It's in His Kiss Contemporary Romance Box Set Page 4

  “What did you do this afternoon?” he asked her when he’d set the bags down on a picnic table near a barbecue.

  “Had a rest,” she admitted. “Felt good.”

  “Day off today, then?” he asked, pulling the bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc out of the bag of supplies he’d picked up at Four Square, twisting off the lid and pouring wine into the plastic glasses.

  “Not the poshest,” he said, handing one to her, “but the wine should be all right.”

  “Cheers.” She touched her glass to his, and he remembered their first drink of champagne together, and could tell from the arrested look in her eyes that she did, too.

  “Yeh,” she said, then elaborated at his confused look. “Day off, I mean. I’m just filling in at a couple places right now, making a bit extra during the school holidays.”

  “During the holidays,” he said slowly. “Are you a student, then?” He had no idea, he realized, what she did for work. He’d assumed it was the waitress thing.

  “No, a teacher. A kindy teacher.” She caught his startled look and smiled. “Surprised you, didn’t I? Not how kindy teachers are meant to behave, is it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, taking another sip of wine and grinning at her. “I’d say you’re exactly the kind of kindy teacher I like best. You do that here in Russell, or someplace else?”

  “Here,” she said. “I teach here. I went away to Uni, but I came back, because Northland is home.”

  “What did you mean,” she asked him when they were sitting backwards on the picnic bench next to each other, legs outstretched, dinner eaten, finishing off the bottle, “when you said it was different now? Different from a year ago? Because you are a bit different, aren’t you?”

  He looked up at the sky, beginning to darken into dusk now, and thought about it. “Reckon I am,” he said. “Although at the time I said that, I’m not sure I knew what I meant.”

  “Because at the time you said it, which was all of yesterday, you were trying it on.”

  “Well, yeh.” He flashed a smile her way. “Still am, come to that. If we’re being honest here, and I think that’s the point, eh.”

  “Yeh,” she said. “That’s the point.”

  “But last year,” he went on, wanting to explain it to her, “it was all new. It was all . . . overwhelming. Being selected, calling my family to tell them. Training with the All Blacks, thinking I’d be sitting in the reserves, just getting a taste of it. And then having to go on after all, having to start, when JT pulled his hamstring at the Captain’s Run. All of a sudden, there I was, in the spotlight, against France of all people, directing the boys round the park.”

  “But you did so well,” she said. “Everyone said you did so well.”

  “I was nervy, though,” he admitted. “That whole end-of-year tour was a blur. Everything was so new, and so exciting. The pressure, not wanting to make a hash of it. I was good once I got on the paddock, but before, and afterwards . . .” He exhaled. “It was a bit hard.”

  “So you consoled yourself.”

  “Well, yeh, I did. Because that was new, too,” he tried to explain. “I mean, when you play footy, the girls are interested anyway, but I guess you know that.”

  “I saw that,” she said. “At the wedding.”

  “Because I was an All Black, then. And it felt good. It felt good for a long time, feeling like I could have whatever I wanted. Whoever I wanted.” He stopped. “Sorry. Guess that was a bit too honest.”

  “No,” she said. “Hard to hear, but still good. Honest is good, and I knew that anyway, so having you say it lets me know you’re telling the truth, that’s all.”

  He nodded, so grateful that he hadn’t stuffed up utterly, and kept on. “This year, though, it started being a bit different. I started getting the feeling, is it me they want? Or is it me, the footy player? Or is it even worse, just shagging an All Black, and any one would do? And I started realizing that every girl wasn’t the same, either. And I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he managed to say, because he knew he had to say it, “but I got caught up in it all again. I meant to, I meant to ring you straight away, but it was exciting, and we were training, and then traveling, and I . . . I guess I wasn’t ready to admit that it might have meant something after all, until I saw you again.”

  “So you’ve changed, that what you’re telling me?” she asked, and he could see the little smile hovering around the corners of her mouth.

  “Maybe. Not changed so much yet, maybe,” he said, throwing his hat fully into the ring, because it wasn’t going to work with her, he could tell, unless he really did tell her the truth. “But I think I’m ready to. I think I want to.”

  “But can you?” she asked. “Can you really?”

  “I can do most things I’ve tried,” he said, because that was true, too. “When I want to. And I want to, with you. I want to do this. I know we didn’t start right, not that I’m sorry. I could tell you I was, but it’d be a lie, because I’m not a bit sorry. I’d only be sorry if we didn’t get to do it again. But I know we did it in the wrong order. Had the sex first, and now we need to go back and get the romance.”

  “That what you want, then?” she asked, and the smile was there, but she was serious, too, he could tell. “The romance?”

  “Well, I want the sex, too,” he admitted, and he was laughing back at her. “I want both. Can I get both? That an option?”

  “Not tonight, it’s not,” she said. “Not with you going back to Auckland tomorrow. But you could kiss me, don’t you think?”

  So he did. He scooted a bit closer to her on the wooden bench, smiled into her eyes in the soft twilight, put a gentle hand on the side of her face, felt her leaning into his palm as if she needed his touch as much as he needed hers.

  He bent his head and touched his lips to hers, and the electricity was back, every nerve ending tingling as he continued to kiss her, long and slow and so sweet. His hand stroking over her cheek, his other arm going around her waist, because that was his spot, that deep indentation. That was where he was meant to hold Reka.

  Her bandaged hands came up to his shoulders, and she hung on and kissed him back, faint sounds coming from the mouth he held beneath his own, sounds of desire and longing and needing to keep kissing, to keep touching. To go further, to have it all, to take everything he wanted to give her. He knew what she was feeling, because he was feeling it, too. And when he dragged his lips from her mouth and began to kiss her neck, the sounds weren’t quite so muffled, and she was squirming a little on the bench, and he wanted her so much, it was hurting now.

  In the end, he was the one who pulled back. He gave her one last soft kiss on the mouth, rested his forehead against hers, closed his eyes, and sighed.

  “Need to stop,” he said. “If we’re only doing the romance tonight, we need to stop.”

  She laughed a little, a breathy, unsteady sound that wasn’t Reka at all. “Yeh. Romance, not sex. Because you’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “But I’m coming back,” he told her, not letting go of her yet, because he couldn’t.

  “Are you?” she asked, and she wasn’t laughing now.

  “I am. Just for you.”

  He walked her home in the slowly deepening dusk of a Northland summer, held her hand—carefully, because he knew it still hurt—kissed her for a little while more in the shadows near the house, and finally, reluctantly, let her go. Watched her open the door and disappear inside, and made his feet turn and leave her there.

  He briefly considered going back to his own room, or going for a beer, and rejected both ideas. Instead, he walked. It was nearly fully dark now, and he soon left the streetlights behind as he turned up the road, climbing the hill that rose above Tapeka Point.

  It didn’t take long to reach the top, and luckily, the moon was nearly full tonight, lighting his way. He walked to the edge, looked out over the dark murmur below that was the sea, out and up to the pinpricks of light that had begun to appear, the impossible,
incredible multitude of stars just starting to be visible, reminding him of home, far from the light of the cities. The land, the sky, the sea, and the stars. The North.

  He stood, raised his arms slowly overhead until his hands reached toward those points of light, felt his feet rooting down, connecting to this place, and let the intention, the purpose fill him.

  I’m coming back.

  He told the sky above him, and he told the earth below him. He told Reka, and he told himself.

  I’m coming back.

  The End

  For other titles by Rosalind James

  Turn the page for a mini Kiwi Glossary, too!

  A Mini Kiwi Glossary

  All Blacks: New Zealand’s international rugby team, and the country’s biggest celebrities

  brekkie: breakfast

  Captain’s Run: final training session, the day before a match

  chat up: flirt

  chips: French fries

  cuppa: a cup of tea; the universal remedy

  dead: very. “Dead easy”: very easy

  Domain: park; usually the main park in a town or city

  first five: a first five-eighths, a rugby No. 10—the director of the offense, and the main goal-kicker

  fizz, fizzie: soft drink

  footpath: sidewalk

  footy: rugby, or a rugby ball

  Four Square: chain of small grocery stores in NZ

  greenstone: pounamu, jade—prized by Maori, used in pendants

  Haere mai: Welcome

  holiday: vacation

  hongi: forehead/nose-touching ceremonial greeting amongst Maori.

  jandals: flip-flops, New Zealand’s choice of footwear (along with gumboots)

  Kia kaha: Be strong, stay strong: an important Maori concept

  Kia ora: Hello; good day

  Kiwi: A New Zealander. (The bird is a lower-case kiwi; the fruit is a kiwifruit.)

  lounge: living room

  Maori: The original inhabitants of New Zealand; a Polynesian people

  marae: Maori communal/ceremonial meeting place

  moko: extensive, complex Maori tattoo: normally on an arm & shoulder, possibly chest as well

  Mozzie: A Maori Australian (or an Australian Maori)

  nappy: diaper

  no worries: it’s all good; everything will work out. The Kiwi mantra

  plaster, sticking plaster: Band-Aid

  pushchair: stroller

  rugby: Rough contact sport with no padding, and “New Zealand’s national religion”

  Sevens: a speeded-up form of Rugby Union; played internationally

  shag: have sex with

  sportsman: athlete

  spew: vomit

  sweet as: great; nice. (Kiwis use “as” to mean “extremely”)

  tea: informal dinner

  togs: swimsuit (men or women)

  try it on: flirt seriously, make a move on somebody

  Under-19s: important international rugby competition for 18-year-olds

  whanau: family; central Maori concept. Big whanau: extended family

  wharekai: the dining room, more informal building at a marae

  wharenui: the main ceremonial building at a marae

  whinge: whine, complain. An unpopular thing to do in New Zealand

  The Fall

  Throbbing Hearts 0.5

  By Sabrina Lacey

  Just graduated from college, good guy Brendan Clarks has plans to celebrate with a proposal in New York to his wonderful girlfriend, but that gets blown to pieces when he finds out the only person who's been loyal... was him. With his buddies off celebrating without him, Brendan receives the gift of a weekend in Mendocino to lick his wounds, where he finds an older woman with a broken heart of her own.

  Copyright 2014 Sabrina Lacey

  1

  Brendan Clark

  Twenty-five years old. The day after my balls got juiced for Steve, a jock at NYU. The person who nourished him with my sack: Sara Brighton. Sara, aka The First Total Bitch I Ever Loved. And the last.

  ______________________

  Waves crashing. Turning everything they touch, inside out. And I’m not talking about the ones in the ocean through the window to my left. Those are nothing.

  “Is this your first time in Mendocino?” The voice is sweet. Curious. Annoying.

  I blink. Blurred mind snaps to focused faster than a turtle at lettuce after its owner left it for two weeks without feeding it. “What?”

  The woman’s skin – pale and raisin-like – dimples in on itself. “Is this your first time to Mendocino?” Her voice makes the good witch in The Wizard of Oz sound butch.

  I process her question. It would be a simple question if it were any day other than today. “Oh. Yeah. First time.”

  “Wonderful. This is a magical place, you know.” Her head tilts sweetly and I instantly expect the lollipop crew to jump out and start humping my leg. “Are your parents coming later tonight?”

  I stare at her long enough to make her uncomfortable. “Are you kidding me? I’m here to lick some wounds so give me the key and let’s be done with it.”

  “Oh. It’s just that I saw their name on the reservation,” she stutters.

  “Yeah. It was a gift. And no, it’s not my birthday, so wipe off the grin.”

  She obliges but it’s obvious I’m not her favorite cup of tea. She probably prefers people tempered with milk and sugar. Not bitter like me. That’s what it’s come to. That’s who I am now. As in today. The day after she killed the me I used to be.

  I blow out of the door and head to Cottage 2. I just want to sleep.

  2

  Rebecca Wells

  Cottage 1. Same night. Same second. Ten Year Anniversary flowers upside down in the garbage. Empty, toppled-over bottle of Rodney Strong Cabernet. On floor: Me. Thirty-seven years old. Not on floor: My Husband.

  ______________________

  I thought it would be forever. Jack was perfect for what I wanted. He wasn’t terribly handsome but he was driven with Successful Future stamped onto his four-finger forehead. He came from a good family. The sex was fine, passable, but I wasn’t looking for sex. I was looking for money and for a good father to my eventually-born, genius kids. I looked to his fair-to-mediumly happy parents’ continued partnership as a blueprint for what I could expect. I wanted stability. And I got it.

  What I didn’t bargain for was the dead inside blah feeling that threatened to suck me into oblivion. The same one that made me scream what I screamed this morning, back in Arizona. He’d stared at me like the stupid kid in class when the teacher tells him it’s not a multiple choice test. “You don’t like my car?”

  This is what I screamed: You don’t look at me anymore. What color are my eyes. When was the last time we had sex. I’m tired of pretending I’m not a carnivore. Your Prius dries my panties right up.

  I do have to admit that it was a well-chosen turn of phrase in a heightened state, but that’s all he heard?

  “Open godammit!! Are you fucking kidding me?!!” My head lifts to the sound coming from outside, not from my memory of this morning.

  Standing in front of the door to the cottage next to mine is a tall, way too young for me, brooding ball of manhood jamming his reluctant key into a lock that must have been born under the sign Taurus. There’s a fallen suitcase on the porch like my bottle of sucked-up wine. His anger matches mine, though I doubt he knows my husband Jack. The jokes inside my head make me laugh outside my mouth. A mistake. Eyes of blue thunder slash to their right and land on me, nearly tearing my sweatpants right off. My heart stops after my breath. There’s no way I could have prepared for the feeling in my legs when this young kid stares at me like he wishes I’d die two times and then once more.

  I duck my head inside and close the door. I need the skin to remain on my body.

  3

  Brendan

  Cottage 2. Lock: jammed. Anger: unmanaged. Demons: assimilated.

  ______________________

&n
bsp; I’m trying to get some R&R and this lock has her legs closed tight Unfuckingbelievable. This place is so cute, it’s annoying, and now the key doesn’t work so I’m trapped outside and will have to go back and ask for help. That’s not going to happen.

  A door to my right opens. My neck nearly cracks with the speed of turning to see who’s staring at me.

  Peering back is a wildcat, mid-thirties.

  She sneers at me and vanishes.

  Well well well. Looks like God just gave me a present.

  I’ve never been the bad boy, which I’m done paying for. Enough Mr. Nice Schmuck. Sara’s last words to me were, “You’re just so nice, Brendan. I don’t want to hurt you.” Fuck that upside down and sideways. So what if I bought her flowers all the time we were together. Never cheated on her. Let her know she was loved. Stayed faithful to her after she left our apartment to study at NYU, mid-college. Wrote her letters which I actually snail-mailed. Bought her a ring that her eyes never got the chance to suck on and brag about and throw around like a gloating kitten lying in catnip.

  At least I’ve got that.

  At least she never knew how much I really loved her.

  Doorknob finally gives way to my mood and I almost fall inside the cottage. Damn. It’s like the quaint fairies threw up in here. Mom – what do you think I am? A chick? Well, I have to admit, that’s how I’ve been acting my whole life – like a fucking pansy.

  Tides have turned. There’s a new Brendan in town. Watch out lady in Cottage 1.

  4

  Rebecca

  Cottage 1. Covers: on me. Curtains: open. Dark, neglected, empty wood-burning stove Night: black and lonely. Phone: ringing a-fucking-gain.