Downunder Heat
Page 1
Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgment
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
Downunder Heat
ISBN # 978-1-78430-839-1
©Copyright Alysha Ellis 2015
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright October 2015
Edited by Stacey Birkel and Jennifer Douglas
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Sizzling and a Sexometer of 2.
DOWNUNDER HEAT
Alysha Ellis
Hot sun, hot sand and a hot, hot man. Who says an older woman can’t have adventure?
Kitty Benson left her home in the UK to find the warmth of the sun ‘Downunder’. She never expected the journey to include a life-threatening experience. A toned, tanned Adonis—Zakk—rescues Kitty from a dangerous rip current her first day at the beach. Alive and sun-kissed by the downunder heat, when Kitty meets her rescuer again, the spark that piqued her interest turns to flames…
Dedication
To the real Kitty. Thanks for the inspiration, Caroline.
Trademarks Acknowledgment
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Neighbors: Network Ten Australia
Jaws: Universal Studios
Skype: Skype, Inc.
British Airways: International Consolidated Airlines Group, S.A.
Chapter One
Kitty dropped her bag on the hot concrete of the platform, spread her arms and took a deep breath. Even here, inside the railway station, the salty scent of the sea wafted in on the warm breeze. “All you doom and gloom naysayers are missing out on this,” she crowed to herself. “Tell me I’m mad now, Aunty Joyce.” Who cared if she’d chucked in a perfectly good job? It was totally worth it already.
The sun etched sharp lines of light and shadow on the city streets, and even at six p.m. on an Australian summer evening, the heat felt solid, like walking into a wall. Twenty-four—or was it thirty-six—hours ago? The fatigue clogging her brain left her way too tired to compute the changes in time zones—she’d been wrapped in a heavy woolen coat, shivering her way to Heathrow. Now a thin film of sweat stuck her shirt to her skin.
The slight discomfort didn’t matter. Kitty was gloriously, delightfully warm.
Even the effort of dragging her case along behind her as she set off to find her new apartment didn’t dim her spirits. An avenue of exotic, red-flowered trees, their branches linked overhead, created a cool, shaded tunnel. People in sleeveless shirts and shorts strolled past, smiling and talking. Even the sparrows hopping about stealing crumbs looked happier here than they did at home.
The real estate agent’s instructions were easy to follow—the envelope containing the key sat in the letterbox, right where the agent had promised it would be. Kitty grinned. Everything was perfect. “Kitty, my girl, this was the best decision you have ever made.”
The apartment was more than big enough for her needs, with a living room, a separate galley kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom, all fully furnished. Throwing open the windows let in a fresh sea breeze that blew away the stuffiness from the room. A cool shower did the same for her. She dried herself on a fluffy white towel from the pile of supplied linen, threw a sheet onto the bed, fell face first onto it and slept.
* * * *
Thirteen hours later, she opened her eyes and stared grittily at the unfamiliar walls. Memory rushed back. Australia. Adventure. Definitely not sleep. The beach was only four blocks away. There were things she needed to buy, but not when crystal clear water, golden sand and sunshine beckoned. The shopping could wait. Kitty couldn’t.
Getting out of bed and dressed took only minutes. Her pace didn’t slow until she reached the steps that led down to the shore. The sun shone, the ocean sparkled, tiny waves whispered against the shore and a cool breeze barely ruffled her hair. The sigh that escaped her lips was pure contentment.
A crowd of teenagers swept past her, each one of them bending to pull the shoes from their feet in order to squeak barefoot across the sand.
Assuming that was how it was done, Kitty bent from the knees—because there was no way she was going to shove her middle-aged bum up in the air for people to snigger at—kicked off her leather sandals and put them in her bag. She plodded down the stairs to take her first step onto an Australian beach…
“Ouch!” The sand was so hot it burned! Her feet did an insane little dance, lifting up, one after another, apparently trying to perfect the art of levitation. “Move, woman,” she ordered herself. “While you still have some skin left.”
Her bizarre shuffle and accompanying chant continued across the beach. ”Ouch!” Hop. “Ouch!” Hop. “Ouch!”
Closer to the water, where the hard packed surface retained a little moisture, her tortured feet at last found cool relief.
How could Australians stand it? They strolled along as easily as if they were crossing the living room carpet.
They didn’t seem to use sun loungers or chairs either. People lay stretched out on the sand, glistening bodies soaking up the sun. A woman with her two children stopped next to her, pulled three towels out of a bag and arranged them on the sand. So, that was how it was done. It looked easy enough. Strolling across the sand like a local might have defeated her, but dealing with a piece of cloth couldn’t be that hard.
With a flick of the wrist, she tossed her towel onto the sand, but, instead of settling lazily into a long strip like everyone else’s, it bunched up into a sorry-looking bundle. Sighing, Kitty knelt down and smoothed it out with her hands. Now to spread out and soak up that sun.
Unfortunately, if her head and arms were on the towel, most of the rest of her ended up on the sand. The beach was lovely, but being covered in sticky golden grains…not so much.
A quick glance around pointed out a significant difference between Kitty and the people lying near her. They lay on multi-colored rectangles the size of blankets! Hers was nothing but a small, white, sadly inadequate bath towel.
Around her, people casually stripped down to their bathers as if they did it every day of their lives. Easy to be relaxed about revealing your body when it was long, lean and tanned to a golden brown, Kitty thoug
ht bitterly, rather than so white she could almost be considered blue and—she had to be honest—somewhat soft and pudgy.
Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, she unzipped her skirt and wriggled it down her hips, then dragged the top off over her head. No one pointed and laughed so she let go the breath she’d been holding.
A quick scurry took her straight down into the water, looking neither right nor left until she was immersed up to her hips.
Like liquid silk, the cool wash of the ocean smoothed over and around her, easing away the heat and the tension. With spread arms, she let her body tumble backwards into the cradling sea. Yes, oh yes. This was what she had traveled so far to find.
A wave, on its way to spatter on the shore in a spray of foamy ripples, lifted her. The movement was slight, the sea calm. The peaceful rocking soothed her soul.
The distant sound of a whistle and voices vaguely impinged on her consciousness, but she ignored them. Tranquility superseded curiosity, especially today.
A wavelet splashed against her face, pulling her out of her dreamy state. Time to head back in. But when she rolled over and took a quick look landwards to orientate herself, her muscles stiffened and she sank. A panicked kick brought her, spluttering and coughing, back to the surface. Her heart raced. How had she drifted so far out in such a short time? There had been no big waves, no undertow.
As she looked, the beach receded farther, the people splashing in the waves appearing smaller and smaller. The strip of sand looked far too narrow and far too distant. Behind her stretched the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean. There were no other swimmers near her. No boats.
“I guess it’s sink or swim,” she told herself. “So swim it is. All those laps of the pool at home can’t have been a total waste of time.” Head down, arms churning, she began the long journey back to shore.
After a few minutes, she raised her head. The beach looked almost as far away as it had when she’d started. Fear gnawed at the edges of her mind and sent a rush of adrenaline racing through her body, giving her the energy to keep fighting.
Her arms grew heavy and her breath came in choppy gasps, salt water rasping into her throat each time she breathed in. From somewhere in her memory came the idea that she should raise her arms above her head to signal distress, but she couldn’t do that without sinking, and in any case no one back on shore would be able to see her. There was nothing to do but swim.
“I…am…not…drowning. I…am…not…drowning,” she said, her words keeping time with the lift, swing, dive and drag of her arms.
“Pleased to hear that,” a deep Australian male voice said. “But I’d like you to climb on board the surf ski anyway.”
A man—a ridiculous red and yellow cap on his head, his legs astride a long, narrow watercraft—held out a hand to her. “Come on, hop on and we’ll get you out of this rip.”
He reached over, hauled her up out of the water and settled her on her stomach in front of him on the bright yellow board. He leaned over her, his chest against her bottom, his strong arms churning the water, propelling the board, not in toward the beach as she’d expected, but parallel to it.
“Why aren’t we going in?” she gasped when she got her breath back.
“You haven’t been to the beach much, have you?” he asked, the effort of paddling both of them through the water seeming to have no effect on his ability to hold a conversation.
“No,” she replied, “this is my first day in Australia.”
“Tourists.” There was disdain in his voice. “They just want to hit the water. They never take the time to find out what the dangers are.”
“You mean like sharks and stuff? I thought there were alarms if there were sharks.”
“There would be,” he said. “But since you didn’t hear the whistles and the loud speaker telling you to stay between the flags, what makes you think you’d have heard the shark alarms?”
“There wasn’t any whist—” Kitty stopped what she had been about to say, remembering that she had heard something, she just hadn’t thought it was relevant to her. Maybe he had a point.
“In any case,” he went on, “sharks are the least likely problem you’d encounter. Dangerous surf conditions are far more common. The flags are there for a reason. You stay between them so you don’t end up in a rip, like this one.”
As he spoke he turned the board and headed it toward the shore. The surf ski slid forward in a rapid glide that covered the distance in very little time. “Rips are areas where the water moves outwards quickly. People who don’t know what they’re doing get taken out with them. You can tell a rip because the waves are flattened so they look smoother. When you get caught in one, you don’t swim or paddle inwards. You go across it until you get out of it, then you head in, like we just did.”
They reached the sand, and he helped her to stand then grasped the handle of his board and held it to keep it from being washed away.
“Learn to recognize a rip when you see one, and stay between the flags,” he said sternly. “First rule. Don’t ignore it.” Then he smiled at her. “You probably should go to first aid and get checked out. Make sure you’re okay.” He turned and pushed his board back into the water.
Realization crashed like a wave over Kitty’s head. The man had just saved her life and she hadn’t even thanked him.
“Wait,” she called. He turned around and Kitty gulped. He was gorgeous—long and lean, with powerful muscled thighs, a six pack, broad shoulders and strong arms that had lifted her from danger and paddled them both to shore.
“I…” Her voice sounded croaky, and she swallowed and tried again, “I could never have made it back on my own. I would have died. I can never, ever thank you enough. I don’t have any money with me now, but if you tell me how to contact you—”
“I don’t want your money,” he said, taking a step backwards, his hand held up in front of him. “I’m a volunteer lifesaver. No one, not one of us, will take a reward for doing something like this.” He stood there like some tall, earth-bound god, his golden brown eyes warm in the sunlight.
He was clearly a good few years younger than her and in much, much, much better condition… And as far as eye candy went it didn’t get any better. Maybe not all Australian men had that Hugh Jackman thing going on, but this one certainly did, and Kitty damn well appreciated it…though not as much as she appreciated his actions in saving her.
“I have to do something to show my appreciation,” she said.
He grinned. “Make a donation to the Surf Life Saving Association. “
“Oh, I will. Yes. Of course I’ll do that,” Kitty said, nodding frantically.
“You’d be surprised how many don’t,” he said. “All suitably grateful at the time, but when it comes to supporting the organization that trains and equips us… Not so much.” He gave her a brief wave of farewell. “I’ve got to be getting back. Don’t forget. Stay between the flags. We don’t want to have to do this again.”
“Er, no,” Kitty agreed. He didn’t respond, and with a few strokes he was out beyond the foamy wavelets and paddling strongly back the way he’d come. Kitty watched as he hit the calm water where she had come to grief and powered sideways through it, only the exaggerated dip of his body indicating the extra force he used to stay on course as he made his way across the narrow channel.
Left alone, she began to shake as reaction and reality set in. With leaden legs, she paced slowly back along the sand. Heads turned to look at her and she thought she could hear the condemnatory comments—‘tourist’, ‘idiot’, ‘ought to be old enough to have more sense’.
Shame and embarrassment heated her cheeks. The thought of having to confess her stupidity to the first-aid people was too much. All she wanted was to get off the beach where she had done everything wrong from the minute she’d arrived. After scooping up her towel and pulling her shirt and skirt on over her still damp bathers, she made her way back up to the road. If the sand burned as she trudged back across it, Kitt
y didn’t notice.
Chapter Two
Kitty stepped nervously onto the grounds of the steel-making plant where the UK employment agency had found her a position for the three days a week her visa allowed. Signs directed her across the tarmac to Administration. The screech and clang of machinery and the hot smell of coal and metal gave way to the cool quiet of the air-conditioned office.
After a brief orientation, she set to work. None of the other people working in the office seemed inclined to talk, but for the moment that suited her. There was nothing in there she couldn’t handle. The computer software and allocated tasks were the kind common to most industries, but she needed to concentrate. The newness of the situation made her slower than usual and she decided to eat lunch at her desk, so she’d have everything up to date by the time she left at five o’clock.
At one o’clock, the other workers filed out, mostly silently. Kitty rummaged in her bag, brought out the sandwich she’d packed that morning and raised it to her mouth.
Before she could take a bite, the office manager called out from the doorway, “You can’t eat that here. No food to be consumed on the premises.”
Kitty looked up in astonishment. “It’s my lunch break.”
“I’m sorry.” The woman held up her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “It’s a directive from the general manager. We have such a diverse range of ethnicities and beliefs working here. It’s easy to offend with ingredients or smells.”
“But it’s just a sandwich,” Kitty objected.
“No exemptions, Kitty,” the manager said. “There are picnic tables outside or you can walk to a café in about five minutes. We give you an extended lunch break to cover it.” She pointed her finger at Kitty accusingly. “You must take your allotted time for lunch. It’s an Occupational Health and Safety directive.” The door swished closed behind her.