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

by Rosalind James

  They shoved their way through the undergrowth behind the house for the next ten minutes. She couldn’t help but offer ideas and suggestions to restore Mac’s gardens to their former glory.

  “You know this property well.” Nate pushed a fern frond out of her way as they walked around the side of the house.

  “Some of Todd and Kathy’s extended family took over doing a bit of the maintenance work for him when Mac got too old. I came with them to help out in the gardens once or twice.” She shook her head then looked back over the jumble of native bush grown so high it blocked the sunshine sparkling off the Tasman Sea in the distance. “It’s a gorgeous spot—on top of the world.”

  “And far away from the rest of humanity.”

  “Privacy’s not a bad thing.”

  “I’d call it isolation.” Nate tramped a trail through the Kikuyu back toward the driveway. “Don’t you get bored up here?”

  He paused where the long grass met the gravel, waiting for her to catch up. The wind ruffled past her, carrying the faintest caress of his cologne. Lauren tried hard, really hard, not to sniff the breeze. Giving him a wide berth, she crossed the driveway to her station wagon. “Spoken like a true city-slicker.”

  His deep chuckle caused her stomach to squeeze pleasurably low and hard.

  “I’d better get on with the job.” She dragged out her chainsaw.

  “A muffin baker, a car restorer, and a lumberjack—there anything you can’t do?” His cheeky grin undid her resolve to remain professionally cool.

  “Well.” She cleared her throat. “I suck at algebra.”

  “Guess we all have our shortcomings.” He gestured behind him. “I’ll be up on the roof hauling iron, if you want me.”

  Nate sauntered away, stripping off his shirt again as he walked.

  Lauren unscrewed the cap to check the chainsaw’s oil level and watched him go with a sigh. The problem couldn’t be denied.

  Wanting him was just what she’d started to do.

  ***

  Sunshine reflected off the roof iron with vicious glee. Summer had returned with a vengeance. Nate swiped his work glove across his brow and tossed another sheet over the edge, waiting for the satisfactory clang when it landed on the pile below.

  From the front of the house came the rise-and-fall buzz of Lauren’s chainsaw. He stood on the exposed crossbeams, stretching the kinks from his back and glancing in the direction of the high-pitched whine.

  His gaze locked on her like a heat-seeking missile. She’d stripped down the coveralls baggy top half and tied the arms around her waist, exposing the tight-fitting, breast emphasizing, black tank top beneath. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from the flex of her bare arms as she lowered the saw and the curve of her sweet rear end as she bent and threw yet another gorse branch aside. Even with leather gloves, ear protectors, and safety goggles, she was as sexy as hell.

  “You run outta work, boss?” Todd’s voice growled behind him.

  “Just a crick in my back.”

  “Stretch it away from my sister’s direction, ay?”

  Nate inched around, aware he stood precariously balanced on a wooden beam, high above the ground. He raised his palms. “I wasn’t being disrespectful. She’s a beautiful lady.”

  Todd shoved his wraparound sunglasses onto his head, his eyes pinched into slits. “She’s off limits to you.”

  “A man can admire from a distance.”

  “Sure. ‘Cept you don’t strike me as the type of man who’d just admire a woman from a distance.”

  “You don’t know what type of man I am.”

  “No?” Todd tugged on his beard. “I hear you’re the type to screw a guy’s wife and then beat the shit out of him for objecting.”

  Ah. So there it was. The cards were stark, ugly, and slapped on the table. And if Todd knew, no doubt his sister did, also. Little wonder she jumped like he’d goosed her when he touched her arm earlier.

  “You don’t deny it?”

  He caught the flicker of curiosity in the other man’s gruff tone, but he let the silence stretch—if you could call the background drone of the chainsaw “silence.”

  “Do I deny hitting the man?” His lips twisted. “No. Not with photos rising to the surface like pond scum. Camera doesn’t lie, does it?”

  “And Savannah Payne?”

  He pulled off his work gloves and tucked them under his arm. “Do you believe everything the media tries to shove down your throat?”

  “Nah. I got a brain. Might look like a big, dumb surfer, but don’t be fooled.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  Todd’s face split into a grin, and he slotted his hammer into the tool belt slung around his hips. “Must be time for a break, you reckon?”

  They picked their way across the beams to the ladder. Todd stepped down first then paused. “Did the fella deserve it?”

  Nate hacked out a laugh. “You’re one of the few people who’ve asked me that.”

  “And?”

  “Yeah, he deserved it. And a lot worse.”

  Todd nodded sagely. “Then we’re good, boss.” He descended a couple of rungs, stopped and cocked a gun-shaped forefinger at him. “But if you touch my sister without her permission, I’ll see to it you permanently swap that tool belt for a colostomy bag.”

  Nate swung his leg down onto the first ladder rung. People were always willing to believe the worst, the most scandalous explanation. Too lazy or indifferent to consider the other side of the coin and to think beyond the obvious garbage the media so liked to force-feed the public.

  One thing Todd was right about, though. Nate should keep his eye on the prize and far away from Lauren’s very tempting, very hot body.

  ***

  Under the tent awning, the kettle hissing and drone of insects seemed like utter peace to Lauren after spending three hours battling the jungle with her chainsaw. Nate slumped in the deck chair beside her, while Todd followed his stomach to the fresh muffins stashed in her car.

  Fine by her—this interlude could be her first opportunity to direct the conversation toward the subject of Nate’s plans. She released a pent-up breath and stretched her aching arm muscles.

  The kettle screeched, and Nate eased out of his chair to flick off the camp stove.

  “Sore?” he asked.

  “Been a while since I’ve used a chainsaw for that long in one session.”

  He poured boiling water into three mugs. “Yeah, I feel it too. A camera’s a lot lighter than planks and roofing iron.”

  “Good, honest, hard work never killed anyone, my dad would’ve said.”

  “My old man would agree with your dad’s philosophy.” His voice gentled as he offered her a mug.

  She caught an off note in his tone and zeroed in. “Being a photojournalist can’t be an easy job.”

  “It’s up there with acting or hairdressing, in his opinion.”

  “What did he want you to do?”

  “Something that would make a difference, like building houses in South America or practicing medicine at an AIDS clinic in Africa.”

  Caution slowed her response. “Those are…noble occupations.”

  “My folks are very noble.”

  “Do your parents do that sort of work?”

  “Not anymore. They officially retired and returned to Auckland from the mission field five years ago. They worked in Africa, India, and for a year or so in the Philippines.”

  “Did you go with your parents overseas?” She set her mug on an overturned crate, which doubled as a coffee table, and selected a sandwich from her backpack.

  “Five countries from the time we left New Zealand when I was four, until I reached eighteen. Then my mum voted med school and my dad, architecture.”

  “And what was your vote?”

  He blew on his mug of instant noodles, laughter lines bracketing his eyes. “To bum around the world taking photos. Dad always regretted giving me a camera on my tenth birthday. I thought I was a real hotshot newshawk a
fter that.”

  “But you got your own way and went into journalism?”

  “Yeah. I don’t have what it takes to stay in one place for years, hitting the books and getting degree after degree. One was enough for me. I had a friend, Steve—”

  The hairs at the back of her neck prickled at the way he said his friend’s name.

  “He taught me everything I know about photography, very little of which you’d find in a book. Steve never outgrew the need to keep moving. I guess it explains why we got on well.”

  “You had a friend? You aren’t friends anymore?”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw as he blew on the rising steam again. “He died. Cancer.”

  Her fingers pressed oval dents into the soft bread, but if she kept a grip on her sandwich, she wouldn’t embarrass them both by touching his hand. “I’m sorry; it’s harsh losing a friend that way.”

  “Was over a year ago now.” He shrugged and stared into the distance, as if grief came with a time limit that couldn’t be exceeded.

  They sat in silence, watching a black and white tui search for nectar in an overgrown flax bush. She fidgeted, rubbing a damp palm along her thigh. Somehow, this conversation had gone in a different direction than she’d intended.

  Back to the program. “So, you’ve no plans to settle down? Maybe start a family?”

  Nate leaned back in his deck chair, stretched out his legs, and folded his arms. She wanted to squirm because the slight curve of his lips indicated he knew exactly what she hinted at.

  “I don’t know how to do the stay-at-home family thing, and I’ve no desire to learn.” He angled his chin toward the house. “I’m not keeping the place, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I don’t want it. Aside from the investment issue, I’d be bored out of my mind within weeks.”

  His words fired a twinge of irritation through her. And something else—something like disappointment. “But there are other options for the property you could look into.”

  One dark eyebrow rose. “Such as?”

  “Leasing it as an artist’s studio or a private home. Even the local electricity providers are looking for land to build wind turbines.” She hoped her voice didn’t betray the pulse throbbing beside her vocal chords.

  “Hadn’t thought of that. But who in their right mind would want to live up here full time? No offense.” He shot her a fast grin.

  “You underestimate the area’s charms. Bounty Bay attracts artists like moths to flame. You should think about it.” Don’t push any harder, she instructed herself. Keep it nice and friendly-like and leave him some thinking space. Men balked at being rushed into things. Provide some alternatives and they’d turn them around in their heads until they thought the idea was theirs in the first place. “The city’s more to your taste then?”

  He shook his head. “Anywhere but stagnating in the same spot is more to my taste.” He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and immobilized her with a curious gaze. “And you? Do you prefer the silence here to the big smoke?”

  Lauren’s neck muscles bunched as she nodded. “Drew and I like being near family, and living out here is so peaceful—we love it.”

  “Where did you live before?”

  The tension crept down to her shoulder blades, but she deliberately sank back into the deck chair and crossed her legs. A reasonable question and carelessly asked—it wouldn’t pay to overreact. “I grew up in Bounty Bay, but I lived in the States for a few years. My husband was a New Yorker, so I was based in Manhattan for a while.”

  “New York?” He cocked his head. “A long way from home.”

  “Yeah.” Her smile was as tense as her crocheted back muscles. “A stranger in a strange land. It didn’t work out. Guess I missed driving my cars instead of using the subway.” Or being driven around by her husband’s chauffer. Prudent to keep that observation to herself.

  His voice dropped to a confidential level, his brows tugging together. “But that’s not why you left.”

  “No, and the reasons why are personal.”

  He swallowed the last of his lunch. “Meaning I should back off and stop prying?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Not with a man who was as dangerous to her peace of mind as Nate was.

  “Fair enough. I’ve things in my past I choose not to dwell on either.” He stood and rinsed his mug.

  Todd ducked under the tent’s awning with a plastic container under his arm and a muffin clenched in his fist. “If either of you tell Kathy how many muffins I’ve eaten, heads will roll.”

  Nate placed his clean mug on the upturned crate. “Won’t be from me. I can keep a secret.” He shot her a pointed look and walked toward the house.

  Lauren sipped her tea, while Todd polished off his muffin.

  “What’s this about secrets? Does he know who you were?” Todd brushed crumbs off his shirt.

  “No. At least, he hasn’t said anything.”

  “You gonna tell him?”

  “I won’t take the risk and it’s none of his business.”

  Todd huffed air out of his nose, then tightened his tool belt. “He’s a reporter; he’ll make it his business.”

  “He specializes in war zones and riots. He won’t pay any attention to some scarred nobody in the back of beyond. Not with other things on his mind.”

  Todd grunted. “I bet.” He tugged her to her feet and into a hug. “Sis, you’re not a nobody to me, and any man who only sees your scar instead a gorgeous babe with a big heart isn’t worth spit.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I got your back.” He patted her shoulder with a calloused palm.

  This time. Though the words remained unspoken, they wove through his solemn tone.

  Lauren squeezed her brother tight. “It’ll be fine, and in a few weeks, he’ll be gone.”

  And well before then she needed to figure out how to change his mind.

  Chapter 4

  Lauren approached the lion’s den with only a chunk of steak between her and certain death. Except in this case, Nate represented the lion, and the steak, a plate of her beef chili. Still, her heart knocked and her palms slid greasily around the steering wheel as she drove toward Mac’s place.

  She hadn’t chain-sawed any more for him when a storm blew in two days ago, but after another rainy afternoon cooped up inside, her son frothed at the mouth for action. When she’d suggested they ring Uncle Todd to drop a hot meal off to Nate, Drew looked at her as if she was nuts.

  “Why can’t we take him dinner?”

  Good point. It wasn’t as though they’d be eating with him, but she still tried to change her son’s mind. “Because it’s pouring.”

  “I’ve got gumboots, Mummy.” Exasperation in spades.

  So here they were, pulling into Mac’s driveway with rain pummeling the car roof. Déjà vu to the max, but that didn’t explain Lauren’s racing heart and sweaty palms. She parked beside his Range Rover. Seemed safe enough to enjoy the little fizz of attraction that’d sprung to life. She savored the sizzle when their eyes met or as he said her name in his low, sexy voice, because nothing could come of her attraction to him.

  “Can I carry the plate?”

  She unclipped Drew’s safety belt. “Yes. But remember you promised to be a good boy and have a bath when we get home.”

  His nose wrinkled. “Oh, all right.”

  The rain splattered on their raincoats in relentless bullets as they hurried to the tent, Drew clutching the foil-covered plate to his chest. A soft glow illuminated the plastic windows, but Nate didn’t come out to greet them.

  “Nate?” she called.

  “In here.” Movement from inside.

  She unzipped the tent flap and shepherded Drew through. The conditions weren’t much better than the outside. Rivulets of water trickled across the floor and the air smelled dank with wet oilskin. Nate hunched on a deck chair in the corner, his sleeping bag tucked around him.

  Drew’s gumboots splashed tiny sprays as he walked.
“We brought you dinner.”

  Nate reached out for the plate, a slight tremor in his hands. A seismic impact shifted in her heart. She wanted him to give up and return to the city a.s.a.p., but for goodness sake, the man was miserable.

  “Get your stuff together, and come back with us. You can’t stay here in these conditions.”

  Cool, heavy-lidded eyes met hers. “I’m fine.”

  “Tough guy, are you?”

  “I’ve been in worse places.”

  “I don’t doubt it. But if you get over your tough-guy ego, there’s a hot shower, hot food, and a dry futon in my workshop you can sleep on tonight.”

  “You can play snakes ‘n’ ladders with me,” said Drew.

  Hesitation as their gazes clashed again, then a glimmer of a smile emerged. “Food, warmth, and a game of snakes and ladders with my little mate?”

  Drew beamed at him.

  “Guess I’d be crazy to turn down an offer like that.”

  Yes. And she’d been crazy enough to suggest it.

  ***

  After a shower, a double serve of chili, and a solid beating by a ruthless four-year-old board game shark, Nate considered himself human again.

  He unrolled his sleeping bag on the futon couch and looked around the fluorescent-lit workshop with a sigh. His new accommodations were dry, un-cramped, and came with the luxury of indoor plumbing instead of the great outdoors. As an enthusiastic twenty-three-year-old who’d camped in central New Zealand’s icy temperatures to cover an annual motorbike rally, he’d had no problem sleeping rough. But eight years later? He was too old for that kind of shit.

  He flicked off the workshop lights, crawled into bed, and adjusted the laundry-scented pillow Lauren had thrust at him. He should’ve felt a sense of satisfaction, now that he had a warm place to sleep. Why, then, did he feel as if he wanted something more?

  Nate woke with a start. Three o’clock in the morning, the glowing digits of his watch informed him. He stumbled from the couch to the bathroom at the end of the workshop. God, he felt drugged. He hadn’t slept so well in a week. Yawning, he glanced out the tiny window as he washed his hands.