Instead of following the short path to the beach, Carly stuck to the grassy bank running alongside it. The ambushee would turn the tables on the ambusher, with any luck. She moved at a low crouch, scanning the glistening ocean, the scents of sea-salt and woodsy vegetation filling her nose, and thigh-high weeds tickling as they brushed against her bare legs. If she focused on the sensory overload, she could pretend this was just a summer vacation and not eight days until her once favorite holiday. Blinding sun streaming over her damp skin did a great job of convincing her body-clock that it was mid-July, not mid-December.
She stepped under the shade of the first huge pohutukawa, blinking as her eyes struggled to adapt.
“Concentrate, zoomie,” she whispered. Her fingers fumbled up the grooved handle to find the trigger. “You got this.”
“Not this time, sweetheart.”
A strong arm wrapped around her body, pinning her arms helplessly to her side. Plastic pressed to the throbbing vein in her throat. Water seeped out of the gun and dripped down her neck. The shivers returned with a vengeance, but this time, they had nothing to do with chilly water and everything to do with the man pressed full length against her.
Warm breath puffed against her ear, and the cradle of his hips butted into her bottom. “Drop your weapon.”
Kip may as well have said, “Drop your panties.” His deep, rough voice affected her the same way.
Never surrender your weapon, zoomie.
Her throat seized, her mouth parched to sticky dryness. “No.”
Plastic squeaked, and more water oozed out of the gun, trickling down her overheated skin. The strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm flexed, not tight enough to hurt, just enough for her to know she couldn’t break free without a struggle—and another soaking.
“Resistance is futile.” Something soft and warm brushed over her earlobe, continued with butterfly lightness down the column of her throat to the very spot where her vein leaped under the skin. “I have you right where I want you. So drop it. I win.”
Her knees filled with wibbly-wobbly Jell-O, and her fingers on the gun handle had all the strength of mini sponge cakes. She was a sweet, hot mess from him grabbing her and breathing on her neck? Double-dammit. She’d underestimated the enemy’s skills at tactical engagement.
The water gun dropped from her hand and thudded to the ground.
“I’d like to negotiate the terms of my surrender.” Her voice sounded breathy and strained, as if she’d just returned from one of her dad’s enforced five-mile runs.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate anything.”
“How about you take that gun from my throat, and we discuss this like adults?”
Kip chuckled. “If I let you go, will you try some crazy military jiu-jitsu shit on me?”
“I could, you know. I have some moves.”
“Oh, I bet you do.” He released his grip, sliding the hand restraining her slowly around her waist, leaving a trail of heat behind under her wet shirt.
Carly dropped to her knees, scooped up the gun, and rolled onto her back—triggering a blast of water that hit Kip squarely in the groin. He froze as water soaked the front of his board shorts and pitter-pattered to the earth. The thin synthetic fabric, in an unfortunate color choice of white and pale-green plaid, enhanced more than it hid. And what it enhanced was a lack of underwear—Kip Sullivan was fighting dirty by going commando.
Carly blinked, the nozzle of her water pistol still aimed at his crotch. Shouldn’t cold water have the opposite effect on a man? Evidently, they grew them tough here in New Zealand, because the water temperature hadn’t affected his package at all.
Oh, myyyyy.
She licked dry lips and scrambled to her feet, backing up a short distance to get a clearer shot at him should he advance.
A slow smile curled onto his face. “That was pretty damn low.”
“I aimed low.”
And she was kinda regretting it now, because, day-yum—well-endowed, hot guy looking at her as if she were lunch.
Kip shifted his hips, and her gaze tracked the movement like a kitten pouncing after the elusive red dot on a laser. Oh, boy. She needed to stop that, right now. Staring at a co-worker’s private parts was not part of her job description.
Only he didn’t feel like her co-worker any more.
He pointed his weapon, his smile widening. “You seem to have quite the fascination with my junk.”
“In your dreams, pretty-boy.”
He squirted her, the water splattering her shorts, soaking through them to her suitable-for-a-mom-to-see, plain cotton panties.
“You!” she choked.
“Should’ve worn a swim suit like I did.” He shot her again, this time between her boobs.
Her lungs locked tight, the same kind of stunned breathlessness she experienced when diving into Sunshine Bay’s deceptively warm-looking waters. Goosepimples raced up and down her body, her nipples hardening into two little darts, trying to poke a hole through her still-damp shirt.
“But then, wet is a good look for you.”
“I didn’t ask to be part of this fight.” Carly nailed him right in the heart with another long water blast.
He advanced toward her, and she backed up, deeper into the trees’ shadows. Little birds twittered and rustled among the branches, and from the direction of the house, the twins shrieked with excitement. Kip glanced briefly over his shoulder, the smile on his face when he turned back wicked enough to curl her toes inside her sneakers.
“Don’t expect any help from the troops,” he said.
Kip moved forward, so Carly hit him again—a gut shot this time. For her own sanity, she kept her gaze above the dangly laces of his board shorts, which already rode dangerously low on his hips. This time, the blast of water only just reached him. She was running out of ammo.
He laughed and gained two more steps. Carly retreated until her bottom hit the solid resistance of the tree trunk.
The empty water pistol slipped to the ground, and she held up her hands. “You win.”
Kip padded closer, the faint sloshing sound indicating he wasn’t short on firepower.
“No other tricks, Carly?” He stood close to her, his bare feet either side of hers, one arm braced on the branch above her shoulder, the other still holding the water pistol at his side.
Sunlight arrowed through the leaves, and a gentle breeze caused a shower of gold-tipped crimson needles from the overhanging blossoms to drift down on their heads. One caught in his hair, and she plucked it out, her hand hovering for a moment, the crimson needle dropping out of sight. She rubbed the dark strands—one might even call them silky. She hadn’t expected the texture of his hair to be so soft. But then, she hadn’t expected to ever be standing this close to him.
Working together, they maintained a normal, friendly distance. They passed each other bottles, bumped arms or hips when they jostled to make up drinks side by side, and bantered back and forth while they closed up at nights. Normal, friendly stuff.
Kip stood so close, faint streaks of gold surrounding his pupils were visible. Light dappled across his face, highlighting the tiny scar high on his forehead—a flaw she’d never noticed before—and water droplets speckled the stubble on his jaw. His nearness had somehow unhinged her mind. She wanted to touch—badly wanted to touch…and to taste.
Don’t do anything stupid, zoomie.
Okay, but wasn’t Christmas called the Silly Season for a reason?
Carly slid her fingers into the thick, dark hair and tugged Kip’s head slightly forward. Ahhh, the satisfaction of his sharp, indrawn breath. She should draw the moment out longer, torture both of them with the anticipation. But she was the kind of girl who couldn’t resist shaking her presents under the tree.
So she kissed him.
A kiss she’d intended to be a quick, three-second-at-the-most, flirty touch of lips. Just enough to transfer a little of her strawberry flavored lip balm. Except, there must
have been a secret ingredient in the balm, as once his mouth, firm and smooth and delicious, fused to hers, she could not, God help her, drag herself away.
The tip of his tongue traced a line of fire along the seam of her mouth, and she opened with a gasp, allowing him to deepen the connection. Delusions of control? Obliterated when his tongue touched hers.
Louder than the surf, Carly’s heartbeat thudded in her ears, a tidal flow of superheated blood drawn to the areas of her body touching him. The sensitive tips of her breasts grazed his chest, and her legs, trapped between rough bark and the damp fabric of his board shorts, trembled.
A low growl rumbled in his chest, and his hand cupped her face, drawing them closer. The touch of his rough palm, and his tongue dancing along hers in the sexiest of tangos, jerked her out of her kiss-drunk stupor.
Hot and intense steamrolled her fun and flirty intention flat. But to Kip, who’d no doubt kissed half the eligible women in Oban, this was likely a casual lip-lock. Fun, flirty…and easily forgotten.
She tore her mouth away, and Kip’s eyes blinked open in shock. She ducked to the side, snatching the water gun from his lax hand. Applying a bogus smile on her mouth—one that said, I’m totally not affected by your smoking-hot-kiss—Carly aimed the pistol at Kip’s face. His gorgeous face, with his hair sexily rumpled from her fingers, lips slightly parted, and his eyes quickly clearing from confusion into their usual sharp intelligence.
He raised both hands in surrender. “That’s one hell of a distraction tactic.”
“Who dares wins, so they say.”
“I’m happy to let you win if this is the kind of game we’re playing.”
The smile that’d charmed so many women before her appeared, flushing another surge of tingly, feel-good-bubbles through her and making the idea of playing with Kip a lot more tempting. Which meant she really, really needed to leave before she changed her mind and jumped him.
“Game’s over, I win.”
“I guess you do. This round.” He leaned back against the tree trunk and crossed his ankles. “Go and announce your victory, sweetheart.”
Lips curving into smirk, she said, “I will.”
Then her gaze dropped past the waistband of his shorts.
Definitely commando. Dear Lord…
Carly shut her mouth, gumming her lips together—easier to keep the ribbon of drool inside. Definitely time to leave.
She turned and hurried out of the trees, the sound of his low and dirty chuckle trailing after her.
Chapter 4
The one thing Kip hated more than 5:00 a.m. starts and the craziness of July calving, was Christmas shopping.
While living in the Far North, his family probably didn’t enjoy the results of his Christmas shopping, either. He’d finally learned the lesson handed down to him from his father—open your wallet and let your sisters-mum-girlfriend take whatever the hell they wanted. Easier than developing a brain aneurysm trying to figure out what perfume-scarf-book-chocolates or frickin’ chick-flick DVD wouldn’t evoke the insincere, ooh, how sweet. Just what I wanted.
For the last two years, he’d taken the cheat’s way out and posted a fifty buck note in a schmaltzy greeting card. But with his niece and nephews right here on his doorstep, he suspected he’d be eviscerated if he showed up on Christmas morning bearing cash instead of gifts.
Kip waved to the purser and strode onto the ferry bound for the mainland. A shopping trip to the small city of Invercargill was unavoidable, since Oban’s tiny, year-round population of four-hundred locals couldn’t support more than a few specialty shops—shops that didn’t cater to twin boys, teenage girls, or a baby who still shrieked whenever Kip looked at her. If he’d known a family invasion had been coming, he would’ve bribed the island’s schoolteacher, Kezia Murphy—soon to be Kezia Harland, if his mate, Ben, had any say—to shop for him.
As he opened the door to the ferry’s passenger lounge, Carly’s red hair hooked his attention. Well—her hair, and her kissable mouth, and her body, which screwed up his sleep patterns.
Perhaps this trip wouldn’t be as hellish as he’d anticipated.
Though, after their smoking-hot kiss two days ago, the hours they spent together at work progressed from skittish avoidance to cringe-worthy awkward. Every time he’d tried to make her smile, she’d shot his efforts down.
But considering he’d zilch, zip, zero ideas when it came to gift shopping, humbling himself was his best bet.
“Hey,” he said, sitting in the seat next to hers. “You going to Invers?”
Carly hugged her purse to her stomach, crossing her knees so their legs didn’t touch, revealing a stretch of tanned shin under her summery dress.
“Yes. Last minute shopping.”
“Me, too.” He smiled but kept it friendly and easy—a we’re just mates smile.
Not the kind of smile he’d had on his face as she’d walked away the other day, her damp shorts clinging to a truly unforgettable ass.
“For the kids?” Warmth filtered through her previously cool tone.
“Yeah. Figured they wouldn’t appreciate the cash I usually send.”
Carly laughed. “World’s greatest uncle, huh?”
“Not.”
The ferry’s engines roared to life.
“I could use your help to pick out the right stuff for them,” he added.
“My help?”
“Let me put it this way.” He crooked an eyebrow. “Grace is not too old for a Barbie doll, right?”
“Oh dear God, you’re clueless.” She slanted a glance at him. “Or is this a convenient helpless male act so I’ll feel sorry for you and volunteer to do all your Christmas shopping?”
He cocked his head. Was she right? Attractive thought, avoiding the pre-Christmas retail madness, but he genuinely did want to spend time with Carly. If retail hell was the only way to do it, he’d give it a try.
The boat shifted in the swell as the mooring lines were cast off from the wharf. Her arm brushed his, the simple touch of her soft skin sending his hormones haywire. Nothing about his reaction to her was an act—but enough of the skinny, weak boy remained inside him, preventing him from admitting his reasons outright, in case she shut him down.
“Not an act, Carly. I want to pick out something nice for my mum and sisters too.” Sneaky, but he knew mentioning his family would soften her.
“All right then. It’ll be good having a packhorse to carry my bags.”
“At your service, ma’am,” he said, trying to imitate her very cute accent.
She jabbed him in the ribs with a pointy elbow. “I do not sound like that.”
He grinned as the ferry powered into the harbor. No…to him, her voice was what a double-chocolate fudge sundae was to someone on a low-fat diet.
Surrounded by chattering locals and tourists, they made polite and impersonal conversation on the one-hour trip across the Foveaux Strait.
Until Carly blurted, “Tell me about yourself. What made you move here? You’re from Bounty Bay, originally?”
“Yeah. Originally. It’s not an exciting story.”
They’d talked very little about their backgrounds. Kip knew Carly’s bare basics—her father was an Air Force officer and died of a brain tumor. She used to be a flight attendant and had only a few distant relatives left in the US. She’d fallen in love with New Zealand rugby, specifically, with one of the hunky All Blacks. Perfume made her sneeze, so she didn’t wear it. She was unafraid of heights but would scream the bar down if a moth fluttered past her face. Yellow was her favorite color, and her iPod contained a weird mix of eighties rock, reggae, jazz, and Techno. Caffeine drinks were a no-no, she sucked at Sudoku but insisted on filling out the squares in ink, and she was crap at pronouncing local place names in New Zealand’s second official language, Maori.
Nope, he didn’t know much about her at all.
“I’d still like to hear it,” Carly said.
He shrugged. “The Sullivans are third generation dairy
farmers. We’ve lived in the Far North pretty much forever, and the oldest Sullivan son always worked the land with his father. Since I’m the only son, I started helping out with the milking when I was twelve.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I’d never in a million years have picked you as a rancher. I would’ve loved to have seen you with your chaps and leathers.”
“You’re thinking of cowboys.” He chuckled. “We’re more the rubber boots and coverall type of farmers.”
“Thought so, but a girl can dream.” She grinned back at him. “So you milked cows?”
“Twice a day, seven days a week—until my twenty-fifth birthday—then I realized I wasn’t the eighteen year old fresh from school who didn’t know what the hell he wanted to do with his life. At eighteen, carrying on the family tradition seemed a good idea until I figured it out. Being five years away from thirty was a wake-up call to strike out on my own.”
“So you left?”
“On January first. Hitched a ride with a mate down to Auckland and crashed in my second eldest sister, Rachel’s, spare room. Felt as if I slept a week solid just recovering. She told me to do some of the wild and crazy stuff I’d missed out on while working the farm for so many years. I took her advice and jumped on a flight to Queenstown, adventure capital of New Zealand.”
“Let me guess.” Carly snickered. “Bungee jumping, jet boat rides, adventure skiing?”
“No snow in January; it’s summer here, remember? But yeah, everything else, including sky-diving—which was where I met Harley Komeke.”
“Ford’s twin? Oh—and Harley’s place is where the Harlands and Westlakes are going for Christmas?”
“Yep. Day one I decided to get sky-diving over with first, and Harley’d signed up for the same flight. We hit it off and hung out for the week.”
“He’s your connection to Stewart Island.”
Kip nodded, stretching out his legs. “I told him how I was taking a sabbatical, trying to sort out my stuff, and he offered to put in a good word for me with West if I wanted to give bar-tending a try. He’d come to Queenstown after a flying visit with his parents and brother, and heard Due South’s current bartender was moving back to Invercargill. I thought ‘what the hell,’ and after Harley flew back to the States, I hopped on the ferry.”
Christmas With You Page 4