Second Chances Boxed Set: 7 Sweet & Sexy Romances in 1 Book

by Tracey Alvarez

  Spent and gasping, he lifted himself off the bed and turned her, and they collapsed back onto the pillows.

  “Fucking hell,” he said. “My heart’s going faster than Usain Bolt’s after the hundred metres.”

  She chuckled. “A great cardiovascular workout.”

  “No kidding.” He kissed her forehead, and then, as she raised her head, kissed her lips, a long, slow kiss that warmed her from the inside out.

  Then he pulled a face. “Yuk. I can taste myself.”

  “You can’t complain. You started it.”

  “I absolutely can complain. I didn’t expect it. I’ve never done that before.”

  “No?” That pleased her.

  “You took me by surprise.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Again.”

  She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he looked content, so she snuggled up against him.

  They lay there like that for a while, resting, talking softly. She sang to him, running through a catalogue of songs and playing Name That Tune with him, seeing if he could guess them in half a dozen notes. But gradually the sun rose higher and Dion sighed, and she knew he was thinking about going.

  “What time’s your meeting?” she asked.

  “Two o’clock. I’ve got a bit of time yet, but I need to practise my speech.”

  She pushed herself up. “You want to practise on me?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Really? It’s pretty dull, lots of talk about delivery prices and pallet sizes.”

  “Absolutely. It’s not about me understanding, it’s about you feeling confident.”

  He smiled. “Well okay, if you’re sure.”

  So they ordered a continental breakfast, and over toast, orange juice and coffee, he ran through what he remembered of the speech he’d prepared. He was exactly as she knew he would be—confident, funny and knowledgeable, answering her questions by making her laugh without being flippant, and full of ideas for how to make the takeover work.

  “So what do you think?” he asked as they shared the last piece of toast and marmalade.

  “Fantastic.” She smiled. “As I knew you would be. You’re so good at this, Dion. I’d say yes anyway!”

  He laughed. “Yes, but you’re biased.”

  “True.”

  He pulled her into his arms and started kissing her, but she pushed him away. “You need to get ready.”

  “I could do with a shower,” he agreed. He took her hand and pulled her off the bed. “Come on.”

  “What? Don’t you know where it is?”

  He led her over to the bathroom. “Smart arse. If I have time for a shower, we have time for sex.” He smacked her butt. “Get in there.”

  So they showered together, and by the time she’d turned wet and slippery in his hands, there was no stopping him even if she’d wanted to, which she didn’t. He made love to her one last time, pinning her from behind against the tiles and continuing to slide his hands over her, obviously enjoying her wet skin even as he moved inside her. And she cried as she came, silent tears that mingled with the shower spray so he didn’t notice.

  And then it was over. They dressed and went down to the lobby, and hesitated by the revolving front doors.

  “I hope the takeover goes well.” She tried to ignore her hammering heart. He looked gorgeous, back to his slick business self, wrapped in his heavy coat to brace the cold wind outside.

  “I’ll text you and let you know,” he said. He’d asked her for her number before leaving the room.

  “Cool.”

  He took her hands and pulled her into his arms. She rested her cheek on his chest, wondering if his heart thundered beneath his coat like hers. “Thank you,” he murmured, and kissed her hair.

  “Thank you.”

  “I mean it.” He pulled back and looked down at her seriously. “It was great to see you again, and it’s been…” His lips curved. “Amazing.”

  She smiled back. “It has, a bit, hasn’t it?”

  He cupped her face with a hand. “You’re so beautiful.”

  God, she hadn’t expected this to be so painful. She bit her lip, not wanting to cry in front of him. “You’d better get going,” she said, her voice husky even to herself.

  But he didn’t go. He bent his head and touched his lips to hers. They were already sensitive and slightly swollen from a whole night of kissing, but his sweet, gentle kiss made a tear slide down her cheek.

  He didn’t say anything though, just kissed it away before returning his lips to hers, and she wondered whether he felt sad too.

  “I’ll miss you,” he said, confirming her thoughts as he finally lifted his head.

  “Go knock ’em dead.” She smiled brightly.

  He nodded, hesitated, then stepped back. Wrapping his coat tightly about him and plunging his hands in his pockets, he walked through the revolving doors and off down the Square, the snow falling on his hair and shoulders.

  She went back to her room, tidied up, packed her case, put on her coat, then sat there and cried.

  When she’d done, she washed her face and put on some makeup, went down to the lobby and rang for a taxi. She had another night booked at the hotel, but why stay? Dion was leaving that day, and suddenly she just wanted to be home.

  The text came through a few hours later as her taxi pulled up at the airport.

  Got it! Thx 4 all ur help, sweetheart. Luv u x

  Attached to it was the photo they’d had taken by the statue of King Wenceslas. It made her catch her breath. Her earlier self glowed with happiness, smiling at the camera. She hadn’t noticed he’d been kissing her hair as the man took the photo. Dion had a tender look on his face. Luv u, the text said, although she knew it was just an endearment. In another world, an alternate reality, maybe he’d come back to her hotel after the meeting and they’d fly home, make a life together.

  But not in this reality.

  The boarding call sounded and she pocketed the phone. This had been a lovely dream, but that was all. Time to go home, back to the real world. It had been great and he’d helped her move forward, lifted her out of the gloom she’d descended into after breaking up with Cody. The relationship with her ex now seemed like a black-and-white photograph next to the Technicolor beauty of the night before. But it was time to move on.

  Time to forget him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Christmas Present

  The next couple of days passed in the lazy, hazy way Dion remembered from his teens. Sean and Gaby took him, along with their kids, Megan and Harry, to a few places. They went over to Ninety Mile Beach where he surfed with Sean until their limbs ached. Then they collapsed on the sand to eat fish and chips, drink the ice cold Lion Red lager Gaby had brought with her in a cooler and make sandcastles with the kids.

  They drove up to Cape Reinga, the headland with the lighthouse where Maori believe the spirits of the dead enter the underworld, and Megan showed him the spot where the Pacific meets the Tasman Sea, the water churning white as the two seas clashed.

  They went over to Russell and walked along the beach front, Megan pushing Harry in the carry seat that clipped ingeniously to a stroller, and they stopped at a café and ate ice cream sundaes while the gannets dived in the harbour.

  Dion’s nephews and nieces had seemed to cry continuously when they were young, so much so that he’d dreaded going around there, and he never stayed more than half an hour, their incessant squawking making his head ache. In contrast, Sean and Gaby’s kids were well-behaved and fun, and Harry was amazingly content. Sometimes when he needed changing he complained, but Megan just picked him up and whisked him off, and within minutes they returned, the baby giggling and kicking his little legs as before.

  She fed him every few hours, and Dion grew used to watching her snuggling the baby up to her, feeding him with an ease Dion hadn’t expected.

  When Harry had his afternoon nap, sometimes Megan slept too—taking him off to Sean’s bedroom if they were at the house, but if they were out she jus
t curled up wherever they were and dozed with him, and he’d find himself watching them, almost envious, wishing he could share some of their contentedness.

  But he didn’t ask to hold the baby. And she didn’t ask him.

  He tried not to think about his predicament, or what he should do after the holiday ended. He could make those decisions later, but for now he just needed to…what? Heal, maybe, as if he was recovering from a long illness, something that only time would mend. Or perhaps he was just avoiding the issue. But thankfully they didn’t press him for answers.

  Sometimes he felt he was in a kind of stasis—frozen in time. He was conscious of his past all around him, familiar enough to be calming, comforting him like a blanket. And then he’d remember that his mother had died and his father had rejected him, and sadness and anger would flood him all over again.

  Just like in Prague, though, Megan soothed him, her presence enclosing him in some sort of protective bubble that, although temporary, helped to allay his worries about the future. But still he was aware of it hovering like an insect in the distance, waiting to get him as soon as he stepped out.

  First things first though. Before he had to worry about England, he had to meet Megan’s father on Christmas Day.

  He worried about it all Christmas Eve. Megan spent the day helping her mother, and Sean and Gaby went to visit friends, so he had most of the day to himself. He made his way through the steep slope of bush leading away from the house toward the small bay, intending to do some fishing, but when he got there he ended up just sitting on the rocks, staring at the turquoise ocean, lost in thought.

  Several times he decided he wouldn’t go and would spend the day alone, but he knew that was cowardly, and he had to face up to his fears. Besides which, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Not when she was fifteen, and not in Prague. Certainly not in Prague. They’d both been adults and she’d been completely willing—in fact she’d pushed him into it even though he’d tried to persuade her otherwise.

  Then he lay back under the shade of one of the pohutukawa trees with its flaming red flowers and closed his eyes in disgust. It was time he faced up to the truth. Megan had been on the rebound and had been looking for comfort, and he could just as easily have provided that with a hug and a few hours’ chat, without taking her to bed. He’d let himself be talked into sleeping with her because he hadn’t had sex for a few months and she’d looked hot.

  He opened his eyes and stared through the filter of leaves at the blue sky. But even now, he wasn’t being honest, was he? Angry at himself for losing the CEO role—even though he couldn’t think what he’d done to annoy his father—it fit his mood to cast himself as the role of seducer and blame himself for ‘forcing’ Megan to sleep with him. But he hadn’t cajoled her, and he certainly hadn’t dragged her to that hotel room kicking and screaming.

  They were two old friends who’d come together—pun intended—in an hour of need. Okay, maybe she’d been more in need, but that didn’t change the fact that it had been her choice. She was a grown woman who would have laughed in his face if he’d suggested he’d talked her into it. She’d broken up from a guy who sounded as interesting in bed as watching dark grey paint dry. She’d wanted to experience the sort of sex she’d heard about but wasn’t sure existed, and they’d had great fun. He’d been certain she hadn’t regretted it, even though he knew she’d been sad that morning he’d left. So had he—he’d thought about her all the way through his speech to the board of the paper company, remembering every place where she’d smiled at his jokes or suggested a change, and all the way home on the plane his thoughts had been filled not with the success of the takeover but with memories of the girl he’d slept with the night before.

  And he’d thrown it all away. He should have rung her, kept in touch. But he’d known that would make things a lot harder. He’d been working twelve hours most days, flying around Europe—there hadn’t been time to court a woman on the other side of the world. And it was arrogant to think she’d move to England just to be with him. Many times he’d picked up the phone to call her, but each time he’d replaced the receiver, thinking it would only make things more difficult for her if she’d been determined to forget him.

  And now here he was, in New Zealand. He’d lost the job he’d always wanted, and he’d gotten Megan pregnant. He’d screwed everything up, and he didn’t know how to undo it all. He couldn’t help feeling resentful that she hadn’t told him she was pregnant, and obviously she didn’t want him to play a part in the baby’s life or wouldn’t she have told him? So he was doomed to be an absent father, and the baby would grow up like he had, half-hating the dad who obviously didn’t care about him enough to hang around.

  What a fucking mess.

  And now he had to meet her father. Great. What better way to feel two inches high than to stand in front of the man who’d exiled him from the country, knowing he’d knocked the man’s daughter up?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Christmas Day dawned bright and sunny, and the weather forecasters promised it would stay that way for the rest of the day. Megan opened her presents at her small but pretty home in town, and turned up at her parents’ house on the edge of the inlet at twelve o’clock. She helped her mother prepare the meat and fish for the barbecue, directed her father to the bits of the pool he’d missed during cleaning, fed Harry, chopped salad, and did all this with nerves bubbling in her stomach at the thought of what her father was going to say to Dion when—or if—he turned up.

  She half expected Sean and Gaby to arrive and tell her that Dion had decided to stay at home, but just after two o’clock Sean’s four-by-four rolled into the driveway, and through the window Megan watched Dion get out, looking cool and gorgeous in khaki shorts and a smart, stone-coloured polo shirt.

  She went out into the garden, carrying Harry, and stood amongst the lemon and mandarin trees as Dion walked across to the house.

  “Hi,” she said, somewhat shyly, taken aback as always by how much faster her heart beat when he approached.

  “Hey. Merry Christmas.” He bent and kissed her cheek, although she noted that he didn’t acknowledge Harry at all.

  “Merry Christmas. I’m glad you came.”

  He hesitated and looked toward the decking, where her father was starting the barbecue. “I nearly didn’t.” He looked back at her. His eyes were tired, the cloud of depression still hanging over him.

  “Well, we’re glad you’re here.” She smiled and jiggled Harry in her arms. “Aren’t we, bib-bab?” She beckoned with her head for Dion to follow her. “Come on. Let me introduce you to a few people.”

  It was a small gathering—Megan’s aunt and uncle and their kids, Gaby’s parents and her sister and her family, but the friendly group welcomed Dion warmly. Her parents had warned them all of their strange predicament—that he’d only just found out he was the father of Megan’s baby—and as a consequence nobody questioned him about it, and she saw the relief wash over him as he realised he wasn’t going to be quizzed.

  The worry lines reappeared, however, as they went up to her father. He turned as they approached, and he put down the tongs and wiped his hands on a tea towel.

  “Dad,” Megan said nervously, “you remember Dion.”

  “Yes, Megan,” Richard Green said wryly. He met Dion’s gaze. “Hello, Dion.”

  “Hello, Mr. Green.” Dion held out his hand.

  Richard stared at him for a moment, then slowly accepted the handshake. “Call me Richard,” he instructed. “We’re men now, no need for formalities.”

  Dion nodded. “Sure.”

  Richard gestured at Harry. “Bit of a shock for you, I understand.”

  Dion glanced at his son, and his lips curved. “Just a bit, yes.”

  “How do you feel about it?”

  Dion blinked, obviously surprised by the question. But he lifted his chin and answered, “I’m not sure yet. We haven’t really talked about where to go from here. But I promise I’ll stick by her, sir. I�
�ll make sure Harry has everything he needs.”

  Including a father who loves his mother? Megan bit her lip as the words formed in her head, and she turned away, leaving them to talk now she knew there wouldn’t be fists flying. I’ll make sure Harry has everything he needs. Money, he meant. How medieval, as if he was king and she was some mistress he kept on the side.

  But that was unfair. He was telling her father that he’d face up to his responsibilities, and she knew her dad would appreciate it. Responsibility, status and respect—these things were important to men. The last thing Richard Green would be worried about was whether Dion had feelings for her.

  The rest of the afternoon passed smoothly enough, everyone dividing their time between eating and drinking too much, swimming in the pool and playing games with the kids on the large lawn. Megan took Harry into the pool in a special swim diaper, and he enjoyed it so much that every time she went to lift him out, he squawked in protest. Eventually though she took him inside, fed and changed him, then put him in his carry seat to snooze for an hour or two while she finished her lunch and snatched a half hour doze herself.

  She awoke when a shadow fell over her, and opened her eyes to see that Dion had moved the umbrella in its stand to shield her from the sun.

  “Crap, sorry,” he said, straightening. “Did I wake you?”

  She checked her watch. “It’s okay, any more than half an hour and I get grumpy.”

  “I didn’t want you to burn,” he said.

  “Thanks.” Her parents were watching them further along the decking, and her cheeks warmed in response.

  She hid her blush by glancing over her shoulder to where she’d left Harry in the coolness of the living room in his carry seat.

  “He’s still asleep,” Dion said.

  “Oh, okay.” Had Dion checked on him then? For the first time, she felt a little glow inside her that he’d bothered to check.

  He took the lounger next to hers and stretched out his legs, and she settled back, trying not to think of the time she’d kissed her way up his thighs.