by Jena Petrie
"If you still want me to move after that, I will."
His head fell back in surrender. "Alright. You win."
CHAPTER 12
"Connor. So lovely to meet you. It's a real honour to have such a celebrity share Christmas with us." Only marginally taller than Bailey, her mum looked older than he expected, with hints of grey hair and slight wrinkles around her mouth and forehead.
"Mrs Stoddart." He offered his hand.
Gripping it, she gave a nervous-sounding laugh. "Oh, do call me Denise."
Only when he pulled away did she appear to notice her daughter. "Bailey, why haven't you brought our guest inside? We can't leave such a special visitor on the doorstep."
What was this? Connor glanced from Bailey to her mum and back again. Sounded like a reprimand already, and for not doing the hostess's job. Poor Bailey.
Apparently she'd noticed the censure because her jaw clenched before they followed Denise into the modern kitchen. A delicious meaty smell emanated from the oven while a pile of used dishes and utensils covered the work top. In silence they watched their hostess lift a casserole from the oven and stir the contents before sliding the container back in.
Neither spoke until the dish had been returned to the oven, and then Bailey asked, "What room will I show Connor to?"
"The guest one next to ours. He'll like it there, I'm sure."
Next to the parents? Fan-bloody-tastic.
"When you've shown him up you can come and do these dishes. I'll put the veggies on."
"Follow me," Bailey invited, but not before he'd noticed her grimace a moment before she led the way to the stairs. "You're up here."
"And you?"
"Down, of course." She stood on the landing, waiting for him to join her and flashed a rueful grin. "Mum probably feels she has to keep track of you, make sure you stay in your room and don't try sharing mine. She sounded really suspicious when I suggested you join us here. That was until I mentioned you being an Olympic gold medal winner," she added with a smirk.
"That made a difference?"
"Thought you'd have noticed already." Turning, she preceded him up the stairs.
"Ah, yes. I did." He followed her up, grinning at the view in front; a small, neat butt that fitted her jeans perfectly and sent his hormones into overdrive. Worth coming already, in spite of the frustration the sight presented. Every opportunity to be with Bailey was one step closer to persuading her of eventual intimacy. "They don't consider you adult enough to behave properly without supervision?"
"Never have before. Probably never will in the future, so you'd better keep your hands visible at all times." A few steps along the hall she pushed open a door, revealing a magnificent view of the city from a warm, sunny room. Its large bed, matching bedside cabinets, dresser and tallboy, came nowhere near filling the interior. "Impressive." His gaze swung to the closed double door on the right.
"Walk-in wardrobe," she explained, watching him. "Make yourself at home."
"All I need is one hanger and a drawer," and he indicated his small bag.
"Then you're going to have to choose, aren't you?" With a laugh, she turned to go but he had too many questions to allow her to leave just yet. "This room's only kept as a spare? Not used for anything else?"
"Used to be Niall's, my older brother. He's married with a couple of kids and they live in North Dunedin. Now it's kept for the odd guest like the grandkids. Apparently the smaller rooms out the back aren't good enough for them." Again, she turned to leave. "Don't be too long deciding which drawer and hangar, or admiring the view. Pre-dinner meeting with Dad at six in the living-room downstairs on the left. Don't be late."
At exactly six Connor entered the room and a man of medium height with receding, greying hair, rose from a Lazy-Boy chair. "Connor, I presume?" he extended a hand. "Good to have you here."
"Thanks, Mr Stoddart." The normal reply of 'Thanks for inviting me,' or 'Good to be here,' stuck in Connor's throat. No way could he tell such out-and-out lies but at least his belly had calmed a little.
"Better call me Richard." Unlike the gushy mother, the father seemed quite normal—until the meal began.
Like two cannons, the parents fired questions at him from each end of the table, taking turns to follow their individual line of enquiry. Now he could identify with one of those constantly-moving, open-mouthed sideshow clowns, especially since Bailey watched from across the table, hawk-eyed as if waiting for the right moment to insert her ping-pong ball into his mouth.
Thank God for water, and he'd downed two glassfuls by the time the mother removed the empty plates.
"I presume you still get the Dunedin paper?" Bailey asked her father during a rare pause while her mother dished a large sponge pudding and ice cream.
"Of course. You know us," Richard answered, accepting his plate.
"And I presume you read it? Like, every day?"
Denise stopped dishing. "What are you getting at, Bailey? You know we do."
"Oh, I just wondered, because if you'd read the piece on Connor in last Saturday's paper, you'd have already got the answers to most of those questions." The cheeky girl flashed Connor a mischievous grin across the table.
"I read it," her father answered. "And it's because of the information in that article, Connor, that I was able to sound knowledgeable about rowing matters."
"Like what, exactly?"
"Well, like the job of a cox'n, for instance."
Good God, his daughter had been coxing an eight for nearly three seasons, yet her father still hadn't known the details? Showed how interested he was in her—not.
"What about you, Mum? You read it too?"
"I did, but only because of Connor coming to stay. I had to learn a bit about him first, didn't I? It wasn’t as if you'd told me much," she chided, with a glare at Bailey.
Eating more would be impossible if this conflict carried on so Connor nudged Bailey's foot. "You did well, selling the article. That'll give you some kudos in the publishing industry. Did they print the whole thing?"
"Yeah, they did, so I was thrilled."
"A good article of your daughter's, wasn't it, Denise?"
"I expect so or the editor wouldn't have published it."
"Excellent writing, wouldn't you say, Richard?"
"Yes, of course."
A visitor could do only so much prodding. Connor gathered the last of the food onto his spoon. At least now he knew first-hand what Bailey had to put up with. "You must have warned your mum I'm a big eater," he remarked.
"It was enough, I hope?" His hostess looked up, frowning.
If she did that often it would explain the wrinkles. "Yes, thank you. A lovely meal." Pity about the conversation.
Afterwards, Bailey's dad led him to the formal lounge but the sight almost made Connor gag. In one corner a real Christmas tree sat on display, covered with more decorations than leaves and tiny lights winking at him as if hiding a secret.
What did a Christmas tree have to do with the birth of Jesus anyway? Santa the coach was more real than anything here.
By the end of the evening Connor couldn't remember any subject that had been discussed. Not surprising when his belly churned with every glance at those damned lights that kept reminding him of Renton's malicious article. As for the pile of wrapped presents at the base of the tree, they were even worse. To think he was about to exchange presents with these strangers, and all to please Bailey. How much further from his comfort zone would he have to go before she'd agree to move?
In the end, the most difficult thing about Christmas Day wasn't the tree, the formal dinner or the presents at all. It wasn't Bailey's gushy mother and it wasn't the brother and sister-in-law's superior attitude either.
It was their kids, Joe and Anna. The noise and disruptions as they dived for their presents with excited squeals, their boisterous fighting over toys plus their constant demands, were almost enough to make him retch.
First opportunity, he took off outside, mumbling an
excuse about needing fresh air.
"Kids too much for you?" Bailey. Beside him, offering a piece of Christmas cake on a paper napkin.
He slowed his pace so she could fall into step beside him and they walked in silence up the winding path, away from the house and the prying eyes of anyone watching.
When her hand touched his he grabbed it, relief at the support sweeping through him like a wave at the beach far, far below.
She indicated the viewing platform further up the hill. "Pretty horrendous back there, huh? It's not so bad for me, seeing everyone at intervals throughout the year but the kids have got louder and more demanding as they've grown older. Today they were too much for me, too."
"How do parents cope?" He wiped crumbs from beside his mouth. "My mother simply refused to speak if I became too noisy or demanding. Soon got the message through."
"You should have had siblings."
Hard to, without a partner around and apparently Mum never found anyone she wanted after my father died." He followed Bailey onto the fenced-off viewing area. "His life was finished by a stupid drunk teenager, driving an unfamiliar car and rushing to get home from a Christmas Eve party before his parents found him gone."
"Oh, Connor." Sympathy he expected, but not the look of horror that covered her face a moment before she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
Gently, he touched her cheek with the back of a finger, keeping his voice soft. "Told you I don't do Christmas, didn't I? Mum never did, after that."
"Wish we didn't." She eased away and leaned on the railing beside him instead. "Niall's ten years older than me and was always the favoured one."
"And your other brother? No-one's mentioned him—only Niall as being older."
For a good minute she didn't reply, just stared straight ahead, her fingers on the wooden barrier clinging so fiercely, her knuckles turned white. When she spoke, the pain in her voice transferred to him, making him grip her arm as sweat broke out on his forehead.
"Vaughan. My full brother. I haven't seen him for..." A tremor shook her whole body. "Years."
Helpless to know what to do, how to comfort her, he pulled her into his side. "You were close."
"Yeah. Niall's my stepbrother but I'm not allowed to use that term. Funny really, when he's always been treated so differently from... us."
"So, who's your parent? Sorry, but I couldn't tell any difference between the two."
"Not surprised. We're Mum's kids but after she got together with my stepdad she started ignoring us and spoiling Niall. Trying to keep in favour with his dad I suspect, but it would have been good if she'd evened out the attention more. Vaughan... Well, he doesn’t do Christmas either. I..." A gulp. "I don't even know where he is."
"You miss him."
"In little increments, a breath bounced its way into her lungs. "Course. Specially when I'm home."
"Does he contact you?"
"Not often." She stared straight ahead, but her eyes had glazed over. "Usually only after I've emailed him. So I try to respect his privacy and don't email often. The rejection when he doesn't answer is too hard."
"Do you think he'd come back if you moved further away from your parents?"
Shock flashed onto her face. "Don't miss a trick, do you?"
The lack of a reply left him dry-mouthed and anxious as he followed her lead and stared at the view. So impressive, with the city spread out below, the harbour in the distance on the left of the peninsula, the beach and sea on the right.
"Great, isn't it? I love it up here. Makes me feel I'm on top of the world."
"I can see that." Calming too, with the sun beating down, his girl by his side and nothing to do except enjoy her company. "What were they doing, back at the house?"
"Watching the kids mostly. Guess I should have warned you what it'd be like, only—"
"You were scared it'd put me off coming."
"Yeah. Sorry."
He pulled her around to face him. Standing further up the slope and wearing high heels, she wasn't much shorter than him, putting her expressive lips within easy reach. "So why did you put me though that ordeal?"
A button on his shirt twisted at her touch. "I couldn’t agree to moving in until you knew more about my background." A smile flashed across her face, then vanished. "You needed to learn that my family is dysfunctional, hard to cope with—"
"Jeez, Bailey, you think I care? As long as we're together to support each other and—"
"Stay away from that lot?" She indicated the house further down the hill. "Suits me, and just so you know, I'm booked on your flights outa here tomorrow."
***
Connor patted the driver on the shoulder as Pete stopped his car outside the cottage. "Thanks for picking us up, mate." To Bailey in the back seat he said, "Welcome home, honey."
"Thanks." She dropped the strand of hair she'd been playing with and climbed from the car.
After waving goodbye, Connor walked ahead with one of her two suitcases in tow, unlocked the door and waited for her to enter the house. A smile nudged the edges of his mouth upwards as she stepped ahead. "You're actually moving in." He followed her through the door. "I almost can't believe it."
"I'm not a ghost, Connor. You can be sure of that."
He indicated the case at his feet. "Just as well I didn't have to open it for airport security. A suitcase of lacy underwear might not have looked right."
She'd opened the hall door but turned around. "What makes you think I wear lace?"
A chuckle as he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. "Babe, if you don't wear lace, you'd better start soon."
Oh, God. Had this been a mistake, moving in? "This relationship is one of friendship only, Connor. The romantic one is a charade and just for the public. You know that."
A shrug of his shoulders and a cheeky grin followed. "Really? I could have sworn there was more to your feelings for me than you're prepared to let on." His tone had softened, ending in a hint as dangerously sexy as those warm grey eyes while it portrayed a much deeper message.
Her throat dried as her gaze searched the room for a safe subject. Even safer would do, but nothing, damnit. "Don't kid yourself."
Gently, a callused palm lifted her hand while his gaze never strayed from her face.
With a shiver, she pulled away. "I'll make coffee." Even after escaping to the kitchen her hands shook as she lifted the cups down. Too bad Sam had damaged her so badly she couldn't respond to Connor's advances. Now she'd have to know a guy inside out before she trusted him enough to let him close.
Minutes later, calm again, she found Connor in the small bedroom with both her suitcases and she placed the tray of cups on the dresser in the corner. "It's a relief Christmas is over even though having you there made it a lot easier for me. You were a hit, you know."
"Was I?" A slow saunter took him from the wall to the bed where he lowered himself down. "Took the limelight away from you, though."
"That's alright." She put his cup on the old wooden chair beside him. "You may have noticed the only limelight I attract at home is a call to work, especially when Niall, Sophie and the kids are there."
"At least Denise made a fuss of the decorations you made."
"To impress you, which took the heat off—"
"So you owe me." With his hand outstretched he invited her closer but she hesitated, biting her lip. The way he sat, legs apart in typical man pose, she could see the evidence of what he wanted but hadn't he got the message? She was nowhere near ready to give herself to him that way.
Seemed he'd decided now was the time regardless, because his arms circled her waist and eased her forward. And because the action was not commanding, demanding, or in any way objectionable but more like a come-here-I-want-you-with-me kind of action, it made her movement more like a glide of anticipation into something exciting. Something safe.
A finger slid over her lower lip. "You bit yourself. Must be sore."
She shook her head but his next w
ords sent her body into high alert, rigid as a lamp post.
"I'd like to kiss it better."
Never before had he made such a suggestive remark. Never implied—verbally, at least—that he'd waited long enough.
"I-I'm not ready." Might never be ready. "I–"
Again he pulled her closer, right into the V between his legs.
She should step away. Leave. Escape.
But moving on her own was impossible with her body tingling in anticipation and heating with desire. Like a puppet she only moved to his command as he pulled her closer, closer, until her legs touched his.
His finger slid across her lips, making them tremble. And then, ever so gently, he kissed her bottom lip. "Mm. Nice." Down the sides of her body his palms slid, dipping in and out over her curves as he flashed a grin so sexy her breath caught in her throat.
"Coffee's getting co—"
"I'd rather do this." He cupped her face as his lips touched hers again, but only in another light tease that jerked her shoulders. From nerves? Or excitement?
His hands returned to their roaming, the gentle touch following an unpredictable path, so sensuous, she closed her eyes. No way could she stop him when every light contact emphasized her femininity and skilfully awakened previously dormant needs.
Musky cologne surrounded them. It overrode the coffee aroma and distracted her thoughts as his hands skimmed up to her neck and across her shoulders; too close, too personal, yet so wonderful, she moaned.
He paused, warm grey eyes focused on hers. "All right?"
No way could she answer with these sensations swirling around and through her, his touch igniting a fire inside her and a need she hadn't felt in too long. Desire melted her bones and turned her muscles to soft butter, controlled entirely by this master craftsman.
If she could hold his head and bring it close and kiss him she would, just to let him know she approved of his actions, except her muscles continued to melt and now felt as useless as the arms of a rag doll. As uncoordinated as a newborn baby's.
Unexpectedly, Connor changed direction, kissing her below her ear and she squirmed as desire ratcheted upwards. Across her jaw and face his lips travelled, his breath a soft warm breeze on her skin and she heard another unexpected moan of pleasure as her fingers gripped his shoulders in a desperate attempt to regain control.