Resisting Nick (Wicked in Wellington) (9 page)

So it was mutual? Or was he just a horny teenager ready to experiment with anyone female and willing?
 

“Did I run away from you?” she demanded. “Object to what you did? What
we
did?” She swallowed, uncomfortable talking about it, but pleased to get it out in the open all the same. “I was fascinated, Nick. Enthralled. Only just waking up to the possibilities of sex. Hearing the talk from people, but with no way of knowing what was true.”

“And no way of asking your grandparents.”

That surprised a puff of mirth out of her. “Ha! Exactly. The orchard was hardly a hotbed of depravity.”

“Oh, I don’t know...”

She shot him a suspicious glare. His lips pressed together as though concealing secrets. “What?
What?
”

“Some of the pickers got their rocks off sometimes. Down by the river.”

“You
watched?
”

“I was sixteen, honey. Desperate to refine my technique.”

“You had an actual
technique?
”
 

Nick tapped the side of his nose. “A gentleman never tells.” And as fast as that, his teasing manner evaporated. “I need to bring you up to speed with the builder. Evan. Don’t trust him. I’m going to make it clear you’re mine, and that should hold him off.”

“But I’m not, and I can look after myself, thank you.”
 

Nick accelerated to warp speed and barreled ahead of other traffic. Then he slowed and pulled into line again. He looked across at her, daring her to disapprove.
 

“But if I sling an arm around you, you won’t have to look after yourself. He’s on his third wife, and according to my sister-in-law this current marriage is in trouble, too. Good builder, bad bastard with women.”

Sammie settled back in her seat and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun. Beside her Nick stayed silent as though he’d settled the matter. The tires sang on the road, the engine crackled and hummed, and her concentration drifted. Soon, he clasped her hand and said, “Nearly there.”
 

She peered out the window at rolling countryside. “I thought this house was at the beach?”

He checked his rear view mirrors and signaled a turn. “Wait and see.” He left the main road with a squeal of tires and then immediately braked.

Sammie bounced against her seatbelt as they hit the rough gravel surface of a farm road.

“Sorry, should have given you more warning.” Not that he looked the least bit sorry. He navigated the rutted surface with care, and then slowed to a stop as the ocean appeared far below.

“But...how...?” She gazed down at the suddenly disclosed view, then back to Nick. A flock of sheep lollopped away in the adjacent field. They stood staring for a few moments, and sensing no further danger, returned to nibbling the bright grass.

“Magic, huh?” he said.

“Amazing. And where’s your house?”

Two minutes of cautious downhill progress brought them to an area of overgrown trees with tall brick chimneys towering above them. Nick bumped onto a set of cattle-stop bars and into a driveway where the vegetation arched overhead in a green tunnel. In the burst of sunshine at the end sat a white van and a red pickup truck.
 

As they emerged into the welcome light, Sammie stared, astounded. Paintless planks had weathered to silver-grey. The roof was a sea of rust. Many of the windows were broken. The once proud veranda sagged like suggestive eyebrows above the twin bay windows.
 

She pulled in a deep breath. “How much did you pay for this wreck?”

“Probably too much, but once it’s restored it’ll be beyond price. Come and see.”

A tall red haired man appeared from the far side of the house and raised a hand in greeting.

“Evan Greerson,” Nick said, killing the engine. “He’ll be your contact. Watch him.”

He stepped out, strode around to Sammie’s side of the car while she fought with the unfamiliar seatbelt, and opened her door. “Give me your hand.”

Once out, she almost lost her footing on the uneven ground—the perfect excuse for him to slide an arm around her and pull her in close. Now the scent of his body swirled all around her. A potent mix of freshly laundered cotton, warm skin, and a trace of cologne. Even more enticing than when he’d leaned over to toss her bag and the plans onto the back seat. She closed her eyes and enjoyed him for a moment, knowing she was safe from falling because of his protective arm.

“Those boots weren’t made for a building site.” He sent her a fond but admonishing look.

“I didn’t know you’d be bringing me here when we got dressed this morning,” she said, playing along with his ‘we-are-a-couple’ scenario as the builder came close enough to hear.

“Sammie—meet Evan Greerson. Evan—Samantha.”

Sammie reached out to shake his callused hand and found hers held for a few seconds too long. And was that a sneaky tickle along her palm from one of his fingers? God, the man thought he was some sort of Don Juan! She pulled out of his grip and said, “Nice to meet you, Evan,” wrenching her eyes from his too-intrusive gaze as soon as she politely could.

Nick sensed, or saw, her unease. “Sammie will always know where to find me if I’m out of town—or out of the country.”

“In case you have any urgent queries,” she added, stressing the ‘urgent’.

The builder stood in a relaxed slouch. A big man—as big as Nick. As strong as Nick, to judge by the hard muscles of his long legs and arms.
 

And doesn’t he just fancy himself.

Sammie turned as the sound of hammering echoed over music from somewhere out of sight. She heard the sea, and smelled its salty breath now.

“Sounds like the other half of the team’s on the job.” Nick steered her around to the back of the house and bent to reduce the volume of a big paint-splashed radio. Here a much younger man worked on the timber framing surrounding a huge concrete slab.
 

“Brendan,” Nick greeted him as he inspected the progress with evident approval. “Going well.”
 

He placed his hands on Sammie’s shoulders and turned her toward the view.

She peered through the scrubby trees edging the cliff. Fifty feet below, the ocean raced up a crescent of empty sand—only to be sucked back to fling itself forward again. The water spread, blue and sequin-spangled, to the horizon. Like a sleeping green dragon, Kapiti Island sat a few miles out, clothed in dense forest, a secure sanctuary for thousands of native birds.

“It’s wonderful,” she agreed as shivers of elation raced up her spine. “I can see why you wanted it. The view, anyway—I’m not so sure about the house.” She turned doubtful eyes toward the wreck behind her. The old back door stood open, creaking in the breeze. “Is it safe to go in?”

“Yeah, but take it carefully,” Evan Greerson warned. “There’s a lot of stuff strewn around. Plenty of broken glass. And I wouldn’t try tap-dancing on the staircase.”

“Okay, no dancing,” she agreed.

Nick reached for her hand again.

“Gonna carry her over the threshold?” Brendan asked, making the wrong assumption about who she was.

“Might just do that.”

She squeaked as Nick swept her up, cradled her against his chest, and strode away from the two men.
 

“Put me down!” This felt much more dangerous than his playful grab in the office, or her comfort-hug at the apartment.

An expression of brooding intensity settled over his features and burned from his snapping black eyes straight into hers as he walked. She shivered, despite the heat of his body.
 

Shivered or trembled?
 

Plastered against him, she savored the magic flexing of his muscles as he adjusted the weight of her in his arms. Thrilling.
 

Dangerously thrilling. And still she held his gaze, but finally the sensation of all that hard male flesh surrounding her was too much. She squeezed her eyes closed and tucked her face in under his chin, mouth against his neck.
 

Mistake.
 

Big mistake. Now she knew exactly how hot and smooth his skin felt against her super-sensitive lips. She breathed in his salty fresh scent. And was tempted to slide her tongue out a fraction and taste him. Did she dare? She murmured her disquiet and moved a little—only to hit the start of the scratchy line of his late-afternoon stubble. The blatant masculinity of it almost undid her.

Reluctantly Nick loosened his grip and set her on her feet. He cleared his throat with a growl. What the hell had possessed him to grab her like that...lift her into his house like a new bride?

“So out there,” he said, trying to shake the moment off, “big living area. Floor to ceiling windows and doors, all the view. In here, bedrooms, bathrooms, whatever.”

He moved far enough away from her for the heat to fade a fraction. Shards of brittle old glass crunched under his feet, and mysterious filtered light cast gloomy shadows because the builders had covered some of the broken panes with sheets of plywood.

“It must have been spectacular once.” Sammie said, sounding as strangled as him as she moved through to the oak paneled hallway.

“And it will be again.”

She caught his eye and looked away fast. “However did it get into this state?”

“It was the original farm homestead. The current farmer divorced and remarried, and the second wife refused to live in the first wife’s house.”

“What a waste.”

“Yeah. Their loss, my gain. Back in the seventies, they built a house much closer to the road, used this as workers’ accommodation for a while, and then deserted it. God knows why.”

Sammie kicked at a few long strands of dried grass drifting across the muddied timber floor. She turned back to him and said in a steadier voice, “So they really did keep hay bales in here?”

“All sorts of farm stuff.”

“How did you know it was for sale?”

“It wasn’t. I saw it from the beach on a fishing trip. Well, I spotted the chimneys and climbed part-way up the cliff to see what they belonged to.”

“And fell in love?”

“Fell in lust. Had to have it. Persuaded the farmer to sell me the house plus two acres.”

She looked at him more directly. “So you wanted a gentleman’s retreat?”

He felt the bite in her words. “I’m not a gentleman.”

“A rich man’s retreat, then?”

That felt more comfortable. “Working on it. Call it my whim. My project. My base for the future. The way I was dragged up I never really had a base.”

A small smile touched the corners of her luscious mouth. “Me either. My parents’ house, then the orchard, a flat with some friends for a while, Grandpa’s small house once he got sick, my brother’s place, and now I’m looking after Kelly’s apartment for a fortnight.”

“And after that?”

The smile disappeared. “You know what happens after that. As soon as my passport arrives, I’m gone.” She turned away from him and walked up the hallway, reaching out to peel a thin strip of ancient paper from the wall above the oak paneling as she did. Streamers of it hung and fluttered everywhere.

 
His gut churned. He clenched his jaw and wondered how to make her stay.
 

She walked on—a slender silhouette against the bright light spilling through the glass of the intricate lead-lighting in the front door. After a few more steps, she drew level with the grandly proportioned old sitting room and peered in. “Nick! This could be wonderful.”

So maybe she’d started to see what he saw?

He waved her in. “Master bedroom I thought. There’s a ton of room to divide off a dressing room and en suite bathroom.”

She nodded as she glanced around. One of the multi-faceted bay windows fronted the long room, with views out to rolling countryside and a backdrop of dark forested hills. Remnants of furniture remained—faded, fraying, but giving a faint feel of long ago occupation. Three disintegrating beaded lampshades hung from tarnished brass chains, and she gazed up at them, lips parted.
 

An urgent need to kiss her throat grabbed him and shook him to his shoes. He reached out and ran a finger up her silky skin, surprising a gasp out of her.

“Stay just like that,” he said.

“Why?”

He answered by cradling her face in his hands and bending to brush a hot open-mouthed kiss right where her pulse beat hard and fast.“Because I want you to.”

He did it again, higher this time. Sammie made a small, strangled noise that he translated as ‘more please’. The builder’s radio, the hammering, the rhythmic swoosh of the sea all faded to nothing

“No,” she groaned, trying to wriggle away.

“Why not?” he asked against the corner of her mouth.

“Because I’m leaving.”

He kissed her anyhow, frustration biting hard as his cock swelled against her, apparently unwelcome.

CHAPTER NINE

Nick reversed down the green tunnel twenty minutes later. They’d checked out the rest of the house, and Sammie kept well out of his grasp.
 

He’d spread the plans on an ancient unraveling cane table in one of the upstairs bedrooms, and gone over them with her before they talked more with Evan. Plainly she still thought he was mad taking on such a huge restoration job, but from her comments he saw she pictured the finished house.

He needed to get back to the city for a late meeting at the bank. Nothing too formal—a drink, a chat, hit them up for another half-mil in case Sydney happened sooner than expected.
 

He glanced at his watch as he reached highway speed, highway speed being a flexible concept in a car like his. He wound the Ferrari up, amused at Sammie’s expression, hoping the throaty roar and rocketing speed would thrill her.

But—precious cargo, he reminded himself, easing back on the gas again.

Two hours later, he knocked on her apartment door, hoping she was home, hoping she’d answer, just plain hoping.

“You again,” she grumbled, flushed, tousled and irresistible.

“I’ve come to drink the rest of that wine.”