At least for now.
She managed to wedge her good arm between them, setting her hand over his deliciously tempting lips before she threw caution to the wind and bonked him senseless. “Wait a minute, Sexy-Britches.”
He grinned down at her. “Ma’am?” His soft lips tickled her palm and she shivered.
She gently pushed on his gorgeous face, and he allowed her to force him away. He flopped onto his back, lacing his hands under his head. Propping herself up on her good arm, she stared down at him. This wonderful, selfless, kind, and, yeah, passionate man. Her man now, of this she was sure.
“You’re not the only one with some explaining to do.”
Hooded eyes studied her. “I wasn’t going to say anything, you know, to be polite.” A dimple appeared in his cheek.
“Ha ha. This is a safe space.” She made a circular gesture between them. “Anything I say here cannot be used against me in a court of law.”
“How long do you think it’ll be before you run out of police metaphors?”
“A long, long time. When we’re old and wrinkled and you’ll need a little blue pill to keep up with me.”
He chuckled. “When we’re old and wrinkled I’ll still be chasing you around the nursing home in one of those mobility scooters. I’ll catch you, too, and arrest you if you don’t pay up.”
Happiness fizzed through her, but she tempered it down to a warm buzz. She needed him to understand she was invested in this relationship, invested in him, for the long haul.
“Here are the things I need to tell you. I quit my job.”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“I’m not catching the Stewart Island ferry tomorrow, the day after, or any time soon unless we need to go on a shopping spree in Invercargill.”
A V-shaped wrinkle appeared on his forehead. He unhooked a hand from behind his head and picked up the nearest garment on the bed. “What’s with the packing, then?”
She could’ve let him off the hook earlier, because she’d guessed he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion, but that would’ve ruined the surprise. She widened her eyes in faux innocence. “Since I’m now the proprietor of Southern Seas B&B, I should have the master bedroom, don’t you think? This room is too small for my king-sized bed that’s being shipped down to Oban with the rest of my stuff.”
There was a beat or two of stunned silence from Noah. “You’re moving here permanently?”
Tilly bent and placed a soft kiss on his mouth, lingering long enough to elicit a sexy, rough moan from him. “Look at you, mastering the basics of detecting.”
At his eye roll, she laughed. He reached up, stroking a big hand over her hair and tucking a strand of it behind her ear. “You want us to stay here? Because it’s definitely an us now and we’ll make decisions together.”
“Here is where I belong. Here with you.”
His forehead creased again, and he propped himself up on his elbows. “Tilly,” he said softly. “I don’t know what else there is for me in Oban workwise.”
She took a deep breath. “You have a job here, an important job. One I’m proud to support you doing.”
“Even though I’ll still deal with the less pleasant side of human nature on a regular basis?”
“You can handle it, Officer Badass. And the guys around here are pretty badass backup for you.”
“I thought you’d be my backup,” he said in a serious tone. “I could teach you some badassery self-defense moves.” Crinkles appeared in the corner of his eyes. “Or you could just talk any bad guys into submission.”
“Are you saying I talk too much?”
“Not at all. Tell me again that you love me.”
“I love you.”
“Tell me again that you’re staying here.”
“I’m staying wherever you are. Whether it’s Stewart Island or suburbia, you are the deciding factor. I only needed a near-death experience to figure out that what I felt for you was real, it wasn’t ever going to change, and that two intelligent people who were in love could figure out a way to make it work.”
“I’m a great problem solver,” he said modestly. “And talking about feelings sure beats the hassle of jail time if I have to kidnap you and keep you in my bed for the next forty years.”
“Aww, for a life with me you’d switch out your police blues for an orange jumpsuit?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“That,” she said, easing down to snuggle into his side, “is the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.”
“Really? Hold that thought.”
He winked at her and pulled his phone from his pocket, hitting a number on speed dial.
“What’s up?” Ford’s tinny voice asked through the speaker.
“Drop off Tilly’s luggage tomorrow. If you turn up here tonight, I’ll arrest you for obstruction.”
A snort of laughter was followed by a barked, “Obstructing what? No, don’t answer that, dude.” The line went dead.
“I stand corrected,” Tilly said as Noah rolled off the bed and swept coat hangers and clothes to the floor. “That wins hands down.”
The smile he directed her way as he stripped off his sweater and shirt caused her stomach to flutter so hard it nearly lifted her clean off the mattress. She couldn’t have written her own happily-ever-after better. Thanks to learning the lessons Aunt Mary had bequeathed her in her journal.
She’d have a home in the most beautiful, serene paradise. An opportunity to write what she wanted to write—starting with a burgeoning idea she’d had of a novel of Māori and Pākehā worlds colliding. New friends, and a tight-knit community. And most of all, someone to share it all with.
Someone who just happened to look a-mah-zing with or without a towel.
Noah crawled onto the bed and nuzzled kisses up her throat.
“You want romantic things whispered in your ear?” His talented mouth moved up to lightly grip her earlobe between his lips.
She clutched his bare shoulder while he whispered all the ways he planned to make love to her over the next twenty-four hours. She arched her hips into him. “You’ve forgotten my number one writer’s rule…”
He slid his hand under her shirt and cupped her breast.
She groaned, quivering beneath his touch. “Show, don’t tell.”
He chuckled and gently brushed his thumb over her nipple. “Let me get you naked, baby, and it’ll be my pleasure.”
And it was.
Epilogue
Three months later
* * *
From Tilly Montgomery’s not-so-secret journal:
So much has happened in the past month since I last made an entry into this journal. Noah thinks I’m kind of kooky imagining our kids will ever want to read about how their mum and dad fell in lurv. Like, eww, you guys. TMI.
So, since my last entry, these things have happened:
1. My mum came to stay with Noah and me at Southern Seas for the grand reopening. She opted to stay in the sea lion room, as she reckoned she’d never get to sleep surrounded by sharks or being watched by the orca’s staring eye. While she was here, Ben Harland took us out on his boat, the Mollymawk, to a deserted bay. We scattered Aunt Mary’s ashes in the beautiful crystal-clear waters. I know she’s at peace now. That somehow she’ll find her Jim and they will be together forever.
2. I finished my screenplay and sent it to my new agent who can’t stop raving about it. She’s certain that she’ll be able to sell it. Yay, me! But in the meantime, I’ve started a novel about racism in 1960s New Zealand. Mary and Jim weren’t the only people who sacrificed love because of bigotry and the cultural divide. I think Dad would approve.
3. I’ve left the best for last. Noah moved in with me—yes, shock horror, we are living in sin—but I’m planning to make an honest man out of him by agreeing to the societal convention of wearing a big, fat, gorgeous diamond on the third finger of my left hand. Thank goodness my sling is off and I had full range of motion when he got down on one knee.
I think I almost strangled him in my enthusiasm to say, “Hell yes, I’ll marry you.”
So there you have it. Regardless of the ew factor, this is the continuing story of two people who met and fell in love. I say ‘story’ because ‘the account of two people who met and fell in love’ implies a finite ending, and as Noah and I have both come to realize, a love story doesn’t end. It expands and grows richer and deeper with each passing day. It encompasses passion, fun, and mistakes made and forgiven, a friendship forged with unbreakable steel, and an intimacy that binds us in our own little sacred universe.
Our love story contains all of that—plus a sprinkling of fairy dust.
Correction from Noah: Make that unicorn dust.
Check out the rest of the Stewart Island books by clicking here.
* * *
Have you tried my Bounty Bay books? Hide Your Heart is book 1 and it’s FREE on all retailers!
For a sneak peek of Hide Your Heart, turn the page.
Sneak Peek of Hide Your Heart (Bounty Bay Book 1)
Hiding in plain sight just got complicated…
* * *
Lauren Taylor and her young son have fled back to her hometown to escape fame’s cruel spotlight, and all she wants to do is start over. No press, no pictures, no problem. Until Nate Fraser, a sexy photojournalist, moves in next door. Resisting his kisses and keeping her secrets soon become the hardest thing she’s ever done.
* * *
Nate’s got one foot out the door and one last assignment before he resumes his nomadic lifestyle, camera in hand. His every instinct screams that his beautiful but unwelcoming neighbour is hiding something. He couldn’t care less when it’s difficult enough to keep his eyes—and lips—off of her. No matter how much Nate attempts to keep his heart out of reach, he’s drawn into her life. But a guy like him can never have what he wants most. Can he?
* * *
Excerpt from Hide Your Heart
Chapter 1
* * *
Lauren Taylor smacked the steering wheel. “Right. It’d better work this time, or I’ll kick the bumper so hard it’ll pop out the exhaust pipe.”
Giggles erupted from the passenger seat and she shot her four-year-old son, Drew, a weary smile. Her station wagon had skidded off the gravel road in the rain, and the front wheels were wedged in a muddy ditch. After stuffing branches under the tires for traction, Lauren had returned to the driver’s seat cold, wet and gritting her teeth at her own stupidity. Raised in New Zealand’s subtropical Far North, she knew better than to trust the unpredictable summer weather.
She turned the ignition key, and the engine coughed to life. “Please, please work this time.”
Remembering Todd’s instructions, Lauren trod on the clutch and slotted the gearstick into reverse. “C’mon, old girl, you can do it.”
The steady pressure on the gas pedal as she teased the clutch pulled the car backward over the branches in jerky hops. Mud-slicked tires hit another slippery patch, and one wheel rotated with a high-pitched hum. Lauren kept her foot down, as if sheer will alone could drag them from the ditch. Black smoke poured from the tail pipe. The motor stalled, the station wagon sliding back into the thick mud.
She leaned her head against the seat. Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes.
Drew patted her arm. “Don’t cry, Mummy. We can stay in the car tonight and have a ‘venture. I’ll be okay without my nightlight.” His voice quavered on the last word.
Ever since they’d fled their Manhattan apartment two years ago, Drew needed his nightlight to keep the multi-limbed monsters in his head at bay. But better his imaginary monsters than the one on two legs who still stalked Lauren’s nightmares.
She squeezed her son’s hand. “Don’t worry. It’ll take more than mud to stop me from tucking you up in bed tonight.”
Java jumped over the stack of luggage in the back seat, and a warm tongue licked the back of her neck.
“Back you go, boy.” Lauren pushed the dog’s black and tan head away from her shoulder.
Java whined but returned to the rear of the car.
Lauren ruffled the spill of dark curls across Drew’s forehead and undid his safety belt. “Mummy’ll get out again and have another go. Taylors never give up the fight, do they?”
Drew shook his head and grinned. “Never, ever.”
No. Never, ever again. “I won’t be long.”
Rain pounded the roof, a relentless roar drowning all other outside sound. With a bracing breath, Lauren opened the door and lowered a foot straight into ankle-deep mud.
“Why don’t you move back to Bounty Bay with us?” She mimicked her brother’s cheerful voice. “You’ll have privacy galore, surrounded by native bush seething with history.”
History? More like prehistory. Even the cellphone coverage up here was spotty at best.
Great idea, Todd.
Lauren climbed out and slammed the door before the wind could snatch it from her hand. A howling gust hurled a volley of raindrops at her face. She smoothed her hair and swiped rain, like cool tears, from her eyes. Fists on hips, she sloshed around to the hood to consider her predicament. Though her first attempt hadn’t worked, it wasn’t too shabby an effort. For a city girl.
Except she was no longer a city girl.
She grimaced at her watery reflection in the windshield. A clump of mud inched down her cheek, and her tee shirt clung in sodden wrinkles. Oh, if the tabloids could see her now.
With an unladylike snort, Lauren smeared the mud off her face. Back to business—more manuka branches ought to do it. She braced her knee to climb out of the ditch, but a chunk of dirt shifted and collapsed beneath her foot, wrenching her ankle to the side as it slid backward. Lauren sprawled on the road and her startled cry flushed a family of quail from the bush.
“Mummy? Mummy!” Drew’s muffled shouts were followed by a frantic knocking on the car’s window.
She rolled over to wave at him and sent him a shaky thumbs up.
Lauren used her shirt to blot the blossoming specks of blood on her palms. Goddammit that stung! Teeth clenched, she tested weight on her ankle, but jolts of agony arrowed up her left leg. Walking home was not an option.
She crawled onto the road and using the car’s hood, hauled herself upright.
Drew wound down the window, his nose peeping through the small gap. “Mummy, are you okay?”
Stuck on a little-used road in the rain with daylight fading? She was anything but okay.
Lauren forced a breezy note into her voice. “I’m fine, sweetie, just a little ouchy.”
The unmistakable rumble of an approaching engine catapulted her heart into her ribs. Teeth mashing her lower lip each time her left foot touched the ground, Lauren hobbled to the center of the road. A black Range Rover crested the hill. Caught in the beams of the headlights, she raised a hand and squinted at the vehicle.
Too expensive, too fancy, and too clean for a local’s.
The pitch of the motor dropped as the Range Rover coasted to a halt a dozen feet behind her station wagon. Wipers swept rhythmically across the glass, blurring her view of the driver.
The engine died, and Lauren’s stomach twisted into macramé-tight knots. She debated the wisdom of letting Java out to stand beside her. Injured and facing a stranger on a deserted road, she figured the dog’s stocky body and wicked incisors would be reassuring.
Drew’s nose and palms pressed against the misted windows, as he no doubt watched her move farther away from their car. No…Better if Java stayed with her son. Nobody would hurt Drew with a hundred pounds of Rottweiler protecting his family.
Nobody would hurt Drew, period.
A huge blue and white umbrella unfolded out of the vehicle, followed by two legs clad in a masculine-sized pair of gumboots. The driver nudged the door shut and ploughed through the downpour like a striped galleon, only his oilskin coat and denim-clad calves showing. He stopped in front of her and lifted the umbrella so it covered them both. Wiping rain from
her eyes, Lauren glanced up—way up—into startling green eyes.
“Looks like your car is well and truly stuck. Do you need a hand?” His gaze travelled down, and his brow creased. “Wait a sec—are you hurt?”
“W-What?” Lauren’s thoughts leaped to the raised scar on her cheek, the first thing most people noticed. But no, the man’s gaze didn’t shift above her legs. Of course he was talking about her injuries. One vertebra at a time stiffened as she transferred her weight onto her good leg. “It’s not that bad.”
“You’ve grazed your knees, and your ankle’s starting to swell.” His tone was that of a teacher explaining a difficult concept to a child.
He stared down at her, and his advantage of at least three inches made her feel dainty at five-foot-ten. The suggestion of broad shoulders under the oilskin caused a pearl of sweat to gather on her top lip.
He was too big, too close, and too vividly male.
“Really, I’m fine.” Lauren half-turned toward the car. “I just need someone to—”
“Sure, hold this a moment.” He shoved the umbrella handle into her hand and crouched at her feet.
“What are you doing?”
He looked up. Blue-tinted light and shadow played over the slight kink marring his otherwise patrician nose. One wisp of brown hair in the center of his forehead flicked off in a winsome cowlick, but nothing else about his cool expression gave any indication of a matching personality. Her eyes widened, riveted to the long fingers reaching for her ankle.
A tall, dark-haired man with large hands…She forgot to breathe as memories flashed into her mind.
The perfume of red roses clogging her throat, mixed with the feral stench of fear—her fear. The coppery taste of blood slick on her tongue. A hand clinching her ankle, grinding bones together as he dragged her along the parquet floor.
Bending The Rules: Stewart Island Book 10 Page 29
