Just My Luck (Escape to New Zealand #5)

by Rosalind James

  “Nah. Not anymore. They made them change the name. Pity, really. I thought it was brilliant.”

  “Anyway,” he went on. “I wanted to ask you, d’you want to go somewhere with me? I’ve got a bye coming up, two weeks from now.”

  “I remember.” This was the moment she’d been waiting for. Because she could hear the weariness in Nate’s voice already, and he’d have played eight games in a row by that point, the beginning of the season a distant memory. And the final game was likely to be as brutal as the one he’d just endured. The previous night’s match had been intense from beginning to end, both teams sinking to the ground at the referee’s final whistle in complete exhaustion. The much-needed win would help, but it wouldn’t make up for the bruising and battering he’d taken.

  And the next game, the final one before the bye, would be played in South Africa as well, enemy territory. Another harsh physical contest, she was sure, then the long flight back. And after all that, once the brief break was over, three days of training with the All Blacks. Away from home again in Mount Manganui on the Bay of Plenty, then straight to Canberra to catch up with the rest of the team in Australia. A mere two days there before he would be facing a Brumbies squad currently sitting at the top of the table. And then the season interrupted by the three weeks of the June Tests, when Nate would be leading the All Blacks out against France, his first time as the official captain, only the final one of those games played in Wellington.

  It was all so much, and he was going to need a break before it began. A total break. A fun break. And she was pretty sure she knew how to provide it.

  “I actually thought of something,” she said now, trying to sound casual. “If you have a few days to spend with me. Friday afternoon through Monday?”

  “Sounds good to me,” he said with a sigh she could hear even over the phone. “Where d’you want to go? I should make some bookings.”

  “How would you feel about my surprising you? Because your birthday’s next week, right? I looked it up. Maybe I don’t get to spend that day with you, but I thought I could take you away to celebrate anyway.”

  “You want to take me away.” He sounded a little stunned.

  “That’s right,” she said brightly. “I want to take you on holiday for your birthday. What, nobody’s ever done that for you?”

  “No. Definitely not.”

  “What? Definitely not, you won’t go with me?” She felt her heart sink under the weight of her disappointment. She’d figured it might be something new for him, but really? He had to be in charge that much? She couldn’t even plan a trip for them? This wasn’t a good sign.

  “No!” he said hurriedly. “I just meant, definitely not, nobody’s ever done it. Course I want to go with you. I’m just surprised, that’s all. And . . .” He hesitated. “It’s awesome that you’ve got something planned, but I’d like to pay for it.”

  “That’d be some birthday present, wouldn’t it?” she protested. “One that you paid for?”

  “But you can’t afford it.”

  “You don’t even know what it is. Maybe we’re camping, did you think of that?”

  “Nah,” he admitted, and she could hear the smile now. “But I wouldn’t be surprised. Is that it, then? Are we camping?”

  “I’m not telling. It’s a surprise. Put me on that calendar of yours, and wait and see.”

  Ally checked the boot of the little car yet again, making extra-sure she’d packed everything. She’d been alternately excited and nervous about this idea for the past two weeks, ever since he’d agreed to it and she’d begun planning in earnest. She wasn’t sure, by now, which emotion was stronger. She’d always been a risk-taker, but this was something new. And it was a lot harder to contemplate than a bungy jump. This was either going to be a disaster, or . . . Well, she hoped it was going to be “or.”

  She took a deep breath, got in, and slammed the door. Time to go. Sink or swim.

  Nate was ready, of course. He had to be the most punctual person she’d ever met. Part of the job again, probably. Punctuality, self-discipline, focus. Hopefully she could help him let go of all three this weekend.

  He met her at the door holding his duffel, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, a parka pulled over them against the rain that was coming down harder now.

  “Hope this isn’t actually camping,” he said. “Because that doesn’t sound too comfortable in this weather.”

  “You don’t want to spend three nights in a sleeping bag with me?” she asked, trying to sound hurt.

  He laughed. “Come to think of it, camping may not be too bad. But if it really is that, I should probably add a couple things here.”

  “I’ve got everything we need,” she promised. “Come on.”

  She took his bag from him at the car. “Go on and get in,” she instructed. “I’ll pack this.”

  “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you,” he said wonderingly. “You really do mean to surprise me. I’m going to suss out where we’re going, though, you know. I do know my geography, and there aren’t that many possible destinations. Unless we’re flying somewhere, or taking the ferry across to the Mainland. And if that’s it, you need to let me pay for it, because whatever you say, you can’t afford it.”

  “Would you be quiet and get in the car?” she asked in exasperation. “We’re both getting wet.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, then shrugged, turned, and got in.

  Ally stowed his bag in the tiny boot, then pulled out the item she’d stashed there earlier, wadded it up in her hand. Pulled off her own parka and jumped into the driver’s seat, tossing her coat into the back with his.

  “Just one more thing,” she told him as she put the key into the ignition. “Across the street there,” she pointed.

  He turned to look, and she moved fast. Reached around him with the folded silk scarf, pulled it over his eyes.

  “Hold still,” she said sternly when he exclaimed, reached a hand up. “This is part of your surprise.” She tied the thing behind his head, then had to laugh. It might have been better if it hadn’t been pastel pink, with flowers. But she’d had to borrow the scarves from Kristen, and she’d asked if her friend had any she didn’t like too much. Just in case they didn’t come back in pristine condition. Or come back at all. She had plans for those scarves.

  He reached his hands up to feel the blindfold. “Very mysterious. Right, I’m surprised. How long does this last?”

  “Not too long,” she promised. “Not much more than an hour and a half.”

  “An hour and a half?” he complained. “Going to be a bit boring, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to entertain you.” She hoped. If she kept her nerve.

  “Hmm.” He sounded a bit more interested. “You singing to me, or what?”

  “Nope. Not me.” She started the car and pulled out of her parking space, headed for the motorway. Turned on the radio and pressed “play” on her iPod. And heard Marvin Gaye starting them off on the playlist that she’d named “Doing It” for lack of a more clever title.

  “Let’s get it on, eh,” Nate said. “I’m liking this more and more.”

  “There’s more entertainment,” she told him. “We get to have a conversation too. All about this weekend. You ready to hear about your surprise?”

  “Oh, yeh.” He was smiling beneath his blindfold now. “I’m ready. I’m thinking it’s not camping.”

  “Nope. It’s some more of that experimentation you told me about. Here’s the plan. First I get . . .” She looked at the clock on the dash. “Twelve hours or so, to do whatever I want to you. You’re basically my sex slave tonight.”

  “I am, am I? And what happens after that? This is getting more and more interesting.”

  “Well, it’s really your idea,” she conceded. “Your Men’s Valentine’s Day idea, I mean. I kept thinking, what could I give you for your birthday that was special? And I kept coming up blank. And then I thought . . . Me.”

 
“You.”

  “Yeah. Me. Tomorrow,” she took a deep breath, then said it. “Tomorrow, I’m your sex slave.”

  “Now that’s what I call a birthday present,” he said, and the smile was all the way there now. “And I almost hate to ask, but what happens Sunday? Is that when you invite the neighbors round? How far are we going here?”

  She laughed. “Nope. Sunday’s . . . free play. If either of us has any energy left.”

  “Should’ve told me, so I could’ve been taking my vitamins,” he complained. But he was still smiling beneath his ridiculous pink blindfold. “And packed supplies. That riding crop and all.”

  “Hey,” she protested. “My rules still apply.”

  “Just joking,” he assured her. “I can think of heaps of things for my sex slave to do that don’t involve pain or . . . What was the other thing?”

  “Coercion,” she reminded him. “Or maybe, for the purposes of this weekend, I should say ‘force’ instead."

  “Hmm. Well, not that either. But oh, yeh. I can think of some things.”

  “Well, you have about an hour and a half here to do it. I’d say you have tonight too, but . . .” She heaved a gusty sigh. “I’m afraid you’re going to be busy tonight.”

  She pulled up outside the little house, turned the car off. Reached across and pulled the scarf off his eyes just as the front door opened, an older woman appearing on the porch.

  “Stay there,” Ally instructed. “I have to get the key.”

  “I hear and obey,” he said. “See how well I’m doing? You may want to take notes, make sure you’re ready when it’s your turn.”

  She laughed and got out of the car. Spent an endless ten minutes as the woman introduced herself as Joanne and explained—in detail—that she managed rental properties for various owners in the area. Then showed her through the little bach, including the bathroom and bedroom, as if Ally might not have been able to find them on her own.

  The bed, to Ally’s relief, looked just like the photos on the website, satisfactory headboard and all. She tried to be patient while Joanne showed her how the cooker worked, pointed out the path to the beach, and cast the occasional curious glance at the car where Nate waited. But Ally wasn’t about to satisfy this gossipy woman’s curiosity about her passenger. This was Nate’s getaway. His private getaway.

  Joanne left at last, though, getting into her own car in the driveway and pulling out. Ally ran back to the Yaris, hopped in beside Nate without speaking, and pulled into the spot the other woman had vacated.

  “OK,” she was finally able to tell him. “Here we are.”

  “Where? Not that I care, because I don’t think we’re going to be taking any tours this weekend. But I may as well know. For my memoirs, eh.”

  “Himatangi Beach. And it’s not raining.”

  “I see it’s a beach, and I see it’s not raining,” he agreed gravely. “And I’m waiting for my next order,” he pointed out.

  “Oh.” She laughed. “We’d better wait to start until we unload the car and have dinner. We’ll never manage the logistics of this otherwise. I’m not that good at giving orders, I’m afraid.”

  “Interesting,” he said thoughtfully. “As it happens, I’m very, very good at giving orders. Maybe I should save you the trouble, take over right now.”

  “Nope,” she said, popping the latch on the boot. “My holiday, my rules. And me first.”

  They’d managed dinner, only because she’d kept it simple. Steaks, pre-roasted vegies, and salad. But she was so nervous, she dropped her fork twice. Kept starting conversations, then finding herself trailing off again. It was looking at him that was doing it. Eating calmly, looking at her knowingly. The look of speculation in his blue eyes might have been for tonight. Or maybe he was making plans for tomorrow. Either way, it was making her jumpy.

  “Finish my steak for me,” she sighed at last. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  “OK,” he agreed. “I’ll do the washing-up, then, shall I?”

  “Good idea,” she said. “I’m liking this sex slave idea.”

  He laughed. “That isn’t the sex slave talking. That’s me wanting to get to the sex slave bit.”

  She came back into the kitchen wrapped in her dressing gown. “OK. I’m done. Your turn.”

  “I need to get clean, eh,” he said, wiping down the table. Everything else, she saw, was already tidied.

  “You do,” she agreed cordially. “Because I have big plans for you.”

  When he came out of the bathroom, she had the duvet pulled back on the bed, the candles placed on either side and lit, the lights off, the music playing softly. He’d seemed to enjoy it in the car, and it was sure working for her. She’d cranked the portable heater in the bedroom up to maximum when they’d first arrived, and the room was cozy. Which was good, because neither of them was going to be under the covers for quite a while, if her part of the entertainment went as well as she hoped.

  “We’re starting then, are we,” he said. He was wearing only a towel, wrapped around his waist. And as always, she was enjoying the sight of him. Shoulders, arms, chest, he had it all. And oh, did she love it.

  “That’s right,” she said. “From now until the morning, you’re mine. And right now, I want you to come and lie down on this bed for me. But first, take off the towel.”

  He obliged. Oh, yeah. He really did have it all.

  And then he came over to her. Lifted an eyebrow and gave her his best hard-eyed, ice-cold stare. Which was just as effective on her, she thought with a tingle of anticipation, as it was on rugby opponents. Tomorrow, she had a feeling, was going to be really interesting.

  And then he lay down smack in the middle of the big bed and just looked at her, waiting.

  She reminded herself that this was her turn, and took off her dressing gown. Slowly. And revealed the only true lingerie set she’d ever owned, her other big splurge on this holiday.

  She’d thought about black or red, but in the end, had stuck with ivory. She’d liked the virginal look, the innocence of the color combined with the sensuality of the thigh-high stockings with their lace tops, the minuscule lace G-string and low-cut, push-up lace bra. And judging from his expression, he liked it too.

  “Thought this was your night,” he murmured. “And here you are, already giving me my birthday present.”

  “Take a good look,” she ordered him. “Because you aren’t going to get another chance for a while.”

  She knelt beside him, then lay across his lap, presenting him with a close-up view of her backside as she reached across him for the bedside table drawer. She pulled out Kristen’s pink scarf, and another in a fairly hideous baby blue, and straightened up again.

  “Do I get to touch?” he asked, and he wasn’t smiling anymore.

  “No,” she told him sternly. She reached for his arms, pulled them together, and wrapped the pink scarf around his wrists. “Scoot down to the end of the bed.”

  He looked at her, his eyes intense, mouth firm, and slowly obeyed. She pulled his hands overhead, fastened them with the trailing ends of the scarf to the slat of the headboard.

  “And that’s as much as you get to see,” she told him when he was tied tight. She lifted the blue scarf and put it gently across his eyes. “Lift your head up.” She slid the scarf around and fastened it at the side, so the knot wouldn’t be uncomfortable. She was so considerate.

  She looked down at him, there below her. Tied up and blindfolded, all that muscle and determination under her control. And wondered why he somehow looked all the more dangerous for it.

  “Know what I’m going to do to you?” she asked.

  “No, what?” His voice was a little rough now.

  “I’m going to lick you everywhere,” she told him. “I’m going to touch you all over. I’m going to rub myself against you. And then, when I’m ready, when I decide it’s time, I’m going to work on you with my hands and my mouth until you’re squirming. Until you’re moaning. Until you’re n
ot anybody’s captain anymore. Until you’re all mine.”

  “And then,” she put her mouth next to his ear and whispered, “I’m going to ride you hard. And I’m going to be touching myself while I do it. You’re going to be wishing so much that you could watch me. That you could touch me, and kiss me. That you could be in charge of me. But you won’t be, will you? All you’ll be able to do is listen. And . . . feel.”

  And then she did it. And he thought, he really thought, that he was going to scream. Heard his own harsh breathing, the sounds he couldn’t suppress as she continued. As she drew it out. Licked him, kissed him, ran her hands over him. Everywhere, for much too long. And then . . . focused. Gave him the best he’d ever had. Slow, and wet, and oh, so thorough. Proved that she’d been paying attention, every time he’d told her what he wanted, what he liked. And not being able to see it, not being able to touch her . . . that was torture, and it was blisteringly, scorchingly hot.

  When he’d lost control, was writhing in exactly the way she’d promised, his groans loud in his ears, he felt her sit back. He let out an inarticulate sound of protest, his hips lifting off the bed toward her.

  “I’m taking off my clothes now,” she said softly. “The bra. And the G-string. But I’m leaving the stockings on. Don’t you wish you could see how I look?”

  Oh, he did. He really did.

  “I’m so wet,” she told him. “For you. And you wish you could touch me, don’t you?”

  “Yeh,” he got out. “I want to touch you.”

  “Well, you can’t,” she reminded him. “So I’m just going to have to touch myself, aren’t I? But I think,” she sighed, “that I need something else while I do that.”

  He heard the nightstand drawer opening and closing again, the rip of the packet. Then felt her rolling the condom slowly onto him. And then, finally, finally, she was rubbing herself over him. And she was right, she was wet. He could feel the tops of the stockings, too, against his sides, and it was killing him.

  “Ally,” he groaned, unable to stop himself from begging. “Do it. Please. Do it.”