Christmas Down Under: Six Sexy New Zealand & Australian Christmas Romances

by Rosalind James

  “Jilly?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “What the hell are you doing in there?” The sexy voice had taken on a dangerous edge. It appeared he was just as unimpressed to find her here, as she was to hear him outside the shower. “I’m taking a shower.

  “Why are you here? Did you follow me?”

  “Why the hell would I do that?”

  If he wanted to play nasty, she could be cranky too. She wasn’t at work and she didn’t have to put up with his stiff manner like she did most days at work. A tight smile with a muttered good morning was as social and pleasant as he got in the office. Even if he looked sexy when he smiled, he made no friendly overtures to anyone. Hence the Mr Iceberg tag.

  But she was at a disadvantage.

  At least he had clothes on. Well, some clothes anyway. Her nipples tightened as that golden skin flashed across her mind again.

  “Well, what are you doing here?’

  “I told you. I was taking a shower.” Her voice was as cool as her skin which was now covered with goose bumps. Strange, because the evening was hot and muggy. A cool breeze rushed though the shower and the back of Jilly’s neck prickled. A chuckle sounded from the other side of the shower door.

  “What’s so funny?” Indignation filled her at the thought of Dominic Smythe-Phillips standing outside laughing at her predicament.

  Wait a minute. Her eyes narrowed. The only way he would know of her predicament would be if he’d moved her clothes and towel himself.

  Another voice came from the other end of the verandah and Jilly strained to hear. There was someone with him. A shiver of fear snaked up her spine.

  Don’t be stupid, it’s only him—the storm was making her skittish.

  “Dominic? Look I need some help here.” But all she heard was that same quiet chuckle a little closer this time.

  “Dominic!” Her voice was shrill as she pushed away the fear that was settling in her chest. There was nothing to be afraid of. This was Dominic Smythe-Phillips, second-in-charge of the largest trading bank in Sydney and a well respected business man… and her boss. She sat outside his office and spoke to him every day. Okay, so she didn’t know much about him—never a personal conversation—but his quietly spoken demeanour and his rare, albeit sexy, smile told her he was a decent guy. Although he was cold and distant, he was always polite, never lost his temper and had never seemed the sort to play a practical joke.

  Like taking my clothes. Another shiver ran down her back and she leaned against the shower wall.

  “If you’re here, go away. Okay?” Dominic’s whisper was quiet and the floorboards on the verandah creaked again.

  If you’re here? Who else was there?

  Jilly looked around the small shower cubicle for something to cover up with but there was nothing there apart from the soap and shampoo bottle.

  That would be a great look, she thought. Charge out with a cake of soap over one boob and a bottle of shampoo over the other. Ta da! Hello Dominic!

  A door slammed somewhere outside.

  “Just stop it!” His voice was angry now.

  “Stop what?” Jilly called out. “Look , I…er…need a hand in here.” Oh fuck it. “I…I don’t mean a hand, I mean I need some help.”

  “I didn’t say that.” By the close sound of his voice Dominic was outside the shower now.

  “Say what?” It was like some sort of bizarre movie, nothing was making sense, least of all this conversation. “Look, Dominic…I mean, Mr Smythe-Phillips”—keep it formal or as formal as she could, naked and no clothes within reach—“I don’t know what you’re playing at but I would be very grateful if you would pass my clothes in.”

  And then go away.

  “What clothes?”

  Jilly gritted her teeth. “The clothes and towel you took from outside the shower.”

  This time she could hear the amusement in his voice. “So you’re in there in your er...shall I say… in your natural glory?” So he could crack a joke but she was decidedly unimpressed.

  “I am in here waiting for you to return my towel and clothes.” Jilly folded her arms across her chest. Her skin was drying rapidly in the cool breeze blowing through the half open slats of the louvre window. She was not finding this situation the slightest bit amusing, as her boss seemed to be finding it.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t have them.” Jilly couldn’t figure out the tone of his voice. There was another hurried whisper. “I didn’t take them.’

  “Who else is out there?” She folded her arms.

  “No one.”

  Bullshit. Another nervous skitter ran up her back. “Well, if you didn’t take them can you please find them? A pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and a pink towel.” The thought of him finding her undies blowing about the lawn brought heat to her cheeks.

  “They must have blown away. There’s a nasty storm brewing. I’ll go and look down in the yard.”

  Receding footsteps, soft whispers and then silence. There was someone else there with him.

  When she’d looked at the Audi at the service station, Jilly hadn’t noticed anyone else with him. But then, she admitted to herself, she’d been too busy perving on his butt to take much notice of anything else. She bit back a groan and reached up to squeeze some of the water from her hair while she waited.

  Chapter Four

  There was no sign of clothes or a towel on the verandah, or in the long grass at the back of the house. Not that Dominic expected to find them there. He’d felt like an idiot trying to talk to someone who he really didn’t believe was there, but Aunty Vi always said… Shit. Forget about that. He had thought he’d heard a laugh….and seen…something. Maybe it was just the wind and the moonlight.

  His suspicions as to where the clothes had gone were crazy, so he wouldn’t be sharing them with Jilly Henderson. She’d think he was a total fruit cake if he shared that with her. He also wanted to know why the hell she was in Derro’s cottage and how long she thought she was staying there. But the way things were shaping up, he suspected she’d be out of there at daylight. Or at least Dominic hoped she would; but that created another problem. The town was always booked out from Christmas to mid-January so there’s be no accommodation left.

  How the hell had she ended up at the cottage? At the service station, he’d assumed she’d be heading to Byron Bay, or even the Gold Coast. This town was for retirees and surfers; nothing sophisticated to do here. And that was how he’d always found her. Sophisticated and distant. The casually dressed Miss Henderson in the service station had rocked him.

  Dominic came back up the steps and looked around. The breeze had dropped and the air was still. The chill that had pervaded the verandah a moment ago had gone.

  Good.

  “Look, I’m sorry I can’t find them. The wind must have carried them further than I can see. I can get a torch and go looking further.”

  “No, thank you. Just go.”

  “Do you want me to go inside and get you another towel?” He stood outside the door.

  “No.” The retort was immediate and definite.

  “So… a nudie run?” The image that flashed though his mind made him want to hang around for the show.

  “No!”

  Dominic bit back a grin; he wondered what she intended doing. A nudie run would be worth seeing. Her staid black corporate suit had well disguised the lush curves the brief shorts and clinging T-shirt had accentuated. The tight pulled-back chignon had given no hint to the gorgeous red curls that cascaded down Ms Henderson’s back to that delicious rounded butt.

  He folded his arms and leaned back on the rail. “So how can I help?”

  “Go away and I’ll go inside after you’ve gone.”

  “No, I want to talk to you.”

  “Well, talk away.”

  His lips tilted. This little spitfire was very different to his quiet executive assistant from the office. A southward rush of blood had one part of him very interested.

  “How about I go a
round to the other end of the verandah, and when you’re dressed you can come out and we can talk?”

  “How will I know you’ve gone?” Her voice was wary.

  “Because I’m a gentleman and I’m going now. I’ll keep my back turned.” He pushed away from the railing regretfully. “Promise.”

  “All right then. No peeking.”

  “No peeking.” Sometimes being a man of his word had its disadvantages, but he wasn’t a voyeur. Dominic walked to the end of the verandah and looked across the road to the beach, keeping his back to the small outside bathroom.

  The north-easterly wind had picked up and, as dark as it was, he could still see the white caps whipped up out to sea as the lightning flashed. The wind whistled through the trees lining the edge of the road and the first spits of rain landed at the edge of the verandah. He looked up; the clouds were low and scudding fast. If he stayed much longer, he was in for a soaking on the way home.

  A door banged behind him and he turned around slowly.

  He couldn’t help the grin as he met the horrified gaze of one very naked woman. One very beautiful naked woman. Jilly was tugging on the handle of the back door at the other end of the verandah.

  Her wide-eyed stare met his as she dropped her hands to cover herself.

  “Turn around,” she squealed.

  Being the gentleman he was—damn it—Dominic let the appreciative smile slide as he swung his gaze away.

  “The door slammed shut in front of me just as I was about to run in.” Indignation seemed to have overcome her embarrassment. Her tone made it sounds as though she was holding him responsible.

  From the brief glimpse of long, slender limbs and the verification that she was indeed a natural redhead, Dominic wanted to reassure Jilly she certainly had nothing to be embarrassed about. But embarrassment didn’t seem to be on the top of her list. Without looking, he could feel the glare she was directing to him. He bit back a smile. Miss Henderson was becoming more interesting by the minute.

  “Who’s here with you?” Her voice was cross now. “Are they inside the cottage?”

  “Nobody. I’m here by myself.”

  “Bullshit.” The prim and proper executive assistant had long gone. “I heard you talking to someone.”

  “Uh uh, must have been the wind. There’s a fair storm brewing. Look”— Dominic went to turn around and remembered just in time—“you scurry back into the shower, I’ll unlock the door, cover my eyes and then you can get inside.”

  “All right,” she said slowly.

  “And then we’ll talk about why you’re here.”

  Five minutes later, things had gone according to his plan. Dominic had managed to get the door open; it hadn’t been locked, just jammed shut. He’d dutifully turned his back again while Jilly scurried past. Now she stood at the door dressed in a pair of shorts and a singlet top, her wet curls plastered to the sides of her face. Dominic’s fingers itched to reach out and lift the wet strands from her skin, but he didn’t think she would appreciate it. Ushering him inside, she pointed to one of the chairs at the old kitchen table—Dominic grinned, same wooden ones that had been there when he was a kid.

  “Now explain.” Her voice was short and her cheeks were flushed. “Did you follow me here?”

  He ignored the chair and shook his head. “Where from, Sydney?”

  She let out an exasperated sigh. “No, the service station.”

  “Why would I do that?” Leaning instead against the old bench top, he folded his arms, watching with fascination as a single droplet of water landed on her shoulder and slowly ran down towards the neckline of her tight T-shirt. “You’re the one with the explaining to do, not me. What are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here?” Her voice rose with each word. “I’m staying here for my Christmas break.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “And why would that be, Mr Smythe-Phillips?” Her voice was laced with saccharine-sweetness and Dominic bit back a smile. If it hadn’t been for the fact that she couldn’t stay here, he would have quite enjoyed spending a few days getting to know this very different Miss Henderson. This little red-headed kitten was showing her sharp claws and he waited for the reaction which was sure to come when he told her she definitely wasn’t staying here. He shrugged, putting on a casual air.

  “It’s my family’s cottage and we don’t rent it out. You’re squatting.”

  “Squatting!”

  “Yep, squatting. How did you get in?”

  “With the key!”

  “You’re still squatting. You’ll have to go.”

  “Be that as it may”—she turned around and picked up a scrunched piece of paper from the table—“this says that I can rent it…and I am. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care who owns it. I have a receipt.”

  Dominic folded his arms and leaned against the wall ignoring the piece of paper she held out to him.

  “No,” he said.

  Jilly took a step closer to Dominic and eyeballed him. “Yes,” she said.

  Their eyes met and held; he ignored the little jolt that raced though him as he stared at the golden flecks in her green eyes. They tipped at the corners and were beautiful; he’d never noticed them behind the square, dark spectacles she wore in the office.

  “You can’t.”

  “I can.”

  Mexican standoff. Okay, how could he handle this without looking like a complete fool? Dominic lifted his head as a fleeting shimmer of light flickered briefly. He stared at the wall with a frown and waited for a noise or…or something. He wasn’t used to this yet, so how the hell could he explain it to a stranger?

  He shook his head with a frown. It must have been the lightning. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up as crazy as Derro’s sister. Thinking quickly, he gathered together the most persuasive argument he could come up with.

  “Look, Jilly. Is it okay if I call you that?” He pulled out the best grin he could. “I’m more used to calling you Miss Henderson.”

  She nodded, hands on hips, chin thrust forward. “You may, Mr Smythe-Phillips.” Despite her belligerent stance, the nod was cool and regal.

  So it was like that was it? She was a tough player in the bank, and it looked like she was going to be as tough to deal with personally.

  “I’m really sorry, but you can’t stay here. There’s been a mistake. This place has been in my family for years and it’s in no fit state to be let out. Just take a look around.” Dominic ran his hand through his salt-encrusted hair. He’d slipped into town for beer and petrol after he’d been surfing and probably wasn’t dressed in a way that would assist his position here as a sort of landlord. “You could get hurt and you could sue us. I don’t know how you were able to rent it.”

  “It was in my staff email. ‘Retro holiday cottage on north coast, available to SBA staff only.’ So I checked it out online, talked to the guy at the phone number given, paid in full by cheque and here I am.” She narrowed her eyes as she held the receipt out to him. “To stay.”

  “What guy? What was his name?” Dominic stared back at her. Her cheeks were flushed.

  “Derek somebody.”

  Bloody hell.

  Dominic shook his head slowly. “Look, I don’t know how it’s happened but there’s been a mistake. There is no Derek. You can’t stay here. The place is falling down. Look around you. It’s in no fit state for guests.”

  God knew what could happen here during the night. All he knew was, he wouldn’t sleep here, and he wasn’t about to let a woman—albeit a very attractive woman—sleep here alone. “I’ll find you a motel room somewhere.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll pay for it.”

  “No.”

  Dominic should have known the tenacity that had got Jilly Henderson to the position of executive assistant before she was thirty would make her dig her heels in. Yes, he knew how old she was; despite the staff thinking he sat up in some ivory tower, he knew everything there was to know about his executiv
e team. She’d graduated with her MBA a couple of years ago, had recently celebrated her twenty-eighth birthday and lived alone on the lower north shore, not too far from his apartment. As far as he knew she was single; her personal life never intruded on her work at the office and she rarely attended office social functions. His mind ticked over as she stared back at him.

  Jilly’s shoulders straightened. She walked across to the door and held it open. “Look, Dominic. Is it okay if I call you that?” She parroted his words as she pulled the door open. This time it opened smoothly beneath her hands without the sign of a creak. He stepped through as she ushered him outside with a flick of her hand.

  “I’m not a guest, I’m a paying tenant. I don’t care about the state of the cottage and don’t worry, I won’t sue you. I’ve had a long drive, I’m tired and I want to go to bed.” She stepped back and stared at him, obviously waiting for him to leave. “I have no idea why you are here too. However I do appreciate your concern. Thank you and good night.”

  Dominic stood on the dark verandah and opened his mouth to speak.

  “I’ll see you in January,” Jilly said.

  The door closed in his face.

  Chapter Five

  Christmas Day

  Despite the booming thunder when Jilly finally climbed into bed, she slept soundly and dreamlessly. Mr Persistent Smythe-Phillips had finally given up trying to persuade her to leave through the closed door.

  “If you have any problems through the night—any—I’m in the cottage up the road,” he said, finally accepting that she was here to stay. “Don’t hesitate to call me.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not the litigious type,” she’d called through the door. What a bizarre conversation to be having on Christmas Eve with her boss. She still couldn’t believe he was here at this isolated beach.

  She had seen a completely different side to him as he had done his best to move her out of the cottage but she’d stood firm. This was her holiday and she wasn’t going anywhere unless he could come up with a better reason than the cottage wasn’t suitable, according to him.