by Emma Lea
“You made it,” he said, leaning forward to buss a kiss on her cheek, clasping her hands in his.
“What choice did I have?” she asked as he held her chair out and she sat down. “My curiosity was piqued.”
He sat and a waiter approached them with a bottle of wine.
“I hope you don’t mind that I ordered us some wine.”
“Not at all,” she said.
The sommelier poured wine into Blake’s glass and when he nodded, proceeded to fill Zoë’s glass.
“I have to say, I wasn’t expecting you to call me,” she said. “In fact, I don’t remember giving you my number.”
“You didn’t,” he said. “But I have connections.”
She smiled. “Santa giving out phone numbers now?” she asked as she sipped her wine. God, that was good. She licked her lips, savouring the taste and watched his eyes follow her tongue. Hmmm. Her stomach did a slow, lazy roll. “Which reminds me,” she said, forcing herself back to the present. “I believe you told me if you ever took me to dinner you’d wear your very best elf costume for me.”
He laughed and the girlie parts of her stretched luxuriously at the sound.
“It’s at the cleaners,” he said and then sipped his own wine. “Seriously, though, just so you don’t think I’m some kind of weird stalker. I found this after you left the cafe yesterday.” He held up the blue folder containing her employment contracts.
“Oh, shit,” she said, embarrassed. “You didn’t peek did you? I could probably get in trouble for letting that get into the wrong hands. You’re not a spy from a rival company are you?”
He laughed again and slid the folder across the table to her. “The only thing I peeked at was your number. I thought you might want it back.”
“Was that the only reason you called me?” Zoë asked, lifting her glass to her lips.
“No,” he said, watching her over the rim of his.
Something hot and needy zapped between them. She took the time to catalogue the man sitting opposite her. His hair was cut short and was a dirty blonde, although the ends were lighter, like he’d spent some time out in the sun. He was good-looking, with his blue eyes and wide mouth, and that sexy little dimple that appeared when he smiled.
A waiter appeared and Zoë looked down at the menu in front of her that she hadn’t even noticed when she sat down. Different courses were set out under the headings of the seven deadly sins, although they looked more like temptations than sins to her eyes.
“So what are you in the mood for?” he asked. “Hot and spicy or rich and decadent?”
“Are those my only two choices?” she asked. “What about sweet and sinful?”
His eyes sparked with humour and something else. Something she’d like to explore…if she hadn’t sworn off men. She sat back, breaking the spell between them and smiled up at the waiter. “I’m not sure we’ve decided yet,” she said.
“We have a banquet option,” he said helpfully, looking between the two of them. “A little bit of everything to share?”
She chanced a look at Blake across the table and suppressed the urge to wriggle under his intense stare. The corner of his mouth tipped up, exposing that wicked dimple and he winked at her. “That sounds perfect,” he said, not looking at the waiter. “We’ll take the banquet.”
The waiter collected their menus and refilled their glasses before leaving.
“So why did you invite me here tonight?” Zoë asked. “Trying to get more dirt on me for Santa’s naughty or nice list?”
“No. I’ve got a night off from my North Pole duties,” he said. “I actually called because I have a proposition for you.”
Her veins erupted with tingles at his words. She gulped from her wine glass before setting it back down. “You do? I hope you’re not an industrial spy trying to turn me into a double agent,” she said, “because I hardly know anything about Austin Industries.”
“You don’t know how happy that makes me to hear that,” he said. He took a drink from his wine, almost as if he was building his courage. “I was actually more hoping that your offer for Christmas with your family was still on the table.”
Blake held his breath as Zoë leaned away from him, settling back in her chair. Her eyes narrowed.
“You want to come home with me for Christmas,” she said.
He exhaled roughly. “I know it’s…”
“Weird? Crazy? Wacko?”
“I was going to say unconventional.”
Zoë snorted and he sighed. Okay. It was a long-shot but he really didn’t want to be alone for Christmas. He’d been there, done that and had the hangover to prove it. Declan had thrown out an invitation to him when they’d spoken earlier but it was his and Brandi’s first Christmas with their baby—no way did he want to crash that.
“Okay. That’s okay. It was just a thought.”
She opened her mouth to speak but the waiter interrupted them with their meal. It took a fair bit of manoeuvring to fit all the plates on the table but when it was done, he picked up a fork and started filling his plate. If nothing else, he got to spend the evening with a beautiful woman and some good food.
He looked up at her and noticed she was still staring at him and hadn’t touched her food.
“Eat up,” he said. “There are no strings, I promise. You can forget about what I said.”
She leaned forward and picked up her fork but set it down again without taking any food.
“Why?” she asked, and he set down his own fork to look at her.
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to come home with me for Christmas?”
He sighed. “You seemed to need…what was your word? A buffer?”
“Yeah, I said that, but what’s in it for you?”
He shrugged. It was probably better to go with the truth.
“I’ve been out of the country for a few months. I came back hoping to spend Christmas with my family.”
“You said you guys don’t get on.”
“No, we don’t. I was hoping that maybe getting together over Christmas might help a little toward us reconciling.”
“So what happened?”
“My family have made plans without me.” He gave her a sad smile. “They’re all heading in different directions. It seems no one thought I was even going to be in the country, so…actually, that’s not true. Even if they’d known I was going to be in the country, they probably would have made their own plans anyway. It seems that I’m the only one who’s interested in trying to get the family back together.” He lifted his glass in a mock salute. “I’m pathetic, right?”
She gave him a pity smile that only made him feel worse. “You don’t have any friends?”
“I do, but they’ve all got plans and I didn’t want to be the hanger on.”
“But wouldn’t you feel that way with me? I mean, you don’t know anybody in my family. Wouldn’t it be weird?”
He shrugged and forked up some brisket, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. “I know it would be fake, but it would still feel like being part of the family. I would be there as your plus one which is like an automatic in with your family.”
She sighed and started eating and he wondered just how pathetic he must look to her. Even murderers had visitors at Christmas, or so he assumed. But the poor little rich kid was all alone. Boo hoo.
She started to speak and he gave her his best, carefree smile. “It was worth a shot,” he said. “Besides, I got to see you again.”
“But you don’t even know me,” she said.
“You mean being trapped in the elevator of doom isn’t enough to get to know you?” he said, forcing lightness into his tone and a bigger smile on his face. As humiliations went, begging to spend Christmas with a woman he’d only met once was pretty high up there.
“Do you need money?” she asked. “I mean, I had thought about hiring an actor—”
He held up his hand to stop her. “I don’t need money. I just thought we could,”
he shrugged, “help each other out. You know, a mutually beneficial agreement.”
“I still don’t see what you get out of it,” she said, sitting up straighter in her chair. “I mean, I get my family off my back for the holidays—”
“And I get to spend time with…well,” he swallowed. “I get to not be alone for Christmas.”
She watched him as she ate, not speaking. He went back to his food, not really tasting anything.
“I don’t even know your last name,” she said finally.
His gut clenched. “Spencer,” he lied, giving her his mother’s maiden name. “Blake Spencer.”
Zoë put her fork down and picked up her napkin to wipe the corner of her mouth. She lifted her glass to her lips taking a swallow, her eyes not leaving his. There was something about her that reached out and grabbed him, drawing him in. She set her glass down and swiped her cute, pink tongue over her lips and he had the absurd urge to lean over the table and do it for her. With his tongue. Before kissing her until she forgot her own name.
“So how would this work…exactly?” she asked, and Blake had to shake his head to clear the lust from it before he answered inappropriately.
“You tell me,” he said. “What happens at these family Christmas get togethers of yours?”
“Well, there’s just the usual. Carols by Candlelight, a bush dance, family lunch. I did mention there would be more than twenty of us, didn’t I?”
“And where is home?”
“Windaroa Station which is about half an hour outside Hope Springs,” she said with a sigh. “A tiny town, two and a bit hours from here, population two thousand and twenty-two.”
“Not a fan?” he asked, amused at her bland description of the place she grew up.
“I escaped as soon as I could,” she said and then smiled fondly. “But it’s not so bad, I suppose…in small doses.”
“And how on earth does all your family fit in the family home?” he asked, intrigued by the sheer size of her extended family and the fact that they all got together for Christmas.
“My parents turned Windaroa into a tourist park,” she said. “You know, places for grey nomads to park their caravans and RVs overnight? They even have a couple of cabins. Most of my relatives live in town, but they all go out to Windaroa and stay in their own caravans or one of the cabins. There’s a giant covered pavilion where we all get together for meals and a massive camp kitchen.” She shrugged. “It’s kind of fun.”
“You don’t hate it as much as you pretend to,” he said, settling back in his chair.
“I don’t hate it. Not really,” she said with a smile. “I just wish they wouldn’t ride me so much about my love life.”
“I could help with that,” he said, giving it one more try.
She eyed him over her glass before swallowing the rest of her wine. She gave him a dazzling smile that made his breath hitch.
“I believe you could,” she said.
7
Zoë stepped into the lobby of The Mayfield and crossed to the elevators. Blake had texted her his room number and although she could have just texted him when she arrived to pick him up, there was something she had to take care of before they got in the car together for the long drive to Hope Springs.
She rapped on his door and a moment later he swung the door open. Zoë held back a groan as she took in the soft t-shirt he wore that pulled across his chest and the casual jeans that were well-worn and fit him just right. The bare feet poking out below the frayed hems of said jeans had her biting her lip. It shouldn’t be sexy, bare feet and jeans, but it was. It didn’t help that she’d woken in the midst of a screaming orgasm after a particularly hot dream about him. And it wasn’t the first time. In the few days since their dinner date, he’d infiltrated her dreams. Every. Single. Night.
“Hey,” he said, drawing her eyes to his face and his grin. “Come in, I won’t be a sec.”
Zoë stepped across the threshold into the room and looked around. She’d never stayed at The Mayfield so she was curious. The room was a standard twin, not a suite, and she was pleased to see it was tidy. She didn’t know what she expected, clothes tossed all over the place or something, but the neat room was a surprise—even the bed was made.
Blake sat on the bed and pulled socks and boots on and then stood, grabbing his duffle and slinging it over his shoulder. “Ready,” he said.
“Not quite,” she said handing him a shopping bag.
He took it from her with his eyebrows raised in question, and looked inside. He laughed as he pulled out the t-shirt she’d bought for him.
“I didn’t know your size…” she said as he put his duffle down and started to tug at his t-shirt. “What are you doing?”
He nodded toward the Christmas t-shirt she was wearing. “I assume I’m supposed to wear this?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah. It’s a family tradition. Christmas t-shirts. We’re supposed to be wearing them when we arrive.”
She watched, her mouth falling open, as he tugged the back of his shirt off over his head. Her mouth snapped shut and she swallowed the drool she was sure was about to leak from between her lips. The man was seriously cut. Like…wow. Like…romance novel worthy abs. Too soon that perfect man-chest was covered as he pulled the Christmas shirt down.
“It’s a little snug,” he said, swinging his arms.
“Thank god,” Zoë mumbled and then ducked her head so he wouldn’t see her face. He may think the shirt was too small but she thought it was perfect. It moulded to his chest like a second skin and even the ridiculous Santa staring back at her from his pecs couldn’t take away from the deliciousness of the sight. He reached his hands above his head and the shirt—that was too small and too short—rose, giving her a glimpse of the little happy trail of blonde hair that snuck below the waistband of his jeans. The stupid t-shirt had ‘I’ve got a big package for you’ scrawled across it below the Santa and what had seemed cheeky at the time took on a whole new meaning when Blake Spencer was wearing it.
“Shit,” she whispered, turning away and clenching her thighs together. How on earth was she supposed to spend a week with this guy and not climb him like a tree? This wasn’t supposed to be that kind of relationship.
“Okay, I’m good to go,” he said and she turned around in time to see him bend over to pick up his duffle. If she hadn’t noticed how well his jeans fit before, she did now.
“Double shit,” she whispered, swinging around and heading for the door. She needed to get out of the room and away from that bed before her hormones took control of her brain and she did something she’d regret…well, not regret exactly because if he was even half as good as he was in her dream then there was no way she would regret a tumble in the sheets with him, but it would be inappropriate.
She took the far corner of the elevator after pressing the button for the lobby and he turned and winked at her. She rolled her eyes and tried to forget the last time they’d been in an elevator together. The lobby couldn’t come fast enough and as soon as the doors opened, she bolted for the exit.
She stopped before the car—a hire car because she didn’t see the need to own a car when she lived in the city—and dangled the keys at him.
“Did you want to drive?”
The black Range Rover gleamed between them in the summer sun.
“I’d love to,” he said, taking the keys, his fingers brushing hers and causing a shiver to go through her body despite the heat that already baked the city although it was still early morning.
He opened the boot and stowed his luggage next to hers before opening her door for her. Zoë climbed in and thanked her forethought for hiring such a big car. She couldn’t image spending the next two and a half hours with him in a small compact.
Blake slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“I’ve already programmed the GPS,” Zoë said, punching a couple of buttons on the dash.
“Good,” he said as he checked his mirrors and pu
lled out into the traffic. “That means we can spend the next few hours getting to know one another.”
“Right,” she said. “We need to have a cover story for how we met and we probably need to know little things about each other. I wrote a list of questions.”
He looked over at her, his eyebrows raised. “You have a list of questions?”
She shrugged. “I thought it might be the most efficient way to get the details straight.”
He looked back at the road and she couldn’t decipher his expression. “Okay,” he said, finally. “Shoot.”
Blake guided the car carefully over the rutted driveway and then pulled to a stop as the house came into view. Not what he expected. He hadn’t really known what to expect but the small settler’s cottage was not it.
It was beautifully maintained but he could tell it was old, probably the original house for the large property they were now on. The driveway alone had been a kilometre long from the road to the house.
“Home, sweet home,” Zoë said from beside him with a sigh. “Welcome to Windaroa Station.”
“How many people did you say were in your family?” he asked, looking from her back to the house.
“I have two sisters, remember? Cassie and Trina.”
“Right. So five of you lived in this house?”
He turned to look at her and she smiled. “It looks small from this side,” she said, “but mum and dad did some extensive renovations out back. It’s not a mansion, by any stretch, but there was enough room for all of us.”
He looked back at the house. It was a single storey, red brick construction with a hip roof and a wraparound verandah. The red door stood in the centre of the frontage bookended by windows on either side. There was a gravel path leading to the front door bordered by flowering shrubs. It was…charming.
The door opened and a man stepped out onto the verandah.
