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

by Rosalind James

  Lauren’s lights were on.

  Indecision glued his bare feet to the concrete. What if she was sick and too proud to call him for help? What if nightmares had woken Drew? What if he just admitted he needed to see her again, even though he’d only said goodnight six hours ago?

  Leave them alone. Leave her alone.

  He snarled at his reflection in the bathroom mirror then stalked back into the workshop, promptly stubbing his toe on the futon’s corner. Swearing, he fumbled for his flashlight and switched it on to illuminate a crimson splatter-trail on her rug. Perfect. His big toenail had partially lifted from its bed, and blood trickled out. Nate tugged on jeans and a shirt and headed out of the workshop.

  Java rose above him at the top of the deck stairs—a devil-black shape amongst charcoal shadows.

  Nate climbed the steps. “Don’t even think about it, mutt. I’m mad enough to bite you first.”

  The dog sneezed, shook himself until his collar rattled then sauntered to his bed by the back door.

  Nate limped after him and tapped against the wood. “Lauren?”

  Footsteps shuffled on the other side and the door swung open.

  Oh. Dear God. He’d made a huge tactical error.

  Dressed in plaid boxers that left her smooth thighs bare, and an ancient white tee, thin enough to outline the jut of her nipples, Lauren stared at him with smoky eyes and rumpled hair.

  Desire, scalding and liquid, flushed through him.

  Nate stepped backward, his jeans suddenly a size too small. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll just—”

  “Is that blood?” She pointed at his foot.

  “More than likely, but it’ll—”

  “Come in and sit down. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

  He retreated farther from the light. Maybe she wouldn’t notice the ridge in his jeans growing bigger as her breasts brushed against the soft fabric. “Really, I’m fi—”

  She sent him a saccharine-sweet look with her eyebrow arched prettily. “I’m happy to drive you to the hospital, if you’d prefer?”

  “Touché.” He hobbled inside, trying not to get blood on her carpet as he slumped onto the nearest couch.

  Lauren returned from the kitchen and tossed him a roll of paper towels. “Tear off a section while I grab the kit.”

  She disappeared through the archway and he couldn’t resist tracking the sensual swing of her hips under those miniscule shorts. Swallowing a groan, he threw his head back against the couch. How could his toe still be bleeding when every gallon of blood had headed straight for his groin?

  Lauren came back a few minutes later, the first aid box tucked under one arm and a thick toweling robe wrapped tight around her. Just as well…Another glimpse of her lush curves would fry his remaining brain cells.

  “Did you cut yourself?” She hesitated beside the couch, looking as if she was about to treat the injury herself.

  Please no, or he’d embarrass himself by doing something dumb…like hauling her into his lap.

  “Stubbed my toe and now the nail has lifted.”

  “Ouch.” She opened the container and tossed him a box of heavy-duty adhesive bandages. “Here you go.” Then she escaped behind the kitchen counter, out of his sight.

  He tore the protective cover off a bandage. “I saw your light on when I was in the bathroom.”

  Behind him came the sound of a running tap. “I was having a cup of tea.”

  “Couldn’t sleep? Or are you up extra early to bake more muffins?”

  She released a small hum of amusement. “Is that a hint?”

  He chuckled, though becoming addicted to Lauren’s cooking wasn’t wise. Now that she’d halfway finished clearing the road to his house, he wouldn’t get to sample many more batches of her home baking.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she said.

  Nate stood and limped to the kitchen. He rested a hip against the counter. “Insomnia?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not fatal.” She tried to play it down with a roll of her eyes.

  “Just soul destroying after a while.”

  She finished rinsing her mug and dried it with brisk, efficient movements. “I’m used to it.”

  He stepped closer, the sweet, female smell of shampoo and flowers addling his brain. “How long has it been a problem?”

  “A number of years, on and off.” She set the mug on the counter, where it rattled a short tattoo until she pried her fingers from the handle. “It gets worse when I’m stressed.”

  “Do I cause you stress?”

  Her teeth nipped the curve of her lip. “Yes.”

  Before he could counter the urge, his knuckles skimmed along her scar, a five centimeter, raised crescent that must’ve hurt like hell when the injury occurred. She stared at him wide-eyed and jerked back, causing his fingers to trail a lingering caress down the line of her jaw before they fell away.

  “Stop touching me. Please.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Lauren tilted her chin even as the walls slammed down in her eyes. Her nostrils flared as her breathing accelerated.

  “Did your ex do that?”

  She flinched but refused to drop her gaze. “No one did that. I was in a car accident.”

  “That’s what you tell everyone, huh?”

  “It’s what happened.” She half turned away, wiping her fingers on a dishtowel.

  Her blush said otherwise. Car accident, his ass. Her ex-husband was responsible, guaranteed. He fought to keep his voice gentle, to dampen down the simmering emotions beneath. “I spent my teenage years in some pretty rough places. That doesn’t look like a car accident scar to me.”

  She wiped the counter top, keeping her eyes on the sweep of the sponge. A shudder rippled across her shoulders, but she continued to clean, scrubbing at the already spotless sink.

  “I get it.” The silence stretched as the wall clock ticked off seconds. “Another time in your life you don’t want to talk about.”

  “Yes.” She turned back to him then. “My past is not open for discussion. I’ve moved on.”

  “Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

  “Nothing will make my past go away. Like my scar, it’s something I’ve learned to live with.”

  No bitterness soured her words, just a weary acceptance.

  “Your scars don’t define you.”

  “Scars?” She sent him a shuttered glance. “I only have one scar.”

  “You have more inside. Ones you won’t let anyone see because you’re scared.”

  “I’m not scared of you.” Her lip trembled once then stilled.

  “Good. You shouldn’t be scared of any man.” He retreated from her kitchen and paused at her back door. “Sweet dreams, Lauren.”

  He stepped into the misty, early morning air and closed the door quietly behind him.

  ***

  Lauren stepped through the archway after a quick shower to find Nate at her kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal.

  “I have a proposition for you,” he said.

  She paused, hairbrush caught halfway down her damp hair. “Please. Make yourself at home.”

  “Mummy, Nate eats six wheat biscuits for breakfast.” Drew, his tone awed, still clutched the cereal box as he perched on the couch, staring bug-eyed at Nate. “He says when I get big like him, I’ll be able to eat six too.”

  “Maybe you’ll even eat twice as many.” She ruffled his hair and took the box from his hands. “Now, go brush your teeth, and then I’ll help you get dressed, okay?”

  Drew glanced at Nate, then scowled. “I can get dressed by myself. I’m not a baby.”

  “No, I guess you’re not. Off you go.”

  Drew charged from the room. She swiveled and shouted after him, “Don’t forget to put on clean underwear.”

  An outraged wail from the bathroom. “Muuuuuum!”

  She turned back to Nate’s infectious grin, and her lips twitched.

  “You sound like
my mum.” He spooned cereal into his mouth, his eyes glinting, since he couldn’t smile and chew at the same time.

  She crossed to the table and sat opposite him. “Your mother still reminds you to change your underwear?”

  He swallowed and his grin reappeared. “Only when I remember to wear them.”

  Lauren laughed. “So what’s this proposition you wanted to make?”

  “Meals and board in your workshop for a couple of weeks until the inside of my house is habitable. Probably by early in the New Year.”

  Her heart rate kicked up a notch remembering the touch of his hand the night before. Nate stay with them? Such a bad idea. “I don’t think so.”

  “Sleeping rough with this crazy Far North weather sucks.”

  “So go back to the city.” She nipped her lower lip. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

  “I know you don’t want me next door, but returning to Auckland is not an option.” He tipped his chair back on two legs. “I’ll pay you a fair price to not deal with that tent every night.”

  “I don’t need another demanding male under my feet.” Which must’ve been the lamest excuse in the history of lame excuses.

  “I won’t get under your feet, and I promise not to be too demanding.” He laced his fingers behind his neck. “A meal and a shower at night, then I’ll disappear into your workshop. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  Not know he was there? Merely sitting in the same room with Nate made her body buzz like a phone on vibrate. But…Sharing a meal with him in the evening would be the prime time to continue wearing him down.

  Progress hadn’t been great so far, but it was still early days, and Taylor’s didn’t give up the fight that easily. She’d just instruct her wayward hormones to stop reacting to every intense, green-eyed stare he aimed in her direction. She’d pretend they could be friends, that she didn’t really like spending time with him, and that the little zing arcing through her when he smiled could be ignored.

  Heavy footsteps on the deck made her jump.

  “Mornin’, sis.” Todd blustered in through the open French doors, his gaze skipping from her shower-damp hair to Nate’s quite-at-home posture at her dining table. “What’s he doing here?”

  Drew hurried back into the kitchen to tug on his uncle’s hand. “Hi, Uncle Todd.”

  “Uh, hi, squirt.”

  Drew beamed. “Nate stayed here, and this morning he ate six whole wheat biscuits for breakfast.”

  Her brother’s eyes bulged, his teeth snapped together, and his gaze ripped from Drew to Nate. The room’s testosterone levels skyrocketed.

  “He slept in the workshop because his tent leaks like a sieve.” Lauren stood and stalked into the kitchen. “Take a chill pill.”

  Todd snorted and folded his arms, continuing to glare at Nate. She picked up the pot and poured three coffees. Nate wasn’t really interested in her. His gentle caress last night didn’t mean a thing. Easy, uncomplicated flirtation was all. She replaced the coffee pot with a little more force than necessary. “Nate’s asked to board here for a couple of weeks.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  She moved around the counter, held out a coffee to her brother with her other hand fisted on her hip. “That can be arranged if you don’t back off. I was about to say yes.”

  Todd’s jaw worked, but he kept his voice pitched low. “I failed protecting you once. I won’t let you get hurt again.”

  Tension laced the air, so thick that it latched around her throat and squeezed. Lauren sucked in a deep breath to expand her lungs. “You can’t fight my battles for me.”

  “Mummy, what’s board?”

  Oh crap—Drew was still in the room. She looked down and stroked his head. “It means Nate will have his dinner with us at night and sleep in our workshop for a few weeks until his house is ready.”

  “Awesome!” He bounced over to the table, unaware of the adult drama playing out around him. “We can play lots more games like Junior Monopoly, and checkers—” He paused, the tip of his tongue peeping out the corner of his mouth. “Are you a good fighter?”

  Nate looked from her to Todd, who scratched his beard with a lifted, sardonic eyebrow.

  Nate cleared his throat. “Yeah. When I have to be.”

  Drew turned back to her, his expression that of a defense lawyer resting his case. “Told ya. Nate’s like Superman, he can fight battles and stop Daddy ever hurting you again.”

  Her core body temperature plummeted, the heat staining her cheeks moments ago draining to icy sludge.

  “That’s right, kid. No one’ll hurt your mum while I’m around.” Nate stood, his chair skidding backward.

  The men exchanged glances, and then Nate’s gaze collided with hers.

  “I’m going back to work,” he said.

  “But your coffee—” She held out the mug, tongue glued to the roof of her mouth, because honestly, what could she say to make herself look less of a coward?

  “I’ll take it with me.”

  As she transferred the mug into his hand, Lauren’s fingertips brushed his, and the little jolt that zipped along her nerve endings made a liar out of her just-friends plan.

  “Invoice me for a week’s board, and I’ll transfer the funds into your account tonight.” His brusque tone doused the tingles running up her arm.

  “Daylight’s wasting,” he said to Todd.

  With a nod in her direction and a quick ruffle of Drew’s hair, Nate strode out her back door.

  Had she been railroaded into having an unwanted houseguest? A sneaked glance at Todd’s speculative stare stiffened her spine. Of course not. Nobody made her do anything she didn’t want to do.

  At least, not anymore.

  ***

  The next day, the devil on Nate’s shoulder suggested, “Why don’t you take a break? Grab your camera.”

  He and Todd had worked their butts off that morning, nailing down waterproof lining in preparation for the new roofing iron. Lauren arrived to finish clearing the driveway, as Todd drove off to buy more supplies. And after the second time he’d narrowly avoided flattening his thumb while trying to catch a glimpse of her chain-sawing, taking a short break seemed wise.

  He jogged to his car, where his battered camera remained hidden under the seat. His fingers itched to slide over its smooth, curved sides. Other than a couple of quick, work-in-progress shots, he hadn’t taken any photos since his arrival.

  So, he’d take fifteen minutes, twenty, max. He flipped the case open, lifted the camera out and slipped the strap over his head. More familiar, more intimate than a lover’s arms, the weight settled around his neck. “Come on baby, let’s see what’s out here in nowhere land.”

  The chainsaw’s buzz ratcheted down, and Lauren, surrounded by bright yellow blooms of gorse, pulled off her safety goggles. The sight extracted every last molecule of air from his lungs. He instinctively lifted the camera to his eye, framed and shot two close-ups before she’d time to wipe her brow. His body reacted as his gaze dropped from the long line of her neck, to the graceful arc of her back as she stretched.

  Quit it, you voyeur.

  He shouldn’t look or even think about her that way. No matter how attractive she was, he didn’t have the time or inclination to unravel all of Lauren’s hidden complications.

  Nate strode away, concentrating on the abundance of flora and fauna around his property. After ten minutes spent in fascination with the spiral of an unfurled fern and the zigzagging flight of a plump kererū, he circled back to his car, where Lauren still attacked the scrub. The sight of her framed in his viewfinder was an addictive lure he couldn’t resist.

  Portrait. Lauren’s full lips pressed together in concentration, the curve of her cheekbone below the protective goggles. He swiveled the camera. Landscape. Lauren with the chainsaw raised, blade biting into a sapling. Zoom. Lauren’s face front on, her gaze hurling daggers through the lens.

  Shit and hellfire. Busted.

  He lowered the camera as
the chainsaw motor died. She stalked over with murder written in every furious pulse of her body. She stopped right in front of him, hauled off her goggles and ear protectors and dropped them.

  “Why are you taking photos of me?”

  His shoulder tipped forward. “You’re beautiful.” Especially when you’re angry. But he’d enough wisdom to keep that opinion to himself.

  She ignored the compliment and bared her teeth. “You’ve no right to take my picture without permission.”

  “Once a camera’s in my hand, I’ve every right to capture what’s in front of me.”

  She made a noise low in her throat, which sounded suspiciously like a growl, and jabbed a finger into his chest. “The hell you have.”

  Under the flush of temper, a smattering of freckles stood in stark relief against her skin, and the worry lines on her forehead were more pronounced. Curious. Did the scar make her camera shy? Nothing about her face, scar or otherwise, detracted from her natural loveliness. She ought to have a gallery of photographs dedicated to her.

  A hummingbird flicker in his memory banks whispered then streaked away as she touched his camera.

  “Delete them.”

  He jerked it out of her grasp. “Hey, expensive equipment here; hands off.”

  Lauren’s glare was keener than the chainsaw’s blade. “Delete, those, photos.”

  Holding out a warning finger, he showed her the small camera screen and pressed play. The last image he’d shot appeared.

  She glowered. “Delete.”

  He pressed a button and the image disappeared, then he did the same with the second and third photo. He scrolled through another dozen photos of birds and plants, careful to stop before the first picture he’d taken of her. No logical explanation for it, he just couldn’t destroy them all.

  The deadly gleam faded from her eyes and she dismissed him with a wave. “Fine. Carry on, but don’t take any more photos of me.”

  He unhooked the camera from around his neck and placed it on the Range Rover’s roof. “Why not?”

  “A lot of women don’t like being photographed if they’re sweaty and disheveled.” Her arms crossed snug under her breasts.