Just My Luck (Escape to New Zealand #5)

by Rosalind James

  “Oh, you impressed me before this too,” she assured him. “OK, maybe not at first,” she admitted at his laughing glance. “But fairly quickly. By the time you were climbing with me, I was definitely impressed.”

  “But somehow,” he said, winding through the hills now, nearing his house, “you’re more impressed now, even though we lost.”

  “Because you’re so good at it. And being the best at that, at something that hard . . . that really means something. I finally got it, why you’re such a big deal. And it was close, too. Right up until the end.”

  He grimaced, punched the button for the garage door, and pulled in. “Doesn’t matter how close it was. It was a loss, and I’d rather have shown you a win.”

  “I don’t care about that. I was impressed. I was more than impressed.” She followed him up the steep flight of concrete steps that led from the back of the garage to the villa.

  “Yeah,” she sighed from behind him, watching him climb the steps in his shorts. Remembering how he’d looked the night before. “Something about watching that . . . it’s pretty effective, as a woman-attracting device.”

  He laughed. “I met you at the wrong time, that what you’re saying? The offseason?”

  “Maybe,” she admitted. “But no, not really. I’m glad I got to know you first as a . . . as a person. I’d have been way too intimidated otherwise, if I’d watched you play like that and then met you.”

  He frowned down at her as he held the door. “You’d have worried that I’d hurt you, you mean, that I’d be too rough. I meant what I said. I don’t do that.”

  “Of course not,” she hastened to say, following him through to the big, modern kitchen at the back of the house, with its view out to a patch of manicured lawn and native plantings of agapanthus, flax plants, and tree ferns, a wooden deck with comfortable, cushioned furniture. They should have dinner out there tonight, she thought fleetingly.

  “I didn’t mean, physically intimidated,” she tried to explain. “Just that I’ve never dated anyone famous before. Anyone with a stadium full of people cheering just because he showed up. It was an odd feeling. But a good feeling. Watching you run out there, especially. That was a really good feeling.”

  “But I didn’t like watching you fall down so much,” she continued, watching him ease onto a bar stool with a sigh of his own. “Getting hit so hard. How’re you feeling? You look pretty sore.”

  “A bit sore,” he admitted. “A bit tired too. I was glad when you said you wanted to have dinner in, tell you the truth. Though you didn’t have to cook.”

  “I wanted to, though.” She began pulling the perishables out of her grocery bag and stashing them in the stainless-steel fridge. “And don’t get your hopes up. It’s nothing all that fabulous. I only make things that I can do in a half hour or less.”

  What she’d really wanted had been to do something for him. And now that she’d seen the stiff way he was moving, the fatigue that was still evident, she was glad she’d thought of this.

  “So what are we doing this afternoon?” she asked. “How’d you spend your morning?”

  “Bit of stretching, got a massage, put ice on various things. Same boring morning-after as always. But now that you’re here, I thought I’d show you something special about my house.”

  “Something special about your house,” she repeated slowly. “If you’ve got some kind of sex room, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to see it.”

  He smiled at her, and she thought how much she loved being able to make Nate smile. Watching his normally intense expression lighten, and knowing it was for her.

  “Much more pleasant, I promise,” he said. “Come on.” He picked up her duffel. “Upstairs.”

  “You do have to take off your clothes, I’m afraid, to see this special thing,” he apologized, dropping her bag next to the bed in the spacious master bedroom, its many windows offering a panoramic view out over rooftops and trees, the Harbour below.

  “Uh-huh,” she said, watching as he stripped down. “Sounding more ominous all the time.”

  She didn’t much care for looking at the bruises and scrapes that covered his arms and legs, but she was definitely enjoying the sight of his defined abdomen, the muscles flexing in his broad chest as he lifted the T-shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. And then he took off his shorts and underwear, and she took a good long look at that too. Oh, yeah. Thighs. And . . . everything.

  “You’re not keeping up,” he pointed out.

  “You’re distracting me,” she complained. “I haven’t seen you enough times yet to be used to it. And I’m just going to say here, it’s pretty interesting that you made such a big deal of my banging myself up one time on the climbing wall, with the way you look every week.”

  “Told you, though. That’s me. I’m meant to get banged up, you aren’t. That’s how it is.” He sank onto the end of the bed with another sigh.

  “And now,” he said pointedly, “time for you to get that gear off. Come on, give me a show.”

  “What?” She started to laugh. “I’m supposed to do some kind of strip tease for you? I wouldn’t even have an idea how.”

  “Oh, I think you could manage if you really tried,” he said, leaning back on his elbows now and smiling at her, so completely comfortable in his nudity. And no wonder. Naked was a really good look on him.

  Well, she’d wanted to make him happy today. That had been the whole plan. She might as well start now. He wanted this? He was going to get it.

  She gave it a moment’s thought, then kicked off her low sandals.

  “Strippers do it in high heels,” he pointed out.

  “I guess you’d better go on down to Calendar Girls and watch one of them, then,” she tossed back, making him smile again. “Or you could stay here and watch me. Your choice.”

  She reached for the elastic holding her ponytail in place, pulled it out, dropped it onto her sandals, and ran her hands through her hair.

  “That’s probably my favorite,” he said. “That thing you do with your hair.”

  “Oh, I’m done? Good. I’ll stop.”

  “Nah. You’re not done,” he assured her. “Keep going.”

  She closed her eyes, tried to think sexy thoughts. To imagine that she wasn’t Allison Villiers, tomboy, climber, and adrenaline junkie, and was some kind of sex goddess instead. The kind who turned men on. The kind who moved slowly and seductively, as aware of their bodies as the men who watched them.

  She turned her back to him, crossed her arms over her chest so her hands reached down over her upper back, and caressed herself. Looked back over her shoulder at him, and saw him sitting up again, starting to look pretty interested. Which was fairly encouraging, wasn’t it?

  She was glad she’d worn a dress today, wanting to look pretty for him. And that it had buttons down the front. She turned around again, stared straight into his eyes, no smile at all for him. Thought about how it had felt, that first night, when he’d flipped her over, unzipped her skirt, and tried to project the desire, the ache she’d felt then. Tried to show him what he did to her, with her eyes. With her body.

  She reached for her buttons and began to unfasten them, starting at the deep V-neck and moving on down. Slowly. Patiently. Pretended it was his hands that were doing it, that were caressing the skin they uncovered with each leisurely release of a button, and sent that message to him with everything in her.

  One thing about doing a strip tease for a naked man, she thought, her hands below her waist now, continuing their slow work, you got a pretty good idea of how well you were doing. And she was doing great so far. The realization gave her confidence, inspired her. She kept her eyes locked on his, lifted the skirt to her hips so she could reach the last buttons, saw his eyes drop to the expanse of thigh exposed beneath the flare of yellow cotton.

  She held the dress together with her hands a moment more, swiveled her hips a little. She’d have felt stupid doing it, except that it was working, for her as well as for
him. Oh, boy, was it working for her. She slowly opened her arms, pulling the two sides of the dress apart, showing herself to him. Turned again, dancing a bit, and let the fabric slide down her arms, drop from her outstretched hands, flutter to the floor.

  Her bra had a front clasp, she remembered. All right, then. Still dancing, she turned to face him again. Reached a hand up, ran it through her hair. A little cheesy, but he’d said he liked it, and he was definitely liking it again now.

  She kept her hand there, her fingertips at the back of her neck, elbow over her head, staring him down, her hips moving to the music, the insistent beat that had begun playing in her head, was throbbing now, a drumbeat straight to her core, and put her other hand to that front clasp.

  And, as soon as she popped it, turned so her back was to him again. Gyrated, did her best bump and grind, and let the bra fall down her arms as the dress had, until it had joined the other garment on the floor. Crossed her arms over her breasts, turned again for him and, slowly, caressing every inch of the way, moved them down, down, until her breasts were revealed to him. Danced a little more for him, swaying to the beat that was so loud now inside her, she could have sworn he could hear it too. And then put a thumb on either side of her underwear, grateful that she’d worn a thong again, determined to make the most of it. To give him everything she had.

  Time for him to get another look at what she was beginning to suspect was his favorite part of her body. She kept dancing, turned her back on him one final time. Inched the tiny strip of fabric down her hips, bent forward a little to let him see it all, pulled the thong down a little bit more. Lowered it one slow inch at a time until she finally, slowly, dropped it.

  She stepped out of it, kicked it aside. Spread her legs a bit, still leaning forward, and ran her hands slowly, lovingly over her hips, down her thighs, and back up again. Over the curves of her bottom, up her sides, over her breasts. Imagined those hands were his, and tried to show him how good he made her feel when he touched her. When he held her there. She put one hand down to cover herself, the other arm across her breasts. Kept her hands moving as she turned.

  She shook out her hair again. Looked him straight in the eye. Slowly let her hands drift down her sides. Stood and showed herself to him. And waited.

  Bloody hell. Nate felt as if his tongue were several sizes too big. He’d started out amused, had tossed out the challenge as a joke. He should have known that you didn’t challenge Ally, not if you didn’t want your challenge answered. And had she ever answered it. Without music, without wine, without sexy lingerie or dim lights, she’d given him one hell of a show, had made him forget all about his aching body, the nagging disappointment of the loss.

  “Come over here,” he got out. And saw the way she tossed her head, the way she walked toward him, proud and fierce as a catwalk model.

  He spread his legs, pulled her by the hips to stand between them. Then looked into her eyes, scooted back on the bed, and lay down on his back.

  And she followed right along, as he’d known she would. Slid herself over him, reached for him, stroked him. Then bent down to kiss him, her hands on either side of his head, her tongue in his mouth. Took her time with him, moving to kiss his neck, his shoulders. Her hands over his chest, down to his thighs. All over him, her touch firm enough not to tickle, soft enough to let him know she was a woman. And making him burn.

  Then she’d swung a leg over him, was leaving him. And he felt the loss of it through his entire body.

  “Ally,” he protested. “Come back.”

  But she was back over him now, ripping the packet open. Kissing her way down again, rolling the condom onto him. Moving up, then, taking hold so she could slide herself onto him. He groaned as she did it, his hands reaching for her hips.

  But that was all he had to do, because she did it all. Drove herself over him, bent down to kiss him, to rub her pretty breasts against him. Which gave him the chance to put both hands on that gorgeous arse, handle her there, hold her tight, the way he’d wanted to do the entire time she’d been showing it to him, teasing him with it, flaunting it at him.

  And then, finally, as she began to move faster, to take him deeper, he was reaching for her, rubbing her. Pulling her down with the other arm so he could reach her breast with his mouth, hold her there too. So that she was caught over him, squirming against his hand, gasping above his head, lost in her pleasure. And he could feel himself getting lost right along with her.

  He felt the first racking spasms taking her, heard her begin to cry out. Then he was there too, emptying into her with a release that was all the sweeter for the fatigue, the ache in the rest of him. Feeling her surrender to it, and riding that beautiful wave with her, all the way down.

  “What was it you wanted to show me?” she asked. She curled herself against him, kissed his chest. “Here I got all naked for you, and I still haven’t seen it.”

  “If you’re going to get naked like that,” he groaned, “you’re going to make me lose my train of thought every time. We’ll never get anywhere.”

  “No productivity whatsoever,” she agreed. “Not a single constructive thing accomplished. What a pity.”

  He laughed, and she smiled back at him, leaned over to give him a soft kiss. “Still waiting,” she prompted.

  He gave that pretty bum a good slap that made her jump and laugh, then sat up, pulling her with him.

  “I was thinking this would feel good, be a bit sexy too. Didn’t realize we wouldn’t even get in there before you had me going.” He took her hand, led her into the bathroom.

  “We’re taking a shower?” she asked doubtfully. “Well, that’s nice, but we already did that.”

  “Nah.” He reached for the open shelves that held rolled white towels, grabbed two of them, then opened a door that she’d assumed led to a closet, to be met by a cloud of steam. “This is my special room. Sorry that it isn’t some sex torture dungeon. I know how disappointed you must be, but I actually prefer this, and maybe, if you give it a chance, you will too.”

  She walked through ahead of him, stopped for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim light. “A sauna,” she said, turning to him. “I’ve never known anyone with a sauna in their house before.”

  “Just a small one. But I don’t have big parties in here. Works for me.”

  The tiny room was completely paneled in wood, she saw, with an upper and a lower bench running the entire length of one wall. And filled with the most wonderful steam.

  “Up or down?” he asked.

  “Uh . . . down,” she decided. That was going to be plenty hot for her.

  He spread her towel on the lower shelf, then climbed to the upper one himself, spread out his own towel and lay down on his back. She followed suit, felt the delicious warmth, the moist steam enveloping her, soothing her. Felt her body melting into the wooden slats of the bench, her heart rate slowing, her breath deepening as her lungs filled with warm, moist air. Could only imagine how good it must feel on his abused body.

  He made her get out, after ten minutes or so. Pulled her into the big shower, turned the water on, gradually twisted the handle until she was yelping under a stream of cold water. Then led her back into the sauna again for another session, then back for a second shower, warm this time, where they scrubbed each other down, blissfully limp and spent. They barely managed to stagger back to the big white bed, crawl beneath crisp, cool sheets. And slept the afternoon away.

  Nate came back out onto the deck the next morning, smiled at the sight of Ally, her back to him, legs stretched out in front of her, sipping from her mug of tea. So obviously relaxed, so clearly enjoying herself, as happy to be here with him as he was to have her here. The tui were running through their impressive repertoire in the branches of the big trees at the back of the garden, and in a few minutes, the two of them were heading out on a walk to Kelburn Village for breakfast, followed by a stroll through the Botanic Garden. Which sounded, to him, like the very best way in the world to spend the morn
ing. Like exactly what he wanted to do before getting on the plane this afternoon.

  They hadn’t woken the day before until after five. Had cooked the simple dinner of salmon, greens, and roasted kumara and agria potatoes she’d bought from the Sunday market, eaten it out here to the accompaniment of a pretty nice Sauvignon Blanc he’d had in the fridge, and then had snuggled on the couch to watch a movie.

  “Can’t believe action movies are your favorite,” he’d said. “You’re like the perfect woman.”

  And afterwards, he’d taken her back to bed and done his best to repay the favor she’d done him, with interest. She’d seemed to appreciate the effort, and his body was feeling a whole lot better just now than it had this time yesterday. It was feeling good. He was feeling good.

  He slid back into his chair, set his laptop down and opened it. “Right. Schedule for week after next, as I’ll be gone all this week. D’you know yours this time?”

  She hopped up herself, went into the kitchen and came back pulling the piece of paper out of her purse. Held it out to him between finger and thumb.

  “Behold,” she told him, “how well I prepared for this meeting.”

  He smiled. “Still don’t have it on your phone, I see.”

  “Hey. I remembered, didn’t I?”

  He set the printed staffing schedule down next to his computer. “Pen?”

  She fossicked about in her purse for long enough that he was just about to go into the kitchen to get one from the tub. Then, finally, extracted one and handed it to him. He went through the printout, circled all her shifts.

  “If you do this,” he pointed out, “you’ll be able to see them more easily. Probably remember them better, too.”

  “Hey,” she objected. “I always make it in. My way works for me.”

  He shrugged, then began to click through his calendar, compare it to her list. “I’ll be back from Brissy at two on Sunday, En Zed time,” he began. “How about Sunday evening? We can go out to dinner.”

  “Not that that wasn’t awesome last night,” he broke off to assure her. “Every bit of it. But, yeh. I’ll take you out. Bring your stuff for work Monday, and I can collect you around seven-thirty, drop you back at the gym the next morning in time for your shift, and I’ll still have time to watch some film in the afternoon.”