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

by Rosalind James

  Todd filched a muffin the moment Kathy turned her back and stuffed a huge chunk in his mouth. He then tossed the last quarter to Java, who snapped it out of mid-air. “What are you on about, woman? He’s just some photographer, isn’t he?”

  “Photojournalist,” Lauren mumbled.

  Knowing him for less than twenty-four hours, she still couldn’t visualize him in a studio, fussing with family portraits and wailing babies. She remembered his description of a photojournalist. Nate wasn’t a noun, either; he was one intense verb.

  She sat straighter, glanced at her sister-in-law who was sipping her tea with a smug smile. Nothing happening in town—or anywhere else in the world of entertainment—got past Kathy Taylor and her five sisters.

  Kathy relented and set her mug down with a sigh. “I can’t believe you don’t know who Nate Fraser is. His photo book’s on our bookshelf—Louisa bought it for us last Christmas.”

  Comprehension dawned on her brother’s face. “Oh, that book. He takes some good pictures…So why’s he interested in Mac’s place?”

  “To get away from the scandal he left behind in the city, perhaps.”

  Todd leaned forward. “Scandal?”

  Apprehension, like fine tendrils of chilled spider silk, alighted on Lauren’s bare arms, and she shivered.

  Kathy took another sip of her tea, obviously milking the moment. “Remember that actress, Savannah Payne? She moved back to N.Z last year. She’s on that High Rollers show I like and you hate?”

  “The one with the most bodacious rack—?”

  Kathy turned a cool eye on her husband. He shrank into his chair and ducked behind his cup.

  “That’s her. According to my online sources, she and Nate were in a bar six months ago having a drink. Then Savannah’s husband shows up, and a fight breaks out. Nate gave him a couple of black eyes and a split lip. There was speculation they were carrying on behind hubby’s back—not a good look for one of the New Zealand’s Bachelor of the Year finalists.”

  Todd lowered the mug and looked from his wife to Lauren. “For real?”

  Kathy nodded, her wild brown curls bouncing. “Yep, and not much later, Savannah’s off to the States and got herself a quickie divorce.”

  Lauren wrapped her fingers around the mug’s warmth. For all his size and the restless strength lurking beneath his controlled exterior, she couldn’t reconcile the man who’d been so gentle with Drew with the man who’d supposedly attacked another without provocation.

  The sharp nip of fear bit her yesterday at their first meeting, but did he frighten her now? She studied the wisps of steam rising from the tea. Nate disturbed her, and up close, he electrified all her senses. But physical fear? Oddly, no. He didn’t stir that emotion inside her.

  “You won’t have anything more to do with him, Laur, that’s for certain.” Todd kicked his feet up onto her coffee table.

  Kathy tutted. “Don’t be overly dramatic, love. Men are always getting in scraps over one thing or another. Lauren, of all people, understands how the media twists things, don’t you?”

  Lauren’s head bobbled in agreement, but the muffin she’d eaten sat heavy in her stomach. “Who knows what really happened.”

  “Well, regardless—keep away from him. I don’t want my sister anywhere near another violent asshole.”

  Lauren clutched the hot mug so tightly her fingertips burned. She placed the cup back on the coffee table before she spilled the contents. “He’s not Jonathan Knight, and you don’t make decisions for me.”

  “Like the decisions you made up until you divorced that New York prick were good ones?”

  “Todd Taylor, get your feet off my coffee table and shut your damn mouth.” Lauren jabbed a finger at him. “You don’t get to say who I can and can’t talk to, and I will be talking to Nate. I have to rationally and strategically change his mind about his plans for Mac’s place.”

  She looked away from her brother, huffing out a strangled groan at Kathy’s amused scrutiny. “And this is funny, because?”

  Kathy’s grin spread even wider. “Rationally and strategically?”

  “Yes. I’m sure he’s a sensible man who’ll consider other options.” Lauren smoothed down her shorts. Surely, from across the room, her sister-in-law couldn’t see how her palms grew damp just thinking about Nate. “One fist fight doesn’t make him violent, especially if you’re using the same yardstick you measure yourself with.”

  Todd snorted. “Yeah, whatever. But you’re still making too big of a deal out of this whole thing. So what if a few rich suits or some B-grade actress from a telly soap wants to spend a weekend up here?”

  “It’s not the suits or actresses who worry me—and you know it.”

  “When are you gonna stop hiding and live again, Laur? Are you still afraid of Knight; is that it? Because you act like it.”

  “Todd,” Kathy said in gentle warning.

  “I’m not afraid of Jonathan. I just don’t want my face—and Drew’s face—plastered all over some trashy gossip magazine. I don’t want them speculating how Sexy Lexy ended up with a screwed-up face and a screwed-up life.”

  Todd leaned forward, pumped up and ready for a sibling fight-to-the-death. “Screwed-up life? I thought you were happy.”

  Now look at what she’d started. She loved her life here with her brother and sister-in-law and their extended family. But some days—some days she yearned for more. A more where she could run into Bounty Bay’s supermarket without feeling as if she were on a covert mission. A more where chatting to other mums at Drew’s preschool wouldn’t bring on a bout of paranoia, wondering if they’d seen past her dyed hair and lack of makeup. A more where strong arms and hot kisses soothed her to sleep at night, and she had something other than insomnia to keep her company.

  “You know what I mean. I am happy here, and that’s why I don’t want some two-bit reporter like Nate Fraser—”

  “Photojournalist,” her ever-helpful sibling pointed out.

  “Changing everything,” Lauren finished.

  “And how will making him your best buddy help?”

  “What would you suggest I do otherwise to change his mind, brother dearest?” Lauren cocked her eyebrow. “Blow up Mac’s place? A spot of arson, perhaps?”

  Todd threw up his hands, flopping back against the couch. Java whined sympathetically and stretched up to lick the side of Todd’s cheek.

  Lauren folded her arms and rolled her eyes. “Look, Todd. I’m not planning to make him my buddy, but remember Dad always said you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

  Kathy’s warm chuckle rolled around the room. “Absolutely. And the way you two have been eyeballing each other? Nate’s hot enough to melt you into a puddle of honey.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” So not ridiculous, since it appeared her emotional thermostat had gone haywire where Nate was concerned.

  “He touches her and I’ll kill him.” Todd stood and stalked outside.

  Lauren met Kathy’s eyes. “It’s not like that. It’s purely professional.”

  Kathy came over, pressed her cheek to Lauren’s and whispered, “Then why are you blushing, little teina?”

  ***

  By the middle of the week Lauren could walk without crutches—fortunately for her, as a client’s ’63 Impala needed its radiator reinstalled.

  With Drew in preschool and her ear buds blaring Lady Antebellum at a teeth-rattling volume, Lauren tightened mounting bolts in the Impala’s engine bay. She couldn’t carry a tune if her life was in jeopardy, but that didn’t stop her shaking her tail feather as she attempted to harmonize with Charles Kelley’s sex-on-a-stick voice.

  The tap on her shoulder catapulted her heart past her vocal chords, and she narrowly missed clunking her head on the hood as she whirled around. Nate stood in sawdust-speckled blue jeans with one hand still raised, green eyes twinkling.

  “Sorry.” The flash of white teeth behind his firm lips translated the word as Lady A. continued to blare.r />
  Tugging out the ear buds, she sucked in a deep breath and tried to slow her heartbeat by shoving a fist against her chest.

  “Sorry,” he repeated. “I did knock, but you were, ah, kind of engrossed under there.”

  His gaze flicked to her coveralls. Her unsexy, grease-smeared coveralls that sometimes rode up her rear end when she bent over.

  Heat speared through her, and she half turned aside, switching off the music and stuffing the ear buds into her pocket. “Not your fault; I was in the zone, and I didn’t hear you arrive.”

  Nate moved to stand next to her, ducking a little to peer under the Impala’s hood. Chrome gleamed, the V-8 engine so clean she’d bet a month’s wages Nate couldn’t find a speck of dirt on it—or anywhere else in her workshop.

  “Nice car. Are you almost done?”

  She swiped a finger across her lips, hoping she didn’t have the remains of this morning’s muesli bar snack smeared around her mouth. “Todd’s mostly finished the bodywork and I’m just working on the last of the mechanical stuff.”

  Hands well away from her handiwork, Nate stepped back, glancing toward the organized benches loaded with her dad’s tools, then looking across to the small, sectioned-off area with a fold-out futon couch where Drew often played with his toy cars while she worked.

  “You’ve got quite a set up here. Your dad must be proud of the work you’re both doing. Does he live nearby too?”

  “No.” And because she didn’t want to field any more awkward questions, she added, “He died when I was a teenager.”

  “I’m sorry. Todd mentioned the Caddy was yours and your dad’s…” His voice trailed off.

  “It’s okay,” she said, even though it wasn’t. How different might her life be if David Taylor, her biggest supporter and cheerleader when it came to her following her own path, hadn’t collapsed in his workshop?

  Nate’s gaze skimmed over her, warm and sympathetic. Most people broke eye contact when faced with another’s grief, but not him. He studied each line of her face as though through his camera lens. Very unsettling.

  She ducked back under the hood and picked up her dropped socket wrench. “How’s Todd working out?”

  Nate cleared his throat and leaned against the side of her station wagon. “He’s doing great. We’ve made a plan of attack, and tomorrow morning we’re ripping off the roof.”

  “Progress.”

  “Yeah, which is why I stopped by—Todd said you have a chainsaw I could hire instead of mucking around with getting one from town.”

  Her fingers tightened around the socket wrench. “You need a chainsaw?”

  “I’ve got to clear the road back before I get the new roofing iron and timber shipped up. It’s crazy overgrown.”

  “And you’ve used a chainsaw before?”

  “Nope, but I’ve used a skill-saw, so how hard can it be?”

  That startled a laugh out of her, and she cut him a glance, drinking in the tee shirt taut against his chest but a little loose over his flat stomach, and his long legs crossed at the ankles, the only parts of him she could see. “Such a guy thing to say, usually right before someone hacks off a limb.”

  “Ah.”

  One hand disappeared from view followed by a raspy sound she identified as fingertips scratching stubble.

  “Hadn’t thought of that.”

  “No offence, but you don’t look like the chain-sawing type.”

  “Not much call for chainsaw skills in my usual working day. My Auckland apartment only has a balcony, so the last time I even used a lawn-mower was as a teenager, when I helped pay my way through university by doing yard work.”

  With the last radiator bolt tightened, Lauren backed out from under the hood. “Mac’s place must feel strange to you.”

  He flashed a crooked grin. “So much solitude and fresh air, it’s kind of spooky when you’re used to the city or being around crowds of people living in third-world conditions.”

  “It does take some getting used to.”

  “But you enjoy it?” Pushing away from her station wagon, he shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered over.

  “It’s home.” As soon as he moved into her little hemisphere of safe space, her skin started to prickle, so she grabbed the first rubber radiator hose off the bench. This was an opening, a chance to put her change-Nate’s-mind-by-being-nice plan into action. “Listen, since you were kind enough to help with the whole stuck car thing, I’ll chainsaw for you a couple of mornings to clear the road.”

  “You know how to chainsaw?”

  She shot a glance at his incredulous tone, found him shaking his head, fists on his hips. “Don’t look so stunned—you’ve already witnessed how I can outdrive you in your own car.”

  “Going to make me eat humble pie?”

  “Double helping, now that you’ve called my chain-sawing skills into question.”

  She returned with the radiator hose and he moved aside, but leaned over the Impala to watch her work. Having him this close made her fingers function like ten fat sausages, and she nearly dropped the hose as she ducked under the hood.

  “You sure you can spare the time?”

  “I can spare it. The Impala can wait until the afternoons. Besides, I don’t want to feel responsible if you accidentally amputate something.”

  He chuckled, low and husky. “I appreciate your concern for my body parts remaining intact.”

  Underneath the baggy cotton coveralls, the fine hairs on her arms stood to attention, but she managed a droll tone as she said, “It’s the neighborly thing to do.”

  “We’re not big on neighbors and community in the suburb where I live—not that I’m there much.”

  “Well, it’s a little different up here. When a neighbor needs help, we pitch in and get the job done.” Lauren popped each end of the radiator hose in the clamps and wriggled them into place. “Can you pass me the screwdriver from my tool-box before you go?” Rude, but his concentrated focus propelled her blood pressure higher and higher.

  “I’m happy to be your tool bitch if you need me.” Metal clanked as he rummaged through her tool-box.

  She didn’t dare look up from the hose clenched in her hands. “You’ve got more than enough work to do.” A screwdriver, held in long, tanned fingers, appeared in front of her face, and she grasped the metal shank and slid it from his grasp so their hands wouldn’t touch. “Thanks. I’ll see you at about half nine tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay then, Lauren.”

  The sound of her name, so rich and deep in his sinfully smooth voice, sent a shiver down her spine as he left the garage.

  She held tight to the screwdriver. In only a matter of days, her new neighbor had gate-crashed her safe little world, turning everything topsy-turvy. She had to take control and remember who he was—before it was too late.

  ***

  The next day, after Kathy left with the kids for the morning school and preschool run, Lauren loaded up her car, whistled for Java, and set off toward Mac’s place. Impossible to think of the property as Nate’s.

  Parking beside Todd’s truck, she spotted her brother on the roof, already bare-chested in the morning sunlight. He waved and tossed a length of corrugated iron over the edge.

  Java disappeared into a tangle of Kikuyu grass and overgrown gorse as she climbed out of her car. Blackberry brambles strangled the trees encircling the homestead, and a large camping tent was pitched in a trampled-down spot to the right.

  She waded through the long grass, stumbling to a halt as Nate, also minus his shirt, opened a glass sliding door and strode onto the deck. Her throat clamped shut, and she swallowed past the blockage with a hollow click. He glanced up at her approach, raised a hand in acknowledgement and then brushed it over the hard, bronzed muscles of his shoulder. Tiny woodchips and dust cascaded off his skin.

  “Watch out for the deck to your left; it’s rotten right through,” he said, as she climbed the steps.

  “Thanks.” She tugged the zipper t
ag on her coveralls higher and averted her gaze from the hard planes of his chest. Except her gaze drifted farther south to a taut stomach and a leather tool belt slung low across his hips. A spark of heat flared between her hips, and she mentally shook herself.

  “Sure your ankle is good enough for this kind of physical work?”

  She rotated her foot inside her leather work boot. “It’s fine.”

  “Good to hear.” He shook more woodchips from his hair and tugged the tee shirt he held over his head. “Do you want a quick tour inside before you start?”

  “Okay.” Normally, she didn’t suck at small talk, but today, with Nate and all that perfect male skin? Her tongue refused to cooperate.

  The windows, opaque with cobwebs and grime, blocked her view of the house’s interior. Nate stood back, and she crossed the peeling threshold and stepped inside.

  Her breathing hitched as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. “Holy hell—what a bombsite.”

  “Yep. Talk about your fixer-upper.” Nate scuffed a boot across the carpet remains, and the rotted pile flaked away in clumps.

  “How did this happen?”

  “Rain, through the roof predominantly. One winter’s damage, according to your brother, who incidentally shares the same opinion of me as your dog.”

  “He’s overprotective.”

  “Todd or the dog?”

  “Both.” She grimaced as the lingering stench of rat and rot assaulted her nostrils. “And the other rooms?”

  “The floor is unstable in spots, and unfortunately, some of the piles under the house have sunk, but the roof needs replacing first.”

  She whistled under her breath. “That’s a lot of work.”

  “Yeah, I’ll have to hire some more men in the New Year. Anyway, come and see what’s left of the garden—it’s wild.”

  He touched her arm, and the pressure of his fingertips sent goose bumps racing along her skin.

  Lauren followed him out of the back door.

  Wild? Nature had run riot, a chaotic mass of overgrown plants in various shades of green. Ferns and saplings of all varieties battled for the sun against more brambles and gorse, all of which towered above her head.