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

by Rosalind James

  At least I’ve got clothes on. Regan looked around as the pain in her head lessened.

  Where am I and how did I end up here? But there was no sound apart from the quiet hum of the air conditioner.

  Thank goodness. At least there was no one in bed beside her. And the panties that matched the silk camisole were still in place covering her butt. Regan’s hair dropped in a curtain across her face, blocking the light as she pushed herself up to lean against the soft padded bed head.

  “Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakes. And she didn’t even need a kiss.”

  No. God, no. Please no.

  Regan knew that deep, sexy voice; she’d know it anywhere. She’d heard it in her dreams often enough over the last year. The sick feeling slammed back as she slowly turned her head to the doorway on the opposite side of the room.

  Rod Carruthers stood there. Tall. Broad shouldered. Jet black hair, his face more deeply tanned than when she’d last seen him just over a year ago. His bare, muscled chest was covered in water droplets, a white towel slung low over his hips, hinting at what was beneath. Regan lifted her eyes to meet the sardonic expression of the man she’d run away from.

  “Still sleeping around, Regs?” The disdain in his voice tore at her gut, worse than the sickness that was still roiling away in there. Regan fought down the solid lump that seemed to have lodged in her throat. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and glared at the one and only man she’d ever loved.

  “Still rescuing damsels in distress, Rod? Or kidnapping them?” She flicked a casual hand around to the luxurious room. “Now tell me, how the fuck did I get here?”

  Rod pushed himself away from the door, and Regan narrowed her eyes, ignoring the response of her traitorous body. It might have taken a year but she was over him.

  I am.

  Her body needed to listen to her heart. What they’d had was good, but it had burned into ashes when he’d doubted her. Just another man who couldn’t be trusted; she should have known that from the very beginning, despite him saying he loved her. Just like a man, he’d conveniently turned the tables and blamed her for what had happened.

  “I figured someone had to save you from yourself.” Rod knotted the towel more firmly around his hips as he strolled over to the bed.

  “I had one drink.” Regan fought to hold her gaze on his face, and not drop her eyes to the body that had taken her to heaven and back for six months. Although staring at his mouth was just as bad. But rather than seeking to give her pleasure, his lips were now curled up into a sneer.

  And she knew now that’s all it had been— sex. Despite his talk of a future together, despite him telling her he loved her. Talk was cheap and so was she, according to Rod. That last no holds barred argument had brought out some home truths.

  She’d not even had a chance to tell him she’d caught him out too, that Mandy had confessed to sleeping with him. Even though he’d accused her of cheating on him, they’d still ended up in bed after harsh accusations were exchanged that last night. Because that’s all it was and all it would ever have been—a sexual attraction that burned hotter every day they spent together. He’d thought the worst of her, believed lies about her and what had hurt the most—on the word of someone else. Regan had caught him out, but he’d blamed her for being dishonest and cheating before she’d even had a chance to raise it. And yet they’d still ended up in bed.

  As they always did.

  So she’d packed her bags and left him in Perth. Snuck out in the middle of the night without telling him that she knew he’d cheated on her.

  Broken-hearted. Devastated. Taken the first flight to Bali. Left him to his life as a cop, climbing the greasy pole of career promotion, not caring who he trod on, or who he hurt on the way up. Left him to take up with Mandy—his partner in the local area command of the police service. Left him gladly—she’d tried to convince herself of that for twelve long months. Self disgust warred with the sickness in her belly. Warmth was pooling in her belly already and she ached for him to touch her.

  Regan startled, her thoughts coming back to her present predicament when Rod sat next to her on the side of the bed. She gazed down at her red-painted toenails, fighting for composure, trying to look disinterested and not appear greatly affected by seeing him again. By having him within touching distance.

  “Christ, Regan. It’s a wonder you haven’t been found dead in an alley somewhere. Will you ever grow up and get some fucking sense in that head of yours?”

  The desire coursing through her fled as a red mist of anger pushed past her aching head. Regan turned and shoved a finger into his bare chest.

  “As usual, Rod, you weren’t listening to me. I told you I only had one drink.”

  He grabbed her hand and held it firm while she stared up at him. He was unshaven and the darkness of the stubble gave him a dangerous look. His black hair was longer than it had been when she’d lived with him; the short back and sides were gone, now the ends curled sexily on the back of his neck well past his collar length.

  If he’d been wearing a collar. Her eyes dropped from the hard chiselled planes of his face to his shoulders. Regan’s gaze followed the path of the water droplets running from the wet strands of his hair down onto his bare chest

  “When I walked into the marina bar, you were almost comatose, and hanging off a guy, who—shall I say—has a less than savoury reputation here on the coast.”

  “Read my lips. I only had one drink.” As soon as she said it, Rod dropped his eyes to her lips. He lifted his hand, and the rough pad of his thumb traced a path across her bottom lip.

  “Don’t.” Regan tried to make her voice hard, but his touch instantly brought her undone. It always had. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I suppose you’re going to try and tell me that old chestnut again. Someone spiked your drink?” He dropped his hand, and Regan let out the breath she’d been holding. “Wears a bit thin after a couple of times, Regs. Just admit it for once. You need to grow up, cut the drinking and stop sleeping around. What are you now? Twenty-seven?”

  Crack! She couldn’t help it.

  And he knows full well how old I am. Three years younger than Rod—to the day— they shared a birthday. His lips narrowed and she watched as his skin reddened where her palm had connected with his stubbled cheek. She ignored the smell of the citrus cologne she’d loved that was not only wafting over to her, but on her hand where it had connected with his face. Pushed away the thought of nuzzling her lips into his neck. She took refuge in anger.

  “Always holier than thou. Don’t you dare judge me! You know nothing about me and you never did.” Her voice was icy despite the heat that surged through her blood.

  “Oh, but I do. I know every inch of you. Remember? Every beautiful inch.” Thoughts of her pounding head, her roiling stomach were overshadowed by the white hot anger filling her when Rod’s hand landed on her leg and his fingers slowly caressed the skin of her inner thigh. Her skin twitched traitorously beneath his hand.

  “You want a good time? You don’t need to pick up anyone in a bar. I’m here in Cairns for another day or so.”

  And I thought I’d loved him once. Disgust with herself and her weakness for this man filled Regan as she shook her head from side to side. “Stop it.” She pushed his hand away impatiently and stood, but the thudding pain in her head came roaring back. Putting her hand to her eyes, she managed to speak. Barely. “Where are my clothes?”

  “Over the back of the chair by the window.”

  Strong fingers grabbed her waist. Rod held her steady before she could step away, and a shiver ran down her back. The chill of the air conditioning raised goose bumps on her skin and her nipples pebbled from the cold. Placing a hand on each silk-clad hip, he turned her around. His face was only inches from her breasts as she stood in front of him. Her nipples tightened— not from the cold this time—and Regan let out a small sound of distress.

  “Lie down and I’ll get you some Tylenol. You look like you need it,” h
e said.

  Thank God he’d misunderstood the reason for her distress.

  Rod dropped his hands. He stood and left her without a backward glance. Regan could hear him in the bathroom as she sank back onto the soft mattress.

  Laying there with her eyes open, she stared at the ceiling until he returned with two capsules and a large glass of water. She sat up again and took them from him without a word, before draining the water in one hit. It was like bliss to her parched throat. As soon as she’d finished, she shoved the glass back at him, rolled over and put her feet to the floor ignoring the hammers still pounding in her head. When the giddy feeling eased, she pushed herself to her feet and crossed the room to the window where her red dress was draped loosely over the back of the chair.

  “Where’s my purse?” Regan lifted the cushion and felt around the soft chair, before reaching down to the floor and picking up her strappy heels.

  No purse. She spun around. “Where did you put my purse, Rod?”

  “You didn’t have one. I couldn’t even check for a hotel key. Otherwise I would have taken you to your own room.” His eyes narrowed. “Unless you live in Cairns now in your own place?”

  “It’s none of your business where I live. Now where the fuck did you put my purse?”

  “Still got that potty mouth too, I see?”

  “Oh, grow up and stop playing games. Give me the rest of my things. I’ll get changed and take my cheap body and potty mouth out of your saintly world.”

  “Never a cheap body, Regs.” Rod lifted his arm and ran his hand through his hair and the towel slipped a little. Regan kept her eyes fixed firmly above his waist.

  “I’m telling the truth. You didn’t have one. Sweetheart, I carried you in.” He pointed to the dress she now clutched in front of her breasts. “One slinky red dress that I had hell’s own trouble getting off you.” He flicked his glance lower and pointed to the shoes in her hand. “One pair of shoes and no purse. And the sexy red thong and bra. Still like expensive underwear, I see.”

  Regan groaned and covered her eyes. Prickly heat ran through her at the thought of Rod carrying her in, and undressing her while she was out like a light.

  My credit cards, my cash. Everything she owned had been in that purse because she’d not wanted to leave it in the cheap hotel with the cardboard-thin doors. The only thing she’d left behind was her cell phone hidden in the lining of her case. She’d had no one to ring in Cairns so she’d left it behind. Life was a bit lonely these days but that still didn’t mean she was going to welcome Rod Carruthers back into her life with open arms. Hell would freeze over first.

  “What time is it?” She had to get out of here. Luckily she’d left her key at the hotel desk because it wouldn’t fit in her purse.

  “Almost noon. You’ve slept over twelve hours. I was giving you till noon before I woke you.”

  “Holy hell.” Regan jumped out of the bed and scurried barefooted to the bathroom door, clutching her dress over her breasts. She couldn’t be late for her appointment. Her future depended on it.

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  About the Author

  #1 bestselling author in Amazon Romance series.

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  Author of the Year 2014 Ausrom Readers' Choice

  Annie lives in Australia, on the beautiful north coast of New South Wales. She sits in her writing chair and looks out over the tranquil Pacific Ocean. She has fulfilled her lifelong dream of becoming an author, and is producing books at a prolific rate.

  She writes contemporary romance and loves telling the stories that always have a happily ever after. She lives with her very own hero of many years and they share their home with "Bob" the dog, and two white cats, who hide when the grandchildren come to visit.

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  Christmas Holiday Hearts

  (Heartlands, Book 2)

  by

  Kris Pearson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is co-incidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Kris Pearson

  Cover photograph dreamstimes.com

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author.

  Ellie McKenna accepts a holiday tutoring assignment for five-year old twins on a huge New Zealand farm. She finds to her consternation that the farmer is Tony Robinson, her first and only lover from eleven years ago. And the father of her son.

  For more information about this author, visit http://www.krispearson.com/

  As always, love and thanks to Philip for the covers, and the unfailing encouragement and computer un-snarling. And to the rest of my family—my beautiful sister Merilyn, and her sons Eugene and Heath.

  Chapter One—Consternation

  Ellie woke with a jump. Bright New Zealand sunlight streamed in from the balcony. Unfamiliar countryside noises floated on the summer air. Several of the farm dogs barked up a frenzy not too far away, and the ocean roared incessantly in the background.

  A glance at her watch had her cursing softly. A quarter to eight—no way to impress her new employer. And what about the twin daughters she was here to tutor? She didn’t want them waiting in their schoolroom, wondering where their tardy teacher was.

  Scrambling from the huge bed, she showered in haste, then dragged on the first clothes that came to hand—the jeans she’d travelled in yesterday and a fresh yellow and white striped T-shirt. She pulled her dark hair into a ponytail and ran peachy gloss quickly over her lips.

  Embarrassed, and still somewhat dishevelled, she raced down the grand staircase and into the deliciously scented farmhouse kitchen.

  “Bacon and eggs?” an amused male voice asked. There was a rustle of newsprint, and the farmer lowered his paper and glanced over the top of the pages at her.

  Ellie registered dark eyes. A cleft chin. Hair cut brutally short. A once-loved face that now showed both sorrow and exhaustion.

  He managed to speak before her astounded brain found any words. “Ellie? Ellie McKenna? What the...?”

  There was absolute silence for a little time as she collapsed onto the opposite chair, fighting for her self-possession. “Tony?” she finally whispered.

  He laid the farming paper aside and lifted big shoulders in a shrug. “Tony—Robbie—whatever.”

  “You’re Robbie?”

  “Tony Robinson.” Smiling, he proffered his hand.

  Stunned, she reached out and shook it.

  “We’re being very formal, considering…” He left the rest of the sentence hanging.

  Ellie wrenched her fingers free, buried her face in her hands, and stayed frozen as waves of memory and need and confusion rolled over her.

  His grip on her hand had been firm and warm. One touch and he’d marked her as his again, as surely as when they’d been lovers in Sydney a decade earlier.

  Finally she raised her eyes to his. “Sorry,” she croaked. “That was silly. It’s just such a huge shock, meeting you out of the blue again like this. I had no idea...”

  Her pulse now pounded at least as rapidly as it had the night her flat caught fire and she’d struggled frantically to rescue everything she held precious.

  He shook his head. “Nor me. I asked Ginny to arrange the tutor for the twins. Your name would have meant nothing to her, and she only told me you were Ellinore.”

  “Awful
name. Ellie’s better. She called you ‘Robbie’ on the phone...” Ellie floundered into awkward silence, fiddled with a knife on the table, then tried again. “And Wharemoana Homestead didn’t register with me. If she’d said ‘Robinson’s Farm’, then maybe...”

  “Maybe you’d have wondered?”

  “Perhaps. Who knows?” She tried to keep her tone light as her eyes roved all over him. Because of course she would have wondered. Tony had vividly dominated her mind for months after she’d met him. Later, she’d deliberately forced his memory further and further back as her baby son claimed her heart and her life.

  But why now? Why, after eleven long years had her past collided head-on with her present, threatening to wreck everything she’d struggled so hard to achieve?

  She felt young and gauche. Defensive and insecure. Tony had disappeared from her life after one intense week and never reappeared. She might have hoped, but she’d never expected to see him again. She knew he was somewhere in New Zealand because over the past several years she’d heard the odd local reference to him—a forestry item on the radio, something to do with cattle breeding on TV. She’d Googled him the first time on one of the classroom computers, made sure it was him, and then done her best to close him out of her mind again. But despite her best efforts, here he was across a sunny breakfast table as though the huge gap in time had never happened.

  Her hungry eyes raced over him again, confirming he’d become an impressive man—still with that infectious smile now he’d relaxed a little. Thirty-five, she calculated. With beautiful shoulders straining the fabric of his blue polo shirt.

  He reached a tanned arm across to the counter and set the toaster going. Ellie watched his long fingers threading the bread into the slots. Once again her heart pounded along like a racehorse; her blood racing and raging through her body. Those fingers had traced every inch of her skin, teasing and taunting her—making it impossible to say ‘no’ on the softly scented evening they’d first made love.