Resisting Nick

by Kris Pearson

PARTMENT

  Eight eyes bored into her, but she saw only Nick’s. They flashed with the same hot attention he’d riveted on her in the implement shed. The same fierce masculine hunger that even as a young girl she’d found thrilling.

  “Yes, lunch first.” Husky and soft.

  It sounded like a threat.

  As though he was lying in wait, like a stealthy sun-dappled tiger.

  Intensely aware of him now, she rose from her chair and began to distribute plates and napkins to the four men, balancing somewhat precariously on the tall heels, and hoping she wasn’t bending over too far in the shortened skirt. Tyler had been right about his office—only a view over the back parking lot, but big. With a ring of comfortable chairs surrounding a large low table well to the side of his desk.

  She brought four bottles of beer from the fridge and set one down beside each plate. Then retrieved the sushi selection and colorful multi-layered sandwiches and grapes, and placed them in the center of the table.

  There was a collective grab for the beers.

  “There are plenty more,” she said, resuming her chair, crossing her legs again, and taking up her notebook.

  “No lunch for you?” Nick asked.

  “I had a sandwich with Tyler earlier.”

  And you didn’t say I’d be included.

  The men ate, starting their discussion with sports teams and the never-ending rivalry between Australia and New Zealand. Slowly they moved to business matters and Sammie began to take notes.

  Nick rose to get more beers a little later. He set them on the table, picked up the last piece of sushi, and moved to her side. He held the little roll to her lips, and when she opened her mouth to object, he tucked it inside, pushing one finger in further than necessary. Sammie bit down on it and held him trapped for a few seconds. Their eyes met—hers furious, his amused. He was demonstrating ownership in front of the other three men. Well she wasn’t having that! As soon as she could speak she said, “You’ll spoil my appetite for a special dinner out tonight.”

  “A celebration?” Rich asked, keen eyes observing the by-play between Nick and herself.

  “Yes, I’m moving in with Kelly.”

  She hoped Nick didn’t remember Kelly was Tyler’s sister’s name. No—let him conjure up a handsome hunk with an even better body than his own. Let him stew about the possibility of her sharing a bed with someone else. He’d put her up to this silly game and he could cope with the consequences.

  His brows lowered and his eyes sharpened.

  Good. Serves you right.

  “Would anyone like tea or coffee?” she asked, reverting to gracious hostess mode. She rose to tidy the table so they could lay their papers out.

  The meeting rolled on. Australian Rod was a realtor, with properties of interest to Nick. She heard Bondi, Coogee, and Manly mentioned—all beach suburbs where people wanted beautiful bodies. But could he get a bite? Nick played it carefully, committing himself to nothing. The discussion flowed back and forth for another hour.

  Finally, they wound to a close. It was all very genial, very optimistic, and absolutely not finalized. Sammie suppressed a grin; Nick was good. No wonder he’d done so well with his businesses.

  “Come and look at Sleeping Beauty,” Rich said a few minutes later, beckoning them along to his office.

  They peered in. Tyler lay sound asleep in the recliner chair, face flushed, dark hair in disarray.

  “She shouldn’t still be working,” Sammie whispered. “Her baby’s already overdue.”

  “Best P.A. I ever had,” Nick said. “And when she heard Julie had walked out on me, she insisted she’d help someone new settle in.”

  “She needs to go home.”

  “I’ll take you both.” He jingled his car-keys.

  Sammie glanced at her watch. It was less than three-thirty.

  “You started early and you missed your lunch-break.”

  “Thank you. But who’ll look after things here?”

  “Whoever hears the phone will grab it. Anything else can wait until tomorrow.” He walked across to Tyler and joggled her shoulder. “Come on Snoozie. On your feet. I’m taking you home.”

  “What?” Tyler said blankly, drifting awake, looking horrified when she discovered the time. Her sheepish expression set them all laughing.

  She and Sammie collected their bags from the staff lockers and progressed carefully down the stairs. Sammie had had quite enough of the Manolos, and was grateful for the ride. Tyler still looked pinkly embarrassed from napping so long.

  “Oh My God!” she exclaimed, finally noticing Sammie’s change of image. Her jaw dropped and stayed that way.

  “It’s only for fun. Nick joked about wanting someone who looked like a serious secretary for his meeting, so I called his bluff.”

  “I need to get my figure back so I can wear clothes like that…”

  “They’re not mine—my sister-in-law bought them in New York.”

  Tyler rolled her eyes. “I’m not aiming that high. Anything with an actual waist will do.”

  By the time they reached the sidewalk, Nick had driven around to the front entrance. The car sat there growling like a restrained and annoyed animal. Sammie squeezed into the back and Nick helped Tyler into the front. Sammie caught Nick’s eyes in the mirror and held his gaze boldly, brave in her expensive new disguise.

  “Hot,” he mouthed. Shivers of pleasure ran down her spine. Then he was all business again. “Okay, Karori for you Tyler. Where to, Samantha?”

  “Wadestown, so it’s on the way.”

  He eased out into the traffic.

  “Eight-thirty tomorrow?” he tossed over his shoulder as she alighted a few minutes later. “I want to go through your meeting notes to start with.”

  Next morning she managed something a little nicer than jeans and a polo. With the weather still just warm enough, she chose her short white linen skirt and topped it with a long-sleeved scoop-necked cinnamon tunic with a line of tiny white buttons down the front. Found her wedges with the rope-weaving and ankle-ties. And told herself she was definitely not dressing up for Nick.

  She arrived a few minutes early and he appeared from the main studio, once again in shorts and tank, damp and dangerous.

  “Sorry—won’t be long,” he said.

  “Take your time. You’re the boss.”

  He raised an appreciative eyebrow at the length of her skirt and sauntered off to the showers.

  She watched his loose athletic stride. Yes, he was strong and muscular, but it was a lean streamlined body all the same. No wonder he’d looked good in yesterday’s tailored trousers. There was broadness in his shoulders and chest, strength in his arms and thighs, but his torso was trim and his hips narrow. His wet tank clung to the lines of muscle either side of his spine. Her eyes devoured him until he disappeared.

  The phone rang just in time to stop her drooling all over the floor. “BodyWork Fitness. Samantha speaking.”

  It was Tyler. “Can you talk for a moment?”

  “Yes, no trouble. Nick’s just heading for the shower.”

  “Hhhhmmmmm,” Tyler sighed theatrically. “That’s something I’m going to miss. Oh well, my loss, your gain.”

  Sammie gave a non-committal laugh.

  “Anyway, Kelly rang. She’s spending tonight at her boyfriend’s place so they can go to the airport together early tomorrow. Do you want to move in this evening?”

  Sammie took a deep breath. Freedom. Her own space away from Ray’s incessant sports TV, Anita’s gossipy chat, and their sons’ sniping over the dinner table.

  “Yes, any time suits me fine. Tonight would be wonderful.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you mid-morning with the key. You’ll be busy with Nick for a while?”

  “So it seems. No baby yet?”

  “No—but I’m starting to feel...interesting.”

  “God!” Sammie yelped. “Don’t come in. I can cope.”

  Tyler burst into cheerful laughter.


  Nick appeared a few minutes later, long legs in black jeans, broad shoulders in white T-shirt, grin surrounded by sexy black stubble. Sammie tried so hard not to stare.

  She brandished her steno pad. “Do you need a few minutes before we start?”

  “Now’s good.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Always.”

  Sighing to herself, she trailed him along the corridor. His back view looked every bit as edible as his front.

  That evening she carried her bags to the elevator, pressed the button for the fifth floor, and let herself into the apartment. A slim little tabby immediately wriggled out of the cat door onto the balcony and stood there glaring at her.

  Sammie drew the air into her lungs as though it was French perfume. Paradise. Her own place for a while. No Grandpa to worry about any more. No Anita and Ray and the boys to fit in with. Peace and quiet—or her own choice of music. Endless possibilities.

  She discovered one big bedroom with a luxurious en suite bathroom, a nicely set up study with a sofa-bed, an airy living area with the kitchen in the corner, and a small guest bathroom with laundry facilities. All painted white. A sheet of paper lay on the kitchen counter with instructions for the cat, the Kentia palm, an African violet, and two begonias.

  She’d no sooner stowed her first bag of clothes away when a sharp rat-tat-tat thudded on the door. Tyler?

  She opened it and found Nick. Caught her breath.

  “How—”

  “—did I know you were here? I told you Tyler was the best P.A. I ever had. The staff address file is right up to date.”

  Sammie tried to suppress a smile. “And how did you get into the building?”

  “Waited until someone came out and gallantly held the door open for her.”

  “So much for security,” she grumped.

  Nick’s lips twitched, and he proffered the bottle of wine he held. “Housewarming.”

  She shook her head. “I’m just settling in, Nick. I haven’t even met the cat yet.” She pushed at the door.

  One booted foot stopped it.

  “Please?” he asked.

  “Take your foot away.”

  She was amazed and relieved when he did. But he made no move to leave, and the expression on his face became ragged.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I could really do with someone to talk to. And I think it needs to be a woman.”

  She sent him a withering look. “I’m sure you have dozens at your disposal.”

  “But not to talk with.”

  Okay, I asked for that.

  “Why me?” She shot him a narrow-eyed glare.

  “No baggage. No axe to grind. Someone neutral.”

  A prickle of unease ran down her spine. For sure he didn’t look his usual self. She opened the door a little wider. “What’s wrong, Nick?”

  He held the wine out towards her again. “Pour me a drink first, huh?”

  He sounded so weary she almost put out a hand to help him into the apartment.

  The third cupboard she opened contained glasses. Nick meantime had noticed the cat still looking agitated outside. He crossed to the cat door, tilted it open, and started to sweet-talk the little tabby. In no time, he was tickling under its chin.

  “She’s called Zorro.”

  “She?”

  “I suspect someone made a sex mistake.”

  Nick’s slow burn of a smile alerted her to what she’d just said. “We all do that, now and again,” he said, nodding sagely.

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “Never made a sex mistake, Samantha? You’re a rare woman.”

  She set the glasses on the counter with more of a thump than she intended. Nick left the cat and opened the wine for her.

  “What do you need a woman’s opinion on?” she asked, intrigued despite her decision to stay well clear of him.

  “It’s a family thing,” he said as he poured. “Women are better at that side of life.”

  “Maybe. I don’t have much family. Only one brother, and he’s a lot older.” She refused to think of the sister she might have had—the tiny baby who’d died eighteen months after Ray was born. Was that why there’d never been other children?

  Until her. The late mistake who’d apparently messed everything up.

  “I’m a bad choice,” she added.

  “Parents?”

  She thought for a moment before answering, not wanting to give her identity away. It would be too embarrassing working for him if he knew she was silly little Sammie from all those years ago.

  “Both dead.”

  “Damn. Sorry I asked. But here’s the thing. Your parents influence who you are—right? Set the standards. Pass on their genes and their strengths and weaknesses.”

  Sammie moved across to the chrome and leather sofa, hoping he’d take the matching chair. To her annoyance he chose to sit beside her, legs spread apart, denim clad knee touching her bare one.

  She placed her wine on the glass topped coffee table and eased away a little. God, this close he had her vibrating as though she was some sort of scientific instrument measuring sexual attraction. And he was way up there on the scale.

  Eleven out of ten at least.