Christmas Down Under: Six Sexy New Zealand & Australian Christmas Romances Page 2

  “Oh, thanks, but I can’t.” Maisey closed the car door. “I have to get back. But Skye’s not busy, and she has her own car here. Why don’t the two of you catch up?”

  Skye glared at Maisey, who grinned impishly. “I’m sure Mum needs us for something,” Skye said, nervous about seeing Owen alone.

  “No, it’s okay, I’ll tell her you’ll be back later.” Maisey winked at her and held out her hand to a smiling Owen. “Lovely to meet you.”

  “And you, Maisey.”

  “See you later, sis.” Maisey got in the car and, as Skye watched helplessly, headed toward the main road.

  Chapter Two

  Owen watched with amusement as Maisey drove away, leaving the woman beside him staring at the disappearing car, open-mouthed with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment.

  Finally, Skye turned back to him.

  “Abandoned,” he said. “How rude.”

  Her mouth twitched, but didn’t develop into a smile. She didn’t smile much at all, even though she appeared to have a sense of humor. Her serious face suggested she tried hard not to reveal what she was thinking, but she obviously wasn’t aware her eyes gave her away. A beautiful hazel, framed by dark lashes, they were extremely expressive, and laughter shimmered in their depths.

  He’d first spotted her at Auckland airport, a few weeks before. He’d flown to the city to meet up with the head of the Northland branch of Search and Rescue, and he’d stayed overnight, returning early the following morning. He’d seen her as soon as he’d reached the gate. She’d been standing by the window, looking down at the tarmac, the side of her head resting against the glass. She’d actually taken his breath away, which was something he’d thought only happened in romantic movies. Wearing a long white dress with a drawstring neckline, her dark hair pinned up in a haphazard fashion so untidy strands tumbled around her shoulders, she’d looked like the sculpture of a Greek goddess, Hebe, maybe, the daughter of Zeus and Hera, the goddess of youth. She was slender rather than thin, but there was something ethereal and insubstantial about her, as if a puff of wind would have blown her clean away.

  He’d taken a seat nearby so he could watch her, and had been thrilled when he’d boarded the plane to find her in the seat next to him. She’d captivated him with her dry wit and intelligent conversation, as well as her smooth skin, curvy figure, and stunning smile when it eventually made an appearance. Unfortunately, when he’d asked if he could see her again, she’d refused, although they’d exchanged a parting glance as she’d gotten in the car that had told him the attraction he felt toward her was mutual. Since then, he’d dreamt about her several times and had been unable to get her out of his head, but she’d not revealed where she was staying, so he hadn’t been able to go looking for her. When he’d walked into the Farmers’ Market and seen her working at one of the stalls, it had been like his birthday and Christmas rolled into one.

  Now, though, she ran a hand through her hair, hesitating, and he had the feeling she was trying to think of an excuse to leave. She’d admitted on the plane she was only in New Zealand for a few months, so he understood if she didn’t want to get involved with anyone. He wasn’t actively looking for a relationship either.

  But something about her fascinated him, and he wasn’t about to let her go again.

  He gestured with his head across the road to the café next to the cinema. “Fancy a cold drink? They do a great iced coffee or chocolate over there.”

  She nibbled her bottom lip, obviously fighting with herself, wondering whether to accept. He couldn’t force her to go with him. Dropping to his knees and begging would probably frighten her off, too.

  Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on hers, let his lips curve, and hoped his best non-threatening smile would change her mind.

  Next to him, for no reason at all, Mozart raised a paw to her. She turned her hand over, and the dog put his paw onto her palm.

  “Well, aren’t you a great double act.” She shook his paw before releasing it.

  Owen looked down at the Lab. He could have sworn Mozart winked at him.

  “He’s very well trained,” he said. “We teach all our dogs to communicate telepathically.”

  Her lips curved just a little. “Okay. Come on, then.”

  Delighted, he walked beside her through the market toward the café. Owen dropped his hand as they crossed the road, and Mozart’s warm, wet tongue brushed his skin.

  “Extra biscuits for you tonight, boy,” he said. Reaching the tables outside the café, he looped the dog’s leash around the table leg and stroked his head, then held up a hand. “Stay, Mozart.”

  The dog sat.

  Owen smiled at Skye and gestured for her to precede him into the café.

  She slipped by him into the darker interior. “Is he a good Search and Rescue dog?”

  “Oh yes, one of the best. Don’t be fooled by the dozy look on his face. The same goes for me, by the way.” She laughed, and he grinned, pleased to have finally raised a smile from her. “What can I get you?”

  “I’d love an iced chocolate, thank you.”

  “Anything to eat?” He motioned toward the cabinet filled with sandwiches, wraps, and cakes. Most of the girls he knew would refuse food in a situation like this, but to his surprise, Skye bent to look through the glass and pondered the decision. “I’ll have a cream cheese muffin,” he said to the guy behind the counter, hoping to encourage her to have something.

  “It’s got to be the chocolate brownie,” she said.

  “With cream or yoghurt?” the guy asked.

  “Ooh, yoghurt please.”

  He rang up the amount on the till, and Skye reached into her pocket, but Owen handed over his card. “Please, let me.” He waited for her to argue—again, most of the girls he knew would feel the need to protest their independence, as if he’d somehow insulted them by wanting to buy them a piece of cake.

  Skye, however, just nodded. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for not running away.”

  He met her gaze, and a tingle descended his spine, the same way it had when she’d glanced over at him in the airport. Today, she wore stone-colored wide-leg trousers with a sleeveless white silky vest and, to his delight, elegant high-heeled sandals. There was nothing sexier than a woman in trousers and high heels, to his mind. Amongst all the casual Kiwis and tourists in shorts and T-shirts, she stood out a mile.

  The guy behind the counter cleared his throat, and Owen glanced over to see him holding out a receipt. He took it, giving the man a bashful smile.

  “Have a seat,” the guy said with a grin. “I’ll bring it out to you when it’s done.”

  Skye led the way back outside, and she sat by Mozart, who stood to say an enthusiastic hello.

  “We’ve been gone six minutes, not six years,” she teased, stroking his head.

  “He missed you,” Owen said, sitting opposite her. “I know how he feels. You’re just lucky I didn’t greet you like that when I saw you.”

  She laughed. She had the most beautiful white straight teeth, and her whole face lit up with her smile. He determined he was going to make it his mission to get her to smile as often as he could while they were together.

  “So tell me more about Mozart.” She leaned back in her seat and continued to stroke the Lab’s head.

  “You only want to know about my dog? I’m wounded to the heart.”

  “It’s a subtle way of asking for more information about you.” She wrinkled her nose.

  He grinned, thrilled at her interest. “Fair enough. Mozart and I run the Far North branch of Search and Rescue. There wasn’t one until last year, but the tourist trade has really taken off here over the last few years, and it was obvious the area needed one.”

  “Is it a voluntary role?”

  “Most people in Search and Rescue are volunteers, but mine is a paid position. There’s a fair amount of admin involved, and I also organize training.”

  Skye leaned back as the waitress cam
e out with their drinks. “Yum.” Skye stirred the cold liquid, mixing the whipped cream into the chocolate.

  “You’re obviously a chocoholic,” he said as the waitress placed the brownie next to her, complete with a generous dollop of yoghurt.

  “What woman isn’t?” She took a long sip of the drink. “Working in a chocolate shop is a dream come true.”

  “Your sister’s shop?”

  “Mmm.” She took a spoon of the brownie and ate it, running her tongue along her lower lip to remove a stray fleck of cake. He tried not to stare, but it proved difficult. “She runs it with a few friends. I’m helping out while I’m over here. They sell ice cream and great coffee too.”

  “Sounds like heaven.”

  “Absolutely. In an apocalypse, I’d be quite happy to live in there until the radiation cleared.”

  He chuckled and bit into his muffin. They’d warmed it up, and the cream cheese in the center oozed onto his tongue.

  She sucked the spoon clean and gestured at the chocolate Lab. “So how old’s Mozart?”

  “He’s just had his second birthday.”

  “I hope you bought him a cake.”

  “I did. A special doggie one. It even had a candle.”

  She laughed. “Really?”

  “Of course. It’s not a real birthday cake without a candle.”

  “Did he blow it out?”

  “No, he tried to eat it. I blew it out for him.”

  Her eyes danced, and she spooned another piece of the brownie into her mouth. “What did he wish for? Bacon?”

  “I’d say a girlfriend, but I’m afraid he’s been…” Owen made the sign of a snipping pair of scissors and pulled a face.

  She winced. “Aw, poor Mozart. Still, I suppose it’s for the best.”

  “I don’t think he agrees. I’m sure he’s planning revenge. I expect to wake up one morning and find him standing in front of me with two bricks in his paws.”

  She giggled, which was probably the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. “You’re very funny.” She picked up her drink. “You make me laugh.”

  “I’m glad. You have a very pretty smile. Too pretty to hide away.”

  A light blush stained her flawless complexion, and she looked into the glass, concentrating on stirring the chocolate mixture. Mozart put his head on her knee, and she started stroking his ear. Owen narrowed his eyes at him. The Lab’s tongue lolled as if he was poking it out.

  “Still listening to classical music?” she asked.

  “You remembered. I’m incredibly flattered.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be. I have a good memory. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “It certainly does. You remembered my name, the name of my dog, what job I do, and my main hobby. Where I come from that means we’re practically engaged.”

  “Owen… You’re incorrigible.”

  “I know. It’s the way you’re fondling Mozart’s ear. It’s scrambling my brain.”

  She looked down at the Lab, lips curving. “I’m stroking, not fondling.”

  “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. I’m insanely jealous.”

  She sat back in her chair, and a little of the tension went from her stiff spine. “You’re a terrible flirt,” she scolded.

  “Not normally. Usually, I’m the perfect gentleman. But something about you makes me…” He twirled his finger in a circle around his ear.

  “Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes playfully. “I think you’re fibbing. I think you have a string of girlfriends throughout the North Island from Wellington to Cape Reinga, and you keep them all dangling while you play the field and sow your wild oats.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like me. Not. I haven’t played the field in a while, and there’s definitely been no sowing of any kind of cereal grain.”

  She chuckled. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “Ooh. Old man.”

  “Cheeky. How old are you then?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  “Jeez.”

  “Yeah. Do you feel guilty for letching at me now?”

  “Nah. Dallying with juveniles keeps me young.”

  She laughed, and he smiled back. She was flirting with him now, and enjoying their banter.

  Lowering her lashes, she finished off her brownie, scooping up the last of the yoghurt and making sure she didn’t miss any of the cake. He ate the final bite of his muffin, watching the way the warm breeze played with her long brown hair. When a strand teased her cheek, she scooped her hair around so it all tumbled over her right shoulder, exposing her neck and the pale skin beneath her ear. He could imagine pressing his lips to that tender spot, feeling the rising beat of her pulse beneath his tongue.

  What was she doing to him? He felt hot under the collar, his body stirring in a way it hadn’t for a while, like a tree whose leaves had previously fallen for the winter sprouting new shoots in spring.

  Replacing the spoon on the plate, she wiped delicately at the corners of her mouth, then finished off her drink. She’d be making excuses soon, saying she should be leaving. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear for her to go.

  “Have you been to the fair down by the Stone Store?” He sucked up the last of his iced chocolate.

  Her eyebrows rose. “No. What sort of fair is it?”

  “A craft fair. Lots of handmade items—jewelry, clothes, decorated bowls and plates, that kind of thing.”

  Her eyes lit up, but she looked at her hands. “I really should be going…”

  “Come with me,” he said gently. “We can walk down, if you’re okay in your high heels—it’ll take about thirty minutes.”

  She glanced at her sandals. “Oh, I always wear heels. I feel funny without them.”

  He stifled a groan. “Okay. Shall we, then?”

  Hesitating, she met his gaze. “Owen…”

  Unbidden, Mozart put a paw on her knee.

  They both looked down at him, and Skye gave a wry laugh. “Seriously?”

  “Nothing to do with me,” Owen said, hiding his surprise—the Lab wasn’t normally so affectionate with strangers. “I wasn’t going to ask you—it’s Mozart whose heart you’ve captivated.”

  She bent to kiss the dog’s head. “Okay, I give in.”

  They stood, and Owen untied Mozart’s leash from the table. “Nice one, dude,” he murmured. “High five.” He held out his hand, and the Lab hit it with his paw.

  “Good grief. Now I’ve seen everything.”

  Owen grinned and offered her his right arm, as Mozart always walked on his left. She studied it for a moment, lips twisting, then slipped her hand through it.

  Nice, he thought. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend a Sunday.

  Chapter Three

  They walked slowly through the town, past the shops and cafés, and the customers sitting at the tables and chairs on the pavements, enjoying this early glimpse of summer. Skye hadn’t been to Kerikeri in a long while, and she found it pleasantly busy for a Sunday. A thriving town filled with both pakeha and Maori faces, its shop fronts were all freshly painted, and the council had planted a new row of large palms along the main road.

  “It’s nice here,” she said to the man whose arm she held. “It feels as if everyone is on holiday.”

  “The whole of the Bay of Islands is like that, isn’t it? Paihia and Russell are the same, especially being seaside towns.”

  “Mmm.” She was distracted by the feel of his biceps, solid and impressive beneath her hand, a warm brown against her paler skin. The intriguing tattoo looked as if it might reach out to entwine around her fingers. She itched to trace it, to follow it up under the sleeve of his T-shirt and see how far up it went.

  Instead, she looked away, into the windows of the shops, although everything passed in a blur. What was she doing, agreeing to spend the afternoon with him? This was crazy. She’d parked her rental car in the center of town—she should make her excuses now, go to the car, and head for Mangonui without looking back.

&nbs
p; But she couldn’t seem to tear herself away from him. For a start, he was gorgeous, and she couldn’t stop looking at him. Even now, his reflection in the glass drew her gaze. He had the physique of an All Blacks rugby player—tall, broad-shouldered, and well-muscled, plus he had the most amazing blue eyes that sent a frisson through her every time they looked into hers.

  It wasn’t just the way he looked that attracted her to him, though. He was nice. That was an incredibly bland descriptive word, but so fitting. He was funny, gentle, and attentive, and he seemed like a nice person—like someone who wouldn’t hurt her, intentionally, anyway. That, more than anything, was the reason she was holding onto his arm and letting him walk her through the town.

  “What’s your surname, by the way?” she asked.

  “Hall. Yours?”

  “Graham.”

  He nodded, slowing as they approached a zebra crossing, and stopped. Mozart sat immediately by his side, even though he’d made no gesture to the dog she was aware of. Clearly, the dog was trained to do more than give high fives.

  The approaching car drew up to let them cross, and they continued walking.

  “So tell me,” she said, curious in spite of herself. “You’re tall and gorgeous, have a physique to rival most of the sportsmen in the country, you’re funny, smart, and you seem nice. What’s the catch?”

  “I talk incessantly about art, literature, and opera. I bore all my girlfriends to death.”

  She smacked his arm. “Seriously.”

  “I am serious. One even dozed off at dinner and fell into her soup head first.”

  “Owen!”

  “What?” He laughed. “What do you want me to say? I’m single. I haven’t dated anyone seriously since I’ve been up here.” He moved closer to her as a group of people coming toward them crowded the pavement, and she caught a brief whiff of his aftershave. The tanned skin of his neck was only inches from her lips.

  She fought the urge to lean over and sink her teeth into it and tried to concentrate on the conversation. “How long since you left Wellington?”

  He thought about it. “Ah…nearly eighteen months.”