Just Say (Hell) No (Escape to New Zealand Book 11)

by Rosalind James

Marko didn’t deign to respond to that. He actually had done a couple PR appearances at a freezing works. What of it? You supported the local industry, like they supported you, and Dunedin wasn’t a glamour destination. “I’ll ring up and schedule it,” he said. “I’m not doing it today. I’m easing my way into it.”

  “Don’t like puppies?” Koti asked. “Mate. Everybody likes puppies. You could get a dog out of it, too. Dog’s good. Companionship.”

  “I don’t want a dog.” They were in the lift again, and Koti wasn’t going anywhere, so Marko said, “I like dogs fine. I grew up on a sheep farm. But I don’t want one. I live alone, and as you may have noticed, I travel. If you want a dog so much, you get a dog.”

  “Maybe I will,” Koti said. “My daughter’s nearly three. She’d like a dog.”

  If Marko weren’t such a disciplined man, he’d have his hands in his hair by now. Instead, he stepped out of the lift, pulled his phone out of his pocket, leaned against the wall, and rang up the number Brenda had given him. When he rang off three minutes later, he told Koti, “Five-thirty Thursday evening. You want to choose a dog for your daughter? You can come with me and do it. They can photograph you instead. With your jersey off. Oiled down. You’re welcome.”

  That was why, on Thursday evening, he walked through the doors of the SPCA and into an echoing passage, tiled for easy cleanup, with Koti by his side. They stopped at a reception desk, and Marko told the middle-aged woman behind it, “Marko Sendoa. Here from the Blues to talk to Iona Corburt.”

  The woman said, “I’m Iona. Stayed on specially tonight to introduce you to the photographer. Thanks for coming. And your friend’s welcome as well, of course.”

  Marko said, “Cheers. His name’s Koti. He came to look at the dogs. Makes him happy.” He leaned closer and said in a confiding tone, “He enjoys the simpler things, if you know what I mean.”

  “Oh,” Iona said, then added, a shift in her tone, “Of course you can look at the dogs, Koti. Do you play rugby as well?” As if she were talking to a five-year-old.

  Mission accomplished.

  “Yeh,” Koti said, for once appearing lost for words. “I do.”

  Iona said, “If you boys will hang on a moment, I’ll run and find our photographer. She’s a volunteer, like me, but she’s accommodating your schedule anyway, which was kind of her, wasn’t it? Once I get you sorted, Marko, I’ll show your friend where the dogs are.” She smiled at Koti kindly. “You can stay and look as long as you like.”

  Marko kept his composure until she’d left the room. Then he fell against the wall and began to laugh.

  “Mate,” Koti complained. “That was cold. Am I meant to have taken one too many head knocks, or am I naturally a bit slow? It’d be good to know.”

  “Never mind,” Marko said. “It’s lost half its sting. She didn’t know who you were. Bugger.”

  He stopped laughing when Iona came back out again with somebody else behind her.

  He wished he’d worn something more exciting than his warmups over his Blues uniform. Also that he’d shaved. He hadn’t wanted to give anybody any illusions that he was some kind of poster boy.

  Maybe he should have paid attention to his mum’s message this morning.

  The Chariot.

  Exciting times ahead. The contest begins. It’s time to be strong and in control, to focus all your efforts on the task at hand. You can win this one. You know how. But it’ll take all your power and self-control to do it, and you can’t afford to take your eye off the ball.

  I don’t think this is about rugby, baby. Good luck.

  Nyree walked through the door behind Iona and just about walked back through it again.

  Koti James. Fine. She could have predicted Koti James. She could have dealt with Koti James. Easily. The man couldn’t take a bad photo. But nobody had said anything about Marko.

  Iona said, “This is, uh…” She waved her hand in a vague manner. “Matt, ah, Sender. And his friend Koti. Koti’s here to look at the dogs,” she informed Nyree.

  Did Marko have the grace to look as discomfited as Nyree felt? He did not. A tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth was the only indication of his amusement. “Marko Sendoa,” he said. “How ya goin’. Reckon this means we’re destined.” He told the others, “I met this lady on Sunday under completely different circumstances. And they say Dunedin’s a small town.”

  Koti put his hand out and said, “Koti James. I didn’t get your name.”

  “Nyree Morgan,” she said, shaking his hand.

  “Ah,” he said with satisfaction. His smile wasn’t a twitch. It was more like a blinding flash. “Kia ora, Nyree.”

  “Nau mai, haere mai,” she answered automatically. Settle down. A nice Maori boy with a bit too much personality, and a caveman, rugby-style. You are twenty-seven years old and have a new life. Photos. Campaign. Go. “Welcome, both of you. Come on back.”

  Iona said in a too-chirpy voice, “Would you like me to take you to see the puppies, Koti? You could look at them with me until your friend is finished. I’ll stay with you.”

  Nyree thought, What? Who did Iona think Koti was? He was famously sharp. Was it just that he was a rugby player?

  Koti didn’t seem to notice, fortunately. He just said, “Thanks, but I’ve decided to stick with Marko for a bit longer. Maybe Nyree has some puppies for me to look at. Although I do enjoy cuddling a kitten. I hope Marko doesn’t get all the kittens.”

  Koti James was a major tease, was what he was, and apparently he’d decided to tease Marko. Suddenly, Nyree felt more cheerful. Two on one was always better. “We’ll get into it straight away, then,” she said, “since I’m sure you boys don’t have time to waste. Come with me.”

  Marko said, “Nice to meet you, Iona,” but other than that, he just stood there looking dark, fierce, and unenthusiastic.

  Nyree led him and Koti down the corridor and into a small, bare, windowless room with two chairs in a corner, where she’d already set up a camera on a tripod. A pet-meeting room, but the bright light and gray walls were tailor-made as a photography studio.

  Koti wasn’t saying anything himself, but the expectant look on his face reminded her of some mischievous god. Loki, maybe, sticking to his more serious brother Thor like a burr in his side.

  She had to say something, since neither of the men was helping. “Sorry about the mix-up with your name,” she told Marko, doing some more fiddling with her camera that it didn’t strictly need. “Iona’s been reaching out for PR opportunities, and somebody suggested the Blues. I doubt she follows rugby.”

  “Somehow, I got that,” Marko said. He still looked… not tense, because he wasn’t that. Intense, more like. He was all here, every bit of him, standing in the middle of the room, his oversized feet planted and his thick forearms crossed, a midweek scruff of black beard adding a touch of the outlaw to his already tough-as-nails face.

  It was more than his size, she decided from behind the camera. She’d have sworn it was his energy field that was sucking up all the air in the little room. Dark? No, not dark. Not exactly.

  Koti shone silver, everything about him bright and wide-awake. Marko radiated something entirely different. The first time she’d met him, all those years ago, he’d been a brilliant red. He was still red, but his hue was deeper now. Stronger, but more grounded.

  If she’d been painting him, she’d have painted him in his uniform. But that uniform needed to be black, so she’d have painted the background with his red, layering into it every bit of complexity she could coax out of the paints. She’d have painted him confident. Physical. Sexual. The energy—and him—all but pulsing out of the black uniform and off the canvas.

  Whoa. No. Red and black were Crusaders colors. He wouldn’t thank her for that. Besides, she didn’t do portraits. Not of people.

  He was still talking. She needed to focus on that. “Never mind,” he said. He wasn’t looking at Koti. He was looking at her. “I said I’d do it, and I’m doing it. Though if you wan
t to use Koti instead, I’m quite happy to watch.”

  Koti said, “Nah, mate. The public’s getting to know you, that’s the idea. They already know me. Other than Iona, of course. Besides, you’ve got the contrast thing going for you, doesn’t he, Nyree?”

  “He does,” she said, deciding she liked Koti. “Big, hard man, cute little baby animals.” Sounded breezy. Casual. She added, “But both of you have contrast going for you, actually. With each other, I mean. So as you’re here anyway, and we’ve got the room…” She looked Marko over again. “You know what would be brilliant? You’re both more photogenic than I was expecting, so if you could sort of, ah, hold the babies against your chests, that would be perfect.”

  “Let me guess,” Marko said. “Our bare chests.”

  “Well, yes,” she said, and tried a smile. Professional. That was what this occasion required. It was about getting animals adopted, not about wanting to see anybody’s bare chest. “I’ll bring in the puppies and show you. I don’t think you’ll be able to resist.”

  They could resist, unfortunately. She got them stripped down to Blues jerseys and rugby shorts—tight and short, respectively, which wasn’t what you’d call ‘terrible’—but that was as far as it went in the unclothed department. Pity.

  She told them, while the half-dozen tumbling, floppy-eared puppies in various shades of black, brown, and white did their exuberant best to escape the confinement of their box, “These are your subjects. Their mum came in here half-starved and filthy, but she’d taken good care of her babies. Dug them a den in a bank and kept them alive. After all her hard work, seems the least we can do is find them homes.” And then she got behind her camera and waited to see what would happen. The puppies were fairly irresistible to her. Maybe they would be to these fellas as well. If not, she’d think of something.

  She’d expected Koti to be the one to dive in. Instead, Marko did. He went straight for the male with the brown patch over one eye who was doing his best to climb out of the box on the backs of his brothers and sisters, his tail wagging his entire back end and his round belly hanging half over the side, and picked him up in a hand so big and so assured, Nyree may have experienced an estrogen surge. After that, he stroked the wiggly little body and took a good look, eye to eye.

  Camera, she thought after a stupefied second, and got behind it fast. She got the shot, got a few more, then lifted the camera off the tripod. Posing wasn’t going to be happening. This was candid all the way, and it was gold. She snapped as quickly as the camera would respond, and when Marko picked up another puppy, then another, so he had three of the little creatures nestled into the crook of his brawny arm? Oh, yeh. She got that shot, too.

  He turned to Koti, smiled with absolutely no hard edges, all of the guardedness gone, and said, “Mate. Get in here. They won’t break.”

  “Never had a dog, actually,” Koti said.

  “What was all that, then,” Marko asked as an emboldened little girl, white with black spots and a brown patch on her muzzle, put her paws on his broad shoulder and Nyree kept snapping, “about coming with me to look at the puppies for your kids?”

  “Ah…” Koti scratched his perfect cheek and grimaced. “I may have been looking for some entertainment. I wouldn’t know how to choose a dog. Also, Kate could have a thing or two to say if I brought home a puppy, so there’s that.”

  “Here,” Nyree said, tearing herself and her camera away from Marko with a major effort. “We’ll do an easy one. Pick this little girl up like this, see?” She demonstrated on the final puppy left in the box, the runt of the litter. “You can roll her over onto her back and hold her in your palms. There. Just right. Perfect.” She took the shot and kept talking, kept him there. Muscular arms, Maori tattoo, tiny puppy looking adoringly up into that famous face? Yes. “That’s a puppy-choosing test, so you know. Whether they’ll let you do that. No worries here, as she’s a quiet one. You’d want a puppy with more confidence, really, but it makes a lovely photo.” She lifted her camera again and got a couple shots of Koti holding his little friend to his bronzed cheek.

  But there Marko was, too, on the floor with a lap full of wiggly puppies and a grin on his normally hard face. Choices, choices.

  She got lucky again. Koti set the submissive puppy down at last, Marko picked her up, rolled her over in his hand, scratched her belly, and—

  Sometimes, life gave you a pure gift.

  Yes, the dog did it. She took a wee on him. The liquid dripped between his fingers, he made a face that had Nyree laughing even as she shot, and she thought, Good on ya, little miss. We’ll be using this one.

  Marko didn’t say anything. He set the puppy carefully back down in her box, went for the roll of paper toweling hanging on the wall, wiped his hands, and wiped the floor.

  Koti, though, didn’t hold back. “Reckon she didn’t like you, cuz. Never mind. Some girls have no taste.”

  “No,” Nyree said, deciding with reluctance that the puppies, currently trying to chase each other across the shiny, slippery floor, had had enough and putting them back into their box with their sister. “She liked him too much. Some dogs, especially submissive females, can get a little overwhelmed by certain men. Urinating when he turns her over is her way of saying, ‘You’re big and strong,’ and acknowledging his dominance. Keeping herself unthreatening, keeping herself safe. Sounds appealing, I’m sure,” she told Marko, “but in fact, a dog like that can turn out too fearful. And, of course, you may not want her weeing on you every night when you come home. There’s your carpet to consider.”

  “A downside,” he agreed gravely. “It’s interesting that you’d think it’s appealing to me. Why is that, I wonder?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She shouldn’t be antagonizing him, and she definitely shouldn’t be flirting with him. She didn’t want a rugby player. She didn’t want him. “Could be I was reminded of the way some men expect women to fall into their lap, even if the woman is doing nothing but having a run, getting her exercise. Excuse my assumption.”

  “Knew there was a reason I’d come,” Koti murmured, not quite under his breath. “Finally.”

  “When did I say that?” Marko asked, completely ignoring Koti. “Seems to me I asked you to lunch, and that was all. Maybe I was hungry, did you think of that?”

  “Or maybe you were lonely,” Koti put in. “And as you don’t have a dog…”

  “Not helping, mate,” Marko informed him, but he kept those dark eyes fixed on Nyree. That was some fixing. More like “pinning.” The man could stare.

  She picked up the box of puppies, who’d suddenly decided, in the manner of puppies, that they had to go to sleep right now, and said, “I’ll be back in a second. One more quick thing, and I’ll let you go.” Then she escaped.

  She’d catch her breath. And yank her mind back under control again.

  Definitely.

  Koti said, “You’re toast, mate.”

  “I told you,” Marko said, looking at the door Nyree had just walked through. “I don’t want a dog.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the dog.”

  Marko said, “I’m going to wash my hands. If she comes in before I get back, don’t get excited and take off your jersey. Control yourself.”

  No excuse today, he thought as he scrubbed his hands and arms and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was over the knitting-bag brain freeze and its aftermath, and Nyree wasn’t wearing a bra and saucy little skirt. Any man would have had trouble dealing with those. She was showing almost no skin at all, in fact. So why was he still staring that hard?

  It could be the pair of gray jeans that clung to every curve. There was also the deep-purple top with its billowing sleeves, its tightly fitted waist, and some lacing between her breasts that was doing him no favors at all.

  He guessed it was meant to be a gypsy motif. It was working for him.

  Not much less effective than the running clothes, actually. Same thick mass of dark hair, out of its ponytail today and tumbling
to her shoulders. Same square little face, same sea-green eyes, mostly behind a camera, unfortunately. Same assurance. Same mouth.

  She said she wasn’t interested. He’d swear she was. Or maybe that was him. In any case, something was taking him back into that room, and it wasn’t his promise to Brenda.

  He got to the door the same time as she did. She was carrying another cardboard box, a smaller one this time. There were two kittens in the box, sitting on a towel. A tiny gray one, and a larger white one with long hair.

  He eyed the white kitten with misgiving. A man could just about get away with cuddling puppies. Cuddling a white kitten that looked like it should be in a Disney movie, though? That might be a bridge too far.

  He could have decided he’d spent long enough here and left. Instead, he opened the door for Nyree and ushered her through, carefully not putting his hand on the small of that back. No right. Professional obligation. Professional situation.

  That indentation, though. That spot just above a woman’s tailbone, where her soft skin curved into that sweet little dip, creating a couple of irresistible dimples either side of her spine. Her gypsy shirt barely missed meeting the low waistband of her gray jeans, leaving a few centimeters of skin visible. Unfortunately, they included that spot that, if you stroked it exactly right, would make her shiver and go liquid inside. And his hand was so close.

  Once he had the door closed, she set the box carefully on the floor, which made her shirt ride up some more. The white kitten promptly leaped out and did the cat thing, strolling around the room looking aloof, then jumping up on one of the chairs and prowling its arms and back as if testing its balancing skills. The gray kitten was too small to get out. Instead, it sat in the box and stared up at Marko with big blue eyes.

  He didn’t have a good feeling. Well, he did, but not about the cats.

  Koti looked at his watch and said, “Whoops. I’ll have to miss this one out. Time for me to go.”

  “I thought you were my moral support,” Marko said.

  “It’s all relative,” Koti said. “I’ve got a baby and a two-year-old at home, and Kate’s looking at the clock right now.”