by Kris Pearson
As the door opened, he looked up and a sharply sheared-off edge of rock bit him just above his thumb.
He cursed and pressed the cut closed with his other hand.
“Let me see.” Not even any sympathy - just a demand to inspect it.
He grimaced and turned away. This was all he needed on top of her watching his every move, banishing his men from the house, and showing how superior she was by talking about family trusts. “It’ll be fine.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s dripping on the grass.” She reached out for his clenched hand and bent closer to inspect the damage.
Jason reluctantly loosened his grip. Bright red blood welled up but he barely noticed the pain. This close, her hair smelled like flowers. Her warm breast nudged against his arm. She was a million miles out of reach, but his cock thought otherwise. Jeez, she’d better keep her attention right there on his hand because although he was bleeding buckets he plainly still had plenty left to raise a rapid salute to her.
“Kick your boots off,” she said. “That needs cleaning out and taping up.”
Hoping to hide his rampant state, he stooped and toed off first one boot and then the other. Bent half double he followed her up the long hallway to the bathroom. It was no help seeing her peachy butt preceding him in those little white shorts with the shadow of the tiny black panties showing through. No help knowing she’d be leaning all over him to clean his hand, smelling sweet and female, and with her neckline gaping only inches from his hungry eyes.
She set the tap running. “You need to get some gloves.”
“I’ve got some.”
She tested the water temperature. “So wear them.”
Totally unfair. “I wasn’t into that job properly yet. I was waiting for you.”
“You’re saying it’s my fault you gashed yourself?”
Oh geez…“No, of course not. Filling in time, like I said.” He watched as she searched for antiseptic. There were plenty of first-aid supplies packed away in a box with a big red cross on its lid. “You look like you could treat anything from shark bites to flea bites with that lot,” he said, inspecting his wrist and praying the damage was only superficial.
“How’s it feeling?” She dragged an old yellow stool from the alcove at the end of the bath and motioned him to sit.
Jason eased himself down, and bent far enough to plant his undamaged arm over his groin. He held the other one out in her direction.
“Hmmm,” she said, perching opposite him on the edge of the bath and balancing a bowl of warm water and antiseptic on her lap. “I’ve seen worse.”
She took his hand and held it over the bowl, leaning to inspect it more closely.
Jason had no option but to stare at her tits. No option at all. Closing his eyes like a gentleman was definitely not an option - not with that view barely a foot away. Good thing she had a firm hold on one arm and he needed the other to cover the embarrassing evidence of his hard-on.
“Funky fingernails,” he muttered, watching as she dampened a cotton ball and started to wipe at his skin.
She glanced up briefly and then returned to paramedic mode. “To match the sea. A private joke. Like always wearing something red to arrive at Scarlet Bay. Is that hurting too badly?”
He shook his head. No pain there. Her gorgeous rack was an amazing diversion. Lower down however, he was in a fair amount of agony. He shifted uncomfortably on the stool.
She bent further to peer at the cut, first rinsing, and then squeezing the moisture out of the cotton ball for another wipe or two. “It’s just a small flap. I don’t think it needs any stitches.”
God help him, she could probably attack him with a darning needle and he wouldn’t notice. Now her hair tickled his nose, and he took a slow, deep breath of her. Expensive. Sweet and spicy flowers. Black lace and white breasts. Long eyelashes and gentle hands.
Total woman, and if she didn’t move away soon he was likely to do something stupid like lick the curve of her too-close ear.
She rinsed and squeezed the cotton ball again and gave a final wipe. “Press down hard with that,” she said, rising to tip away the pink water. She snared his gaze and her lips curved. “Did I distract you enough?”
Jason finally closed his eyes for a few moments. Couldn’t look at her after that. “Yep, very effective distraction,” he agreed, hearing the husky croak in his voice. He pressed down hard as instructed.
“Antiseptic cream,” she said, handing it over, amusement all too evident in her voice. “And there’s some gauze here so I can bind that flap down before we tape it. It should still fit inside your glove.”
Desperate to change the subject, he said, “I’ll try repairing the porch. See if I can get things functional again before the weekend.” He was damned if he’d acknowledge her feminine tricks any further.
She took over the binding and then turned away to close the first aid box. “Do I still get my guided tour of the house?”
“Yeah, of course,” he said, rising and beating a hasty retreat. “Come up when you’re ready,” he called over his shoulder.
*
Anna smiled as he walked away. That had evened the ground between them a little. How long since a man’s eyes had eaten her up so ravenously? After her messy breakup with journalist Tim Hathaway, it felt good. More than good. Such a nice change after several celibate months and all the hard work she’d thrown herself into after Tim had torn that hole in her life.
The builder might be rough around the edges, and he’d had no business taking over the best bedroom, but he trailed testosterone from every pore and caused all her neglected areas to feel very interested again. Female and desirable. Twitchy and alive. Maybe this week of sorting through fusty old memorabilia would be endurable after all if she had him to fantasise about?
Anna changed into her favourite black Prada ballerina flats - not the most sensible shoes for a building site, but hey, the house was almost finished. She found him waiting for her - peering into the old back porch with the smashed wall. She stood back and watched as he fingered the damaged edge of the pedestal basin and ran a measuring tape across the shower area. Sure of what he was doing.
Would he be like that in bed? Know what he wanted, and go for it? Know what she wanted too? Trying to banish such thoughts, she followed him up the roughly cut steps behind the hedge that led to the nearest of the new houses.
Hoolie bashed away at a timber planter box, wailing accompaniment to whatever his iPod fed into his ears. Brett laid planking on the huge deck area they stepped up to.
“Not far to go now,” Jason said with obvious satisfaction. “Come and see the rest of the exterior first because the carpet went down a couple of days ago and it’s ‘boots off’ inside from now on.”
Before them stretched the expanse of Scarlet Bay, shimmering in the late morning sun. Anna paused to admire it, and to break away from Jason’s disconcerting gaze, trying to remember it was only disconcerting because of her inappropriate imaginings.
It was entirely too easy to think about the way she’d grabbed his arm when she really had no need to. The way she’d bent lower and lower while cleaning up his hand. Yes, as a distraction for him in case it helped, but absolutely as a sexy thrill for her too. Her nipples had been hard as bullets, pressing and rubbing against the scratchy lace of her bra with every slight movement.
His gaze had burned.
She’d wanted him to look at her. To admire. To want. Because she’d wanted in return. Wanted to prove to herself she was still a sexual being after her self-enforced withdrawal from the dating scene. After six months of rigid control. Six months of not being disappointed yet again.
Jason broke into her thoughts by pushing an offcut out of her way with his boot. The timber flipped over against the deck with a noisy thud.
She turned away from her view of the crowds already milling around the Surf Club headquarters. Tents and marquees showed the area where the main events would take place.
“It’s
the Nationals here this weekend, so there’s plenty of action,” he said. “Probably be noisy as hell with the loudspeaker announcements. You’d better hope the wind carries it in the other direction or you won’t be able to think.”
She pulled a face at the thought, and turned to inspect the hill behind the houses. Huge spreading evergreens covered in scarlet tassels formed a spectacular backdrop. It seemed impossible their long gnarled branches could support the weight of so much foliage and blossom. “The pohutukawas,” she murmured. “Amazing, aren’t they? You know why it was called Scarlet Bay? Because the early explorers saw all the trees in bloom from way out at sea.”
“Is that so?” he said. In a tone that told her he already knew that, plus a lot more. He grinned at her and grabbed her hand before she had a chance to pull it out of his way. “Watch your footing along here, Frosty. Brett hasn’t fixed it all down yet.”
And now she could practically smell the sex rolling off him. Salty and soapy and tempting as hell. She wanted to breathe him in deeply every bit as much as she wanted to pull her hand out of his and put some distance between them. A safe distance. An ‘I don’t find you the least bit hot’ distance, because dammit… however annoying he might be, those interested twitchy sensations were getting stronger, and her thong was pressing against her in a most disconcerting manner. She huffed out a quick breath. Did he really have her that interested? And what had he called her? Frosty? She decided to totally ignore that!
“Thanks. I’ll be careful.” She tugged on her hand, and this time he let her go, but only slowly. His long fingers released hers in small increments until she was free, and a quick glance at his face revealed the corners of his mouth still curled into that knowing grin, and dark brown eyes dancing with amusement. Or invitation? Had he taken the view down her neckline as more than just a distraction while she played nurse? And what would she do about him if he had?
She turned away and walked across the deck to where glass sliders stood open, peering in at shell-white walls and an expanse of pristine carpet in a pale latte shade. “It’ll dress up well,” she said, imagining a few pieces of spectacular artwork, ultra-modern furniture, and plain linen curtains. So unlike the higgledy-piggledy family house below them, bursting with souvenirs and mementos, and furnishings of many ages from many sources. She’d need to mount her archived items in simple modern frames so they’d be suitable for the house that replaced it.
“You like contemporary architecture?”
His breath puffed warm in her ear, and she had to use all her self-control not to lurch away. Plainly the rubber soles of his boots made very little noise on the planking, or maybe Brett’s noisy work had drowned his footsteps.
Trying for cool, she said, “Definitely my preference. My job rather dictates that. I don’t think a lot of older houses were terribly well designed.”
He was too close. If she turned, she’d bump up against him. Him and his grin and his tall hard body. So she did the only thing possible - toed off her shoes and stepped inside.
“Chicken,” he said softly. “You play games with me but you can’t take the heat when I dish it out in return.”
“I…” Did she even dare try to answer that? “Was that supposed to be heat?” she finally demanded, somehow holding his gaze.
His slow smile caused her bare toes to curl into the crisp new carpet. “No - that was just a little bit of warm. You’ll know when it’s heat.” He turned and strode away. “Gone to the demo yard,” she heard him call to the others as he pounded down the steps.
She pressed a hand against her galloping heart. A suggestive grin and a bare dozen words had stolen her composure clean away. Not what she’d come to Scarlet Bay for. And definitely not from that kind of man.
She tried telling herself it was probably just the holiday atmosphere and the fact he’d slept a few nights in her bed. Nothing to do with his swagger and hungry eyes. Or his attitude of ‘I’m willing to play games with you, little rich girl’.
Who the hell did he think he was? And why did he think she’d even be interested? And, if it came to that, why was she? Intensely, as it happened, but she’d do her best to hide that from now on. If she could transmit sexy thoughts to him with such devastating effect, she needed to stop thinking them whenever he was around.
While her pulse rate slowly returned to normal she took her time exploring the almost completed house. As she drifted from room to room admiring the fittings and finishes she acknowledged he’d overseen a beautiful job. It was hard not to feel jealous of the people who would eventually own the house. Various older members of the Wynn family planned to holiday here over the next few weeks while the younger ones made the most of the old cottage, but by the end of summer they’d all move out so the new ones could be cleaned and sold, and the old one demolished.
Returning to the first big living room she reclaimed her shoes. Once again the splendour of the view stopped her in her tracks, and she stood for a few minutes picking out familiar landmarks from her high vantage point. The colours of the tents and awnings further down the beach at the holiday campground glowed in the searing sun, and the water dazzled like diamonds.
What was the other house like? Its exterior styling was much the same—pale walls, grey tiles, square pillars supporting a big sheltering roof over a deck sited to capture the spectacular water view. Even though the same architect had designed both, maybe a different project manager meant a different quality standard?
She picked her way over the rough ground, across the driveway, and to a portable construction hut perched on one side of it. No-one answered her tentative call of ‘hello?’ but the hut’s door opened when she tried the handle. She sauntered on, peeking through the house’s windows and feeling like a spy. Where were the builders?
This home had a more nautical air… hefty ropes between the uprights edging the deck… an aqua blue and white striped feature wall at the end of the big living area. Long grey granite kitchen counters gleamed as light played across them, and a vast double-door refrigerator sat in a purpose-built alcove. No dishwasher or cooktop or microwave though. Maybe those were the appliances that had been stolen? She twisted her head to see if there was an oven but the angle eluded her.
She tried opening the big slider off the deck. Locked. And having diverted herself reasonably successfully from thinking about Jason Jones and his amazing legs and arrogant attitude, she sauntered down the sloping driveway and back to the old cottage.
She needed to consider food for the next few days. Checking the pantry, she noted rice and pasta and a few canned goods. Jars of her Aunt Flora’s home-made jam and preserved peaches. The refrigerator was empty apart from containers with remnants of chutney and pickles. The freezer had an unopened bag of hash browns and one half-full of peas with a clothes peg securing the top. That would be her careful grandmother’s work. There was a box partly filled with crumbed fish fillets, and nothing securing it at all. Anna tossed the box on the counter. The seagulls could fight over the dry, curling contents once it had thawed.
She retrieved her purse and flip-flops and set off for the campground store a few minutes’ walk down the beachfront road, wandering across to the sand to watch the surf carnival preparations for a while, enjoying the waves crashing and foaming, and luxuriating in her unaccustomed leisure. She so needed this time on her own, even with all the curating work ahead of her, but the constant call of duty still ate at her.
Then she turned and looked at the straggling line of houses. The totally Kiwi collection varied from the most basic shacks with overgrown plots and peeling paint - plainly rarely used - to trim bungalows with colourful gardens and silver-haired owners. Boats on trailers sat in driveways. Occasional motorhomes were parked on front lawns, and toddlers squealed in inflatable paddling pools.
Now modern glass-fronted new-builds intruded here and there. Scarlet Bay was being gentrified whether its residents wished it to be or not. There was spare land. Ocean-front land, and higher land with views. All
of it would bring great prices for its owners, who, like the Wynns, wouldn’t hold out forever.
Anna shook her head a little sadly at the loss of her childhood, hitched her purse-strap higher onto her shoulder, and walked on, kicking at the bunny-tail heads on the grass at the side of the road, and stooping to retrieve an empty bottle to drop into the next garbage container. How could people just leave them lying around like that?
A friendly wave and a throaty “Kia Ora” from across the road had her crossing to talk with Nanna Kawhia who had the latest grandchild - or maybe great-grandchild - on her hip. The little girl looked solemnly at Anna with big dark eyes.
“Time you had your own,” Nanna said, “Or you got no good boyfriend yet?”
Anna forced a smile, refusing to think too hard about the child she’d given birth to, and had cruelly taken away. “Too young to settle down,” she joked, which brought a delighted cackle from the old lady.
“Granny by the time I was thirty-seven,” Nanna said, eyes alight with pride. “Eighteen, and then my daughter had her first at eighteen.”
“Goodness,” Anna agreed, brain full of bitter memories, “How young!”
I was fifteen when mine was born, and my child is now nearly fifteen, too. If he or she had a child at twenty, we’d beat you, Nanna.
Thoroughly sobered by that thought, and with her pulse thumping and gut churning, she walked on to the Hughes’ house and was soon caught up in another chat.
Chubby Thelma Hughes heaved herself up from where she’d been pulling weeds behind the low front fence. “Houses are coming along well,” she said. “Bill and I go for a walk along that way most evenings. We wondered when you’d all be arriving.”
Anna juggled her purse to the other shoulder. “Just me for a few days yet. I’m having a big clear-out in the old front one first. It’s a bit full of… stuff.”