White-Hot Christmas (3 page)

Merle’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? You’re going to pay me to have sex?”

“No, I’m going to pay you to have fun. God knows you need it.” She motioned with her head toward Neon. “Imagine it, Merle. Wild holiday sex with a rugby-playing, surfing firefighter.”

“He’s a firefighter?” She stared at him. That would explain the physique.

“Every girl’s dream.” Bree grinned. “So are you going to accept?”

Merle said nothing for a moment. He wasn’t her sort at all. She went out with intellectuals. Men—usually quite a bit older than her—called Richard or William or Edward, who wore glasses and suits and sardonic smiles. Doctors and lawyers, whose physical activity extended to the occasional game of squash. Not young firefighters with ridiculous nicknames, who wore nothing but rather faded shorts. She doubted he could even spell “intellectual”. She went after men’s minds, not their tanned bodies, muscular arms and lazy, sexy smiles…

Oh come on, let’s be honest
. Neon was hot enough to melt gold. Was the size of his brain relevant at all?

Impishly, she imagined kissing him, feeling his hand brushing up her thigh. Was she brave enough to take her sister up on her bet? Sex with a complete stranger? Merle closed her eyes momentarily, unable to believe she was even contemplating the crazy notion. It was the absolute, total opposite of anything she’d ever consider, the twelve midday to her twelve midnight, the South Pole to her North. Merle was a lecturer in archaeology, she was respected, dignified. She was bloody English, for God’s sake. She didn’t proposition complete strangers.

But the idea was like plastic wrap imbued with static—she couldn’t shake it off.

It was such a compelling thought, that was the problem. No strings, no worries about being right for each other, or whether you had anything in common, or deep discussions on the meaning of relationships. Just hot, breathless, sweaty sex with a hunky firefighter. The type of sex she’d seen in Hollywood movies. Fantasy sex, as opposed to rather dull, awkward, rarely inspirational, real-life sex. Somehow she just
knew
Neon would be good in bed. Something to do with his sexy smile. The thought made her feel faint.

She shook her head. This wasn’t her at all. She dated for weeks before she ventured near the bedroom. She didn’t have sex on the first date, and certainly not with someone she hardly knew. It was ridiculous. It was totally out of the question.

“Don’t be stupid,” she snorted in answer to Bree’s raised eyebrow as the guys began to walk toward them. “And for God’s sake, don’t say anything.”

Bree sighed. “Of course I won’t. Relax, Merle. If you want to shut up shop down there, I’m not going to stop you.”

“Bree—” But she had to end the conversation because the guys were too close. She satisfied herself with glaring at her sister, even though it was lost on her as she lay back and closed her eyes.

Neon threw himself on the sand next to Merle, picked up a pair of dark sunglasses and slipped them on. He stretched out, humming to a song playing on the radio. In spite of her promise to forget Bree’s bet, her gaze lingered on his muscular arms and solid legs, tanned and scattered with light brown hair. He was the complete opposite of the two men she’d gone to bed with in the past. Simon had been tall and skinny, and white as a snowflake in the English tradition, and while Phil had been broader, he could hardly have been called a candidate for surfer of the year. And neither of them had been particularly skilled in the sex area. Oh for a man who knew what he was doing in the bedroom…

Suddenly she realised she couldn’t see Neon’s eyes and wondered whether he was looking at her, watching her size him up. She stuck her tongue out at him and he rewarded her with a chuckle. He had indeed been watching her.
Crap
. She took a swig from her bottle, blushing again.

He cleared his throat. “How long have you been over here?”

She looked at him, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “Only a few days. I haven’t been to New Zealand before, so I thought I’d see a bit of Auckland before I flew up.”

“What did you think of it?”

“It’s a nice city, lots of trees. I liked the museum on the domain.”

“Sounds like you lived it up,” Bree teased.

“Oh, I did other stuff—went to bars and picked up a couple of desperate men, visited a brothel, you know, the usual.”

Neon and Jake laughed.

“You can be less English without sinking to those depths,” Bree said, amused.

“Well, I didn’t walk around wearing a bowler hat and carrying an umbrella or anything.” Merle shot her sister an exasperated glance, irritated, her sister’s comment about shutting up shop still rankling. “Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with being English.”

“Unless you count Morris Dancing,” said Neon. “I’ve always wanted to see a performance. Will you give us a demonstration?”

Still annoyed, she couldn’t stop the sarcastic retort as she turned the glare on him. “Not tonight, Josephine.” Would he realise she was making reference to the fact that she knew his full name?

Neon stared at her, raised his sunglasses and glared at Bree.

“It’s not her fault,” said Merle, not wanting to get her sister in trouble. “I made an intelligent guess. I mean, Neon? It’s not really a name, is it?”

He looked at her, fixing her with his brown-eyed stare. “You can talk. Proud Titania.”

Bree burst out laughing at the look on Merle’s face. Jake looked from one to the other, confused. “What?”

Bree grinned. “Mum’s a Brontë nut and my sister’s named after Merle Oberon, the actress in the old 1930s version of
Wuthering Heights
. And Oberon’s in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
.”

“Oh.” The joke had gone over Jake’s head.

“You look shocked I’ve heard of her.” Neon studied Merle’s face, obviously amused.

“I’m more surprised you’ve heard of Shakespeare.”

“Ooh.” Jake winced.

Bree laughed out loud. “That was a bit below the belt.”

Neon’s lips curled. “Course I have. Wilfred and I are like that.” He crossed his fingers.

Wilfred? Merle opened her mouth to correct him, saw his smile and realised he was teasing her. She met his gaze, seeing the amusement in his eyes, and almost hidden, the hurt. She’d insulted his intelligence, unfairly it seemed. She looked away, embarrassed. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t normally rude or irritable like this. It must be the jet lag. That and the fact that Bree always knew how to get under her skin, prodding at her sensitive areas as a kid might poke at a snail with a stick.

“We’re going up to the cafe for some lunch,” said one of the other men in the group. “You guys coming?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jake stood and pulled his wife up. Merle went to get up but saw Neon standing above her, hand extended. She sighed and took it. He lifted her easily, and she stumbled against him.

“Sorry.” She brushed sand from her dress, wishing he would realise she was apologising for the insult as well.

“No worries.” He met her gaze briefly. He smiled, but his eyes were cool. He turned away, collecting up the empty beer bottles, giving her a perfect view of his tight ass.

She swallowed and looked away, shaking the sand from her towel and rolling it up for Bree. How she longed to be the sort of person who had one-night stands. Why couldn’t she be impulsive, carefree and abandoned? She wished she could throw off her reserved image and live in the moment. Bree did—she was remarkably relaxed and happy-go-lucky, so it wasn’t as if it was impossible. But she could never be like her sister.

Could she?

Merle bit her lip, excitement sweeping through her. She wasn’t really considering this, was she? She wasn’t thinking of suggesting hot, meaningless sex with a complete stranger?

As a group, they walked up to the local cafe. On the way, she chatted to David and Ryan, a couple of the other men in the group. They were both friendly and flirted lightly with her, making her laugh. Mischievously, she considered each of them with Bree’s idea of holiday sex in mind, but although they were young, strong and beautifully tanned, neither of them came close to Neon on the scale of gorgeousness. He talked to Jake as they walked. He’d pulled on a deep red T-shirt, but was barefoot like most of them in the group. He was the perfect image of a healthy New Zealand man, the sort you saw on holiday adverts. He must have a girlfriend. But surely Bree wouldn’t have suggested him if he did?

As they approached the cafe, Jake asked her what she wanted to eat. She felt a wave of tiredness from the jet lag, and just requested a lemonade and an ice lolly, desperate for something cool. She took the opportunity to visit the ladies’, splashing water on her face, hoping to perk herself up.

On her way back to the entrance, she heard Jake and Neon at the counter, talking. She paused in the passageway at the mention of her name.

“So, what do you think of Merle?” Jake said.

“She’s gorgeous.” Neon’s compliment took her by surprise. “But I don’t think she likes me much. Fair enough. I guess you were right—I’m not the sort of guy a university lecturer would find attractive.”

She closed her eyes, cringing as she thought of how she’d put him down. His next words, however, made her eyes fly open.

“I can see what you meant about her, by the way. She’s so British and puritanical it’s like she’s stepped straight out of the English Civil War.”

“What did I tell you?” Jake laughed.

Merle’s cheeks flamed. Puritanical? How dare he make such a judgement about her when he didn’t even know her?

Then she thought about what she’d said to him, about being surprised he’d heard of Shakespeare. She’d insulted him. He was right—she
was
reserved, aloof and snobbish. She completely deserved his comment.

But deep down, she wasn’t a prude, and she wasn’t cold. She walked back through the cafe, chewing her lip. She longed to throw off the frosty British image she obviously portrayed. How could she show Neon a passionate, sexy woman lay beneath her cool exterior?

Exiting the cafe, she saw he’d chosen a chair to one side of the group, looking out across the sea, and she took a seat opposite him. At that moment his mobile started ringing. Pulling the phone from his shorts pocket, he flipped it open. He looked at the number and hesitated. Sighing, he pressed the answer button, held the phone to his ear, stood up and walked a short distance away.

Merle sipped her lemonade. He glanced over at Jake, who mouthed, “Ella?” Neon nodded and rolled his eyes.

Bree leaned closer to Jake and whispered, “I saw her a couple of days ago. She’s gutted he broke up with her. I think she thought she’d got her claws into him. I didn’t like to say she shouldn’t have discussed the colour card she wanted for the invitations before they’d even been together three weeks.”

Merle studied him, playing with her straw. So he was wary about being tied down. Well, who wasn’t? She too had backed off when Simon had started murmuring about engagement rings to her, and that was after six months of dating, not three weeks.

Neon tucked his left hand into his pocket, and his elbows were tight against his chest. His whole stance showed his irritation.

When he spoke, however, his voice was gentle and polite. “I know. I’m sorry.” He went quiet again, listening to the woman on the other end. At one point he held the phone away from his ear, wincing. Merle could hear Ella screeching at him. She stared, shocked. What on earth had possessed her to react in such a way? No wonder the guy was anti-commitment if his ex-girlfriends treated him like this.

Still, he didn’t raise his voice. Merle heard him speak gently but firmly for a while, sighing occasionally before saying goodbye, flipping the phone shut. He paused for a moment before turning around. Then he sat, lowered his sunglasses and looked out to sea. Merle narrowed her eyes. He needed cheering up. What could she do to help?

Neon mused on his conversation with Ella, sliding down in his seat, his arms crossed. He’d never promised her anything, but she’d still demanded more than he could—or wanted to—give. What was it with women? It was enough to make a man want to turn gay. He glanced across at Merle and watched as she crossed her long legs, raising her dress a little to let the sun get to them. Okay, maybe not. But at that moment, he didn’t think he ever wanted to date again. Sex, yes. Dating, no. Shame one rarely came without the other, unless you counted paying for it, and he wasn’t a big fan of that.

He watched the English girl from behind his dark glasses, turning his head so it looked as if he were staring out to sea. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about her. Her sharp retort on his literary knowledge had stung. She’d thought him ignorant and illiterate because of the way he looked and the job he did, although she had apologised afterward, even if it was in a roundabout way. Obviously her prejudice was her problem, but still… She’d made a judgement about him with no solid foundation.

He sipped his beer, phasing in and out of the conversation, wondering if Ella was still crying or if it had just been put on to make him feel guilty. He didn’t miss her. He knew it was cruel, but she’d been a stopgap for him, a warm body when he’d been lonely. He’d never really felt anything deep for her. Hell, he’d hardly had time for his feelings to develop. He wasn’t proud of hurting her, especially when he knew she’d been crazy about him, but he couldn’t change the way he felt.

He focussed on Merle again. It was a shame she was so haughty, because if he thought about her in a purely physical way, she was very enticing. Long, long legs, curvy body. Beautiful bouncy blonde hair with a hint of red—strawberry blonde, didn’t they call it? Smooth skin, with a scattering of freckles. He usually favoured athletic women with a healthy tan and tight, toned bodies, and Merle didn’t fit that category—she probably hadn’t seen a surfboard in real life before, let alone stood on one. But her womanly figure and pale skin were enticing, and with her floppy hat and sundress she looked elegant, refined. Not too refined, though. He could imagine running his suntanned hand up her smooth white thigh and then farther up her body, cupping her heavy white breast. Hmm. Better not go too far down that road or everyone would become aware of his rising interest.