Hard To Regret: Scarlet Bay Book 1

by Kris Pearson

  Anna juggled her purse to the other shoulder. “Just me for a few days yet. I’m having a big clear-out in the old front one first. It’s a bit full of… stuff.”

  “Let me cut you some of these to keep your company then,” Thelma insisted, attacking her trellis with red secateurs and handing over a big bunch of thorny pink roses.

  Anna buried her nose in the fragrant petals. “Lovely,” she agreed. “There’s nothing at the cottage except agapanthus and that orange stuff that grows wild everywhere.”

  Thelma nodded, and bent to put the secateurs back in her gardening basket. “Montbretia. It’s a real pest.”

  “These will be a treat,” Anna said, inhaling their perfume again and walking on toward the store.

  On her way back, lugging bags containing assorted groceries and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, she stopped for a few minutes to rest her load on a handy bench and re-juggle the uncooperative roses. The loud toot from a white van slewing to a halt beside her brought her head up in a hurry. The window rolled down, and the man she probably wanted to see less than anyone in the world yelled, “Want a lift home?”

  Anna growled, low in her throat. A private protest of annoyance. She’d been trying not to think about him, and now here he was again. Intruding on her solitude. Setting her teeth on edge, and causing the most distracting twitches to do their thing deep inside her.

  Without waiting for an answer the builder vaulted out of his seat and rounded the van to wrench the loading door open. It slid sideways with a whooshing scrape, revealing sheets of plywood and an elderly and most unsavoury looking toilet. He reached for her bags.

  Anna yanked them back from his grasp. “I’m not putting food anywhere near that,” she snapped, indicating the stained and mossy throne.

  “It’ll clean up.” He took her prickly roses instead, and stood them inside it. Pink buds peeked decoratively over the rim. “No Porta-loos available locally until after the surf dudes are gone. I can’t have my boys pissing in the bushes.”

  “Indeed not,” she agreed, hoping she didn’t look as appalled as she felt. Why did he have to be so graphic? “Can’t you use the one for the other house?”

  He shot her a withering glare. “Dad doesn’t share,” was all he said.

  There was certainly no love lost between them. She couldn’t imagine having parents who wouldn’t move heaven and earth for their children. The Wynns all looked out for each other, and all knew each other’s business. Sometimes knew too much, and she flinched at the thought of exactly who might know her biggest secret, but they were a warm, supportive network and she loved most of them dearly.

  Pushing a sports bag aside, he said, “Put your things back here, Frosty.” He helped her stow the groceries, wedging them in safely. Then, with unexpected chivalry, he opened the passenger door and offered his hand to help her onto the high seat.

  Anna eyed the step and the handgrip for a fraction of a second and grabbed him instead. His hand was huge, warm and impressively strong. “Why do you call me that?” she demanded as he boosted her up. She retained her hold on him so he couldn’t move away without answering. “That’s at least the second time you’ve done it.”

  His dark brown gaze meshed with hers - almost on the same level now she was perched in his van. “Ms Wynn-ter?” he suggested, raising a brow and smiling just enough to make sun-lines crinkle beside his eyes.

  He was too close. The damn twitches were having a field-day again. She really wanted to wipe that engaging grin off his too-handsome face, and was seriously tempted to slap him. She - law-abiding, conservative Annaliese Wynn, who did her best to please everyone - found herself so unsettled for a few electric seconds that she was contemplating physical violence. It felt amazing.

  Her hand trembled in his with the unaccustomed emotion. She was sure ‘Frosty’ had nothing to do with winter and everything to do with his opinion of her as chilly and superior, but before she could say so he reached across and touched her hair with his other hand, threading his fingers into it and sifting them slowly down a long strand. He tweaked gently. “And this,” he added. “Frosty streaks.”

  Anna sat glued in place. His smile had been replaced by a gaze of burning intensity. Enough to make her shiver, which was ridiculous in the midsummer heat. His eyes roamed over her face, and hers over his, charting tanned skin, the place where his close-shaven beard line began, and a silvery scar high on one cheekbone.

  “Leave my hair alone,” she finally whispered, and he let his hand drop.

  He looked as dazed as she felt. “Buckle up safe,” he said before closing her door and loping around to his.

  Once he was seated he started the engine, cleared his throat, and asked, “Here without a car?”

  She glanced across at him, relieved to be slightly further away. “My cousin Oliver offered to fly me as far as the local aero club strip. Any excuse to take his plane up. So yes, my car’s at home. There’ll be plenty of family cars here by Christmas.”

  Jason Jones’ chin lifted, and she heard his indrawn breath.

  “Must be nice to have a private pilot at your disposal?”

  “He offered. I didn’t ask.” That sounded snappier than she’d meant it to, but she couldn’t see a way to soften it once she’d said it. And dammit, Ollie had worked hard for his plane. Why shouldn’t he enjoy it?

  Jason made no further comment so they drove the short distance in silence. It wasn’t until he slowed to a halt beside the cottage that he broke it. “I’m planning on moving those rocks out of the way next and making the porch functional for as long as we need it. The basin’s only chipped. I’ll get Hoolie onto scrubbing that old dunny and see if Eric and I can mend the walls. Brett’s going too well on the deck to be interrupted.”

  She summoned up a grin, hoping it would make up for her earlier sharpness. “So Hoolie gets the best job?”

  Jason raised his bound-up hand. “I’m not mad enough to stick this down a toilet.”

  “Sensible,” she agreed, pleased her voice sounded steady and unworried. “How’s it feeling now?”

  “No big deal. Goes with the territory.” He shrugged, and a hint of a smile teased her again, erasing some of the calmness she’d rigorously imposed on herself. “You haven’t earned your stripes in this industry until you’ve shoved a circular saw through yourself somewhere,” he added.

  Anna’s blood ran cold at the thought. “Where?” she demanded. “You didn’t really?”

  Still with that slight smile, he dragged one leg of his shorts up to mid-thigh. A fine purple line ran across solid, hair-hazed muscle. “A year or so back. Not too deep. No arteries.” He pulled the fabric down again, depriving her of her sudden and enjoyable view. “Once was enough,” he said, pushing his door open and stepping out.

  She sat for a few seconds, shaking her head and trying not to imagine the pain and panic he must have endured. It had been bad enough finding him with a bleeding wrist earlier, and she’d had to act flirty and casual so she could bear to patch him up.

  The thought of him hurting himself so badly had her totally rattled, and she was at a loss to know why. He meant nothing to her. He annoyed the hell out of her. Damn man.

  *

  Jason carried the bags of groceries into the kitchen and dumped them on the table, leaving the tempting Ms Wynn to deal with the prickly roses. He hoped the ride cancelled out any obligation created by her Florence Nightingale act.

  There was time before lunch to start fixing the porch so he dragged the sheets of plywood out of the van. Minutes later he and Eric attacked the rocks while their offended apprentice retrieved the old loo and photographed it with his ever-present phone before drowning it in Mr Muscle.

  “You’re kidding me, Boss,” he complained, scraping away at the moss and lichen encrusting the old porcelain. “This musta been sitting outside in the demo yard for years.”

  “Which is why I got it for eight bucks,” Jason agreed, levering a long steel bar into a gap and hauling on it to dislod
ge another chunk of rock for Eric to heave aside.

  After fifteen minutes the rocks were down to a scatter of rubble and the toilet was at least hygienic. Hoolie took another photo.

  “So how much timber are we replacing?” Eric asked, giving an experimental shove. The brittle old boarding splintered further and a piece came loose, hitting a fuse-box on the opposite wall and knocking its door askew. A large rat tumbled out.

  CHAPTER 3 – RATS AND RESOLUTIONS

  “Jesus!” Jason exclaimed as visions of Anna’s limp body flooded his brain. He stepped back and wrenched the house door open. “Frosty!” he yelled. “Don’t touch a damn thing. Come out here right away.”

  “She won’t want to see a rat,” Eric guffawed. “Ten bucks says she screams.”

  “You’re on, but she’ll do more than scream if she electrocutes herself.” He strode through into the hallway, desperate to get her out of danger. “Ms Wynn, can you hear me?”

  Anna appeared at the sitting room door. “What on earth’s wrong?” she demanded.

  “Are you using anything electrical? Lights? TV?”

  She narrowed her vivid blue eyes. “On a fine day like this? Hardly. Why?”

  Jason beckoned her to follow him, and when she didn’t move, he said, “We might have a problem with the power. Don’t touch any of the switches until we find out for sure.”

  He practically saw her brain whir into action as she started toward him.

  “The fridge is going,” she said. “It seemed fine when I put the milk and salad things away.”

  “Yeah… well… better safe than sorry.” Come outside for a few minutes.” He grabbed her arm and hurried her through to the kitchen. Smooth, soft skin. He wanted to touch a lot more than that small piece, but no chance of that. And right now he needed her safe. “Leave the fridge alone for a while just in case. Are you going to scream at the sight of a rat?”

  Her eyebrows rose into imperious arches. “Does it smell?”

  “Haven’t been that close yet. If it’s been chewing through cables then God knows what damage we’re looking at.”

  She wrinkled her nose. Jason knew he’d worked up a sweat heaving rocks around so he wasn’t surprised when she shook his hand away. Hopefully it was the thought of the rat and not the way he smelled causing that cute nose-wrinkle.

  They stepped outside to find Hoolie trying to drag the corpse out of the collapsing porch with a long piece of bamboo. Jason eyed the damaged wall. “Fish him out if you can, mate. I don’t want that falling any further on anyone. Can you grab some supports, Eric?”

  With a bit more poking and prodding the rat was retrieved, and Hoolie picked it up by its long tail. It looked plump and peaceful. “Maybe it died of a heart attack?” the boy suggested. “You know - when the wall fell on the box. Woulda made a big noise.”

  “He’s fresh all right,” Eric said, returning with a couple of long pieces of timber and digging for his phone. “I’ll ring Dave Hoggard if you like. Get one of his sparkies to check things out before we do any more.”

  Jason peered into the porch. The falling debris had missed the basin and shower so things still looked salvageable.

  “I hope there are no other four-legged rats,” he heard Anna say. “Although I haven’t noticed any evidence inside.”

  Eric slid his phone back in his pocket after a brief conversation. “Dave can send someone in about an hour.”

  Hoolie crouched down and photographed the rat. No doubt it was destined for some cool place known only to teenagers.

  Jason grunted, inspecting the power box more closely and hoping the implied ‘two-legged rat’ description wasn’t aimed at him. “Might not need them after all. This looks pretty old. The cables have recently been chewed on for sure, but they’re probably no longer live from what I can see now.”

  “So you saved me from nothing, dragging me out here like that,” Anna said.

  He turned and glared at her. Bloody woman! His gut had twisted itself into knots at the thought of her being hurt. She had no idea how urgently he’d wanted her safe. “You ever seen anyone badly electrocuted?” he snapped? “If that’s your attitude, Frosty, you can go back inside and take your chances.” It gave him brief pleasure when she paused, mouth open for a few seconds.

  Fuming at her tart comment, he checked his watch. “That may as well be lunchtime for us.” He held her gaze as he stripped to the waist, giving her a generous eyeful of chest and long corrugated torso.

  Yeah, this is what you’re not getting, baby.

  He kicked off his boots and shorts. Wearing nothing but brief lime green swim-shorts he cut eye contact, dragged his surfboard from the van, and strode off to the beach.

  *

  The breath Anna intended using for a smart reply caught somewhere in her throat. The words that wanted to burst forth never left her brain.

  Six foot four of steaming mad, very fit male in almost no clothes had stopped her in her tracks. Tanned skin covered taut muscle, which flexed and bulged and stretched all over him as he moved. The tight mounds of his butt clenched with every swift step as he walked away from her - so much better than she’d pictured after their stroll along the beach. A tattoo of a huge dark snake curled twice around one long, powerful thigh and disappeared up under his swim-shorts, raising its evil head on the upper side of the fabric.

  Rude she thought. He couldn’t mean… well, of course he did… totally rude, although she’d had only the quickest glimpse of it, and maybe it was far enough off centre to be not quite as rude as she’d assumed. Perhaps the primitive part of her brain had just translated it that way. She needed a better look to be certain. She just plain needed a better look because it was sexy and suggestive and had almost seemed alive with the tensing and stretching of the sinews and muscles in his legs and belly.

  She barely noticed Hoolie stripping off and running after his boss. His young frame was pleasant, athletic, but positively boyish beside Jason’s seasoned physique. She stared after the builder’s narrow hips. The sensation of his body pressed against hers, rubbing that snake over her skin, hot and hard and dangerous, pushed the insistent twitches to stratospheric levels.

  This was bad. This was a lot worse than her earlier imaginings because now she had full-size full-colour reality to weave daydreams from.

  “Big bad wolf?” Eric murmured beside her, raising a tufty eyebrow. He pointed to her red top. “Good luck, Red Riding Hood.”

  Chuckling, he pulled his T-shirt and shorts off to expose a hairy chest and belly above bright blue nylon boxers before jogging after the others, leaving her stranded and speechless.

  Big bad wolf. Leading his pack. Anna reached out and clutched the side of the house, unable to tear her eyes from Jason’s rapidly retreating body.

  *

  She drifted back inside with her mind only half engaged. She had a quick search for signs of rats and found nothing. With extreme relief she retreated to her work. She’d pushed the sofas and chairs and assorted small tables against two of the walls of the big sitting room before walking to the store. An orderly display of items now hid some of the big balding rug, cast off years ago from Grandma’s classy villa in Kelburn.

  Dammit, but her heart still thumped. From the unexpected sight of so much of him. From the scent of the fresh sweat on his hot skin. From the searing anger he’d aimed at her. From his dangerous strength and sudden scathing temper. His tattoo…

  She kneeled up from her place on the floor and wrapped her arms around her waist despite the heat of the day. She was flying apart, needed holding together somehow. He’d ripped her composure to shreds, and soon he’d be back again. How could she face up to him, knowing she looked flushed and flustered and available?

  She stared around at the items she’d so far amassed. The many boxed replicas of old aeroplanes, lovingly assembled and painted by her dad’s rather odd cousin, Ernie.

  Abba memorabilia, still in startling condition because the items had been protected by the scented line
r in the bottom of one of the drawers. The posters and programmes were bright and glossy. Who’d been the Abba fan in the family?

  More of old Emily’s paintings - stacked in a crate under a set of bunks and therefore not faded; Scarlet Bay in all its moods over several decades.

  A well concealed pile of dog-eared ‘Man’ and ‘Adam’ magazines from the 1950’s, with curvaceous, flirtatious women in enormous bras and panties. She calculated the models would all be at least eighty now - if they were still alive.

  But however hard she tried to concentrate on the family’s belongings, the tall form of Jason Jones kept distracting her. Ridiculous after one morning, when everything he’d done been enraging and disruptive.

  The sausage she hadn’t asked for. His unwelcome company when she’d wanted a solitary walk. His hungry gaze on her breasts in the bathroom, even though she’d offered them up as a gift. The silent, fuming ride home with her groceries when she’d been perfectly capable of carrying them herself. The way he’d hauled her out of the house like a small child when there was no danger at all.

  How had he turned her into this pathetic creature? How had she allowed herself to be so thoroughly attracted by his deep husky voice, his dancing dark eyes, his spectacular body?

  Hmmm – well, he did have assets...

  Finally she dragged in a huge breath, heaved it out as a long sigh, stopped crawling around the floor, and went to stand beside the front window like a love-sick teenager, hoping to catch sight of him through the fraying lace curtains. Pathetic.

  And yes, far out in the breakers she spied long limbs and a flash of bright green. He crouched low, cutting back again and again across the face of the wave to prolong the ride. The sun bounced off his shoulders, then his chest, and made his dark hair gleam. He was all sinuous assertive grace, and she couldn’t help thinking again of the snake tattoo. It was absolutely appropriate for the damn man.

  She watched as he deserted the dying wave and paddled out to catch another. Then he re-appeared - a swift sunlit shape, utterly free.