Just in Time (20 page)

“Operation Restore Will’s off to a flying start, by the way,” he said, “if you haven’t checked it out yet.”

“Huh?”

“We made the papers, if you want to see.”

He sat beside her, and at his direction, she found the article, complete with a picture of Will kissing her at the airport. Her head back, his arms wrapped around her, her hand clutching his flowers in their pink-tissue cone, looking so incongruous against his broad shoulders.

She looked like a woman abandoning restraint, a woman being passionately kissed by somebody who knew how. Which was exactly how it had felt. For those few treacherous moments, she’d forgotten why he was doing it, why she was there, and had wanted nothing more than to keep kissing him, to keep feeling that hard mouth on her, those big hands exploring her. Until she’d remembered.

“We pretended pretty well there,” she managed to say. “That looks real, doesn’t it?”

“Yeh. Good job.”

She read the headline, then.
The Player Meets his Match
. If she’d needed a reminder, here it was.

Rugby heartthrob Will Tawera has always been a player—in both senses of the word. It’s no secret that the star No. 10 has left a trail of broken hearts on either side of the Tasman for nearly a decade. The hottie playboy’s latest antics, though, looked like having serious consequences after he was found to have posed for some very naughty photos during his recent holiday break in the States.

Another picture, this time from the site. Gretchen on her hands and knees in bra and low, tight jeans, with a shirtless Will on his knees behind her, one big hand on the back of her neck.

“Whoa,” Faith said. “Family newspaper?”

“Yeh. Surprised they put it in there, but hard to resist, I guess. That won’t have helped.”

Turns out, though,
she read on,
that there was a reason behind our Will’s apparent fit of Stateside madness. A curvy brunette reason named Faith Goodwin, to be exact, the femme fatale for whose sake, agent Ian Foster says, Will did his spot of erotic modeling. Faith was spotted yesterday arriving at Auckland Airport to keep her man company during his one-week suspension from the All Blacks’ June tests against England. The stunning photographer’s assistant looks like enough to make any rugby boy lose his head. It seems that Will’s enforced holiday is off to a smashing start. Could the legendary player have finally met his match?

“Well, that was the idea,” Faith said, closing her laptop again and doing her best to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “I guess it worked. It’s good to be stunning, too, I suppose. Did your agent leak those pictures?”

“Yeh. He will have done. And you
are
stunning, although I’m not nearly as much of a heartthrob as they’re making out, or as much of a player, either. Let alone a playboy. Makes me sound like I’ve got silk sheets on the bed. But then, I make it a point never to believe my press.” He stood up. “And meanwhile, here in the real world, I’m off for a run. Want to join me? Keep you fit, since you don’t have that boot camp anymore? I could give you some physical training myself, come to think of it. If you gave me a bit of time to think about it, that is.”

His slow smile was pure sin, all teasing heat and wicked implications, and she was responding despite every better intention. The tingles she was feeling weren’t coming from reason, because her body answered to a more ancient call.

But if she liked him, even if she just liked looking at him, well, that just made this easy money, didn’t it? As long as she kept her head and enjoyed it for what it was. Flirting with a sweet, sexy man who made her laugh, and being in New Zealand. What could be bad about that? So she picked up her laptop, stood up, and said, “Sure. Let me put this away and go get my shorts on. I’m not fast, though, I warn you.”

“No worries. I like to go nice and slow, too. Long as I’ve got company.”

She put a hand on her hip and gave him her best glare, feeling a little better. “If you’re going to make everything you say a cheesy innuendo, this deal’s off right now.”

He laughed. “Can’t help it. Too easy. Go put on another pair of tiny little shorts, and we’ll see if I can help it then. I’m guessing not, but here’s hoping, eh.”

When he’d switched on the light that morning and seen her bent over his dresser in those tiny pink shorts, Will’s heart had just about stopped, and every moment after that had made it worse. Or better, depending on how you looked at it.

Worse, it turned out, because it had taken him almost as long to fall asleep again as it had the night before, after he’d tugged the duvet up a bit higher over Faith, and she’d murmured in her sleep and snuggled down a little deeper in the bed. She’d looked so soft and sweet, with her hair falling over her cheek. And when he’d climbed into bed beside her, separated by those bloody pillows, and thought about living with her…

At least they wouldn’t be sharing a bed anymore, which was good, because surely this much sexual frustration wasn’t healthy. He was going to rupture something. Ever since Faith had arrived, his agent’s clever plan hadn’t looked so clever after all.

Now, he was running down the hard-packed sand of Narrow Neck Beach behind her in the pink-tinged dawn light, and she was wearing shorts again, and he was beginning to doubt his aerobic conditioning, because he was having serious heart trouble.

She turned around to smile at him, and he jogged up to join her.

“Told you I was slow,” she said.

“And I told you that I like slow.” Slow and easy, or fast and hard. Either way. Both ways. All ways.

She laughed, spun in a circle, then faced forward again. “It’s pretty awesome, isn’t it? How far can we go?”

“Far as you like. The tide’s out. You won’t see much, heaps of sand and sea, some trees and houses. About like the view from my deck.”

“Mmm. And some ships.” She eyed the behemoth that was making its ponderous way up the shipping channel towards the Hauraki Gulf. “What’s that?”

“Car carrier. They come in almost every day. Everything has to be shipped to En Zed, remember. We’re a long, long way from anywhere, down here at the bottom of the world.”

“And what’s
that?
” she asked, pointing at the immense low cone that dominated the horizon to seaward. “The mountain, or island, or whatever?”

“Ah. That would be Rangitoto.”

“Let me guess. It’s a volcano.”

“Got it in one. Fifty volcanoes in Auckland. But just about that many beaches, too.”

“You know what’s funny?” she asked after a minute.

“No, what?”

“The day I met you, I was having a…well, a bad morning. And having this daydream of running on the beach. In a bikini.”

He pivoted in an instant, and she turned with him. “What?” she asked in alarm.

“Dreams come true. Going back for it.”

She pulled at his arm, tugged him around with her, and he came with her, and she was laughing again. “Too uncomfortable. I need a little more support, here in the real world.”

“You had to burst my bubble, didn’t you?”

“Better than bursting mine.”

This time, he was the one laughing. “Well, yeh. When you put it like that—we’d better take care of yours, eh. Can’t have my girlfriend suffering. So what else happened in this fantasy? Anything I can help with?”

She was smiling again. “Now, did I say it was a fantasy?”

“Well, I’m hoping.”

“Too embarrassing,” she decided.

“And now you have to tell me. What happened?”

“I guess, since you’re my boyfriend…” He could tell that she was loving being able to tease him, and he was more than willing to keep her loving it. “The short story is, I sort of got…tackled by a guy.”

He sighed happily. “I knew I could help.”

“What, you’re volunteering to tackle me? I thought you didn’t hurt women.”

“Don’t have to hurt you to tackle you. I’m a highly skilled athlete. Or I could tackle you onto the bed, maybe, if you were worried about it. Yeh, that’d work. Just a venue shift.”

“Remember you telling me that you didn’t have to do everything you thought about? Anyway, you tackle? I thought you kicked.”

He stared at her. “You really don’t know anything about rugby, do you?”

“Nope. Not a thing. Except it’s sort of like football.”

“Not that much like it. Everybody kicks in rugby, though I kick the most. Everybody passes. Everybody runs. And everybody tackles. So you see, I’m clearly the man for the job.”

She was still running. Not asking to be tackled one bit. “And again. Daydream. Not real.”

And all that was fun, and sexy, and sweet, until it wasn’t.

A couple hours later, he was eating breakfast along with his family and Faith, who was looking proper and demure in her purple dress and black leggings, and not in the least like a man-eater, no matter what his mum thought. Unfortunately. And his grandmother was making him an offer he was most definitely going to refuse.

“No. Sorry. Can’t,” he told her.

“And why can’t you?” Kuia asked, her head on an angle, the feathers of gray hair framing the sculpted bones of her face. A hard face to say no to. “You’re stood down anyway.”

“Yeh, thanks. I remember.”

“What’s stood down?” Faith asked, taking a bite of toast.

“Suspended for a week,” he said, the wrench in his gut exactly the same one he’d felt when Callum had told him.

The All Blacks’ head coach had been blunt about it. “Do the crime, do the time,” he’d said, and Will hadn’t argued. He would pay the penalty, would go back to work afterwards and put his head down, fight to get his starting position back for the final game of the June test matches, and it would be behind him.

“Oh.” Faith looked stricken, as if she really were the wicked temptress who’d lured him into this mess. “I read that, didn’t I? I’m sorry, Will. I didn’t realize…”

She needed to stop talking, because Kuia was looking curious again. Faith should have known that already. If she really
had
been his girlfriend.

“He’ll get over it,” Kuia said. “He’s got over worse. Nothing but a tempest in a teapot anyway. He hasn’t hurt anybody, hasn’t done anybody over outside a pub or beat his partner or cheated on his girlfriend. Hasn’t done anything at all but given a few women something to dream about when their own partners don’t measure up, and what could be wrong with that? God gave you that body for a reason,” she told her grandson.

“If He did,” Will’s mum said, “it wasn’t to give randy girls something to dream about.”

“How do you know?” Kuia asked. “Have God on a private line, do you? Who do you think gave women imaginations? And why? To get them through the bad times, that’s why. Or the boring times. If our Will’s helped them out a bit, well, maybe that’s part of His plan, too. Got to be a reason Will did that.”

“I’d love to think the reason was God whispering in my ear.” Will couldn’t help it, he was laughing at the idea. He caught Faith’s eye, and she put her napkin hastily to her lips and succumbed to what she was trying to pass off as a coughing fit. “I’m afraid that wasn’t an angel on my shoulder that day, though.”

“Well,” Faith said, the smile escaping despite all her efforts, “not the way I saw it, no.”

“Except that mostly, I did it for Faith,” he remembered to say, and realized that it wasn’t actually so far from the truth. He thought of her dropping the muffins, of following her from the anteroom into the studio and looking at the back of her jeans. “And she’s pretty much an angel, so—”

“Oh, really? An angel’s what you want? Huh,” she said, and his grandmother was watching the two of them, her brown eyes alight.

“But then,” Will said, “sometimes that little devil on your shoulder is exactly what you need.” He watched the color rise into her cheeks, regular as clockwork, and smiled at her. “We all have dreams,” he said softly. “Even if they’re just daydreams. Making them come true—that can’t always happen. But we can try.” And the color rose some more.

“Anyway, you’re stood down,” Kuia said briskly. “Which means you can’t train with the team anyway. So why can’t you bring Faith down to Rotorua with us, work out at the gym there like you normally do? Haven’t been home at all, have you, since the season started. And what were you planning to do with her next week once you’re off with the All Blacks again? Leave her here all alone?”