Last night she’d found the courage to ask him not to continue. That should have been the end of it, but he was stirring things up again, trampling on her exquisite memories.
She knew she’d replay those scenes in her mind for months—years?—and she wanted them left unsullied. Her wistful recollections of their brief time together would have been consolation on the far side of the world, but not if he tarnished and trashed them.
“I wasn’t hurt yesterday, Christian,” she said in a shaky voice. “But you’re doing a very good job of hurting me now. Let’s just leave it. It happened. It won’t be happening again—but don’t grind it into the dirt.” She stared out through the windscreen, teeth clenched.
The harbor sparkled. The gulls wheeled in the summer sky. And her heart, or something very near to it, felt as though it had ripped apart.
He swung around in the driver’s seat, eyes hugely black. “I was not grinding it into the dirt,” he grated.
Fiona jumped at his sudden movement and fierce declaration.
“God—you have no idea what I went through yesterday. You can’t imagine how I whipped myself for letting that happen!”
“Twice,” she muttered.
“Yes, all right then—bloody twice. I can’t keep my hands off you. My wife is hardly dead and I’m chasing the pants off her sister. Sick or what?”
They sat together in stunned silence, staring at each other. With a sudden curse, he started the engine and shot backwards out of the parking space. Fiona gasped and doubled over as the seat belt bit savagely into the big graze across her hip.
Christian realized what he’d done and rolled back into the park, braking gently. He unsnapped his own belt and gathered her into his arms.
“Blondie, I’m so sorry, so sorry. I’d give anything not to have done that to you.” He stroked her face, pressed his lips against her brow, and with a groan of absolute defeat, nuzzled down until his mouth once again claimed hers.
Fiona reeled from pain and confusion and rapture. After nearly killing her with unkind words and physical agony, he’d swept her yet again into his possessive embrace. This time his kiss was gentler, regretful, tender. She followed him blindly, emotions in utter disarray.
Finally she drew back from him.
“Christian,” she whispered. “We can’t keep doing this. And not here, for sure. It’s too public. Your face is too well-known...”
He glanced at his watch. “And it’s almost time for your appointment. Dammit, Fiona...” He shrugged his shoulders, blew out a long breath of resignation, and reached for his seat belt again.
“I’ll go home to Mom and Dad’s the day you’re due back from Japan. Out of sight, out of mind.”
Christian fired up the car and reversed with care.
“Wanna bet, doll?” he drawled in a cartoon accent.
“I can’t stay longer.”
“I know. You’re right...you’re right. But it’ll kill me not having you around.”
“You spent most of your time trying to get rid of me.”
“I can’t have you, but I don’t want to let you go.” He pulled out into the traffic with a bitter laugh.
“It’s the shock of losing Jan,” she said. “Nothing’s normal right now. Once some time goes by, you’ll be different. Busy with work again. Getting back into life.”
She hated the truth she’d so precisely described.
“And you’ll be on the other side of the world.”
“Problem solved.”
“If you say so...”
The big silver car gathered speed and she settled deeper into her leather-scented seat. “Blondie?” she inquired, with a lift of her eyebrows.
“Who?” he asked, his expression innocent.
“You called me Blondie.”
“Did I?”
Blondie. He has a special name for me.
Christian drew up close to the clinic’s entrance and insisted on helping her from the car and making sure she was steady on her crutches. He went to re-park as soon as he’d seen her safely seated in the waiting room.
Her injuries were checked, stitches inspected, dressings replaced, and her concussion discussed.
When they peeled away the pad above her eye she asked, “Can I see what I’ve done there?”
The nurse produced a mirror. “Don’t worry—it won’t look anything like that in a few weeks.”
Fiona grimaced at the stitched-up gash, yellow with iodine.
“What a mess,” she murmured. No wonder Christian had been so concerned.
“At least you didn’t damage any teeth or endanger your eyesight. You’re healing beautifully. We can cover that with something smaller now. Stitches out on Tuesday. Make the appointment with reception as you leave please, Miss Delaporte.” Fiona hobbled out and Christian went to retrieve the car.
Once they’d pulled onto the main road again he said, “I think I’ll drop you back to the house and go to work for the afternoon.”
“That’ll take care of our little problem,” she agreed.
“It’s good to see a bit more of you, anyway.” He looked pointedly at the wound above her eye, now covered with a much smaller dressing.
“They’ve taken the big one off my knee, too.” She slid her skirt aside to reveal her much smaller patch.
“Don’t tempt me!” he growled, directing his attention back to his driving.
They proceeded across the city and swooped up the steep roads on Mt Victoria again until they were home. From the street frontage, the garage damage was very obvious.
“Poor lovely house,” Fiona said as they slowed for the gates to swing aside.
“I’ve got plans for it.”
“You’re not selling it?”
He shook his head. “No way. But I want the security upgraded after this. The best there is. I’m not leaving my daughter and a nanny here without upgrading the system to the very latest. They wouldn’t stand a chance if any more thugs decided to break in.”
Fiona shivered at the thought. “Good idea then.”
“I expect it’ll mean ripping pieces of the interior apart to get cables through,” he continued. “But the place is almost six years old now. Once it’s done, I’ll have it redecorated.”
“Everything?”
“It’s probably time. Have a think about colors for me. What should be updated and so on.”
“I wouldn’t feel right changing Jan’s choices.”
“It’s mostly the original architect’s choices. Jan chose the shade to re-paint Nic’s room, but that was about all.”
Fiona nodded, picturing the upheaval. “It’ll be awful to live in while the work’s being done.”
“Part two of the plan. I should be able to get things started a couple of weeks into the New Year. Amy Houndsworth’s planning to go and visit her sister in Melbourne. I’ll take Kathy and Nic out to the Lodge for a while. Do some fishing. Recharge the batteries. See if I can get my brain back to where it should be.”
“You’d better grab some paint charts then. Unless you want to get an interior decorator’s advice?”
She opened the car door and hauled herself out before he could offer help.
The rest of her day slid by pleasantly enough. Christian went straight to his study and reappeared soon after, shaved, suited and sensational. He grabbed a coffee and departed.
Nicola played sandpit games while Fiona lounged nearby, reading. Kathy brought a picnic lunch outside and then asked Fiona if she could watch Nicky for a while. There was ‘a really, really great sale’ on at one of the city stores and she wanted to nip down the hill for a look during her lunch break. Nicky was in a happy mood—Fiona foresaw no problems. Kathy returned in good time with a tiny blue bikini, which she insisted on modeling for them.
“Had a nice time without me, Blondie?”
Fiona stirred from her doze under the sun umbrella. Christian squatted beside her, flipping through a professional looking swatch of paint colors.
“Just the
thing for the front entrance,” he added, tapping a particularly bilious bright green.
He’d exchanged his business clothing for racy swim-briefs. Beads of moisture dotted his golden skin, and his hair was slicked close to his head. The scene in the en suite rushed back to taunt her.
From the side of the house she heard squeals and splashing as Nicky and Kathy continued to enjoy the big outdoor pool. No doubt Kathy wore her new purchase. She pictured the perky nanny showing off in the tiny blue bikini. Trying her luck with her new employer, maybe? Fiona’s teeth practically curled at the thought.
“Shame you can’t join us,” Christian said, stroking around the dressing on her knee.
Her heart-rate jumped with every suggestive circle of his finger. “Next week, maybe?” she suggested.
“Next week I’ll be gone.” His eyes darkened, sending a shaft of purest regret to shatter her composure.
“Next week I’ll be gone too,” she countered. “It’s Wednesday you’re back from Japan, isn’t it? So on Wednesday I’ll fly up to Auckland.”
“To get away from me?” He stood, challenging her to ignore him. She found it impossible. Her hungry eyes roamed all over his impressive body, enjoying his lean strength, unable to forego even a few seconds of his teasing display.
She drew a deep breath. “To see Mom and Dad for Christmas,” she corrected.
“Ah, Christmas.” It sounded so bleak the way he said it.
“You could bring Nicky up to Auckland for a few days. To Mom and Dad’s? We’re going out to the beach-house at Orewa.”
“And good old Greg and Rebecca could chaperone us? See we don’t get up to any mischief? No thanks.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Of course you didn’t, Blondie.”
Of course I did.
Chapter Twelve
On December 23rd Fiona stood her crutches in the corner of the bedroom for the final time and placed her presents for Nicky on Christian’s tallboy so he’d find them there when he returned from Sakai that evening. There were small gifts for Kathy and Amy Houndsworth, too.
She’d purposely bought nothing for him. After all, she was trying to discourage his attentions and keep him at arm’s length.
She thought this with a virtuous sigh, almost changed her mind, found her resolve again, hesitated, and at the last moment retrieved one of Kathy’s snapshots. The photography was enthusiastic rather than expert. She’d caught Fiona reading under the sun umbrella, long legs dappled by the shade of a nearby tree, with Nicky on the lawn beside her.
Fiona kissed the back of the photo, quickly wrote her mobile number under the faint lip gloss print, and slid it into his top drawer. What would it matter? She’d be out of his life from now on.
She zipped up her carry-bag. Kathy had already wheeled her suitcase to the front door as though anxious to hurry her out. She presumed the nanny looked forward to having Christian and the house all to herself. Fiona had no trouble picturing Kathy squealing and splashing with Nicky while he looked on from beside the pool.
With amusement or lust?
She bit down on her bottom lip and went to hug Nicky goodbye.
He was due back about six. She was in a taxi by four.
And for the twenty minute cab-ride, the thirty minute check-in wait, the hour-long flight to Auckland, she thought of nothing but him.
“Darling!” Rebecca Delaporte exclaimed as Fiona finally limped into view, the last passenger to disembark. She drew her into a careful hug. Ahead of them most of the other Christmas travelers hurried away. “You’re looking much better—I’m so relieved. But I wish you still had your beautiful hair.”
“Time for a change,” Fiona murmured, kissing her mother’s soft cheek and breathing in her familiar Chanel No 5 perfume. “Don’t start, Mom—I love it.”
“I suppose we’ll get used to it,” her father said. “It’s a small price to pay to have you alive and well. Prepare to be spoiled rotten,” he added, reaching over for her hand luggage.
“Well, she’s doubly precious to us now—of course she deserves spoiling.”
And just like that Jan crashed back into all their memories. The missing, much loved elder daughter, and mother of their only grandchild. The daughter who’d stayed in New Zealand and not gone gadding off around the world. All the unspoken words that set Jan apart. Fiona grimaced while her mother couldn’t see her face.
Then Rebecca leaned away and surveyed her with pursed lips as she swung briskly into doctor mode. They were almost on their own at the arrivals gate now, for which Fiona felt grateful.
“Stitches all out? No nasty infections?”
“No—I’m good thanks, Mom. They had me on antibiotics to start with, just to be sure, I guess.”
Her mother nodded and released her.
“Does a father get a hug as well?” Greg asked, holding his arms wide.
“Of course you do, but don’t squeeze this shoulder too hard. I’m still a bit tender there.”
“Rotator cuff damage?”
“They said I was basically fine. Just a big bruise that’s taking its time, I think.”
Greg shot his wife a meaningful look as he drew Fiona close and kissed her brow.
“Hmm, we’ll see about that. Might get you some more ultra-sound in case it shows anything.”
“Oh Dad!” Fiona scoffed as she turned to start the trek to the baggage claim. “Rest and sunshine—that’s all I need.”
And Christian out of my reach and out of my brain.
“How’s Christian coping?”
Thanks Mom...
“Sad of course, but managing,” she said, tucking a hand into each parent’s arm. “He had to go to Japan urgently, but he’s due back today.” They fell into slow step together behind the rest of the passengers. Christmas music blared from the speakers. Tinsel decorations glittered from high vantage points. Fiona barely noticed.
“And Nicky?”
“Poor wee Nic. How do you explain something so huge to a two-year-old? She’s still looking for Jan everywhere. Maybe a bit less some days than others. It’s hard to tell.”
“Should you have stayed on longer?”
Fiona shook her head and unlinked arms as they came to the escalator. She concentrated for a moment until she’d stepped onto it safely.
“No,” she said over her shoulder as it carried her downwards. “Christian found a really good nanny through an agency. He wanted me there while he was in Japan. To be his eyes and ears. But she’s great with Nic, so I had no worries about leaving.” She stepped off the escalator and positioned herself between her parents again. “It’ll be lovely having Christmas with you at the beach,” she said, hoping to change the subject. “You’re both okay?” she asked.
“No mother is ever okay after losing her child,” Rebecca said, glancing at her remaining daughter with suspiciously moist eyes. “But poor Jan had such a nasty time—well, I can’t be sad she doesn’t have to face that any more.”
“And she wasn’t going to beat it, was she? I was never quite sure from what you told me over the phone, but it was aggressive?”
Rebecca remained silent, and it was Greg who cleared his throat and said, “You have to try. You have to believe. I’ve seen things I wouldn’t have thought possible.”
They walked on in silence until they reached the throng around the baggage carousel.
“It’s a blue case,” Fiona reminded her father. “There’s a red tag on the handle to make it easier to spot.”
“I’ll get a trolley,” Rebecca said.
“No need, no need,” Greg said testily, as though it was a reflection on his manhood.
“I’d like one to lean on—it’ll make walking out to the car easier.”
“Of course it will.” Her mother bustled away.
Fiona watched her, admiring her trim figure and smooth blonde bob. Even on the way north for a beach holiday she wore a smart caramel skirt and an ivory blouse. Jan’s colors.
And her
Dad? His face was impassive and his silvering hair gleamed under the lights when he loaded the bags onto the trolley. How badly must they both be hurting?
Christmas morning dawned picture-postcard fine. Fiona lay in bed in the clear blue light, watching the curtains sigh at her open window. A hungry restlessness ate at her. She felt she’d barely slept all night, yet was acutely awake and alive.
The soft, regular swoosh of the waves enticed her out. Although it was only six-thirty she threw back the sheet, dressed quietly, and let herself out of the house. After just a few paces, she reached the sand.
Another two days of rest had helped the pain in her knee subside to a dull ache. She strolled along, feet in the frothing edge of the water. In the distance, two people and an energetic black dog also enjoyed the spectacular morning. A small yacht made very slow headway in the light air. There were no other signs of life.
Her mobile gave a polite trill. Frowning, she dug it from the pocket of her white shorts and checked the screen. Name withheld.
“Fiona Delaporte.”
“Christian Hartley.”
She froze mid-pace, savoring his dark growl, picturing his beautiful mouth and hungry eyes. Drew a quiet breath, unable to speak for a few seconds.
“How ya doing, Blondie?” It was asked so softly she could almost have imagined it.
“Better thanks, Christian. Much better.”
Although not now I’ve heard your voice again.
“So you’re up and about?”
“Going for a slow wander on the beach.”
“I thought you might be.”
“Um...?”
“You suddenly flashed into my mind, and I felt you were awake. So I’ve rung to say Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I wish it could be merry for you, too, but I guess that would be too much to hope for...”
“Life goes on.”
She pictured his chin lifting as he said it...heard both his quiet resignation and his determination to move forward as he clipped the words out.
“How’s my Nicky?” she asked.
Second Chances Boxed Set: 7 Sweet & Sexy Romances in 1 Book Page 91