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

by Rosalind James

  “Nature gave it to me,” she croaked on a wince, handing him the bottle.

  “Do you want anything to eat?”

  She shook her head, pushed herself back down, and pulled the covers up to her chin, more for modesty than to preserve body heat. Her body was doing a good job of that all on its own. “Why are you here?”

  “Michelle rang me. Said she’s feeling really guilty over leaving you but she was at her brother’s house and could I come over?”

  “How did you get in here?” Her voice was the voice of a stranger, but then, her ears weren’t in the best condition either.

  “I have a key.”

  Her eyes widened and then hurt. “You’ve got a key to this house?”

  “From when Greg lived here. I’d come and go sometimes. So being as your flatmate has no high opinion of me – which I can vouch for because of the sob story she pulled-”

  “What sob story?”

  “Something about feeling guilty because she’d promised her brother she’d help him pack up and shift boxes, but that you were in bed, potentially dying from some virus, you’ve got no family around to help you in your near critical state, and seeing as I was the closest thing to family you’ve got-beyond her-could I check on you?”

  “I like that sob story.”

  “It had merit. So I figured this was more than a cold and that I’d come over. Then she told me where her emergency key is kept.”

  “What emergency key?” Pen’s throat was aching even more now and she figured the painkillers were going to take half an hour to kick in. She closed her eyes and decided she might as well just give in to the misery.

  “Michelle has a problem with keys, so she always has a spare key cut. She kept it in a fake rock under a bush out the back.”

  “Oh, of course. The fake rock repository. I remember that.”

  “Except I didn’t need to use hers as I have my own. Hence the fake rock remains untouched by my hands.”

  All those years, and he had his own key…

  Her head was thicker now, and she hoped the painkillers were kicking in sooner rather than later. “I think I need to sleep.”

  “Have you got a thermometer?“

  “No.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t think there’s one around. We never had any need for one. We Portmans don’t get sick.”

  Silence engulfed the room as Penny kept her eyes closed and wished she hadn’t said that.

  Because Michael’s best friend was the one Portman who really had got sick.

  “You go to sleep,” he said after a while. “I’m going to go downstairs soon, and make you something to eat for when you wake up. “

  “You are? Really?”

  “Really. I see you’ve got books in the kitchen.”

  “Lots of books,” she said thickly, and then she felt exhaustion overtake her and she gave into the sleep.

  MICHAEL WASN’T worried.

  The Portmans were strong, they were healthy. Pen never got sick, not that he could remember, and neither did Dave and Jackie. Their livelihood was food so they were incredibly lucky there. What Pen had was only some virus. Probably.

  But that was exactly what Greg had thought when he’d gotten sick. And that hadn’t been a virus at all.

  It had been an aggressive cancer that had killed him.

  Michael slumped back against the cushion of the chair in Pen’s room, stretched out his legs and watched her sleep.

  After a moment, he closed his eyes.

  He tried not to think about Greg too often. He didn’t see the point. Greg had gone, and nothing Michael McGuinn could do was going to bring him back, so why think about it? Why dwell on it? Why put himself through the torture of it? It wasn’t going to help. Wasn’t going to help Greg. Sure as hell wasn’t going to help Penny.

  She needed him to be strong. She needed him now, full stop.

  Doing his bit for Greg. Keeping his promise.

  Greg.

  Oh, shit.

  Michael leant forward abruptly, buried his face in his hands. How the hell had a young, fit man like Greg Portman been struck down? Where was the justice in that? What was the point when Greg had been a far better person than, he, Michael was ever going to be.

  It was just so bloody unfair.

  He breathed in deep, willed the tears forming in his eyes to stop. Opened his eyes and blinked them away.

  He glanced across at Pen. She hadn’t moved.

  Still watching her, his mind flicked back to Greg.

  He’d been getting tired. He’d put it down to undertraining at the gym, then he’d stepped it up. He only got more fatigued and he put it down to overtraining. Then he’d figured work had been too busy, so it was all about stress. Then he figured he wasn’t 21 anymore, and he was getting old. He changed his diet. He stepped up the protein shakes, changed vitamin brands. Did everything but visit the doctor and consider the possibility there might actually be something wrong with him that vitamin C and an extra five mile run wasn’t going to fix.

  Michael rubbed his hand across his jaw, and glanced around the room. Funny to think this was Pen’s room. In all the time he’d been coming over to the Portman’s house, he’d never been in here. Greg’s was closest to the stair case, the bathroom was the other end of the hall, the kitchen downstairs.

  Penny shifted a little, and Michael leant forward, put his hand across her forehead. Her skin was still hot.

  She murmured something unintelligible, and Michael went down to the bathroom, took a damp cloth and brought it back. He placed it gently across Pen’s forehead.

  Her eyelids fluttered open a fraction.

  “How you doing?” he asked softly.

  Her eyelids opened again, her blue eyes connecting. They were glassy, dazed.

  “Michael?” Her voice was thick, dry, and her eyelids flickered shut.

  “It’s okay. Don’t talk.”

  He didn’t like the look of this. Maybe he should get the doctor just in case. He wasn’t used to dealing with sick people and maybe it was worse than flu. Maybe she needed antibiotics.

  He got to his feet, decided he’d call the doctor and get him to make a house call. Just to be sure.

  “Michael?” she said again. Her voice was low and barely audible, and he bent down to her. “I’m going to get the doctor,” he said then. “Just to be sure. I’ll go and phone him now.”

  “Don’t go,” she said.

  “My phone’s downstairs. I won’t be gone long.”

  “’Kay,” she said, and in a low voice, she murmured, “I love you, Michael.”

  And then she was out like a light.

  HE CALLED the Portman’s doctor – he knew him from the times he’d come in to see Greg in those last weeks when Jackie had nursed him. He promised he’d call later in the afternoon.

  Michael poured himself a glass of juice, stared out the window and wondered what Pen had meant.

  Michael, I love you.

  Of course she loved him. He loved her.

  Only…

  He took a few long gulps of the chilled juice, made himself a sandwich, and sat up at the breakfast bar.

  He took a bite. One part of him enjoyed the flavours of the beef and the relish and the mustard. That’s what he’d always loved about the Portman household. Plenty to eat. Not just frozen dinners and phone numbers for takeaway pizza or Chinese.

  The other half had no appetite.

  Was there something more to what she’d said?

  He stared blankly in front of him.

  Pen?

  No. Of course not.

  When a woman liked him, they made it obvious. They flirted. The signs were there.

  He took another bite. It was nothing more than Pen being delirious; just thanking him. That’s what it was.

  For a moment he pictured Pen as she’d been at the barbeque. That dress, the way it had skimmed over her body.

  The way that when he’d looked at her and Laura, it was Penny that had held his attention. Pen tha
t had made him wonder what it would be like…

  He gritted his teeth.

  Which made him wonder just who the delirious one was here.

  THE NEXT forty eight passed in a disjointed almost hallucinogenic blur for Penny. She remembered the doctor coming and commending Michael for doing what he was doing. She sipped soup she couldn’t taste, had her tongue turn a very odd colour from all the flavoured ice-blocks he bought her, which she kind of tasted. She developed a liking for painkillers-or at least the effect, when they began to kick in-and she slept. And dreamt. They were crazy dreams, weird dreams. Dreams where Greg was giving his blessing to her and Michael’s wedding just as Michael rushed up the aisle in a black suit and tie, yelling, “No, don’t make me, it’s a mistake. I don’t want to marry Penelope Portman!” She dreamt of opening her cake shop with a bunch of French pastry chefs laughing at her, pointing, jeering and then shoving her in a Citroen Dyane and sending her down country to work in a meat processing plant.

  When she woke, and realised she didn’t have a temperature any more, and that she felt marginally more normal, she told herself it was only a dream.

  “Thank God it’s a dream.” She spoke it out loud, tested her voice. Her throat was a little raw and sore.

  “Thank God what was just a dream?” Michael stood in the doorway, arms folded, hair dishevelled.

  Michael. She struggled slowly up, and he came over, gripped her arms to help her sit up in bed, and said, “You look better. You look terrible, but you look better.”

  She felt like telling him to go away. She hadn’t showered in days, her hair felt greasy, her breath was undoubtedly putrid. She was disgusting and she hated that he was seeing her like this.

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” she said thickly. Her voice still sounded odd, but she needed toothpaste and a brush, and a whole bottle of mouthwash the way she was feeling.

  She pulled back the covers and stared down at the tacky old pyjama pants. “I think I’ll have a bath.”

  “Sure.” He turned to her drawers. “Where do you keep-”

  “Michael. Stop it.”

  He turned, startled. “What is it?”

  “I can get my clothes for myself. I can run the bath for myself, in case you were thinking of offering. I appreciate it, but you don’t need to help me.”

  He stared at her silently for a second. ”Sure. You’re feeling better. That’s great. Do you want tea?”

  “Tea would be nice.” His eyes had changed and she had the feeling, she’d hurt his feelings. But how? Why?

  She climbed out of bed, but in a flash she came over dizzy, and just as quickly, he was holding her. “You okay?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” She straightened, and felt dizzy all over again. “I guess I spoke too soon about not needing help. But I think I’m okay now. Honestly.”

  “You’ll be alright. I’ll go and make that tea.”

  “Thanks,” she said, but the atmosphere had changed. In that instant it had changed.

  PEN HAD put on newer PJ’s, and borrowed her mother’s dressing gown because her own was far too revolting for anyone but immediate family and Michelle to see, and she sat in the lounge.

  “I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” Michael said, “but I’m playing Mother.” He shuddered as he bought in the tea. “I feel my masculinity dwindling just saying that. Was it you who used to say that?”

  “Don’t remind me. I think I was about twelve at the time.” She was impressed he’d gone to this much effort, just for her. “This is really nice. I’m surprised.”

  He set a tray down on the coffee table in front of her. “The fact that you’re surprised doesn’t bode well for your opinion of me.”

  “You know I have a good opinion of you, and I’m sorry I snapped at you before.”

  He ripped open a packet of chocolate biscuits, and took one. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Not when you’ve got real food in this house.” He took a bit of the biscuit. “Not when you’ve spent the past few days out of it.” He paused. “Delirious, too.”

  “I was delirious? Did I say anything incriminating.”

  “Hmmm. I’m not sure anything was incriminating. More like unintelligible.”

  That was a relief. She hated to think what she could have said.

  “And I don’t know how much longer you’ll last before you need to head back to bed.”

  Michael poured the tea, and she added milk, and picked up a biscuit and looked at him.

  He wore jeans, a navy blue jersey and she realised that of course, he’d have gone home and changed.

  She vaguely recalled Michelle had been here at one time.

  Maybe that was when he’d gone home, so she, Penny, hadn’t been left on her own.

  The whole thing was like a bizarre dream...

  “The shop?” she said abruptly, shock rippling through. “Oh my gosh, the cafe?”

  “All under control. Brett and Meghan are managing fine. She’s ordered from that bakery you use sometimes. They’re surviving without you.”

  “Phew,” she said. “I’m relieved.”

  “Although some of the customers missed the mini quiches and the cupcakes.”

  “Aw, they’re so sweet.” She took a sip of her tea. “So what about you? What have you been doing?”

  “I’ve been off work.” He was on the couch, one ankle crossed over his knee, his arms folded behind his head. “I needed a break.”

  “You know, I probably would have been okay on my own,” she told him. “Shame you couldn’t have done intravenous painkillers then I really would have been okay.” She set her cup back down, and had the feeling she wasn’t going to last much longer.

  “I didn’t think anything was going to happen. I wanted to make sure you were okay. It was the least I could do.”

  “I’m grateful. I really am.” She was starting to fade, and she stood up shakily.

  He stood up and reached out, and she held her breath.

  He said, “It was the least I could do for you.”

  Minutes later, when she was tucked up in her bed with the nice fresh sheets, her bottle of water replenished, another glass of juice waiting for her, and more painkillers in her system, she listened as he went down the stairs and the TV blared into life.

  As she lay there, she stared blankly at the darkened wall, and felt something heavy descend deep in her heart.

  He’d said it was the least he could do, but he wasn’t really doing this for her.

  He was doing this because of Greg.

  He was, she thought, as she turned her head, closed her eyes, and wished sleep would come fast so she didn’t have to think, doing for her what he hadn’t been able to do for his best mate.

  Chapter Seven

  BY THE weekend, Pen had recovered and was back at work and Michael’s life had returned to normal.

  Normal. He grimaced. Life hadn’t been normal for him in well over a year.

  His phone suddenly rang, and he saw Penny’s number.

  “Hey, Portman. How are you feeling?”

  “A thousand percent. I never thought feeling normal would feel so good.”

  He smiled, liking the sound of her voice. Instantly soothing, calming.

  But also something else…

  He loosened his shirt collar.

  She said, “I owe you for looking after me.”

  “Quit saying thank you. I’m getting a big head. Or thinking of taking up nursing as a new career. What do you reckon?”

  “Perish the thought. But I am grateful, really grateful, and to show my eternal gratitude, I think I should cook you dinner. I saw those pizza boxes in the rubbish at mum’s house.”

  He bit back on a grin. “Snapped. What do you propose?”

  “Real food. Three courses. The works.”

  “What? No mixes or pre-packaged food?”

  “I shudder just hearing the words. What night are you free during the week?”

  He said impulsively, “What about t
onight?”

  She hesitated.

  He said, “Unless it’s too soon, or you’ve got other plans?”

  “No, tonight would be fine. It’s just that I thought you would have heaps to catch up on. Especially since you lost a few days over at my place.”

  “Nope. Nothing on. Dinner at your folk’s place?”

  “Yep. Come by around seven.”

  “Can I bring anything?”

  “No. I’ll have to work out what we’re having. I’ll head over to the Farmers’ Market to get some things and see what they’ve got there.”

  The Farmers’ Market? He’d never been, although Anita went all the time and was constantly raving about it. He rapped his knuckles on the table. “What time are you going? I could meet you there.”

  “You? You want to come with me? I mean,” she said quickly, “I’d love for you to come but… You want to go shopping with me?”

  “It’s food shopping,” he clarified. “It’s different to usual shopping and I’ve been meaning to check out the market for ages.”

  It was kind of the truth.

  “So tell me the time, and I’ll make sure I’m there.”

  PENNY SPOTTED Michael and when he saw her, he lifted his hand in greeting, as he pushed himself away from the brick wall.

  He said, “Where did you park?” It was a fine day with no hint of rain in the sky and the temperature had resumed normal degrees. Maybe, Pen thought, breathing in the air, it was going to be a lovely summer after all.

  “I took the bus,” she said.

  As they walked through the entrance into the carpark, now packed with stalls and tents and the most delicious mix of scents, his mouth quirked. “In that case, I’ll drop you and our dinner back home afterwards.”

  “I would be grateful,” she said.

  He sniffed appreciatively. Already the cultural mix of cooking was in the air.

  “Before Anita told me about this place, I never knew they even existed outside of romantic comedies.”

  “Now that I can believe.” Already Penny scanned the stalls to see what was available. Early Christmas goods were in abundance with people buying up edible gifts.