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

by Rosalind James

  She looked away. “I’d love to write one of these one day.

  “One hundred and one ways to fill a Panini,” he joked.

  Frustration wrenched at her stomach and she carefully slotted the book back into the stack. Funny how that heart pulsing had slowed right back down to normal now. Funny how one comment could do that.

  “I do more than that. You wouldn’t have hired me if that’s all I could do.”

  “Hey.” He held up his hands. “I’m sorry. It was a joke. Though obviously not a good one.”

  “Forgiven,” she said. “Even though you didn’t sound very genuine.”

  He shook his head, smiled. “You know I was sorry.”

  The Christmas selections caught her attention, and she picked one up from the pile. “Imagine having your name on a cover like this?”

  “Would you want to do that?”

  “I think I would. But how would it happen? How could it?” She gestured all around. “Look at all this competition.”

  “For a start, you have to actually write one.” He took it out of her hands, flipped through it.

  “You need a…” She waggled her fingers in quotation marks. “A “name” to score a publishing contract like this.”

  “Penny Portman sounds like a name, and chief cook at Portman’s Garden Café isn’t too shabby. And,” he said, “speaking of cafés, I’m surprised the owners of this place didn’t open up a café here as well. I’d have thought it was the obvious thing to do. Like your folks did with the plant shop.”

  “They considered it. There was a problem with planning consent. Something to do with the regulations of the building.”

  “And you know all this, how?”

  She knew because she was making it her business to know who was doing what when it came to cafes in Auckland.

  “You might say,” she fudged, “that I have what you call an “academic” interest in any business that opens in the city considering selling cappuccinos and cupcakes.”

  “And there was me thinking the Portmans weren’t the cut throat business type.”

  “We’re just full of surprises.” She checked the price sticker, winced, and set the book down.

  She picked up another. The hipster chef on the cover stared back at her with his black glasses, perfectly coiffed hair and beard. She tried to imagine a picture of herself on the front cover, and failed. She felt Michael’s gaze hard on her.

  He said quietly, “Pen, is something going on?”

  She hesitated before she looked straight at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  If he only knew.

  “You, working at the café,” he went on. “Why are you really there?”

  “That’s a strange question when you know exactly why. Dad wanted someone to keep an eye on things while he and Mum are away and I know the place like the back of my hand.”

  “Is that really all there is to it?”

  “Of course. Michelle and me are living in the house rent free and saving ourselves a fortune.” She didn’t meet his gaze. “I’m not sure what you don’t understand.”

  “What I don’t understand is why I’m detecting a ‘Penny doesn’t really want to be there’ tone in all that.” He stared grimly at her.

  He was good. Perceptive. About some things, anyway.

  “I’ve been thinking about what to do when mum and dad get back. I need to have figured out my next move.”

  “Any ideas?”

  She shrugged. “There are always ideas.”

  He didn’t press her any further, and disappointment trickled up her spine.

  He didn’t believe her. He thought she was going to stay there, forever. And maybe, a quiet voice taunted, you are.

  Maybe you really don’t have what it takes to step out on your own. It’s all a dream. A fantasy. Reality is staying where you are.

  She was about to move on to the next table when he said, “My parents are having a barbecue next Sunday.”

  “Really? I never figured your folks as barbie people.”

  “Not a barbie,” he corrected, “a barbecue.” His lips tightened a fraction. “It’s their wedding anniversary. It’ll be a fully catered afternoon. Spit roast. The works.”

  “So you don’t need anyone to bring steak or salad or sausages?”

  “I doubt there’ll be a sausage to be seen anywhere on the property. They’re off to Berlin before Christmas on an extended lecture tour. My father’s almost finished a book he’s been working on this past year and Mum’s been invited to supervise some project for the next six months.” Michael’s parents were both historians and he’d never been terribly interested in what they did, or so he claimed. He’d been an only child growing up with absent academic parents, and it had not been the best childhood.

  Still, whatever Michael’s feelings on his family, an occasion like this was nice. It was sweet. Penny sighed a little as she ran her hands over dust covers, and picked up a flyer promoting a local chef’s tapas book. Michael’s parents, like her own, had a long standing, successful marriage. They were, it seemed to her, proof that relationships could work. Though in the McGuinn’s case that seemed to succeed at the expense of the child.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  “Sorry?” Penny glanced up.

  "Come with me. It's in the countryside. It’s a nice drive out there, and you get to critique the caterers."

  “You want me - to go with you - to your parents’ wedding anniversary barbeque?”

  “The invitation was Michael and partner. I think you should come along.”

  No girlfriend to take along? That would be a first but then, she had no idea what Michael had been doing since Greg’s death. She swivelled to face him, to see if it was a joke, but his face was serious. “Where did you say they’re holding it?”

  “At their house in Clevedon.”

  “You’re sure you want me to go with you?”

  “Positive. I want you there, Pen.”

  “Okay.” She cleared her throat. “I’d love to come. And I’m sure it will be fun.”

  It was a throw-away line that wasn’t meant to be taken literally, but Michael’s jaw tightened and he said, “I doubt it will be fun. But I can guarantee you this. The food will be the best.”

  Chapter Four

  THE MCGUINN house had been in the family for as long as Penny had known Michael. A sprawling home set on an acre of land in the countryside east of Auckland, it was memorable in Penny’s mind for the fact the McGuinns were rarely there. Why they kept a house like this when they spent most of their time overseas was beyond her. They owned an apartment in Auckland, and Michael’s father leased office space somewhere else in town, yet they still maintained this property. Michael had once said their PhD students were happy to stay when his folks were out of town and keep an eye on the place.

  Michael drove slowly down the long, pine tree lined driveway, and Penny cast her eye over the dozens of cars on the gravel parking area. Predominantly, she noted, late model luxury models. As Michael parked, she asked, “How many people do you think will come?”

  He switched off the ignition. “They didn’t say. It’s been a while since there was a gathering but she mentioned they were expecting friends from all over New Zealand.”

  Pen unclicked her seatbelt. “You make it sound like it’s gathering with a capital ‘G’.”

  He pulled the key from the ignition. “It is.”

  Penny hesitated for a second. “Michael, are you sure you want to be here?”

  He didn’t answer. She slid her bag around her shoulder as it occurred to her, he had never indicated for a moment he wanted to be at this event. Just that he was going to be there.

  She reached into the back seat for the box of chocolates she’d prepared.

  As they climbed out, he said, “Let me take that.”

  She handed him the cellophane wrapped box. He’d told her his parents would have over-cat
ered and she didn’t need to bring a thing, but that didn’t stop her stepping into the kitchen last night to prepare these. It wouldn’t have felt right going to a function with no contribution.

  The sound of jazz guitar sounded as they walked up the steps to the wide open front door, and as Michael stood back to let her go ahead, he said, “Head on down the hall. All the action takes place out the back.”

  As she stepped into the hall, Penny let out a sigh. Her low heels clicked on polished floors, white walls were liberally covered in artwork, and as they stepped out onto the back deck, Michael’s hand settled on the small of her back.

  There must have been close to a hundred people milling around, and she followed Michael’s gaze to his mother, Eugenie.

  At seeing Michael, Eugenie strode over, arms held wide in greeting and wrapped them around him. Michael had one hand around her waist, the other stuck straight out with the chocolates preciously balanced.

  Penny took them before they fell and focused on his mother. She’d seen photographs of her and would have recognised her walking down the street. She wasn’t what one would describe as beautiful or pretty, but there was a quality to her that made you stop what you were doing and stare. Much like with Michael. Eugenie was tall, close to six foot, was thin with long black hair, sprinkled with grey, that hung close to the waist of the multi-patterned kaftan.

  “You came,” she said as she pulled back, gripping her son’s shoulders with both hands.

  He bent, kissed her cheek. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Come.” She turned, her arm linked in his, and then her gaze settled on Penny. “So, you did bring someone?”

  “This is Penny. Penny Portman. Greg’s sister.”

  “Of course.” Eugenie put her hand out to Penny, her shake warm yet firm. She wore antique rings that matched the grey-green of her eyes. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

  “You, too. Your house is gorgeous.”

  “Thank you. We love it although we never spend nearly enough time here.”

  Her forehead suddenly creased, and she looked at Penny thoughtfully.

  “How is Greg doing? I’m sure I’ve heard something about him recently but for the life of me, I can’t remember what it was.”

  In a flash, the air went eerily still and Penny turned slowly towards Michael.

  His face had darkened; his eyes were grimmer than she’d ever seen them.

  Pen turned back to Eugenie. Surely she knew? Surely Michael had-

  “Greg is dead,” Michael told her starkly.

  Shock slid over his mother’s face, as her mouth dropped. Voices and music faded abruptly away as Michael said, “He died over a year ago.”

  Eugenie swung around as if she still didn’t believe him. “No.”

  Michael stared at her. “For God’s sake, Mother, he died from cancer. How the hell could your forget that?”

  “Michael, I’m sorry, I don’t remember hearing that.”

  “I phoned you. I spoke to you. You were at Oxford and I called you there.”

  She just stared at him, shook her head. “Michael, I’m sorry.” Confusion pinched her features and she turned suddenly to Penny.

  “Pam, I’m so-“

  “It’s Penny,” Michael growled.

  Penny’s stomach began to churn as the expression of disbelief on Michael’s face began to twist into something more than grief and frustration.

  She was abruptly aware that guests were picking up on the tension, were starting to look across at them.

  Penny thrust the box of chocolates towards Eugenie. “I brought these for you.”

  Eugenie’s gaze faltered.

  “They’re for you, not for the…” She waved her arm out. “The guests. Chocolates.” She pointed. “These are dried fruit and nuts.”

  Eugenie took them in both hands, pressed her lips together as she looked at Penny. Finally, she said, “You didn’t have to bring anything, Penny.”

  “Baking is my thing. I enjoy making these.”

  “You made them yourself?” His mother looked up at her. Once again, Penny was startled at the clearness, the intelligence in those eyes. And now the shimmering regret. How had she forgotten about Greg? Her son’s best friend. How was that even possible? “Thank you, Penny. This is - truly lovely of you.”

  “Honestly, it’s my pleasure.”

  A man loomed up beside her, with a flute of champagne in each hand. He was the same height as Michael with the same hair, and handsome beyond description. Michael in thirty year’s time.

  “Introductions, Eugie,” he beamed at Penny.

  “Jerome, this is Michael’s friend, Penny Portman. She’s Greg’s sister.”

  Jerome instantly handed both flutes to Michael and reached his arms out to Penny. “Penelope, of course.”

  Pen accepted his embrace as he murmured, “We were so devastated to hear about Greg. So terribly, terribly sorry for you, losing your brother.”

  Eugenie looked as if she wished the earth would swallow her up, and Michael looked as if he wished he could skull both glasses of champagne in his hand.

  “Thank you, Mr McGuinn.” Penny squeezed her eyes shut as Jerome’s embrace tightened around her, and she said, “We all miss him.”

  AN HOUR later Michael glanced across the lawn to Penny and wondered how much she was actually enjoying the event.

  She seemed to be. She’d talked to his parents for a long time, spent a lot of time with his extremely repentant mother.

  Michael had forgiven his mother.

  But then he’d spent too much of his life forgiving her, forgiving Jerome. Too many hours spent as a kid wishing his parents would show up at school events or take more of an interest in their son’s life. Too much time resenting the world they lived in, an archaic, ancient world in the past, when there was one going on right now that could have done with their attention. He had always understood their work, that it was their life. He had always understood they were brilliant and the way he’d sailed through school and university, he’d known he’d inherited that ability to absorb and analyse information from them.

  But it meant squat when the thing you wanted most in life you didn’t have.

  He glanced back at Penny.

  She was talking with Laura Taverner.

  His ex-girlfriend Laura.

  There’d been a time his parents had hopes he and Laura would get together permanently. That they’d begin a Taverner-McGuinn dynasty. Laura’s father had lectured in law, and the two families had been close. Michael hadn't dated her until his final year in law, but it hadn’t lasted. On the surface she was desirable. She was model tall with an athlete’s body from the swimming and running she used as a way to eliminate tension. Her blonde hair fell to her shoulders, and she was, as always, stunning to look at.

  She was ambitious, too.

  To the extent that late night discussions had a tendency to evolve into long winded arguments neither of them had a hope in hell of winning. Intellectually they’d been too alike, and he’d always figured that at some point it was going to fall apart. He preferred to end it before it reached that stage, and Laura had agreed. They’d been friends ever since. Neither of them had married. To his knowledge, Laura hadn’t been in a relationship for a while.

  Michael focused back on Penny; the two were chalk and cheese. Pen suddenly reached up, and pushed her glasses back up her nose with her forefinger.

  Laura lectured at law school now.

  Pen manaqed her dad’s café.

  Laura was tall and sleek; Penny was shorter, rounder.

  Anita’s words suddenly jumped into his mind. Chubby. Frizzy. Mousey. He’d never thought of her as chubby, frizzy and mousey.

  Michael shifted uncomfortably, but kept his gaze on Pen. She looked the same, yet somehow, she looked different.

  Sexier.

  He looked again. She looked sexier?

  Thinking of Pen and sexy in the same sentence wasn’t right.

  He said hello to someone
, and glanced at Pen, but she’d gone. He looked around and spotted her and Laura, walking over to the drinks table set up near the house.

  Pen was wearing a dress and she hardly ever wore dresses. It gave more shape to her body, and he hadn’t noticed that in the car. She’d been wearing a denim jacket but she’d long ago slung that jacket over the back of a chair, and now she was standing in the short sleeved dress. A dress that slid down over her, flowed down over her stomach to her hips, and ended at her knees.

  She turned then, their gazes collided, and something jolted so hard through him, he couldn’t move. Could barely think. Or even breathe.

  What the hell had that been?

  He stayed still, suddenly disoriented. Confused.

  Had she felt that, too? That – whatever the hell it was.

  Then she smiled at him, someone tapped his shoulder, and disoriented, he turned. It was Eugenie.

  He’d been avoiding her. Some things, he figured, were best left.

  He shot one more look at Pen but she’d turned back to Laura.

  What the hell had just happened there?

  He looked back at his mother. She held a bottle of champagne and he said, “I’d love to but I’m driving.”

  Eugenie nodded, tipped her head at him in a way that told him she wasn’t doing the rounds with the bottle just to be a good hostess.

  “I want to say how sorry I am. About before. About Greg. I don’t know what happened, why I didn’t remember.”

  He knew she’d be over to apologise. He just hadn’t expected to feel so bad that she was doing it.

  There was no logic to that. She’d stuffed up. Not him.

  “It’s alright,” he told her gruffly.

  “No.” She caught his gaze, held it firmly. “It’s not alright. It’s unforgiveable, Michael.”

  Genuine pain and regret shimmered in her eyes.

  Made him feel even worse.

  “Look, I over reacted, I admit it. It was because of Penny.” He gestured over to her. “And how she must have felt.”

  Although that wasn’t true. He had overreacted for himself.

  For his mother being more concerned about her work that what had happened in her only son’s life.