The Wrong Sister (16 page)

She gave a sharp exclamation of surprise and annoyance.
 

“Are you okay, Blondie?”

“Fine, Christian, fine. Wet. A wave bounced up.”

“Wet,” he murmured. The word hung there, stirring memories of his hands in her hair, slippery with shampoo... his hot questing mouth sliding down her thigh... his clever wet tongue licking, probing...
 

Fiona pressed her thighs together.

“Don’t,” she implored.

“Why not? I’m just picturing you. Wet.”

“Not like that.”

“Like what?” There was a curl of amusement in his voice. A silky suggestion he knew she was thinking of more than sea-water on her skin, too. That they were back in his bed together, guilt-ridden, thrilled, out of control despite all their good intentions.

“Not—together,” she muttered.

He gave a short hard bark of a laugh. “Blondie, I think of us together a lot. It’s all that’s getting me through.”
 

Something ripped inside her ribcage, sending a shower of sparkling regret to drench every corner of her body.

“Don’t, Christian.”

“Just my little game. A small consolation for losing my two lovely ladies. I’ll never have Jan again, but at least I can still remember giving you pleasure...and imagine how it would be if things were different.”

“But they’re not.”

She injected as much flat finality into her voice as she could. Although she squeezed her eyes closed, tears still welled up and escaped.

Two weeks ground by. Christian phoned several more times, frustrating them both. Fiona lived to hear his voice, however much it hurt. And refused to be the one to phone him.

“So we’re moving out to Pounamu Lodge tomorrow,” he said, half way through January. “The work on the house started today. Chaos. We’re getting out until they’re finished.”

“You and Nicky and Kathy?”
 

Can he hear the suspicion in my voice?

“Me and Nicky and Kathy. We’ll have dinners at the Lodge, but stay in the cottage. The Lodge is no place for children.

“A bit too fancy?”

“Way up-market. How much did Jan tell you about it?”

“Only that you put money into it with a friend.”

“Antoine. Genius with food and people, but hopeless with finance. We’ve got it fine-tuned now and things are great. She told you about the cottage though?”

“Your bolt-hole. Yes—she loved it there.”

“Three bedrooms. Big outdoor terrace. Huge views over the hills, right out to the coast.”

Fiona pictured something rustic, timbered and casual. She’d never been there with Jan, even though it was only an hour’s drive north from their home in Wellington.

“Hope the security work goes well.”

“I’ll phone you, Blondie.”

“And lots of fish are biting for you. Bye, Christian.”

Later that evening her phone trilled again. Her pulse quickened. Name with-held on the screen—it had to be him.

“Hi,” she said, hoping she was right.

“Hi yourself,” he growled. And then added, “I need a big favor, Blondie. Can you get down here tomorrow? Kathy’s gone.”

Fiona grabbed for a nearby armchair and leaned on it, literally knocked off her feet by his sudden and unexpected request. She regained her balance, and sat, swallowing in confusion. “What? Gone where?”

“Madrid. Her last family decided they needed her after all. One day’s notice. I can’t blame the kid—it’d be hard to resist an all-expenses-paid trip to Europe at her age.”

The tightly-coiled spring that vibrated in Fiona’s heart every time she heard his voice, wound up another couple of turns. Kathy was out of the way. And Christian needed a replacement. Should she be offended, or pleased or wary?

“Can you do it?” he asked while she agonized.

“Yes.”

“
Will
you do it? Just for a few days until I get something sorted?”

“Only on that basis, Christian. I’m due back on the boat pretty soon. You said you wanted to cool things down. That’s fine with me—I don’t want...to start anything again.”

A small silence strained between them.

“Understood.” His voice was careful and neutral.

“I’ll book a flight, then.”

“Already done—just in case.”

Fiona’s hackles rose. Was she so predictable?

He must have heard her indrawn breath
. “Just in case,”
he repeated. “I’m not taking you for granted, Fee. Can you be at the airport for three-thirty? I’ll forward your e-ticket and meet you at this end.”

“Fine,” she said and snapped her phone shut.

Oh God, this wasn’t fair! She’d ripped herself away from him when she’d wanted desperately to stay. Had never contacted him in case her good intentions crumbled after that first tiny concession. Had only needed to keep her heart hard and her resolve high for another few days and she’d have been home safe on the other side of the world.

She speared her fingers through her hair as the big jet settled lower at the end of the journey. Was she mad to take this on?
 

If I had a seat on the other side of the plane, I could see the house
.

The harbor winked brightly in the sun. Homes crowded the surrounding hills. Only minutes away, Christian waited for her.
 

She massaged her scalp, trying to push the jittery anticipation out of her brain. Attempted to relax her tense shoulders. Unclasped her clenched hands and laid one on each thigh. And found upon landing she’d scrunched up a handful of fabric in each. Sighing with annoyance she attempted to smooth it flat again while the plane taxied toward their arrival gate.
 

He was only a man, for heaven’s sake. And a man she was having no more to do with. At all.

“Arty Fee! Arty Fee!” Nicky squealed.

Fiona grinned at the flailing fists and adoring smile of her only niece. She had to force herself to look at Christian. He ducked his head, eyes holding hers.
 

“Welcome back, Blondie,” he said, handing Nicky over for a cuddle. “I hope you’ve got a couple of slinky dresses packed?”

“Yeah, I take slinky dresses on every beach holiday,” she said, looking away from him, down to Nicky. Thank heavens for Nic! If she’d been meeting Christian alone, she’d have thrown herself into his arms instantly. She prayed he couldn’t see the desire in her eyes, hadn’t noticed her helpless soft gasp as she first caught sight of him.
 

This is such a bad idea.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Christian reached to take Nicky back, wondering how the hell he was going to make the situation work. It had taken only a glimpse of Fiona to send his blood racing south again.

“She’ll be way too heavy for you to carry unless that shoulder’s a lot better by now,” he said, attempting to reclaim his wriggling daughter, and finding he needed to slide an arm against Fiona’s breasts to do so.

“Hold still, Nic!” he ordered. Nicky immediately grabbed for the scooped neckline of Fiona’s red T-shirt and clung like a limpet. He disengaged her after a short tussle and a generous eyeful of pale flesh, which did nothing to deflate him.

“Sorry,” he grated.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

She’s as chilly as a glacier.

As he walked uncomfortably toward the baggage claim area, he
cursed his stupidity. He could have managed Nicky on his own for a few days. God knows, once Jan was in the hospice for the final time they’d got by. Some help from just-returned Amy Houndsworth, an hour or two each day with Jen’s nanny, Nicky napping in her special safety-seat as he drove briefly to work to keep a handle on things...

At the Lodge it would be way easier than that.

If he was honest with himself, this was all about Fiona, not Nicky. He’d been desperate to see her just once more before she was out of his reach in the Mediterranean—and in case some slight attraction for him might still linger in her heart.

“Anyway—slinky dresses—I grabbed one of Jan’s, just in case.”

“Er... oh, for dinner? He watched her clear green eyes widen in surprise. “It’s that classy?”

“Pounamu Lodge expects a certain standard...”
 

“Does it indeed?”

“Dinner’s the high point of the day. A genuine
degustation
meal—eight entree-size courses. Wines specially chosen to match. No menu. Different every day of the year.”

“Your idea?”

“Antoine’s. But I select a lot of the wines.”

“So talented.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Is it to be open warfare then?” he asked.

“No. Of course not, Christian. But you rub me up the wrong way sometimes.”

“By being interested in wine? Oh, come
on
now Blondie, New Zealand produces some of the world’s best these days. It’s an exciting thing to be part of.”

“Not the wine. Of course not the wine.” She ignored him and smiled across at Nicky as they walked along the bright impersonal terminal concourse. “Just by being you,” she muttered.

His lips twitched. Presumably she’d not intended him to hear that.
   

He heard her draw a deep breath, and saw her breasts rise under the soft scarlet fabric.
 

“And what,” she asked, making an apparent effort to be more sociable, “is there to do at this place?”

He ripped his eyes back up to hers.

“Horse-trekking. Quad-biking. It’s an angler’s paradise not far up the river. Nine-hole golf course—we’ll be extending that in a year or so. Swimming pools, indoor and outdoor. A couple of nice tennis courts. Sauna. Gym. Enough for you?”

“I brought some books to read while I watch Nic.”

 
His brow furrowed with displeasure. “I’m not expecting you ‘on duty’ every hour of the day, Fee. We’re there to relax...to wind down a bit. After losing Jan, we both deserve a break.”

She bowed her head in silent acknowledgement.

“I was already having a break,” she muttered.
 

“You call that a
cottage?
” she asked as the big silver-grey Mercedes coasted slowly to a halt.

Her imagined rustic timber effort was a miniature French-style masonry chateau. It sat creamily in the sun, backed by tall Pohutukawa trees, still with tufts of their feathery firecracker flowers in bloom. Black forged-iron railings edged the upstairs balconies. An expansive tiled terrace dotted with outdoor furniture faced the spectacular view.
 

“We had it built to match the Lodge.” Christian pointed through a gap in the trees to a magnificent building partially visible in the distance. “It’s rented out a lot of the time. Ideal for honeymooners or small private groups. The Lodge administers it.”

“At an interesting price, I dare say.”

He grinned at that. His tanned skin showed off dangerously good teeth. Fiona’s pulse increased its tempo.

“It sleeps six. There’s a daily rate, dinners included.”
 

“You wouldn’t want six on a honeymoon,” she objected.

“Total privacy for two—and a choice of three huge beds.”

Why were there sudden butterflies in her stomach?

Christian unloaded her bags from the luxurious car.

“The ocean view or the morning sun?” he asked, waving her in once he’d opened the door. He picked a protesting Nicky up to stop her wandering away.
 

Fiona prowled, peering into each of the rooms, acutely conscious of his tall quiet presence. Hand-loomed rugs softened the tiled floors, and exquisite quilts dressed each bed. She ran her fingers over the intricate patchwork surface of one.

“Local crafts—all for sale.” Christian pointed down to a discreet price-tag attached to the corner of a flat-weave pure wool rug in misty grays and mauves.

She laughed at that. “You know how to make money.”

“Jan’s idea—and a good one. She thought guests might like a souvenir of a memorable time. The quilters and weavers were her friends. The painters, too. And there’s still some of her own pottery here.”
 

He fell silent as Jan’s memory intruded between them yet again.

“The ocean view,” Fiona said, making the only decision possible. She had to stay clear of him somehow. The downstairs bedroom opened out onto the huge terrace. Christian would be well out of her way upstairs in the master suite.
 

He sat Nicky on her bed while he retrieved her bags from the entrance lobby and hefted them onto the luggage shelf.

“I’ll unpack,” she said. “And see if I’ve anything smart enough for this lovely place.”
 

She was absorbed in doing this when he reappeared with a slippery chocolate-brown dress draped over his arm.

“Just in case.”

Fiona held it up by its jeweled straps and frowned.

“Jan bought this for your last wedding anniversary. I helped her choose it. I couldn’t possibly wear it.”

He shrugged his big shoulders.

“Whatever. Sadly, she won’t need it again. Have it anyway. Wear it on your ship. I’ll buy you a couple at the Lodge’s boutique if you like.”

She shot him a disbelieving look. “A boutique—way out in the country?”

“Absolutely. Antoine’s wife owns ‘Marielle’s’ in the city. She
is
Marielle. She set up a branch here as well. Our ladies like to have something beautiful to wear to dinner. Their gentlemen—not always their own husbands, I might add—are very generous spenders.”
 

His suggestive grin brought some joyful life to his face and turned him into a different man. Fiona tried to recall the last time she’d seen him looking so relaxed. Almost two years, she decided. Before Jan had been diagnosed with her cancer, and when six-month-old Nicky was giving them great happiness. How cruel life could be.

Instead of leaving as she’d expected, Christian threw himself down on the bed to tickle and tease Nic while Fiona hung her selection of casual garments in the roomy wardrobe.

“Only one skirt,” she said, holding up the short bright blue linen number she’d bought the day of the haircut.

“Not quite the thing for our dining room,” he agreed. “Come on, let’s get this little girl fed and we’ll see what’s good at Marielle’s.”