. Her jaw dropped as he gave himself a couple of strokes, then revealed the tip, placed the condom on the end, and rolled it down carefully. Her mouth watered. She wanted to close the distance between them and slide her lips down that solid length, but before she could move he sank beneath the surface and lay back. His wry smile told her he was aware how much he was turning her on.

Well, this was a first. She hadn’t expected them to go all the way in the tub, but the feel of the hot water on her skin was so sexy she was glad he hadn’t suggested getting out.

She straddled him again, kneeling on the ledge, buoyed by the water, and looked into his eyes. This was it—the final test. Was he truly ready to move on and put the memory of his wife behind him? Erin half-expected him to stop her at the last moment and say he couldn’t do it.

But he didn’t. Instead, he parted her folds with the tip of his erection and then paused, sliding his hands around her body while he kissed her, obviously content to let her proceed at her own pace.

Sinking her hands into his hair, kissing him back, she pushed down, and he slid inside her.

They both gasped, his lips parting under hers. She lifted until he was almost out of her, then lowered herself again, and this time she felt him penetrate all the way up to the top. He wasn’t small, and the sensation of being stretched and filled was so amazing she nearly came on the spot.

Even more amazing, though, was the look in his eyes, full of heat that burned through her the same way the whisky had when she’d swallowed it.

“Jesus,” he whispered, gripping her hips and pushing deep into her. “That feels incredible.”

“I know.” She rocked her hips, thrusting slowly, driving him in and out of her, aroused by the sensation of his hands sliding over her skin, as well as the silky water lapping around her.

He kissed down her neck, cupped her breast, and bent to fasten his mouth on her nipple. Erin closed her eyes and tipped back her head as he teased the tip with his tongue, then sucked. Screw the hotel and dinner—sex with Brock King was turning out to be the perfect gift.

He swapped from one nipple to the other with his mouth until she was groaning with pleasure, the delicious tightening deep inside announcing the gradual approach of an orgasm. “Brock,” she said between gasps, clenching her fingers in his hair.

Tipping back his head, he let her kiss him, sliding his hands down to rest on her hips so he could guide the pace of her thrusts. He slowed her down, encouraging her to move leisurely, obviously with the intention of drawing out their pleasure.

Erin let him, plunging her tongue into his mouth and enjoying his answering low growl. This was the most erotic thing she’d ever done. She’d never had sex in water before, but it was totally at the top of her list now for places to make love. It sloshed around them, keeping her afloat so with each thrust of his hips it took her a fraction of a second longer than normal to come down again, and the surface of the water teased her nipples, making them hypersensitive even when he wasn’t touching them.

He held her tightly, starting to thrust harder, grinding against her clit with each push of his hips. “Oh...” she whispered, closing her eyes and focusing on the exquisite tightening of her internal muscles around him.

“Yes,” he urged her, “fuck, yeah, come for me, Erin.” His fingers dug into her bottom as he slammed into her, and she cried out, clenching around him in a series of blissful pulses that left her gasping and exhausted, only half conscious of the water slopping over the edge of the tub.

He continued to thrust, and she kissed him hard, delving her tongue into his mouth, wanting to pleasure him the way he’d pleasured her. It didn’t take long before he stiffened, his muscles hardening beneath her fingertips, and he gasped, spilling into her with short, sharp jerks of his hips and a fierce frown that made her smile.

Eventually, he relaxed back onto the edge of the tub, looking as bewildered and spent as she felt.

“Jesus.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I think I actually blacked out there for a moment.”

She laughed and kissed him. “It was pretty intense.”

He closed his eyes and kissed her back, then slid a wet hand to cup her head, refusing to let her go until she was sighing and limp with happiness.

“Mmm.” She placed her hands on his chest and pushed herself up. “Ready?”

“Hold on.” He slid a hand between them and held the condom while she lifted herself off. Then he stood and disposed of it before sinking back into the water with a contented groan.

Erin went to sit beside him, suddenly shy at the thought of what they’d done, and how easily he’d pleasured her. As she moved past him, however, he caught her arm. “Come here, you.” He turned her in the water so she was facing away from him, then, catching her around the waist, he pulled her back against his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

Erin snuggled back, enjoying being imprisoned by a pair of muscular arms. He nuzzled her ear, and she tipped her head to the side to give him better access.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured, placing kisses on her wet skin.

She sighed. “Mmm. Merry Christmas.”

He chuckled. “Have you had a nice day?”

“It was a perfect gift, thank you.”

“What was?” he teased, nibbling her earlobe.

She splashed him. “Staying here and having dinner. Although the sex was pretty good too.”

“I’m glad you think so. I have to say I thought it was fantastic.”

Her lips curved up. “I’m glad.”

“Do you want another whisky?”

“Ooh yes. A small one.”

Keeping one arm around her so she couldn’t move away, he placed ice cubes in the glasses, held the bottle so she could pull out the cork, and splashed a little liquid over the ice. After replacing the bottle, he gave her a glass and held his to it. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” She sipped the whisky and lay back against him, looking up at the stars. “This whole evening is almost perfect, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think there’s any ‘almost’ about it.” He kissed her hair.

“I’m glad.”

They chatted for a while, finishing off their whisky, enjoying the warm water and the balmy night. But eventually Erin knew it was time for the evening to draw to a close.

She held up her hands, showing him her wrinkled fingers. “I’m turning into a prune.”

“Yeah, we’d better get out I suppose.” He sounded as reluctant as she felt.

They rose and stepped out of the tub, and dried themselves off with the big, fluffy towels. Erin’s cheeks warmed as he finished before her and leaned against one of the pillars, watching her. What would happen now? Would he say what a nice night it had been and go back to his room?

“Thanks for a lovely evening.” She finished drying her legs and walked to stand before him, holding the towel to her breasts.

“You’re very welcome.” He looked amused at the way she was covering herself after what they’d done. Unlike her, he didn’t bother to try, and she had to fight not to drop her gaze from his face.

She nibbled her bottom lip, watching him tip the last drops of whisky from his glass into his mouth along with an ice cube. Her body heated at the sight of his naked, muscular form. Jeez, the guy was gorgeous. She was tempted to lean forward and lick the hollow of his throat where he’d missed a bit of moisture, then run her tongue down to his—

She blinked. She had to be careful. After all the fun they’d had, she didn’t want to ruin the evening by assuming this was more than it was—a one-night stand.

And yet... She didn’t want him to go. They’d had such a lovely time, and she wanted to prolong it a bit longer. Was that so terrible?

“You booked two rooms,” she said.

He circled the ice in his mouth, his gaze fixed on hers. “Yep.” His eyes were warm, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Her heart raced. “So, I suppose you feel it would be a shame if you didn’t get your money’s worth.”

He crunched the cube, his lips gradually curving up as she continued to squirm.

“What are you smirking at?” she said irritably.

“I’m wondering how long it’s going to take you to ask me to stay.”

Her face burned. “I don’t want to assume.”

He took her hand and led her toward the bed, leaving the glass on the kitchen counter as they passed it. “You make me laugh.”

“Why is that funny?”

“After what we’ve just done?” He stopped at the foot of the bed and turned her to face him, took her towel, and tossed it over a nearby chair. Then he pulled her into his arms.

“I know...” Her nipples tingled where his chest hair teased them. “But even so, I thought maybe we’d completed our transaction and you’d want to...” She bit her lip at the look on his face. “Why are you glaring at me?”

“I think you should get into bed before I put you over my knee.”

“Even if you—” Her voice trailed off as his words sank in. “I’m sorry, what?” Her face burned. Was he into kinky stuff? Because she totally wasn’t. Was she? She’d never tried any flavor other than vanilla. She wouldn’t like being tied up and sexually tortured by this man at all. Restrained and forced to lie there while he did all kinds of erotic, unimaginable things to her with his hands and mouth...

Holy moly.

He raised his eyebrows as she continued to stare at him. “Erin, it was a turn of phrase.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve gone completely scarlet.”

“I was thinking about handcuffs... and... licking... ” The words came out before she could stop them. Her face burned even hotter. “Damn it. I wish I could stop speaking.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “For the love of God, get into bed before I do something I regret.”

She scuttled under the bedclothes, not quite sure whether he was angry or upset. “Sorry.”

Shaking his head, he crossed the room and went out onto the deck, retrieved their phones and his wallet, and came back in. He closed the sliding doors, but left the gauzy curtains open so they could look at the stars.

When he turned and walked back, she realized that he wasn’t angry or upset. The impressive erection he was sporting suggested he was something else altogether.

He put their phones and his wallet on the bedside table and climbed onto the bed beside her. Pushing her onto her side away from him, he stuffed the sheet between them and pulled her close.

“Ooh,” she said, feeling the broom handle digging into her bottom.

“Go to sleep,” he scolded, amused. “You’re intoxicated.”

I’m not so drunk that I’m not aware I’m already crazy about you.

Luckily, this time the words stayed in her head. Listening to him mumbling something about irrepressible women who deserved everything they had coming to them, she let her lips curve in the semi-darkness, sighed blissfully as he kissed her ear, then closed her eyes.

Chapter Fifteen

When Brock awoke, the sky was growing light in the east, and he knew without having to check his phone that it was around his normal rising time of five thirty. Old habits die hard, he thought, even when he’d drunk more than he should have. His head was muzzy, his mouth dry.

The room was large enough not to be stuffy, but even so he felt hot and sticky beneath the sheet, only realizing as he went to roll over and found he couldn’t that it was because he had a soft, curvy woman pinned against him.

Erin.

Everything came rushing back—the lovely evening they’d spent together, the way he’d agonized for ages over whether to knock on her door, the tiny red bikini that had driven him insane, and the long, luxurious sex session they’d had in the tub.

Wow.

He shifted onto his back. Erin stirred but didn’t move away, still draped over him, her breasts soft pillows against his ribcage, her thigh silkily smooth against his. He smiled in the semi-darkness. Although Fleur had been affectionate, in bed she hadn’t been a snuggler, and more often than not he’d woken to find her on her side facing away from him, so it was nice to be with a woman who felt the same way.

A sudden wave of disloyalty washed over him, unexpected and intense, taking his breath away. He stared up at the canopy above their heads and then gently disengaged himself from Erin’s grip. She still didn’t wake, so he rose from the bed. After briefly visiting the bathroom, he padded over to the kitchen.

He took a small bottle of water from the fridge, walked to the sliding doors, and opened them to let in the early morning air. Leaning against the doorjamb, he drank half the bottle of water in one go, then lowered it with a sigh and wiped his mouth.

Down on the beach, the first rays of the sun were falling on the red flowers of the pohutukawa trees. Fleur had loved them, and they’d planted a few in their garden, although she’d not lived long enough to see them flower.

His throat tightened. It had been two years, and losing her still hurt. He leaned his head against the wood. Last night he’d finally betrayed her, the execution made easier through loneliness and Lagavulin.

Then he frowned. No, that wasn’t fair, and it was doing Erin a disservice. He hadn’t slept with her just because he was lonely and drunk. Until last night, although he’d missed Fleur, he hadn’t been tempted to move on at all, in spite of Charlie and Matt’s attempts to help.

It had been Erin who’d resurrected his dead heart, who’d shone bright enough to dispel the shadows he’d inhabited for so long. He’d wanted to be with her, to watch her laugh, to listen to her infectious giggle. She’d entranced him with her red bikini, the way she’d clipped up her hair, with her sheer wonder at the hotel and the sumptuous dinner, and how she’d kissed him on the dance floor, oblivious to the watching diners who’d smiled to see them so obviously captivated with one another.

Because he was captivated with her. He rolled his head on the doorjamb to look over at the bed, his lips curving at the sight of her sprawled on her front, the white sheet draped over her and just covering her bottom. He could see a swell of breast beneath her arm, the dip of her waist. She’d not been with anyone either since her son was born, and yet she’d given herself to him wholeheartedly, warm and affectionate, meeting his flare of passion with a heat that had thawed him right through. It was all about her.

Brock had a Playstation at his apartment—he found it a great way to relax, as it was difficult to think about anything else when he was up to his neck fighting zombies or aliens. He felt as if he’d been replaying the same scenario in a game for two years, but finally he’d beaten the boss and discovered the way out, and he was ready to move on to the next level.

He’d loved his wife—he still did, and there would always be a piece of his heart dedicated to her that nobody else would be able to touch. She’d always be the woman he’d loved for ten years, and he cherished his memories of their time together.

But he was ready to move on. And at last he gave himself permission to do so.

He pushed off the doorjamb and walked toward the bed. Leaving the water bottle on the bedside table, he stood for a moment and looked down at the sleeping woman. Her blonde hair lay spread over the pillow, and the rumpled sheets revealed more than covered her. His gaze slid down her body, noting the dip of the sheet between her thighs, the curve of her bottom. She looked soft and inviting, young and healthy, and he wanted to lose himself in her again.

She turned onto her back and pushed the sheet away down to her waist, obviously hot and sticky the same way he had been. He caught his breath, feeling as if he was peeking at the presents under the tree before Christmas morning. Her full breasts were topped with dusky-pink nipples that were large and relaxed in the heat. He wanted to cover them with his mouth and suck them to peaks, tease them with his teeth until she moaned with pleasure.

His body stirred, reacting to his erotic thoughts, but he waited, enjoying the anticipation, the thrill of just looking, drinking his fill of this beautiful girl’s bare skin, her womanly curves. The sun was rising, beginning to flood the room with pink light, and he watched her skin glow and glisten, like a shell that had been washed by the tide then left to dry in the sun.

He already knew he wanted to see her again. There were obstacles to overcome—living a hundred and sixty miles away from each other for a start. But he didn’t care. He wanted her, and Brock was a man used to getting what he wanted.

He moved to the bottom of the bed, lifted the sheet covering her feet, and crept under it. Slowly, he began to kiss up her body, starting with her toes, moving up her calves to her knees, and then up her thighs.

She stirred, wriggled, then laughed. “Brock? I hope that’s you.”

“Nope.” He kissed up her stomach. “He sent me as a special birthday gift.”

“It’s not my birthday anymore,” she reminded him, and yawned.

“What time were you born?”

“Uh...” She rubbed her eyes. “Midday-ish, I think.”

“Then it’s still officially your birthday.” He appeared from under the sheet and kissed up between her breasts to her face. Then he lay on top of her. “Good morning, Miss Sunshine.”

“Oof. Gosh, you’re heavy.”

“Don’t care.” He was filled with a hunger for her, and he kissed her, plunging his tongue into her mouth. She placed her palms on his chest and pushed, so he lifted his head.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” she said, her cheeks turning an attractive shade of pink.

“Like I care about that.” He caught her hands, moved them above her head, and pinned them there, liking the feel of her stretched out beneath him. “I’m going to kiss you from head to toe, then make you come with my tongue. Then I’m going to take you and make you come again, oh Erin Bloom with the sunshine hair and the even brighter smile. How’s that for a wake-up call?”

Her eyes widened. “Goodness. You’ve woken in a good mood.”

“I wonder why?” Filled with an exultant happiness he couldn’t describe, he kissed her again. After a second of muffled protestations, she gave in and went limp with a sigh. He murmured his approval, then began to kiss down her body again.

Her generous breasts were warm, her nipples soft and swollen, and he covered one with his mouth and sucked, swirling his tongue over the velvety soft skin until it puckered. He did it to the other one, then went back and forth between them until she squirmed beneath him.

“Stop wriggling,” he scolded, kissing down her stomach.

“I can’t help it. You’re making me ache.”

“Good.” He settled between her thighs, pushed up her knees, and sank his tongue into her folds.

“Oh... my God.” She lifted her hands in the air as if to stop him, then let them fall above her head. “Oh... that is just... heavenly. I feel like singing.”

He tried not to laugh and stroked the outside of her thigh. “Feel free,” he said before sliding his tongue into her again.

She didn’t, but she gave a happy sigh that turned into a long moan as he continued to lick and suck her, teasing her clit with the tip of his tongue. As she gradually relaxed, her thighs loosened and she stretched out, abandoning any final inhibitions. He slid two fingers inside her, groaning to discover her wet and swollen, and loving that he was the one who was giving her such pleasure.

It wasn’t long before she came, clenching around his fingers in a series of intense pulses, her cries turning to sighs as she fell back and went limp once more.

Brock withdrew his fingers and moved up the bed to lean over her.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. At that moment, he was certain he’d never seen anything as beautiful as the sight of the gorgeous blonde beneath him with her flushed cheeks, ruffled hair, and sleepy eyes.

“Mmm, your turn,” she murmured.

“Oh no.” He bent and kissed her nose. “Remember what I promised? Now I’m going to take you and make you come again.” He leaned across to the bedside table and picked up his wallet.

Her eyelids fluttered open. “Again?”

“Multiple orgasms, Ms. Bloom. Girls are so lucky.”

“Ah... Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t think I’m one of those women who can have those.”

He laughed. “We’ll see.” Carefully, he tore off the packaging and took out the condom.

“I’m serious, Brock. But don’t let that stop you having fun.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” He rolled the condom on and leaned over her again.

Erin looked up into his eyes, and something passed between them, as intense and fast as lightning. The night before, their interactions and lovemaking had been tentative and playful, and he’d concentrated on being gentle and considerate, wanting to make sure she enjoyed herself and that he did everything ‘right’.

But for the first time, all that vanished, and all he could think about was the soft, sensual body of the woman beneath him, of wanting to plunge into her, to lose himself in her. He’d thought the passionate part of him had died, and although his body still worked, he’d been certain his heart would never again feel that intense need to possess and explore another person’s desire. He’d been wrong, and he couldn’t help but feel exultant at that realization.

It made his heart thunder, and she must have seen it because her pupils dilated, her lips parted, and the laughter in her eyes faded and was replaced by sultry desire.

He bent and brushed his lips against hers. “Turn over,” he whispered.

She swallowed, blinked a few times, then rolled onto her side beneath him and shifted onto her front.

“Lift up your hips,” he instructed, retrieving a pillow. She did so, and he slid it beneath her, admiring the way it propped her bottom up. He lifted her hair away from her neck and pressed his lips behind her ear, then kissed down her neck and back, following the curve of her spine to her bottom. Lacing his tongue across her skin, he nibbled the plump muscle, making her exclaim and try to push him off.

“Wow,” he said, “you’re such a wriggler. Talk about make it difficult for a man. Lie still.”

“Not if you’re going to tickle me. And stop bossing me about.”

He kissed back up to her neck. “No,” he murmured. “Open your legs.”

She hesitated, breathing heavily, then did as he said. Smirking, he positioned himself between her thighs and guided his erection beneath her.

Lifting her hips, she closed her eyes as he pressed the tip of his erection into her and then steadied himself either side of her shoulders. He pushed forward a little, just parting her folds, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Tipping his head to the side so he could watch her face, he eased out, then did it again, teasing her entrance and enjoying the way her face creased with pleasure each time he moved.

“Oh,” she said on the fifth movement of his hips. “Brock... ”

“Mmm.” The sensation of the most sensitive part of his body slipping through her swollen, wet flesh was like nothing else on earth.

Bringing up a knee, she widened her thighs, giving him better access, and lowered her head onto the pillow. “Please.”

He nuzzled her ear. “Please what?”

“Oh...” She tried to push back against him, but he just waited until she’d stopped and then continued with his slow, shallow thrusts.

He could sink into this woman’s soft, hot, wet, velvet body forever. Except of course he couldn’t, because he’d be lucky if he lasted another minute of this exquisite torture, and judging by her moans and sighs, she wasn’t far off coming again either.

Relenting, he pushed forward, and this time he slid all the way in, right up to the hilt.

Erin’s hands tightened into fists on the pillow, and she gasped.

“Fuck,” he said, lowering his forehead onto her shoulder. “That feels good.” It was a vast understatement. How had he gone without this for two whole years? It wasn’t just the physical pleasure, it was about sharing himself, and giving someone else passion. No wonder he’d felt so lonely and lost.

He pulled back and thrust firmly, and Erin tipped back her head and exclaimed. He slid a hand beneath her chin and turned her face around to his so he could kiss her, plunging his tongue into her mouth even as he plunged inside her. She moaned, parting her thighs further, completely his at that point.

At that moment he knew this wasn’t going to be enough. He wanted to see her again, to do this to her over and over, to explore her and let her explore him, to just be with her.

It wasn’t the right time to discuss it, though, and so he increased his pace, slipping a hand beneath her to cup her breast and tug her nipple. “You’re going to come for me now,” he murmured, thrusting steadily, knowing the angle was teasing that sensitive spot inside her, bringing her closer to the edge.

She shook her head and lowered her forehead back to the pillow, saying something that came out muffled, possibly in reaction to the sound of his hips meeting hers with every thrust.

Balancing on one hand, he slid the other down and beneath her, finding her clit with unerring fingers. He circled his fingers over the swollen button, and she cried out and pushed back against him.

It was too much, and Brock gave in to his urge to thrust hard, plunging into her slick, hot flesh. She came then, clenching around him, and the pulses of her muscles were so strong that it pushed him over the edge. He swore and closed his eyes, everything tightening inside, so intense and exquisite it almost hurt. For a short while everything was sensation, heat and warmth and pleasure. He clung hold of the moment, loving the notion that Erin was feeling exactly the same, bound to him for a few seconds in the shared bliss of fulfilment.

Chapter Sixteen

Limp, hot, and sticky, devoid of energy, Erin blew out a breath and mumbled into the pillow.

“I can’t hear you,” Brock said, and kissed her ear.

She turned her face. “I said oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”

He laughed, carefully withdrew, disposed of the condom, and collapsed onto the bed beside her. “Come here.”

“I can’t move. I’ll never be able to move again. You’ve literally shagged me senseless.”

“Erin, come here, you daft girl. I want to give you a hug.”

She shifted onto her side with a groan, but moved happily beneath his raised arm and into his embrace. “Wow,” she said, “You’re something.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. You too.”

“I mean it. You’re really something.” She meant every word. Sex in the tub had been sensual and exciting, but tinged with the self-consciousness that always accompanies a first time. Brock had been gentle and considerate, and she certainly hadn’t had any complaints, but she’d had the feeling taking the step had been difficult for him, and he’d kept a little piece of himself behind. That was okay—she’d expected it would take a long time for him to move on, thinking that maybe he’d never be able to, and he’d always be comparing his first wife to the other women he went with.

She couldn’t have been more wrong. There’d been no hesitation in his eyes, no reluctance or awkwardness as he’d said I’m going to kiss you from head to toe, then make you come with my tongue. Then I’m going to take you and make you come again. She quivered just to think about those words and the heat in his eyes. At that moment, she knew he’d given her a hundred percent of himself. Up until then, she’d thought him sexy and gorgeous, but it was only when he’d turned her over and taken her with such insistent passion that she felt she’d seen the real Brock shine through.

He kissed her hair. “I hope it means that when I ask you if I can see you again, you’ll say yes.”

Erin’s heart stopped for a moment. Lifting up onto an elbow, she looked at him with surprise. He raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t look as if he’d shocked himself with those words.

“Oh,” she said.

They studied each other for a moment.

“You’re seriously surprised?” His lips curved up. “What a strange woman you are.”

“I... ah... didn’t expect... what you...” She gave up.

He took a strand of her hair and curled it around his finger. “You don’t have to answer now. But you should know that I will be ringing you every day until you say yes.” He smiled. “You look as if I’ve asked you to fly to the moon with me.”

“It’s almost as complicated as that.”

“It’s really not.” He spoke with lazy certainty. How could he be so relaxed about this?

She frowned. “We live hundreds of miles apart.”

“Good job I have a plane then.”

“Oh my God.”

He laughed. “It’s really not a problem. “

Resting her hand on his ribs, she leaned her chin on it. This had all happened so quickly, she hadn’t had time to think about the future or where it might lead. He wanted to see her again. Was it possible there was a future ahead for the two of them? She knew nothing about him really, only that he was a pediatrician, and was pretty good in the sack.

“What’s your favorite color?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Blue. You?”

“Orange. I like bright colors. I like being cheerful.”

He smiled and continued to twirl her hair.

“What was your wife’s name?” Erin whispered.

His smile faded and his hand stopped. “That doesn’t seem appropriate,” he said, a little flatly.

“Sorry.” Embarrassment at her faux pas flooded her. “I know it must have been difficult taking that step last night.” She sat up and ran a hand through her hair. What a stupid thing to have said.

Brock looked puzzled. “What?”

“I would never want you to feel you’ve betrayed her memory by being with me.” She felt horrified. They’d been together one night. Of course he wouldn’t want to talk to her about the woman he’d loved for years.

He stared at her for a moment, then realization obviously sunk in, and he rolled his eyes. “I meant it seems inappropriate for me to talk about another woman while I’m bed with you, sweetheart.” Catching her hand, he lifted it to his lips, his eyes warm. “I swear to you, I wasn’t thinking of anyone but you while we were making love.”

“Oh.”

He sighed. “I admit the idea of moving on hadn’t been easy, but once I accepted it was time, there was no doubt in my mind that I wanted you.” He trailed a hand down her arm. “What I had with Fleur—that was her name, by the way—was great, and if she was still alive, I would have been faithful to her. But she died, and while it was terribly sad, I’ve been lonely for a long time. Man isn’t meant to live alone, and although part of me would love to be heroic enough to say I’ll never love again, I’m afraid I’m not that strong a person.” His lips twisted in a wry smile.

Erin wrapped her arms around her knees. Outside, the sun was rising, flooding the room with a rose light. Fantails played in the palm trees, their banter filtering through, and in the distance she could hear a boat heading out into the ocean, its engine chug-chug-chugging in the early morning air. Apart from that it was quiet, almost hushed, as if the world was listening to this conversation, watching the two of them exploring each other emotionally the way they’d just done so physically.

“Tell me about when you met Fleur,” she said. “How old were you?”

He turned onto his side, propping his head on a hand, and gave her an indulgent smile as if he understood that she needed to know these details if she was going to see him again. “I was twenty, she was eighteen. We met at medical school. She wanted to be a GP. We married when she was twenty-one. At twenty-five she was diagnosed with breast cancer.”

“That’s so young.”

“Yeah. Her family had a history of it, unfortunately—her mother died from it a few years back, and so did her grandmother. Fleur had a double mastectomy, but a year later they found she’d developed pancreatic cancer. We did everything we could, but she died within six months.”

Erin rested her chin on her knees. Outside the window, she heard the distinct chirruping of a rosella, accompanied by the flash of its colorful feathers as it swooped down into the bush. It must have been difficult for him being a doctor, she thought, and not being able to make things right for his wife. “Were you there when it happened?”

“Yes. She died at home, and her sister and father were there too. My parents and brothers were in the room next door.”

The rosy rays of the sun had turned his skin a warm amber and the silver streaks in his dark hair to gold. Erin let silence settle between them, feeling no need to fill it. He seemed relieved to be talking about it, maybe secretly glad she wanted to know. Running a finger up her leg, he traced her shin, circled her knee, then returned to her foot, apparently enjoying just touching her, just being alive.

“What do you think Ryan will think about us seeing each other?” he asked. “He doesn’t see his father at all?”

She shook her head. “They’ve never met.”

He frowned. “I can’t get my head around that. Not wanting kids and then finding out your girlfriend is pregnant is one thing—I can understand initial anger and resentment. But after that... what’s the point in carrying on that anger?”

“He still thinks I did it on purpose.”

“That in itself makes me want to punch him, but I stand by my statement. Even if that were the case and he decided he didn’t want to be with you, that’s no excuse for shirking his responsibilities. He’s a... um...”

“Fucking idiot?”

He laughed. “I was going to say rogue but it sounded a bit nineteenth century. Your description sounds appropriate.”

“No, you’re right. He is a rogue. He’s No Good, as my mother would say. But I’ve done my crying over him, and over the situation. He’s Ryan’s biological father, that’s all.” She turned and lay back down, resting her head on her hand the same way he was. “I’ve long come to the conclusion that blood is one of the least important things when it comes to bringing up children. I’m not saying it’s better for kids to be in a single parent family, and I do think Ryan would benefit from having a father figure around. Kids learn by mimicking their parents, and although obviously I can teach Ryan how to shave when he grows up, I can’t teach him how to be a man. He’ll have to learn that for himself, and part of me is ashamed I couldn’t work things out with his dad for him.”

“Sounds like he’s better off without him,” Brock said with a snort.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

His expression softened. “I’m sorry, that was an insensitive thing to say after you’ve been so nice listening to me rattle on about my wife. I’m sure you still have feelings for the guy, even if he was a dick.”

“I have no positive feelings for Jack whatsoever,” Erin said vehemently. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m embarrassed that I ever slept with the man.”

“Why did you sleep with him?” Brock asked, amused.

“He’s a good looking guy. Or was—I haven’t seen him for three years. And he knew how to put on an act, how to pretend to be a good guy. He was attentive and charming, and made me feel like the only woman in the world.” To her surprise, her voice caught. Wow. She hadn’t realized the rat still had an effect on her.

Looking down at the duvet, she traced a finger around the pattern of a flower. She’d had no clue that Jack wasn’t the honest gentleman he’d made himself out to be until she’d gotten herself pregnant. She hated that she’d been so gullible. It had undermined her natural ability to trust everyone she met, and she disliked that it had made her wary of people.

Brock slipped a finger beneath her chin and lifted it until she met his eyes. “I’m not like that,” he said softly.

She thought of how he’d travelled all the way to Whangarei to give her son a present, and how he’d given her such a lovely birthday gift. True, she had given herself in exchange, but he hadn’t asked her to do that. “I know,” she said, trying not to think about her mother’s words. You know he only wants one thing, Erin. And a man with money knows how to get it.

“I mean it,” he protested. “I don’t claim to be perfect by any means, but I’d never treat a woman—anyone in fact—like that.”

“I know.” Her smile was natural, and she leaned forward to kiss him.

Catching hold of her, he lay back on the pillows, pulling her with him, and they indulged in a long kiss.

“Mmm,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. “I could get used to this.”

So could I. Erin thought the words, but didn’t say them. She’d been so badly hurt before, and it had made her so wary. Brock wasn’t anything like Jack, and yet somehow he was—both men were used to getting their own way, and ultimately however she phrased it, Brock had manipulated her into coming away with him.

It’s not the same, she told herself as they looked out at the rising sun. But the uneasy feeling persisted, and wouldn’t go away.

Chapter Seventeen

Once again, Erin was quiet in the car while Brock drove.

He puzzled on it as he navigated the winding roads along the peninsula back to Kerikeri. He thought she’d enjoyed herself the night before. And again that morning. He smirked to himself at the memory of their lovemaking, and how he’d made her come not once but twice as the sun came up before they finally decided they should get ready for breakfast.

In spite of that, she hadn’t responded to his suggestion of seeing each other again with the enthusiasm he’d hoped for. They’d gone for breakfast and had moved on to talking about other things, and so far he hadn’t returned to the subject. Part of him didn’t want to, afraid she would turn him down. But he’d always been the sort of guy to tackle things head on, and so as they took the turn from the peninsula onto the main road back to Kerikeri, he broached it again.

“What are you up to next weekend?”

She continued to look out of the window. “Not sure. Christmas shopping, I suppose. Should take all of two minutes,” she added in a mumble he thought he probably wasn’t supposed to hear.

“So... you’ll be free to come out with me again?”

“Um...” She looked down at her hands in her lap.

“The thing is, attached to Auckland Zoo is a company called Sleigh Ride. It takes kids to the ‘North Pole’.” He put air quotes around it. “They get to meet Santa, and there are lots of Christmassy events going on with penguins and carols and stuff. I thought Ryan might like it.”

She lifted her big blue eyes to his. “You want us to come to Auckland?”

“I’ll pick you up Saturday morning and we’ll fly down. Go to the zoo. You can stay with me Saturday night in my apartment, and fly back Sunday.”

“Fly down?” she said faintly. “There wouldn’t be flights available this late.”

“I have my own plane, Erin. I told you that. How do you think I got up here yesterday?”

“I assumed you drove in this car.”

“It’s a hire car. Far too dull for me. I prefer my F-type Jag.” He took the turning for the town center, opened his mouth to tell her about his other cars, saw the look on her face, and closed it again. “What?”

“I can’t get my head around this. F-type Jags, private jets, flying here, there, and everywhere. Staying in expensive hotels, eating steak, drinking champagne. It’s not part of my life, Brock—it’s all completely alien to me.” Her eyes were wide, and she looked slightly panicky.

He moved his gaze back to the road. “I understand it might not be what you’re used to. I don’t understand why it scares you. It’s just money. I happen to have more of it than you. Why is it a problem?”

She picked at a nail. “It was just something my mum said.”

“What?”

She shook her head.

Leaving it for a moment, he threaded through the town center, then turned left and headed down the hill to the road where she lived. Nowhere in Kerikeri was really rough, but the houses in this area were mainly rundown rentals, the cars old and battered, motorbikes rusting out the front, the lawns unkempt. A group of teenagers studied them moodily as they passed, beer bottles in a pile by their feet—not a great example for the younger kids playing with skateboards further down the street.

Stopping outside her house, he unclipped his seatbelt, then turned off the engine. “Can I come in?”

She stared at him. “Why?”

“I’d like to meet Ryan.”

“You’ve already met him.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that.”

She blinked. “Brock...”

“Please.” He spoke firmly. He wasn’t going to let her wriggle out of this. Undoubtedly, her mother was looking after Ryan while Erin was away, and he needed to talk to her.

Sighing, she tucked her hair behind her ear. She wore it down today, and it fell past her shoulders in a blonde curtain. Everything about this woman reminded him of sunshine.

“It’s just...” She sighed again. “The house, it’s... very small. Untidy. I don’t have much, Brock.”

She met his eyes and then dropped her gaze. She was ashamed.

It wasn’t until that moment that he really understood the vast gulf between them where money was concerned. Nor how closely linked poverty and pride were. He felt horrified and hurt that she didn’t want him to see where she lived, maybe because she thought he’d laugh, or look down at her for putting up with so little. But there was no point in expressing that hurt. This wasn’t about him, and she’d have no idea how she’d just insulted him.

“Less for me to trip over,” he said, keeping his voice light. “Come on, I want to meet that son of yours for real and see what he’s made out of that Lego I got him.”

She raised her gaze to his again. Her lips curved a little, and then she lifted her chin and took a deep breath. “Okay. Come on.”

They got out, and he retrieved her bag from the back and locked the car, hoping the wheels would still be there when he came back.

Taking her hand, he walked with her to the door, and she let herself in. “Hi, it’s me,” she called.

Brock left her bag in the hall and followed her into the living room. Compared to his apartment, the place was tiny, and the furniture consisted of a chocolate-brown sofa and two navy blue chairs, a pine coffee table that had seen better days, a TV so small he’d have hesitated to use it as a PC monitor, and a variety of other bits and pieces that told him everything had either been donated to her by relatives or bought second-hand.

He ignored all that, however, and smiled at the tall, blonde-haired woman who looked like an older version of Erin as she walked forward from the kitchen.

“Mum, this is Brock,” Erin said, her cheeks flushing. “Brock, this is my mum—Karen Bloom.”

“Lovely to meet you, Karen.” He held out his hand.

The older woman shook it. A smile crossed her face, but her eyes were cautious. “Good to meet you too,” she said. “And thank you for giving my daughter such a nice birthday gift.”

“Mum,” Erin warned, confirming his suspicion that Karen wasn’t referring to the hotel.

He met Karen’s eyes. After what Erin’s ex had put her through, he understood that Karen was protective of her, even though he didn’t much care for her tarring him with the same brush.

It sounded as if Jack had been the smooth-talking type who’d used his looks to disarm and win women over. While Brock wasn’t averse to using his charm, he sensed that in this situation Karen was far too sharp for that, and what she wanted was reassurance that Brock wouldn’t dazzle her daughter with money before dropping her like a greased rugby ball.

“You’re welcome,” he said easily. “I hadn’t been there before, but I was very impressed. The hotel was superb, and our rooms were amazing, weren’t they?”

Erin nodded, obviously recognizing his use of the plural. No doubt she’d confess to her mother later they’d stayed in the same room, but at least she knew he wasn’t going to brag about it. “It was fantastic,” she said to Karen. “My room was bigger than this house. It had gorgeous rimu floors and a view right over the bay.”

“Mine had a hot tub on the deck,” he said, unable to add innocently, “I think yours did too, didn’t it?”

Luckily, Karen had turned away to the door, so she missed Erin’s reproachful glare. “Ryan’s just woken from his nap,” Karen said as the boy cried out. “He must have heard the door. You want me to get him?”

“No, I’ll go.” Erin moved past them, saying over her shoulder, “I won’t be long.”

Brock watched her go, hiding a smile. Once she disappeared, he looked back at Karen.

She was watching him, and her smile had faded. Slowly, she ran her gaze down him as if assessing him. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and let her peruse him, refusing to feel like a fifteen-year-old.

When her gaze returned to his, he was smiling.

“Okay?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She had the grace to flush. “You might have fooled my daughter, but you can’t fool me, Mr. King.”

“Brock, please. And how have I fooled her, exactly? She’s had a hard time of it lately, and I thought she deserved a treat for her birthday.”

“That you paid for.”

“If she’d paid for it, it wouldn’t have been a gift,” he pointed out. In the background, he heard Erin taking Ryan into the bathroom and the two of them discussing Transformers before the door swung shut.

“She’s had a tough time,” Karen said, “and you’d think she’d be more wary of men, but she isn’t. She has a heart of gold, and she always believes the best of people. So I have to be wary for her.”

“I understand.”

“I won’t let her be hurt again.” Karen’s eyes glistened, and Brock softened inside. It must have been hard for her when Jack left, watching Erin go through childbirth and bringing up her son alone.

“I’m not going to hurt her,” he said. “I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

Karen stared at him. In the distance, he could hear Erin singing Wheels on the Bus, Ryan’s high voice singing along with her. Outside the house, the teenagers had found a football and were yelling at each other as they kicked it down the road. Inside the living room, however, he could have heard a pin drop.

“You’ve known her twenty-four hours,” Karen whispered. “That’s a stupid thing to say.”

“Actually, I’ve known her over a year. We began talking online when Ryan went into hospital the first time.” He shrugged. “I’ve just got to convince her it’s what she wants too.” He gave a rueful smile.

“I don’t know what to say.” Karen probably wasn’t lost for words a lot, but she genuinely looked stunned.

“Don’t say anything,” he murmured. “If I ask her now, I know she’ll say no. She’s frightened of the fact that I have money, and I don’t want it to be a factor in her answer.”

“How can it not be a factor? I read that article in the Herald. You’re not just rich, you’re a billionaire. I’m not even sure how many zeroes are in that.”

“Nine. It used to mean a million million, but it’s only a thousand million now.” He was being dry, but it was lost on Karen.

Her jaw dropped. “How can she possibly ignore that?”

He tipped his head, puzzled.

Then he realized she was assuming her daughter wouldn’t be able to say no to the money.

“I think you’re vastly underestimating Erin,” he said, his voice hard.

Karen gestured around the room. “Look where she lives. We help where we can, but she has almost nothing. You really think the notion of creating a better life for her child won’t be a factor in her decision? How naive are you?”

“I’m not naive. I just don’t care.”

“You don’t care if a woman marries you for your cash?”

“Yes,” he said patiently, “but that’s not what we’re talking about here. I had to practically bully her to come away with me last night. I’m going to have to bully her to see me next weekend too. I’m not stupid—she doesn’t want me to think she’s seeing me for my money. It’s like she’s made of glass—she’s completely transparent. I can see every thought going through her head. Of course wanting a better life for Ryan is going to be a factor in her decision. And it absolutely should be.”

“But you said—”

“When I said I didn’t want money to be a factor in her answer, I meant that I want to get to know her better before I ask her so she says yes to me, not to my wallet.”

“Then why did you tell me?” Karen looked genuinely baffled.

“Because you’re her mum. You’ve been there for her during all her difficult times. She’s devoted to you, and you to her, and there’s no question you want the best for her. And I don’t want you to think I’m using her. She’s beautiful inside and out, and I’m going to marry her whatever you think, but I really, really hope you approve of me.” He smiled.

“Have you told her you love her yet?” Now Karen looked curious.

“No. Far too early for that.” He grinned.

A reluctant smile touched her lips. “I’m not quite sure what to make of you.”

“I’m one of the good guys, Mrs. Bloom. I promise I only want good things for your daughter.”

“The horn on the bus goes beep, beep, beep,” Erin sang, walking out and carrying Ryan as she pressed his nose. He was holding the large Dixon the Dog that Brock had given him on his birthday.

The boy laughed, then saw Brock and stared.

Erin followed his gaze, her expression turning wary at the sight of the two of them still standing. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Brock smiled at the boy, who’d gone suddenly shy and cuddled up to his mum. “Hey, Ryan. My name’s Brock.” He held out a hand. The boy studied him, sucking on Dixon’s paw, then slowly extended his hand. Brock shook it. “Your mum was telling me how you got some really cool Lego for your birthday.”

“It has dino-saws,” Ryan said, leaving a gap between the second and third syllables. He scratched his nose.

“You like dinosaurs?”

“Yes. A big wok came out of the sky and they all died.”

“He means ‘rock’,” Erin pointed out. “He’s not saying a Chinese cooking pan caused their extinction.”

Brock tried not to laugh. “Don’t tell me it has a Triceratops.”

Ryan gave a small smile. “And a T-wex.”

“And a T-rex? What about a Stegosaurus?”

“And a Diplodocus.” Ryan said the word perfectly. “It’s bigger than my arm.”

“It’s not,” Brock fake-scoffed.

“It is! Come and look.” Ryan struggled to be put down, so Erin lowered him to the floor. Taking Brock’s hand, he led him over to the box in front of the TV.

Brock sat on the carpet and crossed his legs, hiding a smile when Ryan sat beside him and did the same before delving into the box. Brock risked a quick glance up at Erin. She was staring at him, her fingers pressed to her lips, although she turned away when she saw him look up. When Erin walked into the kitchen, Karen glanced over at Brock. Her lips curved up.

Taking that as a small victory, he turned his attention back to the boy, and concentrated on the important matter of making sure the dinosaurs had the right feet.

Chapter Eighteen

Ryan had never been on a plane before.

Erin showed him how to clip in his seat belt, and explained why he had to stay in his seat until Brock told him he could get down.

“We have to keep safe,” Brock said. “If you stay in your seat, I’ll take you to meet the pilot and show you all the dials in the cabin.”

Ryan’s eyes widened so far his eyeballs nearly fell out. Erin gave Brock a wry smile. “You’ll be his best friend for life the way you’re going.”

“That’s the plan.” Brock smiled.

Erin chewed her bottom lip and looked out of the plane as it taxied along the runway. Was he insinuating he was expecting this... whatever it was—a fling? an affair? a relationship?—to be long term? It sounded like it. She didn’t know whether that delighted or terrified her.

She’d barely slept over the past week. She’d felt as if a high-profile court case was going on in her head, with the defense and prosecution taking turns to fire questions at her as she struggled to come to a decision about the weekend, and she was exhausted with all the worry.

“I’m glad you said yes,” Brock said as if reading her mind.

To look at him, nobody would have guessed he was a billionaire. He wore an All Blacks short-sleeved rugby shirt, a pair of long, cream chino shorts, and gray Converses. The breeze blowing across the airport had ruffled his hair, and she was pretty sure he hadn’t shaved. He looked rough and ready, gorgeous enough to eat with a spoon, especially because every time he studied her now he had a gleam in his eye that suggested he was thinking about her with no clothes on.

It wasn’t difficult to remind herself he had money, though. They’d walked past the queues of people waiting to board the Air New Zealand flight from Kerikeri to Auckland, and she was now sitting in a cream leather chair on a sumptuous private jet. Ryan sat next to her, Brock opposite, with a table in between. Everything was made from cream leather, polished rimu wood, and glass so clean she could see her face in it. She was terrified about letting Ryan touch anything with his permanently sticky fingers.

“It took me all week to decide,” she said, opting for honesty.

“I know.” He smiled again.

Not for the first time, she wondered what the conversation he’d had with her mother had involved. It had been clear when she’d returned to the living room after collecting Ryan that the two of them had been talking, but when she’d asked Karen, all she would say was, “It’s possible he’s one of the good guys.”

That didn’t help. A one-night stand on her birthday was one thing. She’d had a great time, and she didn’t feel beholden to him because he’d gotten sex out of it. She tried not to think about the fact that it could be argued he’d paid a considerable amount for her to go to bed with him. It wasn’t like that, and she wasn’t going to let her brain think it was.

Meeting him again, flying down to Auckland with him, staying with her son at his apartment—that was a whole other matter. Suddenly it wasn’t about a quick fling or satisfying her body’s apparently insatiable desire for the guy. She had to think about Ryan, and what it meant for him if she began a relationship with Brock. She had to start thinking about Where It Was Going.

Or did she? After a week of internal wrangling, during which Brock didn’t pressure her—if she didn’t count the hundred-and-one text messages and phone calls they exchanged in which he repeatedly said he missed her—she became both bored and irritated with herself for not being able to make up her mind. She was tired of worrying about what other people might think if she said yes, including Brock. And eventually she decided she was going to simplify matters and follow her heart.

The plane turned and came to standstill, and the noise of the engines changed as the pilot prepared for take off. Erin covered Ryan’s hand with hers. “Ready?”

He nodded, his little face alight with excitement. The plane accelerated, and then she felt the uncomfortable lurch in her stomach as the wheels left the floor and the machine fought against gravity.

Ryan squealed. “We’re flying!”

Brock laughed. “You’ll see the clouds soon.”

“Will we be able to see the silver?” the boy asked.

Brock tipped his head quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“Mummy says evwy cloud has a silver lining.”

Brock scratched his chin—she suspected to hide a smile. “That sounds like something your mother would say. We’ll have a look out the window when we’re a bit higher.”

He glanced at Erin, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Do you always look on the bright side of everything?”

“Don’t see much point in the glass half empty notion.”

“Some people would say you’ve had it tough, and it would be understandable if you blamed the world, or Fate, or people, for what’s gone wrong.”

She shrugged. “Life’s hard enough as it is without waking each morning filled with doom and gloom.”

His eyes were filled with warmth. He liked her positive approach to life—she could see that. He’d already called her Miss Sunshine, and it made sense that after two years of loneliness and heartbreak, he was enjoying being with someone who focused on the positive in everything.

It wasn’t always easy—Erin had her off days the same as anyone else, days when she wanted to curse the universe for everything: for losing her job, for falling pregnant, for not being able to give her child the things she felt he deserved because she didn’t have the money, and for being alone for so long. But ultimately, she knew those things weren’t anyone else’s fault. She could rant and scream Jack’s name—and she had done—for abandoning her, or at the world for giving her a tough time, but ultimately shit happens, and she figured it was how she dealt with it that mattered. Negativity breeds negativity, and the last thing she needed was to spiral downward into a pit from which she knew she’d have trouble climbing out of again.

Brock’s eyes were growing warmer—he was thinking about her naked again. She gave an involuntary shiver at the thought of going back to his apartment with him. He hadn’t specified what the sleeping arrangements would be, but she was certain he wasn’t expecting her to sleep with Ryan. Brock had asked her if Ryan slept in a bed now and she’d said yes, but that was as far as they’d discussed it.

He winked at her. She stuck her tongue out at him. He raised his eyebrows and ran his gaze deliberately down her body and back up. By the time it reached her face, she knew her cheeks were scarlet.

Luckily, she was saved by the appearance of the flight attendant. The slim, dark-haired woman who’d told Erin her name was Pat when they boarded came over with two glasses and a beaker for Ryan, and poured fresh orange juice into them.

“What would you like for breakfast, ma’am?” Pat asked.

“Oh, call me Erin, please.”

“She won’t do that,” Brock said. “She’s very formal, aren’t you, Pat?”

“Yes, Mr. King.”

He laughed. “What would you like for breakfast, Ryan? Do you like scrambled eggs? Toast and jam? Cereal?”

“Scwambled eggs!”

“Wow. Me too. It’s like we’re twins.”

Ryan thought that was hysterically funny. Trying not to laugh, Erin attempted to calm him and sent Pam an apologetic look. “Scrambled eggs would be lovely for both of us, thank you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Pat smiled and went off to cook the breakfast.

Erin fished out a small Transformer toy for Ryan to play with, and he settled back in his chair to change it from a car into a robot.

“You’re very good with him,” she told Brock. “Have you been around kids much in your personal life?”

“Only through friends and kids of distant relatives.”

“Your brothers don’t have any yet?”

He appeared to find that amusing. “No. Charlie wouldn’t know which end of a baby was which. And Matt’s far too cool to risk getting vomit on his shirt. Mind you, I can’t talk. I hold babies like they’re rugby balls.”

Erin dismissed his words with a wave of her hand. “Aw, with all the work you three have done for children? Visiting sick kids in hospital, making special equipment for them, devoting your whole lives to making them better? And Matt with all his children’s books? Now I know you’re fibbing.”

He shrugged. “I can tell you everything you’d ever want to know about bronchopulmonary dysplasia. Ask me to change a nappy and you’ll think my brain’s melted.”

His smile told her he was teasing her, again. He was being self-deprecating. She liked that about him. Jack had possessed a good sense of humor, but modesty hadn’t been one of his characteristics.

“Would you like children?” She couldn’t help herself. It was a provocative question, but if he wanted their relationship to last longer than a few weeks, it was something she needed to know.

His gaze slid to Ryan, and she was touched to see his expression soften. He genuinely liked her son. That touched her heart more than a thousand endearments would have done.

Then his eyes came back to her. “When I meet the right woman, of course I would.”

For a moment she thought he was referring to someone else. Her confusion must have shown, because amused exasperation crossed his face and he rolled his eyes. “You’re determined to make this hard work, aren’t you?”

She held her breath. “Make what hard work?”

He tipped his head to the side. “Courting you.”

“Courting me?” She couldn’t help but scoff. “Where are you from, 1852?”

“Nevertheless. I’d like to point out that it doesn’t matter how difficult you intend to make the chase. Once I want something, I never give up until I get it.” He raised an eyebrow. She had no doubt he meant every word he said.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “You’ve...” Her gaze slid to Ryan, but he was absorbed in making the Transformer pick up his fork and transport it across to the salt and pepper pots. “... had me,” she finished, mouthing the words.

A frown flickered on his brow. “You think once was enough?”

“Twice.”

He smirked. “The point is, do you really think that’s what I want from you?” At her wry look, he readjusted the sentence and tried again. “Do you really think that’s the only thing I want from you?”

She bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. “Isn’t it?”

He smiled, but he held her gaze, and they looked into each other’s eyes for a long, long moment. She saw desire there, and affection, and hope too. He wasn’t lying. He wanted her, but it wasn’t all about getting her into bed. Deep down, she knew that. Over the year they’d been in contact, he’d been polite and courteous, the perfect gentleman, but their relationship—because that’s what it was, and she was demeaning it by calling it anything else—had soon exceeded that of a doctor comforting a patient, or of an online friend attempting to reassure a casual contact. They’d liked each other from the beginning, and even though the relationship had developed online first, it didn’t mean she could belittle it and pretend it didn’t mean anything.

“Ooh!” Ryan broke the spell by sitting upright, having spotted Pat’s approach.

Erin averted her gaze and smiled at the flight attendant, exclaiming at the sight of the perfectly cooked scrambled eggs, and concentrated on helping Ryan cut up his toast into squares and watching him to make sure he didn’t accidentally send bits of egg shooting off the table onto the pristine carpet.

But inside, she continued to glow with a magic that had nothing to do with it being Christmas.

Chapter Nineteen

Brock had lain awake the night before, worrying about the day ahead. Not because of the organization—his assistant, Lee, had arranged cars and tickets and everything else he needed with his usual efficiency, and the weatherman had promised it would be a beautiful summer’s day. But it was the first real stretch of time Brock had spent with Ryan, and he knew this time was crucial. If he connected with the boy, and vice versa, he’d be halfway to winning Erin over, but three-year-olds were notoriously difficult to predict.

He spent all day, every day with children, but that didn’t mean he could treat any of them like his own. He’d watched toddlers have tantrums and older children run rings around their parents, but he always stood on the outskirts, left to wonder whether he would have been able to handle a situation any better.

On several occasions, Erin had referred to herself as a bad mother. Brock knew it was half in jest, as the boy was clearly well-loved and cared for, and even though she obviously didn’t have any spare cash, the kid obviously didn’t go without food or clothing.

However, in spite of her parents being around, Erin had brought the boy up on her own, and Brock could only imagine how difficult that had been. He was already in love with Erin—had been before he met her, he was beginning to realize—but she and her son came as a package, and he was only just starting to understand what that meant. If he wanted Erin, he would need to love the boy too.

Even before his plane touched down in Auckland, he knew his concerns were unfounded. Erin and Ryan had a delightful relationship that constantly brought a smile to Brock’s face. He wasn’t sure he would have called her strict, but she was firm, especially where manners were concerned, and the boy knew his pleases and thank yous, asked rather than demanded, and seemed to understand if she said no to one of his requests.

Ryan loved the zoo, and they spent a few hours wandering around looking at the lions and tigers, elephants and giraffes, and the petting zoo where Ryan was delighted to be able to hold rabbits, guinea pigs, and puppies.

The boy himself had a lovely nature. Mischievous like many young children, he nevertheless was polite with Brock but also very open, and seemed to take to him immediately. Still, he remained shy, often clamming up when Brock asked him a question, even though he was talkative when his mother was around.

‘Talkative’ turned into ‘about to explode’ when they arrived at the sleigh ride at one o’clock for their trip to the North Pole. Rather than being annoying, though, the boy’s enthusiasm was infectious. Brock thoroughly enjoyed the whole experience, from sitting in the sleigh while the movie showed Rudolph leading them to the North Pole, to the arrival at Santa’s cabin where the icy air conditioning made it feel as if there really was snow outside the windows, to the moment when Ryan finally met Santa.

They stood in line while other kids sat with Santa, even the young ones requesting computers and consoles and mobile phones for Christmas. Brock listened to them, certain the kids’ wishes would be granted in spite of the parents rolling their eyes.

When it was Ryan’s turn and Santa asked him what he’d like to find in his stocking on Christmas Day, the boy said, “Could I have some more dino-saws please?” at which point Erin burst into tears.

Brock met Santa’s eyes and they exchanged a smile.

“We’ll see what we can do, young man.” Santa patted him on the head. “Here you go.” He handed him a wrapped parcel. Brock had already seen some of the other kids unwrap it and hand the truck or the cuddly toy to a parent after a minute’s inspection. Ryan, however, hugged his teddy bear as if it were made of gold.

“Come on.” Brock put an arm around Erin and led her out to the sleigh where they settled for the ride back to the zoo.

“Sorry,” she sniffed, wiping her nose as she watched Ryan introducing his new bear to Dixon.

He kissed her hair. “I don’t know who broke my heart more in there. You or Ryan.”

She didn’t say anything else, just leaned into him as they travelled back to the zoo, and he didn’t mention it again. But after that point something seemed to change in Erin, as if the incident had eroded the final brick of the wall she’d tried to keep erected around her heart.

In spite of his cuteness, Ryan was far from angelic. He had enough energy to power a small city and hated sitting still, and he’d developed the toddler habit of questioning everything his mother said, asking “Why?” whenever she tried to give him an explanation. She appeared to have an endless supply of patience with him, and Brock was impressed that when she eventually stated, “That’s enough, Ryan,” the boy didn’t press her.

Ryan did start to grow a little naughty as the day wore on, though, as it grew close to the time when he’d normally take a nap. When Erin nipped to the Ladies’, Brock attempted to distract the boy by taking him to look at the nearby enclosure of penguins. The zoo had put on a special Christmas show with them, and although it was busy, Brock managed to find a space for the two of them by the railings.

They’d only been there a few minutes, however, when Ryan looked around and said, “Where’s Mummy?”

“She’s just gone to the bathroom,” Brock said. “She’ll only be a minute. Hey, look at that penguin coming down the slide on his tummy!”

But Ryan’s clutched Dixon the Dog tightly under his arm, and his bottom lip trembled.

“Hey.” Brock dropped to his haunches. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’ll look after you.”

Ryan studied him warily. Then he lifted his arms, requesting a cuddle.

Brock swallowed his surprise, slipped one arm around the boy, and lifted him easily up into his arms. Pushing himself back to his feet, he placed his other hand on Ryan’s back and gave it a comforting rub.

Ryan put one arm around Brock’s neck and cuddled up to him, sucking on Dixon’s paw.

Touched to the core, Brock kissed the boy’s head and turned back so the two of them could watch the penguins.

He and Fleur had talked often about having children. Both of them had wanted kids, and Brock would have been happy to have them immediately, but Fleur had planned it all out—she was going to finish her five year medical degree, her two years hospital training, and her three years of specialist training to become a Fellow of the Royal New Zealand College of General Practitioners before they started trying for a baby. That would have made her around twenty-eight—the perfect age, she’d said.

And then, a week before her twenty-fifth birthday, she’d discovered a lump in her breast. Less than two years later, she’d died.

Brock had spent the last two years telling himself he wasn’t fated to have children, and he’d done his best to ignore the gaping hole inside him at the thought of not experiencing that part of the cycle of life.

For the first time in a long while, though, he saw a pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel. He knew some men wouldn’t be interested in taking on another man’s child, but he had no problem with it. It wasn’t Ryan’s fault that his father was a dick. Brock didn’t expect to march in and call himself Ryan’s dad—he didn’t think either Ryan or Erin would want that, not yet anyway. But he liked the idea of getting to know the boy better.

And maybe, one day, he and Erin would be able to consider having children of their own.

“Sneaky,” Erin said, walking up to the barrier beside him. “I’m gone five minutes and you steal my son for a cuddle.” She was smiling, though, her eyes warm.

He wondered whether Ryan would reach out now his mother had arrived, but the boy remained cuddled up to him, his eyes drooping. Brock met her gaze. “You don’t mind?” he murmured.

“Of course not.” She moved closer to him and slipped a hand into the crook of his arm. Together, they watched the penguin show while Ryan dozed, but Brock was aware of her glancing up at him from time to time, a small smile on her lips.

When the show finished, with Ryan still dozing in Brock’s arms, they began to walk slowly through the zoo back to the car park. “I’m having such a lovely day,” Erin said.

“I’m glad.”

“It’s been very normal. That’s surprised me.”

“What do you mean, normal?”

She shook her head as if she’d said too much.

“What?” he prompted, pulling Ryan’s hat further down so it shaded his face from the hot sun. Erin had slathered the boy in sun lotion, but even so, the hole in the ozone layer over the Antarctic meant the sun’s rays were more powerful in New Zealand than almost anywhere else, so it was important to cover up.

“I don’t want to insult you,” she said.

“Insult away,” he said good-naturedly. “I’ve had too nice a day to take offence.”

“I just thought you’d be flashing your money around a bit more,” she admitted. “But apart from the private jet—and I admit that was enough flashing of money to dazzle me for the entire day, if not the whole week—you’ve been very... normal. I half-expected you to book the zoo so we had it to ourselves or something.”

He laughed. “Not much point in that. Half the fun is seeing everyone else’s enjoyment.”

“I suppose.” She scratched her nose. “Could you have booked the zoo if you’d wanted?”

“Probably.”

“Wow. Have you ever done anything like that?”

He thought of the night he’d asked Fleur to marry him. He hadn’t been quite as rich then—he’d made most of his money since she died and Three Wise Men had taken off, but he hadn’t exactly been short of cash. On New Year’s Eve, he’d taken her to Fiji’s most expensive hotel, hired one of the beaches and the bar on it, and asked her to marry him as the fireworks went off over the hotel. It had been romantic and flash and had taken her breath away, but he didn’t want to tell that to Erin.

Instead, he said, “I admit that occasionally I do things to make my life easier, like taking a private jet for example rather than waiting in line for a plane. I rent a nice apartment, which you’ll see shortly, and I enjoy wearing expensive suits. But apart from that, money’s not really important to me. I give away far more than I spend. I like having money because it gives me freedom, but as Matt’s always pointing out to me, money can’t buy life, love, or happiness.”

“True.” She started singing The Beatles’ Money Can’t Buy Me Love. She had such a great voice and seemed completely unaware of how lovely she sounded.

An idea was beginning to bloom in his mind like the scarlet pohutukawa trees bursting into flower around the car park. It needed some thought, and he wasn’t ready to share it with Erin yet, but the idea excited him, and he filed it away in his mind to talk to Charlie about later.

They found his car—his Volvo XC90 that was the safest car he could think of for transporting the boy around town. He lowered Ryan carefully into the new car seat he’d bought, Erin clipped him in, and they got in the front.

“Where is your apartment?” she asked.

He started the engine and pulled away, heading east into the city. “On the waterfront. I used to have a house but I sold that when Fleur died. The apartment is closer to the hospital, and it’s nice, but it’s not as...” He tipped his head from side to side.

“Homely?”

“Yeah. It’s not as homely as the house, maybe because I don’t spend a lot of time there, maybe because it’s a fully furnished rental. I sold nearly all the furniture we’d had with the house as I found it too difficult to be surrounded by the memories of when and where we bought it all.” He sighed. “Charlie and Matt told me to wait for a while but I didn’t listen. I thought starting again would make it easier, but it didn’t, of course.”

“Do you regret getting rid of everything?”

“I did. Not so much now.” He was pleased he wasn’t taking Erin back to the bed that he and Fleur had slept in. He didn’t want Erin to be surrounded by the ghost of another woman.

As usual, it was nose-to-tail as they neared the business district, but it wasn’t long before he turned into Queen Street and headed for Princes Wharf.

“I thought I might cook for us tonight rather than eating out,” he said as he parked in the large underground car park and got out. “I thought Ryan might prefer that, but it’s up to you.”

“No, that would be lovely.” Erin retrieved a sleepy Ryan out of his seat and hoisted him onto her hip. Brock had asked Lee to take her overnight bag to the apartment after they landed, but he collected the large tote she hauled around that held the usual array of wipes, juice bottles, toys, and snack bars that come with any kid under the age of five.

She glanced around the car park, her gaze coming to rest on the silver F-type Jag two spaces along from the Volvo. “Is that yours? The one you were telling me about?”

“Yeah.” He closed the Volvo’s doors and locked it.

“How many of these cars are yours?”

“You really don’t want to know.”

“Brock. Seriously. You don’t own this whole car park?”

He laughed, taking her hand and leading her to the elevator. “No. Just this row.”

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “But that’s, like, ten cars!”

“Er, yeah.” He pressed the button to call the elevator. “You know when I said I didn’t care about money?”

“Yes...”

“I lied. I like cars.”

“So I see.” Luckily she looked amused.

They entered the elevator and he entered the code for access to the top floor.

She stared at him. “You have the penthouse?”

“Um, yeah.”

Her expression turned wry. “You described your apartment as ‘nice’.”

“It is nice.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had the penthouse?”

He shrugged. The truth was that he’d worried she might refuse to come. He knew his money intimidated her, and he couldn’t think of anything more intimidating than what she was about to see when they walked out of the elevator.

It dinged, and the doors slid open. Taking Ryan’s hand, she walked into the hallway.

Chapter Twenty

Ahead of Erin on the high wall was a huge painting of an elegant woman in a black evening dress carrying a bouquet of flowers, her hair pinned up in a bun.

She stopped and studied it. “Is that... Fleur?”

Brock chuckled. “No. It came with the apartment.”

Even so, it unsettled her, and she’d only just walked in. The woman’s appearance summarized everything about Brock having money that made Erin uncomfortable. The evening dress, the fancy hairdo, her pale skin, her slim figure, the high heels, the pearls around her neck... He would be used to being with this sort of woman.

Erin suddenly felt very aware of her tanned skin shiny with sun lotion, her scruffy hair scraped back in a ponytail, her faded T-shirt and well-worn shorts. Of Ryan’s sticky fingers that would soon be plastered on every clean surface in this apartment. Of the white carpet he would spill juice on, of the ornaments he would knock off the shelves and the tables he would send flying when he played with his dinosaurs.

“Hey.” Brock took her hand. “It’s just a place to live. Nothing more.”

Erin said nothing and let him lead her along the hallway. He turned left, and they entered the main living area.

A cream leather suite scattered with plum and cream-colored cushions surrounded a glass table in the middle of which sat an elegant vase with a spray of orchids. A tasteful Christmas tree stood in one corner, glittering in the afternoon sun.

Beyond that, all open plan, was a long glass dining table with eight chairs. The pink-and-purple flowers on the table perfectly complemented the purple color of the cushions on the chairs. Behind the dining area, a huge kitchen sparkled with chrome and polished marble work surfaces.

The glass-paneled wall revealed a breathtaking view over the harbor of the City of Sails. Outside, a wide deck housed an outdoor dining suite, a built-in barbecue, and an outdoor sofa and chairs around a long gas fire.

Every painting looked as if it were worth a million dollars. The flowers were all fresh without a sign of a wilted petal. Even the lighting was amazing, and Erin knew the placement of every lamp had been planned to shed the perfect amount of light.

Ryan let go of her other hand and ran forward to throw himself into the cushions on the sofa. Brock laughed, but Erin’s heart jumped into her mouth.

“Relax,” Brock said, obviously picking up on her tension. “He likes it here anyway.”

Saying nothing, she walked over to her son and took off his sandals. “Sit up,” she told him, straightening the cushions as he rolled onto his bottom. She took a couple of dinosaurs out of her bag and gave them to him. “Play quietly please.”

“Erin, you’ve got to relax,” Brock said, a little desperately.

“I can’t.” She was almost shaking with tension. “He’ll get chocolate or ice-lolly on the cushions, or scrape the buckle of his sandals on the leather.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well I do!”

“Sweetheart.” He caught her face in his hands. “It’s okay. Marks wipe or wash off. Scratches can be fixed. If something gets broken it can be mended or I’ll buy a new one. I really don’t care. But I do want you to feel comfortable. If you don’t like it here, I’ll take you to a hotel.”

“It’s just... I don’t know why I’m here,” she blurted out. “You’re obviously used to a different sort of woman, and I don’t understand why you like me. I don’t fit in. I’m embarrassed that you’ve been to my house—Jesus, what must you have thought when you walked in?” Her cheeks warmed with humiliation beneath his hands.

He frowned and glanced around the room. “I know what this must look like to you, and I understand that you feel intimidated. Like I said, I don’t spend a lot of time here, and I know it’s not homely. The consultants I work with take turns in holding dinner parties, plus occasionally Charlie, Matt, and I have business meetings here, and it’s a pleasant place to entertain. To a certain extent, it’s expected of me to have a place like this, you know? But that doesn’t mean I don’t like taking off my shoes and sitting on the carpet.” He smiled. “One day I’d like to have a family home again. Maybe get another dog, have a garden, a pool.”

He stroked her cheeks with her thumbs. “I like you because you radiate beauty in both body and spirit. You make me happy. And Ryan makes me happy—he’s a lovely boy. For the past two years, my life has been all about work. You two have reminded me there are other things than my job. I can’t explain how much I’ve enjoyed today. So I say it again—if you’re going to be uncomfortable here, I’ll happily take you to a hotel for the night. Otherwise, please, just enjoy the place. I was looking forward to bringing you here as you seemed to like Paua Cliffs so much.”

Erin swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. She was overreacting, as usual. Brock wasn’t trying to intimidate or impress her. He’d obviously expected her to be surprised, but he seemed genuinely upset by her distress.

And why was she distressed? He was right—it was just a place to live, and she deserved to be there as much as anyone else.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He brushed a thumb across her lips. “You light up my life,” he murmured. Lowering his head, he touched his lips to hers.

It was the briefest of kisses, rose-petal soft, but when he lifted his head she knew she had stars in her eyes.

He smiled. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the place.”

With Ryan following behind, Brock took her across the dining area and kitchen, then through to a smaller study with a desk and leather chair that nevertheless still had a wonderful view across the water. Papers and files littered the table along with a laptop, so it was clear that he spent a lot of his time there.

To Ryan’s delight, there was a movie room—a row of comfortable armchairs with cup holders and tables like she’d seen in fancy cinemas facing a huge wall-mounted TV with surround sound.

“We’ll watch a movie in here later if you like,” Brock promised him.

“Can I have a chair on my own?” the boy asked.

Brock put his hands on his hips. “Of course. You’re not a baby, are you?”

“No!” Ryan jumped up and down. Erin tried to hide her smile, and failed.

Brock grinned. “Then you’ll have your own chair, and you can put your drink in here, look. And if mum doesn’t mind, we’ll put some chocolate in bowls and you can put it on your table while we watch.”

“Where’s my bed?” Ryan asked.

“Come on, I’ll show you.” Brock took his hand and led him down the corridor, turning right into a bedroom.

Erin’s eyes widened as she saw the room. He’d obviously told whoever looked after the apartment that he was having a boy to stay because someone had made the bed up with a Ward Seven duvet cover. There were a couple of Ward Seven toys on the bed too, and a large picture of Dixon the Dog on the wall in glorious color.

“It’s peel-off,” Brock said with a smile.

But there were no piles of toys to overwhelm and spoil the boy—just one box of Lego in the middle of the bed, a companion box for the dinosaur Lego he’d bought Ryan for his birthday.

Ryan squealed and climbed onto the bed to examine it.

Brock sent Erin a guilty look. “I’m so sorry, I forgot it was there. I meant to ask you if it was okay that I gave it to him. I just don’t want him to get bored while he’s here.”

“It’s fine,” she said softly, touched he’d considered her feelings.

At that moment, his phone rang in his pocket. “Will you excuse me?” he asked, taking it out.

“Of course,” Erin said. His phone had rung several times during the day. Once it had been his brother, Charlie, a couple of times it had been his assistant, Lee, and the hospital had also rung a few times too.

He left the room, and Erin turned to her son, smiling as she sat beside him on the bed and helped him undo the box of Lego. “You’ll have to say thank you to Brock,” she told him.

“Yes, Mummy.” Ryan rifled through the pieces, picking some up to investigate them more closely. “Will you sleep in my bed tonight?”

She cleared her throat. “Um, probably not. You have your own bed at home, don’t you? Well this is your bed, and I’ll sleep in another bed like I do at home.”

“With Bwock?”

Her mouth went dry. She wanted to handle this right, but she didn’t know what ‘right’ was. Should she pretend it was nothing? Keep the boy in the dark and see how things panned out? He wasn’t old enough to understand the delicate intricacies of relationships.

But she’d survived this long alone with him because even though he was only three, she shared everything with him. He was all she had, and when she had no money, she told him. When she was worried about something, she told him, because she thought otherwise he wouldn’t understand why she was quiet or upset. It might not be the textbook way to bring up a child, but it was her way.

“Yes, I’ll sleep in Brock’s bed,” she said.

He nodded, apparently accepting that. “I like Bwock.”

Those three tiny words caused such a sweep of emotion inside her that they took her breath away. “Oh. Do you?”

“He’s funny.” Ryan clipped two blocks together. “He kissed you.”

She held out another block. She hadn’t been certain he’d seen the quick peck, but he obviously had. “Yes, he did.”

“Why?” He clipped the block on.

“He likes me,” she said, feeling a little glow inside at the thought.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “He said I make him happy.”

Ryan rummaged in the box for the right dinosaur feet. “Does he like me?”

She smiled and ruffled his hair. “Yes. He said you were a lovely boy.”

“Will you get mawwied?” he asked, his speech impediment twisting the word.

Her eyes widened. She hadn’t even been aware he’d heard of the word, let alone knew what it meant. “Goodness. What made you say that?” She’d told him a while ago that he had a daddy, but that he lived in another country, and had done her best to tell him just the facts and keep her feelings about Jack to herself.

“Will you mawwy Bwock?”

Her heart thumped hard. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I’ve only just met him. People usually get married when they’ve known each other a long time.”

“Why?”

“Because love’s like a flower. It takes time to grow.”

He thought about it as he searched for the right dinosaur tail. “Do you love Bwock?”

“Um... I’ve only just met him, honey.”

He looked up at her and frowned. “Why is your face all wed?”

A chuckle from the doorway made her glance over. Brock was leaning against the doorpost, his hands in his pockets, watching them. Good lord. Had he heard Ryan ask her if she loved him?

Tongue-tied, she pulled an eek face and mouthed, “Sorry.” Brock just shook his head and, smiling, walked over to them and sat on the bed beside Ryan.

“Thank you for my Lego, Bwock,” Ryan said.

“You’re welcome, buddy.” Brock found the tail Ryan had been searching for and held it out for him.

“You kissed Mummy,” Ryan observed.

“I did. Very nice it was too.”

Erin bit her lip. Brock glanced up at her and winked.

“Will you kiss her again?” Ryan wanted to know.

“I hope so,” Brock said cheerfully.

“Mummy said she’s sleeping in your bed tonight.”

Brock nodded at Ryan. “Yeah. That’s right.”

“Will you have a pillow fight?”

Brock started laughing, and Erin couldn’t help but join in.

“I stayed with my fwiend from playgwoup, and we had a pillow fight when we went to bed,” Ryan said.

“I think we should,” Brock told Erin. “If we do, I’ll win.”

“Don’t bet on it.” She joined in with the search for the next Lego piece. “I have a strong right arm.”

He chuckled, meeting her gaze. His eyes were warm, and she let herself think about the moment when she’d slip beneath the covers with him tonight, when he’d press his warm, firm body to her, and crush his lips against hers. The heat in his eyes told her he was thinking similar thoughts, and she felt an answering tightening of her nipples at the notion of time alone with him.

“I need his head,” Ryan declared, holding up the headless dinosaur.

Brock laughed and helped him search for it.

Erin sighed and put thoughts of the naked billionaire to the back of her mind. When Ryan was in bed, then she could turn her attention to the man at her side.

Was he frustrated at having to share her with her son? She watched him show Ryan how to clip the head on, doing it once, then removing it so the boy could do it himself. He didn’t look frustrated. He looked contented and happy, and for some reason that made Erin happy too.

Chapter Twenty-One

From that moment, it seemed to Brock that Erin relaxed and began to enjoy herself again. He showed her his bedroom, and he could tell by the way her gaze followed him around the room and the sultry look in her eyes that she was thinking about what might happen later that day, when they finally retired to the huge bed with its view over the harbor, and slipped beneath the covers together.

He was looking forward to getting her into bed again too, and it was only late afternoon, but Brock surprised himself by not being impatient for the hours to pass. He carried the Lego box out onto the table on the deck for Ryan, and after pouring himself and Erin a glass of wine, they joined the boy at the table to talk and watch the boats sailing through the harbor as the sun sank lower in the sky.

When Ryan tired of playing with the Lego, Brock turned the TV on in the living room, gave him some paper and a pack of colored pencils he’d bought, and settled him in front of it to watch cartoons.

Sitting Erin at the breakfast bar with her wine, Brock insisted he didn’t need help and proceeded to make dinner for them all. Erin assured him that Ryan liked pasta, so he made a basic tomato sauce, tossed it with cooked chopped sausage and some penne, and served it with a simple green salad back out on the deck, because it was a lovely warm evening, and Erin had said she adored the view.

After this, he stacked the dishwasher, and then the three of them went into the movie room and watched a Disney movie on the big screen while they munched on Smarties and Maltesers. Brock sat Ryan between him and Erin, enjoying the boy’s delight in the cinema experience, and seeing in Erin’s smile her appreciation of his care of her son.

When the movie finished, it was bath time. While Erin ran the bath and filled it with bubbles, Brock showed Ryan the pack of soap crayons he’d bought.

“See all these white tiles?” he told the boy. When Ryan nodded solemnly, expecting to be told he mustn’t draw on them, Brock said, “I want to see every one of them covered with pictures, okay?”

Ryan’s face lit up, and it was all Erin could do to get him undressed before he got in the bath, eager to get drawing.

By seven o’clock, Ryan was bathed, dried, dressed in pajamas, had been given his inhalers, and was sitting in bed with a sippy cup of warm milk. After making sure he knew where their room was in case he needed her in the night, Erin stretched out next to him with one of Matt’s Ward Seven books—which was very well-thumbed, Brock noticed.

Ryan took it out of her hand and gave it to Brock. “Will you wead it?”

“Sure.” Giving Erin an amused look, he opened the page. “Here we go. Dixon’s X-Ray Disaster.”

He proceeded to tell the story about the dog’s adventures in the X-Ray department, sending Ryan into squeals of laughter with the voices he gave the characters. As he read, he thought once again how clever his brother was, creating these stories. The writing was simple enough that younger children could understand it easily and older children could read along, but the stories also carried little jokes for the grown-ups reading them, Matt’s distinct wry humor shining through.

When he finished, Ryan begged for him to read it again, but Erin shook her head and told him to settle down and she’d sing him a song.

Brock excused himself, saying he’d wait for her in the living room, but he’d only walked a few steps away when Erin’s voice rang out, and he stopped, entranced, and leaned against the wall to listen.

She sang a lullaby he hadn’t heard since he was a child. The lyrics were a little different to those he remembered, but the tune was the same. “I see the moon, the moon sees me, under the shade of the old oak tree, please let the moon that shines on me, shine on the one I love... Over the ocean, over the sea, that’s where my heart is longing to be, please let the moon that shines on me, shine on the one I love.”

“Sing the knight one,” Ryan prompted when she’d done. So she started singing the hymn that Brock remembered from his youth.

“When a knight won his spurs, in the stories of old, he was gentle and brave, he was gallant and bold.”

“Like Bwock,” Ryan said.

Erin laughed. “Yes, like Bwock.” She continued to sing. “With a shield in his arm and a lance in his hand, for God and for valor he rode through the land.”

Brock shivered. Her beautiful voice captured the magic in the words, but that wasn’t the only reason a tingle had run down his spine. Oddly, it had been one of Fleur’s favorites. For a brief moment he felt light-headed, his throat tightening as an unexpected wave of emotion swept over him.

Then he blinked, took a deep breath, and blew it out. The intensity passed, but instead of leaving him unsettled, he felt a peculiar warmth spread through him. Suddenly, it became crystal clear that time was not linear but circular, and Fleur would always remain a part of his present and future, not just his past.

He walked away, through to the living room, but stood by the windows, watching the last rays of the sun turning the water to gold as Erin’s voice continued to ring through the apartment, high and pure as a choirboy’s.

Although he’d been brought up a Christian, he wasn’t particularly religious and hadn’t gone to church in years, but at that moment he had no doubt he was experiencing a spiritual moment. He’d spent many hours in the dark thinking about where Fleur was now, trying to convince himself he’d see her again one day, looking for signs that she was still with him, and struggling to find them. But at that moment, he felt her presence with him, and he knew then that it wasn’t about forgetting one woman and moving on to another. His heart was big enough to love them both at the same time, and there was no need to feel guilt that he’d had to leave Fleur behind, because she would always remain with him.

A pair of warm arms slid around his waist, and it was only then he realized that Erin had stopped singing. To his surprise, his cheeks were wet with tears.

“Hey.” Her eyes widened when he turned toward her. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

He passed a hand over his face. “I’m fine. Sorry. You got to me.” He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “You have the voice of an angel.”

Erin cupped his face in her hands, her blue eyes studying him with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Seriously, I’m fine.” He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the touch of her hands ground him, the brush of her fingers across his lips reawaken his senses. He could smell her light, flowery perfume, along with the baby shampoo and talc she’d used on Ryan in the bath, and the reassuring smell of warm milk.

She rested her hands on his chest, and he slid his arms around her, pulling her close. It was like having had nothing to eat for two years except dry bread and water, and suddenly he’d been given marshmallows and chocolate brownie and ice cream. She was soft to touch, sweet to smell, a piece of summer in his hands, and he never wanted to let her go.

Lowering his head, he brushed his lips against hers. Her fingers splayed on his chest, then her hands crept up his neck and into his hair as he kissed her, moving his lips across hers slowly, savoring every touch as if taking tiny bites of a favorite meal. He felt her tongue on his lip, tentative and soft, and he opened his mouth and let her slide inside, murmuring his approval. She tasted of Smarties and white wine, and he sighed and tightened his arms around her, deepening the kiss. He adored the way she reacted to him, rising on her tiptoes, pressing her breasts to his chest and her hips to his so she could feel his rising erection.

All too soon, she pulled back, and he gave a long, shivery sigh.

She smiled and took his hand. “We need to give Ryan a little time to get to sleep. Go and sit on the sofa. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

He watched her walk back to the bedrooms, presumably to check on her son. Picking up their glasses, he refilled them with wine, went over to the suite, and sat on the sofa to wait for her.

She was gone a few minutes, and he rested his head on the back of the sofa and daydreamed for a while, thinking about how it had felt to kiss her, and how much he was looking forward to making love to her. Part of him wanted to take her hard and fast, up against a wall or on the table, to plunge into her soft body until they were covered in sweat and crying out each other’s names.

Equally, though, the notion of taking his time also appealed. Of undressing her slowly, removing each piece of clothing one by one and kissing her exposed skin, of trailing his lips down her body and enjoying the touch and taste of her. Yes, he thought, slowly this time, making it last, drawing out the pleasure until neither of them could bear it any longer and pleasure washed over them and carried them away.

A light kiss on his lips brought his eyes open with surprise—he hadn’t heard her walk back. Looking at her as she sat beside him on the sofa, he realized why. She was barefoot, and she’d changed out of her T-shirt and shorts into an extremely sexy nightdress. Made of coffee-colored satin, it reached to her shins but was split up the sides to her hips. Quite clearly, she wore nothing beneath it except for a pair of lace-topped flesh-colored thigh-highs.

She retrieved her wine glass and cuddled up to him. “Do you like it?” She’d also removed the band from her hair, which now curled over one shoulder. She didn’t wear much makeup, but her lips glistened with lipgloss and she’d obviously topped up her perfume.

“It’s gorgeous.” He stroked down her curves, his fingers tingling at the sensation of her so soft and slippery in his hands.

“I’m glad. I bought it for you.”

He sipped his wine, enjoying the silky cool liquid in his mouth that seemed to complement the touch of the fabric. “It feels expensive.”

“It was. Ryan and I will be eating beans on toast for Christmas dinner.” She winked at him.

He smiled and slid a finger beneath her chin to lift her gaze to his. “I’d have been just as happy with the shorts and T-shirt.”

“Now he tells me.” She laughed. “Actually, it was lovely to treat myself to something special. I can’t remember the last time I bought a piece of clothing that wasn’t practical.”

“Well, as I said, I’d have been happy whatever you were wearing, but it is extremely becoming.”

Keeping his gaze fixed on hers, he traced his finger up her jawbone to her ear and tucked her hair behind it. He stroked down her neck and arm to where her hand rested on her knee, then up her thigh, into the dip of her waist, and up over her breast, taking care to include her nipple in the journey.

She shivered, and the nipple peaked, showing through the satin like a tiny button.

“Mmm,” he murmured, sipping his wine again, enjoying the power he had over her body.

Erin sighed and raised her lips to his, and they exchanged a long, lingering kiss that soon had his body hardening, ready to take her. When he’d finished his wine, he placed the glass on the coffee table, slid down a little on the sofa so she was almost lying on him, and let both his hands skim over her silky curves while he kissed her.

The setting sun had bathed the room in a warm, pinky light, and the sounds of early evening in the harbor filtered through the open doors—boats heading home, and people calling out to each other as they headed to bars and clubs, joyful it was the weekend and they still had a whole day to relax.

He gave a long sigh. “This is nice.” He slid his hands to her bottom and tightened his fingers on the plump muscles, pulling her against him so his erection nestled in her soft mound. “I could lie here forever with you.”

“That’s a nice thing to say.” She brushed her nose against his, then kissed him again. Their tongues entwined, slick and sensual, and her hips gave a slow rock, stroking against him and making them both groan.

She lifted her head again, and he opened his mouth to say something, then hesitated.

“What?” she asked.

He studied her face and raised his hands to slip into her silky hair. “Not now. I’ll tell you later, afterward.”

“After what?” She gave him a sexy smile.

He touched his lips to hers. “After I’ve kissed you all over. After I’ve tasted you. After I’ve slid inside you and made you come again and again until you beg me to stop.”

Her eyelids drifted shut momentarily, her lips parting, and then she lifted up off him and rose to her feet. Holding out a hand, she said, “Come on. Let’s see if Ryan’s asleep.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Erin led Brock through the quiet living room, past the kitchen, and along to the bedrooms. Her hand tingled where his skin warmed hers, the tingle progressing up her arm and through her body at the notion of his fingers moving to other areas. Lying on the sofa in the last rays of the setting sun had been bliss, and she agreed with him that she could have stayed there forever, drinking in the warmth, kissing and touching him, and being kissed and touched in return.

Still, the idea of getting him naked proved too strong a draw. She paused outside Ryan’s room first, smiling at the sight of him spread-eagled and tangled in the duvet, his cheeks bearing a healthy flush.

“He looks well,” Brock murmured, sliding his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “How has his chest been?”

“Good.”

“It must have been terrifying for you when he had the attack.”

“It was.” She thought about the afternoon his breathing had suddenly grown worse, the panic that had flooded her when the Ventolin inhaler hadn’t worked. Brock would know how she’d felt, of course, because he’d been through it with his sister. “It’s funny,” she said, “But I thought of you then. I knew if you’d been there, you’d have been able to help him.” She swallowed at the sight of Ryan’s body, so tiny and fragile. “I feel so useless sometimes. I’m such a terrible mother.”

Brock chuckled and kissed her shoulder. “You keep saying that, and you’re really not.”

She was making a joke out of it, but the truth lay beneath it like bedrock beneath soil, solid and unmovable. Her emotion was real, tears pricking her lids. “I feel it. I know it sounds pathetic, like I’m begging for compliments, but I watch some of the other mothers and I just feel so crap at it. All they talk about is wholegrains and five portions of fruit and veg, and there are all these things you’re supposed to do like make your kid listen to classical music and read War and Peace from the age of three. It’s all I can do to get him to sit still so I can stuff a sausage down him.”

“Being a single parent must be incredibly hard. I can only imagine.”

She sniffed and rubbed her nose. “I shouldn’t complain. I have my parents, which is a lot more than other people have.”

“I suppose, but that’s not the point. There’s nothing wrong with being a single parent, but I can see how having a partner has its advantages. You can play good cop, bad cop, for a start. I see that often enough—mum being tough while dad tries the soft approach, and vice versa. But it’s also about having someone to confide in and discuss things with. When your parents are there, I’m sure you feel as if you have to put a brave face on and act as if you’re coping, even if you’re having a tough day. But with a partner you can voice your worries and talk about options. I think you’ve done amazingly well on your own.”

She swallowed, tore her gaze away from her son, and turned to look into Brock’s eyes. “You say such nice things.”

“You deserve nice things.” He kissed her nose.

She looked into his deep brown eyes, overcome by a wave of... what? Affection? Lust?

Even though she sometimes hid things from her parents, she’d always been honest with herself. Be honest, Erin.

She loved him.

There was no fighting the fact. She could make excuses—it’s too soon, it must be lust, love takes time to grow... But the truth was that she’d fallen in love with him a while ago. It felt odd to admit it, and no doubt others would laugh and say it was impossible, but she’d fallen for his sense of humor, his kind words, his gentle manner, even before they’d spoken on the phone.

She couldn’t say it, though. The relationship was too new and fragile for her to open her heart. This was supposed to be about sex, pure and raw. He liked her—she knew that, and there was definitely the possibility of what they had developing into something more permanent. Maybe. But she couldn’t bet on it. She had a kid, and she couldn’t just presume a young, single guy would take on another man’s child. He’d been really good with Ryan, and she couldn’t believe it was just to get into her knickers, but that didn’t mean he wanted to take on the responsibility of looking after him for life.

God, it was complicated. Her mother’s words echoed through her brain. He’ll think you’re after his money. It’ll eat at him, the same way it will eat at you every time you wonder whether you’re only with him because of it. Erin wanted to shake her head so the words fell out of her ears like marbles out of a tin. But she couldn’t, and they remained in there, rolling around and around until they almost drowned out everything else. People were animals, she thought, and their survival instinct is incredibly strong. Looking after and providing for Ryan was the most important thing in her life—it went deeper than thought or desire—it went deep as the bone. How could she be certain that what she felt for Brock had nothing to do with his money?

“What?” He cupped her face, his expression showing concern. His brown eyes had flecks of orange around the edges. She hadn’t noticed that before. See? You hardly know the guy.

“I...” She bit her lip. She was overthinking this and it was making her head hurt.

I love you, but I don’t just love you because you’re rich. She wanted to say the words, but it was the last thing she could possibly say.

The only thing she could do was show him how she felt.

Lifting onto her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his.

She felt them curve beneath hers, surprised at her movement, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a big hug as she kissed him, as if he was aware of her inner turmoil and wanted to comfort her.

Still holding her, apparently reluctant to remove his lips from hers, Brock took slow steps backward toward their room. Erin opened her mouth to his searching tongue, hungry for him, wanting to devour and be devoured, wanting to lose herself in the bliss of their lovemaking until she didn’t have to think anymore, until desire and passion took over and melted her brain.

Brock seemed happy to help with this. Once they were inside the room, he closed the door behind them, but continued walking her across the room to the glass wall overlooking the harbor. There he broke contact with her briefly to open the large sliding doors and allow the warm evening air into the room. It carried with it the sounds of a Kiwi summer Christmas—refrains of a festive pop song spiraling up from a bar further along the wharf, and distant sounds of conversation and laughter from a firm’s Christmas party. Someone had placed a string of fairy lights along the balcony surrounding the room, and they glittered against the backdrop of the mauve evening sky and the darker blue sea.

She had no more time to look at the view, though, because Brock turned her so her back was against the window and pushed her up against it. Erin groaned as he captured her hands in his, linked their fingers, and pinned her hands above her head. He pressed his body against hers, all hard muscle against her soft flesh, and she moaned as he kissed her deeply, the moan turning into a long sigh of pleasure when his tongue stroked into her mouth.

He was already turned on, already hard pressing into her mound, but he kissed her leisurely, as if he wanted to prolong the moment. Erin was half-frustrated, half-relieved. Part of her wanted him to rip off his clothes, then tear off hers, throw her on the bed, and thrust her into oblivion. She knew she’d come in seconds.

Equally, she was desperate to make the most of their time together, and felt a surge of happiness that he appeared to feel the same. He hadn’t brought her here for a quick shag just to relieve a physical urge. He’d asked her to stay because he wanted this—a languid worship of her body, and she was more than happy to comply.

“Mmm,” she murmured when he finally lifted his head.

He smiled and brushed his nose against hers. “This is nice.”

“It’s wonderful. It feels magical, as if we’ve stolen a little bit of Christmas early for ourselves.”

She stopped then, embarrassed that she sounded overly romantic, but he just whispered, “I know what you mean,” before kissing her again.

The coolness of the glass sank into her skin through the silky nightie, and Erin suddenly realized anyone out in the bay would be able to see Brock pinning her up against the window. Heat flooded her cheeks, but she couldn’t protest because his mouth was on hers again, his tongue delving inside, and soon she forgot everything but the way her body was reacting to his, the pure deliciousness of being made love to by such a gorgeous guy.

When he eventually lifted his head, her chest was heaving and her eyelids felt as if they were made of lead. “Now I know what it means to be kissed senseless,” she said, panting.

He laughed and lowered their hands, but kept hold of one to draw her with him to the bed. She bent to grasp a handful of the nightie at the knee with the intention of removing it, but he shook his head and instructed, “Leave it on.”

Heart thumping, Erin moved onto the huge bed and lay back on the white pillows, watching Brock undress for her. It didn’t take long—no slow strip this time. Instead, he grabbed a handful of his T-shirt behind the back of his head and yanked it off, then popped the button of his shorts and thrust those down his legs before kicking them off too.

Clad only in his tight black boxer-briefs, he climbed onto the mattress and crawled on his hands and knees until he leaned over her. Once again, he held her hands and linked their fingers, then pinned them above her head.

Erin looked up at his broad chest with its sprinkling of curly brown hairs, at the muscular arms braced either side of her, and at his handsome face looking down at her with barely-concealed desire, and shivered.

He raised an eyebrow. “You cold?”

“No.”

He met her eyes, then slowly slid his gaze all the way down her satin-clad body. By the time it returned to hers, it held so much heat that she was sure every inch of her skin held a healthy blush.

“I want you,” he said.

“Take me, then,” she said, breathless with desire.

“Oh, I will.” His lazy certainty made her heart miss a beat. “All in good time.”

She flexed her fingers in his, feeling naked beneath his hot stare, even though she still wore her nightie. Nudging the hem of the silky item up with one knee to her thighs, he moved to kneel between her legs and lowered his hips to hers. He gave a slow thrust, stroking the length of his erection against her clit, separated only by the silk of her nightdress and his cotton briefs.

“Oh.” She drew up her knees on either side, trying to push against him, but he lifted his hips, denying her the precious contact her body yearned for.

“Brock...” She shifted beneath him, tortured by the brush of the material across her nipples.

“Slowly,” he instructed. Dipping his head, he began to place kisses up her jaw to her ear. “A well-prepared meal should be savored with tiny bites, letting the flavors form on the taste buds.” He touched the tip of his tongue to the sensitive spot below her earlobe as if illustrating the fact.

“Ooh,” she said, trembling.

“We’re going to take our time and make this last.” His deep voice in her ear brought goose bumps rising across her skin. Her neck burned from his hot breath as he trailed his lips down it. “I want to take you to that place at the edge of desire. You know the one I mean?”

“No,” she said faintly, her nipples tightening so much they almost hurt. In the background, she could hear the song had changed to Bing Crosby’s White Christmas. She’d not considered it a sexy song before, but suddenly it felt full of sensuality, as if she were being coated with honey or melted chocolate.

Brock kissed where her neck met her shoulder, then tilted his head to kiss under her chin and touched his tongue to the dip at the base of her throat. “There’s a moment where your muscles start to tighten, where you can feel your orgasm in the distance like thunder, and it’s nearly there, just seconds away. It’s almost better than when you actually come, because it’s like Christmas Eve, full of the promise of pleasure. That’s where I want to take you, and I want to keep you there as long as I can, until you’re aching and crying out my name, until you’re begging me to let you come because you can’t bear it any longer.”

“I’m there already,” Erin said with a groan, a dull ache throbbing between her thighs.

He chuckled and kissed up the sensitive skin under her arms, taking tiny nibbles with his teeth before following the movement with his tongue. “You’re nowhere near it. Trust me.”

“I do,” she whispered, meaning it.

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes for a long moment. Then he gave a satisfied nod, and lowered his lips.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Stopping himself from tearing off Erin’s silky nightie and plunging into her welcoming body was incredibly difficult. She smelled divine, of jasmine mixed with the musky smell of arousal, and for some reason she tasted of chocolate, although he couldn’t think why. Everything about her was soft, from her feet and legs to the swells and curves beneath the nightdress to the hair that tumbled like a sheet of gold silk across the pillow. He knew that when he eventually slid inside her, she’d be warm, moist, and slippery, and he was desperate to plunge deep into her and take his own pleasure.

But he didn’t. He finally released her hands, liking the way she sank them into his hair, her fingers tightening in the strands as he kissed down her neck to her breasts. Cupping the soft mounds, he reveled in their weight and firmness, adoring how the fabric enabled his hands to slide over them.

Erin lifted her arms over her head and stretched out beneath him, arching her back and pushing her breasts toward him. He took the hint and nuzzled her nipple with his nose, then teased the soft peak with his lips through the fabric. It hardened to a tight nub, and she sighed, a long, low, lazy mmm of approval that made him smile.

He toyed with her other nipple until it was also tight, then kissed down her belly, sliding the nightie up her legs as he did so. The tender skin on the inside of her thighs was almost as silky beneath his fingers as the satin material. He continued to kiss over her hips until he met the crease of her thigh, where he paused to breathe in her scent.

“Brock,” she mumbled, obviously embarrassed as he inhaled, but he ignored her and kissed her other thigh, only then letting himself lower his mouth to her folds.

Even there, she tasted of chocolate, although maybe it was just his senses getting muddled, the velvety feel and warm taste of her mingling with the luxurious smoothness of Crosby’s voice until he felt as if she were a Christmas parcel waiting to be unwrapped.

Pushing her thighs wide, he parted her folds and delved his tongue inside her to lap at her arousal, growing even harder at the rich, warm moisture he’d coaxed from her with his kisses. She moaned and sank a hand into his hair, and he slid his tongue up through her folds, pressing gently at the top with two fingers to expose her clit.

Gently, he blew warm air across it, and Erin gave an aaahhh of ecstasy. He touched the very tip of his tongue to the swollen button, and she cried out and clenched her fingers in his hair. His own fingers tightened into fists as he fought with himself not to bury his mouth in her and suck until she came. Slowly, Brock. Slowly.

He gave her clit a few delicate swirls of his tongue, then moved back and up the bed. Quickly shucking his briefs, he lay beside her. She groaned but turned to face him, her cheeks flushed a becoming pink, her lips parted.

“I ache,” she whispered, lowering a hand between her legs.

“Nah-ah.” He caught it and lifted it to stop her, then shifted closer so they were lying face-to-face. He slipped one arm behind her so he could pull her into his arms.

“Tease,” she said, a little sulkily.

“Yep. The thought of you aching for me turns me on.” He kissed her and slid his other hand down her back to her knee, which he then lifted over his thigh so she was wrapped around him. His erection pressed against her belly, eager for action.

“Does that make you a sadist?” She lifted her nightie and shifted so the tip of him slid beneath her.

He rocked his hips, sliding through her slippery folds. “I’m not into pain, but I’m open to a bit of sexy torture.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh God.”

He chuckled and nuzzled her neck. “Does that turn you on, Ms. Bloom?” He continued to slide his erection beneath her, arousing himself as well as her. “How about next time I bring some scarves, tie you down, and do unspeakable things to you?” His erection swelled at the thought.

With a groan, she tipped her head to the side to give him better access to her ear. “Like what?”

He kissed around the shell of her ear, then nibbled the lobe. “Depends how far you’ll let me go.” Lightly, he brushed his lips along her jaw to her mouth.

Her lips parted, her breath warming his lips. “What if I said as far as your imagination will take you?”

He lifted his head and met her gaze, and they exchanged a long look. Brock’s heart raced. He’d never felt such a strong urge to possess a woman, to take her and make her cry out his name with pleasure. “You should be careful what you say,” he warned, tightening his hand on her bottom as he pulled her to him. “I have a very good imagination.”

Her lips curved up and she kissed him. “As long as it’s just the two of us, you can do whatever you want to me.”

He closed his eyes, counted to ten, then opened them and blew out a breath. “Fucking hell, Erin. I’m trying to make this last.”

“You started it.” Hooking her leg over his hip, she moved until the tip of his erection sank inside her.

Still trying to keep control, he gave her a warning look. “Condom,” he said, about to roll onto his back to retrieve one from the bedside table.

She caught his arm and stopped him moving. “I’m on the pill.” She kissed him. “If you don’t want to use a condom, I don’t mind. It’s up to you.”

The notion of sliding inside her without barriers was too tempting to ignore. She’d completely turned the tables on him, and now it was him fighting for control, his body aching for release. “You’re sure?” His voice sounded hoarse, even to him. When she nodded, he pushed his hips forward and slowly sheathed himself in her.

“Aaahhh...” He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes again. Man, that felt good.

She rocked her hips to make sure he was coated with her moisture, then shifted on the bed so she was pressed against him from belly to chest, letting him slide deep inside.

He opened his eyes and kissed her, reveling in the sensation of her soft body wrapped around him, her skin warm beneath the satin. Their tongues swirled and tangled while their hips moved in unison, teasing sensation from them and gradually encouraging them closer to the edge.

“Easy,” he said, sliding his hand to her bottom to slow down her hips.

“I can’t... it’s too... ooohhh...”

He teased her lips with his and nibbled them with his teeth, then ran his tongue along them. “Too...”

“Mmm,” she murmured, apparently unable to articulate how she was feeling. Her nails dug into his shoulder, and she scraped them lightly down his back, making him shiver. Her eyelids drifted shut, but he nudged her cheek with his nose.

“Open,” he instructed.

They fluttered open, her blue eyes sleepy with desire. “Why?”

“I want you to look at me when you come.”

“Why?” she whispered, unwittingly echoing her son’s tendency to question.

“So I’m sure you’re thinking of me.” He was close to coming himself, muscles tightening deep inside, his balls aching for release, but he tried to hold it in, wanting her to come with him.

“There’s only you.” Her blue eyes were clear and honest, her lips parting as her breath came in ragged pants. “I think there’s only ever been you, Brock.”

He was barely moving now, conscious that every cell in his body seemed hyper-sensitive. He consisted only of nerve endings, reacting to every touch of her hands, kiss of her lips, and miniscule thrust of her hips that sent him sliding in and out of her, arousing him with every stroke.

Brushing up her body to her breast, he teased her nipple, and her eyelids fluttered shut again before re-opening as she obviously remembered his instructions.

He looked into the eyes of this girl he’d fallen for even before he’d met her, and although he’d been going to wait until after they’d finished, as everything began to tighten, he couldn’t stop the words falling out. “I love you.”

There was no time to wait for her reaction. Heat spread up through him, and he crushed his lips to hers and pulled her tight against him as he spilled into her with intense pulses. Erin moaned against his lips and then he felt her contract around him, her internal muscles milking every last drop out of him as she came. They clenched together in a paroxysm of bliss, and he looked deep into her eyes, convincing himself that she would never, as long as he lived, belong to anyone else.

The pulses slowed, their muscles relaxed, and Brock gave a long, happy sigh. Rolling onto his back, still inside her, he brought her with him so she lay on top of him, and slid a hand into her hair to bring her head down so he could capture her lips for a long kiss.

When he eventually released her, she propped herself up on her elbows and studied him. “Hmm.”

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “What?”

She rubbed her nose against his. “You said it first.”

“Do I get points for that?”

“You do. Lots of points.”

He stroked his hands down her back to hold her bottom and rocked his hips, enjoying the way he slid easily inside her.

“Stop it, you’re making squelchy noises,” she complained.

He nibbled down her neck. “Squelchy noises are sexy.”

“They’re really not. You’re disgusting.”

“Yes I am, and I’m afraid that’s something you’ll have to get used to if we’re going to make a go of this.”

She lifted off him, grabbed a tissue from the box on the bedside table to dispose of the evidence, then lay on her side facing him and propped her head on a hand.

He did the same, mirroring her pose, and they studied each other quietly for a moment. The evening breeze ruffled the thin curtains at the windows and brought goose bumps rising on his skin. He’d have to close the windows soon, but the bar where they were obviously having a Christmas party was playing Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas is You, and it gave him such a happy feeling that he decided to wait until they were ready for sleep.

Erin was sucking her bottom lip, and his heart rate picked up a little. After what he’d declared, a conversation about their future was inevitable. He welcomed it, though, wanting to clarify their feelings for each other. Did she want a relationship with him?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Brock’s expression held a glint of amusement, and Erin had the feeling he was waiting to see if she’d cave and break the silence first. She’d wondered whether he’d be worried that he’d told her he loved her, when she hadn’t said it back. He didn’t look worried though. If anything, he looked a little smug, obviously pleased he’d said it first.

She held out for as long as she could, then sighed and gave in. “You really want to make a go of it?”

He smiled. “Yes.” He lifted a finger and traced along her shoulder. “I know it’s not cool to be too intense, and I don’t want to frighten you off, so I’ll try not to go overboard. But I will say I’m crazy about you. And before you say it’s too soon to say I love you, we’ve been talking for over a year now. I know it’s not the same as being together, but it’s not as if we met yesterday. When Matt told me the other day that Ryan was sick, I knew instantly that I had to see you, and make certain for myself that he was receiving the best care.”

“It was lovely of you to visit.” She leaned her cheek into his palm as he cupped it. “I really appreciated that gesture.”

“Well I hope I brightened his day—he certainly brightened mine.”

She nibbled her bottom lip. There was no point in holding back now. This was the moment where they set the wheels of their future in motion, so she might as well be honest. “Is looking after another man’s child something you really want to do? You’re a decent guy, so I know you’ll probably say yes because it sounds like the right thing to say, but I want to know what you really think. Ryan and I are a package deal, and I’ve never had a relationship while he’s been around. I don’t know how to balance things—he has to come first, and I’d hate for that to come between us.”

He lifted two fingers and pressed them against her lips. “Sweetheart, of course your son comes first. I wouldn’t expect anything less. And of course I get that the two of you are a package. He’s a great kid, and I’d love to be a part of his life. I wouldn’t expect him to call me Dad, but if he did, I wouldn’t hate it.”

Erin swallowed hard as a lump formed in her throat. His smile broadened as he obviously saw her emotion. “I’m not fibbing,” he said. “I mean it.”

“I know.” She looked at where her hand lay on the duvet, and picked at the embroidery.

He slid a finger under her chin and lifted it. “What is it?”

She didn’t want to voice her biggest concern, and she looked away, out to the view. The sun had set now, and the fairy lights were tiny stars against the darkening sea and sky.

“Is this about money?”

She turned back to look at him, surprised. “What makes you say that?”

“The things you’ve said before. Tell me why it bothers you.”

“I don’t want to have an argument.”

“Neither do I. So how about we don’t?” He smiled again.

She rubbed her nose. “So if I say something you disagree with, you’re not going to try to change my mind?”

He frowned. “That’s a discussion, Erin, not an argument. I won’t try to browbeat you, if that’s what you mean. You’re entitled to your opinion. That doesn’t mean your opinion is right.” A glint appeared in his eye.

She reminded herself that he hadn’t gotten where he was by being weak and wussy. But they had to have this conversation, because she couldn’t get past the issue, and if she couldn’t get past it, their relationship wouldn’t work.

She blew out a breath. “It’s something my mum said.”

“What did she say?” His voice carried a hint of steel.

“Well, two things really. That it’s not possible for a man to be truly unselfish. And that you won’t be able to ignore a niggling doubt that I’m after your money, and it will come between us.”

A long silence followed.

Brock’s face remained carefully blank. “I see,” he said eventually.

Tears pricked Erin’s eyelids. “I’m not saying I agree,” she whispered, hoping he wasn’t going to yell at her.

“With which bit?”

“Sorry?”

“Which bit don’t you agree with?”

She sighed. “Before I elaborate, I think I should make you aware of my track record with men. It’s not good, which is the main reason my mother is protective of me, because she’s had to pick up the pieces on more than one occasion. My first boyfriend cheated on me with my then best friend. All my other relationships have ended disastrously. And of course there’s Jack.” Against her will, her bottom lip trembled.

Brock ran a hand through his hair. “Wait here a minute.” He got up, pulled on his briefs, and walked out of the room.

A tear trickled down her cheek, which she brushed away hastily. She needed to try to keep emotion out of this. Of course that was impossible, but if she broke down in tears she’d be unable to keep a clear head, and this was a very important moment—if not one of the most important of her life.

Where had he gone? She sat up, her arms around her knees, hoping he hadn’t rung for a taxi to take her to the airport or something. Was he angry? Did he want her to go?

She was considering getting up to find him when he reappeared. He had a wine glass in each hand, and a pretty green bag dangled from his fingers. After pausing to close the windows, he climbed back onto the bed.

“Mint chocolates,” he explained, holding out the bag and one wine glass to her. “I figured we were going to be here a while, and that we might need sustenance.”

Erin pressed her hand to her lips. He sipped his wine and then tipped his head at her. “What?”

“I thought you might be calling a taxi.”

That earned her an exasperated look. “You really think I’m so easily scared?” He plumped up the pillows, leaned back against the headboard, and crossed his legs. “Sweetheart, I’m telling you now, you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m aware we have a few things to talk through, and I’m going to sit here until you’ve told me everything. I promise I’ll listen while you tell me what a terrible mother and partner you’ve been, and then I’ll spend as long as it takes convincing you otherwise.” He took another mouthful of wine and swallowed.

She bit her lip, fighting against a smile. He raised an eyebrow and helped himself to a mint chocolate. “Go on then. Off you go.”

“I don’t know what to say now.”

“Tell me about Jack.”

She drew up her knees and rested her chin on them, swirling the wine in the glass. “For most of my life, I haven’t been the type of girl to draw a man’s gaze.” She ignored his snort of disdain. “I was always too tall, too gawky... All the good-looking men went for the sporty girls, the confident ones. Yeah I had a few boyfriends, but they were average guys, nice enough, but not the sort girls ogled in the street. Then I met Jack. He was like a movie star. Tall, dark, handsome, played rugby, slightly arrogant but in a confident, sexy way.”

She stopped as Brock raised an eyebrow. “I’d like it if you could get to the part where he’s an ass,” he said.

“It’s coming soon, believe me. I couldn’t believe it when he asked me out. I had stars in my eyes—I’m embarrassed to admit it, but it’s true. I felt such an idiot when he refused to acknowledge Ryan. It was the lowest point of my life. I considered everything—abortion, suicide. I just wanted the hurt to stop.”

Brock reached out and took one of her hands in his. “But you didn’t do either of those things. That says something for the strength of your character.”

“I suppose. Oddly, in spite of everything that’s happened to me, deep down I do believe a man can be altruistic. I know you didn’t expect me to sleep with you at Paua Cliffs. Hoping and expecting are two different things.”

His lips twisted. “I’m glad you realize that.”

“I do,” she said earnestly. “But the point is, I know I’ve had bad judgement in men, and that I trust too easily. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I don’t think it’s a good thing—I’m too sensitive, too vulnerable. I know I should question more and trust less. I should hold back rather than throw myself into everything blindly. That’s what I’m trying to do here. To take a step back and think with my head and not my heart.”

Brock lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “I understand. I think there are two issues going on here. You’ve been badly hurt, and naturally that’s made you wary of trusting anyone. The only thing I would say is that questioning your natural instincts and ignoring them are two different things.”

“Maybe,” she conceded. She waited for him to say the second issue was money.

“The other issue has been created by the first, and that’s your low self-esteem.”

She blinked. “Sorry?”

“You don’t believe a man in my position, who—so you believe—could have any woman he wants, would choose you.”

She opened and closed her mouth several times, then finally closed it as he raised an eyebrow. “Yeah,” she said. “You may be right.”

“I know I’m right. And I’ll add that you’re wrong on several accounts.”

“I’m sure you’ll enlarge upon them for me,” she said wryly.

“I will.” He motioned for her to drink her wine. “Firstly, you are making the assumption that money can buy everything. I acknowledge there are women out there who will date a guy for his money. Of course there are. But equally there are a good proportion of decent, honorable women who would be offended by that.”

Erin picked at the embroidery on the duvet.

“Secondly,” he continued, “if I could pick any woman in the world, why wouldn’t I choose you? What don’t you possess that other women have?”

A tear rolled down her cheek. Brock caught it on a finger and sighed. “The money is irrelevant. It’s just something that allows me to live comfortably and help other people out. It’s mine and I’ve earned it—most of it—and I don’t see what’s wrong with me spending it on whatever I like.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” she said with a sniff.

“Thank you. So therefore you won’t mind if I spend it on you and Ryan.” He smiled.

She took another mouthful of wine and set the glass aside, wrapping her arms around her knees again. “The thing is, Mum asked me whether I could be certain that I’m not interested in you because being with you would make our lives easier, and... I feel awful because I can’t deny that. I’m scared that one day, maybe after we have an argument or something, it will be something that comes between us.”

“I would think it’s perfectly natural for someone who’s existed on a pittance to be attracted by the idea of having money. I’d be surprised if you weren’t comforted by the notion of being able to provide better for Ryan—not that I think you’ve done a bad job so far. That’s okay, Erin. I don’t have my head up my arse enough to think money isn’t a factor at all. But I would never blame you for it. I would never use that against you. Because I know you would never be with me just for my money. You do wear your heart on your sleeve, and I don’t believe you’d be able to hide your true feelings for me.”

He held out his hand, and this time she laid hers in it. “We have something special,” he stated, “and have had from the first moment we talked online, all those months ago. And I’m not going to let your fears, or your mother, or anything else in fact, come between us.”

“Doesn’t it worry you that people you know will say I’m after your money?”

“The people I like wouldn’t think that and certainly wouldn’t say it. And I don’t care what the people I don’t like are thinking.”

“Okay,” she said softly.

“Do you believe me?”

“I believe you.”

“Good.” He pulled the hand he was holding so she fell against him. “Now come here and kiss me.”

She snuggled up to him, drawing the duvet with her, and they kissed lazily for a while, his lips moving across hers with a tenderness that brought more tears to her eyes.

He lifted his head and kissed her nose. “There’s no hurry, and I’m willing to wait as long as it takes, but you should know that I’d like you to consider moving in with me.”

“Here? In Auckland?”

“We’ll talk about it, but that’s one option. Either here, or maybe it would be nicer to get a house with a garden for Ryan. I know you’re close to your parents and that you’d miss them if you moved here, but I’d be happy to fly them down regularly, or even help move them here if they’d like that. It’s up to you. If you’d rather us just meet up at weekends for now, that’s fine too.”

Her mind spun. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Of course. One more thing—I might have a job for you too.”

“Goodness.”

He laughed. “The hospital has a radio station—the biggest in the country. It’s mainly run by volunteers, but we do have a paid position for the person overseeing the program. Ophelia, the woman who currently runs it, is leaving. You’d have to interview for it, of course, but I think you’d be perfect for the job. You have such a lovely voice and, with your background in publishing, I think you’d bring a lot to the role.”

She couldn’t take it all in. “What about Ryan?”

“There’s a daycare facility just down from the hospital.”

“It... it sounds perfect.”

He smiled. “I’m glad.”

“I’d like to think about it though, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. I don’t expect you to make a decision now. In the meantime, though, I’m having a party on Christmas Eve, and I’d love it if you could come.”

“A dinner party?”

“No, more relaxed than that. My parents and brothers will be there, and a few friends from work. Your parents are welcome to come too. I’ve cut myself off from life over the past two years, and I want to reconnect. It seems like a good time to start.”

“Okay. I’ll come. Can I let you know my decision about Auckland then?”

“There’s no time limit, sweetheart. I’ll be here when you feel ready.”

He pushed her shoulder to turn her onto her side away from him. She rolled over, and he pulled her back into his arms. “Sleep tight, honey.”

In spite of everything he’d told her, her eyelids were already drooping. “You too.”

Her mind continued to whirl, but Brock’s slow, regular breathing comforted her, and eventually she let sleep take her away.

*

When the sun came up the next morning, she opened sleepy eyes and a smile spread across her face.

Ryan had come into the room looking for her after rousing at three o’clock. She’d taken him to the bathroom, poured him a glass of water, and tried to settle him again, but he’d been unnerved by the strange surroundings and had clung to her, sucking on Dixon’s paw.

Brock had come in to find them, and told her to bring him into their bed. She’d hesitated, not wanting to set a precedent, but his smile had been warm and genuine, and in the end she’d carried the boy in and settled him between them, and all three of them had dozed off again in minutes.

Now, Ryan lay on his side facing away from Brock, but he was snuggled up against the man’s chest. Brock’s arm rested across the boy, his hand holding Dixon tightly to Ryan’s tummy. The two of them looked contented and cozy, so much so it brought a pain to her chest.

Was it possible she had at last found herself a decent guy? Someone who’d care for her and her son, who’d treat the boy as his own, and who’d make sure she never wanted for anything again?

Had she really been given the perfect gift for Christmas?

Chapter Twenty-Five

The festive season had always been a busy time at the hospital in the past, and this year proved to be no exception.

As usual, Brock spent the few days leading up to Christmas diagnosing and caring for sick kids and reassuring their parents, but he had to admit that lately he felt more than his standard sympathy for the worried mums and dads and the ill children. Now, he saw Ryan in every coughing boy and Erin in the concerned face of every parent. For the first time, when Erin rang him two days later to say she’d caught Ryan’s second asthma attack of the year just in time, he really understood what those parents had been going through.

He asked her to fly down to Auckland immediately, but she reassured him they were fine, and she’d be there on Christmas Eve for the party in a few days. He didn’t argue with her, knowing he had to let her come to a decision about their relationship in her own time.

He wasn’t used to waiting, though, and he didn’t like it one bit. He wanted Erin by his side so he could comfort and reassure her, and he wanted Ryan there so he could keep an eye on him. He told Erin as much, flatly and without mincing his words, not ashamed to tell her how he felt. She thanked him and said she was touched by his concern, but ended the call soon after that, leaving him wondering if he’d somehow upset her.

Two days passed, during which they had trouble connecting, one of them always in the middle of something each time the other rang. Brock was either in clinic or seeing to patients and had to ignore the buzz of a call from the phone in his pocket, and each time he called her back, she was in the middle of the supermarket or bathing Ryan or had her mother there and couldn’t talk.

Their conversations weren’t exactly stilted, but they didn’t hold the warm affection he’d grown to love. He missed her, but he was beginning to worry she’d decided she didn’t want to make the move to Auckland.

“You did say you’d move to the Bay if she wanted?” It was Matt who asked the question on Skype, the night before Christmas Eve, when the three of them had their usual weekly catchup.

“I forgot,” Brock said. “I thought she’d get swept away with the notion of being by my side permanently. I didn’t consider she might not see it as an attractive proposition.”

“I’m sure she does,” Charlie said, for once not picking up on Brock’s attempt to make light of the situation. “It was easy to see the connection between the two of you online, and it sounds as if you got on well in the flesh.”

“Yeah,” Brock said, the word ‘flesh’ conjuring up visions of Erin’s pale silky thighs and bare breasts.

“Earth to Brock?” Charlie said.

“What?”

“Your eyes have glazed over. Stop thinking about her naked. We’re talking about serious relationship stuff here.”

“I know. That’s sort of the problem. I said the three little words and I’m not sure I should have.”

“Did she say them back?” Matt asked.

“Nope.”

The three of them fell quiet for a moment. Brock looked at his brothers’ faces—Charlie’s concerned eyes behind his dark-rimmed glasses, Matt’s frown beneath his spiky fringe. They were worried about him, and that wasn’t fair, not on the eve of Christmas.

“What is this,” he joked, “are we all turning into girls? Want to paint each other’s toenails and braid our hair?”

“Yeah,” Matt said sarcastically. “Let’s get out the beer and fart to the National Anthem.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Stop avoiding the issue. What are you going to do about Erin?”

Brock shrugged. “Not much I can do. She’s coming down tomorrow, and I have a feeling she’ll have an answer for me then. I can only wait.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“We three Kings don’t do waiting.”

Brock gave a short laugh. “Not normally, no. In this case, though, there isn’t an option. Anyway, are you guys still coming to the party?”

They both nodded.

“Bringing a plus one?”

“Might be,” they both said at the same time, and laughed.

Brock grinned. “Might be or will be?”

“Depends,” Matt said.

“On what?”

“If she’s still talking to me.”

“Like that is it?”

Matt shrugged. “What about you?” he said to Charlie. “How are things going there?”

Charlie pulled a face. “Touch and go.”

“Jeez.” Brock sighed. “We’re not doing great, are we?”

“We rely on you to set an example,” Matt pointed out.

“Fair enough. But you never know, maybe tomorrow night we’ll all get our heart’s desire.”

Charlie and Matt both looked doubtful.

“Yeah,” Brock said. “It’s a long shot. Still, it is Christmas.”

*

The day of the party dawned bright and sunny. Brock left the arrangements in the care of the event planning company he’d hired and spent the morning and early afternoon at the hospital. The last couple of years he’d offered to work over Christmas so the consultants with families could have a few days off, but this year he finished up around three p.m. and headed home. Erin was arriving at the airport at five with Ryan and her parents, and Brock had arranged for Lee to pick them up, so they’d be at the apartment by five thirty. Everyone else was arriving around six.

That gave him a couple of hours to make sure everything was ready. As soon as he walked into the apartment, though, he saw that there wasn’t going to be a lot for him to do. The party organizers had strung fairy lights throughout the rooms and placed elegant center pieces made from fresh flowers and Christmas decorations on all the tables. Trays of wine glasses stood ready on the kitchen counter, while staff were heaping platters with cold nibbles and preparing hot ones ready for the oven. They’d filled the fridge with various white wines and the liquor cabinet held all manner of spirits and other drinks for those who preferred something different. It promised to be a great party—but deep inside, Brock knew he would judge the success of the evening by what Erin had to say.

He hoped that if she intended to either break it off or say she wanted to slow things down that she would have told him over the phone—hopefully the fact she was still coming, and bringing her parents, meant she still wanted to see him, and maybe even discuss moving things forward, but he couldn’t be sure.

After chatting to the head of the event planning company to make sure she didn’t need anything, he went into his bedroom and shut the door.

For a moment, he just stood there, looking at the bed and remembering the previous weekend, where he’d made love to Erin in that beautiful silky nightie, when she’d promised she’d let him do whatever he wanted to her. When he thought about it, they’d only slept together a few times. Was he crazy to be pressing her into a serious relationship when they hadn’t known each other for very long?

Even as he formed the question, he rolled his eyes and discarded it. He had no doubts whatsoever that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. All that remained was to wait and see if she felt the same.

He opened the windows to let the afternoon breeze in, then lay on the bed and picked up his phone. Erin would be getting ready to go to the airport, if she wasn’t there already.

He dialed her number and got her answerphone.

Sighing, he typed a text. Are you at the airport yet? Miss you! B xx and sent it. Then he lay back and picked up his iPad to flick through some notes from work he’d promised himself he’d finish before the party.

He couldn’t concentrate, though, and eventually he put the iPad down and stared up at the ceiling.

For the first time in a few days, he thought of his sister. If Pippa hadn’t died, she would have been twenty-five, and no doubt she would have come to his party and loved every minute of it. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t have had a party if she hadn’t died. If she hadn’t had a fatal asthma attack, he and his brothers wouldn’t have felt the need to work so hard developing their medical equipment, and although they hadn’t exactly been poor to start with, they probably wouldn’t be as rich as they were now.

Or would they? All three of them were ambitious and hardworking. Maybe they would just have funneled that energy in another direction. He couldn’t imagine any world where Charlie didn’t have his head buried in test tubes and equipment, or where Matt wasn’t sketching and painting. Matt would have just ended up doing another series of children’s books, and Charlie would have invented some other amazing thing that nobody had thought of before.

And what about himself? Brock sighed. Even if Pippa had survived, Fleur would still have died. He’d still be alone.

Would he have been a doctor? There was no doubt that Pippa’s passing had driven him into medicine, but he couldn’t imagine doing anything else now. He loved his job, loved helping people, so in that sense he had to be grateful that at least something positive had come out of her death.

Closing his eyes, he imagined what life would have been like if both Pippa and Fleur had survived. He would have had his sister and wife. But he’d never have met Erin.

A year ago, he would have given his whole fortune and everything he owned to have Fleur back. But now, the thought of being without Erin made his throat tighten.

He lifted his hands and sank them into his hair. You don’t have to choose, he told himself, swallowing hard to try to get his throat to relax. When Fleur had died, he’d gotten off one train and crossed the station to get on another. The first train had gone no further, whereas the second train had set off on another set of tracks. There had been no choice to make. He’d had to keep going, and he was extremely lucky in that he’d found another woman as beautiful in both body and spirit as his first wife.

He pictured Pippa in his mind. Please make her come to the party, he begged. I love her so much. Please make her come.

On the bed beside him, his phone pinged, announcing the arrival of a text. Opening his eyes, he picked the phone up and swiped the screen. It was from Erin.

I’m on the plane. See you soon! E xxxx

A smile spread across his face, the wave of emotion so strong it made tears prick his eyes. He sniffed, hit reply, and sent a message back. Have a safe journey. How are your parents?

They’re fine, thanks, she replied. Looking forward to the party.

And how’s the boy doing? Excited?

Super-excited. Did I mention I’m on the plane? I’m supposed to turn my phone off.

He grinned. One more minute. I miss you, sweetheart. Can’t wait to see you again.

Me too. Now Pat’s glaring at me. Stop texting me!

I’m lying on the bed and thinking about Saturday night.

OMG! Stop it! I’m turning my phone off now. xxxxxx

He laughed and put the phone down. Half of him wanted to run yelling through the apartment. The other half wanted to bawl like a toddler.

Deciding neither was the best bet, he blew out a long breath and sat up. Thanks, he said silently to Pippa.

Erin was on her way, and now it was time to get ready for the party. Whistling Jingle Bells, he walked over to his wardrobe and opened the door.

He stopped whistling when he saw the gift sitting on the shelf to the side. A tiny box with a red bow on top.

For a long moment, he perused it, then he turned his gaze away. He took out a pair of black jeans and pulled them on, and chose the new light gray dress shirt with the fine black velvet swirls on it he’d bought for the party.

His gaze returned to the box while he buttoned up his shirt. When he’d done, he pursed his lips and huffed a sigh, his hands on his hips.

Go on, Pippa said in his head.

Lips curving up, he took the box, slid it into the pocket of his jeans, and headed out of the room.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ryan pressed his nose against the wall of the elevator and breathed out, misting up the mirror.

“Don’t make a mess,” Karen Bloom said nervously, pulling him away and scrubbing at the steamy patch with her bag.

Erin smiled, knowing Brock wouldn’t give a damn about misted-up mirrors or sticky fingerprints. The thought gave her a little glow inside.

It was strange to see her mother on edge and nervous, for once. Usually Erin was the one who Karen had to comfort and reassure. Erin decided she rather liked it being this way around.

She hadn’t felt this confident all week. When she’d gone back to Kerikeri, she’d been full of conflicting emotions, from excitement that he’d asked her to move in with him, to sheer panic at the thought of what her mother and everyone else would say.

She’d kept the news to herself for a few days, hugging it to her like a cushion, knowing that all the while she didn’t tell anyone, she could pretend everything was going to be all right and it would all work out fabulously. Deep down, though, her mother’s words about Brock eventually accusing her of being after his money had continued to eat away at her, even though he’d promised he’d never say anything like that.

And then Ryan had suffered from his second asthma attack in as many weeks. Luckily she knew what to look for now, and they’d been at home so she’d been able to keep him relaxed enough to use his inhaler and spacer without panicking. By the time the ambulance arrived it was all under control, and they’d praised her on her level-headedness and ability to remain calm.

When they’d gone, though, and Ryan had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep, she’d allowed herself a few tears of relief, and it was then that Brock had rung her. She’d done her best to hide the fact that she was crying, but his words had grown clipped and curt as he’d demanded to know what had happened. For a moment, she’d thought he was angry with her for not going to the hospital, and she’d been prepared to announce hotly that she didn’t want him telling her what to do.

Then he’d said, “I don’t like that we’re two hundred miles away. I want you here, with me. I want to check Ryan and see for my own eyes that he’s okay. I can’t hold you and comfort you from down here.” His anger had come from the frustration of not being able to help, and from his love for her, and at that point it was all she could do to say goodbye and get him off the phone before she burst into great, gulping sobs.

He loved her, and he wanted her to move in with him. He was the nicest man she’d ever met, strong, capable, gorgeous, caring, and she was absolutely crazy about him. And at that moment, she knew she didn’t care what anyone else said—not her mother, her father, or any of her friends—about her being after his money, because it simply wasn’t true. She’d have loved him if he was penniless and lived in a hovel. It made no difference where they lived or what he spent on her or Ryan. She loved him, and that was all that mattered.

The elevator pinged, and the doors slid open. Before she could stop him, Ryan went running down the corridor—straight into the arms of the guy waiting at the end.

“Hey!” Brock swung the boy up into the air. “It’s my favorite dude!”

“Bwock!” Ryan flung his arms around the man’s neck and squeezed him tight enough to cut off his circulation. “I’ve come to your party.”

“Thank God you’ve arrived. It wouldn’t have been a party at all without you.”

Smiling, Erin beckoned to her parents to follow her and walked along the corridor to them. “Hey, you,” she said, lifting her face to Brock when she reached him.

“Hello gorgeous.” He dipped his head and touched his lips to hers for a long kiss. They were interrupted by Ryan, who pressed his face in between theirs to join in with the kiss.

Laughing, they broke apart. Erin turned and held her hand out to her parents. “Brock, you remember my mum, Karen.”

“Of course I do. I’m so glad you came.” He held out the hand not supporting Ryan to her, and she clasped it with a smile.

“Hello, Brock. Thank you so much for inviting us.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“This is an amazing apartment.”

“I’ll show you around in a moment.” Brock held out a hand to the man waiting beside her. “You must be Erin’s father. Nice to meet you.”

“It’s Pete, and likewise.” The two men shook hands. “Thanks for the trip in the jet,” Pete added. “I never want to fly with people again!”

Brock laughed and headed into the living room. “I know what you mean—once you fly private, the idea of standing in a queue and then sitting in a cabin with thirty others isn’t very appealing.”

Erin watched her mother’s eyes widen as they entered the living room. It looked beautiful with all the tasteful decorations and lights, and the magnificent view beyond.

“Oh my God.” Karen pressed a hand to her heart. “Erin, it’s even better than you described.”

“Come on,” Brock said, lowering Ryan to the ground. “I’ll show you around.”

Erin followed behind, listening to Brock as he talked to her parents while they walked slowly through the apartment. He’d told her that he had a firm organizing the party, and she nodded as they passed the staff who were preparing trays of food, trying to look as if she went to a catered party every day.

Inside, though, in spite of a flutter of nerves, her heart was swelling. Seeing Brock banished any last dregs of doubt, and all she could think was how wonderful it was to see him, and how she didn’t want to leave him ever again. Ryan stuck like Velcro to his side, but Brock didn’t look annoyed, just delighted to see the boy, and whenever they stopped walking and Ryan put his arms around him, Brock ruffled his hair or patted his back, and once bent to kiss the top of his head.

By the time they’d finished looking around and had returned to the living room, Erin knew it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the guests started arriving.

“Mum,” she said, “would you mind looking after Ryan? I want to talk to Brock for a moment.”

Karen met her eyes and smiled. Erin had finally plucked up the courage to tell her what she’d decided, and to her pleasure Karen hadn’t queried her decision, but had just nodded and said she’d known that was coming, because she’d not seen Erin as happy as this for many years.

“Come on Ryan, Brock’s left you some coloring pencils on the coffee table,” Karen told him, and she and Pete led the boy to the table by the Christmas tree, where Brock had thoughtfully placed several Ward Seven coloring books next to some tiny crust-free sandwiches and crisps for the boy.

Erin watched them go, then turned to find Brock where he was in a discussion with the party planner. For a moment, Erin just looked at him, enjoying the view. His black jeans were tight on his bum and emphasized his long legs, while the dress shirt looked smart and summery at the same time. He’d rolled up his shirt sleeves a little, and in true Kiwi style he had bare feet, which made her smile.

At that moment he turned, catching her smile, and his lips curved in response. After finishing off his conversation, he walked across to her. “What are you smiling at?”

“You.” She held out a hand and, when he grasped it, led him out through the open sliding doors onto the deck. It was a gorgeous, warm evening, the beautiful red of the sky caused by the sinking sun a Christmas decoration all of its own.

“How are you doing?” he asked, turning her to face him and sliding his arms around her.

“I’m good.” She placed her hands on his chest, enjoying the feel of firm muscles beneath her fingertips.

“And how’s Ryan?”

“Better, thanks.”

“I’m glad. I’ve worried myself sick all week.”

She kissed his cheek. “You’re so sweet.”

“And you’re so sexy.” He nuzzled her ear. “You look gorgeous tonight.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks glowed with the compliment. Karen had given her some money for Christmas and told her to go out and buy herself something. Caitlin had accompanied her, and helped her to choose a flowing light blue skirt that reached to just above her knees, with a pretty blue-and-pink vest to wear with it. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“It shows off your breasts nicely,” he agreed.

She laughed. “Thank you for noticing.”

“Oh, I can safely say I can always be relied upon to notice what your breasts look like.”

Smiling, she kissed him briefly, then moved back and lifted a hand to cup his cheek. “I have something to say to you.”

He took a deep breath in and then let it out slowly, as if he was preparing himself for bad news. “Okay.”

She looked into his lovely brown eyes. “I love you.”

His eyes widened. “Oh.”

“I should have said it last weekend, Brock, and I’m so sorry I didn’t. I’ve been scared and worried and concerned about everything except what really matters—that you love me, and I love you. I’ve missed you all week, and what you said on the phone, about wanting to be near me so you could look after me—”

“I thought I’d overdone it,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t mean to sound overbearing and controlling.”

“It’s okay.” She stroked his cheek. “I love that you care, and that you want to look after us. And I’m not going to feel bad because that makes me feel good, you know? I’m not going to feel guilty for looking at the bigger picture, and for feeling grateful that I’ve found a guy who’s not only gorgeous and sexy and great in bed, but who wants to care for me. I can look after myself, I’ve proved that, but I love the idea of being able to share everything with someone for a change.”

His eyes glistened. “Me too.”

“I’ve told my parents. And if the offer’s still there, I’d love to move in with you.”

“Of course the offer’s still there,” he said softly, tightening his arms around her.

“I love the sound of the job too, and I’d like to interview for it.”

“Do you want to live here, in this apartment?”

“I don’t care, Brock. I really don’t. I just want to be with you, and so does Ryan. All he’s done is talk about you. He’s almost as crazy about you as I am.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, and she pressed her nose into his shirt, inhaling the scent of spicy body wash and warm male. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive, do you know that?”

“I’m so glad.” She couldn’t explain how safe she felt in his arms, and how much she wished she could stay there all night. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, holding her so tightly she felt quite breathless.

She wriggled, feeling something pressed against her hip. “Have you got something in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?”

“Oh. I... ah...” He moved back and looked down at her, but at that moment the sound of a bell announced the arrival of someone in the elevator. “Damn it. It’ll have to wait.”

“What will?”

“Nothing. I expect it’s Charlie. He’s always first and has no idea about being fashionably late. Or fashionably anything, in fact.”

She laughed. “I’ll get Ryan.” Glowing inside, she crossed the room to retrieve her son.

*

Brock watched her go, pausing on the edge of the room and sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His fingers closed around the little velvet box, and he squeezed it tight.

There was no rush. He’d welcome his guests and wait until the party was in full swing. Then he’d take her somewhere quiet, pop the question, and hope Christmas had a little magic left for him.

Smiling, he held out his hand as she rejoined him with Ryan, and they walked across the room to welcome their guests.

Continue the story of the Three Wise Men in Charlie and Ophelia’s story, An Ideal Present (Three Wise Men Book 2)

Book 1: The Perfect Gift

Book 2: An Ideal Present

Book 3: A Secret Parcel

Sneak Peek at Chapter One of An Ideal Present (Three Wise Men #2)

“I feel as if I’ve stepped into Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” Ophelia said with a smile.

The doctor in the white coat paused in the process of paying for his muffin and looked over the top of his dark-framed glasses at her. His frown suggested confusion rather than amused interest, as she’d hoped.

In the background, someone was playing Eartha Kitt’s Santa Baby in their office. She fought the urge to sing it to him, not sure it would help her situation, and tapped the paper bag in his hand. “Since when have you ever bought a savory muffin? You always pick sweet. Blueberry or chocolate usually. Clearly, you’re a duplicate from an alien seed pod.”

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the funniest joke in the world, but she’d expected a polite smile if nothing else. The frown remained in place, however. Either he thought her sense of humor severely lacking, or she’d weirded him out with her observation of his baked goods.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, admitting defeat. Grimacing, she turned on her heel and walked back through the corridors to the wing of the hospital where she worked.

Once inside, she tossed her bagel onto her desk, flopped into her chair, and stared at the clock. Ten thirty. Far too early to admit the day was doomed and go home.

She blew out a long breath. Was she really surprised the cute doctor hadn’t laughed at her joke? How long had they been meeting at the snack cart—nearly a year? And he’d barely said two words to her in all that time that didn’t involve food or the weather. Clearly, he wasn’t interested, and it was about time she took the hint.

She leaned forward and covered her face with her hands. It was irrelevant anyway. She was hardly in the right place to start seeing someone. She might have been separated from her husband since June, but it had proved surprisingly difficult to extricate herself from the emotional ties to her ex.

It didn’t help that even though Dillon had moved out, he was always at the house. She felt as if she couldn’t object—he was either seeing their daughter, which of course he had every right to do, or carrying out the occasional bit of building work to improve the house for when they put it up for sale. But she knew it was all a pretense, because he’d made it quite clear that although he was willing to let her have some time apart, he didn’t want the marriage to end.

“You’ll always be my girl,” he’d said to her only a few weeks ago when he’d tried to persuade her to go out to dinner with him for his birthday. She’d declined, but she’d felt bad about it. When he’d moved out, she’d thought it would draw a line under their marriage, and her emotions might finally be able to level out after the rollercoaster ride she’d been on for well over a year. But six months later, she still felt torn in two every time she saw him. He represented comfort and security, which were not to be sniffed at. She knew every little thing about him and in many ways that was reassuring in a relationship. He was Summer’s father, and of course Summer would prefer the two of them to stay together.  And it wasn’t as if he had some immense flaw that had forced them apart—he wasn’t an alcoholic or a gambler, he was a good looking guy, and he was decent in bed.

And yet all the million-and-one tiny reasons that had driven her to tell him it was over were still there. The jealousy, the possessiveness, the superior way he had of talking to her occasionally as if she was stupid, the nasty, cruel side of him that only came through when they argued. She knew that if she asked him to move back home, the first time they had an argument and he twisted her words the way he always did, she would regret her decision, and it would be even harder to convince him to leave a second time.

Then she thought of Summer, who missed her daddy, and her throat tightened.

She swallowed hard. She’d made the right choice, and this was one of the very few cases where she felt she had to put herself first if she didn’t want to spend another year feeling miserable and depressed. Being on her own was scary, but she shouldn’t let that be the reason she stayed with Dillon. It would be worse for Summer if her parents remained together but argued all the time.

She’d known him since they were in high school, and he’d been her first real boyfriend. For seven years, she’d compromised and negotiated her way through their marriage until she’d forgotten who she was and what she wanted. She needed time alone, a fresh start, to rediscover the Ophelia that hopefully still existed beneath the mum and wife. The last thing she needed was to start dating again.

Sighing, she lowered her hands, ready to start work. Then she inhaled sharply at the sight of the cute doctor leaning against the doorjamb, watching her.

“Oh.” She stared at him, stunned into silence. He’d never once come to this part of the hospital. And it didn’t look as if he was here on business. He didn’t march up to her desk and give her any paperwork. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even smile. He just stood there, leaning, watching her.

“I’m sorry about the alien joke,” she said, wondering if he’d come to tell her off. “It sounded funnier in my head.”

“It was funny,” he said. His deep, gravelly voice sent a shiver down her spine. “I just thought you were comparing me to the duplicates in the story.”

She blinked. As far as she remembered, the alien duplicates had been devoid of all human emotion. “What do you mean? Why would I compare you to them?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Well, I wasn’t. It was purely a muffin-based gag.”

He nodded, although he still didn’t smile. Then he raised the hand not holding the paper bag with his muffin. He touched the top button of his coat. Slowly, he popped it through the buttonhole, then continued down until all the buttons were undone. Once the white coat hung open, he flicked back the side of it and slid his hand into the pocket of his well-worn jeans.

Aware that her jaw had dropped at his pseudo-striptease, Ophelia closed her mouth and took the opportunity to admire him. She estimated he was maybe six-three or four, but it was the geeky scientist look he sported that tended to draw her attention rather than his height, with his dark-rimmed rectangular glasses, longish, slightly scruffy hair, and vacant look, as if he was constantly trying to calculate the value of pi to a thousand decimal places in his head.

He looked like the kind of guy who might have worn a faded T-shirt under his coat with the logo of some nerdy computer game, but to her surprise he wore one of the performance-fit All Blacks rugby tops, and it clung to an impressively flat abdomen and a broad, muscular chest. She hadn’t expected that, either. He didn’t look the type who spent hours at the gym, but there were definitely muscles showing through the clingy fabric.

His jeans were tight, too, emphasizing muscular thighs that could squeeze a girl to death. Well-worn Converses finished the look, giving him an air of casual indifference. He didn’t care what he wore, but it didn’t stop him wearing it well.

She lifted her gaze back up to his face. Now he looked slightly nonplussed, as if the reason for her lazy perusal eluded him. He had no idea how sexy he looked.

“What can I do for you?” she asked softly.

He pushed himself off the doorjamb and walked toward her desk. “I hear you’re leaving.”

He knew she was leaving?

Wait, he knew who she was?

Act cool, Ophelia. She leaned forward, intending to rest her chin on her hand, but her elbow missed the table and she almost fell off her chair. He raised an eyebrow.

Face burning, she leaned back and cleared her throat. “Yes. Second week in January.”

To her surprise, he pushed the contents of the corner of her desk into the middle and sat on the edge. “Why?”

Ophelia tried not to stare at the jumble of spilled pens and paper clips that rested very near his muscular thigh. “I have a new part-time job nearer to my daughter’s school. She has—”

“Cystic Fibrosis, yeah I know,” he said. “How is she?”

Her jaw dropped. Until now, she’d assumed he hadn’t even known she existed. How was he aware of her daughter’s condition? “Um, she’s had a few chest infections this year, so her doctor recommended I start upping her physiotherapy sessions to three times a day. It’s just too far to travel from here to see her at lunch time.”

“Fair enough.” He looked at the ground for a moment. Then, to her surprise, he slid his glasses off, folded them, and slipped them into his top pocket before looking at her.

She inhaled slowly, entranced by his beautiful deep brown eyes. Wow, the guy was gorgeous. Yes, there was something slightly geeky about him, but after being married to a rough-and-ready builder for seven years she found his gentle manner and intelligence incredibly attractive.

He studied her face for a long moment, and she realized that whereas a blank expression on Dillon’s face tended to indicate an absence of thought, in this guy it meant he was contemplating what to say.

“What are you doing this evening?” he asked eventually.

It was such a clumsy question that it took a few seconds for her to understand what was going on.

Slowly, her lips curved up in a smile. “Um... I’ve nothing planned.”

“Okay. I wondered if you and your daughter would like to come out for a drink. Well, obviously, your daughter wouldn’t like an alcoholic drink, but maybe we could go to, I don’t know, McDonald’s or something, and she could have one of those Happy Meal things. You know, with a toy.”

He looked alarmed at his inability to express himself, as if he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving, and the words were just tumbling out.

“Are you asking me on a date?” she said, trying not to chuckle.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Apparently it’s difficult to tell.”

That made her laugh. He was so sweet. She felt as if they were fifteen and he was trying to ask her to the school ball.

Briefly, an image of Dillon flashed in her mind, and she felt a flicker of guilt at how hurt he’d be if she dated anyone else. And hadn’t she just told herself she needed some time alone?

But the cute doctor’s gaze rested on her, warm and interested, and her resolve melted. She and Dillon were separated and she’d made it quite clear she wanted their marriage to be over. It was over. Maybe going out with someone else would help her to move on.

“I didn’t think you even knew who I was,” she murmured.

He looked at the paper bag in his hand. “I don’t like muffins.”

“Sorry?”

“I don’t eat them. Luckily my colleagues in research do.”

He was telling her that he went to the snack cart so he could see her. Every day, for a year! Warmth spread through her as if she’d drunk a large glass of Scotch.

She smiled. “I’d love to go for a drink. I’m not sure I can get a babysitter at such short notice, though, so it might have to be McDonald’s a little earlier, I’m afraid, if you want to make it today.”

“That’s great. I’ve always wanted to try a chicken nugget.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You’ve never had chicken nuggets?”

“Nope. Never been to McDonald’s. Or Burger King. Or Pizza Hut.”

“Good Lord.”

“I’ve been told I’m completely disconnected from modern civilization. I feel I should point this out now in case you’d rather back away while there’s still time.”

Was he being serious? It wouldn’t be the first time, he’d said when referring to the alien duplicates, so clearly other people had struggled with his apparent lack of emotion. But his eyes were filled with warmth, and a gut feeling told her he just had an incredibly wry sense of humor that for whatever reason didn’t reflect in his features. What a strange guy. And yet her life had been filled with worry and disappointment and sadness for so long that the thought of getting to know him better and injecting a little romance into her day brought a lightness to her heart.

“I’ll risk it,” she said.

Did she imagine it, or did his expression flicker briefly with relief? “Shall I pick you up from your house at, say, five? Or is that too late? I have no idea what time children go to bed.”

“Five will be fine.”

“Cool.” He stood and attempted to help her rearrange the items he’d knocked over on her desk.

Their hands bumped, and her cheeks warmed. “It’s okay, I’ll do it,” she said.

“Sure.” He ran a hand through his hair and headed for the door.

“Hey,” she called out, “I don’t even know your name.”

He stopped and turned around for a moment, shoving his hand back in his pocket. “Charlie,” he said. “Charlie King. See you later.” He walked away and disappeared around the corner.

Only then did she realize she hadn’t told him where she lived. How would he know where to pick her up? It was really odd how he...

She blinked a few times. Wait a minute. Charlie King?

Her jaw dropped again. Brock, Charlie, and Matt King were three brothers who ran the company called Three Wise Men that designed medical equipment specifically for children.

Brock King was the consultant pediatrician specializing in respiratory diseases who’d first diagnosed her daughter with CF. Matt King had written a series of children’s books called The Toys from Ward Seven, and the new medical equipment was decorated with his characters, with the hoping of making it less scary for kids.

Charlie King was the brains behind the design. Ophelia knew that throughout the hospital he was famous for having an IQ that was one point off Einstein’s. With Brock’s help, it had been his invention of a revolutionary new asthma inhaler that had catapulted the company into success. All hospitals in New Zealand and a few in Australia now contained Three Wise Men equipment, and there was talk of expanding the business to Europe and maybe even America.

The fact that stunned her the most was connected to the charity called We Three Kings that the brothers ran. The charity funded research into respiratory diseases, and it paid for wishes to come true for terminally-ill children. It also had a website with chat rooms where parents of sick children could talk to each other, as well as ask advice of doctors out of hours. The site had grown from having a few hundred members to around fifty thousand, and many parents found it a comfort to keep in contact with others who were also struggling to cope with looking after sick kids.

The three brothers were known to go on there under pseudonyms, and Ophelia had spoken many times to Caspar—the name Charlie King used online. That’s how he knew about her daughter. She hadn’t mentioned leaving the hospital though, had she? So he must have asked around to discover that piece of information. He was quite flirty online—strange when he appeared to be so inept at it in real life!

She sat back in her chair, her mind whirling. A few months ago, the New Zealand Herald had published an article on the three King brothers, praising them for their ceaseless charity work, as the guys all visited hospitals dressed as Ward Seven characters to cheer up sick kids.

The article had also stated they were thought to be billionaires, and that all three of them were single. Since then, she was sure they’d been inundated with women hoping to snag a rich husband. They must get propositioned hundreds of times a day.

And yet Charlie had known who she was, and had come to ask her out.

Okay, McDonald’s wasn’t exactly the romantic destination she would have picked, but she was deeply touched that he hadn’t assumed she’d just dump her daughter to go out with him. He’d included Summer in his plans, and that meant more to her than anything else he could have said or done.

Leaning on the table, she covered her mouth with her hands. She was going on a date with Charlie King, a gorgeous billionaire genius philanthropist who’d never eaten a chicken nugget in his life.

Oh my God. What was she going to wear?

An Ideal Present

Seducing Summer

The Four Seasons Book 1

By Serenity Woods

Prologue

Five years ago

“Whose stupid idea was this?” Neve grumbled.

Callie Summer glanced to her right and chuckled at the sight of her friend tugging up the bodice of her bridesmaid’s dress. “Will you stop fidgeting? You’ve got a ton of tit tape on—it’s not going to fall down.”

“One sneeze,” Neve stated, “and I swear my boobs will pop out.”

“Along with the best man’s eyes,” Bridget said.

Neve snorted, and the rest of the bridesmaids laughed. The best man, Rhett, appeared to have the hots for Neve. They’d been teasing her all morning that he’d make a move on her by the end of the day.

“I understand why men can’t take their eyes off us. I think we look fantastic,” Rowan said.

Callie had to agree. When Rowan’s twin sister had first told the four of them that she wanted them to be bridesmaids at her wedding, they’d all been super excited, as none of them had been a bridesmaid before. Then Willow had revealed that the wedding was to take place in Matamata, at one of the sets from the movie The Lord of the Rings.

“Please don’t say you want us to dress up as hobbits,” Bridget had begged.

“No, silly.” Willow had rolled her eyes. “I thought you could be the four seasons, with gorgeous, flowing Elven dresses.”

“There are six seasons in the Elven year,” Liam, the groom-to-be, had pointed out.

Willow had thumped him. “We’re not making a Tolkien documentary. I just want them to look beautiful.”

“I’d rather be an orc than wear a bridesmaid’s gown,” Neve had grumbled. “Can’t I have a pantsuit?”

But Willow had asked her sister to design their dresses, and as they stood together waiting for the photographer, Callie thought that even Neve couldn’t deny what a marvelous job Rowan had done. All four gowns were the same style—simple and strapless with a tight bodice and a full-length satin skirt—but they differed in their color and in the pattern on the flowing layers of tulle.

With the surname Summer, Callie’s choice of season had been obvious. She had a dress of sunshine yellow, and the tulle of her skirt bore a gold-and-orange pattern that looked great with her pale, English-rose complexion.

Between the four of them, they’d decided that Rowan should be autumn because the foliage of the tree after which she’d been named turned red at that time of year. A rich gold-and-red tulle covered her russet gown, complementing her brown hair.

“My name’s Latin for snow,” Neve had suggested. So she’d become winter, with a pale blue dress covered in a shimmering white tulle flecked with blue to make sure she looked different from the bride.

That left spring for Bridget, and as her nickname was Birdie they thought the season fitted her rather well. Tiny pink and purple flowers covered the tulle over her pastel pink dress.

Together, the four gowns made them look like a row of flowers, and Willow had cried when she’d first seen them all together at the rehearsal. Rowan had made her dress, too—a flowing white gown based on Galadriel’s, with thousands of beads and glittering thread. She’d also made all their underwear—beautiful lacy, strapless bras and matching panties—and it was when Callie had stood in front of her mirror and admired the garments that she’d had a revelation.

“I’ve had an idea I want to talk to you all about,” she said as they watched the photographer taking the final shots of the bride and groom. “I think we should go into business together.”

The other three looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Doing what?” Neve asked. “Running a circus?”

“No, silly. The Four Seasons Lingerie Shop.”

They all stared at her.

“What?” Bridget said.

“After we finish university, we should open a lingerie shop. Rowan can design the clothing, I’ll manage the business side of things, Birdie—you can run the shop, and Neve can be in charge of promotion. She can hold naughty lingerie and sex toy parties and spread the word.”

“I like it,” Neve stated while the other two burst out laughing.

“You’re serious.” Rowan’s smile faded when Callie didn’t join in.

“Perfectly. Don’t you think it would be fun? Between us, we have all the skills we’d need. We get on really well, and I’m sure we’d work well together, too. It would be fantastic. I can just see us all in five years’ time—rich, successful businesswomen, happily married, babies on the way... It’ll be great.”

Rowan smiled, Bridget looked thoughtful, and Neve rolled her eyes, but Callie could see she’d sown the seeds.

She turned her gaze back to Willow and her new husband. The photographer had finished their shots and beckoned to the bridesmaids and best man to join them, so they all walked forward to surround the bride and groom. Callie watched Rhett bend his head and whisper something in Neve’s ear. She shook her head, but a smile played on her lips.

Callie’s stomach bubbled with excitement and hope. She knew the lingerie shop would be successful. With Rowan’s artistic talent and the combined fashion and business knowledge the rest of them were amassing from their university degrees, they’d make it work through sheer effort and determination.

All the girls were warm-hearted and sincere, and Callie knew it wouldn’t be long before some decent guys snapped them up. Bridget had her eye on one of the ushers, Callie herself had plans to chat up the hot guy in charge of the catering, and even Rowan—with all her hang-ups—was casting sidelong glances at one of Liam’s cousins.

Five years, she thought as the photographer gestured for them all to move closer together. It would be five years, maximum, before their business was super successful, and they’d all settled down with roses around the door and babies in their arms. Just wait and see.

Chapter One

Present Day

Callie sat at her desk, her chin in her hands, and read the email that had just popped up on her computer screen. It was from Willow, thanking Callie for the anniversary card she’d sent the previous week.

“I can’t believe Liam and I have been married five years,” the email read. “Where does the time go? And yes, baby’s due on February 29th—typical! The poor thing will only have a birthday every four years. Hey, I know my baby shower is going to be the day before Valentine’s Day, but I really hope you can come.”

Yeah, Callie thought, she’d go. It wasn’t as if she had anything better to do.

She pushed her chair away and walked over to stand at the window of her office, looking down at the bustling city center of Wellington, capital of New Zealand. Many of the shop windows were decorated with red hearts and Valentine’s Day gifts, and the usually quiet boutique chocolate shop across the pedestrianized high street had a queue out the door.

Love was in the air. Allegedly, anyway. Callie had yet to see any evidence of the fat baby archer and his bow.

So much for her predictions on the day of Willow’s wedding. She couldn’t have been more wrong if she’d tried. She sighed as she contemplated not just her own disastrous love life, but also the failed relationships of her three friends. Maybe she’d jinxed them with her prophecies.

Neve’s brief fling with Rhett had ended abruptly—Callie had never discovered why, and since then Neve had moved from one relationship to another without any sign of them being serious. Rowan had proven useless with men, having no clue as to what made them tick, and had yet to stay with any guy for more than a few months. Bridget’s on-off relationship with her boyfriend seemed more off than on lately. None of them appeared close to settling down and having families.

Callie’s own love life also seemed doomed. After a couple of failed relationships, she’d eventually moved in with Jamie, and she’d thought things were going well right up until the moment she’d walked in on him in bed with his secretary.

Her eyes stung, and she swallowed hard. She’d done her crying over Jamie Verne—over any man, in fact.

She lifted her chin. Not every prophecy she’d made had been wrong. The Four Seasons lingerie shop in Wellington had not only come to fruition, it had been hugely successful. They’d leased a shop toward the busy end of Cuba Street, and although it hadn’t been cheap, it had proved to be a worthwhile investment, especially as it came with a couple of rooms above, from which Callie was able to run the business. As well as selling well-known brands of lingerie and swimwear, they distributed Rowan’s own brand that specialized in lingerie for “real women,” built on the belief that all women liked to wear pretty undergarments, no matter what their shape or size.

And now she was about to embark on the next phase of the business. Today was Thursday, and on Monday she was setting off for a countrywide tour of high street clothing shops to promote Rowan’s Four Seasons brand of lingerie with the hope that a large proportion of the shops would agree to stock it. It was an ambitious move that could propel their brand from small scale to nationally recognized, and might even mean expansion to Australia and beyond.

She had far too much on her plate to even think about romance. She should have been thanking her lucky stars that Jamie had shown his true colors before she’d done anything really stupid like gotten married or—horror of horrors—fallen pregnant. Now she could concentrate on the business, which was what she was best at, when it came down to it. Finding love would stay at the bottom of her to-do list, where it belonged.

Checking her watch, she realized that several minutes had gone by since she’d buzzed Neve to send in the next interviewee. Becky, her heavily pregnant PA, had unfortunately had to start her maternity leave early when her blood pressure had shot up, and Neve was sitting in for a day or two until the temp agency came up with a replacement.

Callie turned and, to her surprise, saw someone waiting in the doorway.

She’d expected a middle-aged woman with graying hair, glasses on a lanyard, frumpy clothes, and possibly a hairy lip.

This person was neither middle-aged nor frumpy. He was about six-foot-two with short brown hair, and wearing what looked like a tailored charcoal three-piece suit with a sparkling white shirt and a stylish sky-blue tie. He stood with his hands behind his back, his head tipped a little to the side as he surveyed her, suggesting he’d been there for a while.

He was also the most gorgeous guy she’d seen in... well, possibly ever, if you liked your men hard and rather dangerous. He looked as if he could complete a million-dollar business deal for a piece of land, build a shelter on it with his bare hands, and drag a woman to it by her hair. Callie hadn’t thought that kind of guy appealed to her, but she had to admit that if she’d ordered herself a late Christmas present, or an early Valentine’s Day present, or indeed any kind of present, this was the kind of parcel she would have hoped for. All he needed was a bow tied around... somewhere interesting.

“Oh,” she said, confused, and flustered at his steady gaze. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here for the interview.”

She stared at him. Part of her was aware that her jaw was sagging, but her brain couldn’t process the information he’d just given her.

He raised a hand to scratch his cheek. “Ma’am? Is there a problem?”

Ma’am. That one word melted her a little inside.

She looked at the name she’d scribbled on her notepad. “I understood that the next candidate was called Jean Bond.” She looked back up, confused. “As in Simmons, Harlow. Miss Brodie—the Prime of.”

“It’s G-e-n-e,” he clarified. “As in Hackman, Wilder. Kelly—who sings in the rain.” He brushed a hand down himself, drawing her attention to his suit again and the undoubtedly male physique that lay beneath it. “I’m a guy, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

As it happened, Callie had noticed. And that was where the problem lay.

She put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. “Neve, get your butt in here!” she yelled.

Gene’s eyebrows rose, and then he moved a few steps to the side to leave the doorway clear.

Neve’s head appeared around the door. Her innocent expression informed Callie that she was well aware of what had just transpired. Neve sidled in and cast a quick glance at the man still standing in the center of the room before saying, “How’s the interview going? Not progressed to sitting down yet?”

“I’m supposed to find a replacement for Becky today,” Callie pointed out.

Neve nodded and gestured with both hands at the man standing by her side as if he were a magician and she was his assistant. “And here he is... Ta da!”

“It appears that 007 here is a man,” Callie stated.

“007?” Neve queried.

“Mr. Bond.”

“Ah.” Neve looked him up and down. “Do you know, I think you’re right.”

Callie gave her a wry look. “You knew damn well he was a man and you didn’t tell me.”

Earlier that morning, when Callie had complained about how useless the three temps they’d already sent her had been, Neve had told her, “Don’t worry, the agency’s sending someone called Jean. Apparently the best they’ve got. Came in early this morning after a long vacation, looking for a new post.” It was only now that Callie realized her friend had carefully avoided using pronouns.

She glared at Neve. “You told me they said ‘Efficient, organized, and hot as office skills.’”

“And?”

“Hot piece of ass is what you meant. Deny it.”

“I’m standing right here,” Gene said.

Callie ignored him. Since she’d broken up with Jamie, her friends had tried to fix her up on no fewer than three occasions with someone new. Callie had refused each time, but she was certain this appointment was another of Neve’s attempts to pair her up. “This morning, you’ve brought me a sixteen-year-old whose only experience was working in a DVD rental shop on a Saturday afternoon, another girl who spelled the word lingerie with a ‘j’, and a woman whose typing speed was twenty words a minute.”

“I can type faster than that with my feet,” Gene commented.

She glanced over at him. He raised his eyebrows. She was tempted to laugh, but she wasn’t about to give in yet.

“Did you pick the other three on purpose?” she asked Neve suspiciously.

“Not at all.” Neve looked affronted. “When you leave it to the last minute, these are the kind of people left on the shelf.”

“Gee, thanks,” Gene said.

“I didn’t mean you.” Now Neve was laughing. “Come on, Callie. Give the guy an interview at least. He comes with great references, and he can do shorthand.”

Callie blew out a breath. It may have been old-fashioned, but she enjoyed dictating letters and reports while she paced her office looking out at the view. She’d been doubtful that she’d find anyone these days who could still do shorthand. That at least worked in his favor.

“You really can type?” she asked him.

“I can.”

“What’s your speed?”

“Ninety words a minute.”

That wasn’t bad at all. “Shorthand speed?” she queried.

“A hundred and thirty words a minute.”

Maybe not as fast as Becky, but still pretty good. She tried not to look impressed. “Anything else?”

“I can use old-fashioned Dictaphones and the new digital ones. I’m proficient in all the major word processing, spreadsheet, and presentational packages. I can book flights, organize meetings, make coffee, charm customers, and unjam printers. And I know my alphabet and can tie my shoelaces on my own.”

Neve burst out laughing. Seeing Callie’s glare, she turned and walked out of the office, still chuckling.

Callie turned her glare on Gene, whose eyes danced with humor. “Do you really think I’m looking for a smart-mouthed man to be my PA?” she demanded.

Pursing his lips, he looked at his shoes, giving her a moment to admire him. He had boyish good looks, but there was a touch of toughness to his hardened features, as if he were a guy she’d known since childhood that had been away to war and seen terrible things, returning a changed man. His face was grave and serious, and she had the feeling he didn’t smile much—and yet the corners of his eyes were creased with laughter lines, suggesting his seriousness hadn’t been there since birth, but had crept upon him as life took its toll. It was difficult to see what kind of physique he had beneath the suit, but he had wide shoulders and a broad chest, suggesting he worked out. His short hair stuck up at the front, although it was unclear whether it was natural or if he’d styled it like that.

He cleared his throat before looking back at her. This time, his amusement had faded. “I apologize. I assure you, I’m usually very respectful and good at my job. I’m organized and efficient, quiet and hardworking, and I promise I’ll make your life easier.”

Callie highly doubted that. The man had trouble written all over him. It could have been the steely glint in his eye, or the way he was standing, still and watchful, like a coiled spring... She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was definitely something dangerous about him.

How the hell was she supposed to work with Mr. License-to-Kill at her side all the time providing the ultimate distraction?

“Ma’am?” He looked concerned. “Can we start over again?”

She picked up a pen and notepad, walked over to the armchairs on one side of the room, and indicated for him to take one. She sat opposite him, taking care to keep her knees together so he didn’t get an eyeful. “Let’s start by you calling me Callie,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

Her lips twitched. And then suddenly it struck her. The metaphor of a childhood friend who’d been away to war hadn’t been so far from the truth. “You’re ex-military,” she observed.

He leaned back in the chair, resting an ankle on the opposite knee, and nodded slowly, either amused or surprised she’d guessed. “Yes. What gave it away?”

“The way you stood with your hands behind your back. The deferential manner. And the MAG 58 machine gun I’m sure you’ve got rammed up your backside.”

To his credit, he gave a short laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re into guns.”

“Dad was in the Army.” She chewed her lip while she surveyed him properly for the first time.

He bore her perusal calmly, and to his credit his gaze stayed firmly on her face. She let hers slide down him, though, knowing she was being rude but too interested not to pay further attention. He’d fashioned his tie in a complicated Windsor knot, if she wasn’t mistaken. His shoes bore a shine, also reflecting his military background. As he’d sat, he’d unbuttoned his jacket, and it hung open now to reveal a dark gray matching waistcoat over his white shirt. She could count the number of men who wore a three-piece suit to work on the fingers of one hand. Suave, a little old-fashioned, and incredibly sexy at the same time. What a combination.

His Army training was no doubt what she’d picked up on when she’d thought he looked dangerous. “How many ways can you kill a man?” she asked, admitting that it gave her a tingle to think he was a trained soldier.

“How many do I need?”

She grinned. He had a great poker face, and it was difficult to tell what he was thinking, but as she continued to study him, the corner of his mouth curved up.

“Do I meet with your approval?” he asked.

“You’re a puzzle,” she admitted, trying not to think about how low and sultry his voice was.

“A puzzle?” he queried.

“Yes. A soldier with a ninety words per minute typing speed?”

“When I left school, I trained as a journalist and photographer.”

“Ah.” That made more sense. “What did you do then?”

“I was hired by a national TV news program as a trainee war correspondent. I shadowed an older guy and went with him to Egypt, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Spent a lot of time around Army guys and loved it so much I signed up.”

“So what happened? Why did you leave? I’m guessing because you were wounded—in the leg, yes?” She’d detected a slight limp when he’d walked in.

His eyes met hers for a moment. Hesitant, wary, guarded. He’d meant to keep that a secret, but now she’d asked him, he didn’t have a choice unless he intended to lie outright. He didn’t like that she was so observant, and had guessed things he’d wanted to keep to himself.

He shifted in the seat. On the surface, it looked as if he was making himself more comfortable, but she sensed unease in his posture. He didn’t like talking about it. She waited for him to change the subject, but instead he said, “I was out on a scouting mission. We stumbled across a hidden base and they opened fire on us. I took a bullet in the thigh, crawled off into a hole somewhere, and passed out. They didn’t find me for three days, and by then it was infected. They operated, and it healed, but it’s not good enough for active duty.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want an Army desk job. Didn’t seem much point in staying in.”

“Is it still painful?”

“Sometimes.”

In the other office, she could hear Neve answering the phone, the whirr of the photocopier, the clang of a spoon in a cup as someone—probably Bridget—made a coffee. Outside the office, she heard the sound of traffic in the busy streets, and somewhere in the far distance the whine of a police car. Inside, though, the comforting tick of the clock on the wall filled the room.

Gene sat patiently, his gaze fixed on hers, calm, a tad challenging. There was something he wasn’t telling her, but she couldn’t work out what it was.

Callie uncrossed her legs and re-crossed them. His gaze stayed on her face, which she found interesting—no sexy slide down her body, no suggestive looks or comments. Either he didn’t fancy her, or he was determined not to bring sex into the office, for whatever reason. Of course, he could be married, or at least have a partner, in which case kudos to him for not straying.

Suddenly, it became quintessentially important that she discover if he was single.

She shook her head a little, hoping it would dislodge the issue from her brain. His professionalism ranked him high on her list. However, working with him would be a nightmare, surely, whether he was married or not. Wasn’t it weird that a once-soldier wanted to be a PA? Or was she being sexist? The thought made her uncomfortable, as she was a great advocate of women being able to do any job they chose. And if she believed in equality, it had to work both ways.

She frowned. “So instead of taking an Army desk job, you decided to go into secretarial work? What’s the difference?”

He shrugged again. “Freedom. I’d had enough of being told how to live my life.”

“Why not go back into journalism?”

“I’ve seen enough of the world, and I’m not getting any younger. I just want to settle down.”

“How old are you?”

“I’ll be thirty-two on Valentine’s Day.” His eyes dared her to find that funny.

She bit her lip. “Married?”

“No.”

“Living with anyone?” Oops. That wasn’t relevant to the job, but it had slipped out.

“No.”

“Children?”

“No.”

“Girlfriend?” She was taunting him now, wondering how far she could push him.

His gaze remained steady. “No.”

“You don’t like talking about yourself,” she observed, curious about this guy, whose impassive expression held a multitude of secrets, she was sure.

“I’ve just told you more about my injury than I’ve told anyone in a long time.” He looked slightly puzzled at that.

Callie studied him, intrigued. He fascinated her. But that didn’t mean him being her PA would work. She had to think of her customers, the majority of whom were women. Okay, most of them would probably think it fun to chat to a male PA, but she had to bear in mind that it might make some of them feel awkward. And what about him?

“You know what business I run here, right?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I ask because working with lingerie all day can make some men twitchy. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“No, ma’am.” He remained straight-faced. It didn’t surprise her. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine this man getting flustered over lacy underwear. He looked like the kind of guy who could open a bra catch with one flick of his fingers.

His cool gaze egged her on. “You think you can remain professional when dealing with customers enquiring about extra-large cup sizes? Or when they ask you to describe the different styles of panties we supply?”

He brushed at a speck of dust on his trousers. “Yes, ma’am.” He met her gaze, and then finally gave in to a smile, showing her why he had all those laughter lines at the edges of his eyes, and baring a row of neat white teeth. “And I’m happy to work late to catch up on any knowledge I may be missing.”

Ah, so there was a man beneath the soldier, then. Wickedly, she raised her eyebrows as if to say, Oh, really? He dropped his gaze back to his hands, pursing his lips as if cursing himself for his comment. He’d tried so hard to be professional, and he’d only caved when she’d provoked him. She couldn’t blame him for that.

She gave a short, silent laugh. If he could do the job—and it appeared he had the necessary skills to do so, more than any of the other applicants, anyway—then there wasn’t a relevant reason why she shouldn’t hire him.

He looked back up after he’d composed himself. “Please give me a chance,” he said. “I swear I’ll be professional. We’ll work together really well. I’ll look after you.”

She blinked. What a strange thing to say. It made her feel slightly uncomfortable. “I don’t need looking after.”

“I meant in the office. A good PA makes sure he knows what his boss wants before she does,” he added. The twinkle in his eye told her he’d been aware of the double meaning behind it, and again he hadn’t been able to help himself.

It would be fun teasing him. But she still wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

“It’s a busy job,” she said. “Lots of travelling.”

“That’s fine.”

“But you said you wanted to settle down.”

“Staying in swish hotels with air conditioning and minibars is not the same as camping with a dozen guys in the desert, believe me.”

She was not going to think about him showering with a dozen other sweaty guys. “I’m going on a tour of the country over the next few weeks,” she said. “I need my PA to come with me.”

“That’s no problem.”

“It’s a long way. Lots of flying and car journeys.”

“I like flying. And driving. I’m happy to double as your chauffeur. It’ll be fun,” he said. “Trust me.”

She met his gaze. His eyes were gray, like a sky heavy with rain, late on a summer’s evening.

“Trust me,” he said again, gently. A strange phrase, but one that reached inside her and warmed her all the way through.

She pushed herself to her feet. “You can have a one-day trial. Work with Neve, let her show you the ropes. If she gives you the green light, I’ll trust her judgment.” He had to be able to do the job. And she knew Neve wouldn’t let him through just because she was trying to fix her up.

He stood—a little awkwardly, she noticed. That leg did still give him trouble. “That’s great. Thank you for the chance, ma’am, you won’t regret it.”

She walked out, her lips curving at the feel of his eyes burning into her butt like lasers.

Chapter Two

Gene let Callie walk a few paces ahead of him before following her out. It gave him time to admire the way her high heels lent her hips an enticing swing as she walked across the room.

He hadn’t expected her to be such a cracker. Phoebe Hawke—who went by her maiden name—had painted a picture of her daughter as plump and mulish, and had somehow managed to suggest she was a little stupid. At the time, he’d thought it didn’t marry with the fact that Callie was also apparently the very successful CEO of a thriving company she’d built from scratch, and it certainly didn’t fit now he’d met her.

When he’d stood in the doorway and his gaze had fallen on the girl standing by the window, his first thought had been, Oh no. Surely this wasn’t the woman he was expected to lie to for the next three months.

Although not model-thin like her mother, she wasn’t fat by any means. Rounded, maybe. Curvaceous, with a full bust and a tiny waist that flared out to generous hips—a true hourglass figure like an old-fashioned Hollywood starlet—Gina Lollobrigida, maybe, or Sophia Loren. She wore a sleeveless cream blouse and a fawn-colored pencil skirt, and sexy high heels with painted toenails peeking out of the cutaway toes. Shiny strawberry-blonde hair bounced around her shoulders. She had an English-rose complexion with dark pink lips pursed in thought. She was much younger and far sexier than he’d been led to believe. Her expression had looked a little sad, though, and instead of announcing his arrival, he’d found himself taking the opportunity to study her while wondering what she was thinking about.

She certainly wasn’t stupid, either. He’d read an article that a prestigious New Zealand fashion magazine had done on her company. Callie had left Victoria University with a top-class Management degree and had started up the business with her three friends at the age of twenty-two. The magazine had said she worked sixty-hour weeks, although after speaking to her he suspected that was a low estimate. It had also reported her as having “a perceptive mind astute enough to challenge Sherlock Holmes,” and that seemed to be the case from the way she’d spotted his military background and his wounded hip, which he tried hard to hide.

He was going to have to be on his guard all the time if he intended to see this through to the end.

“We’re going to give him a trial,” Callie announced to Neve. She walked over to a spare chair and rolled it across the floor to the desk. Looking at him expectantly, she gestured to it. “Sit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She gave an odd little shiver. “Please don’t call me ma’am.”

“We used surnames in the Army. I’m happy to call you Summer, if you like.” The name fit her perfectly. Everything about her was like a piece of summer captured and brought inside.

She gave him a wry look. “Callie will be fine.”

He took the seat next to Neve, who smiled and indicated the drawers to the right of her desk.

“Okay, so these are the main forms you’ll need when a new customer calls.” She opened the drawer. “Yellow for the South Island, blue for the North Island.” She looked up at Callie, who hovered with folded arms. “Can I help you?”

Callie ran her tongue over her teeth, glanced at him, then turned on her heel and walked back to her office, where the door swung slowly shut.

Neve blew out a long, relieved breath, bent forward, and rested her forehead on the table.

“Are you all right?” he asked with concern.

She sat up again and rolled her eyes. “I thought she’d never leave.” She gave him an exasperated look. “And I thought you’d blown it in there, being cheeky to her. She was already flustered because you have a... well, you know.” She gestured at his crotch.

Gene opened his mouth to give a sarcastic retort, then stared at her. Wait a minute. He frowned. “What do you mean, ‘blown it in there’? You need a replacement that much?”

“Well, yes, but I meant the secret mission.” Neve’s voice dropped to an amusing stage whisper. “Phoebe told me everything.”

“Really?” That surprised him. Callie’s mother had been very clear that he was to keep his ulterior motive for being there from her daughter.

“Phoebe needed my help,” Neve admitted. “It wasn’t too much of a stretch to convince Callie that Becky needed to finish work early. But we knew she wouldn’t go for a male PA unless there was no alternative.”

“So you made sure the other candidates were bad on purpose?”

Neve just grinned. Striking rather than pretty, with brown hair cut in a long bob, boyish clothes, and a ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude, she obviously cared enough about her friend to go through with this elaborate charade.

She leaned back in the chair and gave him a curious look. “Can you really type ninety words a minute?”

“Damn straight. And I do know how to tie my own shoelaces.”

She chuckled. “You may mock, but it’s a pretty good speed for a soldier. And by the way, I thought you weren’t supposed to tell her you were ex-Army.”

“I wasn’t, but she guessed. I don’t want to lie unless I really have to.”

Neve nodded. “She’s very astute.”

“So I gather.”

She cocked her head at him. “You’re really the director of Safe & Secure?”

“Yep.”

“So you’re, like, a real bodyguard?”

“Yep. Except we call them PPOs, personal protection officers.”

“Phoebe told me she’d asked for you personally.”

“Yes. That was... unexpected. But she wants to keep her daughter safe—I can understand it.”

“Callie doesn’t want a bodyguard,” Neve said.

“I know. Hence the undercover act.”

“She threw a fit when Phoebe suggested it.”

“I bet. Why didn’t she want one?”

“She doesn’t like being told what to do—especially by her mother.”

“Fair enough.”

Phoebe was a Crown prosecutor at one of the biggest law firms in Wellington. A gangster she’d put away six years ago and who had recently come out of prison had sent her a death threat that had also mentioned her daughter, prompting her to seek protection until he was caught.

Gene had known her for a long time, and he suspected he was one of the few people she didn’t boss around. He could only imagine the kind of pressure she’d put on Callie to accept security. He was amazed Callie had managed to resist. Clearly, it hadn’t done her any good. Phoebe had just changed to underhanded measures to get what she wanted. He couldn’t blame her, though, when the safety of her daughter was at stake.

“So what are the rest of your company doing while you’re up here?” Neve asked.

“They’re doing stuff I can’t do while I’m not in the office, mainly with Phoebe, as she’s the main target. Callie was mentioned in the letter, but it was Phoebe’s life that was threatened directly. I am still surprised that Callie’s going on this tour, though.”

“You’ll learn that she’s very trusting and thinks the best of everyone. She doesn’t really understand there might be someone out there who wants to kill her.” Neve’s lips twisted. “She’s a great believer in the underlying goodness of the human race.”

“Sucker,” Gene said.

She laughed. “Yeah.”

“She knows about the death threats, though?”

“Yeah, but she believes her mother’s using it to scare her, to force her to stay put. She thinks her mother resents her success, so it’s a natural conclusion.”

Was Callie wrong there? Phoebe might not have painted her daughter in a wonderful light, but the whole reason for her setting up the protection was because she obviously loved Callie dearly, and she’d seemed proud of her achievements.

Neve’s gaze slid to his chest. “Do you wear a bulletproof vest?”

“Not at the moment. I will do, though, when we’re out on the road.”

“Won’t she be able to see it?”

“The company that supplies our equipment makes what’s called an executive vest—it looks like a waistcoat. That’s why I’m wearing one now, so she gets used to seeing me in them.”

“I thought a three-piece was a bit over the top.”

“I don’t know, I quite like it.” He straightened the waistcoat. He hadn’t missed the way Callie’s gaze had slid down him, soft and sensual as a warm hand on bare skin. “My new one’s bullet resistant and protects against hypodermic needles and edged weapons.” He spoke with some pride.

Neve’s smile faded, and her face paled. “Jeez.”

Shit, he’d said too much. “Don’t worry. We’ll do everything we can to make sure she stays safe.”

Neve’s gaze appraised him. “You’d really jump in front of a bullet for her?”

“That’s my job.”

“You don’t know her. She can be really grumpy sometimes. Especially early in the morning.”

He could imagine Callie early in the morning. With her blonde hair ruffled, wearing nothing but his shirt, nipples showing through the cotton like buttons. Seducing Summer. Now that was a fantasy that would carry him through any sleepless nights.

Neve raised an eyebrow, and he blinked, realizing his eyes must have glazed over. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Don’t even think about it,” she said.

“Think about what?”

Her previously warm expression turned cool. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but I can assure you I’m excellent at my job, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe.”

Neve leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen on the table as she surveyed him. “And her heart?”

He frowned. “What about it?”

“This is important, Gene. I’m serious. You need to stay focused. Callie’s love life is important to us, and we’re determined to fix her up with someone soon, but her safety is even more important than that. I’ll be in touch with her on a regular basis, and if she gives me any kind of hint that there’s something developing between the two of you, I’ll be straight on to Phoebe, and before you know it you’ll be off the job.”

“And I won’t be able to show my face around Wellington again?” He glared at her. “Come on, give me some credit. I have no intention of getting involved with her.”

“You don’t know her.” Neve’s face softened. “Her IQ is bigger than yours and mine added together, she works harder than anyone else I’ve ever known, she’s very perceptive, and she has this weird knack of knowing what you’re thinking. Men find her fascinating, and it always leads to disaster. Because although she’s generous and funny, and has a heart of gold, her astuteness doesn’t extend to her personal relationships.”

“What do you mean?”

Neve hesitated. “You mustn’t tell her I told you. But I think it’s best you know. Four months ago, she walked in on her ex in bed with his secretary.”

“Christ.” That was why she’d looked so sad.

“We all knew he was bad news, but she couldn’t see it. She trusted him completely, and it nearly destroyed her. She’s just climbing out of the black hole she’d fallen into, so the last thing she needs is for someone like you making a move on her.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Come on, Gene. You’re gorgeous, smart, and there’s something dangerous about you. Don’t roll your eyes. You know perfectly well what I mean. You’re the kind of guy who goes after the woman he wants and doesn’t let anything get in his way. Well you can’t afford to do that with Callie. If you let her, she’ll fall for you, so you’ve got to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Gene felt as if he’d walked into some kind of teen movie. He should have known better than to take on a job in a lingerie business. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said sharply. “This is a professional working relationship and it’s going to stay that way.” Callie might not have been what he was expecting, but that didn’t mean he’d jeopardize his job to play with her, and it was insulting to him that anyone would think otherwise.

“I hope so,” Neve continued, ignoring his glare. “Because you can’t tell her that you’re actually her bodyguard, and that means lying to her, and she won’t take it well when she finds out—because she will, eventually. She’s too smart not to. Life’s thrown a lot at her, including a cheating boyfriend, a mother who’s determined to control her, and a father who’s an arrogant ass but absolutely adores her, so much so that she can’t see his bad points. I don’t know how much more she can take.” She frowned. “I don’t understand why Phoebe didn’t ask for a female bodyguard. Why did she insist on you?”

“We go back a long way,” he said. He didn’t elaborate, even though Neve’s expression glimmered with curiosity.

“You’re one for secrets, aren’t you?” She shrugged. “Whatever. I just want you to know that when you say you’re out to protect her, that means all of her, heart included. Do you swear?”

“Want to find me a Bible?”

“Look at my face. Do I look like I’m laughing?”

His lips finally curved up. “I’m glad you care for her so much. Please don’t worry. I’ll make sure she stays safe, in every way.”

“Okay.” She gave a heavy sigh. “We might as well get started, then. Open your notebook.”

Gene did so, trying not to look up at the Sword of Damocles he was sure was hanging over his head.

Come on, dude, he scolded himself. He only had to do this until the NZ Special Tactics Group had tracked down the man sending the death threats, which would hopefully be only days, a week at most, and should definitely be well before Becky came back from her maternity leave in May. Gene liked sex as much as the next guy, and it was true that he hadn’t had any for a while, but in spite of Neve’s predictions, he’d never been a man to give in to his desires. He was sure he could remain aloof, even if it took three months to catch the bastard.

Ninety days of being practically glued to the curvy blonde’s side. He stifled a groan, gave himself a mental image of stapling her blouse shut, and concentrated on his notepad.

Chapter Three

“Coffee,” Gene said, placing the cup on her table. “Small amount of milk, quarter of a teaspoon of sugar. Stirred anticlockwise.”

It was mid-afternoon. He’d already brought her lunch to her desk and had also managed then to give her a look that implied her tastes were particular, just because she liked her salad from a certain place with a particular dressing. She normally bought it herself—she had no idea why Neve had sent him out for it.

“I don’t know how you manage to make me sound fussy,” she complained. “It’s not a word I’d ever call myself.”

“Becky left detailed instructions on par with planning D-Day.” He stood in front of her desk, hands behind his back as usual.

She reached for the cup. “I suppose we all have our quirks. And at ease, soldier.”

“I like standing like this. It’s not cool for a man to put his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers.” His eyes held enough steel to warn her that she wasn’t going to be able to boss him around.

“Fair enough.” She leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee. She still hadn’t made up her mind about him yet. He’d been right in that a good PA’s job was to anticipate her—or his—boss’s needs before she knew them herself, and Becky had been very good at doing that, without the additional judgmental looks and rolls of the eyes. He was hardly perfect PA material. And yet he fascinated her.

“Do I get a biscuit?” she asked. “Becky normally puts a chocolate Hobnob on the side of the saucer. Was that not on the list?”

He raised an eyebrow as if to say, Seriously? She sipped her coffee. He pursed his lips, turned, and walked out, then came back a minute later with a Hobnob on a plate, which he placed in front of her.

“Thank you.” She took a bite of the biscuit and chewed it. “Mmm,” she said with great enthusiasm.

That made him laugh, which pleased her in turn. Knowing she could encourage his smile out gave her more pleasure than it probably should have.

She’d expected him to return to his desk, but he began to walk slowly around her office, looking at the pictures on the walls. All but one were shots of women in Four Seasons lingerie, tasteful photos with clever lighting that made all the models—most of whom had generous body shapes—look sensual and sexy.

“Do you like?” She rose and walked over to him, carrying her coffee and biscuit, wondering if he’d give her some comment about being mad not to like photos of women in their underwear.

“They’re excellent.” He gestured at the one in front of him. “Superb lighting.”

“It makes them look quite beautiful, doesn’t it?”

“All women are beautiful regardless of lighting.” He tipped his head, studying the model in the photo.

“That’s a nice thing to say.”

He turned his gaze to her. “I would imagine you have to think that to work in a place like this.”

“It helps, for sure. We believe that everyone should be proud of their body no matter what shape or size you are. Everyone’s different, and that should be celebrated. Nobody should have to change themselves to fit society’s version of the perfect person.”

He studied her for a long time. He didn’t say anything, and his gaze didn’t move from hers, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was thinking about her naked.

Finally, though, he just said, “You have a biscuit crumb on your lip.”

Sticking out her tongue, she searched along her top lip, then along the bottom one, until she found it, and sucked it into her mouth. “Waste not, want not.”

His gaze had dropped to her lips, but now it rose back to meet hers. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, though. Probably what an idiot she was with biscuit all around her mouth.

Without saying anything else, he continued walking around the room before stopping at the largest photo on the wall. It was of Callie, Rowan, Neve, and Bridget, taken on the day of Willow’s wedding. They stood in a line, backed by cherry trees and purple, pink, and white wisteria. The photographer had taken the shot at the moment a brisk summer breeze whipped across the green, and all four of them were laughing, fighting the way their dresses were lifting in the wind.

“The Four Seasons,” Callie said.

“That’s Neve, isn’t it?” He gestured to the girl in the light blue dress.

“Yes. That’s Rowan—she designs our lingerie. And you must have seen Bridget downstairs, too—she runs the shop.”

“You met at university, right?”

“Yes.” She gave him an appraising look. He’d done research on the business? Another point in his favor.

“I like that your lingerie caters for all sizes,” he said.

“Everyone deserves to feel pretty in what they wear, and it’s not only thin women who want to look sexy. I can personally vouch for that.” She smiled.

“Not every man wants a stick insect,” he said. “Some of us like a woman to have curves.”

Was he saying that he liked curvy women? He didn’t elaborate, and again, she couldn’t read anything else in his expression. He certainly wasn’t flirting overtly. Which was appropriate, of course. It would make her life much easier over the next few months if there was no spark between them.

Would be a bit dull, though.

She shrugged. “Well there are plenty of curves to go around at Four Seasons. None of us is keen on dieting.”

Laughing, she walked over to the architect’s desk that stood against the wall. If he was going to be her PA, he’d need to know the business, so she might as well try to forget he was a guy and talk to him the way she would have talked to Becky. “Come and look at these.”

Two huge catalogues sat on the desk. Finishing off her biscuit, she placed the coffee cup to one side and opened the first catalogue. The pages were made of board and slotted into clear plastic sleeves that clipped into the folder so she could add or replace items as necessary. Each page featured a large picture by the same photographer who’d taken the shots on the wall.

Gene stood shoulder to shoulder with her, a few inches taller than her in her heels. As they leaned forward, his aftershave wound around her like a ribbon—something with sandalwood and a touch of citrus, making her mouth water.

“This is the Four Seasons swimwear.” Trying to concentrate, she began to leaf through the photos of models in bikinis and costumes, taken on the quay by the Te Papa museum. “Rowan’s aim was to design swimwear that women with more generous body shapes can feel comfortable in while still feeling sexy. For example, our bikini tops have more material in the cups so the wearer doesn’t have to worry that she’ll turn to the side and pop out.”

“Very thoughtful.”

“We think so. We do offer the traditional tiny bottoms, but we concentrate on the hip- or waist-high bottoms, often matched with tankini tops, as well as one-pieces. Rowan’s very clever at designing patterns that draw the eye away from the bits we don’t want to be seen. Many women don’t mind having a larger bust, but they’re uncomfortable about showing their midriffs, so our designs are based around disguising that area by having fancy tucks or folds of the material between the boobs, dark-colored panels down the sides or across the tummy, and bright colors in strategic places.”

He lifted a hand, and for a brief moment she thought he was going to cup her cheek. He just touched her earlobe, though, and to her surprise, produced a two-dollar coin as if he’d pulled it from the shell of her ear.

She laughed. “Magic tricks?”

“The theory of misdirection. It’s what the swimwear does.” He smiled and pocketed the coin.

Her earlobe tingled where he’d brushed it, sending a ripple through her entire body. He’d obviously shaved that morning, she thought. An image flashed through her mind of him standing in front of a bathroom mirror wearing only a towel, tipping his head back as he ran a razor across his cheek.

Ooh.

Blinking away the haze of lust that threatened to overwhelm her, she pushed the swimwear to one side and opened the lingerie catalogue. “Yes, you’re right. Misdirection is the key for swimwear. Underwear is slightly different, as generally it’s not made for others to see. It serves two basic purposes—to support the figure and make one’s outer clothes look good, and to make the woman feel sexy, both for herself and her partner. Quite often, she’ll buy two separate sets of lingerie—comfortable, well-fitting bras and panties to wear every day, and prettier lingerie to wear for special occasions. Rowan wanted to design a range that fulfilled both purposes—that was both practical and sexy.” She gestured at the model on the page, who wore an underwired bra with full cups, a wide back, and generous straps, that was nevertheless pretty with its intricate lace and embroidery.

Callie had shown the catalogues to various men over the past few years, from the occasional salesman to partners of women who visited the office. Nearly all of them had cracked jokes to cover their discomfort, while the gazes of a few had lingered longer than was necessary as they ogled the models.

Gene turned the pages at the right pace, though, without making lewd remarks or suggestive comments. “How is the range priced? Compared to other brands?”

Wow, this guy was pure class. Callie wanted to hug him, but just managed to restrain herself. “High-end rather than cheap, but competitive compared to some of the more well-known brands. A price that says quality without being expensive. We did a lot of surveying of women and discovered that underwear—especially bras—is something most are willing to spend money on, if it’s comfortable and makes them feel good. They may buy cheap T-shirts and two pairs of shoes for the price of one, but they won’t skimp on their underwear.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said.

She glanced at him, but he was examining the last page that showed the same model in all the different styles of panties they produced, and Callie couldn’t tell how wry he’d meant his comment to be. Was his humor just exceptionally dry, or had he merely been commenting on the penny-saving abilities of her customers?

Finally, he moved back and closed the book. “I’m impressed. So why are you touring the country?”

She wandered back to her desk. “I’ll be approaching high street stores to ask whether they’d consider stocking the Four Seasons brand.”

“Couldn’t you do that by phone or email?”

“I’m better in person,” she said, sitting down. “You can’t appreciate my sparkling personality and lively wit until you talk to me face to face.”

He stood before her desk, hands behind his back again. “I see.” He kept a straight face, obviously trying hard to be polite. For whatever strange reason, he wanted the job, and it was clear he’d be professional behind the desk.

Mischievousness surged through her. “Plus, I do a fashion show and model all the underwear personally. It works especially well when the managers are men.”

His eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“No!” She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Gene. If we’re going to work together, you’re going to have to let that sense of humor loose. It’s difficult to take life seriously when you spend your days discussing things like whether the fabric of a bra is going to be too scratchy on the nipples.”

He looked at his shoes for a long moment. Callie bit back a laugh. She really shouldn’t tease him.

“If it’s any help,” she said, “I’m amazed you’ve lasted this long without any sexual innuendo.”

He raised his gaze to hers. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. But his eyes warmed with amusement.

She sat back in her chair. “Just so you know, although I don’t like it when people make fun of my job or treat women as sexual objects, I do have a sense of humor, and you’re allowed to have one too.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Would you like to work here?”

“It’s a dream come true.” He gave an impish smile that warmed her right through. At last.

“In that case, you’re hired, Mr. Bond—and I hope you’re prepared for endless 007 jokes.”

“I’m sure I’ve heard them all.”

“I’ll do my best to come up with some new ones. In return, you may ask me a question. Anything you like, and I promise to answer it truthfully.” Now she’d given him free rein, she waited for him to enquire about her cup size, or what style of panties she preferred.

He surveyed her for a long moment. Then he picked up her empty cup. “What’s Callie short for?”

“Oh.” She sucked her bottom lip. Talking with this man was like being blindfolded and then turned around and around, leaving her disoriented and reeling. “Um, Calinda. It means summer.”

“So your name’s Summer Summer?”

“I prefer to think of it as Sunny Summer.”

He picked up the saucer containing a few leftover biscuit crumbs. “It suits you.” He lifted his eyes to meet hers. Once again, they held enough heat to suggest he was thinking something sexy.

The ability to think of a witty retort deserted her, and all she could come up with was, “Thank you.”

“And thank you for hiring me. I’m sure we’ll work well together.”

Something in his expression made her think of the two of them naked, in bed. Working together beneath the sheets. Her cheeks heated, and she was certain he noted that before he turned and left the room, his lips curving in a slight smile.

Chapter Four

The rest of Gene’s day passed swiftly. Neve went through the rest of the diligent Becky’s notes with him, most of which seemed to imply that although Callie was a wonderful saleswoman who had no trouble putting people at their ease, she couldn’t organize a piss-up in a brewery. Becky made it quite clear that he couldn’t expect Callie to do anything unless he wrote it on a Post-It Note and stuck it to her phone or her laptop screen, and even then, if it was an important task, it was best he did it himself.

Neve gave him a rundown of the running of the business, in between pestering him with questions about his real job.

“So what do you know about the guy who’s made the death threats?” she asked in a hushed voice when she knew Callie was on a long call. “Phoebe said he was someone she put away a few years ago.”

“Yeah. He’s a nasty piece of work—a rich gangster who thought he was untouchable. Like Al Capone, they got him on taxes, and she put together a watertight case he couldn’t wriggle out of. He got ten years and was out in six. Two days after he was released, he shot his lawyer and then vanished. A week later, Phoebe got the first death threat. He’s a nutcase, hell bent on revenge against all those who had a hand in his incarceration, intent on making them suffer.”

“You think they’ll be able to catch him?”

“Oh, they’ll get him eventually. This time, though, they’ll be able to put him away for murder. He’s not some top-level mastermind—he’s just a rich bully, and money can only get you so far. He’s threatened some pretty important people. We’re working with the Special Tactics Group—what used to be the Anti-Terrorist Squad—and they’ll track him down. But until they do, we have to protect those he’s threatened. Like I said, he didn’t threaten Callie directly, but she was mentioned in the letter, so we’re not taking any chances.”

“Do you think he’s hiding in the bushes with a rifle, or do you think he’s hired a hitman?”

“I think he’s probably high on drugs and alcohol somewhere worrying about picking up the soap in the shower when he’s back in prison. I doubt he’ll ever carry out the threats. But we’ll take them seriously, of course, until he’s caught.”

Neve seemed happy with that, and continued briefing him on deliveries and stock takes.

“What do you do when you’re not filling in here?” he asked when she’d finished.

“I’m in charge of marketing and promotion. I design our catalogues and promotional material. I’ve been scouting out suitable shops for Callie to approach to stock our brand. And I run lingerie parties.” Her eyes gleamed.

“Parties?”

“Yeah. It’s turned into quite a thing. We’re having one next weekend, Saturday the thirteenth. Rowan’s twin sister’s having a baby shower.”

“The one whose wedding you all went to dressed as the four seasons?”

“Yeah. She’s hired us for the evening. She’s the focus, of course, but she knows getting all her friends together is a great opportunity for us to tout our wares.”

“So you bring a selection of lingerie to these parties?”

“Yeah. And other... bits and bobs.”

He realized she was talking about sex toys. “Hmm, I see.”

Neve’s eyes widened. “Of course you’ll have to come to keep an eye on Callie. You can be a waiter! We always need someone to serve the drinks.”

“I’m not sure being the only man at a baby shower-come-lingerie party is my idea of a good night out. I’ll be eaten alive.”

“Only if you’re very lucky.”

They both laughed.

“There’s too much fun going on out here,” Callie announced, walking out of her office.

“Sorry, miss,” Neve said. “Won’t happen again.” She leaned toward Gene and spoke in a mock whisper. “Watch out—she can be very strict when the mood takes her.”

Gene knew she hadn’t meant that to be as suggestive as it sounded, but it was difficult to stop his mind from straying to sex when Callie stood in front of him. He had no intention of carrying out his daydreams, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t let his mind wander when the mood took him. It did so now, tempting him with thoughts of her giving instructions in the bedroom. Maybe she liked tying her partners up—or being tied up. Either way sounded fun.

There were worse things than dating the CEO of a lingerie firm, he was certain. He could imagine Callie Summer modelling her range of underwear for him. He wasn’t sure what would be his favorite of those he’d spotted in the catalogue—the virginal white bra and panties, the saucy red teddy, or the sexy black lace set with sheer black thigh highs. She’d look pretty damn good in any of those.

He blinked. Callie’s cheeks had turned red. He’d been staring too long and, judging by the blush, she’d read something of what he was thinking in his eyes. Luckily, Neve was chattering on about something and hadn’t noticed.

He raised an eyebrow.

Callie blinked rapidly and lowered her gaze. He hid a smile. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. He wasn’t being obvious enough that she could be sure he liked her. That was good. He was happy to keep her in the dark for a while.

In the dark. Chained to a bed. Totally at his mercy.

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes at himself, he tidied the items on the desk into a neat pile and followed Neve’s suit as she got to her feet.

“Five o’clock,” Neve said. “I’m done.”

Gene looked at Callie. “When do you finish?”

“I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”

He sat back at the desk. “No worries.”

“You can go,” she said. “I don’t expect my PA to stay on after five.”

“I go when you go.”

“Well I don’t.” Neve picked up her bag and headed off. “See ya.”

“Saturday the thirteenth?” Callie called after her.

Neve stopped and turned. “Are you going to make it?”

“Yeah, of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Next week, we’ll do the South Island, stop in Wellington for Willow’s baby shower, then carry on to the North Island the following week.”

“Cool. I’ll see you then.” Neve disappeared.

“Neve’s invited me, by the way,” Gene told Callie, leaning back in his chair and twirling a pen in his fingers. “To the party.”

She perched on the edge of his desk. “Really?” A flicker of doubt crossed her face—she wasn’t sure that Neve hadn’t been cheeky enough to do that.

“I understand some interesting things are for sale.”

“Mmm,” she said, surprisingly cool. “Neve has connections with a Wellington-based company, and they supply a range of examples for her parties. Plus, she gets freebie gift packs that come in handy. It would be a nice pre-birthday treat for you.” Her eyes gleamed—she’d remembered his birthday was on Valentine’s Day.

She’d called his bluff, and he couldn’t stop his lips curving up. She had bright blue eyes the color of a summer sky—surprise, surprise—and they lit with amusement now. This woman fascinated him. She blushed when she thought he might be thinking about sex with her, but she ran a lingerie company, and she was obviously quite open where bedroom matters were concerned.

“Sounds like fun,” he said, smiling.

She chuckled. “They are. Experimentation with lingerie and... other items can be about availability. Women are often too afraid to go into sex shops and even lingerie shops because they’re easily embarrassed. The idea of parties like the one next week is that they can go into a bathroom or bedroom on their own to try on the lingerie, and maybe purchase something fun they wouldn’t ordinarily have the courage to if they were on their own. If your best friend’s treating herself to a vibrator, you don’t feel like such a floozy having a look yourself. Unless you’re Rowan, who blushes scarlet at the mere mention of anything to do with sex.”

Loving her open manner, he studied the way her blonde hair slid over her shoulder like melted butter poured from a jug. “You enjoy enabling women, don’t you?”

“I do. It makes me feel good.”

“Do you consider yourself a feminist?”

She studied him, her expression curious. “Depends what you mean by that. It’s come to mean someone who thinks women are better than men, and who seeks to punish them for having a penis. In its true sense, it means someone who believes in equality for women. Culturally, economically, politically, socially... So yes. I consider myself a feminist in that way.” Her eyes appraised him. “What was her name?”

“Whose name?”

“Your ex. The one who didn’t like men.”

He’d never felt like this before—as if he were made of glass and all his thoughts were visible whirling around in his head. Over the past few years, he’d erected a barrier around himself that very few were allowed to see behind, and it was bizarre to find it suddenly transparent.

Should he answer her? He decided to sidestep. “What makes you think I had an ex who didn’t like men?”

She considered the question seriously. “Something in your eyes. Wariness, hurt. I make up stories about people in my head—it’s a habit.”

“So what would my story be?”

She sucked her bottom lip for a moment. “Her strength and independence attracted you in the first place. You appreciate the difficulties that women can have gaining equality, and you were proud to have a girlfriend who stood up for her sex, maybe even campaigned for women’s rights. But over time, you came to resent the way she made you feel privileged, as if you should constantly apologize for being male. That’s because... you come from a poor background. You’ve worked hard for everything you’ve achieved, and you’ve been given nothing, so you didn’t appreciate being made to feel that you’d gotten to the top because you’re a man. What once attracted you to her began to annoy you, and that made you feel bad because you believe in equality yourself, and yet you felt resentful that she’d gotten where she was by being a woman. It shouldn’t matter. It should be irrelevant. That’s true equality—everyone being on the same playing field and being judged by their talents, not their gender, color, or religion. She’s the one who broke it off, but you were relieved when it happened.”

He stared at her. It was so close to the truth that it gave him the shivers. But he wasn’t about to admit that to her. “So how did you come up with this piece of fiction?” he asked, linking his fingers and trying to appear relaxed, even though his heart banged away against his ribs.

She laughed. “Just like your coin trick, it’s not magic. You’re working as a PA—clearly you believe in equality. You’re respectful to women. But when someone asks a question, it can be as revealing as the answer to it. Your query about whether I consider myself a feminist and the wariness in your eyes told me you were worried I’d say yes, which means you’d met someone who’d made you uneasy about feminism. It could have been a sister, but the fact that you’re a good-looking, decent guy who’s still single at thirty-one suggests it was an ex.”

“And the poor background?”

“That was a guess, but resentment toward her makes more sense if that was the case.”

“And the fact that the ex broke up with me?”

Callie tipped her head to the side. “You seem sad, but not angry. Maybe in time, you would have left her, but she obviously sensed what was coming and took the leap first, and ultimately you were relieved she did. Although...” Her expression softened. “The sadness is deep. You used to smile a lot, but you don’t so much now. Something happened to you that made you look at life differently. You have more scars inside than outside. Was that your ex? I think maybe not. It was something—or someone—else.”

Her blue eyes held him captive. Neve had been right—there was something exceptional about this woman. He’d never met anyone like her. Her insightfulness stunned him, and made him uneasy in equal measure. He relied on his barriers and his aloofness—they were an exoskeleton that kept him standing upright, and if she took them away, he was sure he’d collapse to the ground in a heap.

Callie smiled, obviously aware he wasn’t going to reply. “Maybe I should write detective stories.”

“Maybe you should.”

Chuckling, she looked down, turning his notepad toward her. He always wrote in shorthand, and the page was covered with neat lines and loops. She ran her finger across the lines. “It’s so strange—it’s like another language, like Arabic or Japanese, with all these symbols. What system is it?”

“Teeline.”

“I think Becky uses Pitman.”

“Pitman is one of the oldest systems. In the US, they tend to use Gregg. New Zealand journalists are taught Teeline, though, and it’s the recommended system for the National Council for the Training of Journalists, which is why I use it.”

“Write my name for me.”

He picked up a pen and did so, a small ‘c’ with a long ‘l’ and a little line for the ‘ee’ sound at the end. Then a tiny circle for the ‘s’, followed by a long arc for the ‘mer’ sound. “Callie Summer,” he said.

She ran her finger across it. “Nice.”

While she studied it, his gaze caressed her face, then moved down her neck to the top of her blouse. All the buttons were done up and there was no sign of her bra, but even so, the triangle of pale skin revealed by the V at the top sent his heart racing again.

“I’ll finish my calls,” she said, getting up. “Then we can go home.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She gave him a wry look and disappeared into her office.

Gene watched her go, conscious that his lips were curving in a smile. Men find her fascinating, Neve had said, and he could understand why now. She was warm, funny, clever, and sexy, and in any other circumstances, he might have considered asking her out.

But that wasn’t appropriate here. He dropped his gaze to his notepad. Picking up his pen, in shorthand he wrote, Stay focused. Neve was right—he couldn’t afford to become embroiled with Callie. His job was to protect the CEO of the Four Seasons, and he had to concentrate on that and push all other thoughts to the back of his mind.

Chapter Five

Gene spent half an hour typing up the notes he’d taken from Neve during the day. By five thirty, Callie had finished her phone calls and announced she was going home.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Gene said. He stood and slipped on his jacket.

She locked her office door. “That’s not necessary.”

“I know. But I’m a gentleman.” He put the computer to sleep and made sure the desk was tidy, then slid his notepad into his pocket. “Come on.”

“By the way,” she said as they walked down the stairs, “you don’t have to wear a suit to work every day. We don’t get a lot of visitors, and as you know, we’re all about comfort. And of course we’ll be travelling next week.”

“Thanks,” he said, although he would continue to wear the suit so he wouldn’t look odd in his bulletproof waistcoat.

Bridget had just closed the shop and was in the process of tallying up. “Great day,” she said as they entered the back door of the shop. “Having that Valentine’s Day promotion in the window has brought loads of guys in.”

“Excellent!” Callie beamed.

“That’s Neve for you,” Bridget said. “She has all the best ideas.”

“Yes, but you put the display together, Birdie.” Callie gestured at the window. “It’s amazing.”

Gene had noticed it when he’d arrived for his interview. “I have to agree,” he said. Letters pasted across the top of the window read, Buy the lady in your life a present you’ll both appreciate. Bridget—blonde, pretty, curvy, and bubbly—had arranged one completely bare male mannequin standing behind a female one, her head turned a fraction as if she were watching his hand as it slipped the ribbon strap of her lacy nightie off her shoulder. It was such a simple pose, but a suggestive, sexy one, and customers had obviously thought so too.

“We’ve sold heaps of that red lacy nightie,” Bridget said. “Twice as many as the black one, which surprised me, and hardly any white. I guess men don’t think the virginal look is in vogue at the moment.”

They both glanced at him expectantly, as if asking his opinion. He gave a lazy shrug. I like them all. He couldn’t deny to himself, though, that the thought of Callie in a white lacy bra and panties didn’t turn him on.

Callie laughed. “We’re off. See you tomorrow.”

“Have a good evening.” Bridget waved them goodnight.

They stepped out into the warm February sunshine and walked around the corner of the block to the car park.

“Which is yours?” Gene asked, although he knew it was the red Mazda parked against the fence.

She pointed it out, and he walked her over to it. “Thank you,” she said, with a little wryness to her voice as if to say, I could have done that perfectly well on my own, thank you.

“You’re welcome.” He remembered that he wasn’t supposed to know that her boyfriend had cheated on her not that long ago. “Busy evening planned?”

She unlocked the car door and paused. “Not really. I have a bit of work to finish, then I’ll have dinner. Maybe go out for a walk before watching Game of Thrones.” She smiled.

He fought the urge to ask her to stay indoors. “What time will your husband be home?”

Lifting a hand, she waggled her ring finger at him. “Not married.”

“Partner?”

“Nope.”

“Kids?”

“Nope.”

“Boyfriend?”

She smiled, and he realized he was copying the questions she’d asked him in the office. “No,” she said softly. “No boyfriend. And quite happy being single, thank you very much.”

“Fair enough.”

“What are you up to?” she asked. “Going out?”

“Maybe to the gym. Then a quiet evening. See you tomorrow?”

“Eight thirty sharp.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes and got in the car.

Gene walked over to his Holden and got in. He watched her exit the car park, and saw Ian’s car pull out a few seconds later to follow her home. Ian would shadow her when she went out for her walk, and would sit outside the house she shared with Rowan while she ate dinner, watched TV, and slept.

Gene’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He hadn’t been completely honest with Neve when he’d described the guy who’d sent the letters to Phoebe. He hadn’t wanted Neve to worry, so he’d played down the danger, but the truth was that Darren Kirk wasn’t the emptyheaded, unfocused maniac Gene had said he was. He was a cool, calm psychopath who’d had the connections and the money to escape the life sentence he should have gotten. The worst part of it was that the man he’d killed just days after being released was the lawyer who hadn’t been able to prevent Kirk from going to prison, and his wife—who’d been with him—had been seriously injured.

After that, the Special Tactics Group had taken the death threats very seriously. They’d wanted to take Phoebe and her daughter somewhere safe until they tracked Kirk down, but Callie had refused—why, Gene wasn’t quite sure, possibly because Phoebe had downplayed the threat so as not to alarm her too much and so therefore she hadn’t taken it seriously. Phoebe had defended her daughter’s right not to have security, but had agreed privately with the STG to hire Gene’s firm and have a permanent watch on both herself and Callie.

Gene had read the dossier on Kirk, and the thought of the cold killer coming after the soft and sensual Callie Summer made him feel ill. Almost certainly, it had been an empty threat meant to frighten the prosecutor who’d put Kirk away, but Gene wanted to drive to Callie’s house and sit outside there himself. To stay by her side and protect her until the man was caught.

But that was impractical, and besides, she was just another customer. She was nothing special, not a friend or family member, and certainly not a love interest. He had a job to do, and he had to concentrate on that and keep his emotions out of it.

With that in mind, he had things to do before he was able to call it a day. First, he drove to his house on Massey Road, high on a hill overlooking the harbor. The wind was getting up and had whipped the blue-gray water into choppy waves that made the outgoing ferry bob about like a piece of polystyrene. No wonder it was nicknamed the Vomit Comet, he thought, feeling a little queasy just looking at it.

He went inside and changed out of his suit into a T-shirt and sweatpants, then drove to the gym. He’d only planned to have a quick workout, but while he moved through the various pieces of equipment, his mind began to wander. Unfortunately, it seemed to want to conjure up images of a certain strawberry blonde in various pieces of lingerie, and, cross with himself, he pushed his body harder and longer until he was limp as a beaten chicken breast and dripping with sweat.

He showered and changed again, annoyed with himself for getting carried away. Although he liked to stretch the muscles around his damaged hip and keep it flexible, he’d pushed it too hard, and it ached now, a dull throb deep inside. He popped two Panadol, drove home, fought the urge to pick up takeout on the way, and made himself pasta with a large salad, which he ate sitting at the table as he checked his emails.

He scrolled through the daily report the office had sent him of comings and goings around Callie’s office—nothing suspicious, from the looks of it—then checked the report from Phoebe’s security team. One operative had recorded that she’d seen a dark-haired, bearded man out in front of Phoebe’s home in Wellington not once but twice, several hours apart. He’d only stayed thirty seconds the first time and twenty seconds the next, but she’d highlighted it as a yellow alert, and Gene copied the photo she’d taken of him from her parked car and sent it to all his teams and their contact at the STG so they could watch out for possible sightings of the guy.

Still eating his pasta, he took out the notepad he’d used during the day and flipped to the pages where he’d made notes during lunch about Callie’s office and her general routine. He typed them up, mentally running through possible problems in his head, planning out the best route to take if an incident occurred, thinking about ways he might be able to improve security there without her noticing.

Then he started up a new file called “Security on Tour.” After staring at the title for a while, he pushed away from the table, took a beer out of the fridge, and went outside onto the deck. Easing into his favorite deckchair with his sore hip, he took a long swig of the beer and stared out to sea.

Working as a personal protection officer often involved lots of tedious, dull work—from surveillance to intelligence gathering to threat recognition and assessment. Facts and data were important, and as it was easy to miss little details in a sea of information, it required a keen eye and constant concentration to make sure nothing important was overlooked.

But it also involved a large percentage of instinct. In his days in the Army, and then in security, Gene had learned to rely on his gut feelings, and now they were telling him that the real threat to Callie—if there were to be one—would come when they were out on the road. It would be harder for whoever was following them to keep track of them, but it would be a lot easier for a hitman to get close to her. Unless Gene revealed his mission, and possibly even if he did, he couldn’t stop her shopping, eating at restaurants, or going out for walks late at night. All he could do was remain as vigilant as possible, and do his best to protect her when they were together.

In the pocket of his jeans, his phone rang. He pulled it out and checked the screen, expecting it to be someone from his office, then smiled when he saw the name of his best mate.

“Hey, Felix.” He lay back in the deckchair, one arm tucked under his head. “How’s things?”

“Hey, Gene. Yeah, all good here, thanks.”

“Finally got back to work?” Gene liked to tease his lawyer friend about his extra-long summer break. Felix worked at the biggest law firm in Wellington, and, like many firms in New Zealand, they closed for several weeks over Christmas and January.

“Only just. Apparently some companies make you go back to work before February. It’s shocking.”

Gene laughed. “What’s up?”

“Thought I’d share some news with you. Coco’s pregnant.”

“Ah, mate.” Gene was genuinely pleased for his friend. Felix had married the head secretary of his law firm the previous year, and he’d mentioned that they’d decided to try for a family straight away. “That’s wonderful news.”

“Yeah, we’re pleased. It took a while, and there’s always that niggling thought in the back of your mind that you’re not going to be able to have kids, you know? So it’s a relief.”

“When’s it due?”

“She’s just three months, so July.”

“Great. I bet she’s happy.”

“A mixture of nervous and excited, yeah.” Felix chuckled. “Anyway, how did it go today?” Gene had told him about his undercover mission.

“Well, she agreed to take me on, so that’s the first step done. She’s touring the country starting Monday, so I’ll be away for a couple of weeks.”

“What’s she like? As bad as her mother made out?”

Gene watched a ferry heading toward the harbor, the sea behind it glinting in the evening sunshine, the color of Callie’s eyes. “Ah, no. Not really. She’s nice. Young. Smart. Funny.”

Felix said nothing for a moment. Then he said, “I see.” Gene could almost hear the smirk behind the words.

“Don’t start,” he said wryly.

“And she works for a lingerie firm? Does she get to try out some free samples?”

Gene decided not to tell him about Neve’s parties. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m her personal protection officer—that means I have to be glued to her side for the next three months. It’s going to be torture.”

“Oh...” Felix drew the word out. “You really do like her. I was teasing before.”

“There’s nothing not to like. She’s gorgeous. It’s going to be like the Temptation of St. Anthony. Except my name’s not Anthony. And I’m no saint.”

“Now ain’t that the truth.”

“Felix...”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“The problem is that I have a job to do. I can’t afford to get distracted.”

“Surely it’ll be easier to protect her if you’re... you know, sleeping in the same bed?”

“Jeez.”

“Look, I can’t remember the last time I heard you talk about a girl with a smile in your voice. Why not have a bit of fun over the summer?”

Gene couldn’t stop himself smiling at that. “That happens to be her surname.”

“Summer?”

“Yeah.”

“Well there you go. It’s a sign. You’re heading north next week, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, south first, then north after my birthday.”

“It’s fucking hot in the Northland. Toby says it’s been hot and sultry for weeks. Sounds like a bit of Summer seduction is on the cards.”

“I can’t.”

“Yeah.” Felix snorted. “That sounded real convincing.” Someone called in the background, and Felix said, “Coco’s ready and we’re going out. Got to go. Speak later. Let me know how you get on.”

“I don’t...” But it was too late. Felix had hung up.

Gene blew out a breath and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He’d only known Callie for an afternoon. She might be completely different when he got to know her properly, when he was with her day in, day out. She might irritate him by talking all the time. Perhaps she was untidy, or hated the music he liked, or refused to eat unusual food. There were a million reasons why he might not find her attractive.

He thought about the V of her blouse, and the pale skin that had tempted his gaze to search out what he was certain would be a lacy bra beneath her top. Closing his eyes, he groaned. This whole mission had disaster written all over it.

But that was just it—disaster wasn’t just a broken heart or hurt feelings. In his line of work, disaster meant injury or even death. Darren Kirk was a menace in the shadows, a man out for vengeance, who didn’t care if innocents got hurt along the way. He was a real threat, and Gene had to stay sharp. He couldn’t afford to think with his dick for the next few weeks.

Seducing Summer was definitely off the cards.

Chapter Six

“Coffee, ma’am?”

Callie smiled at the flight attendant. “Yes, please. With milk and sugar, thanks.”

She glanced at Gene, sitting in the seat next to her, daring him with her eyes to say something about how pernickety she was with her coffee, but although he raised his eyebrows at her, he didn’t say anything.

It was Monday morning, and they were on a flight to Dunedin, at the bottom of the South Island of New Zealand, about to start their tour of the country.

Friday had been busy, filled with finalizing their plans, as well as tying up any loose ends with the business before she left. To be fair, Gene had been invaluable. As he’d promised, he was efficient and organized, and he’d dealt with a couple of last-minute emergencies calmly, a perfect PA.

She still found him a little unnerving, though. In some ways, he was easy to read, and his reaction to her Holmesian deductions had told her she hadn’t been far from the mark. He seemed to respect her business and her role in it. But on a more personal level, she wasn’t sure what he thought of her. Occasionally, a look glimmered in his eyes like the flash of a coin on a riverbed—quite what it was, she couldn’t be sure. Admiration? Desire? And for a brief moment, she’d think maybe he liked her.

But then his seriousness would wash it away, and his eyes would appraise her coolly, the shutters coming down to shelter him from her searching gaze. When he was like that, he had a way of looking at her that made her think he found her foolish. He was only thirty-one—okay, nearly thirty-two—and she was twenty-six, so hardly a kid, but sometimes she felt the way Emma must have felt when Mr. Knightley scolded her for being rude to Miss Bates.

He was doing it now, because she’d accepted the cup of coffee, lowered it onto her tray, and then promptly knocked it as she opened the stick of sugar, spilling a quarter of the liquid.

“Give me your serviette,” she said crossly.

“Would you like a bib, too?”

“Because you never make a mistake, Mr. Perfect.”

He chuckled and handed her his serviette, and, adding it to her own, she mopped up the mess.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She cleaned the last few drips, conscious of his gaze on her.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m your brother’s toddler you’re supposed to look after who’s embarrassing you in public. I’m a grown woman who runs a business, thank you very much. I’m not hopeless.”

“Hmm.”

She decided to ignore that. “Well, now we’re finally alone, you’ll have to tell me some more about yourself.”

“Will I?”

“Yes. We can’t go the whole trip without talking.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Gene...”

He sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about your family.”

“Parents still alive, one brother.”

She waited for more. When more obviously wasn’t coming, she nudged him with her elbow. “Come on.”

“What?”

“Jeez. It’s like getting blood out of a stone. Where do your parents live?”

“In Wellington.”

“Brother younger or older than you?”

“Younger.”

“What’s his name?”

“Freddie.”

“As in Mercury?”

“As in Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly. Mum’s a big fan of old Hollywood musicals.”

At last, she was getting somewhere. “What does he do? Did he go into the Army too?”

Immediately, the shutters came down again, his smile fading and his tone turning clipped. “No. He’s an accountant.”

Hmm, he didn’t like talking about the Army. Was it because of his injury, or something else that happened there?

She couldn’t ask him yet—he’d just clam up. Instead, she’d have to steer the conversation to other things if she wanted to get him to talk. “You never did answer me when I asked you what her name was. The ex who was a strident feminist.”

“No, I didn’t.” He sipped his coffee. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about her, either.

His reticence was frustrating, but it also told her more about him. People had reasons for not wanting to divulge details about themselves. Opening up, even a little, made people vulnerable. It exposed them to criticism and comment, to being judged, and to being hurt. Something had happened to Gene in the past. He’d been terribly hurt, maybe more than once, and because of that he’d sealed himself in a concrete shell that he was determined not to let anyone breach.

He pulled his iPad out of the pocket in front of him, apparently determined to shut her out.

She turned toward him in her seat. There was something so intimate about plane journeys. His upper arm and thigh pressed against hers. She could smell his aftershave, and see how neat his sideburns were up close, carefully shaved into a small rectangle to the base of his ear. His jaw was clean shaven. He had a small mole on his neck just below his earlobe. She wished she was brave enough to lean forward and kiss it.

“I’ve just thought,” she said, “I forgot to arrange a car in Dunedin.”

“I did it. Don’t worry.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She watched him for a moment. “What are you reading?” she asked.

“A thriller.”

“By whom?”

He sighed. “John Grisham.”

“I love Grisham. I read The Runaway Jury and got hooked after that.”

“Yeah, I liked the theme of that one, stitching up the tobacco firm.”

“Do you mainly read thrillers?”

“Mostly, but I’ll read anything.”

“I like psychological thrillers, mainly.” She watched him lower the iPad to his lap, but didn’t comment. “And detective stories. Things I have to puzzle out.”

“That makes sense. I bet you love Sherlock Holmes.” He smiled.

“I do! Conan Doyle rules. And I love Cumberbatch’s portrayal of him. Have you seen the Sherlock series?”

“I have. All of them. And the movies.” He tucked his iPad back into the pocket of the seat.

So, he was comfortable talking about some of his interests. “I’d die without my TV,” she admitted. “I don’t sit in front of it all the time, but I do love movies and series especially. I’ve been watching Game of Thrones, and Mad Men, and a Danish thriller called The Bridge.”

“I’ve seen it. Thought it was brilliant.”

They continued to talk for a while about movies and series, then moved on to music. He didn’t volunteer much about himself and she had to pry most of it out of him, but it was a start, anyway.

They stopped while the flight attendant topped up their coffee cups, and they each accepted a cookie in a packet.

“So why are you single?” Gene asked out of the blue. He opened his packet and took a bite out of the cookie.

“Oh, so you won’t tell me anything about yourself, but I’m supposed to tell you my life story?”

He grinned, apparently having warmed up a little after their conversation. “Fair enough.”

“Ah, well, the difference between us is that I don’t mind revealing a little of myself.”

His eyebrows rose.

“I meant I don’t mind revealing some details about my life. I’m not about to strip for you on the plane.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t have to.” She suppressed an inner shiver at the mischievous smile that curved his lips for a moment. Beneath the somber exterior was a rather naughty man, she was beginning to suspect. What fun. It would be interesting to see if he made more of an appearance over the next few weeks.

She nibbled at her cookie. “I was living with a guy up until about four months ago.”

“Oh?”

“His name’s Jamie. He works at Te Papa—he’s a historian, and he acquires artifacts for the museum.”

“Sounds like a good job.”

“Yeah. We dated for a few years, then finally decided to move in together at the beginning of last year. I thought it was going well, and then...”

Suddenly, the cookie stuck in her throat, and she had trouble swallowing. Why was she telling Gene about this? She didn’t like talking about Jamie to anyone, not even Neve and the others, although maybe that was worse because they’d known him. Their comments when she’d broken up with him had told her that they had seen right through him in a way she’d been blind to while she was living with him.

She’d finished her coffee, and so she accepted Gene’s cup gratefully when he held it out to her, and drank until she’d dislodged the lump in her throat.

“Sorry.” She handed him back the cup. “I keep thinking I’m over him, and then I realize I’m not quite there yet.”

She waited for him to say, You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, or something similar to put her off showing emotion, because he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be comfortable with a blubbering girl.

“What happened?” he asked. He frowned, concerned, and his eyes were gentle. He wouldn’t make fun of her.

“I came home early from work one day and found him in bed with his secretary.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. It would have been shocking even if we hadn’t been getting on, but I hadn’t suspected anything at all. I thought we were doing well, that he loved me. I was half-expecting him to propose.” Shame filled her, and she concentrated on lifting her tray and fixing it with the latch to the seat in front. “I felt such an idiot. Still do.”

Tears pricked her eyes, and her throat tightened again. She clenched her jaw. She wasn’t going to cry, not on the plane, not in front of Gene, not ever again about Jamie.

They fell quiet for a moment while she struggled with her emotion. Music was playing in the plane, mixed with the hum of conversation, but she felt as if the two of them were in a bubble, isolated from everyone else. Gene’s quiet manner was oddly soothing, like Aloe vera for her soul.

After a while, he shifted in his seat. “Angela,” he said.

“What?”

“That was her name. My ex.”

Callie held her breath for a moment. She sensed this was very unusual for him, to talk about himself. “Oh.”

“I met her about a year after I came out of the Army. We lived together for a few years. But... it didn’t work out.”

“Why not?” she prodded gently.

He swirled what was left of his coffee in his cup. “She felt I wasn’t fully committed to the relationship.”

“Did you cheat on her?”

He looked startled. “No! Of course not.” He blinked a few times, the hard look in his eyes disappearing, as if he’d realized that although the accusation might have sounded insulting, Callie’s experience had led her to jump to that conclusion. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said.

She was certain that this upright, honorable soldier wouldn’t, but then she’d been wrong before, and no longer felt she could trust her own judgement where men were concerned. “So why did she think you weren’t fully committed?”

“Women like to talk,” he said, and smiled. “And I was worse than I am now.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. She felt I was hiding something.”

“Were you?”

He hesitated. “I wasn’t keeping terrible, dark secrets from her. But I didn’t see why I had to explain every thought that passed through my head. Some memories, or feelings, are private, upsetting, or traumatic. Why should I want to share those?”

“If you didn’t want to, it’s a shame she pushed you. Everyone is entitled to their privacy. But it’s a natural fear that if your partner’s keeping quiet, he or she is hiding something.”

“I guess.”

“So you broke up?”

“I could feel the relationship crumbling around me like a Roman wall. I didn’t want to break up with her, but I couldn’t seem to do anything about it. I couldn’t be what she wanted. Eventually, she said it was over and moved out.” He sipped his coffee.

“Do you see a therapist?” Callie asked.

His eyebrows lifted. “About Angela?”

“About the war. About what happened to you.” She gestured at his hip. Most of the time, his limp was unnoticeable, but occasionally he moved stiffly, as though it pained him.

“No,” he said. “And I don’t want to.”

“Fair enough. But sometimes shining a light in those deep recesses of the mind can banish the shadows. Fears are like mushrooms—they only grow in the dark.”

His lips curved up. They studied each other for a moment.

“I’m sorry your ex cheated on you,” he said. “I don’t even know the guy and I want to smash his face in.”

“Aw. Thanks.” She liked his protective streak. Kind of like a big brother.

Except she was certain that if he was her brother, she wouldn’t be thinking about kissing him all the time. The more she was with this guy, the more she liked him. How was she going to cope spending two weeks with him glued to her side?

The flight attendant was coming toward them to collect their rubbish, so she gathered her cup and serviettes and sugar packets together, then promptly dropped them, scattering grains of sugar across her skirt.

“Jeez.” She scrambled to pick them up.

“Are you normally this clumsy?” he asked, amused, before raising his coffee cup to his lips to drain it.

“It’s probably orgasm deprivation,” she said with exasperation. “It’s making me jittery.”

Gene coughed into his coffee cup, spilling some of it over his hand.

“Want a bib?” she said.

He wiped his bottom lip and then his hand, checked that the person sitting beside him was still wearing his earphones, and glanced at her. “Do you always say what’s on your mind?”

“Do you ever say what’s on yours?”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and Callie melted a little. He was opening up to her, a bit, revealing a glimmer of the man inside, like cracking open a chest at the bottom of the ocean and seeing the glint of gold doubloons in the dark. She couldn’t wait to see what other treasure lay within.

Chapter Seven

Dunedin was cooler than Wellington, although the cloud-free sky shone a brilliant blue. After arriving at the airport, they collected their bags and picked up the hire car, a blue Toyota Corolla that Gene was relieved was comfortable to drive, as they wouldn’t be giving it back until they reached Wellington, nearly four hundred miles away. He’d booked it on Friday, because Becky had made a note that Callie would forget, which indeed she had.

They were going to spend a night in Dunedin, then drive up the coast via Oamaru, Timaru, and Ashburton to Christchurch, checking out the high street stores on the way. At Christchurch, they would stay two nights because Callie had hopes that a few shops would stock their brand there. After that, they were going to drive through Kaikoura, where people went to see the whales and dolphins, to Blenheim, center of the South Island’s wine country, and then the sunny town of Nelson, before returning to Wellington for Willow’s baby shower. The following week, they would head north and tour the major cities of the North Island until they reached Kerikeri in the Bay of Islands, where they’d fly back down.

“I feel knackered already.” Gene glanced at the map of New Zealand on Callie’s knees as he took State Highway One to Dunedin town center, noting the marked route across the country and all the circled towns, presumably organized by Becky.

“Don’t worry, I have plenty of stamina. I can keep going for hours.”

He raised his gaze to her face, but she was concentrating on the map. Had she meant that to sound as suggestive as it had sounded? Or was it just his sex-starved brain trying desperately to join the dots?

He looked back at the road, stifling a sigh. He should have insisted to Phoebe that one of his operatives take his place. The next few weeks were going to be torture, and not only because every time he looked at Callie, he wanted to kiss her. There was something about her that managed to cajole details out of him, like wheedling a whelk out of its shell. Normally, he never revealed details about himself to a client, but it seemed rude not to answer her questions. And she had an uncanny ability to analyze everything that came out of his mouth. How he said things, and even what he didn’t say, seemed to tell her as much about him as the actual words, which was rather unnerving. But the main problem was definitely going to be the fact that he found her attractive.

Okay, so that was a massive understatement. Callie Summer was like a cool glass of lager on a hot day, or a fillet steak when a guy was really, really hungry. It was all he could do not to salivate when he looked at her. From her shiny blonde hair that always looked just-washed, to her generous breasts he was desperate to weigh in his palms, to her wide blue eyes that gave him the shivers, to the plump lips he wanted to kiss to see whether they were as soft as they looked... He’d not met a woman for a long time that he hungered for so badly, and that he couldn’t have.

It was the story of his life. He felt as if everything he’d ever wanted had been placed on too high a shelf, just out of reach.

The therapist he’d seen when he first came out of the Army had told him he set his sights too high, which was why he was always disappointed. Am I asking for the moon? he’d snapped at her. What did he want that was so incredibly ambitious? Some would say that a father’s approval, a mother to love him, a supportive brother, a partner who loved him the way he was, a career that didn’t end in near death, and friends who managed to reach the age of forty wasn’t particularly ambitious.

Or maybe it was. Many people weren’t lucky enough to have all those things, he was sure. But he couldn’t stop wanting them, even if he was shooting for the stars.

He gripped hold of the steering wheel and glared at the road. He wasn’t going to think about the past now, about all the things he’d lost. And he wasn’t going to let a surge of hormones deter him from his task. He was a grown man, not a teenage boy. Desire was all in the mind, and God knew he’d learned to deal with not thinking about certain things for a while now. He’d trained his brain to sidestep memories and triggers that evoked emotions he no longer wished to feel. He could damned well add lust to the list and put thoughts of Callie Summer to the attic of his mind in a dusty old chest where they belonged.

“Have you been to Dunedin before?” Callie’s gentle voice stirred him from his dark thoughts.

He glanced at her. She was watching him, and something in her eyes told him she was perfectly aware of the gloomy path he’d been heading toward, and she was attempting to distract him away from it.

Half of him resented her for being so astute—it was intrusive, and he didn’t like being so transparent. But the other half felt a surprising lift of heart at the fact that she’d noticed but had been nice enough not to ask him directly about what was bothering him, because she knew he didn’t like to talk about himself.

Forcing himself to loosen his grip on the wheel, he took a deep breath and released it slowly before answering. “Yes, a few years ago, though.” He’d done the training course to become a protection officer there. “You?”

“Once, although the same as you, many years ago. I’m looking forward to it. I mean, I know we won’t get to see much of the city in one day, but even the road in is gorgeous.”

Her eyes were alight with excitement, and warmth spread through him at her enthusiasm. She had such a ready smile. It had upset him when she’d talked about her ex and had gotten all emotional. He hadn’t found out as much as he’d hoped because he’d distracted her by talking about himself. Did she still see the guy? Did she still have feelings for him? He wanted to know, but now wasn’t the time to bring it up.

He also found it strange that she seemed so unaffected by the fact that she’d had death threats. Clearly, she hadn’t taken them seriously, and that wasn’t good, because it meant she might take unnecessary risks and put herself in danger. He would have to work hard to ensure that didn’t happen.

“So what’s the plan?” Callie asked.

Becky had stated on her instructions that he would have to arrange their itinerary, because otherwise Callie wouldn’t allow them enough time to get from one appointment to another, and she’d forget about lunch, and then suddenly realize they didn’t have a hotel room booked for the night.

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “It’s nearly eleven thirty. We’ll head straight to the first appointment with Hollywell’s at twelve. You said each one will probably take around thirty minutes, but I’ve allowed plenty of time so you don’t get stressed if one runs over. After Hollywell’s, we’ll probably catch some lunch, then go to Fernz for appointment number two at two thirty. We can check in at the hotel and leave our bags there afterward, and head off for Lingerie Plus at three thirty. Onto JimJam’s at four thirty. Then we’re done, so we can return to the hotel for the evening.”

“Wow. I’m impressed.”

“Army life,” he said. “Forces you to get organized.”

“Forces. Nice pun.” She grinned.

He smiled. They were in the city center now. Following the GPS, he took the road to the first high street store, turned off the State Highway into Stuart Street, and headed for the Octagon. “Well, I hope I’ve planned it all okay.”

“Gene, whatever happens, you’ll have done a hundred times better than I would have done.”

“Why are you so disorganized?”

“I’ve worked very hard to maintain this level of incompetence, I’ll have you know.”

“It makes things much easier when everything’s in order.”

“Sir, yes sir.” She saluted him.

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

She turned her gaze out of the window. “I don’t like having my life planned out. Where’s the fun in that?”

“So what would you have done if we’d landed here and you’d forgotten to book a car?”

“One of the firms would have had a spare one somewhere.”

“And if they hadn’t?”

“I’d have gotten a taxi. Or hitched. Come on, don’t you think there’s some excitement in not knowing what’s going to happen?” She turned her bright gaze back to him.

“I don’t know. There’s not a lot of room for impulsiveness in my world.” That was an understatement, to say the least. Being in the Army and then working in security meant that his life had revolved around timetables and structure for longer than he cared to remember. In his world, trains always ran on time, meetings occurred dead on the hour, and he was never, ever late. And he liked it that way. Not knowing what was going to happen made him uneasy and edgy.

“How dull.” Her lips twitched.

“I am dull. Very boring and predictable.” He turned into Princes Street and began looking for the store.

“Hmm. We’ll have to see what we can do to loosen you up.”

He glanced across at her. The look in her eyes sent a shiver running down his back as if she’d dropped an ice cube there.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned before he could think better of it. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized he’d opened a can of very wriggly worms.

Her smile widened. “Is that a challenge?”

“Fuck, no. I meant...” What had he meant? His brain scrambled like cooked eggs at the suggestive look in her eyes. He was only barely keeping this together by repeatedly telling himself it was a bad idea to get involved with her, and that if he kept his cool, she would never be aware of his interest. What the fuck was he going to do if she started coming on to him?

Her smile faded. “There’s no need to look so alarmed. I’m not a bunny boiler. I’m teasing you, that’s all.”

But he could see the hurt in her eyes. She thought he didn’t find her attractive.

Jeez.

“Callie...” His words trailed off as he saw the sign for Hollywell’s clothing store ahead. He concentrated on the road for a moment, turning the car into a car park and finding a spot. He switched off the engine, then turned to face her.

“You don’t have to say anything. I was teasing,” she said, a little flatly.

Hating that he’d unerringly knocked her confidence after her recent rejection by her ex, Gene met her eyes, and their gazes locked. Heat rushed through him. There was something so intimate about being in a car with someone. Her right knee in the cherry-colored skirt was only an inch from his left, and her light, flowery perfume filled the car. Every time he inhaled, he was breathing her in, until she was part of his system, rushing around his body with his hot, hungry blood.

I was teasing, she’d stated.

“Were you?” he said before he could stop himself.

Her gaze remained locked on his, and she must have seen the desire there, because her lips lifted up, and she gave a tiny, sexy shrug of her shoulders. Maybe.

He wanted to kiss her... God, he wanted to kiss her. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and his erection sprang to life. It would be the easiest thing in the world to slip a hand behind her head, lean forward, and press his lips to hers. He wanted to wrap his arm around her and pull her to him, lift her onto his lap, and feel her soft body against his. Cup her breast in the thin blouse she was wearing and feel the heat and weight in his palm. Her arms would slip around him, her hands searching beneath his shirt to find his warm skin. He wanted to get naked with this woman, and find out if she was as fun in bed as he suspected.

At that moment, Neve’s warning rang in his head, and he swallowed hard. “Callie, we can’t get involved. I have to stay professional.” Once again, though, as soon as he’d spoken, he knew she’d read between the lines and deduce that he wanted her.

Her gaze rested on his lips—she was thinking about kissing him too. Her eyelids lowered to half-mast, her expression turning hot and sultry. “I don’t see why the agency has to find out.”

The agency? He realized she was talking about his role as PA. For a brief moment, he’d forgotten about his cover story.

Cold sluiced through him, dampening his ardor. What was he doing? Phoebe Hawke had placed her daughter’s life in his hands. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he focus on the job?

“That’s not the point,” he said. He tore his gaze away and yanked the keys out of the ignition. “It’s about integrity—it’s nothing to do with the agency, although I can’t imagine they would approve of their staff performing personal services for their employers.”

He’d meant the comment to insinuate that if anything happened between them while she was employing him, it would verge on her paying him for sex. He’d meant it to be insulting, half hoping and half dreading the way the sparkle in her eyes would fade and her lips would straighten and thin.

They didn’t, though. Instead, she just laughed. “Personal services? I’m going to have to put that in my employees’ contracts.”

“Callie...”

“Oh, relax,” she scolded, collecting her handbag. “You’re far too uptight. Someone needs to loosen your laces.” She turned and got out of the car.

Gene grumbled beneath his breath. He couldn’t imagine anything more delightful than his laces being loosened at that moment. But it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, and when it did, Callie Summer certainly wouldn’t be the one to do it.

Chapter Eight

The meeting at Hollywell’s didn’t go as well as Callie had hoped.

After she’d walked out of the store manager’s office, she stopped at the ladies’, went to the loo, then stared at herself in the mirror as she washed her hands.

“You only have yourself to blame.” Her too-loud voice rang through the small bathroom. Thankfully, the other cubicles were empty.

She lowered her gaze to the basin, seeing her knuckles white where she’d clutched hold of the ceramic edge, and she forced herself to relax her grip. It wasn’t the end of the world. She was long past blaming herself for every little thing that went wrong in her life. It wasn’t her fault that she’d been distracted by Gene’s brooding blue eyes and his deep, sexy voice.

I was teasing.

Were you?

His words bloomed in her head like beautiful roses. It wasn’t even a sentence, and yet just that fraction of a phrase told her he found her attractive.

She was flattered, and couldn’t stop a glow spreading through her, but that didn’t mean anything would happen. Clearly, he was determined to remain aloof, and although she was sure it would be fun to keep teasing him, she didn’t want to make a fool of herself.

She slid her hands beneath the dryer and turned them in the hot air. She’d be an idiot if she let a glint of sexual attraction ruin the tour she’d planned all year. The success of Four Seasons depended almost singlehandedly on her. That wasn’t an egotistical way of looking at things—it was fact. Rowan was an exceptional designer, but she had zero business sense and, if she’d been left to her own devices, would still have been designing dresses for her dolls. Bridget was great at running the shop, but had no vision in terms of expanding the business. Neve had some brilliant promotional ideas, but they tended to be just that—ideas rather than practical applications.

It was Callie who had the business degree, the personal skills, and the ambition to make the business more than the one shop making a profit just large enough to keep them all above the breadline. She wasn’t expecting to surpass Victoria’s Secret or Triumph or Berlei, but she didn’t see why Four Seasons couldn’t become one of the best brands in New Zealand and possibly Australia, and she knew Rowan’s designs were pretty enough to expand even beyond that.

Besides, life would be dull if she saw the limits of their shop as the outskirts of Wellington. She might open shops in a dozen New Zealand towns and half of them might fail, but so what? Better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all.

The same could be said about her personal life, she thought as she opened her handbag, took out her lipstick, and applied a new coat. She didn’t wish she’d never met Jamie. She did wish she’d noticed the signs that he was cheating on her before she’d walked in on him in bed, because the image of the skinny brunette sitting astride him, her hair tumbling down her back as his hips thrust up into her, had seared itself onto Callie’s brain and refused to come off, even though she’d done the mental equivalent of scrubbing the inside of her skull with a scouring pad. But although he’d hurt her terribly, she couldn’t wish they’d never gotten together. She’d tried a long-term relationship and she’d failed, but that was okay. It didn’t mean the next one wouldn’t work.

When she was a child, her mother had shown her how to color a page with wax crayons, in any patterns, using every color in the box. Then she’d told Callie to go over the whole page with thick black paint. Puzzled, Callie had done so, even more confused when her mother had given her a cocktail stick and told her to draw something on the black page. She’d carefully drawn a star, and had then stared in delight at the rainbow colors that had appeared through the black paint.

Being with Gene was kind of like that, his desire showing occasionally through his reservation, giving her the same feeling she’d had the day she’d seen the rainbow star through the black. If she scratched the surface, she knew she would find a passionate man beneath his tight control. He wanted her—she could see it in his eyes, and part of her was tempted to see if she could indeed loosen his laces and find out what he was like when he relaxed.

But it was a stupid idea, because she’d get distracted, and she wouldn’t forgive herself if she blew the whole tour because she wanted to get her leg over. She’d only have the one chance to approach these shops, and she had to concentrate when she had these appointments and stop thinking about Gene Bond and his license to thrill.

Leaving the bathroom, she walked along the corridor and paused in the doorway to the reception area. He sat in one of the comfy chairs, reading a magazine. She’d told him to go and find a coffee shop, but he’d insisted on waiting for her. She’d been lucky he’d not demanded to go into the ladies’ room with her. The guy seemed determined that being a good PA meant gluing himself to her side.

As she watched, he shifted in the chair, his brow creasing for a moment, suggesting his hip was bothering him. He’d been the same on the plane—although most of the time it didn’t seem to affect his walking, sitting for any length of time apparently gave him trouble.

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment. She’d informed him that he didn’t have to wear a suit, but he’d insisted, saying he preferred to maintain a professional appearance as they were on business. He looked rakishly handsome in his three-piece suit and smart blue tie, but then most men looked good in a suit, especially a well-cut one like his. What would he look like in jeans or shorts and a T-shirt? Would he just look normal, like a guy-next-door, with his ruffled brown hair?

Somehow, she doubted it. Even though he’d not even rolled up his shirt sleeves yet, she had the impression the hard edge to his features continued to his physique, both remnants of his Army life. When she’d enquired about the hotel he’d booked, the first thing he’d said was, “It has a gym and a swimming pool.” So she knew he worked out, because she’d have said, “It has a five-star restaurant, room service, and a spa bath.” He’d be muscular and lean beneath his shirt, his body tanned and hard. And although he’d said his ex had broken up with him because he hadn’t been able to communicate with her the way she’d wanted—which didn’t surprise Callie at all—she was certain that Angela whatever-her-name-was wouldn’t have criticized him in the sack.

I was teasing.

Were you?

The words haunted her. His gray eyes had sparked with desire when he’d said those words, like a stormy sky lit with lightning. In spite of her promise to herself, Callie was suddenly desperate for him to look at her like that again.

He glanced up and saw her standing there, and his eyebrows rose. “That was quick.” He put down the magazine—a gossip mag, she noted with interest—got to his feet, a little stiffly, and came over to her. “How did it go?”

She smiled at the receptionist and led the way down the stairs. “Not great,” she said when they were out of earshot.

“Oh? Any idea why?”

“Not really. I didn’t perform at my best.”

“What’s up? Are you tired?”

No. I was imagining you taking off your waistcoat and shirt, then unbuttoning your trousers.

“A bit,” she said. “But it’s okay, I’ll perk up after I’ve had my coffee.”

“Come on, then. Let’s fill you up with latte and see if that makes a difference.”

Let’s fill you up... She stifled a groan. She definitely had sex on the brain. There was no way that should sound as erotic as it did.

There was a coffee shop opposite the store, so they ordered lattes and cake and found a seat by the window so they could watch the world go by.

“Anything I can do to help get your mind in gear?” Gene asked after they’d made themselves comfortable.

Callie looked out of the window. Dunedin was an attractive city, busy and thriving, its distinctive Edwardian architecture pulling in many tourists. It was also a university town, so the coffee shops were filled with students, and the city had a young, fresh air to it.

She could smell Gene’s aftershave. It wound around her, gentle and subtle as a silk ribbon, drawing her toward him. She really hadn’t thought this through. Sitting on the plane squashed into a seat next to him, travelling in the false intimacy of a car, eating in cafés—she wasn’t sure she’d spent that much time being so close with Jamie.

But she was a professional, and jeez, it was only a couple of weeks. She might not have had sex for a while, but it wasn’t as if she were going to jump on the first guy who came along.

She looked back at Gene. Probably not. What was the chance of the first guy being so sexy he made her mouth water every time she looked at him?

His cool eyes observed her. He unnerved her somewhat. He always seemed so in control. Callie knew she had a tendency to flap, usually when she’d forgotten to organize something, but Gene didn’t appear to panic at anything. She supposed that after you’d been shot and wounded, forgetting to book a car or discovering you’d left the perfect pair of shoes for an outfit at home didn’t seem worth worrying about.

Anything I can do? he’d asked. She was tempted to say, Help me out with an orgasm, but couldn’t quite pluck up the courage. What would his reply be if she did? Would his eyebrows rise and a look of disapproval cross his features? Or would his eyes take on that sultry look of desire, his lips curving up as his gaze slid down her body to heat her right through?

“Um...” she said, “not really.” She leaned back as the waitress brought their lattes and cake over. “Thanks.” She picked up a spoon and stirred the foam, breaking up the picture of a fern that had been drawn on the top. “I’ll be okay when I get going. I’m a bit rusty, that’s all.” She rested her elbows on the table and sipped her latte, then realized he was staring at her. “What?”

He blinked and raised his own coffee. “Nothing.”

“No, go on. What did I say?”

“It doesn’t matter, really.”

“Gene. Tell me.”

He huffed what sounded like an irritated sigh, although humor sparked in his eyes. “I can’t make my mind up whether your words keep sounding suggestive on purpose or whether it’s pure accident.” He blew on the coffee.

Callie thought back over what she’d said. I’ll be okay when I get going. I’m a bit rusty, that’s all. “In that case, it was pure accident. I think it says more about your state of mind than mine at the moment.” Liar, she thought.

“Oh, okay.”

Their gazes met, and they both started laughing.

“Sorry.” He put down his cup and pulled his piece of chocolate brownie toward him. “I’ve been single for a while. I think it’s having an effect on my brain.”

“I know what you mean.” She reached out her fork and removed the corner of his brownie. “I’m having trouble thinking about anything but sex at the moment.”

He stared at his brownie. “Callie...”

“What?” She wondered if he was going to react to her comment.

He blew out a long breath, and she had the feeling he’d been going to remark on it but had changed his mind. “Do you normally help yourself to other people’s food?”

She paused with the forkful of brownie halfway to her mouth. “All the time. Sorry, is that a problem?”

He looked up at her, and his expression softened. “No,” he said. “Not at all. Help yourself.”

For a brief moment, she imagined he was referring to himself. She had to fight not to lean over and unbutton his waistcoat.

Instead, she ate the forkful of brownie, then her own carrot cake, making sure to offer him a piece. Not everything was about sex, she told herself sternly. She had to try to control herself, or she was going to get into serious trouble.

Chapter Nine

After lunch, Gene drove them to Fernz, and this time Callie came out smiling, and announced the meeting had gone very well.

“They loved Rowan’s designs,” she said as they got into the car. “They were keen to stock a full range of lingerie, as well as some swimwear.”

“That’s great.” Gene was genuinely pleased for her. She’d come out of the first meeting very flat, and he’d hoped it hadn’t boded ill for the rest of the tour. Luckily, that didn’t seem to have been the case. This time, her eyes sparkled, and she even did a little dance in her seat to a tune in her head.

“Where next?” she said.

“The hotel. We can check in and leave our bags in our rooms, then head out to the last appointment.”

“Cool.” She looked out of the window, watching the houses and shops speed by. “Where is it?”

“By the sea. It’s a bit out of town, in St. Clair, on the Esplanade, but it’s close to Lingerie Plus.”

“Great.” She beamed at him. “I’m so glad you came along. I’d be lost without you.”

“I’m sure you would. You’d probably be halfway to Australia by now.”

“I mean it, Gene. Becky’s great, and we always have fun when we go away, and I was really worried when I knew she wouldn’t be able to go, but you’re a terrific substitute.”

“Thank you.” His gaze slid across to her. Her cherry-colored skirt reached to just above her knees, and she wore a white sleeveless top with cherry and pink flowers that gathered beneath her breasts to flow down to her hips. She looked fresh and summery, like a sorbet, and she made his mouth water like one. Her bare legs were tanned and smooth, and he could imagine sliding his hand up her calf to her knee, then even higher, to the soft silkiness of her inner thigh.

He turned his gaze back to the road. Best stop there, unless he wanted to sport an erection when they arrived at the other end.

“Was it hot in Afghanistan?” Callie asked.

He blinked at the randomness of the question. “Where did that come from?”

“I was thinking about how hot it is here in summer, and that you seem very cool considering you’re wearing a waistcoat, and that made me wonder if you coped this well in uniform in the heat.”

He said nothing for a moment, returning in his mind to the dusty land, the discomfort he’d had to fight as he sweated into his thick uniform. The three days he’d spent in the blistering heat, in pain, thinking he’d never be found. The bodies lying around him.

His heart raced, and he swallowed hard. “It was hot a lot of the time. There’s nothing like a cool shower after days out in the desert.”

“Mmm. Did you all shower together?”

That made him laugh, and he loosened his tight grip on the wheel. “You have a one-track mind.”

“You started it. I was asking a perfectly standard question about the climate and you had to bring naked soldiers into it. Were there women in the Army?”

Her changes of direction threw him every time. He glanced across at her. Her bright eyes told him that somehow she’d seen through him again.

“Yes,” he said. “Some.”

“Was there a woman in your scouting party?”

“Yes.” How had Callie known?

“What happened to her?”

“She died,” he said.

They fell quiet. He concentrated on finding the road to St. Clair, sliding on his sunglasses as the bright sun bounced off cars and windows.

He waited for the consolatory phrases, the I’m sorry and Oh, Gene, how terrible.

“Do you disagree with having women in the Army?” she said instead.

He shook his head. She should have been a psychologist. “No, absolutely not.”

“You’re saying what you think a woman would want to hear.”

“It’s what men do.”

“It’s what you’ve trained yourself to do because of your ex. I’m not Angela. Tell me what you really think.”

He slowed at a roundabout and took the road south toward the coast. “I think women should have all the opportunities men have. If they want to fight, they should be able to. And I mean that.”

“But you’d rather they didn’t?”

Now he felt irritated. He didn’t want to discuss this. It was like she kept poking him with a cattle prod until all his carefully restrained emotions and feelings came tumbling out. Maybe if he answered her, she’d stop asking questions. “When the scouting party was fired on and I was shot, four of the party died instantly. I lay there for three days with them dead beside me. If you’re asking whether I have more nightmares about Lisa’s blank eyes staring up at me than I do the three guys who were shot with her, yes, I do. She was tough and brave and fearless, and I respected her as a soldier, but she was a woman, and I don’t care how many times I’m told we’re all the same, I don’t feel that way.”

Callie studied him calmly, apparently unconcerned about his outburst. “You think of us as the fairer sex?”

“If by that you mean am I glad that you’ll never be on the front line with a rifle in your hand, yes. Am I relieved that all you have to think about is making yourself and other women look gorgeous without their clothes? The answer is a resounding yes. I know it’s sexist, but you know what? I don’t care. I think it’s great that women have every opportunity to excel, and I admire and support those who do, but I have an urge inside me to protect you, and that’s never going away, no matter how many times I’m told it’s sexist.”

He stopped, his heart pounding. He’d said too much. She was going to roll her eyes and tell him to shove his opinions where the sun didn’t shine.

But when he glanced at her, he saw her lips curving up, and warmth in her eyes before she slid her sunglasses on.

“We must be nearly there,” she said, tapping on the window. “There’s the sea.”

“Callie, I...”

“It’s okay.” She laid her hand on his briefly on the steering wheel, her fingers cool against his skin.

So he let it lie, and instead studied the view of the waves running up the beach, the Pacific Ocean sparkling in the afternoon sun, and lowered his window to let the fresh sea air calm him.

It was so odd how Callie made him feel. When he’d been with Angela, he’d often felt as if he were a dog she enjoyed brushing the wrong way, against the growth of hair. He’d felt constantly on edge as she picked apart and analyzed every little detail of their conversation. She hadn’t understood him at all, hadn’t had a clue what made him tick, and even though it hadn’t all been hell and they’d had some good times, ultimately it had been a relief when they’d broken up.

Callie was so different that it was like trying to compare apples and oranges. It was as if she already knew the answer to her questions, but she asked them anyway because the way he answered gave her even more insight into him. He thought he didn’t like to talk about himself, and yet she was able to coax details out of him right to the point where he couldn’t bear to talk anymore, which she appeared to understand. It puzzled him, irritated him, and warmed him through all at once.

“Here it is.” He spotted the hotel sign and signaled to take the turning into the car park. At that moment, his phone started ringing in his jacket pocket on his back seat.

“Want me to get it for you?” Callie half turned in her seat to retrieve it.

“No, it’s okay, it’ll go to voicemail.” It was probably someone from his office, and he didn’t want Callie talking to them.

He parked, and they retrieved their cases and made their way to the front desk. He fought against the urge to carry Callie’s case for her. Women didn’t like men offering to help them nowadays. He’d already made an idiot of himself by saying he had an urge to protect them—he didn’t need to compound it by doing the modern equivalent of laying his cloak over a puddle and offering to duel for her.

The hotel was all white walls, glass, and brightly painted pictures, fresh and cheerful. They checked in and took their cases up to their rooms on the first floor. Gene heard Callie exclaim as she walked into her room, and he left his suitcase propping open the door and followed her in, smiling as he saw her hands cupping her face in wonder as she looked out at the sea.

“How gorgeous,” she said.

“Mmm.” He let his gaze slip down her from behind, following the dip of her waist, the swell of her bottom, the shapeliness of her legs. Her ex must have been a Class A idiot, he mused. Callie was sexy, funny, and intelligent, and the prat had cheated on her. On second thoughts, he wished duels still existed, because he would have been happy to call Jamie whatever-his-name-was out on one.

She looked over her shoulder and caught him admiring her. “Enjoying the view?”

He gave her a wry look. “I’m going to my room. Thirty minutes and then I’ll be knocking on your door, okay?”

“Can’t wait.” She flared her eyes at him. He loved how expressive they were, and how much they reflected her mood.

“Stop it,” he scolded, returning to pick up his suitcase. “You’re incorrigible.”

“It’s my middle name,” she called out just before the door closed.

Smiling, he let himself into his own room and went inside.

Like Callie’s, it had a beautiful view of the ocean, and he spent a few moments just looking at it, letting his emotions settle like a pile of feathers that fluttered slowly to the ground. Talking about his time in the Army, especially about Lisa and the others who had died, always stirred him up, so much so that he rarely spoke of them to anyone now. He remembered the cool touch of Callie’s fingers on his, her gentle words, It’s okay. How did she read him so well?

His phone rang again, making him jump in the quietness of the room. He took it out of his jacket pocket and answered it, still looking at the sea. “Hello?”

“Gene? It’s Kev.” Kev was in charge of Safe & Secure when Gene was absent.

“Hey,” Gene replied. “How’s it going?”

“Depends on your point of view. You okay to talk?”

He turned from the window and crossed to sit on the bed. “Yeah, I’m alone. What’s up?”

“Ms. Hawke has had another death threat.”

Gene felt as if he’d swallowed an ice cube. “Shit. What did it say?”

“The usual horrific stuff. But it also goes into great detail about what she did that day—what time she left the house, where she visited, how long she stayed.”

Gene leaned forward and sank his fingers into his hair. It was the first time they’d been certain that Phoebe was definitely being watched. “Did the letter mention Callie?”

“Only in passing, the same as before. ‘I promise I’ll take away the lives of those you love,’ blah blah.”

Gene’s hand curled into a fist. Over the past few hours, he’d almost forgotten about his real reason for being with Callie. She made him feel as if nothing bad would ever happen, her bright smile washing away all the darkness in the world. But when the sun went down, the darkness was still there, and he had to remember why he was with her. It wasn’t an idle threat. Her life was in danger, real danger, and he was the only one standing between her and the madman who was hunting her down.

“Do you think he’s watching you both now?” Kev asked.

Standing again, Gene forced himself to stay calm and think it through as he paced the room. “I’m betting not. None of us has spotted anyone shadowing Callie, and he’s not yet related her day-to-day steps, so I think he’s concentrating on Phoebe. If all he wanted was to take them both out, he would have done it by now. He wants to scare them, to make them live in fear for a while. But ultimately I think he’ll come after them. And we have to be ready when that happens.” He spoke to himself more than Kev. He had to remain focused.

“Saffie spotted that guy again outside her house,” Kev advised. “She’s taken more photos and distributed them around the team, and we’ve sent them to the STG. Don’t worry, boss. They’ll catch him.”

“Yeah. Okay, thanks. Keep me informed on any developments, okay?”

“Sure thing. See ya.”

Gene hung up and tossed his phone onto the bed. Of course, he had to know all the details about what was happening back at the office. But part of him wished that for once he could leave it all to someone else and just concentrate on being with Callie.

He leaned his forehead on the cool glass and closed his eyes.

Chapter Ten

Callie’s next two appointments went even better than the previous one. Lingerie Plus were thrilled to discover a new line of generously proportioned underwear, and their manager—a young woman around the same age as Callie—loved Rowan’s designs and bought some items for herself on the spot. The best thing was that the store had branches in all the major cities, and the manager promised to bring the Four Seasons brand up at the next head office meeting and spread the word.

JimJam’s was similarly as successful. Primarily a sleepwear shop, they fell in love with Rowan’s large collection of nightwear and pajamas, and agreed to stock all of her designs, as well as a few pieces of lingerie.

By the end of the day, a buzz of excitement had begun to grow in Callie’s stomach. She hadn’t imagined it all. Four Seasons really was going to be as successful as she’d hoped. She couldn’t wait to tell the others.

“What now?” she asked Gene as they got in the car. “Snazzy restaurant and a nightclub?”

“I’m far too old for that,” he said wryly. “Plus, you need your rest—we have a long drive tomorrow. Back to the hotel, dinner, and bed for you, young lady.”

She stuck out her tongue. The corner of his mouth curved up, but he didn’t say anything. He’d been quiet since they’d arrived at the hotel. She suspected it had been something to do with the phone call he’d ignored in the car and presumably taken in his room. He seemed preoccupied, solemn. And that wouldn’t do at all.

“I might go on my own,” she said. “I feel like dancing.”

His eyes widened with alarm. “Please don’t. Because then I’ll have to go with you, and I don’t dance.”

“You don’t dance?”

“Nope. And don’t think I don’t read in your eyes how much you’d enjoy torturing me by making me do it. I beg you, dinner, then bed.”

“If you insist,” she said.

His gaze slid from the road to her. “Alone,” he clarified after meeting her eyes.

“I’m to be alone at dinner, or alone in bed?”

He sighed. “I’m happy to accompany you to dinner.”

“Aw, Gene. You’re such a spoilsport.”

“And you’re a terrible tease.”

“Well, you look so serious. In fact, I shall call you Mr. Serious from now on.”

“I’ve been called worse.” He pulled into the car park. “What time do you want dinner?”

“I’m starving. Let’s eat early.”

“Okay, five thirty?”

“Great. It’ll give me time to get changed.”

They returned to their rooms, and Callie took a shower, then chose a pretty summer dress to wear to dinner. Rowan had made it for her in a stunning, silky fabric covered with orange and red flowers. Callie felt that it complemented the summer weather, which seemed to be turning hotter by the hour. As she listened to the TV while she got ready, she heard the weatherman say that almost the whole country was experiencing a heatwave that showed no signs of moving at the moment. Thank God the hotels and the car had air conditioning, she thought, knowing that it would only get warmer and more humid the further north they went. She’d be a puddle by the time they reached the subtropical Bay of Islands.

At five thirty, a knock sounded on the door, so she picked up her bag and opened it to find Gene waiting for her.

She rolled her eyes as she shut the door behind her. “Don’t you ever relax?” She gestured to his outfit. He’d changed, but only into another three-piece suit.

“Is that a complaint?” he asked as they walked along the corridor. “I thought women liked guys in suits.”

“We do. I feel guilty, though.”

“Why? This is a business trip.”

“I know. But you are allowed to relax.”

“I don’t do relaxing.” He held the door open for her to precede him down the stairs.

“You don’t dance, you don’t relax... How do you let off steam, Mr. Serious?”

“I work out. I’ll go to the gym later.”

“How dull.”

He smiled. “Don’t you keep fit?”

“I walk a lot, and I go to a dance aerobics class at home twice a week. But I don’t like gyms.”

“I can’t imagine you sitting still long enough to use a piece of equipment,” he said. “You’re quite a fidget.”

“Mum used to say I had ants in my pants when I was a kid.”

“That’s a fair description.”

They walked into the busy restaurant, where Callie discovered that Gene had booked a table for them, which was a relief because if left up to her they’d have been forced to eat in a burger joint.

“Shame it’s not outside,” she said as they took their seats in the center of the restaurant. “It would have been lovely in the evening sun.”

“Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything else available,” he said.

“Never mind, this is lovely.”

The waiter gave them a menu, and they perused it for a while before ordering an oven-baked salmon fillet filled with oysters in Gene’s case, and pan-seared scallops in avocado and coriander cream and bacon aioli for Callie.

“I’ll have a glass of Sauvignon, please,” Callie said when the waiter asked what she’d like to drink.

“A Diet Coke for me,” Gene advised him.

The waiter nodded and left.

“Don’t you drink?” Callie asked.

“Not while I’m on duty.” He smiled.

“Please have a beer or something. I feel bad drinking on my own.”

“No you don’t.”

“No, I don’t, but I feel as if I should.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

She relented. Clearly, he wanted to remain clearheaded. Better that, she thought, than be the sort of man who always had a drink in his hand. Looking out of the window, she gave a silent sigh. She wasn’t going to think about her father now.

*

“Tell me about your parents,” Gene said.

Callie’s eyes widened, and she frowned at him. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Read my mind.”

“I apologize. I was just following your example.”

Her lips curved up again. He realized that was their default position—they were nearly always set in a smile. He liked that about her.

“What do you want to know?” she asked.

Obviously, he was going to have to pretend he hadn’t met her mother and father. He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with lying to her, half wishing he hadn’t started the conversation, but he was interested to hear her side of the story. “Are they both alive?”

She considered him for a moment, and he could almost see her rifling through the filing cupboards of her mind, deciding which files to extract and what information to tell him. “Yes. My father’s also ex-Army—a major. He lives in Napier now with his second wife.”

“Do you get on well with him?”

“I do. Most people find him grouchy and pompous, but I’m an only child, and he’s always spoilt me, so we get on fine.” She smiled.

He wondered whether she’d mention Peter Summer’s alcoholism, but she said nothing, and he couldn’t think how to raise the subject, so he changed tack. “What about your mother?”

Callie leaned back in her chair and looked out of the window. He followed her gaze. The sun wouldn’t set until nearly nine o’clock this far south, and the beach was still busy, filled with holidaymakers enjoying the summer heat. Kids splashed around in the shallows, throwing beach balls and making sandcastles, while parents read books and took the opportunity to relax while their children were entertained for a while.

Gene didn’t really look at them, though. He was too busy scanning the area and noting any suspicious activity—single, watchful men, or people hanging around parked cars. His phone call to Kev had filled him with renewed enthusiasm to protect Callie and help track down the madman hunting her.

Finding nothing, he glanced around the restaurant. He’d deliberately asked for a table indoors as he felt too exposed outside. It was busy, but so far there were no signs of anything to worry about. He’d remain alert, though. He wouldn’t drink alcohol again until the tour was over and hopefully Kirk had been caught.

Suddenly aware that Callie still hadn’t said anything, he looked back at her. For once, her smile had faded, and her eyes were distant. “Callie?”

She brought her gaze back to him and cleared her throat. “My mother and I have a... complicated relationship.”

“In what way?”

“She’s a Crown Prosecutor in the Wellington Crown Solicitors. She’s very highly regarded, and extremely good at what she does. She’s a strong woman—the strongest I know. Competent, courageous, determined. She’s a great role model for young women.”

“But...”

“But I think her ambition caused her marriage to fail, and I don’t know that I’ll ever forgive her for that.”

Gene sipped his drink. Obviously, Phoebe had never told her the truth about why their marriage had ended. Well, it wasn’t his place to tell her. Even so, he hated having all these secrets from her. “That’s a shame,” he said, the most noncommittal comment he could think of.

“I think I’m a disappointment to her,” Callie added.

He softened inside. It was true that Phoebe had put Callie down a little when describing her. Why was it that parents had such power over the rest of one’s life? “I can’t imagine that’s the case,” he said, knowing nevertheless that she probably spoke the truth.

Callie sighed. “When I was young, she gave me frequent speeches about aiming high and how I could achieve anything I put my mind to. She expected me to follow in her footsteps. Maybe not be a lawyer, exactly, but she assumed I’d run the police force or invent a cure for cancer, or something. Running a lingerie business wasn’t quite what she had in mind.”

“She’s told you that?”

Callie tipped her head from side to side. “Not in so many words, but she’s very good at being disapproving without actually saying anything. She thinks I’m decadent and self-indulgent. She thinks we should all aim to improve the lives of our fellow men and women, and any career that focuses on beauty or clothes or the arts is pointless.” She turned her wine glass around in her fingers. “What do you think?”

“Does it matter?”

“I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t. You don’t like to share your opinions, and that interests me.”

He scratched an eyebrow. “Some would call that being nosey.”

“Don’t evade the question. Do you think what I do is pointless?”

“Designing and selling beautiful undergarments so women can make themselves look gorgeous when they take off their clothes? Yeah. That’s a real of waste of time.”

“Be serious,” she scolded.

“I am. That’s my name, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

He wanted to make her feel better, to lift the shadow of sadness that had fallen over her eyes. “My opinion—as you seem so keen to know it—is that everyone is given a gift, and life is about discovering that gift and using it the best way you can. Not everyone is made to be a top surgeon or to run the country. Life can be harsh and cruel, and it’s the arts—paintings, music, beautiful things—that make it worthwhile. I can’t paint to save my life, but I certainly wouldn’t have told Monet that he should have gotten himself a job as a lawyer.”

“When you put it like that...”

“You and Rowan and Neve and Bridget make and sell garments that make women feel better about themselves. It’s a very rewarding career, in my mind.”

She smiled at him. “That’s a lovely thing to say, even if you don’t mean it.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Callie. Life isn’t all about momentous decisions and world-scale events. It’s the little things that make it special. A smile from someone when you’re having a bad day. Treating yourself to an ice-cold lager or a bar of chocolate. Sharing a meal with a beautiful woman. Those are the things that make it all worthwhile.”

She raised her glass to her lips and sipped from it, her lashes downcast. To his surprise, a touch of color appeared in her cheeks. He’d made her blush. Aw.

“Tell me about your parents,” she said before raising her gaze to his.

He’d wondered whether she’d tell him about the death threats she and Phoebe had received, but she obviously didn’t feel able to confide in him yet.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Much the same as you, I’m afraid to say. My father hated me going into the Army. He thought I should have been a writer. I think he wanted me to be Ernest Hemingway. Freddie’s his favorite.”

“Because he’s an accountant! That’s so dull.”

“It’s respectable, and he makes a great deal of money.”

She blew a raspberry. “Boring.”

He chuckled. “You don’t like that word, do you?”

“I don’t. What about your mother?”

The question whipped the rug out from under him. His smile faded. “She died when I was eleven.”

“You still miss her.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“Were you close?”

“I don’t know. No more than any other eleven-year-old boy and his mum, I guess. She was... in my corner, I suppose. She often stood up for me and defended me when my father picked on me, and I’ve missed that as I’ve grown up.” He blinked, only realizing how true the words were when they’d fallen out of his mouth. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, closing the distance between them. “I don’t know what it is about you that makes me say things I wouldn’t normally say to people.”

“I have that kind of face.” She sipped her wine, her gaze remaining fixed to his. “You called me beautiful.”

“Are you fishing for compliments? You are beautiful, you must know that.”

She leaned forward too, and suddenly they were only a foot apart. He could smell her perfume, and the sweet wine she’d drunk. She had long eyelashes, and now he could see she’d applied a sparkly eyeshadow that was probably what was making her eyes look so blue tonight. “You really think so?”

His gaze slipped to her mouth, resting on the soft pink velvet of her lips. Every cell in his body urged him to lean forward and touch his lips to hers. “I really think so,” he whispered. “Now behave, or I’ll do something I’ll regret.”

Chapter Eleven

Callie had difficulty concentrating during the meal on anything other than Gene’s mouth and her desire to kiss him. Maybe it was the wine, although two glasses wasn’t usually enough to make her throw herself at the first guy who was nice to her. His compliment had warmed her to him, but again, just the fact that he’d been nice wasn’t enough to turn her lust dial up to eleven.

It didn’t help when he slid off his jacket, asked her to help him remove his cufflinks, then proceeded to roll up his shirt sleeves, exposing his forearms to the elbow. She felt like a Victorian gentleman who’d seen a lady’s ankle. His arms were tanned and sinewy, and he looked as if he lifted weights on a regular basis. Everything about this guy was hard, from his eyes to the set of his jaw to his masculine body.

He’d be hard down below, too, she knew it—she’d unzip his trousers and his erection would spring into her hand, stiff as a lamppost. When she stroked it, the velvety layer of skin would glide over the concrete shaft. She could almost imagine the way he’d close his eyes and tip back his head as she massaged him, until he shuddered and groaned as he came...

Callie blinked. Gene was sliding a forkful of salmon and oyster into his mouth, but his lips were curving up, and he smiled now as he chewed. The muscles of his throat constricted as he swallowed. “Penny for them,” he said.

“Sorry.” Callie fished out the last scallop from her meal. “Far too lewd to relay.”

He laughed and shook his head. “You say exactly what’s on your mind, don’t you?”

“Don’t see much point in being coy.” She chewed the scallop. “We’re both single, aren’t we? Where’s the harm in a little lighthearted flirting?”

“Why are you single?” He wiped his mouth on his serviette and sat back. “I know you broke up with Jamie, but that doesn’t explain why some other man hasn’t snapped you up.”

She shrugged. “Actually, offers haven’t come flooding in. I think it’s about signals—when a person’s actively looking for a date, he or she transmits some kind of vibe that announces they’re free. I don’t think I’m ready to put out that vibe yet. Apart from to you, obviously.”

“Callie... you are an outrageous flirt.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s fun. And you’re... safe.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I know it can’t come to anything. I’m just teasing, that’s all.”

“You realize that if it was the other way around, you’d probably be accusing me of sexual harassment?”

Her smile fell. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but he was right, of course. An office manager who made constant sexual suggestions to his PA would be rapped on the knuckles in no time. Her face filled with heat. “Oh, of course. I thought it was funny—I hadn’t considered that it might make you uncomfortable.”

Immediately, concern filled his features. “It doesn’t. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m flattered. It was just a passing comment.”

“Even so...” Now she felt embarrassed and angry with herself. Equality was a two-way street. She couldn’t take offence at a man making unwelcome lewd suggestions to her when she was doing exactly the same to him! No wonder men got so confused nowadays. “I apologize.”

“Callie...” His expression softened. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want you to think I’m not interested, because I am, very much so. But until I stop working for you, I can’t do anything about it. I just can’t. It wouldn’t feel right.”

He really liked her. Tears pricked Callie’s eyes and she sucked her bottom lip. “You have principles,” she said. “I like that.”

“I like to think I’m a gentleman, if nothing else. I hope you understand.”

“I do,” she said softly.

They studied each other for a moment. His eyes were clear and honest.

“So,” she whispered, “the day when Becky comes back and you stop working for me...”

“I’ll be knocking on your door asking for a date the day that happens.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Three months. She could wait that long, surely?

“You want me to stop flirting?” she asked playfully.

His lips curved up. “Not necessarily. As long as we understand each other.”

She nodded. “I think so.”

“Okay, then.” He accepted the menu from the waiter who’d come up to clear their plates. “I reckon it’s dessert time.”

They both chose a Belgian chocolate pot and ate it slowly, dipping the biscotti into the velvety chocolate cream, and Callie knew she’d forever associate the taste of dark chocolate with that moment—the sun falling across the table and turning Gene’s hair from brown to golden, the jazz music playing in the background, the smell of the sea drifting in through the windows, and the look in his eyes that said what his lips couldn’t yet—that he liked her, and that he wanted to get to know her better. The air held the promise of something beautiful, like the russet-and-orange sky outside, promising it would be a gorgeous day tomorrow.

They talked about this and that while they ate, about music, books, movies, and whatever else came into their heads. Then, eventually, it was time to go.

As they walked through the restaurant, Callie felt the touch of Gene’s hand in the center of her back. Ostensibly, it was to guide her through the busy tables, she was sure, but it felt like a brand, as if he was telling her, telling the men seated around them, that they had to keep their hands off. It should have annoyed her. How long had she known him, four, five days? And all he’d said was that in three months’ time he might ask her out on a date.

But as they passed the mirrors behind the bar, Callie saw that she was smiling.

They walked up the stairs to the first floor—it wasn’t really far enough to take the elevator—and along the corridor to their rooms. There they stopped and turned to face each other.

“I’m glad most of your appointments went well today,” he said.

“Yes, the day ended better than it began.” She smiled up at him. Gosh, he was tall, probably because she wore flat sandals. His jacket hung over his arm and he still looked crisp and fresh in his white shirt. If she leaned close, she’d be able to smell his aftershave. Instinctively, she knew he was a man who showered often, and who cared about his appearance, without staring into the mirror every five minutes to check his hair.

“You’re very yummy,” she said.

He gave a short laugh. “Thank you, I think.”

“Oh, it’s definitely a compliment.”

“I see. This is what I’m to expect over the next few months, is it?”

“Yes. As long as it won’t be misconstrued as sexual harassment.”

His gaze caressed her face. “I promise it won’t.”

“Good.” She held her breath. He stood only a few inches away from her, and the look in his eyes had turned sultry, as if he was thinking about kissing her. God, she wanted him to kiss her. She didn’t care that he worked for her, she didn’t care about anything at that moment but the yearning to feel his lips on hers. They’d be firm, and warm, and his tongue would slip between her lips into her mouth, and she’d lean against him, and her whole body would ache with desire.

“Goodnight, Callie,” he said, his voice husky but filled with humor.

“’Night.” She swallowed hard and backed away to her door.

“Sleep well.” He let himself in, and his door closed.

Callie went into her room and sat on the bed. It was only seven thirty, far too early to go to bed yet. She’d only been joking when she’d mentioned going to a nightclub, although she did enjoy dancing, but she wished they could have gone for a walk. She’d go later, she decided, once the sun had started to set and it was a little cooler.

So she typed up the notes from her meetings, studied a little from the portfolio she’d prepared for the businesses in Oamaru, Timaru, and then Christchurch, and watched some TV.

At around eight, her mobile rang. She picked it up and groaned when she saw her mother’s name on the screen. It was tempting to switch it off and pretend she hadn’t heard it, but she sighed, swiped the screen, and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Callie? It’s your mother.”

“Hi, Mum.”

“Where are you, darling?”

“In a hotel in Dunedin.”

“Oh, of course, you’re doing that tour. How’s it going?”

Callie sat back against the pillows and stretched out her legs. “Good. I had a couple of successful meetings. Three shops have agreed to stock the Four Seasons brand.”

“That’s wonderful, darling, well done.”

Callie tried not to sigh. At least she’s trying, she thought. It was difficult not to hear insincerity in her mother’s voice, though.

“How about you?” she asked Phoebe. “How are things going?”

“Busy,” Phoebe said. “I’m still at work.”

“Jeez, Mum. Aren’t you supposed to start easing off when you get higher up the ladder?”

“Doesn’t seem to work that way.”

“How’s... everything else?”

Phoebe cleared her throat. “That’s just it. I’ve had another threat.”

Callie looked out of the window. The color was fading from the sea and the street lights were flicking on, casting yellow circles onto the pavement. Two seagulls squabbled over a bag of chips left on a bench. “Oh?”

“Yes. He wrote down everything I did today, times I went out, places I’d been. It appears he—or someone—is watching me.”

Callie shivered. “Oh, that’s awful.”

“He seems very determined to scare us, darling.”

“Well, we’re not going to let him, are we?” Callie spoke with determination.

“No... But he mentioned you again. We have to assume he’s serious.”

“I think he’s serious about wanting to frighten us. I still can’t believe he’s really bothered about causing me harm. What’s the point in that? I had nothing to do with the case.” It was an old argument, and Callie had to fight not to throw the phone across the room.

“Okay.” For once, Phoebe didn’t argue back. Maybe she was as tired of it all as her daughter was. “I just wanted you to know. Be careful, won’t you?”

“Of course. You too.”

“How’s your new PA doing?”

“Fine,” Callie said. “He’s very efficient. He’s getting me organized.” And hot under the collar.

“That’s good. I’m glad he’s there to keep an eye on you.”

Callie rolled her eyes. “I have to go now.”

“All right, darling. See you soon. Take care.”

They said goodbye, and Callie hung up.

She stood and walked over to the window and looked down at the ocean, which had turned a rusty color in the setting sun. For most of Callie’s childhood, Phoebe’s career had dominated Callie’s every waking moment. She’d walked in her mother’s shadow while Phoebe gained accolade after accolade for her work, blazing a trail through the southern hemisphere like some kind of superhero as she put away criminals, gangsters, and villains, condemning them all to years behind bars without a second thought.

It wasn’t that Callie thought the people her mother had sent to prison were innocent, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the arrogance with which she’d done it meant that somehow her pigeons were coming home not only to roost but to move in and set up camp. Phoebe saw herself as an avenging angel, as some kind of symbol of goodness, and yet all Callie could remember of her youth was being unhappy—first being dragged from post to post across the world when she was young, and then after her parents divorced, sitting alone outside courtrooms, or alone at home, waiting for her mother to grant her some snippet of her precious time. And it had come so rarely. Phoebe had treated her daughter like a nuisance, like a dog she had to go home to feed.

Callie didn’t wish her mother ill, and of course she hoped Kirk would be caught soon and the threat of danger lifted. But she wanted no part of the drama. At eighteen, when she’d gone to uni, she’d stepped out of the center of the hurricane where she’d made her home for so many years, put up with the buffeting winds as she fought her way out, and had emerged in a more peaceful place of her own, where the world didn’t revolve around her mother, where life suddenly had promise. The last thing she wanted was to go back to that maelstrom.

Crossing to the bed, she pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder, slipped on her sandals, and left the room.

Most of the holidaymakers had left the beaches now, and the tide was coming in, the sea sending white fingers up toward the esplanade. Callie walked slowly along the sea front, letting the warm evening breeze lift her hair around her shoulders, thinking about the business, the appointments she’d had that day, and about Gene.

It wasn’t as if, after breaking up with Jamie, she’d decided she wasn’t going to date again. He’d broken her heart, but Callie had no intention of remaining a spinster for the rest of her life. But she’d thought it would take a while before she felt interested in another man. And then Gene had walked into her office, with his cufflinks and his firm jaw, and it felt as if someone had thrown a handful of fairy dust over her.

His declaration that he couldn’t date her while he was working for her sucked, but she admired his principles. Would he still be interested in dating in three months’ time when Becky returned? Only time would tell. Ninety days felt like an awfully long time. How was she supposed to keep her hands off him until then?

Her lips curving, she daydreamed about his wry smile and the heat in his eyes as the evening breeze played with her hair and the seagulls cried around her.

It was only as she reached the end of the esplanade and turned to make her way back that she began to have the feeling she was being followed. She couldn’t have explained why. She glanced over her shoulder and saw nobody out of the ordinary, no suspicious men with binoculars, no one who turned away hurriedly as they saw her look around. It appears someone’s watching me. Phoebe’s words rang in her head. Her skin crawled, and her heart rate picked up and began to race.

Dammit, why hadn’t she told Gene she was going for a walk? No doubt he would have insisted he go with her.

Then she scolded herself for being a wuss. She wasn’t going to let a few stupid idle threats force her to live like a hermit, or make her too afraid to go out on her own.

Still, she walked back more quickly than she’d walked out, and when she finally entered the hotel, she couldn’t suppress a wave of relief that she’d made it back safely.

After running up the stairs to her room, she paused outside Gene’s. Part of her wanted to knock on his door and tell him what she’d felt, hoping for his reassurance.

But she didn’t. Instead, she went into her room, locked the door, undressed, climbed under the covers, and pulled them up to her chin, even though it was a warm night.

It took a long time for her to fall asleep, though.

Chapter Twelve

The next day, they’d checked out and were on the road by ten o’clock. It was about four to five hours’ drive to Christchurch. They could have flown, but Callie wanted to call at some shops on the way, and Gene had to admit to himself he had no problem spending several hours in the car with her.

Callie offered to drive, but Gene told her he wanted to earn his money as her assistant, and she seemed to accept it, and slid into the passenger side without any argument. He got into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and pulled away, relieved she hadn’t insisted. He needed to remain in control, just in case a threat came. He’d taken several advanced driving courses over the years, so he knew what to do if they were chased or attacked on the road.

At first, he sat stiffly behind the wheel, determined to keep his wits about him. As the hours passed, though, and the road became almost empty, he began to relax and enjoy the drive and being with Callie.

She plugged her phone into the car and played music as they drove. He teased her about some of the songs from boy bands, but sang along with her to those he knew—some older alternative rock and, surprising him, some really old bluegrass.

“My father,” she said when he enquired why she had those songs on her phone. “He likes all that. He used to play it in the car whenever we were alone, and I guess I picked up a love of it over the years.”

Gene said nothing, concentrating on the road.

After about an hour and a half, they arrived at Oamaru, and Callie stopped there to visit a boutique lingerie shop, the manager of which appeared more than happy to stock some of the gorgeous underwear that Callie showed her. Another hour’s drive took them to Timaru, and she did the same there, visiting a smaller lingerie shop to tout her wares. Gene was impressed that she wasn’t focusing only on the large department stores. She seemed keen to reach out to even the tiniest corners of the country, and he could only admire her for that.

They continued north along the quiet road through wide-open fields filled with sheep and cows and, in the distance to their left, the white-topped mountains of Mount Cook National Park, right out of The Lord of the Rings. For a while, they were the only car on the road, and it became easy to think they were the survivors of some kind of natural disaster, the only two people left in the world.

They’d have to repopulate the Earth, of course, Gene thought as they crossed the long bridge over the Rakaia River. That would be fun.

“Penny for them,” Callie said, breaking into his daydreams.

“Too lewd to say.” He glanced at her and grinned.

She giggled and looked out the window. Smiling, he returned his gaze to the road. It was good to see her enjoying herself. He’d seen her face the night before, when she’d become afraid, out on her walk along the sea front, and it had chilled him.

When he’d arrived at the hotel, he’d slipped the receptionist fifty bucks and asked her to let him know if Callie left the hotel at any point, and in the evening the receptionist had found him in the gym to tell him Callie appeared to be going for a walk. Cursing, he’d left hurriedly, still in his sweats. Luckily, she hadn’t gone far, and he’d followed her discreetly until she turned and began to walk back to the hotel. He’d seen her stop and glance over her shoulder, had seen the fear on her face. Had she sensed him following her, or someone else? Either way, part of him had been glad she’d quickened her pace and returned to the hotel. He didn’t want her to be scared, but equally he’d rather she wasn’t blasé about her safety, either.

As they passed through Ashburton and headed east toward Christchurch, the roads became busier, and before long they were caught up in typical city traffic. The city had suffered heavily in the earthquake four years before, but it was gradually clawing its way back to normality, rebuilding itself like a person whose relationship had crumbled and failed, and who had to learn how to exist again on their own. Much of the city had been rebuilt, but he tried not to look at the cathedral as they passed it, finding the partially demolished ruins of the once-beautiful building just too sad.

They threaded their way through the streets, heading up past the museum and following the line of the Avon River to the hotel. In the end, it was nearly five o’clock by the time they finally parked, got out, and stretched.

“Jeez, that was a long day.” Callie retrieved her bag from the back of the car. “We should have flown.”

“Now you tell me.” He didn’t really mean it, though. “Come on. Let’s check in and get some dinner.”

They ate together again, enjoying the view across Hagley Park and the river. Willows wept over the quiet water, and oak and beech trees framed the grassy park where people were walking their dogs and enjoying the summer evening.

Callie went through her itinerary for the next day, which promised to be a busy one, with several appointments at large department stores as well as visits to a few boutique lingerie shops. Gene listened to her talking about her plans, unable to hide a smile at her enthusiasm. She might not have been the most organized person in the world, but she was knowledgeable about her business, and she’d done her research on the shops she was going to visit.

All day, in the car, she’d been bright and chirpy, and she certainly seemed excited about the next day. As the evening wore on, though, she gradually grew quieter and more preoccupied, and it wasn’t long after they finished their dessert before she said she was going up to her room.

Gene walked with her, hiding his disappointment. He’d hoped she might agree to stay for drinks in the bar, as he’d been enjoying talking to her and getting to know her better. Had she taken his request to wait as a brush-off? Maybe she didn’t believe him when he said he was interested in her.

When the elevator doors closed, he turned to her with concern. “Are you okay?”

She leaned against the wall, her shoulders sagging a little. “Fine, thank you. Just very tired.”

“You’re sure? Not worried about anything?” He was still hoping she’d confide in him about Phoebe’s predicament and the threats, but she just shook her head and gave him a small smile. Maybe she really was just tired. “Anything I can do for you?” he asked. “Order up for you?”

“No, really, I’m good, thanks.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened. They walked in silence along to their rooms, and she swiped her card.

“Callie...” He reached out and caught her hand. Her fingers lay cool in his. Her hand seemed small. She’d feel small in his arms, he knew, even though she was taller than average.

She squeezed his hand and released it. “I’m fine, Gene, please, don’t worry. My mind’s on other things, that’s all. I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast at eight again?”

“Sure.” He watched her go, feeling helpless. It occurred to him that maybe her mother had told her about the new death threat. Maybe the reinforcement of someone being after her had shaken her up.

Anyway, her mental status was irrelevant. His only concern was that she was safe.

Yeah, he thought as he let himself into his room. Keep telling yourself that, and you might begin to believe it.

*

In his dream, a T-rex was pounding on his hotel door, trying to get in.

Trained to transition from sleep to being awake in seconds, it nevertheless took Gene a moment to understand it wasn’t actually a dinosaur, as the door shook on its hinges and the whole hotel groaned. It was another earthquake, a big one, by the feel of it.

Within seconds of him leaping out of bed, the fire alarms went off across the hotel. He’d left the curtains open, and watery light from the half-moon filtered into the room, which was useful because when he flicked on the light switch, he discovered the quake had knocked out the power.

Currently naked, he tugged a pair of pajama bottoms up his legs and pulled a sweatshirt over his head. Shoving his feet into a pair of Converses, he grabbed his phone and opened the door. Callie opened hers at the same moment and appeared next to him, a ghost in the semi-darkness.

“Jesus.” She was white-faced, dressed only in a thin nightie. “It’s another fucking earthquake.” He could hardly hear her above the alarms.

“Yeah.” The tremors had stopped, although it was possible there might be aftershocks. “Come on,” he yelled.

Taking her hand, he led her across the corridor to the fire exit and they ran down the stairs, joining other guests in various stages of undress, lit by emergency lighting and the glow from people’s phones. Luckily, they were only two floors up, and it was less than a minute before they found themselves on the bank of the Avon, which the moon had cast in an eerie light. All the color had been bleached out of the scene, leaving them in a black-and-white movie, a mixture of highlights and shadows.

He hadn’t even checked what the time was yet, so he swiped his phone. 1:35 a.m. “It felt like a big one,” he said, bringing up Twitter. Tweets were just starting to appear, reflecting the shock—physical and emotional—across the city, although nothing yet about the magnitude or effects. He glanced up at the hotel. There didn’t appear to be any visible damage, but that didn’t mean the city had escaped untouched.

“Close one,” he said. He looked back at her, and his heart almost stuttered to a stop. Her bottom lip trembled, and she shook visibly, her arms wrapped around her waist. Like him, she’d brought only her phone, obviously not even taking the time to fetch a jacket, and her feet were bare. Her nightie was one of Rowan’s designs, made of a thin, silky fabric gathered under the bust and falling to just above her knees, with thin ribbon straps. It was a pale color with darker butterflies that sparkled in the moonlight, beautiful but hardly warm, and even on a summer night, the cool breeze was obviously enough to make her shiver.

“Jesus, Callie.” Without asking, he tugged his sweatshirt over his head and started to put it on her.

She let him do so automatically, like a child. He dragged his gaze away from her breasts, cupped in the silky fabric, maneuvered her arms through, and pulled the sweatshirt down her body. It fell past her hips, the sleeves hanging over her hands.

“Makes me feel like I’m a gorilla,” he said, trying to make her laugh, but she seemed in shock, and just turned wide eyes up to him, still shaking. “Hey.” He lifted her hair out of the neck of the shirt, then put his hands on her upper arms and rubbed them, once again thinking how small she felt in his hands. “Are you okay? Callie?”

Chapter Thirteen

Callie blinked a few times. Her heart was racing at a million miles an hour. “I’m... I’m all right. Sorry. I can’t believe it, that’s all.”

“Don’t worry, it’s normal to—” He was interrupted by her ringtone; someone was calling her, at this hour.

She lifted her hand to see who it was. “It’s Rowan.” She held the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Callie? It’s Rowan.”

“Hi. What are you doing up?”

“Just reading, but I have the TV on in the background and it says there’s been another earthquake. Are you still in Christchurch?”

In front of her, Gene gestured toward the river, presumably asking her whether she would prefer it if he walked away. She shook her head. The last thing she wanted at that moment was to be left alone. He nodded and stood with his hands behind his back, military-style.

She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or drool over him. Now he’d taken off his shirt, he was bare-chested, and all that expanse of tanned skin would have been enough to send her senses spinning, even if she hadn’t already felt as if she were on a carousel. As she’d suspected, he was muscular and toned, with a definite six-pack of abs and pecs that made her want to run her tongue over them. He had a manly scattering of body hair, a distinctive happy trail drawing her gaze to where his pajamas hung on his hips. Quite clearly, he wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath them.

“Callie?” Rowan’s voice echoed in her ear.

She blinked, remembering she was on the phone and there had just been an earthquake. “Sorry. Yes, I’m in Christchurch. I’m standing on the bank of the Avon right now.”

“Are you... You’re not hurt?”

“No, I’m okay. It was loud and the hotel shook, but I don’t think there’s any damage, although the quake’s knocked the electricity out.”

“Are you on your own?”

She looked up at Gene again, who continued to stand as still as if he were on duty. “No,” she said. “Gene’s here.”

“Oh, that’s good. Does he know about last time?”

“No, I’ll tell him now.”

He raised an eyebrow. She held out a hand to ask him to wait.

“Thanks for ringing,” she said.

“Okay. You know where I am if you need me.”

“Thanks.”

They hung up. She folded her arms, huddling into Gene’s sweatshirt, which still held some of his body warmth.

They stood in silence for a moment, half listening to the hotel staff explaining that they had to have the all clear from the fire service before they could return to their rooms. People were milling around, talking excitedly about the earthquake. Callie knew the phone lines would probably be jammed by now, even though it was the middle of the night, with everyone trying to contact friends and family to let them know they were okay.

A fire engine roared into the car park, lights flashing, and firefighters spilled out of it. They’d have to go floor to floor to check there was no damage before anyone else could go inside. It would be a while before she’d be under the warmth and safety of the duvet.

She turned and walked away from the hustle and bustle toward the river, and Gene followed.

“Sorry about that,” she said.

“It’s okay.”

“Rowan was just checking I was all right. We were here when the big earthquake struck.”

His eyes widened. “You were here in 2011?”

“Yeah. The four of us—Rowan, Bridget, Neve, and me—had come here for a fashion show. We were having lunch when the earthquake hit.”

He stared at her. “You were in the middle of the city?”

“Yes. The ground cracked right under our feet. We ran down the road and were nearly hit when a supermarket crumbled in front of us. Actually, Neve was hit—she hurt her shoulder quite badly. She had to go to hospital. The rest of us were okay, but it was horrible.”

She started shaking as she thought of it, and couldn’t stop. “There were people crying all around us. Entire buildings crumbled into dust before our eyes. People’s homes were destroyed in seconds, the walls just wrenched apart. Roads rippled and buckled as if they were made of plastic. A guy nearby us was crushed by the wall that hurt Neve. I watched his wife trying to get him to talk, but I knew he was dead.” His sightless eyes would haunt her for the rest of her life, she was certain.

“Callie...”

“I can’t believe it’s happened again. I’m like a fucking jinx for this city!”

“Callie. Jesus.” Gene pulled her into his arms. “It’s okay.”

She rested her forehead on his chest, rigid as a poker as she fought to control the wave of emotions sweeping over her. “It’s not okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry.” He kissed the top of her head.

That tender gesture was enough to tip her over the edge, and she started crying.

As the tears trickled down her cheeks and her chest heaved with uncontrollable sobs, she wondered whether he’d pat her arm awkwardly, or maybe even move away, embarrassed by her emotion.

He didn’t, though. His arms tightened around her, warm and comforting, and he rubbed her back with a hand, murmuring, “Shh, shh, don’t worry, I’m here.”

Callie rested her cheek on his chest, the tension draining out of her, leaving her limp, like an old piece of celery. Gene felt solid, though, like a tree trunk warmed by the summer sun, his chest and arms hard, smelling of body wash and cotton sheets and hot, sexy male.

She’d tucked her arms against her chest, but as her tears subsided, she splayed a hand on his ribs, unable to restrain herself from touching him. He went still, and she thought that he might actually be holding his breath, too. Around them, the hubbub continued—firefighters coming and going in the building, people talking, phoning, the hotel staff trying to relay information. But for a brief moment, it faded, and her whole world became his warm breath on her temple, his strong arms, and his skin under her fingers.

His chest was wet from her tears, and she brushed her thumb through the wetness, spreading it a couple of inches across his skin, his light brown hairs moving and then springing back beneath her touch. When she exhaled, he shivered, although she wasn’t sure if it was from the cool air or her breath on his wet skin.

She knew hardly anything about this man, but she liked him so much. When he’d said he might ask her out in three months, did he mean he wouldn’t date anyone else until then? She didn’t like the thought of him going out with another woman, holding her like this, kissing her.

“She’s okay,” Gene said suddenly over her shoulder, and she realized someone had asked him if she was all right. “Just a bit shaken up. Memories of 2011.”

“Yes, there are quite a few people around here saying the same. Let us know if you need anything. It shouldn’t be long now until you can return to your room.” The man walked away, his footsteps crunching on the gravel.

Room, singular. He thought they were a couple. She supposed that made sense considering Gene was semi-naked and had his arms wrapped around her.

She should move back now, wipe her face, and thank him for comforting her. Put some distance between them.

But he didn’t lower his arms, so she stayed put, and they remained like that for a while, saying nothing, until the firefighters declared the hotel was safe and everyone could return.

Gene finally loosened his arms, and Callie stepped back. She wiped her face and turned to go, then felt Gene’s hand grasp hers firmly. She didn’t complain.

“It was a six-point-five,” the hotel manager explained as everyone returned, “but deep, and way out to sea. There doesn’t appear to have been too much damage across the city, and so far nobody’s been hurt.”

“Thank God.” Relief washed over her, and she sagged, exhausted.

Gene put one arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him as they walked back up the stairs, not wanting to wait with the crowds for the elevator. “Not far now,” he said soothingly.

She was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. She dragged herself up the steps, exclaiming when she stumbled, her feet refusing to lift. Gene bent and slid an arm under her knees, and lifted her easily into his arms to climb the last few stairs. Callie held on while he carried her along the corridor to their rooms. His hair was prickly at the nape of his neck where it was so short, a little longer as she moved her hand up. If he was surprised by her sliding her fingers through his hair, he didn’t say anything.

He bent to swipe her card, then opened the door. Carefully, he carried her through the doorway, into the room, and over to the bed. After pulling back the duvet, he lowered her onto the mattress. Then he covered her back over.

He cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, wiping away the last of the wetness. “I’m just next door if you need me.”

Callie felt overwhelmed with tiredness and emotion, and suddenly the last thing she wanted was to be alone. “Don’t go,” she whispered.

He hesitated, and she bit her lip. What a stupid thing to say, after they’d had that discussion about waiting until the time was right. Of course he wouldn’t stay.

But to her surprise, he nodded and walked around the bed to the other side. He climbed on to lay beside her, on top of the duvet, and moved close to her. Then he lifted his arm.

Callie met his eyes for a moment, then shifted flush with him and rested her head on his shoulder. He lowered his arm around her, tight and warm even through the duvet, and held her close. He traced a finger around her face, lifting a strand of hair that had stuck to her wet cheek, and tucked it behind her ear.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmured. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“I know.” She closed her eyes, and within seconds the world faded to darkness.

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning, Gene was on his second cup of coffee when Callie finally appeared at the breakfast table at eight.

“Afternoon,” he said, turning off his phone and sliding it into his pocket.

She stuck her tongue out at him and took the seat opposite. “It’s hardly late. Anyway, I forgot to set my alarm.”

“You slept well, then?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Her eyes met his. He was glad to see the emotion of the night before had vanished, and she seemed relaxed, if a little cautious. “Um... about last night...”

He waved a hand. “Just another of my PA duties. Nothing needs to be said.”

She sucked her bottom lip for a moment. Then she said, “Okay,” and turned to smile up at the waiter.

Gene surveyed her while she listened to the waiter relay the breakfast options. She wore a smart pantsuit today, in a light gray, with a sleeveless cream top, and she’d clipped up her hair, which made her look fresh, cool, and classy.

The night before, he’d lain there for an hour while she slept in his arms, enjoying the warmth and softness of her body against him, and just the feel of being close to someone. It was eight months since he’d broken up with Angela, and although he didn’t miss her as much as he felt he should, he did miss the human contact. And the sex, of course. He missed the sex very much.

That was the main reason he’d risen from Callie’s bed and left her sleeping, because he’d known that if he’d continued to lay there, eventually he wouldn’t have been able to fight the temptation any longer. His hand would have stroked higher, brushing her ribcage, then finding its way to her breast, which would have felt uncaged and soft in his hand, and then it would only have been seconds before he would’ve rolled her onto her back and kissed her senseless.

“I’ll have the full breakfast,” she said. “With coffee, please.”

Gene grinned. “I’ll have the same,” he told the waiter, who left to place their order.

“What are you smirking at?” She glared at him.

“Every other woman I know would have chosen toast or grapefruit.”

“Boring,” she said. “Besides, I need to keep my strength up. We’ve got a busy day today.”

That was true on several accounts. They had visits planned to six stores throughout the day, and Gene knew it was going to be up to him to make sure Callie didn’t run late.

Not only that, but he was expecting Kev to keep in touch during the day with any updates. When Gene had returned to his hotel room, with Callie’s scent lingering on his skin and her tearstained face imprinted on his memory, he’d opened up his laptop and sat there for a while staring at the screen, wondering how he could help. He ran a security firm, not a detective agency, and the Special Tactics Group would have the hunt for Darren Kirk well in hand. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to think for himself.

After the same dark-haired man had been spotted on two separate days near Phoebe’s house, Gene had instructed Kev to submit the photo to the STG and ask them to run it through their Australasian database to see what it threw up. The STG had sent the death threat to their labs to see if they could discover anything about its origin. They were keeping tabs on Kirk’s family and friends that they knew of, and everyone involved in the trial had some form of security.

But Gene now had a personal, emotional investment in Callie’s safety, and it wasn’t enough for him to just sit around and wait to save Callie’s life. He needed to do something. So he’d requested that his team leaders email in detailed hourly reports that Kev would scan, summarize, and then forward to him, rather than relying on an end-of-day report. They were to take photos of every person Phoebe interacted with, and these would be emailed to him, too, so he could compare them day to day. Any recurring faces he would immediately forward on to the STG.

He was sure the STG would find Kirk and arrest him before any danger was done, but Kirk probably wouldn’t have made any personal attempts on the lives of those he hated. He would have hired a hitman or gotten one of his own crowd to do it, so it wasn’t as simple just keeping an eye out for his face.

“You’re quiet this morning,” Callie said. “Did you sleep okay? How long did you stay in my room for?”

“Just an hour. You were sound asleep.”

She accepted a cup of coffee from the waiter and dipped her spoon into the foam on the top. “I thought I would dream about the earthquake all night, but I didn’t, thank God. I probably snored, though.” She sipped the coffee.

“You did, very loudly. And dribbled all over my chest.”

“I did not.” She nudged his knee under the table.

He had to resist the urge to lean across and kiss away her pout. “Have you heard from Jamie again?”

She put down her cup. “No, and I doubt I will. We’re not in regular contact, and he was just concerned because of the quake. I have no desire to get in touch with him again.”

“So it’s definitely over?”

She studied him. “Yes, it’s over. I could never date him again. Once the trust is gone, you can’t regain it, can you? It’s like baking a cake. You can’t get the eggs and flour back once it’s been in the oven. The act of baking it changes it, and it can’t be undone.”

Gene looked out across the river, shifting in his chair. Trust was obviously an important factor for her, as it should be in all relationships. He hated that he was lying to her about his true identity. Would she understand when he finally told her, when Kirk was found? Or would she be angry?

It was a thought that would trouble him for the rest of the day, as he drove Callie from appointment to appointment, keeping a close eye on the time so she wouldn’t be late. As he waited in another coffee shop for her to finish a visit, he wondered whether he should in fact tell her he was doubling as her bodyguard. But what would happen if she sacked him? He couldn’t force her to have him as a personal protection officer. Shadowing her when she went out for a walk was one thing—doing it full time was another, and he wouldn’t be able to protect her properly from a distance.

For now, he had to put his growing feelings for her to one side and concentrate on keeping her safe. The best way to do that would be to continue working as her PA, which meant he could practically glue himself to her side without her noticing. Everything else would have to wait.

And if, when he eventually told her who he really was, she became angry, he’d have to deal with that when it happened. Hopefully, she’d come to see both he and her mother were acting in her best interests. If she refused to accept that, well, there would be little he could do about it, and he’d just have to deal with the fact that she would be the one that got away.

The notion of that made him a little depressed, but his time in the Army had taught him it was pointless to worry about things that hadn’t happened yet, and to live for today. So he drank his coffee, ate his brownie, and read through Kev’s latest report while he waited for Callie to finish her appointment.

Halfway through the day, he made sure she stopped for some lunch. It was difficult, because she was on a high, super excited because two of the three morning appointments had brought definite agreements to stock the brand, and the other was open to discussion once the manager had spoken to his head office.

“I really think this might work,” she announced as they tucked into pasta salads in a food mall conveniently placed between two stores she would be visiting.

“Of course it’s going to work,” he said. “You’re so enthusiastic—how can anyone fail to be won over?”

Her brow furrowed. “Am I overdoing it?”

He chuckled and speared some pasta on his fork. “Of course not. It’s nice to see you so happy. Especially after last night.”

“I’m just glad the earthquake didn’t do any lasting damage. I couldn’t believe what the 2011 one did. It really makes you realize how small and insignificant you are compared to the wrath of nature. It was as if an enormous monster had taken both sides of the city in its hands and torn it apart. Whole houses destroyed, roads cracked and buckled. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was terrifying.”

“Well, it seems as if this one was too deep and too far out to sea to have done much damage,” he said.

She chewed on her pasta, her lips curving up. “You’re good for me,” she said. “I’m too airy-fairy and prone to panic. You’re very calm and practical. Were you like that before you went in the Army?”

“Yes, although the Army taught me a lot about patience, and waiting. And that running around screaming doesn’t get the job done. We’re taught to work through our fear, and the chain of command means you have faith in your superiors and trust them to lead you through any dark times.”

“I think you would have made a good leader yourself. I’m surprised you’re not running your own company.” Her eyes were cool, appraising. What was she thinking? Had she guessed he was hiding something?

Afraid she might look into his eyes and see the truth, he lowered his gaze and scraped up the last of the pasta. “I might do, in the future. I’m quite happy where I am at the moment, though.”

“That’s good.” She pushed her plate away. “So, where are we off to now?”

He finished off with a swallow of soda. “Lacey’s first. Then Prim & Proper.”

“Come on, then.”

So they set off for their second round of appointments. It was a busy afternoon, racing across the city. Thank God for GPS, Gene thought as he navigated his way to the last store. It made things a whole lot easier.

The afternoon turned out to be even more successful than the morning, with all three stores interested in stocking the Four Seasons brand. Callie was on an absolute high. She talked all through dinner about her plans for the business, a completely different girl to the one who’d shaken in his arms the night before.

She asked him his opinion of some of her ideas, and Gene was happy to talk, but mostly he just listened, captivated by her enthusiasm and the sheer force of her sparkling personality. He felt as if she were casting a spell on him, gradually encasing him in invisible threads that drew him slowly closer to her, binding him. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t drunk anything, and he wasn’t sick, and yet he felt feverish, his heart rate up, the blood racing through his veins.

“Oh my God, I’ve talked far too much this evening,” she said when they eventually left the restaurant. “My voice is almost hoarse. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve had a great time. I like to see you so enthusiastic. I’m glad the day went well.” He pressed the button for the elevator, and the doors opened immediately. They went in, and the doors slid shut. He could smell her body wash, something fresh and fruity, winding around him like ribbons.

“Me too. It’s such a relief.” She leaned against the wall. Her cheeks were a little flushed, her eyes sparkling.

“And I’m glad you feel better after last night.” Their words were polite and courteous, but seemed disconnected from their bodies, which were having another conversation all of their own. This girl fitted her name perfectly—Sunny Summer. From her eyes to her dazzling smile to her curvy figure that made him think of bikinis and tanned skin damp with sweat, she was like a strawberry warmed by the sun, sweet and mouthwatering, filling his dull life with bright color and flavor.

“I do.” Her gaze fixed on his, impish, challenging. “I think it was because I slept well.”

Was she talking about him lying beside her? Gene couldn’t think what to reply to that. It was as if all his social niceties were fading away and his prehistoric caveman tendencies were coming to the fore. He’d had enough of talking. The memory of being with her the night before had haunted him all day, and now it rose to overwhelm him.

He wanted her, so badly it made him ache. He wanted to crush his lips to hers and wrap his arms around her until he could feel her soft body against him. He wanted to rip off her cream top, then her trousers, and cover her warm skin with kisses. Peel off her flimsy lingerie with all its straps and lace and sexy satin. Take her then and there on the elevator floor.

“Oh, Gene,” she said, scolding, mischievous. “There’s only one thing I can do when you look at me like that.”

She pushed off the wall. Not sure what she was going to do, Gene just stared at her, eyes widening, heart pounding, as she strode across the floor of the elevator. He inhaled sharply as she walked right up to him and cupped his cheek with a hand. Before he could say or do or think anything, she lifted up onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

Because he hadn’t initiated it, and because he knew it was wrong, he didn’t move. He didn’t return the kiss, and didn’t wrap his arms around her, pressing his hands against the wall of the elevator so he wasn’t tempted to touch where he shouldn’t.

But neither did he move away. Instead, he closed his eyes and breathed in the sweet, fruity scent of her body wash, tasting cherries on her lips. They were as soft as he’d dreamed, and he couldn’t stop a small groan of pleasure rising within him as she pressed her lips to his a few times, sedate and gentle, but sexy as hell.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Callie moved back. Her eyes danced with laughter.

“I wasn’t going to do that,” she said, walking out. “Your eyes led me on.”

He followed her, heart hammering, head spinning. “I’m sorry.” He had to remain professional. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, relax,” she scolded, taking out her card as they reached her door. “No harm done. I’m not going to ravish you on the carpet or anything.” She stopped and turned to him. “One thing last night did remind me of is how much we have to live for today. Life’s short, Gene. It can be hard and harsh and filled with all kinds of trials and tribulations. So when something nice comes along, I’m not going to walk away. I’m going to follow my instincts and grab pleasure where I can.”

Her eyes were bright, daring, rebellious, refusing to apologize for her act. And a teensy, tiny bit nervous, as if maybe she was worried he might quit on the spot and walk away.

“Fair enough,” he said. “See you for breakfast at eight?”

He held her gaze. Her lips curved up slowly, and she gave a little nod.

Gene turned, let himself into his own room, and closed the door behind him. Then he finally blew out a long breath. Waiting for three months before dating Callie was a trial he knew he was going to struggle with. And if she was going to do things like that, he would need willpower of iron to survive.

He crossed to the bed and flopped onto it, face down, with a long, heartfelt groan.

Chapter Fifteen

The drive to the wine district of Marlborough was long and, for Callie at least, rather blissful—five uninterrupted hours in the car with Gene, broken only by a short stop in Kaikoura for a visit to a small lingerie store, following which they took a detour to drive out to the peninsula for lunch, eating it while watching the seals sunbathing on the rocks.

Apart from that, they hardly saw a soul on the winding road that shadowed the coast on their right, the land on their left consisting of tilled fields, hills and valleys stocked with the iconic New Zealand sheep, and, in the distance, white mountains, their icy tops lost in the clouds. Any settlements they passed through were small and quiet, with little more than the standard ‘dairy’ or general store selling not only dairy products but also newspapers, tinned goods for campers who might be passing and in need of stocking up on emergency supplies, cold drinks, and the traditional Kiwi staple—meat pies, usually containing cheese. Sometimes, a camper van meandered past, and occasionally they passed a parked car with a family having a picnic, but most of the time it was just her and Gene and the long stretch of road disappearing into the distance.

Conscious that she’d waffled on for most of the previous evening, Callie was worried Gene might be bored, but he certainly didn’t seem it. They talked about everything under the sun, music, movies, even religion, something she didn’t usually enjoy because it tended to bring out the worst in people, but Gene listened to her point of view, offered some of his own, and didn’t try to browbeat her to think like himself, which she appreciated.

The night before, she’d lain awake for hours thinking about the way she’d reached up to kiss him, and cursing herself for being so forward. Her mother would have been horrified, not because she was old-fashioned and didn’t believe in the girl expressing her thoughts, but because Gene had made it quite clear that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—get involved until Becky came back. He worked for her, and he was a gentleman, and she knew she’d put him in a situation where it would have been very difficult for him to say no. No doubt he would have been concerned that, if he’d refused to return the kiss, she would have sacked him.

He hadn’t actively kissed her back—he’d frozen, and he hadn’t wrapped his arms around her, or done anything in fact but stand there and let her kiss him. He had closed his eyes, though, and he hadn’t jerked his head away or exclaimed his disgust. Instead, a low, satisfied groan had rumbled in his chest, almost a moan, and when she’d finally pulled back, his eyes had been half-lidded with desire.

But that wasn’t the point. The earthquake might have renewed her feelings that life was short and it was important to grab the bull by the pointy things, but she had to let this proceed at its own pace. When Gene was ready, he’d make a move on her, she was sure. Until then, she had to restrain herself and behave in a ladylike fashion.

She sighed. Boring.

“We’re nearly there,” Gene said. “Are you tired?”

Oops. She’d sighed too loudly. “No, nothing like that. It is a long way, but it’s been a beautiful journey.”

“This is a fantastic part of the world. I love Blenheim. I could live here.” He spoke with enthusiasm.

“What do you like about it?”

He took the turnoff for the town center. “It’s a thriving town. It’s always been sunny whenever I’ve visited, and it seems to have everything—coastal activities, bush walks, and of course the vineyards.”

Callie could see some of them stretching away to the hills surrounding the Wairau Plain, and she knew the vines would be heavy with ripe fruit. “I’ve got an idea,” she announced. “After the appointment today, why don’t we go for a wine tasting at a local vineyard?”

Gene glanced across at her. “I don’t drink, you know that.”

“Rubbish. You were just telling me about how you prefer Merlot to Shiraz.”

“I don’t drink at the moment. Not while I’m working.”

“Please. I don’t come here very often, and it seems a shame to travel all this way and not make the most of the local produce.”

“You talk as if they sell cabbages. It’s not as simple as tasting the local coleslaw.”

“I’m not saying we have to get out of our heads. Have you seen how much wine they put in your glass when you do a tasting? It’s, like, a fraction of an inch.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, in a voice that told her he was still going to say no, but he was fed up with her badgering him about it.

She stuck out her bottom lip. “You’re thirty-one—that’s only five years older than me.”

“Thirty-two on Sunday.”

“Well, that’s still only six years. You’re hardly old enough to be my father, so I really wish you didn’t talk like him.” There was enough genuine exasperation there to make her turn her head away and glare out the window.

Gene said nothing, concentrating on navigating the roads. He drove straight through the town, and didn’t turn off until they were heading toward the fields of vines.

Callie soon forgot her grump as she looked out and saw a range of long, low, whitewashed buildings with terracotta roofs. She looked at Gene in delight. “We’re staying at a vineyard?”

His lips curved up, and he steered the car into a space. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh, how lovely.” She leapt out of the car and ran up to the gate. Cobbled paths surrounded the central wooden reception building. To its left were the buildings she assumed incorporated the wine cellar. To the right, a large courtyard backed onto the restaurant. All its doors stood open, and she could see through it to the vineyards beyond. Vines were everywhere, curled around posts and across the latticework over the courtyard. Everything was rich, green, and fertile. She felt as if she were visiting the home of Mother Earth herself.

“I’m glad you like it.” Gene held out his hand to her. “Come on, let’s check in.”

She took it, surprised, thinking that his offering it must have been a reflexive gesture, because he hadn’t done it before. He held it until they reached the reception desk, then gave her fingers a squeeze before releasing it. Her skin tingled from his warmth and the delight of touching him. She wanted more! But she reminded herself of her promise in the car. Practice restraint, Callie.

They checked in and were shown to their rooms, which both faced the vineyards. Callie unpacked a few things and hung up her dress for the evening and her clothes for the next day, then opened the sliding doors to the small patio and stepped outside. It was heading toward four o’clock, and the sun had begun its descent to the west. The vineyards were bright in the sun, bunches of grapes hanging below the leaves, ripe and sweet.

“Beautiful,” she whispered, tipping her face up to the sun and closing her eyes.

“I’ll second that.”

She opened her eyes in surprise and turned to see Gene leaning against the post between their rooms, watching her.

“Oh.” She shielded her eyes. “I was talking about the view.”

He just smiled. “Are you ready to get going? You’re supposed to be at the store at four.”

Something about his steady gaze unnerved her and sent her heart hammering. “Yes, of course. I’ll meet you out by the car.”

He nodded, but made no sign of moving. What was he thinking? Was he remembering the way she’d kissed him in the elevator? Because Callie was. His lips had been firm, warm, and dry. They’d parted a little when he’d gasped in surprise, but she hadn’t taken advantage of that. Instead, she’d pressed her lips to his a few times, enjoying the sensation of his bristles against the pads of her fingers, and the deep, spicy tones of his aftershave, sensations masculine enough to send tingles through her lady bits that made her want to pin him to the wall and strip him naked.

He raised an eyebrow. Callie turned on her heel and went back into her room.

*

She was nearly an hour at the store. The manager loved the Four Seasons brand and wanted to go through every piece of lingerie and swimwear. The two of them lost themselves in talking about designs and the clothing business, and both of them were surprised when they heard the store announcement that it would be closing in five minutes.

Callie shook the manager’s hand and left the store, crossing the high street to where she’d agreed to meet Gene in the bookshop opposite. He came out as she neared, looking—to her surprise—a little flustered.

“What’s up?” she asked, puzzled at his demeanor. He stood before her with his hands behind his back, shuffling from foot to foot, not meeting her gaze.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“Great. Sorry I was such a long time, but we got talking. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, yes.” He brought one hand up to scratch his nose. “You were gone a while, so I had a look in the shops. I found something, and I thought of you, so I bought it, and then I realized it was inappropriate.” He looked pained.

“What is it?” she asked, intrigued. “A vibrator?”

His expression turned wry. “No, not quite.” He hesitated, then brought his other hand from behind his back. He was holding a red rose, a perfect bud, with a piece of silvery ribbon around the stem. “Sorry,” he said.

Callie reached out and took it, automatically bringing it to her nose to sniff its scent. “Don’t apologize.”

“It’s not appropriate at all, and I do apologize for that. I didn’t mean to suggest—”

“Gene,” she said softly, “it’s okay. It’s beautiful, and I like beautiful things. Thank you.”

He paused, then nodded. “Let’s go back to the car.”

Callie said nothing more, but inside, she had filled with warmth. He was right—it wasn’t an appropriate gesture from an employee to his employer. But it said everything that words couldn’t right now. He liked her. He wanted to get to know her better. And just knowing that would be enough to keep her going.

Chapter Sixteen

One of the reasons Gene had bought the rose was because while he’d waited for Callie in the coffee shop, he’d chatted to Kev, who’d told him there had been no more suspicious activity around Phoebe, no more death threats, and things appeared to have quietened down. Kev had also spoken to their contact at the STG, who’d informed him that they had a lead on Darren Kirk and were hoping to have him in custody within a day or two.

Gene had felt a rush of relief at the knowledge that it wouldn’t be long before Callie’s life was free from danger. It also meant that he wouldn’t have to act as her personal protection officer anymore. And that meant they would be free to date.

He’d seen the rose with its light red velvety petals—the same color Callie’s cheeks turned when she blushed—and he’d bought it on impulse, disappointed that up until now he’d not been able to express his true feelings for her. Straight afterward, as he’d walked out of the shop, he’d felt stupid and wished he hadn’t bought it. Kirk wasn’t yet in custody, and a hundred things could go wrong between now and that coming to pass. He had to remember that Callie wouldn’t be safe until Kirk was caught and his men stood down, and until then, Gene had to keep himself emotionally removed from her and remain on guard at all times.

He’d taken the rose to a rubbish bin and held it there for a long while before cursing himself and walking away.

Now, he had mixed feelings about his decision to give it to Callie. She hadn’t made a fuss, and didn’t appear to have taken it as a declaration of love, which of course it wasn’t, because he’d only known her a week and they’d only kissed once. She hadn’t even mentioned it again. But as he drove back to the vineyard, he glanced across at her and saw her looking out the window, lost in a daydream, trailing the rose across her cheek to inhale its scent absently, a smile curving her lips. It warmed him through and made him anxious at the same time, but he tried to put his anxiety to one side. It was just a flower, a nice gesture, and she was so lovely, she deserved it.

That evening was one of the nicest he’d spent in a long time. Relaxed after his conversation with Kev, Gene gave in and agreed to a wine tasting, and the two of them listened to the talk given by the vineyard owner as they sipped at samples of Pinot gris, Sauvignon, Chardonnay, Shiraz, and Merlot, arguing good-naturedly about which was the best.

Then they returned to the restaurant and spent a long while over a couple of platters of cheese, meat, and seafood, and he allowed himself one glass of Sauvignon as they watched the sun sink gradually toward the horizon. The air was warm and a little sultry, and Callie’s skin glowed, a combination of the wine and the heat bringing a flush to her cheeks.

She still hadn’t mentioned the rose, and she wasn’t overly familiar toward him or anything, but her manner was relaxed. Whenever she met his gaze, the look in her eyes sent a tingle running through him from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes.

Tonight, she wore a long summer dress in a bright blue the color of her eyes, covered with shining darker blue and green swirls like a peacock’s feather. It was hardly revealing, but it clung to her curves as she leaned forward to lift her drink, drawing his gaze repeatedly to her breasts, the dip of her waist, and the swell of her bottom when she sashayed away to the ladies’ room.

The fever that had begun days ago grew to a raging heat for her that refused to be quenched. It couldn’t be alcohol, he thought, because he’d only had the tasters and one other glass. But he felt dizzy with lust, desperate to pull her into his arms, to feel his lips on hers. What was wrong with him? He was a grown man, more than able to control his desires. Why did he feel like a teenage boy with his first crush?

He tried to make the evening last as long as he could, but all good things come to an end, and eventually, as stars began to pop out against the fading darkness, they finished their drinks and walked slowly back to their rooms, lit by the solar lights strung along the path.

“What a gorgeous evening.” Callie looked up at the stars. Somewhere in the distance, a morepork hooted from a tree, mournful in the night. More pork. More pork.

“It is. Made more beautiful by the delicious company.” He couldn’t stop the compliment falling from his lips.

She paused outside her room and turned an impish gaze up to him. “Delicious? Interesting choice of adjectives. You sound as if you could eat me up.”

He couldn’t ignore the suggestiveness behind that comment. He gave a short laugh, and her lips curved up, her eyes glittering in the semi-darkness. “I could,” he said, his heart thudding. He moved closer to her, hands behind his back so he wasn’t tempted to touch her. “And I bet you taste sweet, like strawberries.”

“Shame you won’t get to find out,” she said.

His heart pounded, and his breaths came quickly. The notion of stripping Callie naked, kissing down her body, and sinking his tongue into her folds had him hard as a rock in seconds.

But he shouldn’t. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He was here to protect her, and he couldn’t do that if he was sleeping with her.

Callie didn’t move toward him, but neither did she move to open her door. She was going to leave it up to him.

He had to stay strong. For heaven’s sake, he’d coped for months as a single man, in the desert, miles from the nearest desirable and available woman, without a second thought. He could gather the strength to resist one girl for one evening. Even if she did smell divine. Even if her lips did look soft and red as the petals of the rose he’d bought her. Even if she was looking at him with yearning in her eyes. He might not have been old enough to be her father, but he was older than her, and he was a man—he should be the one to exhibit restraint and be wise enough for the both of them.

Callie moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and something popped inside Gene’s head.

Fuck it.

Bringing up a hand to cup her cheek, he moved forward until they were only an inch apart. Callie didn’t move, but her breasts rose and fell quickly, and her eyes widened, the pupils huge in the semi-darkness.

“Tell me to stop,” he said huskily, pausing when his lips were a fraction of an inch from hers.

She didn’t move to kiss him this time, but waited, her breath whispering across his lips, and gave an almost undetectable shake of her head.

“Please,” he demanded. He wasn’t strong enough. He was weak—possibly the weakest man of all time, a slave to his senses, a self-indulgent fool who would undoubtedly regret this in the morning, but who, right now, could no more walk away from this woman than he could turn his back on someone who was drowning.

Callie still didn’t move. When she spoke, her voice was soft as the summer breeze that was stroking the back of his neck. “Why would I do that, when it’s what I want more than anything in the world?”

Gene groaned, slid his hand into her hair, and lowered his lips to hers.

Their previous kiss had been feather-light, tender and gentle. But this time, he was too hungry to rein in his passion.

He claimed her mouth, hot and hard, conscious he could almost be bruising her with his ardor, but she didn’t complain or move back. Quite the opposite—she lifted her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, tipping her head to the right to change the angle of the kiss. He brushed his tongue across her bottom lip, and she moaned and opened her mouth to him, welcoming the slide of his tongue inside with little thrusts of her own.

Gene’s thoughts and emotions spiraled together, becoming a jumble of sensations. He couldn’t think about anything but the sensual slip of her tongue against his, the feel of her silky hair sliding through his fingers, the softness of her flesh beneath his hand when he laid it on her waist. As he’d guessed, she tasted of strawberries, the prominent flavor of the rosé she’d been drinking, touched with the earthy richness of the chocolate pudding they’d eaten at the end of their meal.

He moved his hand to the small of her back, pulling her against him, feeling the press of her breasts against his chest. Slowly, his mind scolded him—this was just a kiss, and he didn’t want to insult her by assuming it would lead to anything more. Which of course it shouldn’t.

Pull away now, his brain yelled. Say thank you and wish her goodnight, and retire gracefully before you make a fool of yourself.

But it was hard to stop when she’d tugged his shirt from his trousers and had slipped her fingers beneath it. Her hand was warm on his back, her nails grazing as she explored his muscles, and when she scored them lightly around his ribs and stroked over his nipples, Gene nearly exclaimed out loud.

Callie moved then, stepping back, and with surprise he realized she’d opened her door and was backing into her room. He paused, about to say something, but she took his hand and pulled him with her, leading him inside.

He went, because he was too confused and excited and hot to refuse, but as she let the door close behind her and continued to back up to the dresser against the wall, warning bells rang in his head, and he opened his mouth to say something.

Callie pulled him hard toward her, though, hard enough to make him stumble, and he fell against her, jolting the dresser and making the leaflet on the vineyard that stood there fall over.

“Sorry,” he began, “I should—”

But she turned, and with one arm swept the leaflets, cards, pens, and other knickknacks onto the floor. Backing up, she rested her bottom on the edge and lifted herself onto the top. Then she pulled up her dress to her knees, parted her legs, and yanked him toward her.

“Callie,” he said, resting his hands on her knees, but any warning he might have given vanished at the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingers and the temptation of her silky thighs lying just within reach.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, reaching up a hand to slide into his hair, and she clenched her fingers in the short strands. Her nails scraped across his scalp, and Gene was lost.

“Fuck,” he said, and crushed his mouth to hers.

Callie gave a long, low moan deep in her throat that reverberated right through him. He delved his tongue into her mouth, hungry now, wanting to consume her, possess her, more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life, he was sure.

Slowly, he slid the skirt of her dress up her thighs, his fingers finding soft, warm, silky skin. It was warm in the room as she hadn’t turned on the air conditioning, and her skin felt a little moist to the touch, the same way he knew sweat would be dampening his hair at his temples and the nape of his neck. He wanted to run his tongue up her body, to taste the salt, but she was widening her thighs to give him better access, and of their own accord his fingers hooked in the elastic of her panties and slipped around between her legs.

He lifted his head and watched her as he moved his thumb down over the soft skin, where it slid easily through her slippery folds to the already-swollen bud of her clit. Her mouth opened and she inhaled, but she didn’t push him away. He moved his thumb down to collect some of her moisture, then returned it to circle over her clit, pressing lightly on the small swelling.

“Oh...” Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip. “Gene...”

“Is that nice?” Fuck, it was heavenly, feeling her, knowing she was aroused, seeing her eyelids drop to half-mast with pleasure at his touch.

“Yes...” she hissed.

Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he lifted his thumb to his mouth and sucked it. There might have been a very small chance of him stopping a few minutes ago. It had rapidly shrunk to miniscule when he’d touched her. And now he’d tasted her, there was no question it was zero.

“I want you,” she said. All signs of humor and teasing had vanished from her eyes, which glittered with a dark passion that made his erection strain at the seam of his trousers.

“Good,” he replied, and kissed her again.

Chapter Seventeen

Callie pushed herself off the dresser, then lifted her arms as Gene held the bottom of her dress and drew it up her body. He did it slowly, almost reverently, as if excited to reveal her inch by inch, feasting his eyes on what lay beneath as the material peeled slowly up her skin.

Her heart thumped against her ribs as the dress reached her hips, her waist, skimmed over her breasts, and then she felt her hair lift as he drew it over her head. He draped it over a nearby chair and turned back to rest his hands on her hips.

She fought the urge to cover herself up and instead leaned back against the dresser, her body burning under his heated gaze.

“Pretty,” he said, running a finger across the top of her bra. His finger hooked over the lace, brushing her skin. “But not as pretty as what’s underneath.”

She wore one of Rowan’s creations—a comfortable but stylish orange-colored set with blush-red lace and golden embroidery. It always made Callie think of a sunset on a warm February night.

“Why does everything about you remind me of summer?” he whispered as if reading her mind, sliding his hands around her back to her bra strap. One neat twist and the clasp opened, her breasts dropping a little as the elastic released them. Drawing the straps down her arms, his gaze rested on her breasts as they were gradually revealed.

“Jesus.” He tossed the bra behind him without looking to see where it landed. She liked that—it was as if he couldn’t bear to spare the few seconds it would take to look away. Cupping her breasts, he felt the weight of them on his palms, then stroked his thumbs across her nipples. “You’re so beautiful.” He circled the pads of each thumb around the edges of her nipples a few times, watching as they tightened, then took the resulting beads between his thumbs and forefingers and tugged gently.

“Oh...” Already fired up, Callie gave in to her need to kiss him and pressed her lips to his, sliding her hands to his waistcoat. He stepped back, however, undid the buttons of his waistcoat himself, and let it slip down his arms before tossing it onto the chair. Then his lips were on hers again, and this time when she removed his tie and started to unbutton his shirt, he let her.

Suddenly everything became urgent. The previously gentle presses of his lips turned into a heated and demanding capture of hers, and Callie welcomed his hot kisses, hungry for him, wanted to consume and be consumed by him. Her fingers fumbled in their rush to see him naked, and it took her a few goes to get all the buttons of his shirt undone. Reaching the bottom, she pushed both sides of the shirt apart and groaned at the feel of his warm skin beneath her fingertips.

“You’re driving me mad,” he said, his voice husky with desire.

“I want to.” She slid her hands up under his shirt, skating across the smooth skin of his back. She felt giddy with lust, desperate to have his naked skin next to hers. Pushing his shirt off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself against him. “I want you, Gene. I’m aching for you. I want you inside me. I haven’t been able to think about anything else all day. I don’t care if I’m moving too fast or being reckless. Life’s about the here and now and, here and now, I want you.”

“I want you too. I have since the moment I walked into your office.” He kissed down her neck, his tongue hot and wet on her skin, tracing down to her breasts, where he covered a nipple with his mouth. Callie clenched inside as he sucked, tightening her fingers in his hair and groaning. He swapped from one nipple to the other, teasing them with his lips and tongue until they looked like pebbles on the beach, wet from the sea, hard and shiny.

“Stop,” she said with a gasp as she felt the first flickers of an orgasm approaching, way off in the distance. “I need you inside me. Please.”

He straightened, admiring the effect he’d had on her nipples for a moment before hooking his thumbs in the elastic of her panties and drawing them down her legs. She stepped out of them and lifted herself back onto the dresser, parted her knees, then pulled him toward her by the waistband of his jeans.

“Have you got a condom?” she asked. She had one in her handbag if he didn’t, but was relieved when he nodded. Her fingers fumbled at the button of his jeans while he retrieved it from his wallet, and once he’d found it, he helped her out, undoing the button and sliding down the zip.

Callie inhaled at the sight of his erection jutting out from his jeans, encased in thin black cotton briefs. She’d dreamed about this moment since he’d walked into her office, all smart and sophisticated, with those sultry, knowing eyes that said, One day you’ll beg me to take you, and I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.

Suddenly, the full realization of what they were about to do hit her. This wasn’t teasing, or flirting, or making out on the sofa. This was naked, raw, adult sex. Gene wasn’t a teenager—he wasn’t even like Jamie, a young man with more hormones than sense. He was a grown man, a hundred percent XY chromosome—possibly more so than any man she’d ever met. Once they’d done what they were about to do, there would be no going back. They’d never be able to undo the memory of his body sliding into hers, of their baser instincts taking over. Of being locked in ecstasy together.

She swallowed hard as he ripped the packet off the condom. Was she being foolish? It might be the twenty-first century, and women had a lot more sexual freedom than they used to have, but that didn’t mean they should sacrifice their self-worth to achieve it. If it had been up to him, he would have walked away and returned to his own room. He had principles, but he was still a man, and she’d pushed him past his limits until nature had taken over from the civilized soul inside him. Would he regret this in the morning?

That might indeed be the case, but she couldn’t stop now. Just as his body had shifted into autopilot, so Callie’s had become pure sensation. It was like being drunk, even though she’d only had a couple of glasses of wine, but the thrumming in her blood, the desperate urge to have him inside her, made everything else fade into the background until the world consisted only of the man before her, with his hard muscles, his hungry mouth, and the stiff shaft he was now releasing from his briefs that strained eagerly toward her.

He hadn’t removed his trousers, and as he pushed down his briefs, she caught a glimpse of puckered skin on his hip—the wound he’d received in Afghanistan. She wondered briefly whether he was worried about her seeing the scar, but then all thoughts fled as he lifted the elastic of his briefs over his erection.

Callie fought not to pant out loud as he grasped it and stroked himself a couple of times before rolling on the condom. Fuck, this guy knew what he was doing, and that was so sexy she nearly melted into a puddle. She widened her thighs as he moved closer to her and parted her folds with the tip of his erection.

Then he paused, cupped her chin, and lifted it so he looked into her eyes.

“Are you sure?” he murmured.

“I’m sure.”

He kissed her, and then he pushed his hips forward and sank slowly into her.

Callie closed her eyes and tipped back her head as he filled her. He didn’t stop until his hips met her thighs. She tightened her internal muscles, and she could feel him all the way up, so thick and hard she nearly came on the spot.

He groaned and began to move with cautious thrusts at first to make sure he was lubricated. He slipped his hand into her hair to cup the back of her head, his lips finding hers again with deep, searching kisses that took her breath away. His fingers were gentle on her hair and where he held her hip, but firm, and as his thrusts grew bolder, his kisses harder, she had the blissful feeling of him taking over and guiding them both toward the ecstasy of fulfilment.

He slid inside her so easily now that she knew she must be wet and swollen, all her senses turning her on. The feel of him as she rested a hand on his arm, admiring the movement of his biceps beneath her fingers, like rock beneath the satin of his skin. The sexy sound of him inside her, slick and sensual, and the deep murmur of his voice in her ear as he told her how beautiful she was while he made love to her. The taste of him, sweet as wine, and the smell of his aftershave mingled with the smell of sex. And the sheer sight of this gorgeous man taking her, his body painted silver with starlight.

“Callie,” he whispered, pulling her close, shifting his stance. He thrust even deeper into her, but clearly it wasn’t enough, because after a few moments he slid his hands beneath her and lifted her. She squealed, flinging her arms around his neck, but he held her tightly with one around her waist, and within seconds she found herself on her back on the bed with Gene leaning over her, supporting himself on his hands and casting her in shadow.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, lifting her hips, and he groaned and thrust forward, burying himself deep inside her. “Fuck,” he said, and did it again, setting up a fast pace, grinding against her clit every time he moved.

He bent and captured her mouth with his, his tongue hot and wet against hers, and Callie felt the world falling away around her. She moaned against his mouth, and he lifted his head, his gray eyes glittering in the moonlight.

“Come for me,” he whispered, still moving, and kissed down her neck to her breast. He swirled his tongue over her nipple and plucked at it with his lips, and it was enough to tip her over the edge.

“Oh,” she said, half conscious that he’d lifted his head to watch her as she came. But there was nothing she could do about it, because the orgasm had her in its grasp, and she could only cry out and give in to the fierce clenches. They seemed to go on forever, and while her body pulsed, without thinking she dug her fingernails into his back and scored down it.

“Aaahhh...” Gene shuddered and lifted up to thrust harder, giving in to his climax just as hers released her. She forced her eyes open to watch him stiffen, his muscles hardening even more, if that were possible, as if his body had been turned to stone, a frozen monument of the perfect moment. His hips jerked and he cried out, pushing forward so hard she imagined that he would pierce her right through to the mattress.

“Fuck.” He almost yelled the word as his body finally relented and released him. His breaths came in great gasps, and when he opened his eyes, Callie was shocked to see them filled with anger.

Moving back, he held the condom as he withdrew, sat back on his haunches and disposed of it, then flung himself onto his back and covered his eyes with an arm.

Callie looked up at the ceiling, her own breathing gradually slowing, and tears pricked her eyelids. He was angry with her, because now the paroxysm of lovemaking had subsided, his better nature had returned. He hadn’t wanted to give in to their obvious desire for each other, but she’d made him, or at least he felt that she’d provoked him until he’d been unable to say no.

She clenched her jaw until her teeth ached. Well that was bullshit, because he was a grown man, and at any point he could have stopped. She might have encouraged him, but she’d hardly stripped naked on the front step. And even if she had, that didn’t mean he had to take advantage of the moment. She hadn’t forced him to make this choice. He’d lost control, and that wasn’t her fault. Like all men, he’d been led astray by his own desires.

She rolled her head to look at him. His arm lay over his face, and his chest was still heaving. His other hand rested on his stomach, clenched into a fist. His body looked like a black-and-white photograph in the moonlight, all silver muscles and shadowed hollows, and part of her wished she had the courage to reach for her phone and take a photo of him to remind herself of this night. He’d tucked himself back into his briefs, but his trousers still lay open, the top of the scar on his hip just visible. Would she ever get to see the rest of it? Somehow, she thought not.

Listening to his breathing gradually leveling out beside her, his arm still over his face, she fought not to let the tears fall. She might not have forced him into this, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t foolish. She should have guessed he’d feel this way afterward. Whatever happened now, she had to bear some of the blame. Men were weak, and she’d been an idiot not to take that into account.

Chapter Eighteen

Gene’s heart was pounding on his ribs as if it were trying to break through and escape across the room, but after a few minutes it began to slow and his breathing gradually returned to normal.

Still, he didn’t move. His arm blocked out the shine of the moon through the window, and also the view of Callie lying next to him.

He knew he was being rude. He’d just made passionate love to possibly the most beautiful girl—both inside and out—that he’d ever met, and since he’d come, he’d done the equivalent of rolling over and going to sleep. She didn’t deserve that.

The mattress lifted beside him, and he felt Callie roll off and heard her pad over to the bathroom. The door closed.

He lowered his arm and stared up at the ceiling, then got to his feet and walked over to the window. The vineyard rolled away from him in stripes of silver and black. Far above, the Milky Way looked like spilled milk across the glittering sky.

Leaning on the window, he rested his head on his forearm. You fucking idiot. Getting involved with a client was number one on the personal protection officer’s What Not To Do list. Being a bodyguard was about solid concentration, about not getting distracted, and the worst thing he could have done was give in to his lust. He despised himself for being so weak. Not only was he risking Callie’s safety, but she deserved so much more than a one-night stand, especially considering what she’d been through with her ex. It didn’t matter that he hoped to date her once Kirk was caught. He’d deceived her by not telling her the truth about his true reason for being there. Once she learned that, she might not want to see him, and by seducing her, he’d only served to confuse things more.

No doubt she thought it was her fault for flirting with him. She wouldn’t understand that even though he’d expressed his desire to wait, he’d seduced her nevertheless, by having dinner with her, drinking wine with her, and buying the fucking rose. Why the hell had he done that? How was that maintaining a business relationship? It was entirely his fault, and now he could only blame himself if everything went tits up.

The bathroom door opened behind him. He pushed off the window and turned to see Callie exiting the room. She looked at the bed first, stopped as she saw it empty, sighed as she presumably thought he’d left, then inhaled sharply when she saw him standing by the window.

“I thought you’d gone,” she said.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he replied softly.

She walked forward to stand by the window. The moonlight slanted across her. Her golden hair became a sheet of silver, her body like a marble statue of a Greek goddess. She crossed her arms over her breasts, telling him she felt uncomfortable with him because of what he’d done.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He stepped close, wrapped his arms around her, and turned his back to the window, not liking her being exposed to anyone lurking in the shadows. Bit fucking late for that, he thought, but all he could do now was thank his lucky stars that she was safe, and make sure he protected her better in the future.

She stayed stiff in his arms, although she rested her forehead on his shoulder. “Don’t be angry with me,” she whispered.

“With you? Honey, I’m angry with myself, not with you. I could never be angry with you.” He kissed her hair, stroking her back.

“I thought you resented me coming on to you.”

“No.” He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her silky skin beneath his fingertips. “Of course not. I’m flattered. I’m cross with myself because it’s unprofessional to become involved with you. I told myself that many times, but I suppose it says something about how attracted I am to you that I couldn’t keep away.”

She placed her hands on his chest and pushed back to look up at him. Her face was dry, and her eyes held a touch of rebellion. “Don’t regret this,” she said. “It’s the best thing that’s happened to me for months.”

“I won’t,” he said, although he did, because he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d jeopardized his chance of a future with her. “But it can’t happen again, Callie.”

“I know.” Her eyes looked like the night sky, the pupils encompassing almost all of the irises. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Was she just saying what she wanted him to hear? Or did she truly believe that? Something twisted inside him. What a hopeless situation.

He touched her cheek, and when she didn’t pull away, he kissed her, long and lingering. Her lips were dry and soft beneath his. She remained passive, letting him kiss her, but not returning it, with no sign of the passion that had been evident while they’d been making love, which had been better than he’d fantasized, and he had a pretty good imagination. The memory of plunging into her warm, wet body was making him hard again, and he didn’t want her to be aware of that, so he moved back reluctantly. “I’d better go to my own room.”

“Okay.”

He released her and slipped his shirt and then his waistcoat on, and shoved his feet back in his shoes. Finally, he collected his phone and wallet.

When he turned back to her, he saw that she’d pulled on the sweatshirt he’d loaned to her in Christchurch. “It’s cozy,” she protested when he raised an eyebrow. “I’ll give it back to you when we get to Wellington.”

“Keep it. It looks better on you than it does on me.” There was something sexy about a woman in a man’s clothes.

She accompanied him to the door and held it open for him. He hesitated in the doorway. “Thank you,” he said. He was grateful not just because she’d given herself to him, but because she hadn’t argued when he’d tried to explain why he was angry. That boded well for the future, he thought.

She rested her head on the doorjamb. “See you for breakfast?”

“Of course.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I know I have no right to ask a favor of you, but can you not tell Neve about what happened tonight?”

She blinked, her eyes inscrutable. “I won’t be telling anyone, Gene.” She pushed off the doorjamb. “Sleep well.”

“’Night.”

The door closed.

*

The next morning, as he sipped his coffee at the breakfast table, Gene glanced at Callie’s face and thought that she looked as if she’d had even less sleep than he’d had. Her usually flawless complexion bore a dark smudge beneath each eye.

He was relieved that she’d smiled at him as they’d walked into the restaurant, but he noticed that she only ordered a bowl of muesli, and now she was stirring the oats and fruit with her spoon while she read from her iPad, unusually quiet compared to the bright chatter she usually exhibited.

“So, off to Nelson today,” he said.

“Yes. The final city on our whistle-stop tour.” She ate a strawberry, and Gene found himself watching her lips move as she chewed, his body tightening when her tongue peeked out to catch a drop of milk from her lip.

He lowered his gaze and concentrated on his bagel. “Three appointments there, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s right. All in the afternoon.”

They were as polite as strangers. Nobody listening would have guessed that the night before they’d done the most intimate thing two people could do together, naked in the heat and the dark.

Well, what had he expected? Had he thought she wouldn’t be affected by his attitude and the way he’d acted?

I won’t be telling anyone, Gene. Was she ashamed of what they’d done? Did she wish it hadn’t happened? And yet she’d also said, Don’t regret this... It’s the best thing that’s happened to me for months. Maybe she just wanted to keep it private. He hoped she wouldn’t tell Neve anyway. He knew girlfriends often confided in each other, but he didn’t want the feisty Neve telling Phoebe he’d let them both down.

He pushed away his plate, the bagel half-eaten, and Callie did the same, fruit and oats still swimming in the milk.

“Shall we go?” she said.

He nodded, and they left to retrieve their cases.

As he took the road west out of Blenheim, he wondered what he could say to make things better, but he couldn’t think of anything. He’d been so stupid. He didn’t know which part of his actions was worse—sleeping with someone he’d promised to protect, or rejecting her once he’d done so.

There was no point in apologizing again—he was sure that would only irritate or annoy her. He couldn’t say that his declaration that it couldn’t happen again was wrong, because he had to distance himself from her now and remain professional. Telling her how wonderful it had been to take her to bed would be rubbing salt into what was obviously a sore wound. So what was there to say?

Still, his heart ached as the fields and vineyards disappeared in his rearview mirror and the countryside became wild and mountainous. The road wound up thickly forested hillsides and down into valleys that glistened with deep green rivers.

Gene would have liked to have discussed the views, but something in Callie’s reserved manner made him keep his mouth shut. They stopped at a place called the Crab Pot Café for lunch, but in spite of the glorious food, neither of them ate much, and it wasn’t long before they were on the road again.

Callie remained quiet, and in the end Gene put on some classical music and just drove, leaving her to her own thoughts and cursing his idiocy all the way. Although it was a winding road, it wasn’t long before the road dipped and turned toward the coast, and suddenly there was Tasman Bay before them, sparkling a gorgeous blue in the summer sun.

“Oh,” Callie said, the first word she’d uttered for about thirty minutes.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He couldn’t help but comment, desperate to get her talking to him again.

“It is. I love Nelson. I could easily live here.” She sat up straighter in her seat, peering past him to look at the sea. It couldn’t have been a more beautiful day. “The sun always seems to shine here.”

“You’re right. It has its own little micro-climate, and it’s the sunniest place in New Zealand. We’re staying in a villa near Tahunanui Beach, if you’d like to have a walk along the sands later.” He tried to keep a pleading note out of his voice, but he wasn’t sure he’d succeeded.

She nibbled her bottom lip. “I don’t feel we did lunch justice, either. Maybe we should go to a seafood restaurant tonight.”

He glanced across at her. Her eyes were guarded, but hopeful. Maybe she was eager for the atmosphere between them to improve as much as he was. They’d come to enjoy a relaxed camaraderie that he hoped she was missing too.

“I’d love that,” he said. “A huge bowl of green-lipped mussels swimming in white wine and cream with garlic bread.”

“Oh... now you’re talking.” Her eyelids fluttered dreamily, not unlike the way they had when she’d come.

Gene stifled a sigh. Best not to let his mind wander down memory lane again. He could think about that moment forever and never get bored.

He navigated the busy roads to the middle of the city and parked, and they spent the next few hours finishing off the South Island appointments. Callie was in good spirits by the time she finished. Again, two of the stores agreed outright to stock the Four Seasons brand, and the manager of the third hinted the answer might be yes once she’d checked with her head office.

Gene drove them to the villa, which turned out to be a cream-colored colonial-style building with a white portico and a picket fence surrounding neat gardens, only a short walk from the beach.

“Walk first or dinner?” Gene asked. “It’s nearly six o’clock.”

“Ooh, dinner. I’m starving.”

So they walked a short distance to a seafood restaurant that jutted out into the ocean, and sat at a table by the window, looking down at where the sea lapped at the legs of the pier and the dark shapes of fish slithered beneath the surface.

Callie’s reserved mood seemed to have passed, and they spent a long while dipping into a huge bowl of mussels, soaking up the liquid with bread, and then finishing off with strong coffee while they talked.

She appeared to have forgiven him for the way he’d acted, and she seemed keen to move on, keeping him talking by asking lots of questions about his interests, steering clear of the Army and anything else he supposed she thought might upset him. She was a talented conversationalist, putting him at ease, and he began to see why she was obviously doing so well with her business, winning her customers over with her sheer charm.

Gene knew he should have been delighted. They were getting on again, and it looked as if the faux pas he’d been responsible for hadn’t prompted her to end their business relationship, which meant he didn’t have to tell Phoebe or Neve or anyone else that he’d screwed up. He’d spoken to Kev that morning, and Kev had said everything was still quiet, and the STG had reassured him they were hours from finding Kirk. Everything was going well.

So why did he feel so terribly forlorn? He wanted to slap himself around the face. He was like a moon-sick calf, staring at Callie longingly the way a person on a diet might gaze in the window of a chocolate shop. He wanted her, and although he’d thought having her might sate his hunger, all it had done was give him a taste of her, and he wanted to taste her again.

After finishing the last drop of her coffee, Callie replaced the cup in the saucer. “Well, shall we take that walk along the beach?”

“Yes, sure. It’s a lovely evening.”

It was the understatement of the year, he thought as they left the restaurant and took the steps down to the sand. The sun was sinking toward the horizon, but it was warm enough to combat the sea breeze. The golden sand stretched away as far as the eye could see, and the ocean sparkled blue. The sky looked like a Turner watercolor, all blues and oranges and purples. But it was the woman by his side who held all his attention.

For once, Gene had forgone his suit, relaxing a little now he knew the STG were onto Kirk, and he wore jeans and a short-sleeved blue shirt, open at the neck, smart and yet relaxed, too. Callie had also changed from her business clothes into a long sundress that brushed her feet, the tie-dyed purple and orange color a mirror image of the sunset. She looked beautiful enough to make his heart ache, and her curves made his hands itch to touch them.

For God’s sake, he scolded himself as they bent to remove their shoes and let the cool sand sink between their toes. He couldn’t make the mistake of giving in to his lust again. He had to remain strong and fight his hormones.

He watched the breeze lift her blonde hair off her neck and imagined placing his lips there, and felt a sweeping sense of despair. He was pathetic. Hopeless. So, so weak. Because he wanted her, and his desire for her was so strong he knew he couldn’t fight it.

Chapter Nineteen

Callie bent to pick up a piece of shell, straightened, and turned it over in her hands. It was paua, the outside a dull stone color, the inside a beautiful blend of shining blue and turquoise. For some inexplicable reason, it made her feel happy.

She welcomed the emotion, because she’d woken up feeling very flat and not at all her usual self. She’d scolded herself for it all morning, both during breakfast and on the trip to Nelson. What had she expected, for crying out loud? That Gene would declare his love for her and get down on bended knee? They’d had sex. It was purely a physical thing and hadn’t involved their feelings at all. And it had been great. They’d been carried away by lust, as if they’d placed a pan of water on the stove to boil, and now they’d removed it from the heat, things would simmer down and then return to normal.

The problem was that things weren’t simmering down. She couldn’t shake images of last night from her mind. They paraded repeatedly through her brain as if they were suitcases on an airport conveyor belt that someone had forgotten, going around and around. And not just images, but sensations... the memory of his lips on hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth, the smell of his aftershave, the way he’d picked her up and carried her to the bed so he could thrust deeper and carry her away to ecstasy.

Sex with Jamie had been good, and she couldn’t complain about any of the partners she’d had before him, but there had been something about the intensity of sex with Gene that had been different. Her previous relationships had led gradually to the bedroom, sometimes after months of dating. She’d never felt such dark desire, such an intense need to possess a person, and to be possessed in return. It had shocked her, and she didn’t know what to make of that shock.

She’d tried to reason with herself that it didn’t mean anything. Traveling with him had led to a false intimacy between them, like when actors worked with makeup staff on a movie set. They didn’t really have anything in common, and no doubt when Becky returned and he left to continue with whatever he ended up doing, they’d never see each other again.

She felt as if every relationship she’d experienced in the past had been childlike compared to last night’s, even the one with Jamie. Although she knew she was being ridiculous, she felt like a little girl who’d been playing at having boyfriends, as if she’d understood nothing about men and sex until this moment. She’d grown up thinking that sex should only be an expression of love between two people, and although she would never have said so, she hadn’t understood when some of her friends had indulged in one-night stands, not understanding why someone would desire sex without the comfort of a steady relationship.

She hadn’t understood the pull of desire, and the sheer craving for someone that could overwhelm everything.

But even though she told herself it meant nothing, and she had to be grown up about this, and she couldn’t press Gene for more because he’d made his feelings clear, her heart wanted more, and that was what made her sad.

So she welcomed the small flutter of happiness as she turned over the shell, and she looked up at Gene with a smile.

The look on his face made her catch her breath and inhale sharply. “What?”

He shook his head, apparently speechless, and then before she could say or do anything else, his arms were around her, his lips were on hers, and he was kissing the living daylights out of her.

Callie gave a muffled exclamation, but he didn’t release her, and in the end she went limp in his arms. Closing her eyes, she gave in to the embrace and just accepted the kiss, opening up her senses and making the most of him while she had him.

The warm water washed over her feet, and as she curled her toes, they sank into the cool sand. The smell of the salty sea mingled with the aroma from a barbecue someone was having further along the beach, the smells of summer, bringing with them a lightening of her heart and a curve to her lips.

Gene’s hands were warm on her back, and when he realized she wasn’t trying to pull away, his kiss grew gentle, his lips moving tenderly, while his tongue played with hers.

It took him a long time to finally move back, and when he did, Callie held on to his arms, afraid that if she let go her legs would give way.

“Um...” Her brain felt like a ball of knotted wool. “Kind of getting conflicting messages here.”

“I know.” He cupped her face and tucked the strand of hair that fluttered in the sea breeze behind her ear. “I apologize.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, and I am sorry. But I can’t keep away from you. I thought that after last night all our passion would have vanished, but I can’t stop thinking about you.” His thumb brushed her cheek, his voice turning husky. “It wasn’t enough. I want you again. I want more of you. Last time was hard and fast because I was afraid my brain wouldn’t let me finish before the guilt took over. I want you again, but slowly this time. I want you naked on the bed so I can kiss every inch of your skin. I want to taste you and make you come on my tongue, then take you and make you come while you look into my eyes. Will you let me, Callie?” She shivered, and he groaned. “Do that again and I’ll take you here on the sand.”

“Gene...” Her heart pounded and her cheeks had grown hot. “I don’t understand. What’s changed?”

“What’s changed is that I’ve accepted I’m weak. I’m fooling myself if I think I can stay away from you.”

She tried to slow her breathing so she didn’t hyperventilate. The look in his gray eyes was so intense it turned her to mush inside. “I... I don’t know. Last night was so hard when you left, and I’ve only just talked myself around.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I won’t do that to you again. I thought I was doing the decent, honest thing, but I was wrong. We’ll talk about where we go from here, I promise. I won’t make decisions for both of us. Just... come to bed with me again.”

Callie felt dizzy. “Oh...”

He moved closer to her again, and slid his hands onto her bottom so he could pull her hips to his. His erection pressed against her mound, leaving her in no doubt as to his desire for her.

“Let me make love to you,” he murmured. “Let me see if you taste like strawberries and cream, like I suspect.”

“Gene!” Her cheeks flamed.

He gave a sexy chuckle and nuzzled her ear. “Let’s go back to the villa, and we’ll open the balcony doors. I’ll slowly remove your clothes, and then you can just lie there and be pleasured in the evening sun. How does that sound?”

“Fucking marvelous,” she said, worried she was dribbling.

He laughed. “Nicely put.”

“On one condition, though. We both remove our clothes.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but the look on her face obviously convinced him she was serious. “Callie...”

“Once was impulse,” she said. “If we have sex again, it means there’s more between us, and whatever happens, I want to start off the right way. No secrets, Gene.”

He glanced away, looking out to sea, his smile fading.

“I know you have a scar,” she whispered, resting her hand on his hip. “Don’t be ashamed of it. It’s part of you, part of your past. Don’t shut me out.” She didn’t say what she was thinking—that he’d obviously shut Angela out, and that had brought about the end of their relationship. There was no way of telling how things would pan out between them, but she didn’t want to begin with them hiding more than they had to.

She cupped his cheek and rubbed a thumb across his lips. “Deal?”

She felt them curve up. “Deal,” he said.

“Come on, then.” She took his hand and they walked back across the sand, then up the grassy bank and along the road to the villa. They didn’t say much as they walked, but excitement rode bareback on her blood through her veins, and she could feel his tension and knew he was experiencing the same sensations.

Still, she couldn’t eradicate a small amount of doubt that lingered like sea spray in the air. Was she doing the right thing? The more times she slept with him, the more she was going to fall for him. She wasn’t the sort of person who could indulge in casual sex and remain untouched emotionally. How would she feel if, once again, he brought her to the dizzy heights of pleasure and then rolled over and cursed?

Nibbling her bottom lip, she unlocked the door to her room and went in, and he closed the door behind him. As he’d promised, he crossed to the far windows and opened them wide, letting in the evening sun, smells, and sounds. The cry of seagulls and the sound of music filtered through—someone was playing Barry White on the beach.

Gene laughed as he came back to her. “It sounds as if I’ve set that up, but I promise I haven’t.”

Callie smiled, leaning back against a chest of drawers, then moving forward hastily as she remembered what had happened the previous night.

He tipped his head and studied her, then turned away and walked over to the minibar. “How about a glass of wine?”

“Just a small one.” She felt suddenly nervous, and not at all sure she wanted to go ahead with this. The heat of passion was one thing, but the things he’d told her he wanted to do to her made her hands shake as she accepted the glass half-filled with Sauvignon.

“Try to relax.” His doubt appeared to have vanished, she wasn’t sure why, and he seemed full of confidence as he took her hand and led her over to the window. “Look at that lovely view.”

It was gorgeous, the ocean reflecting the copper-colored sky, the sun still holding enough heat to warm her as she sipped the wine, then tilted her face up to let the cool liquid slide down her throat.

“You’re so beautiful.”

She looked up at him, her heart racing. He was so much taller than she was, and although she loved his suits, in his casual shirt and jeans he looked rakish and relaxed, like a cowboy who’d won a lasso competition and was now claiming his prize.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He lifted a hand and rested a finger on her bare shoulder, then slid it down her arm. “But I promise you’ll want to.”

Callie shivered, aware she was being seduced. Last time, without meaning to, she’d done the seducing, by enticing him with suggestive looks and encouraging him to give up his principles to take her to bed. This time, though, he was the one doing the seducing. She knew that if she said no loudly, he would accept it and wouldn’t push her—he was a gentleman, after all. But he wouldn’t take her indecision or her silence as proof that she wanted him to stop. If she didn’t want to end up in bed with him, she was going to have to make it quite clear.

His finger reached her free hand, and he lifted and turned it, then drew a spiral on her palm. She lowered her gaze to watch his strong, tanned hand move up to brush the sensitive skin of her inner wrist, then further up the ticklish skin to tease the crook of her elbow. She shuddered, then bit her lip, conscious of what he’d said the last time she’d shivered. Do that again and I’ll take you here on the sand. What a thought. Making love outdoors in broad daylight, the risk of being discovered only adding to the excitement coursing through her veins.

He swallowed another mouthful of wine, then traced up to her shoulder, over the neckline of her dress, then across to the other arm, continuing his gentle exploration of her body. She looked up and met his eyes, feeling a sweeping sense of helplessness at the determination within them. She could read the thoughts passing through his mind, because he’d already told her them on the beach.

I want you naked on the bed so I can kiss every inch of your skin. I want to taste you and make you come on my tongue...

How could she fight against such a beautiful seduction? Callie was lost, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Chapter Twenty

Gene could tell the moment Callie surrendered and made up her mind to stay with him. In spite of her encouraging reply on the beach, as they’d entered the room she’d turned stiff and reluctant, not pushing him away but not completely welcoming his touch, either. He guessed she was wary because of what had happened last time, and he cursed himself for being so selfish and cold toward her.

It wouldn’t happen again. He was determined. He’d fought with his principles, but they weren’t strong enough to overpower his attraction to Callie, and now he’d finally accepted that he wasn’t going to hold back.

He’d consoled himself by thinking that being this close to Callie was even better for her safety, because he wouldn’t be leaving her alone at night. He’d know if she wanted to go out for a walk, or if someone knocked on her door, or if there was someone prowling outside, and he’d be able to take steps to combat that.

Being emotionally involved with a client might not have been the smartest thing, but he was over berating himself for it. From now on, he would stop wrangling with himself, and put all his energy into showing her how he felt about her.

And he could see when she came to a similar decision, because her shoulders loosened, her arms slid around his waist, and she leaned against him as she reached up to kiss him properly.

Her mouth was sweet with wine, and he gave a long sigh, enjoying not only the sensation of her pressed to him, but also the anticipation of what would happen over the next few hours. What could be better than spending a summer evening with a gorgeous, naked blonde and having his wicked way with her as often as he could manage it?

Except she wasn’t naked yet, and it was about time he rectified that situation.

Gently, he took her nearly finished glass of wine and placed it with his on a nearby table, then gathered the hem of her sundress in his hands and lifted it up. Callie’s eyes widened, but she just raised her arms as he pulled the dress up her body and over her head, and then let it flutter down onto the table.

Today she wore a gorgeous bra and panties set, the satin material the color of the paua shell she’d picked up on the beach, a blend of turquoise, blue, and purple swirls, outlined in purple ribbon and with a turquoise bow between her breasts. “Another of Rowan’s designs?” he asked, running the tip of his finger beneath the ribbon along the top of her right breast.

She nodded, her gaze fixed on his face, a small smile on her lips.

“Pretty.” He traced across to her left breast. “So pretty I’d love to leave it on, but I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”

She laughed, not complaining when he moved his hands behind her back to unfasten the clasp of her bra. He loved what happened when the elastic of a bra revealed a woman’s breasts—how the boned and shaped garment collapsed in his hands and released her body, her muscles relaxing and settling to her natural shape. In Callie’s case, her breasts were on the large side but still youthfully high, and he cupped them with his palms and squeezed gently, incredibly turned on just by the feel of her, so soft and yielding in his hands.

Tossing back her hair, she pulled back her shoulders and arched into his touch, and he sighed. Her nipples were the color of the sky to the west, a rose pink, and they felt softer than the rest of her, swollen in the heat, large and round and just begging to be teased. So he did, running a finger around the outside, which slowly contracted like a flower closing its petals for the night.

It was no good—he needed to get his mouth on them. Wanting her to be comfortable, he took her hand and led her across to the bed, then gestured for her to climb onto the mattress while he unbuttoned his shirt. She did so, but remained kneeling as he stripped, and just sank onto her haunches while he undid his jeans and, with a deep breath, slid them down his legs and stepped out of them.

He hated undressing in front of someone, whether it was a woman or a doctor or a friend at the pool, but Callie’s words about starting off the right way had rung home. No secrets, Gene. His hands hesitated for a brief second, the secret he still kept hanging between them like an opaque curtain, but he swept it aside and removed his briefs, returning to stand before her naked.

Her gaze rested on his hip, soft and light as a butterfly. Slowly, as if reaching out to a wounded animal—which he supposed he was, in a way—she lifted a hand and pressed her fingertips to the scar. He looked down, embarrassed by the puckered skin, the jagged scar that was still a dark pink and stood out starkly against his tan. A bullet had smashed through his pelvis, and it had been a miracle he’d had no lasting damage to his crown jewels. It had taken several long and extensive surgeries to rebuild the bone, and he bore enough metal pins to set off the detector in an airport, but he was immensely grateful that he’d regained ninety percent of his movement. He’d worked hard to get to that stage, practically learning to walk again, but it had been worth it.

Callie trailed her forefinger across the scar, her face showing no sign of the revulsion he’d worried would appear there. Her finger continued moving, and he caught his breath as she closed her hand around his erection.

“Impressive,” she said. Gently, she stroked him, her hot gaze studying the way she revealed and then closed the skin over the bulbous tip.

“Jesus.” He swelled in her hand, closing his eyes for a moment at the blissful sensation. She continued to stroke, gentle and yet firm, and he bore her touch for as long as he could before he opened his eyes and carefully removed her hand by the wrist. “Lie back,” he instructed. “My turn.”

Callie shifted up the bed, her arms above her head, stretching elegantly, wearing nothing but her tiny panties. Her skin glistened in the warmth of the room. “Mmm,” she said, obviously enjoying the feeling of the sun across her like a golden blanket.

Climbing onto the mattress, Gene stretched out beside her, propped up on an elbow, and looked down at her dips and curves as she wriggled like a cat beneath him.

“I’m so turned on,” she said breathlessly. “You have a fantastic body.”

“Thank you.” He was genuinely flattered by her comment.

“Mmm.” She ran a hand up his arm, admiring his muscles, and down his chest, exploring his pecs and abs. “I’m so lucky.”

“You’re lucky? I feel as if I’ve won the lottery.” Placing a hand on her thigh, he stroked up her body, following the way it curved out over her hips, then into her waist, then out again to her breasts. She closed her eyes, moving beneath his hand, her lips parting with a moan. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to just mount her and thrust them both to oblivion, but he forced himself to hold back. He wanted this to be an exploration of each other, and he wanted to draw out her pleasure until she was begging him to let her come. He wanted her crazy for him, again and again, until she couldn’t bear to be apart from him.

So he spent a while just stroking her, learning the landscape of her body, like a sexual Marco Polo, discovering every freckle and hair, where she was ticklish, and which erogenous zones made her sigh and squirm beneath him. Eventually, when he couldn’t wait any longer, he kissed her lips, delving his tongue inside, then kissed around to her ear and sucked the lobe into his mouth. He brushed his lips down her neck, finding the spot with his tongue where her pulse raced just beneath the surface, and sucked there, giving a satisfied smirk when he lifted his head and saw that the skin in that spot had flushed pink.

His blood rising, he kissed down to her breast, cupping it with a hand to lift the nipple to his mouth. They’d relaxed again from the warmth of the room, and when he covered each one with his mouth, it was like sucking on a soft truffle, the velvety texture making his mouth water. He squeezed them gently with his tongue to make them contract, and then he flicked and nibbled and teased with his lips until they hardened and lengthened to shining beads.

Callie was moaning and writhing beneath him by now, and he thought it was about time that he turned his attention to the lower half of her body. So he brushed his lips slowly down her ribs, tasting her skin with his tongue, kissing over her stomach, then from hip to hip across the line of her panties. At the same time, he stroked up the inside of her thigh to cup her mound, and he pressed gently with his fingers, massaging her folds through the satin material.

As he’d suspected, she was swollen and wet, her panties quickly becoming soaked with her moisture, but he continued to stroke, turned on by the way the material became slippery.

Eventually, though, he shifted on the bed and moved between her legs, kneeling up to pull her panties down. They left her wet flesh reluctantly, and she gave a little moan as they peeled away, fidgeting on the bed beneath him while he made himself comfortable.

“Stop wriggling,” he scolded, pushing her knees wide to expose all of her to his gaze.

She groaned and covered her face with her arms, and he gave a short laugh. Let her be embarrassed at his lustful stare. He couldn’t have stopped for the world.

For a moment, he just studied her, admiring the glisten of her folds, the shimmer of her skin. Then he lifted a hand and stroked down either side, enjoying the feel of her silky soft body. Finally, he used both hands to part her folds, exposing her clit to his gaze.

Lowering his head, he covered the swollen bud with his mouth. Callie gave a long, sexy moan. Slowly, he began to explore her most secret area with his lips and tongue, finding out what pressure she liked, and whether she responded to light and fast, or slow and firm licks.

At first, her thighs remained tense on either side of him, the muscles tight, but the more he licked and sucked, the more she relaxed, her thighs loosening and her movements becoming more uninhibited.

Only then did he add his fingers to the mix, and he slid two down and into her, slow and careful so he didn’t hurt or alarm her. There wasn’t much chance of that, though, because she was incredibly wet, and she gave small but obvious thrusts of her hips to match the movement of his fingers, encouraging him to stroke more firmly.

“Oh...” she said, dropping her knees to the sides and surrendering to his mouth. “Gene...”

It was the best thing in the world as she began to tense around him, her autopilot kicking in and her body taking over, but he wasn’t ready yet. He withdrew his fingers and lifted his head, and just blew softly on her hot flesh.

“Aaahhh...” She writhed beneath him, trying to push her hips up to meet his mouth.

He waited for about fifteen seconds, kissing across her hips and thighs, before he lowered his head, letting her body loosen before he began with his fingers and tongue, teasing her once more to the edge.

Yet again, though, after about half a minute as she began to tighten, he withdrew his fingers and lifted his head.

“Argh!” She lifted up on her elbows and glared at him. “Gene!” Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes blazing with unspent desire.

He fixed his gaze on hers. “Lie down.”

Her chest heaved and she continued to glare at him for a moment, then flopped back and stared up at the ceiling.

Hiding a smile, he kissed the insides of her thighs, waiting for her to relax, and only then returned his mouth and fingers to begin stimulating her again.

By now, her slippery moisture coated his hand and her clit was firm and hard as a button, and as he sucked it, she gave a long moan almost like a cry and writhed beneath him. Taking pity on her, this time he didn’t stop but went with her all the way, and was rewarded when she tightened around his fingers and wailed as her orgasm claimed her with thick, hard pulses, her head lifting up and her features creasing with pleasure.

He kept his mouth there until she groaned and collapsed back onto the mattress, and then he carefully withdrew his fingers and took a few moments to place soft kisses and light licks, tasting the aftershocks that rippled through her until her breathing slowed and her body relaxed.

Chapter Twenty-One

Callie lay high on a haze of sexual endorphins, limp and spent. It seemed that Gene hadn’t finished with her yet, though. He was kissing her thighs, and across her hip, slowly moving up her body, teasing and tantalizing with his lips and tongue as he went.

“Mmm.” She felt as if she were swimming in a huge bowl of melted chocolate, rich and sated. “That was nice.”

“It was.” He moved to lie beside her. Eyes closed, she felt his fingers slip down between her legs, gathering her arousal. Then, to her shock, he smoothed it across a nipple before lowering his mouth to suck it off.

“Gene! Jeez.”

“What?” He did it again, to the other nipple.

“I... oh...” She’d thought she was completely spent, but to her surprise her body began to stir again.

He kissed up her neck to her mouth, wrapped his arms around her, and rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Callie pushed herself up to sit astride him, feeling his erection like a wooden pole between the cheeks of her bottom.

“Mmm.” She rubbed against it, liking the way his eyelids fell to half-mast with desire. “It feels as if you’re ready for action.”

“Always, when you’re around.” He pulled her down to kiss her, and she gave in and opened her mouth to his searching tongue, wanting to turn him on as much as he’d done to her. It didn’t seem to be a difficult task. In less than a minute, he was reaching for his wallet, and she helped him out, removing the condom, tearing off the wrapper, and rolling it on for him.

She did it slowly, taking time to stroke him as she went, and by the time she maneuvered herself so the tip of his erection parted her folds, he was breathing deep and fast, and his eyes were hot with passion.

Pushing down, she welcomed him inside her, closing her eyes as he slid in easily. His hands landed on her hips, pushing up the final inch, and she tipped her head back with a groan, enjoying being filled like this, being impaled.

Holding her hips firmly, he began to thrust hard beneath her, but Callie didn’t want that. He’d drawn out her pleasure, taking time to arouse her, and she didn’t want this to be all about the destination. The journey was where the fun lay.

So she took his hands, linked their fingers, and moved them up to pin them above his head. He could have wrestled himself free with little effort, but he chose to play along, and let her hold him down while she began to ride him with long, slow thrusts, rocking her hips to slide him almost out before she lowered herself again. He said nothing, but his gray eyes fixed on hers, filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher—admiration? Affection?

“I could get to like this,” she whispered, bending to kiss him. “Having you at my mercy.”

He closed his eyes while she pressed her lips to his, and she felt them curve up. “Hmm,” he said when she eventually moved back.

“Yes.” She could feel the tension building inside him, and she slowed her movements, enjoying the sensual slide of his rock-hard erection through her swollen and sensitive flesh. “Maybe I’ll buy some handcuffs and chain you to my bed at home, and keep you there for when I feel like using you for my pleasure.”

His eyebrows rose. “Handcuffs?”

“Mmm. I’m sure Neve has a few sets in her displays. I’d cuff each hand apart, and your legs, and bring you food so you never had to leave.”

“I can think of worse ways to live.” His voice had grown husky—the game was turning them both on.

She leaned over him, grazing her nipples over his lips. He opened his mouth obligingly and sucked first one and then the other. She kissed around to his ear, feeling his deep groan rumble through his chest as her breasts brushed along it. The wet, hard beads of her nipples scraped through the hair on his ribs, sending tingles right through her body, down to her clit. “Oh...” Her orgasm wasn’t far away, but she wanted him to come first—he deserved it.

Lifting up again, she kissed him, making sure her thrusts were slow and regular, knowing he was close when his breathing grew ragged and his hips thrust involuntarily. He made as if to loosen their hands, and she knew he wanted to toss her onto her back and thrust hard to relieve the ache inside him, but she shook her head and tightened her fingers on his.

“Just wait,” she instructed. “Let it take you slowly. I want to watch.”

He blinked a few times, then gave a small nod, so she straightened her arms and continued to move, teasing him further to the edge with each push of her hips. At one point, she let him slide almost out of her and just teased the tip of his erection, in and out, watching his chest heave and his face contort with pleasure, and then she sank down, taking him all the way, and carried on with her slow thrusts.

It didn’t take long after that. With delight, she watched his climax take him with the wash of a long, gentle wave that gradually grew in strength rather than a tsunami. She saw his fierce frown, his lips part with a groan, his body tense beneath her, and felt him swell inside her as his body pulsed.

Only when he’d finished and relaxed back into the pillows, gasping, did she thrust a little harder, grinding her clit against him until her own orgasm hit, and she clenched around him, trying not to laugh as he swore and complained while she squeezed his hyper-sensitized shaft.

“Ow,” he said when she finally released his hands and fell forward onto his chest.

She gave in to the laughter and giggled away, enjoying the warmth of his arms when he hugged her. “Sorry.”

“I think you’ve milked every last drop out of me.”

“Mmm. I hope so.”

He sighed and kissed the top of her head, and they lay there like that for as long as they could before they had to move. He withdrew and disposed of the condom, and she shifted to the side, her heart racing at the memory of how he’d been the last time they’d done this.

But this time he turned her so her back was to his chest and wrapped his arms around her, and she nuzzled into his embrace, enjoying the slide of their warm skin from the heat of the room. His arm rested tightly under her breasts.

“Thank you,” she said.

She felt him chuckle. “You’re welcome.”

“I mean for not leaving immediately. I appreciate it.”

He kissed her hair. “I’m sorry about last time. I have to tell you, though—I’d rather go back to my own room in a while, if that’s okay.”

The sun had set now, and the sky was turning a darker blue and purple, with the first stars appearing—Orion to the north, and Sirius the Dog Star shining brightly to his side.

Callie swallowed hard. “Of course.”

“It’s just... I sleep very little, and I’m quite restless. I wouldn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I don’t mind.”

“Thank you.”

So they lay for a while, not saying much, and then he kissed her goodnight, gathered his clothes, and left the room.

Callie curled up in the big bed, but it was a long time before she finally fell asleep.

*

Gene was still awake, sitting at the table in his room and working through the latest reports from his office, when his mobile rang on the bedside table.

Holding it up to his ear, he answered, “Hello?” as he walked over to the window. For a moment, he didn’t register who was calling, taken aback by the beauty of the view. The sky was filled with stars that had turned the ocean a stunning mixture of black and silver. It took his breath away—or was he just seeing things differently through the eyes of a man smitten by the gorgeous blonde lying in the other room?

“Gene?”

He snapped back to the present. “Kev?” He frowned. It must have been close to midnight. “What’s up?”

“Bad news, I’m afraid.”

“What’s happened?”

“Philip’s just rung.” That was their contact at the Special Tactics Group. “Within the space of about an hour, two members of the jury that convicted Kirk have been shot and killed. Philip admitted Kirk’s slipped the net.”

Cold slithered through Gene’s veins, making him inhale sharply. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. I can’t believe it. I was convinced he was on the verge of being found.”

“You and me both.”

“I’ll inform Ms. Hawke in the morning. I assume she’ll contact Ms. Summer and update her.”

“Yes, I’m sure she will.” Would it have any effect on Callie? She’d not raised the subject of the threat on her or her mother’s life at all. Neve had suggested Callie didn’t take the threat seriously. Would this make a difference? “All right. Stay frosty. Send me through any details. We’ll talk more in the morning.” Gene hung up.

He leaned on the window and rested his head on his arm. All of a sudden, he wanted nothing more than to confess to Callie and discuss the situation with her. If she was aware of who he really was, maybe he could convince her that his presence there was essential, and there wouldn’t have to be any more secrets between them.

But what if he told her and she still refused to take it seriously? If she broke off their... relationship, or whatever it should be called, sacked him as her PA, and told him to get lost? His heart sank. He couldn’t risk it. He wouldn’t be able to protect her properly from a distance.

Then he gave a wry laugh. That’s not exactly the truth, is it? The reason he didn’t want to tell her wasn’t just because he was worried about protecting her, although that was important. He didn’t want to tell her because he didn’t want to risk losing her. Not now. Not when they’d begun something that had made him feel the best he’d felt in years.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“What’s he doing here?” Rowan glanced over her shoulder to where Gene stood by the drinks table, topping up glasses from a bottle of bubbly for a group of Willow’s friends.

Callie had just finished filling her, Neve, and Bridget in on the successful appointments she’d had over the past week. They were all thrilled that so many stores were willing to stock the Four Seasons designs, and she thought that for the first time since they’d begun their venture, the rest of them were finally beginning to believe in her vision of how far they could go if they gave it their all.

She followed Rowan’s gaze, admired Gene briefly in his black tux and bow tie, and then looked back. “Neve suggested he come and be a waiter for us. I thought it would be funny to see how he reacted in this kind of situation.”

“He seems to be doing all right.” Bridget sipped her wine and grinned as the women around him burst into giggles at something he’d said.

“Yes, he does,” Callie said wryly. She was slightly surprised by that. There was something straight-laced about him at times, and she’d half expected him to get flustered and embarrassed in a group of women, but the opposite appeared to be happening. If anything, he seemed to have relaxed more, losing the ex-soldier ramrod stance and becoming quite the flirt.

“He’s rather gorgeous.” Rowan nibbled nervously at some peanuts. “I have no idea what to say to him.”

“Dear Rowan,” Callie said with affection. “He’s perfectly normal. Just talk to him like you talk to us.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. What would I say?”

Neve gave an unladylike snort. “I don’t know why you always go to pieces when a good-looking guy turns up. Looks don’t mean anything. It’s what’s inside that matters.”

“What’s Gene like inside, Callie?” Bridget asked. “Spill the beans.” Her expression was a little too innocent. Rowan giggled.

Callie met Neve’s steady gaze and knew she suspected what was going on between them. Can you not tell Neve about what happened tonight? Gene had asked that the first time they’d slept together.

“He’s very nice,” she said.

Bridget rolled her eyes. “Aw, come on...”

Callie laughed. “Nothing’s happened between us.”

“You’re kidding me.” Rowan’s eyes nearly fell out of her head. “He hasn’t made a move on you? More importantly, you haven’t made a move on him?”

“Not at all. We have a professional, working relationship.”

All the other three women snorted.

“I’m telling the truth,” Callie said softly, not liking that she was lying to her friends. Was she putting Gene’s feelings above theirs? What did that mean? “I like him, of course I do, and I think he likes me, but he made it clear on the first day that he’s here to work and that nothing’s going to happen between us before Becky comes back.”

“And when she does?” Rowan asked.

Callie shrugged. “We’ll have to see. I’m in no hurry anyway. I’m still in post-Jamie gloom.” That was only partly true. Gene was rapidly dispelling it. “What about the rest of you?” she asked in an attempt to draw attention away from herself. “Any news on the romance front? It is Valentine’s Day tomorrow, after all. Are you expecting cards and flowers from anyone?”

“No,” all three of them said at the same time. They all laughed.

“We’re hopeless.” Rowan sighed and sipped her wine.

“Speak for yourself.” Neve finished off her glass of vodka. “I don’t want any of that stupid romance stuff. I’m going clubbing tomorrow night, and I’m going to find myself a man for the night for some tawdry sex.”

“Neve!” Bridget scolded. “You love to shock us all, don’t you?”

“I might join you,” Rowan said enviously. “I haven’t had sex for a millennium.”

That made them all laugh. “Somehow I can’t imagine you in a nightclub on the prowl,” Callie teased.

“I know.” Rowan swirled the last inch of wine around in her glass, watching the bubbles rising and popping on the surface. “Nightclubs terrify me.”

“Everything terrifies you.”

“True. But I know I’m never going to meet anyone sitting behind my desk. I have to put myself out there a bit, I am aware of that. The other day, Hitch said ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ and although it’s a cliché, it really made me think. He’s right. If I don’t take risks, I’ll never meet the right man.”

“My brother knows precisely nothing about romance,” Bridget advised her. “For God’s sake, don’t let him give you advice.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Callie wasn’t sure she agreed. Bridget’s brother was a nature photographer who spent almost every waking hour of his day covered in tree ferns and hiding in the middle of the bush somewhere, photographing possums and kiwi and other nocturnal creatures. About eight feet tall, gorgeous, and funny, he was obsessed with his work, and Bridget was right in that his track record with women was abysmal, extending to brief bouts of concentrated sexual activity before he disappeared once more into the wild, invariably leaving a bawling woman in his wake. In spite of that, though, he was very down-to-earth, and Callie could think of worse people to give the romantic, idealistic Rowan advice.

“Can I get you ladies anything?”

Callie glanced up to see Gene standing there, a bottle of bubbly in one hand and a dish of miniature chocolate eclairs in the other.

“Ooh.” Neve took three eclairs. “Thanks.”

Callie held up her glass. Gene’s eyes met hers for a brief moment, and then he rested the lip of the bottle on the rim of the glass and tipped it up.

When they’d met up in the morning, he’d been quiet but hadn’t pulled away when she’d hugged him. He’d continued to be a little reserved while they’d driven back to Picton, where they’d left the car to be returned down south and had taken the ferry to Wellington. Catching a taxi back in the city, Gene had instructed it to take Callie back first, and he’d left her with a promise to attend the party the next day.

They hadn’t discussed how what had happened would affect them once they left for their journey north. Callie supposed she would have to wait and see once they arrived at their next destination.

He hadn’t asked her to keep quiet about their relationship again, but when she’d arrived at Willow’s place, he hadn’t greeted her with anything more than a formal nod of the head, either, so she’d assumed he wanted to keep it beneath his hat for the moment.

He wandered to the next group with the bottle, and Callie sipped from her glass.

“How’s your mum, by the way?” Rowan asked. “Any news on the death threats?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Callie said. “If that’s okay.”

Rowan’s expression softened. “Sure. But you’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” she lied. Phoebe had rung earlier to tell her that Kirk hadn’t been captured, and that a couple of people had been killed. She’d tried to convince Callie to postpone her tour, but Callie had been adamant that she wasn’t going to let some idle threats stop her doing her job. They’d argued, and in the end Callie had hung up and thrown her phone across the room. It was the last subject she wanted to discuss tonight.

“Pressie time,” Willow announced loudly, providing a welcome distraction.

Gene finished filling up the others’ glasses and promised to get Neve another glass of vodka, and the girls moved their seats to form a close circle around Willow with the other ten or so young women whom Willow had invited to her baby shower.

The mother-to-be looked her usual bohemian self, Callie thought, smiling with affection at Willow’s pretty, rainbow-colored tunic that hung in soft folds over her maternity jeans. Her long brown hair hung around her shoulders in gentle waves, and she was the very picture of motherly beauty.

Although she and Rowan were identical twins, they were so very different. But then, most of that was nurture, Callie mused. Rowan had told her once—late at night, after a party at university, and when they were both drunk—what lay at the root of her problems. They hadn’t referred to it since, but it haunted Callie sometimes. Things had happened in Rowan’s past that had molded her into a very different girl from her laidback sister. It was amazing that Rowan was sane at all considering what she’d had to deal with over the years.

“Are you nervous?” Callie asked as a couple of her friends moved the table of presents closer to Willow.

“Not really. I’m excited. It’s all planned.” Willow perched on the edge of the sofa, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. “I’m having a natural water birth, with no drugs, if at all possible.”

“Sheesh.” Neve pulled a face. “I can’t think of anything worse. I’ll be, like, give me a fucking epidural and get that thing out of me!”

They all laughed, including Gene.

“Do you want kids, Gene?” Bridget asked him.

He raised an eyebrow as they all turned to look at him. “Of course. When I meet the right girl.”

“You haven’t met her yet?” Bridget enquired.

He smiled at her. “When I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

Callie reached across to the sausage rolls on the nearby table and took one. He hadn’t looked at her when he answered, and now he was helping Willow get comfortable on the sofa, fetching her a cushion and then a glass of lemonade. He’d sidestepped the question admirably, so Callie had no idea of knowing what was going through his head. Was he thinking, Jeez, that’s the last thing on my mind, hope Callie doesn’t get any ideas...? Or did the thought of a future with her give him a tingle, the way the notion of seeing more of him in the future did with her?

She put it all to the back of her mind. This evening they had to concentrate on Willow, and there would be plenty of time in the future to work things out.

Willow started with a present from her sister, squealing at the sight of Rowan’s handmade baby jumpsuit in neutral yellows and oranges because Willow and Liam had chosen not to know the sex of their baby.

“And it’ll also remind him or her of me,” Rowan said, “as autumn.”

“I love it.” Tears shone in Willow’s eyes and she stood to give Rowan a hug. “Thank you.”

“I’ve made lots more clothes, but these are the prettiest,” Rowan said huskily. “I’m so glad you like it.”

Neve nudged Gene, who was standing next to her. “You realize after this you’re going to have to go out and do incredibly manly things just to negate all the estrogen you’ve been exposed to.”

“I plan to chop logs and hunt wild boar while listening to loud rock music straight after I leave here,” he advised.

Everyone giggled, and Callie grinned. The idea of watching the sexy Mr. Bond chopping logs naked from the waist up wasn’t the worst proposition in the world. He glanced over at her, his lips curving up, and raised an eyebrow as if to say, What do you think? She shrugged, meh, but thought that her eyes probably held a little of the lust that coursed through her at the thought.

It took Willow quite a while to open all the presents. Gene moved around the room while she did so, refilling glasses and taking around plates of food to keep everyone occupied.

“Fancy a nibble, ma’am?” he murmured to her at one point when he bent to offer her a selection of tiny pastries.

“Mmm, yes please,” she replied, determined not to blush, and well aware that Neve still had her eye on them. “Thank you, Mr. Bond.”

He moved on, but not before they’d exchanged the briefest of glances, and she saw the warmth in his gray eyes.

After the present opening, Willow made a short speech thanking her friends and family for their support, then announced that they were going to have a bit of fun with the Four Seasons lingerie party. The women all clapped, thoroughly enjoying themselves by this point.

It was Neve’s turn to take over. Callie had been to many of Neve’s parties, so she was well aware how skilled her friend was at being the host, but as always she found herself admiring Neve’s confident manner, the way she managed to include everyone in the evening, and how she made it fun and a little risqué without picking on anyone who might have been embarrassed or nervous at some of the things she brought out of her suitcase.

First she handed everyone a catalogue of the Four Seasons brand and brought out displays of lots of their lingerie and swimwear, which the girls all cooed over. Many of them took pieces to try on in Willow’s bedrooms, and Callie had to suppress her usual pleasure and excitement at seeing the order list get longer and longer as the girls emerged with pleased squeals. Even Willow chose a few pieces, because Neve had purposely included some maternity bras that Rowan had made—beautiful as ever, but with practical clips that meant a nursing mum could remove the cups.

“What do you think, Gene?” Neve directed the question at him and held the bra with her fingertips, giving it a slight shake in his direction. She’d had a few vodkas now and was growing increasingly naughty, and Callie knew she’d do her best to tease him. Rowan coughed into her wine, always the most easily embarrassed of the lot of them.

But he appeared impossible to shock and just nodded. “Easy access,” he said. “I approve.”

Everyone laughed, and Neve gave a wry smile.

Bridget nudged her as he turned away to fetch a new bottle of wine. “Leave the poor man alone.”

“Why? I want to see what it takes to make him blush.”

Callie knew she should stop her, but she had a sneaky feeling that it was her friend who was going to come out the loser in this battle. Gene was proving to have a better sense of humor and a higher degree of unflappability than she’d realized.

The test came when everyone had finished looking at the lingerie. Neve produced another case and grinned as she placed it on the table. By now, all of them except Willow had been drinking for a few hours, and the mood was high and a tad raucous.

“Ready for a little fun?” She popped the lid.

The women all squealed at the array of vibrators and other sex toys on display. Callie, who was used to this, glanced up at Gene. He was looking with interest at the range of objects, but as if he’d known she would be looking at him, his eyes rose to meet hers, and a small smile crept onto his lips.

“Right,” Neve said, and rubbed her hands together. “Time for some demonstrations.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Spending an evening with a crowd of rowdy young women would normally have been Gene’s idea of hell, and he’d been on the verge of turning down Neve’s suggestion of acting as a waiter for the night. That afternoon, however, after he’d gotten the taxi to drop Callie home, he’d walked into the Safe & Secure offices to learn that Phoebe had received a new death threat.

“It’s just as nasty as the previous one,” Kev had said. “But that’s not the only bad news.” He’d shown a copy of the note to Gene, who’d read it with growing distaste. As well as threatening Phoebe, it ended by describing exactly what he was going to do to her and her daughter when he got hold of them, in great and disgusting detail.

“What do you want to do?” Kev had asked with concern.

Gene knew he had to sort himself out. No more wearing casual clothes—it had to be the bulletproof vest at all times, and from now on he had to make sure he was completely focused on her safety. He couldn’t afford to get distracted with romantic thoughts when he should be concentrating on analyzing the threat at all times.

He couldn’t tell Kev that, though. Instead, he’d said, “I think it’s time to upgrade the threat on Callie from low to medium.” They’d labeled Phoebe’s case as ‘very high’ from the start, but because the threat to Callie had been indirect, they’d kept hers rated as ‘low’ until now. “And it’s time to send someone ahead of us to do risk assessments of the places we’ll be staying, and to do covert protection from a distance to catch anything I might not be aware of.”

“You really think he’ll come after her?”

“No,” Gene had said, although he’d not been sure if that had just been wishful thinking. “I think it’s a scare tactic rather than a real threat. But we can’t risk that, of course.”

After leaving the office, he’d gone to the gym for a while and had tried to lose himself in the heat and sweat of physical exercise, but all it had done was made him think of Callie’s hot skin next to his, her soft moans in the darkness, and to imagine how terrible he’d feel if something happened to her.

How stupid he’d been to give in to his desire. Her life was in danger, and all he could think about was taking her to bed and tasting her again, and losing himself in her sweet warmth.

To punish himself, he’d agreed to go to the party, certain he’d hate every minute. Oddly, though, he discovered he was quite enjoying himself. Willow’s friends were fun without being over the top, a little embarrassed to have him there but half enjoying it, too, and it was interesting to be on the inside of women’s lives for once and watch how they interacted with each other once they semi-forgot he was a guy.

It was nice to get to know Callie’s close friends as well. Bridget was bright and bubbly, Neve outwardly mischievous and wicked, but inwardly—he suspected—soft as mush with a heart of gold. Rowan was a bit harder to fathom, as she barely said two words to him, and she seemed the shyest of the four of them.

He also enjoyed watching Callie with her friends. She didn’t seem any different, sunny and warm, open and fun. Presumably, her mother had kept her informed of recent events regarding Darren Kirk. Was Callie concerned about the increasing threat on her life? She didn’t look it, appearing very relaxed, and she didn’t seem nervous or distracted.

He’d wondered whether she’d be able to avoid the temptation of telling her best friends what had happened between them while they’d been away, but although she met his gaze once or twice during the evening, and something passed between them like a radio wave from her eyes to his, she didn’t make any reference to their brief relationship. He was relieved, and a tiny bit disappointed. Of course he didn’t want it coming out into the open, he scolded himself. But it didn’t stop him wondering where it was going. Was this just a bit of fun for her? A holiday fling to amuse herself while they traveled? Or was it something more? He surprised himself by hoping it was the latter.

The only time she reacted to his presence with more than a flick of her eyes was when Neve opened the case containing the sex toys. Callie obviously knew what the case contained, but as he perused the contents and then raised his gaze to hers, he caught her watching him, and saw a deep blush spread from the apples of her cheeks across her face, like two drops of scarlet paint dropped onto a plate of cream.

His lips curved up. That, at least, boded well.

“Now, this is my favorite,” the indefatigable Neve said, holding up the rabbit vibrator. “Shaped for your pleasure, ladies.” She proceeded to explain to them the various delights of the toy.

Gene retreated to the drinks table to pour another round of wine glasses and walked discreetly around the room to hand them out, trying not to laugh out loud at the squeals and shrieks of the women as they handled the toys. From what he could see, they consisted mostly of vibrators of various shapes and sizes with a few anal devices, no nipple clamps or whips or anything too scary or painful that might have been too much for anyone who hadn’t been brave enough to purchase any toys before. He felt a sudden surge of affection for Neve, who was managing to make everything seem both erotically naughty and yet perfectly normal, too. Even Rowan was having fun investigating the options, although she completely refused to look him in the eye.

He tried not to stare too long at the contents, knowing he’d get himself hot and bothered at the thought of trying them out on the strawberry blonde currently examining the types of lubricants available. She didn’t really need any of those, he thought, remembering how wet and swollen she’d been, then closed his eyes briefly and forced himself to think about arctic conditions and having his wisdom teeth out and anything else that would dampen his ardor.

Luckily, nobody seemed to notice his discomfort, their attention distracted by Willow, who was complaining that she was too fat even to see below her navel, and that once the baby came she was sure it would be at least six months before she and Liam would have the energy to try out any of the toys.

Neve had apparently finished going through all the items in the case. The women were busy flicking through catalogues, purchasing items that were available from Neve’s small stock and writing down their orders for those items she didn’t have, most of the girls apparently brave enough to treat themselves to at least one item.

Neve turned her wicked smile on him. “Gene? Can I put you down for anything?”

Everyone giggled. He took her over a plate of chocolate truffles and bent to offer them to her. “Actually, I’ll take one of those. Looks like fun.” He tapped the list in her hand.

Neve’s eyebrows shot up, and all the women went “Oooooh!”

“For anyone we know?” Bridget asked.

“Yes,” Neve said, “anyone we know?” Her eyes were hard.

“For my special someone,” he said. “A lady who’s been in my heart for a very long time.”

He saw the disappointment flicker across Bridget and Rowan’s faces, and surprise on Neve’s at the acceptance that it was someone he’d known for a while.

“Well, she’s a very lucky woman,” Bridget said brightly, glancing at Callie. He didn’t follow her gaze, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Callie turn to talk to Willow, showing her apparent disinterest in his love life.

The party went on for maybe another thirty minutes, but by then Willow was noticeably flagging, almost dozing off in her chair, and everyone began to gather their purchases and their handbags.

“I’ll ring for taxis,” someone called. “How many do we need?”

“Hitch is taking us home,” Bridget said, indicating the four of them. “I just need to phone him to come and pick us up.”

“Will we all fit in his car?” Neve asked doubtfully. “It’s a very old Mini,” she explained at Gene’s quizzical look.

“I’ll take Callie and Rowan home,” he said. “As I’m still officially on PA duty.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Rowan said. “Hitch is going to drop me at the supermarket. I want to pick up a few bits and I can walk from there.”

None of them seemed interested in the fact that he was taking Callie home. He glanced at her. She was busy saying goodbye to Willow, but didn’t reject his offer, so he guessed she didn’t mind.

While he waited, he emptied any food remains into the rubbish bin, rinsed the plates and stacked them with the glasses in the dishwasher, and tidied up so Willow wouldn’t have much to do when everyone had gone.

Closing the door to the dishwasher and pressing the start button, he looked up to see Callie leaning against the doorjamb, watching him. “Ready?” she asked.

“Yep.” He picked up his car keys, wallet, and slipped the purchase he’d made into his pocket, and followed her out to where the others were saying goodbye. “Bye,” he said to Willow, bending to kiss her on the cheek.

She threw her arms around him. “You cleaned up! You can come again. Thank you so much.”

He gave her a quick hug back. “You’re very welcome. I hope things go well for you.”

Callie waved goodbye too, and then they all went out onto the street.

A tall, dark-haired guy was leaning against an old racing-green Mini, but he pushed off the car as they approached.

“Gene, this is Bridget’s brother, Hitch,” Callie said. “Hitch, meet Gene. My... PA.” She left the slightest pause between the final two words.

“Hey.” The two guys shook hands. Hitch turned to the girls. “Who’s coming with me? Might be a squash.” He winked at Rowan. “You can sit on my lap if you like.”

“That would be rather dangerous, don’t you think?” she pointed out as she walked around to the passenger seat, completely missing the flirty nature of his comment. Hitch met Gene’s eyes and gave a wry smile.

The other girls got in, yelling at Callie to keep in touch about the rest of their trip, and then Hitch drove away, pretending to bang into a nearby lamppost and making them all squeal before he righted the car and disappeared around the corner.

Callie blew out a long breath.

“Ready to go home?” Gene asked.

“Yeah.”

As they walked the short distance to his car, he crossed behind her to walk on the road side of the pavement.

“What are you doing that for?” she asked.

“So I can protect you with my weapon.”

“I’d like to see that.”

He smiled, and her lips curved up a little, but she seemed subdued.

“Are you okay?” he asked as they reached his car.

“Fine, thank you.” Polite as strangers again.

They got into the car, and he started the engine and pulled away.

“Callie,” he said as he headed out of the city center toward her house, “you realize that when I mentioned I’d bought that stuff for my special someone, I was talking about you, right?”

He glanced over at her. She’d turned startled eyes to him, eyes that glistened like the sun in the evening sky.

“Oh,” she said.

“Seriously?” He returned his gaze to the road. “After what we’ve been up to the last few days?”

“You said it was for ‘a lady who’s been in my heart for a very long time.’”

He pulled up at some traffic lights and looked at her again. “I think maybe you have. Or the idea of you, anyway.”

“Why, Gene, that’s a very romantic thing to say on the eve of St. Valentine’s Day.” Her expression had softened, and her eyes had warmed. She’d really thought he’d been referring to someone else.

It would be stupid to make any declaration of love. Not when he was supposed to be protecting her. And not after only a week. Common sense told him to keep his distance emotionally, even if he couldn’t physically.

But as he looked into her eyes and she smiled, all he could think was that he was crazy about this woman, and it wasn’t getting any better.

He pulled up outside her house and left the engine running.

She studied him for a moment. “Do you want to come in?”

He wanted that more than anything in the world, but he knew that one of his team was currently sitting outside her house, waiting to take over when he left, and he didn’t want anyone guessing that something was developing between them. And Rowan would be home soon too.

So he shook his head. “I can’t tonight. I’ve got a few things to do before we leave tomorrow.”

Disappointment flickered on her features briefly before she smothered it. “Oh, of course. I still feel bad about going away on your birthday. Are you sure you wouldn’t be doing anything? Your family wouldn’t have planned you a surprise party or anything?”

“I very much doubt that,” he said wryly. He’d be lucky if they even remembered it was his birthday, let alone how old he was. “They know I’d hate that. I’d much rather spend it with you, having dinner.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

She hesitated, and he wondered whether she was expecting him to kiss her goodnight. Fuck. This was awkward. And if the threat on her life increased, it was only going to get worse, because he couldn’t be seen being intimate with her at all. If he had to increase the number of officers shadowing her, it was going to make things very difficult between them if he couldn’t even hold her hand.

But she turned, opened the door, and got out of the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow, around two o’clock, then?”

“Sure.”

She shut the door and walked toward the house.

He waited until she’d gone in and closed the door. Giving a brief nod to Ian, who was parked across the road in his car, Gene drove away.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The next day promised rain, the sky heavy with gray thunderclouds, lending a humidity to the air that Callie knew would only get worse as they traveled further north.

“I think the skies are going to open soon,” Gene observed as they passed the sign for Napier. It had just gone five, and they’d been traveling for a few hours.

“Hopefully we’ll get to the hotel before it comes down.”

Their first appointment wasn’t until eight the following morning. It was an early start, but the manager of the largest clothing store in Napier was leaving at nine for a flight to Australia. It was the only time she’d been available to meet on the day, which was the main reason they’d driven up the afternoon before.

“So,” Callie said as he checked the GPS for directions to the hotel, “are you excited to discover what your birthday present is?” She’d wished him happy birthday when she’d first gotten in the car, and had promised he’d get his present later.

He glanced at her, his lips curving up. “I think so.”

“You’ll like it, I promise. A birthday and Valentine’s Day present rolled into one.”

He returned his gaze to the road, continuing to smile, but she sensed wariness behind it. Not for the first time, doubt flickered inside her. Was he regretting becoming involved with her? His words the night before had been encouraging, but he was so reticent, so withdrawn and private, that it was difficult to know what was on his mind.

She cleared her throat. “I feel I should make something clear. We had a great time last week, but I’d like to say that if you’ve changed your mind and would rather we held back from a... physical relationship while we are away, I understand.” The fact that he’d not stayed in her room that night still played on her mind, and she didn’t want to assume.

He glanced at her again, and this time his smile was warmer. “Are you saying you don’t want to sleep with me anymore?”

“Um, no.” Her face filled with heat.

He surveyed her reddening cheeks, grinned, then looked back at the road. “Good. Because I have a little Valentine’s Day gift for you, too.”

Pleasure filled her. “Oh?”

“Something I bought at Willow’s party.” He looked impish then, and suddenly younger, throwing off all the cares and worries that appeared to weigh heavily on him at times.

“Oh...” Callie hadn’t asked Neve what he’d bought, not wanting her to be suspicious about them, but now she was intrigued. “What is it?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

“I hate surprises,” she grumbled.

He just laughed. “Too bad.”

He refused to tell her more, even though she spent the next five minutes badgering him, so in the end she gave up and decided she’d have to wait until later. Together with her own present, it promised to be an exciting evening.

Gene found the hotel without too much hassle, and he parked outside and they checked in. Rebuilt after an earthquake in 1931, the city boasted some distinctive art deco architecture, and the hotel on the waterfront was a terrific example of this. The front bore the distinctive clear, simple lines associated with Manhattan during this period, and its decor was filled with sunbursts and fountains symbolizing the dawn of a modern age. The foyer boasted a skyscraper mural on one large wall, and when they went up to their rooms, Callie discovered they were decorated in black and gold with the geometric shapes that characterized the period.

“I’ll call for you at six?” Gene asked her after they’d admired the decor.

“Okay. See you in a bit.”

Gene went into his room and closed the door.

Callie walked into her own room and sat on the bed, feeling a bit flat. Part of her had wondered whether he would suggest they only book one room while they were away. But then, they weren’t a couple, she reminded herself, not yet. Maybe he was the sort of man who liked his own space. Or maybe he didn’t want her to assume anything, not this early on in their relationship. She would just have to wait and see how things developed.

So she took the opportunity of being alone to shower, slather herself in cream, and sort out his birthday present to be ready for when he hopefully came back to her room at the end of the evening. If he chose not to, well, she’d worry about that then.

At six o’clock, a knock came at the door, and she answered to see him standing there. As usual, he wore his three-piece suit, apparently intent on remaining professional even on his birthday.

“Wow.” His gaze slid down her and made her tingle all over. “You look fantastic.”

“Thank you.” She’d made an effort that evening. Not that she didn’t normally take care of her appearance, but usually she wore comfortable, classic cuts and kept her makeup to muted skin tones. Tonight, though, she wore a sleek little black number that reached to just above the knee, with thigh-highs and black high heels, and she’d used smoky gray on her eyelids and emphasized her lashes with black mascara. Her dark red lipstick matched the clutch she carried.

He offered her his arm like Cary Grant. “Shall we?”

She slid her hand into the crook of his arm. “Yes, let’s. I’m starving.”

Luckily, Gene had possessed the foresight to book, because as the waitress showed them to their table, she informed them that they were completely booked right up until nine because it was Valentine’s Day.

Callie flicked through the menu, her eyes going straight to the barbecued ribs, which she adored. She sucked her bottom lip as she debated. There were unspoken rules about what to choose to eat for a romantic meal. Spaghetti, or anything else with sauce that could be flicked or dripped down one’s clothes, was a big no-no. Ribs could never be eaten daintily either, but then it wasn’t as if they were two ordinary lovers, was it?

“I feel such a fraud,” she said.

Gene gave her a quizzical look. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Well, we’re not exactly sweethearts, are we? More like...” She’d been about to say fuck-buddies, but the look on his face made the words trail off.

“I’m sorry I can’t be all hearts and flowers,” he said quietly. “I would like to be, and it’s only what you deserve. It’s really important to me that I stay professional while we’re working together. Just for a while. I hope you can understand that.”

“Including not sleeping in the same room?”

He looked pained. “I know that makes me sound like I’m taking advantage of you. I honestly don’t want it to be like that.”

“Gene, it’s okay. I’m not criticizing. This situation won’t last forever. I know you didn’t want to give in and go to bed with me, and it’s kind of flattering that it happened anyway. But I understand that you want to keep your distance for a while. We can be grown up about this, can’t we? I like you. And you like me. We’re having fun while we’re traveling. For now, isn’t that enough?”

His lips curved up. “No. But I think it has to be, for now.”

“That’s fine. It’s more than enough for me to deal with, I can assure you.” She rolled her eyes and studied the menu. “Now, then, what sounds good?”

“They’ve won lots of awards here,” he said. But when she looked up, he was still watching her, his eyes filled with the affection he couldn’t—for his own reasons—portray.

As the evening drew on, the restaurant grew busier, but Callie didn’t mind, because the lively, romantic atmosphere made it easier to pretend she and Gene were involved, even if they weren’t.

The trouble was, it felt as if they were. He might not have held her hand or told her he loved her, but throughout the evening, his gray eyes hardly left her face and they were filled with warm amusement and genuine affection.

After a whole week where they’d hardly been apart, Callie felt that they were beginning to feel comfortable with each other, and to delve beneath the initial conversations of who liked what music and their favorite foods to deeper issues. They discussed politics for a while, discovering their views were close enough to ensure they were unlikely to argue about many substantial issues. The same was true when it came to religion and family values, both of them having a modern approach, but with an underlying sense of tradition that kept them from wanting to be too revolutionary.

“I think tradition’s underrated,” she said as she made her way through the barbecued ribs stacked high on her plate, interspersing them with crispy fries and the wonderful chipotle slaw. “As long as you accept that change is a necessary thing, and it’s important not to think that the past is always better than the present, there’s something about traditions—family ones and national ones—that give you a sense of belonging, of roots, don’t you think?”

“I do. I would love to have had some.” He looked up from cutting his medium-rare Angus fillet steak with blue cheese sauce and laughed.

“What?”

“You have barbecue sauce on your cheek.”

“Of course I do. The better the ribs, the more sauce you have to have on your face.” She wiped delicately at her cheek. “What did you mean, you would love to have had some traditions?”

He chewed the steak thoughtfully and shrugged. “I can’t think of any family traditions. My folks weren’t keen on that sort of thing.”

“Oh, come on. You must have. What about dressing the Christmas tree, for example? Everyone has a tradition around that.”

“Not me.” He speared a carrot with rather more force than was necessary, she thought. “We didn’t have one.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Why not? Because your mum died?”

“No, even before then. Dad hated the commercialization of that time of year and said the tree was a British creation he had no intention of following.” Gene had explained that his father disliked being reminded of New Zealand’s European roots and wanted the country to break free from the Commonwealth.

“Actually, it was a German creation,” Callie pointed out, “but whatever he thought, it seems cruel to take away the pleasure of dressing the tree from your children.”

“Well, his children’s pleasure was always low on his list.” Gene ate another piece of steak, his expression guarded.

“And your mum? Did she never contradict your father?”

“I remember one year, when Freddie and I were small, she baked some tree-shaped cookies for us to decorate with icing. Dad refused to eat any of them.”

“Good Lord.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you have presents?”

“Yes. But they weren’t left at the bottom of the bed or anything. There was never any attempt to pretend that Santa had delivered them.”

Callie finished her last rib and dipped her fingers in the bowl of water, rubbing them with lemon. “That makes me sad.”

“You had a better experience, I presume?”

She dried her hands and then speared a few fries with her fork. “Yes and no. Dad was in the Army, so we moved around a lot. But we had a Christmas tree, and they kept up the pretense of Santa as long as they could. I didn’t have a bad childhood. I was brokenhearted when my parents broke up.”

“When was that?”

“About... ten, eleven years ago now. They’d lived apart for a long time, since I was about seven or eight, I suppose. Mum made the decision to stay in New Zealand with me when Dad was away. She didn’t want me to have to keep switching schools. Plus, of course, she had her own career by then as a lawyer, and she was getting very good at it. She used to go out to visit him, and they seemed quite content with their arrangement—they had their own space, but the security of being married, I suppose. I think she wanted him to leave the Army, but he refused—the Army was his life.”

“He’s a major, isn’t he?”

“Yes, although he’s retired now. Anyway, that year he was stationed in Afghanistan. She’d been away visiting him, but I remember her coming home a week early, and she announced she’d left him. I never did find out exactly what happened. There was some sort of accident—she fell down a flight of stairs or something. She looked awful, bruises everywhere. She wouldn’t talk about it. My guess is that it was the straw that broke the lawyer’s back—she needed his support and begged him to leave, and he wouldn’t. So she walked out.”

Gene ate the last mouthful of steak and pushed his plate away. For a long moment, he was silent.

Callie raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He took a long swig of his Diet Coke. She had the strange feeling he was trying to decide whether to tell her something.

He put down his glass and wiped his mouth on a serviette. “So,” he said. “Dessert?”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Gene knew he’d paused for too long. Callie was too astute not to notice his hesitation. But she didn’t quiz him, maybe understanding that if he hadn’t caved, it meant he’d decided to keep it to himself.

Would he ever tell her the truth about what had happened in Afghanistan? He leaned back in his chair as the waitress came to clear their plates, sadness settling over him like a wet mist. He couldn’t shake the feeling that once the truth about everything came out, Callie wouldn’t want to see him.

He accepted the dessert menu, half wishing he’d told Phoebe that he didn’t take protection jobs himself anymore. As director of the firm, he’d been within his rights to farm out the work to one of his agents, and there were plenty who would have done a great job—a better job than he was doing, he thought gloomily. But he had a soft spot for Phoebe, and he’d been unable to say no to her.

“Why so sad?” Callie leaned forward on the table. She’d rested her breasts on her forearms, pushing them up in the process. The dress wasn’t low cut, but it gave him a perfect view down her cleavage, and he had to fight not to look at it.

“Just thinking about the past.”

“Army life is a strange dichotomy, isn’t it? I would imagine it’s the same in the other defense forces. When you’re away, you can’t wait to get home, and when you’re home, you’re constantly thinking of going back.”

“Maybe. I don’t miss it, though.”

“You think you made the right choice leaving?”

“Oh yes. It’s a good life for a young single man, but as you’ve mentioned, not so great when you get older or have a family.”

“Would you like to have a family?”

He smiled. “One day. You?”

“Oh yes. I think I’d be a terrible mum, though. I’d never remember their lunches, and I’d forget to pick them up from school.”

“You’d make a great mum,” he said, meaning it. The thought of Callie curled up beside him, pregnant with his child, gave him goosebumps.

She looked into her glass of wine for a moment, and he watched as a light blush filled her cheeks. She was so gorgeous. He wished he could lean forward and press his lips to hers.

She glanced to one side as a movement a few tables across caught her eye, and she smiled. He followed her gaze to see a guy lowering down to one knee as he proposed to his girlfriend. The young woman pressed her fingers to her lips and burst into tears, nodding furiously. Everyone around the restaurant cheered, and the guy stood, his face bright red and beaming.

“Aw,” Callie said. “How romantic.”

“You think?” Gene drew his brows together. “I can’t imagine proposing in a restaurant. Imagine how embarrassing it would be if the girl turned you down.”

He’d not given much thought to marriage before, but he decided that when he eventually proposed, it would be just the two of them, him and his chosen girl, somewhere quiet.

His brain transplanted Callie into the picture, giving him a vision of kneeling before her. Her words rang in his head: we’re not exactly sweethearts, are we? It made him sad, and he looked away.

The waitress returned for their order, and Callie requested the ice cream trio, while Gene just wanted coffee.

When she’d left, Callie leaned on the table again. “Tell me about Lisa,” she said.

That startled him. He was surprised she even remembered Lisa’s name. “What about her?”

“What was she like?”

He played with the salt shaker, turning it around in his fingers. “Shortish. Long, dark hair she wore in a bun most of the time. Pretty. Feisty. Brave. She loved animals—dogs, cats, horses, anything we met went straight to her.” He knew why—she’d had a magnetic personality that had pulled everyone and everything toward her.

“How long had you been dating?” Callie asked.

He stared at her. Then he put down the salt. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s obvious, Gene. It doesn’t take a mind reader to see your pain.”

“I’d have been upset at the loss of any colleague.”

“Sure. How long?”

He sighed. “Only a few months. It wasn’t serious—it had only just gotten going, really. Maybe that was worse, never having the chance to discover whether it would have worked. I don’t know.”

Callie covered his hand with her own. “I’m sorry.”

He left it there for a moment, but he was too worried that Ian—the agent who’d preceded them to Napier to carry out a threat assessment, and who’d be keeping an eye on the surroundings—would see them, so he carefully slid his hand away and picked up his drink. “Thanks.”

He hated doing this, pushing her away, and cursed himself for being so weak. She finished off her drink, though, and smiled at him, suggesting she wasn’t upset.

“Let’s change the subject,” she said. “Where are we off to after Napier?”

She kept the conversation light after that, talking about the towns they were due to visit and places she’d been to while she dipped her spoon into her ice cream and ate it slowly. Gene was content to listen to her and watch the spoon filled with creamy mixture slide between her lips, her tongue occasionally protruding to remove any drips.

He wished they were a couple, and she would ask if he wanted a taste of her ice cream, and feed him spoons of it, looking into his eyes with adoration. But she didn’t ask, and although she smiled a lot and her eyes were friendly, she was careful to keep her hands to herself, and to steer the conversation away from anything too intimate.

But it was as if the more he tried to remain professional, the more he hungered for her. By the end of the evening, he ached with longing.

After they’d eaten, they went for a short walk through the streets of Napier to let their dinner go down, and it was all he could do not to take her in his arms, strip her of the dress right there in the street, and feel her hot skin against his.

“It’s going to rain any minute,” Callie said, looking up at the heavy gray sky. “Jeez, it’s humid.”

He couldn’t even take her hand, because he knew Ian would be following them at a distance, keeping a watch out for any suspicious characters. This really was like torture, and even though he hadn’t drunk a drop of alcohol, he felt slightly dizzy, consumed by lust and need for her.

Something landed on his cheek—a large drop of rain. “You’re right,” he said. “We should get back.”

They began to walk more quickly, but Callie was wearing high heels and couldn’t stride out as fast as him.

“We’re not going to make it,” he said as the raindrops increased and began to turn the pavement a dark gray.

“Hold on.” She stopped walking and bent to ease her heels off, then squealed as the heavens opened. “Quick!”

She ran beside him in her stockinged feet, but they were still soaked by the time they reached the steps to the hotel. “So much for the elegant makeup,” she said, dripping onto the tiles as they walked across the foyer. “I bet I look like a panda.”

“You look wonderful.” It wasn’t false flattery. Her cheeks were flushed and strands of wet hair clung to them, but she looked young, fresh, and full of life. It was only at that point he realized that, in spite of his relationship with Angela and a few other girls, Lisa had haunted his memories for a long time, and it was nice to be with someone who banished his dark thoughts, at least for a while.

She didn’t reply, and they made their way to the elevator, just catching a half-filled cubicle about to go up. They stood to one side of it as the doors closed, and she looked up, meeting his eyes. She was quite a bit shorter than him without her heels, and he discovered he could see down her cleavage from this angle.

Heat flooded him, and it must have shown in his eyes because her lips parted. Their gazes locked, and suddenly Gene knew that in seconds she’d be in his arms, naked, and it wouldn’t be much longer afterward that he’d be sliding inside her, losing himself in her warmth.

The elevator dinged at their floor and they broke their gaze and walked out. There was another couple in the corridor, talking, and so they walked straight to their rooms, not saying anything. Callie swiped her card and opened her door, went in, and waited.

He glanced over his shoulder. The couple had disappeared. The corridor was empty. Ian would have taken a room on the same floor, but he would continue to keep an eye out in the foyer for a while before retiring for the night.

Turning back, Gene followed Callie into the room, and the door closed behind him.

She walked to the bed, flicked on the bedside lamp, then turned to face him. He closed the distance between them, until they were standing only an inch apart. Outside, the rain hammered on the streets and pounded on the window, but inside the room it was warm and quiet, the only sound their fast breathing and the tick of the clock on the wall.

Callie looked up at him. “Can I touch you now?” she said softly.

He undid the buttons of his jacket, slid it off, and hung it over the chair. Then he did the same with his waistcoat, because he didn’t like her touching it in case she discovered how thick it was and started asking questions.

Then he came back to her, cupped her face, and lowered his lips to hers.

Oh... it was heavenly to kiss her after an evening of having to keep his distance. She gave a little moan, and he slid his arms around her and pulled her against him, reveling in the feel of her soft body against his. Brushing his tongue across her bottom lip, he was rewarded when she opened her mouth, and they exchanged a long, slow kiss, his hand sliding down to her bottom, hers beginning to unbutton his shirt.

Reaching the hem, she thrust the sides of the shirt aside and slipped her hands underneath, onto his skin. “Aaahhh,” she sighed, scraping her nails lightly across his ribs. “I’ve wanted to do this all evening.”

He shuddered, and suddenly everything was taking too long. He needed her naked, wanted to feel her against him, to have her beneath him. Turning her, he caught hold of the zipper at the top of her dress and slid it down, then eased the dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor in a whisper of material.

Eyebrows rising, he turned her back to face him. An impish smile crossed her face. “Happy birthday. And happy Valentine’s Day.”

She wore a set of Four Seasons underwear he’d seen in the catalogue, made from black lace with a shiny red ribbon threaded through the tops of the demi-cups. The same red ribbon wove through the fabric of the panties, culminating in a neat bow at the front. It was grown-up and sexy at the same time—not the cheap sort of underwear a girl bought and wore once before relegating it to the back of the drawer because it was too uncomfortable, but the type a woman bought and wore all the time because she wanted to feel good and look sexy for herself as well as for her man.

“Wow.” The erection that had been half there all evening now sprang to attention. Turning her away from him, he moved closer and slid his hands from her hips up to cup her breasts. “You look fantastic,” he murmured, kissing down her neck to where the pulse beat, and covering the spot with his mouth. He sucked, and she groaned and leaned her head on his shoulder, arching her back to push her breasts into his hands. Taking the hint, he took each nipple between his thumbs and forefingers through the fabric and tugged a little, and she moaned again and covered his hands with her own.

“I need you,” she whispered, turning to throw her arms around his neck. “I want you, Gene. I’ve wanted you all evening. I can’t bear it any longer. Make love to me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed her onto the bed and gestured for her to climb onto the mattress, which she did, lying on the pillows, her breasts rising and falling fast with her rapid breaths. He let his shirt drop to the floor and quickly removed his trousers and his underwear, then went to his jacket and took out a small velvet pouch before returning to the bed.

Her lips curved up. “Is this my present?”

“Well, it’s a present for both of us.” He climbed on and stretched out beside her. “I wouldn’t have bought a toy without consulting you, but I thought these might be acceptable.” He handed her the pouch.

She unclipped the popper, opened it up, and took out the two small bottles of lube. “Oh!” Her face lit up with pleasure. “His and hers!”

“Yeah. This one is a warming gel. This one makes things... tingle. And together they combine to provide some interesting sensations, apparently.”

She met his gaze and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Not that I think you need it,” he teased, laughing when she blushed prettily. He moved close to her, pulling her thigh across his so she was practically wrapped around him. “God, I want you,” he said huskily. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

“Have me, then.” She pulled him on top of her and hooked her ankles behind his back. “Take me, Gene. I’m all yours.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Callie was so fired up that she would have been happy if Gene had slid straight inside her and thrust her all the way to a blissful conclusion. But even though he was obviously as turned on as she was, he appeared to have other ideas.

He started off by kissing her, long, slow, deep kisses that started a fire in her belly and fanned it until it became a roaring inferno. His hot, hard body only increased her desire, and she rocked her hips against his, aching for fulfilment.

He lifted his head and kissed her nose. “Slowly,” he said, amused. “I haven’t waited all day to have this over in seconds.”

“But I ache,” she said with a groan.

His gray eyes surveyed her for a moment, and then he lifted off her and moved to the side. Puzzled, she went to rise, but he pulled her against him, and, before she could say anything, covered her mouth with his and moved his free hand down her body. Lifting the elastic of her panties, he slid his hand underneath and pressed his fingers into her folds.

“Oh...” She inhaled sharply, her mouth opening under his, but he just plunged his tongue inside, his fingers mimicking its thrusts as they gathered up her moisture and then circled over her clit.

Already turned on, it took only moments before all her internal muscles tightened, and she gave in to the orgasm, exclaiming against his mouth while his fingers teased her until she lay gasping and spent.

He lifted his head, withdrew his fingers, and kissed her lips. “There,” he said. “Now we can start properly.”

“Fuck,” she said, heart pounding, her chest heaving.

“Give me a chance,” he scolded, rolling her toward him so he could undo the clasp of her bra. “Talk about demanding.”

She laughed and kissed him again, letting him draw the bra down her arms and toss it onto the floor. Then he removed her panties, leaving her lying there naked, before he reached for the velvet pouch.

“This is fun.” He pulled out the bottle of warming lube and popped the top. “Like a scientific experiment.”

“So I’m a guinea pig, am I?” Her body felt like a guitar string, still thrumming with her orgasm, and when he smeared a small amount of the lube on each nipple, it was as if he’d plucked at the string again, sending a vibration that rippled all the way through her.

“Yep.” He closed the lid of the bottle, folded his arms, and leaned forward until his mouth was an inch from her breast. Taking a deep breath, he blew out over her nipple.

“Ooh!” She squirmed beneath him at the strange sensation of warmth.

“Nice?” He leaned across her to try the other one, doing the same, blowing out across the sensitive skin.

“Mmm. Oh yes.” She closed her eyes in bliss.

He chuckled and covered the nipple with his mouth, and her eyes flew open again. “Aaahhh.” The lube intensified the heat of his mouth, making the skin ultra-sensitive and sending tingles through her all the way down to her clit.

He concentrated on her breasts for a while, licking and teasing them and fanning the flames inside her until the ache began to build once more. Then he shifted down and reopened the bottle of lube. Pouring a little onto his fingers, he stroked it through her folds.

“You really don’t need this,” he said, his fingers sliding easily through her already wet, swollen skin.

“Gene...”

“Not a complaint. Just stating a fact.” He moved two fingers deep inside her, and her hips lifted automatically, pushing toward him.

Leaning over her, he blew a soft breath from her clit down between her legs, then ran back up with his tongue.

Callie groaned and covered her face, feeling as if she’d stepped into a warm bath. “I can’t take much more of this.”

He tutted, continuing to blow on her skin and following up with light strokes of his tongue. “This is too easy. You’re not much of a challenge.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” It was just too lovely, and she was going to come again if he didn’t move away. She pushed at his head and rolled over. “Stop it!”

Laughing, he moved back. “Lightweight.”

“Yeah, well, the shoe’s going to be on the other foot now.” She took out the other bottle of lube from the pouch and flipped open the top. “About time I had some fun.”

Gene sighed, lay on his back, and tucked his arms under his head. “If you must.” His eyes met hers, hot and amused. “Help yourself.”

“Mmm.” What an offer. His erection stood proud of his body, the top glistening, begging to be licked. “I intend to.” She poured a decent amount on her hand, made sure her fingers were well lubricated, and then closed them around him.

He closed his eyes, his eyebrows rising as he gave a helpless groan. Callie’s lips curved up, then she turned her full attention to her hand. His erection was thick, her fingers barely meeting as she circled the shaft. And he was hard, so hard, like rock, covered in a sheath of fine, soft skin.

Gently, she slid her hand down, revealing the swollen tip, and rubbed her thumb across it, smearing the lube all over him before beginning to give him long, slow strokes. He held his breath for a moment, then blew it out in a rush.

“How does that feel?” She twisted her fingers as she stroked, massaging him carefully, covering him in lube until her hand was sliding with little effort, slick and smooth.

“Aaahhh... It tingles. Feels hot and... sensitive...” Not so relaxed now, he moved his hands from under his head, linked his fingers, and rested them on his forehead. “Jesus. That feels good.”

Glad she was giving him pleasure, she stroked him for a while longer, then—making sure his eyes were closed—she lowered her head and covered the tip with her mouth.

“Fuck!” He jumped beneath her, and she had to stifle a laugh as she slid her lips down the shaft. “What the... Jesus... Oh fuck.” He lowered a hand to rest on her head, and threaded his fingers into her hair. “Callie... That’s amazing...”

The lube tasted of strawberries, and Gene tasted of hot, musky male, and Callie would have groaned herself if her mouth hadn’t been full. She washed her tongue around the head, teasing the slit at the top, then took him deep inside her mouth again, her thighs growing wet with her own moisture the longer she spent arousing him.

He bore her touch for as long as he could, but eventually he tugged on her hair, and she lifted her head and looked up at him, catching her breath at his expression. All humor had gone now, and the heat and desire in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine.

Lifting up, he reached for his wallet. She put a hand on his wrist, though, stopping him as he went to retrieve a condom.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “Isn’t it supposed to be extra nice when the two lubes combine?”

He tipped his head at her. “Yeah...”

“You want to try it? Just briefly? It’s up to you.” She knew she was clean, and she trusted him and knew he wouldn’t attempt it if he wasn’t.

“You’re sure?”

She was on the pill, so there was little-to-no chance of getting pregnant. “Go for it.”

Eyes blazing, he rolled her onto her front and then pulled her up to her knees. Callie rested on her elbows, steadying herself as he moved behind her and positioned the tip of his erection between her folds. She closed her eyes, biting her lips as he pushed his hips forward.

Both of them were so slippery that there was no friction at all, and he slid right inside her in one easy thrust.

They both let out a long, heartfelt sigh. The heat from her lube combined with the sensation from his, making everything feel sensitive, hot, and tingly.

“Wow,” he said, confirming he felt the same. He pulled back and thrust again, the position taking him deeper than before.

“That’s amazing,” she whispered, widening her knees to encourage him to push forward. He did, beginning a series of long, deep thrusts that had them both groaning within minutes.

While he moved, he stroked down her back, over her ribs, and cupped her breasts, playing with her nipples until she felt the first stirrings of an orgasm. She moistened her lips, anticipating the build, but at that point, Gene stopped moving and withdrew. She sighed, but it was only a temporary pause, and a few seconds later, he’d applied a condom and was back inside her.

“Mmm, Gene...” It was a shame not to be skin on skin, but it still felt great, and she grabbed a pillow and rested her forehead on it, pushing back against him.

“Oh, Callie...” He began to thrust harder, his body obviously taking over from his wish to make it slow. She’d never felt or heard anything so sexy, the air filled with the slick sounds of their flesh sliding together, the sound of his hips meeting her bottom as he really began to move. “Oh fuck,” he said, “tell me you’re close.”

“I... oh...” She couldn’t even get the words out before her climax hit her, and she clamped around him and cried out into the pillow as the intense pulses claimed her.

“Thank God.” He thrust hard, riding out her orgasm, and then groaned as he came. “Aaahhh...”

Callie could only wait, aftershocks still rippling through her as he continued to thrust deep inside her. His already hard muscles seemed to have turned to rock, and they locked together for what seemed like forever before their bodies finally released them, and they collapsed in a tangle of limbs, limp and spent.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” Callie knew she would never be able to move again. She felt as if she’d run a marathon, swum ten miles, and then cycled halfway up a mountain. “I’m exhausted.”

Gene lay heavy on her, pressing her into the mattress. “Mmm,” was all he said, still breathing heavily.

Callie didn’t complain. She rested her lips on his hands and pressed light kisses there as their bodies relaxed, the sensitivity of her skin fading to a beautiful glow.

She tried to take a mental snapshot of the moment to take out when she needed a pick-me-up, concentrating on the taste of strawberry in her mouth, the aroma of the lubes mingled with the smell of sex, the hum of her body, the feel of him beneath her fingertips. And the look in his eyes when she eventually turned her head, filled with warmth and, for want of a better word, love, or at least a deep affection that gave her goosebumps and made her want to cry.

He kissed her, then withdrew and disposed of the condom before taking her in his arms. They lay there in the glow of the bedside lamp for a while, just relaxing and letting their breathing return to normal, basking in the afterglow of shared bliss.

Eventually, though, she had to pee, and extricated herself reluctantly from his arms to visit the bathroom.

When she came out, he’d retrieved a bottle of water from the minibar and had drunk half of it. He held it out to her, and she sat on the bed next to him and finished it off, enjoying the slide of the cool liquid down her throat.

She put the lid on and tossed the bottle into the bin, and rested her hands on the edge of the mattress, mirroring his pose.

He bumped shoulders with her. She wrinkled her nose and bumped him back.

“I’d better go,” he said.

She nodded, having expected that. He met her gaze, then leaned forward, and they exchanged a long, slow kiss.

Gene moved back, his expression showing his reluctance, and maybe frustration, too, at having to go. It took every piece of willpower she had not to beg him to stay.

He got up and started getting dressed, pulling on his underwear and trousers. “I’ll see you for breakfast?”

“Sure. Seven o’clock?”

“Yes, of course. Early start. See you then.” He pulled on his waistcoat over his open shirt and put his jacket over his arm. Then he paused. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy birthday.”

He winked at her. Then he opened the door. She watched him look outside and scan the corridor before he slipped out, closing the door behind him.

She sat there for a bit. Then she took his sweatshirt out of her case and pulled it on. It fell to her hips, the sleeves falling over her hands. She smiled as she tugged them up to her elbows, walked over to the window, and leaned against the post.

The sea glistened in the moonlight. If a boat were to sail in a straight line east from Napier, it would cross six thousand miles of the South Pacific until it hit the coast of Chile. So much ocean, vast and dark and deep.

She rested her head on the window, and sighed.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

For Gene, the next few days were a blur of towns and cities and hotels as he escorted Callie to her appointments, while his evenings followed the pattern of dinner and late walks followed by hours of sensual delight as they explored each other’s bodies. Every day, Gene tried to convince himself to stay professional, and every evening his resolution crumbled at the temptation in Callie’s eyes.

But he never told her he loved her, and he never stayed the night.

He spent the late hours in his room, going over the reports from his office and gradually growing more concerned as events began to escalate. Two more members of the jury that had convicted Darren Kirk were injured in attacks on their life, and a third was killed, bumping the case up the STG priority list until it was flagged as a nationwide alert. Reports came in thick and fast from his crew of repeated sightings of the same men around Phoebe’s office and home, and she now had two personal protection officers with her at all time, and another four covert officers working out threat assessments of places she went and generally trying to keep her safe.

Gene knew that Phoebe had spoken to Callie about what was happening, but she never mentioned it to him, and so he didn’t feel that he could ask her what she felt about it all, because he wasn’t supposed to know. In bed, their intimacy deepened, but outside the hotel room they only seemed to grow further apart, as what was happening became an elephant that had not only entered the room but that sat between them on the table and refused to budge.

He now had Ian, another protection officer, working covertly, advising him on routes in and out of the hotels, checking out the stores before Callie went into them, and shadowing them both at a distance while they drove up to Gisborne, Whakatane, Tauranga, and Hamilton, occasionally stopping at other smaller towns on the way when Callie discovered a lingerie store existed there.

Gene worked for hours each night making sure that Callie could continue her tour and remain as safe as possible while still being unaware of her protection. It would have been difficult even if they hadn’t shared a bed, trying to answer phone calls out of her hearing and scanning shops and streets as unobtrusively as he could while they walked. But becoming romantically involved made things a hundred times worse, not in the least because Gene knew he was lying to her.

As they entered the city of Auckland, even though they were nearing the end of their tour, Gene was beginning to consider telling her. The night before, in Hamilton, they’d spent hours in bed making love, lying there talking, then making love again until they were both wrung out and exhausted. But as usual, he’d had to get up and go to his own room so he could work, and once again he’d had to cope with the fleeting look of disappointment on Callie’s face before she smothered it with a smile.

She never asked him why he left, or begged him to stay, but he knew that every time he walked out, he hurt her, and that was beginning to be more of a problem than anything else.

Because he was falling for her. He knew that now. It was too soon to say he loved her. Love was like the plant he’d once read about that grew in the Bolivian mountains, a bromeliad that took a long time to grow and bloom. It wasn’t like bamboo—it couldn’t grow overnight. But being in love—that was something different. And Gene was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he was falling in love with Callie.

If that was the case, and he wanted to stand any hope of continuing their relationship once Kirk was caught, how was he going to explain why he hadn’t told her the truth before now? Telling her he’d been worried for her safety might sound a great reason in his head, but for a woman who’d been cheated on and for whom truth and honesty were two of the most important things in a relationship, keeping the news to himself could possibly be the worst decision he would ever make.

If he told her, he might risk her life if she refused to have another personal protection officer, and he told himself that was the main reason he continued with the ruse. But deep down, he knew he was scared of losing her, and every day that passed he became more and more terrified.

For better or for worse, things came to a head when they reached Auckland. The biggest city in New Zealand, although not the capital, Auckland was large and sprawling, its oldest park based around an extinct volcano, its distinctive waterfront and skyline giving it the nickname ‘City of Sails’.

By now it was mid-February, equivalent to mid-August in the northern hemisphere. The mornings bore a touch of autumn, but by midday the sun was high and hot, and it was growing increasingly humid this far north. Gene sweltered in his shirt and waistcoat every day, but there was no way he could drop the waistcoat, so he just had to put up with it.

After Napier, partly because Callie seemed to enjoy him being there and partly because of his growing concern, he’d begun to accompany her into her meetings. She introduced him as her PA, which often induced jokes and humorous comments from the store managers, but Callie just let that ride over her, and then she would launch into her spiel.

It was only then that Gene began to realize why she was so successful at her job. She had a way of putting a person at ease immediately, and the combination of her professionalism, her friendliness, and her beauty, he was sure, meant that the majority of times she came away with a promise to stock the Four Seasons brand and a new friend in the bargain. She filled out an entry on her phone for every client, noting some personal details about him or her—for example ‘supports the Blues,’ ‘has a son at Massey University studying photography,’ or ‘has baby twins, one boy, one girl.’ Gene knew she’d check these entries before she rang the client when she returned to Wellington, making the connection with them again when she spoke to them. It was a simple trick, but a clever one, and it only added to his admiration for her.

Their first day in Auckland was busy, four appointments all within three hours across the city, and by the time he reached the last one at four thirty, Gene was tired, stressed, and slightly irritable. Thus, when his phone rang halfway through their last appointment, he was tempted to cancel it, but as he apologized to Callie and the store manager and pulled out the phone, he saw the name Phoebe Hawke on the screen and knew he had to take it.

“Excuse me.” He walked out of the office and along the corridor, letting the door close behind him so he couldn’t be overheard before answering it. “Hello?”

“Gene?”

“Yes. Hi, Phoebe. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Well, no. I mean, I’m not hurt or anything.” She sounded flustered, not like the Phoebe he knew at all.”

“Spit it out,” he said wryly. “What’s up?”

“I’ve had another email.”

He frowned, puzzled as to why she’d phoned him and Kev hadn’t. “When?”

“Ten minutes ago. I’ve forwarded it on to you.”

“Okay, hold on.” He lowered the phone and brought up his emails. She forwarded all the threats she received on to his office, and they’d been trying to track down the origin of the emails, although the sender had gone to great lengths to hide his tracks.

He brought it up. It was the usual bullshit, meant to intimidate and induce fear. They never failed to make Gene angry, but it was the last paragraph that made cold slither through him as if he’d swallowed an ice cube whole.

Did your daughter enjoy her kingfish last night? I hope so. Because it might be her last.

The final two sentences went on to describe what Kirk was going to do to Callie when he finally got his hands on her.

Gene wanted to throw up. The night before, Callie had indeed eaten kingfish in the hotel restaurant. Kirk—or one of his men—had been there, unspotted by either Gene or the other PPOs.

“Fuck,” he said.

Normally, Phoebe would have mocked him for that, but today she just said, “I know,” in a husky voice. “He’s watching you, Gene. He’s watching my baby. Until now, I haven’t really been scared—I don’t care what this man says to me, I refuse to be scared for my life, but I am scared for Callie. I don’t know what I’d do if someone hurt her because of me.”

“They won’t.” His voice was hard as flint. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“I want to double her cover, Gene. I don’t care how much it costs. I want at least two people with her at all times, and a proper team following her.”

Although he knew she was right, his heart sank. There would be no more creeping into her room at night. “Of course.”

She took a deep breath. “And I want you to tell her, Gene. I want her to know who you really are.”

He closed his eyes. “But what if she tells me to go?”

“We’ll deal with that if it happens. I don’t think she will—up until now she hasn’t taken the threat seriously, but now we know she’s definitely being followed, I think it will make her think differently.”

Gene wasn’t so sure, but at least the decision was made now. He had to tell her. “Okay. I’ll let her know.”

“I’ll call later, once you’ve had a chance to speak to her and to make the arrangements with your office.”

“Okay. I’ll get some people to fly up overnight for our last couple of days away. It’ll be easier once we’re back in Wellington.”

“Thank you, Gene.”

He blew out a long breath. “And how are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. You know what I’m like. Nobody’s going to get the better of me.”

His lips twisted wryly. “Yeah. Glad to hear it.”

“Thank you for taking care of my baby.”

He examined his shoes. “You’re welcome. She’s a lovely girl.”

“She’s a sweetie. Make sure she stays safe.”

“I will.”

“I’ll speak to you later.”

He hung up.

For a long moment, he just stood there. Outside, the sky was heavy and gray, promising rain. There was no air conditioning in the corridor, and he was already beginning to soak his shirt with sweat.

He’d been living in a fantasy, caught up in Callie’s spell, but it was time to return to the real world. Some things are more important than sex, Gene! he scolded himself.

But that filled him with shame. This wasn’t just about sex. What he had with Callie was more than a series of one-night stands, and to refer to it like that, even in jest, was doing her a great disservice.

“Gene?”

He turned to see she’d finished her meeting and was walking toward him with a smile.

“You okay?” she said, observing him with her wide blue eyes.

“Fine.” He managed a tight smile. “Sorry about that. How did you get on?”

“All good. Yet another success for the Summer School of Charm!” Her cheeks flushed with pleasure, and he felt an ache begin deep inside him at the thought of the conversation they had to have.

“Shall we go, then?” he asked.

“Please. I’m knackered. I’m desperate for a shower and something to eat.”

He drove them back to the hotel, with Callie talking constantly, making it difficult for him to get a word in edgeways. She continued to talk all the way up to their floor in the elevator, and was still talking as they reached their room, swiping her card before he had a chance to say anything. She just managed to promise to meet him for dinner before the door swung shut.

Gene cursed himself for drawing this out, but it was too late now. He consoled himself by ringing Kev, discussing the threatening email, and going through the new plan, organizing to have four more agents fly up that night. Then he showered and changed into a fresh shirt, put his waistcoat back on, and was ready to knock on her door at six o’clock. He’d planned to blurt it out immediately, but she came out looking beautiful, young, and fresh in cropped jeans and a pretty orange shirt, and somehow the words wouldn’t come.

And then it was time for dinner, and he didn’t want to spoil that either, so he bit his tongue, cursing all the while, and promising himself that he’d tell her as soon as the meal was over.

“Shall we go for a walk?” Callie said once they’d finished their coffee.

He hesitated. He didn’t want her going outdoors now unless she had to, but equally it would be easier to tell her when they were alone rather than in the restaurant, just in case she went ballistic and made a scene. He couldn’t imagine the calm, good-natured Callie making a scene, but there was a distinct possibility it wouldn’t end well.

So he said, “Okay,” and they left the restaurant and walked along the waterfront. At any other time, it would have been a beautiful evening—it had rained briefly for a while, but the clouds had cleared, and the evening sun had painted all the boats in shades of orange and red. But he could take no pleasure from it, his stomach in a knot, sweat breaking out between his shoulder blades at the thought of what her reaction would be.

“Gene?” she spoke softly. She never held his hand in public, never made the effort to act as if they were a couple, but she touched him now, on the arm, gentle and concerned. “What’s the matter? You’ve been quiet all evening. Is something wrong?”

He opened his mouth to reply, and at the same time he saw the man approach out of the corner of his eye. The guy was walking fast, straight toward them, and Gene’s professional training kicked in without a second thought.

He turned and stepped in front of Callie, briefly registering the man’s startled look before he grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. Quickly, Gene propelled him forward to the nearest wall and slammed him up against it. He pushed the guy’s arm hard up his back and forced his knee between his legs, using his superior height and weight to pin the man there.

“One twitch of your eyebrow,” Gene said fiercely, “and you’re fucking dead, you understand me?”

“All right, all right!” The words tumbled from the guy’s mouth where his face was squashed against the brick.

“Oh my God!” Callie appeared suddenly beside him.

“Summer,” Gene yelled. “Back off.”

“It’s Jamie,” she snapped, tugging at his arm. “It’s my ex!”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

For a moment, Callie’s words didn’t register in Gene’s head, and all he could think was that the person he’d pinned to the wall was an enemy, the bastard who’d lain out in detail the cruel, disgusting things he wanted to do when he got his hands on the beautiful woman by his side. Behind him, Ian appeared out of nowhere, ready to help him take him down.

She tugged his arm again, though, and yelled, “Gene! It’s okay. It’s Jamie. Let him go.”

Her ex. Shock filtered through him, and he stepped back and let go of the guy’s arm. Both he and Ian hovered, though, the instinct to protect too strong to make them immediately back up.

Callie pushed between them, looking up at her ex in concern. “Jamie, jeez, I’m so sorry.”

“What the fuck!” The young guy massaged his shoulder and glared at him. “You’d better explain yourself quick or I’m calling the police.”

“It’s not his fault,” Callie insisted. She didn’t look at Gene. “Mum’s been getting death threats, and they’ve threatened me, too—he thought you were going to attack me.”

Jamie’s eyes widened. “Death threats?” he said. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. It’s a guy she put away ages ago, some kind of psychotic mobster, and he’s threatened her and her family.” She put a hand on his chest. “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

While Jamie told her something about a history course he’d been sent on at the Auckland War Memorial Museum, Gene glowered, his stomach boiling with shame, rage, and jealousy at their intimate touch. This was the guy who’d slept with someone else while he’d been dating Callie. He’d cheated on her. What a fucking imbecile.

The two of them spoke quietly as if he and Ian weren’t there, Jamie even turning his back on them, cutting them out of the conversation.

When Jamie laughed at something Callie said, though, and placed his hand on her arm, Gene saw red and knocked the guy’s arm away.

Jamie spun around, furious. “Jesus, man! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I’m her friend.”

“Some fucking friend.” Gene put both hands on the guy’s chest and shoved him hard enough to make him stumble. “You cheated on her. You come near her again, I’ll shove your teeth down your throat, regardless of whether you’ve anything to do with the death threats.”

Ian’s hand tightened on his arm. “Gene,” he said urgently.

Callie’s cheeks had gone scarlet, and for a brief moment Gene thought she was going to tell him to leave her alone with her ex. Nausea rose in his throat, and he ran his free hand through his hair, trying to get his emotions under control.

Callie’s eyes were cool. But to his surprise, she didn’t tell him to fuck off, as he’d thought she might. Instead, tearing her gaze from his, she turned to Jamie. “You’d better go,” she said. “Sorry about this. It was nice to see you.”

Jamie backed away, not taking his eyes from Gene’s. Four inches taller, thirty pounds heavier, and a whole lot madder, Gene glared back, and eventually Jamie just rolled his eyes and walked off. Once he was ten feet away, he turned and said, “I’ll call you,” to Callie, glancing at Gene with a final twist to his lips before he disappeared around the corner.

Gene twitched, but Ian’s hand was still on his arm. He didn’t follow Jamie, but he jerked his arm away, his chest heaving with anger.

Callie cleared her throat. Ignoring Gene for a moment, she turned to Ian and held out her hand. “I’m very sorry about that. We haven’t met. I’m Callie.”

“Ian,” he said wryly, and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

She gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Ian’s eyes met Gene’s briefly before he walked away. Gene knew from that look that he’d guessed there was something between them. Well, that was the least of his worries right now.

His breaths still coming fast, adrenaline continuing to course through his veins, he looked at Callie, who watched Ian walk away before bringing her gaze back to him.

“Do you still have feelings for him?” he snapped.

“For Ian?”

“Don’t be so bloody dense. You know who I mean. Are you still in love with Jamie?”

She lifted her chin, and her eyes blazed. “Of all people, you have an incredible nerve asking me that after what we’ve shared.”

His chest heaved. He was so fucking screwed up. He had to tell her the truth or he was going to explode. “Callie...”

She looked at him, her blue eyes as clear as the water in the harbor behind her. And slowly, like the sun coming out, he realized what she’d said.

Mum’s been getting death threats, and they’ve threatened me, too—he thought you were going to attack me.

She understood that he knew about the threats, and that he’d been trying to protect her.

His jaw dropped.

“You know,” he whispered.

She blinked a few times and sucked her bottom lip.

“You know who I really am,” he said.

She looked at him for a moment longer. Then she shrugged, her eyes holding a hint of amusement. “Of course I know.”

He couldn’t have been more baffled if she’d hit him with a frying pan. “What... how...?” He walked backward until luckily his legs met a bench, and he sat heavily. “Did Phoebe tell you?”

She shook her head.

“Neve?”

Another shake.

“Who, then?”

“You did.” She came to sit beside him, looking extraordinarily calm, while his heart raced at a million miles an hour.

He’d told her? “What do you mean?” he demanded. “When?”

“The first day we met. You had a notepad on your desk. It had some kind of threat assessment of the office.”

He stared at her. His brain had turned to sludge. “But... I wrote that in shorthand.”

She gave a sexy little shrug of her shoulders.

“You can read Teeline?” he said, aghast.

“And Pitman.” Now she was trying not to laugh. “Sorry.”

It was funny, but Gene was too upset to laugh with her. He stood and walked up to the railing, gripping hold of it until his knuckles were white.

Behind him, he heard her soft sigh, her footsteps crossing to him. “Gene?”

“I can’t believe it.” He kept shaking his head. “You knew. All this time, you knew who I really was. I can’t get my head around it.” He turned to face her, chest heaving. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been tying myself up in knots for being unprofessional, for getting involved with you when I should be protecting you. For not telling you the truth. And all this time you knew!” It made him want to howl like a dog left in the car.

Her smile faded as she saw how distraught he was. “At first,” she admitted, “I wasn’t sure what to think. I didn’t want protection, and I was mad that my mother had organized it without asking me. I presume it was her, anyway.” He gave a sharp nod. She rolled her eyes. “I knew it. I was going to come in the next day and finish it. But...” Her lips curved in an impish smile. “I liked you. I didn’t want you to go.”

“But...” His head was starting to hurt. “You could have said at any time. You must have known how hard it was for me to leave every night.”

“Why do you think I didn’t ask you to stay? Or demand to know why you had to leave? I knew you had to go.”

“I don’t understand why you carried on with it when you didn’t want protection.”

“I was angry with Mum, but for the first time, I began to understand how serious this was. For her to go to that trouble, for you to keep up the pretense of being my PA... To go to the lengths you have done to keep me safe... I knew it must be serious.”

He slid his hands into his hair, tugging at the roots. “I still don’t get why you didn’t just tell me. Callie, I’ve been going mad. I’ve been so angry with myself.”

“I know.” A hint of shame crossed her features. “At first it was fun. I’m embarrassed to say I enjoyed it. I was interested to see what you did, and how you handled it. But the longer I was with you, the less like a game it became. I realized what you were risking, and how you were so torn between being with me and doing your job. I was sure that if I told you I knew you were some kind of bodyguard, you’d tell me you couldn’t do the job anymore. You’d have to get someone else in, because you wouldn’t have been able to carry on doing something you shouldn’t when I was aware of it.”

He stared at her. She was right. That was exactly what he would have done. He couldn’t have acted as her bodyguard and continued to sleep with her if she’d been aware of what he was doing. Wrangling with his own angst was one thing, being openly dishonorable was another.

And then he realized she’d been going through exactly the same as him, tying herself into a million knots because she’d wanted to keep him at her side, knowing she should tell him the truth but not wanting to lose him.

In a second, all his anger and anguish drained away.

“Well, well,” he said softly. “Aren’t we a pair?”

She met his gaze. Her lips curved slowly up. “Aren’t we?” Her eyes filled with humor. “You were very impressive the way you handled Jamie.”

He scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Shit. I’m sorry about that.”

“Gene, it’s okay. You’ve been protecting me for two weeks. Putting your life on the line for me. Do you not think I appreciate that?” Her eyes were filled with wonder.

“I...” He felt as bashful as a schoolboy and couldn’t think what to say.

She took his hand and led him back to the bench. The warm evening sun had dried up the rain, and he could smell the jasmine growing in a pot around a nearby restaurant. Music filtered over to them, some folksy jazz, and his muscles started to let go of some of the tension. She knew now. He didn’t have to make a decision anymore. That, at least, was something, whatever happened now.

They sat quietly for a while. He didn’t interrupt her thoughts, wanting to let her think.

“So Ian’s a part of your team?” she asked eventually.

He nodded. “He works for me.”

“He works for you? Are you, like, a team leader?”

“I run the company, Callie. Safe & Secure. It’s my company. I set it up after I left the Army.”

Her mouth formed an O of surprise. “I didn’t realize that. But... why are you acting as my bodyguard? Why didn’t you send one of your guys to do it?”

“I saw the file,” he lied. “Your picture. Couldn’t resist.”

Her eyes appraised him. She wasn’t fooled. But he wasn’t about to give away Phoebe’s secret, not yet.

“You should know that I’m flying four more operatives up tonight,” he told her. “You’ll have another PPO—that’s personal protection officer—from tomorrow, and Ian and three others will be around to carry out threat assessments and watch from afar.”

“Why the increased protection?”

He told her about the new death threat, and the fact that someone was obviously following them. “I was going to tell you who I really was anyway, because from now on we need to take more care of you. Up until now, it was a low to medium threat—I didn’t really believe Kirk was interested in you. But knowing that someone’s following you has changed everything.”

She glanced around her, scanning the people walking along the waterfront, glancing up at the buildings. “He could be anywhere,” she whispered.

“I know. That’s why I’m here. I can type at eighty words a minute. But I’m also an ex-soldier, and a personal protection officer. I’m trained in surveillance, in threat recognition and assessment, in first aid, in overt and covert protection, and in offensive and evasive driving. I’m trained to operate under extremes, to prevent, detect, avoid, counter, and combat all threats to the principal. I’m trained in unarmed combat, and in handling ballistics, edged weapons, and explosive devices, and I had to pass high-level physical tests.”

“Are you trying to turn me on?”

He gave a short laugh. He was crazy about this woman. She was smart, sexy, funny, and she still seemed into him. Maybe there was hope for them yet. “I told you not to boast, but so that you know I’m not some two-bit cowboy. I’m here to protect you, and whoever’s following you will have to go through me to get to you.”

They studied each other for a long moment. It was as if a storm had stirred the silt up from a riverbed, but now the storm had subsided, and the silt was gradually settling again, leaving the water bright and clear.

“What do you want to do now?” she said.

“Personally or professionally?”

She smiled. “Both. I think at the moment they’re too closely linked to be separated.”

“Maybe. I suppose the main question is whether you would like to continue our relationship considering I’ve lied to you for the past two weeks.”

She rested her elbow on the back of the seat and leaned her head on a hand. “I would.”

The last dregs of tension left him in a rush, and he let out a long, shaky breath. “Okay. Right. Good.”

She wrinkled her nose. “So, where from here?”

“We’ve only got a couple of days left on your tour, and as I said, I’m flying up a team to increase your protection. So for the next few days, I’d like to concentrate on your safety. I want to get you back to Wellington in one piece.”

She nodded. “Okay,” she whispered.

He felt a sweep of relief that she was happy to comply. He’d miss her at nights, and would long for the touch of her body against his, but for now it would make things easier for him professionally to concentrate on her protection. “I’m still hopeful the STG will catch Kirk soon, and then it will all be over. You’ll be able to hire a new PA, and then... well... we can concentrate on our personal lives.”

“I can’t wait.” Her eyes glowed. “I’m crazy about you, Gene. I hope you know that. I think about you all the time.” Her expression turned sultry. “I want you. I miss your hands on me, your mouth on mine. But I’ll wait for you. And I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have protecting me.”

“Okay. I think we should get you back to the hotel now.”

“Come on, then.”

They stood and began walking back. Callie chatted on about the journey to Whangarei and then the Bay of Islands the next day, and Gene half listened, relieved and happy that he hadn’t lost her, and excited to think of the future they might have once all this was over.

But first he had to eliminate the threat on her life. A seed of unease lodged in his stomach. Kirk and his henchmen were still out there. Someone was still watching Callie. Someone who wanted to do very unpleasant things to her, and who wanted to end her life. This was the most important job he’d ever done. And he just wanted it to be over so he could get on with his life.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The next two days were both exciting and borderline scary for Callie.

When she’d read Gene’s notepad on the first day he’d come to her office and had realized he was actually an undercover bodyguard, she’d been angry at first, then curious to see how he would carry out the role when he thought she didn’t know. So she’d observed him discreetly over the past few weeks almost as much as he’d been watching her, she was sure.

She was well aware how he always scanned a room before he walked into it. How, even after they started sleeping together, his gaze wouldn’t be on her for more than ten seconds before it left her to glance around the room, observing anyone who might have walked in, checking exits, constantly assessing the risks. She was aware how whenever they were out walking, he would cross to the roadside to protect her from anyone in a car. How he always placed his body between her and anyone who came up to speak to her. She’d watched him react to incidents on the road and knew he had lightning-fast reactions. And she’d known that when he left her room at night, it was to work, even though he desperately wanted to stay by her side.

The fact that they’d become intimate hadn’t stopped his professionalism, whatever he thought. Part of her was still a little resentful at having him there, because it implied she couldn’t take care of herself, and she refused to be intimidated and scared by the bully who was stalking her mother. But equally, she wasn’t stupid. Gene did this for a living, and if he thought the threat was real enough that she needed protection, she wasn’t going to argue with him.

The morning they left Auckland, Gene introduced her to the four other agents who, with Ian, would be with her at all times from now on in shifts. Julia, the female PPO, was to work with Gene and stay close to Callie at all times, while the other four would work at a distance, two of them travelling ahead to carry out threat assessment prior to their arrival, the other two following behind to provide at-a-distance protection.

When they stopped at the small city of Whangarei and she visited two stores there, Julia stood outside the manager’s office while she had her appointment, while Gene came in with her each time.

Now Gene didn’t have to carry out the pretense of being her PA, and Callie could only watch and admire him as he directed his team. He was still warm and a little flirty with her when they were alone, but as soon as Julia was with them he turned strictly professional. No longer did he let Callie get away with anything. He refused to let her go out without either him or Julia glued to her side. His firm gaze brooked no argument when he demanded someone go with her to a shop or even to the bathroom in a restaurant. She’d thought him impressive when he’d acted secretly, but as an overt protection officer he was amazing, and she couldn’t fault him.

“Is he looking after you?” Phoebe asked the question at lunchtime, not long after they’d arrived at Kerikeri in the Bay of Islands. They’d dropped their stuff off at a motel on the outskirts of town, and they were now in the town center catching some lunch before her final appointment at the large lingerie shop just along the street from the café. The town was busy, and felt very subtropical with the palms lining the streets, the bright sunshine, and the extremely humid weather.

Callie had answered her phone and walked a short distance to the nearby fence surrounding the café’s garden, intending to keep the call private. Julia sat at a nearby table, but Gene had followed her, and now leaned on the fence next to her. She flicked her fingers at him, telling him to give her some space. He just raised an eyebrow above his sunglasses. She stuck her tongue out at him. His lips curved up at the corners in a sexy little smile. Her cheeks grew warm as she remembered the pouch with the two lubes and what they’d gotten up to, and his smile turned into a grin.

“Callie?”

She snapped back to the phone call and looked away. “Oh. Sorry. Actually, he’s being a pain in the arse right now. He won’t leave me alone.”

Phoebe laughed. “Good. That’s what I’m paying him for.”

Callie had told her that Gene had confessed who he was. “I have one question,” she asked curiously. “Why did you ask him to be my bodyguard? I mean, why him in particular? He’s the director of the company—surely one of his men would have sufficed?”

To her surprise, her mother fell silent for a long moment. It was rare that Phoebe couldn’t think what to say, and Callie’s brow furrowed. She glanced up at Gene, who was looking away across the street.

“Mum?” she prompted.

“I... I can’t tell you. But... you... you should know.”

“What do you mean? What’s this about?”

“Put me on to Gene.”

Callie hesitated, then passed the phone to the man at her side. He took it and pressed it to his ear.

“Hello?” He watched the shoppers strolling along the pavements as he listened. Callie slid her gaze down him, admiring the way his shirt sleeves clung to his impressive biceps, and the fit of his superbly cut suit. He’d revealed to her that the reason he wore a three-piece was because the waistcoat was a bulletproof one. For some reason that turned her on. She had no idea why.

“Are you sure?” He was frowning now, and he glanced at Callie. Then he said, “Of course. I will. Yes. Speak to you later.” He handed the phone back to her.

“Okay, darling, I’ve got to go,” Phoebe said breezily.

“What’s going on?”

“Gene’s going to tell you, because I can’t. Darling, I’m so very sorry.”

“Mum...”

But Phoebe had hung up.

Callie slid the phone into her pocket and frowned at Gene. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Hold on.” He collected their two mugs of coffee from the table and brought them back to the fence. “Here.” He gave hers to her, and they both leaned on the fence.

“Why won’t Mum tell me what this is about?” she demanded.

“She’s embarrassed and ashamed,” he said. “And it’s hard for her, because she knows you adore your dad.”

“My dad? What’s this got to do with him?”

“It’s about something that happened in the Army, a long time ago. You told me about the time your mum came home early, and she’d had an accident?”

“Yes. That was when she said they were getting a divorce.”

To her surprise, he took off his sunglasses and tucked them in his trouser pocket. His eyes were gentle, concerned. Her heart began to race.

He sipped his coffee. “I was a lieutenant then. I was stationed in the same place as your father. Normally, he would have rented a private place, but he’d only arrived the week before with your mother and they’d been given temporary married quarters on the base. That night, I happened to be walking past the officer’s block when I heard a woman scream. I ran into the block, and found Phoebe... She was lying at the bottom of the stairs. She was conscious, but badly injured. The worst thing, though, was that she told me she’d been arguing with your father. He was drunk, and she’d told him she was leaving him. He’d hit her, and that was what had caused her to fall.”

Callie stared at him. “What?” Her head spun. “Dad hit her?”

“I helped her up and took her to the first-aid tent, and they patched her up, but she refused to go back to your dad, and she left the next day.”

“Oh my God.”

“You should know that I don’t think he meant to push her down the stairs. They were arguing—I think maybe she’d said she was going to leave him and had been making her way from their quarters, and he struck out in a fit of temper, and she lost her footing and fell. She didn’t press charges against him, but she did use it in her divorce application. The thing is, I gave evidence in court to back up her application. We kept in touch, and she knew when I started up my own security company. She trusts me, and that was why she wanted me to protect you.”

Callie felt nauseated. “Jesus. Why didn’t she tell me?” She couldn’t believe her mother had kept it quiet all these years.

“Because she knows you love your father, and she didn’t want to spoil that relationship.”

“For fuck’s sake.” She banged her hand on the fence. “When will she stop making decisions for me?”

Gene looked pained. “I’m sorry. I would have told you, but I didn’t feel it was my secret to tell.”

She wasn’t angry with him—in fact, the thought of him being there for her mother was strangely comforting. It was the whole situation, and the thought of her father doing something so awful.

“I...” The sentence she’d been about to say trailed off. Walking toward her, through the garden of the café, were two men. Normally, she wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but there was something about them that made her catch her breath. Maybe it was the look of determination in their eyes, or the hard, mean look on their faces. Or maybe it was the fact that Ian was running at full pelt along the road toward them.

The next few seconds passed in a blur. Ian yelled, causing Gene’s head to snap around. Julia leapt to her feet. The two men separated, moving fast to either side of her, the one on the left slightly in front.

Gene acted immediately, intercepting him before Callie could blink. She wasn’t sure how he did it—an elbow to the stomach, the heel of his hand to the man’s chin, maybe—but in seconds the guy was on the ground with Julia on top of him, yelling in his ear as she pinned him to the floor.

The other man dodged around some startled customers, and then he came for her. Ian leapt over a table, scattering cups and plates everywhere, but he wasn’t fast enough. Leaving the man on the ground to Julia, Gene spun and turned to step in front of Callie just as she saw the approaching man’s arm come up, something glinting in his hand.

She knew Gene was wearing a bulletproof vest. And she knew he was there to protect her. But all Callie could think was that the man had a gun, and Gene was standing in the way of the bullet.

She shoved him, hard. Taken by surprise, he stumbled, just one step, but it was enough.

There was a flash of light. An incredibly loud noise. Something thumped into her shoulder with enough force to spin her around and send her tumbling to the floor.

Someone screamed. She saw the guy who’d shot her fighting with another man. Hands were on her, pressing something against her shoulder, moving her, talking to her. She heard Gene’s voice, calm, urgent, directing, instructing, and then his face loomed into view.

“Hold on, Callie,” he said. His gray eyes bored into hers, hot and fierce. “You crazy girl. Hold on.”

She wanted to tell him she loved him, but she couldn’t get her mouth to form the words.

Then everything went black.

Chapter Thirty

Callie’s eyes fluttered slowly open.

At first, nobody noticed. A couple of nurses were talking quietly opposite her, discussing something on a chart. She was in a large room with several beds, although those on either side of her were empty.

She felt tired, and her shoulder throbbed with a deep ache so intense it made her feel nauseated. Her throat was dry, and she swallowed with difficulty.

At that moment, one of the nurses looked around and smiled, and they both walked over to her.

“Hello, Callie?” The first nurse bent over her. “How are you feeling?”

“It hurts,” she whispered.

“We’ll give you something for that.” The other nurse was already doing something to the side, and within seconds, Callie felt a rush of something through her veins and everything went hazy. Morphine, she thought.

She licked her lips. “Can I have a drink?”

“Of course. Just a few sips.” The nurse held a straw to her lips and she took a few sucks of icy cool water. It was the most beautiful drink she’d ever had.

She laid her head back on the pillow, conscious that she was moving slowly, as if she were drunk. “What happened?”

“You’ve had an operation,” the nurse said. “To repair your shoulder. You were shot.”

“Shot?”

“Yes. Luckily, the bullet missed anything major. The operation went well and you’re going to be fine.”

She’d been shot. In New Zealand! For some reason, she found that extraordinarily funny, but when she tried to giggle, it came out as a groan.

“Nice and quiet, now.” The nurse checked her drip and adjusted something. “We’ll take you up to the ward in a little while.”

She wanted to ask what had happened at the café, but was aware that the nurses probably wouldn’t know.

“Just rest,” the nurse said, so she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

*

When she woke again, she was somewhere else, in a room on her own. It was dark outside the window, and in the corridor the lights had been dimmed to reflect the late time of day.

“Callie?”

She rolled her head on the pillow to see her mother sitting beside her. Phoebe stood as she saw her daughter was awake and leaned over her.

“Sweetheart.” Phoebe cupped her face, her eyes filled with concern. “How are you?”

“Sore,” Callie whispered. Her shoulder throbbed again, a terrible, dragging pain that made her want to moan.

“Here.” Phoebe pressed something into her hand, a little tube with a button. “Press this and it will give you a shot of morphine.”

Callie did so, and within seconds she felt the now-familiar rush, the lightening of her head, the release of the pain. “Oh. That’s better.”

“Do you want me to fetch a nurse?”

“No, I’m okay.” She gestured to the water on the table, and Phoebe brought her a cup to sip.

“There.” Phoebe replaced the cup and perched on the edge of the bed. “I’m so glad you’re awake. I was terribly worried.”

Callie looked up at the ceiling, trying to get her thoughts in order. She remembered the man striding toward her, Ian yelling, the flash of the gun, the thud in her shoulder. But the rest was a jumble of sights and sounds, the smell of spilled coffee, the taste of something bitter in her mouth. Adrenaline, she thought. “What happened?”

“One of Kirk’s men shot you. You pushed Gene out of the way and took the bullet yourself. He’s furious with you.”

“I bet he is.” Had she really done that? No wonder he was mad. It had been instinct—she’d just wanted to keep him safe. “Did the men get away?”

“No, darling. Gene’s agents took them down. They’re in custody now, telling the STG all about Darren Kirk.”

“Will they catch him?”

“Hopefully very soon, and then we can put this horrid business behind us.”

“Where is he?”

“Kirk?”

“No.” Callie’s brain was muddled. “Mr. Bond.”

“Gene?”

“Is he at the office?”

“No, darling, he’s standing outside, ready to rugby tackle anyone not in a white coat. He hasn’t left your side since you were shot. He feels terribly guilty, I think. Do you want to see him?”

“I don’t know. How do I look?”

Phoebe eyed her shrewdly. “Why should that matter?”

Callie gave a sulky shrug.

Phoebe’s lips curved up. “I see.”

“No you don’t.”

“It’s all right. He’s a great guy, and I think he’s in love with you.”

Callie stared at her, the words sinking into her morphine-addled brain like a stone sinking into treacle. “What?”

“It’s written all over him, darling. He’s out of his mind with worry about you.”

“Oh my God.” How could she face him when she was in this condition?

Phoebe squeezed her hand. “I’ll go and get him.”

“No, wait.” She swallowed painfully. “He told me about you and Dad.”

“Oh.” Regret crossed her mother’s features. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“You should have told me.” For years, Callie had blamed her mother for her parents’ breakup. She felt terrible knowing the real reason for it.

“I didn’t want to come between you and Dad.”

Callie knew there was an awful conversation coming with her father, but she wasn’t going to worry about that now. “I just wanted to say sorry for what you had to go through.”

“Don’t talk about that now. You need to concentrate on getting better. I’ll go and get Gene. I know he’d like to see you.”

“No, I...” But it was too late. Phoebe had opened the door and slipped outside.

Callie attempted to feel if her hair was in order, and gave in when she found it spread all over the pillow. It wouldn’t be so bad if she could get her mouth working in conjunction with her brain.

The door opened again, and Gene came in. He paused, then walked up to the bed, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. He obviously hadn’t shaved for a day or two, and stubble darkened his usually clean-shaven jaw, while dark patches lay under his eyes.

“My God,” she said sleepily, “you look awful.”

He gave her an exasperated look. His eyes blazed with anger. “You can talk. Look at you! Getting shot in the shoulder. Seriously. What a stupid thing to do.”

“I saved your life,” she said, a little sulkily.

“Do you expect me to feel pleased that you acted so foolishly?”

“No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to laugh.” She stifled a giggle.

He glared at her. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Kind of. I’m high as a kite.”

He glared at her. “It’s my job to keep you safe. What on earth made you push me out of the way?”

“I thought the man was going to shoot you.”

“He was!” His voice rose. “I was wearing a bulletproof vest!”

“It might have missed it.” Against her will, her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t yell at me. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

He blew out a breath as she became upset, and he took his hands out of his pockets and came up to the bed to hold her hand. “Callie... I didn’t mean to yell. I am angry that you didn’t let me do my job, but what you did was wonderful and brave, and I’m touched beyond belief that you would risk your life for me. You crazy, crazy girl.”

She sniffed. Her shoulder pounded, and she clicked the morphine button again. Her eyelids drooped. “I’d do anything for you.”

“And I’d do anything for you. You mean more to me than anything else in the whole world.” He leaned over her and pressed his lips to hers.

“I love you,” she said, and fell asleep.

*

“Morning.”

Gene looked up from his iPad to see Callie awake, her head turned on the pillow toward him.

“If it is morning,” she said, looking at the window. “I’ve lost all track of time.”

“It’s morning.” He put down the tablet, rose, and went over to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Does your shoulder hurt? Do you want the button?” He lifted the device and held it out to her.

She pushed it away. “God, no. Never again. I was all over the place. I can hardly remember last night at all.” She brushed a strand of hair from her face and gave him a wary look. “Did I say anything stupid?”

His lips curved up. “Not at all.”

“Oh.” She sighed. “Good.” She tried to push herself up the bed, and failed. “Can you help me sit up?”

“Of course.” He slipped an arm around her and lifted her carefully, raising the end of the bed to support her. “Is that better?”

“Thank you, yes.” She rearranged the covers and then patted the side to encourage him to sit. “You look better today.”

He sat beside her. “I went back to the hotel room, had a shower and a shave.” Phoebe had also convinced him to catch a few hours’ sleep, and he’d agreed once he’d been able to see for himself that Callie was okay.

“I seem to recall you telling me off last night.” Her face was pale, but her blue eyes weren’t glassy the way they had been the night before, and now they danced with laughter.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m sure that was the last thing you needed.” He hadn’t been able to stop himself. He’d been out of his mind with worry for hours, from the moment he’d realized she’d been shot until they’d told him she’d come around.

“It’s okay. I understand. I didn’t mean to do it. What I mean is, it was instinct. I didn’t think of myself. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt.”

“You’d make a good protection officer,” he said.

She smiled.

He picked up her hand and held it between both of his. “I’m so glad you’re going to be all right.”

“Me too.”

“I mean it. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you.” He lifted her hand to his lips and held it there for a moment, fighting with his emotion.

“Aw.” She squeezed her fingers. “I’m going to be okay.”

“I know. But I should have protected you better. I should have forced you to stay inside, or to—”

“Hey,” she said sharply, “nobody forces me to do anything. You knew I didn’t want to live as if I was in a cell, and you did the best you could while taking account of your client’s wishes. You mustn’t be too harsh on yourself.”

“But if we hadn’t gotten involved...” He looked out of the window, across the tops of the trees and buildings of Whangarei. “If I’d had more self-control, maybe I would have noticed that guy before he got so close to us.”

“If ifs and ands were pots and pans...” she said. “It’s done, Gene. Besides, we both know I’m irresistible. You didn’t stand a chance.”

He had to laugh at that. She gave him an impish smile.

“I’m not proud of myself,” he whispered. “But equally, I don’t regret what happened between us.”

“I’m glad. Because meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He met her gaze. Her last words to him from the night before rang in his head, I love you. She hadn’t meant it, of course. Maybe one day, in the future, they’d be able to say it properly to each other, but last night she’d been high on morphine, and he couldn’t take anything she’d said as the truth.

But even so, clearly she had feelings for him, and that warmed him more than the rays of the early morning sun pouring through the window.

“As soon as you’re able, we’ll fly you back to Wellington,” he said. “Now we have one of Kirk’s henchmen, I’m sure it won’t be long before he’s caught, and then we’ll be free to date properly. If you want to.”

“I want to,” she said, eyes shining.

“Good.” He checked over his shoulder, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

She lifted her good arm and slipped her hand into his hair, holding him there, and the peck turned into a long, slow smooch that had his heart hammering by the time she eventually released him.

“Mmm,” she said dreamily, pressing her lips together.

“You’re supposed to be an invalid,” he scolded. “Excitement like that might put you into cardiac arrest.”

“I don’t care.” She slid down the pillows with a happy sigh. “I’ve never felt so happy.”

And she looked it, her cheeks now bearing a healthy flush, her eyes filled with affection. She was going to be okay. Gene wished he could burst into tears like a five-year-old girl, but he satisfied himself with gritting his teeth and squeezing her hand tightly.

“Get well,” he said. “Get well soon.”

Chapter Thirty-One

It was five days before the hospital decided that Callie was well enough to fly home. She was still sore, but the pain had lessened to a manageable level with painkillers, and luckily it was only a couple of hours to Wellington with a change at Auckland.

Still, she’d underestimated how tired she would feel after even that small journey, and by the time they touched down in Wellington, she was dozing off on Gene’s shoulder and desperate to get home.

Ian collected their cases while she sank onto a seat, the ever-present Gene by her side, keeping a sharp lookout across the airport. Her eyes closed again, and she sagged against him. His arm came up around her shoulders, gentle against her bandaged wound but holding her tightly to him.

“Ian might see,” she mumbled, trying to stay upright.

“Don’t give a fuck,” Gene replied. “I’m past caring what everyone thinks.”

Callie looked up at him. Phoebe had had to leave after a couple of nights, but Gene had barely left her side in the hospital. She’d guessed what he felt for her was more than the concern he might have felt for a client, but it was nice to hear him confirm it.

“Really?” she murmured.

He lowered his head and gave her a quick kiss before straightening to scan the lounge again. “I still want to wait until it’s over. But I don’t care if everyone discovers my feelings for you.”

She nestled against him, smiling as she closed her eyes.

“Did you speak to your dad?” Gene asked.

She opened her eyes again, her smile fading. She’d called Peter Summer the day before, and it had been a long and difficult conversation that had ended with her in tears and her father choked up with shame. “Yes. Possibly the worst telephone call I’ve ever had to make.”

“How did you end it?”

“We’re still talking, but I can’t say I’ve forgiven him. I feel bad for blaming Mum for the breakup of their marriage all this time. I know she isn’t easy to live with, and I’m not saying everything is his fault, but of course hitting someone is never acceptable.”

“Did you tell him about me?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “He didn’t say much, but to be honest, I think you’ve impressed him by the way you’ve stood by Mum all this time. And he wanted me to pass on that he was grateful for the way you’ve looked after me.”

“Apart from the fact that you got shot.”

“Yes, apart from that.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure nothing horrible ever happens to you, Callie Summer.”

She swallowed hard. It was the first time either of them had suggested that what they had might be more than a fling.

Something was niggling her, though, and she had to say it. “Gene... You’re not just saying that because you feel guilty that I got shot, are you?”

“No.”

She looked up at him.

He raised an eyebrow.

She put her head back on his shoulder. “Okay.” It seemed there was no more to be said on that topic.

*

The next few days she spent resting, sleeping for a few hours before getting up and mooching around her house, watching TV, and sitting out on the deck, reading. Rowan kept a close eye on her, making sure she didn’t want for anything.

It felt as if she was in limbo, physically and emotionally, and she began to feel a rising restlessness, which wasn’t helped when firstly Phoebe received yet another death threat, and then another member of the jury that had convicted Kirk was shot dead not far from them in Wellington.

Everything seemed to turn ultra-serious after that. For the first time, Gene left her side and returned to his office to coordinate his teams and to work with the STG, although he visited her often. Julia and Ian took turns to stay in the house at all times. Two other agents patrolled outside. Both Callie and Phoebe were advised to stay at home until Kirk was caught.

By day three, Callie was pulling her hair out. She’d spoken to Neve and Bridget frequently, keeping them updated on what was going on, but she hadn’t seen them yet and she was bored witless. “Please come around!” she wailed that afternoon, and so within an hour the four of them were sitting on the deck under the large umbrella, sunning their legs and drinking iced lemonade in the sultry heat.

Julia took a seat at the bottom of the garden and walked around the perimeter every now and again, making sure nobody was hanging around. Apart from that, Callie could almost believe she was living a normal life.

“How’s Willow?” she asked Rowan. Liam had rung the night before to announce that her sister had gone into labor early.

“No news yet.” Rowan bounced in her seat. “I’m going to be an auntie. I’m so excited.”

Callie smiled, although she felt a twist in her gut at Rowan’s genuine enthusiasm. Her friend had a hundred reasons to be envious and resentful of her twin sister’s good fortune, and yet the lovely Rowan—beautiful in body and mind—never showed anything but joy at Willow’s happiness.

“Childbirth, though,” Neve said, wincing. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, but think what she’ll get at the end of it,” Rowan said, misty-eyed.

“You mean stitches, a saggy tummy, and no sleep for the next three years?” Neve said.

Rowan rolled her eyes. “You’re so bloody...”

“Practical? Realistic?”

“Unromantic.”

“Oh, stop it, you two,” Callie said good-naturedly. “Don’t argue. Not today.”

“How are you feeling?” Bridget gestured at her bandaged shoulder. “Does it hurt?”

“Only when I do my physio. I’m down to painkillers twice a day, and it’s manageable now. Just a bit stiff.”

“I can’t believe you were shot,” Neve said. “That’s so cool.”

“I know.” Callie prodded her bandage. “I’ll have something interesting to tell my grandchildren, anyway.”

“Speaking of which... I’ve been talking to Phoebe.” Neve’s look turned mischievous.

“Oh?” Callie’s heart began to race as the others’ faces turned curious.

“Yeah. She told me he’s got the hots for you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re blushing,” Bridget said. “Come on, spill the beans.”

Neve grinned. “What were the ‘his and hers’ lubes like?”

Callie’s face burned, and they all laughed. “Stop it,” she scolded, fanning herself.

“How did it start?” Rowan wanted to know.

Callie decided there was no point in denying it, especially when they were going to see each other after the whole business wrapped up. “I don’t know. It just happened. He told me that you warned him not to get involved, Neve. And before he realized that I knew who he was, it tore him up—I could see that. He knew he shouldn’t. But neither of us could keep away from the other.”

“Aw.” They all looked a mixture of envious and pleased for her.

“So is he staying here?” Bridget asked.

“No. His discovery that I knew came at the same time as that horrible death threat where the guy mentioned he was watching me. We made the decision to keep apart after that so Gene could concentrate on protecting me.”

“It’s so romantic,” Rowan said dreamily. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Maybe you need to start designing her wedding dress,” Neve teased.

“Good grief, let’s not jump the gun,” Callie said hastily. “We’ve not even discussed dating again properly yet.”

“But you think there’s a possibility he’s interested in more than a fling?” Rowan asked.

“Yes,” Callie said softly. “I think he is. Once this whole horrible business is sorted and we can get back to normal.”

Neve opened her mouth to answer, but at that moment Rowan’s phone rang. They all stared at it.

“Go on,” Callie said with excitement. “Answer it!”

Rowan did so, her face growing pale. Callie could understand her worry—even in this day and age, childbirth was never risk-free, and there were always things that could go wrong.

“It’s Liam,” Rowan mouthed. Her eyes widened as she listened, and then her face broke into a huge grin. “It’s a boy!”

“Woo-hoo!” Callie yelled, and they all stood and high-fived, cheering and jumping around.

“He’s eight pounds six and doing well,” Rowan announced once she’d hung up. “And Willow’s fine too. A bit tired, but fine. I’ll go and see her later.”

“We’ll all go tomorrow, too,” Neve said.

Callie hesitated, not sure if Gene would let her leave the house to visit her friend in hospital. Frustration filled her. Fuck this stupid situation! How long was she going to have to be a prisoner in her own home?

She opened her mouth to tell the others that she wouldn’t be able to go with them, but the words faded on her lips and she frowned, looking down the garden. Julia’s phone had rung a few seconds ago and she was holding it to her ear, listening. Callie hadn’t taken any notice because the agents were on the phone practically all the time. But something in Julia’s face made her catch her breath.

The other girls stopped talking, and automatically got to their feet as Julia finished her call and walked up the garden toward them. Her eyes shone.

“There’s someone to see you,” she said, a hint of her smile on her lips.

Callie frowned and turned at the sound of a commotion at the front of her house. And then the front door opened and Gene came striding in, Phoebe right behind him.

He scanned the room, saw them in the garden, and came over to the door. It was as if he didn’t see anyone else—he looked straight at Callie, his eyes blazing bright with excitement and triumph.

“They got him.” His face broke into a grin. “They got Kirk.”

Everyone cheered, including Phoebe and Julia, and behind them so did Ian and the other two agents who’d followed Gene in.

“It’s over,” he said to Callie, walking closer to her. He looked into her eyes, his own filled with such love and affection that it took her breath away. “How does it feel?”

Callie burst into tears.

Everyone cooed, “Awww,” the girls covering their mouths and giving sympathetic laughs.

“Oh, sweetheart...” Gene put his arms around her, and she sobbed into his shirt. “I didn’t mean to have that effect.”

“Sorry,” she said, trying to stop, but the tears just kept on coming.

“It’s all right.” He rubbed her back. “You’ve had a hell of a few weeks. I think you’re allowed.”

Her mother came up to her and touched her arm. “I’m so sorry to have put you through all this,” she whispered. “The last thing I ever wanted to do was put you in danger.” She kissed Callie’s hair, then said to the others, “Why don’t we go inside and leave them for a moment? I’m sure Callie has a bottle of wine we can break open.”

Everyone went inside, leaving Callie and Gene alone on the deck, warmed by the afternoon sun.

Gene held her for a while, waiting for her sobs to quieten. Gradually, the emotion drained away, and she rested her cheek on his chest, listening to the others talking and laughing inside, and watching the fantails jumping about in the lemon tree.

He moved back a little, lifted her chin, and wiped her face. “Okay?” he asked.

She sniffed. “I must look awful.”

“Well, I’ve seen you covered in blood and waking up straight after an operation. If anything was going to put me off, I think it would have done so by now.”

Her lips curved up. His eyes were full of admiration, and something she hadn’t expected to see—hope.

“Is it really over?” she whispered.

“It’s over. Kirk’s henchmen won’t be interested in carrying on his personal feud now he’s gone. And he’s going to be in prison for the rest of his life.”

“I can’t believe it.” She felt as if there had been storm clouds on the horizon for such a long time, and now they’d suddenly gone away and the sun had come out. “Does that mean...?” She could hardly bear to form the words.

Gene’s face looked solemn. “Callie Summer, would you like to go to dinner with me tonight?”

Her lips curved up. “A real date?”

“A real date.”

“Can we hold hands?”

“We can even snog at the table if you like.”

She chuckled, then placed her hands on his chest and played with the button of his shirt. “And can you come back to my place... and stay the night?” She lifted her gaze to his.

“If you’d like me to.” His voice was suddenly husky.

“I’d like that more than anything in the world. To sleep next to you. To wake up with you.”

He cupped her face. “Then it’s settled.” He lowered his lips and kissed her.

Inside, everyone cheered. But Callie ignored them all and kissed him back.

Epilogue

“A kids’ Easter egg hunt,” Callie said. “I cannot believe we got talked into this. Whose daft idea was it again?”

It was about a month later, and Callie was helping out with a large group of other friends at a kid’s birthday party in the middle of Wellington. The party was in a local play den that consisted of a large area devoted to ball pits, bouncy toys, miniature climbing frames, slides, and lots of other things for kids to play on. There was a small café attached where parents could get a drink and a snack and have a well-deserved break while their children ran off some energy. The adults had hidden hundreds of tiny chocolate eggs all across the play den, and the place filled with excited screams every time one of them was found.

“It’s complicated,” Rowan said. “You remember Rhett?”

Neve stared at Rowan. Rhett had been the best man at Willow and Liam’s wedding, and he and Neve had had a brief fling five years ago.

“What?” Neve demanded, her face like stone.

“Um, well, Rhett’s got a sister, Ginny, and she’s got three kids, and the eldest is six today. The thing is, Ginny’s husband left her at Christmas, so she’s on her own. She wanted to give Tom, the boy, a party, but she needed some help, so I volunteered us.”

“Without telling me Rhett was going to be here?” Neve said fiercely. “Rowan!”

“You can’t go now,” Rowan said desperately. “Think of Ginny.”

Neve gritted her teeth. “I’ll stay,” she conceded, as Callie had known she would. “But don’t think I’ll forgive you easily for being so flipping sneaky about it.” She walked off, in the opposite direction to where the guys were playing with some kids in the ball pit. Rhett, who’d been watching her, shrugged and turned away.

Rowan stuck her tongue out at Neve’s back. Callie chuckled. “I do wonder what happened between her and Rhett. Clearly he got under her skin.”

“I expect she scared him off,” Rowan grumbled. She sighed and brought her gaze back to Callie. “Anyway, how are you? How’s the shoulder?”

A week ago, Callie had moved out of the house they shared and in with Gene. It seemed silly not to when they were spending every spare moment they could together, and neither of them wanted to go home at night.

“Good.” Callie rotated her arm and winced. “Well, about eighty percent better. Not quite there yet, but on the mend.”

“Getting plenty of exercise?” Rowan said airily.

Callie smiled wryly. “A bit.” Then she giggled. “Okay, a lot. The man’s insatiable.”

Rowan gave an envious sigh. “I am so jealous. I haven’t had any for soooo long.”

“You have to get out a bit,” Callie said. “You said yourself that you won’t meet Mr. Right sitting in your living room.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Rowan’s smile faded and she looked away, across at the kids having fun.

Callie frowned. She decided she’d have to make the effort to try to get Rowan to go out. She had no doubt that Neve would eventually meet someone who’d knock her socks off, and Bridget was far too nice to never settle down, but Rowan was clueless when it came to men. She had no idea what made them tick, and the relationships she’d been in had all ended with a whimper rather than a bang, with no man being the romantic hero that Rowan dreamed of.

Callie glanced around, suddenly missing Gene. “Where are the guys?”

“They’re all in the ball pit,” Rowan said, amused. “Look at them. Men never grow up, really, do they?”

Callie followed her gaze to the ball pit, and started to laugh. Gene, Hitch, Rhett, and several others were up to their necks in colored balls, surrounded by kids who appeared to think that burying the guys was the most fun thing they’d ever done in their life.

Gene caught her eye and got to his feet, picked up Tom—the birthday boy—and carried him like a rugby ball to the edge of the ball pit, where he gently tossed him back into the plastic balls, the boy screaming with laughter all the way. He began to walk over to Callie, but paused to pick up a tiny girl who’d fallen over, setting her back on her feet and making sure she was all right before he carried on.

“Well, well,” Callie said with amusement. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Well, you have to help out, don’t you?” His teasing smile told her how much fun he was having.

“Hitch!” Rowan shrieked. “Put him down!” She went marching off to berate the unfortunate Hitch, who had shouldered Tom and was galloping around the play den. She scolded him for risking the boy’s safety, and he lowered the boy to the floor. Rolling her eyes, she turned to leave. Hitch smacked her backside, sending her on her way. She stopped, her eyes nearly falling out of her head, then walked on sedately to the café without looking back.

Gene looked at Callie, and they both burst out laughing. “He likes her,” Gene said. “A lot.”

“Hmm.” Callie studied Rowan’s scarlet cheeks as she bought herself a cup of coffee. “Does he now?”

Gene slid his arms around her and turned her to face him. “You okay?” He kissed her nose.

She kissed him back, snuggling into his embrace. “I’m fine, thank you. You?”

“I’m having a great time.” He looked across at the little girl he’d helped up, making sure she was all right. “I want one.”

Callie stared at him. “What?”

He shrugged and looked back at her. “I want one. A kid. With you. What do you think?”

Her jaw dropped.

“We’d have to get married first,” he said. “Of course.”

“Gene!” Callie could barely breathe. “Oh my God!”

“What? Don’t you want to marry me?” He nuzzled her ear and kissed her neck.

“I... Oh! Is this a proposal?”

He kissed along her jaw to her mouth, then pressed his lips to hers for a long moment. “Maybe,” he whispered when he eventually pulled back. “I know you don’t want to rush into anything. I’ll do it properly when you’re ready. A ring, down on one knee, the whole works. The urge kind of took me by surprise.” He kissed her again. “I love you, Callie. We can take our time, because we have the rest of our lives together, but the point is that I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

She had to be careful or she was going to cry in front of twenty six-year-olds. “I love you too.”

“So when I do ask you to marry me, do you know what your answer will be?”

She blinked furiously and nodded. “Yes. I know what my answer will be.”

His lips curved up. “I’m crazy about you, Callie Summer.”

“I’m crazy about you too,” she whispered back.

“Gene!” It was Hitch, yelling from the ball pit. “Put her down and get your butt back in here! I’m under siege!” He disappeared beneath a mountain of balls poured on his head by a couple of the kids.

Gene laughed. “I’d better rescue him.” He kissed her nose. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She watched him leap into the ball pit and disappear beneath the balls, making the kids squeal as he hunted for them beneath the surface like a shark.

“He’s quite a guy.” It was Rowan, who’d sidled up with two cups of coffee. She handed one to Callie. “I’m so pleased for you.”

Callie blinked away her tears and gave a bright smile. “What about you, Rowan? Have you ever thought about dating Hitch?”

“Hitch?” Rowan stared at her. “He’s like a brother.”

“He’s not, though. And he likes you.”

Rowan blew a raspberry. “Yeah, but not in that way. He’d never be interested in me.” She spoke a little wistfully, obviously thinking the gorgeous Hitch was out of her league.

Callie just smiled and blew on her cup of coffee as she watched Gene play with the children, and began to scheme in her head.

––––––––

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Buy Tempting Autumn, The Four Seasons Book 2, Rowan and Hitch’s story

Book 1: Seducing Summer

Book 2: Tempting Autumn

Book 3: Bewitching Winter

Book 4: Persuading Spring

Treat with Caution

Treats to Tempt You Book 1

By Serenity Woods

Chapter One

“You are the most annoying man in the history of the world,” Tasha snapped.

Kole grinned, stretched out on the sand, and put his hands behind his head. “Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.” Tasha glowered at him, but he remained unrepentant, his grin spreading if anything. Gritting her teeth, she pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose and turned her gaze to the sea. Honestly. Trying to have a conversation with Kole Graham was like trying to wrestle a crocodile.

They sat with Kole’s sister Maisey and his best mate Joss on Coopers Beach, a long crescent of sand that formed part of the beautiful Doubtless Bay in the Far North of New Zealand. The summer breeze played with Tasha’s hair, and waves crept up the sand and then slid back, sensual as a lover’s fingers. Over her head, the pohutukawa trees displayed their Christmassy red flowers, and her bare legs glistened in the warm December sun. It could almost be paradise. Except she was certain there weren’t any crocodiles in paradise.

She glanced back at Kole. If she were anyone else, she might have considered him attractive, with his short dark hair, lean jaw, firm but sensual lips, and muscular frame highlighted by the All Blacks rugby shirt that stretched across his torso and around his impressive biceps. He carried himself with a confident sexiness bordering on arrogance, and this, along with his wry sense of humor, suggested he was probably excellent in bed.

Too bad he annoyed the hell out of her.

He looked across, saw her watching him, and raised an eyebrow. He was always trying to embarrass her, to make her blush and lose her composure. He hadn’t managed to do so once in the eleven years they’d known each other. Tasha didn’t embarrass easily.

“Stare any longer, I’ll have to start charging,” he said.

“You have chocolate on your top,” she pointed out. “I was wondering whether to find you a pelican bib.”

He looked down at his rugby shirt, spotted the offending piece of confectionery, and scooped it up. “I was saving that for later.” He sucked it off his finger.

Tasha rolled her eyes. “I’m not surprised you’re still single at twenty-eight. You’re like a trained ape. Without the training.”

“For God’s sake, you two.” Maisey sent them an exasperated glare. “You’re like a couple of five year olds. I’m tempted to send you to bed without any tea.”

“I think she meant separate beds,” Joss said at Kole’s approving murmur.

Maisey snorted. “The space-time continuum would collapse if Kole and Tasha slept in the same bed.”

“Damn straight,” Tasha said.

Kole, however, smiled lazily. “Oh, I don’t know.” His gaze travelled down her, then slowly back up. His lips curved, and he opened his mouth to speak again.

Tasha looked over the top of her glasses. “If you say anything about Uranus, I swear, I’m going back to the car.”

Maisey and Joss laughed. Kole chuckled and winked at Tasha. She smiled, but didn’t let it reach her eyes. She really was mad at him, and she didn’t want him to think she’d forgiven him.

Joss checked his watch. “I’d better be getting back. Afternoon surgery starts in thirty minutes. I can’t believe you talked me into having lunch on the beach on a Friday—I have a shed load of paperwork to do.”

“Oh, stop being such a stick-in-the-mud,” Maisey scolded. “You’re no fun since you came back from curing A.I.D.S. in South Africa or whatever it was you were doing.”

“I wish I had cured A.I.D.S.,” he said, “but unfortunately the universe had other things in store for me.”

Maisey rambled on about how dull he’d been since he moved back and become a boring old G.P. Tasha shot him a sympathetic look. Her brother Fredek—who everyone called Fox—had told her that not only did Joss’s mother have Multiple Sclerosis, but his father had started to show signs of Alzheimer’s. Add to that a sister whose husband had recently left her with four kids to take care of, and it became clear family responsibilities weighed heavy on Joss’s mind.

He went to get up, and Tasha held out a hand. “Oh no, not yet. I brought you out here to help me talk this idiot into giving us the shop, and you’re not leaving until he does.”

“You’re going to be here a long time then.” Kole slid on his sunglasses. “Because I have no intention of giving it up.”

Tasha pursed her lips. “Maisey!”

“What?” Maisey flicked her fingers at her brother. “No good asking me. He never does anything I want him to.”

Tasha turned her glare onto Joss, who shrugged. “He does tend to have a mind of his own.”

“But it’s not fair. Come on, Maisey, you know that shop would be perfect for Treats. Kole can have a studio anywhere.”

But Maisey just sighed. “We’ll find somewhere else, Tash. Stop getting your knickers in a twist.”

Tasha blew out a long, irritated breath, tempted to kick sand over Kole. “I’ve known you eleven years,” she said to him. “And I swear you’ve frustrated and irritated me nearly every day.”

“Only nearly? I’m slipping.”

She glowered. “I should have guessed you were going to be a thorn in my side the first day we met.”

“Where was that?” Maisey frowned.

“You were making muffins,” Kole said.

“You remember?” Tasha certainly did.

The two girls had met on the first day of high school, had discovered they shared a love of cooking, and had quickly become firm friends. Maisey had invited Tasha to her house one Saturday to try out a new muffin recipe, and the thirteen-year-old girls had been halfway through the preparation when Kole and Joss had burst into the kitchen, hot, sweaty, and filthy after a weekend rugby match. At seventeen, both boys had been loud and arrogant, and they’d proceeded to make the girls’ lives a misery.

“Oh yes, I remember,” Maisey said. “You dipped your muddy fingers in the mixing bowl, ate all our chocolate chips, flicked muffin mix at each other, and generally made a nuisance of yourselves.”

“Doesn’t sound like us,” Joss remarked.

“Maisey cried, and you stamped your feet like a toddler,” Kole said to Tasha.

“Do you remember what you called me?” Tasha asked.

“I said, ‘What a fucking banshee,’ and you threw your shoe at the door.”

Maisey and Joss laughed. Kole grinned. Tasha just scowled. “At least Joss has grown up a bit,” she said. “You haven’t changed at all. In fact I think you’ve gotten worse.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a fucking compliment!”

Laughing, Kole brought up a hand to adjust his sunglasses, and the gold ring on his right hand glinted in the sunlight. The ring had belonged to Harry, she was sure—his and Maisey’s older brother, who had died in a motorbike accident five years before, driving home too fast after an argument with a girlfriend. Tasha had watched Kole throughout the funeral as he’d comforted Maisey and her older sister, Skye. He had remained dry-eyed, jaw knotted and fists clenched, clearly determined not to show any emotion. He’d been the same ever since, as if he focused on only two things in life—what he wanted, and the easiest way to get it.

“For the record, I’m close to throwing my shoe at you now,” she stated. “Maisey and I have planned this shop for years.” They were going to call it Treats to Tempt You, and they planned to sell handmade chocolate truffles, ice-cream, and espresso coffee, mainly to the thousands of tourists that flocked to Doubtless Bay in the summer, but also hopefully to locals as well as they spread the word. “You’re standing in the way of us fulfilling our childhood dream. How does that make you feel?”

“I feel fine, thank you.”

She tried again. “What about Elle and Caitlin? Maisey and I were lucky to find two other girls willing to come in with us and run the place, but what if they change their minds because of your idiocy?”

“Tasha, I’m not stopping you from having a shop. Just from having that shop.”

“I want that shop.”

“So do I. And I got there first. So deal with it.” His good humor had vanished, and he was glaring at her behind his glasses, she was sure of it.

But she’d fallen in love with the shop on the waterfront as soon as she’d seen it. She and Maisey had driven around for days looking at places, and nothing had seemed suitable—they were all off the beaten track, too expensive, or too run down and would take money to fix up. The shop in the harbor was ideal—small but not too small, with a proper kitchen, and a room out the back for storage. It was neat and clean, with enough room for a counter and a few tables and chairs, although mainly they were intending to offer a takeaway service. It was perfect.

They’d gone into the agency and asked for details, only to be told that someone had already agreed to take the place the day before. He wouldn’t be signing the lease papers for another eight days because the owner, Andrew, was returning from a trip to Peru and wanted to check out the new tenant for himself. But for all intents and purposes, the deal was done.

It was only when they’d met up with the boys and talked about their disappointment that they’d discovered Kole was the one who’d beaten them to it.

She’d already tried several times over the past week to talk him into giving the shop to them, without success. But she wasn’t prepared to give up yet. “I know you want a new studio, but it doesn’t have to be on the waterfront. We need somewhere people walk past. I’ll help you look for somewhere else; I’ll even ring around the agencies and scout out some properties for you.”

“Actually I do need somewhere visible as I want to pull business in off the street for family holiday portraits, and the waterfront shop is perfect.”

“You’re such a selfish son of a bitch!”

“A selfish son of a bitch with a shop,” he said, smirking.

“Whatever happened to ladies first?” she snapped.

He lifted his glasses to study her. “Oh, in every other way I believe ladies should always come first.”

Joss sniggered, and she sent Kole a sarcastic look. “Call yourself a gentleman?”

He lowered his glasses again. “Nope.”

“Kole!”

“I want the shop, Tasha, and I got there first, fair and square. Stop nagging. You sound like a fishwife.”

Irritation and frustration whirled inside her, and she pushed herself to her feet. Glaring at him, she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her shorts. She didn’t usually like him to know how much he annoyed her, but for once she didn’t try to hide how upset she was.

“You just don’t care, do you? You’ve got what you want, and you don’t care that you could be helping your sister and her friends achieve a lifelong dream.”

“Nope,” he said again.

She clenched her fists in her pockets. “You think you’re omnipotent, don’t you?”

“Better than being impotent.” He grinned.

She was too angry to smile, even though Joss and Maisey were trying to stifle their laughter. “You’re like it in everything,” she said hotly, “in work, in sport, with women.”

“Impotent?”

“Omnipotent,” she yelled. “Using them and then dropping them as soon as they get serious.”

“Doesn’t sound like me at all.” He looked smug and self-satisfied, which only served to irritate her more.

She ground her teeth. “I bet you think you can make any woman in the world fall in love with you.”

He leaned over to take a mint from the tube Joss offered him, popped it into his mouth, and lay back on the sand. “Yep.” His provocative grin heated her up like a Bunsen burner, and steam almost hissed out of her ears.

“Well, you’re not all-powerful, and anyway it wouldn’t surprise me if you were impotent.”

He chuckled. “Want me to prove I’m not?”

Fury swept over her. “Like I’d ever sleep with you! I can’t imagine why any woman would ever want to, and I certainly can’t conceive how a woman would ever fall in love with you.”

He shrugged. “You have to get to know me first.”

“Kole Graham, I know you probably better than anyone else save your sister, and I wouldn’t fall for you if you were the last man on Earth. In this galaxy. In the universe!”

At that, he sat up and slid off his sunglasses, then studied her, his arms around his knees. “I see.”

Maisey laughed. “Oh, I think you would, Tash. He’s quite determined when he wants something.”

His lazy, amused smile turned the Bunsen up higher, and something exploded inside Tasha. “Absolutely not.” She bent to look into his eyes. “You’d fall for me before I ever fell for you.”

A brief silence fell. Then Maisey said, “Uh-oh,” while Joss shook his head and gave a low whistle.

Kole held his sunglasses by one of the arms, and he swung them around in a circle. “You reckon?”

Not looking away, holding his gaze, she said, “Yep.”

Kole’s eyes, a warm hazel, studied her with interest, as if for the first time in his life he was really, truly looking at her. He tipped his head to the side, and the corner of his mouth curved up. “Hmm,” he said.

A frisson trailed down Tasha’s back as if someone had run a finger down her spine.

Oops.

Chapter Two

“Tasha,” Maisey warned. “Don’t be daft.”

“No, wait,” Kole said. “I’m interested to hear this. So let me get this straight—you think if we dated properly, and we were allowed to...shall we say...use the talents God gave us to charm the other, I would fall for you before you fell for me?”

He studied the dark haired girl who had leaned forward to stare at him. He tended to think of her as short, although she was average height really, around five feet six. But from his six-two advantage he always towered over her, which was probably why he’d never completely shaken off his image of her as a kid, complete with braces, flat chest, and high pitched voice.

She’d grown up over the past few years, though. Gone were the braces, to be replaced by straight white teeth, even though he didn’t see them very often as she so rarely smiled. The high pitched voice had been replaced by a lower, husky one he couldn’t say was altogether displeasing. And as for the flat chest...he had a clear view down her T-shirt, and she’d definitely developed in that department.

“Are you looking down my front?” she asked suspiciously.

He raised his gaze to hers. “Yes.”

She stood with a mumbled curse and stuffed her hands back into her pockets, and there she was again, the thirteen-year-old fireball who had always driven him nuts. Raised by a mother who had been a famous model in her youth and who constantly hounded her about her weight and fashion sense, Tasha had rebelled completely against any advice Laura Wilde had given her. She never used makeup, pulled her hair back in a ponytail most of the time, and always wore black or muted colors. A blatant refusal to diet had led to her having a rounded figure, although she did enjoy exercise so she wasn’t quite as plump as she might otherwise have been. She hated the idea of contact lenses too, and always wore glasses with dark rectangular frames that made her look both studious and hard as nails.

Oddly, perhaps, in spite of her refusal to bow to social conventions and spend time on making herself attractive for the opposite sex, she’d had several partners he knew of, and he suspected, a few he didn’t. Part of the reason may have been that, unfortunately for her, she couldn’t hide the fact she was the daughter of a model. If a person looked closely behind the tomboy façade, she was actually rather beautiful, the slight exoticness of her features reflecting her mother’s Russian origins. She had interesting eyes the color of polished mahogany with a fascinating circle of orange in the center, a straight nose, high cheekbones, and a wide but perfectly sculpted mouth.

It was a shame that what came out of it were usually insults aimed in his direction. Including the ones about to tumble from her lips like tennis balls from a bag.

“You’re a chauvinistic, arrogant, misogynistic, selfish bastard,” she snapped, “and the only reason any girl goes to bed with you is because you magically turn on the charm, and it’s like a smokescreen—it hides what you’re really like.”

“I’m not misogynistic.” He neatly avoided the other, possibly more correct, accusations. “I don’t hate women. I happen to like them very much. And of course I turn on the charm and put on an act—that’s what all guys do. You really think I’m the only man who doesn’t burp or fart on the first date?”

Maisey chuckled, and Joss grinned.

“I get your point,” Tasha admitted. Then her mouth set in a firm line. “But the fact is I know the real you. So what I’m saying is there’s no way I could possibly fall for your charms when I know how tarnished you are beneath the silver plating.”

Kole always knew when he was getting under Tasha’s skin—her eyes would narrow, she’d clench her teeth, and sometimes she’d get so angry she’d either yell or walk off. What she didn’t know was how much she got to him sometimes.

He could be arrogant, irreverent, and insouciant. It was partly cultivated and partly natural because, basically, he didn’t give a flying fuck what anyone thought of him. Ever since Harry died, he’d been determined to do exactly what he wanted with his life. What was the point in getting knotted up in worries and fears when at any moment the metaphorical wheels could slip from under him and everything would fade to black?

But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel anything, and her inference that women were only attracted to him because they didn’t know the real him stung.

Still, he didn’t show his hurt. Instead, he leaned back on his hands and raised his eyebrows. “Maybe the real me is the one the other girls get to see—did you ever think of that?”

Her gaze flicked over him, curious at that thought. Then she said, “Nah. I’m not falling for that. I know you’re an ass deep down.”

Irritation flared through him. “So which charm school did you go to again? Sweetheart, I can’t imagine falling for you if you danced around my bed naked with tassels on your tits.”

He’d hoped to infuriate her, but, to his surprise, her lips curved and she tipped her head from side to side as if thinking about the tassels as an option. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” she said. Her eyes twinkled.

He glanced at her chest. The notion of Tasha Wilde dancing around his bed twirling a pair of tassels wasn’t as distasteful as it should have been. She had nice breasts, generous and yet girlishly high, and where the cool summer breeze played across her skin, he could see her nipples peeking through her T-shirt.

She pointed two fingers in a V shape at him, then pointed at her face, drawing his stare from her boobs. “Eyes up, soldier.”

He met her gaze, unable to hide a smile. Her lips curved in response. They’d always bantered like this, teetering on the line between flirting and arguing. If he was honest with himself, he quite enjoyed it.

“You know,” Joss said, interrupting his train of thought, “if this were a bet, I’d put money on Tasha to win.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be...” The words sunk in, and Kole stared at him. “Wait, what?”

Joss shrugged. “She’s always gotten to you—you can’t deny it. You like to think you’re James Bond, impervious to a pair of fluttering eyelashes, but the truth is you’re an old romantic at heart. If Tasha turned it on and went all out, she’d reel you in like a twenty-pound snapper.”

“Bollocks,” Kole said.

“Actually,” Maisey said, “I have to agree with Kole. He’s immune to feminine wiles. I should know—I’ve tried them on him all my life and he’s hopeless.”

“It’s not quite the same thing when your sister uses them,” Joss said.

Maisey shook her head and gave Tasha an apologetic look. “I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t think you could win that bet. You’ve seen the kind of girls Kole goes out with. They’re like pampered Chihuahuas, all blonde hair and long nails, with brains the size of peanuts. You’re like a Rottweiler. A very small one.”

“I’d say I’m more of a German Shepherd,” Tasha said. “Intelligent and a very quick learner.” She raised her eyebrows at Kole.

“Actually, I would imagine you’re like a praying mantis,” he said. “I bet you bite guys’ heads off after you’ve slept with them.”

She grinned and shrugged as if to say perhaps. He smiled, surprised to feel the stir of something inside him. It could have been the way she was standing. Hands in the pockets of her stone-colored shorts, she’d dropped a hip and it accentuated the curve of her waist, making her look saucy and suggestive. Her legs were tanned and shapely, and although her hair remained tied up in the usual ponytail, strands fluttered around her face, softening it a little. She really was rather lovely. Beneath all the growling and yelling.

“Well,” Joss said, “perhaps you ought to put it to the test.”

They all looked at him. “What do you mean?” Tasha said.

The doctor stretched out and observed them both with interest. “You’re both so certain of yourselves. Prove it to us, then. Prove you’re immune to the other’s charms.”

“Joss...” Maisey warned.

“No, I’d quite like to see the outcome of this,” he said. “And let’s raise the stakes a little. There’s, what, eight days until the dude who owns the shop comes back from Peru?”

“Yes,” Tasha said cautiously.

“So let’s say whoever wins the bet, wins the shop.”

Everyone went quiet.

“That’s a stupid idea,” Maisey said eventually. “It’s like a bloody Shakespearean play.” She looked at her best friend, then at Kole. “You’re kidding me,” she said as she saw the look on his face. “You’re not really considering this?”

He studied Tasha. Her face was expressionless, and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

It was a stupid idea. If they both knew they were dating for a bet, there would be no way they would allow themselves to fall for the other, especially in eight days!

Nevertheless, it had piqued his interest. Tasha had spoken so confidently. You’d fall for me before I ever fell for you. The stubborn part of him that hated to be beaten wanted to prove her wrong. Also, she’d spoken the truth when she said everyone put on a different face when they dated. And he wanted to know what hers was. How had she enticed the lovers she’d taken to bed? She was like a hedgehog, so prickly he couldn’t imagine her letting anyone close. What was she like when she dropped that hard, confident mask?

Unable to suppress a surge of naughtiness, he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me either way. I already have my name down for the shop, and even if I took the bet, I’d still win.”

Tasha’s eyes narrowed. “Right. You’re on.”

Maisey sat up hurriedly, brushing sand off her shorts. “No, no, no! This is a nightmare. You can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Joss looked thoroughly amused. “This is going to be better than an evening at the cinema. I’ll have to buy popcorn.”

“Because you can’t play with each other’s feelings like this.” To Kole’s surprise, Maisey looked upset. “Someone’s going to get hurt.”

“Well, according to Kole, he’d never fall for me even if I danced around his bed naked,” Tasha said, “so he doesn’t have a lot to worry about.” Her eyes met Kole’s, challenging. That comment had got to her, he thought. Interesting.

“And what about you?” Maisey frowned at her. “You know what he’s like. He has some kind of secret weapon he whips out on unsuspecting females—what if it actually works on you?”

“I’d quite like to see his secret weapon actually,” Tasha said with much amusement. Kole and Joss laughed, but Maisey glared at her. Tasha sighed. “Oh, come on. You really think men are the only ones who can have a fling without getting their emotions involved? We’re talking eight days—that’s not long enough to fall in love with anyone anyway.”

“So what’s the point?” Maisey asked, bemused.

Tasha studied him, tipping her head. A smile spread slowly across her face. “I want to see what all the other girls see.” She glanced at Maisey. “And I don’t just mean the secret weapon.”

Her eyes were intense, interested, and his heart rate picked up a little. She was serious about this.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

Her eyes widened a fraction, lighting with something—excitement? The thrill of the challenge?

“There you go,” Joss said. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream it is, then. Shake on it.”

“Wait, wait.” Maisey held up a hand. “There have to be a few rules.”

“Like what?”

“First off, no dating anyone else for eight days. That’s only fair.”

Kole and Tasha both nodded. “Okay.”

“And Joss and I will make the final decision. Next Sunday, we’ll announce who we think has the most feelings for the other. And you both have to agree to abide by the decision.”

Kole looked at his sister. She had a determined glint in her eye that told him she wasn’t messing around. But what did he have to worry about? He wouldn’t fall for any girl, let alone Tasha, in eight days. Not that she’d fall for him either—they’d always been too irritable with each other for that kind of connection to happen. But he might be able to work on her a bit, get her to at least admit he wasn’t quite the arrogant ass she always seemed to think he was.

“Okay.” He looked back at Tasha and held out his hand. “May the best man win.”

She chewed her bottom lip. Then she leaned forward and shook his hand. “Or woman.” Her eyes met his, unfathomable behind her dark-rimmed glasses, and deep inside he felt a shiver of anticipation.

This was going to be fun.

Chapter Three

Tasha dropped Kole’s hand and moved back. Warmth had flowed through her at his touch. Realization began to settle over her like a sheet of sand blown by the wind. Was she really considering this?

“Well, now that excitement’s over, I really have to get back to work.” Joss rose to his feet and dusted off his trousers. “You guys coming?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind a moment with my new girlfriend,” Kole said. “If you have the time, Tash? I’ll take you back to work afterward.”

Her heart increased its pace, but she shrugged. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Can you drop me off?” Maisey asked Joss as she also stood. She and Tasha were both working at the same café while they waited to set up their shop.

“Sure. Come on.”

Maisey gave the two of them a last look. “Have a think about this before you do anything stupid,” she warned. “It’s not too late to back out, you know.”

“I’m not backing out,” Tasha said firmly. “I want that shop.”

Kole gestured toward himself as if to say me too.

“It’s just...” Maisey hesitated. “We all get on so well. This will change things. And not necessarily for the better.”

“It’s eight days,” Tasha said. “Not even your brother’s that much of a Casanova. We’ll be fine.”

Maisey looked doubtful, but Joss tugged her sleeve, and they walked off up the beach toward where he’d parked his car.

Tasha glanced down at Kole. “What do you want to talk about?”

He leaned back, stuffed his hand in the pocket of his jeans, and withdrew the small camera he always carried around with him. “I want to take your picture.”

She sighed. “Kole...”

He held up the camera, then waited. “Say yes.” He always asked permission first. She liked that about him.

“No.”

His expression turned to amused exasperation. “We’re not going to get very far if you won’t do as you told.”

That made her chuckle. “You like to boss your girlfriends around?”

“I don’t mind the submissive type, I have to say.”

“Then we’re going to have a lot of trouble.”

He chuckled and gestured to the camera. “Well?”

“Go on, then.”

She stood patiently and looked at the sea while he clicked, used to this. She couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t had a camera in his pocket. “What kind of camera is it?” she asked as he waited with the lens trained on her. “It’s quite tiny. I thought you usually use great big ones with the long lenses.”

“Too heavy when I’m out and about. I like to point and shoot at whim.”

She laughed, and he clicked again. “Got it.”

“Got what?”

“Your smile. It’s like the transit of Venus—it doesn’t come around very often so you have to catch it when you can.”

She gave him a wry look and sat on the sand next to him. He switched off the camera and tucked it back in his pocket, then leaned back on his hands, legs stretched out.

“So then,” she said. They sat close, their shoulders brushing. “Why did you agree to this bet?”

He looked across at her. “What do you mean?”

“You already have the shop. Why would you agree to go ahead with the bet when you could lose it?”

Usually, his eyes held frustration or exasperation whenever they looked at her. But at that moment, they were lit with something else. Interest? “Well,” he said, “firstly, there’s no way I’m going to lose.”

“Ha. Famous last words.”

“If you say so. I remain confident in my prediction.”

She rolled her eyes. “And secondly?”

“Can’t you guess?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

The corner of his mouth curved up. “I want you.”

Her thoughts shuddered to a stop as if someone had slammed on the brakes. “What? You’re teasing me,” she said cautiously. “I know I irritate you.”

“Well, yes. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see what lies behind that feisty façade.” He tipped his head. “We’ve always fought, and we’ve always hidden any feelings we’ve had for one another because I’m Maisey’s brother and you’re Fox’s sister. There’s always been an invisible line none of us wanted to cross. But do you really think I haven’t watched you dating guys and wondered what they get to see when they take you home?”

She swallowed against a nervous lump in her throat. She hadn’t thought this through. She’d imagined going on a few dates, maybe making out on the sofa... But Kole’s eyes and his words suggested he had a little more in mind.

“What are you saying?” she whispered.

“I wondered how far you wanted to take it.” His eyes were intense, amused. “Perhaps we should set some limits.”

The summer breeze stroked up her arms, and Tasha shivered, conscious of her nipples tightening beneath her T-shirt. She was determined not to let him see how he was unnerving her though. Part of her couldn’t shake the feeling he was already playing the game, trying to push her out of her comfort zone. Little did he know she didn’t really have one. “Or perhaps we shouldn’t,” she murmured.

His eyes widened. “Huh.”

“Just so you know, you fascinate me too,” she said. “You’re right—I’ve always kept a lid on it because there’s an unwritten law that we’re all out of bounds. But we’re all grown up now. I haven’t dated in a while. And I like sex. It’ll be interesting to see what I can show you.”

He chuckled at her choice of pronouns. “You’re very different to most girls I go out with.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

That earned her an exasperated look. “I don’t just date bimbos.”

“You always date bimbos. Nearly always. And even though most of them have an IQ lower than my shoe size, they still seem to see something in you I don’t get to see. I want to know what it is.”

“Well, then, I suppose you have eight days to find out.” His eyes challenged her to break it off.

“That’s twice as long as your normal relationships last,” she couldn’t stop herself from saying, even though her heart thumped at the notion of what she was getting herself into. “How will you cope?”

He didn’t smile, though. Instead, his eyes became hooded, as if he was already thinking about where this might lead. “Tash, I want to make this perfectly clear. If we do this, if we forget about being friends, if we date for eight days and you say there are no limits...” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I’m not going to hold back.”

Her grin faded, and she had to stop herself from giving a big nervous gulp. “What do you mean, not hold back?”

“I want that shop.” He looked determined. “And I’m going to get it. So if you’re going to be my girl for eight days, you’ll be getting a hundred percent of me. No holds barred. You think you can handle that?”

She stared, and in spite of his arrogant assumption that would normally have her spitting feathers, she was suddenly lost for words. “I...um...”

“But then that’s it.” His eyes were clear. “I’m not looking for a relationship. And I don’t want you blaming me when you lose the shop and your heart.”

Surely, he was teasing her. No guy could be that confident of winning over a girl. In confirmation, his eyes twinkled and his lips curved.

Still, his words resonated through her as if someone had struck a tuning fork. You think you can handle that?

She looked down as she felt coldness on her hands, and realized she’d clenched them deep into the cool sand lying beneath the hot surface. Unfurling her fingers, she let the grains trickle through. Certain he wanted her to ask, she fought not to, but in the end she couldn’t stop herself. “What did you mean, ‘You think you can handle that?’”

He shrugged. “Some girls seem to think I’m quite...demanding, shall we say.”

A frisson travelled through her again that had nothing to do with the summer breeze. But she knew better than to show her fascination. “I can top that,” she said. “One ex told me I was so unladylike, I ought to work in a brothel.”

Kole roared with laughter, then sobered at the look on her face. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.”

His jaw dropped. “One of your boyfriends actually said that to you?”

“A boyfriend who was immediately elevated to the status of ex-boyfriend, yes.”

He looked genuinely puzzled. “Why?”

She didn’t particularly like thinking about it, as it made her feel uncomfortable to remember his acidic words that had bordered on disgust. But she’d mentioned it, and Kole wouldn’t give up unless she expanded on it. “He said I was insatiable. He didn’t seem to think that was a good thing. And...how shall I put it...he wasn’t keen on me making suggestions in the bedroom. He saw it as a criticism of his masculinity, I think.”

She’d thought Kole would make some sarcastic remark at that, would find it exceedingly funny. Instead, however, he surprised her by frowning.

“Fucking prick. I hope you told him where to shove his prudish comments.”

“I did. With very colorful and inventive language.”

He grinned. Slowly, a twinkle appeared in his eye as he gave her comments more thought. “Insatiable, eh?”

“You think only men can be ‘demanding’, as you so delicately put it?”

He thought about it. “No. It’s a cliché, but then like most clichés, I guess it has a foundation in truth. It does usually seem to be the guys who want it, and the girls who are more laid back.”

She smiled. “This is going to be fun. Maybe I’ll win you over so much you’ll give me the shop without a second thought.”

Eyes wide, he pointed over her shoulder at something in the sky, and she turned to look. She couldn’t see anything. “What?”

“Look at that pig flying past.”

She turned back to him, lips pursed, and he laughed. “Come on,” he said. “I have to take photos of the high school sports teams at two. I’d better get back.”

They stood and brushed off the sand, then started to walk slowly to his car.

“So you do want to go ahead with it then?” Tasha asked as they walked.

“I do.” They reached the car, and he paused and smiled down at her. “For eight days, we are officially dating.”

She grinned. “What fun.”

“Yeah.” His gaze lingered on her lips, and for a brief second she thought he was going to kiss her. Her heart picked up its speed, and her lips parted. But in the end, he hesitated, smiled, walked around to his side of the car, and got in.

Tasha slid into the passenger seat, surprised by the effect he’d had on her. Her heart still raced, and when her hand bumped his as they clipped in their seatbelts, the touch of his skin on hers sent the hairs rising on the back of her neck.

She looked out of the window as he started the car and eased it out onto the main road. Why did she feel awkward? She’d known him eleven years. Ever since she was thirteen, she and Maisey had hung around with Kole, Joss, Fox, and half a dozen of their other mates. There had always been jokes and semi-flirtatious, bawdy remarks, but none of it had ever been serious, and she’d tended to think of them all as older brothers.

Perhaps that was why she felt awkward then—because she’d finally removed that self-imposed barrier, and she was allowing herself to look at Kole in a different way. She’d always known he was tall, he worked out, and he was tanned and fit like all the other guys, because they all went surfing, played rugby, and visited the gym. But she’d never looked. Never admired. Never imagined her hands touching that tanned skin, feeling that sculpted muscle.

She glanced across at him, saw him temporarily lost in thought, and took the opportunity to cast her eye over him. He drove with one hand on the steering wheel and the elbow of the other arm on the windowsill, his fingers resting on his lips. His hair stuck up at the front. If she ran her hand up the back of his head, the short strands would feel prickly to her fingers. His arms were muscular, sprinkled with light brown hair. He was handsome, there was no doubt about it; in another life, in a sharp expensive suit and with groomed hair, he would look like an Italian model.

You still think of him like a boy, she thought, an eternal teenager, playing console games, ordering two huge burgers to her one, playing rugby in the garden, watching Die Hard a gazillion times. But he wasn’t a boy. Without her noticing, he’d grown up into a man, and a rather spectacular one at that.

And they’d just agreed to date for eight days.

You think you can handle that?

He glanced over at her and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” She cleared her throat. “So. What’s the first step in this dating thing?” Her heart banged against her ribs.

“What would you like to do? Go to the cinema in Kerikeri? I’m not working tomorrow evening.” He returned his gaze to the road.

His suggestion surprised her. She hadn’t expected that at all. After their frank talk about sex, she’d thought he’d invite her straight to his place and take the opportunity to jump her. The notion that he actually wanted to date was strangely...touching.

“Um, okay,” she said.

“I’ve no idea what’s on.”

“I’ll check tonight if you like and text you. Do you mind what we see? No cartoons obviously.”

“What do you mean? Shrek and Ice Age totally rocked.”

That made her laugh. “Okay. Well I’ll try to pick something interesting. It’ll probably start around eight so it’ll mean leaving at seven—is that okay? I’ll confirm it later.”

“Sure. I’ll pick you up.” He glanced over and smiled.

The smile did something funny to her insides, and she looked out of the window again, cautioning herself. Kole had admitted to her quite frankly, I want that shop...and I’m going to get it. He was a clever guy, and he could be manipulative. He was going to do his best to use all his tricks on her, and show her how he won his women. She would have to be very careful not to succumb to his charm.

He turned off onto the road to the town of Mangonui, then headed for the café where she and Maisey worked. He pulled up outside and left the engine running.

“Okay,” he said. “Till tomorrow.”

“Till tomorrow.” She hesitated and bit her lip. Making a decision, she put a hand on his arm, moved forward, tipped her head to the side, and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “See you later.”

“I look forward to it.” His voice was dry and amused.

Tasha got out of the car and ran up to the café, opened the door, and went inside. He drove off, the sound of the engine fading as he turned back onto the main road.

She walked behind the counter, then leaned on it for a moment and let out a long, slow breath. Stop it, she scolded her pounding heart. She wasn’t going to think about how firm his arm muscle had been beneath her fingers, about the scrape of the bristles on his cheek across her lips as she kissed him, about the way the smell of his aftershave had wound around her, masculine and intoxicating.

She wasn’t going to think about it at all.

Chapter Four

Kole went home, picked up his gear, and headed for the high school, arriving at two thirty with plenty of time before school ended and the sports teams met for their photographs.

He called in at Reception first to pick up a visitors’ badge, and waited there for the sports administrator to come and fetch him. She arrived within a few minutes, a slender woman probably a year or so older than him, wearing a tracksuit and with her hair in a ponytail.

“Hey, Kole.”

He had taken all the sports teams’ photographs for the last couple of years, so he knew her well. “Hey, Lisa.” They shook hands.

“Come on, I’ll take you down.”

He walked with her through the school to the fields. They chatted as they walked, and when she took his arm to hold him back from a flying football as they exited the gym onto the field, he felt the grip of her fingers and the way she pressed against him, the subtle smell of her perfume.

She liked him. He’d thought that before, and he’d nearly asked her out six months ago when he came to photograph the winter teams, except he’d been dating someone else at the time. He couldn’t remember who. Her name began with a J. Janice? Jenny?

Anyway, Lisa was nice; friendly, chatty, pretty enough, maybe a little on the skinny side compared to...

He frowned as he realized who he’d been about to liken her to. Tasha was hardly his perfect woman. She was too short for a start, too abrasive, too confrontational. Much too feisty. He liked his women mild-mannered, submissive, and gentle, like a sparkler, not like a freaking rocket that frightened the life out of you when it exploded.

Still, he’d promised Maisey he wouldn’t date anyone else while this bet was on, and that was fair enough—he may get through women like other guys got through mints, but he never cheated on them.

He moved away from Lisa but continued to chat politely, and she seemed to take the hint and didn’t touch him again. He set up his camera in front of the benches, and when the school bell rang and the students joined them, he spent a pleasant enough hour organizing the teams and getting some decent photos of them for their school magazine.

Afterward, he said goodbye to Lisa and headed for his car. She gave him a lingering, wistful smile as he left, and he was tempted to suggest he contact her in a few weeks’ time, when this thing with Tasha was over. But he told himself to wait, and after putting his camera and tripod carefully in the boot, he drove home. He’d be busy enough for the next two weeks. He shouldn’t over-complicate matters.

When he arrived home, though, as he threw a ready meal in the microwave and poured a beer, he half-wished he’d at least given Lisa his number. This thing with Tasha obviously wasn’t going anywhere. For a start, he highly doubted she’d actually go through with the bet. Once she sat down and thought about it, she’d realize the whole thing was idiotic, hold up her hands in surrender, tell him she gave up, and the shop was his to keep.

He put the hot plastic pot of beef curry on a plate—why bother tipping it out when it meant having to wash the plate afterward?—and took it with his beer out onto the deck. He sat in his comfy deckchair, put his feet up on the wooden balustrade that ran around the deck, and started eating.

Yeah, she was going to chicken out, no doubt about it. She thought of him like a big brother, and he’d seen her watching him over the years while he went out with different girls, her eyes wide, slightly in awe of him. She’d be too nervous to actually go on a date, let alone go to bed with him. When it came down to it, she’d definitely back out.

Oddly, he felt disappointed at the thought. It would have been fun. He said I was insatiable. Kole’s lips curved, and he sipped his beer. He’d not yet met a girl with as high a sex drive as himself—even those who were enthusiastic in bed couldn’t keep up with him. Would Tasha have been able to? He’d probably never find out.

His mobile rang in his pocket, and he put down his beer, slid out the phone, and opened it up. He read the caller’s name and gave a little laugh. Speak of the devil...

He pressed the button and held it up to his ear. “Hey, Miss Wilde.”

“Hey yourself. What are you doing? Or shouldn’t I ask?” Her husky voice sent a tingle down his spine.

He slid down a little in the chair and leaned his head on the back. “What do you mean? We promised we wouldn’t date anyone else while the bet’s on.”

“Actually, I thought you might be indulging in a little lone action.”

He grinned. “If you count eating curry as a lone action, then yes, absolutely.”

“I might. A good Madras has been known to bring on an orgasm.”

That made him laugh out loud. “You’re my kind of woman.”

“Interesting what kind of criteria you have.” She sounded amused. “I checked the cinema listings. The latest Bond movie’s on at eight tomorrow in Kerikeri.”

“Cool—I’ve been waiting to see that.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Sounds good. See you then.”

“See ya.”

He clipped the phone shut and shoved it back in his pocket. Then picked up his beer and sipped it as he looked at the view of Mangonui harbor. The early evening sun painted the water a dark gold, and a couple of fishing boats made their way back after a day spent out in the ocean catching snapper.

So, apparently she was still willing to go on a date at least.

Kole had joked about not holding back if they dated, but in truth he had no real tricks up his sleeve. Contrary to Tasha’s suspicions, he didn’t become another person when he entered into a relationship. There wasn’t a charm switch he could flick from off to on—more’s the pity! It was one person’s perception of another that changed. Up until now, he’d looked at Tasha as Maisey’s best friend and Fox’s sister. It was like being short of cash—you didn’t window shop when you couldn’t afford to buy. Of course he wasn’t a eunuch. When she wore a bikini on the beach, he’d noted her curvy figure and generous breasts, but after a brief glimpse he’d always made himself look away and think of his Aunt Edna and her wrinkled stockings, anything but how it might feel to cup Tasha’s breasts and feel her body against him.

Briefly, he thought of Fox. Had she told her brother what she was planning? Kole was extremely protective of Maisey, and from the beginning, when she was thirteen and he and his mates were seventeen, he’d made it very clear to all of them that Maisey was a no-go area with no exceptions, and they’d all obeyed that rule, as far as he knew. Did Fox feel the same way about Tasha? He didn’t think so. He couldn’t imagine anything riling the inimitable Fox—who thought only about cuts of lamb and herbs and different types of oil and a hundred other things in the kitchen about which Kole knew precisely nothing. Fox was obsessed with being a chef, and he worked twelve hours a day, six days a week. He’d never seemed concerned with what his sister got up to. Still, Kole thought he might mention he was dating Tasha, if he bumped into him at some point.

The warm summer breeze brushed across his bare feet, ruffled his hair, and Kole sipped his beer and sighed, imagining what it might be like to have Tasha pressed up against him, willing and responsive to his touch. Would she really go through with it? A little part of him wondered if she were somehow leading him on, only to pull back at the last moment and taunt him if he showed any sign of attraction toward her. But that would be nasty, and although Tasha could be sharp and to the point, he’d never known her to be cruel.

No, he was going to have to act as if this were any normal date. The truth was that most women, excluding Tasha, seemed to enjoy his company, reacted well when he showed them some attention, and appeared eager to get him into bed. He’d just be himself, and if that didn’t work on her, well, maybe she was immune to his charm.

He closed his eyes and imagined pulling her into his arms, running his hands down her body, filling his palms with her breasts. He didn’t mind women being forward in bed. He remembered Tasha’s words about her ex: He wasn’t keen on me making suggestions in the bedroom. He saw it as a criticism of his masculinity. Well, whatever she suggested, he’d let her go for it. It was hardly a long term affair anyway, and she might actually be able to teach him something. He wasn’t too much of an egotist to assume he knew everything there was to know about women and their desires.

And...now he had an erection, thinking about Tasha and what she might want to do to him behind closed doors. He sighed and rose to go inside. Time for a shower and a little bit of lone action.

The real performance would have to wait.

*

At just before seven the next day, Kole pulled up outside the house Tasha and Maisey shared and turned off the car’s engine. He got out and walked toward the house, then knocked on the door.

As he waited, he wondered what sort of outfit she might wear on a date. He couldn’t remember seeing her in anything except black, stone, and khaki, and the last time she’d worn a skirt had been at Harry’s funeral. His mind conjured up a scarlet mini skirt, a sequined boob tube, and black high heels. That made him laugh, and he was still laughing when the door opened and Maisey appeared.

“Hey.” She blinked as she saw him laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“You don’t want to know. Tasha there?”

“Yeah, she’s coming.” His sister studied him with narrowed eyes. She was the polar opposite of her best friend. Maisey always wore extremely girly clothes and spent an inordinate amount of time on her hair and nails. That evening she wore jeans and a tight white T-shirt with silver thread running through it, and she had a row of silver butterfly clips in her dark hair. “I feel like I should give you The Talk,” she said, coming out and pulling the door closed behind her.

“The Talk?” He raised his eyebrows.

“You know what I mean. Be polite, good manners, treat her nice, blah blah.”

He glared at her. “What do you think I’m going to do? Jump her in the car on the way to the flicks?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“I’m a gentleman.”

“Yeah. You’ve never had a one-night stand.”

He opened his mouth to object, but at the look in her eyes, his protest faded.

“Thought as much,” she said.

“That doesn’t mean I’d do it to Tasha. I like her. She’s a good friend. And anyway, Miss Pride-and-Prejudice, this is the twenty-first century, and we’re talking about Tasha. Who’s to say she’s not going to jump me on the way?”

Maisey thought about it. “Good point.” They both smiled. Then she dug at a clod of earth with her toe. “Still. Be nice, eh? I know she can be a pain, and I know you really want the shop, but don’t...”

“Don’t what?”

She met his gaze. “Break her heart.”

He laughed. “That’s the last thing that’s going to happen here. It’s much more likely she’ll break my kneecaps.”

Her lips curved. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

A voice sounded from behind her, and she turned and pushed open the door. “He’s here.”

Tasha appeared behind Maisey and slipped past her to stand in front of him. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t hear you pull up.”

“Hi.” He smiled at her. She wasn’t wearing a boob-tube or a mini skirt. But the jeans were gone, and instead she wore a pair of wide-legged black slacks and a stone-colored T-shirt with a lowish round neck. She still wore her hair up in a knot, but a few strands curled around her face—Maisey’s doing, no doubt. Also, to his surprise, she was wearing fancy shoes—a classy pair of simple black high-heeled sandals.

“You like nice.” He bent and kissed her on the cheek.

“Thanks. You too.”

He looked down at himself—he’d chosen black jeans and a short-sleeved navy shirt she’d once complimented him on. “Thanks.”

“Wow,” Maisey said. “You’re both being civilized. I’m tempted to phone Mr. Guinness.”

Kole ignored her and held out his arm toward Tasha. “Miss Wilde?”

“Thank you, Mr. Graham.” She took his arm, and to Maisey’s laughter, they walked down to the car.

Chapter Five

Tasha slid into the passenger seat and buckled her seatbelt.

Her heart pounded, and she felt strangely breathless as he got in the driver’s side and turned on the engine. He looked across at her and smiled before moving the gearstick into drive and heading onto the main road.

“You look nice,” he said again before she could say anything. “Those wide-leg trousers suit you.”

“Thank you.”

“And heels!” He looked at her and widened his eyes before turning his gaze back to the road. “I’ve never seen you in heels.”

She looked down at her feet, turning them to see the three-inch heels. “I can’t remember the last time I wore them.”

“Are you trying to impress me?” He had a twinkle in his eye as he glanced at her.

She gave him a sarcastic look. “I didn’t want us to look like Mike and Sully from Monsters Inc. You are quite a bit taller than me.”

He laughed. “True.”

“You look nice too,” she admitted again.

His lips curved. “Thanks.”

She let her gaze linger on him. He’d showered and smelled of spicy body wash and fresh clean male, and his hair was a little damp around the ears and the back of his neck, suggesting he hadn’t bothered to dry it with a hairdryer. The stubble he often sported had vanished, and his cheek and jaw looked lean and smooth. He wore tight jeans that emphasized his rather attractive butt. Okay, she thought as her cynical self laughed, she had noticed, but that was allowed as they were officially on a date. And he also wore her favorite shirt of his. Had he chosen that on purpose because he knew she liked it? The thought made her soften a little.

He glanced back at her, obviously aware she was studying him, and grinned. “Are you weirded out?”

“A bit,” she admitted. But probably not in the way he thought. Not because it felt odd to be with him, one of her best friends, out on a real date where anything could happen. But because she was extremely conscious of him as a man. Being in a car with a guy was strangely intimate. Her thigh rested close to his, and when she leaned her elbow on the rest, their upper arms brushed. She’d never made out with anyone in a car, but she could totally see why it happened so often. Nobody could hear them. They were isolated in their own little world.

And nobody can come to your rescue if you scream, her subconscious pointed out. But she blew a raspberry at it. Kole was hardly going to pull over into a layby and jump her without her permission.

Briefly, she wondered whether she’d give her permission if he did pull over and ask to jump her. If she said yes, would he somehow maneuver her in the front, so to speak? Or would they get into the back, maybe with her on top? Dammit, she should have worn a skirt. It would have made it easier to sit astride him, and then he’d be able to pull aside her panties and slide right inside...

“Penny for them,” Kole said.

She blinked and focused. For maybe the first time in her life, she actually felt embarrassed at where her thoughts had been heading. Her face grew warm. Oh my God, I’m blushing like a Jane Austen virgin. She was so unused to the feeling that it made her even more self-conscious, and the heat intensified.

Kole’s gaze moved to her, returned to the road, then came back in a comical double-take. He stared at her for so long she thought he might drive into the ditch.

To her utter surprise, though, he didn’t comment on the way her cheeks were doing an impression of an erupting Mount Vesuvius. Instead, he moved his gaze back to the road and concentrated as they pulled up at a T-junction.

“I read a review of the movie,” he said, turning left. “It sounds pretty amazing. The best Bond yet, they’re saying.”

“Yeah, I’m really looking forward to it.” She fought not to fan her face, puzzling over his reaction. She’d been so sure he’d mock her. Tasha Wilde, blushing? Ye gods! He, Joss, Fox, and the rest of their mates had teased the girls relentlessly all through their teens, so she was used to every minor flaw being pointed out—the sight of a VPL, a new pimple, the first time she used lipstick. They never seemed to understand it was polite not to point these things out and make a girl self-conscious.

So why hadn’t he said anything? Hell, he couldn’t have missed the blush, her cheeks had burned like beacons lit to warn of invading armies. That meant he was respectfully ignoring her embarrassment.

What had happened? Had she somehow slipped into an alternate universe?

He continued talking about other Bond movies and who played the best Bond, and gradually her cheeks cooled as she gave her opinion that yes, Daniel Craig probably topped the list, although Sean Connery received additional points for being so cool. But inside, she wasn’t sure whether to be grateful to Kole or resentful. By not teasing her, he’d somehow gained a strange sort of power over her. He’d seen her blush but chosen not to mention it. Was that all part of his plan to win the bet? Was this part of his charm—to act gentlemanly rather than tease her like he would have done if they weren’t on a date?

She should move on, forget it had happened. But she couldn’t. It bothered her he’d acted different than usual.

“I blushed,” she blurted out, interrupting his discussion of who made the best Batman.

He glanced at her, and his mouth curved up. “I noticed.”

She frowned. “So why didn’t you say anything?”

“It didn’t seem appropriate to draw attention to it.”

“But usually you would have,” she argued. “If we weren’t on a date, you would have teased me about it.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would.”

“Okay, I would, but we are on a date, and therefore it wasn’t the polite thing to do.”

“See!” She pounded the dashboard. “I knew you acted differently when you were dating, and this is proof.”

She’d thought he’d look annoyed or insulted, but instead he just laughed. “Yeah, I guess.” When she gritted her teeth though, he sighed, indicated, and pulled the car over into a layby.

He left the engine running but turned in the seat to look at her, unclipping his belt. “Okay, we need to get this sorted.”

“Are you going to jump me?”

He looked exasperated. “What? What are you talking about? We’re on a first date!”

“You’ve never had a one-night stand?”

“I’ve never pretended to take a girl to the cinema and then pulled over to give her one on the way, if that’s what you mean.” His eyes were hard, wounded.

It wasn’t what she meant, but she could see she’d insulted him. That was interesting. She’d thought he was so without scruples that he was uninsultable. Okay, that might not actually be a word, but she’d been so certain he was it, whatever it was.

And now she’d hurt his feelings and made him angry. He was looking away, out through the windscreen, shaking his head and giving a little humorless laugh. Guilt hollowed her out inside, and she bit her lip.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That was insulting and unfair.”

He huffed a sigh, then looked back at her. His hazel eyes had softened a little. “Normally you wouldn’t have apologized,” he observed. “You wouldn’t have cared if you’d offended me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again slowly. He was right. Their banter had always been such that she’d tease him and say rude things to rile him, but they never did, because he’d always have a comeback. Something had changed between them. He cared what she thought of him. And she cared she’d upset him.

“When we decided to date,” he said, echoing her thoughts, “it did something to our relationship. It’s like we’ve been two volatile compounds in test tubes that have finally been tipped into a beaker and allowed to mix. And soon, if things go as I plan them to, those compounds are going to get heated.”

Tasha’s mouth went dry. His eyes had turned intense, and she was very aware of how close they were sitting. The scent of his aftershave, the heat from his body, the fact he seemed bigger than her, his arms so brown and muscular where he leaned on the back of her seat, almost around her, but not quite.

“There’s going to be a chemical reaction,” he said, tipping his head a little, looking right into her eyes. “And when that happens, it changes things on a molecular level. And they can’t be unchanged. At the moment, we could probably scrape ourselves back into our separate test tubes without too much harm done, but after heat’s applied, we won’t be able to do that. And you can’t sit here thinking we can. Yes, we’ll act differently while dating and after dating, because you can’t interact like that and remain the same. It’s not a question of ‘turning on the charm’ or whatever you think happens. We react to each other, and with each other. But things will be different. And you have to be prepared for that.”

She swallowed and moistened her lips. His gaze dropped to them, and they parted involuntarily as she inhaled. The car seemed charged with electricity—it ran through her, across to him and back, raising all the hairs on her body, tightening her nipples, making her heart race.

She hadn’t thought of it like that. She’d assumed they would be two good mates dating, teasing each other, awkward and laughing in bed, the knowledge permanently in her head that he was her friend, he was Kole, and she hadn’t thought she’d be able to get past that.

Now she realized how naïve, how foolish she’d been. Of course having sex was going to change things.

“Can you deal with that?” he murmured. “Because, if not, perhaps we should just turn around and go home.”

She should end it now. If they carried on, he was right—things would never be the same again.

But as her gaze focused on his mouth, she felt a deep longing she hadn’t expected, a dark desire to have this man, to taste a little of that danger that hovered in the air around him like smoke.

“I don’t want to stop,” she said, rewarded by a lifting of his frown, a spark in his eyes. “But I don’t want to lose you either. I’m worried that afterward we won’t be friends. And I don’t think I could bear that.”

He smiled. “We’ll always be friends, Tasha Wilde. Don’t you worry about that. How could I not have you in my life?” He looked sincerely puzzled at the thought.

Tasha wasn’t so sure. How could they stay friends if they went through with this? But still, she couldn’t back away. He was like a magnet, and she was the iron filings slowly being drawn toward him.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

They sat for a moment, looking at each other in the fading light. Outside, a kiwi bird cried from somewhere in the bush. A car went past, headlights scanning the tarmac, and then the road fell quiet again.

“You’re sure?” he said.

She nodded.

Their gazes met. And slowly, they both smiled.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then slid his fingers along to her neck, cupping her cheek in his warm palm. His thumb brushed her cheekbone, sending tingles up her spine.

Tasha’s heart pounded. He was going to kiss her. His eyelids had fallen to half mast, and his gaze was fixed on her mouth. She wanted him to kiss her. Oh God, she wanted him to kiss her.

He leaned forward. She moistened her lips again, and held her breath.

And then at the last minute, he turned his head and his lips touched her cheek.

He pulled back, dropping his hand, and his eyes were filled with laughter.

Tasha pushed him away, exasperated, breathless, yearning, and cross all at the same time. “Come on, or we’ll be late,” she snapped.

He clipped in his seatbelt and put the car into drive, then moved back onto the road, still laughing. “Save it for later,” he promised, and reached across to take her hand in his.

Tasha let him. But she still scowled, all the same.

Chapter Six

They kept the talk lighthearted for the rest of the journey, but it took a while for Tasha’s heart to stop racing. She couldn’t believe how, at that moment when he’d cupped her cheek and leaned close, she’d longed so much for him to kiss her. She hadn’t expected such yearning, not for Kole, the guy who usually prompted an urge to strangle more than smooch, and when he’d kissed her cheek and pulled away, the disappointment and physical ache he left behind had shocked her.

She kept it to herself, though. He probably had an idea how she was feeling anyway. He’d seen her blush, so she was pretty sure he’d also spotted her heaving chest, rapidly blinking eyes, and the way she’d shifted in her seat to try and dispel the ache between her thighs. But once again, he’d said nothing, just changed the subject, and left her feeling unnerved and confused by his unexpected kindness.

They arrived at Kerikeri with about ten minutes to spare, and Kole bought their tickets, pushing Tasha’s hand away when she pulled out her card to pay her share. Not wanting to fight with him in public, she waited until they’d walked away carrying their drinks and popcorn to berate him.

“You shouldn’t have paid for me,” she whispered furiously as they turned the corner from the kiosk and walked up the steps toward the screens.

He looked genuinely confused. “Why?”

“Because A, we’re not really dating, and B, I don’t believe in it.”

He handed the tickets to the girl on the door, tucked the receipts back in the pocket of his jeans, and led the way into the cinema. “Firstly,” he said, walking all the way up the steps to the back, “we are really dating.”

“No, we’re not.”

“We’ve already had this conversation, and yes we are, otherwise why would I be heading for the back seats to make out?”

She stared at him as he reached the top of the steps and walked past those already seated to two spare seats. Mumbling under her breath, trying to ignore the way her stomach fluttered at the thought of cuddling up to him in the dark, she followed him along and sat beside him. “I’m not making out with you in the back row of the cinema,” she muttered. “We’re not fourteen.”

“More’s the pity.” He put a handful of popcorn in his mouth and crunched. “And secondly, what’s wrong with a guy paying for a date?”

“It’s unethical,” she said, prompting a snort from him. “I believe women and men should be equals.”

“So do I.”

“Then—”

He gave the kind of sigh she’d been used to all her life, full of impatience and exasperation. “A woman doing the same job as a guy should be paid the same wage. They should have every opportunity available to them that guys have. Gender, sexuality, color, race—they should all be irrelevant. But...” He held up a finger as she went to interrupt. “After saying that, I think it would be a very sad place if everyone acted the same and looked the same. You’re a girl. I’m a guy. I like that there’s a difference. And I don’t see anything wrong with men acting like gentlemen and women acting in a ladylike fashion.”

Now it was Tasha’s turn to snort. “You think I should start carrying a parasol and wear petticoats and have fainting fits?”

He tipped his head. “Well...” She glared at him, and he grinned. “Obviously not. But I don’t see the problem with opening the door for a woman, giving her my seat, or paying for a date, because I was brought up to be polite. How is that sexist?”

She sighed, because she didn’t really have an answer. “I suppose some women would say it means you see them as the fairer or weaker sex, meaning you’re assuming we can’t stand up for long enough, or we need a man to pay for us. Some women are offended by that.”

“Are you?”

She looked up at the screen. The adverts had started and the lights had dimmed slightly, but people were still making their way along the rows. “I don’t like it when men make assumptions about my abilities. But equally, I understand it’s a difficult world out there for guys sometimes. Our roles aren’t as clearly defined anymore, and it would be wrong to accuse a guy of sexism when he thought he was being polite.”

“So therefore you admit it was okay for me to buy the tickets?”

“It just makes me laugh to hear you call yourself a gentleman.”

“I’m a perfect gentleman. Usually.”

“Usually being the operative word. I have no doubt you are a gentleman when you’re on a date. But I’ve not seen much sight of it around me.”

Everyone had taken their seats, the lights were dimming further, and the final advert came to an end. She thought the conversation had ended and curled her legs under her, ready to watch the movie. But as it grew dark, Kole leaned towards her and murmured in her ear.

“Did you ever consider that sometimes people can’t show their true feelings for someone? So they hide them behind a veneer of camaraderie and pretend nothing deeper exists.”

She looked up at him, seeing his eyes gleaming in the light from the screen. He wasn’t smiling, and a shiver ran through her. What was he saying? That he liked her, had always liked her? But he’d ignored it because they were friends?

He lifted his arm and hovered it above her. She let her lips curve and leaned against him, and he lowered his arm around her shoulders and tightened it momentarily, his hand warm on her arm. She fixed her gaze on the screen, too confused, in too much of an emotional whirl to say anything else. And besides, the movie had started, so there wasn’t any point in trying to speak over the car chase and all the explosions.

True to his words, Kole remained a gentleman for the rest of the movie. He went out at one point and bought her another drink, and he didn’t try to kiss her.

But his arm stayed around her for the entire film, and she half-watched and half-dreamed as she curled up to him, comfortable in his embrace, conscious of the smell of his body wash, the feel of his muscular chest beneath her fingers when she rested her hand there, the line of his jaw not far from her mouth. She only had to move a little and she’d be able to plant a kiss there.

She didn’t, though. As Bond shot and rolled and blew up buildings, she snuggled up to Kole and let her mind play on his words. Sometimes people can’t show their true feelings for someone... They pretend nothing deeper exists. Had there been more between them than friendship all this time? Had they ignored their feelings because they were all supposed to be friends?

Her mind spun, and she felt confused. She had to remember that although he’d protested this was a real date, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. This relationship, or whatever you called it, had a use-by date, and its very purpose was to try and force the other person to admit they had feelings for them. She’d made the bet because she’d felt confident of arousing some affection in Kole without falling for him herself, so she had to be careful to remember that when he said nice things. He was only trying to do the same.

Still, his words gave her a tingle that reappeared every time she thought about them.

When the movie finished, they went back to the car, and Kole drove them back to Mangonui. They talked all the way, about the actor playing Bond, about whether it was the best Bond film as everyone was saying, about their other favorite movies and what series they liked to watch.

And as the minutes slipped away, Tasha realized she enjoyed Kole’s company very much. She’d always known he was funny, clever, sharp, and witty, but in a group he bounced off Joss and the others for much of the time, purposely playing devil’s advocate or saying outrageous things to start a conversation or to make everyone laugh.

On his own, though, he was different; he was still funny, wry, and smart, but for the first time maybe ever she saw the real him, thoughtful, kind, hard as he spoke about his dislike of drugs and the problems facing teens growing up nowadays, ambitious when he spoke a little about his photography business and where he wanted to take it in the future.

“What?” he asked, obviously conscious of her watching him as he took the turn for Mangonui. By the direction he was going, he was obviously heading for the house she shared with Maisey, not his own home. He wasn’t assuming she’d go to bed with him on the first date. Yet again, he’d surprised her.

“I’m trying to work out which is the real you,” she said softly. “You’re quite a puzzle.”

He indicated and turned again, then glanced over at her. “We’re all like dice with six different sides. Everyone changes their face depending on who they’re with. Loud with your mates, respectful with your grandparents, charming with the girls, efficient with your boss. That’s quite normal.”

“I suppose so. I hadn’t thought of it like that before.” She watched him pull up outside her house. “Do I change like that?”

He put on the handbrake and turned off the engine. The sounds of a warm Northland night filled the car—the singing of cicadas off in the bush, a faint folksy jazz music filtering through from an open window, the call of voices in the harbor guiding in a late boat.

“Perhaps not as much as other people do,” Kole said. His gaze caressed her face. “With Maisey and everyone else you’re spirited, energetic, warm, determined.”

It was odd seeing herself through his eyes. He thought she was warm? Men had sometimes called her cold and hard. His words made her glow.

“With your mum you’re slightly different,” he said. “More closed up. You think more about what you say when you’re with her, as if you have to vet everything before it comes out.”

She nodded slowly. “That’s true.”

The only light came from the moon, waxing and nearly full, casting the car in its silvery beams. It bleached the color from the world and turned it monochrome, as if they’d been transported into an old black-and-white movie. He was Laurence Olivier, Tasha thought, and she was Vivien Lee.

“And with you?” she murmured. “What am I like with you?”

“Cautious. Watchful. I feel like I’m handling a volatile metal.” He smiled. “I supposed that’s to be expected, considering. But still, you should come with a warning label. ‘Treat with Caution.’”

She didn’t want to think about the bet at that moment. Something was sparking between them, and his eyes were intense. There was magic in the air, and she wanted a little piece of it.

As she opened her mouth to say something, though, he turned, opened the door, and got out of the car. A wave of disappointment washed over her, and she got out awkwardly in her heels, embarrassed she’d assumed the evening wasn’t yet over.

“I don’t need walking to the door,” she said sharply as he rounded the car and started up the path, holding out a hand to her.

He turned, walking backwards, still holding out his hand. “I was hoping to kiss you goodnight. Unless you object?” He raised an eyebrow.

Chapter Seven

Tasha’s heart picked up its pace again, and she swallowed with a sudden onslaught of nerves as she took his hand.

“It depends,” she said as saucily as she could manage, conscious of his warm fingers on hers. “Are you only going to kiss me on the cheek again?”

He slowed as they reached the house, and his lips twisted. “No. That was a mistake. It gave me a hard-on for about three hours.”

“Me too.”

He laughed, pulled her toward him, and turned her so she could lean on the wall of the house. Smooth, she thought, moderately impressed with the maneuver. He moved closer, imprisoning her against the wall. Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.

A bout of nerves made her mouth go dry, and she swallowed, tucked her hands under her butt, and tried to stay calm. Was Kole nervous? He didn’t seem it. Even though she wore heels, he towered over her, all height and breadth and masculinity.

She held her breath as he slipped his hand around to cup the back of her head. His other hand rested on her hip and tightened. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with her quick breaths—was he aware? She didn’t want him to know he was having this effect on her, not when he seemed so relaxed. Damn the man, he must do this so often it didn’t cross his mind he might do something wrong like clash her teeth or have horrid breath. Thank goodness she’d had a mint on the way home in the car. Her mind whirled with a hundred different thoughts as he dipped his head, and she struggled to focus. Concentrate, Tasha!

His breath whispered across her lips, minty like hers, warm and sweet. Then he paused.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured, touching his nose to hers in an affectionate Eskimo kiss. “A kiss changes everything.”

She wanted to yell Yes! Kiss me! But she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her desperation. Instead, she moistened her lips. “I can see how sex would change everything,” she said, lifting her chin, “but a kiss? You’re not that good.”

His mouth curved a little. He brushed her cheek lightly with his thumb, barely touching it at all, but every hair on her body rose at the contact. “That’s not what I meant. A kiss is like Christmas Eve. Full of promise.” Their lips were almost touching, and hers tingled, as if their shadows had moved that last fraction of an inch to meet. “Once you see that stocking full of presents,” he continued softly, “it’s very difficult not to open one.”

Every cell in her body ached for him to touch her. Had he planned this? If so, she was full of admiration, because he certainly knew how to make a woman beg. “Kole...” she whispered. She couldn’t bring herself to say yes, but she hoped the yearning showed in her eyes.

His thumb brushed her bottom lip. “Okay.” He moved the last inch toward her, and then he lowered his lips to hers.

They were warm and dry, and he pressed soft kisses across her mouth from corner to corner, feather-light, slow, gentle, and undemanding. Still, her heart thundered, and she closed her eyes, letting him kiss her, feeling the heat of his body against her, his chest touching her breasts, his hips brushing hers. His fingers tightened a little in her hair, holding her there, telling her not to move away. His other hand slid from her hip around to her lower back, but stayed respectably above her butt.

It was so unexpected. She’d thought he’d turn the dial up to eleven and launch straight into a full smooch, tongues and all, and she’d been half-prepared to be insulted, to push him away, to tell him to slow down. But this...this caress of her lips...she hadn’t expected this.

He kissed slowly up her cheekbone, around to her ear, tucked a strand of hair behind it, then touched his lips to the skin beneath the lobe, a gesture that seemed so intimate, she was unable to contain a shiver. She tensed, knowing he’d notice, and wondered if he’d laugh and tease her. Am I getting to you, Wilde?

But he didn’t. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Want me to stop?”

She studied his hazel eyes, seeing the moonlight reflected as a strip of silver through his irises. She knew his face so well, and yet she didn’t really know it at all. Up close, she could see a couple of scars on his cheek that he must have incurred from childhood chickenpox or something similar, usually hidden beneath his stubble. His eyelashes were girlishly long, framing eyes that held more emotion than she’d noticed before. Now they showed genuine concern, and something else, something she hadn’t expected to see.

Desire.

She ought to make a joke to lighten the situation, to show him she was unaffected by his closeness. She had to keep the upper hand in this relationship, especially this early on. She couldn’t let him think for a moment he stood a chance with the bet. Because he didn’t. This wasn’t anything to do with emotions. This was all physical, and there was nothing wrong with being turned on by a hot guy kissing you in a very sexy way. Even if he was supposed to be your best mate.

So she gave a tiny shake of her head.

“Good,” he said, his voice husky. He moved a little closer, blocking out the moonlight, casting her in shadow, then bent and touched his lips to her jaw. He kissed up her cheek, across her closed eyelids, down her nose, and finally back to her mouth.

This time he held the kiss longer, and as his lips pressed against hers, she brought her hands from behind her back and rested them on his chest, feeling the defined muscles there as she traced her fingertips across his shirt. He felt warm, real, solid, and she realized she’d missed this, being close to someone, touching, and being touched back.

In the background, whoever was playing the music changed the song, and slow, sensual guitar playing ensnared her, sending her senses spinning into the warm December night. Summer’s here, her mind whispered, set free to dance around the lamplight like a moth. Kisses like this were made for early summer, holding such promise of heat to come.

Again, a little voice in her head murmured she should really pull back now and wish him goodnight, keep him hanging on, keep the upper hand. But the problem was that she didn’t want to stop. Not yet, not while he was still warming up. She wanted to see what else he held up his sleeve. If soft kisses like this were making her heart race, what would a proper kiss do?

She wanted more, but again, couldn’t bring herself to express the wish, to make the first step.

As if he’d read her mind, though, Kole brushed his tongue across her bottom lip with the lightest of touches. She was so keyed up by that point that she gasped, inhaling as desire shot through her. When her lips opened beneath his, he obviously took that as a good sign. He swept his tongue into her mouth, and with a moan of relief she raised a hand to slide into his short hair as he moved both arms around her.

He held her tightly, one hand between her shoulder blades, one at the base of her spine, pulling her close to him. Tasha’s fingers clenched in the short strands of his hair, her other hand sneaking around his back, clutching his shirt. He kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding against hers, teeth grazing her bottom lip as he gave a deep, approving growl low in his throat, so sexy it made her feel faint—presumably, she thought as her internal muscles tightened, because all the blood in her body was rushing to somewhere other than her head.

Jeez, she hadn’t expected this! A small measure of panic mixed with the pleasure threading through her veins. She really hadn’t given this enough thought. She’d known he’d probably be great in bed. He had that confidence, that arrogance that announced he didn’t need a map to find his way around a woman’s body. He’d had lots of girlfriends she knew about and probably lots more she didn’t, so obviously her gender in general found him irresistible. But she hadn’t expected his charm, his allure, his magnetism, or whatever he wanted to call it, to work on her.

Behind the kiss, awareness of the bet they’d made hovered like a shadow. It would be there all the time—the feeling that he was doing his best to tease a reaction out of her, because he wanted the shop, and he wanted to win. But still, he wasn’t a cruel man. And she was perfectly aware it was possible to separate sexual desire from love. She was under no illusions he could want to win the bet but genuinely want to sleep with her at the same time.

So even though she knew she had to remain cautious, she let herself feel flattered by his desire, and aroused by his tender but demanding mouth and the way his hands tightened on her, as if he was fighting with himself not to let them travel over her body. And gradually, as he showed no signs of wanting this to be a fleeting embrace, or of laughing and teasing her about the way she kissed, she relaxed and opened up to him, melting against him. Her tongue played with his, and she pressed her breasts against his chest, reaching up onto tiptoes to enjoy it more.

Gosh, he was tall, and even though she’d seen him shirtless a dozen times each summer as they played rugby and cricket on the beach or swam in the sea, she hadn’t realized how firm his muscles were, or how he smelled so intoxicating. It was a humid evening, and his body had warmed his aftershave, filling her senses with the smell, taste, and feel of him. Her fingers itched to unbutton his shirt and slide beneath the cotton, to feel his skin, to run across his flat nipples, to graze down his back.

As if reading her mind, he raised his head a fraction to look at her, and his eyes were dark, filled with intense desire. His lips brushed hers, and his hands slid slowly down to rest on her butt.

“I want you,” he said, his voice deep and husky.

“Really?” The word was out before she’d vetted it. It sounded childish, pathetic, and needy, and she bit her lip, cursing herself, sure he’d find it funny.

But he didn’t laugh. He pulled her hips firmly against his, tightened his hands on her butt, then lifted her a little to settle his erection—obvious even through his jeans—into her soft mound.

He kissed her jaw, then around to her ear. “Can’t fake that,” he murmured, brushing his lips down her neck. She shivered, and he groaned. “Jeez, it drives me crazy when you do that.”

“Kole...” Her head was spinning. She needed to get a grip or she was going to melt into a puddle at his feet.

He kissed back up her jaw to her mouth, then gave her one final, long kiss before raising his head. “Can I see you tomorrow?” He released his tight grip on her, but still held her hips, maybe aware she felt unbalanced on her heels.

Not trusting her voice for the moment, she nodded.

“I’ll take you out to a restaurant,” he said, still standing close to her. Too close—she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “My treat. No arguing. I’m going to feed you oysters and tiramisu and other aphrodisiacs. Top up your wine glass too much. Do my best to seduce you. And then afterward...”  He kissed her nose. “We’ll see.”

She looked into his eyes. How right he’d been. Just the one kiss, and everything had changed. It had stripped away the playfulness of their relationship, the thin veneer that had held their emotions in check, and now she felt as if she’d been out in the sun too long—burned, raw.

He didn’t need aphrodisiacs. She was already seduced, already his. If he’d asked her to go back to his place with him, she would have said yes.

But he didn’t. And she wasn’t going to ask.

Instead, she said in a breathless voice, “I don’t like oysters.”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges, looking more like the old Kole. “Then I’ll think of something else.”

He held her gaze, reached out a hand, and touched the back of his fingers to her cheek. “Catcha later.”

She fought the urge to kiss his fingers. “Yeah. See ya.”

He dropped his hand, turned, and walked back to his car, and she let herself into the house with a shaking hand, turning to give him a last wave as he pulled away.

Chapter Eight

Ten o’clock on Sunday morning found Kole walking along Mangonui waterfront, a takeaway coffee in his hand, the rays of the morning sun turning the water in the harbor to sparkling blue.

He had an appointment at eleven to take photos of a christening at a local church, and he had his equipment ready in the car. But first he had something he wanted to do.

With a few minutes to kill, he stopped in front of the shop he’d had his eye on since he’d heard the previous tenants had decided to move on. It was perfect, small but not too small, with a room he would set up as a studio for taking photographs so he’d be able to leave his equipment out permanently, plus a large area where he could have a reception desk and display examples of his work for interested customers to examine.

He’d already browsed through furniture catalogues and picked out the items he wanted, and he’d discussed a clean, smart, and professional décor with an interior designer who was chomping at the bit to get started. It was the ideal location, right on the waterfront, so he’d catch holidaymakers walking past who might decide to give themselves a lasting memory of their trip away, plus he’d generally be more visible for the local community.

And he’d been the first one into the estate agents, before the shop had been advertised. His name was even typed onto the lease. He just needed to meet the landlord when the guy eventually returned from his adventures in the rainforest to dot the i’s and cross the t’s.

Kole stared at the large windows of the shop and wondered exactly why he’d agreed to the ridiculous bet with Tasha. He should have said no—that the deal was done, he’d beaten her to the finish line, and entering into any sort of bet where he stood a chance of losing was a ridiculous idea.

Not that he thought he’d lose. Tasha was pretty, funny, and had a lot more going for her in the brain department than many of the girls he’d dated, but he’d never fall for her, not in a million years. He wouldn’t let himself. He wasn’t ready for a long term relationship. In fact, he might never be ready. The idea of settling down, of having responsibilities and commitments, didn’t appeal to him. Life was too short to spend his life worrying about keeping a wife happy, looking after kids, and panicking about making ends meet. If Harry’s death had taught him anything, it had taught him that at any moment his life could come screeching to a halt, and he didn’t want to be lying on his deathbed thinking his days had been filled with mundane priorities that had held him back from doing whatever he really wanted to do. He liked being free and single, spending his money or saving it as he wished, going on exotic holidays, watching whatever he wanted on the TV, and not having to please anyone but himself.

So no, he wasn’t worried about losing the bet. He’d had plenty of girlfriends, and at twenty-eight, hadn’t really fallen for any of them hard. He knew he always held a part of himself back in a relationship, and in fact several girls had complained about his refusal to let them in, following which he’d promptly dumped them. But he knew he could control his feelings, and so therefore even though he loved Tasha as a friend, he had no worries it would develop into anything more.

But after saying that... He turned to look at the harbor, and his mind strayed back to the previous night. It had been...unexpected. He’d made the bet because part of him had been annoyed at Tasha’s outrageous assumption that he would fall for her before she fell for him. He hadn’t actually thought either of them would do any falling. He fully expected, after the eight days were up, they’d both admit it had been a lot of fun but would go their separate ways while remaining good friends who’d had a great time with each other. She drove him nuts most of the time, but he’d always thought she was pretty beneath her dark-rimmed glasses and austere appearance, and he’d liked the idea of fooling around with her for a while.

But going out the night before had not been what he’d expected. Alone with her in the car, he’d been conscious of her presence, of the smell of her light, flowery perfume, the creaminess of her smooth skin against the stone-colored T-shirt, the swell of her breasts where the neckline dipped lower than usual, and the way her brown eyes had been cautious, obscuring her thoughts like fog on a winter’s evening.

Her blush had completely taken him by surprise, and although he wasn’t sure what had caused it, he knew it was something to do with him, and probably sexual in nature. That had stunned him, because he’d honestly expected her to be immune to him as a man. When he’d kissed her, he’d expected her to burst out laughing, to mock him incessantly for his moves, to taunt him and say Is that it? and other insulting comments.

But she hadn’t. She’d gone quiet, something Tasha never did, had shivered in his arms when he’d kissed the beautiful smooth skin beneath her ear, and had finally returned his kiss with a rising desire that had blown him away.

From the kind of comments she’d said occasionally about sex, he expected her to be fairly confident in bed. He’d initially assumed that if they actually made it to the bedroom, it might be a bit mechanical and awkward, with them both too self-conscious to let go and enjoy themselves.

Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. He was beginning to suspect they might light a few fireworks if they climbed beneath the sheets.

And that was one reason why he was standing there, trying to pluck up the courage to walk to the place a few doors down from the shop they were competing for—the restaurant called Aqua Blue that belonged to her brother, Fox. He’d known Fox since school, liked and respected the guy, and because of his own strict instructions to his mates about Maisey being a no-fly zone, he had to admit to feeling a little guilty about the kind of things he kept fantasizing about doing to the guy’s sister.

Sighing, he walked up to the restaurant and knocked on the door.

Aqua Blue didn’t open until midday, but Fox would already be in the kitchens, getting ready. Fox lived for his restaurant and was obsessed with food and its preparation. Even Kole, who usually ate microwave meals or noodles for dinner, knew the guy was destined for greatness with his skill, ambition, and drive.

A man walked toward him through the restaurant—one of the maître d’s that Fox employed to run the staff while he himself cooked the food. He opened the door and stepped back. “Hey, Kole. Coming in?”

“Fox’s in, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, out the back.”

Kole nodded and slipped past him, and made his way through to the kitchens.

Fox stood at one of the pristine tables, cracking open the shells of several large crabs and placing the meat in a huge bowl. Tall and with short dark hair, he had the same, slightly exotic Eastern European look about him that Tasha had, and the same unusual mahogany eyes.

He looked up as Kole walked in. “Hey, man.”

“Hey. How are you doing?”

Fox nodded. “Good. Just making crab cakes.”

“They don’t look like any crab cakes I’ve ever had,” Kole said, thinking of the ninety-percent breadcrumb ones that came in a packet.

Fox just grinned. “What’s up?”

Kole shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Just passing.”

“Okay.” Fox scooped up the last pile of crabmeat and placed it in the bowl, then began chopping some flat leaf parsley with a knife that looked as if it could have had a starring role in Psycho. “Good to see you anyway.”

Kole fidgeted. Fox was in a world of his own, and would probably forget he was even there. He had to spit it out. “It’s about Tasha,” he said.

Fox scooped the chopped parsley into the bowl, then reached for a cut lemon and squeezed the juice over the crab meat. “Oh? What’s she done now?”

“Nothing, nothing. Not yet. It’s good, I mean, I thought, you know, we’re mates and all, it would be polite to ask you first...”

Fox glanced at him. “If you could talk in English rather than iambic pentameter, it might help with understanding what you want, exactly.”

Kole looked at his feet. “Do you have any objections if I date Tasha?”

Fox washed his hands and wiped them on a towel as he came over, frowning. “Sorry, what does that have to do with me?”

Kole gave him an exasperated look. “You’re her brother.”

“So?”

“Fox, seriously? You don’t care who she dates?”

Fox returned the exasperated look. “I care, but Tasha would tell me it’s none of my business, and she’d be right.”

“Even so...”

Fox put his hands on his hips. “Are you going to be nice to her?”

“Of course.”

“Treat her well?”

Kole scratched the back of his neck, wondering if the circumstances of their bet counted as treating her well. “Yes.”

“Then what do I care?” Fox turned away and began choosing from the bottles on the shelves. “I’m hardly shocked.”

“Yes, but I...” The words sunk in. “Wait, what do you mean? I thought you’d be surprised.”

“Why?” Fox turned back carrying a bottle of Worcestershire sauce and some Dijon mustard. “It was only a matter of time. She’s always been crazy about you.”

Kole stared at him. “She said that?”

“Well, no, not in so many words.”

Kole’s alarm died down. “So you came to this conclusion using all your recent relationship experience? When was the last time you dated anyone? 2002?”

Fox gave him a wry look as he plonked the bottles on the table, then went to the fridge and brought back a box of eggs. “I go out. Sometimes.”

“Dude, you work six days a week until at least ten p.m.”

“And that gives me a whole day to enjoy myself. Anyway, this isn’t about me. I know Tasha likes you. Come on, the two of you flirt every time you get together.”

Kole laughed at that. “We do not. We’re the least flirty people I know. We’re always arguing.”

Fox cracked two eggs simultaneously into a bowl. “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

Now Kole was getting irritated. “For fuck’s sake.”

Fox looked at him, dumped the eggshells, and leaned on the table. “If you’re dating a girl, I would have thought knowing she’s always liked you would come as good news. So tell me why, exactly, you’re annoyed by that?”

Kole had painted himself into a corner. He shouldn’t have come. What was he looking for, permission to screw Tasha stupid for eight days then dump her? There was no way he could tell Fox about the bet, even if Tasha herself had come up with the idea. He decided to back off, and held up a hand. “I’m not annoyed. Only that I suppose I wish I’d realized she liked me sooner, and we wouldn’t have wasted time.”

Fox shrugged and cracked another two eggs. “Sometimes it takes a while for these things to mature. She’s only twenty-four, and you’re hardly claiming your pension.” He glanced up as he reached for the olive oil. “And to be honest, although I’ve always known you’re attracted to each other, I wouldn’t have picked you for her.”

The comment stung like a wasp. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, like you’re surprised by that,” Fox said. “You’re hardly long-term relationship material.”

“Even so...”

Fox sighed and stared at the bottle for a moment. “Tasha acts tough. Pretends she doesn’t care about her looks. Likes to think she doesn’t have emotions. But she’s not tough, she does care, and even though she tries to lock everything away in a steel box, she’s easily hurt.” He picked up a wooden spoon and pointed it at Kole. “I try not to get involved in her love life, but I’ll make an exception, as you’ve been kind enough to involve me. So. Break her heart, I’ll break your fucking legs.”

“Right,” Kole said, feeling slightly faint. “Fair enough.” He cleared his throat. “I guess I ought to go.”

“Yeah. See you later.”

Kole walked out, nodding to the maître d’ as he passed. Outside, he walked slowly along the waterfront, trying to dispel the shiver of unease Fox’s words had cast over him.

He clenched his hands in his pockets. Everything was going to be all right. Tasha’s brother was completely off target. She hadn’t always liked him, she was tough as dried leather, and this whole bet thing was a lark between two grown adults who found each other sexy and were using it as an excuse to fool around. Neither of them was going to fall for the other—that wasn’t even in question. She’d always made it perfectly clear he frustrated the hell out of her, so there was zero chance he’d break her heart. Less than zero.

He stopped and looked back at the shop, and a surge of resentment made him grit his teeth. He wasn’t going to let Fox frighten him into giving up the place. For a start, he wouldn’t put it past Tasha to have put her brother up to it. He wanted that studio. This bet was fun and he was looking forward to getting down and dirty with Tasha, but that was as far as it went. The shop would be his, no matter what the consequences.

Chapter Nine

Tasha stood in front of her wardrobe and stared sullenly at her clothes.

It was five p.m., and she’d been standing there for nearly fifteen minutes, at war with herself over what outfit she should choose for her date with Kole that evening.

Half of her itched to wear something that would make his eyes light up. That would make him look at her not as Tasha the friend, but as Tasha the woman, something that would get his blood racing and ensure the evening ended the way she was hoping it would.

The other half of her wanted to slap herself across the face. Since when had she turned into her mother—something she had always promised herself would never, ever, happen? After the age of eight, when her parents had divorced, Tasha had watched her mother on many occasions spend hours preparing her body, choosing her outfits, and doing her hair and makeup as she got ready for dates with various rich men. She’d been flower girl at three of Laura Wilde’s weddings. And she’d hated it, despising her mother for placing more importance on her looks than on her intelligence.

Tasha did not choose her clothes with men in mind. She may not be Einstein, but she still put her mental capacity and her personality far above her physical appearance in terms of importance. She would never be interested in a guy who was only attracted to her because of the way she looked.

Still. In spite of all that, she was only human. Kole wasn’t going out with her because of the way she looked. The previous night he’d clearly been turned on by the kiss and the way things had unfolded, rather than because she wore a skirt that barely covered her panties and a see-through top. So if she now wore something a little more...daring, did that make her shallow?

At that point, Tasha’s mobile rung in her pocket. She fished it out of her jeans and flipped it open, then groaned at the sight of her mother’s name. Sometimes she thought Laura had a sensor that beeped whenever her daughter was trying on clothes.

Fighting the urge to press cancel, she answered the call. “Hello?”

“Tasha, dahling.” Her mother practically breathed the words. “How are you?”

“Good.” Tasha pulled an old green dress out of the wardrobe, stared at it, then put it back. “What do you want?”

“Well that’s a nice way to talk to your mother.”

Tasha took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry. I’m in the middle of something, and I was a bit distracted. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you. What are you in the middle of?”

Tasha thought about lying, but somehow Laura always seemed to know when her daughter was evading an issue. “Choosing what to wear.”

“Ooh, what for?”

Tasha sighed. “I have a date tonight.”

“Good Lord.”

Tasha ground her teeth. “No need to sound so surprised.”

“Dahling, I’m thrilled. It’s been ages since you went out with a man. It can go rusty, you know.”

Tasha closed her eyes. Just kill me now.

“So,” Laura continued brightly, “who’s the lucky man?”

“Well, it’s just a friend actually. Nothing serious.”

“Kole?” suggested her mother.

Tasha opened her eyes and stared at her reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe. “What? Who told you?”

“Nobody. It was a dot on the cards, sweetie. Just a matter of time.”

“Before he worked his way through the female population of the Northland and got around to me, you mean?”

Laura laughed. “No, silly. He’s always had his eye on you, that much is obvious.”

A shiver passed through Tasha from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. “That’s rubbish.”

“Anyone with eyes can see the way he looks at you.”

Tasha’s mind whirled, but she refused to believe it. “Mum, seriously, you always see romance where there isn’t any.” Laura continually fell in and out of love, so clearly she had no idea what men were really thinking.

“So you’re dating, but you don’t think he likes you? Where’s the logic in that?”

Tasha didn’t want to explain the details of the bet with her. “Let’s just say it’s not serious.”

“So it’s just for sex then?”

“Mum!”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Laura said breezily.

“I know.” Tasha’s open attitude to sex was the one thing she’d been grateful to inherit from her mother. “Look, Mum, I really need to go. Did you want something?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to come to dinner tonight with me and George, but obviously you’re going to be busy.” George was husband number four. To be fair to Laura, they had been married over five years now. A rich accountant, he was tall, good looking, a little rotund, and slightly more tanned than Tasha liked a man to be, but he treated Laura well, and she seemed happy enough.

“Do me a favor?” Laura asked. “Don’t wear black.”

“I like black.”

“I know. And it’s elegant and classy on most people. But you need color, Tasha dear. Wear something bright.”

“I don’t do bright.”

“For God’s sake, at least shave your legs, won’t you?”

“Yes, Mother. I promise to prepare myself appropriately before I expose myself to a man’s touch.”

“Good. Let me know how it goes.”

Tasha said goodbye and clipped the phone shut. She looked down at her legs. Part of her considered rebelling against her mother’s advice, but as much as she disliked changing herself for a guy, she didn’t want Kole running his hand up her leg and getting his fingers tangled in the hairs.

Running his hand up my leg... Tasha swallowed down a nervous lump in her throat and closed the wardrobe doors. She wasn’t going to think about what might happen later, or she’d get herself all worked up. And she wasn’t going to think about her mother’s words either. Anyone with eyes can see the way he looks at you. Laura was completely off track. Kole looked at all women like a dog looks at cooked turkey. She was nothing different.

She was going to take a shower and deal with the hair situation, and then she’d have another think about which outfit to wear.

*

Half an hour later, smooth and perfumed, she came out of the bathroom wrapped in her black toweling robe and went into the kitchen to make herself a coffee before she tackled her clothes. She found the kettle already on the boil, and Maisey spooning coffee into the plunger and preparing two cups. Tasha hadn’t seen her since her date with Kole. Maisey had been in bed when she arrived home, and she’d gone out early that morning before Tasha had woken up.

“Hey.” Maisey gave her a smile. “Missed you last night. What time did you get in?”

“About eleven thirty. I’m guessing you were in bed by nine.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Maisey always went to bed early. “Keeps me young and beautiful.”

Tasha smiled and leaned against the workbench. Her best friend certainly fitted that description today. Maisey wore a pretty pink and green flowery short dress that showed off her shapely legs, and she’d clipped up her dark hair with a mass of girlishly pretty matching clips.

“So where have you been all day?” Tasha asked.

Maisey poured the hot water into the plunger and stirred it. “I went to Whangarei to the chocolate factory there. Spent ages looking at their products. And I visited a few of the confectionery shops and coffee houses to look at the layout and décor. Had a great time. Came away with lots of ideas.”

“Excellent.”

Maisey was like a butterfly going from flower to flower—beautiful, light of heart, young in spirit, and gentle, but also flighty and unable to stick to one thing. She had never been short of ideas for their shop—she just lacked the ability to put them into practice. But that was where Tasha came in. Between the two of them, they would make Treats a huge success, she was sure.

Maisey poured the coffee and pushed a cup to Tasha, then surveyed her as she sipped her own. “So... How did the ‘date’ go last night?” She put air quotes around the word with one hand.

“Good.” Tasha sipped the coffee, burned her mouth, and cursed.

“Didn’t take you back to his place then?” Maisey grinned mischievously.

“No. He was quite...” She smiled. “A gentleman.”

“We are talking about my brother here, aren’t we?”

“I know. I was surprised as you.” Tasha frowned. “He said something interesting last night that made me think. I told him one reason I made this bet is because I want to see the Kole he presents to other women, because I’m sure he must be different to the brother of yours I see almost every day. I felt the Kole he shows them is some kind of fake person, because obviously I see the ‘real’ Kole, the one who’s not trying to get laid.”

“I get your point.”

“But he said that we’re all like dice, that we all have six faces. And we present a different face to our parents, for example, than we would present to our friends, our lovers, our bosses. That it’s a natural thing we all do, change ourselves to fit who we’re with. What do you think?”

Maisey considered it for a moment. “I suppose he’s right. To be honest, I did think it was unfair to criticize him for ‘turning on the charm’. I don’t think he does anything the rest of us don’t do when we’re with people we want to impress. We all do it with guys we like—flutter our eyelashes, lean forward, prop up the boobs, that sort of thing.”

“I don’t,” Tasha said.

Maisey gave her an appraising look. “No, I suppose you don’t. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flirt with a guy, not in the way I do, anyway. Maybe that’s why you terrify them.”

Tasha stared at her. “I don’t terrify men.”

“Yes, you do. You have that glare that probably kills an erection at twenty paces.”

“I do not!”

“Oh, come on, you do and you know you do. You play on it, if anything. I know why—it’s all to do with your mother, and you needn’t scowl at me because I know it’s the truth, even if you don’t want to hear it. You don’t like the way Laura plays on her looks to get what she wants. You think that’s somehow false and shallow.”

“It is false and shallow.”

“No, not really. Laura’s not as clever as you, not as witty or sharp. We all use the talents we have. I’m the same. I’m not super-smart, and I can hardly impress with my encyclopedic knowledge. But men react to me when I give them that look, and so I play on it when I find someone I like.”

Tasha sipped her coffee and looked out of the window at the jacaranda trees in their garden with their distinctive lilac-colored flowers, but her mind mulled over Maisey’s words.

Did she really scare guys off? Was it wrong to want a guy to like her for her, to fall in love with her personality? Although the idea of romance irritated her in many ways, Tasha liked sex, liked men, and did want to get married and settle down, maybe even have kids eventually. Was it so terrible she didn’t want the relationship to be superficial, that she wanted it to have meaning? Perhaps because her mother’s relationships had always seemed to lack meaning. But the thought she reacted so strongly against any initial attraction that she frightened guys off shocked her.

“Aw,” Maisey said, startling her. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Tasha blinked. “You haven’t upset me.”

“I did, I know I did.”

“I...” Tasha bit her lip. “I just want someone to like me for me. That’s all.”

“I know. I’ve listened to Laura scolding you to lose weight and tart yourself up, so I completely understand why you act like you do. But, Tash, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to make yourself look pretty for someone. It doesn’t mean you’re shallow, or there’s something wrong with flirting. It’s fun. I mean, I don’t agree with leading guys on, I’d never do that, but if you’re dating someone and you know where it’s going, and you like them, it’s fun to push it a little, to tease them.”

Tasha studied her wordlessly. Dating had never been like that for her. When she saw a guy she liked and who seemed interested in her regardless of her austere appearance, she was always forthright and up front, making it clear what she was interested in without tiptoeing around the issue. Did that frighten guys off? Sure, she had been told she was direct, but guys seemed to like that.

You didn’t seem to frighten Kole off, her brain whispered, and she turned away as a small smile curved her lips. Kole liked her for her, and he’d certainly seemed attracted to her, judging by what she’d felt was going on in his jeans when he’d pressed against her.

As she went back into her bedroom and opened her wardrobe doors, Maisey’s and her mother’s words played on her mind.

It’s fun to push it a little, to tease them.

Anyone with eyes can see the way he looks at you.

She ran a hand along the coat hangers, fingers trailing across the mainly black and neutral colors before they came to rest on an outfit her mother had once bought for her, but she’d hardly worn.

Perhaps she should try something different for a change.

Chapter Ten

Kole pulled up outside Tasha and Maisey’s house and turned off the ignition.

He sat there for a moment, looking across the street from their house at the park opposite. It was seven p.m. and the swings in the children’s playground were empty, moving slightly in the evening breeze, all the kids indoors for their evening baths and bed. The swings looked forlorn without their young companions, somehow echoing his odd, uneasy mood.

It was Fox’s fault, he mused glumly, watching an old crisp packet tumbling through the grass. This thing with Tasha was supposed to be a bit of fun, but her brother had cast a shadow over it with his threats of breaking limbs in response to broken hearts. Kole couldn’t help but feel annoyed at her for playing a part in his current state of mind, for suggesting the bet in the first place.

Even as the resentment filtered through him, though, it morphed quickly into guilt. It wasn’t Tasha’s fault. His low mood hadn’t only been caused by Fox’s unusually brotherly display of protectiveness.

After he’d visited Aqua Blue, Kole had gone to the church to take photographs of the christening. He knew the family—the baby’s father was an older brother of Stuart, a guy Kole had gone to school with. He’d met both the baby’s parents on several social occasions, including Stuart’s own wedding, and again, sadly, at the funeral of Stuart’s childhood sweetheart just eighteen months before. Ria had been diagnosed with Lupus, an autoimmune disease, at sixteen, and she’d regularly suffered from painful flares that affected her joints so much she was occasionally confined to a wheelchair. Stuart had known this, but he’d married her anyway, too in love to let the illness come between them, even though most times Kole had seen them together she’d been unwell. They’d talked often of kids and growing old together, but unbeknown to them both the Lupus had weakened her heart, and her sudden death at the age of twenty-four had shocked everyone.

Kole took photographs of the smiling parents with their baby and all their happy friends and family, but he’d been conscious all the while of Stuart standing to one side, quiet and alone. The guy had smiled and talked every time someone had come over to see him, but Kole, with a photographer’s eye, had watched him when Stuart thought nobody was looking, and the man’s pain and loss had been as evident as if it were paint splashed across his face. And afterward, when everyone went back to the couple’s house for lunch, Stuart had made his excuses and departed alone.

The whole event had left Kole with an odd mixture of feelings. Sorrow for Stuart, and a strange anger at the unjustness of it all, the fact there seemed no logic regarding who God chose to let live and who He chose to take. If in fact He existed at all. Kole wasn’t so sure after seeing Stuart’s sad face.

He felt confused as to why anyone would let themselves fall in love so much they opened themselves to that kind of pain. That was why he kept his heart out of relationships, he told himself; that’s what Harry’s death had taught him.

But he’d also felt an unusual pang of envy at the sight of the couple with their baby, an emotion he was completely unaccustomed to, especially where babies were concerned. Probably not to do with the baby itself, he thought, although the little girl had looked quite charming in a beautiful white lacy gown handed down from her great grandmother. But it was probably more related to the way Stuart’s brother had put his arm around his wife and gazed with such devotion at his family. It had engendered a surge of jealousy in Kole he’d never experienced before, and that had unnerved him more than anything. He didn’t want to feel jealous, or envious, or anything in fact for something he’d chosen not to have.

And now he felt all out of sorts, and not at all in the mood for a play-date. The kiss the night before had been lovely, but he couldn’t imagine Tasha agreeing to go to bed with him when it came to the crunch. Either she would back out or he would, depending on who won the game of chicken, but until that point they were both going to have to play along and pretend it felt perfectly normal for a couple who had been friends, and often enemies, for nigh on eleven years to suddenly strip off and get physical with each other.

He sighed, got out of the car, and walked up the path to the house. Hopefully Tasha wasn’t in a particularly confrontational or aggressive mood. He loved her bright mind and sharp wit, but he didn’t feel capable of a full-blown battle that evening, and unusually for him, he didn’t particularly feel in a sexy mood either. Half of him wished he’d rung to cancel.

He’d just reached the door when it opened before he’d had a chance to knock, so Tasha must have been waiting for him. She came out, closing it behind her, and stood before him, clutching her bag as she nibbled her bottom lip and waited.

“Hey,” she said.

Kole stared at her. He’d thought she looked softer the night before, in her slacks and T-shirt and high heels. But nothing could have prepared him for the way she looked tonight.

She wore a knee-length summer dress made from some kind of floaty material in a dark pink that fell in soft folds, emphasizing her generous breasts and the curve of her hips. A pair of strappy high-heeled sandals in the same color complimented the outfit perfectly. Her hair was down for once, tumbling around her shoulders in dark waves. For maybe the first time ever except when she went swimming, she wasn’t wearing her glasses, and she’d outlined her eyes in black and her lips bore a pinky gloss.

“Fucking hell,” he said.

Relief flashed across her face, there and gone like the rosella parrots that swooped through the garden past them in a blur of color, but he caught it. She’d been nervous about his reaction. The thought warmed him through.

A wry smile quickly replaced her look of relief, though. “I’m guessing I should take that as a compliment?” She glanced down at herself and then raised an eyebrow, looking more like the Tasha he was used to.

He gathered his wits. She’d done something he’d once heard her swear she would never do—dress to impress a man. Of course, she’d probably done so because of the bet. She wanted the shop, and this proved how desperate she was to get it.

But even so... The brief look of relief she probably hadn’t been aware of told him there was more to it than that. She’d wanted to please him. How utterly delightful.

“It is very much a compliment,” he said. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you.” She touched a hand to her hair in a womanly gesture that made him smile. “You look nice too.”

“Thanks.” He wore a long-sleeved black shirt and a pair of cream chinos. “I think we make a dashing couple.” He held out his hand.

She slid hers into his, and walked with him down the path to the car. “Dashing? Next you’ll be saying we’re ‘walking out’ or ‘promenading’.”

“I would love to promenade with you. You deserve to be shown off, looking like you do.”

The corner of her mouth curved up in a Tasha-type smile, but as she glanced up at him, unable to hide the pleasure his comment had obviously given her, a tingle descended his spine. Without makeup she had a distinctive natural beauty; with makeup she looked stunning, exotic.

His fingers tightened on hers, and when they reached the car, he turned her to face him, moving close so their bodies touched. He slid his free hand into her hair to cup her head; the dark strands felt like silk ribbons sliding through his fingers.

“Are you going to smudge my lip gloss?” she murmured.

“Yes.” When she didn’t complain, he bent his head and touched his lips to hers. They were deliciously sticky, and when he moved back, their lips peeled apart.

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes, seeing the glint of lenses over her irises. Her pupils were dilated, and his body hardened in response, preparing itself for her. Sure, this might all be fake, a carefully constructed attempt to turn him on. But it was working, and to be honest he didn’t really care.

“You’ve cheered me up,” he said, sliding his hand reluctantly from her hair.

She smiled. “I’m looking forward to dinner.”

“Me too. Come on, I’m starving.”

She laughed and opened the car door, and he walked around to the driver’s side and got in. They buckled their seatbelts, and he started the engine.

“Why did you need cheering up?” she asked as he drove away.

“Oh, I saw Stuart today at his niece’s christening.”

“Stuart Casey?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s he doing?”

Kole shrugged. “As you’d expect.”

“Ria’s been gone about eighteen months now, hasn’t she?”

“Yeah.” He took the main road toward Cooper’s Beach.

“So no signs of him dating again then?”

“Nope.”

“I thought he might have met someone through the school, another teacher, or a single parent,” Tasha said. Stuart taught English at the school where Kole had taken the team photos.

“Not yet. Ria’s the only girlfriend he’s ever had, far as I know.”

Kole fell quiet as he thought about that, and Tasha looked out of the window and didn’t say anything either. He couldn’t imagine only having been with one woman. What must it feel like, to have one person who made you feel so complete you never wanted to date anyone else?

He glanced at Tasha, who was still looking out of the window. Was she thinking the same?

Wanting to lighten the mood, he changed the conversation to talk about the restaurant, telling her he hadn’t been there before but he’d heard good reports about it, and even Fox had told him the chef there had real talent, which was an accolade in itself.

They chatted about food for a while and other restaurants they’d been to, then Tasha told him about a travel book she’d been reading. They started talking about places they wanted to visit, and in what seemed hardly any time they’d arrived at Cooper’s Beach. Kole parked the car and they got out, and he took her hand again and led her along the seafront to Antonio’s, a classy Italian restaurant overlooking the beautiful Doubtless Bay.

As the weather was warming up and the day had been dry and clear, he’d asked for a table on the large area of decking just above the sand. The sun hung low in the sky, spilling red and gold onto the waves, and citronella lanterns suspended from the roof filled the deck with puddles of orange light, as well as keeping away annoying insects.

The waiter showed them to a table right at the front, and they sat and took the menus.

“Nice,” Tasha said, looking out across the sand where a few couples were walking along the shoreline, shoes in their hands and feet in the cool water. She glanced back at Kole, a twinkle in her eye. “Very romantic.”

“One does one’s best.” He smiled. And then something, he wasn’t sure what, made him add, “You look lovely tonight. Part of me wishes we were here for genuine reasons.”

Her mahogany eyes surveyed him. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” He fiddled with the pepper pot, half-wishing he hadn’t said anything. But thinking of Stuart again, standing there quiet and sad, prompted him to carry on. “I want the shop. I’m not afraid of admitting that, and I still don’t have any intentions of giving it up. But—and it’s a big but—after seeing Stuart today, I feel uncomfortable about treating this...whatever it is we have, lightly. I took the bet partly because it amused me, but also because I do like you. We’ve always been attracted to each other, I think, although we’ve hidden it behind a kind of semi-filial irritation. But there is something there. And I genuinely want to explore it.”

He leaned forward. Without her glasses, her eyes entranced him. Her skin glowed in the candle light, and the unusually low neckline she wore revealed the sensual swell of her breasts. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” he continued, “but you look stunning tonight.” He let his gaze rest on her lips, which parted in response. He could remember the softness of them beneath his own, the way his had peeled erotically from hers. He wanted to kiss her again. “And that has nothing to do with the bet. Whatever happens later, right here, right now, I want you.”

Chapter Eleven

Tasha stared at Kole. Well, her outfit had certainly had the desired effect. Desire sparked in his eyes, and his whole attention was fixed on her. He hadn’t even glanced at the blonde with the red mini skirt and D-cup boobs who’d walked into the restaurant. And his words made her melt like an ice cube left in the sun.

She glanced away, out across the sand to the glistening sea. Was it terrible his declaration flattered her? Previous boyfriends had found her attractive, but no man had ever said so the way Kole had just done. However, he’d said the words in reaction to her physical appearance, not her mind, and she felt ashamed she was reacting the way she’d scorned her mother for doing so many times.

And yet, she was tired of preaching from her pedestal. The desire she felt for him at that moment, the longing that threaded through her at the memory of his words, I want you... That had nothing to do with the bet. She wanted to take him to bed, wanted to feel his hands on her.

She looked back at him. He was still studying her, a strange little smile on his lips. He’d looked sad when he talked about Stuart, and the events of that morning had obviously affected him. It was nice to see him smile.

“I want you too.” There, the words were out.

His smile spread. They held each other’s gazes for a long moment, and she felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of what might happen when they left the restaurant.

Then he cleared his throat and looked down at the menu. “I might have a steak,” he said. “I have a feeling I need to keep my strength up.”

Tasha chuckled, although his words only increased the rapid pace of her pulse. “Me too,” she said. “I want to make sure I have plenty of energy.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he read through the dishes, and Tasha grinned and scanned through the menu. This was fun! Kind of like an appetizer in itself, with all the promise of the main course to come later that evening.

The waitress came up and they ordered their meals, and true to his promise the night before, Kole ordered a bottle of wine and kept her glass topped up, having just the one glass himself as he was driving.

Tasha let him, feeling in the need for some Dutch courage, although she made sure she alternated with water, not wanting to be comatose when they eventually went back to his place. But she did feel the need to relax a little. Every time she met his gaze, a frisson of excitement spread through her. He looked strikingly handsome in his black shirt, enough so that women glanced at him as they walked past, and the waitress fussed over him more than she fussed over Tasha. But to his credit. he seemed to have eyes for nobody but herself, listening intently when she spoke, laughing at her jokes, and seemingly enjoying her company. When their meal came, he fed her a piece of steak from his fork and she let him have a taste of her pasta, and to anyone watching, they must have appeared as if they’d been dating for months.

“So are you always like this with the girls you date?” She asked the question as she sipped her wine and took small bites of her dessert. The sun had sunk to a curve above the horizon, and the beach was mostly in shadow.

Kole leaned back in his chair, one arm over the back, and tipped his head. “Now why would you bring up other girls when we’re having a perfectly nice evening together?”

She played with the stem of her glass. “I don’t know. I feel...unnerved.” The wine had loosened her up, and honesty crept over her like the coming night. “You have your date hat on tonight, and you’re...different, just as I’d thought you would be, and I suppose I’m wondering if you’re this way with all the other women.”

“For a start, ‘all the other women’ makes me sound like a right tart.”

“Well, if the cap fits...”

He gave her a wry look. “I haven’t been with that many, no more than any other guy we know. And anyway, what do you mean, different? I’m not aware of acting any different than usual.”

She thought about it while she sucked tiramisu off her spoon. “Attentive. Focused, I suppose.” She took another spoon of the coffee-flavored cake and placed it in her mouth, conscious as she did so of his gaze on her lips. “And you’re looking at me the way I look at this dessert.”

His lips curved. “I must admit that the words ‘lick’ and ‘suck’ are jumping into my mind at the moment.”

She glanced around to make sure nobody had overheard them, then dipped the spoon into the cake again. “Are you trying to shock me? If so, it won’t work. I’m unshockable.”

He leaned forward on the table, his hazel eyes in the semi-darkness turning the color of the melted chocolate on her plate. “So you don’t mind then if I say something like...I can’t wait to get you home, strip you naked, bury my mouth in you, and see if you taste as sweet as that dessert?”

She stopped with the spoon in her mouth and stared at him. His challenging gaze searched hers. Clearly, he meant every word.

Her heart raced at the thought of him planting kisses slowly down her body before he pleasured her with his tongue. Only one of her previous lovers had offered to give her oral, and he hadn’t been great at it, often applying too much pressure and making her wince. It wouldn’t have surprised her if Kole had a degree in it.

Removing the spoon, she wiped delicately at the corners of her mouth and tried not to look flustered. “I don’t mind at all. As long as you don’t mind if I do this.” She took another spoon of cake, placed it in her mouth, and sucked the chocolate off it suggestively.

Kole watched her, his eyes widening. When she’d done, he blew out a breath in a long, slow exhalation.

Tasha couldn’t help but laugh, and he joined in.

“Touché,” he said.

She grinned. “Serves you right. Getting a girl all hot and bothered like that.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment the waitress returned with their coffees, so he waited until she’d placed their cups before them and retreated before he spoke again.

“Anyway,” he said, raising the cup to his lips. “You can hardly talk about being different on a date. I’ve never seen you dress like this...well, ever.”

She scratched her nose, then added a small spoon of sugar to her coffee. “Yeah. Fair enough. I wasn’t going to. It goes against the grain to dress for someone other than myself.”

“Are you sure that’s what you’re doing?” he said softly. “Something tells me you like how you look tonight.”

She stirred the cup, watching the foam mingle with the coffee in caramel-colored swirls. “I don’t know what to say to that. It feels odd, discussing this kind of thing with you.”

“So you’re happy to be intimate with me physically, just not emotionally?”

She raised her eyes to see him watching her, smiling. “Come on, you’ve known me long enough to understand what I’m like.”

“I have. And I know you resent your Mum for putting so much emphasis on the importance of a person’s physical appearance, which is why you’re usually so determined to make it low priority. But equally, I think a small part of you likes the effect you’ve had on me.” His eyes twinkled.

She stirred her coffee again. “Maybe.”

He reached out, and to her surprise, took her hand in his. “Why does that upset you?”

Surprised he’d read her mood, she shrugged. “I suppose it seems so shallow. I’m flattered you find me attractive—of course I am. You’re a good looking, sexy guy, and I’m not used to this kind of attention. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel good. But I won’t be dressing like this permanently. I want someone to love me for me, for what I’m like inside. Not how much cleavage I’m showing.”

She thought he would laugh at that and make some comment about her breasts being on display for once. Not that she’d actually caught him looking yet, but every time she glanced down she felt as if she was standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon, and she couldn’t imagine he’d missed the view from his high vantage point.

But he didn’t laugh. Instead, he frowned. “Tasha, are you under the impression I said I want to take you to bed because I’ve suddenly realized tonight you have a figure?”

She fidgeted. When he said it like that, it made her sound petty and childish. “Well, you did say you liked the way I looked tonight,” she said resentfully, “and it’s not as if you’ve made a move on me before.”

He stared at her. “Firstly, I also said I’ve always thought you were beautiful. And secondly...” He frowned again. “I’ve never made a move on you before because I didn’t think you were interested.”

“I wasn’t,” she said. But even as she said the words, she knew it wasn’t the truth. She’d always liked him. Always found him attractive. But he was Maisey’s brother, and she’d known him forever, and their relationship had always been kind of sisterly-brotherly, which meant it had never had the chance to develop into anything else.

She bit her lip and looked at her hand. He still held it in his own, his fingers tanned against her paler skin, which implied to her he wasn’t too insulted by what she’d said. “Actually, that’s a lie.”

“I wouldn’t have believed that, but it’s not the first time someone’s suggested it,” he said.

Her gaze flew back to his. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Fox wasn’t surprised when I told him we were seeing each other. I saw him this morning.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What did you tell him?”

“I mentioned we were dating. I’ve always been so protective of Maisey, so worried one of my mates would take advantage of her and then I’d have to kill him.” He smiled. “So I suppose I thought I wanted to check he was okay with it.”

She couldn’t imagine what her brother had thought. “What did he say?”

Kole scratched his ear and looked out to sea for a moment. When his gaze came back to hers, she could see his exasperation. “He said ‘Break her heart, I’ll break your fucking legs.’”

Tasha burst out laughing. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

“He was quite adamant.”

“Kole, he was teasing you. Fox doesn’t give a fuck who I go out with. He knows I’d tell him it’s none of his business, and it isn’t.” She grinned. “Anyway, it’s not something you have to worry about. There’s no way I’m letting my heart come anywhere near you, Mr. Casanova.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know that and you know that, but Fox didn’t seem so convinced.”

She sipped her coffee. “Well if it’s any consolation, my mother wasn’t shocked either.”

“No?” His eyebrows rose.

Tasha lowered her gaze and rubbed her thumb over his knuckles. She didn’t want to relay all of Laura’s words. Anyone with eyes can see the way he looks at you. She shivered at the memory of them.

“Nobody’s surprised except us, it seems,” Kole said. “And the more I think about it, the more I realize us getting together was inevitable. Like two planets in the same solar system. Eventually, they’re going to come into conjunction.”

His dark eyes made her shiver. “You’re going to say something about black holes now, aren’t you?” she said, trying to make him laugh, to dispel the sexual tension she could feel rising between them.

But he leaned forward, raised her hand to his lips, and kissed her fingers. The touch of his lips on her skin brought hairs rising all over her body, and her nipples tightened beneath the silky dress.

“Finish your coffee,” he murmured. “Time to go.”

Chapter Twelve

Kole drove them back to his place, a little faster than he probably should have along the winding roads due to his rising apprehension. Tasha chatted much like normal as he drove, however, surprisingly composed considering where the evening was heading.

A strange mixture of emotions threaded through him, and he was conscious of his heart picking up its speed too as they neared his house. It had been an odd evening. This whole situation had taken him by surprise. He’d known Tasha such a long time, from when she used to wear long white socks and have her hair in braids. He’d assumed that even when things turned physical between them, he’d still feel the same way about her—affectionate, indulgent, and slightly irritated. Even though he was well aware of the innate sexiness she tried to hide beneath her rebellious image, she’d always be the girl who had once pushed him in the pool fully clothed at a party for mocking her new glasses.

He hadn’t expected his feelings to change. Throughout the evening, their conversation hadn’t turned intimate as such; they talked like normal, about movies and music and rugby, and if they hadn’t made the bet on Friday, they would have been just two good friends having dinner together.

But something had changed, and he couldn’t put his finger on what. Was it Tasha, or something in himself? Certainly, she looked different tonight, sexy and sultry in a way he could never have prepared himself for. But that wasn’t it. Perhaps it was the knowledge they were going to take it further. Like a Christmas present under the tree, she held the promise of delight, and his fingers itched to unwrap her.

But that still didn’t explain the way his pulse had picked up its pace each time she’d looked at him across the dinner table. Her eyes had captivated him, a hundred different emotions moving beneath the surface like fish that swam away every time he reached out for them.

What was she thinking? Was the bet on her mind too, the concern that this relationship, such as it was, had been constructed on a paper foundation? He was worried it could come crashing around his ears if he hurt her. He didn’t want to lose her as a friend.

But she had insisted that men weren’t the only ones who could have sex without their hearts becoming involved. Perhaps he was being egotistical in assuming she would fall for him. She wasn’t the kind of girl who was always declaring herself in love. She’d always had a matter of fact approach to relationships. So maybe he ought to drag himself into the twenty-first century and start understanding that not every woman dated with the sound of wedding bells in her ears.

He drew up outside his house, put on the handbrake, and turned off the engine. Tasha unclipped her seatbelt, but didn’t get out.

He unclipped his belt too, and turned in the seat to face her.

“Well,” she said. A strip of moonlight slanted through the car like a blade, and her eyes glittered.

He cleared his throat and glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It read nearly nine o’clock, hardly midnight, but too late to pretend he’d be inviting her in just for coffee. “It’s getting late,” he said.

“Are you normally in bed by nine?” She sounded amused.

“No, but even so...” He hesitated, unnerved by her eyes without her glasses. It reminded him she could see through all the barriers he’d erected around himself over the years, right to the young man he’d once been before Harry’s death, before everything had changed. That made him feel...uneasy.

“Are you having second thoughts?” she said softly.

“No,” he said, not sure if it was a lie. “I thought maybe you were.”

Even in the semi-darkness, he saw the shake of her head. “No. I’m...”

“Nervous?” Even as he said it, he realized he was voicing his own emotion. He was nervous about taking her to bed. Jeez. He hadn’t been nervous about having sex since he was sixteen.

Tasha tilted her head, and her eyes scanned him like one of those laser readers he’d seen on sci-fi movies. “A little, but in a nice way. Excited.”

A thrill of anticipation brought goose bumps rising all over his body as if a cool breeze had wafted through the car. But it wasn’t cold, not in the sub-tropical Northland in December. The humid air had brought beads of perspiration out on his skin, and if he looked in the mirror he knew he would see his hair curling around his temples. Tasha’s eyes were what had made him shiver, their intensity, and the look in them that held the promise of a warm and sultry night.

“It’s okay, if you’ve changed your mind,” she said. “I understand. I can’t say this doesn’t feel...unusual. It’s like being an actor, stepping out from behind the curtain on stage, and seeing the audience for the first time.”

“I haven’t changed my mind. But...” He might as well be honest. “I suppose I didn’t expect us to get to this point.”

“You thought I’d back out?”

“Yes. Until now it’s been fun teasing you and flirting. But I don’t want to lose your friendship if something goes wrong.”

She took his hand and linked their fingers, brushing his palm with her thumb. “What could go wrong?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me.” Her thumb continued to circle his palm, and a shiver ran between his shoulder blades and down his back.

“Tasha...”

She took a deep breath. “Listen. I know we made this stupid bet, and I know it’s lying beneath the surface of what we’re doing like a landmine, threatening to explode if we aren’t careful. But the thing is, we’ve got confused. The landmine isn’t the bet. The landmine is the desire that’s been there all along, and it was only a matter of time until we triggered it. All the bet has done is open the padlock and release the chain we’d used to keep our feelings at bay. Yes, we both want the shop and we’ll have some fun arguing about that when the eight days are up. But this...” She stroked her thumb across the inside of his wrist. “This has nothing to do with the bet. This is happening because we’re attracted to each other.”

His body hardened in response to her intimate and sensual touch, and her words.

“Earlier,” she continued, “at dinner, you told me ‘I want you.’ If you’ve changed your mind, that’s fine. Just say so now and we’ll call it a day, no hard feelings. But if you haven’t...if you still want me...then let’s not overthink this. Because I want you, and I’m nervous and excited and turned on at the thought of getting you naked, and taking you to bed.”

He was hard as concrete now, and she’d hardly touched him. “I do want you,” he said. “I meant every word I said earlier. And as long as you’re sure, there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind.”

She smiled. “Why don’t we go inside then?”

He raised her hand and touched his lips to her fingers. “Come on.”

Outside, the warm night air stroked across his skin as they walked up the path to his front door. He opened it and stepped back to let her precede him, then followed her in and shut the door behind him.

She walked into the open plan living room, looking around her with interest. “It’s so warm tonight.”

“Open up the doors if you like. I’ll get us a drink.” He threw his keys on the kitchen counter, took two glasses, and chose one of the bottles of Scotch from the cupboard. She was the only woman apart from his sister who liked the kind of whisky he drank. After placing a few ice cubes in each, he poured a generous measure of the amber liquid over them, and added a splash of cold water from the bottle in the fridge.

Tasha had opened the large glass doors leading onto the deck and now stood outside, looking past the garden at the view of Mangonui. Christmas lights in the houses across the harbor looked like colorful dancing fireflies. The bright moon was reflected on the water, and it covered everything in a faint silver light.

Kole carried the glasses across the living room and onto the deck, and passed one to Tasha. She took it, and watched him take a mouthful of the whisky.

“So you’re not planning on driving me back tonight then?”

He swallowed the mouthful and then realized what she meant. Shit. That was quite an assumption. “Ah. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I just assumed you’d stay the night.” He waited for her to give him a sarcastic reprimand for presupposing she would want to stay.

But instead, she moved closer to him and reached up to cup his cheek. “You can be very sweet sometimes.”

His lips curved. “Doesn’t sound like me.”

Her smile mirrored his. “No, it doesn’t.”

She dropped her hand and sipped the whisky, turning to look back into his house. “This is a nice place.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry I haven’t invited you all around yet. I realized the other day I’ve been in three months now.” Actually, keeping the place to himself hadn’t been a mistake. He’d always rented with someone else before, but this was the first house he’d bought, and he was enjoying being a home owner, having the house to himself, and doing the place up exactly as he wanted it.

“It’s very...minimalistic.”

“I don’t like a lot of fuss.”

“I can see that.” She winked at him. “Am I going to find forgotten lipsticks in the bathroom cabinet and a selection of ladies’ panties left around the place?”

He gave her a wry look. “I haven’t brought any girls back here, so I think you’ll be safe.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Why not? I thought having a bachelor pad would be the perfect place to seduce all your conquests.”

“All my conquests? Just how many women do you think I’ve been with?”

“I’m sure you’ve been with more girls than I’ve been with guys.”

Even though that was almost certainly the case, he wanted to argue the point, but her words distracted him. “How many guys have you been with, then?” he asked. He’d only met two of them, but presumably there’d been more than that.

“That’s not a very polite question to ask on a date.”

He knew her too well to let her get away with that. “Stop avoiding the question.”

She sipped her whisky, a mischievous look crossing her features, and leaned back on the balustrade. “I’ll tell you if you tell me first.”

“How many girls I’ve slept with?”

“Yes.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Ah...”

“Kole Graham, are you seriously telling me you can’t remember? Is it more than fifty?”

“Jeez, no. I’m not that bad. But at uni there were a few...short-term relationships, shall we say.”

“One-night stands, you mean?”

He grinned.

“So how many, roughly?”

He shrugged. “Twenty or so, I suppose.”

“Twenty! I’m shocked.”

“Really?”

“Shocked it’s so low. I thought you’d be in triple figures. At least.”

He rolled his eyes. “So what about you, then? Can you beat that number?”

She gave him an odd look. “Not quite.”

“So? Come on, be honest. Fifteen?”

“Lower.”

“Thirteen.”

“Lower.”

“Ten?”

“Three,” she said.

He stared at her, genuinely surprised. “Three? Are you sure?”

“Yes, Kole, I’m sure.”

“I thought nobody was in single figures these days.”

She gave a small laugh. “It’s nice I can still surprise you.”

“You have surprised me.” That was an understatement. She’d gone out with her first boyfriend, Lewis, at sixteen, and they’d dated for a couple of years, from what he could remember. Kole had been away at university when she’d broken up with him, but Maisey had told him Lewis had cheated on her, and as soon as she’d found out, she’d dumped him. Then of course she’d gone to university, and he hadn’t seen much of her until she came back to Mangonui a couple of years ago. Since then, he’d only met one of her dates, which must have been the guy who’d told her she ought to work in a brothel, but he’d assumed there had been more and he just hadn’t met them. “You’re seriously telling me you only dated one guy while you were in uni?”

She looked out across the harbor. “Yes. I met him in my second year. Maisey introduced us. She was going out with Neil at the time and Jason was a mate of his. We all went around together for a while, but it was never serious.”

Her gaze came back to Kole’s. Something about her carefully guarded words told him she wasn’t telling the whole truth. She’d like this Jason, but he’d not returned her feelings. He’d hurt her.

Kole was beginning to realize his relationship with Tasha was like an archaeological site recently exposed to the air by the elements. He’d thought he knew her well, but their friendship had been very much on the surface, and neither of them had excavated deep enough to uncover the real person beneath. She projected a sassy, determined, belligerent persona, but just like his nonchalant, devil-may-care attitude, the crisp coating protected a soft chewy center that few people realized was there.

She’d only had three partners, one of whom had cheated on her, one who hadn’t returned her affection, and the last one had practically called her a whore. She deserved more, so much more.

The light breeze stirred the skirt of Tasha’s dress around her thighs, lifted her hair around her neck. Her eyes were filled with hunger, and as he met her gaze and let a small smile touch his lips, she inhaled and her lips parted. She looked young and beautiful, and desire stirred within him like a bear waking up after hibernation.

Enough talk.

Kole finished off his whisky and put the glass on the balustrade. He slipped a hand into her hair, the strands curling around his fingers. Then, moving closer to her, he bent his head and lowered his lips to hers.

Chapter Thirteen

Tasha held her breath and stayed motionless as Kole kissed her.

For a moment, she’d thought he was about to call the whole thing off. After leaving the restaurant, he’d grown quiet in the car, and when they’d pulled up outside his house he’d seemed reluctant to go in. At first, she’d thought he was chickening out, and their friendship had got in the way of their desire for one another. But she’d quickly realized that although their friendship was the problem, it wasn’t in the way she’d thought. I don’t want to hurt you, he’d said. He genuinely didn’t want to screw their friendship up. And that, along with the fact he’d obviously hoped she’d stay the night rather than want to go home after they’d had sex, had melted her a little inside.

She still held the glass in her left hand, but she pressed her right against his chest for balance and leaned into the kiss. His hand was warm on the back of her neck, holding her there with just enough force that a frisson of excitement ran down her spine. She’d told the truth when she’d said she’d only had three partners, but what she hadn’t mentioned was none of them had been a match for her in bed. Great sex was like the Grand Canyon—she knew it existed, and it was supposed to be magnificent, but she hadn’t yet seen it for herself. But Kole’s casual arrogance, his dry wit, and his innate sexiness told her he might be able to take her on a guided tour of the sights.

His lips moved across hers, firm and warm, and then his tongue brushed her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth to allow him in. He tasted sweet and hot, like tropical flowers opening in the summer sun, and his aftershave rose from his warm body to ensnare her senses. His hand tightened in her hair, bold, possessive, and she murmured approvingly.

He lifted his head, and his eyes looked black in the moonlight, filled with desire. But his touch was gentle as his other hand rested on her hip, his thumb just stroking her waist, and when his lips moved across her cheek, they were like feathers brushing across her skin.

He kissed back to her mouth and must have felt the curve of her lips, because he lifted his head again and smiled back. “What?”

“You.” She traced her fingers across his shirt. “You’re so gentle. I didn’t expect it.”

“You thought I’d heft you over my shoulder and carry you to the bedroom like a caveman?”

She chuckled. “Maybe.”

His lips touched her cheek, her eyebrow, her nose. “You sound almost disappointed.” His lips and then his tongue caressed her lips. “Do you like it rough, Tasha?”

She couldn’t stop her inhalation, which his mouth must have felt as it closed over hers. “No,” she murmured when he moved back. “Yes. I don’t know. That’s not what I meant.” She was fumbling now. How inexperienced she was at this, no match for him at all.

“What did you mean?” His hand slid through her hair and he curled the strands around his fingers as he continued to place soft kisses on her lips.

“Um...”

He cupped her cheek, his skin warm on hers. “You want me to shock you?”

No.

Yes.

She didn’t know what she wanted.

His gaze searched hers. Then he dropped his hand.

He took the glass from her and placed it next to his on the balustrade. Looked out across the harbor for a moment. Then he turned back to her.

He slid a hand around her to her neck, and she felt him tug at the zipper of her dress, pulling it all the way down to her waist. Then he placed his hands on her thighs.

Slowly, he gathered the material of her dress up in his hands. He held her gaze while he did so, his eyes hot, amused, daring her to stop him. Her breathing quickened, but she said nothing, letting him lift the dress up over her thighs, up her hips.

“Lift your arms,” he murmured.

She hesitated. Was he going to strip her right there, on the deck? A fence ran around his garden, shielding them from his neighbors, but because the house was elevated they had a clear view across the harbor. Light from the living room lamp spilled onto the deck, which meant they’d be silhouetted, visible to anyone on the waterfront who looked up.

But they were far enough way that she doubted anyone would recognize her. And Kole might be mischievous, but he wouldn’t do anything to embarrass or shame her. He just wanted to shock her, as he’d said.

Locking her eyes on his, she lifted her arms.

His lips curved. He drew the dress up and over her head, then threw it into the living room where it whispered down onto the floor.

Tasha fought the urge to cover herself up. He opened his hands and she placed hers in them, and he held them out to either side, admiring her.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

She nibbled her bottom lip, his obvious admiration warming her right through. “If I get reported for indecent exposure, you’re paying the fine.”

He laughed and pulled her hands behind her back, holding them there so she was pressed against his chest, unable to move. “It’s a deal.” He released her hands, and then she felt his fingers on the clasp of her bra at the back. “Let’s really give them something to talk about.”

“Kole...”

He ignored her and popped the catch, rather expertly, she noticed, and the elastic loosened. Then he drew the straps down her arms and threw it inside on top of the dress.

Tasha gasped, certain there were outraged people all over Mangonui in the process of telephoning the police, and she opened her mouth to exclaim. But before she could say anything, he placed his hands under her butt and lifted her, wrapped her legs around his waist, turned, and went inside, closing the door behind him.

Feeling a wave of affection for him, she kissed him as he carried her through the living room. He returned the kiss hungrily, muttering a curse as he banged a knee on the table and bumped into the sofa, and giving her remonstrative glare when she laughed.

“Serves you right,” she scolded as he went down the hall. “Stripping me off in public like that.”

“You’d better get used to it. Now I know you want to be shocked, I’ll do my best to oblige.” She shivered at the thought, and he chuckled. “Does that turn you on, Tash?”

“You turn me on,” she said, breathless. She kissed him again, and he slowed, opening his mouth to her and meeting each thrust of her tongue with one of his own. She tightened her thighs around his waist, trying to ease the ache between them, and he groaned and tore his lips away from her.

“If I’m not inside you in five minutes, I’m going to severely embarrass myself.” He carried her into the bedroom and flicked on the bedside lamp, casting the room in a soft glow.

A thrill passed through her at the notion of him losing control because of her. She couldn’t believe they were actually there, in his bedroom, and he was about to make love to her. Her heart pounded, and her mouth had gone dry.

He walked up to the king size bed, turned and sat, then lay back, leaving her sitting astride him. “When we all went swimming, I always hated it when you wore a bikini.” He cupped her breasts with his warm hands. “If I let myself look at you, I’d have a hard-on in seconds. And that was before I knew what you looked like beneath.”

His words surprised her. She’d never caught him looking at her on the beach, and he’d never commented on her figure. The thought that he’d been aware of her on a purely visceral level came as a pleasant shock. “Do I meet with your approval?” she whispered.

He lowered his gaze to her breasts and stroked his thumbs across them. She followed his eyes, her lips parting as her relaxed, swollen nipples tightened to firm peaks beneath his touch.

His hands slid to her waist, and he held her and pushed up with his hips. “What do you think?” His firm erection pressed against her soft mound through his jeans.

She moved against him, arousing herself on him. “Mmm...”

He picked up her hands. “You’re determined to make this as difficult for me as possible, aren’t you?”

“Why?” she asked innocently, giving tiny thrusts of her hips. “What am I doing?”

“You know perfectly well.” He linked their fingers. “My turn to tease.” He pulled her hands above his head, bringing her nipples level with his face, and covered one with his mouth.

“Oh!” Tasha gasped as heat rushed through her. He sucked, his tongue stroking the sensitive skin, and she closed her eyes in bliss and arched her back. “Oh, God...”

He swapped to the other nipple, then back, until she was gasping and squirming, grinding herself again him. Much more of this, and she was going to come right there.

At that moment, though, he stopped, leaving her panting and a little shaky, and he lifted her off him onto the bed and pushed himself up.

“That was supposed to fire you up,” he said as he hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt, “but it almost backfired on me.” He dropped his shirt to the floor and slid down the zipper on his jeans. “You’re testing my self-control tonight.”

Tasha slipped off her panties and slid beneath the duvet. “I thought you prided yourself on your self-control.” She tried to sound sassy, but her heart hammered as he stripped off his jeans and boxers, finally exposing himself to her heated gaze. Wow.

“I do.” He sent her an amused look as opened the bedside table, took out a condom, then got in beside her. “Shows you how much you’re turning me on.”

He pulled her into his arms and molded her body to his. Tasha ran her hand up his arm to his shoulder. She’d seen him shirtless before, of course, on the beach, in the swimming pool, but nothing compared to having him there, in her arms. His muscles were toned and firm, his chest nicely defined. His hot skin stuck to hers beneath the duvet, and he reached across her to flick on the switch for the ceiling fan.

“Hot stuff,” he said, and smiled.

He kissed her, and she sank a hand into his hair, opening her mouth to him. This was so different from how she’d pictured it. She’d thought he’d be fast and rough, hard and physical, and she was totally unprepared for the way he’d seduced her. And for the way she’d responded. In the past, she’d been proactive in bed, usually the one to decide on positions and happy to direct her partner for the best way to arouse her. But with Kole she felt a shyness she was completely unaccustomed to. His sexual experience had increased her nerves, and she couldn’t shake her worry about doing or saying the wrong thing. Looking foolish had never been an issue that had bothered her before. Was she trying to impress him? How stupid was that? She wanted to slap herself, to make a joke, to release this tension building inside her, but all she could think about was how gorgeous he was, and that she couldn’t believe they were finally doing this.

His hand skated over her back and hip, down her thigh. She was acutely conscious of his erection pressing against her stomach, the way his tanned skin was much darker than her own, of how he smelled, warm and masculine, of pure male. Her brain seemed to have turned to treacle; she couldn’t form a single coherent thought. She’d turned into pure sensation, touch, smell, taste. Every nerve ending tingled, and she ached to have him inside her.

He didn’t seem in any hurry, though, continuing to stroke her as he kissed her leisurely. But finally, he trailed his fingers up her thigh and pushed gently at her knee. Breathing quickly, she parted her legs for him, and for the second time in two days, and possibly only the second time since she’d known him, heat flooded her cheeks.

Kole lifted his head and surveyed her as he stroked lightly up her inner thigh. He obviously saw her blush—jeez, he couldn’t have missed it; her face was burning—but he said nothing, just smiled before his fingers sank into the heart of her.

Tasha closed her eyes. The way his fingers slipped easily into her, along with his quiet groan, told her she was swollen and wet, ready for him. She bit her bottom lip, holding back the long moan that threatened to escape from her, her cheeks still warm with the knowledge he was watching her as he stroked down.

He moved his fingers inside her, then brought them back up, coated with her moisture, to slowly circle and arouse her clit.

“Nice,” he said. He kissed her bottom lip where it was still caught between her teeth.

She opened her eyes, knowing she had to shake off this feeling of being sixteen again. But she couldn’t stop thinking, Oh my God, I’m having sex with Kole Graham. Her heart raced, and when he eventually reached for the packet and tore off the top, she knew she’d tensed up like a virgin.

Chapter Fourteen

Kole rolled on the condom, then moved between Tasha’s thighs. She was ready for him, there was no doubt about that; a few more strokes and he thought she might well have come for him. But as he pressed the tip of himself into her, he realized the blush that stained her cheeks was indicative of how much her apprehension was affecting her.

He settled himself on his elbows and kissed her, long and languorous.

When he finally lifted his head, she bit her bottom lip again.

“What’s the matter?” she whispered.

He kissed her nose. “Don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not...”

He kissed her lips. “You are. You’re tight, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her mouth opened, but words failed her, and she closed her eyes, obviously mortified.

He gave a small laugh and kissed her cheek, then around to her ear. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s only me.”

“That’s the problem. I didn’t expect...” Her voice trailed off.

He kissed her jaw, then her lips again. “What?”

She shook her head. Her cheeks were still pink. Tasha, blushing again! He was both amused and touched.

What had she been about to say? He took a chance, deciding honesty was the best way forward. “I didn’t expect to feel like this either,” he admitted. “Maybe we both underestimated our feelings for each other.”

She gave a small nod. Her eyes were wide, and she blinked faster than normal. “I just...” She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I don’t know why I’m nervous. I’m not normally like this. I didn’t expect you to be so...”

He waited. Then when no answer seemed forthcoming, he suggested mischievously, “Big?”

That made her laugh. “Perhaps that as well. But I was going to say, gorgeous.”

He had not expected that. “Oh.” What a nice thing to say.

They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Something stirred inside him, warming him all the way through.

“Do you want me to stop?” he said gently. “I don’t mind—I’m not going to yell at you or anything. We can cuddle instead.”

Her lips curved. “No,” she said, looking more like the old Tasha. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Thank God. “Then we’ll take our time. We have all night. I’m in no hurry, honey.” He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping his self-control would hold out. She was incredibly wet and swollen, and he wanted to thrust his hips forward and bury himself in her, but he forced himself to hold back.

She touched his face, her thumb scraping across his bristles. “I take it back. You are a gentleman.”

He kissed her. “And you’re hot. Have I said that?”

She smiled shyly. “You mentioned something about it.”

He kissed her again. “When you’re relaxed, I’m going to make love to you nice and slow, and I want you to show me what you like.”

Her eyelids fluttered shut. “Okay.”

“I want you to show me how you touch yourself. So I know how to make you come.”

Her lips parted. “Oh.”

He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her mouth. “I want to watch you as the orgasm takes you, feel you tighten around me, hear you cry out with pleasure.”

She sighed. “Mmm.”

“And then later, you can tell me how to bring you pleasure with my mouth.”

Her thighs loosened a little beneath him. “Oh dear God.”

“You like the sound of that?” He dipped his tongue in her mouth, savoring the lingering taste of chocolate from her dessert, the hot spiciness of the whisky. So she liked him talking dirty? His pulse sped up at the thought.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“You’d like me to make you come with my tongue?” He grew even harder at the thought. Stop torturing yourself, Kole.

She gave a small, sexy moan, and her moisture coated the tip of his erection. “Yes.”

He smiled then. Underneath her nerves, Tasha was a sex goddess. He could have seen it a mile away. And now he knew how to get to her.

“And I will,” he promised. “Later. But first, I want to fuck you.”

Her eyes flew open, and her lips parted as she inhaled. “Kole!”

“What?” He moved his hips, pushing into her a little more. Luckily, she was so wet her tightness wasn’t going to be a huge problem. “Don’t act shocked. I know what your problem is. You’re a fucking hellcat in the bedroom, and nobody’s been able to cope with you before. Until now.” He smiled smugly. “Once you realize this is inevitable and we were always going to end up here, bet or no bet, we’ll set fire to this fucking bed.”

Her gaze met his, shocked and excited, and something sparked between them. Yes.

“Open up,” he teased, nibbling her bottom lip. “Let me in, Tasha. Let me show you what sex is really like.”

She blew out a breath, her muscles relaxing beneath his. And with one thrust of his hips, he slid right inside her.

She gave a long, slow moan that she tried to stifle. He tutted and kissed her. “Don’t. I want to hear you.”

“Oh God.” She clenched around him, and it was his turn to groan. “I can feel you,” she whispered. “All the way up. Jesus, you’re big.”

Knowing he was nothing special but flattered nevertheless, he withdrew until he was almost out of her, then pushed forward again. This time he went even deeper, and they both sighed.

He set up a rhythm, nice and slow, kissing her in between thrusts, enjoying the sensation of her so warm and tight and wet around him. And as she gradually relaxed and began to enjoy herself, she met each thrust with one of her own, her legs wrapped around him.

He could easily have come like that, but he wanted her to enjoy it even more than he desired his own climax. Not sure he was hitting the spot, he held her tightly, and still inside her, rolled onto his back, lifting her on top of him.

She sat up, looking surprised, but didn’t question him. And to his delight, she lowered her hand between her legs and stroked herself.

“Yes,” he said, pleased, and cupped her breasts. “Make yourself come for me.”

She began to move on top of him, and Kole thought at some point he’d died and gone to heaven. Now she’d obviously gotten over her nerves, she threw herself into their lovemaking with abandon. Her fingers circled faster, and she arched her back, pushing her breasts into his hands. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. He licked his fingers and transferred the wetness to her nipples, then squeezed them gently. She rewarded him with a moan, and then, not long after, her body stiffened and she clenched around him.

Kole watched her climax, loving her fierce frown, the pulse of her muscles, the way her fingers clawed involuntarily at his shoulder, her nails scraping his skin. That’s going to leave a mark, he thought with delight. Nice.

She leaned on him, panting, and eventually her eyes opened, her pupils huge and the mahogany irises just a tiny ring around the outside. “Wow,” she said.

Kole chuckled, caught her around the waist, and flipped her onto her back. “I knew you’d be a tiger in bed.”

“Me?”

He knelt up, still inside her, caught her hands in his, and linked their fingers. Then he looked at the scratches on his shoulder. She followed his eyes, and had the grace to look embarrassed.

“Eek. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He raised her hands and pinned them above her head. “I like it. That’s the Tasha I knew was in there. Let her out, baby. I want to fuck that girl.”

She wriggled, realized she couldn’t get free, and glared at him. “You’re the animal.”

“Damn straight.” He thrust hard, and she gasped. “What?” he said innocently, aware she must still be hypersensitive down there, and he was probably arousing her as he moved. “Lie still. It’s my turn. I’m going to fuck you now.”

Her mouth fell open in outrage. “Let go!”

He ignored her and thrust again, too keyed up to go slowly. “Jeez,” he said with a groan, “you’re so wet.”

“Kole!” She tugged at his hands, and he was fairly sure she’d have slapped him if she’d managed to pull free. “Let me go.”

But he’d held back long enough, and there was no way he was going to release her. She’d teased him for what seemed like hours, and he’d behaved impeccably, but now he wanted her at his mercy. Her body gripped him like warm, plush velvet that he sank into like a soft cushion. He wanted to give in to his urge to thrust, again and again, until he lost it and spilled into her. So he did, grinding against her as he did so, and felt a surge of smug satisfaction as her eyes widened.

“Oh...” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said determinedly.

She tugged her hands again. “Kole...”

He kissed her, his tongue mimicking his thrusts inside her, heat building. “Come again for me.”

“I...can’t...” But her rapid breathing and accompanying moan suggested otherwise.

“You can, and you will.” He thrust harder, faster, her slick walls tight around him in spite of her moisture. Damn, she feels good.

She stopped fighting him, obviously realizing it was pointless. Her muscles relaxed and her thighs loosened, and he gave a grunt of satisfaction at her submission. He was close himself, and his hands tightened on hers as he struggled to rein in his passion. “If I’d known you were this good, I’d have fucked you years ago.”

She shook her head from side to side. “Don’t...”

He kissed down her neck to her breasts and sucked hard on a nipple. She cursed out loud, but the accompanying flood of moisture around him told him he’d done the right thing.

He couldn’t hold back much longer, but luckily he didn’t have to, because he could see she was close behind him. He let go and pumped hard until heat rushed up from his balls and he pulsed, the climax so powerful he felt as if every muscle in his body had been over-tightened to breaking point.

He buried himself deep inside her, pushing hard, and she squealed and came too, clenching around him and prolonging his orgasm until he thought he might black out.

He waited for the universe to reassert itself, then let out a long breath. “Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.” Tasha was looking at him with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

He met her gaze, and they both started laughing.

“Jesus. Ouch, don’t laugh.” He withdrew with a wince and fell back onto the bed, disposed of the condom, and gathered her to him with one arm.

She curled up beside him, chuckling. “You deserved that.”

“I probably did.” He kissed her forehead and then lay back to let his breathing calm, already half-regretting his actions. Nice, Kole. Remember how nervous she was? You’ve probably scarred her for life. “I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

“You did, rather.”

“I’m really sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Well, he did—she’d driven him to the point where he’d lost the plot, but he felt the urge to apologize.

She propped her head on a hand. “Are you under the impression I’m mad at you?”

“I thought you might be.”

She was so independent and feisty normally, and they locked horns almost on a daily basis, so he’d enjoyed finally wrestling her into submission. But she might resent him now, for proving that when it came to it, he could control her.

She didn’t look resentful, though. “Hey, I’d object to you bossing me around in real life, but in the bedroom it’s different. You were very...” She thought about it. “Grr.”

“Grr?” He looked at the red marks on his shoulder. “You were the one who was grr.”

She scratched her nose. “Even so. I’ve never slept with anyone so...” Her eyes met his, and her lips twisted. “Forceful. That’s the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Well, that’s a very polite thing to say. Thank you.”

“I’m serious. I’ve never had multiple orgasms before.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. I didn’t think I was capable.”

“It appears you are.”

“It does.” She grinned. Then she nibbled her bottom lip. “Why did you switch positions?”

He turned onto his side, amused she wanted to discuss what had happened. “I didn’t think I was hitting the spot. You on top gives better access. And a better view.” He smiled.

She shook her head. “I still can’t believe I came twice. Did you know that was going to happen?”

He laughed. “I didn’t know. I hoped. Besides, sexual courtesy deems it appropriate to have at least one simultaneous orgasm.”

“Is that so?”

“From what I’ve heard.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not sure why; I’m not a huge fan. If you accept the ratio of pleasuring your partner versus receiving pleasure yourself is sixty-forty, simultaneous orgasms somehow detract from that. It’s much more fun to watch the other person come.”

She stared at him. “You mean forty-sixty, surely.”

“No. Well, maybe fifty-five, forty-five when I get carried away.”

“Seriously? Men place more importance on their partner’s pleasure than their own?”

“I can’t speak for half of the human race, but from my point of view, yeah.” He loved the way her hair curled around his fingers, as if he’d plunged his hand into a box of slippery ribbons. She didn’t reply, and when he looked back at her, she was studying him, a thoughtful expression on her face. He frowned. “What?”

She shook her head and changed the subject. “I know what you mean about simultaneous orgasms. I suppose one reason they’re considered to be something to aspire to is that it takes skill to control pleasure. Some women have trouble achieving orgasm at all.”

He snorted. “That just means the guy doesn’t know his stuff.”

“Maybe. And they don’t understand their own bodies, because as women we’re made to feel that pleasuring ourselves is something to be ashamed of. It takes practice and skill from both partners to be able to control your own and each other’s arousal, to slow down, speed up, and get there at the same time.  That’s what makes it sexy, although I take your point about enjoying your partner’s pleasure. But I would imagine it’s fairly unusual for a couple to come together the first time they have sex.”

Another compliment. She certainly knew what to say to make a guy feel good.

“Do you pleasure yourself?” He traced a finger over her shoulder. He already knew the answer—she’d touched herself expertly enough to convince him she’d done it before. But he liked being provocative, teasing her. He’d enjoyed making her blush. He wanted to see it again.

This time she was prepared though. “Of course I do. I’ll show you later, if you like.”

He stared at her. He hadn’t expected that.

She chuckled. “Your face is a picture.”

“You shocked me.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“Surprised me, then. But yes, I would like that.”

She stretched and yawned. “It’s a date.”

So she wanted to sleep with him again. That gave him an unexpected surge of delight.

He reached up a hand and cupped her cheek, then leaned forward and gave her a long kiss. “I’m glad you got over your nerves.”

“Me too.” A shadow of her previous shyness passed over her face. “Thank you for being patient with me.”

“My pleasure, honey. As you could tell.”

She kissed his shoulder. “I need to take out my lenses before I doze off.” She hopped out of bed, retrieved her bag from the living room, and walked through to his en suite. “I won’t be long.”

“Sure.”

Within a minute or two she was back, and she slid under the covers and moved close to him.

He wrapped his arms around her. “That was nice.”

“It was.”

“I didn’t hurt you?”

She gave a little shake of her head. “No.”

“I am sorry if I was rough. But it’s your fault. You shouldn’t have been so sexy.”

She laughed and lifted her face to his. “You’re very sweet.”

He kissed her, and when he finally pulled away, her eyelids were drooping. “Get some sleep,” he instructed. His ran his hands lightly down her back, over her hip, then back up again. “As much as you can, anyway. I’ll be waking you in the night.”

She looked up at him. “You promise?”

“Absolutely. I’m going to make the most of having you in my bed while you’re here.”

She licked her lips, then rested her head on the pillow. “Goodnight, Kole.”

“’Night, Tasha.”

She fell asleep quickly, her breathing soon turning regular, her body relaxing.

But Kole would lay awake for a while, thinking about the way she’d given herself to him, and how he’d felt when she came in his arms.

Chapter Fifteen

When Tasha awoke, darkness still shrouded the room. The open curtains revealed only a black sky, and no sign of early sunlight. What was the time? Three, four a.m.? There was no point in trying to look for a clock; she wouldn’t be able to read it without her glasses on. She normally slept like a log all night, and rarely roused. What had awoken her?

She lay on her front, arms around the pillow, Kole’s warm body pressed close to hers. The answer to her final question came with a brush of fingers up her back.

She gave no sign she was awake as he stroked her. Long, gentle traces of his fingers down her spine, then back up her ribs, up over her shoulders, and down again, over and over. How long had he been doing that?

He shifted in the bed, and then she felt the touch of his lips on her shoulder. He pressed soft, light kisses, peeling back the duvet slowly as he gradually moved down her spine. Down, and farther down, both lips and fingers skating across her skin, light and sensual.

Arriving at her hips, he pulled back the rest of the duvet, leaving her lying there naked, the cool air from the ceiling fan wafting over her. His lips touched the hollow at the small of her back, and she inhaled as she felt the warm wetness of his tongue there.

He kissed over the swell of her bottom, then shifted again so he could continue down her thighs to the backs of her knees.

Tasha lay there, almost holding her breath. How many times could this man surprise her? Even though she’d hoped he’d be able to show her a thing or two, normally he was so outspokenly lusty and matter-of-fact when it came to sex, she’d expected him to be a typical guy and take his pleasure from her without giving much thought to what she got out of it.

She hadn’t expected this...seduction. This exploration of her body. His insistence that his partner’s pleasure was more important to him. His all-consuming, overwhelming desire.

He reached her foot, and his tongue trailed over her ankle bone. Her internal muscles twinged. She kept quiet though. If she let on she was awake, he might stop.

He swapped to the other leg and began to kiss back up, and Tasha’s heart rate rose. She could hardly see anything in the room, the darkness heightening her other senses. She was becoming just a bundle of nerve endings. Everything tingled, tightened, ached.

He kissed up to the top of her thigh, and then ran his tongue ever so slowly up the crease of her bottom cheeks. She closed her eyes tightly. At the top, he gave a small nibble of her flesh, and she had to bite her lip to stop herself moaning.

His lips continued up her spine to her shoulders, and he lifted himself up and leaned over her. Her heart thundered.

He bent and kissed her neck, then beneath her ear. Then he whispered, “Turn over.”

Tasha’s eyes flew open. He knew she was awake? She froze for a moment, embarrassed to admit she’d heard him. What would he do if she didn’t reply? Go back to sleep?

He took her earlobe in his mouth and bit hard enough to make her gasp. When he spoke again, his voice was firm, with a hint of a smile. “Do as you’re told.”

Do as you’re told? She wanted to tell him to get lost—she wasn’t his plaything, there for his own private amusement. He couldn’t order her around. She was a modern woman, for God’s sake! She didn’t take orders from men.

But she didn’t. Instead, she rolled onto her back and shifted to lie beneath him. He towered over her, an even darker shadow against the blackness, blocking out the faint glimmer of starlight cast by the Milky Way behind him.

“Good girl.” Now his voice definitely held amusement.

Any protest she might have given was smothered by his kiss, which blew all thoughts away like gunpowder. Because in spite of the way he’d aroused her slowly, it wasn’t a gentle, why-don’t-you-wake-up-and-we’ll-see-what-happens kind of kiss. It packed enough heat to melt lead, and as his tongue played with hers and he murmured his appreciation, she felt the press of his erection against her hip, long and hard, more than ready for her.

But he lifted his lips and continued his leisurely arousal of her, kissing down her neck to her breasts, where he spent a while licking and teasing her nipples to hard points that he nibbled with his teeth. When she squirmed, he lifted his head and scolded, “Lie still,” before moving between her legs and continuing to kiss to her stomach.

She looked up into the darkness, sucking on her bottom lip and trying not to wriggle as his mouth moved oh-so-unhurriedly down. He dipped his tongue into her navel, kissed across her stomach. Then he shifted once more, lowering himself onto the bed between her thighs.

Tasha held her breath, tensing as she waited for the first brush of his tongue. It didn’t come immediately, though. Instead his warm breath caressed her, and then he blew gently down and back up again, sending tingles all the way through her. She fought not to let out a protracted groan.

He continued to take his time, moving up her legs, then pushing her knees apart, but her legs felt taut and fought his pressure to fall open, even though she was desperate for him to kiss her. He stroked her thighs, and she knew he was asking her to relax, but she just couldn’t. She felt like an overwound watch, tight and tense with anticipation, too nervous and excited and awkward to relax enough to open completely to him.

So he kissed her thighs, stroked her skin, and only when she grew used to his fingers and some of the tenseness faded did he finally touch the part of her that by now was aching for release.

His fingers stroked down, then parted her lips before sliding inside her. He brought up some of her moisture and caressed her for a while, his fingers moving easily through her to circle her clit. And only then did he finally lower his mouth.

Tasha couldn’t stop a low “aaah” of pleasure escaping her lips as he brushed his warm tongue through her core. He stroked up her thigh as if responding with pleasure to her exhalation, and when she dropped her hand to rest on her hip, his fingers tightened on hers briefly before returning to between her legs.

He began slowly, with long, gentle strokes of his tongue, then trying short flicks with the tip, and she realized he was trying to find out what she liked, what made her sigh, and what caused her to groan and arch her back. So she whispered her approval when he sucked, tightened her hands in his hair when he gave the long, slow licks, and when he slid two fingers inside her, she moaned and gave small thrusts of her hips.

He was so gentle, so tender, giving the occasional sexy murmur when she responded to his touch, his hand warm on her thigh. And gradually, as pressure began to build inside her, she let go of her final reserve, believing in him, trusting him, giving herself over to him. She opened her thighs wide and abandoned herself to the sensations spreading through her. It was like no orgasm she’d had before, slow and unhurried, as if her muscles were being pulled together with a drawstring to a tight center of pleasure deep inside her that then pulsed in long, rhythmical contractions of pure bliss.

She exclaimed with each pulse, only half-conscious of tightening one hand in his hair while gripping the bedclothes with the other, but she did hear his deep, satisfied groan of contentment.

The pulses were only just dying away, like the last toll of a bell still echoing far off in the distance, when he lifted himself up and leaned over her. His erection rested against her stomach, hot and hard, and when he covered her mouth with his, she tasted her own arousal on his lips, musky and sweet.

He lifted his head, and she stuck her tongue out. Not sure whether he could see it in the darkness, she added, “Yuck.”

He chuckled and he leaned across to the bedside table before coming back to her, outlined in silver by the stars behind him. She heard the sound of a packet being torn open.

“I was going to go to sleep,” she said, her heart picking up its pace again. “Trust a guy to be so selfish.”

In answer, he took her hand and closed it around his erection, placed his hand on top of hers, and gave it several long, smooth strokes. Her jaw fell open at the feel of the soft skin sliding over his thick, hard length, and her mouth watered. He moved his hand away, but she left hers there, continuing to stroke him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to return the favor?” she asked, her voice sounding husky even to her. “I’d like to taste you.”

“No,” he said. “I want to fuck you.”

Tasha inhaled sharply, her hand pausing, and he removed it by the wrist so he could roll on the condom. She’d thought herself unshockable, but his unashamed announcement left her speechless, and she had to swallow to remove the dryness from her mouth.

Still astride her, he leaned forward and bent to brush his lips against hers.

“At some point, I’ll be happy to fuck your mouth,” he stated, “but for now, I want to fuck you from behind. If that’s okay with you.” His tone suggested it was a rhetorical question and she didn’t have much of a choice.

She looked up at him, overwhelmed by the sheer masculinity he exuded—his muscular arms braced either side of her, his demanding tone, his forcefulness and power.

In a normal situation, she’d have lifted her chin and defied him.

But this wasn’t a normal situation.

Heart thundering, she turned onto her front, and he shifted behind her, widening her legs to kneel between them. He pushed one of her knees up, and without further ado, slid his hand down the cheeks of her bottom, his fingers probing to find the opening beneath and slipping inside.

She gasped and bit the pillow, and he gave a deep, throaty laugh and extracted his fingers, only to replace them with the tip of his erection. Tasha braced herself for his thrust, but when it came, it was gentle, bringing with it a gradual sense of being expanded and filled as pushed his way into her.

He paused and rested his forehead on her shoulder, letting her adjust. Touched, she raised a hand and sunk it into his hair, turning to kiss his temple.

Kole dipped his head and kissed her on the mouth, hot and hard, and then began to move, long slow strokes that went deeper and deeper each time. She opened her thighs wide to give him a better angle, enjoying the position.

He slid his hand beneath her to tug at her nipples, then moved it down to between her legs to begin arousing her.

“You think you could come again for me?” he murmured as she moaned and rested her forehead on the pillow.

Oh yes. But she wasn’t going to let him have it all his own way. Two could play at the I-like-to-shock-you game.

“Maybe,” she whispered. “If you fuck me hard enough.”

He stopped, and she could picture the way his eyes had shot wide open in the dark, his eyebrows rising.

“And together,” she said. “If you can manage it.”

“You’re making demands now?” He nipped her ear.

She looked over her shoulder, meeting his lips. “Afraid of the challenge?”

“Never.” He kissed her. “How hard. Like this?” He thrust firmly.

“Oh.” She bit her lip, her body singing with pleasure. “Harder.”

He did it again, firmer this time. “Like this?”

“Oh, fuck. Yeah. Harder.”

He muttered a curse and thrust again, his hips meeting hers with a sharp smack, and she cried out with delight.

“Jeez, Tasha.” He continued at the same pace, grunting with each push. “You’re not doing my blood pressure any good.”

“Oh God.” The top of her head touched the headboard, and she held onto the slats tightly. “Don’t stop.”

“Couldn’t. If I. Wanted. To.”

She would have laughed if she wasn’t so turned on. “Oh...Kole...”

“Tell me...you’re close.”

“Not far.” She was going to end up with a bruise on her head, but at that moment she couldn’t have cared less. “Please...Keep going.”

His hand gripped the wooden slat above hers, the muscles of his arm hard as iron when she rested her cheek against them. “Fuck...”

She could feel his traitorous body tightening. “Hey, wait...” She bit his wrist as a warning.

Unfortunately, however, that pushed him over the edge. His hips jerked, and he gave a long groan as his climax swept over him.

Tasha gripped his hair tightly, loving his harsh breathing, adoring the way he couldn’t hold back. He thrust and he thrust, and it was enough to tip her over too. Her orgasm took her swiftly, and she was only partly conscious of his loud complaints as she clamped around him, her muscles squeezing and milking him dry.

When she’d done, she looked over her shoulder. The sky had lightened enough for her to see the exasperated look on his face.

“You came before me,” she accused him. “I get to punish you for that.”

He gave a small laugh. “I look forward to it.” Then he bent and kissed her. His mouth was soft and gentle, full of tenderness, and a wave of affection washed over her.

He withdrew, disposed of the condom, and collapsed onto the bed beside her, and she curled up next to him.

“Can I sleep now?” She pretended to complain, although their lovemaking had filled her with a warm glow that had nothing to do with the early summer warmth.

“Be my guest.” He yawned. “I can’t make any promises for the morning, though.”

He fell asleep almost immediately. Tasha watched his chest rise and fall, and saw the first rays of the sun turn the hairs on his chest golden. And her mind was filled with his last gentle, tender kiss.

Chapter Sixteen

Tasha rolled into work fifteen minutes late.

Their boss tapped his watch as Tasha scurried in, and she mouthed “Sorry!” and sent him an apologetic look as she retrieved an apron and tied it around her waist.

She joined Maisey behind the counter that displayed rows of sandwiches, baked pastries, salads, and pies. Maisey was in the middle of serving and just grinned at her, and it was about ten minutes before the queue died down and they were finally able to talk.

“I guess I don’t need to ask where you’ve been,” Maisey said, stacking the shelves with more freshly-baked apple-and-cream-filled doughnuts.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

They exchanged a glance, and both started laughing.

“Have a good time?” Maisey asked. She closed the glass case, put the empty tray on the counter, and turned to survey her best friend.

“It was all right.” Tasha swept a pile of crumbs into the rubbish bin and stopped to wipe her hands on a cloth. She faced Maisey and adjusted her glasses, feeling suddenly awkward. “I feel a bit odd talking to you about it.”

“Yeah, me too.” Maisey’s characteristic sunny smile seemed a little dimmer than normal.

Tasha scratched at a piece of chocolate that had stuck to the counter. She hadn’t given any thought to how Maisey would feel about her fling with Kole. Maisey’s personality usually matched her clothing—bright, haphazard, and youthful. Beneath her apron she wore a black miniskirt and a pink T-shirt, and she’d piled her hair on top of her head and secured it with a glittery band. Her makeup was, as always, immaculate, her nails perfectly manicured and the same shade of pink as her top. She even walked with a bounce in her step, and Tasha adored her infectious laugh.

But there was a darker side to Tasha’s best friend very few people knew about. After Harry died when she was nineteen, Maisey had sunk into a deep depression she’d struggled with all through uni. On the surface, to those who didn’t know her well, she always appeared happy and bubbly, but she’d had to drag herself out of bed every morning, and some days she hadn’t even been able to manage that. Eventually, she’d found a suitable medication that helped her to deal with it, and since then she’d coped better. But several times a year she still suffered from the occasional bouts where she would take a few days off work and disappear into her room to wrestle the old black dog into submission.

The last thing Tasha wanted to do was upset her, and she wished she’d spoken to Maisey about Kole beforehand. But there hadn’t really been time—the whole episode on the beach had sprung up out of nowhere. Still, that didn’t mean she shouldn’t talk about it now.

More customers came through the door, though, making it impossible to chat. “Let’s catch up at lunch,” Tasha suggested.

“Sure.” Maisey turned to serve the next in line.

Mondays were always busy, and the girls worked flat out until one o’clock, when they were finally able to take a break. They bought a couple of rolls and made themselves a takeaway coffee, then walked to a nearby small park where mothers pushed children on swings, and dogs chased each other across the grass. The Northland sun beamed down, and neither of them had brought jackets.

Tasha took a bite from her steak roll, the taste reminding her of Kole’s meal at the restaurant.

“You’re thinking of him now, aren’t you?”

Tasha stared at her friend. “What do you mean?”

Maisey smiled. “You seem...different. Like he’s rubbed off your sharp edges.”

Tasha snorted. “He’s not that good.” But Maisey’s words puzzled her. She couldn’t have changed already, after one night? What did Maisey mean?

She took a long swig of her coffee and watched a toddler trying desperately to climb onto one of the bouncy horses, then bawl when he failed to pull himself up. His mum came and lifted him on, and the tears miraculously disappeared as he swung himself happily to and fro.

“Maisey, I just want to say I’m sorry.”

Her friend’s eyebrows rose. “For what?”

“For not discussing it with you first.”

Maisey’s lips twisted. “You don’t have to ask my permission.”

“I know. But...” Tasha scratched her nose. “I feel bad. I didn’t think about you when we made that bet on the beach. And that wasn’t fair. You know you come first for me, right? Our friendship is very important to me.”

Maisey blinked hard. “Are you trying to make me cry?”

“Aw, no, honey.” The two girls hugged.

“Look,” Maisey said when they eventually drew apart. “Firstly, if I didn’t want the two of you to get together, I would have said so at the time. And in many ways, it wasn’t a surprise anyway.”

Tasha stared at her. “Not you as well?”

Maisey grinned. “Someone else say the same thing?”

“Fox, apparently. And my mother. Kole and I were the last to see it.”

Maisey waved a hand and took a bite of her roll. “It’s not that obvious. You’ve always argued. But beneath it there’s always been an undercurrent, you know?”

“A bit like you and Joss?”

It was Maisey’s turn to stare. “What? There’s nothing between me and Joss.”

Tasha held her gaze, and Maisey’s cheeks turned scarlet. “Seriously!” Maisey protested. “I’m absolutely the last person he’d be interested in. And I’m not interested either.”

“Ha!” Tasha scoffed. “Of course you are. He’s gorgeous.”

“He is gorgeous, but he’s also never shown any interest in me whatsoever. He’s like a brother, Tash, always has been, always will be. He’s only just stopped pulling my pigtails, for God’s sake.”

Privately, Tasha wondered whether Maisey gave any thought to the fact that Joss had stopped pulling her pigtails. He didn’t see her as a kid anymore—the dude totally checked her out whenever he thought she wasn’t looking.

But Maisey was already moving on. “Anyway, this is about you, not me, so stop changing the subject. Look, let’s just forget for now Kole’s my brother. What I want to know is...how did it go? Really?”

Their eyes met, and Tasha couldn’t stop a smile creeping across her face. “It was fantastic,” she admitted. “Best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Seriously?” Maisey’s eyes widened.

Tasha nodded. “It made me realize how hopeless the other guys I’ve been with were, even Lewis, who I thought was the bees’ knees at the time. But we were so young—he was my first and I think there’d only been one other girl before me for him, so it’s not that surprising we didn’t have a clue what we were doing. But Kole...” She tailed off at the memory of his outrageous statement when she’d offered to go down on him. No. I want to fuck you. She shivered.

“Your eyes have glazed over,” Maisey said. “Was he really that good?”

“He was just so...intense.” She should have guessed. He’d warned her she’d get a hundred percent of him. You think you can handle that? Now, she wasn’t sure. He’d awoken her again shortly after seven and proceeded to make love to her a third time, kissing away her protestation that she had to go home to shower and change for work, and screwing her so thoroughly she felt slightly radioactive down below. Three times. In one night. And she’d thought she was demanding.

“So the outfit worked, then?” Maisey said mischievously. She’d helped Tasha get ready for the evening, had done her hair and talked her into wearing the lenses that had sat in the cupboard since Laura Wilde had dragged her daughter to the optician and forced her to buy them.

“You could say that.” Tasha thought of how he’d whipped the dress over her head in full view of the harbor, and sighed.

“Well, I hope you’re having an effect on him too,” Maisey commented. “Joss was convinced you were going to win this bet, but listening to you now I’m not so sure. I’m one of the judges, remember?”

Tasha waved a hand and stuffed the final bite of roll into her mouth. “No need to worry about that. It’s purely physical. I’m having a great time, but there’s absolutely no way I’m going to fall for Mr. I-refuse-to-commit. I know what he’s like. I’ve watched him date enough girls over the years. At the first sign of anything serious he runs a mile.”

“True.” Maisey smiled. “Fair enough. Well, I’m glad you’re having a good time. When are you seeing him again?”

“Not until Wednesday, actually. Tonight he’s going to Whangarei to take photos of a twenty-first birthday party. Fancy having it on a Monday! And Tuesday obviously we’re going out.” They had tickets for a famous Kiwi band performing over at the Hokianga, and they’d planned it ages ago.

“You don’t have to come,” Maisey said. “Caitlin was telling me she wished she had tickets.”

Tasha pushed away the brief surge of longing that flooded her. “No, no, of course I’ll go.” She didn’t want Maisey to feel she was taking second place to her brother, not for a minute.

“Okay. Well, I suppose we ought to get back to work.”

“Roll on working for ourselves, eh?”

“Absolutely.” They put their rubbish in the bin and walked slowly back to the café. “By the way, I had an idea for a new truffle,” Maisey said, and proceeded to talk about her notion for using local lemons for a mousse-filled chocolate.

Tasha listened and nodded, making a mental note to add the recipe to the list. Maisey would forget about it in an hour, but her ideas were always fabulous—she just needed Tasha to bring them to fruition.

She hadn’t thought much about the shop over the last couple of days. She had to remember the site on the waterfront was the real reason behind her attempts to seduce Kole. If she concentrated on that, it should keep things nice and simple.

The rest of the day passed quickly, and that evening Elle and Caitlin came around, and they spent a pleasant few hours talking about Treats to Tempt You and drawing up plans for how they wanted the shop to look inside.

“Any news on the site?” Elle asked. Surprisingly determined beneath her soft-spoken, gentle persona, Elle had been the first person to spot the waterfront shop in the estate agent’s window.

“I’m working on it,” Tasha said, causing Maisey to cough into her drink.

“What’s the joke?” Caitlin was the younger sister, the one who’d inherited all the attitude, all the sass.

Tasha met Maisey’s laughing eyes and gave a little shake of her head. They were all good friends, and they’d all lived together for a few months toward the end of their uni days, but even so, she wasn’t quite as close to the two sisters as she was to Maisey.

“Nothing,” Maisey said. “Here, what do you think about the lemon truffle idea?”

Elle started talking about flavorings, and the talk continued. Tasha breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to keep this thing with Kole a secret. Because it’s nothing serious, she told herself as the others rattled on about whether coffee or mint was best. But deep down, she knew that wasn’t the reason. She didn’t want to tell them because it would become a huge joke and they’d tease her, and she didn’t want that. This thing with Kole might be short-term, but she was enjoying herself in spite of the bet hovering in the shadows. And she already knew that even though it would never come to anything, and she was totally going to keep her heart well away from him, she was going to be disappointed when it came to an end.

When Elle and Caitlin left, she and Maisey went to bed, tired out, but sleep refused to come, and Tasha lay awake for a while, wondering how Kole was getting on at the twenty-first birthday party. The birthday girl was a family friend and there would no doubt be lots of young, nubile women there who would be flirting with the sexy photographer. Would he see any of them after the party? Sure, they’d both agreed not to date anyone else over the fortnight, but she didn’t know if he’d pass up on the chance of a hot date because of their...whatever it was. Relationship didn’t seem like the right word.

It’s none of your business what he gets up to, she tried to tell herself. But her eyes refused to close, nevertheless.

Just a few minutes later, though, as if he could read her mind, her phone buzzed to announce the arrival of a text. She reached over and swiped the screen, and sure enough, his name appeared.

She read the message.

Help! I need rescuing! There are twenty giggling girls here. It’s like a fucking hen night.

She chuckled and texted back. Sounds like your idea of heaven.

It’s a fucking nightmare. I have a headache. Why do girls have to screech so much?

She laughed. Poor Kole. Can’t handle a bunch of girls. You’re getting old, dude.

Joke all you like. I might not make it out alive.

She bit her lip. Jealousy had never been an emotion she’d had to deal with before, but it reared up like a grizzly bear inside her at the thought of all those slim, pretty women draped over him.

Her phone beeped. You still there?

She decided to be honest. I’m sulking at the thought of you with twenty other women.

He came back immediately. Only one girl for me, babe. Not even a question. A hundred percent, remember?

She tingled all over. Wish you were here.

God, me too. Miss you.

She snuggled down into the pillow, pulling the duvet close around her. Me too.

See you Wednesday.

Yeah. Bye.

Kiss, kiss. He finished with a smiley face.

Tasha clipped the phone shut, curled up, and soon dozed off.

She dreamed about him on and off all night, haunted by the memory of his arms around her, his mouth on hers, and awoke the next morning irritated, unfulfilled, and frustrated. And she was late getting up again, so she couldn’t even take the time to relieve herself of the ache between her thighs before she had to go to work.

All day, she felt in a sort of fever, unable to shake him from her mind. At work, Maisey chattered on about the concert that evening, but Tasha couldn’t drum up any enthusiasm.

“Are you coming down with something?” Maisey asked her at one point, pressing the back of her fingers to Tasha’s forehead. “Your eyes look glazed.”

Tasha had been daydreaming about Kole leaning over her, demanding she roll onto her front, and she came very close to blushing again. “Um...”

Maisey’s lips twisted. “Look. As you’re obviously not feeling well...” Her eyes told Tasha that she knew perfectly well what was wrong with her. “Why don’t I ask Caitlin to come with me tonight?”

Tasha opened her mouth to protest, but stopped at Maisey’s smile. “I don’t even know if he’s home tonight,” she finished lamely. “Maybe he has a hot date.”

Maisey gave her a wry look. “If he dates anyone else while he’s seeing you, he’ll get it in the ear from me. Anyway, he will be home later—I spoke to him after lunch. His last appointment is at six. He’ll be back home by seven at the latest.”

Tasha bit her lip. “I was really looking forward to the concert.”

Maisey squeezed her arm. “I know. But this is important. We need that shop.” Her eyes searched Tasha’s, and Tasha swallowed nervously. Was Maisey aware the shop hadn’t even entered her mind?

All afternoon, she toyed with whether she should go to the concert or see Kole. She considered texting him to discuss it, but decided against it. She had to make up her own mind first.

Maisey went ahead and rung Caitlin to ask whether she’d like to go with her, though, and Tasha could hear the answering scream of delight through the phone, so in the end the decision was made for her.

At five, they went home, but Maisey left soon after to pick Caitlin up before heading off for the hour’s drive to the west coast. Tasha took a long bath, washed her hair, pampered and preened, and finally made herself admit she was preparing herself for a guy.

She put makeup on.

Took it off again.

Put a dusting of powder and a slick of lip gloss back on.

Hovered her hand over her lenses, then chose her glasses.

Stood in front of her wardrobe for ages staring at her clothes. Trailed her fingers over the few skirts she owned, remembering the way he’d slowly lifted her dress, his fingers brushing her thighs. And finally chose jeans and a tight white T, not quite her usual black or khaki, but easy to convince herself she wasn’t making an effort.

Seven thirty found her drawing up outside Kole’s house, and she parked and got out nervously. His car was out the front, so he must be home. However, when she knocked on the door he didn’t answer.

Maybe he was on his way back from a run—she knew he went out every day. Would he be pleased to see her? If she saw the slightest hint of irritation on his face, she’d pretend she was just passing by and head straight off.

She sat on the front wall surrounding the pretty front garden, and tried to convince herself she was doing the right thing.

Chapter Seventeen

Kole’s trainers pounded the road, settling easily into a fast rhythm that matched the loud music blaring through his earphones. Nothing like a little Foo Fighters to get the heart pumping. In the beginning, he sang occasionally as he ran, but after a while the songs became white noise in the background as his brain turned to other matters.

Namely, Tasha. An irritated groan accompanied his next exhalation. He’d thought about little else all day, and had worked himself up into a fine lather by the time he arrived home. You’re like a fucking frisky dog that needs taking for a long walk, he’d told himself, and had tugged on his running shoes instead of going to take a shower so he could relieve himself of the erection that had sprung to life on and off all day every time he thought about her.

It wasn’t working though. He could have run all thirteen hundred miles from Cape Reinga to Invercargill and it wouldn’t have stopped him feeling horny. Unfortunately, his mind kept painting pictures of her: beneath him, on top of him, a glimmer in the darkness, of her breasts with their beautiful swollen nipples that begged to be sucked. He could almost taste her, hot and sweet, and hear her cries as he thrust into her.

Fucking hell. How was it possible to get an erection when he was running flat out?

Sweat ran down his back, stained the chest of his light gray T-shirt with a dark V. He pushed himself hard, took the hills faster than normal, and by the time he turned the corner toward his house, his heart was pounding, his blood racing around his body.

He slowed to a walk at the end of the road, stopping for a moment to bend over with hands on knees in the cool evening air. He was getting too old for this. One way or another, he’d give himself a heart attack if Tasha Wilde didn’t stop haunting him.

He pushed himself upright, longing for a cold shower. For a moment, he thought his poor, tortured mind had conjured her up. She sat on the front wall, legs stretched out, arms folded, but stood as he approached and tucked her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

Heart still pounding, although it should be slowing by now, he stood in front of her, conscious of how he must look, hot, sweaty, and panting. Very suave.

“Hey,” he said.

She didn’t reply, just stared at him. He licked his lips and wiped his hand across his mouth, wishing he’d brought a water bottle, saw her glance at his T-shirt, and realized she was looking at the sweat-stained patches. Jeez.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, running a hand through his wet hair. “Thought you’d gone to the concert.”

She shook her head, but still didn’t say anything. He studied her, wondering what the matter was, hands on hips as he continued to try and catch his breath. She looked more like the old Tasha, in jeans and a white T-shirt, wearing her glasses. But all he could see was the way the cotton stretched across her breasts. How the denim had creased at the junction of her thighs. The glisten of her lips, which would be sticky with the gloss.

He turned away. If he carried on like that, he’d be throwing her on the lawn and doing her in the garden.

“Come in.” He took the keys from the pocket of his shorts and unlocked the front door, then stood back to let her in. She walked past him, eyes lowered. She still hadn’t said anything. Why was she there? Was she about to tell him it was all over?

Hoping that wasn’t the case, he followed her in, closed the door, and went straight to the fridge. After retrieving a small bottle of water, he drank half of it in one go, then gave a long sigh, wiping his mouth again as he turned to her.

He stopped. Her chest rose and fell quickly, as if she was the one who’d just run for forty minutes. Her eyes were wide, intense. His gaze fell to the breasts that heaved with each breath, and when his eyes returned to hers, her lips had parted.

And suddenly, he understood.

He wasn’t sure who moved first, but within a second they’d closed the distance, and his mouth was on hers.

A day’s worth of longing and frustration poured into the kiss he gave her, and he pushed her up against the worktop, groaning as her soft body pressed against his rapidly hardening one. It was like buying two scoops of chocolate ice cream on a searingly hot day, and he just wanted to sink his mouth into her, to let his senses run wild, to plunge into her wet flesh until she screamed for release.

Her hand clutched his hair, and he snapped out of the sexual fog that had descended around him and cursed as he remembered his hair was damp with sweat, the same as his clothing. He must smell awful.

He tore his lips away from hers. “Let me have a shower.” His voice was hoarse with passion. “I’ll be a minute, tops.”

She shook her head and moved back. After removing her glasses, she slid out the clip holding up her hair, then grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt and ripped it off. He did the same, heart racing, and followed with his shorts, which dropped on top of her jeans. In seconds, their underwear joined the pile. He grabbed his wallet from the table and yanked out the lone condom, ripped open the packet, and rolled it on.

Tasha looked over her shoulder as if wondering where she could lie down, but Kole already knew where he wanted her. He put his hands under her butt and lifted her onto the worktop, pushed open her knees, and guided himself into her.

In one smooth thrust, he was up to the hilt. No tightness or friction this time.

Tasha fell back onto her elbows and tipped her face up to look at the ceiling, her dark hair spilling across the counter like melted chocolate. “Oh, thank God, at last.”

Her heartfelt words heated him up almost as much as her body. She’d been hot for him, too. How fucking wonderful.

He ran his hands over her naked body, cupped her breasts, then leaned forward to take one of her soft nipples in his mouth. It felt like sucking on a truffle, so soft and velvety, hardening like chocolate placed in the fridge to a peak in his mouth. He did the same to the other one, enjoying her answering moan of pleasure, then pushed himself upright, unable to hold back the thrust of his hips any longer.

It took him less than thirty seconds to come, which would have been embarrassing except that when he circled his thumb on the swollen bud between her legs, she beat him to the finish line by a whisker. Her muscles gripped him, helping him along, and he shuddered into her, their skin sticking together, hot and slick.

His heart rate gradually slowed, and he opened his eyes.

“Fuck,” she said, looking dazed.

He laughed. “Yeah.” He slid out of her, grabbed a piece of kitchen roll and disposed of the condom, then pulled her to a sitting position and into his arms.

She rested her head on his chest, and he kissed her hair. He really needed a shower. Her nose was almost under his armpit, and he was shocked she wasn’t recoiling in disgust.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sure I smell revolting.”

“Mmm, nothing wrong with fresh sweat.” She turned her head and pressed her nose against his chest, inhaling, then raised a hand to his chin and pushed up gently to tip his head back. She ran her tongue over his Adam’s apple, then down to the hollow underneath, murmuring with approval as she tasted him.

Kole closed his eyes, holding his breath as she pressed her lips along his collarbone, then back to the base of his throat. At last, a girl who felt the same way about sex he did, that there was nothing wrong with it being hot and sweaty and hard.

He lowered his head as she lifted hers, and she looked up, her eyebrows rising. She chuckled. “What?”

“Any more of that and I’ll be starting all over again.”

“Can’t say I’d be disappointed.”

He laughed and disengaged himself, and picked up his sweaty clothing. “I really need a shower.”

She retrieved her own clothes. “Can I watch?”

He grinned. “If you like.”

So she followed him into the bathroom and dressed while he showered. She chatted away, but he could feel her gaze on him as he soaped his body and tipped back his head to rinse the shampoo from his hair.

When he stepped out, dripping, onto the mat, she was ready with a towel and started to dry his chest. “I need a cold shower myself now,” she said.

He took the towel from her and finished the job, then walked through to the bedroom to pull on a pair of shorts. “You’re easily pleased.”

“You’re only noticing now?”

Kole laughed and held out his hand. “Want a drink?”

“Sure.” She took his hand, and he led her out to the kitchen.

He finished off the bottle of water, then retrieved two wine glasses from the cupboard. “White?” he asked. Girls usually preferred white.

She found her glasses and slid them on. “Red if you have it.”

He reached for the bottle. “You’re the ideal girl. You know that?”

“I’ve been trying to tell everyone that for years.”

He chuckled and poured them both a glass, and they carried them out onto the deck.

He sat on one of the chairs and put his feet up on the balustrade, his body feeling loose and sated. “I’m glad you came over.”

She took the chair beside him and did the same, stretching out her legs and crossing her ankles. “I’m glad. I nearly didn’t. I wasn’t sure if you’d want me around.”

He frowned, puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She shrugged and sipped her wine. “I don’t want to...intrude. I know we’re ‘dating’—” she put air quotes around the word “—but we’re not...you know...intimate.” She met his gaze, and her lips curved at his raised eyebrow. “Well, okay, we’re intimate, but you know what I mean.” She seemed flustered.

“I told you, for these eight days, you get a hundred percent of me,” he said. “Like it or not, I’m yours to do with as you will.”

Her eyes glazed over. “Mmm...”

His body stirred with desire. Already? “Okay, what’s going through your mind now?”

“Melted chocolate. And possibly whipped cream.”

“Oh.” His mind spun. “Who’s doing the licking?”

“Licking? I was talking about dinner. What were you talking about?”

They both laughed. Easy boy, he thought, willing his erection to go away. Tasha might have appeared keen over the weekend, but most girls appreciated a break between sessions.

“Speaking of dinner,” he said, “have you eaten?”

“No. I was too nervous.” She bit her lip as if she hadn’t meant to admit that.

He smiled. “Want to walk down to the fish and chip shop?”

“You could cook me something.” Her eyes twinkled behind her glasses.

“I don’t think you’d appreciate microwaved pasta.” He finished off his wine. “Come on. You’ve given me an appetite.” And not just for food. He didn’t add the words, but when they went into the kitchen and she bent to pull on her sandals, giving him a great view of her butt in the tight jeans, he had to scold his body to behave.

They walked down the winding road to the fish and chip shop and bought a couple of scoops of chips and two pieces of hoki, and picked at them as they walked along the waterfront. It was nearly seven thirty, and the sun was sinking into the ocean, the harbor flooded with orange and gold.

“I love it here,” Tasha said, pausing to look down at the boats.

Kole ate a hot chip and blew on his fingers. “You never considered staying in Auckland after going to uni then?”

“No. I hate Auckland. I’m not a city girl.” She ate a piece of white fish absently, and he watched her suck her fingers clean. Down boy. “Besides,” she said, clearly unaware of how sexy she looked as her tongue slid down her thumb, “Fox had already started up Aqua Blue, and he asked me to help out for a while. It was nice to have a job, especially considering so many of my peers were struggling to find work.”

“You didn’t stay there though? At Aqua Blue, I mean. Why?”

“Because Fox’s a bastard to work for,” she said, continuing to walk, and he fell in beside her. “A complete slave driver. I could cope with a normal boss cracking the whip, but my own brother...it was never going to work. We clashed all the time.”

“Is that when you came up with the idea for Treats?”

“Well, Maisey and I have talked about having a confectionery shop for years, but yes, we started discussing it seriously when I left Aqua and Maisey came back up here. We’d met Elle and Caitlin at uni, you see, and when we told them about our idea, they were immediately enthusiastic. It should work well because we all bring something different to the table.”

“What do Elle and Caitlin bring?”

“Elle’s specialty is ice-cream. She’s obsessed with it, and she’s always coming up with new flavors. Caitlin has a real knack for coffee—she’s the best barista out of the four of us, knows all the different types, and she can tell you where a coffee bean comes from just by smelling it—don’t ask me how. It’s perfect, really, because Maisey and I have always concentrated on chocolate, and the three go together so well.”

“What does Maisey herself bring to the party? Sparkly nail varnish?”

She laughed. “Maisey has fantastic ideas. Sometimes they’re a bit too way out there and we have to rein her in, but usually she comes up with stuff I couldn’t imagine if I had a year to think about it. She just needs someone to put it into practice, and that’s where I come in.”

He stopped, screwed up the newspaper, and threw it into a nearby bin. Then he faced her, hands in his pockets. “Miss Practical, eh?”

“Kinda.” She smiled and dumped the rest of her paper in the bin. Then she glanced to her left and fell quiet.

Kole followed her gaze, his heart jolting as he saw where they were standing—right outside the shop. He hadn’t even realized where their feet had taken them. You stupid fucking arse.

He looked back at Tasha, and her cool eyes surveyed him. Dammit. Had he brought the lovely evening to an end?

Chapter Eighteen

They both turned and stared at the shop.

I shouldn’t have eaten all the fish, Tasha thought. Her stomach clenched uneasily, and she felt slightly sick.

She’d totally forgotten about the shop as they wandered along the waterfront. How weird was that? She’d been too busy enjoying Kole’s company, still caught up in the afterglow of their frantic sex session. Her body tingled at the memory of his hot skin sticking to hers, but she pushed it away.

The shop looked neat and clean, like a blank slate, full of promise, ready to be made into something amazing. It wouldn’t be long before the owner returned, and then this would all be over.

The late sun bounced off a metal sign, temporarily blinding her, and her eyes watered. She shaded them with a hand. She had to say something—neither of them had spoken for an ice age.

She cleared her throat. “So what are your plans for the place?”

He glanced down at her. She wore flat sandals, and he towered over her, all height and breadth, smelling of fresh body wash, his hair still curling damply around the base of his neck. His eyes were unfathomable, and his smile had vanished.

Was it possible he’d forgotten too? That standing here had given him a mental slap as well? The bet stood between them, as tall and forbidding as if built out of bricks.

“Come on,” she said softly. There was no point in ignoring it. They may be having fun, but there was a purpose to this fling and they shouldn’t forget it. “Which bit had you planned to be your studio before I whisked it out of reach?”

He smiled at that. They walked forward to stand by the window, looking in at the empty, tiled floor, the neat counter to one side.

“It’s smallish,” he said, “but I thought I’d have the studio in the room out the back. I might even discuss with the owner joining that room with the kitchen, as I wouldn’t be using that. Most of the people who’d come in would be families anyway; anything like team photos are taken at the school or sports club, and obviously weddings are done on the spot. Out here,” he indicated the main area of the shop, “I’d like displays of some of my photos, and a selection of albums and frames as a suggestion of what I can produce. And on that side, I’d put up a thin wall and have a meeting room, where I could sit with clients and discuss their needs.”

“Sounds nice,” she said airily. “Shame you won’t get to put the plan into action.”

His lips curved. “What about you?”

She brought to mind her vision for the shop and illustrated her words with a hand. “We’d have a long counter the length of that wall, with cold cabinets displaying the chocolates and ice cream. The coffee machine would go there. We’d extend the kitchen to take up a good part of the main room, and erect a glass partition so customers could see the food being made. And obviously tables and chairs at the front here—there wouldn’t be room for many, but on nice days we could spill onto the pavement, and it’ll mostly be takeaways anyway.”

It would be perfect. She could see it so clearly she almost felt if she squeezed her eyes tight shut and wished hard enough, she’d open them again and it would all be there ready and waiting for her. Her heart raced.

And then Kole turned away beside her, and she deflated like a popped balloon.

They walked slowly back up to his house. He put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her to his side as they walked, and they talked about this and that. But the sun had nearly set across the harbor, and everything had dulled to gray.

When they reached his house, she stopped and shoved her hands in her pockets. This wasn’t going to work—she needed time to think about what she was doing here. “I think I’ll head home,” she said. “Have an early night.”

Kole studied his shoes for a moment. He seemed to be struggling to phrase his words. Or was she imagining it? Maybe he was just disappointed he wasn’t going to get any more sex that night.

I want that shop, he’d said right at the beginning, and I’m going to get it. Sure, he’d obviously enjoyed having sex with her, but he was a guy. Guys liked sex. There wasn’t usually much more to it than that. They’d both been determined to turn on the charm, to seduce each other, and even though she was convinced what had sparked between them had surprised them both, she didn’t think for a second he had anything other than winning this bet on his mind.

“Tomorrow?” she said.

He looked back up at her then. His eyes were cool, and it felt like he’d erected a barrier, like a cashier in a bank with a glass partition between her and the customer. “Sure.”

Tasha hesitated. A small piece of her had hoped he’d ask her to stay, tell her to forget about the shop, that he wanted her regardless of the bet. But that wasn’t going to happen. It annoyed and upset her in equal measure. Clearly, he’d enjoyed her company. Why couldn’t he admit it?

But she refused to let him know it had affected her. She pinned a bright smile on her face. “Okay, see you later, then.” Not wanting to leave on a bad note, she moved closer and reached up to press a quick kiss on his cheek. Please don’t pull away.

But as her lips touched his bristles, he turned his head so his mouth met hers. And then his arms came around her, and he tightened them, pinning her to him as he kissed her back hungrily.

She closed her eyes, disgusted with herself for taking whatever he was willing to give, but unable to pull back. Was the kiss his way of illustrating he didn’t want her to go, without actually saying the words?

When he finally lifted his head, she laid a hand on his chest for a moment, her forehead against his chin and her eyes closed, feeling the thud of his heart beneath her palm. His lips touched her hair, gentle, affectionate.

Then she moved back. She flashed him a smile, turned, and walked to her car.

He waved her goodbye, but when she drove away and looked in her rear view mirror, he’d gone.

By the time she arrived home, she was fighting back tears of irritation and anger at the whole idiotic situation, at her stupid female hormones, at Kole’s stubborn refusal to admit he felt anything for her, at the world in general.

She let herself in and slammed the door behind her, only then realizing Maisey was home, sitting on the sofa and looking startled at the loud crash.

“Kia ora,” Maisey said, a typical New Zealand greeting.

Tasha scowled. Then she spotted Maisey’s fluffy onesie and her pale face, free of makeup. Maisey never went out without makeup. “What are you doing here? What happened to the concert?”

“The bloody thing was called off! Singer came down with the flu.” Maisey rolled her eyes and sipped from the glass of wine in her hand. “Good job Caitlin checked their website before we left.” She narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here? I thought I was going to have a nice quiet evening, not have you banging doors all over the place. Where’s Kole?”

“Home.” Tasha let out a long sigh. She went into the kitchen and retrieved herself a glass, then came back to sit beside Maisey and pour herself some wine.

“Problem?” Maisey asked.

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Not really.”

“Well, I’m glad we cleared that up.”

Tasha stared moodily into her glass. “He’s being a dick.”

“You’re only just figuring that out? I had him sussed years ago.”

Tasha gave a small laugh. “Sorry about the concert.”

“Meh. I’d only have been shattered tomorrow. You know I’m normally in bed by nine.” Maisey surveyed her critically. “So come on, tell me what happened.”

“I can hardly talk to you about it,” Tasha complained. “First, you’re his sister, and second, you’re one of the judges in the stupid bet. You’ll use it as ammunition against me.”

“Give me some credit, Tash. The whole thing is a farce. I very much doubt Kole had any intention of giving up the shop when he agreed to the bet. No matter what happens between you two, he’d only deny it, and I think you know that. It was an excuse for you to finally get your hands on him.”

“It wasn’t!” Tasha glared at her.

Maisey glared back.

“It really wasn’t,” Tasha said again, more softly. “I’ve known him a long time, and I’d never considered us getting together until now. I honestly suggested the bet because he annoyed me with his arrogant assumption he could get any girl to fall for him. I thought maybe he’d underestimated the power of friendship, and if we got to know each other...you know...more intimately, he might admit to more than a physical attraction for someone.”

“That’s very self-sacrificing of you,” Maisey said. “So it had nothing to do with you thinking he’s hot, then?”

Tasha opened her mouth to deny it, but couldn’t. Her lips curved, and Maisey grinned in response.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Maisey announced. “He might be my brother, and you were right—he is the most annoying man on the planet at times, but he is hot. I can’t deny it. I’m just amazed you stayed out of his clutches so long.”

“I’m not in his clutches.” Tasha sulked. “I meant what I said—women are perfectly capable of having a sexual relationship without getting emotionally entangled.” She thought about when he’d jogged up the road and stopped to catch his breath, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. Just the sight of him had caused her heart to race, and as for when he’d stared at her in the kitchen, crushed her to him, and then lifted her onto the worktop...

She blinked and focused on Maisey’s raised eyebrows. “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just that when we’re together, I think we both forget about the bet, but earlier we walked down to the waterfront and found ourselves standing in front of the shop, and it kind of shocked us we’d forgotten. At least, I think it shocked him. There’s no telling, really.”

“Want me to ask him?”

“No! Absolutely not. I do not want him thinking for one moment I’m hooked. I’d never live it down. And I’m not. Hooked, that is. I’m just...” She’d lost her train of thought, too distracted by the memory that played over and over in her head like a DVD of him all hot and sweaty in her arms. “I mean...”

“Jeez.” Maisey topped up Tasha’s wine glass. “Do you need to lie down?”

“Ha ha.” Tasha gulped a mouthful of the wine, then leaned back and sighed. “I just want him to admit he likes me. I’m not looking for a declaration of love or a proposal or anything. I want him to show some sign he’s not a complete robot without any feelings whatsoever.”

“He’s no robot.” Maisey curled her legs under her. “You know that ring he wears on his right hand?”

Tasha remembered noticing it on the beach. “It’s Harry’s isn’t it?”

“Yeah. He wears it to remind himself of the foolishness of love. Not only did Harry die because his girlfriend had broken up with him. He died young, before he’d really had a chance to do anything. Kole’s terrified of wasting his life, and maybe ending up in a relationship where the passion has faded and all that’s left are a ball and chain, a hefty mortgage, and years of dull commitment and responsibility.”

Tasha mused on that. “He told you that’s why he wears Harry’s ring?”

“No.”

“Then how...” Tasha trailed off at the look in her best friend’s eyes. Maisey could understand because they were brother and sister, and she knew Kole well enough to guess his reaction to Harry’s death. Plus, maybe she felt the same way a little, too.

“Sorry,” Tasha whispered. She couldn’t imagine how awful it must feel to lose a sibling.

“Don’t assume he’s cold and thoughtless. He has feelings. He’s quite emotional actually,” Maisey said. “He just doesn’t like showing it.”

“Emotional?” Tasha smirked. “He wouldn’t appreciate you saying that.”

“He hides it well, and pretends nothing affects him, but it does. My guess is he likes you a lot, and he’s having trouble hiding it.” Maisey sipped her wine.

Tasha waved her hand. She couldn’t believe Kole was soft on her. He liked having sex, that much was clear, but she was pretty convinced she’d been the first port in a storm, the only one to hand. She couldn’t imagine she was anything special.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Maisey asked. “Are you seeing him?”

“We arranged it, originally. I’m not sure now.” She shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether she ought to continue with the charade.

“Caitlin had a great idea,” Maisey said. “There’s a quiz night at Bait & Hook.” She named their local bar. “Fox actually has the night off.”

“Jeez. It’s a miracle.” Fox hardly ever had a night off.

“Yeah. And Joss has persuaded Stuart to come. It’s for teams of eight, so we’ll be settled if you and Kole join us.”

“I don’t know...”

Maisey tipped her head. “How about I get Joss to persuade Kole? And you come with me?”

Tasha relented. “Okay.” She loved quizzes, and it would give her the chance to meet up with Kole without it being a proper date. Maybe by then she would have sorted out her feelings for him.

Although somehow, she thought it might take a bit longer than that.

“Cool,” Maisey said. “I’ll get Joss onto it tomorrow.”

Chapter Nineteen

Kole stretched out his legs and took a long swig from the beer bottle. Joss had talked him into coming to the quiz night, but he hadn’t been looking forward to it. Now he was here, though, he had to admit it promised to be a fun night. Joss, Fox, Caitlin, and Elle were in the middle of a conversation about the All Blacks rugby match against Australia at the weekend. Stuart sat listening, quiet it was true, but at least Kole had persuaded him out of the house. Only Maisey and Tasha hadn’t turned up yet. The twenty or so tables placed around the bar were filling up, and it made a change to be out midweek.

Jeez, dude, you’re getting old. Gone were the nights at uni and the few years after, when he’d be out every evening with friends and still have enough energy to get up early the next day and do it all over again. At some point, the appeal of living life to the max had worn off. When he’d first moved back up to Mangonui, he’d steeled himself for it to be a temporary relocation, sure it would prove to be too quiet both in his personal and business life. But the studio had taken off more quickly than he’d anticipated, and he’d found it oddly relaxing to return to the laid-back Northland, where the sun always seemed to shine and the most important things on any person’s mind were the sea, surf, and having a good time. The feeling had only intensified once he’d bought his house, and he loved going home at night and lying on the sofa in front of the TV, or sitting at his computer and working on his photographs.

Was he ready to settle down? He wanted to scoff at the thought. Kole Graham with a mortgage, wife, and kids? Never! He’d always backed away from it, too scared of making a mistake and choosing someone that ultimately ended up being incompatible. All relationships were exciting to begin with, but eventually the shine wore off and the couple became complacent, losing respect for one another, and growing angry with their partner because they’d lost the buzz. And as carefree as he may have been in his love life, Kole didn’t belief in cheating on a girl, and he did believe in monogamy. When—if—he ever decided to settle down, it would be with one girl, and he would be faithful to her.

The thought didn’t enthuse him. Serial monogamy was the only answer. That way he didn’t have the chance to grow bored, and he didn’t have to worry he was committing himself to the wrong woman.

Thinking of women brought his thoughts around to Tasha. Her image had hovered in the wings of his mind frequently over the last few days, venturing in to surprise him when he least expected it. He missed her. And that worried him. They had three days of their bet to go, and even though their fling had been brief, she’d had more of an effect on him than any other girl he’d dated for a long time, if ever.

He picked at the label on his beer bottle, pondering on that. Ultimately, it was to be expected. They’d been friends for a long time, so that had obviously increased the intimacy of their relationship, which normally took a while to build up. And although he often acted as though he didn’t have a heart, he did have feelings. He liked her. And that wasn’t a problem, as long as he kept it to himself.

“Some bimbo’s probably worn him out.” The words intruded into his musings.

He looked up to see them all watching him, amused. “Huh?”

Caitlin grinned. “Fox asked you a question and you didn’t answer. I was just saying some blonde bimbo with boobs bigger than her IQ has probably worn you out.”

His lips curved as they all laughed, and he took a swig from the bottle. “Not quite.”

“Are you dating anyone at the moment?” Stuart asked.

“Sort of.” He was saved from further questioning by the arrival of Maisey and Tasha.

Twenty seconds of bustle ensued as everyone greeted everyone else, Fox bought another round of drinks, and the company settled around the table, squeezing together on bar stools so they could all fit in.

Kole sat across the table from Tasha, and he met her gaze as she made herself comfortable on the stool.

“Hey,” she said. She wore jeans and a tight, bright orange T-shirt that brought out the orange in her irises. Sipping her wine, she looked over her glasses at him and winked.

“Hey,” he said back, smiling, the wink lifting his spirits.

“What’s going on?” Maisey asked, looking bright and bubbly in jeans and a baby pink T-shirt with the word ‘Sexy’ outlined in sequins on the front.

“We were just talking about Kole’s love life,” Caitlin said. “He looks knackered. I reckon someone’s worn him out.”

“Who is it?” Elle asked. “Is she gorgeous? And do we get to meet her?”

“None of your business, yes, and not in a million years.” Kole reached out and took the entry booklet from the organizer of the evening who’d approached the table. “I wouldn’t let anyone I care for within an inch of you lot.” He studied the booklet so he wouldn’t have to meet Joss’s, Tasha’s, or Maisey’s eyes.

“Oh...” Caitlin clapped her hands. “So you care for her then? How exciting!”

Kole glared at her, and she widened her eyes and mimed zipping up her mouth. Maisey stifled a snort of laughter, so he glared at her, too.

He didn’t dare look at Tasha.

Picking up a pen, he clicked it on and wrote their table number at the top. “What name are we going to give ourselves?”

“Great mates,” Caitlin said. “With the numbers.”

He wrote it down, Gr8 M8s.

“We could do well this evening,” Tasha said, and proceeded to tick them all off on her fingers. “Joss brings medical stuff, Stuart does literature, Elle’s great at anything with sport, Fox does food, Caitlin can answer anything on music, Maisey can do celebrity questions, I’m okay with some history...” She pointed to finger number eight, looked at Kole, and pretended to think. “Hmm, what do you bring?” Her eyes danced.

“Great hair?” he suggested.

They all laughed.

“I’ve heard you’re pretty good at biology,” Tasha said impishly.

Kole met her gaze and held it. The minx. “I haven’t had any complaints so far.”

She sipped her wine, stifling a laugh, and he took another swig of his beer. So, she was in that sort of mood, was she? His heart rate picked up a little. He’d wondered whether she was going to call an end to the bet, but it looked as if she might still be interested in seeing him again. His gaze lingered on her breasts, outlined nicely in the tight T-shirt. Lust surged through him. Would she agree to go home with him for the night?

The organizer called for quiet, and the quiz began.

There wasn’t much chance for conversation for a while. The questions came thick and fast, and they spent most of their time arguing over the answers.

Kole surprised himself by enjoying the evening. He’d thought it might be a tiresome affair, but his friends were great company, and everyone seemed in good spirits. Tasha was fun and flirty, not overtly so, but enough to stir his blood and make him want to push her up against the wall and kiss her senseless. He couldn’t stop picturing her in bed, moving on top of him, or groaning with pleasure beneath him, and every time she glanced at him, he felt a surge of desire that fed his lust until he felt in a sexual haze.

At half time, when the organizer called for a break, Tasha rose from the table and excused herself to visit the ladies’. Kole waited a minute, then followed her through the quieter side room and along the corridor to the toilets.

He hovered outside, leaning against the wall, until she came out.

She stopped abruptly when she saw him. “Oh!”

“Hello.”

She stood in front of him, hands in her pockets, eyes bright. “The gents’ is that door,” she said, pointing.

“I came to see you.”

She lifted her chin. “Why?”

He moved a little closer, passion surging through him at the sight of her challenging gaze. “Stop teasing me.”

“Teasing you?” She fluttered her eyelashes like a coquettish nineteenth-century debutante.

“You know perfectly well what you’re doing. You’re riling me up.”

Her lips curved. “Am I now?”

“You are, and it’s not fair. I’m a guy. I’m easily riled.”

She gave a mock sigh. “Aw, but it’s such fun.”

“You’ll regret it,” he murmured, lifting a hand and stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers.

She licked her lips. “Is that a promise?”

“Maybe.” He was hard enough to be used as a battering ram. “I want you.”

Her eyebrows rose, and her lips parted. “Oh?”

“Come home with me tonight.”

She looked over her shoulder, and then she took his hand and led him farther along the corridor. He followed, frowning, unsure of her destination—the only room ahead was the large bathroom for disabled patrons.

She pulled him into the room, closed the door behind him, and locked it.

He started to laugh. “What are you doing?”

Her eyes were feverishly bright. “I’ll go home with you tonight on one condition.”

“That being...”

“You do exactly as I say, for a change.”

He stared at her. “In what way?”

She turned so her back was against the wall. Took off her glasses and slid them into her pocket. Reaching down, she took both his hands in hers. Then, to his surprise, she pulled them up and placed them on the wall above her shoulders.

“This way.” She started to unbutton his jeans.

“Hey.” Startled, he dropped his hands to stop her, but she caught them again and put them back above her shoulders. “Do as you’re told,” she scolded, returning her hands to his jeans and sliding down the zipper.

“Here?” He looked around. As bathrooms went, it was quite a pleasant one, spacious and bright, with wood paneling and floral curtains, but even so... “This is hardly the place.”

“Why?” She pulled the elastic of his boxers down and released his eager erection.

“Well, someone might want to use the room...”

She laughed. “I’m sure they can wait two minutes. I’ll be surprised if you last longer than that. I’m very good.” She licked her lips.

He closed his eyes as her hand massaged him. “No...”

“Your mouth says no, but the rest of you says yes.” She reached up and brushed her lips against his. “You told me you wanted to fuck my mouth. Well, now’s your chance.”

“It’s not very romantic,” he said faintly, worried she’d feel bad later about what she’d done in a semi-public place.

She gave a low laugh, reached to her right, and flicked off the light, plunging them into darkness. “That better?” She slid down his body to her knees, and took him in her mouth.

“Holy fuck.” He clenched his jaw hard. He felt as if he’d descended into a tub of black treacle. Everything had vanished and his senses were useless; the only thing in the world was Tasha’s mouth, hot and wet around him.

He held his breath as she explored him with her tongue, stroking him slowly with her hand as she did so.

“Tasha...” he said with a groan, swelling in her palm until it almost hurt.

She removed her mouth and spoke softly. “I’ll show you how deep you can go. And then it’s up to you. I won’t break, honey.” She placed her lips over the tip and then slid them along his shaft, all the way down, it seemed, until he hit the back of her throat.

His hands curled into fists on the wall. “Fuck.”

She murmured her approval at his choice of word, and her hand resting on his butt tightened, encouraging him to thrust.

He did so, unable to stop himself, groaning repeatedly at the sensation of plunging into her warm wet mouth. Her tongue stroked around him, teasing, arousing him further, sliding beneath the tip as her hand massaged him with just the right amount of pressure. She was right—she was good. He wasn’t even going to make her two minute estimate. Tensed up before she’d pulled him into the room, he didn’t stand a chance.

Even though he tried to hold back, his hips thrust him deeper into her mouth, and she gave a long, low moan of pleasure that proved his undoing. Her hand moved faster, harder. Deep inside him, muscles began to tighten and spasm.

“Stop if you don’t want me to come in your mouth,” he whispered hurriedly, dropping a hand to her head.

But she didn’t stop, just took him deeper until her nose brushed his pubic hair, and that was it—heat rushed through him and he climaxed. She continued to suck, her throat muscles working as she drank him down, and his fingers tightened in her hair as surge after surge erupted into her mouth.

When he’d done, she lifted her head and pushed a tissue into his hand. Sighing, he cleaned himself up and rearranged his clothing as she stood and flicked on the lights.

Chapter Twenty

Laughter bubbled forth from Tasha’s lips at the look of exasperation on Kole’s face.

“For fuck’s sake,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Everyone will be wondering where we are.”

She chuckled. “Is that a complaint?”

His eyes were bright as stars, full of admiration. “You’re fucking amazing.”

“Thank you.” She pressed her lips to his.

He pulled a face. “Yuck.”

“Oh, so it’s different when I do it to you?” she said, remembering when he’d done exactly the same after going down on her.

“Absolutely. You taste nice.”

She licked her lips. “So do you. Goes lovely with my salt and vinegar crisps.” The exasperated look returned, and she couldn’t hide her laughter.

He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. Tasha snuggled up to him, loving his warmth, his strength, and the taste of him in her mouth. He wore a black Nirvana T-shirt that was obviously fresh on that night, because it smelled of clean washing powder, along with the warm scent of his aftershave.

“Say you’ll come home with me,” he said huskily, repeating his earlier request. “I miss you.”

His admission brought a lump to her throat. “I miss you too.”

“Will you, then? Come home with me?”

She pulled back and looked up into his eyes. She’d missed him, and he’d said he’d missed her too. That was probably the closest he’d ever come to admitting to a girl she meant something to him. It was possible he was a really, really good actor and actually didn’t feel anything for her, but she’d known him a long time. He liked her, and she liked him. She wasn’t going to think about the bet anymore.

“Yes,” she whispered.

His face lit up, and that warmed her all the way through. They exchanged a long, slow kiss, although he still refused to get his tongue involved.

She pulled back, laughing, took out her glasses and slid them back on. “Come on. We’d better get back.”

Opening the door a crack, she peered through. “Coast is clear.”

“I’ll call in the gents’ first,” he said.

“Okay.”

She slipped out and went back to the table as the organizer called for everyone to sit for the second half.

Nobody appeared to have noticed they’d been gone longer than usual, although Maisey gave Tasha an odd look as she sat and said, “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” Tasha said breezily, accepting a glass of wine from Stuart, who’d bought the next round. After fumbling in her pocket, she pulled out a tube of lip balm and slicked some over her lips.

Maisey smiled, but she didn’t say anything more.

When Kole returned, though, Maisey’s gaze scanned him, and her eyes narrowed.

“Did you get lost?” she asked.

Kole just sent her a wry look. Tasha took a mouthful of wine to try and hide her amusement.

Maisey looked at her, mischief in her eyes, then gestured at Kole. “Your fly’s undone.”

Tasha coughed, nearly spurted the mouthful of wine across the table, and clapped a hand over her mouth as she swallowed.

“Something go down the wrong way?” Maisey queried, patting her on the back. Tasha shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. Her cheeks burned. Blushing, again! Three times in one week!

Kole checked his jeans, realized his fly wasn’t undone, and glared at his sister.

Maisey just chuckled and turned to talk to Stuart. Kole’s eyes met Tasha’s, though, and they exchanged a long, amused look.

“Warm in here,” Kole said, obviously referring to her flushed face. He winked at her, not appearing at all contrite in spite of Maisey’s teasing.

Tasha lowered her gaze and studied her wine glass, biting her lip. Kole was definitely having an effect on her. She’d always prided herself on never blushing like so many other young women her age, and men never made her flustered. But here was Kole, turning her into a giggly, blushing fifteen-year-old. How had he managed that?

The organizer started calling out the next round of questions, and Tasha’s face gradually cooled as the eight of them threw themselves into the quiz. The food they’d ordered arrived—several big bowls of potato wedges with ‘the works’, meaning heaps of wedges topped with grated cheese and bacon, and tons of sour cream and chilli sauce—and everyone tucked in. They all seemed to be having a good time, even Stuart, who answered every question on the literature round, earning himself a cheer from the rest of the team.

Tasha watched him chatting to Elle and Caitlin between rounds. He listened more than he spoke, which wasn’t a problem considering that Caitlin, especially, was happy to fill any gaps in the conversation with her bright chatter, with the gentle Elle there to rein her in when she became too loud.

Tasha had met Stuart’s late wife, Ria, on several occasions, and it been such a shock when she died so young. To her knowledge, he hadn’t dated anyone since. He was too young to stay single forever though. No doubt the notion of dating again felt disloyal, but surely Ria wouldn’t have wanted him to stay single and lonely forever?

Her gaze drifted to Kole, currently arguing with Fox and Caitlin about which rugby player had scored the winning try in the game against South Africa last year. He has feelings, Maisey had told her. My guess is he likes you a lot, and he’s having trouble hiding it. Had Maisey guessed correctly, or was she way off the mark? Seeing how Stuart’s grief had affected him so deeply, she couldn’t believe Harry’s death hadn’t had an impact on Kole, and Maisey certainly seemed to think that was the case.

He had been irreverent even as a teen, not caring what anyone thought of him, and he’d never been one to show much emotion. But in spite of taking great enjoyment in teasing the girls, he’d always had a soft spot for them too. Tasha could remember how, when she was fifteen and her beloved dog had died, he’d wrapped his arms around her and let her cry on his shoulder. And when Lewis had cheated on her and she’d broken up with him, Kole, who’d been away at uni, had rung her and told her in no uncertain terms what he thought of the “fucking bastard”, and insisted she deserved better than him and she should lift her chin up and forget him. Clearly, he did have a heart, even though he tried to hide it.

So did he have feelings for her? Having won his argument with Fox, he was now writing down the answer on the paper in his boyish, slanted handwriting. He had surprisingly long lashes for a guy. He needed a shave, too—he was on the way to growing a beard. Not that she minded. She quite liked the unshaven look.

Harry’s terrible accident, fuelled by an argument with his girlfriend, who—unfortunately for her, considering what happened afterward—had just dumped him, must be a factor in Kole’s current single status, Tasha thought. Presumably at least one of his girlfriends had wanted the relationship to go on longer. Did he never plan to settle down? Perhaps the pain he’d felt after Harry’s accident had irrevocably changed him and meant he’d never be able to bring himself to stay with one woman forever.

Kole finished writing and sat back in his chair, and Tasha dropped her gaze, not wanting him to catch her watching him. She drew a finger through a drop of water on the table. He’d made it quite clear to her that after Andrew returned from Peru, this little fling of theirs was over. She had to remember the reason for their getting together. They were in competition for the shop, and it went no deeper than that. If she let herself think anything else was at stake, he would win and she’d lose both her heart and the shop.

She looked up, and he was watching her, head tipped to one side, one arm hooked over the back of the chair. His lips curved as her gaze met his.

“Penny for them?” he said, handing the answer sheet to the organizer as he passed by.

“I was wondering if you’re consciously going for the Rasputin look.” She fingered her chin.

Everyone laughed, and Kole rubbed his fingers against his cheek. His eyes danced. “I thought girls liked a bit of bristle burn on the thigh.”

All the girls winced, and the guys grinned. “Absolutely not,” Caitlin stated. “Clean shaven all the way, please fellas.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Fox added a lazy salute.

“We aim to please,” Joss said, winking at Maisey, who blushed.

“What about you, Tash?” Kole’s eyes taunted her. “Do you prefer your men beardless?”

She took one of the remaining potato wedges and dipped it into the sour cream, refusing to get embarrassed again. “Not necessarily. I like ’em rough and ready.”

“Talking of which,” Caitlin said, “when’s the last time you dated? You’ll end up with cobwebs down there, Tash, if you don’t give it a good workout every now and again.”

Fox snorted, and everyone else burst out laughing at the look on her face. “Whether my chimney is being swept is nobody else’s business,” Tasha said, only serving to make them laugh even more.

“Perhaps we should change the subject,” Elle suggested, sending Tasha a sympathetic look. “Kole—any news on the shop? Have Tasha and Maisey managed to change your mind?”

Tasha sobered, her amusement dying immediately at the mention of the shop.

“Not yet. It’s not for the want of trying though.” Kole glanced at Tasha, then away again.

“Pretty please, with a cherry on top,” Caitlin said. “It would be perfect for us. Would it help if I went down on my knees?” She gave him a mock glare as his eyebrows rose. “To beg, I mean. Jeez.” Still, her cheeky grin was slightly suggestive.

Kole made some dry comment about the bar’s carpet being too rough for that, and everyone else laughed, but Tasha’s heart stumbled, and she swallowed hard against a lump that appeared in her throat. She looked into her glass, trying to force a smile onto her face, but she knew she’d failed. Jealous? How can I be jealous? She’d only been seeing Kole for five days, and it was hardly a long-term relationship. He was perfectly free to flirt with any woman he chose. Plus, they all indulged in jokey sexual banter as a group from time to time, and nobody ever took it seriously.

Still, she was shocked at the pain that appeared in her chest at the thought of him with Caitlin, or with anyone else for that matter.

And then realization sunk in.

Oh no. Surely not.

She couldn’t have gone and fallen in love with him in less than a week?

Under the table, someone’s leg rubbed against hers, and she looked up to see Kole studying her, a curious look on his face. He winked at her, and she flashed him a quick smile before turning her attention to the organizer as he began reading the answers to the final round. But her mind spun, and her pulse pounded rapidly at her temples.

You stupid, stupid girl. What have you done?

The quiz concluded, and the Gr8 M8s were thrilled to discover they’d won second place. They accepted their certificate for a free round of drinks at the next quiz, and then everyone started heading for home.

They all wandered out into the car park, and Tasha said good night to the others. Elle and Caitlin piled into Fox’s car, and Stuart agreed to a lift from Joss.

“You coming?” Maisey asked Tasha as the other cars pulled away.

Tasha hesitated and glanced at Kole. He was leaning against his car a few feet away, arms folded, and he didn’t say anything, just waited for her reply.

She turned back to Maisey. “Um...”

Maisey laughed. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” She kissed Tasha on the cheek, waved goodbye to her brother, and got in her car.

Tasha walked slowly over to Kole as Maisey drove away.

“Hey,” he said. His eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“Hey.” Her heart picked up its speed. Was she doing the right thing? This was an idiotic idea if she really thought she might be falling for him.

But he looked so gorgeous standing there in the light from the street lamp, his eyes full of tenderness as he studied her. And she didn’t have the heart to change her mind.

He pushed himself off the car, clicked the button on his key, and the car’s lights flashed. After opening the passenger door, he stood back and indicated for Tasha to climb in.

Chapter Twenty-One

Kole drove home, glancing across occasionally at Tasha, who stared out of the window into the dark night, lost in thought.

He wasn’t quite sure what to say to her. He’d gone to the quiz night aware they’d parted awkwardly after their lovely evening walk had ended up in front of the shop. But Tasha had been in good spirits tonight, and the events in the bathroom had suggested everything was all right between them.

But as the evening had worn on, she’d gradually grown quieter, and her smile had completely disappeared when Elle brought up the matter of the shop again. Why?

Because he was winning. Tasha was developing feelings for him, he was sure of it. It should have made him want to punch the air with triumph. But it only made him sad.

He’d begun the bet by telling her he wasn’t looking for a relationship, and he’d been clear to point out he didn’t want her to blame him when she lost the shop and her heart. He’d been provocative on purpose, and hadn’t really meant the bit about her heart. Eight days was hardly long enough to fall in love, for Christ’s sake, and the tempestuous Tasha had never shown any signs of being the kind of girl to lose her heart easily.

But the look on her face when Caitlin had joked about going down on her knees told him Tasha had feelings for him. Her eyes had flashed with jealousy before she’d lowered her gaze, and since then the way she’d fallen quiet suggested she was musing on her feelings.

Perhaps he should call it a day now. Sleeping together for another four nights could only make things worse, and he didn’t want to lose her friendship.

But as he glanced at her and saw the curve of her neck, her pale skin, the swell of her breasts in the tight T-shirt, he longed to press his lips below her ear, to crush her to him, and to pleasure her like she’d pleasured him not so long ago.

Ending this might be the most sensible course of action. But Kole wasn’t in a sensible mood. Perhaps it was the full moon, or the thought of what had happened in the bathroom, the way her lips had closed around him, her mouth hot and wet. But his blood was up, and he wanted her.

He reached across and held her hand where it rested on her thigh. “So here’s what we’re going to do when we get in.”

She looked across at him, frowning. “Hmm?”

“I’m going to get us both a drink. Open the bar of chocolate in the fridge. And we’re going to sit in front of the TV for a while and relax.”

“Okay.” The moonlight slanting through the car painted her cheeks white, and highlighted her wide eyes beneath her glasses. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Was she worried? Frightened? Or aroused?

“Then,” he said, hoping it was the latter but deciding to keep things light just in case, “we’ll go to bed, and you’re going to have the best sex of your life.”

That made her laugh. “Mr. Confident,” she said. “I don’t know how you’re always so sure of yourself.”

“When I start getting complaints, I’ll change my point of view.” He winked at her.

She chuckled. “So what does this best sex of my life involve?”

Pleased her frown had lifted, he pretended to think about it. “Well, I felt guilty our last session together was kind of rushed.”

“Kind of? Kole, we both came in about thirty seconds.”

“Exactly. That’s not a complaint, by the way, fast sex when you’re hot for someone can be the best. But tonight, as a thank you for earlier—” and he cast her a quick, wry glance “—it would be nice to slow things down, and take the time to...appreciate each other, shall we say.”

They approached his house, and he steered the car into the driveway, stopped, and turned the key. The engine died, and evening noises replaced it, the hoot of a morepork from the trees, the sound of laughter from somewhere in the harbor, people out enjoying the evening.

“Kole...”

He looked across at her. “Mmm?”

She nibbled her bottom lip. Affection surged through him at the girlish action. Not wanting her to say she’d changed her mind and would rather he take her home, he decided to try and convince her to stay.

He turned in the seat, slipped a hand to the nape of her neck, and pulled her toward him. Moving the last few inches to meet her halfway, he lowered his lips to hers.

Tasha didn’t protest, and when he stroked his tongue across her bottom lip, she opened her mouth willingly to him. Still, her body remained stiff, and he sensed her holding back.

So he took his time and kissed her slowly, languorously, enjoying the taste of the sauvignon that lingered on her lips. His mouth moved across hers, his tongue sliding, teasing, and he brought his hand forward to cup her cheek, stroking his thumb across her smooth skin. He lowered his other arm around her shoulder, holding her tightly, then pulled back a little so he could press light kisses across her lips from corner to corner, up her cheek, across her brows, back to her mouth.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” he murmured. “I want you so much.”

Her lips parted, and she exhaled softly, her breath warm and sweet. “Kole...”

He stopped her words by kissing her again, more passionately this time, letting his desire filter into the kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth, his hand sliding back to hold her head. At this point, she finally relaxed. Her body softened against his and her arm rose around his neck, and pleasure surged through him, along with a surprising sense of relief.

He kissed her a while longer, then eventually lifted his head, not wanting to get so het up that he jumped on her as soon as they walked in the door. “Come on,” he murmured. “We have all evening to enjoy ourselves.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

They went in, and he did as he’d promised and poured them both a glass of wine, then extracted the chocolate bar from the fridge. Tasha turned on the TV, kicked off her shoes, and sank onto the sofa, and he joined her there, passing her a glass.

“What shall we watch?” He flicked through the channels. “Game of Thrones?” He knew she loved the series.

“Ooh, yes.”

So they sat back, and he put his arm around her, hugging her close to him as they watched the latest episode.

They talked about the plot and the characters as the episode unfolded, and he enjoyed the fantasy as much as he always did. But his mind still wandered, distracted by the smell of coconut rising from her hair, the occasional kiss she planted on his lips when she looked up at him, and the softness of her breasts just inches from his fingers where they rested on her ribcage.

He liked this. Sitting on the sofa, one of his best friends in the whole world curled up at his side, with the promise of a sensual night to follow. He fed her bits of chocolate, and when she sucked at his fingers, his concentration wandered even more.

He had purposely avoided bringing any girls back to his place as he hadn’t wanted the intrusion on his private territory, but it felt different with Tasha. She was so easy to be with, and fun too—she reacted well to his teasing manner and usually returned with a joke of her own, and he didn’t have to watch what he said. He felt comfortable. Content.

Hmm.

The show ended, and although it was only nine thirty, Kole couldn’t wait any longer. He took their glasses into the kitchen, locked the front door, then led her into the bedroom. They went into the bathroom and brushed their teeth together, and he left her to cleanse her face and finish up, and then they stood in front of the bed by the large glass doors, bathed in the light of the full moon.

Kole took his time undressing her. First, he removed her glasses, folded them, and placed them on the bedside table. Then he released the clasp holding up her hair, watching the long brown strands unfurling like silver ferns to tumble across her shoulders.

He grasped her orange T-shirt by the base and pulled it up and over her head, laying it neatly on the chair, as she would have to wear it the next morning on her way to get changed before going to work. Then he unclipped the back of her bra and slid it down her arms. The moonlight shone on her round, high breasts, painting them white. He covered them with his palms for a moment, feeling their weight, and gave her a small kiss on the lips, but he didn’t lower his mouth to her nipples, not yet. He wanted her naked first.

Next, he unpopped the button at the top of her jeans, undid the zipper, and slid them down her legs. He dropped to his haunches, and she held onto his shoulders as he helped her step out of them.

Finally, he slid her panties down and helped her step out of those, too. Then he pitched forward onto his knees and pressed his nose to the triangle of hair, inhaling her scent. She smelled warm and musky, all woman, and he grew hard inside his jeans, his mouth watering. Unable to hold back, wanting to taste her, he rested his hands on the firm cheeks of her bottom and slid his tongue into her slick folds, groaning as she dominated his senses, taste, touch, smell. Her hands tightened into fists on his shoulders, and she gasped, her body bowing as she tipped back her head.

Kole held himself back with difficulty. He could easily have brought her to climax there and then, or pushed her onto the bed and slid straight inside her. But this time, he wanted it to last. She was like an expensive box of chocolates, and he wanted to take time to savor every mouthful, to treasure every moment of his time with her.

He pushed himself up, and this time let her pull his T-shirt over his head and drop it onto the chair. Her hands fanned out over his chest, fingers running across his muscles, nails scraping lightly over his nipples and down to his stomach.

She undid his jeans and he kicked them off, and then her fingers slid into the elastic of his boxers. They skirted around his waist to his hips, then back again, and her thumb bumped the erection that jutted out eagerly toward her. She glanced up at him, laughing, and he pushed her away and removed the boxers. He didn’t want her taking him in hand this time, or dropping to her knees. This time was for her.

He led her to the bed, peeled back the duvet, and they climbed onto the mattress and lay down.

Kole left the duvet at the bottom of the bed. He propped his head on a hand, and she did the same, facing him.

“What now?” she whispered playfully.

“I just want to look at you.” He spoke the truth. He wanted to commit this image to memory, of her stretched out in his bed, her curvy body bathed in pearly moonlight. It highlighted the swell of her breasts and stomach, her slim thighs, her shapely calves. It brought out the apples of her cheeks and emphasized the hollows beneath her cheekbones.

“Something tells me you want to do more than just look.” Her hand moved to his erection, which strained toward her, desperate to be touched. She closed her fingers around it, then stroked, gentle and slow.

“Don’t,” he said, breathing heavily.

She stopped and ran a thumb over the swollen tip, catching the moisture that beaded there, and brought it up to her mouth. Carefully, she sucked it off her thumb. “Why?” she whispered. “Don’t you like it?”

Kole hesitated. She went so easily from the shy and doubtful girl who brought out his instinct to protect, to the confident and sexy kitten that turned him on, and for a moment he couldn’t decide which was the real Tasha. The emotions he preferred to keep restrained behind a wall of steel were seeping through, mixing, causing confusion like mist on a battlefield.

Was her jealousy over Caitlin, the reticence, all an act, part of the bet? Maybe I’ll win you over so much, she’d told him on the beach, you’ll give me the shop without a second thought. He’d scoffed at the idea, but women were often much more skilful at applying their wiles than men. She been quite clear that men weren’t the only ones who could have a fling without getting their emotions involved. He’d wanted this to be about sex, but his hesitation told him there was more to it than that for him.

Was this just a play for his heart?

Chapter Twenty-Two

Tasha saw Kole hesitate and glimpsed puzzlement in his eyes before he lowered his lids.

What had she done wrong? It had been a lovely evening so far, cuddled up together on the sofa, talking about this and that as they watched the TV. He’d kissed her occasionally and murmured about looking forward to going to bed with her, and then when they came into the bedroom, he’d enjoyed undressing her slowly before leading her to the bed. And his body was obviously interested in going further.

It was the bet. The pachyderm in the bedroom between them, blocking out the light.

They’d declared they were going to try and seduce each other, but the stupid wager had backfired big time. Because now they were both developing feelings, and yet neither felt they could mention it due to the tiny niggle of doubt that the other was doing it on purpose.

What should she do? Start talking about the bet, say it hadn’t been at all what she’d expected? State she really liked him? Get it all out in the open?

But what result could she expect from that? Would he laugh with relief and declare his undying love for her? Of course he wouldn’t. This was Kole, after all. There was a slim chance he would smirk and announce he’d won, and she didn’t know if she was brave enough to test that. And even if she could get him to admit he liked her more than he expected, that didn’t mean he’d want to take this further. Mr. Anti-Commitment wasn’t interested in relationships—he’d made that quite clear.

His hand rested on the bed between them, and she put hers on top. He turned his over, palm up, and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.

There was nothing to be said. Talking was pointless, because they’d only stumble over the obstacle course of feelings and expectations and fears. Instead, she would have to show him how she felt.

She shifted on the mattress to move closer to him, until they were only a few inches apart. Raising a hand, she touched his cheek, stroking the bristles there and thinking how manly he was, how different to her. His large frame, muscular arms, tanned skin, all brought out his masculinity, and she slid her hand into his short hair and pulled his head down to hers, wanting to taste him, to drink him in, to possess and be possessed.

Opening her mouth to his searching tongue, she moaned as he kissed her deeply. He was such a great kisser. Previous boyfriends had just fastened their mouths on her and plunged their tongues in as if trying to lick out a bowl of chocolate ice cream. But Kole kissed sensually, moving his lips from one corner of her mouth to the other, teeth grazing, tongue sliding against hers in an erotic dance until she could feel moisture between her thighs and an ache in her abdomen.

She explored his body leisurely, running her hand up his arm and across his wide shoulders, then down to trace the muscles on his chest. Her fingers skimmed across his flat nipples and through the scattering of hair on his ribs, then moved lower, enjoying his taut body, so different to her own somewhat soft one. She did go to the gym occasionally, but she could hardly call herself muscular.

Not that Kole seemed to mind her being soft. His touch was languid and gentle, skimming down from her shoulder to her arm, then onto her hip and along the length of her thigh. His fingers were like feathers, so light, and they sent everything tingling, hairs rising across her body. He stroked up her thighs, brushed the triangle of hair at the top, then continued over the slight swell of her stomach and up to her breasts.

Tasha sighed as his fingers circled her nipples, teasing and not quite touching. It was warm in the room as he hadn’t yet put the ceiling fan on, and her nipples were relaxed and smooth. He closed his forefinger and thumb around one, stroking to the tip, and then squeezed tighter, a soft tug. Desire spiked through her system as if he’d injected her with a syringe full of lust, and she inhaled sharply, lips parting.

Their eyes met. Tasha’s heart raced. She loved the way passion darkened his eyes, his pupils dilating until his eyes appeared black in the moonlight.

“Come here,” he said.

She moistened her lips, naughtiness surging through her. “Make me.”

In answer, Kole picked up a thick strand of her hair and wrapped it around his fingers. Tighter and tighter he wound, until she was forced to lean forward, her mouth an inch away from his.

She closed her eyes, turning to mush inside, everything super-sensitive, desperate for him to kiss her. His hand tightened further, almost hurting, and her lips parted with an “Aaah...”

“You’re mine,” he stated. Her eyes flew open at the possessiveness in his voice. “And I’m yours,” he continued fiercely. “A hundred percent while we’re together. Remember?”

“I remember,” she whispered, heart thundering.

He clenched his fingers in her hair, almost brutal, his jaw set. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

“And you me.”

His eyes blazed. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.” She took his hand from her hair and moved it between her thighs, covered his fingers with her own, and slid them down to her slick, swollen center. “Is that lying?”

His fingers stroked her automatically, but his chest continued to heave with emotion—what emotion, though, she wasn’t sure.

“I don’t want you faking anything, physical or emotional,” he snapped. “You hear me?”

Tasha gulped down a surge of emotion. “I’m not. I swear it, Kole.” She hooked her leg over his hips and shifted on the mattress until the tip of his erection slid just into her.

“Wait.” His hand dropped and clenched her hip, holding her in place. “Condom.”

She hesitated. “A doctor put me on the pill years ago for medical reasons. It’s up to you, but you don’t have to wear one if you don’t want to.”

He stared at her. “I’ve never had sex without one.”

“Me neither.”

She could feel him pressing into her, and had to fight not to push her hips down. This had to be his decision.

His expression cleared, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He didn’t move, and she imagined his thoughts whirring away behind his eyes like cogs inside a glass clock.

She’d panicked him. Wishing she hadn’t said anything, she opened her mouth to tell him not to worry and to grab a condom from the drawer. But even as her lips parted, his hand tightened on her hip, and he pushed forward.

He slid easily into her, and they both exclaimed at the sensation of him deep inside her, hot, thick, and hard.

Kole closed his eyes. “Fuck.”

She stretched out against him, loving the feel of his skin against her from her breasts all the way down to where they were joined. “You feel amazing.”

He opened his eyes. The anger and resentment had vanished, and had been replaced by white hot desire. “You’re so fucking wet,” he said.

“Kole!”

“It’s not a complaint.” He gave a long, slow thrust. “Not a complaint at all.”

She groaned at the feel of him sliding through her flesh, the large head of his erection teasing her opening. “Oh...come on, don’t torture me...”

He chuckled and lowered his lips, teeth nibbling her bottom lip, tongue playing with hers. “It’s not always fun to be fast,” he murmured. “Sometimes it’s nice to take it slow.”

“Mmm.” As much as part of her longed for him to tip her onto her back and thrust away, there was something delightfully sensual about this. “I thought there was only one way to have sex,” she whispered, tipping back her head when his lips traced down her neck.

“There are a thousand ways.” His lips found her pulse point, and he sucked. Her body tightened in response, and he groaned as she clamped around him. “I’d love to show you them all.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh...”

He moved his hand up to her breast, rubbing his thumb across her nipple as he kissed her. “There are so many things I’d like to do your body.”

“Tell me some of them.” She was so turned on, she wouldn’t be able to last much longer.

“I’d like to fuck you in every position I can think of.” His lips brushed hers, sending a shiver skittering through her.

“Like?”

“Me behind. You on all fours.”

She groaned. “My favorite.”

He chuckled. “Or standing in the shower.”

The thought of screwing under the stream of water, hot and wet and slippery, made her clench deep inside, sending more moisture to lubricate his thrusts.

“Jesus.” He dropped his hand to her butt and slid it down between her cheeks to feel the point where they met. He kissed her. “I’d like to do this with something other than my cock.”

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“A vibrator.”

Her jaw dropped. “Really?”

He laughed. “You don’t have one?”

“Of course I don’t have one! Where would I get one from?”

“There are catalogues, the odd shop in the city...” He kissed beneath her ear and nibbled her lobe.

She felt the slide of him in her sensitive flesh and imagined it being something other than his warm length. “What would it feel like?”

“Like me, but harder. Cooler. And it would buzz. I’ve heard it’s very pleasant.” He slid his hand between them, down through the triangle of hair, to stroke the small bundle of nerves at the top. “We could use it here. Imagine it vibrating, sending ripples all through you.”

Closing her eyes, she reached up to kiss him. Her orgasm was so close, everything tightening, tingling. “Please...”

“Then I’d move it inside you, and fuck you with it.”

She groaned. “Oh...”

His fingers slid down, collecting her slippery moisture. “And then...” He moved his hand over her hip to her tailbone, down between her cheeks. His lips brushed hers as his forefinger touched the puckered skin there. “I might tease you, right here.”

She held her breath as he slipped the tip of his finger into her tight hole. “Holy fuck.”

“Yes.” He kissed her hard and thrust more firmly, continuing to slide his fingertip just inside her. “I want to possess all of you, Tash. Every single inch of your body.”

Everything was tightening at the exciting, unusual sensation of being touched there. “Kole...”

“Everything a man can do to a woman, I want to do to you.” His voice was fierce, possessive, brooking no argument.

She panted, about to explode. “Oh God...”

“More?” he murmured, his other hand moving behind her to hold the nape of her neck as if worried she’d pull away.

She squeezed her eyes closed, locked in sensation. “Yes...”

He slid his finger in farther, and she cried out, her body clamping around him of its own accord. The orgasm was fast and fierce, and she was only partly conscious of Kole thrusting hard, his muscles turning to concrete beneath her fingers as his own climax swept over him.

He thrust, she clenched, and they rode out the wave, the pleasure almost too much for her to bear, intense, white-hot.

When they’d finished, it took a moment for their bodies to release their tight grip on one another, and she gave a deep, satisfied groan as he finally removed his finger and let her relax.

“Oh.” Her heart raced as if she’d drunk a hundred cups of coffee. He slid out of her, and she fell back onto the mattress, exhausted. “Jeez, Kole.”

He lay beside her on his back, breathing heavily. “Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.”

He blew out a long breath, staring up at the ceiling. Then he turned his head to look at her. “You okay?”

She nodded. “I’m fucking amazing.”

He had the energy for a brief laugh. “I didn’t hurt you?”

“No, of course not.” She rolled onto her side to look at him. “Although it’s possible you may have pulled my hair out by the roots.”

“Should have done as you were told, then.” His lips curved.

“Point taken.” She reached across him to the box of tissues on the bedside table and plucked out a few. Then, giving him an amused look, she quickly cleaned herself up.

“Never had to worry about a damp patch before,” he said, watching her.

“No. Me neither.” She threw the tissues in the little rubbish basket and curled up next to him again. “It was nice, though. A different sensation, eh?”

“Very.” His expression went guarded again. What was he thinking?

She was too tired to puzzle it out for long. Reaching to the edge of the bed, she pulled the duvet back over them and snuggled up to his chest. He didn’t say anything, but he did lower his arms around her and hold her tightly, and that was enough, for now.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Kole slept soundly through until six thirty a.m., for once not waking in the night. He opened his eyes to warm sunlight, checked the clock, then touched the other side of the bed, searching for Tasha.

When his hand found only empty space, he lifted his head and looked around. He spotted her immediately, out on the deck looking over the harbor, moving through a series of yoga positions he seemed to recall was some kind of sun salutation. She wore her orange T-shirt, but her legs were bare.

Slowly, so as not to draw attention to himself, he lay back, propping his head on the pillows so he could watch her. She stood on a towel, facing the water with the boats already moving through the still waters, and stretched her hands up to the sky. Then she bent forward at the waist to let her hands brush the deck, giving him a nice view of her tight butt in her white panties. Dropping forward onto her hands, she held a kind of press-up position, then lowered herself to the floor before lifting her head up and arching her back. Finally, she lifted up into an inverted V, then pushed herself up to a standing position to start the cycle over again.

Even though she wasn’t that tall, she was beautifully elegant, moving gracefully through the asanas without a hint of effort. Kole was content to watch her, finding a strange pleasure in her routine, like watching a ballerina at a dance recital.

He thought he might have felt resentful at having someone else intruding on his private space, but in truth it was lovely having her around. She was like one of the crystals Maisey hung in her windows—she cast a light over his world, bringing a sparkle to it he hadn’t realized was missing.

He thought about that, as he lay there and watched her, the sun falling across the bed like gold leaf. The slightly open door let in the fresh morning air, bringing with it the pleasant smell of jasmine from the garden and the notion that the day was going to be bright and hot.

Had he ever felt this content, this happy, before?

After about another five minutes, Tasha gave her limbs a shake and bent to pick up the towel, then turned to come inside. Her eyebrows rose when she saw him awake, and a smile broke out on her face, as beautiful as the morning sun.

“Morning, sailor.” She came in and stretched out beside him on the bed. “Sleep well?”

He rolled onto his side to look at her. “I did. I think it must have been all the exercise.”

She chuckled and closed her eyes, lying with her arms by her side, palms facing upward. “I just need to cool down.”

“Okay. Can I watch?”

She opened one eye. “I’m just going to lie here.”

“Even so.”

She grinned and closed the eye again, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

Kole lay quietly and caressed her with his gaze as she relaxed. He watched her breasts rise and fall with her breathing, observed her pulse rate slow at the base of her neck, let his gaze caress the point at the top of her thighs where her white panties stretched across her hips and dipped between her legs.

“Are you letching at me?”

His dragged his gaze back to her face. Her eyes were still closed, but her lips had curved.

“Yes.”

Her lips curved a little more. “Thought so.”

“Tash?”

“Yes...”

“What are you doing over the next few days?”

“Dunno. Not much. Why?”

“Come and stay with me.”

Her eyes opened then, and she stared. “What?”

“Stay with me. Pick up what you need from your house later and stay here for a few nights.”

She studied him, her expression startled and thoughtful. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. We might as well make the most of the time we have.”

“You’re not too busy?”

“Well, Saturday I have a wedding all day, but you’re welcome to come along as my assistant.” He smiled.

Her expression softened. “Okay.”

He was surprised at how much his heart lifted. “I’m glad.”

They looked at each other for a moment.

Then she reached over, lifted the duvet, and glanced down. Her smile turned mischievous as her eyes met his again.

“Morning glory,” he said helplessly. “What can you do?”

Laughing, she pulled him into her arms and planted her lips on his. “I have time for a quickie,” she stated, “before I go home and get ready for work. If you’re up for it?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

So they made love, enthusiastic and fervent, Tasha climbing on top without being asked and riding him to victory. And Kole lay back and let her, enjoying the view of her against the rising sun, the pure delight of early-morning loving.

She left shortly after that to shower and change back at her place, but promised to return after work with a few items to carry her through to Sunday. Kole kissed her goodbye, wrapping his arms around her, reluctant to let her go. But eventually, she laughed and pulled away, and drove off, leaving him feeling oddly bereft.

He shook his head and went back inside. She was coming back that evening! And he had lots to do that day.

First, he had an appointment with a woman in her fifties who wanted a glamorous photograph to give her husband for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. While he waited to sign the lease on the new place, Kole was working in a sleep-out belonging to his cousin, Annie. In her late thirties, slender and with a mass of brown curly hair, Annie was a mother of three, down-to-earth, and practical. The light, spacious sleep-out doubled nicely as a studio. It had a large living room he’d lined with white sheets in which to take photos, a separate bedroom for visitors to get changed in, should they need to, and a bathroom. Annie also made them coffee, which was an added bonus.

Kole set up his camera and waited for the customer, Bridget, to arrive. She was ten minutes late, and when Annie showed her into the studio, he could see what had caused the delay by her rapid breathing and the way she twisted her hands.

She’d told him she wanted something sexy and suggestive, but she’d obviously had a sudden attack of nerves at the thought of undressing in front of him.

Kole chatted to her for a while to relax her, surprised at her hesitation when she’d seemed so confident over the phone. Annie, who’d obviously spotted the problem, brought them coffee and joined them, perching on the arm of his chair. He glanced at her, giving her a slight shrug when Bridget stared into her cup. What should he do?

Annie leaned forward and rested a hand on Bridget’s arm. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” she soothed. “You’ll look just as amazing in the dress you’re wearing, I promise. Kole’s brilliant at capturing his customers at their best.”

But Bridget shook her head, her face earnest. “I really want to do this for my husband. He’s always said he’d love a sexy photo of me, and I can hardly ask my brother-in-law to take it! It’s just...” She stared at her hands. “The more I think about it, the more embarrassed I feel.”

“About undressing?” Kole queried gently.

“Actually, no. About the way my body’s changed over the years. I’ve put on weight, I have stretch marks, and I have a lot more wrinkles than I had on my wedding day. I suppose I’m worried that, seeing me all the time, he’s not aware of them, but in a photo like this they might stand out.” She gave them both a mischievous smile and touched the lines at the corner of her eyes. “Can you paint them out?”

“No need,” Annie said. “You’re still beautiful. You have great skin, a curvy figure, and a real glow about you. That’s what he’ll see when he looks at the photograph. I promise.” She stood and gathered a couple of swatches of cloth she’d found in her cupboard, and held them up against Bridget’s face. “The scarlet, I think, Kole. It really brings out Bridget’s silver hair, and you can do that clever thing you do with the computer and give it a silver background for their wedding anniversary.”

Annie turned to him then. “Can you take the cups back to the kitchen? I’ll help Bridget get set up.”

Wondering what she was up to, he took the cups to the kitchen, played with her pet Labrador, Brandon, for a few minutes, then went back to the sleep-out.

Annie had finally encouraged Bridget to undress and lie on the chaise lounge Kole had found at a garage sale one rainy afternoon. She’d then draped the scarlet cloth over the now giggling Bridget, arranging it carefully to cover the important areas but to reveal as much skin as possible.

“Wonderful,” Kole said with admiration. Annie had also obviously helped Bridget with her hair and makeup, and Bridget wore a scarlet lipstick that went perfectly with the cloth and brought out the silver in her hair.

He walked over to her and dropped to his haunches beside her. “May I?”

She nodded shyly.

With his photographer’s eye, he tugged the cloth here and there to ensure it fell in attractive folds that concealed the areas she’d be worried about, while highlighting her good points.

When he was satisfied, he started taking photos. He talked to her while he did so, making her laugh and capturing her pretty smile, checking the pictures on the screen and adjusting the next until he had what he wanted.

Eventually, he was content with the batch of photos he’d taken, and he left the room so Bridget could get dressed, taking a walk in the garden while he waited. The large pohutukawa trees were filled with their Christmassy red flowers as if they’d bloomed to complement Bridget’s photographs. It reminded him midsummer was only a few days away. Then, this thing he had going with Tasha would be over.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Bridget and Annie came out of the sleep-out, and Bridget walked over to him, and to his surprise, gave him a big hug. “Thank you so much.”

He laughed and hugged her back. “Wait until you see the photos! I hope you like them. I’ll work on them today and email you the first copies over the next day or so.”

“Lovely, thank you, Kole.” Bridget hugged Annie too, and left.

Annie exchanged a look with him, and they both blew out a relieved breath.

“Thanks for your help,” Kole said. “I really appreciate it. You’re so great with people.”

She waved a hand in dismissal. “I could see where she was coming from, that’s all. After years of marriage you don’t always realize how you’ve changed, and exposing all your flabby bits and wrinkles can be a bit daunting!”

He grinned. “I can’t imagine being married one year, let alone twenty-five.”

“Oh, you will.” Annie smiled. “A girl will come along and you won’t want to let her go.”

He frowned. “I don’t know. You wouldn’t commit yourself to one job for the rest of your life, or one house, or one anything, in fact. Don’t they say ‘variety is the spice of life’? How could you be so sure you’re not going to get bored with one person?”

“You can’t, I suppose. Hence the high divorce rate.” She sounded amused.

“But you can’t go into marriage thinking ‘oh well, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll just get divorced.’ Don’t the vows say ‘until death parts us’?”

Annie chuckled. “You’re an old romantic at heart, aren’t you?”

He scratched the back of his neck. He wouldn’t normally have spoken to anyone about something like this, but he’d known Annie since he was a baby, and they’d always been quite close. “I just don’t understand how you can promise to love someone forever. It’s a huge ask.”

Annie shaded her eyes against the bright December sun and looked up at the fantails flitting between the branches. “You don’t think like that. What happens is that you meet someone, and you might not even know at the beginning that this is The One. But you date, and you keep dating, and at some point you discover you can’t bear to be apart. And when you are apart, you want your ring on their finger, to show everyone they belong to you.”

A shiver passed down Kole’s spine. He hadn’t considered what the exchanging of the ring symbolized. He’d always seen it as a constant reminder of the fact a married person was supposed to be monogamous, a warning against straying from the marriage bed, like a girl sitting a guy down and forcing him to watch Fatal Attraction. But the notion of putting a ring on a girl’s finger to tell everyone else she belonged to him... How delightfully possessive that sounded.

Mine.

“Who is she?”

He blinked in the sunlight and saw Annie smiling at him. “What?”

“Who’s on your mind?”

He opened his mouth to deny it, but her arched eyebrows stopped his words. He sighed. “I’m seeing Tasha.”

“Tasha Wilde?” Her eyebrows disappeared into her curly fringe.

“It’s just a temporary thing. A fling. It’s not serious.”

Annie nodded, but her lips curved.

“It’s not,” he protested. But again, the word rang in his head. Mine. “At least...” He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t expect to feel like this. She plays on my mind more than any other girl I’ve been with.”

“She’s nice. She’ll keep you in line, too.”

He gave her a wry look. “I don’t know I want to take it further though. I’m...” He wasn’t sure what word to use.

“Scared?” Annie suggested.

“Maybe. Life’s so short, Annie. I don’t want to make a mistake.”

She reached out and squeezed his arm. “I understand. But sometimes you have to take that leap of faith. Carpe diem.”

He didn’t want to think about it anymore. “Thanks for today, anyway. You were really helpful.”

“Oh, my pleasure. It’s been lovely having you here, actually. I’ve enjoyed it.”

He decided to take the plunge and voice the idea that had been playing in his head for a while. “I don’t suppose you’re interested in a job?” Her youngest had just started school, and although she worked the odd day in a local shop, she didn’t have a job to go back to, as far as he was aware.

She looked startled. “Oh. Doing what?”

“Well, working me for. As a kind of assistant. You could start part time and see how it goes. Fit in around the family. I could do with someone to answer the phone, schedule appointments. Keep records. Make me coffee.” He grinned.

A warm smile spread over her face. “Cheeky.”

“Seriously, though, I might need on-site help occasionally too. After taking those sports photos at the school, they’ve talked about hiring me to take all the school photographs, as the firm they’ve been using has let them down a few times. That would be a huge contract, and I’d need some help.”

“It sounds wonderful. I’d love to. Hey, any news on the new studio?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m working on it.”

“In a way, it’ll be a shame to move. It’s been nice having you here, and it would be perfect for me.”

“I suppose. It’s been great—I appreciate you letting me work from here.” He checked his watch. “Anyway, I have another appointment in a couple of hours so it’ll give me time to work on those photos for a bit.”

“Coffee?” Annie asked.

“Please.”

She smiled and went off to the kitchen.

Kole watched the fantail on the tree in front of him dancing about on the branch. For some reason, it made him think of Tasha doing her yoga that morning, graceful and lithe, beautiful against the rising sun.

Carpe diem, Kole.

Thoughtful, he turned and went back into the studio.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Tasha spent a busy morning at the café, making coffees, baking bread, and talking to Maisey about the setting up of Treats in between serving customers. Providing all went well, they were planning to decorate over the Christmas period and then have a grand opening in the New Year.

“So how’s the seduction going?” Maisey wiped down the counter and leaned against it, folding her arms. “Do you think Joss and I will end up voting in your favor?”

Tasha concentrated on arranging the loaves on the shelf. “Definitely. He’s practically eating out of my hand.” She glanced across at her best friend, who had raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that sounds like my brother.”

Tasha remembered the way his face had lit up when she’d agreed to stay with him for a few nights. Perhaps he was more into her than Maisey anticipated? Or was that wishful thinking? He’d certainly not said anything about wanting to continue the relationship after the weekend. “He has asked me to stay over for a couple of days,” she admitted.

Maisey’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

The two girls stared at each other for a moment. Then Maisey turned away. She retrieved some more paper bags for the pie cabinet and tucked them into the slot. “It’s going to be interesting on Sunday. Joss has booked a table at Aqua Blue for one o’clock, and we’ll announce the winner there.”

“Great.” As soon as she said it, Tasha knew her voice had betrayed her lack of enthusiasm. Maisey obviously caught it too, because she turned, a look of surprise on her face.

The two girls studied each other for a moment.

“Oh no,” Maisey said.

Tasha waved a hand. “Don’t get ideas.”

“You’ve gone and done it.” Maisey sat heavily on the nearest chair. “You’ve fallen for him.”

“No! No. Okay, a little bit, but it’s not a problem. It was bound to happen. He’s fallen for me a little bit too. It would be odd if that hadn’t happened. We are sleeping together, after all.”

Maisey gave her a worried look. “Sweetie, I know I said he’s not as cold as he makes out, and I do think he likes you. He wouldn’t ask you to stay over if he didn’t. But even so, you know he won’t be interested in a relationship, don’t you?”

“I know,” Tasha said, her mouth going dry.

“Don’t kid yourself he will be, because he won’t.”

“I know.” She cleared her throat and checked her watch; luckily, it was her lunch break. “I have to go home. I need to pick up a few things for tonight.”

“Sure.” Maisey stood and opened her mouth as if to say something, but Tasha waved a hand and headed for the door, and Maisey didn’t get to voice the words.

Tasha walked quickly to her car, got in, and headed for home. She wasn’t going to cry over Kole Graham. She’d gone into this fling with her eyes fully open, and even though she’d fallen for him harder than she’d planned, it would make no difference to the final outcome.

But as she drove, she kept thinking about that morning, about the words he’d uttered as they’d made love. You’re mine... And I’m yours... He’d said them so passionately. She’d been convinced he was starting to feel something for her. Did she stand a chance of talking Mr. Non-Commitment into having a real relationship?

Pondering on it, she took a detour down to the harbor, intending to call in to see Fox and order a special takeaway of something nice for dinner that evening. As she turned the corner, however, and slowed the car, her gaze fell on a solitary figure standing on the harbor side, his back to the water, looking at the row of buildings.

She pulled the car to the side of the road, her heart pounding. Kole stood staring at the shop a few doors down from Aqua Blue. He’d stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his shoulders were hunched, and he was obviously lost in thought. She was close enough to see the look of determination on his face.

Quickly, so as not to draw attention, she turned the car around and headed back up to her house.

Her hands tightened on the wheel. Stupid, she scolded herself, tears stinging her eyes. You stupid girl. He was obviously reminding himself of the reason for their fling.

Best she remember it, too.

*

The afternoon passed quickly, and by the end of the day, Tasha had gotten her head around the whole situation. Yes, she had great affection for Kole, and they were having a fantastic time. But it was just a bit of fun, and at the root of it, they were playing a game to get the shop. He’d crept ahead in the race over the last day or so, and it was time for her to pull out all the stops. The shop was what mattered—that was the overriding factor in this whole situation. The opening of Treats to Tempt You relied on her convincing Joss and Maisey that Kole had more feelings for her than she had for him. If they didn’t get the shop, they’d have to continue looking for another site, and because Tasha had an eye on the estate agents to make sure nothing came up in the meantime, she knew there wasn’t anything suitable out there at the moment.

Even though she’d sorted it all out in her mind, she still felt nervous when she finally drove to Kole’s house at five o’clock. He’d sent her a text to say he was already home, and as she pulled up, she took a few deep breaths.

This is all about fun, she told herself firmly, picturing him standing in the harbor, staring at the shop. That’s all he’s interested in. She pushed away the resentment that rose inside her and lifted her chin. She was a treat to tempt him. Seductive and sexy, Tasha Graham! Knock his socks off! Her thoughts continued to rattle around in her head like beans in a tin, though, until she knocked on the door, and he opened it.

His face broke out into a smile at the sight of her, and immediately everything flew out of her head except the pleasure she felt at being with him.

“Hey, you.” He stepped back to let her in. “Good day?”

“Better now.” She walked in, and after he’d closed the door, pinned him up against it and pressed her lips to his.

“Mmph.” Far from objecting, he gave a muffled agreement and bent to pick her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, loving the way he tightened his arms around her, how he kissed her so hungrily, as if they’d been apart for a whole year instead of a day.

“I’ve missed you,” she said as he deposited her on the kitchen workbench and kissed around to her ear.

“And I you.” He touched his tongue to the sensitive spot below her lobe, then kissed down her neck. “I’m so glad you’re staying tonight.”

“Mmm. Me too.” She tipped back her head, adoring his enthusiasm. “I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon,” she said honestly. Once she’d fixed it in her mind this was all about sex and nothing else, she’d spent hours daydreaming about the feel of him inside her, the weight of him on top.

He chuckled and grasped the hem of her T-shirt, and before she could protest, lifted it over her head. “Glad to hear it.” He paused and studied her as she gasped. “Sorry, do you want a drink first?”

That made her laugh. “No. Thank you.”

“Good.” He kissed her, delving his tongue into her mouth, and she moaned and did the same. His hands moved to the lacy cups of her bra, and she arched her back, pressing her breasts into his palms, inhaling as he rolled her nipples between his fingers. She unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders to the floor, then followed his happy trail down to his jeans. He was already hard, his erection evident even through the thick denim, and when she squeezed it, he groaned.

He lifted his head, and his pupils were dilated, making his eyes seem dark with passion. “Where do you want me?” He nibbled her bottom lip. “Your turn to choose.” His hands crept around her back and released her bra strap, and he whisked it off and dropped it on top of their T-shirts.

She closed her eyes, exhaling with an aaah of pleasure as he tugged her nipples to hard peaks. “Mmm... I don’t mind... Surprise me.”

“Surprise you?” He bent his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth.

“Oh... Mmm... Teach me something different, Kole...”

He straightened and laughed, then picked her up again. “Expand your sexual education, you mean?”

“I do mean.” She kissed him, tightening her thighs around his waist in an attempt to assuage the ache between her legs.

He carried her through to the bedroom and lowered her to a standing position at the foot of the bed. Then he undid his jeans, and she did the same, and they took them off with their underwear until they were both standing naked.

Kole gave her a firm push, and she fell back onto the bed, laughing. Before she could rise, he dropped to his knees before her, pushed open her legs, and buried his mouth in the heart of her.

Tasha exclaimed loudly and clutched his hair with both hands. “Jeez, Kole!” But he didn’t slow down. He plunged his tongue inside her, then licked firmly right up the center before fastening his mouth on her clit.

She squirmed and writhed beneath him, and was just getting to the point of no return when he straightened.

“Oh...” she said, the breath leaving her lungs in a disappointed rush, but he just chuckled.

“You wanted something different,” he said silkily. “I’m only obeying orders. Lift your knees.”

Heart racing, she pulled her knees toward her, wondering what he had in mind. The memory of what he’d done with his finger during their previous lovemaking session made her head spin. Surely not... She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that.

But he took her feet in his hands and lifted them, straightening her legs. “Cross your ankles,” he instructed. She did as she was told, glad the yoga kept her flexible, still puzzling as to what he was up to. Her heels rested against his chin, and the hair on his chest brushed the backs of her knees.

Holding her locked ankles with one hand, he stroked the back of her legs, then brushed one finger down her core and slipped it inside her. Tasha gasped, not realizing until then she was fully exposed to his hot gaze. Tipping his head, admiring the view, he pushed another finger inside her, curving them up and stroking the front wall of her vagina. She bit her bottom lip, a delicious sensation spreading through her as her muscles instinctively tightened, squeezing her sensitive flesh the way they couldn’t when her legs were open.

He continued to stroke her for a while, biting and nibbling her toes and ankles, his fingers mimicking the thrust of his erection until she throbbed with need and gave a long desperate moan, close to coming. In answer, he withdrew his fingers and sucked them, his hand glistening with her moisture.

“Kole...” she said, panting, yearning for release.

He pushed his fingers into her again, then to her shock, reached forward and slid them into her mouth. She gave a muffled complaint, but the heat in his eyes halted her words, and she sucked, her tongue sliding over the pads of his fingers, tasting the musky arousal that coated them.

“See how fucking amazing you taste?” he said, doing it again, and again, until moisture coated her lips. His hard shaft pressed up against her swollen lips each time he leaned forward, sliding through her flesh, and eventually she groaned, desperate to have him inside her.

“Please...” she begged.

“What?” His hot gaze taunted her as he plunged his fingers into her again.

“Fuck me,” she said.

His erection twitched against her, and it was his turn to groan as he guided it toward her entrance. He stroked down her folds until they parted to admit him. Then he pressed the tip into her.

Tasha held her breath, the position surprising her. Could he enter her at that angle? Sure, his fingers hadn’t appeared to have trouble, but his erection was a lot bigger than they were. He touched his tongue to her toes as, very slowly, he pushed his hips forward.

She was so wet and swollen he had no trouble sliding inside her. Closing her eyes, she moaned as his long, hard length filled her until the thatch of hair at the base of his shaft brushed her bottom. She could feel him inside, and her muscles clenched around him, the position making her tighter than usual.

He stopped and held the pose, his tongue slipping through her toes, which was a hell of a lot more erotic than she’d thought it would be. His dark eyes found hers. “Nice?” he asked, the words almost a growl.

“Incredible,” she whispered.

“You’re the one who’s incredible.” His right hand slid up her ribcage to her breast, and he squeezed her soft nipple in his fingers. “You’re so tight like this, and you look fucking amazing.” He plucked the skin until it hardened in his fingers, then licked them before returning them to tease her. “I’m going to do as you commanded and fuck you now, okay?”

“Okay,” she said faintly.

“Get ready. I’m too fired up to go slow and gentle.”

There was no time to brace herself, though. He pulled back, and before she could say anything, rammed forward. She arched her back and moaned. He did it again, and again, setting a punishing pace, his hips meeting her thighs with a sharp smack every time he thrust.

Tasha cried out, stunned by the feeling of him opening her, stretching her every time he plunged forward. Unable, and unwilling, to stop him doing whatever he wanted, she raised her arms above her head on the bed and gave herself over to him, letting him have her, letting him take his pleasure from her. And as he fucked her hard, so her own pleasure built, her tight thighs squeezing her swollen sensitive flesh until her orgasm bloomed. His tongue slipped through her toes while his fingers plucked her nipple, and she moaned as her central muscles slowly clenched, bringing with them a wave of bliss.

He continued to pound into her, drawing out her climax, and only as she gasped and clutched at the duvet did he finally give in. His hips jerked, his teeth bit into the soft flesh of her calf, and he shuddered, spilling deep inside her, until he had no more left to give.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kole released Tasha’s ankles and lowered her legs around him to the ground. Still inside her, he leaned forward and gave her a long, lingering kiss.

“Wow.” Her wide eyes stared up at him. “That was just...wow.”

He chuckled and withdrew carefully, then, after pushing himself up to sit on the bed, he lay back beside her. “I agree.” He blew out a long breath.

She rolled over and extracted a few tissues from the box, cleaned herself up, then curled on her side to look at him. Her lips curved.

“What?” he said suspiciously.

“You’re quite a tiger in the bedroom.”

“Rawr.”

She grinned and kissed him. “I mean it. I guess it’s all the experience you’ve had.”

“Thanks. I think.”

Flopping onto her back, she lifted her legs again and crossed them at the ankle. “I liked it like that.”

“Me too.”

“It felt good for you?”

He laughed. “Yes, Tash. It felt good for me. Couldn’t you tell?”

“You seemed to enjoy it. But guys always enjoy sex. Don’t they?”

It was his turn to roll onto his side, and he lifted up onto an elbow to look at her. “We do. But it’s not always like that.”

Her lovely mahogany eyes stared into his. “Isn’t it?”

He smiled and shook his head. “No.” And he meant it. There were all kinds of sex. Fast sex, angry sex, luxurious sex, kinky sex, desperate sex. Even bad sex was better than none at all.

But the kind of sex he’d just had with Tasha... That was really, really good sex.

He kissed her nose. “Enough compliments for you or you won’t be able to get your head out of the door. Dinner?”

“God, yes. I’m starving.”

Laughing, they dressed, left the house, and walked down to the harbor, bought a takeaway from Fox’s restaurant and brought it back to the house. They poured themselves a glass of wine and took it with their dinner onto the deck, and sat there for over an hour, talking about this and that and enjoying the food. Tasha pleased Kole by eating hers out of the container it came in, apparently as reluctant to wash dishes as he was.

The sun sank toward the horizon and the sandflies started snapping, so they went indoors, poured another glass of wine, and sat to watch a movie. Tasha curled up by his side again, and he rested his cheek on the top of her head, more content than he liked to admit to have her there.

Later, when the sun had set and the Milky Way arced across the black velvet sky, they went to bed and make love again, slower this time, enjoying just touching each other, stroking, gently arousing. And Kole was surprised when, halfway through the night, he roused to feel Tasha’s lips on his neck, her breasts pressed against his back. She proceeded to kiss him the way he’d kissed her a few nights before, teeth grazing, tongue lacing across his skin. He lay there for a while, enjoying her attention, conscious it was the first time a woman had ever awoken him in the night, wanting sex. Other girls had been happy to oblige if he’d made the move, some more willingly than others, but none of them had ever wanted him so often. The thought warmed him through.

Growing hard at her sensual murmurs, he shivered at the soft whisper that came in the darkness.

“Roll onto your back.”

He did so, content to follow her lead.

“Move down a little,” she directed.

Wondering what she was up to, he slid down, then held his breath as she lifted up. Facing the opposite way, she straddled his head before lowering herself down into a sixty-nine.

He rested his hands on her hips, the musky scent of her reaching his nostrils a moment before her hair brushed his lips, At the same time, her mouth closed over the tip of his erection. Groaning, he stroked his nose up her core, following with his tongue. She responded by sliding her lips down his shaft, her tongue moving over the ridge of the tip as she sucked gently.

Engulfed as they were in darkness, he felt a slave to his senses, his whole attention focused on two things—the heat of her mouth around him, and the taste of her on his tongue. Her arousal soon coated his lips and chin, and he lapped it up greedily, stroking his tongue from her clit all the way up, and loving the way she squirmed on top of him.

It didn’t take him long to come. Her tongue was too warm, her lips too enticing, and his fingers clenched her hips as his internal muscles contracted and pumped jet after jet into her willing mouth. Her throat muscles tightened as she swallowed, and then she pushed herself up a little, widening her thighs to give him better access and let him finish the job.

He did so happily, licking and sucking until her climax hit her. By the time she’d done and lifted herself off him to collapse back on the bed, her skin was slick and she was panting. She lay next to him, upside down, and he felt her hand join with his, their fingers linking in the darkness saying more somehow than words could ever have done.

*

Friday morning followed much the same as Thursday, filled with appointments at Annie’s sleep-out and a couple of hours at the computer finishing off Bridget’s photos, which he emailed to her mid-morning. He had to force himself to concentrate, though, his mind crowded with frequent thoughts of his and Tasha’s nighttime loving.

Just before one o’clock, he broke off and drove to Joss’s surgery, as they’d arranged to meet for lunch. He sat in the waiting room and flicked through a magazine while he waited ten minutes for Joss to come out, trying to banish Tasha from his mind. Had any other woman ever invaded his thoughts in such a manner?

“Sorry, sorry.”

The harassed voice brought Kole out of his daydreaming with a snap, and he laid down the magazine and stood up. “Hey.”

Joss’s hair stuck up at the front as if he’d repeatedly run his hands through it. “I know I’m late. It’s been crazy here this morning.”

“No worries. You okay to take a break?”

“Yeah, I need to get out.”

They walked down to the harbor, both donning sunglasses against the bright December sun, ordered a sandwich and a Coke from the bar on the waterfront, and sat at a table outside.

“Amazing weather.” Joss propped his feet on another chair. “I can’t believe it’s nearly Christmas.”

“I know. You done any shopping?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Me neither.”

They both laughed. “We’re useless without women,” Joss said, tipping his face up to the sun. “It would be worth getting married just to have someone to sort out the festive season.”

A waitress came out with their Cokes, and Kole took a long swallow, deciding not to reply to Joss’s comment. “What are you doing on Christmas Day?”

“Going to my parents,” Joss said. “They want to make a big family day for Hayley’s kids, as it’s their first Christmas without their father.” His sister’s husband had left her for another woman a few months before and apparently wanted to spend Christmas and New Year with his new toy. Kole knew Joss was furious with the guy, but there was little he could do about it except support his sister.

“How are your parents?” Kole asked. Joss’s mother, who suffered from M.S., was confined to a wheelchair, and his father was showing symptoms of Alzheimer’s. It wasn’t a good time for the busy doctor, who had enough on his plate with his demanding job, let alone his family.

“Up and down.” Joss leant back as the waitress brought out their sandwiches and gave her a smile, and then changed the subject. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about his problems. “So, how are things going with Tash?”

Kole took a big bite of the chicken and tomato sandwich and chewed for a moment as he considered how to answer. Joss met his gaze, and they both started to laugh.

“All right,” Kole said, taking another swig of Coke.

“She hooked you yet?”

“She’s doing her best.” Nicely sidestepped, Kole.

Joss lowered his voice conspiratorially. “What’s she like? As feisty in bed as out?”

Kole took another bite of the sandwich. When they were younger, the two of them had often compared notes on girlfriends and sex—it was the only way they ever learned anything. But for the first time in his life, he felt reluctant to talk. This thing with Tasha might only be a fling, but even so, he didn’t want to divulge personal details about what they got up to when they were alone.

“Ah,” Joss said.

“Ah what?”

“I knew it. I fucking knew you’d fall for her.”

Kole glared at him. “I haven’t. I just don’t want to go into detail.”

Joss studied him, a thoughtful expression on his face. “But it’s not what you expected?”

Kole went to deny it, then sighed. Fuck the bet, he’d known Joss a long time. If he couldn’t speak to his best mate about this mess, who could he talk to?

He looked out at the harbor, at the nearest white boat rocking in the light summer breeze. Someone had tied tinsel around the mast, reminding him it was nearly Midsummer’s Eve. Only two more nights to go. Would he be upset or relieved when it was all over?

“Yes and no,” he said. “I knew it would be fun, and it is. But I underestimated the effect our friendship would have. Usually, when I get together with a girl, I don’t know her well, and it takes a while for intimacy to grow.”

“At which point you run a mile.”

Kole’s lips twisted. “Yeah. But we’ve all known each other since we were teenagers. She knew me before I went to uni, before Harry died. It’s like she’s Dorothy, peering behind the curtain.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Yes. I hadn’t thought of it before, but it does. I like Tash. She’s great fun, and we’ve got on great. But it makes me uneasy that she knows me so well.” He twisted the ring he wore on his right hand. “I decided after Harry died I wanted to live life to the full. I didn’t want to commit myself to one person and feel I had to stay with them out of some misguided loyalty that would just end up making us both miserable. And so, if things look like they’re getting serious with a girl, I just back off before it develops into anything more.”

“Before she gets to know you,” Joss commented.

“I guess so, yeah.”

“But Tasha already has a head start.”

Kole ate another bite of sandwich, and didn’t reply. They sat for a while, watching the gannets diving into the water and emerging with fish in their beaks.

“What are you going to do?” Joss asked eventually. “Do you want to take this further?”

“I don’t know. Five years ago, I thought I’d never settle down. It...” He went to say “scares me,” but closed his mouth so the words didn’t fall out.

“Yeah,” Joss said, as if he’d said them anyway. “I know.”

They watched a family who were obviously on holiday looking in the shop windows. The parents held hands while a small girl and an even smaller boy ran in front of them. When the boy tripped and fell, letting out a squawk of pain, the father ran forward to pick him up and cuddled him until he stopped crying.

The two men eating their sandwiches exchanged a glance.

“You want kids?” Kole asked. It wasn’t a subject they’d ever talked about before.

Joss frowned. “Not yet. Maybe when I’m in my thirties. I don’t have room for anything in my life at the moment except work, Hayley, and my parents.”

Kole knew Joss had lived in Auckland with a woman called Ana for a while. He’d met her in South America, where he’d worked for a few years, and she’d come back to live in New Zealand with him. Kole had met her once, when he’d gone down to the city on business. She’d seemed nice, somewhat intense, and she’d been all over Joss. But only a month later they’d broken up, and Joss had returned to Mangonui, silent, serious, and apparently determined to stay single.

Joss glanced at him. “You?”

Kole looked back at the tinsel-bedecked boat. “I’d have given a resounding no if you’d asked me six months ago. But Harry’s five-year anniversary last month, and now this thing with Tash...” He gave a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know. I feel...odd.”

“Restless?”

“No, not really. The opposite, oddly. Settled. I thought coming back here might make me frustrated and claustrophobic, but instead I feel comfortable. Content. I’ve travelled, lived here, there, and everywhere, been with plenty of women, and now...” He didn’t know what he was trying to say, so he tailed off.

“Are we getting old?” Joss asked,

He gave a short laugh. “Maybe.”

Joss finished off his Coke. “I’d better get back.”

Kole stuffed the last of his sandwich in his mouth, and they began the walk up to Joss’s surgery.

On the way, they talked about how the Black Caps were doing against the Aussies in the cricket, but Kole’s stomach churned uneasily as his mind played over their conversation. He liked Tasha. They’d had great fun. But how did a person know when a relationship was strong enough to develop into something more? They could stay together and give it a try. But what if things fell apart? Then he’d lose her as a friend, and possibly also get his heart broken in the process. He’d tried to avoid that for years. Was he brave enough to go for it now?

Chapter Twenty-Six

“No,” Tasha said for the umpteenth time. “Absolutely not.”

“Jolly good,” Laura Wilde replied as if she hadn’t answered. She handed the pretty pink top to the sales assistant. “We’ll take it.”

Tasha gritted her teeth and pulled her mother to one side of the shop. “Will you stop bossing me about?” she said furiously. “I’m twenty-four and perfectly able to buy my own clothes.”

“And yet you don’t have a single thing in your wardrobe suitable for a wedding.”

“I do so!”

“You can’t wear jeans,” Laura snapped.

“Mother, I’m helping Kole with the photography, I’m not the fucking bride.”

Laura narrowed her eyes. “First, mind your language, and second, it doesn’t matter. It’s a wedding, and you have to look pretty for your boyfriend.”

Now Tasha was really getting angry. “He’s not my boyfriend, and I refuse to change the way I dress for a man!”

Other customers were starting to glance over at their raised voices. Laura grabbed her daughter’s wrist and dragged her into a quieter corner of the shop.

Tasha yanked her arm away, close to tears. “Let go.”

Laura stood in front of her, blocking her way out. “Will you grow up, for God’s sake? I’m not saying you have to alter your entire personality for this man. But Kole runs a business, and he’s asked you to accompany him to help. The least you can do is act the part and stop being so bloody drab!”

Tasha stared mutely at her mother. The fact that Laura was right only made things worse. Tasha hadn’t thought of it like that, but of course while Kole worked he would be advertising his business to all the guests at the wedding, and he might get more bookings on the day. It did make sense to smarten herself up a bit.

She looked down, tired and dispirited. She’d spent the morning at work having trouble concentrating because all she could think about was the evening before and how much she’d enjoyed herself. Then Maisey had insisted on going through her Christmas shopping list, which only served to remind Tasha that Midsummer’s Eve was two nights away, and after that this lovely time she was having would be over. And then she worried because she knew she’d fallen for Kole, and she was going to lose both him and the fucking shop. And now her mother was nagging her, and making her feel fourteen all over again.

Laura studied her for a moment, then turned away wordlessly and went over to the till. She paid for the pink top, came and took Tasha’s hand this time, and led her out of the shop and toward a local café.

Kerikeri was full of bustling holidaymakers in shorts and T-shirts eating ice creams, but they found a table on the pavement, and ordered an iced coffee.

“Would you like a piece of cake to go with that?” the waitress asked. “We do a lovely chocolate brownie, and a great carrot cake.”

“No, thank you,” Laura said smoothly before Tasha could reply. “You’re putting on weight,” she declared to her daughter once the waitress had walked off.

Tasha didn’t have the energy to argue. “Thanks.”

Laura tipped her sunhat carefully to shade her face from the sun’s rays. “Now I know there’s something wrong. You would never normally let me get away with that.”

“I’m fine.”

Laura leaned forward, and to Tasha’s surprise, picked up her hand and held it in her own. “You’re not. What’s the matter, sweetie?”

“I just feel a bit...flat.”

“Why? I thought you’d be all buzzy now you’re seeing Kole. He’s such a lovely young man. Very alpha male. Just what you need.”

Tasha blew out a long breath. “I’m not ‘seeing’ him. Well, I am, but not the way you think. It’s a finite fling. It finishes on Sunday.”

“Goodness. Why have you given it a use-by date?”

“It’s complicated,” Tasha said softly. She didn’t want to explain about the bet.

Laura stroked her hand. “Sweetie, you obviously like this man. Perhaps you should rethink the situation?”

“I...” Tasha retrieved her hand as the waitress came out with their iced coffees. She gathered her thoughts while she stirred the straw in the creamy cold mixture, then took a long sip. “I do like him.”

“Does he like you?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Then...”

“It’s complicated, Mum. You remember what happened to Harry?”

“His brother? Of course. That poor family, such a tragedy. Do you ever hear from Skye?”

“Yes, apparently she’s in Germany at the moment. Anyway, when Harry died it broke Kole’s heart, as you would expect it to. And because of that, I think he’s determined never to love anyone again, because he’s afraid of losing them.”

Laura thought about that as she sipped her iced coffee delicately. “But that’s stupid,” she concluded. “You can’t avoid having a relationship just because it might come to an end.”

“Hey, you know that, and I know that...”

“You want me to talk to him?”

“Good God, no.” Tasha spoke with horror. “Swear to me you won’t.”

Laura waved a hand. “I won’t, I promise. But someone needs to.”

“I don’t know, Mum, I think it’s something he’s going to have to come to terms with himself. I suppose one day he’ll meet a girl he won’t be able to keep away from, and that will change the way he thinks about love. But I don’t think that girl is me.” The words came out sounding a lot sadder than she’d thought they would.

“Rubbish,” Laura scoffed. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. You are totally the woman for him, darling. But what you have to understand is that sometimes it takes a little effort to get the guy you want.”

Tasha frowned. “I am not going on a diet.”

“I don’t mean that. Not that it would hurt in your case.” She ignored Tasha’s rolling of the eyes. “Look, men can be surprisingly dense, even the clever ones. They don’t always realize what they want is right under their noses. Sometimes you have to show them what their greatest desire is.”

“You’re saying I have to manipulate him into loving me? That doesn’t sound very romantic.”

Laura gave an exasperated sigh and banged on the table. “You girls of today!” Her voice held a surprising note of determination. “You shout about feminism and women’s rights and think if a man pays for dinner he’s being sexist, and yet on the other hand you complain if they’re not romantic. You want equality and for them to respect you, and you refuse to change for them, as if doing so means you’re giving up your freedom. But you don’t understand that a successful relationship relies on compromise and on the two of you adjusting until you match. It’s like you’re a round beaker and he’s a square block of ice. The two don’t fit! But if you melt him a little...” Her lips curved.

Tasha’s head spun. “But surely that’s not always the case? We’re all told to wait for Mr. Right, like there’s one man out there who’s absolutely perfect for us.”

“Honey, I’m sorry to tell you this, but no man is perfect. It’s a sliding scale—some are more perfect than others. But I’m sorry to tell you there won’t be one man out there who you will be a hundred percent compatible with. To make a relationship work, to make sure you fit together, you will both have to adjust.”

“And if I refuse?”

Laura shrugged. “Why do you think the divorce rate is so high? In the old days, if we broke a vase, we fixed it—we didn’t throw it away and get a new one. Relationships don’t just happen. They have to be worked at.”

“You’ve been divorced three times,” Tasha pointed out. “You’re hardly an expert on lasting relationships.

“Sweetie, I haven’t had three failed marriages, I’ve had three successful ones that came to an end for various reasons. George and I have been together five years now. Do you think when we first met we immediately knew we wanted to marry each other? Of course not! He did lots of things that annoyed me, and I’m sure I did lots of things that annoyed him too. But I wanted him. So I adjusted, I compromised, and I made him realize he didn’t want to live without me.” She smiled, like a cat that not only had the cream but ten tins of tuna as well.

Laura went on to change the subject, and Tasha let her, not wanting to talk any further about Kole or her mother’s marriages. But when they’d finished their drinks and parted ways, Tasha thought about what she’d said as she walked to her car and drove the hour or so home to Mangonui.

For as long as she could remember, she’d rebelled against her mother’s attitude toward men and thought her weak for changing herself to fit her partners. Tasha had been determined never to be like that.

But for the first time, she began to wonder if her point of view was somewhat childish. Sure, it was important to her to remain self-sufficient, not to be in thrall to a man, and to ensure her partner respected her and listened to her opinions and points of view. But when it came to men, what did she really know? She’d had three rather dismal relationships, the longest of which had ended because the guy had gone off with someone else. Deep down, she knew she’d never thrown off the fear that Lewis’s betrayal had cast over her. It had definitely contributed to her fiercely independent streak. She’d always blamed her attitude toward relationships on her mother, but if she was true to herself—and now she realized she probably hadn’t been in the past—her failure to keep Lewis interested had been more of a factor than she’d thought. Of course, his straying wasn’t all down to her. But it had engendered a feeling of inadequacy within her that had obviously helped to form her current temperament.

So where did that leave her and Kole? They were both screwed up in their own, individual ways. Could they ever make it work? Would he ever be able to accept that love didn’t come with a guarantee? And could she bring herself to believe she could influence how he felt about her by changing the way she acted toward him?

She pulled up outside his house and checked her watch. It was only just gone five and he’d had an appointment over on Ninety Mile Beach photographing some annual surfing competition, so she wasn’t surprised to see his car missing from the drive. Luckily, he’d given her a key for the few days she was staying with him, so she let herself in, poured a glass of wine, took it onto the deck, and sat and watched the boats in the harbor, lost in thought.

The front door opened around an hour later, and she rose and went into the house to meet him. Her heart swelled as he closed the door and dumped his bag on the floor then came straight over to her, his face lighting up.

“Hey you.” He picked her up and sat her on the worktop, then wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. “I’ve missed you.”

She pressed her nose into his T-shirt and inhaled the scent of sea, barbecued food, and hot man, touched by his heartfelt hug. “Me too.” Then she pushed back, raised her head, and smiled up at him. His cheekbones and nose were red, his lips dry. “You’ve caught the sun. Didn’t you wear a hat?”

“I did, I swear. It was fucking hot out there though.” He gave her a quick kiss. “Remind me to take sun lotion tomorrow.” Then he kissed her again, longer this time.

She sighed happily and kissed him back, and made no objection when he lifted her and carried her into the bedroom. They opened the doors to the deck and let the evening sun spill into the room, along with the sound of the cicadas in the bush, and made love slowly, sensuously, as though they had all the time in the world.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Midsummer’s Eve dawned bright and sunny. Tasha was relieved for the bride’s sake. How awful it must be to plan a summer wedding and then have it ruined by rain. But her relief was also tinged with a strange sense of disbelief. Her mood demanded thunder and lightning, or some illustration at least of how she felt that this fling was due to come to an end.

Several times during the previous evening, and when they woke—as usual—in the night to make love, she went to talk to Kole about their predicament. But each time the words refused to leave her lips. She didn’t doubt he had some affection for her. And clearly he was enjoying their affair. But was it more than that? Her heart told her yes, but her instincts also reminded her of his words when they’d arranged the bet. I want that shop. And I’m going to get it. He’d told her blatantly, with no attempt to hide the fact he’d go all out to win. But then that’s it... I’m not looking for a relationship. And I don’t want you blaming me when you lose the shop and your heart. He’d been very clear. And she couldn’t shake the small voice in her head that told her on Sunday at one o’clock when they sat in Aqua Blue, Joss and Maisey would proclaim him the winner, and Kole would rub his hands and give her a gleeful look before walking off without a backward glance.

So she didn’t say anything, and instead tried to put it all to the back of her mind and concentrate on the day.

They were up and about early, as Kole had to go first to the bride’s home and take photos of her getting ready for her big day. Deciding to shower together caused a slight delay. Kole, unable to resist her slippery body, turned her around, planted her hands on the tiles, and proceeded to take her from behind until her cries of pleasure mingled with the steam and filled the room.

Afterward, while she finished washing her hair and then dried off, he shaved over the sink, a towel wrapped around his waist. She cast frequent glances at him, unable to tear her eyes away from the hundred percent masculine act as he talked about the program for the day.

Eventually, though, he rinsed the razor in the water, meeting her eyes in the mirror, a smile on his lips. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”

She blinked. “Um, sorry. You just look so...” Her voice tailed off, lust sweeping over her again.

His lips curved even more. “I take it all back. You are insatiable.” His gaze returned to the mirror, and he tipped his head back to shave up to his chin.

She watched him helplessly. “It’s your fault,” she said, somewhat sulkily. “I’m sure you’re doing it on purpose.”

He chuckled, rinsed the razor again, and dried his face. Then he splashed on some aftershave, wincing as it obviously stung. “Ouch.”

Finally, he turned to wrap his arms around her. Still naked, she shivered as his hands skimmed her skin. “Ooh.”

“Hold that thought,” he said, amused. He bent his head and kissed her, enveloping her in the scent of sandalwood, and she sighed, opening her mouth to his searching tongue. But all too soon, he pulled back, giving her a parting wink as he left.

Muttering to herself, she took a little time to put on some makeup in the bathroom mirror while he dressed in the bedroom. She didn’t want anything heavy, and avoided thick foundation and too much color, but smoothed on some concealer, brushed some pale pink across her lids with a touch of dark eyeliner, and finished with a coat of mascara and a slick of lip gloss. Pleased with the overall effect, and trying not to think of her mother’s instruction to “melt him a little...” she went into the bedroom to find Kole had already dressed. Hearing metallic sounds in the living room and realizing he must be preparing his camera equipment, she decided to get dressed.

She dried her hair and pinned it up, letting a few strands fall around her face, then pulled on her new pink top. She scowled at herself in the mirror as she did so, but watched her eyebrows rise as the top settled around her curves, the bright color giving her skin a pretty glow. Not bad, actually, she had to concede. She teamed it with a pair of thin black trousers, and was just pulling on some strappy but comfortable sandals when Kole came into the room.

Tasha watched him in the mirror and saw the look of surprise and admiration on his face when his gaze fell on her. It reflected hers exactly as she saw his outfit. He wore a dark navy business suit with a white shirt and a light blue-and-pink striped tie. She hadn’t seen him in a suit for ages, and the effect took her breath away.

“Wow,” he said. His eyes creased as he came over and rested a hand on her hip. “Natasha Wilde in pink. I never thought I’d see the day!”

“My mother’s influence,” she admitted, fingering his tie. Her full name sounded odd coming from his lips. It made her tingle, as if the use of it gave him some kind of power over her. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you. And pink suits you. Your mother clearly knows what she’s talking about.”

Laura’s words filtered through her head. Men can be surprisingly dense, even the clever ones. Tasha gave a small laugh and cupped his face, her thumb stroking his smooth chin. “We don’t make a bad couple.”

She hadn’t meant anything deeper than a comment about how they looked good together. Kole’s smile faded, though, and for a brief moment his eyes searched hers. Her breath caught in her throat. Did he think she was implying she wanted something more? And if so, what would his reaction be?

To her surprise, he said nothing, just leaned forward and touched his lips to her forehead. Then he pulled back and held out his hand. “Ready?”

She nodded, not sure what to say, and he led her into the kitchen where they proceeded to move the camera equipment to the car. He didn’t mention her comment, and neither did she.

After she’d lugged the last case to the car, she put her hands on her hips and looked around.

“What?” he asked, following her gaze.

“Just looking for the kitchen sink.”

He gave her a sarcastic look and shut the lid. “It’s all necessary, I assure you.”

“What the hell is it all?”

They walked back inside so she could collect her handbag, and he locked the front door, and then they both got into the car, Kole slipping off his jacket and laying it on the back seat first.

“Stuff,” he said, plugging in his seatbelt. “Tripods, lenses, spare batteries, flashes, spare cameras.”

“Jeez.”

He started the car and reversed out of the drive. “It’s the most important day of this couple’s life. That’s quite a responsibility. If I get halfway through and drop the fucking camera, I have to have backup equipment.”

“I suppose.” She studied him as he headed the car onto the road. It was already warm, and she knew within a couple of hours he’d have loosened his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves. His hair would curl around his temples, and his body would warm his aftershave to enable it to linger for most of the day. “I find it interesting you call a wedding the most important day of your life,” she said. “Do you really think it is?”

He didn’t look across at her, apparently concentrating on the road. “I don’t know. It seems an awful lot of fuss for one day. And yet, I was talking to Annie, and...” His voice tailed off.

“And what?”

He indicated and slowed to turn onto the state highway, then accelerated away. “I’d never really understood why people want to get married. They pay tens of thousands of dollars, buy outfits they’ll never wear again for the rest of their lives, and swear to stay with one person forever.”

“It does seem incredible,” she murmured.

“And the whole ring thing, I just didn’t get it. It seemed as if you’re saying to the other person ‘hey, look, I’m sticking this ring on to remind you that you can’t fucking cheat, okay?’”

Tasha smiled. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

“But Annie said when you meet the right person, you can’t bear to be apart from them. And when you are, you want your ring on their finger, to show everyone they belong to you.”

A shiver ran down Tasha’s spine like an ice cube.

“I’d never thought of it like that,” he said softly.

He glanced across at her and smiled before returning his gaze to the road.

Tasha looked out of the window, but her heart raced. She’d never thought to hear Kole Graham talk in such a way. Could he really be coming around to the idea of staying with one person, of settling down?

He changed the subject and started talking about his camera and what shots he needed for the day, and she asked questions, happy to listen to him discuss his business for once, as he didn’t talk about it much when they were together with their friends. But his words continued to circle in her head like toys on a baby’s mobile pinned above the cot. You want your ring on their finger, to show everyone they belong to you. She’d never thought about it like that either.

Up until that moment, she’d been coming to terms with the idea that she liked Kole a lot more than she’d thought she would, and she’d entertained the notion of them staying together, maybe having something long term, perhaps even moving in together. But for the first time, she thought about where that could lead.

She’d never considered getting married before. When she and Maisey were young, they’d sometimes talked about it, and Maisey had been full of ideas for her dress and the reception and who she would have as her bridesmaids. But Tasha had always scoffed, unable to see herself in a big white gown, and hating the thought of having to “obey” a man and change her name to his. How insulting!

But sitting there next to Kole, listening to him talk about his business, she wondered how it would feel if he wore a ring on his finger, and she wore his. Whenever they were apart, she’d be able to touch that ring and remember he’d vowed to love her forever. And she’d know that every woman he came into contact with would see his ring and know he was spoken for. He would belong to her, and her alone. He’d always be by her side, there to love her, support her. And maybe one day, there would be babies, with his large hazel eyes, part of him and part of her...

Blinking hard, she forced her brain to do an emergency stop. Jeez, Tasha! What the hell was she doing, letting her mind run away like that? Thinking about extending their fling after Saturday was one thing. But marriage? Kids? Any mention of anything like that would send him running in the opposite direction like his arse was on fire.

And yet... He’d spoken to Annie about it. And implied he was changing his mind.

It doesn’t matter. There was no point in thinking that now. First, they had the wedding. Then they had to get through Sunday and sort out the whole issue with the shop. And maybe then, once it was all done and dusted, they’d be able to discuss what happened next. But not until then. And she wasn’t going to think about it again.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The morning went fast, and Kole had to admit to rather enjoying himself. He’d done half a dozen weddings in the past, and they weren’t usually his favorite events. The majority of occasions where he took photographs were one-off events that could not be recaptured. But weddings were worse than most. The brides he’d met so far had been stressed out of their heads, far too worried about things going wrong to enjoy the day, plus there were the mothers of the brides to contend with, most of whom were notoriously rude and demanding.

Today, though, the bride, a pretty young thing called Rachel, was calm and happy, and although her mother fussed around her, she was pleasant enough and keen to help him wherever she could. He tended to let the customer guide the relationship for the day—if they were the sort who wanted him to be part of the furniture and do as he was told, he did his best to remain as unobtrusive as possible and keep in the background. But when they reacted well to him, like today, he was happy to join in with the conversation, to suggest different poses, to tease the bridesmaids and flirt with Rachel’s mother, and generally to help the day be as pleasant and stress-free as possible.

All the while he talked and directed and photographed, he was aware of Tasha at his side, watching him. Once she had the hang of which lens was which, he was able to just say, “the thirty-five please,” or “can you get the fifty,” and she would pass it to him. She helped him set up the tripod, and adjusted the poses or clothing of the guests as he directed, always seeming to know exactly what he wanted.

When they’d finished the getting ready shots, she helped him pack his gear away and carry it back out to the car.

“To the church now?” she queried.

He shook his head, picking up his main camera. “A few shots of Rachel in the car first. Then we’ll head off.” He checked the lens—yep, the fifty was on—and double checked the battery levels. He didn’t want to have to stop halfway through if the battery ran out.

When he looked up, Tasha was smiling.

“What?” he said suspiciously.

“You’ve surprised me, that’s all. I’ve watched you take photos all my life, it seems. But this is the first time I’ve seen you do a big event.”

He grinned. “Am I too bossy?”

“No, not at all. You’re in control. Patient and firm. Warm and funny. You’re perfect.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Can I have that in writing?”

Her admiring look turned exasperated. “I meant as a photographer. Not in life. There’s always room for improvement.”

Still, she had a warm look in her eyes, and it stayed with him as he took the shots of Rachel getting into the car.

When he’d done, he quickly put his camera away and jumped in the car beside Tasha, and they sped away to the church. “This is the worst time,” he admitted. “I need to take a few shots of the church before she arrives and then catch her walking down the aisle.”

“Well, don’t forget I’m here if you need me. Anything you want, just ask.”

He glanced across. “Anything?”

Her lips curved, and she tutted at his lewdness.

“You want me to shave again?” He’d seen the lust in her eyes when she’d watched him in the bathroom. No doubt women thought of men shaving the same way guys lusted after girls when they pulled on stockings.

She didn’t reply, just chuckled, and he grinned and returned his gaze to the road.

They arrived plenty of time before Rachel. The church sat high on a hill overlooking the glittering crescent of Doubtless Bay. The magnificent view would provide a wonderful backdrop to the wedding photos, he thought, his fingers itching to press the button and capture the jewel-like colors of the sea and sky.

He was able to get some decent shots of the church and the congregation before Rachel’s car pulled up. He took some of the bridesmaids helping her with her dress, and then more of her walking up to the church with her father, who looked fit to burst all the buttons on his jacket with pride.

After that, Kole set up the tripod to one side where he could remain inconspicuous but still have a great shot of the altar. Using a different lens, he could shoot from afar but get close-up images of the bride and groom, and capture every emotion on their faces.

Tasha stood beside him, quiet and attentive, and passed him the spare batteries when he needed to change. He heard her singing to the hymns, saw her drop her head in prayer. And he thought he heard her inhale as the bride and groom exchanged rings, but he couldn’t be sure.

Through the viewfinder, he caught the devotion on the groom’s face as he promised to love his new wife, “for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish,” as long as they lived. Even as he snapped away, Kole puzzled on the words. Could he imagine being in that position. Standing in front of a woman and vowing to love her forever, “forsaking all others”?

It was with surprise he realized promising to stay faithful was not what bothered him. Yes, he’d had a few girlfriends in his time, but fidelity was not an issue. The problem was more the notion of making a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. How could he swear to love someone forever? He could say “I promise that, at this moment, I want to love you forever,” but the vows were not phrased that way. Did people not think about that? Or did they realize the foolishness of making such a promise, but just assume if they fell out of love, they’d get divorced?

A person staying with someone he or she didn’t love would be a huge mistake and waste of a life. But equally, he hated the thought of breaking a promise. How terrible to have vowed to love someone forever, and then one day to ask for divorce because you no longer did. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than being in love with someone who didn’t love you back. That was what had killed his brother. Harry’s girlfriend had broken up with him, and he’d driven off in a fury and ended up killing himself, and all because he loved the girl and didn’t want the relationship to end. Kole had refused to put himself in that position for so long, terrified of feeling the same way. How could he be sure?

Sometimes you have to take that leap of faith, Annie had said. Carpe diem.

The ceremony finished, and he didn’t have any time to think about it further because this was his busiest time of the day. Tasha helped him move his gear to the church entrance, and he took photos of the happy couple walking down the aisle, then it was shots of the two of them on the steps. After that it was time to move to the lawn, and luckily it hadn’t rained for a while so the grass was firm underfoot, and there wasn’t too much wind. They had their backs to the beautiful view, and the cornflower blue sky and the cerulean sea, along with the pohutukawa tree that arched above them with its Christmassy scarlet flowers, provided the perfect background for his shots.

He spent a long while taking photos, lots of the bride and groom alone, then with their parents, with the bridesmaids and the best man, with siblings and other relatives, and eventually with all the guests, lots of shots to enable him to pick the best and create the perfect album.

After that, he caught the couple being showered in confetti and getting into the car, and then it was off to the hall they’d hired. He captured the wedding breakfast, the speeches, the couple’s first dance, and then took shots of all the guests enjoying themselves as the evening reception began, and daylight began to fade. Some couples only wanted photos of the ceremony, some liked a few of the wedding breakfast and that was it, but today they’d asked him to stay until the evening do was underway, and he’d happily obliged for the extra money.

He worried Tasha would get bored, but she seemed to be enjoying herself and stayed close to him, keen to help wherever she could. Eventually, though, he’d finished. He caught the bride and groom and asked if there was anything else he could do, and Rachel hugged him and said he’d been terrific, and the groom shook his hand and told him to go home.

“Phew, what a day.” He drove home slowly, tired and with an aching neck after all the stooping to look in the camera, but pleased with how it had turned out.

“I don’t know how you do it.” Tasha had kicked off her shoes and now rolled her head back onto the seat rest. “You don’t stop.”

“I’m regular dynamo.”

“And some. I think half of New Zealand could be run on your energy.”

He laughed. “I’m tired tonight though.”

“I’m not surprised. Want an early night?”

He glanced across at her, but there was nothing in her eyes except genuine concern. “Depends if you come with me.” He held her gaze long enough to show her the pun was intentional.

She reached out and held his hand. “Are you sure you don’t want to drop me off at my house tonight? I’ll understand.”

His heart skipped a beat. It was their last night together. Didn’t she want to spend it with him? “Is that what you want?”

“No,” she said softly.

He tightened his hand on hers. “Then you’re coming home with me.”

They didn’t say anything more for the last few miles. He pulled into the drive and turned off the engine, and then she helped him collect the cases from the car and carry them inside. Before he did anything else, while Tasha poured them both a glass of wine, he turned on his computer and unpacked the memory cards he’d used, slotted them in and downloaded all the images onto the computer. She came to stand beside him as he flicked through them all, making sure they’d come out all right.

“Oh, Kole, they’re amazing.” She leaned on his shoulder to look more closely at the pictures of the bride and groom he had to admit looked stunning with the dazzling blues of Doubtless Bay behind them, the red pohutukawa flowers just entering the shot in the top corner.

Relieved everything looked okay, he saved them, backed them all up again on a portable disk drive, then closed the computer down. “Done.”

When he turned, Tasha was waiting for him. As he stood, she took his hand and led him toward the bedroom. It was only early in the evening, and the sun still hovered low over the horizon, flooding the room with a beautiful golden light. She opened the large glass sliding door to let the honey-like smell of the manuka bushes waft in, took his glass from his other hand, and placed them both on the bedside table. Then she began to unbutton his shirt.

He watched her, tired but happy she was there, enjoying the slide of her fingers against his skin as she unbuttoned down to his navel and then pushed the shirt off his shoulders to the floor. Her hands moved to the waistband of his trousers, and he let her undo them too while he toed off his shoes. When she’d undone the zipper, he took off the trousers and his socks, and turned back to her in his boxers, waiting for her to take them off too.

To his surprise, she didn’t, but quickly stripped off her own trousers and the pretty pink top, and stood before him in her underwear, a lovely matching light pink lacy bra and panties.

He went to put his hands on her hips, but she shook her head and turned him, drew back the duvet, and motioned to the bed. “Get in,” she instructed. “Lie on your front.”

He did so, only realizing what she was up to when he saw her holding the small bottle of olive oil he kept in the cupboard.

“Your shoulders are all tense,” she said, placing the bottle on the table and climbing onto the bed. “First, we need to get you to relax.”

“I’m not going to be able to relax with you sitting on me dressed like that,” he said. He groaned as she straddled him, conscious of his growing erection pinned beneath him.

She leaned forward and retrieved the olive oil, poured a little onto her hands and rubbed them together, and then placed them on his shoulders. “Hush,” she whispered. “Just enjoy.”

Kole sighed as her hands stroked slowly down his back, then up his sides to his shoulders and down the tops of his arms. Maybe she was right—he’d just enjoy her touch for a while before he made a move on her.

For about ten minutes, she used long strokes, warming and relaxing his muscles. Then her touch became firmer, and she squeezed and massaged, kneading out the tenseness, using pressure to get right into the knots almost to the point of pain, but not quite. She’s done this before, he thought. To whom? An answering wave of jealousy surprised him. He didn’t want her hands touching another man like this. So intimate and tender.

Eventually, she returned to the long, gentle strokes, up his back, over his shoulders, down his back again, relaxing and caressing. He could feel the last dregs of the evening sun on his legs, smell the manuka in the bush. Somewhere, a morepork hooted, announcing the arrival of night. The glass of merlot threaded through his veins, unravelling him like a skein of wool.

And gradually, as if a blanket had been shaken to settle over him, he fell asleep.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

When Kole awoke about an hour later, Tasha was lying on her side, facing him. In the light of the waning moon, she watched him rise slowly to consciousness, his body stirring, his eyes fluttering open confused at first, then finally registering where he was like booting up a computer.

He lifted his head and looked at the clock, saw it was only nine, and rolled onto his side. “Jeez, I’m sorry. I dozed off.”

She smiled. “That was the plan. You were worn out.”

He rubbed his face then ran his hand through his hair. “I feel all disoriented. I never go to sleep earlier than eleven.”

“You worked hard today. You deserve an early night.”

She half-expected him to take her in his arms, but instead he pushed himself up and padded to the bathroom. When he came out, he walked over to the window and looked at the harbor.

“It’s Midsummer’s Eve,” he said.

Tasha rose and walked to stand beside him. “Longest day.”

He moved to stand behind her, and wrapped his arms around her. “The sun sets earlier here than in the rest of New Zealand, did you know?”

“I didn’t, actually.”

“Our longest days are shorter than Dunedin’s, for example. Although our shortest days are longer, if that makes any sense.”

“Not really, no.”

He chuckled into her ear. “It sounded great in my head.” He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin behind her ear.

She tipped her head to the side so he could kiss her neck. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream is my favorite Shakespeare play.”

“I prefer the history plays, but it is entertaining.” His lips trailed down her neck, making her shiver. “‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’”

Tasha’s breath hitched. Why had he chosen that line to quote? He continued to kiss her shoulder, then back up to her ear, and she decided he hadn’t meant it to have meaning.

“‘Methought I was enamored of an ass,’” she said.

That made him laugh. He fastened his mouth on the crook of her neck and sucked hard, and she gasped. “Ouch! You’ll give me a hickey!”

He stroked the area with a finger. “Yep. Serves you right for being cheeky.” He began to undo her bra. “I’m going to mark you tonight. Let everyone know you’re mine.”

It was such a similar comment to what he’d said about the wedding rings she couldn’t think what to say. As he unfastened her bra and drew the straps down her arms, her mind spun with confusion. Was he implying this might go further? That he wanted to continue to see her? If that wasn’t the case and he still had every intention of finishing this tomorrow—if this really was all about the bet—it was an exceedingly cruel joke. But then that’s it... I’m not looking for a relationship. And I don’t want you blaming me when you lose the shop and your heart. She closed her eyes as his warm hands settled on her breasts. If he said goodbye to her tomorrow, if he laughed when he won the bet, she’d never be able to forgive him.

He must have felt her tense, because he nuzzled her ear and said, “It must be my turn to relax you.” He lifted her breasts in his palms, stroked his thumbs across her nipples. An “aah” of pleasure escaped her lips, and he murmured his appreciation. “You have the sexiest body of any woman I’ve ever met,” he whispered. He slid his right hand down her stomach, and then lower, his fingers sneaking beneath the elastic of her panties to cup her mound. “I want you, Tasha Wilde. I want to fill you up and hear you scream my name as you come. Will you do that for me?”

She rested her head back on his shoulder as he slipped a finger down into her folds. “Yes...”

“Tell me you want me.” His deep voice sent ripples of desire through her.

“I want you...”

He moved his finger inside her, then drew her moisture up to her clit and began to arouse her. “I could play with you for hours. And in fact, I think I will. You’re in no rush to get to sleep tonight, are you?”

Her lips parted at the notion of him touching her like this in the darkness. “No...”

“So many things I could do to you, Tash.” He squeezed her nipple with his fingers, tugging it gently until she arched her back and moaned. “So much we could do to each other, if only we had the time.”

His words stirred her, made her brain spin again. Hope kept mixing with fear he was only playing with her, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask him the truth.

“I want to pleasure you every way a man can pleasure a woman. Kiss you everywhere. Get to know every freckle on your body, every inch of skin.” Again, he moved his finger inside her, collecting more of her slippery moisture and bringing it up to coat her folds. “Would you like that?”

“Yes...” She felt half-drunk, in a sexual haze, stirred by his deep, sexy voice, his sure touch, the feel of his hard erection pressing against her bottom through his boxers.

“You’re so wet already.” He nipped her ear.

She gave a huff of displeasure. “Don’t embarrass me.”

“I’m not. It’s sexy to talk about what happens to our bodies when we’re aroused.” He removed his hand from her panties and returned it to her breasts. The fingers of both his hands squeezed her nipples. “These become engorged when you’re turned on. I love how they swell, and they’re soft, like plush velvet. And then I do this—” he tugged them again “—and they tighten like magic into tiny, hard buttons.” He rubbed his thumbs over them. “They’re beautiful.”

She couldn’t stop herself pushing back with her hips against his erection. “Mmm...”

“And see what you do to me?” He stepped back a second, lost the boxers, then returned, nestling his erection between the cheeks of her bottom, only the panties separating them. “Just one look from you, Tash, gets me like this. And the thought of tasting you, or sliding into you and filling you up, makes me swell.” He nipped her ear again. “Open your legs.”

She lowered her hands to her panties, but he pushed them away. “Leave them on.”

Puzzled, she did as he said and widened her legs, and leaned against the window again as he moved his erection beneath her. The head slid along the crotch of her panties, which she knew must be soaked by now, and she groaned when he returned his hands to her breasts.

He kissed her ear. “Tell me what you thought about last time you pleasured yourself.”

Her jaw dropped. “Kole!”

“Don’t be coy. I’ll tell you what I thought about. I imagined you before me on all fours like you were the other day. You looked fucking amazing. I could see your lips here glistening—” he thrust his erection forward to illustrate where he meant “—and your breasts swung every time I thrust.”

Tasha’s cheeks grew warm. He was making her blush again! “Please...”

“Tell me.” He continued to give small movements of his hips, arousing her through the thin panties, and his right hand slid down and beneath the elastic again to continue stroking her clit.

“I thought of you.” There, she’d said it.

“What was I doing?”

She decided he’d had his way long enough. “Fucking me.”

He paused temporarily, and then gave a deep, sexy laugh. “How was I fucking you, Tasha?”

“Same way. From behind.”

“Why?”

“Because it feels fucking amazing.” She groaned as he swapped his hand to her right breast and squeezed her nipple. Her mother’s words flared in her head. Melt him a little... “Then you pulled out,” she whispered. “And pushed me down onto the bed.”

His hand circled through her slippery flesh, bringing her closer and closer to her climax. “And then what?” His voice had turned husky. She was getting to him.

“You parted my legs. Pushed up my knee.” She bit her bottom lip as lifted the hand in her panties to her breast, transferring some of the silky wetness to her nipple before returning it to stroke her. This time, when his other hand rubbed her nipple, the sensation was electrifying. “Oh...”

“Then what did I do?”

Her breaths came hard and fast. “You took some lube and squeezed it onto your fingers, and smoothed it down between my cheeks...”

His fingers circled faster. “And then...”

“You pushed your fingers into me.”

“Where, Tasha?”

“Mmm...into my arse...”

He fastened his mouth onto her neck and sucked gently. “And then?”

“Mmm...”

“Come on,” he chided. “My sexy little whore. What did I do next?”

She was so close to coming. She licked her lips and arched her back. “You slid the tip of your erection inside.”

“And then?”

“You fucked me there,” she whispered. Just the thought was enough to tip her over the edge. Her muscles clenched and she came, hard and fast, clutching his hand to stop him pulling away, not that he seemed inclined to.

He let her finish, but immediately turned her around. He dropped to his haunches before her and pulled down her panties, removed them, then rose to stand before her. Her head still spinning, she gasped as he pressed his nose into the wet cotton before dropping it to the floor.

“Kole!”

He laughed then, and planting his hands beneath her butt, lifted her up and pressed her against the glass. It was cold against her hot skin, and she squealed.

“Another punishment,” he said. “For nearly make me come just by talking to me.” He lowered her a little, and the tip of his erection parted her lips.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, plunging her tongue into his mouth. He groaned and lowered her more, and she slid down his erection to the root, until she was impaled on him.

“Fuck,” he said, with feeling. He waited, letting her adjust, and she slid her hands into his hair and clutched them at the sensation of him inside her, stretching and filling and possessing her completely.

Holding her tightly, he slid out a little, then thrust back in.

“Oh.” She kissed him, deeper this time.

He thrust again, and again, setting up a punishing pace. Tasha couldn’t move, but she was content to let him take her. And amazingly, as he thrust, she began to feel another climax building.

“Slower,” she said, gasping. “Let me catch up.”

He gave a deep groan and his fingers dug into her butt, but he slowed nevertheless, grinding against her with each movement of his hips. “Quick, Tash,” he muttered. “I can’t hold on for long.”

“No need...to worry...here it...comes...” She gave into the sensations and clamped around him, and he let out a triumphant yell and thrust as his own climax hit. He pumped hard, plunging deep into her, and even as her body pulsed, she was aware of his muscles tightening, his hips jerking as he spilled into her.

They were both panting by the time they’d finished, and when he finally withdrew and lowered her down, it was all she could do to make it to the bed and collapse next to him.

“Jesus. You’ll be the death of me.” He threw one arm across his face, his chest heaving. “You really do need a ‘Treat with Caution’ sign stuck on you.”

Tasha curled up beside him, exhausted, sated, and slightly smug. “Thank you.”

He gave a short laugh. “Thank you.”

“I mean it.” She kissed his chest, suddenly very tired. “I’ve enjoyed this, Kole. Whatever happens, I’ve had a great time.”

“Lovers, to bed; ‘tis almost fairy time,” he said, laughter in his voice.

She smiled in the semi-darkness. And almost immediately, she felt asleep.

Chapter Thirty

When Tasha finally awoke to see sunlight, she rolled over and found the bed beside her empty. Kole’s voice murmured from the living room, but she couldn’t hear anyone else, so presumably he was on the phone.

She lay on her back for a while, looking up at the ceiling. In spite of his proposal to keep her up all night, he’d let her sleep, only rousing her once in the early hours with soft kisses to make love to her before wrapping her in his arms and letting her doze once again.

It had been a wonderful few days, and it had felt almost as if they’d been suspended in time. But this morning the hands of the clock would finally move forward.

Who was he talking to? She fought against an urge to eavesdrop, scolded herself for even thinking about it, and then curiosity overcame her. She crept to the door and strained her ears to see if she could make out who he was talking to.

“...meet at the shop,” he murmured. “And then sign the contract, because there’s no time to waste.”

Her jaw dropped, and she backed away to the bed and sat heavily. Midsummer Night had passed, taking the dream with it. And reality hit her with the force of a sledgehammer.

He wasn’t out there thinking romantic thoughts about how much he’d enjoyed their time together. He was planning the signing of the contract for the shop. That was the only thing he’d been interested in all along. And she’d been stupid to think otherwise.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Morning.”

Her head snapped around at the sound of his voice in the doorway to find him leaning against the doorjamb. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, although he was barefoot. He looked slightly amused. “You all right?”

“Yes. Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?” She spoke more sharply than she’d meant.

He held up a hand. “Okay, just asking. You want a coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

He nodded and walked off.

Cursing herself, she rose and visited the bathroom, dressed quickly, and went into the kitchen. He turned from his computer as she came out and gestured to the worktop. “Coffee’s in the pot.”

Silently, she poured herself a cup. Her heart hammered, but she forced herself to keep her cool. “You’re up early.”

“Thought I’d get started on the wedding pics, plus I have an appointment at nine.” He glanced at her, sipped his coffee, then returned to the screen.

“Oh.” Yesterday, she’d thought maybe they’d have a quiet Sunday morning together, perhaps even start talking about what had happened, and where they would go from here. But clearly, that wasn’t going to happen.

Holding her cup, she wandered out onto the deck. The harbor was already busy, fishermen going out for the day on the boats, holidaymakers catching an early breakfast before heading for the beach. She couldn’t quite see the part of the waterfront where the shop was, but she could imagine Andrew, newly returned from Peru, opening it up, walking through rooms, checking it was ready for the new tenant.

It should have been her. Her stomach clenched. Maisey was going to kill her. What were they going to do for a shop now? Her eyes filled with tears, and the harbor blurred.

Foosteps sounded on the floor behind her, and then Kole appeared at her side. He stood next to her, coffee in hand, looking down at the harbor, his arm only an inch from hers, but it felt like a mile. He’s withdrawn, she thought sadly. She could feel him pulling further away from her with each passing second. It had all been a sham, a fabrication, carefully engineered so he would get the shop.

Ice settled around her heart.

She finished off her coffee, blinking away her tears. “I’d better get going.”

He looked at her, eyebrows rising. “You sure?”

“Well, you have an appointment, and I’m sure I have stuff to do.”

His eyes met hers, cool and indecipherable. “Okay.”

She bit her bottom lip. Disbelief made her head spin. Was this really how it was going to end? All that passion, the magic that had hung in the air the night before like fairy dust, had vanished in the morning mist, just like in the Shakespeare play.

Tasha turned and went back into the house.

Leaving her cup on the counter—he could damn well wash it up—she quickly stuffed her clothes and bathroom bits into her bag, shouldered it, and walked back into the living room.

He stood by the front door, his arms folded. “Are you still going to Aqua Blue at one?” he asked as she approached.

Clenching the bag handle tightly, she put on a breezy voice. “Of course. See you there?”

He gave a sharp nod.

She hesitated. She couldn’t leave like this. Okay, she might have lost the bet, but even so, she’d meant everything she’d said over the past eight days, even if he didn’t. Pride stopped her falling into his arms and declaring how she felt, but she did walk right up to him, stretch up on tiptoe, and press her lips to his.

To her relief, he wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss, and even when he finally pulled away, his arms remained there for a while longer, holding her tightly. But eventually he dropped them, and she gave him a bright smile, walked out of the door, and got into the car.

This is what shock feels like. She felt cold, even though the sun beamed down on the small town and the tarmac ahead of her shimmered as she pulled away. Her head ached, and she felt slightly unwell.

Of course you feel unwell, she thought angrily, swerving to avoid a bird of prey that hovered over a dead possum on the road. You’ve made a fool of yourself, and you’ve lost the one man you’ve ever really loved. No wonder she felt like she might throw up. Her throat was tight, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She had to get home soon, or she’d end up breaking down in public, and she’d never forgive herself for that.

She arrived home in one piece and let herself in. The sound of Maisey’s singing echoed from the shower, so luckily Tasha didn’t have to speak to her. She scribbled her a quick note, “Maisey, I’m home, dead tired, gonna catch an hour or two before we go out for lunch,” left it on the counter, and went to her room.

She stripped and pulled on an old pair of pajamas, climbed into bed, and pulled the duvet over her, even though it was a bit stuffy in the room. Her old childhood bear sat on the bedside table, and she reached over and hugged him to her, the first time she’d done so in years.

“I’ve been stupid, Bear,” she whispered, as the tears finally began to fall. “What am I going to do?”

*

She dozed on and off for a couple of hours in the end, and awoke with a muzzy head and a dry mouth. She wandered out into the kitchen and helped herself to some orange juice.

“Oh, you’re up.” Maisey appeared around the corner, looking like one of the fairies from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, dressed in a beautiful floaty blue skirt and a white top, her hair full of sparkly silver clips. She stopped and stared at Tasha. “Jeez. What happened to you?”

Tasha ran a hand through her hair. “I may need a shower.”

“You think? You look like you’ve been pulled through a hedge backward.”

Tasha mumbled something and walked back to her bedroom.

Maisey followed her and leaned against the door. “So, today’s the day, eh?”

“I guess.” Tasha opened up her wardrobe and pulled out a pair of jeans.

“You all ready for the final dénouement?”

Tasha bit her lip, opened a drawer, and pretended to be choosing a T-shirt. She was not going to cry in front of her best friend. “Yep. All ready.”

“Tash?” Maisey spoke softly. “Are you okay?”

Emotion washed over her in an inexorable wave, and she pressed a hand to her mouth.

“Oh no.” Maisey ran over to her and enveloped her in a hug. “No, no, no.”

“I’m sorry.” It came out as a squeak, and she buried her head in Maisey’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I’ve lost the shop.”

“Fuck the shop,” Maisey said fiercely. “What are you doing falling for my idiot brother?”

“I couldn’t help it.” Tasha took big, gulping breaths. “You were right. He did have a secret weapon.”

“I really don’t want to hear about that.”

Tasha would have laughed, but she felt so sad she couldn’t even raise a smile. “The whole thing was idiotic, and I shouldn’t have done it. I should have realized I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Ssh...” Maisey rubbed her back. “It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay...”

“It’s not. I’ve fallen for him, and he’s never going to settle down. He’s taken the shop and my heart, Maisey. And he was so cold and calculating about it.” Tasha couldn’t believe how much it hurt. “I really thought he was starting to feel something for me, but it was all an act. I feel so stupid.”

“I’m going to have words with him about that.” Maisey spoke sharply. “But look, you really mustn’t worry. You’ve done nothing wrong, all you did was open the doors to feelings you’d obviously been hiding for a while. It’s not surprising; you’ve been friends for a long time.”

Tasha rested her cheek on Maisey’s shoulder. “But how come I was the one who fell in love? Why didn’t it happen to him?”

“I don’t know, honey. You know Kole. It’ll have to be someone special to capture his heart. Look, why don’t you go and have a shower? We’ll do your hair nice, get you dressed in something fancy, and show that idiot brother of mine what he’s missing?”

“Okay.” Tasha pulled back and wiped her face. “Maisey, I know he’s your brother. And I know we made that stupid bet. But as you say, we’ve been friends for a long time. And he’s been exceptionally cruel to me. I’ll never be able to forgive him.”

Maisey’s gentle face creased with concern. “Don’t say that.”

Tasha turned away. Of course Maisey would defend her brother and be on his side. It was going to make things very awkward in the future. Because Tasha wasn’t sure she ever wanted to see Kole again. “I’ll go and have a shower.”

She spent a long time under the hot spray, then took time to cut and paint her toenails before coming back out to the bedroom. Maisey dried her hair for her, and then braided it in a French pleat, fastening the end with an elastic band topped with a red rose.

Tasha chose a scarlet T-shirt to match the rose and slipped it on. Part of her wanted to wear black, because it made her feel protected, as if it somehow shielded her emotions, but the other half agreed with Maisey. She wanted to show him what he was missing.

She’d already decided that once Maisey and Joss had made their decision, she’d take Kole to one side to talk. She wanted him to know exactly how much he’d hurt her, and explain to him that even though they’d made the bet, he should have realized she’d fallen for him.

A voice nagged in her head, Didn’t you tell him, You really think men are the only ones who can have a fling without getting their emotions involved? Yes, she thought, I did, but even so... He should have known the way she was reacting to him wasn’t fake. Hadn’t he said to her, I don’t want you faking anything, physical or emotional? Did he really think her so manipulative she could have put on an act like that?

She added a touch of powder and lip gloss, but decided to keep it natural. And then she was ready.

“We might as well walk down,” Maisey said, checking her watch. “It’s half twelve.”

“Okay.” Tasha’s heart thumped madly while her stomach churned, and she realized she hadn’t eaten anything all day. But it was too late to think about breakfast now. She’d force down some lunch, and then this stupid farce would all be over.

Chapter Thirty-One

Kole saw Tasha even before she opened the door to Aqua Blue, spotting her curvy form as she walked along the waterfront with his sister, approaching the restaurant.

His heart gave a massive thump, but he stayed where he was, sitting back in the chair, feet resting on the seat in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Next to him, Joss also saw them coming and glanced over at him.

“It’s D-Day, mate.”

“Thanks. That’s just what I need.”

Fox, standing next to them, gave him a wry look. “Good luck.” He walked back into the kitchens, leaving them to it.

Tasha pushed open the door and entered, held it open for Maisey, and walked forward. She stopped as she saw him sitting to one side, and her breasts rose as she inhaled sharply.

He lifted a hand. “Hey.”

She shoved hers in her pockets and walked up to the table. “Afternoon.” Behind her glasses, her polished mahogany eyes met his, carefully blank. Her face was pale, her hair drawn back, but in the scarlet T-shirt she looked the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

He removed his feet from the chair and gestured to it. She glared at him, bent down and dusted it carefully, then sat. He bit back a laugh. Keep it cool, dude.

Joss smiled at Maisey as she took the seat beside him. “Everything okay?”

“All good.” Maisey looked at Kole. There was an element of steeliness to her gaze, and doubt flickered inside him. Why was she mad at him?

Tasha said nothing. She adjusted her cutlery, then rearranged the salt and pepper pots. He let a small smile touch his lips, his gaze caressing her ear and the curve of her neck. He saw a faint mark where her neck met her shoulder—the hickey he’d nearly given her the night before. She’d obviously forgotten about that. Luckily, he hadn’t sucked harder.

Conscious he was going to give himself a hard-on if he continued down that road, he wrenched his thoughts away and smiled at Fox who’d approached with an open bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice. “To celebrate,” Fox explained, adding a wink at him.

“Thanks.” Kole lifted the bottle out and began pouring them all a glass.

He stopped, however, when Tasha covered her glass with a hand. It was only when he looked up at her that he saw her face was like thunder.

“You have a fucking cheek,” she said in a menacingly soft voice. “Pouring champagne? Celebrating even before having the courtesy to at least listen to their decision?” She sat back, shaking her head, and looked out of the window. Anger radiated from her, pure and hot.

He looked at Maisey, who pulled an eek face then silently made the gesture of a cut across her throat. He caught the meaning. Let’s get this over with.

Pouring himself a glass of the champagne, he nodded to Joss.

The doctor cleared his throat. “Okay. So today’s the day. And it’s time for Maisey and me to announce our decision.”

Tasha didn’t look around, but continued to stare stonily out of the window.

Joss glanced at Kole, then carried on. “It wasn’t easy. It was quite clear to us you’ve both had a profound effect on the other. But we have to say, the winner is...” His eyes met Kole’s and his lips curved. “Tasha.”

Kole looked at Tasha. She blinked several times. He could almost see the news sinking into her brain like a hot stone into a pile of snow.

Eventually, she turned her head and stared at Joss. “What?”

He just smiled.

She looked at Maisey. “What?”

Maisey shrugged, and then she smiled too.

Finally, Tasha turned to look at Kole.

He met her gaze, and then slowly let the smile that had been waiting in the wings spread across his face.

Her lips parted, but for a while no words came out. Then, after about twenty seconds of silence, she said, “What?”

“Ever the poet,” he said. Pushing himself to his feet, he held out a hand. “Come on, Titania.”

Clearly puzzled, stunned into silence, she stood, took his hand, and let him lead her out of the restaurant. The sun dazzled them for a moment, and she shielded her eyes, blinking furiously.

He led her along the waterfront about twenty yards, then stopped and turned her toward the shop they had both wanted so badly.

Kole studied the temporary sign above the window that read “Treats to Tempt You”, hastily constructed by Maisey and Joss. In the window, he’d stuck a blown-up version of the photograph he’d taken of Tasha on the beach the day they made the bet, of the moment when he’d caught her laughing.

He turned to look at her. Her jaw had dropped again. Complete confusion shrouded her features.

She looked up at him. “What?”

He started laughing. “It’s yours, Tasha. Yours and Maisey’s, and Elle’s and Caitlin’s. You won, sweetheart.”

Her jaw snapped shut, and she frowned. “I don’t understand.”

He moved closer toward her and cupped her face in his hands. “You won the bet. I’ve completely fallen for you.”

Her lips parted again, and her gaze searched his face, her eyes wide, disbelieving. “You’re teasing me.”

“I’m really not.”

“But...this morning...” She looked completely baffled.

He stroked her cheek. “I’m sorry. That was unfair, and Maisey’s going to bollock me for it. But I needed a few hours to sort things out. I wanted to surprise you. Maisey and I went to see Andrew, and she’s signed all the documents. The shop’s yours.”

“But...what about your studio?”

“I’ve decided to stay working in Annie’s sleep-out. She never uses it anyway. I’m going to pay her rent and do it up properly, and she’s going to help out as my assistant. I like it there. I don’t really need a new place—people are just getting used to me being up there. And besides...” He kissed her nose. “I want you to have it.”

“But...” She continued to look nonplussed. “I saw you standing there looking at it the other day. You looked so determined.”

“Thursday, you mean? I went for a last look at the shop, and came to the conclusion I could do just as good a job at Annie’s place.”

“You decided that on Thursday?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head as if she didn’t believe him. “What about...” She bit her lip.

“Me and you?”

She nodded.

He pulled her into his arms. “I think I’ve tried to ignore how I felt about you because you were so young before. But spending so much time with you all week, having you in bed, letting myself think about what might be... I finally realized.”

“Realized what?”

He gave her an exasperated look. “Are you really not catching on here, Wilde?” He kissed her lips. “I love you.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Jeez, don’t start that again.”

“No, but... Are you joking?”

“No, Tash. I’m not joking.” He knew Maisey, Joss, and Fox were watching from the restaurant, but he didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a long, slow kiss.

She stood stiff in his arms for a moment. And then, obviously realizing he was telling the truth, she melted against him and returned the kiss.

When he finally lifted his head, she swayed a little in his arms.

“Are you swooning?” he asked suspiciously. “Because if so, I want it noted on the record.”

Her lips curved into a huge smile. “I might be, actually. Kole, are you sure? About me?” Her voice was breathless, full of hope.

He nodded. Then he took a big breath and summoned the strength to be honest. “I can’t say I’m not scared. You know how I felt when Harry died. Falling in love frightens me, because you might not return the feeling, and that leaves me vulnerable. But Annie told me carpe diem, and I know she’s right. You do have to seize the day. So here I am. Seizing.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Tasha whispered. “I do love you.”

His heart swelled. “Really?”

“Really. And Kole—there’s no rush. We don’t have to leap into anything. We don’t have to move in together all the time, or make any long term decisions. I’m just happy knowing there might be a future for us.”

He kissed her again. “Well, just so you know, when I was taking the photos in the church, all I could think about was standing in front of you, vowing to love you forever, and putting my ring on your finger to tell everyone you’re mine. I like the idea, Tasha. Just so you know.”

She looked up into his eyes, her own glimmering.

“‘Your eyes are lodestars,’” he said, brushing away a tear that fell onto her cheek.

“Is that from A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“That’s right.”

“What does it mean?”

“Lodestars are stars that guide the course of a ship. And that’s how I feel.” He kissed her lips. “You’re guiding me home.”

More tears joined the first. “It warrants a joke about how your Bottom’s the best or something,” she whispered, wiping her face, “but I can’t be flippant.” She raised herself on tiptoes and flung her arms around his neck. “I’m so happy. I can’t believe it. I won you and the shop! I’m the luckiest girl alive.” She sobbed into his shoulder.

He chuckled and squeezed her tightly, resting a cheek on the top of her head. He raised his right hand to his sister, who gave him a thumbs up before returning to the restaurant with the others.

As he lowered his hand, his ring caught the sun and glinted. Hey, Harry, he said silently, tightening his arms around Tasha again. He still missed his brother, and always would. But it was time to look forward, to think of the future, and to put his trust in love.

A Sneak Peek at Treat her Right (#2)

Maisey’s head buzzed from a combination of the loud music, excitement, lack of food, and too much wine. She checked her watch—eleven forty-five. Only fifteen minutes to go until the New Year, but enough time to catch a breath of fresh air before the celebrations began.

Motioning to Elle that she was nipping out so the other girl could keep an eye on the till, she slipped through the couples turning slowly to the music in the semi-darkness and made her way outside. More people stood on the waterfront, some dancing, others standing around or sitting talking, most of them wearing the chocolate-colored sparkly party hats she’d made. She skirted them all and walked to the water’s edge, where the crescent moon lay reflected like a silver fish.

She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. For the first time in two weeks, some of the tension began to ease from her shoulders. It had been a mad Christmas. As soon as she’d signed the lease for Treats, it had been all systems go to get the place up and running for New Year, which was crazy considering the whole of New Zealand went on holiday over most of December and January. But she and the girls knew they’d be mad to miss out on the tourist season, and they’d worked flat out every day except Christmas Day to get the shop open.

Today had been the first day, and in the evening they’d held a huge party to celebrate. Luckily, it had been a resounding success. She’d lost count of how many people had turned up, but it must have been several hundred. Friends of friends had come to show their support, and Fox had closed his restaurant for the night and paid all his staff to work for them, handing out drinks and serving canapés he’d made for them as a Christmas present. She must remember to give him a kiss later for that. Tasha almost certainly wouldn’t.

She smiled as she thought of her best friend, glad things had worked out for her. Kole, the idiot that he was, had nearly ruined everything by wanting to make the shop a surprise, but luckily Tasha hadn’t held it against him. The two of them had been ridiculously happy, and Kole was even talking about getting married, although Tasha was trying to get him to slow down. Maisey was pleased. Kole had certainly gone through hell when Harry died; he deserved some happiness.

A shooting star streamed across the black velvet sky, and Maisey caught her breath. “Hello, Harry,” she whispered. “I miss you.” Just saying the words hurt, and she swallowed hard. His death had changed all his siblings irrevocably. Skye—fresh out of university—had fled the country, needing to escape from the place where she saw her brother around every corner, and she still came back only rarely, a shadow of the carefree girl she had once been. Kole had decided he’d never make the same mistake in getting angry over a broken heart, and it had taken Tasha to convince him he did deserve a happy ending.

And herself? Maisey wrapped her arms around her, shivering a little in the cool air. Although it was the height of summer, the breeze coming across the harbor lifted her hair and raised goose bumps on her arms.

She’d changed too. A bout of depression had floored her, and she’d struggled with it all the way through university. Toward the end, she’d changed pills and now it was less of a problem, although sometimes she could feel the black dog in the shadows, watching her, waiting to pounce. She could feel it now, which bothered her, because it had been a lovely day, and she was thrilled the party had been such a success. She was just tired, that was all. It had been a busy few weeks.

“Hey. You okay out here?”

She turned to see Kole’s best mate, Joss, standing there with a sandwich in one hand and two glasses of champagne in the other. She smiled. “Hey, you. Are those for me?”

He handed her the sandwich and one of the glasses. “You haven’t eaten all night. I thought you might be feeling a bit light-headed.”

“I was, actually.” She took a big bite of the sandwich, one of Fox’s lovely tuna ones with his homemade lemony mayonnaise, silently noting Joss’s observation that she hadn’t eaten. “Mmm. I needed that.” She washed it down with a swallow of the champagne and sighed. “Nice.”

“Congratulations on the party.” He looked back at the shop. “You’ve done superbly well, getting it ready in time.”

“We’ve all worked hard.” Her gaze, however, focused not on the shop but on him. Tall and dark, with lovely eyes the color of an evening sky, Joss Heaven was the very essence of scrumptiousness. Too bad he would never think of her as a possible partner, she thought wistfully. He’d only ever treated her like a sister, and anyway, Kole had warned all his mates the area around her was a DMZ, where none of them were allowed to tread. Thanks, bro.

Joss looked back at her and sipped his wine. Yes, she thought, she could quite easily have fallen for someone like the handsome doctor, who’d always had a hint of the bad boy about him, even though he was now considered a respectable pillar of society.

As she continued to stare at him, his lips gradually curved, and for a moment they just studied each other.

“Nearly midnight,” he said.

“Yes.”

A morepork hooted way off in the bush as if to mark the occasion.

He glanced at the shop again, then back at her, his eyes lit with the mischievousness she remembered from when they were all teenagers together. “So who are you going to kiss when the clock strikes?”

Heart thudding, Maisey gave a nonchalant shrug. “No special someone for me at the moment. Hasn’t been for a while.”

“That’s just a crime.” His gaze fixed on hers, and her heart sped up even more. Was he saying...he wanted to kiss her?

“It is,” she agreed. “I might cry.”

He chuckled. “Well, we can’t have that.”

In the shop, voices started counting down from ten, and those out on the waterfront echoed them. “Ten, nine, eight...”

Joss moved a bit closer.

“...six, five, four...”

She held her breath as he slipped a hand to cup her head.

“...two, one... Midnight!”

“Happy New Year,” he murmured, and lowered his lips to hers.

Maisey closed her eyes and let him kiss her. His lips were warm and firm, and they moved across hers slowly, pressing soft kisses from one corner of her mouth to the other. She’d expected a brief touch of lips, a brotherly peck, but this had nothing to with sibling affection. He reached the right side of her mouth, moved back to the center, and then she felt the brush of his tongue on her bottom lip.

With a soft sigh, she opened her mouth to him and met his tongue with her own, enjoying the luxurious slide of it, the way it sent a tingle all the way through her.

His hand on the back of her head still didn’t release her, and Maisey gave a soft moan as he deepened the kiss, holding her tightly, refusing to let her go. All the hairs on her body rose, her nipples tightened, and her internal muscles clenched in a tiny pleasurable squeeze.

When he finally released her, she was breathless and trembling, completely bemused by his sudden display of passion.

He lowered his hand, and she blinked rapidly and moistened her lips, conscious they were only a foot or so away from the water’s edge and hoping she didn’t faint and fall in.

“Gosh,” she said, and swallowed.

Joss stared at her, then ran a hand through his hair. “I...um...” His lips curved. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize.” That was the best kiss I’ve had in, like, ever.

“I got carried away,” he said. “Excitement of New Year and all that.”

She nodded, trying not to laugh. “Happy New Year, Dr. Heaven.”

He smiled. “Happy New Year, Maisey.” He held up his arm. “Back to the shop?”

“Sure.” She held his arm, her fingers tightening on the firm muscle, and they walked slowly back to Treats through the crowds of people dancing and singing.

No doubt he spoke the truth. They were all fairly drunk, excited about the opening of the shop, and emotions were always heightened on New Year’s Eve.

But later, when she eventually lay in bed looking up into the darkness, she would remember the way he’d held her, refusing to let her go as he kissed her, and it would be a long while before her eyes finally closed.

#

Read the rest of Maisey’s story in Treat her Right (Treats to Tempt You Book 2)

Book 1: Treat with Caution

Book 2: Treat her Right

Book 3: A Rare Treat

Book 4: Trick or Treat

Book 5: A Festive Treat

Book 5.5: No Way to Treat a Lady (Novella)

Book 6.5: A Taste of Things to Come (Novella)

My Christmas Fiancé

Love Comes Later Book One

by Serenity Woods

Chapter One

Stratton

I put on the tie Meg’s bought me for my birthday, take a sip from my coffee cup, and promptly spill the rest down my front.

Meg looks at me over the top of her reading glasses. “If you didn’t like it, you could have just said.” Her soft, amused voice, and the warmth in her baby-blue eyes, sends shivers down my spine.

“I do like it,” I protest truthfully, flapping it around in the air to dry. It’s pure silk and dark blue with a thin lilac stripe—exactly the kind of tie I would have chosen myself. I’m impressed that even though my birthday’s only ten days before Christmas, she’s resisted buying me something festive. It might be early summer and seventy-five degrees here in Auckland, New Zealand, but we still like to pretend it’s winter during the festive season, and since I was a child my birthday presents have either borne reindeer or snowflakes or they’ve been wrapped in festive paper.

Meg sighs and pulls a tissue from her handbag. I take it from her and attempt to soak up the drips. Women’s handbags never fail to amaze me. They’re like small boys’ pockets without the snails, containing everything a man could ever need in an emergency. Most women—like my mother, and Natalie, my ex—distribute the items with a look of exasperation as if they’re thinking For God’s sake, you’re such an idiot, but Meg’s lips curve up whenever she helps me out. I like to pretend she’s thinking Aw, you’re so sweet. As our PA, she’s used to being our knight in shining armor, and I think she kind of likes the role.

So do I. Whenever Meg smiles at me, even my goose bumps get goose bumps.

“So... now Stratton’s not-so-subtly tried to tell me he doesn’t like my gift, does anyone have any other business?” She pauses from taking the minutes of the meeting, slides off her glasses, and gets up to refill my coffee cup. I hold it out for her, liking that she’s bothering to help when I’ve just been a dork, and enjoying the brush of her hand on mine as she tips up the jug. I study her face while she pours, noting her long dark eyelashes and the touch of color that appears in the apples of her cheeks as she obviously feels my gaze on her. She likes me. In spite of everything, I’ve known that for some time.

Then someone clears their throat, and I scowl and lower the cup.

Two others are seated around the table—Rich, my best mate since high school, and Teddi, my younger sister. Rich, Teddi, and I are the directors of Katoa—a technology company that makes computer games and equipment, much of it focused on visually impaired people.

The reason for the focus of our company glances across at me, and even though she can’t see me—Teddi lost her sight after contracting retinoblastoma when she was two—I know it’s a glare of warning. How does she always know when I’m trying to flirt, even when I’m not saying anything? I’m tempted to tell her to mind her own business, but unfortunately she’s right to warn me off. I remind myself that Meg’s not available, and that I’m not a marriage breaker. I happen to think marriage is a precious thing that should be honored and revered.

Even when it’s fake.

*

I first met Meg nearly five months ago when she arrived at our offices for an interview.

We’d already seen four other candidates, and I was distinctly unimpressed.

“Jeez.” Rich rolled his eyes when I crossed out the fourth candidate’s name as soon as she left the room. “You’re setting the bar too high. Our PA doesn’t have to keep the launch codes for nuclear missiles.”

“New Zealand doesn’t have nuclear power,” I reminded him. “And I’d like my secretary to be able to say ‘Good morning’ to customers on the phone without stuttering.”

“You made her nervous,” Teddi said. “I bet you were ogling her legs while you were talking to her.”

“I was not! I did it while she wasn’t looking. And she had thick ankles.”

“Strat...”

“Come on, give me some credit. We’re not looking for any old secretary here. We don’t just need someone for the typing pool. A personal assistant is like a work wife. We’ve gotta click.” I meant it, too. Contrary to what my sister thought, I wasn’t looking for a model, and even though Number Four had possessed thick ankles, that wouldn’t have stopped me from hiring her if she’d had that zing I was looking for. But I did want someone hardworking, efficient, smart, and... I don’t know... sassy, I suppose. Witty and yet nice. A girl who’d stand up to me and boss me around and then blush when I complimented her on her shoes. Someone I could have fun with—not sexually, because sleeping with your PA is like shitting on your own doorstep, as my dad would so tactfully put it—but a person who was able to take a joke and give as good as she got, who wasn’t easily offended and understood my English sense of humor, a woman who would brighten my day.

Then Meg Brown walked into the room, and I lost the power of speech.

She’s tall—not as tall as me, obviously, because that would be weird—but around five nine, slim without being skinny, and that day she wore a smart dark-gray business suit with a skirt that reached an inch above her knees and a white shirt that only had the top two buttons undone, the epitome of sophistication. It was winter, and she wore sheer black tights and black heels that were sexy without being too high. She had shiny blonde hair she’d pinned up in a classic, elegant roll, and pearls in her ears and around her throat.

I took one look at them and thought about the other kind of pearl necklace a man can give a woman, and then I knew I was in trouble, and she’d only just walked through the door.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said as she shook our hands and then sat at the other side of the table. “I somehow broke the bolt on the loo door and locked myself in.” We all stared at her, and she pulled an eek face. “And now I’m realizing that’s probably not the best admission to make at the beginning of an interview.”

“How did you get out?” Rich asked, amused.

“I keep a Swiss army knife tucked in my stocking top and I managed to lever the bolt off.” She looked at me and laughed at my raised eyebrows. “Not really. Sorry. I yelled the place down until someone came in.”

It started right there, at that moment, with images in my head of the pearl necklace and the stocking tops. I felt a tingle between my shoulder blades, and a warm prickle ran down my spine.

I knew from the start that it wouldn’t come to anything. She wore a wedding ring, for one thing, and as I began asking her the questions on our sheet, I discovered that she’d recently moved up from Christchurch, that her husband was in the army, and that she had a thirteen-year-old son. But it soon became clear that she was everything I was looking for in a personal assistant. She’d worked as PA to the CEO of a large company, and her secretarial skills were exemplary. But, more importantly, she was warm, witty, as sassy as I could have hoped for, and more than able to hold her own with the three of us.

The best bit came at the end. When we rounded off the interview, Teddi asked the question she always did to new people she met, because it gave her an insight as to how the person was going to react to her condition.

“You may have noticed that I’m blind,” she began.

“I wondered why there was a dog under the table,” Meg replied with a smile. Teddi’s guide dog, a Labrador called Bella, sat by her feet.

“Is there any question you’d like to ask me?” Teddi tipped her head to the side, fixing Meg with a stare. If you didn’t know, you’d never be able to tell just by looking at her that she has two artificial eyes, apart from the fact that the pupils don’t react to light. And the fact that she can pop them out at will, much to the horror of her teacher when she was at primary school. “Anything at all,” Teddi continued.

Meg surveyed her for a long moment, and I wondered what she was going to say. In the past, questions had ranged from “Do you see in your dreams?” to “How do you view color?” and even to “How do you know when you’ve finished wiping your butt when you can’t see the paper?” That one had been from a dude who’d been trying to chat Teddi up. Needless to say, that relationship hadn’t worked out.

“Can you tell me where you have your hair done?” Meg asked. “I just love the cut.”

And that was the moment the tingle turned to a warmth that spread right through me.

Teddi laughed and told her, and that concluded the interview. We all shook hands and promised to let her know as soon as we’d made a decision. I watched Meg walk out, then turned my gaze to the others.

“Ankles?” Teddi asked.

“Superb,” I said. “Let’s hire her.”

“Strat...” My sister warned. “You heard her. She’s married and has a kid.”

I waved a hand. “Yeah I know. Don’t worry. I’ve never had an affair with a married woman, and I’m not going to start now.”

Rich raised an eyebrow. “It’s not that we don’t trust you, but since you broke up with Natalie, you’ve been...”

“What?”

“Odd,” Teddi said.

I doodled on my notepad. “Yeah, well... Having to enter the dating game again at thirty-three tends to have that effect on a man.” It was true that I’d been moody and withdrawn, but that didn’t mean I’d go all out to ruin someone’s marriage.

“I like her,” I said. “Meg, I mean.”

“Of course you like her,” Rich said. “She’s gorgeous, and she thought you were funny.”

“She’ll worship the ground you walk on,” Teddi added, “and that’s only going to lead to trouble.”

I dismissed the notion with a wave of my hand. “Come on, tell me you don’t think she’s perfect for the job.”

They couldn’t, and therefore that was it—Meg was hired, and she started work the next day.

*

They were right, of course. She’s both the best and the worst thing that could have happened to me after breaking up with Natalie. The best because Meg’s everything I want in a PA—okay, in a woman—and the worst because, well, she’s everything I want and I can’t have her. And it’s torturous seeing her every day knowing that.

I haven’t met her husband yet. Meg insists he’s away in Afghanistan, and that he might come home for Christmas, but Teddi—who has a sixth sense about this sort of thing—tells me something doesn’t ring true about it.

I haven’t said anything to Meg yet, because she’s a very private person and I can sense she doesn’t want to talk about it. I have tried talking to Oscar—her son—about his dad. I get on well with Oscar, and when I discovered that he enjoys gaming I hired him as a tester for our new games. For twenty bucks an hour he comes into the labs twice a week after school to try out Rich’s latest projects while he waits for Meg to finish work. One day I asked him if he missed his dad. He hesitated, looked at me as if he was about to confess something, then replied flatly, “No.” I didn’t push it, but it’s clear there’s more to it than meets the eye.

But anyway, I’ve got more important things on my mind now than Shakespearean-style unrequited love. Meg’s asked if we have any other business, and it’s time to make my announcement.

“Yeah, I have.” I stop trying to blot the coffee from my tie and lean back in my chair, linking my hands. I watch Meg as I speak. “I’m getting married.”

Chapter Two

Meg

I stare at Stratton as my heart begins to pound. To my surprise, his lips curve up a little at the corners and he tilts his head to the side, and I can see immediately that he’s interested in my reaction. Hmm. His mismatched eyes—one blue, one green—are twinkling. Something tells me he’s fibbing.

He’s exactly the sort of man my mother warned me about when I was a teenager. I don’t mean to imply that he’s dangerous or would take advantage of me—and Lord knows I’m the expert on men like that—more that he’s gorgeous, sexy, and charismatic, and he’s perfectly aware of the effect he has on women. If I had to describe him in one word, I’d choose naughty.

I know he’s thirty-four today—a year older than me—but there’s something boyish about him that adds to the aura of mischievousness he exudes at all times. Maybe it’s because he’s always clean shaven and I’ve never seen him with even a hint of stubble; perhaps it’s because he’s made his living from making video games and equipment, which a secret part of me will always associate with teens, even though he and Rich are both grown men, and even though I also play. Oscar tells me he’s never met a guy with such a high score on Dark Robot—their bestselling game—apart from Rich, who apparently once beat Stratton by two points and has never let him forget it.

Or maybe it’s just because he’s still single and likely to remain so—his words, not mine. Teddi’s told me all about his ex, Natalie the Nympho Nutter, as she’s named her, and I’ve had to answer her crank calls most days, so I know what a psycho she is, and how wary Stratton is of committing himself to anyone again because of what she’s done to him. I can understand that. I’m in no hurry to stroll down Lovers’ Lane hand-in-hand with a man anytime soon either.

Still, it makes me sad to see him so cautious and hurt. Teddi told me he used to be really sociable, but he hardly ever goes out now, that he tells me about, anyway. In fact, I revise my opinion—the one word I’d choose to describe him would be sad. Part of that’s down to Natalie, I know. The other part is because there used to be four people running Katoa, and one of them died.

Rich is half-Maori—his middle name is Tamati and his mother was from the Ngapuhi iwi or Maori tribe from the Northland. He also had a twin brother, Will. Rich and Will met Stratton at school when he came over from England, and they all grew up together, and then when Will was twenty-two he started dating Teddi. From what I understand, the two of them were crazy about each other, and they were planning to get married. All four of them were into gaming, and between them they developed Dark Robot, which went on to be the number one bestselling New Zealand game, and soon spread to the rest of the world.

After the success of Dark Robot, they turned to developing equipment and games designed for the visually impaired, driven of course by their love for Teddi and the fact that she couldn’t always join in, and the company grew in both prestige and influence. The four of them must have seemed as if they had everything.

And then, on Boxing Day—the day after Christmas and the day before his and Rich’s thirtieth birthday—Will died.

It was a pulmonary embolism that killed him, and nobody really knows why it happened, because apparently even though he was a gamer and spent a lot of time sitting down, he didn’t smoke or drink much, he went to the gym, and was young and fit, just like his brother. But it happened, and it had a profound effect on all three of the other members of Katoa. Teddi, of course, because she lost the love of her life. Rich, because he lost his twin brother. And Stratton, because he loves them all.

It wouldn’t surprise me if Will’s passing announced the death knell of Stratton’s relationship with Natalie. The death of someone close often makes people reassess their own lives, and whereas up until then it sounded as if Stratton was your average playboy who didn’t take anything or anyone seriously, I think perhaps he decided it was time he grew up and admitted that he didn’t love her, and it wasn’t fair of him to stay with her if he wasn’t going to commit in the long term.

They broke up a month or two before I started at Katoa. I’m guessing that Stratton has dated several girls since, although he’s never mentioned anyone so I suppose none of them has been serious.

He likes me—I know he does. At least, I think he does—it’s not easy to tell. He’s polite and gentlemanly, and not overt with his admiration, plus I know he likes women in general, and he’s what my mother would call a ladies’ man. But even so, I’ve watched him with others—customers, colleagues, friends—and he doesn’t look at them the way he looks at me, with that small, intimate smile on his lips as if he’s mentally removed all my clothing, and he’s picturing me in black lacy lingerie and sexy high heels.

He’d never make a move on me, though. If I’ve learned anything about him over the last four months, it’s that he’s honest and has principles, and he’d never consider dating a girl unless she was single.

I’ve made my rather-uncomfortable bed, and I’m afraid it’s too late to unmake it, and I have to lie in it alone. But it takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to slide the wedding band off my finger, throw it across the room, leap on him, and crush my lips to his.

“Married?” Teddi says, clearly puzzled. “To whom?”

The mischievous look returns to Stratton’s eyes. “I don’t know yet.”

*

I commented on his eyes during my interview. “They’re different colors,” I stated, not realizing I’d said it out loud until his eyebrows rose.

“It’s called heterochromia. Is it a problem?” he asked in a tone that suggested it wouldn’t be the first time he’d freaked someone out just by looking at them.

I shrugged. “If it’s good enough for David Bowie, I don’t see why it would bother me.”

His resulting smile warmed me to the core.

A month later, when I joined the others and a couple of potential American customers for a formal dinner at his house, I saw all his original Bowie albums on the walls and realized why he’d smiled. As I stood there admiring them, he admitted that comment of mine had landed me the job. I have my suspicions it was probably rather more to do with my legs as he often admires them when he thinks I’m not looking, but I like that he pretended it was something deeper.

I wonder whether his heterochromia is in some way connected to Teddi’s blindness. It seems odd that even though he has his sight, his eyes are so unusual. I haven’t yet plucked up the courage to ask him. He and Teddi are very open about her condition, but I know his need to give her as rich a life as possible was behind the creation of their company—Katoa does mean whole or inclusive, after all. I’m convinced it remains a topic that’s very close to a heart that’s cotton-wool soft behind the steel wall he’s erected around it.

*

“So let’s get this straight,” Rich says. “You’re getting married, but you don’t have anyone in mind?”

“Kind of.” Stratton stretches out his long legs and plays with his pen, which tells me he’s thinking about how to phrase what’s on his mind.

He wears a suit every day—tailor-made and high quality, no off-the-rack ill-fitting clothing for either of these guys—and he always looks smart in the morning. But by eleven o’clock, especially in summer, he usually loses the jacket and rolls up his shirt sleeves. He does it now, popping out his cufflinks and turning over the cuffs of the shirt in that sexy way men do. His forearms are tanned and scattered with brown hairs a shade lighter than the dark hair on his head, which also sports a touch of gray at the sides, as if he’s rested his temple against a freshly painted post. I want to reach across the table and slip my fingers into that gray streak, to see if his hair is as soft as it looks. I don’t, of course. Any touching of Stratton Parker is done strictly in my dreams.

Rich is just as well-dressed as his business partner, although his hair is as curly as Stratton’s is straight, and his skin is naturally a few shades darker than Stratton’s healthy tan. He’s just as gorgeous, too, but in a different way. Although he’s also boyish and playful, he doesn’t have Stratton’s practical air. Stratton’s the engineer—the one who designs the innovative controllers with Braille for blind people and special grips for one-handed players. Rich is the game designer, and his head is always in the clouds, daydreaming about his next creation.

Teddi’s the one who keeps them both rooted to the ground. She has shiny brown hair cut in a long bob, and she’s the one with the business head, the driving machine behind the company’s success. I adore her. I can only imagine how difficult her life is—it must be a hundred times harder for her to do even the simplest tasks than it is for me. And of course she lost her partner—I’m amazed she can even get out of bed in the morning after a terrible tragedy like that. But she’s always funny and cheerful, with a touch of the Parker naughty gene, and she’s an amazing business woman.

I love them all, and I adore working here. I know I fell on my feet when I got this job, and that’s another reason I’m determined not to screw it up by making a play for my boss, even though it’s murder having to see him every day and knowing he can never be mine.

I wait for him to reveal his new scheme. He wants a reaction from me, and I’m determined not to give him one. The thought that he’s met someone secretly who he loves enough to want to marry is potentially shocking, but I don’t think that’s what’s going on here.

He doodles on his notepad, and suddenly something catches deep inside me as vulnerability flickers on his face. He’s still hurting. This is about Natalie.

“Are you trying to get regular sex?” Teddi’s light tone tells me she’s also picked up on his mood. “Because you don’t have to get married to get laid, sweetie. You need to finish developing that groin attachment for the porn game on the console.”

“I keep trying, but Rich wears out all the prototypes.”

Rich snorts. Teddi and I chuckle. Stratton gives a wry smile, but the impish light has been replaced by something else. Sadness again. And... surprisingly... a touch of irritation, or even anger.

“What’s Natalie done?” I ask.

Teddi’s told me a bit about her. She said that, from the start, the Nympho Nutter wouldn’t let him out of bed. Well what man wouldn’t be captivated by a woman like that? Teddi said that initially he seemed crazy about her, but of course eventually you have to get up, and that’s where the problems started.

They must have had something special, though, because a man doesn’t stay with a woman for five years just because she’s good in the sack. Does he? Not even Stratton’s that shallow, surely. I think that probably he was just so caught up in his work that the time went by without him realizing. He works long hours—he’s usually in before me in the morning and he’s often here until seven or eight in the evening—so he wouldn’t have seen much of her. Like what happened with me and Bruce, if you spend lots of time apart, it doesn’t matter so much if you aren’t soul mates providing that when you are together neither of you wants more.

But Natalie did want more. She kept on dropping hints that turned less and less subtle that he should propose, and Teddi said he never had any intention of going down that road. True guy style, he only ever thought of what he wanted that day and that week. Natalie wanted forever, and she pressured him to commit. And in the end—possibly as a result of what happened with Will—Stratton walked away.

Since then, she’s begged him every day to come back to her. I don’t know whether she loves him and is truly sorry, or she just misses his money. Maybe both.

“I’m tired of it, that’s all.” He presses his pen down as he doodles, and I suspect he’ll leave a mark on the gorgeous mahogany table, but I don’t say anything. “She won’t leave me alone. It’s fucking constant—emails, texts, phoning me at work—that’s not something you should have to deal with.” He glares at me.

Surprised, I shrug. “I don’t mind.”

“Meg’s very good at it,” Rich says. “I don’t know how she does it, but she speaks so nicely and yet somehow manages to make it sound as if Natalie’s escaped from the local asylum.”

Stratton doesn’t even smile. “That’s not the point. It’s impinging on other people now, and I want it to stop.”

“You could go to the police,” Teddi says, but the flick of his fingers tells me he’s already discounted this.

“That’s a last resort. She’s hurting too, and I don’t want to make things worse.”

I wonder how much worse it can get unless she literally turns into a bunny boiler, but again, I don’t say anything. I’m surprised at his leniency, but I remind myself that he must have felt something more than physical attraction considering he was with her so long.

I’m surprised by the jealousy that stabs me in my gut. Not just for Stratton, although the thought of him in the arms of another woman makes me want to stamp my feet like a toddler. But I’m also jealous of what they shared and how he obviously still feels something for her. I can only imagine what it must be like to be the focus of a man’s affection and desire. Will I ever experience that? I’m beginning to think I won’t.

“No,” Stratton says, “I’ve come up with a better idea. I’m going to get myself a fake fiancée.” He points his pen in my direction. “And you’re going to help me.”

Chapter Three

Stratton

“Am I now?” Meg looks distinctly unimpressed. In fact, all three of them are looking at me as if I’ve said I’m going to move to Venus in the New Year.

I expected this, though, and I’m not going to be deterred. “Yep. I want you to get in contact with a modelling agency and ask them to supply candidates who would be prepared to act as my fiancée for the festive season.”

“I see.” Meg taps something on her keyboard, which could be my directions but could equally be Jesus, he’s finally gone off his rocker. “And what would the requirements be for the successful candidate?”

“Pretty,” I say, more to wind them all up than anything else. “Nice legs. Big tits.”

Meg’s fingers pause, and her gaze meets mine. Out of the corner of my eye I see Rich chuckle. He knows I’m winding the girls up.

“I’m joking,” I say. “Sort of. Look, she has to be beautiful because I want her to make Natalie jealous.”

“Why?” Teddi asks. “Is this some kind of screwed up plan to get her back?”

“No!” I bang my fist on the table, which makes much more noise than I meant it to. Meg jumps a foot out of her chair, and Bella shoots out from under the table. “Sorry.” I run a hand through my hair. “But it’s quite the opposite. The only way Natalie’s going to understand it’s over is if she thinks I’ve proposed to someone else. Seeing me engaged to another woman will be the final straw—I know it.”

“How is that kinder than reporting her to the police?” Teddi wants to know. She looks genuinely puzzled.

“Reporting her to the police won’t get to her heart.” I know Natalie well enough to understand that. She truly believes she knows what I want better than I do. She thinks we’re perfect for each other, and that I’m refusing to give in because I want to punish her. She’s right, but she also thinks I’ve decided on a cool-off period, and that when it’s over and she’s done her penance, I’ll welcome her back with open arms.

I need to make her understand that we’re finished. And this is the only way I can think of.

“You’re serious about this,” Meg says softly.

I tear my gaze away from her big blue eyes and investigate my tie to see whether the coffee stain is still visible. It is, and I sigh. “I am. I want to hire a model—or an actress, or preferably she’ll be both—for Christmas. I’ll make it worth her while.” I name a sum that makes Rich laugh and Meg’s eyes nearly fall out of her head. “I’ll also give her a clothes and jewelry budget. I’ll need her to accompany me to the Solstice Ball on the twenty-first.”

The Solstice Ball is a charity event being held in our capital city, Wellington. Everyone who’s anyone is going to be there, including Natalie, because she’s president of the New Zealand Association for the Blind, which was how I met her. She’s not all bad. Her father’s blind, and she works hard for the charity. She’s also gorgeous and fantastic in bed. If she was a nicer person, and she didn’t have a screw loose, she’d be the perfect girlfriend.

“So...” Rich says, “Natalie’s supposed to accept that even though nobody’s seen this woman before, you’ve fallen so madly in love that you’ve popped the question. You, who’s made it quite clear that you’re anti-marriage.”

“I’m not anti-marriage,” I clarify. “I’m anti-marriage with Natalie.”

“Why?” It’s Meg who queries, the first time she’s ever asked me anything personal. “You obviously had feelings for her. Why didn’t you ask her to marry you?”

“She wants kids.” I finish off my coffee. “I don’t.” I meet Meg’s gaze. She wants to ask why but she’s very adept at not overstepping the line of professionalism. I’m from English stock and the English sense of humor tends to be a little more vulgar than the Kiwi one—in spite of our reputation of having a stiff upper lip and being very reserved, it’s accepted that sexual references and flirting is all part of conversation and people rarely take offence at it. Rich is well used to me by now, but I think I shocked Meg when she first came to work here, although she’s relaxed a lot since then and I think she enjoys our teasing. I have to remember that line, though, because I don’t want to be sued for sexual harassment, and as a result we rarely talk about our personal lives. However, she puts herself between me and my crazy ex several times a day like a bodyguard, and now I’m asking her to find me a fake wife, so I think she deserves an explanation.

But in the end, it’s Teddi who answers. “The bilateral retinoblastoma I had as a child is a heritable genetic form. There’s a mutation in the RB1 gene on chromosome thirteen, inherited from my mother. I have a one in two chance of passing it on to a child. There’s no evidence that heterochromia is linked in any way to the defective gene, but Strat’s afraid because of his eyes that he might be a carrier and could pass it on to his children, if he had any.”

Yeah, that about sums it up.

Meg studies me with her calm gaze, her eyes moving from my blue eye to my green eye. “And Natalie knew this?”

I nod. “Yes. She thought it was worth the risk. I didn’t.”

“So it’s a risk, not a certainty? Even if you were a carrier—and you’re not sure you are—it doesn’t mean your children would automatically inherit the gene and develop the cancer?”

“No,” I say. “A fetus could be tested for the mutation, and it could be delivered early to allow treatment of any eye tumors. But I don’t want to risk it. I couldn’t put a kid through what Teddi’s been through. I’d rather put my own eyes out.”

Meg’s gaze softens. “Okay,” is all she says.

I slide my gaze over to Teddi. She hates the fact that I don’t want kids for this reason. She’s gone pale, and, as I watch, she rises, clicks her fingers at Bella, and heads for the door. She slips out, closing the door quietly behind her.

Rich rises. “I’ll check on her,” he says, and follows her out.

I wait until the door shuts and then look across at Meg. It’s the first time in the four months she’s been here that anything like this has happened. We’re all very open about Teddi’s blindness, and Teddi’s the first of us to come up with jokes about it. One of her favorites is How do you make a Venetian blind? Poke him in the eye! She’s not hypersensitive about it, and she doesn’t expect people to remove the words “look” or “see” from their vocabulary.

Equally, she never developed the feisty, prickly sort of character that blind people have in books and movies, where they get angry and resentful if you try to help them and mistakenly imply they can’t manage. She understands people and is skilled at making them feel comfortable when they’re with her, even if they’ve never met a blind person before. She’s not defined by her blindness. If you were to ask her to describe herself, she’d say “short with a dark bob”. Will helped with that—her blindness never seemed to be an issue for him at all.

But the vulnerability is there in her, just as it is in me. It’s the chink in our armor—our Achilles’ heel. I hate her disability. I wish it were a thing I could kill like one of the demons in Rich’s games. If a child of mine inherited the gene and I gave it cancer, I’d never forgive myself. I’ll never risk it because I know what she went through. I’d blame myself, and Teddi blames herself because I won’t have kids. What a fucked up family we are.

“So...” Meg says softly. “I have—what—five days to find you a beautiful fiancée.”

My lips curve up of their own accord. I love her for recognizing how I feel and changing the subject. “Easy as,” I say, leaning back in my chair again. “Should be a simple task for such an outstanding PA.”

She laughs. “Rich is right, though. Won’t Natalie twig when this woman appears who nobody’s seen before? Won’t it seem odd that you’ve produced a stranger who’s not only a date but a fiancée?”

“I’ve practically been a recluse since we broke up. It’s not like I’ve been seen everywhere alone. As far as anyone knows, I could have met this girl the week after we broke up and have been dating her since.”

She tips her head from side to side. “I suppose. It still seems a stretch to say you’re engaged, though. Natalie will ask around, won’t she? She’ll want to know if the woman’s been into your office or been seen at your house.”

“Yeah. So part of the deal will be that this woman will need to stay at my house and in my hotel room when we’re in Wellington.”

Now Meg looks exasperated. “No woman in her right mind is going to agree to that.”

“Well, thanks.”

“I don’t mean...” She thinks about it and rolls her eyes. “What am I saying? You’re offering money and the chance to share your bed. They’re going to fall over themselves to be first in the queue.”

Her compliment warms me, but I pick up on her choice of word. “Room,” I correct. “Not bed.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffs. “You’re going to share your room with a gorgeous model and not come on to her?”

“Absolutely not. I am a gentleman.”

She laughs. “Yeah. You’re also a man. And Teddi told me what happened when you met Natalie.” Her gaze is amused but also challenging. If I was prone to blushing, I’d be scarlet by now. It’s true that Natalie had a high sex drive, and I was happy to take advantage of it. I like sex as much as the next guy, and it’s not every woman who’s in the mood every night—and sometimes more than once. I think she wore my dick down by an inch over the five years we were together.

But the one thing she has taught me is that energetic sex isn’t enough, not by far. Maybe when you’re twenty-five it is. But I’m thirty-four now, older, wiser... well, older anyway, and aware that a couple have to have more than a love of sex in common for their relationship to succeed.

I hold Meg’s gaze and raise an eyebrow, and it’s her cheeks that redden, forcing her to look down. I hide a smile. It’s fairly easy to make her blush, and I try to do it at least once a day.

“Sex isn’t on the table,” I state.

“What about on the carpet?”

That makes me laugh. Her nose wrinkles as she smiles. Not for the first time, I wonder what she’s like in bed. Not as experienced as Natalie, I think, but she’d be gentle and eager to please. I like the thought of that. I wonder what kind of lingerie she wears. I decide it’s white, virginal and innocent. And beneath it, her skin will be warm and tanned, her nipples a light pink, or maybe a dark rose color because she’s had a child. Her body will be rounded and soft, pliable beneath my fingers...

I blink. I’m getting a hard-on, and I don’t want Meg to notice. I lean forward in my chair, wince and shift, and clear my throat. “This is a strictly platonic arrangement,” I clarify.

“And what if she’s gorgeous and into you, and you fancy her?” Meg’s unusually persistent.

“Then after the arrangement’s over, maybe I’ll ask her out.” I’m determined not to admit that I could have a lapse of my strong self-control. I wasn’t joking when I said I consider myself a gentleman. I’d never make a move on a woman with whom I had a business deal.

“What are you going to do after Christmas?” she asks, puzzled. “As soon as Natalie knows your relationship’s over, won’t she think she’s in with a chance again?”

“Well I won’t announce it’s over, and hopefully by the time she discovers that’s the case, she’ll have finally moved on. She will,” I say at her doubtful look. “She’s an intelligent woman, and she’s not weak. She won’t wait around forever. I just need to convince her I’m not holding out on her—that I’m definitely over her. Once she realizes that, she’ll get over me. I’m not that special.” I mean it. I have many, many faults, and I’m just amazed that women don’t spot them more often.

Meg’s gaze caresses my face. “You shouldn’t do yourself down. You’re good looking, young-ish, and have money coming out of your ears. Any woman would be mad not to fancy you.”

“Including you?”

The words are out before I can stop them. Shit. It’s the first time I’ve ever alluded to the fact that I fancy her. Fuck. Bollocks.

I watch the pulse in her neck accelerate, her eyes widen. She moistens her lips, and oh Jesus Christ I want to lean forward and kiss her.

“I’m married,” she whispers.

Oh. Yeah. I forgot.

Chapter Four

Meg

I return to my desk and sit there for a moment, covering my face with my hands. Stratton’s words ring in my head, Including you? Holy fuck, I was right—he does like me. Oh Jesus. How am I going to carry on working for him when I have that little piece of information branded on the inside of my skull?

“Mum?” Oscar’s voice appears out of nowhere. “You okay?”

I lower my hands and lift my head, staring at him in puzzlement for a moment before I remember that it’s Thursday, one of the days he comes in for an hour to playtest Rich’s games.

“Hi love, yes I’m fine, just a bit of a headache.” I rise as he comes into my office and hold my arms out for a hug, and he crosses to me and envelops me in his arms. At thirteen, he’s the same height as me. In a year or two he’s going to be taller than me. That’ll be weird. Where did my little boy go?

He squeezes me and then drops into a chair. “Got anything to eat?”

“What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t?” I open my top drawer and retrieve the ham and cheese roll and the oatmeal bar I’d prepared for this very moment. “Here.”

“Ah, thanks.” He tucks into it as if he hasn’t eaten for a fortnight, even though I know he would have visited the tuck shop at school at lunchtime and probably morning tea too.

“How’s your day been?” I ask, leaning on my desk and watching him fondly.

He shrugs. “Usual.”

“Learnt a lot?”

“Nah.” He grins and unscrews the top on the bottle of water I bought him, then drinks half of it in one go. “What about you? What’s going on here today?”

“I’m about to organize a wife for Stratton.” I look at the notes I’ve typed on my laptop, which are interspersed with abbreviations like WTF? And OMG!

Oscar lowers his bottle. “What? Sorry, I thought you said wife.”

“I did.” I explain Stratton’s plan. Oscar and I have no secrets. We made a pact when we left Christchurch that if we were going to do this, we would have to be completely open with each other. So far, I think we’ve both been true to that.

Oscar laughs. “I think he’s lost the plot.”

“Well, duh.”

“He must really hate Natalie.”

I think about it. “No, I don’t think he hates her. I think he loved her, but she doesn’t seem to have understood him at all. She wanted children, but Stratton doesn’t.”

“Why?”

I tell him the reason.

“That’s sad,” Oscar says. “He’d make a good dad.” His eyes harden, and I know what he’s thinking. Better than mine.

I sigh. “Oscar...”

“You should do it,” he says.

“Do what?”

“Pretend to be his fiancée.”

I glance at the open door to make sure nobody’s standing there and then look down again and adjust the position of my laptop. “I’m married.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that,” I point out.

“Don’t you think you should tell him?”

“No,” I say sharply. “We’re not telling anyone. We agreed on this.”

“I know.” Oscar looks suddenly upset. “I don’t like lying to him and Rich, though. Don’t you trust them?”

“Yes. But we can’t tell them. We can’t risk it. You know that.”

“They wouldn’t mind,” he protested. “They’d understand.”

“Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn’t.” I think about what Stratton’s been through with Natalie and think that he probably would. “But we can’t risk it. What if they felt the need to tell someone—the IRD, or the police? At the moment, if he rings and asks for Maggie Walters, nobody’s going to have to lie and say they’ve never heard of her.” I don’t have to explain who ‘he’ is.

“I guess.”

“Aren’t you happy here?” I whisper. “I thought you liked your new school.”

“I do.”

“And our apartment.”

“I do, Mum. We did the right thing, I know. But I like Stratton, and Rich, and Teddi. They’ve been good to us, and lying to them just feels... wrong.”

My eyes fill with tears. He’s right. I never thought this might happen when we first made the decision to come here. I thought I’d always be on the outside looking in, struggling to make new friends, and I certainly didn’t expect to land such a great job. I love all three of my bosses, and Oscar’s right, they’ve been good to us.

For a moment I imagine telling Stratton the truth. Would he be shocked? Sometimes I think he’s half-guessed. There have been occasions, mainly in the early days, when he’s called for me and I haven’t responded, not yet used to my new name. And once I referred to myself as a brunette and had to hurriedly correct it to blonde. He just laughed and must have put it down to my general ditziness, but he’s a smart guy, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he suspected something. After all, even army soldiers come home once in a blue moon.

“I think he’d enjoy it if you pretended to be his fiancée,” Oscar says. “He likes you. And you like him.”

“I do not. Not in that way.”

Oscar just looks at me. I stick my tongue out at him, feeling myself sink to his age.

“He’d be better off with you than some dumb model.”

“Models aren’t dumb,” I correct. “We all use the talents God gives us to make a living.”

“Even so. He’d hate being with someone stupid, and you’re really clever.”

“And you’re really biased.”

“No, I’m not. You’re smart as.”

I chuckle. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“I mean it.” He’s delightfully earnest. Then his expression turns curious. “What’s his ex like?”

“Natalie? I don’t know. I’ve never met her.” There’s a photo of her, though, on the wall in Stratton’s office. It’s of a group of people at some charity function. She’s leaning against him, one hand on his chest as if making sure that everyone knows he belongs to her. She’s small, slim, and stunning, and I know that Stratton likes that she works for his favorite charity.

Once again, I can’t believe she was dumb enough to lose him. If I had a man like Stratton, I’d never, ever let him go.

“I bet she’s fat,” Oscar says.

“Who’s fat?”

I look up to see Stratton standing in the doorway. I don’t miss the fact that my heart skips a beat. He leans against the doorpost, his hands in his trouser pockets. I can smell his aftershave from here. He’s so delectable that he makes my mouth water.

Oscar has the grace to look embarrassed. “Ah...”

Naughtiness surges through me. It must be catching. “We were talking about Natalie.”

Oscar’s eyes widen, but—as I knew he would—Stratton just laughs.

“Mum said you’re looking for a wife,” Oscar says.

“A fake wife.” Stratton smiles.

“It won’t work.” I pull my laptop toward me.

“Yes it will. I’ll make it work through sheer determination.”

I bet he will, as well. He’s pretty single-minded when he wants to be.

“Why don’t you just date someone and propose early?” Oscar suggests.

“I’m off dating,” Stratton says. “Girls suck.”

Only the good ones, I’m tempted to add, but Oscar’s nodding in agreement, enjoying sharing the older guy’s attitude to the dreaded girl situation.

“I just want to pretend for a few weeks.” Stratton makes it sound perfectly normal.

“Makes sense,” Oscar says. “Mum could do it.”

I inhale sharply and glare at him. He glares back.

“I don’t think your dad would be too happy about that,” Stratton says, amused.

“He’s away a lot,” Oscar points out. “He’d never know.”

“Oscar,” I snap irritably. “That’s enough.”

Stratton chuckles. “Your mum has to put up with me day in, day out. The last thing she’d want is to pretend we’re a couple.” He meets my gaze, and his eyes hold humor and a hint of something else. Yeah, that naughty glint is back.

“Too right,” I said. “Now will you two go away and stop making a nuisance of yourselves?”

“That’s what we’re here for, eh, Oscar?” Stratton curls up his fingers and holds out his hand, and Oscar fist-bumps him. I roll my eyes, but can’t stop my lips curving up as Oscar rises and they walk to the door.

“What am I testing today?” Oscar asks, grabbing his schoolbag.

“A new horror game,” Stratton says. “R18. Lots of blood and guts, swearing, and sex.”

“Cool,” Oscar says as they disappear through the door.

I don’t react, knowing they’re winding me up. Stratton and Rich don’t let him play anything over an R13. As far as I know. Maybe they do and I just don’t know about it. That makes me think about the groin attachment, and I laugh as I open my browser. I don’t think this plan is going to work, but Stratton’s in trouble and I want to help, so I put my misgivings to one side and start looking for his fake fiancée.

*

“I’ve found four possible candidates,” I tell Stratton the next morning.

“Already?” His eyebrows rise, and he leans back in his chair and links his fingers as he surveys me. “Okay, give me the rundown.”

I take a seat in front of his desk, the printout on my knees. Katoa Limited rents prime office space at the northern end of Auckland’s central business district with views across the harbor of the City of Sails. Today it’s hot and bright outside, and the sun streams through the windows and falls like melted butter across the gorgeous old mahogany desk Stratton bought at an auction a few years ago. He insists the wood is from Captain Cook’s ship, the Endeavour. I know that ship was scuttled outside the city of Newport, Rhode Island, to stop a French fleet entering the harbor back in 1778, but I always nod politely whenever he says it and let him think he’s got the better of me. The sun bounces off the tinsel I’ve pinned along the edge of his desk. Because Will died on Boxing Day, none of them are into the festive season that much, but I insisted the office had to have some Christmas spirit in it that wasn’t whisky, if only for the sake of the rest of the staff.

Teddi’s office is all chrome and glass and white walls; Rich’s has kauri wood furniture and cream leather and is pristine because he’s hardly ever in it, as he’s always down in the computer pod with the other programmers. But Stratton practically lives in his office, and it shows. It speaks of his English heritage—his father is from Oxford, which always makes me think of Inspector Morse—and the office reminds me of a don’s room at Balliol or Christ Church College. The whole of one wall is filled with shelves of books—an eclectic mix, from engineering text books to history books to fiction. The cream carpet bears a gorgeous, plush brown rug around which a dark red leather sofa and chairs are placed for more relaxed meetings. The whole of the north wall consists of windows, while the other two walls bear elegant paintings from Kiwi artists, as well as a variety of photos. Including the one with Natalie the Nympho Nutter.

My gaze rests on it for a moment before coming back to him. He’s watching me, and a shiver runs down my spine.

“You don’t like that photo,” he says.

“What photo?”

His lips curve up. “The one taken at the conference two years ago.” He gestures at it.

I shrug. “I have no feelings about it one way or the other.”

He studies me for a moment, then stands and walks over to it. He examines it for a moment before lifting it off the wall. He carries it back to the desk and places it on the floor, leaning it against the table leg, with the photo facing away from us. “Can you please make a note to ask Philip at the gallery to find me something nice to replace it?”

I swallow hard and write it down. “Of course.”

His smile is gentle and genuine. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Meg.”

I like how he says my new name. I can imagine him whispering it in my ear as he kisses down my neck. In my secret fantasies, alone at night, I often wonder what he’s like in bed. Playful, I think. Skilled, no doubt. Perhaps a tad dominant, the way a girl likes a man to be. A tiny bit kinky. I moisten my lips with the tip of my tongue. Maybe he’s a big bit kinky. I’m not even sure what that means, but it makes me clench inside as I picture various alternatives.

He’s watching me with amusement as I stare at him. I clear my throat. “You’re welcome,” I squeak.

“You are an excellent PA. Just what I was looking for.”

My face warms. “Well, that’s nice to know.”

He plays with his pen. “When we were interviewing, I told the others that a PA is like a work wife. Do you agree?”

I frown, suspicious that this has something to do with my current task. “There’s more typing and less sex,” I say before I can stop myself.

He laughs. “Yeah.”

I wait for him to say “It doesn’t have to be that way,” or something similar, but he doesn’t. Even though he can be flirty, and he and Rich can be near the knuckle with their banter sometimes, he’s never overstepped that line to being over-familiar with me. Apart from when he said Including you? I can still remember the look on his face when he said that—he shocked himself. I admit that I pushed him a bit by telling him that any woman would be mad not to fancy him, but when he said I’m not that special he’d looked so sad that I’d melted a little inside.

Don’t you think you should tell him? Oscar’s words ring in my head, and suddenly, more than anything, I want to confide in Stratton, and have him comfort me and tell me everything’s going to be all right. That we can stop running, and that he’ll protect me from Bruce if he should ever find us again.

But there’s no guarantee he’d say that. He might get cross with me for lying and sack me on the spot. Or he might side with Bruce and assume the fault had to be mine—he might even try to contact him. I don’t know Stratton well enough to gauge what his response would be, and although my gut is screaming that I should trust him, my gut’s been seriously wrong in the past, and I don’t have faith in it anymore.

“All right,” he says softly, and I wonder for a moment whether he had given me the opportunity to open up, and realized I wasn’t ready yet. “Come on. Tell me about the list.”

Chapter Five

Stratton

Meg’s lashes lower as she consults her notepad, giving me the opportunity to study her without her noticing. I make the most of it, as I always do.

Natalie is beautiful in a classic, almost ethereal way, with high cheekbones, sculpted lips, and pale, blemish-free skin that looks as if it’s been Photoshopped. Everything about her reflects her Eastern European heritage—she’s like a porcelain doll, elegantly painted to perfection. If she had kids, she’d be one of those ‘yummy mummies’—she’s a vegetarian who prefers organic food, she’d have her figure back in a week, and she’s against immunization.

Meg is beautiful too, but in a completely different way. For a start, she’s beautiful on the inside as well as the outside. Natalie can be witty and she’s smart, but she has a sharp tongue, and she thinks nothing of pointing out other people’s faults, especially other women’s. But I can’t imagine Meg ever being nasty about anyone.

I’m not trying to find ways to make up for a lack of physical beauty, though, because she has that too. She’s a Kiwi girl through and through. She’s tall and generously proportioned but well-toned, suggesting she works out often, and she’s mentioned to me that she enjoys swimming, which makes me smile because Natalie hates getting her hair wet. Meg’s skin bears a warm tan, and she sparkles with health. I know she eats burgers because Oscar told me, and she’s also declared that people who don’t immunize their children are nuts, presumably without knowing Natalie’s views. She’s like the polar opposite of Natalie.

I like that.

As she scans her list, I wonder whether her tan extends all over her body. Or does she have white triangles where her bikini goes?

She looks up at that point, catching me mid-ogle. Her eyes return to her list, but I think I see a smile play on her lips.

“So I’ve arranged for four young, beautiful ladies to come in for an interview this afternoon,” she says.

“Excellent. What else do I need to know?”

“I don’t think there’s any point in giving you their CVs,” she says. “I think choosing a fiancée is about gut feeling, and whether you click.”

“Fake fiancée,” I remind her.

“Yes, but even so, it’s got to look as if there’s a connection between you, hasn’t it? There’s no point you requesting one particular girl because of her qualifications and interests and then you get face to face and think Jesus, I wouldn’t touch her with someone else’s barge pole.”

I chuckle at her choice of words. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Okay. I’ll let you know when the first one arrives.” She walks out, and I let my gaze linger on her butt until she disappears around the corner.

I sigh. This won’t get any work done. The business world still revolves in spite of what’s happening in my private life.

I devote a couple of hours to emails and phone calls, then get bored and decide to see what Rich is up to. I wander down to the first floor, finding him as usual amidst the chaos of the game development pod. It’s dark in here, the blinds drawn and the only light coming from the screens of the thirty or so guys huddled over their keyboards. We’re not sexist—it’s just that so far no girl has shown any interest in the freakish world of designing zombies and wizards that for some reason always want to destroy the Earth.

Rich is in his favorite spot in the corner, playing World of Warcraft.

“Working hard, I see.” I pull up a chair next to him.

“I’m trying out my new Demon Hunter.” His eyes are fixed on the screen while his fingers dance across the keyboard. “Checking out the competition.” He’s in the process of designing characters for a new game he’s developing, so I know he’ll see what works and what doesn’t in various games and apply that knowledge to his own designs.

“And?”

“Yeah, it’s cool. I like the double jump feature.” He illustrates what he means, accidentally leaps off a cliff, and his character dies. “Fuck.” He taps his mouse to resurrect the toon.

“If only it was that easy in real life,” I say.

He sighs. “Yeah.”

I know that many people—especially women—think gaming is a boys’ thing, a hobby for geeks and losers. But those who don’t play have no idea how wonderful it is to lose oneself in a game. It’s the same as watching a great movie or reading a fantastic book—in gaming you envelop yourself in another world, and you become a hero, vanquishing evil and even challenging death, which can be comforting when life is treating you rough.

Rich, Will, and I got into gaming around the time we went to high school. We lived up in the Northland back then. Rich and Will were identical, and although I could always tell them apart, everyone else at school mixed them up all the time. The three of us guys used to meet up online and game during the evening—around doing our homework, of course. Teddi joined in where she could. She always had a thing for Will and it didn’t surprise me when they started dating. He was devoted to her, and I know they would have been together forever. If he hadn’t died.

That year, we all went through several levels of hell. Teddi just cried all the time—as much as she’s able to with her artificial eyes. Frustrated at not being able to help, I drove Natalie to distraction by losing myself in work and being completely anti-sociable, a point I haven’t really rectified since.

On the surface of it, for the first year Rich looked as if he was coping. But on the Christmas Eve after Will died, unable to reach Rich by phone, I called by his house to find him two-thirds into a bottle of whisky. He talked for hours about feeling like half a person, and at that point all I could do was nod and sympathize and make sure he was safe in bed when he passed out. Since then, and in spite of Teddi’s and my attempts to get him to stay with us, he’s gone away for Christmas and New Year, and I’m sure he’s spent the entire two weeks in an alcoholic stupor.

When he’s sober—which is most of the time because I know he doesn’t like that dark place he ends up in when he’s drinking—he doesn’t want to talk about it. But every time he resurrects a character in a game, I’m sure I see a wry smile on his face.

“I hear Meg’s organized a few girls to come in this afternoon.” Rich pushes his keyboard away. He turns to face me, finishing off a cup of what’s probably stone-cold coffee, because he winces as he swallows.

“Yeah. You want to join in with the interviews? You might find one you like.”

He snorts. “No thanks.”

I sigh and wonder why the two of us have had such trouble with women. Rich has gone from relationship to relationship without finding the woman of his dreams. Neither of us believes in true love anymore, or soul mates, or any of that crap. We’re thirty-four and single, and relationships are too difficult, women too demanding. Neither of us thinks there are girls out there who will be anything but hard work. Having money is great, but Meg was right when she said it’s an attraction, and both Rich and I are convinced the jangle of coins is far louder than the thud of Cupid’s arrows where women are concerned. How can we be sure any potential girlfriend doesn’t just want us for our money? Our lawyers have advised us it will be necessary to draw up a pre-nup when the time comes for marriage, but to be honest I can’t see either of us ever getting that far.

“It’s a fucking stupid idea,” Rich says. “This fake fiancée thing. You know that, right?”

I shrug. “I’ve got to get her off my back somehow. Do you have any better ideas?”

“Tell the FBI she’s a terrorist.”

I laugh. “Yeah. Maybe. But at least I’ll have a date for Christmas.”

“Even if you are paying her to stand next to you.”

“Yeah, well. My other idea is to have a vasectomy. I’m saving that as a last resort.”

Rich stares at me. He knows me well enough to understand that I’m not joking.

We’re guys—we don’t normally talk about this sort of thing. Our conversations rarely delve deeper than discussing games, movies, and sports cars. Gestures of affection extend to a slap on the arm or, at most, a manly bear hug. We don’t do in-depth analyses of each other’s motives or meanings, and we certainly don’t talk about anything personal.

But this time Rich frowns and doesn’t immediately make a joke of it the way he normally would. “You’re not serious?”

“It would be proof that I don’t want kids. And she really wants them, Rich. It’s all she talked about. She wants the whole pregnancy experience, and she’d never consider marrying a guy who couldn’t give her what she wanted.” I know I’m being unfair. Possibly. Natalie always talked about ‘us’ having kids—she used to say she wanted to share that with me, and have a little piece of me growing inside her. I don’t know if that’s true or if it’s bullshit and all she wants is the status symbol of a beautiful baby to show her friends, but she’s a woman who’s used to getting what she wants, and she’s determined that given enough time she can talk me round.

“A vasectomy’s a bit final,” Rich says.

“That’s the point.”

He tips his head to the side. “What if you change your mind?”

“I won’t.”

“You might meet a girl you do love who wants kids, and then you might decide it’s worth the risk.”

“I won’t, because this isn’t about anyone else except me. It’s fucking selfish, I know that, but it’s what I want. Come on, we’re thirty-four—we know better than to think there’s one person out there we’re meant to be with. If I meet a girl I like but she wants kids and won’t adopt, I’ll back off. It seems to me that a woman should love me for who I am rather than who she wants me to be.”

Rich stares at me, and I feel as if I should ask him if he wants to paint my nails and braid my hair. What are we, fourteen-year-old girls? Since when do we talk like this?

But then maybe that’s a benefit of age. You can talk about feelings and shit and not worry that it means you’re turning gay.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Rich says. “Go for the fiancée thing. If there’s even a chance of it working, you’ve got to give it a go before you put your balls on the operating table.”

I chuckle and stand. “Thanks for your support.”

“Don’t mention it. I just know that if you have a vasectomy, I’ll have to put up with all the moaning about the pain for the next six months.”

He’s not wrong there. I wince and have to fight not to rub myself as I walk out of the room and back up the stairs to my office.

*

Meg announces the arrival of the first candidate just before two.

“Get in here,” I tell my PA when she tries to sidle out of the door. “I need moral support.”

She sighs and brings in the first girl. I’m sitting in one of the armchairs, but I rise as they walk in.

I find it difficult not to stare at the candidate. She’s small and slim with platinum blonde hair cut in a bob that’s so sharp I’m sure it’s a wig. She’s wearing a helluva lot of makeup, and her black dress is like plastic wrap, it’s so tight.

Hiding my surprise, I pin a smile on my face and hold out a hand. “Welcome, Arabella. Thank you for coming.” Suddenly, I’m convinced that’s not her real name.

“Hi,” she says, sliding her hand into mine. Her nails are false and bright red.

“Please, take a seat.” I gesture at the sofa, and she lowers herself gracefully onto it. She’s wearing really, really high heels. They’re kinda sexy, but her outfit’s not what I expected considering she’s here for an interview. I recall the dark-gray suit Meg wore to hers, her elegant hair. That’s the sort of girl I’m looking for.

Meg sits in the other armchair. I glance at her, but she’s busy flicking through her notes. I suspect it’s a ploy so she doesn’t have to meet my eyes.

I clear my throat. “So... I believe my PA has explained my situation and what I’m looking for?”

Arabella nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Please, call me Stratton.”

“Yes, Stratton.” She smiles then, and it’s genuine enough and lights up her eyes. She’s a pretty little thing, and as we start talking the real girl shines out from beneath the plastic Barbie doll she projects. She likes animals and wanted to be a vet when she was young. She enjoys keep fit classes and goes to the gym. She likes Mexican food and loves dancing.

We don’t really have anything in common, but she’s nice enough. She laughs at my jokes and she knows how to pay a guy attention—she barely looks at Meg, and she shakes back her hair every so often, pressing her lips together and looking up at me through her lashes.

“Okay,” I say after about ten minutes of chat. “Do you have any questions?”

“So you’re just looking for someone to pretend to be your fiancée?” she clarifies.

“That’s right.”

“To go to functions and act like a girlfriend.”

“Yes.” I have a sinking feeling that I know where this is going.

“And it means staying in your house and your hotel room when we’re away.”

Now I’m faced with it, it suddenly seems like a ridiculous idea. “Ah, yeah.”

“What about any other services,” she asks as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “I have a leaflet outlining what I offer, if you want to see it.”

My gaze slides to Meg. She’s looking out of the window, but I have the distinct feeling she’s trying not to laugh.

I look back at Arabella. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

“Okay.” She jumps chirpily to her feet. “Well thank you for the opportunity.”

I rise, and we shake hands again. “Nice to meet you,” I say, somewhat faintly.

Meg shows her to the door while I return to the chair behind my desk. I sit and lean back, watching as Arabella disappears and Meg turns back to face me.

“Come here.” I beckon her toward me.

She approaches the desk and stands there, clutching her clipboard.

“Is there any chance,” I say, “that the firm you contacted was an escort agency?”

She scratches her nose. “Possibly.”

I lean forward and rest my forehead on the desk. This day just can’t get any worse.

Chapter Six

Meg

Finally, I give in to the laughter that’s been threatening to spill over for some time. I cover my mouth with my hand as Stratton sits back and glares at me, but it doesn’t stop the giggles.

“You’re taking the piss,” he says.

“I’m really not.” I sit opposite him and struggle to compose myself. “I thought this would be best. The thing is, if you were to ask a model to act as your fiancée you’d only be inviting disaster. You’d run the risk of them falling for you. If your face wasn’t enough of a lure, your money would be.”

He continues to glare at me, although I can tell by the way he’s flipping his pen through his fingers that he’s considering my words. Somewhat sulkily, he says, “You think I have a nice face?”

I ignore him, not wanting to go down that road. “You run the same risk with an actress. At least with an escort girl, you know they’re in it for the money.”

“Call girls can fall for guys too, you know. Haven’t you seen Pretty Woman?”

I laugh, relieved there’s a glimmer of humor in his eyes. “Yeah, but it’s an up-front business arrangement, and I would imagine it’s less likely. This agency is very exclusive, and when I explained what you wanted, they were keen to insist that all the girls will protect your privacy.”

“It’s not really the point. I don’t want a call girl.”

“You’re planning on paying whoever you hire—what difference does it make?”

“There’s a difference, Meg. There just is.”

I frown at him, genuinely puzzled. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t think it would bother you. I thought you’d be used to it.”

“Used to what?”

“Being around call girls.”

He stares at me. “Meg, I’ve never paid for sex, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

My jaw drops. I suddenly realize I’ve made a huge mistake. “Oh. I just assumed that, in your position, with all the big business deals you do...” His face tells me what an error I’ve made.

Now he’s amused. “I’m picking up by this that your previous boss had a... shall we say colorful social life?”

The CEO I’d worked for could definitely have been called colorful. Although he didn’t possess Stratton’s sense of humor, and he was about thirty years his senior, he’d partied like a twenty-year-old, and he’d enjoyed throwing his money around when important customers came to stay. Those customers were almost always men, and he would invariably ask me to organize a night at Cesare’s, which sounds like an Italian restaurant but is actually a lap dancing club attached to—for all intents and purposes—a brothel.

“Yes, and all his customers seemed to think it was perfectly normal to frequent that type of place... I just assumed...”

“Was your previous boss in the Mafia? Honey, Rich and I are computer geeks. Can you imagine us in a house of ill repute? The nearest we’ve come to going with a prostitute was driving through the red light district in Amsterdam just to see what it looked like, and it scared the shit out of both of us. I’ve not even been to a strip club. I think I’d die if I did.”

I’m not sure whether to find this whole situation hugely embarrassing or hugely funny. I opt for funny and subside into hysterical giggles until tears pour down my face and my sides ache. Luckily, Stratton joins in, although I think he’s laughing more at my giggles than at the situation.

“I’m so sorry.” I wipe my face with both hands. “It’s just that you’re so...”

He runs a hand through his hair, still shaking his head and smiling. “So what?”

I think of Teddi’s stories about him and Natalie never getting out of bed. He’s so sexy I assumed he’d had hundreds of partners, but maybe I was wrong. “A man of the world,” I choose.

He gives me a wry look. “I’m not a monk, but I’m hardly that. Oh jeez. There are three more call girls coming for interviews, aren’t there?”

His genuine alarm starts me laughing again. “Don’t worry, I’ll cancel them. Mind you... look on the bright side—if you do fancy one of them, you can just pay for sex and you’d have no worry about commitment issues.”

“Meg...”

“I’d be interested to see what was on that leaflet Arabella offered. You might still end up with the happy ever after you hoped for.”

He snorts. “It’s called a happy ending, Meg, and for God’s sake, can we talk about something else?” He rests his head on the back of his chair and stares up at the ceiling. “I haven’t had sex for six months and all this talk is making me...” He struggles to think of a word.

“Horny?” I suggest.

That makes him laugh. “You really have gotten used to me, haven’t you?”

“Sorry. I forget you’re my boss sometimes.”

“That’s good. Successful working—and personal—relationships rely on knowing where the other person’s boundaries are, and on understanding their sense of humor. I’m glad you’re used to mine.”

“I sometimes wonder what Natalie made of it.”

His smile fades. “I don’t think she ever got me. We were like two binary suns, always circling and destined never to meet in the middle.”

Liking the analogy, I open my mouth to say something, and then I realize what he said. “Wait, you haven’t had sex for six months?”

“I broke up with Natalie in May. So, technically, seven months I guess.”

“You really haven’t been out with anyone since?”

“No. Why’s that so surprising?”

Because you’re so gorgeous and sexy I’d assumed you’d have been with a different girl every night.

I don’t say it though. He looks sad, and my heart goes out to him. I’ve never spoken to him about what happened with Natalie, but suddenly I feel the need to comfort him. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For what happened with Natalie. I’m not surprised you’re taking time out for a while.”

He studies his pen. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get back in the dating game.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will once time passes.”

He shrugs. “Men seem to want different things out of a relationship than women. I can’t imagine any girl being happy going into marriage knowing the guy doesn’t want kids. Even if she says she doesn’t, I can’t help but think she’ll be hoping to change my mind at some point.”

“You might be surprised. Not every woman wants kids either.”

“I haven’t met any who don’t.”

“Maybe you’re just mixing in the wrong circles. For young, rich women, having a husband and two-point-four kids is going to feel like the ultimate aim—it’ll be expected of them, and they’ll want to give birth without pain relief and have perfect babies they feed with home-made organic food and who are potty-trained before they’re eighteen months old.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I thought you hadn’t met Natalie?”

I laugh. “I knew that’s what she’d be like.”

“So I’m mixing with the wrong women? Who are the right women?”

“I don’t know—I’m not an expert. Older women, maybe, who’ve decided to dedicate their lives to their career and who don’t want the complication of a family. Or women who already have children.” My heart bangs on my ribs. Does he realize I’m half-referring to myself?

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to inherit some other guy’s squawking brats.”

It’s a problem that unfortunately I’m more than aware of—that generally guys don’t enjoy taking on other men’s children. My heart sinks a little. It’s tough being a single mum.

I don’t want to think about it now or I’m going to depress myself. I clear my throat. “So...” I sit back in the seat. “What are we going to do? You want me to get onto a real modelling agency?”

His smile fades. “I dunno. I guess it was a stupid idea.”

My brow furrows. “It wasn’t stupid. I know you just want Natalie to leave you alone, and you were right—it might work.”

“I’ll think about it.” He straightens and pulls his laptop toward him. “So you’ll cancel those appointments?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Stratton.”

He waves a hand and starts typing, not looking at me. “Don’t worry about it.”

I leave the room, clutching my clipboard, and return to my nearby office with a sigh.

I feel distinctly flat, and I sit at my desk and pick up my phone with little enthusiasm. I’m embarrassed to have to cancel the appointments, and I apologize profusely to the woman on the other end of the phone, who’s not amused.

For the rest of the afternoon, I’m listless and unenthusiastic, and it’s a relief when five-thirty approaches. Sometimes I stay late if Stratton needs me, but I haven’t seen him all afternoon, and I suspect he’s avoiding me after what I did.

I start packing up my things, glance at my computer screen, and smile when I see an email from Alyssa. She’s a new friend I’ve made since moving to Auckland. We met at the local swimming pool and got on well, as we have a lot in common, including that we’re both single mums with teenage boys.

In her email she chats about her family and her day job at the kindergarten. The email subject shows we have been back and forth about twenty times and the message is as long as my arm, so I start with a fresh one and begin telling her about my day. Not about the call girls—I decide to leave that part out—but I tell her a bit about work, just general chit chat.

Then, because he’s on my mind, I tell her about Stratton.

I’m just crazy about him, I type. He so gorgeous he makes my mouth water. I’ll have to introduce you soon. He has thick dark hair touched with gray and the most amazing eyes—one blue, one green. A stunning smile. He’s six foot three and a big guy, but he’s very unassuming and self-deprecating. You’d like him a lot. It’s not easy working for him every day. I find myself sitting in meetings and instead of typing minutes I daydream about covering him in melted chocolate—or whipped cream, it varies—and then licking it all off. It passes the time.

I finish it with a smiley face, sign it Meg, click the arrow where it says ‘To’ and choose her name, then hit send. Briefly, I wonder whether the IT team ever monitors my emails, but it’s too late now, it’s gone, so I suppress a sudden feeling of unease and rise to get my bag, ready to go home for the day.

A ping tells me I’ve received another email, though, and I sink back down to check it. I stare for a moment as I realize it’s the one I’ve just sent. What? Why would it come back to me? Has it bounced? Has Alyssa closed her email account or something?

I look at who I’ve sent it to, and my jaw drops. Cold filters through me. Disbelievingly, I quickly start up a new email and click the down arrow that shows me the list of people I send to regularly. Oh no. I thought I’d clicked on Alyssa’s name. But I haven’t. I’ve clicked on All Staff.

My head spins, and I feel faint with horror. I’ve just told everyone in the building about my secret fantasies. Everyone who works here will have gotten that email. And that’s bad, but it’s not the worst of it.

Rich will get it, and so will Teddi.

And it’s currently pinging up in Stratton’s inbox, too.

Panic washes over me. What have I done? I’ve ruined everything with one hit of a tiny button. What an idiot. What a fucking stupid idiot I am.

I can’t stay here—I’ve got to get out before everyone reads it. At least it’s Friday—I can take the weekend to work out how the hell I’m going to deal with this.

I grab my handbag and run out of my office. Head down, I stride through the large workroom housing the secretarial pool, heads turning as I pass. Nigel from accounts stops me to talk about an invoice and drones on and on, and in the end I tell him I have to leave and just walk away. I ignore the elevators and take the stairs, running down them, my high heels tapping. I’m not sure if I’ve breathed in yet, and my head’s still spinning. I have to be careful not to fall and break my neck—and yet a little part of my brain muses that such an accident might be a relief.

Exiting into the foyer, I run across it. My face is hot and my eyes are stinging with tears. What have I done? Holy fuck. I’m going to be a laughing stock, and as for Stratton... He thinks I’m married. I don’t know whether he’s going to be flattered, amused, or angry. Maybe he’ll think it’s hilarious. Oh my God, I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again.

I can’t bear it. I want to die.

I’m halfway across the foyer when I hear him call my name. “Meg!”

God, no! Anyone but him! I don’t stop and continue running.

“Meg, for Christ’s sake. Stop her, Andy!”

Obediently, the security guard closes the glass door and refuses to let go as I reach it. I hit him with my handbag, almost sobbing in panic. “Let me out!”

“Meg, it’s okay.” Stratton catches up with me and tugs my arm. I wrench it away and stumble back. I can’t bear to look at him. “It’s okay,” he says again, bending to try and catch my eye. “Come on, it’s not the end of the world.”

“Don’t.” My face must be scarlet, because it’s burning as if I’ve been out in the hot sun all day. “Just... don’t.”

“Hey.” He obviously realizes I’m genuinely distraught, takes my arm again, and leads me across to the side of the foyer. Luckily, there’s only Andy to witness the scene, and he averts his gaze as he takes up his place by the doors again, although I know he’s listening.

“Let me go.” I dash away a tear that’s run down my face.

“Meg, sweetheart, come on. It was a mistake. You clicked on the wrong name, didn’t you? It happens.”

I cover my face with my hands. “I can’t believe I did it. I’m so embarrassed.”

He gives a soft laugh, moving closer to me and resting his hands on my upper arms. He rubs them gently, trying to offer comfort. “It’s all right. Did you think I didn’t know how you felt?”

I still refuse to look at him. I want to curl in a corner and sob. “I can’t believe I sent it to All Staff. Everyone will know. I can’t stay here. I can’t come back.”

“Meg, come on. Let’s get it in proportion. There’s no way I’m losing the best PA I’ve ever had just because she has a thing about chocolate sauce.”

Oh. My. God. My face could melt lead it’s burning so badly.

“Oops,” he said. “Too soon?”

“Please, just kill me now.”

He laughs and wraps his arms around me. “Sweetheart, we’re grownups, and we like each other. You’re gorgeous—you don’t think I wonder what you look like naked ten times a day?”

“Oh, Stratton, please, don’t. You’re just making it worse.”

“I’m saying that it’s normal when you fancy someone. It doesn’t mean anything. And it’s hardly a huge shock to me.”

I press my hands against his shirt and bury my face in it. “I thought you might be angry.”

“Jesus, why? You made my day.” He kisses my hair.

“Because I’m... m-married.”

He slides a hand beneath my chin and lifts my face so he can look into my eyes. For a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead his green and blue eyes search mine, as if he’s in an attic rummaging around in a trunk. “Are you?” he says.

A breeze washes across my legs, but I’m only half aware that the front door has opened. It’s when I hear my name called—my real name—that I realize someone’s come in.

“Maggie?”

I turn my head, and for the second time in the space of about five minutes my heart stops. I inhale sharply, feel my eyes widen, my jaw drop, and I push away from Stratton and stumble back.

It’s the first time I’ve seen Bruce for about five months, and it takes me a few seconds to recognize him. He looks different, and I realize it’s because he’s not angry, and he’s not drunk. He’s wearing a smart shirt and jeans, he’s lost weight, and his hair’s longer, which looks odd because he’s had an army buzz cut ever since I’ve known him. Then I notice the biggest difference—his right shirt sleeve is no longer pinned at the elbow. He has a prosthetic arm. It’s not flesh colored and rigid—it’s metal and has jointed fingers. It looks like something out of The Terminator.

He reaches his left hand toward me, and his face fills with relief. “Maggie!” he says again. “Thank fuck. I thought I was never going to find you.” He walks across the foyer toward me. Admiration lights his eyes. “Blonde,” he says. “Wow, that’s different.”

My heart is hammering against my ribs! “No!” I snap, backing up even further. Hot rage sears through me—I can’t believe he’s found me.

Stratton is staring at Bruce, but as Bruce comes toward me, Stratton moves in to intercede.

“Wait.” Stratton places a hand on Bruce’s chest.

Bruce knocks it to one side and steps around him, and I move back even further.

“I just want to talk,” Bruce says, glaring as Stratton once again moves to block his path.

“No!” I say again—I can’t seem to find any other word in my vocabulary.

Bruce pushes at the man before him, angry now, and I wait for him to knock Stratton down—it wouldn’t be the first time he’s decked another man who’s dared to talk to me. To my surprise, though, Stratton shoves him back, and in a second he has Bruce up against the wall, an arm across his throat, using his superior height and weight to keep the smaller man pinned there. Andy is already running over to help, but I can see that Stratton doesn’t need it.

“Andy,” Stratton says through gritted teeth. “Can you escort this gentleman off the premises, please?”

“Of course, sir.” Andy is six-five and about two-hundred-and-forty pounds, and he lifts Bruce like a doll and drags him over to the door.

“I just want to talk,” Bruce yells, twisting and turning to try to escape. Andy throws him out, though, and Bruce bangs on the glass before walking off, his face furious.

I can’t process what’s just happened. It’s all too much. I’m shaking like a kicked puppy, and in seconds my legs give way and I slide down the wall to the floor.

Chapter Seven

Stratton

“Meg! Oh Jesus.” My heart’s going like a train, and I stride over to her and sink to my haunches. “Hey, it’s okay. He’s gone.”

It only takes me seconds to work everything out. From the fact that he called her Maggie to the way she reacted to him—that was her ex and therefore presumably Oscar’s dad. She must have run away from him with Oscar, and come here to Auckland to start over again. Holy shit. I thought she might have invented a husband for some reason, maybe to make herself seem like a respectable married woman to get the job. I didn’t even consider that it could be anything like this.

“He’s gone,” I say again. She’s not crying, but she’s trembling. No doubt it has something to do with the trauma of sending the email, too. Jesus. What a day she’s had.

She covers her face with her hands. I glance over at Andy, whose expression mirrors what I’m feeling—pity and anger and helplessness all rolled into one. When Natalie cried, she always wanted me to make a fuss of her, but Meg’s posture is defensive, and anyway, she’s not my girlfriend.

She can’t stay here, though, or she’ll attract the attention of the office staff who’ll be leaving now it’s five thirty.

I reach out to take her hand. “Meg,” I say firmly. “Come on. I’m going to take you home.”

She doesn’t move. She’s trembling as if it’s thirty degrees in here even though it’s so warm in the foyer that my shirt’s damp under my arms.

“What if he’s found out where I live?” Her voice is little more than a whisper. Then she looks up at me, alarmed. “Oscar!”

I know that her son stays with her friend until five thirty, and then he walks to their apartment.

“Right.” I push up and hold out my hand. “Come on, we’ll pick Oscar up and then you’re coming over to my place.” My keys and wallet are in my pocket—I can do without my jacket.

She looks up at me, wary, and I frown. “He won’t know where I live, I’m sure. Once you’re there, you can decide what you want to do. But let’s go get Oscar.”

To my relief, she nods and slides her hand into mine. I pull her to her feet, but keep hold of her hand as I lead her across the foyer toward the door to the underground car park. She doesn’t try to pull free, just follows me mutely. I nod at Andy as I go—he’ll file a report for the evening shift and will let me know if he sees the man again.

We go through the door and down the steps, then enter the cool atmosphere of the car park. Three or four girls are talking by a car and they glance over at us as we walk past, but I ignore them and usher Meg toward my Lexus, pressing the button on the key at the same time. I lead her to the passenger side and open the door, and I’m relieved when she slides in.

I walk around to the driver’s side and get in, start the car, and head out.

Meg leans her head on the rest and covers her face with her hands. “I feel as if someone’s sitting on my chest.”

“Just breathe.” I’m not surprised she’s having a panic attack after everything that’s happened in the last thirty minutes. “In and out. Nice and calm.” I negotiate the busy traffic with one eye on her. “You’re going to be all right. He’s gone.”

She lowers her hands and blows out a long breath. I pull up at some traffic lights, put the car in neutral, and glance over at her.

For the first time since she sent the email, she meets my gaze. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

She has the biggest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen on a woman, and even like this—distraught, trembling, and filled with panic—she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. More beautiful than Natalie, I think with some surprise, because Meg’s beauty is natural and shines from within her, whereas Natalie’s is strictly external.

“Sorry for what?” I ask.

“Where do I start?” For the first time, a glimmer of a smile curves her lips.

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything.” I’m captivated by those blue eyes. I think about her email, about that moment when I first read it and felt a rush of pleasure and excitement at the thought that she desires me. Hot on its heels was shock at the fact that the whole building would be reading the email, and at that moment I’d known that she would want to leave. As I’d run down the stairs, it had crossed my mind that she was a married woman, but now it comes to me that she is probably free. Maybe the same thought is going through her mind, because our eyes lock, and for a brief moment I forget about everything except the fact that she wants me, and I want her.

Behind me, somebody honks their horn, and I hurriedly put the car into first gear and pull away.

“I do,” she says, and I realize she’s replying to my statement, You don’t have to be sorry for anything. “I’m so sorry for sending that email and causing you any embarrassment.”

I snort. “You’ve raised my street cred by a billion percent.”

She doesn’t smile. “Thank you for being gracious about it, but it was such a stupid thing to do. Everyone’s going to read it, including Teddi and Rich...” She looks out of the window, her blush returning. At least she has some color now.

“Fuck everyone else,” I say vehemently. “Get it in perspective, Meg. Nobody’s died. It was just an email. What happened in the foyer—that’s important, that’s something that needs sorting out. The email was nothing. It was the equivalent of a wolf whistle, that’s all.”

“You could fire me for sexual harassment,” she says.

I glance at her, relieved to see a flicker of humor in her eyes. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen. It put a smile on my face and made my day.”

“I’ll never live it down,” she murmurs, scratching at a mark on her skirt.

“It seems to me you have more than that to worry about at the moment.”

She looks back out of the window. “Yeah.”

I’m turning onto her road so we don’t say anything more. I pull up outside her apartment, turn off the engine, and give her the keys. “I’ll get Oscar. You stay here and lock the door when I get out.” I don’t want to risk that the guy’s lurking around here. If he’s found out where she works, I’m sure he can track down where she lives.

Without waiting for an answer, I get out and shut the door. I walk a few yards away, then turn and put my hands on my hips. The indicators flash, telling me she’s locked it.

I run across the road and press the button for her apartment. It’s only seconds before Oscar’s voice comes through, slightly puzzled. “Hello?”

“Oscar? It’s Stratton.”

“Oh, hi Stratton. Mum’s not home yet.”

“Yeah, she’s with me. Can you buzz me in?”

“Um, sure.” He does so, and I go in and take the stairs two at a time up to their floor.

When I get there, the door’s open, and Oscar leaning against the doorjamb. He’s changed out of his school uniform, and he’s in jeans and a Hella T-shirt.

“What’s up?” he asks, backing into the apartment. I follow him in and shut the door behind me.

“Your mum’s in the car.” Suddenly I’m not sure how to describe what’s happened. Meg hasn’t explained yet who the guy was, so I’m taking a jump in making any assumptions. But I’ve got to say something, and I know that Meg’s very open with her son.

“Look,” I say, as gently as I can. “I’m not sure of the whole story, but a guy turned up at the offices—I’m assuming it was your dad.”

Oscar’s eyes widen and real fear appears on his face. “How did he find us?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not sure if he’s discovered where you live, so I thought I’d pick you up and take you both to my place for a while. When you’re there your mum can decide whether you want to stay or go to a hotel or to a friend, but for now I just want to get you out, okay?”

Oscar nods. He doesn’t argue at all, and that—and the look on his face—tell me more about his relationship with his dad than any words could have.

“Get a bag,” I instruct, “and pack a few changes of clothes, and whatever you need for tonight.”

“Okay.” He runs off.

I hesitate, then follow him through the small apartment to his room. “I guess I should pack your mum some clothes?” I suggest.

He’s busy stuffing things into a rucksack, but he leads me out and into the bedroom next door. It’s small and neat—very Meg. A white duvet features red tulips growing up toward the pillows. On the dressing table is a scatter of girly items—makeup, handcream, a hairbrush, a jewelry stand with necklaces and rings. To confirm that she’s single, there’s no sign of a male presence—no photos of her husband, no guy’s aftershave or socks on the floor. Suddenly I feel as if I’m prying. This is like peering through her curtains and seeing her without her clothes, and I realize just what a private person she is, and how little I know about her.

Oscar walks over to the wardrobe, pulls out a smallish blue overnight bag, and dumps it on the bed. “Here you go.” He leaves the room to continue with his own packing.

I look around, reluctant to paw through her things, but I remind myself of the unpleasant guy in the foyer and the reason why I’m doing this. I pull open some drawers, note there are no men’s clothes in there, take out a pair of jeans, a pair of track pants, and a couple of T-shirts, grab the pajamas folded on the pillow, and place them in the bag. I add a pair of Converses and socks, realizing as I do so that I’ve never seen her in casual clothing. If we have met out of work, it’s been at a function where she’s looked as smart as she does at the office.

I open the top drawer and pause. I don’t want her to be angry with me for going through her stuff. But I’m doing this as a friend—as her boss, someone who cares for her. My gaze lingers briefly on scraps of lace and silk before I pick up some cotton underwear and a bra and toss them quickly in the bag.

I find a smaller bag in the wardrobe and I put a few of the bottles from the dressing table in there with her hairbrush. There’s a tiny case next to it, half unzipped, and I realize it’s her makeup bag. It makes me smile—Natalie wouldn’t have been able to get a tenth of her makeup in there. I put it in the overnight bag.

I go into the bathroom and pack her toothbrush. I open the bathroom cabinet. There are more bottles, tampons, some Panadol and other over-the-counter tablets, and a box whose label suggests it contains contraceptive pills. I sweep everything into the small bag, go back into the bedroom, and stuff it in the overnight bag.

I exit to the living room. Oscar’s just packing a sketchpad and some pencils. I didn’t know he was artistic.

“Anything you think your mum might need?” I ask.

He gestures at an iPad lying on the side of an armchair. “She’ll be lost without that.”

I pack it. “Anything else?”

He zips up his bag and glances around, then picks up a well-worn notebook that bears many hours of doodling. “Her poetry book.” He slips that into the bag.

“She writes poetry?”

“Yeah. She’s won loads of competitions. She’s really good.” He speaks with pride, which warms me through.

“Oscar...”

He pauses in the process of hitching his backpack onto his shoulder and walking to the door. “Yeah?”

“I know your mum doesn’t want to talk about it, but it’s obvious that you guys have been through some stuff. I’m sorry about that.”

He scuffs the carpet with his toe. “Mum didn’t want me to tell you. She was worried how you’d react. She really loves her job.”

“I don’t care what’s happened in the past,” I tell him. “She’s a terrific PA, and whatever’s happened in her personal life wouldn’t change that. I’m hoping she’ll talk to me later and confide in me, but if she doesn’t, I just want you to know that if you ever want to talk about anything, you can always talk to me. I hope you know that I’ll always be there for the two of you.”

He swallows, still looking at his feet. I can remember being that age. All hormones and angst, desperate to be a man, but secretly wanting to hang on to being a boy too. I feel a sweep of pity for him.

He looks up at me then, and I’m surprised how cold his eyes are. “He hit her,” he says. “He put her in hospital. If I see him again, I’ll fucking kill him.” He breathes heavily, fighting with his emotion.

I stare at him in shock. How any man can use his superior strength against someone weaker than him baffles me, but that a man could turn on kind, gentle Meg...

Jesus. It’s much, much worse than I thought.

How can I comfort this young lad, who should be thinking about nothing else but video games and rugby and what homework he has to do? How can I offer him platitudes that we will both know are full of shit after what he’s obviously been through?

Lost for words, I walk forward and put my arms around him.

Oscar stiffens, then relaxes and rests his forehead on my shoulder. We stand there for a moment, man and boy, sharing in that unspoken resentment and hatred for those members of our sex who let us down.

I tighten my arms briefly before I release him, and turn to pick up the bag. “Come on,” I say roughly. “You can check out my gaming room.”

“Do you have an X-box?” he asks as we leave.

“And a Playstation 4. And practically every game ever made for them both.”

“Cool.” His eyes light up, and I’m pleased to see the fear and hatred have faded from them.

But the memory stays with me, lighting a fire deep inside that I know is going to be there for a long, long time.

Chapter Eight

Meg

It’s not long before the door to my apartment opens, and out walks Oscar, with Stratton only a few feet behind. Oscar scans the road, sees the Lexus, and crosses over. He’s carrying his backpack. Stratton has my bag. What’s he got in there? Has he been through my stuff?

Oscar approaches the car, and I expect him to get straight into the back, but he shocks me by opening my door. He bends down, meets my eyes, then leans in and puts his arms around me.

“Are you okay?” He moves back. His voice is fierce.

I nod, feeling a surge of emotion at his protectiveness. “I’m fine.”

“He didn’t touch you?”

I glance at Stratton, who’s thrown the bag in the back and slid into his seat. He doesn’t look at me, just puts the key in the ignition and starts up the car. He registers no surprise at Oscar’s question.

“No.” I ruffle Oscar’s brown hair, the color of mine beneath the bleach. “Stratton rescued me.”

My boy and my boss exchange a glance, and then Oscar nods and moves back. He shuts my door and climbs in behind me. As soon as he’s got his seat belt on, Stratton pulls away.

None of us says anything.

What has Stratton said to Oscar? He’s obviously mentioned Bruce’s appearance at the office. What did Oscar say in return? I wonder if he explained who it was to Stratton, and why I reacted the way I did. I’d told Oscar not to tell him, but neither of us had foreseen this.

Stratton is quiet, with none of his usual light-hearted banter, and I look out at the shops and restaurants flashing past. Misery weighs heavy on me. I can’t believe Bruce has found us. How? My parents would never have told him, and nobody else in Christchurch knows. I’ve changed my name and my hair color. How has he tracked me down?

I remember how he touched my hair and said Blonde. I like it. That would have told Stratton that I haven’t always been this color. Jesus, I’ve been such trouble for him today. Maybe his statement that he was taking me to his place is a ploy to get me to the airport and put me on a plane to Timbuktu. I can’t say I’d blame him if he did.

Dully, I realize I’m going to have to start again. Move, get a job, get an apartment, make new friends. I’m going to have to leave my life behind. Reinvent myself one more time, and destroy Meg as well as Maggie. Who will I be next time? Redheaded Madge? Black-haired Marge?

Resentment washes over me. I don’t want to start again. But what option do I have?

Stratton’s mobile rings, making me jump. He answers it, and Rich’s voice comes out of the speakers.

“Strat? Where are you?”

“In the car, and you’re on speakerphone.”

“Is Meg with you?”

I wonder whether he’s calling about the email, or if he found out what happened in the foyer. Probably the latter. Security officers are supposed to type up a report as soon as a situation is resolved, and it would have pinged up on his and Teddi’s computers.

“Yeah,” Stratton said.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. I’m taking her and Oscar to my place. Can I call you later?”

“Sure. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Will do.” He hangs up.

Humiliation and embarrassment wash over me. I’ve made such a fool of myself today. I’ve worked hard to keep my personal and professional lives separate, and the last thing I wanted was to be a burden on the people I work with. Bruce arriving was out of my hands, but that email... I curl up inside again like a poked spider as I think about what I said. He now knows I think about covering him in melted chocolate and licking it off. Oh Jesus. How am I ever going to look him in the eye again?

Stratton heads east through Parnell. We don’t talk as he drives. Eventually, he indicates and turns onto his road, then pulls onto the long drive leading to his house, which overlooks Hobson Bay. He opens the double garage with his remote and parks the Lexus next to the BMW Z4 convertible he uses at weekends. We get out, and I glance around nervously. How much has Bruce found out about me? Does he know who Stratton is, where he lives? I’m relieved when Stratton closes the garage door, shutting out the world.

He opens the boot, and I lift out my bag. “Did you pack it?” I ask.

He glances down at it. “I thought you might need a change of clothes. I just grabbed what was on top. I hope that was okay.”

My face flushes again as I think of him sliding his hand through my underwear. He’s been in my bedroom. If he hadn’t guessed already, he’d have seen there was no grown man living with me. He must have gathered by now that I’ve been lying to him the whole time.

I look down at my left hand. The wedding ring glints in the overhead light. It was my grandmother’s, and I treasure it, but the way I’ve been using it sickens me. All of a sudden, furious and tearful, I want to remove it. I tug it hard—it’s quite tight—but manage to slide it off my finger. I glare at it, wanting to throw it away from me as hard as I can, but it will just ping around the garage like a bullet.

Stratton holds out his hand, palm up. I stare at it, then lift my gaze to his. He’s not smiling, but his expression is gentle. Swallowing hard, I reach out and place the ring on his palm. He curls his fingers around it and tucks it in the pocket of his trousers. I flex my fingers, my hand feeling light and odd without the ring. Is it my imagination, or have his lips curved up a tiny bit?

He opens the door and steps back to let us precede him.

We go along the corridor and turn into the living room. It’s a gorgeous house. It’s also very Stratton. The furnishings are rich and dark, oak and mahogany, reds and deep blues and purples. There are more books here—shelves and shelves of them, and another huge desk in the corner, covered with papers and magazines. A large TV is mounted on one wall, and he once told me he lies on the dark-red leather sofa and watches movies late at night here. But I know that if he wants to watch the All Blacks or other sport, or one of the James Bond/Jason Bourne-type movies that he loves, he goes to his playroom.

When he first told me he had a playroom, my eyes nearly fell out of my head as I pictured whips and floggers and scary masks. He’d chuckled at the look on my face. “No,” he’d said, “nothing like that.” He’d opened the door and shown me the gigantic 105-inch curved TV screen on the wall that I know retails for $150,000 because I looked it up, the range of top-notch consoles beneath it, the walls full of video games and DVDs including a whole wall of boxed sets, the row of La-Z-Boys with drinks holders and speakers in the headrests, and I just laughed. Oscar’s going to be in seventh heaven when he sees that.

To my surprise, he has a Christmas tree in the corner. He sees me look at it, and goes over and switches on the lights. It’s very neatly decorated, and I wonder whether he did it, or if someone did it for him.

Stratton drops my bag onto the sofa. I sink onto it, suddenly exhausted. I need to think about what I’m going to do, but I’m aware I’m shaking, and I can’t get my brain to form a coherent thought.

“Come on,” he says, “I’ll show you to the spare room. Maybe you’d like to take a shower, or have a rest, whatever. I’ll do dinner for seven. Oscar can explore the playroom.”

I let him lead us to the guest rooms. Mine is simply furnished with a pale blue duvet and curtains. There’s a soft white bathrobe in the otherwise empty built-in wardrobe. Through the open door to the bathroom, I can see a range of small bottles of shampoo and the like. I feel as if I’m in a hotel. Does he organize these rooms, or does someone else come in and do all this? I can’t imagine him with a vacuum cleaner and duster, so I’m sure he must have staff to keep it clean.

“All right?” he says softly. His face is full of pity, and I can’t bear it. I press my fingers to my lips as emotion washes over me.

He tosses my bag on the bed, walks up, and puts his arms around me. “Shhh, it’s all right.”

I fold my arms between us as I struggle to regain control. He’s so tall—I’m wearing heels and yet my forehead only bumps against his chin.

“It’s all right,” he says again. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He rubs my back. His arms are warm, and his shirt smells of his aftershave and the crisp smell of washed cotton. It’s only the second time I’ve touched him properly other than an accidental brush, and I like being this close to him. I can’t remember Bruce ever holding me like this—tenderly, and with affection. It’s not sexual, but it’s wonderful, and as I relax against Stratton, his arms tighten around me.

I want to stay there forever. I wish I could have met him years ago, before Bruce, before all the trouble started.

But then I wouldn’t have Oscar. Whatever’s happened, I can’t wish away that part of my life.

I know my son is standing there watching us, so I pull back to wipe my face, and Stratton drops his arms. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m okay, really. Just a bit overwhelmed. You’re right—I’ll have a shower and a rest.”

“Okay.” He moves back. “Is pasta all right for dinner? Just something light?”

“That would be lovely.” I’m surprised he cooks. I thought he ate takeout all the time. “Don’t worry,” I say to my son, because he looks upset. “It was just a shock, that’s all.”

Stratton gently guides Oscar out, and then he catches the door handle. “See you later.” His eyes meet mine briefly before he closes the door.

I sink slowly onto the bed.

Leaving Christchurch was hard. I’d had a few close friends and many acquaintances, and I had to leave all of them, as well as my parents and sister and all my nieces and nephews behind. I’d quite liked my job and even though my boss was a bit in-your-face, we’d gotten along okay, and it had been a wrench to go. And doing it the way I had—secretly, not telling anyone except my parents—had been the worst thing, because I’d known it would upset many people.

Starting again had been really hard, but somehow this is harder. I try to work out why, and then I realize. This time, I’m happy. I like Auckland. I like working at Katoa, I like the friends I’ve made—Alyssa, the other secretaries, Rich and Teddi. And Stratton. How could I leave Stratton, even after the humiliating email I sent?

I like this life. In Christchurch, I’d struggled to piece together an existence from the scraps that Bruce left behind, but here I’ve been able to be me. And I like me. I didn’t think I would, but I do. Meg’s more confident than Maggie, calmer, funnier. She’s the person I always wanted to be but somehow couldn’t in Christchurch. Maggie had been a bonsai tree, carefully constrained so she didn’t outgrow her boundaries, ugly and dull. Meg’s a lilac-colored jacaranda, spreading her branches and scattering petals wherever she wants. She’s efficient at work, wears leggings and baggy jumpers at home, eats ice cream from the tub, dyes her hair, and writes crazy poetry from the heart that people seem to enjoy. I like Meg.

And I discover that I don’t want to let her go.

Chapter Nine

Stratton

I show Oscar to another spare room in case he wants to rest or have a shower. He’s about as interested in it as I would have been at thirteen. Then I take him down to the playroom. His eyes bulge when he walks in.

“Jesus.” He stares at the big screen. “That’s enormous!”

“Size isn’t everything,” I say without thinking, but he doesn’t hear me—he’s too caught up in looking around the room. I watch him stare at the DVDs and games, and for maybe the first time in my life, I think about what it might be like to have a son of my own. Having kids has never appealed to me. I don’t find babies cute. Toddlers irritate me. Young children always seem like a pain in the arse. Everyone says it’s different when the kid’s your own, but I find it difficult to imagine.

From about the age of ten up, though, it’s different, especially with boys. I speak their language. Ask them at any given point what they’re thinking about, and it’s usually either food, gaming, sport, or sex, and I’m fluent in all of those. It would be nice to be able to share the things I like with someone. I have Rich, of course, and other mates, but the notion of being able to pass on my knowledge and wisdom—such as it is—to someone younger who looks up to me is oddly appealing.

Knowing my luck, though, I’d probably end up with a girl. I imagine being stuck with a younger version of Natalie, all makeup and boy bands and sarcasm, and shudder. No thank you.

“You want to choose something to play?” I ask Oscar. “Or watch—anything you like.”

“In a minute.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Can I have a drink first?”

“Of course. Come on.”

I take him back out to the kitchen. He hops onto a stool at the breakfast bar, and I open the fridge. “Coke Zero? Juice? Water? Whisky?”

He smiles. “Coke Zero, thanks.”

I slide a can over to him. No teenage boy wants a glass and a straw. I remember that heartfelt yearning to be treated as a grownup, and the delight I felt in a restaurant at fourteen when a waitress asked my parents what they wanted to drink and then turned to me and said, “And for you, sir?”

I also get a box of cereal bars out of the cupboard and pass those to him. The ‘it’ll ruin your dinner’ thing is a fallacy where teenage boys are concerned.

“Thanks,” he says gratefully. He takes one out and starts eating.

He shows no sign of leaving, so I turn back to the fridge and retrieve some ingredients for dinner. Chicken, I think, and bacon, and a tomato sauce with Penne pasta. “You like olives?”

He shrugs.

Meg likes them. I bring them out. He can always leave them if he doesn’t want them.

Munching on the cereal bar, Oscar drags over his bag and extracts his sketchpad. He sits at the end of the bar and continues with a drawing he must have started earlier. It’s a cyborg figure, the human limbs interwoven with mechanical parts. I recognize the symbol on its chest from Dark Robot, which makes me smile.

He doesn’t want to be alone. Touched that he’s chosen to stay with me, I begin slicing up the chicken.

As I work, I think about Meg. I’m not sure whether to ask Oscar questions. I don’t want her to be angry with him for being disloyal and talking behind her back. Equally, I’d like to talk to her later with some knowledge about their background so I don’t put my foot in it.

“Is your real name Oscar?” I ask, deciding to focus on him.

His pencil pauses for a moment, and then continues. “Yeah. But we’ve changed our surname. It used to be Walters.”

“So is Brown your mum’s maiden name?”

“No, Walters is her maiden name. Brown is my gran’s maiden name.”

I stop slicing and raise my eyebrows at him. “So... she’s not married to your dad now?” Does that mean they’re divorced?

He carefully draws the shoulder of the cyborg. “They never got married.”

I study him for a moment, then continue slicing. I wonder why they never married. The time has long gone—in New Zealand anyway—where it’s frowned upon to have children out of wedlock, but I guess I’m an old fashioned kind of guy. If I were to get a girl pregnant, and especially if it wasn’t an accident and we lived together, I would definitely propose. Especially to a girl as lovely as Meg. Why would Oscar’s dad not have asked her to marry him?

I scoop the sliced chicken into a dish and start on the bacon. “It must have been hard, starting at a new school.”

“Yeah. It’s all right, though. It has its own swimming pool. And two music rooms.”

“Do you play an instrument?”

“Yeah, the drums. I had a kit in Christchurch, but I had to leave it there.” He surveys his drawing, then starts adding some detail to the cyborg’s metal face.

“What kind of bands do you listen to?” I ask him.

We talk about music for a while. I recognize most of the bands he knows, and suggest a few more for him. He’s impressed that I went to see the Foo Fighters. “They caused a small earthquake, they were so loud,” I tell him.

He grins and finishes off his cereal bar.

“What sort of music does your mum like?” I don’t know anything about Meg’s likes and dislikes. I feel ashamed that I haven’t gotten to know her better over the last four months. I’ve been wrapped up in my own life, and even though we spend a lot of time talking at work, it’s usually about business.

He reels off a few names, no boy bands, I’m relieved to hear, mostly lazy blues or folksy-jazz artists like Jason Mraz, Jack Johnson, and Ben Harper.

“Nice,” I say, making a mental note to find some on my phone to play her later.

He starts coloring the cyborg in. “Dad hated her music. She only ever listened to it when he wasn’t around.”

I bite my tongue to hold back what I really want to say, put the bacon into the dish with the chicken, then start dicing an onion. “What’s your dad’s name?”

“Bruce. Henderson.”

Bruce Henderson. I’ll remember that name.

I put the onion in another bowl and started on some mushrooms. “So why do you think he turned up today?” If he didn’t marry her, I wonder why he feels he has a claim on her. Of course, he’s Oscar’s father, but he came to see Meg—he didn’t turn up outside Oscar’s school and try to whisk him away.

“He told her he’d never let her go. He says he loves her.” Oscar pauses, his fingers tightening on the pencil for a moment before he carries on.

“Does she have a protection order against him?”

“No.” He bends closer to the paper as he colors. “Did you see his arm?”

“Yes.” The metal fingers had closed on my wrist and for a moment I’d wondered whether he had superhuman strength and would be able to snap it in two.

“That’s why he left the army,” Oscar explains. Then, as if the dam has burst, the words spill out from him. “He used to repair the trucks and tanks. One day, someone didn’t leave the handbrake on a truck and it rolled across his wrist. He was embarrassed that he hadn’t lost his arm in a bomb blast or something. He loved being a soldier, and he hated it when he came home. He kept saying he was half a man. He wouldn’t get a job—he thought he was useless and nobody would want him. All he did was watch TV and drink vodka. He shouted a lot and threw stuff, and he made Mum cry.” Oscar’s lips thin, and he clenches his jaw.

I retrieve a packet of dry pasta from the cupboard and measure some out, giving him time to compose himself. “How long did this go on for?”

He rubs his nose. “I dunno. A year maybe? Mum tried really hard to help, but he was horrible to her. She tried to get him to see a therapist, but he said real men don’t need counselling. He was angry all the time. Then, after he’d yelled and smashed stuff up, he’d cry and tell her he was sorry. I hated it when he did that. I just used to walk out.”

He seems relieved to be talking about it. “So it gradually escalated?” He gives me a blank look. “Got worse,” I clarify.

“Yeah. She was always very calm. She knew how to handle him most of the time. There was no point in shouting back, or telling him to stop when he had one of his rages. She’d sit him in front of the TV and get him to watch one of his favorite shows. She’d cook him the food he wanted and try to massage his shoulders, because his arm always hurt. But sometimes it seemed to make him worse. He wanted her to yell back, I think. She told me she made him feel in... um...”

“Inadequate?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why.”

“She’s very competent, your mother.” I pour boiling water over the pasta and place it on the hob. “She would have learned to cope on her own while he was away. Maybe he felt she didn’t need him anymore.”

“Yeah, I guess. He started accusing her of seeing other guys. She didn’t of course, she would never have done that.”

“And that made him angry,” I say.

“Yeah. One day he saw her talking to the husband of one of Mum’s old friends in the garden. He’d been drinking all day. He hit the guy and dragged her inside. Yelling, accusing. Mum told me to go to my grandparents’ place, but I didn’t want to leave her. I begged her to come with me but she said they had to get things sorted. They argued, and she lost her temper. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen her shout. She... she yelled at him, said he was letting himself down, and letting me down. And then...” He falls silent. His face is white.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I whisper.

But Oscar shakes his head, obviously wanting to talk. “He’s never hit her before, so she wasn’t expecting it. It wasn’t a punch—it was more like he pushed her, but she stumbled and fell onto the coffee table. She cried out, and I knew she was hurt.” His lip trembles, but he lifts his chin, determined not to cry. “Dad just stared at her. I helped her up. She got her handbag, held my hand, and led me to the door. Dad ran after us then, crying and begging her not to go. He kept saying he was sorry. But she just got in the car with me, locked the doors, and drove away.”

“Where did you go?” I lean on the breakfast bar, the dinner forgotten.

“To Nan and Grandad’s. Dad followed us in his car, but Grandad refused to let him in and threatened to ring the police, and eventually he went away. Grandad took her to hospital then. She’d broken a rib, and she had bruises for weeks.” He takes a deep shaky breath.

I stare at the work surface for a long moment.

“Don’t say anything to her.” Oscar’s voice is little more than a whisper. “She doesn’t want you to know.”

“I won’t.” I’m glad he’s told me, glad to have the knowledge so I can help her, but I hate what she’s been through. What they’ve both been through.

“What happened then?” I ask. “Did you leave straight away?”

“No. We lived with Nan and Grandad for a few months. But Dad kept coming around. He wanted us to move back with him. Mum tried to tell him it was over, but he refused to accept it. She was really unhappy. She didn’t go out anymore—she didn’t even like going to the supermarket in case she saw him. Her friends stopped calling, as if they didn’t want to know her after what had happened.” His face is puzzled, hurt. “I think some people blamed her. I remember one of her friends saying that she didn’t understand what he was going through, and that she should be more patient with him.”

I shake my head and give a humorless laugh. “Jesus.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t long afterward that she started talking about leaving. At first I didn’t want to go—I liked my school, and was... you know...” He’s embarrassed to admit it. “Scared about leaving. But I wanted her to be happy. And I’m glad we did now. She likes it here. She’s a different person.”

“Blonde,” I say, and smile.

He grins. “She says that now if she does something ditzy she can use the excuse that she’s blonde.”

I laugh. “I can’t imagine her dark.”

“She’s better blonde. It’s as if the color makes her happy. She smiles all the time now, although I think that’s because she’s working with you.” He stops suddenly, obviously afraid he’s said too much.

My lips curve up. “When you see her, ask her about the email she sent today.”

“Why? What did it say?”

“I’d better let her tell you.” I push off the bar and turn to the hob. The pasta’s bubbling merrily, so I heat some oil in the wok and throw in the onion.

Oscar starts talking about World of Warcraft, and I tell him what Rich said about the Demon Hunter and ask him his opinion, and soon we’re talking about games like two nerdy guys at the local sci-fi convention.

“Mum says the Holy Paladin is good fun,” Oscar says.

I stare at him. “Are you telling me your Mum plays WOW?”

“Yeah. She has three top level toons. She’s a mean healer. We play together for an hour every evening. She plays Dark Robot too, although I always beat her at that.”

All these months working together and I didn’t know that Meg’s a gamer. No wonder we get on so well. I should have guessed. “I wonder why she didn’t tell me at her interview.”

“She doesn’t tell anyone in case they think she’s weird. None of her friends has ever played. She calls it her escape hatch. It’s how she relaxes. She plays when I go to bed sometimes, although she’d never admit it.”

Shaking my head, I add the meat to the veggies and then the sauce, and before long the pasta is ready. I toss it all together, put it in an oven dish, add some grated cheese to the top, and place it in the oven. It’ll keep there on low until Meg’s ready to eat.

“Wanna play some Dark Robot?” I ask.

His eyes light up. “You’ll play with me?”

“Mano a mano,” I say. “Or together against the world—your choice.”

“Together,” he says immediately.

I smile. “Come on then.” We head off to the playroom, and soon we’re building robots and blasting aliens like there’s no tomorrow.

Inside, though, a fierce, hot fire burns. I wish I’d hit her ex now. I wish I’d smashed his face in with a cricket bat and then jumped up and down on his dying corpse.

As I can’t do that, I shoot another few aliens. It’s not quite the same, but at least it won’t put me behind bars.

Chapter Ten

Meg

I awake with a jump, afraid I’ve been asleep for hours, but it’s still light and the clock only says 6:47 p.m., to my relief. I rise and go into the en suite bathroom, taking my bag with me. It’s like a hotel room, pleasant but impersonal, and I can’t imagine that Stratton’s ever spent any time in here.

I look through my bag and note the things he’s put in there. He’s thoughtfully included my makeup bag and a couple of bits from my bathroom. I note my contraceptive pills and blush. I pull out the pair of track pants and a T-shirt. Half of me had expected him to pack some of the sexy lingerie I own, but he’s chosen plain cotton.

Deciding not to think about him going through my underwear, I take a brief shower, cleansing my face free of any smudged mascara. I dress and pull my hair back into a ponytail. I suppose I should reapply my makeup, but I don’t have the energy, and so I leave the room and pad up the corridor in my socks. It might be the height of summer but my feet are always cold.

The living room and kitchen are empty, although there’s a lovely smell wafting around. I open the oven to see a pasta dish warming through. Leaving the living room, I walk back through, passing the dining room with its circular table and the huge windows overlooking the large garden, and head through to where I know they’ll be.

Sure enough, they’re in the playroom, sitting next to each other, both of them having slid halfway down the seat the way guys do, fingers flicking over their controllers, their eyes fixed to the screen. They’re laughing, though, and I lean against the doorjamb and listen to them exclaim as they take down the enemy and dodge around the space station. I watch as Stratton lets Oscar’s character precede him into the enemy’s camp, giving him the chance to play the hero. “Flank left,” he says, crouching behind a crate, and the two of them attack a guard in a pincer movement, bringing him down without a sound. Stratton lifts a hand, and Oscar high fives him. It’s quite adorable, really.

Stratton glances at the door, and his eyebrows rise. Pleasure sweeps across his features, which gives me a glow inside. He pauses the game and rises. Oscar complains, then sees me and gets up too.

“Hey.” Stratton’s staring at me, I’m guessing because it’s the first time he’s seen me in casual clothes and without my hair and makeup done. I tuck a stray strand behind my ear self-consciously, wondering if he’s thinking Jesus Christ!

He’s changed too, though, into a similar outfit, an All Blacks top and black track pants. I’ve never seen him like this either. He looks completely different, younger, oddly, and the tight rugby top clings to a muscular chest and bulging biceps I hadn’t realized lay beneath his cotton shirts. For the first time since I’ve met him, he has a hint of stubble on his jaw. Wow. I like casual Stratton.

“I’m sorry, I dozed off,” I tell them.

“That’s okay, I thought you might.” Stratton saves their game and flicks off the screen. “Ready for dinner?”

I nod, and he gestures for me to precede him back through to the kitchen.

Oscar slides his arm around me as we walk, and I kiss his hair. “Having a good time?” I ask.

He nods. “That’s the coolest room ever.”

“It is,” I agree as we walk into the kitchen. “Maybe later I’ll have to take the two of you on in a match.”

Stratton gives me a wry look. “Yes, I heard that you play WOW and Dark Robot.”

“I do. And I have to say that gun you were using isn’t half as good as the plasma rifle with the telescopic sight.”

His lips curve up as he gets out some pasta dishes and lays them on the breakfast bar. “I should have guessed you played. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Have a successful relationship, I think, but I just shrug and smile.

He dishes up the pasta, which looks gorgeous, then gestures at a bottle of red wine. I nod thankfully, desperate for some alcohol to numb my panic and embarrassment. He pours us both a glass of wine and Oscar a glass of orange juice, and we sit at the breakfast bar, Oscar and I along the side, Stratton sitting on the end.

“We can use the dining table if you like,” he says. “There are great views across the garden.”

“I’m good here,” I say, and Oscar nods, so we stay.

We start eating, and I’m conscious of a growing silence. Oscar looks guilty, and I suspect the two of them have been talking. No doubt Oscar has given him the background to our situation. I can’t blame him, and it’s nice that he’s able to talk to Stratton. My parents are always there if he needs to talk, but he never does, and although I took him to a therapist, I don’t think she helped him much. This is what he needs—a decent guy to talk to. And there are few guys more decent than Stratton.

“What email did you send today?” Oscar asks.

Stratton coughs into his wine. I pause with a forkful of pasta halfway to my mouth. “What?”

Oscar looks at the man sitting next to him, who’s trying to hide a smile, unsuccessfully. “He said you sent an email today, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

I send them both an exasperated look, eat the pasta, and stab my fork into some chicken. “I meant to email Alyssa, but I mistakenly selected All Staff.”

“What did it say?”

My eyes meet Stratton’s. Highly amused, he sips his wine and raises his eyebrows.

“It was personal,” I reply, my cheeks growing warm.

“So personal the whole office block knows,” Oscar says. “Mum...”

“I mentioned that I find Stratton attractive and that I wanted to...” My face is burning. “Do things,” I finish lamely.

“Oh.” Oscar looks at the object of my affection. Stratton widens his eyes and gives him a shrug that says ‘What are you gonna do?’ and Oscar laughs.

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, “feel free to mock me.”

“At least you can blame it on being blonde,” Stratton says.

I meet his gaze again, remembering that Bruce commented on my hair color, so Stratton must be aware that I dye it. “Blondes have more fun,” I say. “Allegedly.”

His smile is gentle. Again, I wonder what Oscar’s told him.

He picks up some olives on his fork and then pauses. “Have you thought about what you want to do tonight? Are you happy staying here?”

I push my plate away. It’s lovely, but I’m not hungry, and I’ve had enough. I sip my wine, which is expensive and rich, warm and smooth. “I’m not sure.”

“Would you rather go? I’ll take you anywhere you want, or I can call you a cab?”

I wipe up a drip of wine from the bar with my finger. “Would you rather we go? I don’t want to... get in the way.”

“It’s a huge house, Meg, and there’s only me here. You won’t get in the way. Not only do you work for me, but I consider you my friend, and I’d rather you stay. But it’s up to you, of course.”

“We’ll stay, then.” I smile at Oscar, who gives me a thumbs up.

“Cool.” Stratton looks relieved. He pushes his own empty plate away. “Do you want me to call anyone else for you? Do you want me to ring the police?”

“No. He hasn’t really done anything wrong.”

Stratton’s eyelids lower to half-mast as if he disagrees with that, but he doesn’t say so.

“I just need a bit of time,” I say. “To decide what I’m going to do.”

Oscar swallows his food and stares at me. “We’re not leaving, are we?” He looks panicky. He was so wonderful when we left Christchurch. He’s been by my side the whole time, and although it must have been difficult starting a new school at his age, he’s worked hard to settle in. Even if I wanted to leave, I couldn’t have said so after looking at his face.

My gaze slides to Stratton’s. He’s not smiling. Suddenly, I know that Oscar’s told him everything. Back in Christchurch, I had my parents and my sister, but I had no male friends because Bruce wouldn’t let me. The thought that I have Stratton here supporting me gives me the strength to reply.

“No,” I say softly. “We’re not running away this time.”

Stratton’s mismatched eyes soften, and he gives a short nod, as if to say Good. Oscar blows out a long breath, then finishes off his pasta.

“I thought you might like to watch a movie,” Stratton says. “The new Bourne’s on Netflix if you fancy it.”

“Yeah!” Oscar’s eyes light up. “In the playroom?”

“Of course.” He gets up and clears away the dishes, rinsing them before placing them in the dishwasher. Then he opens the tall freezer, pulls out a drawer, and beckons Oscar toward him. “What do you fancy?”

Seeing the look on Oscar’s face, I have to rise and walk over to look in there with him. It’s full of small tubs of ice cream, all different flavors.

“Treats to Tempt You?” I read the name on the lid.

“A chocolate and coffee shop in the Northland,” Stratton says. “It also does the best ice cream in New Zealand. I order a batch every few weeks.” He raises an eyebrow as I grin. “What? I like ice cream.”

I choose one called Christmas Pudding. Oscar has Chocolate Fudge Brownie, and Stratton picks Macadamia Crunch. We collect spoons, and another glass of wine, then head off to the playroom.

Stratton’s told me before how he loves gaming and movies because he can escape. I’ve been a gamer for years, but for the first time tonight I really understand what he means as I lose myself in the movie. I curl up in the La-Z-Boy, eat my ice cream, and sip my wine, letting the action flow over me and not thinking about anything but the thrill of the chase and the exciting storyline.

Oscar sits between us, and he and Stratton chat occasionally, Oscar asking questions about the plot, and Stratton pointing out interesting facts about the hi-tech equipment. For the first time, it occurs to me that a friendship with Stratton will be a good thing for Oscar. I wouldn’t expect the guys at Katoa to give Oscar a job just because he’s my son, but it’s possible that in the future, after he’s gone to uni and got his qualifications, they might be open to giving him an internship.

When the movie finishes, it’s almost nine-thirty, and Oscar’s yawning. We take our glasses and rubbish back to the kitchen, and he spends another thirty minutes or so talking to Stratton about gaming before I finally prod him toward his room. I walk down there with him. It’s been a while since I’ve put him to bed, but I feel in need of a cuddle, and he’s happy to reciprocate.

“Thank you for being there,” I whisper as I hug him.

“Are you okay?” He looks at me earnestly.

“I’m fine.” I cup his face and kiss his forehead.

He clears his throat. “Are you going to talk to Stratton now?”

“Probably.” A tingle runs down my spine at the thought of being alone with him.

“I... um... had a chat to him earlier, and... um...”

“It’s all right.” I kiss him again. “I know you’ve told him.”

“I couldn’t help it,” he says, somewhat desperately. “It just came out.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m sure he guessed most of it after what happened today anyway.”

He rubs his nose. “Did you really send that email to everyone?”

“Yep. The whole office block.”

“Saying that you fancied Stratton?”

“Yep.”

“Jeez.”

“Yeah.”

“What did he say?”

“You know Stratton. He was very polite about it while secretly feeling quite smug and amused.”

Oscar laughs. “He likes you.”

I turn down his bed. “You think so?”

“Mmm. Hey, Mum?”

I straighten. “Yes?”

“You know that I don’t mind if you... you know... hook up with someone. A guy. Right?”

I stare at him, startled. “Jeez.”

“I’m just saying. I like Stratton. He’s nice. I like the way he hugged you.”

My face warms. “Me too. But I don’t know if he thinks about me... like that.”

“I think he does. He’s always looking at your legs when you’re not looking. Or your butt.”

“Oh.” I can’t believe I’m talking to my son about this. “Well anyway, maybe you should go to bed.”

“Yeah.” He scrambles beneath the covers. “Night.”

“Night, sweetheart.” I turn off the big light. I know he’ll be on his phone flicking through gaming websites for the next half an hour or so before he crashes out. With a smile, I think that Stratton probably does the same before he goes to sleep.

I close his door and walk back to the kitchen.

I hear music playing, and I’m surprised when I recognize the song as John Mayer’s Gravity, one of my favorites.

“Oscar,” I say to Stratton, who’s in the process of checking his emails on a laptop while a machine prepares steaming hot coffee in the corner.

He grins and closes the laptop. “Yeah.”

“Did he tell you everything about me while I was asleep?”

“All your secrets.” He smiles.

I wonder if that’s true, and how far Oscar went with his confessions. Stratton’s not always an easy man to read. Sometimes, like now, I think I can guess his mood, but I don’t know him well enough to know if I’m right. I sense an underlying fury simmering away—not toward me, but toward Bruce, no doubt. Stratton’s not going to voice it, though. As my boss, he has no right to act as my protector, and he knows it, but that doesn’t stop him wanting to go Dark Robot on my ex’s ass. It makes me smile.

He gestures at the machine. “Coffee? Or another glass of wine?”

“Coffee, please.” The two glasses of wine have relaxed me, but it’s only ten, and I don’t want to be asleep by ten fifteen.

I tap his laptop as I perch on the stool. “Do you have work to do? Don’t let me stop you if you’re busy.”

“No, it’s okay. I just emailed Rich and Teddi to let them know you’re all right. They’re worried.” He glances at me, then goes back to preparing the coffee.

I feel a rush of emotion at the thought of these people feeling concern for me, and have to swallow hard to contain it. “Did they joke about the email?” I ask in a small voice.

“Didn’t even mention it.” He brings the mugs over.

I look into the milky coffee and take a deep shaky breath.

“Come and sit down,” Stratton says gently.

“Okay.” I follow him into the living room. He sits in one of the armchairs, and I curl up on the sofa, just across from him.

Mayer’s voice washes over me like Aloe vera, and I exhale, letting the tension ebb away. The coffee’s hot and with a touch of caramel—how did he know I like a caramel shot in mine? The sun’s set, although the sky is still touched with pinks and purples to the west, but he’s switched on a couple of lamps that give the room a warm glow, and the Christmas lights sparkle on the tree.

“So,” he says, and sips his coffee. “I have a question to ask you.”

I wonder what it will be. Why did you stay with Bruce so long? Or How could you let a man treat you like that? My throat tightens, some of the tension returning. “Okay.”

His blue and green eyes meet mine, and I watch the corners of his mouth curve up. “Will you marry me?”

Chapter Eleven

Stratton

Meg’s jaw drops, and she stares at me for a full ten seconds before she says, ever so politely, “Pardon?”

I chuckle. “I should clarify. I mean fake marry. I think you should be my fake fiancée for Christmas.”

She closes her jaw and, now she understands, gives me a wry look. “I see. And why has this idea sprung into your head?”

“It makes perfect sense. From my point of view, Natalie knows we work together. It’s feasible that a relationship could have developed between us that we would want to keep secret from everyone. It makes much more sense than some random chick turning up.”

“I suppose. And from my point of view?”

I shrug. “You tell Bruce you’re marrying me. That should shut him up.”

She stares at me. “You’re serious.”

“I’m perfectly serious. We’re in the same position, Meg. You still want me to call you Meg? Or would you rather go back to Maggie?”

Her gaze drops to her coffee again. “Meg. I left Maggie behind. She was weak.”

“She doesn’t sound weak. She sounds like a very loyal woman who worked incredibly hard to make her relationship work, and who finally reached the end of her tether and decided it was time to move on.”

She stares into her coffee. I watch her bottom lip tremble.

“Aw.” I put my mug on the coffee table. “I’m sorry. I’ve said the wrong thing.”

“No.” She puts her mug down too and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. “That was very much the right thing to say.” She starts crying.

Thinking that it doesn’t look like the right thing, I rise and sit beside her, lean back, and pull her gently toward me. She resists for a moment, but I try again, and finally she turns and curls up to me, burying her face in my chest. I put one arm around her and rub her back, murmuring things like “It’ll be okay.”

For a while she sniffles and snuffles, and I rest my head on the back of the sofa and look out at the last threads of copper weaving through the darkening sky.

It’s strange to have another woman in my arms. She’s bigger than Natalie, who has a girlish figure, fine boned, slim to the point of being skinny, with small breasts and narrow hips. I was always worried I was going to break her. Meg’s hardly fat, but she’s tall and goes in and out in all the right places, with generous breasts and wide hips. I know she’s given birth and she’s not likely to have Natalie’s flat stomach, but it doesn’t bother me. I like that she’s a woman, not a girl. Natalie might have had a few tricks up her sleeve in the bedroom, but, in spite of being a mother, and being very competent in the workplace, Meg has an innocence about her that appeals to me. In my twenties, I was looking for sex. Now... well, I’m still looking for sex, but also something more. I’m not quite sure what, but I have a strange feeling that Meg will help me work out what it is.

She fishes in the pocket of her track pants for a tissue and pushes herself upright without pulling away from me, so I leave my arm around her, and she doesn’t complain. She blows her nose, keeping her gaze averted, and wipes beneath her eyes. She has no makeup on that I can see. I’m hardly an expert on these matters, but I’d grown used to watching Natalie apply her face in the mornings when I stayed over at her place. Foundation, powder, blush, eyeliner, eyebrow pencil, eyeshadow, mascara... The whole process used to take her thirty minutes to an hour of blotting and smudging and reapplying. I once told her she was gilding the lily, and she just rolled her eyes. She didn’t have a clue what I meant.

Meg normally wears some, I’m sure—she usually has attractive dark pink lips that makes me want to kiss them. But tonight her skin is clear, her lips a light, natural pink. Her eyebrows and lashes are dark brown, and I wonder if that’s her natural hair color. Her big blue eyes meet mine, and although they’re red-rimmed, they’re still beautiful.

She swallows hard and lifts her chin, intent on regaining her dignity. I melt a little inside. I love that blend of vulnerability and determination. She’s so... womanly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “To do this to you.”

“I don’t mind.” It’s the truth. Ordinarily, I’m not one for crying women. Natalie wept and wailed theatrically and refused to be consoled until I exclaimed in exasperation, at which point she just sobbed even more. I like Meg’s calm, quiet sorrow. I can deal with that.

“Still,” she says, “it’s not fair.”

I just shrug.

She brings her feet up onto the edge of the sofa and wraps her arms around her knees. I’m not hugging her now, but my arm is still along the back, and she’s flush to me, taking comfort, I think, from being near.

“We’re oddly similar,” I say. “Both caught in relationships we can’t seem to end.”

“I guess. Do you think we’re too soft?”

“Maybe. It’s more difficult to break off a relationship when you still have feelings for the person.”

“You still have feelings for Natalie?”

I inhale deeply, then blow the breath out. “I was with her a long time. She drove me crazy in many ways, but I was in it for the long haul—at first. Breaking up was hard. It wasn’t like either of us did something wrong—there weren’t months of arguments or anything. There was just sadness and incompatibility. She couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t give her the one thing she wanted more than anything. She said if I loved her, I’d do anything for her, and maybe she was right.”

“That works both ways, Stratton. She should at least have understood why you don’t want kids.”

“I suppose. Society leads men to believe that it’s our duty to make women happy. There aren’t many people who sympathize with my plight. Everyone thinks I’m being too harsh, and that it was unfair to tell my partner that I wouldn’t have a child with her, even though there was a risk of blindness. Even Teddi thinks I did the wrong thing, although I know she doesn’t like Natalie.”

Meg shrugs. “That’s sisters for you. And I would think she’s going to have a different view of being blind to the rest of us. I don’t want to put words in her mouth, and obviously you know her better than me, but I would think she wouldn’t see it as the curse that sighted people see it. I presume that if you suffered from that kind of condition, you’d have to train yourself not to think of it as a disability, or to use it as an excuse for not doing things, or you wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning.”

I tuck a strand of hair that’s escaped from her ponytail behind her ear. “You’re very perceptive and thoughtful. I like that.” She’s so different to Natalie, who didn’t have the ability to put herself in someone else’s skin and feel what they were feeling. There’s a phrase in To Kill A Mockingbird where Atticus says that you never understand a person until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them. Natalie would never stand in someone else’s shoes unless they were Manolo Blahniks.

Meg tips her head as if she’s about to press her cheek to my hand, but catches herself and stops.

The song changes, and it’s Bic Runga’s She Left on a Monday, moody and sad, and Meg’s face reflects this.

“Do you still love Bruce?” I ask.

She leans back, her head resting on my arm, and stares up at the ceiling. “No. I did. There was something magnetic about him when he was young—he had some kind of hold over me. When he was away, I’d sometimes think about leaving him, but whenever he came back it was like he was the sun and he just put everything else in shadow. But I stopped loving him a long time ago. I stayed with him out of duty, because that’s what I thought a good person should do. I felt sorry for him when he lost his arm, and I tried hard to be understanding and supportive. I know it took away his feelings of self-worth. I would have stayed with him and helped him through it. I didn’t expect it to be immediate. I could have coped with his indifference, his moodiness. But I couldn’t cope with his outright anger and even hatred of me.”

“I’m sure he didn’t hate you,” I say, but I’m not sure I believe that.

“Maybe not.” Her eyes are distant. “But he certainly didn’t love me. He said he did, but how he acted... that’s not what you do when you love someone. Love should be tender, affectionate, caring, supportive. All I ever felt from him at the end was jealousy and resentment.”

“Why didn’t he ask you to marry him?”

Her expression turns wry. “He did. I was the one who said no. I didn’t want to be an army wife. I didn’t want Oscar to have to move from school to school, country to country. If we weren’t married, they wouldn’t give us married quarters, so I kept telling him I wasn’t ready. It gave me an excuse to stay in New Zealand.”

“You don’t think that looking for an excuse not to be with him was a sign that something wasn’t right?”

“I guess. It’s not as black and white as that, though.”

I want to move the subject away from feelings, because her eyes are glassing over again, and I can feel that she doesn’t want to relive it. “So what happened after...”

“After he put me in hospital?” Her eyes meet mine for a long moment. I wonder if she’s waiting for any sign of shock, and seeing none there confirms to her that Oscar did tell me everything. She looks down at her hands. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. He hung around Oscar’s school and pestered him when he came out. It was so hard for Oscar. In spite of what happened, I didn’t want to come between him and his dad, and I told him that if he wanted to see his dad, I wouldn’t stop him, but Oscar’s stood by my side through all of this. He refused to talk to his father and would just walk away.”

“Did you ever consider a protection order?”

“Yes.” She sighs.  “I told him I’d get one if he didn’t leave Oscar alone, and he stopped bothering him at school. But you’re right, it is like you and Natalie. I loved him—once. And I pitied him. He’d been through hell. He’d seen mates get blown up and killed. He was in a lot of pain, physically and emotionally, and he was on high doses of painkillers. An injury like that is going to affect a man’s self-worth, especially a soldier’s, because they rely on physical strength and fitness. What happened that night when he pushed me—it was unforgivable, but it was an accident. He didn’t mean to hurt me. I didn’t want to punish him for it. I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

I say nothing, although I don’t agree with her. There’s no excuse for a man striking a woman, no matter what he’s been through. Nobody’s perfect, and everyone has faults and weaknesses, but I have zero respect for any guy who loses his temper and takes it out on a woman. Natalie drove me insane at times, but when I’d had enough, I walked away. That’s what I did at the end. Just walked away. Maybe it would have been easier for her to accept it was over if I had struck out at her, but the thought makes my blood cold run cold. I don’t care what they say about all men being inherently violent and potential rapists, that’s bollocks. That’s not me—I won’t let it be me. But I suppose not every man has my self-control.

Meg gives me a small smile. “You don’t agree.”

“No. But I respect your right to your opinion.”

She chuckles, then sighs. “I don’t suppose I could have another glass of wine?”

“Of course. I’ll get us both one.”

A little reluctantly, I lift my arm from around her shoulder, go into the kitchen, and pour us a glass. When I come back, she’s curled into the corner of the sofa—an unspoken signal that our intimate moment is over. Surprised at the disappointment I feel, I give her the glass and sit on the other end of the sofa, but I’m rewarded when she turns and stretches out along it, tucking her feet under my thigh.

“Are your feet cold?” I ask. “You’re wearing socks and it’s seventy-five degrees in here.”

“My feet are always cold. I can be wearing a bikini and still have socks on.” She purses her lips as I raise my eyebrows. “Scratch that. It’s not the kind of thing I should be telling my future husband.”

My lips curve up. “So what do you think about my proposal?”

She sips her wine. “I think I need a few more details first.”

I slip down in the seat a little, stretch out my legs, and rest one hand on her ankles. Her eyes meet mine. There’s a flicker of humor in them.

“It would be a business arrangement,” I say. “You and Oscar would stay here. You’d come with me to the ball in Wellington, and you’d pretend to be my fiancée. That’s it.”

“And afterward?”

I shrug. “We’ll call it off. But hopefully by then both Natalie and Bruce will have gotten the idea that our relationships with them are over, and that we’ve moved on.”

It sounds perfect to me. I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t be interested.

She sips her wine again. “The part about pretending to be your fiancée...”

“Yeah?”

“What would this involve, exactly?”

I swirl the Merlot around in my glass.

Stay in my room, I want to say. Sleep in my bed. Let me make love to you every night until Christmas Eve, and let’s see at the end whether we still want to call it off.

But am I brave enough to say the words?

Chapter Twelve

Meg

Stratton sips his wine. The song’s changed to an artist I don’t know, some guy with a husky, breathy voice singing about seducing his lady, and it sends shivers down my spine.

I’m having trouble reading Stratton at the moment. His look has turned sultry, but I’m not sure if it’s just the wine and the warm evening that’s making his eyelids slip to half-mast.

I feel all mixed up and confused. I don’t know what I want. Well, I do, but my desires mix with my common sense. I’m not sure what’s going to win. Coulda, shoulda, woulda, Meg. I note that I’m finally calling myself Meg in my head. Perhaps I’ve truly become that woman I’d always hoped I would be—confident, sexy, not afraid to confront and explore her own sexuality.

Then I remind myself that I’m still Maggie inside. It deflates me like a balloon.

I try to turn my thoughts away from sex. This isn’t personal. Stratton’s my boss, and even though his idea of us pretending to be engaged sounds like a ridiculous one, a tiny part of me realizes that it’s possible it might work.

He’s still not saying anything, so, as usual, I resort to humor. “Do you want a list of what I offer? I have a leaflet.”

That makes him laugh. He tips back his head and laughs from his chest, big, hearty chuckles that make me laugh too. When he drops his head again, he’s smiling, and jeez, he has such a sexy, naughty smile—he has straight white teeth with canines slightly longer than the others, making him look a bit like a vampire, or a tiger. I imagine him leaning forward and pressing those teeth against my neck. I’d let my head fall to one side so I could feel the scrape of them, followed by his warm tongue over my skin.

I blink. His look has turned a tad wry.

“What?” I say.

He shakes his head and takes another mouthful of wine.

It comes to me then. “You’re thinking about the melted chocolate, aren’t you?”

He chuckles. “It crossed my mind.”

We survey each other for a while, and I guess his thoughts are going down the same route as mine. He leans an elbow on the arm of the sofa and rests his head on his hand, still watching me.

I think back to when he caught up with me in the foyer. It didn’t register at the time, but now I’m calmer, I recall his words.

“In the foyer, you said ‘Did you think I didn’t know how you feel?’” I flex my toes beneath his thigh. He’s warm and solid, grounding my swirling emotions. “How did you know?”

His hand still rests on my ankles, and he tightens it, squeezing my feet. “I wasn’t certain. I did think you were married, after all.”

“But you suspected?”

“Mmm.”

“You’re not going to elaborate?”

“I’m not great at explaining myself.”

I change tack. “You still haven’t answered my question. I’d like to know what acting as your fiancée would involve.”

“You wrote the email to the agency. You know what I’m looking for.”

“Yeah, but it’s a bit different knowing I might be the one actually doing it.”

“I want to get Natalie off my back. So I want someone to pretend we’re an item. That means living here, staying with me when we go away, acting as if we’re...” He searches for a word. “Compatible,” he settles for.

“Compatible?”

He shrugs.

“Stratton...”

“I want us to look like an item. How much clearer do I have to make it?”

“A few more sentences should do it.”

“Okay. When we’re in public, we need to act like we’re in love. That’s all.”

I think about what that entails. Looking up into his eyes as if I’m crazy about him... Hanging on his every word... I pretty much do all of that already.

“And in private?” I ask.

He tips his head to the side and just looks at me.

“I’m just clarifying,” I say.

“You’d have your own room here,” he says softly.

“And when we’re in the hotel?”

“I’ll take the couch.”

He’s not going to bite—literally or metaphorically—and suddenly I wonder if I’ve read him wrong. Maybe he is just being a good, kind boss, and he’s not interested in me in that way. It was me who sent the email, after all, not the other way around.

“Hey.” He rubs my feet. “What is it? Your eyes are like the sky—it’s so easy to see your moods pass across them like clouds.”

I give a little shake of my head, feeling emotional again. I’m being stupid thinking there could be anything between Stratton and me. But I want him so badly. He holds my gaze, and I’m unable to hide the longing that sweeps through me. I know it’s not just physical, and that it’s probably something to do with what happened with Bruce. I’m looking for comfort, for solace, and it would be stupid to have a fling with him. Do I really want to lose my job? Of course I don’t. But I want him. I really, really want him.

“Meg,” he says gently, “I’m offering a business deal. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that. You work for me, and I enjoy having you as my PA, and I don’t want to lose you. But you should know that when you look at me like that, I have to fight with every bone in my body not to lift you onto my lap and kiss you senseless.”

I stare at him. My heart seems to stop, then bangs painfully against my ribs. He doesn’t look embarrassed or regretful at what he’s said. He means it.

Holy moly.

“I...” My voice comes out as a croak. I swallow and try again. “That’s... um... nice to know. But... um...” My face is burning. “I don’t think you’d... um... find me very...”

He raises his eyebrows.

“Interesting,” I say, rather lamely.

His lips curve up. “I beg to differ.”

“I mean it. You’re used to Nympho Natalie, and I’m sure she swung from the chandeliers and used... things.”

He’s smiling now, possibly at my nickname for his girlfriend, although maybe at my choice of words. “Things?”

“You know. Toys and stuff.”

“I can swear to you that I’d never let her anywhere near my Lego.”

“Stratton!” It comes to me that I probably shouldn’t have any more to drink, because my mouth won’t stop moving. “I mean bedroom toys. Like... um...” I say the first thing that comes into my head. “Whips.”

Now he’s most amused. “Meg, I don’t know what kind of idea you have about me, but I’m not kinky.” His gaze slips down me, soft and sensual as a feather, and he sips his wine. “Not much.”

I shiver, my mind whirling. “Not much? What does that mean? You see, I have no idea. Just because I have a child doesn’t mean I’m experienced.”

“Well you’ve been with Bruce for at least thirteen years, surely?”

“Yeah, but...” I don’t know how to phrase it. “He wasn’t very...”

I don’t need to finish the sentence. I can see that Stratton’s guessed.

Bruce wasn’t all bad. We were both nineteen when we met, and he was like any young bloke, I suspect—randy and desperate for sex as often as he could get it. He’d only had a couple of girlfriends before me, and I’d only been with one other guy, so neither of us was particularly experienced. Sex was okay. With him it was all about the destination, and, as he could achieve that quite easily, he wasn’t into foreplay. He had no interest in spending a whole evening gazing into my eyes before rubbing me gently with oil and taking hours to tease me to ecstasy. If I had an orgasm, it was more by luck than planning. Later, after his accident, his self-image was shot so much that if we did attempt it, he sometimes had trouble achieving an erection. I did my best to be patient. But when a man not only has trouble making love but for some reason seems to blame you for it, it kind of kills any passion that exists between you.

“So I’m very dull,” I conclude. “Not of interest to you at all. I’m nothing like Natalie.”

He scratches his cheek, and I hear the unusual rasp of stubble. “You’re assuming that a man always wants the same meal two nights in a row.”

I think about that while Stratton studies me, amusement in his eyes.

Something seems to be settling in the air around us. It’s nearly Christmas, and the tinsel on the tree sparkles in the light from the lamps, lending a magical glitter to the evening.

My panic and tension is gradually fading. I’m enjoying talking like this with him. It’s intimate and sexy and a little naughty—a bit like Stratton himself—but not too dangerous, not yet. I’m not leading him on, I don’t think. In fact, he seems to be enjoying it too. It’s like we’re new partners on the dance floor, gradually learning how the other moves. I’ve never done this before, not really, not since I was a teen anyway, flirting with the guys at school, and back then I was even more innocent than I am now, which is saying something. It’s a different experience, doing it as a grown up. The promise of this developing into something is exciting—I feel as if it’s Christmas Eve and I can see the presents glittering under the tree.

“You don’t mind me talking like this?” I want to check in case I’m making him uncomfortable. He is my boss, after all.

“I love you talking like this. It’s fun and sexy, and I’ve wanted you since the first moment I laid eyes on you and you admitted you locked yourself in the loo. But I need you to understand something.” His eyes are suddenly serious. “You’ve had a rough day, and we’ve had a few drinks, and I want you to relax and enjoy yourself and forget about that idiot in the foyer. But it doesn’t have to mean anything, unless you want it to. Does that make sense?”

“Not really.”

“We can flirt, Meg, and talk about sex until the cows come home, and you can take up my offer of pretending to be my fiancée, and live here, and stay in my room at the hotel, and even fool around for a bit. Whatever you want. But there needs to be an understanding between us.”

“No commitment,” I say, thinking I know where he’s going with this. He doesn’t want a repeat of the Natalie situation.

He tips his head from side to side. “That wasn’t what I was going to say. More no expectations. On either side. Just because you flirt with me, I’m not going to assume we’ll end up in bed together. And just because I’m asking you to marry me, I’m not asking you to marry me.”

That makes me smile. “All right.”

“Cards on the table,” he says. “At all times. Okay?”

“You can look at my hand anytime you like.”

He laughs. “Okay. So... are you going to take me up on my offer? I’m serious when I say it will benefit us both. I promise not to leave your side while Bruce is around. I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt you again.”

His eyes are hard. He’s such a teddy bear of a man—gentle, funny, sexy—and also geeky in a gorgeous kind of way, that in the past whenever he’s joked about punching someone I’ve had trouble imagining it. And I’m certainly not looking for another violent, envious man. But that’s not what’s showing in his eyes. That look isn’t possessive or jealous. He’s not trying to stake a claim or mark his territory the way a dog pees around his kennel. He likes me. He feels affection for me. I’m his employee and his friend, and the look in his eyes is protective. He wants to look after me and make sure nobody hurts me. And that makes me want to cry all over again.

I already know I’m going to take him up on his offer. I want to be around this man, and even if it doesn’t lead to anything, I’m looking forward to spending time with him, getting to know him socially. I want more evenings like this one, cooking dinner together, watching TV, drinking wine, listening to music, talking. I want to share my life with someone—even for a little while—who’s not going to make demands on me, who’s going to be gentle and kind, who’ll listen to my point of view and laugh at my jokes, who’ll respect me and not think I’m put on this Earth to make his life easier.

And if it leads to something more? I study his mismatched eyes. The hard look has vanished, to be replaced by something softer, sexier. He knows I’m thinking about going to bed with him.

I’m not stupid—I’ve seen movies and read books, and I know that my love life with Bruce left a lot to be desired. I can’t be sure that Stratton is any better, but I’d bet every cent I own that he is. He’s a sensual guy—he smells nice, he likes silk ties and expensive suits, he loves ice cream and quality food. He’s going to enjoy lovemaking, and something tells me that when he takes a girl to bed, it’s not all over in minutes.

I want him. Badly. But I’m not going to tell him yet. I decide that I want to play a bit longer.

“So,” I say, settling down a little on the sofa, sliding my feet further beneath his solid thigh. “You’re only a little bit kinky. Tell me more about that.”

Chapter Thirteen

Stratton

“I’m going to have a whisky.” I get up and go over to the drinks cabinet, take out a heavy-bottomed glass, and gesture to Meg.

She nods. “Yes, please.”

Meg’s tipsy, and she probably shouldn’t have any more to drink, but she’s had a hell of a day, and if there was ever a time to get drunk, it’s after your mad ex shows up. I speak from experience. Besides which, she’s safe with me. We’re having fun, but I won’t let anything else happen. I just want her to relax and enjoy herself, and it seems to be working.

I pour us both a generous measure of a superb seventeen-year-old Caol Ila, add ice, and return to the couch. After I’ve sat, Meg tucks her feet under my thigh again. I like the connection, and find it sexy and oddly comforting too. Natalie and I rarely played the old married couple like this. If she ever stayed over, which was unusual, we’d have dinner, go to bed, and then I’d end up working while she watched reality TV shows.

“I’m waiting,” Meg says, and sips the whisky. I wait for her to shudder and exclaim with horror, but she murmurs her approval, so she must be used to the smoky finish of an Islay malt. This one has strong toffee notes with allspice and a touch of anise—one of my favorites. It strikes me that Meg’s like a good Scotch—I have a feeling she’s improved with age, and I bet she tastes really good on the tongue.

It’s only when she raises an eyebrow that I realize my chuckle wasn’t silent. “Sorry. I was comparing you in my head to a good Scotch.”

She grins. “I’d rather be compared to Scotch than cheese.”

I smile, knowing she’s picked up on the metaphor of improving with age. I like the fact that she’s almost the same age as me. Most of my mates despaired when they turned thirty, thinking their youth was behind them, but I wasn’t one of them. I like being thirty-four. Old enough to know what you’re doing, young enough to enjoy it.

“Come on then,” she says mischievously. “Define mildly kinky.”

She wants to play, and I’m fine with that. I won’t be the one who gets embarrassed.

I consider her for a moment, pondering on what she said about her ex. It doesn’t surprise me that the idiot was bad in bed. I wonder whether he ever gave her a decent orgasm. If he did, it was probably by mistake.

Thinking about Meg and orgasms in the same sentence is probably a bad idea. Now I’m thinking about how she’d look with her eyelids fluttering shut, her head tipped back, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she murmurs with pleasure. I can imagine how it would feel to slide inside her, to feel her tense around me until she can’t hold it in anymore and comes hard with short, fast gasps. Mmm. I like that fantasy.

She blushes. “Jeez.”

“What?”

“You’re looking at me like you’re thinking about something X-rated.”

“I am. Of course I am. You’re sexy as, Miss Meg. And you’ve just informed me you’re single. My male brain is going to add two and two and make sixty-nine.”

She giggles. “That’s one definition of your mild kinkiness, is it?”

Aw. If she defines a sixty-nine as being kinky, she really hasn’t had much experience.

“Why don’t you tell me what you consider kinky?” I suggest.

She snorts. “Anything that isn’t missionary.” She sips the whisky, swallows, then runs her tongue across her teeth. “Bruce liked me on all fours. That was about the extent of his inventiveness.” She meets my eyes, then looks away.

I make a mental note of that comment. As much as the thought of sliding into Meg from behind like that gives me goose bumps, that will be one position that won’t be on my list for the foreseeable future.

She’s a little embarrassed by her frankness, but I get the feeling she’s actually enjoying speaking to someone about sex. I’ve heard that some women talk openly about their love lives, but I’m sure that isn’t the case for everyone. It’s the same for guys—when I was young and with my mates, we might have joked about who we’d done and in what position, but once we grew up, sex became a topic rarely discussed. It’s oddly refreshing to talk like this. She’s taken the cards-on-the-table analogy to heart. I like that she feels able to talk to me.

I slip down a little on the sofa like she has, getting comfortable. I can hold my drink, but I’m starting to feel mellow and a tad reckless, so I know the alcohol’s getting to me. Careful, I warn myself.

“So,” I say, “let’s rephrase the question. What would you put on your sex bucket list?”

She laughs. “That sounds a lot more fun than an ordinary one.”

“Damn straight.”

She sips her whisky. “I’m a bit embarrassed to say. You’ll think I’m terribly tame.”

“I think you’re incredibly sweet. C’mon, tell me. I won’t laugh. I want to know.”

She studies me as if wondering if I’m telling the truth, and obviously sees sincerity in my eyes, because she rests the rim of the glass against her lips, thinking. “I’d like to take time over lovemaking. That’s something we didn’t do very often, if at all.”

“That’s fair. So... you have a whole evening in which you’re going to do nothing but spend time with the man you love. What do you do?”

She presses her lips together, considering. “Take a long, hot bath together.”

“Nice. I hope you scrub his back.”

She chuckles. “Of course. I’d like to... um... wash him all over.”

“And can he wash you all over in return?”

She sips her whisky. “If he wants to.”

Oh... he does.

Slowly, she runs her tongue around her lips. I don’t think she’s aware she’s doing it, and she’s probably collecting drops of whisky, but it makes me shiver. “I’d quite like to make love in the bath,” she says. “Or try anyway. You see it in the movies. Is it possible?”

I smile in answer. “Just make sure the dude takes the tap end.”

She laughs. “Maybe the shower would be better,” she says, warming up. “I bet that would be fun.”

“Now we’re getting to the good stuff.” Meg wet and slippery in my arms. Yeah, that would be fun. “What else?”

“Different positions.”

“Well that goes without saying.”

“For you it might. But I want to understand what’s so good about doing it in other ways. Selfishly, I mean—what’s good for me.” Her eyes flash. It’s a good sign—her spirit’s returning.

“What else?” I prompt. She’s turning me on, and I want to know more.

“Everything,” she says. “I want to try everything. I want to understand what all the fuss is about. I want to try oral properly, and massage and toys.”

I wonder what ‘oral properly’ means. I’d certainly be happy to help her find out.

She looks deep into my eyes. “I want to be with someone who’s gentle and who’ll help me explore. Does that make sense?”

I melt inside at her sincerity. “Yes.”

“I don’t know if I’ll like everything, but you don’t know until you try, do you?”

“That’s true.”

“Everyone talks about things like... um... vibrators, and role play, and I want to at least try it all before I grow old and die.” She speaks vehemently.

I blow out a long breath. I’ve had a hard-on for about ten minutes now, and it won’t go down anytime soon if she carries on like this.

Her lips curve up. “Your face is a picture.”

“If you expect me to remain unaffected while you’re talking about vibrators, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.”

Our eyes meet, and our gazes lock.

“Don’t you think you’ll find me boring?” she whispers.

“No.”

“I’m not sure I believe you. You must have done all this before. With...” She doesn’t say, but I know she’s thinking about Natalie. Damn Teddi for telling her about my ex. I understand why Meg’s eyes show a glint of envy, but she doesn’t need to be jealous. It doesn’t work like that.

I don’t release her gaze. “Imagine that I’ve taken a round-the-world cruise. And then you tell me that you’d like to take one with me. Do you think I’d find it boring to take you to all the cities? To show you the sights, and watch your face as you see everything for the first time?”

She smiles slowly. “I suppose. So tell me. If you were to take your innocent fiancée to the bed for the first time... What would you do with her?”

I’m tempted to slide my hand up her calf, then up her thigh, and then even higher, and explore her with my fingers. I’m sure she wouldn’t push me away.

Self-control, Stratton, I scold myself. She’s your PA, and she’s had a bad day.

Still, there’s no harm in a little sexy talk.

I swirl the whisky over the ice. “Maybe we’d start with a shower. I like the idea of getting her naked, having her all wet and slippery and shiny.”

Meg leans an elbow on the back of the sofa and rests her head on a hand. Her eyes take on a dreamy look. “Mmm. And then?”

“I’d wash her all over.” I’m getting in the swing of it now. “Taking my time to slide my hands over her skin. I’d linger on her breasts, because I’d know that her wet nipples would be super sensitive.”

Meg’s eyes widen a little, and I think I’ve shocked her with my openness, but all she says is, “And then?”

I shift on the sofa, trying without being obvious to readjust my growing erection. “While I kissed her, I’d slide my hands down between her legs and arouse her there, until she’s swollen and sighing.”

Her lips part. “What would you do then?”

I’m hypnotized by her blue eyes, which are glazed with longing, and I can’t look away. “I’d drop to my knees, part her legs, and slide my tongue into her folds.”

“Oh...” Her eyebrows raise a little and she gives me a helpless look. “I bet she’d like that.”

“She would,” I say firmly. “She’d bury her hands in my hair and moan out loud while I lick and suck and explore her with my fingers.”

“Stratton...”

“I’d tease her right to the edge, and then I’d stand and lift her knee to wrap her leg around me. I’d guide myself underneath her, and she’d be so swollen and slippery that I’d have no trouble entering her. I’d continue to kiss her as I slid inside, moving slowly until I’m right up to the hilt.”

She closes her eyes.

“I’d take my time,” I murmur, enjoying watching her, knowing I’m arousing her just with my words, which is so fucking hot I’m pretty sure we could both come without even touching. “I’d thrust slowly, touching her breasts, kissing her, until I knew she was close to coming.”

“How would you know?” she whispers, opening her eyes a fraction to stare at me through a whisky-induced sexual haze.

“Her breathing would change. It would grow deep and ragged, her cheeks would flush, her eyelids would flutter. She’d whisper my name, and she’d moan every time I brushed against her clit until she’d start to clench around me.”

She swallows, breathing fast. Her pupils have dilated so much there’s hardly any blue left. “And then?”

“I’d steady myself on the tiles and I’d thrust harder. I’d sweep us both away beneath the hot water, and I’d capture her cries of pleasure with my mouth, and thrust until I came inside her, filling her up...”

I trail off, blinking, somewhat bemused. I hadn’t meant to get quite so detailed. But Meg doesn’t look as if she’s going to complain. She looks as if she’s holding her breath. Her eyes are wide, and her lips are parted.

“Is that real or a fantasy?” she whispers.

“It’s a real fantasy.” It’s the truth. I’ve daydreamed about that scenario, and I would be happy to put it into practice.

“Holy shit,” she says, and starts laughing.

I give her a wry look as her husky chuckles erupt. “I’d prefer it if she didn’t giggle straight afterward. It can kind of kill the mood.”

“I’m sorry.” She covers her mouth with a hand, but her eyes are dancing. “It’s nervous laughter. Stratton, that was so...”

I raise an eyebrow. I’m all sexed up now and with nobody to take it out on. I give her a somewhat sulky look.

Her lips curve up, and to my surprise she shifts a bit closer on the sofa. “So fucking hot,” she whispers.

My heart races. “Meg...” I say in a cautious tone, but I don’t move. I want her to touch me more than anything in the world. I want her to slide her hands into my track pants and stroke me to a climax, maybe even take me in her mouth... Jesus. I’m going to need a cold shower after this.

“I know.” But she doesn’t move back. Her gaze settles on my lips, and doesn’t move as she sips her whisky and then licks up the drips. “But will you kiss me?”

I swallow hard. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please?”

“Sweetheart, I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret in the morning. I don’t want you to be angry with me.”

“Angry?” That surprises her. “I could never be angry with you. It takes two to tango.”

“Yeah, but I’m the guy. I need to exercise self-control.”

She moves a little closer. “I won’t regret it. And I won’t be angry.”

“You’re my employee. You could sue me for sexual harassment.”

“Stratton...” Her gaze lifts briefly to my eyes before returning to my lips. “Come on. Don’t you want to kiss me?”

This is like the temptation of St. Anthony. I’m only human, for fuck’s sake, and I’ve had three glasses of wine and a glass of whisky.

“Just one,” I say.

Her soft pink lips curve up. “Just one,” she agrees. “I promise.”

Chapter Fourteen

Meg

Stratton’s lips curved up a little when I promised it will only be one kiss, but he doesn’t move toward me yet.

We survey each other for a moment. The song changes, and I realize it’s Marvin Gaye’s Sexual Healing. Stratton chuckles, and I smile.

God, he’s so sexy. My head’s still spinning from his description of how he’d make love to me. He’s such a strange dichotomy of personality traits. On the one hand he’s geeky and boyish and mischievous. I keep expecting him to blush and admit he’s never kissed a girl before.

But on the other hand, he’s very, very much a man. He talked about his fantasy without batting an eyelid, and his eyes tell me that he’s thinking about doing some very naughty things to me. His cheek and jaw have a five o’clock shadow, which brings me out into goose bumps on its own. I’m close enough to him now to smell his aftershave, and I know that when he kisses me he’ll taste of whisky and ice cream.

I want to scrape my fingernails along his stubble. I want to slide a hand up under his tight rugby top and see if his abs are as hard and flat as they look. I want to find out if he’s all talk, or if he really is as good in bed as he’s implying.

I know it won’t go that far, though. He’s wavering on the kiss, but he won’t take me to bed, not tonight. Even though we’ve drunk too much, we’re both old enough and wise enough that we can’t pretend we don’t know what we’re doing, or that we’re not aware that actions have consequences. I’ve been at his side for the past four months, and I know he has high principles and considers himself a man of integrity. He doesn’t like the idea of sleeping with his PA, and he certainly won’t take me to bed after the kind of day I’ve had.

But he wants to kiss me.

I take his glass and place it with mine on the table. His arm rests on the back of the sofa, and so I shuffle a little closer to him and curl up by his side. I’m not touching him, not yet, but I’m damn close, and I can feel the heat from his body.

“So, are you going to be my fake fiancée?” he asks, his tone playful.

I rest my gaze on his mouth. “If you kiss me, I’ll consider it.”

His lips curve up. “Blackmail, Ms. Brown?”

“Encouragement, Mr. Parker,” I correct him.

He chuckles. I feel his hand slip into my hair, and he runs a strand of it through my fingers.

“What’s your real color?” he murmurs.

“Dark brown.” I feel embarrassed to admit it, conscious that I’ve been lying to him about who I really am.

He doesn’t seem annoyed, though. He pulls the strand of hair straight and tugs it gently. “Do the collar and cuffs match?” he teases.

My face heats, but I try to stay sassy. “You’ll have to wait to find out.”

He smiles and touches the back of his fingers to my cheeks. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-three.”

“You blush like a fifteen-year-old.”

“And you like teasing me,” I say, blushing even more.

“I do. I’ve not had this effect on a woman before.”

And suddenly I realize that’s why he likes my semi-innocence. Presumably his previous girlfriends have been very experienced, and the idea of initiating me into the delights of sex appeals to him.

Until that moment, because he hadn’t immediately kissed me, I’d begun to wonder whether he felt bashful, or if he was as worried about making a fool of himself as I am. But with some surprise I realize he’s neither of those things. He’s enjoying the moment, the anticipation. The Christmas Eve sensation. He has more confidence than I thought, and boy, is that sexy.

Sliding his hand to the nape of my neck, he holds me there and finally lowers his lips to mine.

For a long moment, I hold my breath as he kisses me. I don’t want to miss one second of this, and although the world’s a little hazy around me, blurred by the whisky and the fairy lights on the tree, I feel as if every cell in my body is focused on the point where his lips touch mine.

Gradually, however, I realize that even though I promised it would only be one kiss, he appears to be taking that to mean one kissing session rather than one press of his lips, and he’s not stopping anytime soon. I exhale, and he murmurs his approval as my breath whispers across his lips, and he tightens his arm around me, pulling me closer.

Letting him, I raise a hand to his face, and I’m granted one of my wishes as my nails scrape across his stubble. He shivers, and then I feel the tip of his tongue touch my lips, a gentle request to let him in.

Shyly, I open my mouth, and he brushes his tongue inside. He’s gentle, tender, as if he’s comforting a wounded animal. Knowing I’m in good hands, I finally close my eyes and give myself over to the kiss.

Christmas Eve might hold promise, but Christmas Day always fails to live up to expectations and is never as good as I expect or hope it will be.

This kiss is, though. Oh... it’s heavenly. It’s been so long since I kissed a man, and I don’t remember ever kissing one like this. Bruce was never this gentle or considerate. But Stratton is everything he promised, and everything I’ve been dreaming of these past four months, as I’ve lain awake at night, imagining how it would feel to have his lips on mine.

He tips his head to change the angle of our mouths and delves his tongue a little deeper. My nipples tighten in my bra, and my exhale turns into a soft moan as I clench deep inside. Stratton groans in response, a sexy tiger growl, and I slide my hand into his short hair, loving being able to touch him.

The song changes again. It’s Joan Armatrading’s Love and Affection, and her husky, sensual voice sends shivers down my spine. It’s the ideal song to drink whisky to on a warm Christmas night, the perfect song to make out to, I think with an exultant inner smile. Stratton seems to think the same, because he slides a hand under my thigh and lifts me, and before I know it I’m sitting astride him, sinking both hands into his hair as he kisses me properly. Wow, that was smoothly done. I like this confident, sure side to my boss.

He fans his hands out across my back, and I wonder whether he’s going to slide them under my T-shirt, and if he’ll touch my breasts. I want him to—they ache to be warmed by his large hands—but he doesn’t. He does stroke my back, though, and he slips one hand to the nape of my neck, holding me there as if afraid I’m going to pull away and end the kiss.

I have no plans to do that any time soon. I’m in seventh heaven. I feel as if someone’s given me a huge tub of ice cream topped with melted chocolate and told me it’s all mine and I can take as long as I want to eat it. I feel spoiled and decadent and special, being given this opportunity, and I don’t want to waste it.

I lift my head a little and cup his face with my hands. His eyes open a fraction to watch me, and his lips curve up when I brush my thumbs across his cheeks, feeling the stubble.

“Very manly,” I whisper.

“Very womanly,” he counters, his hands skimming down my ribs, dipping into my waist, smoothing over my hips.

He’s enjoying this too. It’s a revelation to me, that a guy could enjoy kissing without expecting more, without it merely being the amber light before the green to go. He just wants to kiss me tonight. I know he wants to comfort me, and to show me that not all men are like my ex, but I hope there’s more to it than that. I hope he desires me.

Almost as if he’s reading my mind, he tightens his hands on my hips and pulls me toward him an inch or two. I feel it then—his erection pressing against my mound, long and firm through the soft material of our track pants. I catch my breath, and his eyes meet mine, amused and sultry. This isn’t all about comforting me. He’s trying to tell me he wants me.

Thrilled, almost tearful with relief, I lift my head half an inch, hovering my lips over his. He lifts to meet them, and I move back another inch, out of his reach. He smiles wryly and rests back, and I kiss his face, touching my lips to his nose, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his eyelids, his jaw, before kissing back to his mouth, soft light kisses from one corner to the other. He lets me, his lips still curved, but they part when I touch my tongue to them.

This time I kiss him, exploring his mouth, delving my tongue inside. His fingers tighten on my hips, and I think maybe he’s fighting with himself not to touch my breasts. He wants to, but he’s promised himself he won’t, not tonight, and now I begin to wonder if I’m teasing him, leading him on, trying to push him over the edge.

So I lift my head, and this time I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my cheek on his shoulder. He sighs and hugs me, and I love how warm he is, and how safe I feel in his arms.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

He chuckles, and I feel him kiss my hair. “Thank you.” He rubs my back. “Do you feel better now?”

“Mmm.” I don’t want to move, ever. I think I could sleep like this. But from the photo of him with Natalie I know she can only be around five-feet-four, and she looked as if she weighs as much as one of my thighs. “I don’t want to squash you,” I say, and start to push myself up.

In answer, Stratton suddenly stands, still holding me, and I squeal and wrap my legs around his waist. He laughs and kisses me again, then slowly lets my legs drop, and I slide down him until my feet reach the ground.

“Light as a feather,” he says, linking his hands behind my back.

I rest mine on his chest. “You’re full of surprises.”

“I hope so. Otherwise life would be very dull.”

I look up at him, into his eyes. “When are we getting married then?”

He grins. “Let’s set a date for...  June?”

“Okay.”

“You’ll have to give me some background info. I know very little about you.”

I nibble my bottom lip. I’ve purposely not said much about my past, but he’s right—if we’re going to pretend to be engaged, he needs to know a little about me. I nod, and he smiles and finally—reluctantly, I think—releases me. “Come on.”

He takes my hand and leads me through the house, turning off the lights as he goes, down the corridor to the bedrooms. Outside mine, he stops and turns once again to face me. “We’ll talk more in the morning, okay?”

I nod.

He studies me for a long moment, maybe arguing with himself, then eventually leans down and presses his lips once more to mine. “Goodnight.”

“Night.” I go into the room and give him one final look over my shoulder before I shut the door.

Only then do I let myself breathe out. I go into the bathroom, and when I’ve finished there and changed into the pajamas Stratton thoughtfully packed for me, I climb beneath the duvet and turn on my side.

The curtains are open, and I can see the stars of the Southern Cross glittering like fairy lights on black velvet. Even the sky’s getting ready for Christmas. The thought makes me smile.

I have to be careful. Stratton was right—I am vulnerable at the moment, and I could easily fall for him, if I haven’t already. But right now, I don’t care. I’ve just had the best evening I’ve experienced in years. Maybe ever. And all we did was kiss.

I feel that I ought to lie there and think about the consequences of my actions for a while, but the whisky is having an effect, and it’s only seconds before I fall asleep.

Chapter Fifteen

Stratton

When Meg comes out the next morning, I’m in the middle of making Oscar breakfast.

I pause in the process of frying eggs and bacon, and glance over my shoulder as she approaches the breakfast bar and greets her son where he sits on a stool, playing a game on his very old and decrepit phone.

She kisses Oscar’s forehead, but her gaze meets mine over the top of his head. She looks a little wary, which doesn’t surprise me. I was certain that when she awoke, she’d be thinking about what happened last night, because I’d done the same.

As soon as I’d opened my eyes, I’d remembered Meg sitting on my lap. The way she’d cupped my face in her hands and looked at me with such wonder it had made me catch my breath. How her lips had felt when she’d kissed me, and how my blood had fired around my body when she’d slipped her tongue in my mouth.

I’d started by thinking I should regret what had happened, but the thing is... I don’t. I wanted to kiss her. She wanted to kiss me. So where’s the big problem? She’s not married. We’re both single. Yeah, she’s my employee, but we can work around that.

Meg’s gaze locks with mine, and I can almost see her holding her breath as she waits to see how I’ll react. Will I look away, embarrassed or angry? Or will I give her a worried smile that shows her I wish it hadn’t happened?

I do neither. Instead, I wink at her.

Immediately, her lips curve and her eyes crease in a smile. She lowers her gaze to Oscar, but not before I’ve seen the relief on her face.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go for a swim,” she says to him, “but I can see that’s a stupid question if bacon’s in the offing.”

“Yep,” Oscar says.

I laugh. “I’ll save you a sandwich,” I tell her.

She hesitates. “Is it okay if I use the pool?”

“Of course. Towels are in the cupboard in the hallway.”

She goes out. As she does, I wonder what she’s going to wear, as I didn’t pack a costume for her. Maybe she won’t wear anything. I pause in the process of flipping the bacon, and my eyes glaze over for a moment before I continue.

“Did you and Mum have a nice evening?” Oscar asks.

I prod the bacon with the spatula, and for a brief, horrific second I wonder whether he came out of his room and saw us on the sofa. I glance over my shoulder at him, but his face is neutral—it’s a genuine question.

“Yeah, thanks. We had a few glasses of wine and listened to some music.” I bring the loaf of bread over to the breakfast bar and start buttering six slices. “I think the day finished better than it started.”

“What are we going to do today?” He plays with a fork, examining the tines. “Are you going to take us home?”

I finish the bread and remove the frying pan from the heat. If my mother were here, she’d carefully drain the bacon on some kitchen towel to mop up the excess oil, but she’s not, so I place the gleaming, crispy slices on three slices of bread and top them each with an egg.

I’m not sure whether I should discuss this with him. My instinct is that Meg would prefer to be the one to talk it over with him. But she’s not here, and it’s clear that Oscar feels some connection with me, and trusts me.

“Well...” I put the other slice of bread on top of his sandwich and push it over to him, then do the same to mine and Meg’s while he adds some ketchup. I wrap Meg’s in foil, then take a seat opposite him. “Your mum told you about my plan, didn’t she?”

“To find a fake fiancée?” He laughs and takes a bite of the sandwich. “She doesn’t think it would work.” Egg drips down his chin. He wipes it off with a dreamy look on his face. “Mmm.”

I smile and bite into my own sandwich. Yeah—that hits the spot. “She might have been right if it had been a stranger. But we’ve come up with a plan. Your mum’s going to play the part.”

His eyebrows rise. “Oh, I didn’t think she’d go for it. I said she should,” he explains at my curious look. “She likes you,” he adds, taking another bite.

“That certainly helps if we’re getting engaged.”

He laughs. “So what does it mean? Will we stay here?” His eyes light up.

“Well, we need to speak to your mum about the details.” I’m touched by his excitement, but I don’t want to overstep the mark and put words in Meg’s mouth. “I came up with the plan to try to convince Natalie—my ex—that we’re over, but I also thought it would be good for your mum. She might be able to use it to convince your dad it’s over, too. I don’t know how you feel about that.”

I’m sure I can guess, and I discover I’m right when his brow lowers and he takes another bite of sandwich. “I’m fine with that. She’ll be safe with both of us looking after her.”

I hide a smile at his protectiveness. “That’s the plan. So I thought you could stay here. The only problem is that Wednesday night I have to go to Wellington, and I’m hoping your mum would come with me.”

“I could stay at Alyssa’s,” he offers. “I’ll probably be going there while mum’s at work next week anyway. She’s mum’s friend. The one she meant to send the email to.” He grins.

I laugh. “That was a real blonde moment.”

“Yeah. Although she had those even when she wasn’t blonde. Don’t tell her I said that.”

I chuckle and finish my sandwich. Then I pause. “So, Oscar, you don’t mind us pretending to be engaged? You’re the man in her life now, the most important person to her. You’ve had a real tough time of it, and I don’t want to make things worse for you.”

He scoops up some ketchup with his finger. “I don’t mind.”

I bend my head to catch his eye. “I think we’re mates, right? And we both want your mum to be happy. I’d much rather know what you’re thinking than try to guess and worry I’ve got something wrong. So do you promise to be honest with me?”

He nods. “I promise.”

“Okay.”

“Stratton...”

I stand and carry my plate over to the dishwasher. “Yeah?”

“I don’t mind if you and mum... you know.”

I turn to stare at him. “If we what?”

He shrugs. “If it’s not all fake. That’s all. She likes you a lot. I know guys don’t always like women who’ve got kids. I just want you to know that I wouldn’t... you know... get in the way, or make a fuss.”

“That’s very thoughtful,” I say softly. “Let’s just play it by ear, okay? I like your mum too, but she does work for me, and she’s had a tough time. Relationships are hard, and it’s best not to go too quickly. You have to try each other on, see if you fit. But Oscar, the fact that she has a son doesn’t worry me at all, okay? You’re a great kid, and you care about your mum. I like that. You’re a bonus, if anything. No guy worth his salt would walk the other way because of you.”

He stares at his sandwich and swallows hard. The past few years must have been tough on him too. Seeing his dad angry all the time, and watching him be mean to his mum. I think about Bruce and what he’s gone through—the hard life of soldiering, the humiliation of being wounded and feeling less than a man. It doesn’t excuse his actions or his attitude toward Meg, but nobody exists in a vacuum, and the guy is only the sum of the experiences he’s had over the past few years.

The older I get, the more I realize that it’s pure luck whether a couple grows together or apart. People change as they age. Sometimes love deepens and turns into a strong bond that cannot be broken no matter what life throws at them—I’ve seen this with my parents, who are fortunate enough to have a rock-solid marriage that has never shown any signs of faltering. But for others, the love fades. Meg and Bruce’s relationship underwent some pretty heavy trials. It could have brought them together and made them stronger, but unfortunately their relationship decayed, the same way mine and Natalie’s did, resentment and bitterness corroding what had once been bright and exciting, the way seawater corrodes a copper pipe. It makes me sad.

“I’m going to take your mum a cup of coffee,” I say, because Oscar’s struggling not to show any emotion at my compliment, and us dudes don’t generally do the comfort hug thing unless it’s really bad. “You want to go in the playroom?”

“Can I?”

“Of course. You don’t have to ask. Just make sure you don’t spend more time on the machines than your mum allows.”

He nods and runs off. I smile, put his plate in the dishwasher, and make Meg and myself a cup of coffee.

I take them outside into the bright summer morning. It’s in the low sixties and the air feels a tad fresh, but the pool has solar heating, and I know it will be mid-to-high seventies in the water. I cross the deck and descend to the fence, open the gate awkwardly with one hand as I’m carrying the cups, and enter the pool area. Meg’s swimming lengths. I put the cups on the table, sit on a lounger, lower my sunglasses, and watch her for a while, sipping my coffee.

It’s unusual for a Kiwi not to be able to swim, and, like most Kiwi girls, Meg looks as if she was born in the water. Her strokes are long and confident, and she plows up and down the pool, doing a proper tumble and turn at the end.

After a few minutes she stops for a breather, smoothing her hair back, and I have the pleasure of seeing her face light up when her gaze falls on me. Through the rippling water I can see that she’s not naked—it looks as if she’s wearing a bra and panties.

“You could have gone skinny dipping,” I say, and hold out her cup. “I wouldn’t have complained.”

She laughs and swim across to take it. “Thank you. And I have to admit, I did consider it. You’re not exactly overlooked here, are you?”

I glance around. The house is surrounded by bush on either side, and we have a beautiful view of Hobson Bay to the east. “No, not really.”

“It’s a gorgeous house, Stratton. You’re very lucky.”

“I know.” I smile. My parents aren’t dirt poor, but they’re both teachers, so they’re not exactly rolling in it. Coming from a relatively modest background does mean that Teddi and I both appreciate what we have.

Meg sips her coffee and puts the cup on the side. “Are you coming in?”

“My mum said I shouldn’t swim on a full stomach.”

She laughs and twirls in the water. “Do you always do what your mum tells you?”

“Very rarely.” The water—and Meg—are too tempting, so I stand, remove my sunglasses, and tug my T-shirt over my head. I’m not wearing swim shorts, but I have boxer-briefs that will do. I toss the T-shirt onto the lounger and slide off my track pants, then walk to the edge of the pool.

It’s a glorious morning, and I tip my head back, stretch my arms, and enjoy the sun on my skin for a moment. I’m conscious of excitement building deep inside me, the kind I used to get when I was a kid in December. It could be because Christmas is only just over a week away, but I know that’s not all it is. This thing with Meg—it’s energizing me, giving me something to look forward to, which hasn’t happened in a long time. I look down at her, and see her gaze locked on me, her lips parted as she admires my almost-naked form. I give her a second to drink her fill, wanting to fire her up, so that by the time we make it to the bedroom, she’s sure of what she wants.

Then, because I know I’m going to get an erection if she keeps looking at me like that, I lean forward and dive neatly into the pool.

Chapter Sixteen

Meg

Stratton cleaves through the water, surfacing just in front of me. I back up against the edge of the pool, more so I can admire him than because I want to get out of his way. Standing on the tiles before he dived in, he took my breath away. He’s a fine figure of a man, tall and toned, and I’m having trouble believing there’s a chance the two of us could be a thing. I’ve never been that lucky.

He swims up beside me, puts one hand on the edge, and runs a hand through his hair. It’s gone dark and spiky, and droplets run down his face, making his skin shine. I want to lean close and catch them with my tongue, feel where his pulse beats in his neck.

I don’t, though. But I do reach out and run a finger along his jaw, which is smooth again, recently shaved. He glances down, and he obviously knows I’m wearing my bra and panties. He doesn’t comment, though. He just smiles and says, “You swim well.”

“I was a champion at school. Held the record in most styles. I like swimming. I feel... free.”

He pushes away, swimming on his back, and I follow him, doing breaststroke. “That’s an interesting word to choose,” he says.

“I’ve felt... claustrophobic for many years.” I like the word—it describes exactly how I felt. “I love my parents, but they were quite old when they had me and my sister, and very traditional. They didn’t have much money, and there was no expectation for us to go to university or get a career. Mum was a secretary and I followed in her footsteps. All she and my dad wanted for me was the security of a good marriage. I know I disappointed them by not tying the knot with him.”

We reach the other end of the pool, and reverse positions, Stratton tipping onto his front, me onto my back, and we begin to swim to the other end again.

“Was Bruce in the army when you met him?”

“Yes. We were both nineteen. He was young, good looking, a bit of a bad boy, but I found that attractive at the time. I got pregnant quickly, after one stupid night when we forgot to use a condom, and that kind of cemented us together, I suppose. We got on well enough, for the first few years anyway. He was away a lot, and that helped. I made my own friends, lived my own life, pretty much. I suppose as we got into our late twenties, I began to realize things weren’t going to get any better. I matured and began to want more out of life. I started studying law through a distance learning course and dreamt one day of going to university, but Bruce was very dismissive of that. His life was the army, his mates, and the pub, and he didn’t want the sort of partner who made him look and feel inadequate.”

My tone is harsher than I mean it to be. Stratton doesn’t say anything, but when we reach the other end of the pool, he gestures with his head, and we swim to the side. We rest our arms on the tiles, looking down at the beautiful view of Hobson Bay.

He glances at me. “I think you deserve nothing but admiration for how hard you tried to make your relationship work, considering. Not all women would have been that patient.”

“Or that dumb.”

“Meg...”

“Sorry, but I do feel it sometimes. I was so miserable. I cried so much. Poor Oscar used to come into my room and climb on the bed, put his arms around me, and say ‘Please don’t cry, Mummy.’ No child should have to watch that.”

“I don’t know, I think there are worse things than teaching a child that his mum’s human and that not all relationships are perfect. I know what you mean, but Oscar won’t go into his own relationships with rose-tinted glasses thinking everything’s going to be wonderful all the time. He’ll realize that both parties have to work at it, and that sometimes it’s okay to say this isn’t going to work.”

Stratton always knows how to make me feel better. I bump shoulders with him, and he smiles.

“I’ll have to tell Oscar we’re staying,” I say, joining up a group of drips on the tiles with a finger.

“Er... I’ve mentioned it already,” Stratton admits. “I hope that’s okay. He asked if you were going back home this morning.”

“Oh.” My face warms as his mismatched eyes survey me. He always looks at me as if he’s thinking about me with no clothes on. Maybe he is. I wouldn’t put it past him. “What did he say?”

His lips curve up. “He gave me permission to date you.”

My face flames. Oscar! “Oh, goodness. I’m sorry.”

Stratton just laughs. “It was quite touching, actually. He’s worried that you having a teenager will put guys off you, and he wanted me to know he won’t get in the way.” He chuckles.

Oh, poor Oscar. I’ve not even come close to dating anyone else since breaking up with Bruce, but my son’s getting to that age where he might be starting to think about girls himself, and it’s bound to cross his mind that I might want to meet someone one day.

“What did you say?” I whisper.

“I told him that we’ll play it by ear, because it takes time to see if two people fit, and it’s important to both of us not to rush anything. I’m not assuming anything, but equally I didn’t want to discount the possibility because... well, I want you.” His eyes bore into mine, and the desire in them makes my heart hammer against my ribs.

Then he smiles, reaches out, and touches the back of his fingers to my hot cheek. “I hope that was okay.”

I nod. “Yes,” I squeak, turning to jelly at the thought that Stratton wants me.

“Can I suggest something?” he says. “I’m a very up front kind of guy—I think you’ve probably gathered that after working with me for the last four months. And we did say cards on the table at all times.”

“Okay.”

“I’m single, you’re single, and we’re engaged, so things are looking pretty hopeful.”

I laugh. “I suppose.”

“Things are going to be up and down over the next few weeks. Bruce and Natalie are going to find out about us being engaged, and we’ll both have to deal with whatever that brings. It’s not going to be easy, I’m sure. The thing is, Meg, I really like you, and I don’t want whatever we have—or could have—to get tangled up in the past. It would be the easiest thing in the world to go to bed together tonight, and to make this all about sex. And I can’t say I’m not considering it.” His lips twist. “But we hardly know each other, not really. I’d like to spend some time getting to know you. So how about we put sex aside for now, and concentrate on just spending time together?”

I can’t deny that I feel disappointment at his words. I want him badly, and part of me wants him to say Fuck everyone else! and whisk me off to the bedroom where he makes mad, passionate love to me from here until the New Year.

But I know he’s right. Oscar’s here, for one thing, and even though the sweet boy has given us permission, I can’t just sleep in Stratton’s room straight off the bat. It wouldn’t feel right, and I don’t want to give Oscar the impression that it’s okay to have casual sex with your boss.

But I get a warm glow inside at the fact that Stratton’s suggesting this not because he doesn’t want me, but because he thinks there could be more than just sex. He’s an astute businessman, and he’s thinking about long-term investments, not short-term thrills.

He’s smiling now. “You’re pouting,” he says with amusement.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“All right I am, but I know you’re right that we should take it slow. We don’t want to make any stupid mistakes, do we?”

His gaze drops to my mouth, and I get the feeling that part of him doesn’t care if we make a mistake—he wants me, and he’s finding it difficult to fight his desire. I’m excited and a little bit terrified by that at the same time.

He says, “No, that’s right.” But his lips curve up, and I hold my breath as he leans forward and touches his lips to mine. It’s such a small kiss, hardly X-rated, but it’s like an hour before midnight on Christmas Eve—it’s the glitter of parcels and a glimpse of Santa’s sleigh in the sky. It’s the promise of magic, and I’m so excited I want to burst.

*

After our swim, when I’ve eaten my bacon sandwich and I’ve dressed and readied myself for the day, Stratton takes Oscar and me back to our house and practically stands guard while we pack some more clothes and whatever else we think we’ll need for a week or two away.

I come into the living room to see Stratton looking out of the window, down at the street. “I feel like I have a bodyguard,” I say, amused.

He lets the curtain drop and smiles. “You have.”

I quite like that idea. I felt very nervous at the thought of coming back to the apartment knowing that Bruce might have discovered where I live. So far, there’s no sign of him, but I still breathe a sigh of relief when we leave and head back to Stratton’s car.

“I’ll have to pick my car up at some stage,” I say.

“Maybe after work one day.” He doesn’t want me to drive on my own, not yet. I know he’s really worried about what Bruce might do to me.

I think about that as he drives back through the busy Saturday Auckland streets. Stratton doesn’t realize that Bruce doesn’t want to hurt me. He wants me back. What happened in Christchurch was an accident. I know he pushed me, but I tripped and fell. It wasn’t as if he took a baseball bat to me or anything. He didn’t mean to hurt me. I’m not stupid—it doesn’t make it right, and I’m not making excuses for him. But I truly don’t believe that at heart Bruce is a violent man.

Clearly, though, Stratton’s not taking any chances.

I haven’t been thinking about where we are, and I’m surprised when Stratton pulls over and parks in the middle of some shops.

“Do you need some groceries?” I ask.

He gives me an amused look, and I remember that he told me he has a housekeeper who gets food for him, as well as keeping the house clean. “No,” he says. “We’re going shopping.”

I stare at him. “For what?”

“For clothes, Meg. I’m guessing you’d like something new to wear to the ball in Wellington?”

My jaw drops, and I study the shop opposite us. Its window shows two long gowns and a variety of accessories. It looks elegant and exclusive and very, very expensive.

My cheeks warm. “Stratton, it’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t possibly afford to shop somewhere like that.”

He gives me an exasperated look. “I told you that the successful candidate would have a clothes budget.” He fishes out his wallet. “Come on.”

I don’t move. He pauses with his hand on the door and studies me. Then he leans back in the seat. “What?”

“You’ve seen Pretty Woman. What does it make me if I take money off you?” Especially if we have sex. I don’t say the words because Oscar’s in the back, but I can see that Stratton’s guessed what I’m thinking.

His gaze flicks to Oscar. Oscar’s not seen the movie, though, and he looks baffled as to why I’m refusing money.

Stratton’s gaze comes back to mine. “That’s not what this is,” he says softly.

I know it’s not. His reaction to Arabella told me that he spoke the truth when he said he’d never paid for sex. And that’s not what’s happening here. If I’m going to the Wellington ball with him, I do need a dress because I don’t have a single suitable thing to wear in my wardrobe, and that’s not female pride talking—I really don’t have anything, unless faded track pants are the in-thing in fashion at the moment.

Still, I hesitate. He would have paid Arabella if she’d agreed to pretend to be his fiancée, but then they wouldn’t have had sex—probably—so it would have been more of a job. But what if we do sleep together? Why does this make me feel so awkward?

Stratton’s smiling at me. “I forgot,” he says easily. “I haven’t given you your Christmas bonus yet.” He waves his wallet, as if he’s trying to tempt a dog out of its kennel with a meaty treat.

It’s my turn to give him an exasperated look. “A Christmas bonus? Are all your employees this lucky?”

“Only those who’ve worked really hard.”

I chew my bottom lip. The poorer you are, the prouder you are, and I’ve never accepted money from anyone in my life.

“Meg,” he says softly, “can’t I give the best PA I’ve ever had a present?” He looks boyishly earnest all of a sudden.

I soften like a marshmallow dropped into hot chocolate. “Aw, you’re such a smooth talker.”

“Come on, Mum,” Oscar says impatiently. “It’s only a dress.”

“Okay.” The truth is, I’m excited at the thought of buying something new, especially something as exotic and rare as a ball gown that I’ll probably only ever wear once. I’ve never been to anything like a ball before, and I’m nervous and ecstatic at the same time. I feel like Cinderella.

“Good.” Stratton grins at me, pleased that I’ve folded. I stick my tongue out at him. I don’t want him to think he’ll be able to get his own way with me all the time. He just laughs though, and we get out of the car and cross to the shop.

Inside, he’s as easy and confident as he is with his customers at Katoa. This is what money does for you. I feel intimidated, as if the girls working there will somehow know I can’t afford to buy even a handbag at their prices. But Stratton goes straight up to the oldest assistant and explains to her that I’m accompanying him to a charity function and that I need a dress and accessories, and whatever else I fancy. I watch him give the woman his credit card and murmur something to her, and she pockets it discreetly.

He comes over to me. “Lucy will take care of you—she knows the kind of thing you need. Do you want me and Oscar to stay? You can give us a fashion parade.”

I know Oscar will be bored out of his brain if he has to look at clothes for more than two minutes, beside which I want to take my time. “No, you can go.”

“All right. We’ll meet you in the café just up the road when you’re done. Take your time.” He slides a finger under my chin and lifts it to look into my eyes. “Get whatever you want for the day, okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

He smiles at Lucy and leaves with Oscar, who gives me a big thumbs-up before closing the door behind him.

I blow out a breath and turn to Lucy.

“A ball!” she says without an ounce of attitude. “How exciting.”

“I have no idea what to wear,” I admit, conscious of my scruffy jeans and faded T-shirt.

“That’s okay—we’ll work it out together. But please, no black. Okay?”

My shoulders droop. “I’d hoped for something black so that I don’t stand out.”

“My dear, I think the one thing he wants is for you to stand out. Now come on. I have the very thing.”

Chapter Seventeen

Stratton

Oscar and I call into a shop or two, then have a coffee and a doughnut in the café until Meg turns up. She refuses to show me what she’s bought, but her eyes are glittering and her cheeks are flushed, and it looks as if she’s had a good time.

She gives me my credit card back, and I put it in my wallet. I know she didn’t like me buying her clothes, but I don’t see what the problem is. If I was hiring someone to paint the office, I’d expect to pay for the paint, even if he brought his own ladders.

I do get the Pretty Woman analogy, but Meg hasn’t slept with me yet, and there’s no guarantee she’s going to. If she did, I wouldn’t pay her for it. And I want her to go to the ball with me, so I’m done with worrying about it.

I drive them home, and we spend the rest of the day indoors. In the afternoon I do some work while Meg and Oscar have a swim in the pool, and then Meg announces it’s her turn to prepare dinner, so Oscar and I play Dark Robot until she calls us in. She’s prepared a fantastic crispy chili beef with noodles, and we take it to the dining table this time, and drink red wine while we eat and talk.

After that we watch a movie, and then all three of us play Little Big Planet until Meg announces it’s time for Oscar to go to bed.

He comes up to me and holds his hand out in an awkward but grownup gesture while he says, “Thanks for a nice day.”

“You’re welcome.” I catch his hand, then pull him in with my other arm for a bear hug. I ruffle his hair, and he laughs and pushes me away. I catch Meg’s eye before she follows him out, but I can’t read what she’s thinking. Maybe she doesn’t like me getting too close to Oscar. I muse on that as I go along the corridor to my study, and stare down at my desk.

I’m working on a better controller for the blind. My first invention, which—together with Rich’s version of Dark Robot for the blind—won numerous awards and spring boarded us into the top three technology manufacturers and the top game manufacturer in New Zealand, was revolutionary, but I know I can do better. I’ve been working a lot with Teddi, as well as reading the latest research on how the brain reprograms itself when a person loses his or her sight, and I have an idea for a controller that has a better response time, and that reacts to a person’s movement almost like a VR headset for the blind. It would have to be bigger than a standard controller, but that would mean it could have a larger touchpad and a couple more buttons. I want to improve the text-to-speech option, because Teddi says the original one is brilliant for helping her to connect with her friends online but it’s too limited, and it would be helpful if it worked for all the menus on the game. I have lots of ideas, and I run my fingers over my initial sketches on the desk, hopeful that it will help.

“What’s that?” Meg comes up to stand beside me. Her arm presses against mine as if she wants to touch me but doesn’t want to be too forward.

“A new controller.” I explain what I’ve just been thinking about. When we lean close to look at the drawings, I can’t help but rest my hand in the small of her back. She doesn’t push me away, and when we straighten, I let my hand linger as long as I can before I let it drop.

“Do you want to work this evening?” she asks. “I’m happy to read or watch a movie on my own—I don’t expect you to entertain me all the time.”

“Going to work on your poetry?” I tease.

Her eyes widen, then narrow as she realizes how I know. “Oscar.”

“I’d like to hear some,” I say. “He told me you’ve won prizes.”

“I can’t imagine that you’re the kind of guy who likes poetry,” she scoffs.

“I don’t know much about it,” I admit, “but I’d like to know more. I don’t know much about art, but I like it when someone who does walks me through a gallery and explains the paintings.”

She meets my gaze, her big blue eyes shining. “Okay. I’ll read one to you later.”

I slide my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

I gesture with my head for her to follow me, and lead the way into the living room and over to the windows. She stands before me, expectant, puzzled, and a little wary of accepting another gift. There’s no point in trying to explain, so I just pull the box out of my pocket and open it.

She stares at it, then looks up at me.

“It was my great grandmother’s.” I extract it from the box. “From Hatton Garden in London. She married in 1941. Both my grandmother and my mother were very young when they had their first child. We’ve squeezed a lot of generations into this century.”

“Stratton...”

“There were restrictions on the use of gold and platinum because of the war, so it’s made from palladium.”

“Palladium?”

“It has the lowest melting point of all the metals.”

Meg gives a short laugh.

I smile. “Sorry. Science brain kicking in there. The diamond’s only a carat, so it’s not worth a fortune.”

“Only a carat.” She laughs again. “It’s beautiful, Stratton.”

I turn my other hand palm up, requesting she place hers in it. “I had it altered to fit.”

She stares at me. “When?”

“I nipped out this morning before I did breakfast.” Normally it takes a few days to get a ring altered, but it’s amazing what a bit of extra cash will encourage someone to do.

Her eyes are wide. “How did you know what size I was?”

“I still have the wedding ring you were wearing.”

“Oh.”

I let my other hand drop. “You don’t have to wear it all the time. But you’ll need it for Monday when we go to work. I thought I’d announce it at the morning meeting. It will explain your email, and word will start getting around.”

Slowly, Meg reaches out and takes the ring. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She examines it, looking at the diamond, turning it around to catch the light. Then, almost shyly, she pushes it onto her ring finger. It fits perfectly.

I close the box and slide it back into my jeans pocket. “Never thought I’d do that.”

She laughs then. “I’m waiting for the proposal.”

“Do you want me to get down on one knee?”

“Oh, I think our story is going to be much more exciting than that.” She looks up, thinking. “You took me out to the most expensive restaurant in Auckland, and the waiter brought it over with the dessert.”

I catch hold of her hand and lead her into the kitchen. “I’d never propose in public in case she said no.”

“No woman would ever say no to you, Stratton.”

Her compliment warms me through. “Well, thank you, but even so, the fear of humiliation would be too great. If I were to propose...” I take the half-filled bottle of red wine and pour some into two glasses. Just a small amount—last night I think we both overdid it. “I’d do it out of the blue. When she didn’t expect it. Somewhere quiet and romantic.” I hand her a glass. “Let’s say I did it on the beach at midnight. Up in the Bay of Islands.”

Meg looks suddenly alarmed. “That’s where your parents live.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll have to pretend we visited them a few months ago.”

“You’re going to tell them you have a fake fiancée?”

“Ah, not yet. But I’m sure they’ll be fine about it,” I say, more confidently than I feel. My parents have always been there for me and Teddi, and they’re incredibly supportive, but I’m certain they’re going to think I’m nuts when I tell them what I’ve done. “I’d like you to meet them,” I say. “They’d like you.” They never said so until we’d broken up, but I knew that they didn’t like Natalie. Mum thought she was shallow and sometimes cruel, and Dad thought she was after my money. Unfortunately, all of their observations are probably true, to some extent.

Meg takes a large gulp of wine. “I couldn’t meet your parents.” She looks horrified. “What will they think of me for pretending to be engaged to you?”

“They’ll think you’re wonderful, Meg, because you are.” I move closer to her, loving the range of expressions that cross her face, her honesty, her integrity. She takes a step back but meets the counter, and it means I can move up close to her, until I can feel her pressed against me, her breasts soft against my chest.

I know it’s stupid. We’re not really engaged, and, until now, even though I’ve admired others who’ve made this commitment, I’ve always thought marriage isn’t for me. But she’s wearing my ring. I feel as if I’ve stamped the word Mine onto her forehead. When Bruce or indeed any other guy looks at her now, they’ll know she belongs to me.

For some reason, I like that feeling.

I lower my lips to hers. She inhales sharply, but she doesn’t move away and just closes her eyes. I pause a second, smiling as her lips part automatically and her cheeks flush with an attractive pink. Then I kiss her.

She’s already had some wine, and when I brush my tongue into her mouth, I taste plum and blackberry. Everything about this woman is rich and sweet. Her mouth is so soft—it makes me hard in seconds, and I can’t help but push my hips to hers. In response, she gives a sexy little moan, and I sigh and delve deeper, enjoying the sensations of being intimate with her, of using all my senses to explore her.

When I eventually raise my head, she has a dreamy look in her eyes, and she presses the rim of the glass to her lips, looking at me with a bashful smile.

“You’re a naughty boy,” she murmurs.

I laugh. “Come on.” I lead her into the living room. I tend to work in the evenings or watch movies because I don’t go to bed early, and it can be lonely with hours of time to yourself. I don’t mind my own company, but I don’t know many men who are happy doing nothing, and I like to fill my time with something productive.

But tonight, like last night, I sit and chat to Meg while we listen to music, and the hours roll away as we talk about everything under the sun. We learn about each other’s pasts, where we grew up, what we were like at school, who we dated and who our best friends were. I tell her about Rich and Will. We talk about Teddi, and I tell her more than I’ve ever told anyone about how hard it’s been for her, for all of us, having to deal with her blindness.

I’m enjoying this exploration of her life, finding out more about the Meg beneath the PA I’ve gotten to know quite well. She says she has lots of faults, but I’m having difficulty seeing them. She’s kind and generous, funny and hardworking. She admits she can be a bit OCD with organization, but then that’s what makes her such a good PA. She says she’s too soft on Oscar, but I haven’t seen that—he’s growing up into a great lad, and I tell her so, which earns me a lovely warm smile that will stay with me for a long time.

We talk about her poetry, and finally I persuade her to read one out to me.

“It’s called ‘Beckett’s Offspring,’” she says, and begins to read.

“Bursting with life, in the cemetery,

I stand and muse on how meaningful it would be

to ‘give birth astride of a grave’.  How eloquent

to deliver onto freshly turned earth

blood and mucus to mix with the mud

a truly natural birth.

People would think: how inappropriate!

But I can’t imagine a more evocative place

to nurture a seed.

It’s so peaceful here. I can feel

the breath of creation in the trees

the river of life running below,

ferrying souls to and fro,

and I know that the bones of the dead

would donate their flowers for the newborn’s head.’”

She finishes and looks up at me warily.

“Wow,” I say. “That was amazing.”

Her look turns wry. “Yeah, right. You have no idea what it was about, do you?”

“I do,” I protest. “That’s a quote from Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. I love the way you ended with a rhyming couplet.”

Her smile is amazing. “You really liked it? It won first prize in a competition, although when it was printed I actually had someone write and say how inappropriate the subject matter was.” She pulls a face.

I frown. “I don’t get that. I can see what you were trying to say, about how life is a circle, and how energy flows from birth to death to birth again. I think it was beautiful.”

She doesn’t say anything else, but I can see she’s touched by my words.

It’s very late before we admit we’re tired and that we really should go to bed. We place our glasses in the dishwasher and walk down to our bedrooms, and I bend to kiss her cheek before we part.

I go into my room and lie on the bed for a while, looking out at the dark sky. I don’t know what’s going to happen between us. I want to do this right, and I don’t want to fuck it up. I can only go by instinct, and that’s not always worked for me in the past. But I know Meg likes me. More than that—she wants me, it’s clear in her eyes and the sighs she gives when I kiss her. If I were to knock on her door now, she’d welcome me in and in less than five minutes we’d be making love on her bed. I want to. But something stops me. She’s better than that. She’s been through a lot, and she deserves more than a brief fling.

I don’t know what I’m willing to offer her yet, but I do know it’s more than that.

I look out at the stars. Am I being foolish? She’s not been with a guy for some time, by the sounds of it, and I know that it’s not only men who can have sex without any emotional commitment. Maybe all she wants is a fling.

I don’t think that’s the case, though. I might be wrong. All I know is that she didn’t take my ring off all evening, and it was still on her finger when she went to bed.

Chapter Eighteen

Meg

On Monday morning, I dress with a strange mixture of nerves and excitement.

Saturday and Sunday passed slowly, and I don’t think I’m over-exaggerating when I say it was the nicest weekend I’ve ever spent.

Stratton seemed to understand that I needed some peace and quiet, and he left me to my own devices for much of Sunday while he worked in his office on his new designs. I swam several times, played games and watched movies with Oscar, and then in the evening Oscar and I cooked Shepherd’s Pie for us all. After that, we sat together in the living room like any family would do, Oscar drawing and listening to music, Stratton and I reading and chatting occasionally.

I felt at peace in a way I have never felt with anyone save Oscar. Stratton’s so easy. It’s only now that I realize how high maintenance Bruce was. He was always prickly, like a hedgehog, and I spent most of my time with him trying to work out what mood he was in, and what I’d said to offend him this time. Stratton doesn’t seem moody at all. Teddi has told me that he’s not been himself since he broke up with Natalie, but to be honest I certainly haven’t seen much sign of that over the last few days. He’s thoughtful sometimes, but he’s even-tempered, patient, and he never has a cross word for Oscar.

I try to be realistic—I’ve only been with the man two days. When you have guests in the house it’s natural to be on your best behavior, and it’s entirely probable that if I lived with him for any length of time I’d discover that he has good and bad days the same as any normal person. But it’s just a relief not to feel as if I have to be on my guard the whole time. He’s warm and funny, considerate and thoughtful. I’ve worked with him for four months, day in, day out, so I know he’s not putting on a show. Yeah, he’s still naughty—he has a wicked sense of humor and loves to tease me, but the more I’m with him, the more I’m able to relax and give as good as I get, and he loves that. It turns him on, I think, our back and forth banter, especially when it’s a bit near the knuckle. As much as I’m conscious that he’s still my boss, this is a very unusual situation, and whatever happens over the next few weeks, things are going to change at work.

I don’t want to think about the future now, though, because I have the present to deal with. We’ve dropped Oscar off at Alyssa’s—she’ll take the boys to the local sports center later, where they can wear themselves out playing tennis and swimming all day—and now Stratton and I are heading to work.

“What about Andy?” I ask, remembering he’d been there when Bruce had shown up. “What will he say when he hears about our ‘engagement’?”

“Rich has spoken to him,” Stratton announces, heading to the car park beneath the office building. “He’s the only one who knows what’s going on, and he’s very discreet—he won’t tell anyone. And by the way, I hope you won’t be using air quotes when you tell anyone that we’re engaged.” He sends me a wry look.

I’m too nervous to smile back. “And what about Rich and Teddi?” I’m worried they’re upset with me. They both thought Stratton’s plan to hire a fake fiancée was a stupid one, and I can only imagine what they must think of me for agreeing to go along with it.

“They’ll be fine.” Stratton doesn’t elaborate—he just drives into a parking space and turns off the engine. “Ready?”

I look down at the ring on my left hand. I still can’t believe he’s given it to me. Well, loaned it to me, obviously. But even though it’s not permanent, I’m still touched at the gesture. For a start, he went to the trouble of getting it resized. His own great-grandmother’s ring! It makes me want to cry. Every time I look at it, I go all gooey inside. Stupid, I know, but gestures matter.

“Come on.” He gets out of the car, comes around to my side, and holds out his hand. I place mine in it, and he pulls me to my feet and shuts the car door.

Then he moves closer, pinning me to the side of the car.

“This is allowed now,” he murmurs, dropping his head so his lips brush mine. “We’re engaged.”

“There’s nobody to see,” I protest weakly, as the car park is empty.

“So?” He gives me that tiger-grin, then kisses me. Just a touch of his lips to mine, but it makes my knees go weak.

Oh dear, I think as he pulls back and smirks before leading me across to the elevator. This isn’t going to be easy.

*

As it happens, the first bit is incredibly easy. Stratton announces it to everyone in the top office. By the end of his speech, even I’m convinced that we’ve fallen madly in love and can’t wait to tie the knot.

Everyone crowds around, eager to congratulate us and give us their best wishes. I note that Teddi and Rich have returned to the board room, where we’ll continue in a few minutes with the daily meeting. I haven’t spoken to them yet, and I’m not sure how they’re going to react to me.

Butterflies in my stomach, I nod and smile, relieved when everyone starts to leave to return to their offices.

“When’s the big day going to be?” Ella, the head of the typing pool, lingers curiously.

“Next June,” I tell her. Stratton and I have already prepared our answers to questions like these. “We thought we’d go for a winter wedding, and we need some time to prepare.”

“Of course.” Ella glances at Stratton, who’s busy talking to a couple of the other managers in the office, although I have a feeling he has one ear on what we’re saying. She leans closer to me conspiratorially. “We all knew there was something going on between you two.”

I blush, sure he’s listening. “Oh, really?”

“We could spot it a mile away. You should see the way he looks at you when you don’t realize he’s watching. He can’t take his eyes off you. He’s been the same ever since you started here.”

I glance at Stratton—yes, he’s listening. He raises an eyebrow. I blush even more. “Oh, goodness. Well, that’s nice to know.”

“It happened very quickly, didn’t it?” Ella persists.

Whatever I say is going to get around the office, and Stratton warned me that Ella also sees Natalie socially sometimes, so I have to be very careful what I say here. I hope she doesn’t mistake my blush for lying. “Yes,” I agree, “I suppose it did, but we both fell in love at first sight. Because we work together, we kept it very quiet. But neither of us sees any point in waiting. We’re not getting any younger.”

She nods and smiles. “Well, I hope you’ll be very happy. He’s quite a catch.” She grins and makes that rubbing movement with her thumb and fingers that indicates he’s loaded.

I go still, indignant and offended, even though we’re not really engaged. “His money has nothing to do with it,” I snap, but even to me it sounds slightly ridiculous. The guy’s a billionaire. We’re engaged within four months of me starting work here. Of course everyone’s going to think I’m after his money.

“Sure,” Ella says, “sorry,” and she gives me an awkward, apologetic smile and walks away. I know she’s going to get straight on her mobile and telephone Natalie, and tell her that her ex has been snapped up by a gold digger. For some reason, that gets to me more than anything.

Across from me, Stratton excuses himself and comes over. “Everything all right?”

I nod, although I’m flustered and upset, and annoyed that I’m flustered and upset. Why should it matter what anyone thinks of me for doing this? But it does matter, because I do like him, and now it’s making me question whether there is even a small part of me that is drawn to his bank account.

He pulls me to one side. “What is it?”

I look down at my feet. “It’s nothing, it’s stupid... It’s just that I know everyone’s thinking that I’m after your money.”

To my surprise, he laughs. “Little do they know that I had to force you to take my card the other day.”

“It’s not funny,” I protest.

“No.” He sobers, but his eyes are still alight with humor. “Let’s show them it’s not about the money, shall we?”

“What...” I taper off as he moves closer and cups my face with a hand. Oh jeez, he’s going to kiss me, in front of everyone. I put my hands on his chest, intending to push him away, but at the last minute I think Ah, what the heck, and I let him lower his lips to mine.

I close my eyes, shutting out the room, and concentrate on Stratton, his mouth, his warm hand, just being near to him. A cheer goes up, and it continues around the room as everyone obviously turns to look. I know that Ella’s going to be watching. Take that, Natalie, I think, smiling as Stratton finally laughs and pulls back, then takes a bow to the room.

I glance over at the boardroom to see Rich leaning against the door, arms folded. I’m relieved to see him smiling, and when he speaks over his shoulder, I know that he’s relaying what’s happened to Teddi.

“Come on,” Stratton says, taking my hand, and he leads me to the boardroom.

I close the door behind me, and take my usual seat at the end. Stratton sits on my left, Teddi and Rich on my right. I hear a sigh as Bella the Labrador lies at Teddi’s feet beneath the table.

“So...” Rich begins, tipping back his chair and surveying us with amusement. “That was some acting out there.”

Stratton says nothing, just plays with his pen and glances at me as if to check that I’m not upset still. I decide to make fun of the situation.

“Thanks,” I say to Rich. “Apparently I’m up for an Emmy.”

He laughs, Stratton grins, and the tension lifts around the table.

“Stratton told us what happened in the foyer,” Teddi says.

I hesitate and then give a long sigh. “About that... I want to apologize for lying to you all. I’m very sorry I didn’t tell you the truth at the beginning. It’s just... I couldn’t.” I swallow hard.

“It’s all right,” Teddi says softly. “We understand.”

“And I’m sorry about the whole fake relationship thing.” This is even more embarrassing. “Normally, I would never have done something like this, and I have to admit that I thought it was a daft idea at the beginning, but when Bruce showed up, suddenly I understood why Stratton had come up with the idea. I thought that maybe Bruce might finally leave me alone if he thinks I’m getting married to someone else.”

“That’s true,” Teddi says.

“The thing is...” Suddenly it’s very important to me that they understand. “I’ve never considered myself a victim. I’ve had to cope on my own for a long time. I like to think I’m independent and strong. I know it doesn’t look like that—after all, why did I stay with him so long? But I tried to make it work. And even though I’m not frightened of him, not physically, having Stratton around...” I don’t know how to put it into words. I don’t think Bruce is a violent man at heart, and I can stand up for myself... And I feel very strongly that I am not a woman in need of being rescued...

But being with Stratton makes me feel safe. Or at least, he gives me confidence in my own ability to stand up for myself. I’ve made mistakes in the past, I know that. And sometimes I wish I’d done things differently. But I’m done apologizing for my actions.

“There’s nothing else to be said,” Teddi states. “We’ll back the two of you up, of course. And I hope it works out for you.” She taps the special tablet she has for the blind, the surface of which is covered with the raised dots of Braille. “I’d like to raise the subject of booking adverts and promotions for your next game, Rich, ahead of time. Do you have any preferences where you’d like me to start?”

Relieved that she’s changed the subject, I give her a thankful glance, then realize she can’t see it and murmur, “Thank you.” I open my laptop and start taking minutes, relieved that neither Rich nor Teddi have given us a hard time.

Stratton winks at me before turning his attention to the subject under discussion. It makes me think of the kiss he’s just given me.

And now I’m back to thinking about melted chocolate. Some things never change.

Chapter Nineteen

Stratton

It takes just under thirty minutes for my mobile to ring and show the name of one of Natalie’s friends. I’m amazed it’s taken that long. News on the office grapevine moves faster than Usain Bolt when he has a plane to catch.

We’ve just finished the morning meeting and returned to our offices. I stare at the phone for a moment. When I first broke up with Natalie, she called and texted me incessantly, and eventually I blocked her number. Since then, she’s used her friend’s mobiles. I could block them all, I guess, but she has a lot of friends.

Most of the time, I just cancel the call. But I’m going to have to do this at some point, so I rise from my chair, walk over to the window that looks down over the waterfront, and answer it.

“Hello?”

“Stratton?” She sounds surprised—she didn’t think I’d answer. “It’s me.”

I was tempted to say “Sorry, who?” but I restrain myself. I might want her out of my life, but I once cared for her, and I know she’s hurting.

“Hey,” I say, making my voice softer than it wants to be.

“I’ve just heard something very strange.” In contrast, her voice is loud, angry. “Someone told me that you announced you’re engaged. To your PA.”

I watch a boat making its way out of the harbor. The sun glitters on the water like tinsel, making my eyes water.

“Good news travels fast,” I say.

There’s a long silence. Partway through, I hear a noise at the door and turn to see Meg coming in with a takeaway latte and an armful of files. She walks up to my desk before seeing that I’m on the phone. She places the coffee and folders on the table with a gesture of apology at interrupting, and then her eyes widen as she sees the look on my face.

“Natalie?” she mouths. I nod. She pulls an eek face, which makes me want to laugh, even though my stomach’s in a knot. She goes to walk out, but I catch her arm and ask her to sit. Oddly, I’m comforted by having her there, even though I’m talking to my ex. I want her to hear me tell Natalie that we’re done. She lowers herself gracefully into the seat, looking wary.

I turn back to the view. “Are you still there?” I ask, wondering if she’s hung up. Or if she’s fainted.

“I’m here.”

I can imagine the look on her face. Her light green eyes will be blazing, her pretty lips pursed in fury. I remember trying to divert an argument between the two of us once—she’d had that look on her face, and I’d lifted her up and carried her into the bedroom, where I’d kissed her and made love to her until she’d given in. I’d been triumphant, but I’d discovered afterward that I hadn’t stopped the argument, only delayed it. It makes me uncomfortable to think about it now, and I push the memory away.

“Meg,” she says. “Really?”

“Really.”

“How long have you known her? Three months?”

“Four,” I correct.

“Oh, sorry, four months,” she says sarcastically. “What, did she refuse to go to bed with you until you popped the question?”

Various options flash through my mind—I want to be sarcastic and cruel, to yell at her, to make her promise to leave me alone. She has a habit of bringing me down to her level. But part of me senses that she wants an emotional confrontation, and for once I refuse to give it to her.

“I’m not talking to you about Meg. What do you want, Natalie?”

“To tell you not to make a stupid mistake. You know you’re on the rebound, right? Is this about making me jealous? Is this all part of a plan to get me back?” Her voice is sharp, but I can hear the misery behind it, as well as a glimmer of hope.

Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with pity. This is a stupid thing I’ve done. I’ve hurt her badly, and I’m not the type of guy who can do that easily to a woman. Why can’t she accept it’s over? Why did she have to drive me to lies and deceit?

“Not everything’s about you,” I tell her quietly. “We broke up seven months ago, and I’m moving on, that’s all. I wish you’d do the same. We’re over.”

“We’re not,” she snaps. “We’re perfect for each other, but you’re too stupid to see it.”

Impatience flickers inside me. “Natalie...”

“What’s she like in bed? Does she know all your secrets? Does she let you do all the things you like to do to a girl? Not every woman’s as accommodating as me, Stratton. Not every girl will let you fuck them the way you fucked me.”

I haven’t blushed since I tripped up the steps onto the stage at prize giving when I was thirteen, but, conscious of Meg watching me, I feel my face grow hot. I glance at her, and she raises her eyebrows. I hope she can’t hear anything from the other side of the desk. Thank God I didn’t put the call on speakerphone.

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” I snap at my ex, angry now. “Stop it.”

But she’s too far gone to stop. She’s almost yelling now. “Do you really think you can give up what we had? Tell me you don’t think about that night in Brisbane. Does Meg let you do that? Does she know what an incredibly dirty man is inside that smart, geeky guy?”

“Natalie—”

“I love you.” She’s crying now. “I’ll do anything if you’ll come back to me. I won’t mention marriage or children again—I don’t care if I don’t have kids, or if we adopt—I just want you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” My voice is like a switchblade, made so by sheer frustration. This is the first time she’s told me that she’ll give up having kids for me. But she’s too late. She’s destroyed whatever I felt for her, and I could never go back to her, not now. “You’re not listening to me. I don’t love you anymore. I don’t know if I ever did. I want you to leave me and Meg alone. Find yourself some other man to obsess over, Natalie. We’re done.”

“Does she want children?” Her words slice through me. “Have you asked her? Is she willing to give them up for you?”

I hang up. It takes every ounce of willpower I own not to throw the phone across the room until it shatters against the wall.

I glare out of the window, furious at her and at myself for having a conversation with her, almost shaking with frustration. I wish I hadn’t asked Meg to stay. I don’t want her to see me like this.

I feel her hand touch the small of my back. Then, to my surprise, her arms slip around my waist, and she hugs me.

Emotion sweeps over me, and I take a deep, shuddery breath. I can’t remember the last time I cried, but tears prick my eyes, and I have to swallow hard to make sure they don’t fall.

“Fuck,” I yell.

I feel Meg give a short laugh. “Eloquent as ever,” she murmurs. She rests a hand on my chest, over my heart.

I exhale, then bring up my hands to cover hers. I become aware of her breasts pressed against my back, her cheek resting between my shoulder blades. She’s warm, and her very touch is comforting, and calms me. This is what being with a real lover should be like, I think, not missing the irony that we’re not actually lovers. I can’t remember Natalie ever hugging me like this. It occurs to me that our interactions consisted of two distinct situations—either we were fucking or fighting. How could I ever have thought that could be the basis of a lasting relationship?

I turn and put my arms around Meg, and rest my lips on the top of her head.

“We’re really screwed up, aren’t we?” she murmurs.

“Yeah.” I kiss her hair. “At least we’re screwed up together.”

She chuckles. Then she moves back a little and looks up at me. Her expression turns mischievous. “So... you’re an incredibly dirty man?”

I close my eyes. Shit. She overheard Natalie.

Meg laughs. “Don’t tell me that Stratton Parker is embarrassed? I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Well, it’s not every day your fiancée overhears your ex talking about what you were like in bed.” I kiss her nose. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh Stratton, she didn’t say anything I didn’t already know. You think I wasn’t aware that you’re a very naughty boy inside?”

My lips curve up. “You make me sound like Dennis the Menace.”

“That’s the perfect description for you. I’m going to call you that from now on.”

I chuckle. “I am sorry you had to hear it, though.”

“I don’t mind. I’m... intrigued.” Her eyes meet mine. They’re alight with curiosity and desire. A tingle runs from the nape of my neck down to my tailbone.

“I see.” Heat floods through me at the thought of educating Meg in various sexual pleasures.

Leaving her for a moment, I walk over to the door and close it. Then I come back to where she stands by my desk. I move up close to her, and she takes a step back, but the desk stops her retreat. She slips her hands behind her butt and draws up her shoulders as if she’s nervous, but her eyes are wide with excitement, her lips parted.

This woman does something to me. I don’t quite know why. At the time, Natalie hooked me in with her experience in the bedroom. I’ve never been particularly drawn to innocent girls, and the blushing virgin does little for me. I liked that Natalie had been with other guys and wasn’t afraid to experiment. I enjoyed the way we showed each other what we knew, and uncovered a few more things between us. She was fun, and that was all I needed for several years, while I was busy with work and didn’t have the time for an elaborate courtship.

I haven’t realized it before, but now I understand that I’m ready for something more. Quite what, I’m not sure. But there’s something about Meg that’s lighting my candle in a way no other girl has for a very long time. She’s naive, but not innocent. Sassy, but not nasty. Confident, but not arrogant. And she’s fucking hot, and I’m not going to be able to hold back for much longer, because it seems that all I think about is taking off her clothes, lowering her to the bed, and sliding inside her.

I cup her head with a hand and claim her mouth with mine, and I don’t bother about holding back this time, hoping to show her how much I want her. Meg gasps, her mouth opening, and I take full advantage of it and delve my tongue inside, wanting to taste her, to brand her as mine. Her left hand comes up to rest on my chest, and I take it, interlinking our fingers. I can feel my great-grandmother’s ring, and a surge of almost primal smugness runs through me that Bruce lost her, and I’ve got her now. I want to make love to her until she forgets that idiot, until I wipe all memories of him from her brain. I don’t want her ever to think of him again.

I lift my head to look at her, and her eyes slowly open. Her cheeks are flushed, and I’ve kissed all her lipstick off.

“You’re so wicked,” she murmurs. “Anyone could walk in.”

“Don’t care, we’re engaged.” I kiss her again. I could kiss her all day.

But I have phone calls to make and reports to write, and eventually I move back and release her with a sigh. “I suppose I should let you get to work.”

“Yes, you should.” She moves reluctantly, though, straightening her white blouse and navy skirt, and casting me an exasperated glance when she touches her lips to find them bare. “Everyone’s going to know what we’ve been doing.”

“Good.” I sit behind my desk. “I want them to know.”

She rolls her eyes and walks to the door, giving me a final, wry glance before she exits.

I turn my chair and look out over the harbor. Clouds have crossed the sun, and the sea no longer sparkles, like an old Christmas bauble that’s lost its glitter. Natalie had a thing about them—every year she would buy new decorations, because she said old ones made her sad. I think that was probably because she had a difficult childhood, with her father being blind and unable to find work much of the time—she never liked to talk about the past. Maybe that’s why she wants kids so much. Just like Bruce, she doesn’t exist in a vacuum, and it’s a culmination of experiences that have made her the way she is.

I have to take the blame for some of that. Much of her current bitterness is due to me. It’s rare for a woman not to want a family, and it’s not always something you discuss before you begin a relationship. By the time you discover one of you doesn’t want them, it’s too late—you’ve already stood in the bear trap.

Does she want children? Have you asked her? Is she willing to give them up for you?

It’s irrelevant, I tell myself—I’ve not even dated Meg properly yet. We’re hardly at the stage where we’re talking about the future. We’re not really engaged!

But I feel a ripple of unease. She has a child, of course, a teenager, and she’s thirty-three, four years older than Natalie. While that’s hardly old, it’s possible she’s not interested in having any more kids.

But she might want them. I have to consider that. What if I begin a thing with her, only to discover that, like Natalie, she wants a baby?

I turn the chair away from the view and start up my laptop. It’s pointless to try to second guess everything. I’m going to have this problem no matter who I date.

Irritably, I bring up the report I need to work on and stare at it gloomily. Natalie’s words are like flies buzzing around a dead creature. I swat at them, but they won’t go away.

I understand that we are only animals, and our reason for being is procreation and continuing the human race. But social media tells us that everyone should want children. We’re made to feel odd and unusual if we don’t. I was shocked when I looked up the statistics and discovered that 47.6 percent—nearly half!—of women in the U.S. aged between fifteen and forty-four have never had children, and I suspect it’s a similar figure in New Zealand. Of course that doesn’t differentiate between those who don’t want them and those who can’t, whether it’s due to fertility or not having a partner. But it irritates me when people I’ve met who can’t have kids are angry with me because I’ve chosen not to. As if I’ve won a holiday to somewhere they desperately want to go, and I’ve turned my nose up at it.

It’s not that I don’t understand the attraction of having a child. If I think about it too hard, I get a hollowness inside and feel a strange wistfulness at the thought that I won’t continue the family line, and there will never be a little piece of me running around. But I can’t. I just can’t. If my partner got pregnant I’d have to put her through the stress and upset of having the fetus tested, and if we discovered it had the mutated gene we’d have to have it delivered early so it could have its eyes operated on. How could I ever try for a baby with that hanging over my head? If ever there was something to trigger impotency in me, that might be it. I don’t want to do it, and I’m sick of being made to feel abnormal because of my decision.

I pick up the coffee Meg brought me in and sip it, and think about how her lips felt beneath mine. We’re not even really engaged. And I’m not going to worry about it anymore. I have other things to think about. Such as, it’s Christmas, and I need to buy my fake stepson a present.

Lips curving, I pull my laptop toward me and start to type into Google.

Chapter Twenty

Meg

The next couple of days pass quickly. To my relief, there’s no sign of Bruce. I admit I’m a little more cautious than normal, and I haven’t wandered around the shops like I usually do in my lunch hour, nor have I gone to the local swimming pool, which I tend to do several times a week. Instead, I’ve swum in Stratton’s pool every day, and we’ve taken lunch together, usually in his office because he’s so busy, although we did manage to sneak out yesterday to visit a café.

I don’t like this feeling of constantly looking over my shoulder. I’m going to have to face up to the fear at some point, whether that involves meeting up with Bruce and trying to convince him I’ve moved on, or, if he won’t listen, finally getting a protection order.

But I’m not going to think about it now, because it’s Wednesday afternoon, Midsummer Day, and we’ve left Bruce behind in Auckland somewhere and we’re on our way to Wellington for the NZAB Solstice Ball.

It may sound stupid, but I’ve not really given much thought to what it means that Stratton has money. I know he owns his own company with Rich and Teddi. I’ve read all the articles about how it made major breakthroughs, and how successful it is. My jaw dropped when I first walked into his house, and I’m aware that his suits are tailor-made and expensive, that he has all the most modern gadgets, and that he enjoys the finer things in life, like good food and the best whiskies.

But... well... he’s Stratton. At my interview, I was shocked how young all three of them are. And not just that, but none of them are arrogant or superior because of the position they’ve found themselves in. Maybe that’s because they don’t come from money, or maybe they’re just nice people, but when I’m with them, as well as with Stratton alone, I don’t think about it.

I know he’s a billionaire, though. As his PA, I’ve seen his bank accounts, and I nearly passed out at the sight of all those zeroes. And now, travelling with him for the first time, I realize exactly what it means to have that kind of money.

For a start, we fly down in a private jet. Holy shit! He looks surprised when I express my disbelief at not having to travel cattle class with all the holidaymakers. I wonder when he last had to do that.

There are Christmas decorations in the first class lounge, and carols playing on the loudspeakers. It crosses my mind that Christmas is only days away, and I have no idea what I’m doing for it. My parents have asked whether I’d like to go back to Christchurch to spend it with them, but I’m not keen on doing that. It will be safer considering that Bruce is probably still in Auckland, but this is my home now. Plus, Stratton’s original suggestion was that we play the fiancée game for a few weeks over the Christmas period. Maybe I should have given that more thought. What does he intend to do on Christmas Day? Does he go up to his family in the Bay of Islands? If so, is he expecting me to go with him, or to stay here on my own with Oscar?

I resolve to worry about it later, and on the plane I concentrate instead on drinking the best Champagne I’ve ever had—no, let’s be honest, the only Champagne with a capital C I’ve ever had because it’s the real stuff from France, not just fizzy wine—and enjoying the lovely canapés the flight assistant brings us. Stratton is busy making calls and catching up on last minute work on his laptop, so I pretend to read, but actually I spend the time looking around me and marveling that I’m actually there.

When we arrived in Wellington, rather than having to make our way to the taxi rank, we’re picked up by a driver in a limo who delivers us in style to Carlton’s, the upmarket hotel where the ball is taking place.

It’s all like being in a play where I’m Cinderella who’s been asked—literally—to go to the ball. But it’s only when we check in and the receptionist tells us that we’re in a Premier Suite that I start to think I’m dreaming.

“I hope it’s okay,” Stratton says when we walk into the suite. “It seemed a bit odd coming to a charity ball and booking the Penthouse, so I settled for the Premier.”

“You settled for the Premier.” I walk around, mouth open at the sight of the red leather sofas, the plush carpets, the expensive wooden dining suite, the state-of-the-art kitchen. It has two bedrooms, both huge, and each of them has an en suite bathroom. The walls bear expensive-looking paintings, and there are fresh flowers everywhere, interspersed with elegant Christmas decorations that look as if they’ve cost more than a week’s rent. I’m utterly dumbfounded.

Stratton checks his phone. “We have a couple of hours before dinner. I really ought to go to the AGM before the ball. Is it okay if I leave you here to get ready? You’re welcome to come with me, but it’s going to be boring.”

“I think I’ll be all right,” I say, imagining how wonderful it’s going to be to have a bath in the huge tub while sipping a glass of the wine that’s currently sitting in an ice bucket.

He hesitates, as if he’s about to say something, but in the end he just smiles. He’s been quiet over the last few days, ever since Natalie’s phone call. We’ve had nice evenings, and we’ve talked a lot, but he’s still not made a move on me. I’m not sure whether he’s regretting breaking up with her, or if something else upset him. Or it could be that he’s decided he’s not interested in me, for whatever reason—maybe my lack of experience in the bedroom has put him off, or perhaps he’s come to the conclusion that a thirty-three-year-old with a kid and a psycho ex isn’t what he’s looking for. The thought makes me sad, but I’d understand if it was the case.

“Will Natalie be at this meeting?” I ask as nonchalantly as I can.

“Yes, she’ll be there, but there will be a lot of people around, and I’ll do my best to avoid her.” He pauses by the door to check his appearance in the mirror. I know he’s not vain, so I’m surprised to see him run a hand through his hair. He’s worried what Natalie will think.

I come to stand beside him and look up at him. He’s so gorgeous. Today, he’s wearing a smart, expensive-looking navy suit, a white shirt, and the tie I bought him for his birthday, sans coffee stain, which makes me smile. I know he’s brought a tux with him for tonight, and I can’t wait to see him in it, although a small part of me misses the Stratton from home who wears an All Blacks top and his track pants.

“Stratton,” I say.

He adjusts his tie, distracted. “Mmm?”

“I just wanted to say...”

He looks at me, and I’m momentarily speechless as I fall under his blue and green-eyed gaze. He waits, then raises an eyebrow.

“Um...” I try to gather my wits, like scooping up frozen peas from a split bag. “I hope... I hope that I’m not in the way here.”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“With Natalie.” This has been building for a few days and, wanting to get the words out, I start to speak quickly. “You’ve been quiet since that phone call you had with her in your office, a bit distant, and I knew it shook you up. I wondered whether you’ve been regretting breaking up with her, and if you’ve been thinking about getting back with her again. I just want to say, if that’s what you want, please don’t worry about me. If you want me to stay in one bedroom and you take the other, or even if you want to go back to her room tonight to talk or to... you know... make up with her, it’s okay, I understand, and I’ll be fine, I mean I’ll be disappointed, but I’m not expecting anything. I mean, I was hoping, but that’s not the same as expecting, and I get why you might not be interested in me. I’m only supposed to be your fake fiancée anyway, it’s not like we’re really engaged, I do know that, and I’m not here to make demands on you. I don’t want you to feel beholden to me, because you asked me to come. I’m your PA first, and I’m thinking of this as part of the job, so if you’ve changed your mind about us, that’s okay, I won’t make a fuss...”

My voice trails off. He’s looking at me with a mixture of bewilderment and amusement.

Keeping his gaze fixed on mine, he moves closer, pinning me against the wall.

“How long have you been bottling that up?” He rests his forearm on the wall above my head and leans in close. I’ve taken off my heels, and jeez, he’s tall. He towers over me, all height and breadth and dark glowering gorgeousity.

“A few days,” I admit, and swallow nervously.

He surveys me for a long moment, his gaze skimming down me, then coming back up to rest on my mouth.

“I don’t want to get back with Natalie,” he says.

I blink a few times. “Oh. Okay. Only I thought—”

A frown flickers on his face. “I have been thinking about... things, but not in that way. I’m sorry if I’ve been quiet—I didn’t want to bore you or hurt your feelings in any way by talking about my previous relationship. But that conversation I had with Natalie made me realize that the relationship I had with her wasn’t what I thought it was. It made me sad—I should have worked out earlier that we weren’t right for each other. I feel guilty that I wasted time for her, time she could have spent looking for a partner who would give her what she wanted—marriage and children.”

“It’s partly her fault too, Stratton. If she’d accepted it earlier, rather than keep thinking she could change you, she’d be over you by now.” I think about it. “Probably. I don’t think you’d be an easy man to get over.”

His eyes bore into mine. “Don’t you?”

“Um...” I chew my lip nervously. “I don’t know what you mean by that. I can’t tell if you want to yell at me or kiss me.”

His gaze drops to my lips. “I’m sorry I’ve been distant. And I’m sorry if it made you think I’ve changed my mind. Because I most definitely want to kiss you.”

“Oh.”

“And more.”

I’m melting inside at the look in his eyes. “M-more?”

“Yes, more, Miss Meg. I know I shouldn’t. We’re not really engaged, and you’re my PA, and there’s all sorts of conversations we should have before we get involved, but the truth is that I can’t wait any longer.”

My lips part, but I can’t exhale because someone’s stolen all the air from my lungs. “Can’t you?”

He gives a little shake of his head. Desire rolls off him in waves. “I want you,” he murmurs, bending his head so I can almost—but not quite—feel his lips touch mine. “And tonight, I plan to take you into that bedroom and fuck you senseless.”

I look up into his eyes. They’re hot and amused, waiting for my reaction.

Holy shit. I can’t think what to say. My brain’s turned to mush. My heart’s banging on my ribs, trying to get out. I’m terribly inexperienced at dealing with this kind of man. I feel excited and turned on and panicky all rolled into one.

As usual, when words desert me, I opt for humor. “That doesn’t sound very romantic.”

Something flickers across his expression—regret, maybe, or even shame. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I haven’t done this in a while.” He kisses my cheek, a tender apology that makes me sigh. “I want to make love to you again and again, until you’re exhausted from all the orgasms. Until your body aches and your lips are sore and you’re drenched in sweat. Until you beg me to stop because you can’t take any more pleasure.” He brushes his lips against mine, and at the same time I feel his right hand close over my left, touching the engagement ring. “Until you can think of no one else but me.”

I open my mouth to groan, but I don’t get a chance because he kisses me, and I’m swept away on a wave of desire that leaves me shivering in its wake. I don’t know which bit of that conversation is making me shake more, the general he wants to fuck me senseless bit, or the detailed description of what he wants to do to me. Both are really, really hot, and I can’t believe he still wants me.

He kisses me until I’ve completely lost the plot, until my legs are trembling and my heart is racing and my chest is heaving because I’m trying so hard to keep breathing. When he eventually lifts his head, I worry that I’ll slide down the wall and collapse as if all my bones have been removed. I managed to stay on my feet, but only just.

He studies me with his sizzling eyes and a sexy smile on his face. “I’ll be back around six,” he says, “in time for a shower and to get changed. I look forward to seeing your gown.”

I nod, because I can’t speak, and he pushes off the wall. His eyes tell me that he knows perfectly well what he’s done to me, and he likes it, very much. He walks out, and the door swings shut behind him.

I just manage to make it to one of the beds before my legs give way.

I flop onto the mattress and stare up at the ceiling. What the hell am I doing? I have a perfect job and an almost perfect life, and here I am putting it all in jeopardy by sleeping with my boss.

I should say no. I should write a note and say that this was all a stupid idea. I ought to get my bags, call a taxi, go right back to the airport, and pretend that I’m actually a professional PA who has morals.

Coulda, shoulda, woulda, Meg.

I hold up my hand and watch the ring glitter in the early evening light.

I don’t want to go. I’m excited to be here. I want to play Cinderella. I want to wear my dress, I want to go to the ball, I want to be with Stratton and pretend we’re in love, because I think that, actually, that might be the truth, and it’ll be fun to pretend he feels the same way about me.

And a small part of me... a tiny, little, miniscule part... believes in fairy godmothers.

Chapter Twenty-One

Stratton

The AGM’s long and tedious, and I’m relieved when it gets close to six and we have to stop so everyone has time to get ready for the ball.

Natalie’s here. I haven’t seen her for a few months, and I have to admit she looks good. She wasn’t fat to start with, but she’s lost weight, and she’s model-thin. Even in high heels, she’s tiny compared to Meg, her skin so pale she looks as if she’s made of porcelain. She’s very, very beautiful, but she’s the moon to Meg’s sun, so cold that I have to suppress a shiver.

She ignores me for the length of the meeting, but as it starts wrapping up, she glances over. When people start rising and heading for the door, she intersects my exit.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hello, Natalie.”

She moves toward me and offers her cheek. I’m conscious of a few people in the room watching us while pretending not to—no doubt our breakup and my sudden engagement are still doing the rounds and causing some curiosity.

Not wanting to embarrass her in front of everyone, I bend and touch my lips to her cheek, surprising myself by feeling disloyal to Meg as I do so. When I straighten, Natalie rests a hand on the lapel of my jacket, then slides her index finger behind it and brushes down as she looks at me somewhat coyly. It’s an intimate gesture, something a lover does to her partner, and all of a sudden I’m irritated.

“Did you see the new financial secretary?” she murmurs, leaning close conspiratorially. “I thought John Merrick had walked into the room.”

The poor guy is rather ugly, and Natalie has always been able to pick on people’s flaws and make fun of them to get me to laugh. Part of me does find the comment funny, and I hate myself for that. Why does she always make me feel as if I’m looking into a warped mirror? I don’t like the reflection I see of myself when she’s around. I don’t like who I am when I’m with her.

I step back and go to move around her. “Excuse me.”

“Wait.” She holds my arm. “What’s the rush?”

“My fiancée’s waiting for me.”

That wipes the smile from her face. Her coy look turns hard and her green eyes blaze—this is the Natalie I know.

“That was spiteful,” she says.

“I’m sorry if the truth hurts.”

She lifts her chin and changes the subject. “Are you pleased at the total raised this year?”

To anyone listening, it sounds as if she’s genuinely interested in my thoughts on the matter, but I know her better. Nothing about Natalie is as it seems. Whenever she speaks, I’ve learned to look beneath the surface at whatever’s lurking beneath. This time, she’s trying to make a connection between us. She’s reminding me that we both have relatives who are blind, implying that Meg can’t understand me the way she does.

Well I’m not in the mood to play. In the past, I would have countered with a witty remark, which she would have returned with a sharp retort, and we would have continued like that, as if we were playing verbal tennis. This is what she wants, a reaction from me.

“Excuse me, I have to go.” I step around her and leave without looking back.

I walk through the foyer to the elevators, half expecting to feel her hand on my arm again, restraining me. She doesn’t, though, and for that I’m thankful. Still, I’m sure it’s not over. She knows that displays of emotion embarrass me, and that I’ll do anything to stop a scene taking place. I’m convinced she’s going to do something, maybe over dinner, or later, during the dancing, but I’m not sure what. I have a sinking feeling it will involve Meg in some way—it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Natalie tried to humiliate her as punishment for daring to love me.

To pretend to love me. I frown as I enter the elevator carriage and press the button for my floor. Pretending to be engaged to someone I actually like was a big mistake. Still, at least it means I have Meg to myself for the night.

I wince as I remember the startled look on her face when I told her I wanted to fuck her senseless. I’d forgotten who I was talking to—Natalie preferred me to talk dirty than hearts and flowers, and I’d gotten used to being frank and filthy. But Meg’s not Natalie. She’s cut from a different cloth. She really likes me, but she’s been faithful to Bruce, and she’s going to need a tender hand in the bedroom.

I’m surprised to discover I’m looking forward to romancing her.

Suddenly, I wish we weren’t going to the ball. I wish I’d organized a night somewhere far away, so we could share a quiet, romantic dinner, then return to our room for an evening of sensual lovemaking, without having to worry about a formal dinner and dance, and an ex who was threatening to go psycho.

Then I remind myself that the whole reason for ‘hiring’ Meg as my fiancée was to sort out my psycho ex, not to get my leg over. I keep forgetting.

The elevator pings and the doors slide open, and I make my way along the corridor to our suite. Meg’s face when she saw the room was a picture, and it’s not even that fancy a hotel. I’d love to take her somewhere really swish. Maybe I will. I need to think about what we’re going to do for Christmas, and I decide there and then to schedule some time away over the festive season with Meg somewhere nice.

I arrived at our suite, insert my key card in the door, and go in. The living room’s empty, and the door to one of the bedrooms is closed. I smile as I think of her explaining that we can have separate rooms if I want to. I feel guilty that I’ve been so caught up in my own problems over the past few days that she thinks I’ve changed my mind. It wasn’t that at all. It was a peculiar mixture—of being preoccupied about Natalie, of being conscious that Oscar was in the house, and of wanting to give Meg time to make sure she’s interested in taking this further, plus, because of what happened to Will on Boxing Day, I always feel odd at this time of year.

I’m done with waiting, though. Tonight we’ll be on our own, and I fully intend to make the most of it.

I knock on the closed door, wondering if I’ll be gifted a glimpse of her in sexy underwear. “Meg?”

“Don’t come in!” She sounds alarmed. “I’m getting ready.”

“You know we’re not getting married tonight, right?”

Her husky laugh filters through the door. “Don’t be cheeky. I want you to see the finished effect.”

“Fair enough.”

“I put your bags in the other room so you can get ready there.”

I sigh. “Yeah, okay. See you in a bit.” Somewhat sulkily, I go into the other room.

I watch TV for twenty minutes to catch up on the news, then finally summon the energy to go into the bathroom. I take a hot shower, making sure I’m clean in all the important places, shave as close as I dare so there’s no chance of me giving her stubble burn in her important places, wince as I splash aftershave on, and then get dressed.

I like wearing a tux, and mine is exceptional, even though I say it myself. From an exclusive range by an up-and-coming Kiwi designer, it’s made from Soft Super 130’s Wool, slim fit, single-breasted, and non-vented, with a satin shawl collar. Accompanied by a white shirt and a black bow tie, it makes me feel like James Bond and a catwalk model rolled into one.

I run a comb through my hair, which does what it wants regardless, put on my cufflinks and watch, slip on my shoes and jacket, and survey myself in the mirror. If I can’t get Meg into bed looking like this, there’s no hope for me.

After picking up a small box from my case, I make my way out of the room and into the living room.

Like my office in Auckland, the view is of the harbor, although the water here looks different. In Auckland the bay is relatively calm and usually sparkling blue. In windy Wellington the water’s gray and choppy, and I watch with a wry smile as the passenger ferry heads out toward the Cook Strait, bouncing about on the waves. I’m not a great sailor—I’d be hanging over the side by the time it reaches the South Island. The sky’s fantastic though, the setting sun turning the clouds striking shades of tangerine and cherry red. It makes me want to paint, even though I don’t know one end of a brush from the other. I pull out my phone and take a photo for Oscar, who’s doing a project on color palettes in his Art class at school.

There’s a sound behind me, and I turn as Meg’s door opens and she comes out. She’s in the process of applying an earring, but the hands that are fumbling at her lobe stop as she sees me.

We stare at each other for a long, long time.

I’m not sure what I expected her to be wearing. I know she’s conscious of her curvy figure because she jokes about it sometimes, so I thought she’d choose black, as most women do when they want to hide the bits they don’t like about themselves.

Meg’s dress is the same color as the sunset—a deep cherry red. It has a V-neck, double spaghetti straps, and a long skirt that, as she walks, reveals a split all the way up to the top of her thigh. She turns full circle as she crosses the carpet to reveal it has an open back. She’s obviously not wearing a bra. The satin clings to her waist and falls over her hips in flattering folds.

It’s gorgeous.

She’s gorgeous.

She stops a few feet from me. She’s taller than she was when I left her so I know she has heels on, and when I look down I see a pair of sexy sandals the same color as her dress peeping out from beneath the skirt.

I drag my gaze back up, seeing that she’s pinned her hair in an elegant chignon that bears a simple small red flower. Her makeup, although heavier than usual, is still on the light side compared to Natalie, and her lipstick matches her gown.

“Whoa,” she says. “I didn’t think you could look any sexier, but holy moly, that’s one hell of a suit.”

I can’t take my eyes off her. “Meg, you look amazing.”

She glances at her dress, then back up at me, her cheeks flushing. “You like it?”

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Aw.” She gives her nose a little rub. “Are you trying to make me cry?”

I chuckle and pull the box out of my pocket. She’s wearing a silver necklace and earrings that look fine with the dress, but it needs a little extra something. “For you,” I say as I open the box and show her the matching set. The platinum pendant showcases a three-carat round diamond, and the earrings each have a two-carat. The set cost me a pretty penny, the most I’ve ever spent on jewelry for a woman. Which is weird, now I come to think about it, considering I went out with Natalie for five years, and Meg and I are only fake engaged.

Meg stares at the box. “Holy shit. Are they real?”

“No, I got them out of a cracker.” I take them out and lead her over to the mirror. Turning her to face it, I stand behind her and remove the other necklace while she takes out the earrings, then place the new one around her neck and fasten it. She slides the earrings through her lobes and then stares at her reflection.

She’s quiet for so long that I begin to have doubts. “Do you like them?” I adjust the necklace a little. “You don’t have to wear them, if you’d rather wear your silver set.”

“Stratton, they’re beautiful. It’s just... when you say they’re a present...”

“They’re yours,” I tell her softly. “They’re not on loan.”

She touches them reverently, the way she might if she were an archaeologist who’d discovered a rare Roman mosaic. Her eyes glitter.

“Please don’t tell me you can’t accept them.” I rest my hands on her shoulders, and my fingers tighten. “I’m so glad it’s you here with me and not some hooker.”

That makes her laugh. “I’m glad too.”

“I mean it, Meg. I can’t tell you how good it feels to have you with me. I don’t know why, but even though this engagement thing is only a sham, it feels right to have you by my side. You make me feel... stronger. More complete.” I’m making a hash of this. I’m only eloquent when I’m talking about computer games. How can I put what I’m feeling into words? “I just wanted to show my appreciation, that’s all.”

She lifts her hands to rest on mine, and meets my gaze in the mirror. “Thank you. I accept your generous gift.”

My breath leaves me in a rush. “Okay. I guess we’d better make our way downstairs then.”

Meg collects her clutch bag, and we head out to the elevator. There are several couples waiting, and when we enter the carriage, she stands close to me. Automatically, I slip an arm around her waist. She doesn’t object.

“How was Natalie?” she murmurs as some of the others strike up a conversation together.

“Usual.” I don’t want to talk about my ex, I want to concentrate on Meg, but I think she deserves to know what’s going on. “She’s still pushing me. It wouldn’t surprise me if she makes a scene tonight.”

“Let her,” Meg says, surprisingly vehement. “Much good it will do her.”

“That’s the spirit.” From my high vantage point I can see down her front, confirming that she’s not wearing a bra. Something strikes me, and, suspicious, I slide a hand down from her waist over her hip.

“Meg?”

“Mmm?” She gives me an innocent look.

“Are you wearing any underwear?”

She holds my gaze and her lips curve up in answer. I stare at her, and she giggles.

“That’s unfair,” I murmur into her ear. “How am I going to concentrate all evening?”

“I thought you needed something to take your mind off things.” Her eyes are dancing—she’s enjoying my reaction.

I desperately try to steer my brain away from the fact that she’s naked beneath the scrap of material she’s wearing, but it refuses to be distracted, and I’m unable to stop my erection springing to life. I groan and turn to face her to hide it from anyone in the elevator who might be looking, and I begin to laugh as Meg’s giggles become infectious.

“You minx.” I rest my lips on her hair and attempt to count my thirteen times table to compensate for the rising desire inside me. “You’ll pay for that later.”

“Oh, I hope so.”

I look down at her, smiling, and it strikes me that Natalie is going to be unprepared for how the two of us are together. She might not suspect that the engagement is a fake, but she’ll assume this relationship is less intense than what we had. She won’t be expecting this intimacy, or the fact that desire is coming off from us both like steam from tarmac on a hot day. I almost pity her.

“I hope you don’t find this evening too boring,” I say, and touch my lips to hers, lightly so as not to smudge her lipstick.

“It’ll be great just being with you,” she says. And to my surprise, I believe her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Meg

The first few hours of the evening pass in a blur of new faces, fine food and wine, speeches and clapping.

Stratton is worried I’ll get bored, but I’m so excited to be there that I spend every minute taking mental pictures so I’ll be able to remember everything when I get back. The ballroom is amazing—fairy lights have been strung from a point in the middle of the ceiling to all four walls, and there’s a huge Christmas tree in one corner that sparkles all through the evening. Round tables with white cloths surround a large dance floor. The tables bear centerpieces with candles and baubles. The guys are all black tie and the girls are in their best dresses, and there’s a distinctly Christmassy feel to the whole affair.

Or maybe the excitement is inside me. I still can’t believe Stratton gave me the jewelry. I find myself fingering the necklace throughout the evening, and when he catches me doing it, he grins, obviously happy that I like my present. I felt guilty at accepting it at first, but he looked so worried that I was going to turn his generous gift down, and besides, it’s really pretty and I absolutely adore it. I guess it was expensive. I have no idea how much something like this would cost, but I presume it’s not spare change.

Of course, as long as I don’t sleep with him, it’s not an issue. It’s just a very generous present from my rich boss and good friend.

If I do sleep with him... Well, I’ll really have stepped into the set of Pretty Woman. I mustn’t... I mustn’t... I repeat the words to myself throughout the evening, but they have to fight with the memory of Stratton’s promise ringing in my head—I plan to take you into that bedroom and fuck you senseless—and his phrase burns a whole lot hotter and brighter than mine.

We sit at a table for ten with some of Katoa’s customers that Stratton’s invited—CEOs and directors of large companies and their wives and girlfriends. I surprise myself by being able to hold my own with the conversation. The food is exquisite, and even though I try to limit myself with the Champagne and drink a glass of water between each flute, it’s not long before I feel warm and fuzzy.

Stratton’s his usual self, witty and entertaining, looking totally gorgeous in his sexy tux. Some of the guys take off their jackets as the evening wears on, but although he undoes the buttons when he sits down, he keeps his on. When he stands, he does the button up—he always does that, even with a normal suit. He told me once it’s a gentleman’s way of getting ready for action, which made me smile then and does the same now.

He’s surprisingly attentive, giving me an insight into how he would be if we were a true couple. He refills my glass or offers me a bite of something from his plate while he talks to someone else, and he repeatedly asks me questions to bring me into the conversation. I would have said the attention was for Natalie’s benefit, but firstly she’s sitting across the hall and I can’t really see her from here, and secondly I know it’s not all for show because sometimes he holds my hand beneath the table where nobody can see it. I let him. I shouldn’t, but I do.

I haven’t really got a good look at Natalie yet, and I don’t want to stare. If I do glance over, she’s looking the other way, but I get the impression again that she’s tiny and slight, a fact that’s emphasized by the incredibly tight black dress she’s wearing. I’m worried about standing anywhere near her because I know I’ll feel like Princess Fiona from Shrek—and I am referring to the ogre version of her. Part of me’s surprised that Stratton’s attracted to me if he goes for tiny, skinny girls. It’s clear from my figure that I’ve given birth, and I feel a surge of nerves at the thought of him seeing me naked with my soft tummy and stretch marks, when he’s obviously used to Natalie’s ironing-board figure and no doubt flat-as-a-pancake stomach. Still, I have a good pair of breasts and Stratton is a man when it comes down to it, and most men like a generous pair of boobs, so hopefully they’ll distract him from any of my less attractive features.

Not that he’s going to see me naked, of course. I mustn’t... I mustn’t...

There are silent auctions and more speeches by various people important to the NZAB, including, finally, Natalie, as president. I glance at Stratton as she takes the podium, but he doesn’t look at me. He’s watching her, although I can’t tell what he’s thinking—his expression is neutral, even guarded.

I turn my attention to her as she starts her speech. She speaks confidently and fluently, and makes the audience laugh several times. Then, when she talks about her father and what the Association has done for him, she gets emotional, and the audience reacts in kind, several women dabbing tissues to their eyes.

I glance again at Stratton, and I’m surprised to see a wry twist to his lips. He doesn’t believe her emotion, and suddenly I don’t either, because once that part of her speech is done she switches quickly to a request for everyone to continue to donate generously, and her tears magically vanish.

I study her with interest as she wraps up. She’s slim, beautiful, accomplished, confident, sexy. She’s gorgeous, and any man would be lucky to have her on his arm. And yet Stratton broke up with her. Why was that? Was it only because she pressed him too hard to have children? I think on that as she steps down and returns to her table. Presumably, she must have thought that he didn’t love her enough because he refused to change his mind about having kids. Is it fair to blame him? It’s not as if he doesn’t have a good reason for not wanting them. My sympathies tend to lie with him, but then I have a child. I try to imagine how I’d feel if I didn’t have Oscar, and the man I loved told me he didn’t want kids.

But I’m guessing that’s not all it is. Stratton refused to give in to her. And she doesn’t look like the kind of woman who’s used to being refused what she wants.

I turn my head, and to my surprise Stratton is watching me. He doesn’t smile for a moment. He insisted he’s not interested in getting back with her. And he’s also made it very clear that he wants me. Still, his intense stare unnerves me, and I wish I could read him better.

There’s a brief pause while a thirteen-piece-band takes the stage, and then the music starts and, almost immediately, people take to the dance floor. Stratton turns to talk business to one of the guys at the table, so I stand and make my way to the ladies’.

I go to the loo and touch up my makeup, then come out and cross the foyer. I stop in my tracks as I see Natalie in the doorway. She sees me and walks toward me, so she’s clearly been waiting for me.

I’m tempted to run back to the ladies’ and bolt myself in a cubicle, but I hold my ground and watch her approach.

I’ve spoken to this woman many times on the phone. I’m glad now that I’ve always been polite, and never told her what I really think of her pestering Stratton.

“You must be Meg,” she says, although she obviously knows who I am.

“And you’re Natalie.” I hold out a hand, and she takes it briefly. She’s slim and tiny—she must only be five-feet-four or five even in her high heels. The black dress emphasizes her doll-like figure. Everything about her is elegant and refined. Suddenly I feel like the fat girl at the prom, who thinks she looks beautiful until she sees the popular, cool girl.

“So,” she says. “You and Stratton are engaged? That came out of the blue.”

I glance around, wishing fervently that he was with me, but he’s nowhere to be seen, and I’m going to have to deal with this on my own. This is part of the job, I tell myself. I’m here to play a role, and this is my big moment.

“Not really,” I say. “We’ve been dating for a while, and neither of us saw any point in having a long, drawn out engagement.”

She surveys me with her cold green eyes. I can see she’s suspicious of me. Does she suspect him of hiring me to play the role? Surely not. I think it’s probably more that she thinks Stratton’s doing it to punish her.

There are people all around us, but I feel isolated, as if we’re standing on an island surrounded by icy water. I feel as if the temperature has dropped around us. This woman is a very cool, calm customer, and suddenly I’m not surprised at all that Stratton broke up with her. He’s warm-hearted, open, and honest, and Natalie’s not right for him at all. It makes me feel nauseous to think of them together, to remember what Teddi said about Natalie not letting him out of bed. I don’t want to think about his hands on her, his mouth on hers, him sliding inside her. It makes me shudder.

“Has he said much about me?” she asks.

“Not really.” I try to act disinterested.

“I’m not surprised.” She leans close, conspiratorially, as if we’re best friends. “We had a very intense relationship. I wouldn’t think he’d want to reveal details to his new girl in case you found it intimidating.”

This woman isn’t just cold and calculating, she’s fucking nasty. Anger rises inside me, but I can see that she wants a scene, so I keep a lid on it. “I don’t find you intimidating,” I say. “In fact now I understand why he broke up with you.”

Her eyes flash. She lets her gaze slip down me and then back up, taking in my gown, my figure, my makeup and hair, her lips curling as if she finds my appearance amusing. “How strange. You don’t seem like his sort at all. He never went for the wallflower type.”

If she thought I’d find that insulting, she’s mistaken. I know perfectly well I’m not the sort of girl who’d be the belle of the ball and it doesn’t bother me. It’s like accusing me of having brown hair. I know what color I am beneath the blonde, and I’m not ashamed of it.

She looks at my necklace and earrings. “Nice baubles,” she says, “pretty, although not as nice as the ones he gave me for my birthday. They cost ten thousand dollars.”

It’s so incredibly rude of her to talk about money. I try not to blanch at the amount she mentions, even though my insides twist at the thought of Stratton buying her really expensive gifts.

“How nice,” I say, because I can’t think of anything else.

Her gaze drops to the engagement ring on my left hand.

“It was his great-grandmother’s,” I tell her. “I’m so very touched he gave it to me.”

“What is it, one carat?” She sneers. Somehow, I think she’s more jealous of the fact that I have access to Stratton’s money than that I have his great-grandmother’s ring, which surprises me. Is that what this is about? His money?

I can sense that she won’t be happy until she’s reduced me to tears, and I refuse to let this become a slanging match. I wish I hadn’t drunk so much Champagne and could think of something clever and cutting to say to end this conversation, but I can’t.

I step to the side to walk around her, but to my annoyance she moves to block my path.

“I feel it’s my duty to warn you, girl to girl,” she says, continuing with the fallacy that she’s my friend. “I’m sure he thinks that because you’re older than me, you’ll be as sexually experienced, so I feel as if I should give you a few pointers.”

Jesus, that’s the last thing I want. I try to back away, but she has a tight hold on my arm.

“I’m sure you’ve already discovered that he likes it rough,” she says.

“Let me go.”

“You should know that he likes pain. Giving and receiving. He even pushed me to my limits and shocked me a few times, but there’s not much you can do when you’re handcuffed to the bed.”

For a moment I consider throwing up over her. “Natalie...”

“And of course, there’s the anal sex. He can be a bit rough there, too, but you do get used to it. Just make sure you have plenty of lube handy.”

My blood turns to ice. I stare at where she’s gripping my arm, and eventually she opens her fingers and releases it. I turn away, but once more she blocks my view.

“Did he tell you he doesn’t want kids?” she says.

It’s her last ditch attempt to shock me, to drive a wedge into our new relationship. I’d been prepared for this, and I’d planned to tell her that it was okay because I don’t want them either, but as I look down into her cold green eyes, I want to hurt this woman, and so I change my response before I can think better of it.

“Sorry,” I say, “but you’re mistaken there. We’re already trying for a family.”

I watch her eyes widen, her jaw drop. Smoothly, I step around her and walk away, and this time she doesn’t try to stop me.

I walk into the ballroom and across to our table, and sink into my chair. My heart is racing, and I have to fight a wave of nausea. I should have returned to the ladies’. I can’t possibly throw up over the dinner table. I fight it hard, hoping I don’t hyperventilate, trying to take deep, calm breaths.

I hate her. I hate her with every bone in my body. Now I understand why Stratton went to the lengths of getting a fake fiancée to try to convince her it was over. I’d assumed she was just clingy, broken-hearted, and a bit misplaced in her belief that he’s doing this to punish her. But now I understand Teddi’s description of her as a psycho.

I can’t believe that Stratton would have gotten involved with her if he knew what she was truly like. I imagine that she hid her true nature well, reeling him in with sexual favors and taking advantage of his good nature until he was in too deep. I believe that she loves him, and clearly she wants to marry him and have his children. But she also wants his money, and she’s emerald with envy that she’s lost it all.

I think I may have won that encounter, but I don’t feel victorious. Her words ring in my head. He likes it rough. He likes pain. Giving and receiving. I shudder at the other things she said. I don’t know the man of whom she spoke, and I don’t want to know him. Natalie’s right—I’m not prepared for this. Jesus. What have I got myself mixed up in?

Chapter Twenty-Three

Stratton

The guy sitting next to me has finished his business talk, and now I’m having to hear about his recent holiday to Fiji. I listen politely, mainly because I’m hoping he’s going to come on board in the New Year as a major stockist of Katoa software and technology, but my mind starts wandering, and tends to happen, it wanders to Meg.

I was aware that she’d left the table for a while, presumably to visit the ladies’, but when I feel her return to my side, I reach out for her hand. Not finding it, I glance at her, and I see immediately that something’s wrong. She’s white as the tablecloth, and her whole posture is defensive, her shoulders hunched, her hands clasped tightly beneath the table. She’s staring at her Champagne glass, and she doesn’t look at me.

I bring my gaze back to the man on my right and wind up the conversation, rising to prove that we’re done, buttoning up my jacket. I hold my hand out to Meg. She doesn’t take it, and I’m shocked to see her eyes glittering with tears.

I’m pretty sure I know what’s happened. I straighten and scour the hall, finding Natalie back at her table. I hear her high-pitched laughter from across the room. She’s well on the way to being drunk, and she’s trying to prove she’s unaffected by the encounter they’ve obviously just had.

I bend down to Meg as I say softly, “Come with me.”

She stares at my hand, then eventually takes it and rises. I tuck it into the corner of my arm, and lead her out through the tables.

The band is playing well, and more and more people are rising to dance. The music’s loud, and it’s a relief to go through the doors and out into the coolness of the foyer. I don’t stop there though—I don’t want any eyes on us. Instead, I lead her across to the bar, which is nearly empty.

I order two glasses of a limited release, Devil’s Cask Bowmore Islay malt whisky. We don’t say anything while the barman pours the deep mahogany liquid over ice. He slides them to us, and I take a sip of it, breathing in rich, exotic fruits and treacle, and tasting chocolate fudge and smoky fruitcake. I’ll definitely have another glass of that before the night’s out.

Looking at Meg, I think I’ll need it. I can’t decipher her mood—I don’t know if she’s upset or furious. Maybe both.

I walk across to a table, and she follows and sits beside me. I give her a moment to settle. We both sip our whisky, and Meg takes a shaky breath. She still won’t look at me.

The band is playing Wizzard’s I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day. Irritation rises within me at the fake Christmas jollity we’re all supposed to be feeling. It might be Scrooge-like, but I wish the festive season would fuck off.

“Tell me what happened,” I say.

I wait for her to say Nothing, like women always do. Normally you have to pry information out of them, I don’t know why, I suspect because it makes them feel more important, and increases the drama of the situation.

Meg doesn’t though. Instead, she says, “Natalie stopped me.”

I’d already guessed, but even so it makes my heart sink. “What did she say?”

“Pretty much what we expected. She thinks you’re engaged to me out of some twisted attempt to make her jealous. She tried to imply that she knows you better than me.”

“We talked about this,” I say, bending my head to catch her eye. “You knew she was going to try to catch you at some point. I told you she’s smart and astute—she knows exactly how to get under a person’s skin.”

“I didn’t realize she was so...” Her gaze flicks to mine, then down to her glass again. “Cruel.”

Natalie’s hurt her feelings. Anger sears through me, taking me by surprise. It’s the kind of rage I used to feel when someone made fun of Teddi if she walked into a chair or had a smudge on her nose. I tell myself it’s because Meg’s my PA and I asked her to act as my fiancée, so I’m partly responsible for what’s happened, but even as the thought forms, I know I’m kidding myself. I’m angry because my ex has hurt the girl I’m falling for, and it makes me want to march out there and shake her until her teeth rattle.

“I tried to tell you what she’s like.” My voice is hoarse.

Meg frowns, and finally her gaze rises to mine. She looks genuinely puzzled. “I don’t understand why you would date a woman like that for so long. You’re a better man than that. Why didn’t you run a mile as soon as you saw what she was really like?”

I need to be honest now, or we won’t get past this. “Truthfully, she kept it hidden for a long time. She covered it well with a witty sense of humor, and I was busy. I didn’t actually see her that much, and didn’t think about it at all. We never had the sort of conversations you and I have had over the past few days. She rarely stayed over. We met for... you know...”

“Sex,” Meg says flatly.

“Yes. Sex.” I don’t miss the jealousy that flickers on her expression. “And we were together socially. But we weren’t the adoring couple she thinks we were. Not by a long shot.” I still can’t work out what’s gotten to Meg. “Did she mention children?”

“Oh yes.”

We’d discussed this, and she’d told me what she would say. “So you said you didn’t want any more?”

For the first time, she looks embarrassed. “Ah, no. By that point she’d tipped me over the edge, and I wanted to hurt her.” Her eyes flash.

I’ve never heard Meg say anything mean like that before. Half of me is pleased that she seems to have stood up for herself. The other half is sad that Natalie’s brought her down to her level.

“So what did you say?”

She scratches her nose. “I told her we’re already trying for a baby.” Her wary gaze meets mine.

My lips curve up. “Yeah, I guess that would do it.” Actually, Meg’s a genius, and I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it myself. Nothing would make Natalie understand it was over more than for me to consider having a family with another woman.

“You’re not angry?” Meg whispers.

“No. I don’t understand why that upset you, though.”

She raises her glass and takes a big swallow of her whisky. “It wasn’t that.”

I remember she’d said that by that point Natalie had tipped her over the edge. “What else did she say?”

Meg gives a long sigh, tips back her head, and looks up at the ceiling. “Stupid things, Stratton, things meant to hurt me.”

“Like what? Tell me.”

She fingers the necklace around her neck. “I’m embarrassed to say.”

“Why?”

Impatience flickers on her features. “Because I adore the gift you gave me, and I’m ashamed that she made me feel jealous.”

I frown. “Jealous of what?”

“She told me about her expensive birthday gift. I felt jealous that you’d bought her something nice, and I’m embarrassed by that.”

My lips curve up. “Sweetheart, what you’re wearing cost ten times what I bought for Natalie, which, incidentally, I had my previous PA choose out of a catalogue. I didn’t even see it until she opened it.”

Meg stares at me. “Ten times?”

“Yes. Ten times. Hers was white-gold. Yours is platinum. The diamond in your pendant is three-carats, and a far-superior cut to anything I ever bought her.”

Meg looks so shocked it’s almost comical. “But she said hers cost ten thousand dollars.”

“I know, I bought it, remember?”

“But that means that these cost...” She touches an earring. Her jaw drops.

“Glad to see you know your ten times table.”

“Stratton!”

“What? I have money, big deal. I wanted to buy you something nice.”

“Something... nice?” She looks as if I told her I bought her the moon.

“Come on,” I say. “What else did she tell you?” I want to know what’s gotten to her so bad.

She’s still reeling from the cost of the jewelry. “Um... she said you don’t normally go for wallflowers. She managed to make me feel like the fat chick at high school who goes to the ball and then realizes she doesn’t actually look as beautiful as her mum’s told her.” She gives me an amused look. That’s not what’s bothered her.

Still, white-hot anger sears through me. “And?”

“She just...” For the first time, a flush appears in her cheeks. “She made me feel...” Her voice trails off.

“What, Meg? For fuck’s sake, just tell me.”

“She made me feel foolish.” The flush darkens. “She said things about the two of you, about what you did in bed. She wanted to make me feel naïve and inadequate, and it worked. Although I have a child, I’m not that experienced in bed. The things she said made me uncomfortable because I don’t like thinking about the two of you doing them together. And I’m not sure how I’d feel if you did them to me. She implied I wouldn’t be able to satisfy you. That’s what upset me.”

We stare at each other for a long time.

“What sort of things?” I say eventually.

“Stratton...” She looks away, embarrassed and exasperated.

“I can’t defend myself unless I know what she said.” I slide a finger beneath her chin and lift it so she’s looking at me. “You have to tell me, Meg.”

“She said you like to tie your partner up.”

“I don’t tie a girl up and then walk off and watch TV, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Stratton...”

I tip my head and observe her. “You don’t like the idea of being at my mercy while I arouse you with my hands and mouth until you can’t bear it anymore, and then take my pleasure from you?”

Her eyes widen. “Jesus. Don’t say things like that.”

I remind myself that I need to take this slowly. I don’t want to scare her off. “Is that all?”

“No. She said you liked pain. Giving and receiving. That you pushed her to her limits.”

“That’s a lie,” I say steadily. “Pain is one thing I’m not into.”

She meets my gaze again. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m really not. Don’t you remember what a fuss I made when I had to have a flu jab?”

Her lips gradually curve up. “You were worse than Oscar.”

“I was. I’m terrible. Pain most definitely does not turn me on. I don’t know what made her come up with that, but it was an outright lie. What else did she say?”

“That you like it rough. Especially during...” She obviously can’t bring herself to say it.

“During?”

“During anal sex, Stratton,” she snaps, “if you’re going to make me say it.”

I exhale slowly. Wow, Natalie, I think. You really went for it, didn’t you?

I take Meg’s hand, the one with my ring. In the ballroom, the band is playing Do They Know It’s Christmas. It feels like Christmas Eve, and tomorrow could be gloriously sunny and the best Christmas Day I’ve ever had, or it could be cold and rainy and flat as a possum on the road.  There’s the potential for something to happen between Meg and I, but it won’t unless I tackle this right.

“Sweetheart,” I say, “I don’t know what’s going to happen between us. All I can tell you is that I like you a lot, and I’ve enjoyed our time together over the past few days. In fact, I think I’m falling for you, which is taking me by surprise because I didn’t expect it, and I’m not quite sure what to do about it.”

She stares at me. “Oh.”

“The thing is, I’ve fucked everything up, because I should have been able to make it clear to Natalie that it’s over, but I could only come up with this stupid plan to have a fake fiancée, and because of that I’ve somehow—in my own, inimitable style—managed to make you feel like a hooker.”

She gives a short laugh.

“I feel terrible about that,” I tell her. “It’s the last thing I would have wanted you to feel. Because I really like you, and I really want to take you to bed.”

She looks at me for a long time. “Don’t you think you’ll get bored with me?”

I sip my whisky. “No. The thing is, in its basic form, sex is just mechanical. Tab A into Slot B or C.”

“Or D, in your case,” she says.

I give her a wry look. “What I’m trying to say is that when sex is the only thing that brings two people together, it can become dull. You have to keep finding new ways to make it interesting. It becomes all about the finish line. Do you want to know the truth? The reason I broke up with Natalie wasn’t that I didn’t want kids and she did. At least, that wasn’t the only reason. I told her that was the reason because I didn’t want to be cruel. But the reason I didn’t want to stay with her was that the more I was with her, the less I liked her. It’s not a nice thing to say, and I’m not proud of it, but it’s the truth.”

Meg thinks about that. “But you like me?” she asks eventually.

It’s such a genuine, gentle question that it makes me smile. “Yes, Meg. I like you a lot.”

“So my lack of experience isn’t a problem?”

“Of course not. Don’t you think it would be fun to try things together?”

She flushes. “I guess. I know that Natalie was trying to hurt me, and I accept it’s possible she said things she knew would get to me, even if they weren’t true. I suppose sex is a sore spot for me, that’s all.”

“Sex is like ice cream,” I tell her. “There’s a reason they call basic sex vanilla. A good vanilla ice cream can be fantastic, just what the doctor ordered. But sometimes it’s nice to try other flavors. It’d be fun to see what flavors you like, Meg. You can have a taste of all different kinds, and if you like one, you can have a bit more. But I’d never force-feed you. And it wouldn’t bother me if you liked different flavors than I did, because as long as there’s ice cream around, I could eat vanilla for the rest of my life. Does that make sense?”

That makes her laugh. “Yes, it does. It’s a lovely thing to say. I suppose I just worry that I won’t be... enough for you.”

I could drown in her blue eyes. I love the way this woman is courageous and spirited, and yet she also has a vulnerability that makes me want to pull her into my arms and protect her from the world. How can I explain to her how different she makes me feel?

“Sex is about sating a physical need,” I tell her. “But making love is about sharing yourself with another person. I’m ashamed to say it, but I didn’t do a lot of that with Natalie. I didn’t love her, Meg. Not the way a man should love a woman. I realize that now. There was no magic between us. And it wouldn’t surprise me if she admitted that, if you were to ask her. We were convenient for each other. And, I suspect, she liked my money. She wants to get married and have children because she wants the social status of a rich married wife, and she wants to prove to her social circles that she could be a young, trendy mother.” I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “Jesus, I sound mean.”

“No, you’re just telling it like it is. If I’m honest, I think it’s probably more than that for her—I think she genuinely loves you. But I have no doubt that she also enjoys the fact that you have money and status. Things like that are very important to women like her.”

“But not to you?” I tip my head and study her.

Her brow furrows. “I’ve been thinking a lot about whether any part of the attraction I feel for you is due to you having money. I’m trying to be honest with myself.”

“And?”

“Hand on my heart? I can’t say it’s not exciting.” Her hand rises to touch the pendant where it lies on her throat. “Having a beautiful gown, lovely jewelry, a gorgeous house... It’s a dream come true for someone like me. Cinderella meeting her prince.” She smiles. “But even though I’ve tried to tell myself that I’m only interested in you for your money, the truth is that I’m not.” She meets my eyes.

“So what are you interested in?” I murmur.

“You.” She looks at me that way she does that gives me goose bumps. Not just with desire, but as if she really likes me.

I swallow hard. “So you don’t want to go? You don’t want me to call a taxi and take you to the airport?”

“No. I want you to tell me, hand on your heart, that you and Natalie are over, and that you’re not interested in getting back with her.”

I place my hand on my chest. “I do so solemnly swear.”

Her lips curve up. “Then what I want is to go back into the ballroom and have a lovely evening. I want to dance with you and show everyone that we really are interested in each other. And then I want to go back to our room, get into bed, and make love with you. Does that sound like a good plan?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Meg

I’m done with feeling guilty, with worrying about everything, with trying to second guess myself and Stratton and Natalie. I don’t know if it’s the whisky, or that I’m here dressed like a princess, or the fact that he’s told me he’s definitely over her, but I’m done with letting other people dictate what happens in my life. I want this man, and he appears to want me, and I’m not going to let a jealous ex spoil what promises to be a magical connection between us.

Stratton doesn’t say anything, but he replies by finishing off his whisky, then standing and holding out his hand. I finish mine, wincing at the last mouthful, slip my fingers into his, and let him lead me back to the ballroom.

I don’t even look at Natalie. I don’t have eyes for anyone but the man in front of me. He walks confidently to the dance floor, which surprises me as I wasn’t sure if he was the kind of guy who enjoyed dancing, but once we’re on the wooden floor, he twirls me to face him, holds me tightly, and then we start moving to the music.

I’m in high heels, which would normally preclude me from getting too carried away when I dance, but with Stratton’s arm around me I feel safe and steady, and soon I’m spinning and rocking with him, thoroughly enjoying myself. He has natural rhythm, which delights me, and once I realize that he’s enjoying himself too, time flies as we dance to song after song. The band is fantastic, playing all the famous old Christmas tunes as well as new ones, anything to get the feet moving.

I know that Stratton was furious with what Natalie said to me—it was written all over his face. Half of me expected him to march over to her and have a big scene in front of everyone. But maybe he’s realized that’s what she wants, because he hasn’t looked her way once, even though I’ve seen her dancing with other men, presumably to try to make him jealous.

Instead, he barely takes his eyes from mine, and as the evening wears on I think he’s probably as excited as I am about what’s going to happen when we go back to our suite. I’m still worried that I’m too dull for him, but maybe he’s right, and even knowing the whole of the Kama Sutra doesn’t make up for the connection that’s forming between us, making us sparkle like the fairy lights above our heads. Tonight it’s brighter than ever, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re lighting up the dance floor with our energy. Half of me wants to drag him up to our room now, but equally I understand how special this time is. The anticipation of our first time is exciting, a thrill I’ll never get again, and I can see why he wants to prolong it, like a kid staying up as late as he can on Christmas Eve.

He’s such fun to be with. He constantly makes me laugh, and then he pulls me closer and whispers in my ear or touches his lips there, and I shiver and feel my nipples tighten in my bodice, and I glow all over.

Later, the band plays one or two slow songs, and Stratton doesn’t lose the opportunity to pull me close and mold my body to his. His hand slides down to my hip, and I know he’s testing again that I’m definitely not wearing any underwear.

“I can’t wait to strip this dress off you,” he murmurs in my ear, sending a frisson down my spine. “I want to feel you against me, skin on skin.”

“It’ll have to wait,” I whisper back, even though he’s turned my legs to jelly. “I have something special to show you first.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, but I shake my head, wanting to save it for later.

The heat in his eyes could melt gold, and my sigh is almost a whimper. I can’t believe I’m going to bed with this man. I really do feel like Cinderella. I just hope I don’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight.

We have a few more dances, but I can see that Stratton’s getting hot under the collar, and I’m not surprised when eventually he takes my hand and leads me back to our table. We both finish off our soft drinks thirstily, and then he pulls me to him and whispers in my ear, “I think it’s time we adjourned, don’t you?”

I nod, pressing my lips together, and he smiles and says goodnight to those sitting at the table.

“Night, Stratton.” The man sitting next to me rises to shake his hand, and his wife comes over to kiss us both on the cheek.

“You make a lovely couple, dear,” the older woman tells me. “He can’t take his eyes off you. It’s lovely to see.”

I’m so warm that luckily I don’t think my blush will show. “Thank you,” I say, touched to think others have noticed the connection between us.

We say goodbye to everyone else and head for the elevators. Unfortunately, there are quite a few people waiting to return to their rooms, so we have to content ourselves with holding hands as the carriage rises. Stratton dips his head as if to whisper in my ear, but instead he touches his lips there, and then I feel the warm slide of his tongue beneath my lobe. I shiver, and he chuckles, slipping an arm around my waist. Jeez. If he can make me clench inside just by doing that, how the hell am I going to cope when we’re naked?

We reach our floor and exit, and he leads me along the corridor to our room. Outside, he extracts the key card from the inner pocket of his jacket, then pauses and looks down at me. I look up into his blue and green eyes, catching my breath at the warmth in them.

“What?” I murmur self-consciously.

“You look so beautiful.” He cups my cheek with hand, and strokes his thumb over my skin. “You were amazing tonight. I think I’m half in love with you, Miss Meg.”

My lips part and my head spins, and it’s nothing to do with the Champagne. “Oh.”

He moves close, pinning me against the wall, and lowers his lips to mine, and we exchange a long, leisurely kiss, our tongues entwining. I manage to keep calm, even though inside I’m screaming with excitement like a toddler. Oh, I’m crazy about this man, and he’s half in love with me! I can’t be this lucky. Something has to go wrong, surely.

He lifts his head, and as he moves back, I see someone further along the corridor, watching us. I blink a few times to focus, and then I realize it’s Natalie. I’d completely forgotten about her.

Seeing the look on my face, Stratton turns to follow my gaze, and for a brief moment we all stand there, frozen.

Natalie’s clearly just watched us kiss. We didn’t know she was there, so obviously what he feels for me isn’t an act he’s putting on for her benefit. I know we’ve looked good this evening, and she must have seen us dancing and being intimate together.

Stratton moves, and for a brief, panicky second, I think he’s going to walk over to her, beg her to forgive him, tell her it’s all a mistake, and he wants her back.

He doesn’t, though. He slides the key card in and opens the door. Then, without looking back at her, keeping his gaze on me, he takes my hand and leads me in.

I glance over my shoulder. I can see in her forlorn, heartbroken expression that she finally understands she’s lost him.

She does genuinely love him. For some reason, even though she’s been a complete bitch to me, the thought makes me sad.

Stratton’s still leading me inside, and so I pass through the door and let it close.

He takes me into the center of the room, then turns to face me. He slides a hand under my chin and lifts it, then kisses me, lightly, a brush of his lips to mine. He raises his head and looks at me for a moment. Then he says, “Are you okay?”

I nod. “She really does love you,” I say. I feel guilty. Why do I feel guilty? I’m not stealing her man. Their relationship was over before I came on the scene.

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about her. Not anymore. In here, it’s just me and you. Understand?” He gives me a warning look. If he’d been wearing glasses, he would have looked over them like a schoolteacher berating a naughty child.

I shiver. His lips curve up, and he slides an arm around me. “Understand?”

I nod. My heart’s racing so fast I’m hoping I don’t pass out in his arms. I can’t believe he’s chosen me over her. We’re really here, in this hotel room, just the two of us. It’s late, but we can take as long as we want to play. It’s possible that he might throw me onto the bed and do me in seconds. Which sounds pretty fantastic right at this moment. But somehow, I don’t think that’s what he’s got in mind.

He kisses me, and I close my eyes, drop my clutch bag, and lift my arms around his neck. I press up against him, and he’s warm and hard and so... manly, all muscles and aftershave and short dark hair. I slide my fingers into it, scraping my nails lightly along his scalp, and am rewarded when he shudders, his hands splaying on my butt and pulling me against him. He’s already hard for me. Oh... sweet Jesus, I can’t wait.

I move back, breathing heavily. “Give me one minute, okay?”

He nods and runs his hand through his hair. “Any longer, though, and I’m coming in to get you.”

I laugh, slip my shoes off, and run across to the bedroom. It’s like I’m six years old and have just woken to find the shining pile of parcels at the bottom of my bed. They’re all mine, and I can open them as fast or as slow as I want. And every one is going to contain my heart’s desire.

I slip into the bathroom and close the door, let out a shaky breath, and then hurriedly strip the gown off. I bet Cinderella felt like this when she got home, I think, hanging the gown on the back of the door. I remove the nightie I’d left there when I dressed earlier. I bought this at the same time as the gown. It was a naughty, extravagant purchase considering I wasn’t sure we’d end up in bed together, but I’m so glad I bought it. I slip it on, enjoying the feel of the silky material over my skin. It’s a plum color with net over my breasts and a beautiful shiny material that falls in flattering folds to the top of my thighs.

Carefully, I remove the diamond jewelry and place it on the side. I can’t believe it cost Stratton over a hundred thousand dollars. That’s silly money. I should give it back to him, because that much money could do so many things in the world, and it’s greedy and ridiculous to wear it because it looks pretty. But I don’t know that I can. I loved it before I knew how much it cost, and it’s the fact that he’s spent more on me than he spent on Natalie that makes me want to keep it, more than the actual cost of it itself.

I wish I had the time for a shower as I’m warm from dancing, but his threat of walking in rings in my head. As quickly as I can, I freshen up, spray on a tiny bit of perfume, let my hair down, and rinse my teeth. Then I survey myself in the mirror. I’m startled by the transformation. My skin is flushed, my eyes are bright, and I look sexy and sultry. Even I’m turned on by my reflection. Hopefully Stratton will be too!

My heart in my mouth, I open the bathroom door and walk out, then stop in my tracks. I hadn’t heard him come into the bedroom, and it’s a shock to see him standing there, looking out of the window across the city. He’s removed his jacket and shoes and socks, and he looks hot as standing there with bare feet but still in his shirt and bow tie, and his black trousers. He glances over as I come out, and I have the pleasure of seeing his eyes light and his lips curve with pleasure.

“Wow.” He walks over to me, his gaze searing down my body before returning to my face. “You look so fucking sexy,” he says, his voice little more than a growl.

“I’m glad you like it,” I squeak. I’m quite a bit shorter without my heels, and he has to look down at me as he comes close. He pushes me until I feel the small bookcase that’s against the wall at the back of my thighs.

He holds my face in his hands, and the look in his eyes makes me melt. I think I’m half in love with you, Miss Meg. The memory of his words brings tears to my eyes.

He studies my face for a moment. And then, slowly and softly, he kisses me.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Stratton

I have no idea why I’m feeling so exhilarated. Maybe it’s because I saw in Natalie’s eyes the final acceptance that we’re over. It’s made me feel as if a huge weight’s been lifted, and it’s only now that I realize what a burden I’ve been carrying around. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I’m glad she saw us, because I don’t think anyone would doubt how I feel about Meg right now.

She’s soft in my arms, all curves and silky skin, and I mold her to me, enjoying the feel of her womanly body against mine. Her mouth is soft, too, and she tastes sweet as I slide my tongue against hers. I love how she’s eager but shy, letting me lead. I hope I don’t disappoint her tonight. I want to make this good for her, because she deserves it. She’s the nicest person I know, kind, warm, and beautiful both inside and out. It’s odd, but I feel that when I’m with her, she makes me a better person. I like who I am when I’m with her, and that’s a first.

Moving back because I’m getting hot, I remove my bow tie and toss it onto the chair. I offer her my shirt cuffs, and she takes out the cufflinks. She starts unbuttoning the shirt, and I watch her pop the buttons through the holes, enjoying her admiration when she pushes the halves of the shirt aside.

“Mmm,” she says, stroking her hands across my chest. She moves her hands behind my back, skating across my skin beneath the shirt, and when she scores her nails lightly down, I shudder. “Does that feel good?” she whispers, lifting up on her toes to find my mouth again. In answer, I guide her hand to my erection.

“Oh,” she says, as if surprised. Her fingers close around it through my trousers. “Mmm. Wow.”

I chuckle. “How come you always know the right thing to say?”

She laughs and kisses me, lifting her arms around my neck. “You make me feel so good, Stratton. I hope you know that. I’m having such a lovely time. Thank you so much for bringing me with you.”

“Aw, Meg.” I let the shirt drop to the floor and then wrap my arms around her. “I’m glad you came.” Moving back, I lead her to the bed, where I sit and turn to lie down, then pull her on top of me. She stretches out along me, then lowers her mouth to mine, and I let her kiss me, enjoying the gentle exploration of her tongue, the way she nibbles my bottom lip with her teeth.

I smooth my hands down over her waist, her hips, her butt, not yet delving beneath the silky nightie, then back up. For the first time since I kissed her the other day, I rest my hands on her breasts. I’ve been wanting to do this all evening as I watched her dancing. In spite of not wearing a bra, and having had a baby, her breasts had looked shapely in the dress. The fact that they’d not been constricted by all the wire and straps that normally restrain a woman’s figure have made it difficult for me to keep my hands off her.

And now I don’t have to. I cup them and squeeze gently, and Meg purrs with pleasure. I love women’s bodies and how they’re so different to mine, and Meg’s is incredibly womanly, her breasts filling my hand, plump and soft. The silky fabric of the nightie lets my fingers glide over them. I circle my thumbs over the tips, feeling them harden, and then I tug them until her mouth opens and she moans, rocking her hips against mine. The movement is rhythmic, insistent, her breathing deepening, and with some surprise I realize that—keyed up and excited about going to bed with me—Meg’s not far from coming.

Holding her tightly, I twist so she’s underneath me, then shift off her a bit so I’m half lying on her. She blinks and looks up at me, her eyes widening as I slide my hand up her bare thigh, beneath the silky nightie.

“Just relax,” I murmur, pushing her thighs apart before cupping her mound and sliding my fingers down into her.

Meg gasps and inhales deeply, a flush spreading across her cheeks. I feel a surge of hot desire as my fingers slide through her already slippery, swollen folds, and I groan and claim her lips while I circle my middle finger over her clit. She opens her mouth and I delve my tongue inside, forgetting to be gentle, kissing her deeply. It’s only twenty seconds before she’s panting and her fingers are tightening in my hair.

“Stratton,” she says urgently against my mouth, placing a hand on my chest as if to stop me.

“Just relax,” I say again, not stopping. She comes then, her clit pulsing against my fingers, crying out with each contraction, her eyes squeezed tight shut.

I watch her, thinking how beautiful she is like this at the height of her climax. I feel a smug satisfaction at having made her come, even though it didn’t exactly take a lot of skill. But she’s in my arms, and it’s my fingers coaxing the orgasm from her, and I enjoy every second of it, until she goes limp and her eyes finally flutter open.

“Oh.” Her chest heaves. “I’m sorry.”

I laugh, still touching her lightly, as I know she’ll be sensitive. “For what?”

“I didn’t mean to... I wanted to wait, until you were... inside me.”

I prop my head on a hand, exploring her with my fingers. “Oh, you’ll come while I’m inside you, don’t worry. I think we’ll make that orgasm number three.”

She stares at me. I laugh again, stroking slowly, and then slide two fingers down inside her. Her lips part, and she inhales, looking into my eyes.

“We’re just warming you up,” I murmur. I press up as I stroke, and Meg’s eyes turn sleepy, sultry.

“Oh my God,” she whispers. “You’re trying to kill me with pleasure, aren’t you?”

I slow my fingers, leaning over her to kiss her. “I can think of worse ways to go.”

I kiss her long and languidly, waiting until she’s relaxed and her breathing has slowed. Eventually, I withdraw my fingers. Keeping my gaze fixed on hers, I suck them.

“Stratton! Jesus.”

Laughing, I roll off the bed and remove my trousers, leaving just my black boxer-briefs. I take my wallet out, extract a condom, and toss it onto the bedside table. Then I climb back onto the bed.

I kiss up from her belly, over the sexy nightie to her face, kiss her lips for a while, and then press my lips down her neck to her breasts. The lace is attractive and cups them nicely, but I’m done with clothing—I want her naked. I sit back on my heels and lift her up to a sitting position, then catch the hem of the nightie in my hands and pull it over her head. Meg blushes, and I laugh as I push her onto her back and cover her body with mine.

“You have a fantastic figure,” I tell her, kissing down to her breasts. I cup one and stroke my thumb across her nipple. “I especially like these.”

“Well I don’t think that’s the kind of—oh!” She gasps as I cover it with my mouth and suck, and she sinks her hand into my hair. “Oh God.” She arches her back and groans.

I swap to the other one and play with the first with my fingers, and she tightens her hand in my hair. Encouraged, I stay there for a while, teasing the sensitive skin with the tip of my tongue, grazing my teeth on it, and then sucking, gentle at first, then harder. If there’s any sign of her resisting me, I’ll stop, but to my delight she just moans and writhes beneath me.

I’m tempted to see whether I can make her come like this, but in the end the desire to taste her becomes too great. I kiss down her ribs, dip my tongue into her navel, plant kisses over her belly, and then shift until I lay between her thighs.

She lifts up onto her elbows and stares at me. Holding her gaze, I part her folds with my hands, bend my head, and run my tongue up the middle. With a groan, she flops back onto the bed and covers her face with her arms.

Satisfied that she’s not going to object, I turn my attention to the most beautiful part of this stunning woman and delve my tongue into her folds. She’s slick and warm, and I slide my tongue inside her as far as I can before coming back up to circle over her clit. Meg makes the sexiest sounds, moaning and gasping, her girlish cries filling the room. I have to fight not to rise and slide into her—every cell in my body is crying out for me to lose myself in her soft flesh and thrust us both to a blissful conclusion.

I don’t, though. I arouse her as slowly as I can bear, lapping up her moisture, teasing her clit with the tip of my tongue. I can feel her body tensing around me, the muscles in her thighs and stomach starting to tighten, her breaths turning ragged, and I know her orgasm is on its way.

So I slow even more, wanting to make this good for her. Every brush of my tongue is now making her gasp. She’s lost all her inhibitions and has opened wide to me, sinking a hand into my hair as she groans and pants with pleasure, and finally I take pity on her and decide to let her come.

I slide two fingers deep inside her and stroke firmly as I return my mouth to her clit and suck. I feel the climax take her the same way she must be feeling it, gradual at first, building in intensity, her soft pants turning to long moans as she starts to clench around my fingers. I guide her through it, keeping her safe as she falls, and when she’s done, I take time to lick her gently and kiss her thighs before finally lifting up and lying next to her.

Meg turns her head to look at me. Her face is flushed, her mouth open, and her eyes look dazed.

“Nice?” I ask.

She swallows, and to my surprise her eyes glisten.

“Hey, was it that bad?” I joke. I pull her into my arms, and she curls up beside me, soft and warm.

“Mmm.” I kiss her hair and then run my tongue around my lips. “You taste nice.”

“Oh jeez.”

I chuckle and lift her chin. “Here.” I kiss her before she can object, delving my tongue into her mouth. She mumbles something, but she doesn’t pull away, lifting her arms around my neck, and we indulge in a long, sexy kiss that’s full of promise because I know what’s coming next.

When I eventually lift my head, she cups my face and strokes her thumb across my cheek. “I wondered whether you were all talk,” she whispers. “But you’re not.”

I shrug. “I do what I can.”

Her blue eyes are filled with affection, simmering with desire. “What have I done to deserve you?”

“You must have been very bad in a previous life,” I suggest, kissing down her neck. “Maybe you were Attila the Hun.”

She giggles. “I meant that I feel you’re like an angel sent to Earth.” She thinks about it. “Actually no, scratch that. You’re not very angelic.”

“The thoughts I’m having right now are distinctly un-saintly,” I agree, kissing down to her breasts and sucking her nipple again.

“Tell me about them,” she says, her fingers tightening in my hair.

I tease the nipple with my tongue, then kiss back up to her mouth. “I want to make love to you,” I say, somewhat fiercely, letting all the passion that’s been building over the past few hours spill over us both. “I want to slide inside you and feel you all warm and tight around me. I want to watch you come again, and I want to come inside you, Jesus, I want that, more than anything in the world.”

“Do it then,” she says, panting. “Oh God, please.” Her eyes beg me to take her.

I feel as if the world has faded away. Natalie, my work at Katoa, the people at the ball, the sadness I always feel at this time of year, everything is in shadow, and all that exists is the beautiful woman in my arms. I’ve forgotten to put on the air con and the room is warm—our skin is damp and we’re sticking to each other, and holy fuck, that’s sexy. Meg’s lost her nervousness, and she’s like clay I’ve kneaded until she’s soft and pliable. Her skin’s glowing, her lips are parted, her eyes are hooded with desire.

This isn’t going to be enough. I’ve already told her I’m half in love with her, but now I can see that was a lie. I’m fully in love with her. A hundred percent. Maybe I have been since the moment she walked into my office in her sexy gray suit. I’m crazy about this girl in a way I’ve not been crazy about any other woman in my life. Love’s come late for me, taking me by surprise with its sweetness and warmth, like a last-minute try when the All Blacks are playing Australia, or waking as a kid to find that Santa’s been, even though you stayed up most of the night and never caught him.

I want to tell her I love her, but something makes me hold back. I’m not sure she’s ready to hear it. That’s not what tonight is about. There are things we need to discuss if we want to make a go of it, but this isn’t the time. If I say I love her now, she’ll think I’ve got carried away in the heat of the moment.

I’m sure I haven’t. But I’ll keep it to myself for now.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Meg

Stratton looks at me for so long that I wonder whether there’s something wrong. I feel as if he’s trying to decide something—not whether to sleep with me, surely?

But he gets up and takes off his underwear before leaning over to get the condom from the bedside table, so clearly he’s made up his mind.

I swallow nervously. I want this—I’m desperate for him—but although the sight of him so hard and ready for me is a huge turn-on, I feel a sudden flutter of nerves. I want this to be good for him, and I don’t want to do anything wrong. I wish I’d slept with more men and had more experience, because I feel like a sixteen-year-old virgin, and I’m sure I’ve tensed up like one.

Should I do something? Be more active? I don’t want him to think I’m lying there like a dead horse just waiting for him to do everything.

He climbs back on the bed, rolls on the condom, then leans over me. I watch him guide the tip of his erection down through my folds, and then he braces his hands either side of my shoulders and pushes forward.

I gasp. He stops and looks at me curiously. I wait, expecting him to ask what’s wrong, but to my surprise his lips curve up and he lowers himself down, sliding his arms beneath me.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says, and kisses me.

“Hey.” It’s already warm in the room, but I know I’m blushing.

He kisses me again, soft presses of his lips from one corner to the other. “Don’t be nervous,” he says.

“Sorry.”

“And don’t be sorry.” He kisses my nose. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No! God, no. It’s just... it’s been a while. And you’re super gorgeous and experienced and everything, and I’m terrified I’m going to screw this up.”

He laughs. “How could you screw it up, exactly.”

“Um... I don’t know. But if it’s possible, I’ll do it.”

“You won’t screw it up.” He touches his lips to mine. “This is going to go very, very well.” He kisses me again, giving miniscule thrusts of his hips, the tip of his erection sliding up through my folds, teasing my clit.

“Mmm.” My eyelids droop. That feels nice. “As long as you’re not having second thoughts.”

“What? Seriously?” He stops and looks at me with amusement. “After the two orgasms you’ve just had?”

“You looked as if you were deciding whether to go ahead, that’s all. I wondered if you’d changed your mind.”

He sighs. “No. I was thinking about how I feel about you, and whether to tell you.” He starts the tiny thrusts again, and I can hear the slick sound of him sliding through my folds. Clearly, the noise doesn’t bother him.

My body’s stirring, waking up again. I lick my lips and close my eyes so I can concentrate on the sensations. “And how do you feel about me?”

“Oh... I’m crazy about you, Miss Meg.” He nuzzles my ear and places kisses around it. “I was thinking about how I’ve not felt about any girl this way before.”

I open my eyes and look into his, expecting to see amusement, that he’s teasing me. But he’s serious.

“Not even...”

He shakes his head, still moving his hips. “Not even.”

“Oh.” I feel drowsy with desire, my emotions and thoughts blending and whirling like colored oils dropped into water. “Mmm...” I want to think about his words, but they’ve flicked a switch inside me, turning my dial from nervousness to arousal.

He kisses over my collarbone, down to my breast, and takes my nipple in his mouth. At the moment they’ve softened in the warmth of the room, but as he sucks, I feel it tighten erotically on his tongue.

He murmurs his approval, thrusting a bit more, and I feel him slide half an inch inside me, the movement eased by the moisture he’s coaxing from me.

“You make me feel as if it’s midnight on Christmas Eve,” he whispers, switching to my other nipple, which he proceeds to tease with his tongue before kissing back to my mouth. “That moment when the world’s asleep and there’s magic in the air. You make me feel excited, like you’re a sparkly parcel at the foot of the bed.” He kisses me. “I want to unwrap you. Slowly. Untie the bow, peel off the paper, and take my time to reveal what’s inside.”

“Oh,” I say helplessly, because his words are making me melt. Or maybe it’s the warmth of the room that’s making me hot. His skin is damp beneath my fingers, and when he moves back he peels from me with a sexy sucking sound. Everything feels hypersensitive and aroused, from my lips to my breasts to between my legs. He’s still teasing my entrance, sinking in ever so slightly, and suddenly it’s not enough.

“Please,” I beg. “Stratton.”

He fixes his gaze on me, and at the same time he pushes his hips forward and slides inside me, right up to the hilt in one easy thrust.

“Aaahhh.” He rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes. “Jesus, that feels good.”

It’s the understatement of the year. I can’t believe I’m here, in this room, in this bed, with this man inside me, and he’s hot and hard and holy shit he fills me right to the top, stretching me in a way that’s so erotic I nearly come on the spot.

He opens his eyes, and we stare at each other for a long moment.

I’m crazy about you, Miss Meg, he’d said. I’ve not felt about any girl this way before.

If we did have sex, I’d assumed it would be a fling, a whim we gave into while carrying out this farcical fake fiancée plan. But at the moment, looking into his eyes, it doesn’t feel like a fling. He’s not looking at me like he’s planning to let me go anytime soon.

As if reading my thoughts, beginning to move, he murmurs, “You know this is just the first time, right?”

“I thought it was the third,” I reply somewhat breathlessly.

His lips curve up, and he kisses around to my ear before nipping it with his teeth.

“Ouch.” I twitch beneath him, and he groans.

“This is definitely not the last time we’re going to do this.” He kisses back to my mouth, and this time the kiss is hot, insistent. “In fact, I think I might keep you in my house and not let you out. I’ll throw away all your clothes so you have to walk around naked all the time.”

“I think Oscar might object to that,” I say before thinking that how stupid I am to talk about my teenage son when my lover has just revealed a sexy fantasy.

But Stratton just laughs and plunges his tongue into my mouth, the thrust of it matching the thrust of his hips as he slides in and out of me. The sensation is sexy and erotic, teasing me toward fulfilment in a slow and agonizing fashion.

“Actually,” he whispers, “you might try to escape, so perhaps I’ll have to chain you to the bed. You can be my sex slave.”

Earlier, the thought of being tied up had scared me, but I close my eyes, imagining being tied to his bed, naked, lying there for him to take me the way he’s taking me now, whenever he wants me. “Mmm.”

“You like that idea?” He lifts up, takes my hands, and pins them above my head.

“Yes,” I whisper, captivated by this strong, confident, sexy guy, and melting inside at the thought that this might be the first of many times I might go to bed with him. What other delights does he know that he can teach me?

He drops a hand briefly to lift my legs higher around his waist, changing the angle of how he’s plunging into me. He catches my hand again, his magical, mismatched eyes boring into me.

“Come on, Meg,” he teases, “you can manage a third, surely?” He grinds against me as he thrusts, stimulating my clit. “Is that better?”

“Oh jeez,” I groan as the angle of his hips forces him in further. “Are you trying to split me in two?”

He stops, pushing forward, twisting his hips to drive deeper, reminding me why it’s sometimes called screwing. “You can take all of me, baby, that’s right.” He pauses, letting me adjust, and I close my eyes and arch my back with a moan.

I never thought that he would be so in command of me, of my arousal. I didn’t know it could be like this. Instead of me limping to the finish line long after the victor has crossed, he’s taking me there with him, guiding me, and I know that with him I’m never going to have to work hard to reach orgasm, because he’s the one in charge of when I come. It’s a revelation, and I feel dizzy with it as I open my eyes and watch him start to thrust with purpose.

His own desire is rising—I can see it in his eyes, feel it in the urgency of his hips, and excitement floods me at the thought of giving him the kind of pleasure he’s already given me, twice. I can’t do much, pinned by his hands, but I rock my hips to meet his thrusts and open my mouth to his kisses. I tense inside—it’s close, hovering in the wings—and he must be able to feel it because he mutters, “Yes,” and thrusts harder, and that’s it, I lose it and clench around him. It feels magnificent coming with him inside me, and I moan against his mouth, begging and pleading him not to stop, not that it seems there’s any chance of that.

He rides out my orgasm until the tension releases me and I collapse back, and only then does he give in to his climax. I watch with delight and rising emotion as his hands tighten on mine, his body stiffens and his muscles turn to rock, and his face creases in a fierce frown. He stills, swelling inside me and giving seven or eight jerks of his hips, exclaiming with pleasure. Tears prick my eyes because it’s such a beautiful sight, and I never thought I’d have this with any man, let alone my gorgeous boss, who I’ve dreamed of every night for months.

He remains rigid for a long time, as if he doesn’t want to let go of that final moment of ecstasy. And then his body relaxes and his breaths come in gasps as he lowers gently down onto me and covers my mouth with his.

We exchange a long, heartfelt kiss, and I sigh against his lips, bathing in the beautiful afterglow of bliss.

When he lifts his head, his eyes are sleepy and there’s a look of contentment on his face, like the tomcat who got the cream, drank it all, and then had a roll in catnip.

“Mmm,” he says, and licks his lips. “Nice.”

Not exactly Shakespeare, but it does kind of sum it up.

He withdraws and disposes of the condom, and I wonder whether he’ll roll over and start snoring, but he props up the pillows behind him, lies back, and pulls me into his arms.

I curl up, my head on his shoulder, and look out the window at the summer night sky.

“So many stars,” he says. “Are you interested in astronomy?”

“I love looking at the stars,” I reply. “My dad used to take me out at night. We had a very basic telescope, and we used to look out for major events, comets, things like that.”

He kisses my hair. “I should have guessed,” he says sleepily.

I yawn. “Guessed what?”

He just shakes his head. “We have a lot to learn about each other. I like that.”

I snuggle against him. He’s warm, and my skin peels from his as I lift up to look at him. He studies me with hooded eyes. “What?”

Sliding a finger under his chin, I tip it up, and then I lean forward and touch my tongue to the hollow of his throat where it glistens in the moonlight. It tastes salty, giving me a buzz of satisfaction that it was me who made him hot and sweaty like this.

He eyes me wryly when I move back. “Are you trying to get me going again? Because I might need a few minutes.”

“Minutes?” I laugh and settle back next to him. “I’ve just had three orgasms. That’s enough to last most women a fortnight.”

He snorts. “Most women don’t go to bed with me.”

It’s an arrogant statement, but I can see he doesn’t mean it like that. He means that he’s happy to take the time to pleasure his girl, and luckily, that girl is me.

I close my eyes, then remember that I haven’t checked my phone. I very much doubt that Oscar’s called me, but I decide to get it just in case.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I say, and slip out of bed. “Just want to check my phone.” Grabbing his shirt, I tug it on and wink at him, then go out into the living room.

I’d dropped my bag on the floor, and I retrieve it and take out my phone, going over to the window as I swipe the screen. There’s one message, but it’s not from Oscar. I don’t recognize the number. I retrieve the message and listen.

“Meg?” the caller begins.

My heart shudders to a stop. It’s Bruce.

“I’m sorry about the other day.” His voice is low and husky. “I just want to see you, that’s all. I’ve got so much to say. Can we meet? Just to talk. I’ve been working hard, Meg, to put things right. I’m off the booze. I’m seeing a counsellor twice a week. And I have a new hand!” He laughs. “It’s hard to get used to, but I’m persevering. I’m really trying. I’ve missed you so much. And my boy. It was wonderful to see you the other day. You’re obviously doing well for yourself and that’s great, I’m really pleased. But I’d love to see you and Oscar properly. Every boy needs his dad. Call me back when you get this and let me know how you are.”

I hang up. I’m shivering, even though it’s warm and humid in the room. For a moment, I think I might be sick.

“Meg?”

My head whips around as Stratton comes out of the bedroom. He’s put on his boxer-briefs, but the rest of him is gloriously naked. He takes one look at my face and comes over.

“What’s up? Did Oscar call? Is he okay?”

“It wasn’t him.” I stare at the screen, conscious that my shoulders are hunched and my other arm is wrapped defensively around my waist. “It was Bruce.”

Stratton goes still. “What did he say?”

“Not much. Mainly that he wants to see me.” My head’s spinning. “He says he’s changed, that he’s stopped drinking, he’s seeing a counsellor. He wants to see Oscar.” I press the back of the hand holding the phone to my mouth. “Oh God. Why won’t he leave me alone?”

“Shhh.” Stratton pulls me into his arms. “Come on. I’m here, and he’s four hundred miles away in Auckland. It’s okay. We’ll deal with this together. You helped me with Natalie, and I’m going to help you with Bruce, okay?”

I shake in his arms, but deep in my stomach I feel the slow burn of rage begin. I hate the way Bruce makes me feel. A small part of me wants to run again, but the other, much larger part plants her feet, puts her hands on her hips, and snarls, Bring it on!

I’m not going to let him scare me away from my new home. And I’m not going to let him make me feel guilty for finding someone else.

I press my face into Stratton’s neck, comforted by the warmth of his arms. I don’t have to do this alone anymore. Together, we’ll find a way to put our pasts behind us and finally move on to something new, something brighter. It’s terrible the way people can chain us to the past and refuse to let us grow.

Every boy needs his dad. The phrase makes me grit my teeth. Suddenly he’s interested in his son? Where was he when Oscar was being bullied at school? When he had to go to hospital to have some teeth removed? Even if Bruce was on leave, he’d had no time for the quiet boy who wasn’t interested in playing sport or hunting or fishing.

I wouldn’t refuse to let Oscar see him, and I’ll discuss this with him, but I’m already certain what he’ll say—that he doesn’t want his father in his life.

“Come on. Back to bed.” Stratton turns, his arm still around me, and guides me to the bedroom.

I climb onto the bed beside him, and he turns me so I’m facing away and pulls me into his arms, his chest against my back. He’s so calm and steady—he’s like the polar opposite of my ex. I don’t have that worried feeling deep inside with him, that constant fear that I’m going to say the wrong thing and upset him.

This is how it should be, I think as I force myself to close my eyes.

I shouldn’t have checked my phone. Bruce’s call has tarnished the beauty of the evening. Tears leak out of my eyes, and from the way Stratton kisses my hair, I think he knows I’m crying, but he doesn’t say anything.

I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, but, exhausted from the lovemaking and the sudden stress, and finding comfort in Stratton’s embrace, I eventually relax, and everything fades to black.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Stratton

“Any other business?” Meg asks, typing the header on her laptop.

I shake my head, and Rich and Teddi do the same. The meeting’s late today because Meg and I didn’t get back from Wellington until eleven. It’s now Thursday, two days before Christmas Eve, and we all have a lot to do before we wind up for Christmas.

“Okay.” Meg folds her laptop down, tucks it under her arm, and collects her coffee cup. “Have a great day, everyone.” She smiles at us all. Her eyes meet mine for a second before she lowers them and leaves the room.

I watch her walk out, enjoying the sexy wiggle of her hips in the tight black skirt she’s wearing today, and my lips curve in a smile.

I’ve been with my share of women over the years. When Rich and I were in our late teens, it was more difficult to pull—we were computer geeks, for a start, which most women don’t find a turn on, and we were working hard at setting up Katoa, while I was engrossed in developing prototypes of various controllers, and Rich was working on Dark Robot. When the company took off in our early twenties, we made the most of the meteoric increase in our finances and lived the lifestyle of wealthy playboys, going to parties and nightclubs and discovering how much easier it is to pull when you have money and you’re generous with it. At the time, it felt as if I’d won the lottery, literally and figuratively. As I’ve grown older, though, I find myself much more cynical toward those people who I’m sure are only interested in me because of my money, but that’s a whole other issue.

The point is that even though I dated Natalie for five years, she was hardly my first. I like women. I like how they look, how they feel, how they smell, and I like having sex with them, too. Hand on my heart, I can say I’ve never had bad sex. Apart from Natalie and a couple of other short-term relationships that lasted a few months, most of it was casual, so I’ve had lots of morning-afters with different women. I’m used to waking up and being impatient to get rid of the girl—in the nicest possible way—and get on with my day.

The first thing that struck me when I opened my eyes this morning was that I could have lain there all day with Meg in my arms. Before I woke her, I spent a while watching her sleep, something I can honestly say I’ve never done with a woman before. But I found myself fascinated by her slow, gentle breaths, the light flush on her cheeks, the way her long lashes curled at the ends. I discovered that she had a mole on her cheekbone, and a chickenpox scar near her nose that I hadn’t noticed before. She had one arm over the duvet cover, and where she lay on her side facing me, I could see the curve of her breasts, tantalizingly plump and itching to have a tongue run over them.

I wonder when I’ll stop comparing her to Natalie. I suppose it’s normal to look for differences and similarities to your ex when you’re in a new relationship, but thinking about my ex in bed makes me feel disloyal to Meg. I let myself do it, though, firstly because I’m sure she’s doing the same with me and Bruce, and secondly because every time I compare her to Natalie, I find in Meg’s favor, and I like the glow that gives me, as if I’ve done something right for once in my life.

Natalie is all angles—from her tip-tilted nose and arched eyebrows, to the defined Cupid’s bow of her lips and her pointed chin, to her narrow, rather bony shoulders, and even her hipbones that jut out above her almost-hollow stomach. I used to find that heroin-chic look sexy, but this morning, when I looked at Meg, I had no idea why. Everything about Meg is soft and curved, from the gentle arc of her eyebrows, to her full lips, her generous, hourglass figure, even her hair, which is all bounce and curls compared to Natalie’s methodically straightened strands. She’s so womanly, and eventually I couldn’t bear it any longer, so I moved beneath the covers to kiss down her soft body.

After the phone call from her ex the night before, I half expected her to push me away and say she couldn’t sleep with me again—why, I wasn’t sure, maybe because she felt guilty, or was too upset to think about sex.

That didn’t turn out to be the case. She was far from reluctant to let me go down on her, and I spent a pleasant ten minutes or so teasing her to an orgasm with my tongue before rising to pull her on top of me so I could slide inside her. I can still see her now in my mind’s eye, silhouetted against the rising sun, sitting astride me and slowly rocking her hips, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. Her full breasts filled my palms, and I had the fun of playing with them to my heart’s content while she rode us both to a climax.

Sex with her has been great. But I’m conscious that, compared to when I’ve been with other women, the moments before and after lovemaking with Meg have been very different. I like her. I like being with her. Maybe it’s because we were friends first, which hasn’t really happened to me before. Or maybe it’s that we have more in common. All I know is that as she walks out of the room, I feel suddenly bereft, and I have to fight an instinct to get up and scurry after her like a lovesick fifteen-year-old.

I’m conscious that the room has gone quiet, and I glance at Teddi and Rich to see Teddi’s head tipped to one side and Rich watching me with an arched eyebrow.

“What?” I ask.

“Told you,” Teddi said.

Rich grins and sings, “Stratton and Meg, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I—”

“Fuck off,” I say mildly, and start gathering up my things while Rich laughs.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Teddi wants to know. “Are you bringing her up to the bay?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“You haven’t decided? Or you’ve made up your mind, but you haven’t bothered asking Meg and Mum because you assume they’ll fall in with your plans?”

I think about it. “The second option.”

“Stratton...”

“Meg’ll come,” I say confidently, although I’m not a hundred percent sure, “and Mum won’t mind.”

“It’s incredibly rude to invite a girl they’ve never met to stay in their house over Christmas. What about the food? Mum will already have planned for the right numbers.”

“Mum will cook as if she’s feeding the five thousand, like she always does. And she’ll like Meg.” I am sure of that. I can’t imagine anyone—save Natalie—disliking Meg.

“Are you going to tell her the real story or the literal fake one?” Teddi wants to know.

I glare at my sister and deign to answer.

“Stop glaring at me,” she says. How she always knows my facial expression, I’ll never know. “You’re only cross because I’m addressing the issues you’re trying to ignore.”

I glower, but she probably has a point. “I’m going to talk to Meg about it later, and I’ll ring Mum tonight.”

I haven’t decided yet whether to tell my parents about the fake fiancée thing. I know they’ll disapprove, because on the surface it’s a stupid idea, and yet I hope they’ll understand when I tell them it seems to have worked.

Part of me wishes I was staying in Auckland rather than returning home this year, but I haven’t been to the bay for a few months, and I miss my parents. For the last five Christmases, I’ve been with Natalie, and there’s no way she would have spent the festive season in the back of beyond, so it’s been a long time since I’ve had a family Christmas. I may be thirty-four, but there’s still something nice about going back to your childhood home.

Plus, deep down, I want my mum and dad to meet Meg. The cynical part of me is smirking at that.

“I’ve not seen you like this before,” Teddi says softly, with no irony at using the word ‘seen’. She’s never been sensitive to words that refer to vision. “What’s so special about this girl?”

“I thought you liked Meg,” I say.

“I do. I think she’s great. But she’s very different to Natalie.”

“Maybe that’s what he likes,” Rich says. I give a short laugh.

Teddi’s genuinely curious though. “Come on. Tell me.”

“I don’t know.” I feel irritable at having to explain myself. “She’s... capable.”

“Capable.” Teddi somehow manages to make it sound as if I’m being sexist. “You mean she knows how to change a plug?”

“I’m sure she does, but no, I’m not being misogynistic. It never ceases to amaze me how inept most people are. She reversed into a parking space the other day that would have made me think twice.”

“That doesn’t sound sexist at all,” Teddi says.

“I’m not being sexist! Most people can’t reverse into a thirty-foot parking space without taking at least three goes at it.”

“Women are worse,” Rich admits. He winks at me. He’s winding Teddi up.

My lips curve up. “I wouldn’t have said that out loud, but he’s right.”

“I’m not going to bite,” Teddi says. “But I am interested in your choice of words to describe her.”

I’m rapidly losing patience with this conversation. “I don’t know what you want me to say. She has great breasts and a nice arse in her tight skirts. Is that better?”

“Thank you for that, but you’re avoiding the issue, and stop getting angry with me because you can’t express yourself. I’m interested in what makes her special, that’s all. I know you like her, Strat—your voice changes when you talk to her and about her. Is it because she’s so different to Natalie? Is this just a rebound thing?”

Her face is earnest. I know she’s been worried about me since my relationship with Natalie imploded. I also know that she likes Meg—the two of them have gone shopping sometimes, and no doubt she’s worried that I’m only playing with Meg because I’m looking for an escape after the nuclear devastation that Natalie left behind.

“I like her,” I say softly. “I’ve liked her from the beginning. Yes, it’s possible part of it is that she’s so different to Natalie. But that doesn’t mean it’s shallow or rebound.” I want to explain to them how I’m feeling. How can I put it into words, and why am I so bad at this? “She’s nice—a nice person, I mean. She’s kind. She’s funny, and she makes me laugh, without being cruel like Natalie. When I say she’s capable, I mean that she’s strong—she’s not helpless. She was trapped in a loveless relationship that turned violent, but she didn’t stay and become a victim—she took her life into her own hands and reinvented herself, which must have taken a huge amount of courage, especially with a child in tow. She got herself a new job and a new place to live, and she’s tried hard to make it work. That impresses me. In spite of everything that’s happened to her, she’s managed to keep her sense of humor and her innocence.”

“Innocence?” Teddi queries.

“Yeah.” I decide to switch to language I’m more familiar with. “You know in Dark Robot when you’re in the Vaults of Laramond, and you go through that bit that’s entirely in the dark, and there are spiders dropping from the ceiling and pools of poison seeping out through the cracks in the floor, and the Spider Queen is after you? You don’t think you’ll ever get to the other side, and then suddenly Salvadora the Paladin appears and stays with you to guide you across.” I shrug. “That’s Meg.”

Rich grins. “That’s possibly the nerdiest analogy I’ve ever heard, but yeah, I get it.”

“Is Natalie the Spider Queen?” Teddi wants to know.

“Mock all you want,” I mumble. “But that’s how Meg makes me feel.”

“Jeez,” she says softly. “You’ve got it bad.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Now I know why you want Mum to meet her.”

“I didn’t realize you felt like that,” Rich says. He gives me a look that tells me he’s been worried about me, too. “If you really like her... Don’t screw it up.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say, and it’s not entirely an ironic statement.

“I mean with the fake engagement thing,” Rich clarifies. “If you’re really interested in her, you need to sort it out now.”

I scratch at a mark on the cover of my iPad and mumble something.

“He’s right,” Teddi says. “And Stratton... have you talked about children with her?”

I give a long, heartfelt sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“So that’s a no, then.”

I don’t say anything.

“She’s thirty... what?” Rich asks. “Two? Three?”

“Three,” I confirm.

“And she already has a teenager. She probably doesn’t want any more kids.”

“You can’t assume that,” Teddi warns. “Maybe she’s always wanted a large family but her partner didn’t, or she didn’t want them with him. And it doesn’t meant she won’t want more with the man she marries. It’s the most natural thing to want your partner’s child. You’re going to have to raise it with her before you get in too deep.”

Too late, I think somewhat glumly, but I just say, “Yeah.” I check the time on the iPad—I need to get to work. “Okay, lecture done? Time to move on.”

We rise from the table, and Teddi leaves the room with Bella by her side in the direction of her office, while Rich heads off to the hub.

I walk along, pausing at the doorway to Meg’s office, which is right next to mine. I lean against the doorjamb and watch her where she’s filing something in the cabinets near the windows. Today, all the girls in the office are wearing Christmas earrings. Meg’s are in the shape of Christmas trees with tiny red bulbs that are flashing. It makes me smile. Natalie would have died rather than be seen with cheap, tacky jewelry, but it’s typical of Meg to join in with the others for a bit of fun.

She carefully wrapped her diamonds in a piece of velvet and hid them in her underwear this morning. Before she put them away, I saw her kiss the pendant, and it made me smile.

I know I need to talk to her and sort this out, but part of me is afraid of broaching the subject in case I screw it up. I’m afraid she’ll tell me she wants children, and that it’s something she’s not prepared to give up.

I think of how it felt this morning to be inside her, to watch her come and know I was the one to give her pleasure. I’ve only had a glimpse of the fun the two of us could have together, and I want more.

Meg bends over to put something in a box. I stare at her butt, then roll my eyes, push off the doorjamb, and walk back to my office.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Meg

“What are we doing for Christmas Day?”

It’s an innocent enough question, and Oscar deserves an answer—the trouble is that I don’t have one.

We’re sitting at the dining table, looking out at the gorgeous garden and talking, sharing a huge pizza and half a ton of chicken wings like any ordinary family. Except that Stratton’s my boss, we’re pretending we’re engaged, and we’re also sleeping together. Nothing complicated about that at all.

It’s ridiculous that we haven’t discussed Christmas yet, but I suppose both Stratton and I have been playing this by ear, waiting to see where our feet take us. I wish Oscar had asked me when we were alone, but it’s not his fault and he didn’t mean to make me feel awkward.

I don’t look at Stratton. “Not sure yet, sweetie. Nan and Grandad would still love to see us.”

Oscar pulls a face. “Can’t we stay here?” He looks hopefully at Stratton, who’s tucking into a cheese-stuffed crust, watching us. Well, watching me. I glance at him, and I can see by the look in his eyes that he’s thinking about sex. Again. The man’s insatiable. Holy guacamole, that turns me on.

I lower my gaze and clear my throat. “Stratton’s probably busy, love. We’ll talk about this later.”

Stratton picks up his beer bottle and takes a long swig. “We can talk about it now,” he says. “I think I should spend the day with my fiancée, don’t you?” He looks at Oscar, who nods eagerly.

“If Mum’s your fiancée, does that make me your stepson?” he asks curiously.

“Oscar!” My face heats.

“Fake stepson,” Oscar corrects.

Stratton laughs, but his gaze when it rests on me is cautious. “I guess it does.” He takes another few spicy chicken wings and puts them on his plate, picks one up, then puts it down again. “Actually, I’d planned to go back to the bay for Christmas, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”

I stare at him. “To your parents’ house?”

“Yeah. Teddi will be there too. They’re having a party on Christmas Eve. We haven’t all been together on the day for years, and Mum’s looking forward to a family Christmas.”

“If it’s a family Christmas, she won’t want me and Oscar there.”

Stratton starts eating the chicken. “You don’t know my mother. She loves big Christmases. She’ll be thrilled to have you.”

I sincerely doubt that, but I appreciate that he’s trying to make me feel better. I suppose he feels guilty about leaving us behind considering what’s been happening.

“Have you mentioned it to her yet?” I ask.

“Not yet.”

“So she won’t have planned for larger numbers?”

“What is it with women and worrying about food? Mum always does too much. Dad will be relieved he won’t have to eat turkey sandwiches for a fortnight.”

I pick up on the phrase What is it with women? “So Teddi’s not sure about us coming either?”

He gives me a wry look and sits back.

“I don’t want to intrude,” I say softly. “I can’t imagine what your mother is going to think of me when she knows what’s going on.” I watch him look down at his beer bottle and turn it in his fingers, and a thought comes to me. “You haven’t told them about our arrangement, have you?” My hearts sinks. What a fucking mess. “Stratton, we can’t just turn up on their doorstep and announce we’re engaged. And what are they going to think if you tell them it’s a fake engagement?”

“I’m working on that.”

“That means that you can’t make up your mind what to say to them.” I speak calmly, but my stomach’s in a knot. I can’t imagine how this can possibly work out without his parents thinking I’m after his money.

He doesn’t look bothered, though. “My parents are great. They’ll understand when I tell them what’s been going on. They’ll like you. Both of you.” He smiles.

It registers then what he said about it having been a long time since they’ve all been together for Christmas. “What did they think of Natalie?”

He sighs. “They never said in so many words, but they didn’t like her, and she didn’t like them. Dad’s an Art teacher and Mum teaches History, and they talk about politics and social issues and bicker about which subject is most important. They read all the time and they don’t own a TV. They know nothing about which celebrity is getting married and Mum has no interest in designer labels—she still buys all her clothes from the local bargain store, in spite of the fact that I’ve tried to take her shopping in Auckland. And Natalie wasn’t very good at hiding her snobbishness. She looked down her nose at Mum’s friends and neighbors because of their lifestyle, and Mum didn’t like that. She’s big on manners, and thought Natalie quite rude at times.”

“What did they say when you broke up?”

“They would never have cheered or anything, but I think they were relieved. Mum’s been worried about me. You know what mothers are like.” He gives my son a glance, and Oscar nods and rolls his eyes as he picks up another piece of pizza. “She’ll be relieved I’ve found myself a nice girl.” Stratton’s eyes come back to mine, and he smirks as he swigs his beer.

I know he’s thinking about this morning, in bed. We had sex with me on top, and he let me dictate the pace. I rather enjoyed taking charge, and when he rolled me over at the end, he murmured in my ear, You seem like such a nice girl on the surface, but deep down you have a wicked streak, don’t you? It made me shiver. I hadn’t realized I had a wicked streak until he showed it to me.

“They don’t have a TV?” Oscar looks alarmed.

“I know. Crazy, eh? But they have lots of other stuff. They have a games room with a snooker table and a dartboard. They’ve got a huge pool. And... something I think you’d like... Dad has a studio with hundreds of art books and easels and a gazillion different color paints and brushes. I’m sure he’d be happy to let you explore that at your leisure.”

Oscar’s jaw drops. I glare at Stratton, who gives me a look as if to say What?

“Talk to your mother first,” I tell him. “And be honest with me. If she’s disapproving at all, I want you to tell me. I don’t want to go if there’s going to be an atmosphere.”

“Mum’s far too polite to show any disapproval,” he says.

“That’s hardly the point,” I return, somewhat sharply, which is unusual for me. Doesn’t he understand that I like him? And that it’s important to me that his family likes me? Jesus, I’ve screwed this up big time. Why did I ever agree to pretend to be his fiancée?

“What’s going on?” Oscar asks, obviously picking up on my tone.

Normally, I’d be open with him and tell him what was bothering me, but I can’t with Stratton there. My gaze switches from my son to Stratton, and I can’t think what to say. I feel terrible that I’ve put Stratton in the position of having to deal with my son. He doesn’t want kids. He must think Oscar’s a real nuisance. And not everyone believes in discussing everything in front of children. Maybe he’s wondering why I haven’t told Oscar to go to his room so we can talk.

He doesn’t look angry or irritated, though. His brow flickers with concern, and when it’s obvious that I’m not going to explain, he leans forward on the table, his arms folded, and addresses Oscar.

“You understand why we’re pretending we’re engaged?” Stratton asks.

Oscar nods. “Because you’re trying to prove to Natalie that you don’t want her anymore. And so you can look after Mum if Dad shows up.”

My throat tightens. I wish with all my heart that Oscar didn’t have to think about things like that. I hate that he doesn’t want to see his father, because I know that—albeit unwittingly, and arguably with reason—I’ve influenced how he feels about him. It’s not my fault that his father is the way he is, but Bruce is still his dad, and in spite of what Bruce did to me, I will always feel guilty for taking Oscar away.

Stratton’s attention is focused on Oscar now, almost as if I’m not in the room, but when he starts talking, I know he wants me to hear what he’s saying. “I liked your mum the day she walked into my office, and over the last four months I’ve only grown to like her more. I never said anything because I thought she was married, and I’d only just broken up with Natalie, so I felt I had to get that sorted before I started dating anyone else. And then all of a sudden, things changed.”

“Mum sent that email,” Oscar says, adding, “I still don’t know what it said.”

“That’s private,” Stratton tells him.

“The whole of your office building got the email,” Oscar points out.

Stratton’s lips curve up. “That’s irrelevant. The point is, at that moment I knew she liked me too. And then your dad turned up. So we made an on-the-spot decision to pretend to be engaged. It would have been fine if we were just pretending to like each other, but in retrospect it wasn’t the wisest thing to have done, because it’s made things more complicated.”

“Why?”

“Because we really do like each other.”

I catch my breath. Although we’ve slept together, it’s the first time either of us has put it into words.

Oscar frowns. “So why don’t you just date like ordinary people?”

“There are other things to think about,” Stratton advises.

“Like what?”

“Like you.” He smiles.

“I don’t mind,” Oscar says.

“That’s kind of you to say so, but we have to think about what’s best for you, too.”

Oscar pushes his plate away, and I know he’s irritated because he thinks we’re treating him like a child. But the fact that Stratton is considering what’s best for my son touches me to the core. I rest my elbow on the table and put my chin in my hand, covering my mouth.

Oscar stares at me suspiciously. “Are you going to cry?”

“No,” I squeak.

“She’s going to cry,” Oscar tells him.

“Girls do that,” Stratton says. “You’d better get used to it.”

I glare at them both, but they’re not looking at me so it goes unnoticed.

“Will we live here while you two are dating?” Oscar asks.

Gathering my wits, I reach out and put a hand on his arm. I can’t have him pushing things in front of Stratton. “That’s enough, sweetie. It’s a big step for a couple to move in together, a decision that’s not normally made until they’ve been dating for at least a few months.”

“You’re living together now,” Oscar points out.

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Why?” he demands, and I know what’s behind this. It must be cool to boast to your mates that the guy you’re staying with has a 105-inch TV screen in his playroom. He’s worried he’s going to have to go back to our dingy apartment, because I can’t afford a new console or a new phone or the latest games.

Then I see the look on his face as he glances at Stratton, and I feel terrible. I’m being incredibly unfair, because my son’s not a bad kid, and there’s more to it than that. I’m sure the money must play a part, but he genuinely likes Stratton—he has since I started work at Katoa. He admires him, because Stratton’s built his whole business around gaming—the one thing Oscar loves—and yet he’s also altruistic. He wants to help Teddi and other disabled people to enjoy the things able people enjoy, and that’s no small goal in Oscar’s eyes.

Because his own father hasn’t set a very good example, Oscar is clinging to the notion of being around Stratton, maybe even seeing him as a replacement for Bruce, and I have to be very careful here because if things don’t work out between Stratton and me, I’m not the only one who’s going to get hurt.

And now Oscar wants to know why sleeping with Stratton is different to being engaged, and I’m getting exasperated and embarrassed, because Stratton appears to be finding this funny rather than annoying. “Because we’re only pretending to be together,” I point out.

“So what’s the difference?” Oscar asks. “The two of you are having sex, aren’t you?”

I cover my face with my hands. Stratton bursts out laughing.

“For God’s sake,” Oscar says, “I do know about this stuff. I am thirteen.”

I lower my hands, aware my face is scarlet. “Please, please stop torturing me.”

“Can’t you just share a room?” Oscar complains. “What’s the difference between doing that and being engaged anyway?”

“Do you know why people get engaged?” I ask.

“To get presents?”

I grit my teeth. “It’s a promise to marry the other person. It’s a serious commitment, Oscar, and it’s not to be taken lightly.”

“Says the woman who’s wearing a fake ring.” Oscar’s tone is snarky, and normally I’d tell him off for that, but I’m too flustered.

“It’s not a fake ring,” Stratton says. “It’s a real ring.”

“Which she’s wearing for a fake engagement.” For some reason, Oscar’s getting upset. “It’s hypo... hypo...”

“Potamus?” Stratton suggests, and Oscar glares at him.

“Yes, it’s hypocritical,” I snap at Oscar, and now I’m upset too. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t realize what a stupid idea this was?” I slide the beautiful ring off and put it on the table, conscious that Stratton has leaned back in his chair and is watching me with his head tipped to one side. “There. Now we’re not pretending to be engaged. Everybody’s happy.” I stand and shove my chair away, walk off to my room, and close the door behind me.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Stratton

We hear the door shut, and Oscar and I exchange a glance.

“I’ve upset her,” he says, his face forlorn. “I hate upsetting her.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” I reply. “Let’s give her a few minutes to cool off, and then I’ll go and talk to her.”

He picks moodily at a piece of pizza crust. “I don’t get what’s going on, that’s all.”

“The first thing you have to understand is that adults make mistakes.” I have a swig of beer. “Being wise is about learning not to make those mistakes more than once, but you still have to make them the first time to learn. Your mum and I screwed up by pretending to be engaged. I shouldn’t have suggested it to her. I thought it would solve our problems, and it may well do that, but even though I liked her, I thought we’d be able to keep our distance and just stay friends, but we...” My voice trails off as I become conscious that I’m talking to her teenage son.

But he just shrugs. “You hooked up in Wellington,” he says.

I don’t see any point in lying. “Uh, yeah...”

He scratches at a mark on the plate in front of him. “I’m glad. She likes you a lot. She’s had a hard time, and she deserves to be happy.”

“I’m sorry you’ve both had it tough,” I say softly.

“She cried a lot,” he says. “At first. When we were living in the apartment in Christchurch, after I’d gone to bed. She thought I couldn’t hear her, but I could. She was calm whenever dad called around, but after he left she always cried.”

I clench my teeth hard enough to make my jaw hurt. “I’m sorry, Oscar.”

“I hate that he did that to her. Pushing her, breaking a rib, was bad enough, but making her cry was worse somehow. You don’t do that to someone you love, do you?”

I happen to agree with him, but equally I don’t want to take the stand that everything his father’s ever done is evil, because I’m hardly an angel, as Oscar will no doubt discover.

“No relationship is perfect, and it’s okay if a couple don’t always agree with each other. It’s healthy to argue sometimes because it can clear the air, like having a storm, and it can help to make sure that you don’t take each other for granted.”

Oscar thinks about that. “But what Dad did, not listening to her when she said she didn’t want to see him anymore, and what Natalie’s been doing to you, that’s not right is it?”

“No. That’s not right. It can be hard to lose someone, but you have to respect the other person’s wishes if they want to end it. I suppose some people think that if they love the other person enough, they can convince them to stay, but it doesn’t work like that.”

“I like how Mum is with you,” he says. “She laughs a lot. She comes home every day and tells me what funny things you’ve said to her, and that you’ve taken her to lunch, or that you’ve bought her something nice to put on her desk. She glows when she talks about you.”

“That’s nice.” It makes me smile.

“She hasn’t cried since she started working with you,” Oscar says. “You’re not going to make her cry, are you?”

I meet his gaze, and for a brief moment I see the man inside the boy, the young man who feels he has to take the place of his father and look after her. He’s warning me, and I understand why he feels the need to.

“No,” I promise, although my stomach rumbles with unease, “I won’t make her cry.”

I look at the ring lying on the table, pick it up, and put it in my pocket. “I’m going to ring my folks. Do you want to go in the playroom? I got the new Andromeda Space Station game yesterday.”

His eyes light up. “Can I?”

“Of course.”

“My mates will be so jealous.” He rises hurriedly.

“Plate?” I suggest.

“Sorry.” He picks up his plate and glass and takes them to the kitchen, then scurries off.

Smiling, I take the rest of the crockery out and stack it in the dishwasher. Then I pick up my phone and walk out onto the deck.

It’s a balmy evening, the sun that’s low over the horizon still throwing out a decent amount of heat, but even so I know it’ll be a few degrees warmer up in the Bay of Islands. I dial my parents’ number and press the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mum.”

“Stratton...” She sounds wary. “I was just talking to your father about you.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Is this a call to say you’re not coming on Saturday?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Oh, thank God.” She blows out a relieved breath. “I was certain you were going to cancel.”

“Aw. Don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t trust Natalie,” she says, then stops as if she’s bitten her tongue. “Oops. I mean... You haven’t gotten back with her, have you?”

I smile wryly. “No, don’t worry.”

“Ah, don’t make me feel bad. I was sorry that you broke up. You’d been with her a long time, and I know it was hard.”

“Well, I think that’s done and dusted,” I tell her.

“I’m pleased and sorry at the same time. I hope it leads to better things for you.”

“The thing is...” I still haven’t made up my mind how much to tell her. How should I phrase this? “I wondered if I could invite someone to come up with me over Christmas?”

“Rich?”

“No, Rich would never come.” Rich always goes away for the week after Christmas, and, I suspect, spends it in an alcoholic stupor somewhere. I don’t like it, but it’s his decision, and I never pressure him to join me.

“So... Is it anyone I know?” she asks.

“Actually it’s two people. If it’s too awkward, just say—Teddi said it was unfair of me to give you so little notice for food and bedding and stuff.”

“I always do too much, you know that. So come on, who is it?”

“His name’s Oscar. He’s thirteen. He’s only been in Auckland four months.”

“A teenager? Oh. I didn’t expect you to say that. Who’s the other person?”

“His mother.”

“Ah... I see. What’s her name?”

I sigh. “Meg.”

“Meg... As in Meg your P.A.?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? Of course they can come.”

“The thing is...”

“How many bedrooms do I need to get ready?” Her voice is full of smiles.

“It’s complicated,” I admit.

“Love always is, sweetheart.”

“Oh we’re not... that is, I’m not sure...” I give in and huff another sigh.

My mother chuckles. Then she says, “Wait, isn’t she married?”

“No... that’s the complicated bit.” One of the many. “She’s from Christchurch.”

“Yes, I remember you saying. And her husband was in the army.”

“Turns out they weren’t married, and he’s a nasty piece of work. An alcoholic who turned abusive.”

“Oh no.”

“Yeah. She left him and didn’t tell him where she was going, but he’s followed her up here. She’s staying at my place at the moment because I was worried for her safety.”

“Has she told the police?”

“No, she didn’t want them involved, although she might have to call them if the guy won’t leave her alone.”

In the background, I hear my father’s voice, and then my mother telling him what’s going on.

Eventually, she comes back to the phone. “He wants to know if she’s pretty.”

I laugh. “Tell him yes. She’s gorgeous.”

“Stratton says she’s gorgeous.” I hear Dad’s voice again. “Your father says ‘That’s my boy.’ So... you still haven’t answered my question.”

“What was it again?”

“How many bedrooms do I need to prepare?”

I sigh. “Mine and one for Oscar.”

“Right. Stratton, I have to ask, do you know what you’re doing?”

I think about the fake engagement and my great-grandmother’s ring in my pocket. “Almost certainly not.”

“All right. Well, you’re a big boy now. I’m sure you don’t need me telling you to be careful. See you Saturday. Eight-ish?”

“Yeah. I’m planning to leave by five latest.”

“Drive carefully. Love you.”

“Love you too.” I hang up.

I go back inside and into the kitchen, and take out a bottle of an expensive Pinot Noir from the wine rack by the fridge. As I pour two glasses, I debate whether I should have mentioned the fake engagement. They would have thought I was an idiot, but I think they would have understood. Or maybe they wouldn’t. At least this way I don’t have to explain it.

I’ll worry about it later.

Vaguely aware that decision is probably going to come back and bite me in the ass, I walk through the house, pause outside the playroom to check that Oscar’s okay, then carry on down to Meg’s room. I place a glass on the floor and knock on her door.

“Come in,” she says listlessly.

I turn the handle, pick up the glass, and go in.

She’s lying on the bed, but she sits up when she sees it’s me and moves back against the pillows. I offer her a glass, and she takes it with a wry smile.

I climb onto the bed and sit beside her. I haven’t sat on this bed before, and with some surprise I realize it has a lovely view to the east across Hobson Bay. The setting sun has coated the bed in buttery yellow, making Meg’s skin glow as if she’s been gold plated.

I sip my wine and glance across at her. “You okay?”

She shrugs. “Is Oscar all right?”

“He’s fine. Worried about you.”

“I’m sorry I went off on one in there.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not really. I suppose he forced me to confront what we’d done, and I realized how stupid we’ve been.”

It’s my turn to shrug. “Maybe we have, maybe we haven’t. The reason I suggested it was to get Natalie off my back, and I think it’s worked. And hopefully it’ll do the same with Bruce. If it does, then it was worth it.”

“And what about us?” She turns her large blue eyes up to me. “Has it made things more difficult for us?”

“I don’t see why.”

“But... what do we do if we decide that after Christmas we want to keep seeing each other?”

My gaze drops to her mouth, and now I’m thinking about kissing her. “I suggest we keep seeing each other.”

“Stratton...”

“As far as everyone thinks, we’re engaged. I suggest we don’t say anything to the contrary, unless there’s something to say.”

She studies her glass, then takes another sip.

I put my hand into my pocket, pull out the ring, and offer it to her.

She looks at it for a long moment. “I shouldn’t,” she whispers. “We’re not really engaged.”

“I want you to wear it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not a good enough answer, Stratton.”

I sigh. “Because it makes me feel that I’m keeping you safe.” I hold the ring out, and when she uncurls her fingers I place it on her palm. “Because I like other men thinking you’re unavailable. Because it’s like I’ve branded you as mine.”

Her gaze rises and she studies me. “That sounds a bit possessive.”

“It is possessive. I’ve not felt this way before. I wouldn’t have let Natalie within a hundred yards of this ring. But with you...” I lift my arm around her shoulders and pull her closer to me, then kiss her forehead. “I feel differently than I’ve ever felt before.”

She swallows and looks at my mouth. “In what way?”

I brush my nose against hers. “You know I’m not any good at this.”

“Have a try,” she says. “I want to know how you feel.”

I think about it. “Protective. Affectionate. Warm. I never believed in love at first sight before, but I don’t know how else to explain what I’m feeling. I don’t want to be apart from you. I think about you constantly. I want to have sex with you all the time.”

Her lips curve up. “I think that’s your default setting, isn’t it?”

I can’t think how to tell her about the hunger I have inside for her. “Yes, I like sex, I’ve always liked sex, but this is different. Before it was a physical urge I had to satisfy. But with you, I want to feel you against me, I want to be inside you, I want to watch you come again and again. I want to see that heat that appears in your eyes when you look at me, as if you’re thinking about my mouth on yours, about me sliding inside you, filling you up. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

And thinking about it now has made my erection spring to life, and I put my wine glass on the table, and take hers and place it next to mine. I note that she’s slipped the ring on her finger, and I feel a swell of smugness.

“We can’t,” she whispers. “Oscar.”

“He’s up to level four,” I murmur back as I nuzzle her ear. “He won’t be getting out of that chair any time soon.”

I slide my hands beneath her T-shirt and kiss her, delving my tongue into her mouth, relieved when she lifts her arms around me. My blood’s up, thundering through my veins, and I want her, now. I want to wipe away her sadness, her worry, her guilt, and her fear, and make her look at me when she comes, so I can see the pleasure in her eyes and know she’s thinking only of me.

Chapter Thirty

Meg

I don’t know what this man does to me. I feel as if he’s cast some kind of spell, because one kiss, or one stare from his mismatched eyes, or one touch of his hands, and all my willpower vanishes. His mouth slants across mine, and he moves his hands up my back to undo my bra, and I’m shivering like a teenager, a moan escaping my lips when his hands finally rest on my breasts.

There’s a noise outside—probably Oscar yelling because he’s reached a new level—but it makes me twitch. Stratton moves back, rolls off the bed, goes over to the door, and locks it. Then he comes back to the bed and pulls me into his arms.

“Is that better?” he murmurs.

“Yes.” I still feel unnerved, though, and I’m conscious that I’m stiff with tension. “I’m sorry. I just worry that he’ll walk in.”

“It’s okay.” He kisses my cheek. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable doing anything you don’t want to do.”

“I do want to.” My body aches for him. “I’ve never done this before, that’s all. Been with a guy other than his father, I mean. I worry what Oscar will think of me.” My face flushes.

Stratton slides his hand up my top and pushes the loose bra up so he can cup my breast. His lips brush my cheek, and my nipple tightens in his fingers. “He told me he’s pleased we’re together.”

“Did he?” They’ve been talking about me?

“Yes. He knows you’ve been unhappy and he likes that you seem happy now.”

“I want to do the right thing, that’s all. He’s had such a tough time, and I know it’s not my fault, but I don’t want to make things worse. I haven’t always done right by him.”

Stratton removes his warm hand from my breast and rests it on my hip. I miss it immediately, and have to stop myself arching my back to push toward him.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I didn’t marry his father,” I point out. “As Maggie, I did so much wrong. I got pregnant, which was so, so stupid. Then I refused to marry Bruce. I thought I was doing what was best for Oscar, but now I’m not so sure. If I’d married Bruce, if I’d been more supportive, maybe things wouldn’t have gone so badly.”

For the first time, I wonder whether Bruce felt the same way Natalie does—that I didn’t love him enough to marry him. I’ve never considered that before, and it makes me feel ashamed.

“Hey.” Stratton slips a hand beneath my chin and lifts my gaze to meet his. “You’ve not done anything wrong. Shit happens, Meg. You did your best, and now you’re here. Or do you wish you weren’t?”

“No! No, that’s not what I mean at all. It’s just... as a parent, you want to set a good example to your children, and I haven’t done great so far. And now I’m with you... I don’t want Oscar to think his mother’s a loose woman, sleeping with the first guy she meets.”

“Is that all I am? The first port in a storm?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Well, then.” He returns his hand to my hip, brushing down with his thumb and making my stomach quiver. “I don’t think sleeping with one other guy makes you a loose woman. Oscar is your son, Meg, and I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to bring him up, but I don’t think that showing him you’re now in a relationship that’s loving and affectionate, in which you’re having good, healthy sex, is a bad thing.”

“Are we?” I whisper. “In a relationship, I mean?” I haven’t known what to call it.

“We are, if you want to be.” He bends his head and kisses me. “I’ve spoken to my parents, and you and Oscar are very welcome to come and stay for Christmas.”

“Oh.” I move back when he tries to kiss me. “What did you tell them?”

“Almost everything.”

“Almost?”

“I didn’t mention the fake engagement bit. But I told Mum we’re together, and that it’s complicated because of your past. They’re looking forward to meeting you.”

He told them we’re together. He said we’re in a relationship, if I want to be. It dawns on me that even though we went about it in a mixed-up, somewhat idiotic way, and even though we’re both still reeling from our pasts, we’re actually dating.

He lifts my hand and shows me the ring. “Let’s start again and forget all the fake engagement nonsense. This is a partnership ring, and I’d like you to wear it. It means we’re in a relationship, and it’s a promise to be honest and open with each other. Does that make sense?”

I nod, feeling happier than I have for some time. “You want more than sex?”

His lips curve up. “I hope that sex is still up for grabs. But yes, I want more than sex. I want you, Meg. All of you. And Oscar. I know you come as a package and that’s fine by me—he’s a great kid.”

If this turns out to be something, we’ll need to talk about the future—about his role with Oscar, about where we live, and whether I continue to work for him—but for now knowing that he wants more than just sex is enough to make me glow.

He kisses around to my ear and murmurs, “Turn over.”

My heart racing, I do as he says, facing away from him, and I let him pull me back against him. He slides his hand beneath my T-shirt and up to cup my breast. “I want to make you happy,” he says softly, and tugs gently at my nipple. “I’m crazy about you, Miss Meg.”

I close my eyes and give myself over to his skillful fingers. “Mmm...”

He kisses up my neck to my ear and sucks the lobe into his mouth. He grazes his teeth on it while he plays with my nipples, and I lean back against him and turn to offer him my mouth so he can kiss me.

I raise my hand to his cheek, and open my eyes a crack to see the ring there glinting in the late evening light. A partnership ring. It symbolizes the connection between us that is still in the process of forming. We have a long way to go, but Stratton’s telling me that I’m his girl, and it feels like a great start.

His tongue slides against mine while he continues stroking my breasts and teasing my nipples with his fingers. I can feel his erection pressing against my butt, and suddenly, desperately, I want him inside me.

I roll away from him, unbutton my jeans and kick them off, tear off my T-shirt, and chuck my bra and underwear on top of the pile. Naked now, I move back to him, and I shudder as his hands brush over my skin as if he wants to touch every inch of me. He moves one hand down over my belly and between my thighs, then slips his fingers into me.

He groans. “You’re always ready for me, Meg.” He strokes me, his fingers sliding easily through my folds. “Jesus, you’re so fucking sexy.”

God, this man’s so naughty, but it turns me on, and I give my body over to him and let him tease me with his expert fingers until I’m moaning and my breaths are coming in gasps. He moves back and I let out a long sigh of frustration, but I stop as soon as I see him unbuttoning his fly. He doesn’t undress, though, and there’s something sexy about him being clothed and me being naked.

He drags a pillow down and tucks it under my belly, then pushes me onto my front so my hips are slightly raised. My heart bangs against my ribs. Bruce liked me on all fours, but we never did it much like this. Stratton seems determined to show me as many different ways of having sex as he can, and as my gaze falls on my left hand where it clutches the pillow and I see the ring again, I know what he’s doing. It’s like he’s factory resetting a computer, wiping its memory so he can start again from scratch. He wants to erase Bruce from my mind, and install himself there, overriding my previous memories. And I’m happy to let him do it. I only want Stratton inside me, from here to eternity.

A rustle from his wallet, and then he’s pushing up my knee, leaning over, and pressing the tip of his erection into my folds. He braces his hands on either side of my shoulders and bends to nuzzle my ear.

“Ready, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

He pushes forward, harder and faster than I expected, and slides into me up to the hilt.

“Aaahhh.” I bury my face in the pillow, dizzy at the sensation of being stretched and filled to the brim, but he winds his hand in my hair and pulls it gently back.

“Feel me,” he demands, kissing down my neck and sucking where my pulse is beating frantically. “Feel me inside you, Meg. Get used to it. Because I’m going to spending a lot of time doing this.” He pulls back and thrusts firmly, making me gasp. The angle lets him sink in deeper, and as he lowers down onto his elbows and slides his arms underneath me, I feel completely wrapped, like a Christmas parcel.

“Relax,” he murmurs, slowing his thrusts and kissing my neck. “You smell so good.” He nuzzles my hair. “Everything about you is soft and sensual and sexy. I’ve been thinking about doing this to you all day. Do you mind?”

“No,” I say, breathless with desire and disbelief that this gorgeous man wants me. What have I done to deserve him?

He slides one hand down over my belly and between my legs. His fingers part to feel where he’s moving inside me, and then he brings them up to stroke my clit. “It’s all right,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. Just let go.”

It’s a strange thing to say, and it tells me that he can feel my tension. I want to please this man, to do everything right, to show him that I’m enjoying it, but it’s as if I’m trying too hard. He’s moving slowly, and his fingers are skilled and sure. He’ll take us both to the edge—I don’t have to do anything. I don’t have to try to feel pleasure. I just need to let him take me there.

I close my eyes and rest my cheek on the pillow and relax. Stratton murmurs his approval, his fingers moving faster, and I widen my thighs and tilt my hips up to give him better access.

“Yes,” he whispers in my ear, “that’s it, sweetheart. Just let it happen.”

His body is warm against mine, his strong arms holding me tightly. I’ve never felt like this, so secure in a man’s arms, so much a part of him. I’m just being romantic, I tell myself, like a schoolgirl, but I don’t care if I am because it feels so good to give myself over to him.

I can feel my orgasm approaching, the muscles deep inside me beginning to tense, and Stratton must be able to sense it too because he lifts his hand to slide it back under my shoulder, and he says, “Slowly.” He pulls almost out of me, then pushes forward with agonizing slowness, and I feel every inch of him moving inside me, sliding through my sensitive skin.

“How does that feel?” he asks. “Tell me, Meg.”

“Mmm, it feels good,” I whisper.

“Fast or slow? Tell me.”

“Slow.”

So he does it again, pulling back, pushing forward, kissing my neck, my ear, my hair, and my lips when I turn to look over my shoulder at him.

“Like that?” he asks.

“Yes...” I try to stifle a moan, but he shakes his head.

“Let me hear you.”

I let it escape, a soft sigh of longing, of pleasure.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he whispers.

I flush. I’m not used to talking during sex, or trying to explain myself. Oddly, it feels more intimate and personal than the actual act. “I feel... safe,” I say without thinking. What a stupid thing to say.

But he kisses down my neck and tightens his arms. “You’ll always be safe with me.”

Tears prick my eyes, even as muscles deep inside me tense again.

“Tell me,” he says.

“I can feel it... oh... it’s like a train in the distance, speeding toward me...”

“Let it come.” He keeps up the slow, sexy thrust of his hips. He cups a breast and plays with the nipple. “Come on, beautiful. Give yourself to me.”

So I do. I let the train slam into me, and I bury my face in the pillow and muffle my cries with it as I clench around him, the exquisite pleasure only serving to increase the tears that were already threatening to overflow.

He stops as I come, holding me tightly, and it’s only when the contractions release me that he begins to move again. This time he lifts up onto his hands and thrusts with purpose, and I realize how good his self-control is, because within about twenty seconds he stiffens as his climax hits. I murmur my approval at the feel of him taking his pleasure from me, pulsing inside me, his deep groan in my ear. I love this sharing of our bodies, and at that moment I know that I’m in love with this man, and I never, ever want to let him go.

Chapter Thirty-One

Stratton

“Typical man,” Teddi says, “leaving the shopping until the last minute.”

“We’re not exactly your normal couple.” I open the door and let Bella lead her into the jewelers.

Normally, we don’t work on Saturday, but most of us had stuff we wanted to get done before the summer break, and half the office turned up when we offered to pay double. Not that the majority of them are doing much work, but I guess that was to be expected.

It’s lunchtime now, and Teddi and I have popped out to buy Meg a present.

“Don’t you want to get her some fake jewelry to match the fake engagement?” Her tone is sarcastic, somewhat cutting, which is unusual for her. Maybe it was a mistake asking her to come with me. I never forget about Will, but I suppose he’s not on my mind twenty-four seven like he must be with Teddi.

I remember the look on her face when Rich said that Meg was thirty-three and probably wouldn’t want any more children—Teddi turned the big three-oh not that long ago, and although she protested at the time that she didn’t care, I think it’s had more of an impact than she realized. She’s afraid to love again, but she wants children, and her body clock’s ticking. Nothing’s been easy for her. I soften, even though her words have made me bristle.

“The engagement might be fake,” I tell her. “The relationship’s not. I like her, Teddi. And it’s Christmas Eve. They’ve had a tough time, and they’re coming to stay with us. I want it to go well. Are you going to help me? Because if not, it might be better if we stay here in Auckland.”

She bumps me with her shoulder. “Of course I’ll help. I’m sorry. I’m a bit grouchy. Don’t mind me.”

I kiss her forehead and lead her over to the counter. “It’s okay. Come on, help me choose something nice for Meg.” I smile at the assistant, who’s waiting patiently to help us. “I’m looking for something special for my fiancée.”

“Yes, sir.” Her gaze skims down my suit, no doubt spots the cut and the cloth, the expensive watch on my wrist. It’s an exclusive shop, quiet even on Christmas Eve, and I don’t think there’s anything in here that costs less than a thousand dollars. She leads me over to the cabinet to her left that glitters with diamonds. “Might I suggest we start here?”

I know I’ve already bought Meg some nice jewelry, but I want to get her something else for Christmas. Teddi’s happy to handle the five-thousand-dollar-plus jewels, her fingers gently exploring the shapes and weight of the pendants, and we spend a pleasant thirty minutes or so poring over necklaces and bracelets until we decide on a necklace in the shape of a pohutukawa flower because she loves the trees, the red petals formed by tiny rubies surrounded by diamonds.

I feel an unusual burst of happiness as I pay and the assistant giftwraps my purchase. I used to buy Natalie jewelry, and she was always appreciative of my gifts, but I feel different getting something for Meg. Natalie would wear her jewelry to show and impress other people. Meg will wear it because it means something special to her. I can imagine her fingering it when she thinks I’m not looking, the way she does the pendant I bought her, and my great-grandmother’s ring. A secret smile touches her lips when she does so, and I know she’s thinking about me.

I picture her the way she was last night, lying beneath me, her face buried in the pillow as she came. She was soft and hot and wet and tight, and I had to fight with every ounce of willpower I possessed not to come until she was ready. We’re definitely doing it like that again. Although next time I think maybe we’ll do it standing up...

“Stratton!”

I blink, and Teddi gives a snort. “Stop daydreaming about having sex with Meg. We don’t have all day, you know. It’s already one o’clock.”

I give the shop assistant a wry look and pocket my receipt, then take Teddi’s arm and lead her out of the shop. “I wish you wouldn’t be quite so frank in front of other people,” I scold her as we walk along the street back to the car, Bella trotting by her side. “Not everyone’s as open-minded as you.”

“Sorry, was there someone there?”

I open my mouth to reply sarcastically, but someone says, “Stratton,” and I turn to see Natalie standing a few feet away.

“Shit,” Teddi says, obviously recognizing her voice.

I stare at my ex. My first reaction is fear—I’m expecting her to make a scene, or to say something, anything, to put me on edge.

Then my vision clears, and I look properly at her. She’s pale, and, for maybe the first time since I’ve known her, she isn’t wearing makeup. She’s shoved her hands deep in her pockets and her shoulders are hunched. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail—very un-Natalie.

“I’ll go back to the car,” Teddi says, holding her hand out for the keys.

“Okay.” I let them drop into her palm, knowing she’ll find the car, which isn’t far away, by pressing the unlock button and listening for the beep. I watch her walk away, then I turn back to Natalie.

It’s a hot day and the sun’s streaming down on us—automatically we move under the canopy of the nearest shop. It’s a baker’s, and the window’s full of small fruitcakes in the shape of Christmas trees, gingerbread Rudolphs, and mince pies. The shop next door is playing Dean Martin’s Let it Snow. I’m used to Christmas Down Under now, but it occurs to me how anyone from the northern hemisphere would find it odd celebrating the festive season in summer.

“I just want to say I’m sorry,” Natalie whispers.

I’m not quite sure what she’s sorry for, so I just say, “Okay.”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.” For once her eyes are tearless, and she’s not accompanying her words by crying. I study her warily, wondering if this is a new ploy.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she pleads.

“Like what?”

“Worried. I’m not going to make a scene.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” I point out.

“I know. I’ve never had anyone dump me before. And I’ve always gotten what I wanted eventually. I figured if I tried hard enough, I’d be able to convince you to come back to me. But I can’t, can I?”

I shake my head, and I can see acceptance on her face.

“Okay,” she says. “It’s okay. I just thought... we were so good together. In bed, I mean. Weren’t we?”

Scenes flicker through my mind of memorable moments with her, and I wait for regret to filter through me, but I surprise myself by feeling nothing except a dull sense of sadness. “Sex isn’t everything, Natalie. It was about the only thing that was good between us, and it’s not enough.”

“No.” She looks down and sees the package in my hand. “Is that for Meg?”

“Yes.”

“She’s a lucky woman.”

“I’m the lucky one.”

“Are you really going to marry her?”

“Yes,” I say, and at that moment I know it’s true.

“I hope you’ll be happy together.”

I’m not sure she means it, but at least she’s trying.

“You’ll meet someone else,” I tell her gently. “You’re too beautiful to be on your own for long, and I know he’ll be better for you than I am.”

“No one will be better for me than you, Stratton,” she says without a hint of guile. With some astonishment I think that she really did love me, and perhaps I truly have broken her heart. For that I’m sorry. I wish I could have done things differently, but relationships end, and it’s how we deal with those endings that matters.

She turns away. “Merry Christmas, Stratton.”

“Merry Christmas.” I watch her walk away, and then I return to the car.

Teddi and Bella are already in. I get in the driver’s seat, close the door, and blow out a long breath.

“All right?” Teddi asks.

“Yeah,” I say, and for the first time I mean it.

*

I return to the office in high spirits. It’s Christmas Eve, and Meg and Oscar are coming with me to the bay. I’m excited about that, about them meeting my parents, and about having a few days with them as if we’re a real family. I’m looking forward to giving Meg my present, and the one I’ve already bought Oscar is packed in my bag.

I have a few things to do before the end of the day, and I go into my office with the intention of cracking on with work. I have a meeting in about ten minutes with a businessman from Dunedin who’s flown up for Christmas and thought he’d call in while he was here, and I want to wind up my emails and make sure all my correspondence is up to date. But it’s difficult to concentrate.

I lean back in my chair and sip my coffee, thinking about Natalie. I feel so relieved that she’s finally accepted we’re over. I hadn’t realized how worried I was that she was going to try to get revenge for seeing me with Meg the night of the ball. I feel some sadness as I remember the haunted look on her face, and her protest that she doesn’t think she’ll find someone as good as me. She’s wrong, of course. When you’re comfortable in a relationship, it’s scary to think about starting again, and we try to convince ourselves that it’s better to stay as we are. But we weren’t right for each other. She needs someone more pliable, who’ll pander to her every whim and treat her like a princess. And she’ll find him, because she’s beautiful and elegant and for some reason some men like being treated like shit.

I don’t want to think about her anymore. I put my memories of her into a box and tie a bow around it, then place it in the dusty attic of my mind. We’re done.

I really should do some work. I flick through my emails, but I can’t concentrate. The office girls have been out for lunch and they’re a little raucous, playing Christmas music loudly down the hall. Part of me is tempted to join in the party. But I have to work.

I shuffle some papers and think about Meg on top of me, her mouth on mine. I’m feeling horny, and in spite of the fact that we had sex last night and this morning, I want her again. What the hell’s wrong with me? I don’t want to scare her off by coming on too strong. Not that she seems to mind at the moment. It was she who woke me up at first light by disappearing under the bedclothes to explore the morning glory I just happened to have at that moment. I gaze off into the distance as I think about how it had felt when she’d taken me in her mouth, pleasuring me while I was still in that hazy state between waking and sleeping where I wasn’t quite sure if it was a dream. She’d taken me deep when I came, and, to my shock, she’d swallowed, one of the few things Natalie had disliked doing, leaving me almost tearful with stupid, inexplicable joy. Sated and content, I’d then pulled her up into my arms and stroked her with my fingers until she’d come. Then I’d sucked my fingers, and she’d blushed. Even now, it makes me smile.

I shift in the chair. Concentrate, Stratton.

It’s Christmas, though, and I don’t want to work. I stare longingly at a bottle of whisky that one of my business associates bought me. I can’t drink because I’m driving later, but I decide to have a mince pie with my coffee. While I munch on that, I unwrap the present Rich has left for me on my desk. It’s a model of my favorite female warrior character from World of Warcraft, with her name and title, Braced, The Proven Defender, beneath it. I laugh and put it in prime place next to my laptop. I love it. Maybe I’ll get one of Meg’s character so they can stand side by side.

I roll my eyes at myself. I’m definitely going soft.

I need to concentrate. But I picture Meg beneath me, imagine plunging into her soft, yielding body, filling the air with her cries as she comes. I want to fuck her right now. I have so many things I want to do to her, with her.

And now I have a hard on. Jesus. I’m never going to get any work done. Part of me considers locking my door and taking myself in hand. I don’t want that, though. I want Meg.

As if I’ve conjured her up, the door opens and the light of my life comes in. I stand and walk over to meet her, and she slides her arms around my waist and lays her cheek on my shoulder.

“You’re so wonderful,” she says. “Thank you.”

Happiness sweeps through me at the thought of a future with her, bright and sparkling as the tinsel around the door. I can feel her breasts pressed against my chest and her hair smells of exotic flowers, stirring my blood. It’s hot, and she’s wearing a bright red summer dress today that’s smart and yet Christmassy but also sexy. The skirt’s above her knees and the material’s soft and flowing over her hips. I know she’s got red underwear on beneath it.

I lean around her, close my door, and lock it.

Meg looks up at me in surprise. “What are you doing?”

Kissing her neck, I walk her back until she meets my desk and press her up against it. “I want you.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Here?”

“Right here.”

“Stratton! You have a meeting in five minutes.”

“I can make you come in three.”

She laughs and pushes at my chest. “No you can’t. I can’t give myself an orgasm in three minutes.”

“Wanna bet?” Lust courses through me, and I hold her gaze, trying to tell her with my eyes how much I want her.

Her lips part. She looks into my eyes for a long moment, and then her lips curve up.

“Go on then,” she whispers.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Meg

I thought Stratton was joking, but I’m beginning to understand that he doesn’t joke about sex.

He crushes his mouth to mine and sweeps his tongue inside, and while he does that he’s tugging the spaghetti straps of my dress off my shoulders along with the straps of my bra. Without further ado, he hooks the lace of both bra cups beneath my breasts, leaving me exposed, and lowers his mouth to my left nipple.

He sucks, relatively hard, and I tip my head back and gasp, unable to catch my breath. He swaps to my other nipple, starting to play with the wet, sensitive skin of the first one with his fingers, and by the time he comes back to my mouth, both nipples are shining and hard like wet pebbles.

He unzips his fly, but doesn’t release the erection that’s straining the elastic of his boxers. I see why when he pushes up my dress and moves my knees apart. He thrusts his thick, hard length against my mound, right against my clit through my underwear, and within seconds it feels as if he’s accessed all of my erogenous zones and turned them up to eleven.

I don’t know if it’s his skilled hands and mouth, that I’m practically naked on his desk with the hot sun pouring over me, or just the fact that this man wants me so badly, but within moments I’m so turned on that I know he was right and it’s not going to be long before I come.

He lifts his head and I open dazed eyes to see him extracting a condom from his wallet. In seconds he’s torn off the wrapper, pushed down his boxers, and rolled the condom on, and then he pushes aside my underwear and he’s inside me, balls deep, and I almost come right there and then.

I hang on, embarrassed that I don’t think it’s even been two minutes, but Stratton’s not in the mood for waiting. He sweeps aside the folders and laptop on his desk, pushes me back onto my elbows, wraps my legs high around his waist, and leans over me, thrusting hard, grinding against my clit.

I bite my lip as I drop my head back, dizzy at the speed of my arousal.

“Ah, Meg, you’re so fucking sexy,” he tells me, lowering his mouth to my breast, and I want to tell him the same because he looks so gorgeous in his suit—he hasn’t even removed his jacket, and I feel like I’m being fucked by James Bond.

But I can’t say anything because pleasure’s building inside me, and when he switches his mouth to my other nipple and sucks, my climax hits. I clench around him, and he pushes up so he can thrust hard, coming within a few pushes of his hips. We lock together, and I force my eyes open to see his burning into me, victorious, and yet there’s something gentle in there too, real, warm affection that gives me tingles to the roots of my hair.

I glance to my right and see the new statue of his warrior. “Hello, Braced,” I say. “Wow, that’s a cool model.”

He kisses my nose. “Jesus, I love you.”

He then looks slightly astonished. The words obviously slipped out without thinking. My heart leaps, but I decide to play it down.

“God help me.” I roll my eyes. “Three minutes. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Two minutes forty-two seconds, if we’re counting.” He grins. “Told you.”

I thump his arm, hot, flustered, cross that he’s so smug, and incredibly happy too at his words. “Get off me. You have a meeting.”

“Merry Christmas.” He kisses me, holding it until I go limp and stop resisting, and then he withdraws.

He disposes of the condom, zips his trousers, then helps me rearrange my clothing. I examine my reflection in the mirror by his door. I look just-fucked. My lipstick’s gone, my hair’s all over the place, my cheeks are red, and my eyes are glazed.

“Aren’t you going to apologize?” I say, a bit irritably.

“Nope.” He nuzzles my neck. “That was nice.”

He slips a hand under my dress and slides his fingers beneath the elastic of my underwear. “Ah, Jesus, Meg.” He strokes my wet, swollen folds. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“Will you stop!” I groan and push his arm away. “Meeting! Now!”

He sighs and releases me, and I walk out of the office and back to mine without glancing over my shoulder, because I know if I do I’ll turn right around and go back to him.

When I’m finally at my seat, I lean my elbows on the table and cover my face with my hands. I feel as if I’m going a little mad. My body’s hot and throbbing, and yet I know if he came in here and locked the door, I’d let him do me all over again.

I lower my hands and blow out a long breath, then smile as my gaze falls on the flowers on my desk. He’s such a sweetie. There are a dozen beautiful red roses, and the card says “Mine, forever.” The other office girls are so jealous. The word Forever makes me shiver. He’s just said he loves me. Even if it slipped out, it was still a wonderful thing to hear.

“Hey.”

I look up to see Rich leaning against the door.

“Hi!” I stand, so fast I almost fall over, suddenly afraid I’ve forgotten to straighten my clothing and my boobs are still out.

He raises an eyebrow. “You okay? You look...”

I blush scarlet and press my hands to my face. “I was just... we were just... Oh jeez.” I’m glad I’ve never had to undergo torture. I couldn’t lie to save my life.

He laughs. “Oh. I see.”

“Rich...”

“I just wanted to say goodbye. I’m leaving now.”

Immediately, I forget my embarrassment and walk around the desk to give him a hug. “Oh Rich, I wish you were coming with us.”

“I’m not very good company at this time of year.” He hugs me back. “I hope you all have a great time, though. Stratton’s a new man when you’re around.”

I pull back and look up at him. He’s Stratton’s best friend, and they’ve known each other a long time. I also know he was wary of our fake engagement. “I hope you don’t think badly of me, Rich.”

“Of course not. I worry about him, that’s all. Natalie screwed him up. I was just concerned that you were using him to get back at your ex.”

“Well the idea for both of us was to use the fake engagement to help end our relationships,” I remind him. “But I think deep down we both knew there was more to it than that, even before we got involved. I’ve liked him from the start.”

“Are you going to keep working here?”

I hesitate. I’ve yet to have that conversation with Stratton. We haven’t discussed anything about a future yet, but there’s time for that, I figure. “I don’t know yet. I’ll see how Christmas goes.”

“All right. Well have a great time, and I’ll see you in the New Year.”

“Yeah, stay safe.”

I watch him walk away, feeling a touch of sadness. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose a sibling, let alone a twin.

My phone rings, and it’s the receptionist to say that Stratton’s appointment has arrived. I quickly apply some lipstick and smooth down my hair, then show the guy to Stratton’s office. I offer the visitor some coffee. Stratton smirks at me as I ask him if he wants anything.

“Coffee?” I prompt him with a glare.

“Please. And any mince pies going? I’m hungry.” His eyes glitter.

I walk out with a pounding heart. This man is going to sex me to death and I don’t think there’s anything I can do about it

Mind you, what a way to go.

*

I spend the rest of the day shifting bits of paper from one side of my desk to the other and scolding the junior secretaries who are doing a conga around the office, and then finally it’s five o’clock and it’s time to leave. My flowers are still in the cellophane they came in with their bases wrapped in a damp cloth, so I pick them up with my bag and head out to Stratton’s office.

He’s ready, and once Teddi and Bella join us, we head to the elevator and go down to the car park.

“Are we picking Oscar up from Alyssa’s?” Teddi asks.

“Yeah.” Stratton presses the button on his keyring, and the car’s indicator lights flash. He pops the boot and lifts her bag into it while she gets into the back with Bella, who’ll have to sit between her and Oscar all the way up to the bay. Oscar will love that.

I hand Stratton my bag, then turn as someone calls my name.

My heart shudders to a stop. Bruce is standing by one of the large concrete posts. He’s obviously been waiting for me. He doesn’t look pleased to see that I’m with other people.

Stratton puts my bag beside his and straightens, closes the boot, sees me staring, and turns.

Bruce walks toward us and holds up a hand as Stratton moves in front of me. “I just want to talk.”

“No,” Stratton says flatly. “Fuck off.”

I’d have laughed if I wasn’t panicking so much. “What do you want?” I ask, taking a step back until I feel the car behind me.

Bruce stops and looks at the flowers in my arms. “I’m glad you liked them. You always did like roses.”

I feel as if I’ve swallowed a whole glass of iced water. I stare at Stratton, horrified. “I thought you sent them.”

“That’s why you said thank you when you walked into my room.” He closes his eyes briefly. “I thought you’d bought them for the office.”

I turn my gaze to the flowers and feel as if I’m going to vomit over them. Resisting the urge to throw them as far away as I can, I put them on top of the car boot. Stratton glares at them, and with a sweep of his arm he knocks them onto the ground where petals spill across the concrete like drops of blood.

Mine, forever, Bruce had written.

“Let’s go,” Stratton says, but I pull away from his hand.

I face Bruce. “You’ve got to stop.” I’m shaking now, but I need to end this, otherwise it’s going to cast a permanent shadow over whatever I have with Stratton. “It’s over. You need to let me go.”

“I’ll never let you go.” His expression is determined. “I’ve done things in the past, things I’m ashamed of. I didn’t treat you as well as I should have. But that’s all changed. I’ve changed, for you, Maggie.”

“I’m not Maggie anymore.” But my voice sounds weak, even to me. “How did you find me?”

“I tracked Oscar down at his school and it was fairly easy after that.” He fixes me with his dark eyes, and I feel a buzz in my head, a faint fear at the memory of how he’d control me with that gaze. “I don’t mind what you call yourself—Maggie, Meg... But you’re mine, and I want you back.”

Stratton hasn’t said anything, but he hasn’t moved, either. I’m very conscious of him standing next to me. He’s thrown his jacket in the boot, removed his tie, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. I can smell his aftershave from here. I can still feel his mouth on my breast, him moving inside me. He wants me in a way that Bruce never did—not to control me, or to mold me into the kind of person he wants me to be, but because he likes me.

My hand slips into his by our sides, and his fingers tighten on mine. That gives me the strength to lift my chin and reply.

“I’m not coming back. Ever.”

“Don’t be like that. I’ve traveled across the country to find you. I’ve rebuilt my life. I’ve worked hard to be a better man, Maggie, all for you.” He looks suddenly earnest. “And for Oscar.”

For the first time, anger flickers in my belly. “Don’t bring Oscar into this. You never cared about Oscar.”

“Oscar’s my son.”

“Are you sure?” I look him in the eye. “Are you a hundred percent sure?”

I never slept with anyone else when I was with him, but I see the doubt appear in his eyes. “You’re just saying that,” he snaps. “Trying to put me off.”

“The point is that it would make a difference to how you feel about him,” I bite back. “You’re only using him now to get to me. You don’t really care about him and you never have.”

“Of course it would make a difference! No man’s going to give two fucks about a kid that’s not his.”

I glance at Stratton, and his lips curve up in one corner. I think of the easy banter he has with Oscar, the way Oscar looks up to him. He’s closer to Stratton after four months than he is to his father after thirteen years.

“Enough of this,” Stratton says. He lifts our hands and turns them to show Bruce the ring. “That’s my ring on her finger. We’re getting married.”

“You can’t,” Bruce says, appalled.

“You lost her, man. You treated her badly and you fucked up. It’s your loss. Come on, Meg, we’re going.”

Bruce moves forward and catches my arm. “Don’t go.”

Stratton whips around and pushes him back. “Don’t touch her.” He moves close to the other man, pinning him against the car next to us.

Bruce knocks his arm away. “Fuck off. You take her, then, but you’re not having my boy. Oscar’s mine, and I have a right to see him.”

I feel slightly faint, but when I look at Stratton’s face, I’m shocked by his furious expression. I’ve never seen him angry like this.

“Now you listen to me,” he snaps. “Meg’s kept the police out of it so far for Oscar’s sake, but I’m inches away from calling them and telling them you’ve threatened her.”

“I haven’t threatened her!”

“Your word against mine, you fucking moron. Who do you think they’re going to believe?”

I watch Bruce glance around and spot the expensive cars. He must have done some research after he saw me in the foyer when Stratton pinned him to the wall—he must know who Stratton is, how rich he is.

“I won’t stop Oscar seeing you if he wants to,” I tell Bruce, not bothering to add that Oscar doesn’t want to be within a light year of him, and I can’t see that changing anytime soon. “But until then, I want you to keep away from us or Stratton’s right—I’ll go to the police and I’ll get a protection order against you. And I’ll get it. Don’t forget that you hit me.”

“Your word against mine,” he says.

If there was any affection remaining inside me for what we had together, that sentence kills it. I push Stratton aside and stand in front of Bruce. I’m not scared anymore. I’m so angry I want to spit in his face, but I content myself with channeling my fury through an icy stare.

“Did you really think I’d come back to you?” I can hear the curiosity in my voice. “After what you did to me? After how you treated me? It wasn’t just when you struck me. You strangled the life out of my feelings for you day by day, with every harsh look, every scornful word. Love’s not about saying it. It’s about showing it. And you never, ever, made me feel that you loved me.”

Bruce looks as if I’ve punched him in the stomach. “You don’t understand what I’ve been through.” He gulps in air as if he’s drowning. “Losing my arm. Coming out of the army. I’m a soldier. I couldn’t bear it.”

“I know. And I’m sorry for what happened to you. You look like you’re turning yourself around, and that’s great. I hope you go on to have a really happy life and meet someone else you love. But that person’s not me, Bruce. You’re hanging on to an illusion. And you need to move on.”

He looks at the flowers on the ground. “You always liked roses,” he says dully.

Without another word, he turns around and walks away.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Stratton

At just after eight thirty, I pull up outside my parents’ house in Paihia and turn off the engine.

Relief fills me that we’re finally here. I only stopped once so Oscar could visit the Gents’ and the rest of us could pick up a coffee before we set off again. It’s a beautiful drive through hills and valleys with flat-topped volcanoes in the distance and palms lining the roads once we enter the Northland, but it’s a long way and we’re all glad the journey’s over.

I can’t quite read Meg’s mood. When we picked up Oscar, she told him briefly what had happened, promising to talk more about it later. Then, almost purposefully I’m sure, she moved the conversation on, and after that it hasn’t been mentioned again. She’s been chatty and bright, but I’m sure it must have affected her. She’s been fine with me, just a tad distant, and I’m not sure if that’s because she’s angry that I interfered, or if she has mixed feelings about Bruce leaving. I find it difficult to believe it’s the latter, but I know from my experience with Natalie that emotions are rarely black or white.

Part of me wishes there wasn’t a party tonight. I’m not sure I’m in the mood to be sociable. I want to get Meg on her own, pull her into my arms, and make love to her, because I’ll know then how she feels about me. But that will have to wait until later.

“Are you sure about this?” I murmur to her as we get our bags from the car. “If you’d rather, I can always take us to a hotel somewhere.”

Even as I say it, I realize it’s doubtful there will be any room at the inn this late in the day, but luckily she gives me a warm smile and says, “Of course not. I’m looking forward to meeting your parents.”

Suddenly nervous, I lead her across the lawn and around the back of the house. I look over my shoulder and see Oscar offer Teddi his arm. Normally, she would have said no, but I’m touched when she acquiesces and takes it.

The house is low and long, brick built, which is fairly unusual for the Northland, and painted white. Palms fill the front garden and line the large lawn of the back garden, and a huge deck runs the length of the house and continues down to a gorgeous pool.

There are people everywhere, and it takes us a while to find my parents. I see people I haven’t seen for years—other teachers, some of whom taught me; extended family—aunts, uncles, cousins and their children; neighbors and their families; kids and dogs that don’t seem to belong to anyone but who appear to be having a great time.

I introduce Meg to everyone as my girlfriend. I know she’s never going to remember all the names, but she nods and smiles and looks as if she’s enjoying herself. I can barely take my eyes off her. She’s like a tropical flower with her bright blonde hair, her red dress, and her exotic scent, and she fits the evening perfectly.

Christmas songs and carols echo across the lawn, mingling with the yells and shrieks of kids splashing in the swimming pool, and those playing ball games on the grass. The air is filled with the scent of the lavender and jasmine growing around the deck, as well as the mouthwatering smells from the barbecue, and I realize I haven’t eaten since lunchtime. There’s a small Christmas tree in the center of the lawn and another by the poolside, and there’s tinsel all around the deck and a huge picture of Santa stuck on the window. It’s a typical Kiwi Christmas party, and I feel a strange pang of nostalgia, as well as a sense of wellbeing at the notion of coming home.

“Stratton!”

I turn as my mother calls me, and bend to greet her when she flings her arms around my neck. Jenny Parker is short and slender, with graying hair cut in a neat bob not unlike her daughter’s, and an attractive smile that everyone says she handed to me.

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” she breathes in my ear, hugging me tightly.

“Me, too.” I kiss the top of her head. “Are you shrinking?”

“Cheeky.” She pulls back, wiping her eyes, and wallops my arm. “You’re never too old to put over my knee, you know.”

I glance at Meg as my mother hugs Teddi, and I bend to murmur in her ear. “I could say the same thing to you.”

“Stratton!” She glances around, blushing, then looks back at me. “You’re such a naughty boy.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Seeing my mother pull back from Teddi, I hold out my hand to Meg. She slides hers into it shyly, and I bring her forward. “Mum, this is Meg. Meg, this is my mother, Jenny.”

“Hello, Meg.” Mum holds out her arms and envelops Meg in an embrace. “It’s so lovely to meet you at last. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Likewise,” Meg says, blushing again as she moves back. “This is Oscar, by the way, my son.”

“Hello, Oscar.” Knowing that teenage boys aren’t keen on hugging older women they don’t know, she holds out a hand.

Oscar shakes it solemnly. “Pleased to meet you.”

“What lovely manners. I like you already.” She beckons to someone behind me, then says, “I have someone I’d like you to meet. This is Greg, he’s the son of a good friend of mine.” Greg Parsons comes over—he’s a year older than Oscar, with the lanky limbs of a growing teen and a shock of dark hair.

He nods at Oscar. “Hey.”

“Greg, I wondered if you could get Oscar something to eat because I’m sure he’s starving, and then show him the games room?”

“Yeah, sure.” Greg indicates with his head for Oscar to follow, and Oscar—trying to look as if he goes to parties all the time—strides after him as nonchalantly as he can.

Mum takes Teddi’s hand and holds her other out to Meg. “Come on, girls. Let’s get you a glass of wine, and then I want you to tell me everything. I’m starved for gossip here.” She leads them away. Meg gives me a brief look over her shoulder, but she’s gone before I can protest.

“Kidnapped, eh?” Dad appears by my side with a glass of red wine and hands it to me.

“Yeah, sorry. I wanted you to meet Meg.”

“Did Mum like her?”

“I think so.”

“Then I’ll like her. Come on. I need your help with the kingfish on the barby.”

*

The evening passes quickly, filled with barbecued kingfish and snapper pulled fresh from the sea that day, prawn kebabs, salads, mince pies, and sherry trifle, with cheesy Christmas songs in the background. Later, as some of the families with kids leave and the gathering shrinks in size, we listen to carols as the sun goes down, and Mum lights citronella candles all around the deck to keep away the insects.

Unfortunately, I don’t get to see a lot of Meg. Teddi takes her in hand and introduces her to some of her oldest friends, a couple of whom are pregnant, and soon they’re gathered on a circle of chairs by the poolside knee deep in conversation. When I do call by, I overhear talk about how long you should breastfeed and something called transition and the best cream for stretch marks, and when they see me listening someone makes a comment about putting in an extra stitch and Meg blushes, so I wryly turn and walk the other way, conscious of their laughter following me back to the house.

I search out Oscar instead, desperate for some manly talk. I find him sitting on the edge of the deck, drinking a Coke Zero with Greg. My parents’ house is high atop a hill overlooking the bay, and they’re watching the sea, lit by the rising moon. As I approach, I hear them talking about who’s the best healer to take into a dungeon, and I smile.

Greg excuses himself to go and get a drink, so I sit beside Oscar, beer in hand, and take a swig. “How’s it going?” I ask him.

“Yeah all right. Your parents’ house is cool.”

“You like the games room?”

“Yeah, and the pool too. It’s not as big as yours, but it’s still nice.” He scratches his nose. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Did you buy this place for them?” He hesitates. “I hope that’s not a rude thing to ask. Mum says that people don’t like talking about money.”

“I’ll talk about anything you want, Oscar. Yes, Teddi and I gave Mum and Dad some money to help them buy this place. They weren’t keen at first, because it’s not easy to accept money from your children, but we talked them into it. What’s the point in having money if you can’t spend it on your friends and family?”

Oscar nods sagely. Then he says, “Are you really a billionaire?”

“Something like that. The company’s done pretty well. You stop counting after the first few million.” I laugh at the look on his face. “I didn’t mean that to sound as flippant as it came out. I appreciate having money. We didn’t have a lot when I grew up, and I had to wait for birthdays and Christmas for new toys and games.”

“Mum says that makes you appreciate them more when you do get them.”

“That’s true,” I say so I don’t disagree with his mother in front of him, although I haven’t found that to be the case—I get great delight in buying whatever I want throughout the year.

“Are you going to stay with Mum?” The question is so sudden, it makes me blink with surprise.

I take a swig of beer. I do need to speak to Meg first, but it’s Christmas Eve and I’m here with Oscar, and it seems like the time to be honest with each other.

“Ah, I hope so. We need to have a talk, me and your mum. Sort a few things out.”

“Would I live with you?”

“Things like that. I need to ask her what she wants first.”

He looks at the can in his hands. “Will you send me away? To live with Dad?”

I stare at him in shock. “Of course not. Unless you want to go.”

“I don’t.” He speaks fiercely. “But I thought you might want to be with mum on your own. I thought I might be in the way.”

My stomach knots at the thought that Oscar has been worrying about this. “Hey.” I put my arm around his shoulders. “Who would I play Dark Robot with if you went away? You’re my gaming partner.”

He gives a short laugh. “I guess.”

“Oscar, I’m well aware that you and your mum come as a package. You’re part of why I’m attracted to her, don’t you get that?”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t have kids. And it’s been nice having another guy around. Look, I don’t want you to think I’m trying to replace your dad, because I’m not. Whatever you think of him at the moment, he’s still your dad.”

“You don’t want me to call you dad, then?” Oscar asks.

I study him for a moment. His eyes are hopeful. Emotion rolls over me, unexpected and fierce enough to make me catch my breath. All boys need a role model when they’re growing up, and it doesn’t sound as if Bruce has been much good. Meg’s told me that all his teachers at school are women. There’s been no adult male in his life for some time, and the thought that he might look up to me is both startling and oddly touching.

I want to make him all sorts of promises, but I need to speak to Meg first.

“I don’t mind if you do,” I tell him, “but let me check with your mum. Once I’ve done that, we’ll talk again, okay?”

“Yeah.”

I ruffle his hair. “All right. What are you doing now?”

“I’m going to play snooker with Greg and a few of his mates.”

“Okay. Catch you in a bit.”

I rise and walk across the deck, smiling to see my parents dancing on the lawn to Wham’s Last Christmas.

“Look at you, you old romantic couple.” I toast them with my beer.

“Stratton!” Mum beckons me toward her. “Come here. We want to talk to you.”

“I was going to see Meg.”

“Just quickly.” She takes my hand and pulls me to the swing seat that overlooks the lawn. I sit in the middle between them as if I was ten years old all over again.

“Meg seems like a lovely girl,” Mum says.

“She has nice legs,” Dad comments.

“George!”

“Well she does. My boy knows how to pick ’em.”

I chuckle. “Thanks, Dad.”

“I saw that she’s wearing my grandma’s ring,” Mum says. “Something you need to tell us?”

Shit. I’d forgotten about the ring.

I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, dangling the bottle of beer from my fingers. “It’s a long story.”

“You see us going anywhere?”

It’s Christmas Eve and I don’t want to lie to two of the most special people in my life, so I take a deep breath and tell them. About Natalie. About wanting a partner for the ball. About my bright idea for a fake engagement. About Bruce turning up. And about me suggesting that Meg play the role of fiancée.

“So it’s just pretend?” My mother sounds surprisingly disappointed.

I meet her gaze and purse my lips. “Well...”

“Oh...” She says softly.

“I’ve sort of screwed up,” I say. “I wanted Natalie off my back, and I liked Meg and wanted to protect her from her ex. And somehow I fell for her along the way. Actually, that’s a lie. I fell for her the moment I met her. I wanted her—I’ve wanted her for months, and I talked her into this, and now I’m not sure what to do.”

“How does Meg feel about it?” Dad asks.

“That’s what I was just going to talk to her about.”

“Do you think she wants a relationship?” Mum wants to know.

“Yes, I do. But there are things we need to sort out.”

“Like...”

“Where we live, for a start.”

“She doesn’t like your house?” Mum asks.

“She loves the house. It’s not as simple as that. There’s Oscar to think about.”

“How does he feel about you being with his mum?”

“He seems cool about it. He just asked me if he can call me Dad.”

“Aw, Stratton.” Mum presses her fingers to her lips, and my father pats my knee approvingly. They appear to like the idea of me having a stepson, and that surprises me.

I sigh and place the empty beer bottle on the ground in front of me. “None of that is a problem, not really. I need to talk to her about whether she wants any more children.”

“Ah.” Mum rests her hand on my back. It’s a delicate subject. She decided to risk having children, and Teddi inherited the mutated gene. It makes her sad, but she understands my decision not to have kids. “Has she mentioned wanting more?”

“No.” But I remember that she said to Natalie that we were already trying for a family. It was because she wanted to hurt Natalie and get her off our backs, but even so I can’t help but wonder if there was a hint of longing behind it. I wouldn’t blame her if there was. I understand that broodiness is a chemical, physical thing that can’t necessarily be controlled.

“Oscar’s thirteen,” Mum says. “That’s quite an age gap if she were to have a baby now.”

“True, but it’s not uncommon. I can’t just assume.” I sink my hands into my hair. “I’ve done this the wrong way around. We’ve not even dated, not properly, but I’m sleeping with her, and I’m in love with her. In many ways, it’s far too soon to talk about marriage and whether she wants children, but we’re f...” I remember I’m sitting next to my mother. “...fricking engaged, publicly anyway, and I’m scared. Scared of falling for her too far and then discovering we’re poles apart on this.”

“You’re in love with her?” Mum asks.

“Yeah.”

“Well, hallelujah! Thirty-four years old and at last you’ve fallen in love.”

I give her a wry look. “You don’t think I was in love with Natalie?”

“Were you?”

“Probably not,” I concede. “That’s why I feel so annoyed now that I fucked up.” She raises an eyebrow, and I wince. “Sorry. I really like Meg, and I want this to work, but it feels wrong to start talking about forever. What if we have a big long discussion about the future, and we get serious too soon, and it doesn’t work out? I could screw it all up, Meg, Oscar, everything.”

“Or it could all work out beautifully,” Mum says. “It’s just as likely.”

“I suppose,” I say doubtfully.

“You know I proposed to your mother two days after I met her,” Dad announces.

I stare at him. “Two days?”

“Yep.”

That shocks me. “How could you be sure she was the one?”

Dad shrugs. “I just knew.”

I want to press him and demand an explanation of how he knew, but he’s looking at Mum with adoration on his face, and I know he’s about as skilled as me at explaining himself, so I don’t bother.

My mother smiles. “Go and talk to her. Be open and honest. Tell her how you feel. Everything will be all right. It’s Christmas Eve, for crying out loud. Miracles happen on Christmas Eve.”

I figure it’ll have to be a big fucking miracle to stop me screwing up, but I smile and lean over to kiss her cheek. “All right. Thanks for the chat.”

“Go get her, tiger.”

I stand and walk down the steps of the deck toward the pool. It’s a clear, warm night. In the distance, someone’s letting off fireworks, and new, multi-colored stars join the white ones already sparkling in the sky. The air smells clean, scouring out the smell and dust of the city from my lungs. In the bush, a morepork hoots, and far off in the distance a kiwi gives its mournful cry. I’ve missed the sounds of the country, and the ever-present whoosh of the sea. It’s good to be back.

Meg’s still sitting by the pool with Teddi and the other women. She’s had a few glasses of wine, and she looks relaxed and happy. She glances up as I approach, and I have the pleasure of seeing a smile spread across her face.

“Hey, Stratton.” Genie, an old friend of Teddi’s, winks at me. “Are you about to steal away the new member of our gang?”

“I certainly am. I think you’ve had enough time to corrupt her with your wicked ways.”

“Ha!” Genie pokes her tongue out at me.

“I’ll have to have a word with Niall,” I tell her as Meg rises. Niall is Genie’s husband, and she’s pregnant, her hand resting on her bump. “Clearly he’s not doing a very good job at keeping you in line.”

“I’d like to see him try,” she scoffs.

I chuckle and hold my hand out to Meg. “Fancy a walk?”

She slips her hand into mine.

“You’ll have trouble controlling that one,” Genie calls out as we walk away. “He’s not been broken in yet.”

“It’s okay, I like them wild,” Meg calls back, making them all laugh.

I pull her to me and move my arm around her waist. “Now you tell me,” I whisper in her ear. She smells of sherry trifle and wine and the exotic, sensual smell that’s all hers. My heart starts to race at the thought that later she’ll be lying naked next to me, warm and soft in my arms, her sweet mouth on mine.

If everything goes according to plan, that is. I’m tempted not to have the conversation, not now, poised on the edge of Christmas. If it doesn’t go well, it’ll spoil everything, and I’m terrified of ruining it. I don’t want to lose her or Oscar. How can I make sure I don’t screw this up?

Chapter Thirty-Four

Meg

It’s been a strange evening, not at all what I expected. I thought that we would show our faces, and that Stratton would be distant and reserved, making excuses after an acceptable amount of time so he could escape from the large crowd of people.

Instead, he’s been completely the opposite. He spent ages introducing me to everyone, and he seems to know the name of every person here. He’s completely at home, relaxed and comfortable with his family and friends.

I don’t know why I didn’t expect him to be like that. Maybe it’s because since I started at Katoa he’s not socialized much, but now I can see why Rich and Teddi have been worried about him. Watching him with customers and at the Solstice Ball has shown me that he’s good with people, but I thought it was a show, a mask he wore to enable him to carry out his business. Now, though, I see how wrong I was. He’s a family man at heart. And that must make the decision not to have children even more difficult for him.

I’ve had an enjoyable evening, and I’ve got on really well with Teddi and her friends, but it’s nice to be alone with Stratton again, and we fall into a companionable silence as we walk away from the others, following a line of solar lights down to where the river runs past the Parkers’ property.

“Have you got insect repellent on?” he asks.

“Yes, tons of it.”

“Good.” He leads the way to the water’s edge, where there’s a bench overlooking the water. Colored solar lights are strung along the willow overhanging the river. It feels like Santa’s grotto, and I half expect to see elves running around frantically, gathering together last-minute presents and checking their lists twice.

We sit, and he puts his arm around me and kisses the top of my head.

“Thank you for bringing me.” I lean against him and cuddle up. I’ve had a few glasses of wine, and, feeling a streak of naughtiness, I undo a couple of his shirt buttons and slide my hand against his warm skin.

“Mmm.” He studies me for a moment, then lowers his lips to mine. We exchange a long, lingering kiss that give me goose bumps and leaves me sighing with pleasure. Part of me hopes he’ll pull me onto his lap, maybe slide his hand up my top, but he doesn’t.

When he eventually lifts his head, he rests his lips on my hair for a moment.

“You okay?” I ask. “You seem... pensive. Is it nice to be home?”

“Yeah, it’s good to be back. Nice to see everyone.”

“You’re more family oriented than I thought you’d be,” I admit. “I can see now why Rich and Teddi have been worried about you. You’re obviously quite sociable, and yet you’ve been very withdrawn since I started at Katoa.”

“I didn’t feel I was good company when I broke up with Natalie. I didn’t want to see her, and I didn’t want to talk about what happened. It was easier to stay at home.”

“I’m sorry it’s been hard for you.” I kiss his shoulder.

“We’ve both had it tough. You probably more than me. I have nothing but admiration for what you did—moving across the country, starting all over again. That takes some guts.”

“I suppose.” I bend and pick up a pebble, and toss it into the river. “I always think of it as running away, as something cowardly.”

“I think we both know that once you’ve done everything you can to convince someone the relationship is over, drastic measures need to be employed,” he says wryly. He sighs then, a long, heartfelt sigh of resignation. “I want to talk to you about something, but it’s late on Christmas Eve, and I can’t make my mind up whether I should wait for a few days.”

The river trickles over the rocks, and there’s a morepork right nearby, hooting away. Stratton’s hair has silver highlights, and his eyes shine like white discs. I’ve enjoyed being here with him tonight, watching him interact with his friends and family. Occasionally, we’ve exchanged a private glance, a secret smile, and I’ve known that, like me, he was thinking about the moment tonight when we’ll slide into bed together and make love.

What does he want to talk to me about? The pessimist in me wonders whether he wants to bring this to an end. Is he saying he’s had enough? He’s just sat here and kissed me, though, and I’m not getting that vibe from him. He just seems... sad.

“Talk to me,” I say. “Cards on the table, remember?”

He nods, somewhat solemnly. “You’re right. Well, first, I want to apologize.”

I hadn’t expected that. “For what?”

“For the whole fake fiancée debacle. It was a stupid idea, and I shouldn’t have suggested it to you.”

I smile. “It worked didn’t it?”

“Yeah. But that’s not the point. Part of me suggested it because I wanted to get close to you. I wanted to get you into bed.”

“Well, duh.” I smile, amused that it’s Stratton turn to be naive. “You think I didn’t know that?”

He casts me a wry glance. “I guess you expected it. But it’s complicated where we go from here.

“Spit it out, Stratton. What’s up? Do you want to call it a day?” My heart thuds painfully, but I make myself stay calm. “Come on, we’re both grownups. I can’t say I wouldn’t be devastated, but I’m not going to do a Natalie on you. I’ve had a terrific time, and I don’t regret any of it.”

He looks at me with alarm. “No, I don’t want to end it. Quite the opposite.”

“Oh.” Relief washes over me.

His expression turns hesitant. “Unless you want to...”

“No.”

We study each other for a moment. It sinks into me that we’re saying we definitely want to stay together, and that fills me with a rising joy that makes me want to throw my arms around his neck.

I wait though, because something isn’t right.

“We’d have to talk about where you live,” he says, “and about Oscar. He’s worried I might not want him around.”

My jaw drops. “What?” That’s the first I’ve heard of it.

“Don’t worry,” Stratton says, “I put him straight. I told him that I know he’s part of the package, and I’m more than happy for him to live with us, if that’s what you want. I wanted to talk to you first. I told him that I don’t want to replace his dad. But I hope we can be good friends, and that he’ll come to me for help and advice if he needs it.”

I swallow hard, determined not to burst into tears. “That was very kind of you.”

“I like him, Meg.” He puts his arm around me and kisses my nose. “He’s a part of you, and he’s a great kid. I’m not anti-children.” He looks pained. And then it hits me what he’s been worried about.

“You want to discuss having kids,” I say softly.

He looks away, across the river, and I know I’ve guessed right.

“My stomach’s in a knot,” he says. “I keep thinking about what Natalie said, how if I’d loved her enough I’d have done what she wanted. I keep asking myself if that’s true. Was the problem that I didn’t love her enough? I don’t know. I do know that I didn’t feel about her the same way I feel about you. I’m in love with you, Meg.” He gives a helpless smile, still looking at the river. “I’m certain of it. I’ve never felt this way before about anyone. I know it’s early days—we’re not even dating properly yet, and it seems ridiculous to pin each other down about the future. But I can’t help but wonder how I would feel if you tell me you want more children. I want to give you everything. But I don’t know if I can do that.”

Finally, he turns his gaze to me. His eyes are scared. His chest rises and falls quickly. He doesn’t want to lose me.

I lift a hand to cup his face. “Sweetheart... It’s okay. I don’t want more children.”

He goes still. “How do I know you’re not just saying that?”

Natalie must have told him the same thing at the beginning to hook him, and she only admitted her true feelings once she’d reeled him in.

Everything’s going to rest on how I handle the next five minutes. I look deep into his eyes so he can see I’m not lying.

“Because I already have a son. I’m thirty-three. I know that’s not old to have a baby nowadays, and I admit there have been times when Oscar was young when I felt broody and thought about having another child. But it never happened, and he’s thirteen now, and I really don’t want to go back to nappies and sleepless nights again. If you told me that you desperately wanted a child of your own, I’d consider it because I think it’s sad if you want kids and can’t have them. I do sympathize with Natalie’s predicament. But equally, I don’t think you should be forced into having children if you really don’t want them.”

He’s looking at me as if he can’t bring himself to believe me. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes, I do. Children are a blessing and God’s gift and arguably your life’s not complete without them, blah blah, but equally they’re hard work, they’re a huge tie, they’re a constant worry, and that’s before you take into account the main reason you don’t want to get someone pregnant. Stratton, I completely understand why you’re worried about passing on the mutated gene. I think your comment about blaming yourself if the baby had it is a bit harsh, but I’ve tried to put myself in your shoes and think about how I’d feel if it was the other way around, and I do understand. And I’m happy with that. I’m not going to suddenly announce six months or a year or five years down the line that I want a baby.”

I mean it. I can’t say that the thought of having a baby with Stratton doesn’t send a little frisson down my back, but that’s all it is, a shiver of excitement at the notion of being intimate enough with him to consider that kind of tie. It’s the idea that’s exciting more than the notion of having an actual baby.

“You can’t say that, Meg. You don’t know how you’re going to feel in five years’ time.”

“True, but then neither do you. There might be medical advancements that mean it’s possible to make sure the baby wouldn’t have the gene. All either of us can say is how we feel right now. Unfortunately, love doesn’t come with a guarantee. We’ve both been burned, and it’s understandable if either of us were to say we don’t want to take that risk again. But here we are, having this conversation because we’re both attracted to each other. It’s human instinct to love, to want to share ourselves with someone. All you can do is try on people until we find one that fits, and hope you don’t outgrow each other as the years go by.”

It’s sounds quite cynical and unromantic as I say it, but neither Stratton nor I are teenagers, and we’ve both been through enough over the past few years to make us prefer honesty above everything else.

He’s looking at me now, his lips curved up a little, admiration in his eyes. He reaches out a hand, and when I slip mine into it, he holds them up and interlaces our fingers.

“So you’re sure about taking on Oscar?” It’s a horrible thing to have to ask, but as much as I’m crazy about this guy, Oscar comes first in my life. I’ve made sacrifices for him before, and I’d make them again, even if it broke my heart.

“Of course.” His lips twist, and his thumb brushes mine. “He asked whether he should call me Dad.”

I press my fingers to my lips as emotion washes over me. Oh, Oscar. “What did you say?”

“I said I wouldn’t mind, but I’d check with you first. I surprised myself by kind of liking the idea of being a stepdad. But I want to do this right, Meg. Bruce might be a shit, but he is Oscar’s father, and I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“He’s not interested in Oscar, whatever he says,” I tell Stratton as calmly as I can. “He never has been.”

“Yeah, I get that. I just want both you and Oscar to know that whatever happens between us, even though I’d flatten the guy if he hurt either of you, I wouldn’t stand in the way if Oscar decided he wanted to see him.” He brings my fingers to his lips and kisses them.

“I don’t think he will, but I appreciate that.”

“And as far as our relationship, mine and Oscar’s... I have no problem with being a father figure. I’d be happy to treat him as my own, if that was what you both wanted. Maybe even adopt him eventually.” He smiles.

It’s more than I could ever have hoped for. I had friends back in Christchurch who’d remarried, and whose new partners paid no interest at all in the kids by their previous marriages, so I know this is rare and special. “You want us to move in with you?” I clarify.

“I’d like that. There’s plenty of room in the house for Oscar and his friends if they come over, but we can discuss moving somewhere else if you’d rather.”

“No, I love the house.” I can’t believe this is really happening. “So what do you think we should do about the fake engagement?” I look at his great-grandmother’s ring where it sparkles in the moonlight. We’re supposed to go back to work after Christmas and say we’ve broken it off. “What should we tell people?”

“We could make it not fake,” he suggests.

I look up at him. “What do you mean?”

He studies me, and then, to my shock, he slips off the seat and onto one knee. “Marry me, Meg.”

My jaw drops. “Stratton!” My head’s spinning. “We’ve only been together a week.”

“My father proposed to my mother two days after they met.”

“Oh! Well. I... um...”

“I know it’s not the same as dating, but we’ve been together all day every day for over four months. I’ve wanted you since the day you walked into my office. I’ve watched you, dreamed about you, even though I thought you were married. I love that you’re calm and capable and strong. I love your husky laugh and how you look at me over the top of your glasses when you’re telling me off. I love that you’re kind and warm to everyone you meet.”

“I have bad points,” I whisper, almost in tears.

“I know. You’re grouchy until you’ve had your morning coffee. You’re a bit OCD and like everything lined up and squared off. I adjust the pictures on my wall so you’ll come in and straighten them.”

I give a short laugh. “I didn’t know that.”

“You don’t like spicy food and complain even if there’s a bit of pepper in a sandwich. You like your boobs but think your bum’s too big. It’s not, by the way. You don’t like ginger but you love cinnamon. You can’t sing to save your life.”

“That’s true.” A tear trickles down my cheek at the loving look in his eyes. “I didn’t realize you knew me so well.”

“When you drink chamomile tea it’s because you have a migraine. When that happens, I tell the girls in reception to divert calls straight to me for a few hours.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“You love the color orange and the taste of citrus fruit, but not grapefruit.” He rises and sits beside me, pulling me into his arms. “You’re devoted to your son and you’re a fantastic mother. You’re a superb PA and a good friend to Teddi. You’re great in bed. And when you eat chocolate, you give the same sexy sigh that you do before you come.”

“Stratton!” I wipe away my tears, my face growing hot.

“I know you,” he whispers, his lips grazing my cheek. “I’m in love with you, and I want to be with you. I want to provide for you and Oscar—I want to give you both some stability after what you’ve been through. We can wait for a while if you want—there’s no rush. But when you’re ready, I promise you now that I’ll want to marry you. So let’s stay engaged. I like having a fiancée. And I like it that other men can see you’re taken.” He lifts my chin so he can kiss me. “You belong to me,” he whispers. “You’re mine, Miss Meg, and at this moment I can’t see myself ever wanting to change that.”

I open my mouth and let him kiss me deeply, our tongues entwining, as I slip my hand into his hair and hold him tightly.

When he eventually lifts his head, I give a little nod. “Okay.”

He wraps his arms around me and rests his lips on my hair. “Merry Christmas, Meg.”

I feel so happy I think I might explode. Not only does Stratton like me, not only does he like my son, but he loves me, he wants to marry me, and he wants to stay with me.

I look up at the stars. A shape passes briefly across the moon, and it’s probably a bird, but I think it might be Santa, out delivering presents. I send him a silent thank you for granting my wish. Miracles do happen, I think.

“Merry Christmas, Stratton.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Epilogue

Stratton

“We should have a party on Valentine’s Day,” Meg says.

It’s the first of February, and after a week or so of summer rain, the weather’s turned scorching hot and humid again. It’s late evening, and the three of us are sitting on the deck, drinking Meg’s homemade iced lemonade, watching the sun set.

“Don’t you want to go out for a romantic dinner or something?” Oscar asks. “I can stay on my own now so you don’t have to worry about finding me a babysitter.” He turned fourteen last week. He’s wearing the watch we bought him, and the new phone I gave him for Christmas is resting on the table next to him.

I raise my eyebrows at Meg. Her suggestion has surprised me. I’ve already booked an expensive restaurant in town, and I thought she’d enjoy the whole Valentine experience.

She shrugs. “We could, that would be nice. But it feels kind of hypocritical. All these years I’ve hated Valentine’s Day. It’s a day when everyone who has someone is smug, and everyone else feels miserable. If you’re in a relationship, the guy has to put on a grand performance that has to be better than whatever he did last year. I’m sure most guys hate it. Love shouldn’t be about showing it all on one day of the year anyway.”

I smile at her. “That’s fair enough. So what sort of party?”

“It could still have a Valentine theme, but it could just be a general party like the one your parents had on Christmas Eve. We could invite all our friends, and then those who don’t have partners, like Alyssa, won’t feel left out. We know a lot of single people, including Rich and Teddi. They might even meet someone on the night.”

I have my suspicions that Rich has already met someone but is keeping it under his hat, but I decide not to say anything in front of Oscar. I don’t keep secrets from Meg, but Rich is a very private person, and I wouldn’t want Oscar to blurt something out in front of him.

“Can I invite some friends?” Oscar asks.

“Of course. If Stratton thinks it’s a good idea.”

I know what Meg’s trying to do—drag me back into the real world after my self-imposed isolation last year. The two of us have been tied up in one another since Christmas, but she told me the other night that we should spend more time with our friends and family, and she’s right.

“Sounds great,” I tell them. “We can get a company in to organize it so it’s not too much work for you.”

“Ooh,” she says, “really? I thought I’d have to do all the cooking.”

“Of course not. We’ll get them to draw up a few menus.”

“I’ll decorate the house, though,” she says. “I’d enjoy that.”

“Whatever you want, my love.” I lean over and kiss her, and her mouth curves up under mine. We haven’t had sex for a few days because she had her period and suffers from cramps, but I can tell she’s feeling better today. From the look in her eye, she’s ready for some loving, and my heart begins to race.

“Get a room you two,” Oscar says mildly.

I laugh and finish off my drink, then cuff him lightly around the head, messing up his hair. “Bedtime for you, junior.”

He pokes his tongue out at me, and I grab him around the neck. We wrestle for a minute before Meg scolds us both and we break apart.

“I can’t tell who’s the fourteen-year-old sometimes,” she says. Oscar laughs and walks off.

“Night,” he calls back, and we wish him goodnight before he disappears into his room.

I pull Meg to me and nuzzle her ear. “Want me to prove how much of a man I am?”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she replies breathlessly. “Come on.”

She takes my hands and leads me to our room, and I’ve only just closed the door when she starts pulling off her thin summer dress.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she murmurs, slipping off her panties and undoing her bra. Now she’s naked, and I pin her up against the sliding glass door and crush my lips to hers. She’s soft and warm, and I have a hard-on in seconds. When she takes my hand and guides it between her legs, I find that she’s ready for me, too, so clearly she was telling the truth when she said she’s been thinking about having sex.

“I love you,” I mumble as she pulls me back to the chest of drawers. The words keep spilling out of me, like beads from a bag that’s been overfilled, tumbling from my lips uncontrollably.

She laughs and rests on the chest of drawers. “I love you, too.” She pulls my lips down to hers, and I kiss her hungrily, delving my tongue into her mouth, tasting the mint choc chip ice cream she had a while ago, and the sweet lemonade.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you out for Valentine’s Day?” I murmur, kissing around to her ear. I suck the lobe and dip my tongue into the shell of it, feeling her nipples tighten in my palms as I do. “I want to make it special for you. I want to show everyone how important you are to me.”

“You show me every day,” she says, lifting her arms around my neck. “Love shouldn’t be for show. Everyone can see we’re crazy about each other anyway.”

“That’s true.” We decided that Meg would carry on working at Katoa for a while, and we’d see how it worked out. I love having her nearby, and being able to see her whenever I want. We do our best to stay professional in the workplace, but I think sometimes we make Rich and Teddi envious when they catch us having a sneaky kiss by the coffee machine or a cuddle in my office.

“You can still get me a present,” she says impishly.

I nuzzle her ear. “I thought I might give you a pearl necklace.”

She laughs. “You’re so rude.”

“I meant it! A real one. Natural pearls. Very expensive.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” I nibble her earlobe again, turned on at the thought. “Jeez, you make me hot.”

She sighs. “I just don’t want anyone to feel sad on Valentine’s Day.” She tightens her arms around me for a moment. “I’ve felt sad for the last fifteen years and I know how it feels, so I don’t want to go around shoving what we have in the faces of those are still single.”

I don’t have to ask to know that Bruce wasn’t the romantic type. I doubt he was even aware when it was Valentine’s Day, and no doubt he was often away and wouldn’t have bothered to arrange anything for her.

“All right,” I say softly, running my hands down her back. “We’ll make it one hell of a party.”

“I wish everyone could have what we have,” she whispers. “Rich and Teddi.”

“I have a sneaky feeling that Rich has met someone,” I admit.

She looks up at me in surprise. “Oh? Why?”

“Dunno. There’s just something about him. He usually comes back from the Christmas break listless and hung over, flat, you know? But this year he’s been different, and I caught him on the phone yesterday, smiling.”

She laughs. “How did you interpret that as him having met someone? He smiles a lot.”

“It was a different smile.” I can’t explain what I mean. I just know that smile—it’s intimate, meant for only one person.

“I hope you’re right. Maybe he’ll bring her to the party.”

“Maybe.” I don’t want to talk about Rich or Teddi or anyone else at the moment. I want to concentrate on Meg and her soft body. “Come here. Enough talk.”

I lift her, carry her over to the bed, and lower her onto the mattress. I quickly divest myself of my clothing, then start kissing down her body.

“It’s so hot,” she complains. “Can you switch the fan on?”

“No.” I kiss between her breasts, then run my tongue underneath one. “I want you all hot and sweaty.”

“Stratton! Gross.”

“It’s not gross. It’s a turn-on, and it’s your job to keep me happy, so you’d better let me do whatever I want.” I lace my tongue across her stomach, and she wriggles.

“Whatever you want?” she asks. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“Nope.” I kiss over her hip and across her stretchmarks. She smacks my arm—she hates me doing that. I chuckle, kiss down her thigh, then part her legs and plunge my tongue into her folds.

“Oh! Ohhh... what’s got into you?”

“You.” I lick right up her center and swirl my tongue over her clit. “I’m obsessed by you. I can’t get enough of you. I think you’ve cast a spell on me.” Mmm, I’ve missed this. Three days is far too long to go without sex with Meg.

“Ahhh... You’d better behave or I won’t give you my Valentine’s present.”

“Oh?” I lift up and move over her to look into her eyes. Over the past month, we’ve explored each other in the most intimate ways a couple can. I know she’s been wary of some things, so I’ve taken it slow, introducing the occasional different position, a sex toy, even tied her up one night, which she discovered was much more fun than she thought it would be.

“Mmm.” She lifts her arms over her head, stretching out beneath me. “Let’s just say it has particular meaning for us. Something I’ve wanted to do to you since I met you.” She giggles.

I think back to the email where she admitted how she daydreamed about coating me in melted chocolate and then licking it off. The thought of Meg doing that to me, and then me doing it to her—painting her nipples with chocolate and taking a long, long time to lick it all off—makes me groan.

“Please stop,” I beg her, “I’m so fucking hard I could use my erection as a battering ram.”

She laughs and kisses me. “Come on then.” She wraps her legs around my hips.

“Already?” Normally I try to give her at least one orgasm before I slide inside her.

“Now,” she whispers.

We stopped using condoms when she moved in with me. It was a big moment for me when she suggested it, saying she was on the pill and we didn’t have to use them, and I knew I trusted her enough to agree.

I don’t have to be told twice. I move back so I’m sitting on my heels, push up her knees, and then straighten her legs.

“What are you...”

Ignoring her, I cross her ankles and hold them with one hand, then with the other I stroke down her calves, the back of her knees, and the backs of her thighs, before moving my fingers to the plump flesh that’s glistening ready for me. Gently, I slide my fingers down through her folds and inside her.

She moans, and I feel her clench around my fingers. “Slowly,” I scold, moving them in and out of her.

“It feels so good,” she whispers, closing her eyes.

Smiling, I tease her for a while, then when I can’t stand it any longer I guide the tip of my erection there. It feels amazing skin-on-skin, and I stroke the tip up and down through her folds a few times before pressing it against her opening. Because I know she likes it like this, I push forward slowly until I’ve filled her up.

Her cheeks flush, her eyelids flutter, and her lips part with a long sigh of pleasure. “Oh, that feels fantastic,” she whispers.

I move inside her, sighing myself at how tight she feels in this position, and I kiss her feet while I make love to her, sliding my tongue between her toes and along the sensitive skin of her instep. It’s not long before her breaths turned ragged and her sighs turns to moans, so I uncross her ankles and let her wrap her legs around me, and then I drop forward so I can kiss her. We’re both really hot now, and my skin slides against hers, which is so fucking sexy it makes me groan.

“What do you do to me?” she murmurs, opening her mouth to my searching tongue.

“Love you,” I tell her. “Want you. Need you.” My body’s taking over, and I forsake gentleness for urgency as I begin to thrust harder, grinding against her while I do so. “I love you, Meg.”

“I... oh... love you too...”

I lift up and let my hips pump as hard and fast as they want, filling the air with the slick sound of me sliding through her swollen, wet folds, and it’s less than a minute before her orgasm hits. She tightens around me in short, strong pulses, and she gasps against my lips, crying out my name, which fills me with such pleasure I want to yell my triumph to the world.

I don’t, though. I tell her I love her again and thrust until I climax, and then I shudder, and there’s nothing else in the world except the sensation of pulsing inside her.

“Ahhh...” I collapse as all the tension flows out of me. “Holy fuck.” I bury my face in her neck and bathe in the bliss as long as I can.

“Oh dear God,” she says, “I’m so hot. You’re squishing me.”

“Don’t care.”

“Jesus. Stratton, I’m melting.”

I sigh, lift off her, and collapse onto the bed beside her. She reaches up and flicks on the switch, and the large fan above our heads starts turning, sending cool air wafting over us.

“Mmm.” She stretches out again, her arms above her head. “I feel all loose and floppy, like a piece of steak that’s been beaten with a mallet.”

I mumble something, closing my eyes and enjoying the breeze on my skin.

“You’re so sexy. You’re just the right amount of rough and grrr. You’re like a tiger,” she tells me, rolling onto her side and lifting onto one elbow.

I’m so tired—the after-sex hormones have taken me over—but I open one eye and study her. “Rawr.”

“That was more like a tomcat.”

“If the cap fits,” I mumble.

She chuckles, leans over, and presses her lips to mine. “Can we really do this forever and ever?”

“I might need some occasional downtime,” I murmur against her mouth. She tastes sweet, and she smells like the jasmine growing in the garden.

“Stratton... I mean it. I can’t believe that you’re really mine.”

This time I open my eyes and look into her baby blue ones. “I’m yours,” I say. “For as long as you want me.”

“Does forever sound okay?”

“Forever sounds pretty damn great,” I tell her happily.

Then I fall asleep.

Author’s Note

Meg’s poem Beckett’s Offspring actually did win first prize in a competition, and I really did have someone complain about how inappropriate the content was!

*

Follow Rich’s story in My New Year Fling – Love Comes Later : Book 2

Jess

I’ve made so many mistakes in my life, I’m sure I’m in the book of Guinness World Records, and unfortunately, this year has proved no exception. Telling my boss’s wife that we were having an affair was probably the biggest mistake, but the lying bastard broke my heart, so I don’t regret it. I do regret losing my job, though, especially now I’m broke. Frankly, I’m glad it’s nearly New Year, and I can put this annus horribilis behind me. If only I could do the same with the rest of my life, things might start to look up.

When I see a guy lying on the deck of the beach house next to mine, I make sure I look the other way. I want a quiet, uncomplicated New Year, and I’m not going to get involved with a complete stranger, especially one who’s obviously got issues of his own. But then his family invites me to Christmas dinner on the beach, and his dark eyes tempt me into saying yes. Well, it’s better to regret the things you’ve done than the things you haven’t. Right?

Rich

Life’s been tough for a few years, ever since my twin brother died. Christmas is always the hardest time, and as usual I escape to the beach where I plan to spend the rest of the festive season drinking myself into a stupor. Then I meet Jess. A hot fling is just what the doctor ordered, and both of us enjoy escaping the harsh reality of life for a week or two. But Jess has secrets, and one of them turns up on New Year’s Day to explode her life like a grenade.

I don’t want to get involved. I know Jess is short of cash, and if I tell her that I’m rich by nature as well as by name, I’ll never know whether it’s me she wants or my money. I need to tell her goodbye and let her sort her fucked-up life out herself. But she’s crawled under my skin and inside my brain and into my heart. I hunger for her. And I discover that I can’t let her go.

Warning: This book is like a strong cup of coffee—rich, dark, and intense. You have been warned.

*

Available at most major retailers

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Excerpt follows

*

Chapter One

Rich

My middle name is Scrooge.

Well, it’s not, it’s Tamati, but the point I’m trying to make is that Christmas is not my favorite time of year.

If I could, I’d go away on the first of December somewhere they don’t celebrate the festive season and stay there until a week into January when all the New Year hoo-hah is over. But I can’t just take six weeks off work when I feel like it—even if it is my own company.

When I was younger, if I’d wanted to leave, I’d have left, just walked out of the door. I wouldn’t have cared what people thought of me. But now I’m older and a director of Katoa, I feel some responsibility to set an example to my employees.

Jeez, I sound dull. I’m all grown up and boring as fuck. What the hell happened to me?

I muse on this all Christmas Eve, when I’m still in the office, working. We’re knee deep into developing a new computer game that I think is going to be even bigger than Dark Robot—the game that gave us our breakthrough—and although the firm shuts down for the Christmas break, I want to set everyone projects to complete over the holiday. Nobody complains. I know that all the guys in the gaming design pod will want to leave their families to their paper hats and Charades to work as soon as they’re able.

Even though I love my job, I should have left earlier. I walk back to my office around four p.m. As always at this time of year, the building is vibrant with color and glitter, music and laughter. I have a headache, and my face hurts from the smile I’ve forced on it since walking in this morning. I can’t wait to get out.

I call in and say goodbye to Meg, our PA, then stop and see Stratton, one of my partners, in his office. Meg and Stratton are walking out, as my grandmother used to say. I’m pleased for them, because they’ve both had a tough time ridding themselves of unwanted exes, and they deserve some happiness.

I am incredibly envious, though, I can’t deny that. Watching them together has been hard the last few days. They’ve done their best to be professional since they returned from their trip to Wellington where they quite obviously slept together for the first time, but they can’t hide the way they feel about each other. It’s obvious in their secret smiles, the private glances when they think nobody’s watching. They can’t wait to get home and get each other into bed.

I’m so green I’m almost sick with it.

Over the past few years, Stratton, his sister, Teddi, and I have shared a dislike of the festive season, and even though I’ve felt the need to escape, it’s comforted me that they’ve struggled as much as I have after the event that shook us up so much three years ago. Wait, no. We keep saying it’s been three years, but it’ll be four the day after Christmas Day. Four years since Will died. Where has the time gone? It feels like yesterday.

Leaving a distracted, happy Stratton in his office who’s obviously caught up in his feelings for Meg, it occurs to me that my best friend is finally moving on with his life, whereas I’m as stuck in the past as if I’m standing in cement. I suppose it isn’t surprising. Will might have been Stratton’s good friend and a founding member of Katoa, but he was Teddi’s partner and my twin brother, so it seems natural that we’d find it harder to get over his sudden, shocking death.

I stop at the door to Teddi’s office and lean against the doorjamb. She’s standing by the window, lost in thought, but I know she’s not looking at the view of Auckland harbor. Teddi’s blind and has been since the age of two, when she contracted bilateral retinoblastoma and lost both her eyes. Her ever-present guide dog, Bella, is lying by her desk.

I hesitate, and for a moment I debate leaving without saying anything, but Bella looks up, sees me, and stands, and Teddi turns toward the door. “Hello?”

“It’s me.” I come into the room and join her by the window. “How are you doing?”

She shrugs and turns back to the view. “It’s going to be a nice Christmas. The sun’s hot.” She lifts her face to it, her lids lowering over her artificial eyes. “Are you leaving now?”

“In a minute, yeah.”

“Matauri Bay again?”

“Yeah.” It’s a four-hour drive, but I’m looking forward to the journey, and to getting there and being alone at last.

“Well, stay safe,” she says. “Don’t do anything stupid like going swimming when you’re drunk or anything.”

“I doubt I’ll get out of the chair,” I say honestly. I’m staying in a family bach—a Kiwi beach house—and I have every intention of sitting on the deck in a sun lounger with a bottle of whisky and not moving until after New Year.

She turns to me then, and her beautiful, unseeing eyes study me. The irises are a gorgeous light-green color, and you’d never know they weren’t real, except for the fact that the pupils don’t react to light.

Although obviously Teddi was devastated when Will died, eventually she buried her grief, and on a day-to-day basis she’s cheerful and fun-loving. I suppose deep down I knew it was only superficial, but I’m shocked by her haunted expression.

“When will it stop?” she whispers. “The pain, I mean.”

I swallow hard. “I don’t know.” I look out at the seagulls dipping and diving above the water, the sun glinting off the windows of the numerous boats heading out to sea. “Maybe never.”

She slides her arms around my waist and rests her cheek on my chest.

I stand rigid for a moment. Then I put my arms around her.

I rest my lips on her hair. It smells of strawberries.

When Will died, part of me wondered whether it would be hard for her to be around me. But of course, although Teddi knows that Will and I were identical twins, she never saw us, so she never had any trouble telling us apart. Other people, including Stratton, our friends and colleagues, and even my parents, sometimes found it uncomfortable to look at me in those first few months after Will passed, but I never had that trouble with Teddi.

“I miss him,” she whispers.

“I know. Me too.”

Six months after Will died, a friend asked me whether I was going to date Teddi, as if now that Will was out of the picture she’d automatically fall in love with me. That wasn’t the case, of course. Teddi has never felt any romantic attraction to me. I fell for her the day I saw her, but—ironically—she only ever had eyes for my brother. And that’s not changed just because he’s gone.

I came to accept that years ago, but, like a piece of shrapnel embedded deep inside me, it still hurts.

I drop my arms and move back a little. “What are you up to this Christmas?” I attempt to inject some joviality in my voice.

“Traveling up with Stratton and Meg to our parents,” she says. “There’s a party tonight.”

“That’ll be fun.”

“Yeah.”

“And Boxing Day?”

The day after Christmas Day was when Will died, and it’s always the hardest day for all of us.

She shrugs. “I’ll get by.”

Teddi travels a lot as part of her job, but it strikes me that she can’t just take off for the day like the rest of us do if we feel the need to be alone and walk moodily by the sea—she has to go by public transport unless someone takes her, so all her trips are carefully arranged. Although she’s independent and lives on her own, obviously, she can’t drive. I feel a swell of pity for her, but I don’t say anything, because that’s the last thing she’d want.

“Go on,” she says. “You get going.” She looks up at me. I catch my breath, feeling the usual twist inside at the knowledge that she can’t see my face, can’t look into my eyes. I have to fight not to lower my lips to hers. I want to more than anything, but I know that would ruin our relationship, and I don’t want that.

“All right. See you when I get back.” I move away.

“Yeah, see ya.”

I bend and kiss Bella goodbye on the snout, and then head out without looking back. For Will’s sake, I try to keep an eye on Teddi and make sure she’s okay, but at this time of year I’m no good to anyone, especially her. She’d be the first person to say she doesn’t need anyone’s help, and anyway, Stratton will be around if she needs him.

I’d packed my bags this morning and loaded up the car before I came to work, so within half an hour I’m on State Highway One, heading north.

The road’s busy for the first thirty minutes, but then I gradually put the outskirts of Auckland behind me. The traffic peters out, and the scenery turns from concrete and glass to trees and fields. Flat-topped volcanoes pepper the horizon, and once the road leads inland, thick forests cover the hills and the fields become dotted with sheep.

I let my Alfa Romeo stretch her legs and enjoy the drive, turning the music up and losing myself in the journey. It occurs to me as the tires eat up the miles that I spend most of my life trying to lose myself. Whether it’s gaming, books, movies, driving, sport... My goal is always to find an escape.

Was it this way before Will died? The hot summer breeze blowing across my face, I think back. I spent my teenage years working and gaming. All I can remember about my early twenties is staring at computer code—trying to perfect Dark Robot so it was as good as it could be when we released it. It was worth it—it’s still the best selling game in New Zealand and Australia, it’s doing well in the States and in Europe, and it put us on the track toward making us all billionaires. But can you call that living?

My mid-twenties were different. We were all still working hard, but by then Will and Teddi were dating, and in the evenings it was mainly Stratton and me—I remember lots of parties, drinking, girls, sex, music, more drinking, more girls, more sex... I had a great time, but it strikes me now that it was still escapism, of a sort. No girl stands out for me as being special; none of them lasted longer than six months at most.

Then Stratton started going steady with his ex, Natalie, and things began to change. Although I dated occasionally, I spent more and more time on my own. I think I was already starting to isolate myself. And then Will died, and that just about finished me off.

So maybe the way I am isn’t Will’s fault. Maybe he just gave me permission to let out the darkness that’s lived inside me all my life.

I glance to one side of the car, looking at the plastic bags in the foot well of the passenger side. They contain half a dozen bottles of whisky, ready to help me blot out the world when I arrive at my destination. I spent a long time choosing them, even though after the first few glasses I could be drinking lighter fuel and I wouldn’t notice the difference. But the taste and smell of the rich Islay malts I love, that moment when I feel my pulse slow and the alcohol thread through my veins, are why I drink, so I always buy the best.

For some reason, the faces of those people I love flit through my mind—Stratton, Teddi, Meg, my parents. I know they’re all worried about me, and they hate me drinking.

There are clouds on the horizon, promising rain. I press the accelerator harder. It won’t be long and I’ll be sitting on the deck looking at the sea as the sun goes down, and then I can do whatever I like for two weeks and not have to worry about what anyone else thinks.

*

It’s still light when I arrive, although the sun is low over the horizon, and the sky is the muddy purple-gray that Play-Doh turns when too many colors are mixed together. I pass the rolling lawns of the golf course, crest what’s known as Millionaire’s Drive, pause briefly to look down at the glittering sea and the light-gold sand, then continue down to Matauri Bay.

I pull up on the grassy bank behind the row of baches and turn off the engine. Immediately, quietness rolls over me, the only sound the soothing whoosh of the waves and the cry of gulls. I breathe out, and out, and out, exhaling forever, and it’s like I haven’t breathed out properly since the last time I was away from the city.

After taking my bag from the back of the car and the plastic bags from the front, I lock it and walk across the bank to the blue bach on the end of the row. It looks even more worn and battered than the last time I was here, so clearly Uncle Wiremu hasn’t gotten around to decorating this year.

I smile as I let myself in. Nothing has changed. The bach consists of an open-plan living room and kitchen, two small bedrooms, and a tiny bathroom. The painted walls are scuffed, the sofa and chairs in the living room are well-worn, while the tiny wooden table that’s folded against the wall looks as if it’s made from driftwood, and is held together with tape and bits of string. There’s sand on the floorboards and cobwebs in the corners. There’s no air con, just an old plug-in fan that I switch on, which barely stirs the warm air. In the kitchen, there are three chipped mugs, two dented plates, and some mismatched cutlery.

But it’s clean and familiar, and Mum has obviously paid a visit to the local Four Square for me, because there’s fresh milk, bread, and butter in the fridge, tea and coffee next to the kettle, and a variety of tins in the cupboards. I’ll probably have takeout from the local fish and chip shop most days, but if I don’t feel like going, at least I won’t starve.

She’s also put a string of solar fairy lights around the post supporting the canopy over the deck. I study them for a moment, disliking the Christmas reference, but they’re pinned to the wood and I don’t want to damage them, so they’ll have to stay.

I feel... not happy, exactly, but calm, relieved to be there and to be able to put aside the worries and troubles of my ordinary life for a while. Here, I’m not Richard Wright, billionaire director of Katoa, game designer extraordinaire. I’m plain old Rihari, just an ordinary Maori boy from the local iwi. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. I can just be.

It’s getting late now, and the fish shop will be closed, so I put my bag on the bed in the biggest room, heat up a tin of beans and sausages, pour myself the first of what will be many whiskies of the night, and take the bowl, the glass, and the whisky bottle out onto the deck. I sink into the lone sun lounger, prop my feet on the balustrade, and eat the beans and sausages, letting the calm ocean wash away the noise and smell of the city.

The bay isn’t quite empty. A couple is walking a dog further down the sand, heading away from me. There’s a pakeha or non-Maori family three baches down, and I can hear the mother trying to get the kids to bed—good luck with that on Christmas Eve, I think with amusement. In the bach next to that, two Maori couples take seats outside with a bottle of wine, talking and laughing. I smile wryly as I recognize my uncles, Hemi and Tama. Hemi looks over and raises a hand, and I wave back. I’ll call by tomorrow, I tell myself. Tonight’s just for me.

Ten minutes later, in the bach next to mine, a woman comes out and sits in a wooden chair, doing the same as me, propping her feet on the balustrade. I only mean to glance at her, but she catches my attention, and I find myself studying her as she makes herself comfortable. It’s getting dark, and, like me, she’s turned off the lights inside the bach so she doesn’t attract insects, so I can’t see her that well. But I can tell that she’s around my age—early-to-mid thirties—with long, dark-blonde hair piled scruffily on top of her head so that numerous strands tumble around her face. She’s wearing a faded T-shirt and frayed denim shorts. Her legs are long and brown, and like all good Northlanders, she’s shoeless. Nobody joins her on the deck, so it looks as if she’s there alone.

She picks up a bowl of something, and the aroma drifts over to me—something in a white wine sauce, pasta maybe, or chicken. It smells delicious.

At that moment, she glances across at me, catching me looking at her. I hesitate, embarrassed, not sure whether to say hi or look away.

She picks up her glass of white wine and toasts me with it. “Merry Christmas,” she calls out.

Somewhat wryly, I toast her back with my glass, but I don’t say anything. I stopped saying Merry Christmas a long time ago.

Returning my gaze to the sea, I finish off my beans and sausages and place the bowl on the floor. I top up my whisky glass. Stratton and I developed a taste for expensive whisky in our early twenties, and we have fun hunting down rare and interesting bottles to give each other. This one is a rare twenty-five-year-old Port Askaig, costing around four hundred dollars a bottle. The oak rounds out some mouthwatering citrus flavors, and underneath them I can smell oak spice and vanilla. I take a long swig and let the firewater wash through my veins. With each mouthful, I feel the sea of emotion that threatens to overwhelm me ebb away. The tension leaves my shoulders, and I blow out a long breath and slide down a bit more in the lounger.

The muddy clouds gradually disappear, leaving the sky clear, deepening from baby-blue to navy-blue and eventually to black. Above my head, the Milky Way stretches across the dark velvet as if someone’s spilled a bucket of stars. Will and I were into astronomy when we were kids, and we used to spend hours trying to make out the various constellations. I follow the ecliptic and trace Aries and Taurus. I find Orion, the warrior who stands on his head Down Under, and watch Betelgeuse glowing red like a firework.

Then I spot Sirius, and I sigh. Our mother read us Dodie Smith’s The Twilight Barking—the follow-up to The Hundred and One Dalmatians—when we were young, and the two of us used to quiz our boxer dog as to whether he would want to stay behind with us or go with Sirius to the Dog Star. The consensus was always that he’d want to stay.

Grief is a strange beast. Everyone thinks it’s just about being sad, but it’s not. Grief sends out feelers into all areas of your life. It’s insidious and menacing, like a poisonous weed that’s infiltrated your garden. It affects everything—your relationships, your job, your family, because it makes you question your mortality, your character, and your own self-worth.

I don’t know why God chose to take Will and not me. I wish he had taken me. I’m half of a man now, and maybe even less than that. Monozygotic or identical twins are formed from a single fertilized egg that divides into two embryos. We used to joke that we were one person split into two, and that’s certainly how it feels now. Will died and took with him everything that was good in my life, and he’s left me with darkness and shadow. Or maybe it was inside me all the time, and when he died, the light was extinguished, and it revealed my true self.

Because when he died, a part of me hoped that I’d finally be the one standing in the light. The smart one, the funny one. The one who got the girl. But nothing’s changed, and now I can’t live with the guilt. His death ruined my life. I hate him for it. And here, on the beach on Christmas Eve, is the only time and place I will let myself admit that.

I finish off my glass and pour another.

Before long, I’m not tasting the whisky, and even the grief has faded into the darkness.

*

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Stranded with a Scotsman

A bonus short story

by Serenity Woods

Chapter One

Cori lay on her stomach on the wooden floor of the refuge hut and peered over the edge of the doorway. Just a few feet below the top rung of the ladder, the black sea glistened in the light from the full moon that hung in the sky, round and pale as the last shortbread cookie in her bag. Her stomach rumbled and she heaved a sigh. She was tempted to eat the cookie, whatever Ewan said about eking out their rations. It would serve him right for getting the tides wrong.

“I’m not going to rescue you if you fall in.” In spite of the fact that he’d been in the States for four years, his voice still held a distinct Scottish burr.

She ignored him and turned her head to follow the Pilgrim’s Way toward Lindisfarne. At least the island was visible now. The dense April fog that had rolled in and made them lose their way had lifted, and in the moonlight she could see the line of poles marking the most direct route between the village and the mainland.

Sighing, she looked down at the sea again. Barnacles encrusted the base of the pole beneath her, and thick bulbs of bladder wrack seaweed emitted a pungent smell of vegetation and salt. The sea looked as thick as tar, home to God knew what beneath the undulating surface. Shuffling forward, she stretched a hand toward it, wondering if it would coat her fingers and leave them black and slimy.

“Queenie, I’m not kidding. Move back.” Now his voice was sharp.

“Don’t call me that.” It had been his nickname for her since she first met him that afternoon at Izzy’s house. Sadness rose inside her, accompanied by a wave of irritation at both the nickname and his commanding tone.

“Victoria, then. Come and sit over here and stay out of trouble.”

She retrieved her hand and looked over her shoulder. He sat with his back against the far wall and knees drawn up, his arms wrapped around them with fingers linked loosely. The walls of the hut were only four feet high and it had no roof. In the moonlight, his hair looked black as the inky sea and his eyes glittered. She glared at him. “And don’t full name me, either. You know it makes me mad.”

“Whatever you say, Your Grace.”

She lowered her forehead onto the wooden boards with a bump. He was doing it on purpose. He seemed determined to drive her mad before the night was out.

What had she done to deserve this? She wanted to wail her frustration to the stars. She also wanted to murder Izzy for not turning up to collect her from the island at the allotted time. Had she genuinely been delayed in Edinburgh, or had Ewan talked his sister into letting him pick Cori up? Knowing Ewan, probably the latter, although she still wasn’t sure why. He’d hardly seemed pleased to see her.

The day had been going so well too. She’d done a huge amount of research for her thesis, and she’d taken hundreds of photographs. But it had all ended in disaster. Oh well, she supposed it served her right for working on Friday the thirteenth. She should have known better.

And now she was in a predicament. Because she was stranded with the Scotsman in a ten-by-four-foot wooden box until the tide retreated. By the end of that time, chances were she would either have killed him or kissed him.

At that moment, she wasn’t sure which of those was the most likely.

Chapter Two

Ewan watched as Cori continued with her plan to lean over the edge and dip her fingers in the sea. The stubborn minx seemed determined to end up in the water before the night was out. Well, if she did, she only had herself to blame. He’d leave her to flounder and make acquaintances with whatever creatures inhabited the murky depths.

Except he wouldn’t, of course. One squeal from the blonde-haired crackpot and he’d leap into action like the proverbial knight in shining armor. His head fell back onto the wooden wall with a thunk. What was he doing here? This was self-imposed torture. She was never going to listen to him. Coming back here had been a huge waste of time.

She shifted on the floorboards, and he lowered his head to find her now half over the edge, hanging onto the ladder as she reached out to the water. He couldn’t stop the smile that tugged the corners of his mouth. Meet Lady Victoria Spencer, ladies and gentlemen, disaster waiting to happen. Spirited, beautiful, intelligent, stubborn, and defiant. A complete rebel in every area of her life—except the one that really mattered.

She hadn’t changed much over the last four years. She was no taller, and the top of her head still only just reached his chin. Her hair shone the same light blonde—tonight she’d rolled it in an elegant chignon, although the wind had since tugged several strands free. She’d lost weight, no doubt due to the fact that she couldn’t cook and was probably living on cereal, and cold baked beans from the tin. She still dressed like a hippy, with her floor-length skirt and the multi-coloured poncho that had clearly seen better days. Nobody would have guessed by her clothing that her father was one of the richest men in England. And yet she carried herself with an elegance and grace that spoke of her breeding and class.

Plus she had that really plummy accent that made his knees go weak.

Where she lay on the wooden floor, she’d bent her legs at the knee and crossed her ankles. The long skirt had fallen to expose her thick, rainbow-coloured socks and huge walking boots. He smiled again and gave his head a little shake. Good job she hadn’t been born in the Regency period. There was no way she would have put up with all the gowns and frivolous accoutrements of the time.

She shuffled forward another inch.

“If you don’t come back right now, I’ll eat the last cookie,” he said.

“I know what I’m doing.” She reached the point where the distribution of her weight forced her to overbalance and squealed as her legs lifted. “Ewan!”

He moved quickly, caught one ankle, and pinned it to the floor, his heart thumping. “Honestly!”

She tried to shift back but didn’t have the strength to lift herself up. “I’m stuck.”

“Of course you’re stuck.”

“Help me up then.”

“What do you say?”

She sighed. “Please?”

He wasn’t going to help her out until she grovelled. “No. I need a little more than that.”

Chapter Three

Cori sulked for a while. She was not going to admit he was in the right, not when he’d got them into this predicament in the first place. Then, realizing if she didn’t speak he’d probably let her hang there all night, she huffed another sigh and said, “You were right—I shouldn’t have leaned so far over. Happy now?”

“Perfectly.”

His warm hands landed on her waist, and then he heaved her up unceremoniously and dumped her on her stomach, making her exhale with an “Oof!”

She rolled onto her back, sat up, and pulled the skirt down over her legs. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He moved away to the far wall and held up the bottle she’d bought for Izzy as a reward for driving her the hour-and-a-half from Edinburgh to the island of Lindisfarne two days ago. “I suggest as a celebration of your not drowning we toast ourselves with a little mead.”

“I bought that for your sister.”

“I’m sure she’d understand, given the circumstances.”

She thought about it. Izzy had agreed to pick her up at six on the Friday. Instead, however, it had been Ewan who had walked up, almost giving her a heart attack. She hadn’t even known he was in the country. Why hadn’t Izzy told her he was coming back? Her inability to pass on that piece of news made it even more likely that her delay in Edinburgh was part of a super villain plan to take control of Cori’s life.

“Yes, let’s open it,” she said, deciding her best friend didn’t deserve the present.

“Come and sit here then.” He patted the boards next to him before proceeding to unscrew the lid of the bottle.

She hesitated. Sitting so close to him was not a good idea. Even from across the hut, his deep voice gave her goose bumps. But the temperature was starting to drop, so maybe it would make sense to huddle together for heat.

Yes, of course. Keep telling yourself that, Cori, and maybe you’ll begin to believe it.

She sighed, crawled across the hut, and sat next to him. He poured a trickle of the mead into the lid of the bottle and passed it to her. She sipped it. “Ooh, that’s sweet.”

“It’s basically alcoholic honey in a bottle. Don’t sip it. We’re taking shots.”

She knocked it back in one go. The fortified wine burned its way to her stomach, leaving her tongue coated with its syrupy sweetness. “Good job we’re not diabetic.”

He poured himself a lidful and drank it. “Yeuch.”

“I think it’s lovely,” she protested.

“You’d say the sky was black if I said it was blue. You’re such a contrary wench.”

“Wench?”

“Sorry, my lady.”

She sighed and tipped her head back. “Why did you have to come today?” She rolled her head to look at him. “Did Izzy send you here to torment me?”

“Maybe.” He grinned then, taking her by surprise. “Is it working?”

“It is. You’ve always made my life a misery. Good to see things haven’t changed in the four years you’ve been away.”

They studied each other for a moment. He wore blue jeans and a maroon, long-sleeved, Heart of Midlothian football shirt under his brown jacket, but the moonlight bleached the color from him, leaving him like a black and white photograph. His hair was shorter at the back than it used to be. But she still found him devastatingly handsome, and she dropped her gaze as her heart thumped.

“What’s the time?” she asked.

He checked his watch, pressing the button on the side to light up the dial. “Just gone eight.”

“Great. Only four more hours to go.” Something fell on her face, and she looked up to see clouds obscuring the stars above them. A patter of droplets bounced off the wood. “Damn it. Now it’s raining. Can this day get any worse? Why didn’t they put a roof on the stupid hut?”

“This stupid hut saved your life. If it wasn’t for this hut, you’d be swimming your way to Edinburgh by now.” He got to his feet and investigated the wooden walls. “I can try to rig up a shelter with the waterproof you have in your bag.”

Grumbling under her breath, she retrieved the waterproof coat and gave it to him.

He studied it. “I need something to attach it to the walls with. Have you got any string?”

“No.”

“Elastic bands?”

“No.”

“Cotton?”

“No.”

“Dental floss?”

“Do I look like a walking chemist?”

He eyed her. “Do you still wear g-strings?”

“Ewan!”

“Well, do you?”

“How do you know what underwear I like?”

“I saw them in the laundry basket at your flat once.”

Could he see the glow of her cheeks in the semi-darkness? “That’s private.”

“They’re also elastic—just what we need. Come on, get ’em off.” He held his hand toward her and beckoned with his fingers.

She knew him well enough to realize he was teasing her. “Ewan Macbeth, you’re a complete scoundrel. Even if I was wearing panties, I’d at least expect you to turn your back while I took them off.”

He stared at her, hands on hips, and she suddenly realized her faux pas. He raised his eyebrows. “What did you just say?” She refused to answer, but her cheeks burned as he fought a smile. He cleared his throat and looked out across the sea. “Okay, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

She covered her eyes with her hands. She had not just told him she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

When he spoke, his voice was full of smiles. “What’s holding your hair up? Barrettes?”

She dropped her hands and glared at him. “Clips, Mr. American.”

“Let’s have them, then.” His eyes gleamed.

Humiliated, gritting her teeth, she popped the clips and slid them out, and her hair tumbled around her shoulders. Fuming, she dropped them into his open hand.

For a brief moment, he didn’t move. His gaze rested on her locks before returning to her face. She just saw the curve of his lips before he turned away. “Come on, Your Grace. Help me fasten this.”

She grabbed a corner of the waterproof and hooked it between a crack in the wooden wall. “You only use Your Grace if the person you’re speaking to is a Duke or a Duchess.”

“Whatever you say, my lady.” He fastened the other two corners and lifted the fourth side up onto the top of the makeshift roof. “Come on, under you get.”

She was tempted to refuse and sit in the other corner of the hut, but the rain was growing heavier and she was starting to shiver. Admitting defeat, she dropped to her hands and knees and crawled under the waterproof after him.

They sat in the corner of the hut with their backs against the wall, and he leaned forward and drew the fourth corner down. “There. Isn’t this cozy?”

Inside the makeshift tent, Cori couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. She opened her rucksack and drew out her iPad, pressed the button, and unlocked it so the bright screen lit the interior. “I’ll turn down the brightness, that way it will last longer.”

“Good idea.”

She propped it up against the wall. He nudged her, and she turned to see he’d poured her another lidful of mead. She knocked it back. “How strong is this stuff?”

He checked the bottle. “Fourteen and a half per cent. It’s not like whisky or anything.”

“Even so, it’s stronger than most wines.”

“I need something in my stomach. I’m starving.”

She watched him take a shot. “Yeah, drinking on an empty stomach. That’s sensible. Anyway, it serves you right for stranding us here.”

He put the bottle to the side. “It was an accident.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. She wasn’t so sure, although she couldn’t accuse him, because firstly she couldn’t think why he’d done it, and secondly she didn’t have any proof other than it had been a stupid mistake and he was a smart guy. He’d told her the causeway could be crossed until eight thirty, but by the time they reached halfway, it had become very clear it must have been more like seven thirty. By then the sea had closed in around them, and the road back was also cut off. True, the dense sea fog had sprung up out of nowhere—that was hardly his fault. But the fact that he’d got the tides wrong didn’t add up.

He indicated her bag. “You sure you don’t have any more food in there?”

Sighing, she pulled the rucksack over and ferreted through it. “These are the contents of my bag. Notebook, camera, pens and pencils, hairbrush, makeup bag, washbag—that’s got toothpaste, if you’re really desperate. A few clothes.” Her fingers closed around a squidgy package. “Oh! I forgot. I bought a crab sandwich for lunch and didn’t get around to eating it.”

“Hurrah!” He took it from her, opened it, and gave her a half.

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“You missed lunch. What have you eaten since?”

“Um...”

He pressed the sandwich into her hand. “Eat it. I can’t carry you all the way to the mainland when you get limp with malnutrition.”

He was bossing her about again. The crab did smell nice though, and she nibbled it, surprised to find herself hungrier than she’d thought.

Chapter Four

Ewan suppressed a smile as Cori devoured the sandwich. They ate quietly, listening to the rain patter on the waterproof and the wooden boards. Hopefully it wouldn’t hammer down. Sitting in the wet for four hours wouldn’t be much fun, and if she caught pneumonia he’d never forgive himself.

“So,” she said, “when did you get back?”

“Two days ago.”

“I’m surprised Izzy didn’t tell me.”

“She probably thought you wouldn’t want to know.”

She stared at him then, her eyes wide, hurt flickering in them. “That’s unfair. I always ask how you are. She told me when you got the contract for the Brighter World logo. And we watched the video of the awards ceremony together.” She smiled—maybe the first genuine smile she’d given him since he’d picked her up. “I was so proud of you.”

“Thanks.” Pride glowed inside him at her words. He’d known she’d watched the ceremony of course—he had Izzy tell him everything about Cori on a daily basis via email, but hearing the words from her lips made it all the more special.

“So how long are you back for?” she said.

“I don’t know. I’ve just finished designing all the posters and leaflets for a campaign on emission reduction for Greenpeace. I’ve also got a possible project lined up with them working on raising awareness for recycling.”

“Ewan Macbeth, saving the world one step at a time?”

“Something like that. But I needed to come home for a while to see Mum.”

She nodded. “I know she misses you. How is your dad, by the way? Does he still love it in the States?”

“Yeah. He’s good. Don’t see much of him, actually. He’s always out and about, working or with friends. He’s happy.”

“Are you?”

The question surprised him. He thought about it. The move to the States had been the best thing he could have done for his career. Winning the Brighter World contract had launched him from obscurity into the public eye, and suddenly everyone wanted his artwork. The money had poured in—he doubted he was as rich as Cori, but he was certainly more comfortable than he had been living in Edinburgh. But was he happy?

“I’m...content,” he decided.

She lowered her lashes. “And is there a special someone?”

There wasn’t any point in lying to her—Izzy would have told her about Anna-Beth. “There was. For a while.”

“What happened?”

She left me because I was in love with somebody else. He’d argued at the time that wasn’t the case, but deep down he’d known she was right. “We broke up, almost a year ago now.”

He picked up the bottle and poured Cori another lidful of mead. Without saying anything else, she drank it, and he poured himself one and swallowed it before screwing the lid back on. “So come on,” he said, “enough about me. Tell me about you. You finished your degree!”

“I did.” She looked so proud of herself that he laughed. “What?” she demanded.

“You act like you’d thought you wouldn’t make it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t? Or your father didn’t?”

She wrapped her arms around her bent legs. For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to answer him, but eventually she turned her head to look at him, resting her cheek on her knees. “Both I suppose. He said I didn’t have the stamina to finish, and I worried he was right. I think I finished it out of sheer stubbornness to prove him wrong.”

He didn’t say anything, but her honesty lifted his spirits. Once she would never have spoken up against her father. He was pleased to see she’d moved on in the four years since he’d been gone. “Well, I’m not surprised. You’re the smartest girl I’ve ever known. And the most hardworking.” Her face lit with pleasure and her lips curved, making his heart beat faster. No, no, no. That’s not what you’re here for. Redirection, Macbeth. “Mind you, you could have chosen a more interesting subject.”

Her smile turned to an exasperated glare. “Geology is interesting.”

“If you say so. What’s your thesis on again?”

“Fossils of the Carboniferous period.”

He pretended to fall asleep and she thumped him. “Oh come on,” he said, “you’ve got to admit you are the most nerdy girl in the universe. All you need is a pair of glasses and you’d look like a librarian.”

“Ewan!”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re shocked at that statement. I know you cultivate it.”

She opened her mouth to deny it, clearly realized she couldn’t, and shut it with a snap. Her lips twisted with amusement. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re not ‘cultivating’ the art student look anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“The ‘I’m starving in a garret and can’t afford anything decent’ outfits. The long hair. The tattoo.”

He grinned. “I still have the tattoo.”

“Yes, but you’re not flaunting it.”

“I love that tattoo.”

“It’s a very nice tattoo, but I’m surprised my father didn’t have a coronary when he caught us kissing and saw it on your arm.”

They both laughed. Relief and pleasure swept through him that she could joke about it now. At the time, it had felt like the end of the world.

She was eighteen, and they’d only been dating a few months. He’d accompanied her to Devon to her brother’s twenty-first birthday party—which turned out to be more like a ball in a house that could easily have matched in grandeur most of the properties owned by the National Trust. She’d already told him she was the daughter of an earl, but she hadn’t mentioned how rich they were, or that they had servants and chauffeurs and the kind of lifestyle he’d only ever seen on BBC dramas. He’d been determined not to be intimidated, but what he hadn’t realized was that she hadn’t told her parents about him.

At one point, he’d dragged her out of the ballroom and into some kind of drawing room—and what the hell did that mean? There were no art materials in there—and pulled her into a passionate embrace that had ended abruptly when her father, William, walked in and found them. William had sent him packing, and she hadn’t argued with him, standing to one side with eyes lowered as if she’d been caught canoodling with the butler.

The next day, Ewan had demanded to know why she hadn’t told her father about him. She’d replied by informing him their relationship was over. He’d argued long and hard with her, but he’d realized he wasn’t going to change her mind. He wasn’t good enough for her.

He’d been shocked at how devastated he was. They hadn’t even slept together, but he’d been crazy about her, and he’d taken their separation hard. His mother had suggested he go to the States to be with his father for a while until he got over her. That was four years ago.

He was still waiting to get over her.

Pouring her another lid of mead, he asked, “How is your father?”

She drank the wine. “He’s well. As I’m sure you’re delighted to hear.”

A few years ago, he would happily have stuck pins in an effigy of Lord William Spencer. Eventually, however, he’d grown to realize how he must have looked through the earl’s eyes—like a waster, complete with tattoo, jobless, one of those working class yobs who insisted he was an artist when all he did was mooch around and pretend he was Van Gogh. Of course William wouldn’t have wanted Ewan sniffing around his rich daughter.

He cleared his throat. “He approves of your choice of fiancé, I’m guessing. What’s his name? Lord Namby-Pamby or something?”

She tried not to smile. “His name’s Henry Lambert. He’s the son of the Earl of Tiverton.”

“I think I’ll call him Lord Namby-Pamby, if that’s okay with you.”

“Knock yourself out.”

He drank his shot of mead. “So when’s the big day?”

“September the ninth.”

“I’m guessing I’m not invited.”

“Ewan...”

“Does he know about me?” Suddenly it seemed very important that he knew. If she said yes, he’d know she’d moved on. But if she hadn’t, if she’d not wanted to tell her fiancé about him...

“No.”

His heart leapt. She didn’t look up at him, however. Perhaps she just didn’t consider him important enough to tell her future husband about.

“What’s he like?”

She fiddled with a fold of her skirt. “To look at, or as a person?”

“Both.” He knew what he looked like, of course—he’d Googled Henry as soon as Izzy had told him Cori was getting married, but he wanted to hear how she described him.

“Tall. Fair hair. He works in the city, in investment. You’d like him.”

Ewan wanted to smash the smug bastard’s face in with a baseball bat, but he just nodded.

“What was Anna-Beth like?” she asked.

It surprised him that she knew her name, but he didn’t show it. “Blonde.”

“No surprises there.”

“No, probably not.” He sighed. “She was nice. She deserved better than me.”

“Oh Ewan, don’t say that.”

“It’s true. She was pretty, funny, warm-hearted, and deserved to be with someone who felt the same way as her.”

“She loved you.”

“She said she did.”

“But you didn’t love her.”

He closed his eyes and tipped his head back on the wall. How could he explain to Cori how he compared every girl he met to her? And none of them ever matched up.

He didn’t answer her. And she didn’t press him.

She poured herself a lid of the mead and drank it, then filled another for him. Their fingers brushed as she passed it to him, and he almost jumped at the contact. Oh, dude, you’ve still got it bad. This was such a terrible idea. He knocked the mead back, trying not to sigh heavily. He’d known as soon as he saw her sitting on the bench waiting for Izzy that it had been a mistake to see her again. But it had also made him the happiest he’d been in four years.

“I like it here,” she said.

“In this hut?”

“No, idiot. Holy Island. It’s the first time I’ve been, but it’s wonderful.”

“What do you like about it?”

“It’s quiet. When the tide comes in, all the tourists leave and it’s like going back in time. It oozes history, with all the Viking invasions, and the whole story about St. Cuthbert living on the tiny little piece of land off the main island. I just love it.”

He smiled. “Except when some guy makes you walk the Pilgrim’s Way and gets you stranded.”

“Yeah, apart from that. I still can’t believe you didn’t drive over.” Instead of taking the road in, he’d left his car on the mainland and walked across the Slakes, which meant they’d had to go back the same way to reach the car. “Why did you walk across, anyway?”

“I haven’t seen you in four years. I thought it would be nice to catch up.” That, at least, was the truth. “So you did some good research for your thesis?”

“Yes. I collected a box of the fossilized crinoids—they call them St Cuthbert’s beads, or Cuddy’s beads. Or fairy money.” She smiled.

“And you took photos of the landscape?”

“Yes, and of the birds. Dunlin, redshank, curlew, bar-tailed godwits...”

“Bar-tailed what? You made that one up.”

She laughed. “I didn’t, actually. There were also some grey seals on the rocks.”

He noticed that she spoke about the fossils more enthusiastically than she spoke about her fiancé. That made him smug and sad at the same time.

She peered out from under the waterproof. “I think the rain’s stopped.”

They crawled forward into the hut and stood. She gasped. The clouds had cleared and a million stars filled the sky. The sea now completely covered the causeway, surrounding them on all sides, and it seemed as if they were in a boat, floating in the middle of the ocean.

His gaze fell on her, and he inhaled as he saw how the moonlight made her skin glow with a pearly luminescence.

They were only inches apart, and he could easily have bent to kiss her if he’d wanted. Her lips parted as if she’d read his mind. It took all his willpower not to reach out and pull him to her. His chest heaved with the effort of standing still. He wanted nothing more than to sink his hands into her soft hair and hold her as he pressed his lips to hers.

Her intense gaze warmed him from the inside out. In spite of the coolness of the night, the air between them seemed to shimmer with heat. He imagined ripping off the poncho and unbuttoning her shirt. He wanted to stroke her warm skin, to touch her, taste her.

It didn’t help to know she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, she’d moved away and stood looking over the edge of the hut at the sea. “It’s strange being trapped,” she whispered. He wasn’t sure if she was talking about the sea, or something else.

Chapter Five

Even though it had stopped raining, they crawled back underneath the waterproof. Cori poured another lid of mead for Ewan, then one for herself. They drank them silently, listening to the slop of the water against the legs of the hut.

She’d nearly kissed him. So nearly. He’d looked at her with such longing, as if he was seconds from ripping off her clothes and doing her right there on the floorboards. God knew she wanted him to. She felt as if the previous four years had never existed. She wanted to brush his muscles through the silky material of his football shirt, slide her hands around his waist, and press herself against him. She could still remember how he used to kiss her—how he’d cup her head with one hand, touch his lips to hers gently at first, soft butterfly kisses that made her lips part with a sigh, and then he’d stroke his tongue into her mouth until she shuddered with desire.

But she was engaged now. Due to be married in five months. Kissing a man other than her fiancé was not proper behavior.

Not that anyone would know.

That’s not the point! Cori sank her forehead onto her knees. She had to exercise some willpower. But it was so difficult when Ewan was as tempting as chocolate fudge brownie ice cream. With chocolate sauce and a Flake.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” She raised her head and reached for her iPad. “Want to play a game?”

“Sure.”

They played Angry Birds for a while, taking turns, and when they got bored with knocking down walls with fat robins, they played a music quiz, making each other take a shot when they got a question wrong.

By this time it was ten o’clock. The mead was beginning to make her warm and fuzzy inside, as if someone had blurred her sharp edges with a wet sponge. She crawled out from under the waterproof into the cold air and leaned on the wall, looking down at the sea. “It’s only a few feet from the bottom of the hut now.”

“It must be around high tide. Careful—we don’t want you falling in.”

He rested a hand on her waist, protective and tender at the same time. Emotion washed over her, and she bit her lip. In another world, an alternate universe, was she living somewhere with Ewan, happy even though her father would undoubtedly have disowned her?

Every day, she regretted finishing their relationship. But like a robot, she’d been programmed as she grew up. Marriage to someone of suitable standing had been a major part of that program.

How odd that in every other way she was happy to rebel against her parents, from insisting on attending university in Edinburgh when they would rather she have spent her time in London like the other socialites of her class, to refusing to dress in what her mother insisted was appropriate fashion for the daughter of an earl. Cori bought most of her clothes from Oxfam and would have died rather than wear pearls instead of her usual colorful dangly earrings.

Only where men were concerned did she feel unable to go against her parents’ wishes. Why, she wasn’t sure. Maybe because generations of her female ancestors had been programmed in the same way, as if her genes had been imprinted with a code that kicked in once she’d reached marriageable age.

Not that she hated Henry—not at all. He was a decent enough man, good looking (although she hadn’t told Ewan that), sensible, and practical. He’d never drink or gamble his fortune away. She’d never want for anything with him. He wasn’t overly happy with her having a career—he’d never said it in so many words, but she knew he’d rather she stayed at home, raised the children, and concerned herself with charity work and helping out in the community. Would he object to her getting a job when they were married? Perhaps he was expecting her to come to her senses after they tied the knot, and settle down to the sort of life society expected of her. She supposed she should raise the question with him before they got married, but so far she hadn’t been able to bring herself to broach the subject—maybe because she wasn’t sure she’d like the answer.

A breeze blew across the ocean surface, cutting through her poncho, and she shivered. Ewan’s arm tightened around her, and for a moment she leaned against him, too tired to argue, wanting comfort.

She cast her mind back to the first time she saw him. Izzy had taken her home to meet her mother and Ewan had walked in while they were having tea. He’d been dressed in an old shirt covered in oil paint, and his black hair had hung over one eye. He’d stopped dead when he saw her sitting there on his sofa, taking tea with his mother and sister. Maggie Macbeth had been nervous that Cori was the daughter of an English earl. She’d made her tea in the only china cup she owned and had spoken the entire time in her telephone voice.

Ewan hadn’t been so intimidated. From the beginning he’d called her Your Grace and teased her about having servants, although she’d seen by the look on his face when he turned up at her house that he hadn’t realized she would actually have any. She cringed now at the thought that she hadn’t told her parents about him. She was such a coward.

His hand was still on her waist, and she rested against him from hip to shoulder. Why was she so attracted to this man? Henry was taller, more handsome in a traditional, square-jawed kind of way, he never teased her, and he was definitely richer. So why did Ewan make her shiver where Henry never did?

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You want to put on that sweater you’ve got in your rucksack?”

“No, I’m okay.” She looked up at the sky. “Are you still into astronomy?”

“Yes. I bought a telescope in the States—best thing I’ve ever owned.”

“Tell me about the stars.”

“Okay.” He released her and glanced around. “Hold on a minute.”

He went over to the waterproof shelter and unclipped it, then brought it back and laid it with the damp side down on the floorboards. He put her jumper at the top like a pillow. “Lie down.”

She did, and he lay beside her, their arms touching. Because the walls weren’t very tall, she felt as if she were in a planetarium, with the whole of the sky spread out for her to view.

He started off with the Plough and showed her how to use it find Polaris, the North Star. Pointing out the constellations of Leo and Virgo, he described how the Ancient Greeks made the patterns of stars into pictures. He showed her star clusters and galaxies, old red stars and new blue ones.

“It’s like a whole world in the sky.” She felt dreamily relaxed. Several more shots of mead had finally made her give up worrying about the fact that she was stranded with a man who wasn’t her fiancé. This wasn’t the nineteenth century, for crying out loud. Her reputation wasn’t going to be ruined. Besides which, it was an accident. She couldn’t change her current situation even if she wanted to. “Do you think there’s life on other planets?”

“Oh, definitely. I think it takes an incredible ego to assume we’re the only ones in the universe. All those billions of planets with breathable atmospheres? Of course we’re not alone.”

She sighed. So why did she feel it? Or, perhaps more interestingly, why did Ewan make her feel it?

Over the past year, she’d started to get used to the thought of the future with Henry. Okay, so maybe they weren’t going to set the world alight with their passion, but there were other things more important than lust and desire. Like security. Comfort.

So why, as soon as Ewan walked back into her life, did she feel this hollowness inside her when she thought about marrying Henry?

Ewan linked his fingers and put his hands behind his head. “How about we play a game?”

Yes please. Anything to take my mind off serious thoughts. “Okay. What kind of game? You want me to get the iPad?”

“No. Let’s play Truth or Dare.”

She turned her head to look at him. “I don’t think so.”

“Come on, Queenie. Ten questions, that’s all. You can veto twice, but then you have to do a dare. And once you’ve used them up, that’s it. You have to answer the remaining questions.”

“Ewan...”

“What’s up? You scared?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “No, but I know you well enough to realize you’ll try to trick me into telling you something I wouldn’t otherwise tell you.”

“I said, you can veto twice. So if there’s really something you don’t want to answer, you can get out of it.”

She sighed. “All right.” I’m going to regret this.

“Okay, I’ll start.”

“Says who?”

“I suggested the game—that means I get to start.”

“What happened to ladies first?”

“I know you’re used to getting your own way, Your Grace, but my game, my rules. Question one. Why aren’t you wearing any underwear?”

“Veto.”

“Seriously?”

“No. I forgot to pack any. Waste of a question.”

“Not at all. No question about underwear is a waste.”

She giggled. “Okay, here’s my first question. What underwear are you wearing?”

“Would you be shocked if I said none?”

“Is that your question two?”

He grinned. “No. They’re Y-fronts. Grey. Very old, so they’re quite baggy.”

“Ewan, if we’re going to play this game, you have to tell the truth.”

“How do you know that’s not the truth?”

She elbowed him.

He sighed. “All right. Boxer-briefs. Black. They’re actually a bit tight around the crown jewels area—I think I might need the next size up.”

“Are you bragging now?”

“Is that your next question?”

They both laughed.

He sat up and poured them another shot of mead. The bottle was now half empty. Then he lay back down. “Here we go. Question two.” He thought for a moment. “Were you pleased to see me when I walked up to you on the island?”

She watched the stars shimmer for a while. This was a strange game. Before you could be honest with the other person, you had to be honest with yourself. “Yes. And no.” She supposed she owed him more of an explanation than that. “Yes, because of course I was pleased to see you—you’re my favorite Scotsman in all the world.” He gave a short laugh. “But no, because seeing you scrambles my brain. It makes things...more difficult.”

Down by their sides, his hand closed around hers. His fingers were warm, and although she knew she should, she didn’t pull away. She cleared her throat. “Question two. Did Izzy really get stuck in Edinburgh?”

He laughed at that, lifting his other hand to run through his hair. “Busted. No. I talked her into letting me pick you up. She didn’t want to because she said you’d be mad with her, but I wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“I knew it.”

“I wanted to see you, that’s all.”

She didn’t reply to that. Why had he wanted to see her? Was that why he’d come back from the States?

He squeezed her hand. “Okay, question three. Have you ever thought about me when you’re with Henry?”

“Ewan!”

“What?”

“God, veto! You’re such a rogue.”

“It’s a perfectly reasonable question. You sure you want to waste a veto?”

“Yes.”

“That means you have to do a dare.”

“So dare me. I’m not answering that.”

He sat up and moved so his back was against the wall. “Right. Take off your bra without taking off your clothes.”

“What!”

“You want to answer the question?”

Of course, by not replying, she was pretty much giving him the answer, but she couldn’t bring herself to face the truth. “No.”

She sat up and turned to face him, sitting cross legged, and moved her hands behind her back to unclip the bra. “Why ‘without taking off your clothes’? Why not make me strip if it’s a dare?”

“Because it’s cold, and I’m really not that much of a rogue. And anyway, I know you’d flatly refuse. I thought this would be more fun.” He poured himself another lid of mead and sat watching her as if he was at the cinema.

“Want some popcorn?” She released the clasp at the back and the elastic gave. He grinned, but she knew he wouldn’t be able to see anything because of her poncho. “Stop smirking.” She put her hand down the front of her shirt and pushed the straps off her shoulders and as far down her arms as she could. He continued to smirk.

She slid a hand up the sleeve of her shirt and grappled for the strap. “This is harder than it looks.”

“You should have answered the question, then.”

She glared at him, finally caught the strap in her fingers, and pulled it down over her hand. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”

He just smiled.

She did the same with the other strap, pulling it over her hand, then held his gaze as she reached into her shirt and retrieved the garment. “Ta-da!”

He clapped her. “Congratulations.”

She threw it at him. “You should have gone for something more challenging.”

He caught the bra and stared at it for a moment before tossing it toward her rucksack. “I should. Especially since it kind of backfired on me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say I’m thinking about taking a dip in the sea to cool off.”

She met his gaze again. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to let her gaze slip to his jeans to see if he was telling the truth. His wink let her know he could see her inner battle.

Her smile faded and her heart began to pound. When they’d dated, even though she was eighteen, she’d been little more than a girl—naïve, innocent, looking up at him with puppy-dog eyes. Now, she was a woman, with a woman’s desires, and her fantasies went beyond kissing. She imagined his hands on her, warm as they brushed up her thigh. Tender as his fingers stroked her. Gentle as they slid inside her.

His eyes had turned hot. Could he read her mind?

She closed her eyes. “Question three. Did you ever think about me when you were with Anna-Beth?” She opened them again.

His smile faded and he looked away, at the rising moon. “Not while we were in bed—that wouldn’t be fair. But at other times...yes.” He didn’t elaborate.

Did he mean while he pleasured himself, alone? Her cheeks burned.

He glanced back at her. “Question four.” He stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankle as he poured himself another shot. “What’s your most erotic fantasy?”

She rolled her eyes. She daren’t veto another question so early on because Lord knew what else he had stashed up his sleeve. “Um...I don’t know. A threesome, I guess. With a guy and a girl.”

Chapter Six

Ewan coughed on the mead and his eyes nearly fell out of his head. He burst out laughing. “What?”

She stared at him and blinked. “What’s so funny?”

“I thought you were going to say something tame like sex outdoors or handcuffs.”

Her cheeks shone red even in the dull light. “I didn’t say I’d done it—you asked what fantasy I had.”

“I know.” He was genuinely shocked. Although he’d always been convinced she could be dynamite in the bedroom, she acted so prim and proper that he couldn’t imagine her ever having such a raunchy fantasy.

She lifted her chin as if determined to deflect the conversation back to him. “So what’s your most erotic fantasy?”

“Oh, I’d be quite happy to play a part in yours.”

“Ewan...”

“I’m serious. I’ll join in if you like, but I’m quite happy to watch.”

“Ewan! Next question.”

“Okay, number five. Do you own a vibrator?”

She stared at him, mouth open. “For God’s sake! No. Geez.”

“Truly?”

“No.” Her gaze met his, and her lips started to curve. “I’d like to try one but I don’t have the courage to go into one of those shops.”

“Couldn’t you ask Henry to get you one?”

“Ewan!” She looked away, hunching up her shoulders and lowering her lashes, obviously embarrassed.

He studied her with a frown. What sort of a relationship did she have with this Henry? Something about her words and her manner led him to believe Namby-Pamby hadn’t exactly set her alight in the bedroom. “Your question,” he said, wishing he could have five minutes alone in a room with the fop.

“Have you ever used handcuffs?” Her eyes gleamed, as if she was trying to embarrass him in return.

It wouldn’t work. He rarely got embarrassed. “Yes.” He grinned. “When I got arrested demonstrating at the construction of the motorway that time.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I answered your question. Want to use up another one?” He smiled at her as she glared at him again. “Question six. How many men have you slept with?”

She met his gaze for a moment and then smiled sweetly. “Veto.”

“You’re sure? I’ve got four left to go yet.”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.” He thought about it. “Right, stand up.”

She did so, folding her arms and shivering a little.

He stood up as well and beckoned her toward him. She came warily, but he made her face the wall, out to sea. “Now, in as loud a voice as you can, I want you to yell the rudest word you can think of.’”

Her mouth fell open. “I can’t do that!”

“Come on, I want to hear you swear.”

“I don’t swear.”

“I know—hence the dare.”

“Ewan, I can’t, it feels...”

“What?”

“Vulgar. Common.”

He rolled his eyes. “There’s no one around, Your Grace. No photographers. Go on, yell it.”

Amusement spread across her face. “Just the once?”

“Just the once.”

She pressed her lips together. Then she turned to face the sea. She gave him a quick glance, laughter dancing in her eyes. Finally she took a deep breath, screwed up her eyes and yelled, “Arse!”

He laughed as she clapped both hands over her mouth. “Arse? That’s the rudest you could come up with?”

She dropped her hands and smiled at him. “You like corrupting me, don’t you, Ewan Macbeth?”

“Oh yeah.” Lust swept over him. He’d love to make her swear in another way. To make love to her for hours until they were both sweaty and exhausted. To go down on her and bury his mouth in her until she exploded.

Some of what he was feeling must have shown in his face because her smile faded and her eyes widened. Ignoring his inner voice that cautioned No, no! he slipped a hand to the back of her neck, leaned forward, and kissed her.

She placed her hands on his chest, tensing, and for a brief moment he steeled himself for her to push him away, maybe even to slap his face. But she didn’t. Neither did she relax into the kiss. Encouraged by the lack of slapping, however, he held her there and pressed soft kisses across her lips until eventually she opened her mouth with a sigh. He wrapped his arms around her and brushed his tongue into her mouth, and at that she gave a low moan and melted against him.

He kissed her until his body burst into flames and his brain melted. She seemed so small and fragile—there was practically nothing of her, and he cradled her carefully, afraid she’d break if he over-tightened his grip. She wound her arms around his neck, raising herself up to return the kiss as best she could, and he groaned as she pressed her soft body against his rapidly hardening one.

Eventually, however, she pulled back and rested her forehead on his shoulder. She trembled, and he cursed himself silently as he stroked her hair and murmured, “I’m sorry,” wishing he’d had the self-control to hold back. She didn’t need this. This wasn’t why he had come.

But she didn’t move away. She turned her head to rest her cheek against his chest and hugged him as she looked out across the inky blackness. “I’ve missed you.”

Emotion washed over him, and for a moment he couldn’t answer her. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I’ve missed you too, sweetheart.”

They stayed there like that for ages, listening to the bump of driftwood against the legs of the hut and the call of some night bird out in the darkness.

Chapter Seven

“I need a drink.” Cori moved away from him and sat on the waterproof. She pulled the bottle toward her and poured herself a shot. Not looking at him, she drank it down and passed it to him, then lay back again.

The kiss had blown her mind. Thoughts turned inside her head like the wheel of the stars above her. It had been a huge mistake. Because now she had the taste of another man’s lips on hers. And the guilt to go with it. “What’s the time?”

He sat beside her and drank his shot, then checked his watch. “Nearly eleven.”

“How long before you think we can cross?”

“Around midnight.” He lay down next to her.

She didn’t want to discuss the fact that he’d kissed her, and—more importantly—that she’d kissed him back. “My turn, isn’t it? Number six, I believe. Returning your previous question... How many women have you slept with?”

“I still have two chances to veto.”

“You want to waste it on this question? I am aware you’re not a virgin, you know.”

He laughed. “Okay. Seven. And a half.”

“A half?”

“That was while I was at art college. We were interrupted.”

“You surprise me. I’d have assumed you’d have reached double figures at least.”

“You think I’m easy?”

“I think you’re a fella. A good looking fella at that. Women must throw themselves at you.”

“Not quite.” His voice was wry. “And even if they did, that doesn’t mean I have to say yes.”

“How many of those were in the States?”

“One. Six before I met you, one afterward.”

She’d assumed that because of the way she’d treated him, he would have tried to wash her from his mind by sleeping with as many women as possible. The thought that he’d slept with only one other woman made her feel strangely humble.

He shifted on the floorboards. “Right. My turn. Question number seven. Favorite sexual position.”

“Ewan, for God’s sake—can’t you ask me something not related to sex?”

“No. And you’ve used up the last veto.”

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t avoid it any longer. “I can’t answer the question.”

“Of course you can. It’s not difficult.”

“I can’t answer it because I don’t have enough information to make a decision.”

He went quiet. She felt him move beside her, and eventually she opened her eyes to see he’d rolled onto his side and was looking down at her. “Are you saying—”

She put a finger on his lips. “My turn.”

He closed his mouth, but his eyes gleamed.

“What’s your favorite sexual position?” She moved her hand away.

“Woman on top.”

“Geez, you didn’t even think about that.”

“I didn’t need to think. My turn now.” He caught her hand in his own, brought her fingers up to his, and kissed them. “Love, are you still a virgin?”

Her cheeks burned, but she said, “Yes.”

“You’ve not slept with Henry?”

“That’s what ‘virgin’ normally means.”

“Why not?”

She scratched her nose. “It’s complicated.”

“Is he gay?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. I thought it would be best if we waited until we were married, that’s all.”

He studied her. “Is he a virgin?”

“No. And I don’t expect him to be.”

“Does he expect you to be?”

She looked away. Part of her didn’t want to admit it to him because she knew what he’d say. She was supposed to be a modern, independent girl, and she felt ashamed at the way she deferred to her father and fiancé. Ewan would never understand how much pressure her family put on her in so many ways. “Yes.”

True to form, he looked outraged. “Jeez. It’s like a medieval king. It’s archaic.”

“Maybe. But it’s the kind of world I live in.”

“You’re telling me that the daughter of every duke and earl in this country waits until she’s married to have sex?”

“No, obviously. But my family is very traditional. I was brought up to believe a girl shouldn’t sleep around. It feels right to wait for my husband.” Tears of self-pity pricked her eyes. “Don’t mock me, Ewan.”

His expression softened. “I don’t mean it to sound as if I’m mocking you. I’m sorry. If that’s how you feel, of course you should wait. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you and Henry haven’t had loads of sex. It’s just...” He frowned. “We talked about it, you and I. And you never mentioned waiting.”

“Yes, but I love you.”

He stared at her.

“Loved,” she corrected. Oops.

She couldn’t help herself—she reached up and touched his face, feeling the scrape of his bristles against the pads of her fingers. “My turn. Question eight. If we hadn’t broken up and we’d decided to sleep together, where do you think our first time would have been?”

He turned his head to kiss her palm. “I’d have taken you to a hotel somewhere. Not a seedy place, and not, like, The Ritz either. Somewhere small and quiet, near the coast maybe.” He smiled. “Lindisfarne would have been perfect. A place we could go for long walks together, spend ages over dinner, then go to bed and play with each other all night.”

She shivered. His eyes were filled with longing. He still held her hand, and his thumb brushed across her palm. But he didn’t kiss her again.

She licked her lips. “Your turn.”

“Do you regret breaking up with me?”

“Every day. But I was a coward, Ewan. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You’re not a coward.”

“I was. I am. I’m happy to fight for things that don’t matter, because my father doesn’t put up much resistance. I kid myself I’m being independent and strong, but he only lets me win arguments he doesn’t mind losing. I know deep down that when I’m married, both he and Henry will put pressure on me to stay at home. I dream of travelling, of discovering something about the creation of the world nobody’s discovered before, but I know that’s never going to happen. My days will be spent raising money for the local primary school and baking cakes for the village fete.”

She closed her eyes. “I try to not to be angry about it, because there are many women who’d kill to be in my position—to have more money than they knew what to do with. To marry an earl and not have to struggle.”

“Fuck them,” he said, “it’s not their life. You need to forget about everyone else, Cori, and think of one person—yourself. You’re the only one you need to please. Or you’ll spend the rest of your life unhappy.”

A tear ran down her face. “My turn. Did you break up with Anna-Beth because of me?”

He caught the tear on his thumb and wiped her face dry. “Yes. She said she couldn’t stay with me when I was in love with someone else.”

He was still in love with her. After all these years. Her stomach fluttered and her eyes stung.

She swallowed. “Your turn.”

“Do you love Henry?”

She bit her lip. “We’re getting married in September.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“He’s really very nice. You’d like him.”

“No I wouldn’t, and that’s not what I asked.”

“Ewan! Don’t be so cruel.”

His eyes were hard, unflinching—they wouldn’t release her. “What’s cruel about the question? You’re marrying the guy. Do you love him?”

She wanted to yell, scream, run away, but she was stuck in the stupid wooden box, and he wasn’t going to let her get away with being dishonest to herself. “No. I don’t love him.” More tears ran down her face. “Why did you come back? I was doing okay—I was getting by, until I saw you.”

Chapter Eight

Ewan frowned. She spoke as if he’d done her a disservice, when all he’d done was open her eyes. He was doing her favor. He was stopping her from blowing what should be a bright and sparkling future.

Yeah. You’re totally noble. You’re about to ruin her forthcoming marriage out of the goodness of your heart.

He swallowed down the guilt that kept threatening to rise. “You’re getting married. It’s supposed to be the best day of your life. You shouldn’t be ‘getting by’.” He took a deep breath. “I came back to ask you not to marry him. I know there’s no future for us, but when Izzy told me you were getting married and you didn’t love him, I couldn’t bear it. It hurts to think of you being with anyone else, but I want you to be happy. Fall in love, Cori, marry the man of your dreams, whoever he is. But don’t marry this guy. Please.”

She pushed his hand away and sat up, wiping her tears. “Don’t say that.”

“I need to say it.”

“You really don’t.”

“Nobody else will say it to you because they don’t want to lose your friendship, but I lost you a long time ago.”

She stood and walked away from him to the other end of the hut. He got to his feet and faced her, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Till death us do part,” he told her. “You’re going to be with this guy an awfully long time. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Stop it.”

Despair swept through him, making him harsh, bringing out a cruel streak he didn’t know he had. “What if you’re right—if he doesn’t want you to work? You’re a clever woman. Do you really think you can be happy organizing coffee mornings and sewing circles?”

“Ewan...”

“All day, every day. In his house, in his bed. You’ll have to provide him with an heir. With lots of kids, probably. You’ll be his wife—you’re a stunningly beautiful girl. What if he wants sex every day? More than once a day? Is that what you want?”

She hunched her shoulders. “Stop.”

“Half of all marriages end in divorce. Do you really think yours would be one of those to succeed without love to bind you together? Marriage is hard work—I should know, I saw my parents’ fall apart. You have to have something worth fighting for to keep it together.”

“We wouldn’t get divorced. If your expectations aren’t high to begin with, you can’t be disappointed.”

“Well, that sounds like a perfect way to start a marriage,” he snapped. Tears ran down her cheeks and glistened in the moonlight, but he didn’t go and comfort her. He needed to make her see the truth. “Do you think he loves you?”

Her lowered eyes and lack of a response gave him his answer.

He sighed. “Everyone falls in love at some point in their life. You may have been able to pass up on love for duty, but what if Henry finds the girl of his dreams five, ten years down the line? A woman who makes him realize he’s made a mistake?”

“He wouldn’t divorce me.”

“So what if he stayed married to you and had an affair because he couldn’t bear to be apart from this woman?”

“This is all conjecture!” She dashed her tears away. “Do you know how rare it is to fall in love? Some people go their whole lives and never find it. You sneer at duty, but it’s a major part of my life, always has been. My family has high expectations of behavior, and love doesn’t come into the equation. In their view, you grow to love the person who’s been selected for you. That’s how it is.”

“It’s fucking prehistoric, and it’s wrong.”

She shrugged.

He walked toward her. She backed up to the wall, eyes widening. He knew his anger must be showing on his face. “Can you really live without love? Are you planning to lie there and think of England while he makes love to you?” He didn’t miss her shudder, and he pulled his hands out of his pockets and picked hers up. They were icy cold. “You’re such a passionate woman—you have fire in your soul. I can’t bear to think of him touching you.”

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” She snatched her hands away and tucked them under her armpits beneath the poncho. “This isn’t some noble attempt to save me from an unhappy marriage—it’s dog in the manger. You can’t have me, so you don’t want another man to have me either.”

“That’s not it.”

“Yes it is!”

Anger burned through him, white-hot. He put his hands on her upper arms and pulled her toward him. “Okay, you’re right. I don’t want you to marry anyone else. The thought of another man touching you makes me feel sick. But I swear, Cori, I didn’t come to Scotland to try to win you back. It’s just...I can’t stand the thought of you wasting your life.”

She shook beneath his touch, her bottom lip trembling. The anger drained from him, and he sighed. “When I walked into my mother’s living room all those years ago and saw you sitting there, I felt as if the sun had come out—you lit up the entire room. You’re so full of life and energy, and you’re so clever. I teased you about your thesis, but I know it’s going to be fantastic. It wouldn’t surprise me if you discovered something important about the creation of the Earth. You’re a born scientist. The thought of you wasting away in drawing rooms, spending your days arranging flowers—it just kills me.”

“I like flowers.”

“Cori...”

“I don’t have an option.” Tears fell down her cheeks like the Niagara Falls.

“Yes, you do. Tell your family you’re not going to marry Henry. Trust your heart.”

“And what. Marry you?” Her voice held more than a pinch of sarcasm.

His heart leapt, but he reigned it in. “I’d marry you tomorrow, Lady Victoria Spencer, but I know that’s not an option. All I want you to do is trust your heart.”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes like dark pools. “I’d be a fool to say no to Henry. He’s offering me a lifetime of security that many women would kill for.”

“But he’s not offering you love.”

“What good is love without comfort and security? I love my family. If I don’t marry Henry, my parents will be so angry. I...I don’t think I could stand that. I’d have no husband, no family to take care of me. I’d be all alone.”

He cupped her face and brushed her tears with his thumbs. “You talk like you’re helpless.”

“Hopeless, more like.”

“Cori, you’ve lived on your own for four years. You’re not dependent on your parents anymore.”

“My father gives me an allowance. I’ve never had to work like most of my friends.”

“You don’t think you could find a job? Wouldn’t you love to work in the Natural History Museum or somewhere similar, travelling around the world and carrying out research for them?”

Fresh tears flowed over his hands and she closed her eyes. “But my parents wouldn’t speak to me again—how could I live with myself?”

“Oh, of course they’d talk to you. They may be angry at first, but what your father is doing is blackmail. He’s bullying you into marrying Henry. He didn’t want you to go to university, but you stood up to him and went anyway.”

“He only let me go because the stakes weren’t high enough. It didn’t matter ultimately so he ‘let’ me win that one.”

“Of course it mattered, but he made it look as if he’d let you win because he couldn’t stop you. Don’t you see?”

She lifted her face out of his hands and stared out across the sea. “You must think I’m an awful coward.”

“Of course not. We all do things because of social pressure or peer pressure. And it’s difficult to go against our parents’ wishes. But when we get to eighteen, our parents shouldn’t force us to do things their way. It’s okay to guide and advise us, but ultimately we have to go our own way and make our own mistakes.”

She wiped her face. “I wish I was a stronger character. I find it so hard when they talk to me, Daddy and Henry—they sound so reasonable and I feel ungrateful and crazy for wanting something different.”

Ewan gritted his teeth. He could see how the two men would gang up on her, insinuating she was being childish and stupid for wanting her own life. “You don’t realize how strong as you are. You’re such a fiery little thing in every other way. Letting go of the security blanket is just the last step. Of course it’s scary, being out in the big wide world without your family. But I guarantee it, Cori, when your father’s initial anger dies down, he’ll forgive you. He won’t want to lose his only daughter.” He resisted the urge to cross his fingers, hoping he wasn’t wrong. William might completely cut her off if she refused to do his bidding. But somehow he couldn’t believe it.

Her shoulders sagged and she looked utterly defeated. It made Ewan’s heart ache. He wanted her badly, but all he’d done was make her unhappy.

“Oh, come here.” He put his arms around her. “I’m so sorry.”

She laid her cheek on his chest and let him hold her.

Chapter Nine

They stood like that for a while. But Cori was growing tired, so in the end she suggested they sit down. He moved her over to the wall and they sat, but he kept her in the circle of his arms, and she didn’t complain.

She curled up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder, listening to the oystercatchers calling in the night.

“I think it’s time to eat the last cookie,” he said. He retrieved it from her bag, snapped it in half, and gave her a piece. Then he put his arm around her again, and they nibbled the shortbread, washing it down with a mouthful of mead.

They sat in silence, watching the stars twinkling.

Eventually, he said, “Are you mad at me?”

“No.” And she wasn’t. He’d made things harder for her, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t right. The truth was difficult to admit, but she had to face up to it. “I don’t love Henry. I hadn’t admitted it to myself, but I know it now.”

His hand tightened on her arm, although he gave no other sign he was pleased or relieved by her words. “So what are you going to do?”

She shivered. Letting go of the security blanket is the last step, he’d said. But was she brave enough to take it? She’d convinced herself she’d been flying solo since going to university, but it wasn’t the same knowing that at any moment Daddy could come running to help her out. It was as if she’d been playing at independence. This would be the real test. Could she do it?

He kissed her hair, a tender gesture, and she closed her eyes as the tears threatened to fall again. He was right. How could she get married to a man she didn’t really love and let him into her bed night after night? She didn’t feel a tenth of the affection for Henry that she felt for Ewan. And even though it meant risking her father’s wrath, it wasn’t fair on her or Henry to go through with it.

Whatever happened in the future, she had to gather her courage and face it without the safety net of her father waiting to catch her. If she made mistakes, she’d deal with them. But on her own, she could do anything she chose.

Her heart lifted at the thought.

“I’ll tell them tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll fly to Devon and tell them face to face.”

At that, his other arm came around her, and he hugged her as he kissed the top of her head again. “I’m sorry if I’ve made things difficult for you.”

“Yes, you have.” She pulled back and gave a shaky sigh. “But I feel strangely relieved, you know? I feel like I’ve got my life back.” The whole of her future now stretched out before her, wonderfully vague, like the mist-shrouded causeway earlier that evening. She felt as if she was starting out on a journey with just a few belongings wrapped in a hankie tied to a pole, and the thought thrilled her. Ewan hadn’t made her do anything—all he’d done was give her permission to be herself. Bubbles of happiness rose within her as if she were a glass of champagne.

She stood then, reached for her iPad, and searched through her music library. She chose one of her favorite slow songs and pressed Play, then propped the iPad up against the wall, turning the bright screen to face the wood. Walking back to Ewan, she held out a hand. “Dance with me.”

He stared at her for a moment. Then he got to his feet. She slid her arms around his waist and he wrapped his arms around her.

They moved slowly to the music. There was something magical about the moment—it made her want to hold her breath. The Milky Way was amazingly bright, and a shooting star fell through the constellation of Leo.

“Did you see that?” he murmured.

“Yes. Perhaps it was a sign.”

“I think you’re right.”

They danced for ages, song after song. He sang to her occasionally, his deep voice making her shiver. Eventually, she pulled back and looked up at him. He was smiling, and she couldn’t stop herself raising up on tiptoes and pressing her lips to his.

Sliding a hand into her hair, he held her tightly as he kissed her.

She wound her arms around his neck and gave herself over to the embrace. He tasted of shortbread and sweet wine, and she felt as if she were coming home. Nothing else seemed to matter at that moment except Ewan’s mouth on hers, hot and demanding, firing her up until she burned.

Chapter Ten

Ewan lifted his head, his heart soaring. Cori looked amazing in the starlight, so, so beautiful. He felt as if he’d opened the door of the cage she’d locked herself into and let her fly free.

She’d kissed him, but he couldn’t be sure if that was only because she’d been feeling excited at the thought of escaping Henry’s clutches and wanted to thank him, or if it meant they had a future. He held back the wave of nerves that threatened to wash over him. He wasn’t going to think about it now. He didn’t want to pressure her into anything.

She pulled back and looked over the edge of the hut. “Oh! Look. The tide’s retreated.”

Disappointment surged through him. He would have liked to stay there all night, to keep her to himself just a little longer. But he couldn’t stop the march of time. “I guess we can make a move, then.”

“Yes.” She bent and started packing up her rucksack. He rolled up the waterproof and replaced the lid on the third-full bottle of mead. “Poor Izzy,” she said, “no present.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I think the outcome of the evening will please her. She was pretty worried about you, you know.”

Cori zipped up the rucksack and went to shoulder it, but he took it from her. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She didn’t want to argue with you. But she told me you didn’t love Henry. “

They looked around at the view. “I’ll never forget this night,” she whispered.

His heart sank at her words. They had a finality to them, as if she was saying she wouldn’t forget him.

He didn’t say anything, though. He went over to the doorway, turned around, and descended the ladder. Fresh seaweed clung to the legs of the poles, and the acrid bite of its salty smell hit his nose. Tentatively, he touched a foot to the bare sand. His shoe sank a little, but it was firm enough.

He helped her down and they set off toward the mainland. They walked silently. She seemed caught up in her own thoughts, and he left her to them. At one point, though, when their hands bumped, her fingers grasped his, and they walked the rest of the way hand-in-hand.

There were pools of water around, and the mud was softer in some places than in others, but they made it to the mainland easily enough. He led her along to his car and unlocked it, hefted her rucksack onto the backseat, and they got in.

“Are you okay to drive?” she asked.

He realized she was talking about the mead. All the lidfuls probably only added up to the equivalent of a glass or two of strong wine. Still, he didn’t usually drink and drive at all. “I think so. I don’t feel drunk.” And he didn’t. His mind was crystal-clear, working furiously as he tried to figure out what to say to her. But he couldn’t think of anything.

She buckled up and he did the same. He started the engine, reversed the car, and drove the short distance to the main road.

There, she put a hand on his arm. He braked and looked across at her. She was pale, her blonde hair tangled from the wind. He reached out and touched her face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Really fine, Ewan.”

“You ready to go home?”

She swallowed. “No.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked past him, toward the dark shape of Lindisfarne. “Let’s go to the island.”

Joy flooded through him, but he made himself stay calm. “What for?”

“You shouldn’t drive all the way to Edinburgh anyway until you’ve had a strong cup of coffee.” Her gaze came back to him, and she gave him a shy but determined smile. “No. New resolution—I must be honest with myself, and that was an excuse. I just want to spend more time with you.” Her eyes were warm. “I never stopped loving you. I’ve thought about you every day since you left. That’s why I never wanted to sleep with Henry—I knew I wouldn’t be able to without thinking of you.”

“I’m so glad you waited.” His heart thumped at her words.

“So am I. I love you, Ewan. I know I hurt you in the past, and I’m so sorry. Will you forgive me?”

She loved him. Relief and thankfulness swept over him. “I love you too, sweetheart. And there’s nothing to forgive.”

He unclipped his seat belt, leaned across and kissed her. She threaded her fingers through his hair, opening her mouth to him, and he brushed her tongue with his, grazing his teeth on her bottom lip.

Eventually, she pulled back, smiling at him. “Come on, Macbeth. Let’s get over to the island.”

He started the engine. “We’ve got a few hours yet before it grows light.”

“That’s okay. We can walk to the castle and watch the sun come up.”

He hesitated. “Am I dreaming? Am I going to wake up?”

“I know I’m not dreaming. I’m cold and hungry and I really need to pee.”

He laughed and took her hand. “I apologize for tricking you into staying in the hut with me, but I’m glad I did it now.”

“Me too. There are worse things in life than being stranded with a Scotsman, anyhow.”

He kissed her again, his lips lingering, enjoying her soft mouth, the feel of her hand in his.

Eventually, he pulled back with a happy sigh and directed the car onto the road toward the island. Or was it the road to their future? Whichever it was, this time their destination was clear, and his heart swelled with joy.

The End

Note from the Author

If you’ve made it this far – wow! Thank you so much for reading my books. I hope you’ve enjoyed them, and that you go on to read about all the characters in each of the series.

I have lots more books available, which you can check out on my website here, and if you sign up for my Newsletter you’ll be the first to know when new books are released or when I have other special offers!

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About the Author

Serenity Woods lives in the sub-tropical Northland of New Zealand with her wonderful husband and gorgeous teenage son. She writes hot and sultry contemporary romances with a happy ever after, and would much rather immerse herself in reading or writing romance than do the dusting and ironing, which is why it’s not a great idea to pop round if you have any allergies.

Website: http://www.serenitywoodsromance.com

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