Persuading Spring: A Sexy New Zealand Romance (The Four Seasons Book 4) (19 page)

Aaron took the hem of Bridget’s top in his
hands, lifted it over her head, and laid it on the sofa beside him. Her blonde
hair tumbled around her shoulders like a pale yellow curtain, feeling like silk
when he slid his fingers in it to cup her head.

Holding her against him, he kissed her for
a while, not because he wasn’t desperate to touch her, or because she wasn’t
giving him all the signs of wanting more, but because he was enjoying the
buildup of pleasure. The pretty lace teddy clung beautifully to her breasts,
and Aaron let his hands slide over them, taking his time to enjoy their shape
and weight, and loving how she murmured against his lips and rocked against his
erection when he brushed the tips with his thumbs.

When it came down to it, sex was about
doing the right things in the right order and concentrating on the girl’s
pleasure, as his own was always closely linked to hers. There wasn’t any magic to
it. So why did this feel magical? Why did it feel more than sex? Part of
Aaron’s brain puzzled over it while they kissed. She was beautiful, but then so
were most of the girls he’d dated, in their own way. She was funny and made him
laugh, and not everyone had a great sense of humor, so that counted in her
favor. She was charming—even Joe, who had wanted to dislike her, he was sure—had
been captivated by her, because she genuinely seemed interested in a person
when she talked to them, and when her blue eyes looked at you with fascination,
it made your heart leap.

Or maybe it was just
his
heart that
leapt. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he was crazy about this girl, and
that wasn’t going away any time soon. He could think of a dozen women he knew who
he would have helped if they’d been in the same situation, but he wouldn’t have
fallen in love with any of them. It had to have been Bridget, right then, right
there. He was surprised that comets hadn’t blazed across the sky to mark the
momentous event.

His thoughts were blurring now, his brain
being overtaken by the rest of his body as it stirred and reacted to Bridget’s
kisses like a sleepy bear rising after winter hibernation. That made sense, he
thought dreamily as her tongue teased his—she was the goddess of spring after
all.

She caught the hem of his T-shirt in her
hands and lifted it over his head, murmuring her approval at the sight of his
body. Feeling jealous, he tucked a finger under the strap on her shoulder and
slowly eased it down, feeling the stretchy lace contract until it exposed her
breast, her pale skin gleaming in the lamplight. She had rosy pink nipples, and
he bent his head to one, sucking and feeling it harden in his mouth. She sank
her hands into his hair, tipping back her head with a moan, so he spent some
time swapping between both nipples, teasing them with his lips and tongue until
they elongated and glistened like pebbles on the beach.

Cupping his face in her hands, she lifted it
so she could kiss him again, and her hot mouth and urgent tongue sent his blood
racing around his body and his heart pounding. He wanted this girl—wanted her
so damn much—and it was becoming difficult to slow things down, his hormones
urging him to take her and thrust them both to a blissful climax.

He made himself wait though, and slid his
hands up her thighs and around the front of her teddy. Pulling it to one side,
he slipped the fingers of his other hand down into the heart of her.

Jesus, she was wet and swollen and so ready
for him, and he couldn’t stop a deep groan of approval escaping his lips. She
murmured in response, giving little thrusts against his hand, and he slid his
fingers deeper, inside her, pressing the heel of his hand against her clit.

She lifted her head to look at him, her
lips—now free of lipstick—plump and blurred from his kisses. Aaron held her
gaze as he stroked her, keeping his fingers slow and steady. She gazed deep
into his eyes, and his heartbeat picked up at the desire he saw within hers,
along with something else…

Not love, he scolded himself. Not yet. But
affection, and need. She wanted him too—and maybe that was where the difference
lay—that was what separated her from the other women who had passed through his
life. Other women had desired fulfilment from his body, and Nita—in the early
days anyway—had treated him as if he was something special.

But Bridget looked at him like he was a
superhero, as if—were she in need anywhere in the country—he’d come swooping
down in his cape and tights to save her. It could only end badly when she
realized just how many faults he had, but it was wonderful for once for someone
other than his son to look at him as if he could do anything, as if he was
perfect in her eyes.

Her breaths were coming faster now, and he
knew she wasn’t far from coming. Half of him wanted to continue, to feel her
muscles clamp around his fingers and her clit pulse against his hand, but the
other half wanted to be inside her, and that half won.

Withdrawing his hand, he kissed her as he
pulled out his wallet, took out a condom, then unzipped his fly. Bridget moved
back a little to watch as he rolled on the condom, her hot gaze making him even
harder, if that were possible. When he’d done, she shifted until the tip of his
erection parted her folds, then looked into his eyes as she lowered herself
down.

“Aaahhh.” She exhaled, and he matched it
with a groan. Not even sitting on his boat at the height of summer with his
feet in the water, his dogs by his side, and Bob Dylan playing on the radio
matched the fucking amazing sensation of sliding inside this woman, feeling her
hot flesh close around him, her tight walls providing enough friction to drive
him insane as she started to rock her hips and drive him in and out of her.

She cupped his face and kissed him, then
pulled back again to look deep into his eyes as she thrust her hips, moving
slowly. Aaron stared into the blue orbs, feeling as if he was looking into the
sea, almost seeing her thoughts and emotions swimming beneath the surface like
silver fish. To his surprise, they turned glassy, and he frowned and rested his
hands on her hips, halting her movements.

“What’s the matter?” he murmured.

She shook her head. “I’m okay.”

“Bridget…”

She swallowed and rubbed her nose against
his. “Just overwhelmed. I know this is just sex but it feels so…” She rocked
her hips again and shuddered as she sucked her bottom lip.

“I know.” He trailed his hands up her body,
over her soft breasts. “I can’t get enough of you. I love making love with you,
and my body drives me to finish, but as soon as I’m done I want to start all
over again.”

That wasn’t normal, was it? If this was
just a fling, he should have sated his lust by now and moved on to someone new,
without involving his heart at all.

“Tell me it’s not just me,” she whispered,
thrusting harder now, kissing him hungrily.

“It’s not just you.” He wanted to possess
this girl, to yell to the whole world that she was his and that no other man
could touch her. He wanted to find the man who’d stood her up at the altar and
smash his face in. He felt prehistoric in his passion and feral in his need,
and sitting there with her on his lap was fantastic but it wasn’t enough, so he
lifted up, holding her tightly, tipped forward onto his knees, and lowered her
onto her back on the rug on the floor.

Her eyes lit with surprise and excitement,
and her lips parted as he took over the thrusting, driving into her with the
passion that thundered through his veins.

“Yes,” she said, breathless, wrapping her
legs around his waist and digging her nails hard into his back. “God, yes,
Aaron, yes, harder.”

The sweet bite of pain only urged him on,
and he lifted up onto his hands and filled the air with her cries as he thrust
them both to a mind-numbing climax. He came first, unable to stop his
traitorous body, but he continued to thrust through the fierce pulses, conscious
of her clenching beneath him as she gasped out loud. The contractions of her
muscles only served to milk him further, and by the time she’d finished they
were both hot, sweaty, and groaning, unable to do anything but lie there and
let the hands of the clock tick around as their pulses slowed.

He didn’t ever want to move again, but he
was worried he might be hurting her, so he withdrew, disposed of the condom,
then collapsed onto the carpet next to her. She lifted her head and looked at
the window, laughed, and lay back. “I didn’t realize we had an audience.”

He raised his head to see Tycho and Kepler
both lying flat with their noses resting on their paws as if to say
Again?

“We’ve probably scarred them for life,” she
said. “They’re only young.”

“I’ll get them some good therapy.” He
stretched out his legs and groaned. “I feel as if I’ve run a marathon. How are
you able to wear me out to this extent? I thought I was fit.”

“I bet we’ve used up a thousand calories. I
could totally diet if I did it this way.”

“The F Plan you mean?”

They both laughed.

She rolled onto her side to face him,
resting her head on a hand. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he said, amused.

She shrugged. “For making your life harder.
I know you have it tough at the moment. The last thing I would want to do is
complicate it for you, and yet I think maybe I have.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “But I’m glad. For
years now, I haven’t lived—I’ve only existed. I’ve gotten up, gone to work,
come home, walked the dogs, seen Mat, and gone fishing. It’s a good life, and I
wouldn’t want it any other way. But this week…” He wasn’t sure how to describe
it without sound mushy. Maybe she liked mushy, though. “It’s like everything
was in black and white, and now it’s in color.”

Her smile spread slowly. “That’s a nice
thing to say.”

“You’ve brought me back to life,” he said
simply, reaching out a hand to wrap a strand of her hair around his finger.
“I’ll never, ever regret that, no matter what happens in the future.”

Moving closer, she nestled against him, and
he lowered his arm around her. “I wish we could stay here forever,” she
murmured.

“Me too. Let’s pretend we can.”

The hands of the clock would carry on
ticking, and the world would continue to turn. At the weekend, they were going
to have to talk about what happened next. But the night was long, and Bridget’s
warm, soft body promised many delights to come before the sun finally rose.

Bridget was aware of time running out, but
she was determined not to let the loud tick of the countdown clock spoil their
fun.

Thursday she spent travelling around the
bay in her car, exploring, and then Friday Aaron managed to wangle a day off,
getting his father in to cover for him, so he took her to a few new places,
like the gorgeous Rainbow Falls, and Puketi Forest where the huge kauri trees
grew.

Gradually, she felt she was getting more
used to the area and the different lifestyle compared to Wellington. In the
city, life was spent in shops and cafés during the day, and bars and clubs at
night. Everything was geared toward work and going out to meet friends. Of
course there were diversions for those who liked a bit of culture—from Te Papa
museum to theaters to the Botanical Gardens, and Wellington was superbly placed
for trips to the South Island. But life was just… different. Most people
dressed smartly, for a start, whereas in the ‘winterless north’ everyone seemed
to live in shorts and T-shirts, no matter where they worked or what the weather
was like.

In the seaside town of Paihia there were
lots of bars, restaurants, and clubs for holidaymakers, but it seemed that for
those who lived there, their social lives consisted not so much of dressing up
and going out, but of having friends and family—
whanau
, she corrected
herself, liking the Maori word—around for barbecues or drinks out on the deck,
or around the pool when the weather was nicer. People worked, of course, in
businesses and shops in the small towns, but there were no large cities and
little industry, with farming instead being a major employer, especially dairy
farming.

But it wasn’t just the clothes and the jobs
that were different, she discovered as she began speaking to the locals. She
already knew that a third of the population of the Northland was Maori, but
hadn’t realized how their culture was much more visible there. Most towns had a
marae
or meeting house, and although she didn’t hear the language spoken
fluently in the towns much, it was common to hear the odd word thrown around,
with many people—including non-Maori—greeting each other with the standard
Kia
ora,
as well as dropping words into the conversation like
whanau
—family,
kai
—food, and
taonga
—treasured possession, which could mean
anything from a building to a greenstone pendant worn around the neck.

She already knew the Maori verse of the
national anthem, so she knew how to pronounce
Aotearoa
—the Maori name
for New Zealand, which meant ‘the land of the long white cloud.’

“Ah-oh-te-ah-roh-ah,” she told Aaron when
he asked if she knew how to say it.

“Excellent.” He grinned. “Gold star.”

“You say Maori different from how I’ve
heard it before,” she said. “I know it’s not pronounced as in ‘cow’ the way
foreigners say it, but we tend to say ‘mah-ri’.”

“Yeah, up here it’s more ‘ma-aw-ree’,” he
said, but he rolled the ‘r’ at the front of his tongue so it sounded close to a
‘d’—almost as if he was saying ‘moldy’. He did the same each time he greeted
her with
Kia ora
, so it sounded like ‘kee-aw-dah.’ That was something
she’d be able to take back with her.

She wished she could take their attitude
back with her, too. The urgency of the city was somehow missing here. There was
very much an “it’ll be ready when it’s ready” mentality, and it wasn’t uncommon
to see signs hung on a closed shop door saying “Gone Fishing. Probably tomorrow
too.”

It was the perfect place to bring up young
children, a couple of mothers of her own age told her when standing in a queue
at the coffee bar, but little for teenagers to do, and the lack of industry for
employment—as well as the feeling of being at the end of the world—led to a
large number of school leavers migrating to the cities or universities further
south, or travelling around the world on their big ‘OE’—overseas experience.
But it was common for them to come home again when it was time for them to have
their own families, because all Kiwis believed that New Zealand was the best
place to bring up children, and Bridget had to agree.

“Does Mateo like it in the city?” she asked
Aaron on Friday evening. They’d finished dinner and were sitting out on his
deck having a drink, the dogs at their feet. They’d discovered a shared love of
old jazz music, and Ella Fitzgerald was singing in the background, accompanied
by the occasional chorus from a couple of fantails. The sun was setting, and
over the top of his garden fence she could see the Pacific turning a beautiful
rose-gold.

“No.” Aaron swigged his beer. “He hates it.
He loved his little primary school up here. There was only one class for each
year level with about fifteen kids in each class. In Wellington there are four
classes for each year level with nearly thirty in each. And, unfortunately,
he’s being bullied.”

Bridget’s jaw dropped. “Oh no.” She
couldn’t bear to think of the lovely, friendly Mateo getting pushed around. “By
whom?”

“A couple of boys a few years older. He’s
shy, quiet, likes reading, doesn’t have a computer or a console or anything
like that because Nita won’t let him, and he’s from the middle of nowhere. He
doesn’t know how to connect with these know-it-all city lads. He doesn’t speak
their language.”

“Tell me who they are,” she said hotly.
“I’ll sort them out.”

He gave her a fond smile. “I bet you would
as well.”

“Damn straight I would. No kid should be
bullied at school.”

“No, they shouldn’t, you’re right.”

“Have you done anything to try to stop it?”
she asked. Aaron swirled the beer around in his can, looking down at it, and
Bridget cursed herself. He was Mateo’s father, and he was Aaron for Christ’s
sake. Of course he would have tried to stop it. What a stupid thing to say.

“Unfortunately there’s not much we can do.
Nita and I went in together to see his class teacher and the deputy head
teacher.” He swigged the last of his beer, tipping his head back to catch the
last drops. “We got the spiel about their zero-tolerance policy on bullying.
Heard all their promises about it never happening again in school. But of
course that doesn’t stop the kids picking on him on the bus, or walking to and
from the bus stop. Or in the changing rooms, or at the tuck shop. Kids are
mean, and they always find a way to pick on those weaker than them.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That must be
hard for you.”

He clenched his hand around the can,
screwing it up tightly. For some reason it made her heart race. He was so kind
and gentle that—unless they were making love, in which case it was very clear—she
sometimes forgot how much of a man he was. Mal was exactly the opposite—all
blather and bravado—but when it came to the crunch, he backed away from
confrontation, and she was sure that if they’d ever been mugged he’d have
pushed her in front of him as a shield.

“I want to walk into the school, drag the
kids out into the playground, and shove their teeth down their throats.” He
pushed away the can and sighed. “But I can’t do that. I don’t want to teach him
that violence is the answer. I’m angry, though. I try not to direct it at Nita,
but…” He stopped and shrugged.

Bridget pulled her feet onto the edge of
the chair and wrapped her arms around her legs. “You said before you’d decided
not to go for custody. And yet you also said the main reason you were
challenging Nita’s intention to take Mat to Spain was because he doesn’t want
to go. If he doesn’t want to be in the city, wouldn’t it be in his best
interests for him to go to school up here and live with you?”

He watched a fantail hop along the edge of
the fence, its tail feathers twisting this way and that as it turned. “I tell
myself that’s the reason I’m challenging her, but I don’t know to what extent
I’m being selfish. Of course he’s going to say he doesn’t want to go to a
strange country where they don’t speak English, but everyone says that kids
adjust quickly to situations like that. It might take him a while to settle,
but he would, eventually. I don’t want her to take him away from me. That’s
what it comes down to. It’s bad enough that I only get to see him every other
weekend, but if he was in Spain? I’d see him once or twice a year, if I could
afford it. It’s selfish of me, but I can’t get past it. I worked fucking hard
to make that marriage work, and she destroyed it because I wouldn’t give her
what she wanted. So I’m fighting to keep our son here. I’ve squared that with
myself and accepted that I’m prepared to be that selfish. But to fight her for
custody? I couldn’t do it. She’s his mother, and it would destroy her to take
him away.”

“Like it’s destroying you?”

“It’s not the same.”

“It is the same, Aaron. Everyone seems to
think it best that children stay with their mothers, and maybe that was the
case in the old days when women stayed at home, but nowadays most women work,
the same as men do. Do you think you love your son any less than she does?”

“No.” He reached for another beer, cracked
the top, and propped his feet up on the chair opposite as he took a swig. “I
understand what you’re saying, and I appreciate that you have such a balanced
view of things. It is difficult sometimes, being a guy in today’s world. Women
have been oppressed for so long that they’re rebelling now and that’s good,
that’s right, and there’s absolutely no reason why they shouldn’t be able to do
anything that men can do.”

He sighed and took another swig. “But men
are stuck in a strange netherworld now. Most of the guys I know feel the same
way I do. We all believe in equality. We all have great respect for the women
in their lives. But most of us were subtly brought up by our fathers to be
gentlemen, to believe that it’s our role to protect women and treat them
gently. To put them first. Women might not want that, but it’s a difficult
attitude to cast aside. If I were fighting another guy for Mateo, I’d have no
qualms in taking him to court and arguing my case, but with Nita… I promised to
honor and cherish her.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“She promised to do the same for you, too,”
Bridget said gently.

He gave a small smile. “I suppose.”

She dropped her legs and stretched them
out, resting her feet on the same chair as him. “It’s a strange thing, isn’t
it, marriage? I’m not sure why I thought it would be such a good idea. I’m
beginning to understand why men joke about the old ball and chain. I think I
did see it as a way to chain him to me so he couldn’t get away. As if once I
had his ring on my finger, it would make him love me more. Now… I’m not so sure
of its point. If you’re not religious, why bother? It just seems to create a
lot of unnecessary hassle when things go wrong.”

“
If
things go wrong,” he corrected
with a smile. “I know we’ve both had a tough time, but I still believe it’s
possible to find happiness with someone.”

“Are you religious?” she asked.

“No, not really. I was christened, but I
don’t practice.”

“Same. My father used to go to church and
my mother went with him, but after he died she stopped going. I envy those who
have faith sometimes. It must be nice to see marriage as a way to cement a
relationship before God, as if it has a purpose.” She couldn’t keep the
bitterness out of her voice, and waited for him to wince, but he didn’t.

He just said, somewhat mildly, “It does
have a purpose.”

“I guess it makes it easier legally. Same
name and all that.”

“Well, there is that. But it’s a way to
show the other person that you’re willing to commit yourself to them. You’re
promising you’re not going to sleep around, that you’re going to be loyal and
monogamous. It’s also a way of telling the world that your partner is yours.
There’s a satisfaction that comes with that. When a guy sees a pretty girl, his
eyes will drop to see if she’s wearing a ring, and if she is, that will make
most men back off.”

“Is that how you felt with Nita?”

“At the time, yes.”

She sipped her wine, conscious of his
steady gaze on her. “I don’t know if I’d ever be brave enough to get married,”
she admitted. “I’d be terrified the same thing would happen again.”

He shrugged. “If the guy really loved you, you’d
have no worries. Love’s not just about saying it. It’s about showing it.”

She laughed. “Yeah.” He was such a Kiwi
guy, so down-to-earth and practical. Why on earth had Nita let him go?

Not for the first time, she wondered what his
ex looked like. Attractive, she imagined, in a dark, exotic kind of way. It was
funny to think he’d been married to someone else. Had a child with her. It gave
Bridget a strange feeling in her stomach, and with some surprise she realized
it was jealousy.

Aaron was still watching her, his lips slightly
curved, as if he could read her thoughts and knew she was wondering about his
ex. Could he read her jealousy? And if he could, did it please him, the way it
pleased her when he didn’t try to hide his dislike of Mal?

As if she’d conjured him up by thinking
about him, her phone rang where it lay on the table, his name springing up on
the screen. She glanced at it and reached out to turn it off, but Aaron held up
a hand and she stopped.