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

by Rosalind James

  The rest of the morning crept by with her ears ever alert for evidence of Tony. She hustled the twins into the schoolroom and made a start on the promised reading lessons. Ginny appeared after her early morning trip to arrange flowers in the small district church for a funeral that afternoon. Cardboard cartons were produced. Ellie cut one up and taped the pieces together to look something like the Wharemoana homestead, complete with portico. They walked briefly around the outside of the house as she sketched in windows.

  “Whose room is this?” she asked, felt pen poised.

  “Mine,” Caro squealed.

  “And this one?”

  “Ginny’s window.”

  “This one here?”

  “The schoolroom.”

  “How many windows in this wall?”

  “One... two... three!” yelled Ants.

  “And what colour is the door?”

  “Red...”

  She proceeded around the rest of the cardboard model, pointing to windows, labelling them, asking the girls to add up the totals on each wall... subtract one, subtract two.

  “And whose is this window upstairs?”

  “Mummy’s one.”

  “And this?”

  “Ellie’s window.”

  “And this?”

  “Daddy’s one.”

  Ellie blanched. He was sleeping in the room next to hers. The other French doors were his. “How many windows on this wall?” she asked, less steadily.

  “Five. And the little bathroom ones,” Ants added as an afterthought.

  Ellie inked those in with a trembling hand. “And what colour is the roof?”

  “Green,” they chorused.

  “Okay, you can colour that in then,” she said, leading them back to the schoolroom table and pushing a box of felt pens and a paint-box across to them. Silence reigned as they concentrated on this interesting new game.

  She presumed ‘Mummy’s window’ was the master suite. Tony had not moved back into it. Maybe his memories were too vivid, his heart too wrecked to want to return there yet? Ellie turned her thoughts around and around.

  The picture of his drowsy body sprawled in bed just through the wall from her was hard to shake. The summer weather meant he’d be wearing little, if anything. She knew exactly how enticing he’d look... relaxed, sleepy eyed, deeply tanned. He’d been like that each evening in Sydney, ready to awaken her to ever more astonishing pleasure every time they made love. Once again the mere memory of his expertise had all her nerve endings thrumming—with tension and terror and a deep distracting desire.

  Chapter Three—Family Photos

  The afternoon passed with intolerable slowness and ever building anticipation.

  She couldn’t wait to see him again.

  Dared not be anywhere near him.

  Was desperate to hear his voice.

  Knew she needed to harden her heart.

  Late in the afternoon she paced about her room, unable to settle to anything.

  This is ridiculous. He’s only a man. A man who’s way in my past. Nothing is going to happen between us. Nothing can happen.

  If he finds out about Cal, our lives will be impossible. I don’t want him upsetting everything now we’re almost okay.

  So why, her aroused body retorted, are you so turned on? Why are you wondering if he’ll still feel as good inside you? As big and hot? As smooth and silky? As gentle? As out of control? As much fun as he was in Sydney?

  She gave her thigh a vicious slap to dispel the unwanted sensations flooding through her. God, this was impossible!

  Finally she slid out of her muddy-hemmed jeans and rinsed them in her bathroom. She pulled on a pair of white cotton trousers and shook her hair free of its ponytail. She was so not making any effort to look good for him. She’d wear her hair loose only because she’d had it pulled back tightly all day. It was for her own comfort, certainly not because Tony used to enjoy playing with it...

  She brushed at it hard, tugging at tangles, so clumsy and on edge that the hairbrush went flying from her hand and landed on the carpet. Annoyed beyond measure, she retrieved it and gave a last couple of impatient swipes before turning away from the mirror and leaving the room. Mindful that Tony slept next door, she pulled her door closed to ensure he’d never glimpse Callum’s photo—and nearly cannoned into him.

  “Hell, you scared me,” she gasped, staggering back against the banister rail and grabbing it for support. She leaned away from him when he reached out to steady her.

  He withdrew his arm with a wry grin. “Sorry. Thick carpet. I didn’t hear you either.” He rubbed a hand over his darkened jaw and sighed.

  Ellie registered the rasp of bristle under his fingertips. After his day’s work he looked rough and tired, and it was all she could do not to reach out and touch him after her initial shock. She grasped the rail harder to stop her wayward hands from wandering in his direction.

  Tony straightened. “How did the rest of your day go? Caro and Ants behaving for you?”

  “I survived. They survived. Fair enough start.”

  Apprehension stole across his face. “Are they a long way behind? Will they be okay?”

  She dredged up a consoling smile. “They’re bright little girls. They’ll be fine.” Catching sight of their photo amongst the others on the wall, she moved slightly for a better view. “How long ago was this taken?”

  “Just before Julia... died. I wanted to have one of them happy before she slipped away.”

  Ellie’s heart went out to him. Bad enough to lose your wife, but knowing how tough it would be for your children was a huge extra burden. “Good thinking,” she said, her voice catching. “It’s a great shot. Quite recent?”

  Tony rubbed his chin again, plainly not comfortable. “A couple of months.”

  She glanced away, sensing agonising pain was barely contained below his stoic surface. “There’s Virginia,” she exclaimed, catching sight of a young slim bride with a trailing bouquet. Beside her stood a long-haired groom with a handlebar moustache. “He looks like a real hippie with all that hair.”

  Tony laughed. “David? He was an accountant. Ambitious bloke, and conventional beyond belief. There’s one of Mum and Dad’s wedding here, too—and they’re looking much the same.”

  She prowled on, fascinated. If only she’d done this yesterday she might have avoided the huge raw surprise of meeting Tony again over breakfast. If she’d known this was his home she’d have scudded off like a frightened rabbit. Run for her life without hesitation.

  Or would she?

  That thought set her back on her heels. Could she have resisted seeing him again, knowing he was so close? She’d done that furtive Google search years ago. Now she searched the wall instead.

  And there he was, maybe sixteen, in singlet and shorts beside the stern of a yacht. Not too much older than Cal. Something twisted painfully in her heart as she compared them.

  In another he stood beside his parents under shady trees; the resemblance between father and son extreme. Both were wearing cricket whites. She leaned closer, and Tony said, “District Father and Son match. Summer school holidays at Glenleighton. They used to do it every year.”

  “But not now?”

  He shrugged. “Old Alfred Hamlin’s not so sociable these days.”

  Ellie moved on, eyes focussing on every photo of Tony. There he was again, looking infinitely more gorgeous, a few years older than when she’d met him—the tall confident groomsman at a wedding. “You cleaned up well for that one,” she said.

  “Matt McLeod’s marriage. We were at school together in Auckland. He’s a couple of years older than me, but we ended up sailing for the same club. Won a few races. That’s his brother, Hamish,” he added, pointing to the other groomsman. “It didn’t last long. Matt and Martine split after a couple of years.” He tapped the glass over one of the bridesmaids. “Julia.”

  Ellie’s mouth dropped open in a soundless gasp. So that’s who he’d married? She moved a step further
along the landing, but her eyes remained glued on the former image.

  “And that’s her again of course,” Tony said, pointing to his own wedding photo.

  Ellie followed his finger. His bride was fair, slim, delicate. He’d wrapped a possessive arm around his trophy, drawing her to him as though she was the most precious woman in the world.

  Her heart pounded with pain. He’d looked at her that way for one incredible week. Watched her with those eyes that shone clear as whiskey in crystal when the sun danced in their depths. Pulled her hard against his divine body. And kissed her with that fascinating mouth.

  Tony turned away. “Tell Ginny I’ll be down in a minute.”

  She jumped. She’d been miles away. “Okay,” she said, but the closing of his bedroom door made her comment unnecessary.

  Alone now, she peered more closely at the photo. She’d loved his mouth. Loved the full bottom lip that was so sexy she wanted constantly to bite it. Adored the precisely outlined bow of his top lip. Was so turned on by the sharp edges of something she knew to be hot and damp and sinfully soft when it wandered slowly down her neck or over her breasts, sucking, nipping, wreaking havoc with her senses.

  But his mouth could be hard, too. Demanding, voracious—biting passionately as they’d writhed out of control together. And she’d been willing to agree to anything he’d wanted—eager to make the flames lick even hotter. They’d kept each other as taut as piano wires, vibrating sensually at the slightest touch.

  He’d been twenty-four and she just eighteen.

  She sighed and closed her eyes in defeat. Why now? she wondered, as the hurt from the past flooded upward again and threatened to engulf her in its sticky coils. Why now, when I’ve finally got my life organised and under control?

  She trod unwillingly down the splendid staircase, knowing she’d be facing him again all too soon, and certain she’d have to guard her tongue, and her heart.

  ~♥~

  She helped Ginny set the big table while the twins bickered about names for a litter of puppies one of the collie bitches had recently produced.

  “Working dogs all end up with short, sharp names like Bess and Bob,” Ginny murmured, shaking her head at the girls’ fanciful suggestions which included Jennifer, Prince Charming, Marge Simpson and Furry-face.

  Ellie chuckled, picturing a hairy-legged farmhand bellowing for Prince Charming, but her laughter faded the instant Tony appeared—newly showered, and dressed in a pale grey shirt and charcoal chinos. Gone was the weary farmer; now he resembled a well-heeled tourist, a confident businessman on a sunny day off.

  She bit her lip, glancing covertly at his newly shaved jaw, catching the drift of earthy cologne as he walked past the open window and the summer breeze wafted it in her direction. Damn, damn, damn!

  He pulled out a chair and waited. “Ellie?”

  It seemed he expected her to sit as though she was a favoured guest at a restaurant, and not the hired help. Certain she was blushing, she sat. His hand ran briefly down through her untied hair.

  Just as she remembered. And exactly as she didn’t need.

  “Suits you better dark,” he said, moving around the table to take the seat opposite. The sensation of his fingers remained, and now he sat directly in her line of sight, inspecting her with lively eyes.

  “Can you carry the salad, please Robbie?” Ginny called. He rose to collect it. Ginny fossicked about in the refrigerator for dressings.

  Robbie. I’ll never get used to hearing him called that.

  Dinner was delicious—cold sliced lamb from yesterday’s roast, mashed potatoes, tender whole new carrots, and the huge bowl of assorted salad vegetables.

  Antonia picked out her strips of red capsicum. Carolyn sorted out her radish slices. Tony transferred them to his plate without fussing. “One day...” he said, raising an eyebrow at Ellie.

  She managed a slight smile. “They’ll develop a taste for them,” she agreed.

  “Yuck!” Caro exclaimed, as she bit into a piece she’d missed. The others laughed at her outraged expression.

  Even something as everyday as eating was difficult with Tony watching from across the table. Ellie dropped her napkin, spooned out far too much mayonnaise, and found herself imagining a repeat of that morning’s breakfast table kiss.

  You wish! she taunted herself, knowing she needed to keep a tight rein on her passion if she was to survive the summer... survive the eight long weeks of tutoring the twins so they’d be up to speed for school when the new term rolled around.

  Tony leaned back in his chair after the main course was finished. His eyes twinkled—as mischievous as Cal’s sometimes were. Ellie couldn’t look away; to see her son as he might be as a grown man was fascinating.

  “I’ve got an idea for tomorrow, girls,” he said. “I’m driving across to Bob Walmsley’s in the morning. If Ginny packs lunch for us, Ellie could take you fossil hunting in the river cliffs. I’ll come back for you about midday. How about it?”

  The twins of course squealed with pleasure.

  “Picnic lunch for four, then,” Ginny said placidly.

  “Well, that’s not what I planned at all,” Ellie objected. “I need to make progress with their alphabet and start on simple words. They’re far too young for fossils yet.”

  “But it’s fun,” Tony said, narrowing his eyes at her. “I used to love poking about. You might even find dinosaur bones,” he added, turning to smile at his daughters. Their eyes grew huge.

  “Like in my big book?” Antonia asked. Both twins raced off to find it.

  Ellie realised there was no getting out of it with such an inducement. “We’ll do the lessons too,” she called after them.

  Tony sent her a look that made her blood fizz. “Wear shorts,” he said. “It’s going to be a real scorcher tomorrow. You’ll need a sunhat.”

  She shook her head. “Burned in the fire.”

  “I’ll find you one,” Ginny said. “Did you lose a lot of your things?”

  “Almost everything. I managed to grab a few clothes, but extras like bags and hats and shoes went up in smoke. I rented the place furnished, so not everything was mine.”

  Ginny looked thoughtful for a few seconds. “Robbie,” she said. “There are still some of Julia’s clothes in the wardrobe. The ones that have never been worn. Would you object if I gave Ellie anything she thinks might be useful?”

  Ellie’s pride made her react abruptly. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s so kind, but I couldn’t.”

  “No worries,” Tony said. “Make the most of them. Good idea.”

  “No!” Ellie repeated. “The girls don’t need to see me wearing their mother’s clothes. Neither do you two. Thanks, but no.”

  “The girls,” Ginny said softly, “have never seen their mother in any of these. As I said, brand new. Never worn. I’ve no idea what to do with them. They’re far too good for the charity shop where I sent all the rest. And I don’t think trying to sell them is quite appropriate.”

  “At least have a look at them,” Tony urged.

  Ellie bowed her head. “Thank you. But... I don’t want handouts. I can provide for myself.”

  “I’m sure you can, dear,” Ginny said. “But what am I to do with these otherwise? There are a couple of dresses from Paris. Some lovely knitted tops. What size shoes do you take?”

  Ellie sighed, thinking of her battered old sandals and scuffed trainers. “Eight,” she murmured, pink with embarrassment. It would be the final straw—being reduced to wearing his dead wife’s clothes.

  “About a European forty? Worth trying, then. None of it fits me.” Ginny patted her ample hips. “We’ll have a look in a minute. Robbie can put the coffee on while we go up and see.”

  Ellie nodded her unwilling agreement. If no-one else needed them, she should accept them in the spirit they were offered. She had so little left right now. But it was galling to be an object of pity in front of Tony.

  “Have you got a party dress with you?”
he asked. “It’s the local pre-Christmas knees-up this Saturday night. That’s why I’m going over to Bob’s—he and Penny are heading up the committee this year.”

  “I’m not invited, surely?” she asked, knowing she absolutely didn’t have a dress suitable for a big country get-together.

  “You’ll be home on your own if you don’t join us,” Ginny said. “Or had you planned to go and see your—”

  “No, not this weekend,” Ellie interrupted hastily. “There’s—um—maybe the weekend following.”

  “We’ve got to wear dresses, too,” Caro said glumly as she returned to the table with her picture book.

  “And I want my hair like Ellie’s,” Ants added, reaching up to stroke the shining waves cascading onto the shoulders of Ellie’s lemon T-shirt.

  “But how’s anyone going to tell you apart with no ponytail ribbons?” she teased.

  “So you’ll come with us?” Tony said. It was barely a question. Ellie tensed, unused to being included so firmly in other people’s plans. She turned to him, ready to argue. And stopped dead at the look in his eyes.

  The late slanting sun lit half his face. On that side his skin was warmly tanned, firm along his jaw-line. But the rest of him was cast in shade. And both eyes were now so desolate that something hard and cold hit her deep inside.

  He was lonely. He was hurting. And that made him so much more dangerous. An arrogant flirt she could probably resist, but a grieving friend was a different matter altogether.

  Swamped with conflicting emotions, she pushed to her feet. “I’ll clear the table,” she said, with far too much enthusiasm. Anything to escape those dark haunted eyes.

  Chapter Four—Round One

  Dresses from Paris! Ellie ran her hands down the sides of the simple biscuit-coloured linen shift which Ginny had persuaded her to slip into; it was loose enough to skim the curves of her body elegantly, and a wonderful foil for her dark hair. It was a far cry from the chain-store clothes she was used to—or the church-shop finds her mother sometimes pressed on her.

  There was an emerald green silk party dress, too—bodice cut on a slant to reveal one shoulder. Several pretty knitted tops, striped and plain. And a lightweight wool crepe suit in palest grey, with impossibly fine braiding on the cuffs and lapels. Ellie could think of no event in her life that would ever require such an expensive ensemble as the dove-grey suit.