Resisting Nick (Wicked in Wellington) (18 page)

He wants me as much as I want him. Sexy Nicky still can’t keep his hands off me. I could have him for maybe three more weeks if I wanted.

The knowledge filled her with delicious confusion. She hurried into the staff room, grateful to have a quiet moment to renew her lip gloss and tidy her hair.

She poured a coffee for Nick and one for herself and dropped his off on the way to her desk. His eyes roamed all over her as she approached, and he caught her hand and raised it to nip the inside of her wrist once she’d set it down.
 

She tried to pull away. She shouldn’t have kissed him if she’d wanted to seem serious about not continuing their affair. But it had only been a quick, soft, nothing little peck. That was all she’d intended. His hungry eyes and firm grip told her he’d taken it as a great deal more.

“Yup—right,” he said to Glen.

His teeth felt sinful on her skin, and now his tongue had started to flick and slide over the patch where her veins showed close to the surface. His pulse beat against her and it took no imagination at all to shift that slippery caress a great deal further south. She pressed her thighs together, but the sensation only grew.

“Mmm-hmmm,” he said to Glen, his voice muffled against her flesh. His eyes held hers, intense and unsettling.

“I’ll let you know, soon as.” He released her, and Sammie beat a fast track out of his office, feeling as though steam pumped out of every pore.

Through the big glass wall, Heidi’s aerobic group stomped and swayed. Sammie sipped her coffee and tapped her other hand on her desk in time with the carnal beat of the music. She tried to think calm thoughts and failed absolutely.
 

He wanted her. He’d said so. She was more than a quick conquest to him, more than a curious dip into their shared past. Her heart swelled as she thought about the next few weeks. Without a passport, she couldn’t go to Sydney, and that was probably just as well. Thinking ahead as far as leaving him wasn’t yet something she was prepared to face. But knowing he wanted her—that felt so good.
 

She set her empty coffee mug down and immersed herself in creating a new brochure for BodyWork. She hadn’t been joking when she’d told Nick shorthand was part of her journalist’s training. Grandpa’s sudden stroke had tied her close to home and needing to work regular hours, so she’d reluctantly settled for using her organizational skills to become a top-class P.A.
 

Now she had a chance to put her writing and design talent into something both useful and enjoyable.
 

She answered incoming calls, greeted clients, became distracted far too often by thoughts of Nick, and slid pieces around on her layout.
 

“Hard at work?” Anita asked, wafting towards the desk in her cream tracksuit and a cloud of Ysatis.

Sammie looked up in surprise and checked the time on the corner of the screen. It was close to eleven—she’d been so absorbed that almost two hours had rocketed by.

“Come and see,” she invited, beckoning Anita around to view the screen. “I’m wondering if I should put the free Zumba tryout up here as a feature, or over here on the side-bar. And maybe move the mention of easy parking further down? Or do you think that’s important enough to keep up the top?”

“Speaking of important,” Anita said, rummaging in her squashy leather bag, “a courier delivered this as I was leaving.” She drew a small bright plastic package out. “It’ll be your passport I think.” She felt around the edges to ascertain the size of the contents before handing it over. “Yes, definitely your passport.”

“Just what she’s been waiting for,” Nick murmured from right behind them.

“I can’t go,” Sammie insisted over her shoulder.

“Yes, you can now.”

“Can or can’t what?” Anita asked, swiveling between them, radar on full alert.

“Come to Sydney with me for a couple of days.” He turned his dark eyes and best sexy smile on susceptible Anita.

“Oh you lucky girl!”

“I can’t go. I have Zorro to feed.”

“The cat? I could drop by and do that for you now I’ve been to the apartment and met her.”

Sammie let loose a groan of annoyance.
 

“When are you going?” Anita pressed.

Nick smiled. “As soon as my P.A. can make the bookings. Take care of that please, Samantha. The early direct flight on Air New Zealand Monday or Tuesday for preference?” And he raised a hand in farewell and galloped off down the stairs with a triumphant grin on his gorgeous face.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Sammie exclaimed, fixing Anita with her best ferocious glare.

Anita opened her eyes wide. The glare obviously wasn’t doing the trick. “But he’s wonderful. I’d make the most of him if I were you.”

“And are you going to patch up my broken heart once it’s over?” Sammie demanded in a low-enough voice not to be overheard. “Yes, he’s a hunky guy, but every other woman in town thinks so too. I’m not interested in competing.”

Anita looked marginally contrite and then escaped Sammie’s ire by saying, “Heavens, nearly time I was ready,” and trotting off to change—no doubt into the most expensive leggings she could find, and a pristine new T-shirt with a designer label.

Nick whistled as he walked. It took only a few minutes to reach the harbor and the docks. He strode along in the crisp air and tried to drag his scattered thoughts into sensible order. This was his favored thinking place. Here, or on the big Bowflex, working his body into a satisfying sweat. But there he was often interrupted—it went with the territory. So the harbor was good, and he hoped the salty breeze would blow the tangle of cobwebs out of his brain.

Having Sammie back in his arms had both scared him witless and soothed his raging uncertainty. What was so different about her that he was willing to desert his long held principle of letting his women do the chasing?
 

As hard as he tried to convince himself she’d made the first move with her flirty suit and fuck-me shoes, he knew that turning up at her apartment with a bottle of wine was the real starting point. He’d blown on the spark of their initial attraction until it burst into bright snapping flame. She was special, long before he’d known who she was.

He drew a deep breath and let it out again, listening to the slap of the sea around the piles, the hoot of a distant tug, the low thrum of a ship’s engine as it inched away from a nearby dock.

Did he need her in Sydney? He could manage without her if he was honest. But did he want her there?
 

Whole different question, whole different answer.
 

The thought of being the one to show her the first of the foreign places she was so keen to visit pleased him immensely. And the prospect of her company—for a couple of uninterrupted days—felt way better than good. Hearing of her passport’s arrival had wrapped up an excellent morning.

But…there was still the huge problem of his own identity. He lowered his eyes from the bustling harbor, sighed deeply, and contemplated the toes of his boots as they carried him along the walkway surface. He still had no idea how he’d been ‘adopted’ by Brian and Gaynor, and it burned and ate at him incessantly. Worse, he had no clue how to progress the problem further. Where did you start after thirty years?

He accepted he was the son of a foreign fruit picker. Brian had no reason to lie about that if the girl was passing through the district and never likely to appear again. His former ‘father’ might have the biggest, most boastful mouth in town, but Nick had known him long enough to judge when he was telling something close to the truth.

So who was his biological father? Another itinerant fruit picker? The son of an orchard owner? Or had his pregnant mother escaped from whichever country she came from to hide the fact she was already expecting a baby? Hoped to offload it for adoption and continue her life scot free?

Jesus! He smacked a fist repeatedly into the palm of his other hand as he walked. He’d had a week to stew about it now. A week that had turned his life upside down. The only good thing to come out of it was Sammie, and she seemed determined to leave.

His mobile interrupted his brooding. He dug the phone from his jacket pocket, and there she was.
 

“Nick—I’ve been checking flights for you.”

“For us.”

She left a short silence and then continued. “I can’t get you on that early morning direct flight until Thursday. It’s possible via Auckland, but it takes hours longer.”

“Thursday? Damn. No. Detouring through Auckland’s a bind.”

“There’s a late-afternoon flight on Sunday, but that’s probably too soon?”

He thought about it for a few seconds. “Can you make Sunday? If your sister-in-law does the cat?”

“I’d need to ask Tyler if that’s okay with her...but...yes, I suppose so.”

It was grudgingly said, but at least she’d agreed. A flicker of triumph raced through his veins.

“Confirm us for Sunday then. And I’ll book a hotel when I get back in half an hour.”

“I can do that.”

“No...” He knew where he wanted to take her. “Leave that to me. You plan what you want to pack. It’ll be warmer than here. Something businesslike for the city sessions. Something casual for sightseeing. Something to wow me over the dinner table. I’ll phone Rod and see if he’s free on Monday.” He walked a few more steps in silence. “In fact, hold off the tickets. I’ll come back right away. Let’s tee Rod up first and book the lot.”

He snapped the phone shut and stood looking out over the water, trying not to grin like a kid at Christmas.
 

Sydney and Sammie. Sunshine and sea and sex—and hopefully the first of his Australian properties as well.

Sammie slipped out for a late lunch break and prowled the shops, searching for a new robe. She didn’t expect she’d be wearing nightwear in Sydney, but a much thinner robe than her cuddly old winter one had been on her mental shopping list for a while now. Something small to pack, but usefully concealing. When she found the silky cinnamon wisp with swirls of lace above the knee and at the edge of the low-cut neckline, somehow ‘usefully concealing’ didn’t seem so important any more. She took the shiny lingerie bag straight to her car rather than invite questions from any of the girls at BodyWork.

She spent the rest of the day half thrilled, half horrified. At last she was going traveling. And with Nick. She couldn’t deny it would be nice having company. And fantastic having
his
company. But it would only make her fall for him even further, and she’d already tumbled dangerously deep. She’d known him less than a week—or well over a decade, depending on which view she took.
 

Surely you couldn’t count a teenage infatuation though? Not the naughty not-quite things they’d got up to in the implement shed? Now she knew Nick better, and viewed him with adult eyes, it was clear he had a well-developed sensual side. Hell—he had well-developed
everything.
The boy who’d wanted to touch and explore had grown into a man who gave and took pleasure as naturally as breathing.
 

He’d stirred unsuspected appetites and daring in her that had lain dormant, ready to blossom into searing passion with the right encouragement. She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the evening to follow. There’d be no holding back by either of them.

She jerked out of her daydream when she heard Rich yell “Poker night!” as he thundered up the stairs clutching beer and snacks.

“Who’s playing?” She rose from her seat to retrieve a couple of the slippery packets that had cascaded from his arms onto the floor.
 

“Me, Nick, Tyler’s husband, and another mate.” He grinned confidently. “And tonight I’m taking them to the cleaners.”

“Here?”

“Nick’s office.”

And as fast as that, her fantasies flew out the door.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

October 9th, 1969. Penny’s sixteenth birthday party would have kept the whole street awake—if we lived in a normal street. However much I miss being close to shops and friends, the house at the orchard means no-one is disturbed when we turn the volume up on the stereogram. She had the Beatles of course, and that “Whiter Shade of Pale’ song I like. The Tijuana Brass band was declared very un-cool, but how everyone danced to it! We put up pink and black streamers and covered the lamps with red chiffon scarves to give a rosy glow, and some of the young ones had to be persuaded to leave once midnight ticked over. They all had a thoroughly good time.

Sammie closed her eyes and the well remembered room swam into focus. Her mother had never talked about the party. Maybe she would have if they’d planned Sammie’s own sweet sixteen together, but Penny hadn’t lived that long.
 

She took another sip of her hot chocolate and turned the page, wondering how Poker Night was progressing. Had Rich had the luck he hoped for? Was Nick enjoying himself? Was Cam making the most of his night out? Tyler was due home with baby Georgia the next day and then he might find his leisure time too precious to spend gambling.
 

January 5th, 1973. Penny has met such a nice boy. Mike is tall and sporty and very friendly. He has just finished his carpentry apprenticeship and offered to help Erik build a trellis fence to give us some privacy from the packing shed.

March 30th, 1974. Penny confessed to us tonight she has fallen
pregnant, so she and Michael will marry as soon as possible. I’m so disappointed she couldn’t wait.

Sammie drew a sharp breath of surprise. That was something she’d never suspected; so Ray’s conception had hurried her parents’ marriage up? And suddenly Mike had become Michael. Not quite so acceptable now?

June 14th, 1979.
I am scheduled for exploratory surgery tomorrow to see if the doctors can solve my continuing ill health.

 
Sammie set the diary aside, swallowed the last of her hot chocolate, and glanced at her watch for the millionth time. Ten-thirty. Nick had arranged to be with her by eleven. It was time for a shower.