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

by Rosalind James

  And now, he was here.

  She took a deep breath.

  Get a grip, Portman. It’s only Michael. Your brother’s best friend. Get a grip.

  She unlocked the door and pulled it open, and stared up at him as he looked down at her, a half-smile on his face.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked finally. She’d heard he’d been overseas for a bit, but that had been months ago.

  Odd how the people she loved the most seemed to take off.

  Funny how she seemed to stay put.

  He said in a mock shudder, “I know this is Auckland, and it’s hardly the deep south, but this supposed summer has turned to winter, and you're making me stand outside.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at the unimpressed expression on his face. "I suppose I should say something like - I’m sorry?”

  His mouth curled. “You could say it like you actually mean it. Before I freeze to death.”

  She gave a fake, heavy sigh. “Then get your butt inside.”

  She stepped back to let him through, and said, “We don’t do freezing in summer. Well, not usually.” It had been an exceptionally cold spring, and she couldn’t wait for the summer to really kick in and make everybody happy.

  Except, of course, for that whole Christmas thing. The dreams. And the memories.

  Michael passed, his hands shrugged into the pockets of his trousers.

  He looked the same.

  His hair expertly cut and so dark it passed for black, unless you looked closely. Tall, broad shouldered, and looking like he could grace the cover of any men’s magazine.

  She shut the door, bolted it, took a breath in a vain attempt to feel calm, and turned to face him.

  After all this time – all these months – why had he come round?

  And how was it that she felt as insanely attracted to him as she had before life had gone crazy on them?

  How was that even possible when she hadn’t seen him?

  He watched her, a look half of apology and half of curiosity stretched across his face.

  “You look shocked,” he commented.

  “You sound surprised.”

  They began to walk through the plant shop, out to the café.

  He said, “It has been a long time.”

  “It’s been far too long.” There was no shake to her voice, not even the slightest quiver. Good. She glanced sideways at him. “Though I wouldn’t have thought Auckland's suburbs were your usual stomping ground these days. Especially on a Thursday night.”

  He glanced at a display of poinsettias as they walked. “I could say I was driving by, saw the lights on, and wondered how you were doing.” They stepped through the arch leading to the café. The scent of lemon cleaner chased by the residual smell of coffee that never seemed to go away was still strong.

  He looked back at Penny. “But I wasn’t driving by, and I wasn’t even sure you were here.”

  He turned to face her. “And this is crazy.”

  “What’s crazy?”

  He opened his arms. “This. Don’t I get a hug?”

  Without a word, she stepped forward into his embrace, into the strength and warmth of him, and let his arms fold around her, as his chin touched her forehead. She closed her eyes, then squeezed them tighter and pressed her face closer to his jacket. She let the thoughts go from her mind as they stood like that, silently.

  Finally, his voice low, he murmured, “It’s so good to see you again, Pen. I’ve missed you.”

  Had he? Then why had he waited so long to come and see her? Why?

  “I’ve missed you, too,” she said. Had he just come from the gym, just showered? He'd always smelt good, though maybe that was just her, liking everything about him. Every damned thing. Like she’d been doing for years.

  He pulled back, his hands gripping her shoulders as he let his gaze slip over her face. “So tell me. What's been happening in the world of Penny Portman?”

  She shrugged as he dropped his hands away and she gestured around the café. “Nothing really. Baking for the starving hordes. Spritzing plants. Running the shop for Mum and Dad.” Had she always sounded so pathetic?

  She pushed that thought aside. “What about you?”

  He shrugged his hands into his trouser pockets, the lapels of the jacket parting to reveal a white shirt, opened at the neck with his tie loosened. He’d always kept in amazing shape, but there’d been nothing vain about it. He just preferred a body that could keep up with his drive and his determination.

  She said, “Are you still living down by the waterfront?”

  He nodded. “But I’ve been working down in South Auckland all day. I’m meeting Carl for a business dinner in Parnell.” He checked his wrist watch. “In thirty minutes. Looks like you’ve finished up or do you do the business paperwork too?”

  She followed his gaze to the table where a lemon cupcake sat alongside a messy stack of paperwork, and where her laptop screen with the real estate pages had thankfully gone to sleep.

  He gestured to the cake. “Looks good. What is it?”

  “Lemon and orange with white chocolate. It’s a new experiment. I’m thinking of calling it Citrus Jaffa. Do you want one? There are a couple left over.”

  “I’m tempted.” He grinned. “But I’ll keep my appetite for dinner.”

  He looked back at her thoughtfully and scrutinized her for a long, silent moment. Her face grew heated, a whisker off a full-scale adolescent blush. What was he thinking?

  Suddenly self-conscious, she said, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  He said, “I was thinking how you once said you’d never be back working for your parents again, and yet. Here you are.”

  “I know.” She looked around on a sigh. “But I’m just doing it for a short while.”

  “I heard Jackie and Dave had gone away for an extended holiday. When are they back?”

  The million dollar question. “I don’t know. They’ve been gone four months already.”

  His forehead creased further. “Four months? Are they taking a cruise?”

  “No. Nothing quite so flash. They’re just travelling and trying to get away from it all.” She picked up a pot plant from the table and inspected the leaves; more for something to do than to check the health of the plant.

  He said, “You mean they left you?”

  She glanced sideways at him. “They didn’t leave me.”

  “Sounds to me like they did.”

  “There wasn’t a lot of choice. They worked themselves into the ground, and with Greg’s illness-” She pulled a dead leaf from the plant with more force than it needed. “When Dad knew he had to take Mum away, he didn’t want just anyone managing this place.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, they’re in Australia at the moment. They’re staying with mum’s sister up in Queensland and I’m housesitting their place with Michelle.”

  Michael examined a noticeboard on the wall but she doubted he was reading notices about her cake decorating classes or how to add life to a pot plant. Not when Greg had been his closest friend from high school. The brother he’d never had.

  “It crossed my mind your folks might sell this place.” He turned around. “Maybe retire early, or start up a new venture.”

  She shook her head. “There’s no way they’d part with the shop. Dad will be working here until you have to drag him out.”

  “And you?” He picked up the plant she'd just set down and examined the label. “What are your plans?”

  She shot a quick glance at the laptop. There were her plans. All secret until she knew it was going to work out.

  “Things are on the back burner for now, until I know what Mum and Dad are doing. Mum just couldn’t cope after Greg died. The months went by and she just fell completely apart.”

  “It’s been hardly any time at all.” Michael put the plant down. “Not when it comes to that degree of loss. Which is why I wondered if they would sell up the business. Change can help.”

  "They haven't
considered selling the business. At least, that I know of. But they were talking about putting the house on the market.”

  “The house?” Shock moved across his face. “You’re kidding. They’re thinking of selling the house?”

  “I know. I don’t want them to either but there are a lot of memories of Greg from when Mum was looking after him at home. They seem to overshadow the times when he was – you know - the old, healthy Greg.”

  Michael's eyes darkened. He’d spent more of his teen years in the Portman house than he had in his own.

  He said, “That's their decision, of course, and maybe it’s the right one, especially for Jackie." He glanced around. "You know I have a lot of time for your folks, but it strikes me as odd they'd make that decision even though they had no qualms about leaving you.”

  Exasperation settled quickly in her stomach. When would he ever think of her as an adult, a fully grown adult, and not the best friend’s little sister?

  He saw her look and misinterpreted it. “Pen, I love your parents and I know it hit them hard but you’re their child, their only daughter, and you're still here. Alone.”

  "You didn’t see my mother. You didn’t see what happened. She believed Greg would get better, she prayed for a miracle. She believed so much that he was going to beat that cancer, that he'd be well again, and when it didn’t happen, she fell apart and I did what any child would do for a parent. I offered to manage the shop for them.”

  Although the truth was that she’d never really had a choice. Her father had been painfully caught out on what to do. To care for his devastated wife who had nursed their dying son or to be there for Pen, the daughter who had lost her only brother. Pen had seen the confused, agonising pain in his eyes and she'd made the decision for him. She'd resigned from her job at a café in town, and taken over managing Portmans.

  “Then I just hope they realise how amazing you are," he said quietly. He pinged a tin plant holder. “You know, I’ve been thinking about Greg.” He rubbed both his hands down his face, looked suddenly weary. “I think about him all the time.”

  Penny swallowed. “We all do.”

  “It was one of the reasons I hoped you’d be in tonight.”

  “Oh?”

  He met her gaze. “I needed to see how you were doing, to make sure you’re keeping out of trouble. Make sure you’re okay. Doing my honorary brother bit.”

  She smiled against the unexpectedly sharp jab in her chest. “Greg would be happy, then, to know you’re keeping an eye on me. Like a good brother would.”

  He frowned at her. She hadn’t meant the tone in her voice to sound as accusing as it had.

  She added quickly, “And I’m glad you dropped in. It’s been great to see you.”

  “You, too, Pen.” He checked his watch. “And I better get going.”

  They walked to the door and she held it as he stepped outside.

  Cold air blasted in and she wrapped her arms around herself. The traffic was still thick as people headed home from work or out for the evening. The rain had started to fall, surrounding the cars and the people in a mystical haze. Perfect for a walk in that half-wet, half-dry way. Perfect for a couple, arms around each other, barely noticing the temperature because they had each other-

  Stop it. You're only hurting yourself thinking like this. Just stop it.

  “Make sure you lock this door,” Michael told her. It was on the edge of her tongue to tell him he had a nerve walking in and telling her what to do. He wasn’t Greg and Greg had always been liberal with his advice.

  She said quietly, “Thanks for stopping by.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, watched her a long moment. “I’m glad I did.”

  He gave her a nod - the kind of nod he probably gave a stranger he passed in the street - and then he was gone.

  Penny shut the door, and leant back against it.

  Her heart was beating too fast, and the feeling was familiar. Too painfully familiar.

  She pushed herself away from the door.

  No. She did not still have those feelings. No sane person had those feelings after all this time because no one was that weak, was that sad.

  It had been years ago she'd harboured that crush on Michael.

  Not that he’d ever known.

  And not that her parents or Greg had known either.

  The only person she’d confided in had been Michelle, her oldest friend from school, and that was because Michelle, at the age of eighteen, had momentarily considered Michael McGuinn God’s gift to teenage girls as well. But only momentarily, until she’d met someone else, and Michael had been relegated to a flirtation in her imagination.

  And with Greg gone and her parents away, there’d been no link to Michael, no reason for him to see her, to drop by as he had all through his teenage and university years, and no honourable reason for her to see him.

  She stopped by the window, and caught her reflection. Her stomach dipped.

  There was nothing honourable about the way she felt about him, and hadn’t been for a long time.

  Yeah. She was kidding herself she’d ever got over him.

  She was so far out of Michael’s league anyway. Yes, she resembled Greg, and Greg had inherited everything good from their parents, but somehow on her, it was just… Plain. Plain brown hair and plain blue eyes. Her optometrist had once told her she had amazing blue eyes but then she’d had them all her life and they just seemed plain and not at all amazing. They were hidden behind glasses most of the time anyway.

  Even worse, the weight she’d lost over the grief of Greg’s death had come back now she’d been able to bake more. It was her love, her passion, and now she was more hip and thigh than she’d ever been.

  Michael had gone out with slinky women who could wear four inch heels without breaking a limb.

  She went back to the table, back to the laptop, back to the fruitless task of looking for the perfect, affordable shop in the perfect location.

  Because the truth was simple.

  She could conjure up scenarios all she liked and she could even dream about herself and Michael being together. But the reality…

  She closed her eyes a moment.

  The reality was that Michael has only ever thought of her as Greg’s sister. As Pen who baked cakes. As Pen who was always around to have a joke with, a laugh with.

  And she doubted he was ever going to think of her in any other way. Ever.

  Chapter Two

  “PENNY? Phone for you.”

  Penny set down the spray bottle, and dragged a tissue from her pocket just in time. She sneezed.

  Her flatmate, Michelle, shuddered. “You look awful.”

  “I feel awful. Worse than awful.” She blew her nose. “I feel disgusting.”

  Penny noted Michelle didn’t look much better. She took the phone and cleared her throat. But then, this is what happened when you neglected housework and decided spring cleaning was in order. Even though spring had gone.

  Pen was under no illusions what this uncharacteristic surge of domestic energy was about. The shock of seeing Michael. She’d barely slept for analysing it, then over-analysing it, then running through every single word he’d said. At least the ones she could remember. Then she’d overthought it all over again.

  At least dust allergies took her mind off it. Off him.

  She cleared her throat. “Hi.”

  “Hey, Pen. It’s Michael.”

  She nearly dropped the phone. “Oh. Hi. I was just…” Thinking about you. She cleared her throat. “This is a surprise.”

  She looked up to find Michelle watching her with raised eyebrows. Penny had conveniently–or deliberately, whichever way you chose to look at it-not mentioned Michael had come into the café last night.

  “So… To what do I owe the honour of your call?”

  “I need to ask your advice.”

  She frowned. “You’re asking me for advice? Really?”

  Michelle mouthed, “Who is it?”

/>   Pen shrugged, and concentrated on the phone call as she flicked dust off the bookshelf and ended up flicking it back over herself.

  She sneezed.

  “Pen,” he began. “Carl and I are hosting a work function in a few weeks’ time. We’re thinking of a cocktail party, a kind of pre-Christmas thing, and we’re looking for a caterer. The last firm we used have moved on and it’s been a while since we did something like this. I’ve lost touch with who’s who in town.”

  She held the phone away as she sneezed again. “Do you want me to recommend somebody?”

  “I do.”

  At the same time a thought blasted into her mind.

  She could do it. She could cater his party.

  She’d catered before. True, they were cupcakes and English high teas and baby showers. But she could do something like this, and building contacts was what she needed if – when - she started her own business.

  She said, “So you’re talking finger food, a mix of savoury with a couple of sweets?”

  “Exactly,” Michael said. “And sophisticated. Some of our guests dine at the best restaurants, but we don’t want it to be too crazy, too outrageous but we definitely want some kind of Christmas things in there. It’ll be at my apartment. At this stage we’re thinking around 40 people.”

  Forty people. That was a breeze. She’d catered for fifty at Greg’s 30th birthday party a couple of years ago. This was just up her alley. And to prove herself to top end customers could mean recommendations. The kind of opportunity she’d never get any other way.

  She absently flicked the duster across the window frame. “You know, I could do it for you.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Pen…”

  “I’ve catered before,” she reminded him. “Greg’s 30th. Mum and dad’s wedding anniversary. A few private functions at the café.”

  Down the line, she heard him sigh, and her heart sank.

  It was a sigh of apology. Of regret. Of having to tell her ‘Thanks. But no thanks’.

  “This is important,” he said finally. “It’s a hugely important function. We’re inviting some high profile businessmen, a newspaper editor, a current front bench government minister.” He hesitated, and she willed him to change his mind, to tell her he’d think about it.