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

by Rosalind James

  “I don’t believe it’s that, and, at the risk of repeating myself”—he closed the gap, stepping way into her personal space—“you’re beautiful, sweaty or not.”

  Her upturned eyes widened, darting sideways as if she sought an escape route. Her tongue peeped out between sealed lips, and the afternoon sun highlighted the tremor of a pale blue vein in her neck. His gaze dropped. If she inhaled any more deeply, her breasts would meet his chest. The puff of her warm breath misted on his collarbone, and his hands flexed, burning with the desire to drag her flush against him.

  “Step back, Nate. You’re crowding me.”

  Ballsy and beautiful. The male predator in him fought for control, aware of what the woman in front of him may’ve endured but equally aware of the magnetic sexual pull of her body swaying toward his. “Not this time.”

  A breeze, warm and fragrant with the scent of her, flared into his nose, wrapped around his resistance and suffocated it. “I want to kiss you.”

  “No.” A soft gasp, her hands unfolding quickly to brace against his chest. “No, you can’t.”

  His palms trailed up her bare arms in a caress that sent shivers down his back. Lauren’s eyes blazed hazel fire, but she didn’t step away, though he did nothing to restrain her. Instead, her nails scraped across his shirt as her fingers curled into fists.

  “Then you decide.” He wrapped his hands lightly around her upper arms. “Either hit me or kiss me. Those are your options.”

  ***

  Could her body be any more traitorous?

  Gooey mush. That’s what Lauren’s mind dissolved into. All logical thoughts vanished when Nate brushed those work-roughened hands along her skin, and her body—her traitorous body—arched toward his without consent.

  Kiss him or hit him?

  Her fingers flexed tighter on the sun-hot expanse of cotton across his chest. The rapid thunder of his heartbeat thrummed against her knuckles.

  Yeah, she wanted to hit him, but dammit—she wanted to kiss him more.

  “Can I do both?” The unfamiliar shot of lust-tinged huskiness in her voice prickled her scalp.

  A glimmer of straight, white teeth. “Be my guest.”

  She tilted forward, rose on tiptoes to counteract the height difference. Angled her chin and contemplated, with a sucked in breath, his full, firm lips shadowed by short whiskers. His intoxicating scent of sunshine, freshly laundered cotton and male musk fuddled her reasons for resistance.

  One simple kiss. What could it hurt?

  Her eyelids slid shut as her mouth found the small hollow between his lips and chin, the warmth of his skin and the scrape of stubble sending a tingle down to her boot-clad toes. Coarse hair changed to the smooth texture of his mouth. He inhaled with a hiss, his fingers contracting on her arms. That she had any power to affect him caused a smile to quiver on her lips.

  But when she pressed her mouth to his with a breathy sigh, everything known and controllable in her world spun off its axis, sucking her into a vortex she’d no hope of escaping. One simple kiss? Something must’ve shorted in her brain, because this kiss tap-danced all over simple.

  His hand skimmed up her shoulder, spread across her nape into a possessive hold. A tug on her hip sent her lower body colliding into his obvious arousal. Demanding a response, his tongue darted into her mouth, retreated, returned and lingered. Her fingers slid around his neck and tangled in his silky hair, and she clung, even as her mind rebelled against total surrender.

  She pulled back with a gasp for air and a plea. “Nate.”

  He lightened his grip, and the hand on her hip clenched once in denial then sprang open, allowing her to step out of his arms.

  Lauren bent to pick up her gear, her blood hammering. A car engine grew louder in the still air, severing the silence. Java appeared from the shade of the house and trotted over.

  “That sounds like Kathy’s car.”

  She turned toward him, but he’d already moved away to stand on the other side of his Range Rover.

  By the time her sister-in-law’s car came into view, Nate’s gaze refused to settle anywhere near her face. His expression betrayed nothing, as if they’d shared a casual conversation about the weather, instead of locking lips. Had she really done that? Twined around him like ivy? She’d fraternized with the enemy when she should’ve been thinking about ways to derail Nate’s plans.

  The phone call to her lawyer last week confirmed her worst suspicions. Nate Fraser could pretty much do whatever he liked with his land. He could build a theme park on it, if the idea fired his rockets. A dark notion flitted across her brain—could she stoop to seduction to change his mind?

  He leaned against the Rover, thumbs hooked nonchalantly in his belt loops, and she dismissed the thought. Who was she kidding? She had no leverage to use when a kiss that’d curled her toes left him cool and unruffled. He held all the cards and kept them close to his chest. No bold seductress—she didn’t have the sexual ruthlessness to twist his will around her little finger. And if Nate knew she’d once allowed her husband to twist her will around his finger…

  Well, he wouldn’t have challenged her to kiss him in the first place.

  “Mummy, I wanna show you my picture before we go back to Aunty Kathy’s,” Drew shouted from the open window the moment Kathy’s car came to a stop.

  Lauren scooped her son out of his car seat and settled him on her hip, hiding the heat of her face in his paint-smeared hair. “You had fun with paints at preschool today?”

  “He’s talked of nothing else since I picked him up.” Kathy chuckled as she and Sophie exited the car.

  “Look!” Drew shoved a rumpled sheet of art paper under her nose to recapture her attention. “It’s Superman.”

  Bold, primary blue and red splashed across the paper. A wobbly gold “S” was smeared on the figure’s chest, and a brushstroke of brown paint jutted from Superman’s forehead. A cowlick. Nate’s cowlick.

  “Such bright colors, sweetie.” She forced enthusiasm into her tone. “You put a lot of work into this picture.”

  “Now I wanna show Nate.” He wriggled down, snatched his artwork from her limp hand and skipped away.

  Oh, God. Her gaze flew to Nate, but he watched her son’s approach with studied neutrality. Don’t let him hurt Drew’s feelings and don’t let him read anything into a four-year-old’s hero worship. She took a step after Drew, but her leg muscles trembled like she’d run a marathon.

  Kathy laid a hand on her arm and whispered, “It’ll be okay.”

  Nate accepted the picture, Drew hopping from foot to foot beside him. Nate crouched at the same level as her son and touched a finger to the page. “You’ve got an eye for detail, kid. I like how you’ve made Superman’s arms big and strong.” His gaze flicked to hers. “Strong enough to sweep Lois Lane off her feet.”

  Drew fisted his hands on his hips and wrinkled his nose. “Strong enough to beat the bad guys, you mean.”

  “That too.” Nate stood and handed back the picture. “He’s the Man of Steel.”

  Sophie ran to Drew’s side and pointed to the Range Rover’s roof. “Is that your camera?”

  “Yep.”

  Drew yanked on the pocket of Nate’s jeans. “Can I see?”

  Lauren’s breath caught. “Drew, Sophie, I don’t think you sh—”

  “Sure you can.” Nate shot her a simmering look. “You could take a photo of your mum if you promise to be careful. How about we give Superman to your aunty to keep safe?”

  After handing the picture over, Drew clapped his hands and bounced on his toes. Nate lifted his camera down and draped the strap around her son’s neck. He squatted behind Drew, tucked her boy against his big body and supported the camera with one hand, while Drew wrapped his tiny fists on either side.

  Lauren’s chest constricted. The less cynical part of her wanted to believe his actions were plain kindness, rather than a calculated move to weasel into her good graces. But then, why would he bother?

  “Thi
s is the camera’s eye. It’s called the viewfinder, and what you see in there is what you’ll take a photo of.” Nate kept the camera steady and pointed it at her.

  Drew beamed. “There’s Mummy!”

  “She’s frowning.” Sophie rested an arm on Nate’s shoulder. Anyone would think he had his own brood of kids; he was so good with them. “Come on Aunty Lauren, say ‘hanky-panky.’”

  Lauren’s face flamed, imagining hanky-panky-ing with Nate, even as Sophie explained, “My dad says that to get her to smile in photos.”

  “She’s still not smiling.” Indignation rang in Drew’s tone. “She’s just going red.”

  Lauren peeled back her lips in a parody of a smile, while Nate guided Drew’s finger to the shutter release.

  “I took a picture all by myself,” Drew crowed. “Mummy, come look.”

  Nate tilted his head as she approached, his eyes crinkling in the corners. Bet he knew exactly what she’d imagined. She glanced at the image of her flushed face and made encouraging noises at Drew, all the time clenching her jaw to prevent herself from demanding he delete the photo of her. Drew would be devastated.

  Nate repeated the process with Sophie and captured a shot of Kathy mugging for the camera.

  “We’d better get back to work,” Lauren interjected as the kids tried to coax Java into posing as their next model, “and you two will want afternoon tea at Aunty Kathy’s before it’s too close to dinner time.”

  Kathy shepherded the kids into her car and with a cheeky wave, drove off. Lauren walked to her goggles and snatched them from the ground.

  “Lauren?”

  She urged her facial muscles to relax into a pleasantly bland expression and turned.

  The camera slung around his neck, such an extension of his body, represented the sum total of her experience with the media. It was a sharp reminder that the public’s voracious consumption meant everything a celebrity did became news to those who exploited it for big bucks. If Nate uncovered her secret, she badly wanted to believe he wouldn’t make a phone call to one of the nationally distributed papers. But how hard would it be to pass up a juicy story of a fairytale turned sour?

  “About before—”

  “The kiss was a mistake. It should never have happened.” Her breathing hitched at the flash of fire in his eyes.

  “A mistake? So I should apologize?” He unhooked the camera from around his neck and opened the back door of his car.

  “No, of course not. But it can’t happen again.”

  The heat in his gaze frosted over. “You’re right, and it won’t.”

  Nate packed the camera into its case, and she remembered his hands, the strength locking their bodies together at the hip, but so gentle when they touched Drew. Remembered too, another’s hands that patted her son’s head indifferently then hours later turned into claws fisting her long hair. She’d been sucked in by a man’s charm and charisma and deliciously addictive kisses before.

  “Just so we’re clear.” Clutching the ear protectors and goggles to her stomach, she turned away.

  “Crystal.” His voice clipped the word to shards.

  Chapter 5

  Nate was punctual at mealtimes, insisted on washing up afterward, and he never turned down a rousing board game with Drew. The man was unfaultable as a boarder.

  During the early morning hours when insomnia struck, Lauren had paced along the French doors, kinda hoping he’d find an excuse to come up. He didn’t. And two days after that scorching-hot kiss, Lauren still couldn’t goad any reaction from him other than polite indifference. She wanted to kick him in the shins.

  At her desk, tackling her and Todd’s accounts, Lauren sighed and stretched the kinks from her back. She’d liked the hesitant camaraderie that had developed in their week of working together. Now it’d disappeared, and their every interaction was tense and forced. His coolness could’ve stemmed from male pique, but she doubted Nate was the type of man to sulk at a woman’s rejection.

  Shouldn’t his indifference make things less complicated?

  She shut down her laptop and got up to check the chicken pot pie in the oven. Drew, outfitted in his Superman cape, waited outside for the rumble of Nate’s Range Rover. Thank God Nate’s coolness didn’t extend to her son.

  “He’s coming!” Drew streaked across the deck with Java trotting alongside, his tail a wagging blur. Even her treacherous dog warranted more attention from Nate than she did.

  Spot of pique yourself, girl? Thought you didn’t want his laser-like attention focused on you?

  She removed the pie dish and mumbled a curse at her pathetic attempt to reignite the flicker of warmth in Nate’s eyes. Since The Kiss, their eye contact rarely lasted longer than a second.

  Nate stepped onto the deck as she placed a bowl of green salad on the dining table. Drew launched himself at Nate’s legs and all but shimmied up his tall frame.

  Nate lifted her son onto his shoulders. “Hey, little mate, what did you cook for dinner?”

  Drew giggled, wrapping his small hands under Nate’s chin. “I can’t cook, silly. Mummy made chicken pie.”

  “Smells great.” Nate turned to her with a leftover smile from Drew’s laughter, but it stopped short of thawing his gaze.

  He kept her son entertained throughout dinner with stories of Nate’s childhood exploits in faraway lands. Drew found the subject of snakes and other creepy-crawlies Nate had encountered endlessly fascinating.

  “We never saw snakes in New York, did we, Mummy?”

  Aware Nate’s attention had switched back to her, she toyed with the remaining salad on her plate. “No, snakes don’t like the city.”

  Nate’s chair creaked as his weight shifted. “I’ve told enough stories tonight. Why don’t you tell us a New York story, Lauren?”

  Refusing to meet the challenge in his tone, she kept her face toward her son. “My stories aren’t very exciting. I’m sure you’d rather hear more about the scorpions in the Philippines.”

  Drew mashed a chunk of pastry with the back of his spoon and slid a sideways glance at Nate. “I don’t want Mummy’s stories ‘bout New York. It’s a bad place, and I don’t like it.”

  Nate’s flinty gaze pinned her across the table.

  “Fair enough,” he said, after a beat. “If snakes don’t like living in the Big Apple, I’m sure I wouldn’t either.”

  Once they finished eating, Nate laced his fingers over his non-existent stomach with a satisfied sigh and chuckled as Drew mirrored his actions. Nate made her stay seated while he and Drew cleared the plates off the table.

  Seven-thirty finally rolled around, and never had Lauren been so glad to announce, “Bedtime,” to Drew. Teeth were brushed, a story read, and the nightlight switched on, and Lauren breathed out a sigh as she descended the stairs, registering silence from the other rooms. Thank goodness, Nate had gone.

  Strict professionalism was impossible since the pleasant spark of heat between them had ignited into a wildfire. They’d crossed an invisible line with that kiss, and wildfires had a nasty habit of destroying lives if left unchecked.

  Lauren stepped through the archway, only to freeze at an unexpected complication. A complication who sprawled on her couch with a steaming mug in his hand.

  “I thought you’d gone down to the workshop already.” Lauren’s gaze darted from Nate’s long, denim-clad legs to the extra mug on the coffee table.

  “Nope. I made you tea—chamomile, right?”

  Her hand fluttered to her lips. “I should get on with the dishes.”

  “I’ve done them. Come and have your tea.”

  Lauren accepted the mug and chose to sit on the couch opposite. “Thanks. It’s been a long day.”

  As she sipped, she flicked him a glance over the rim.

  He leaned back, crossed his ankles and kept her gaze trapped. “Will you tell me about New York?”

  “Oh. Ah, surely you’ve been there?” Tell him about New York? She’d barely told her family about her disastrou
s, four-year marriage.

  “Couple of times.”

  Then, in the way some guys intuitively did, he shut up and just watched her. Watched her with those dark-lashed, gorgeous green eyes.

  Damn.

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Start at the beginning.”

  “Right.”

  Where did her story begin? Where were the safe spots she could stand on like stepping stones in a turbulent river? What parts of her truth did she dare expose?

  She sucked in a deep breath. “I got married at twenty—too young, I know.” She cut him a sharp glance, but his impassive face showed no tell-tale sign of impending judgment. “I met John at a bar while I was with a bunch of friends.”

  Technically, it was a charity gala, and her agent insisted she and four other models in the agency attend. Jonathan Knight had swooped in on her like a bird of prey spotting a field mouse. At nineteen, and having her first taste of freedom since her mother had left her in New York, Lauren believed she could handle a man like Jonathan.

  “To a naive girl from small town New Zealand, he appeared very sophisticated and worldly. Not to mention he was the clichéd tall, dark and handsome.”

  “He had dark hair and was tall?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that why you reacted so dramatically when I found you on the road?”

  Her fingers looped around her knees and squeezed. “You’re a similar build, have similar colored hair and similar sized…hands.”

  “Well, hell.”

  “But you have different eyes. John’s were hard and nearly black. I could never read his mood.”

  A fine network of lines radiated from the corner of Nate’s eyes, the spark of wry humor lighting the clear green depths.

  “Yours are like the sea, deep enough to drown in. They’re kind eyes.” A flood of heat crept over her skin and she averted her gaze.

  “I got swept away in the romance of it all. The extravagant gestures, the finest restaurants, his attention focused solely on me. I believed he loved me.” She choked out a bitter laugh. “But his love was conditional and based on ownership.”