Resisting Nick

by Kris Pearson

CHAPTER SEVEN — DRIVING TYLER HOME

  As she drove Tyler home, the clouds parted and fitful sunshine beamed through. Maybe Nick would take her out to his house after all? With the traffic lighter in the suburbs, she let the Ferrari have its head a little more. Its throaty growl reverberated deep in her gut and she couldn’t suppress a smile. No doubt it gave him a visceral thrill, too. Put a grin on his gorgeous face. Made the blood pump faster around his incredible body.

  She stalled the capricious car yet again as she stopped at an intersection.

  Damn, I’m thinking of him instead of concentrating.

  “Why would he want a car that’s so hard to drive?” she demanded.

  Tyler grinned. “Because he’s a man. Cam would give his eyeteeth for it. I think it’s quite old, and I know they made hardly any as four-seaters.”

  “So it’s a rare classic? It’s ridiculous he lets anyone else drive it.”

  “Aren’t you lucky, then?”

  Sammie pulled a face and dragged her brain back to where she needed it.

  “Left at the next corner.”

  She followed the rest of Tyler’s street instructions and glided to a halt in the driveway of a white-painted 1920’s timber bungalow. “Nice! How long have you lived here?”

  “We bought it as soon as I got pregnant. There’s a lot more we’d like to refurb inside, including the kitchen, but it’s coming on okay.”

  Sammie pushed the driver’s door open, raced around to the passenger side, and offered her arm for support. “Thanks for all your help, Tyler. I can always phone if I have more queries.”

  “See that you do.”

  “Yes, Mom. I’ll just see you safely inside.”

  “Phfffft!” Tyler teased. “You think I need helping like I’m an old lady?”

  “I think you need helping like you’re a rather fat one. If you fall over, I’ll never be able to pick you up.”

  Tyler rolled her eyes at that, and grasped Sammie’s hand to heave herself from the low seat. “Yeah, the fat lady’s had enough of this. Roll on baby-day.”

  Sammie glanced up at the sky and asked, “What do you know about Nick’s house? The beach house? He said if the weather cleared he’d take me there so I can liaise with the builder.”

  Tyler’s attention sharpened. “Lucky you. It’s quite an old place, built around 1900 I think. I saw the deeds but I haven’t seen the house.”

  “What’s he having done?”

  “A heap of stuff. Practically turning it back to front. He said the living rooms didn’t face the sea.”

  “Well, they used to build the oldies facing the street.”

  “I get the feeling there’s not a street as such.” Tyler dug out her keys, unlocked the door, and sent Sammie a rueful smile. “Look after my nice boss for me.”

  “He doesn’t need much looking after, although half the women in town are probably keen to try.”

  “He’s a short term guy—never gets serious.”

  Small tremors that felt horribly like jealousy squeezed at Sammie’s heart, even though she’d vowed to keep clear of him. “Why am I not surprised?” she asked, trying for a tone of casual disinterest.

  “He’s too busy for serious.” Tyler turned aside into a sunny family room and dropped her purse onto a small oak table. “He’s empire building. I never saw a guy so driven—not that I’m warning you off.” She lowered herself onto a chair and sighed with relief.

  “Not that I need the warning,” Sammie countered, trying to rid herself of the feeling of something good passing her by. “Can I get you anything before I go? Tea? Coffee? Juice?”

  “Nope, I’m fine thanks. I’ll visit the bathroom yet again,”—she gave another theatrical roll of her big eyes—“and then me and bubs will have a lie-down for a while. Enjoy your trip to the beach.”

  “Without my bucket and spade, sadly. Look after yourself, or even better get Cam to.” She bent and gave Tyler a quick hug, waggled her fingers in a farewell wave, and pulled the front door closed behind her.

  She hated to admit it, but Nick attracted her fiercely, had fascinated her as a child, and had fueled an intense crush when she was a teenager. He’d left a huge hole in her life by disappearing. With no goodbye, and no intimation she was anything but a silly little girl to play games with.

  He’d lurked in her memory banks as someone darkly desirable and purely masculine ever since—spoiling any other boy’s chance of making much of an impression, and raising her expectations of sexual attraction to unattainable heights.

  The growling car vibrated under her, almost as potently suggestive as Nick himself. Perhaps she should take its owner for a test-drive too? Abandon all her good intentions and enjoy him for the short unexpected time she’d been given? She drove back to BodyWork telling herself to be sensible—and countering every objection she produced. He was a player, and he’d said he wanted to play. Why shouldn’t she play along with him for the next couple of weeks?

  Because I’m not that kind of girl.

  But you could be?

  Maybe I’m not brave enough to try.

  You’ll never know unless you do.

  I’ll probably disappoint him.

  He’s only after sex—you can manage that.

  But working for him as well?

  It’s a temporary job. You can leave if you want to.

  I might fall for him even harder, and then I’ll never get him out of my heart.

  There was no guarantee with that last one.

  By the time she arrived back at the fitness center, the sky was ninety percent blue. She ran up the stairs full of energy, pulse racing in time with the pounding music, hoping the trip to the beach house happened. More time in Nick’s company would test her resolve, and if she lost the battle, she’d have to suffer the inevitable heartbreak and wait it through until it ebbed away to a bearable level. Then she’d take her mind off him by traveling to wonderful places and meeting interesting new people.

  She was no stranger to escapism. Hadn’t she had to escape from her parents’ death, and her grandmother’s? And then find distractions all through the long years caring for her grandfather? A quickie affair with one good-looking guy should be a cinch. Especially if she didn’t let it get serious.

  She stowed her jacket and bag in her locker. Should she knock on Nick’s closed door? Maybe not—perhaps he had an important visitor or was on the international call he’d mentioned. Smiling, she returned to reception, opened the email program, and keyed in ‘Mother-to-be safely delivered. Also car.’

  He replied almost instantly, ‘bring 2 coffees.’

  She wrinkled her nose. He was back to his high-handed self.

  ‘You and who?’ she typed.

  ‘You and me.’

  So no important visitor or overseas call. She returned to the staff-room and glared at her reflection in the mirror by the lockers while the coffeemaker did its thing. And couldn’t resist smudging on another drift of eye-shadow, spritzing a tiny spray of perfume into the air and leaning into it, and pulling the zipper of her red top down a few inches so a little skin showed.

  Just because the weather’s warmer now.

  She turned back to the machine. Seconds later the hairs lifting on her scalp told her Nick had arrived. She was now so tuned in to him that his almost silent tread on the carpet and the slight movement of the air in the room were enough. The warm weight of his hands settled on her hips as she stood facing the machine. “Don’t make me spill this,” she warned.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  One hand stroked upward, firm and sure over her spine and shoulder. Every inch of her he caressed came alight with pinpoints of pleasure, and she pressed backward like a cat seeking comfort. He squeezed her nape, a small but possessive gesture, and she turned. He stood far too close, hand now sliding to cradle the side of her face. His thumb grazed over her lower lip, backward, forward, in a languid slide. Sammie closed her eyes.

  “Don’t,” she whispered.
<
br />   He dropped a kiss on her brow and released her. “Come and see my house, then. The weather’s behaving.”

  “As long as you do too...”

  “No guarantees there.”

  She pushed a coffee toward him, and he grinned as he took it from her. “You trying to keep my hands occupied, Sammie?”

  “Something like that,” she muttered, picking up the other mug and trailing him back to his office.

  Big architectural drawings now covered the low table. Nick squatted in front of them and set his coffee down. Sammie stayed a step behind, checking out the way his jeans cupped his butt and the white T-shirt stretched over the long muscles of his back.

  Sure, he had all the gear and the know-how to sculpt himself to perfection, but that perfection was a knockout. If she hadn’t been holding her coffee, her hands might have gone wandering in return.

  He pulled a yellowed and battered sheet of paper from beneath the others, and she drew closer.

  “Original frontage,” he said, pointing to the carefully detailed veranda with its turned timber posts and railings. “She still has that same door, but the paint’s long gone.” He stroked a finger over the intricate panels. “I’ve bought a wreck, Sammie, but a wreck with real potential. Until a couple of years ago the farmer who owned it used the ground floor for storing hay bales and stock feed.”

  She exclaimed in distress and bent lower to examine the drawings. The house was a two-storied double-bay villa, once very grand. The floors were traditionally laid out with a central passageway and staircase. The architect’s signature and the date 1904 were appended in ornate copperplate script.

  “Hay bales? What a travesty.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “You won’t think that when you see it.” He shuffled a collection of much newer plans on top of the old drawing. “We’ll take these with us and you can compare them with what currently exists. Then if there are any queries you’ll be up to speed.”

  “You’re putting a lot of trust in me,” she said doubtfully.

  “Nah, you’ll cope. You’ve got a good brain. I just need you to use your common sense and deflect some of the rubbish calls away from me.”

  He bounced up from his squat, and her eyes measured the length and strength of his legs. What would they feel like pressed naked against her own? Her throat constricted.

  “Drink up and we’ll beat the rush-hour traffic onto the main coast road.”

  She sipped. “So what are you having done?”

  “Huge refurb. All the original house needs a lot of TLC. But I’m building on at the back, which is where the views are. That area’s wasted on utility rooms and bedrooms.” He sent her a hint of a grin. “Who needs a view from a bedroom? You’re either sleeping or too busy enjoying yourself to stare out the windows.”

  Sammie coughed on her gulp of coffee, picturing Nick’s long sun-striped back rising and falling against white sheets as he made love to some fortunate woman. Her eyes met his wicked dark gaze, and the sparkle of sexy suggestion there. He was deliberately winding her up. “Nothing wrong with busy,” she said, looking away.

  “Happy to get busy with you any time, Sammie.” He left a couple of seconds’ silence, then apparently thought better of teasing her further. He pointed to a large squared-off extension on the plans. “I want the living areas there.”

  She cleared her throat, sipped again, and nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “You can see right down to the South Island and across to Kapiti Island. Or you will once we’ve taken some tangled old trees out of the way.”

  She tried to drag her brain onto tree trimming, but that enticing picture of him emerging from the sheets wouldn’t desert her. The slow rhythmic pumping, the way his shoulders bunched and relaxed, the searing sexuality of a beautiful man in his prime doing what he’d been put on earth for.

  Her internal muscles trembled and twitched as though he was sliding inside her, weighing her down on that tumbled white bed, making her arch up against him with every long languid thrust.

  She set her half-full mug down on his desk beside a roofing tile catalogue, not daring to look at him. Too real. Too vividly explicit.

  She was grateful when his mobile intruded. He reached across to the desk for it and glanced at the caller ID.

  “Evan—good timing. How’s it going there?”

  Sammie relaxed enough to pick up her mug again, only half listening to his conversation. Should she leave? But her attention spiked when he said, “Just on our way out now. Will you be there for another half hour? I want you to meet my new P.A., Sammie.”

  He sent her an amused glance, black eyes wandering over her red top. “No, she’s a girl. Can personally guarantee that.”

  She tried not to react. To keep her expression neutral, her smile hidden.

  “Yup—a brain as well as a body.”

  Her heartbeat stuttered for a moment. He thought that about her?

  “Stop it!” she mouthed at him, but he simply relaxed back into his chair, hooked one foot up onto his other knee, and let his slow grin spread until it was the broadest of smiles. She easily saw why women found him irresistible, but Tyler’s words about him never getting serious clanged a warning in her brain.

  She’d known it from the start. He was a player, not a serious prospect. That was fine—she didn’t have serious time to spare for him. But a short term affair? A few days of flirtation and no-doubt incredible sex, and then a regretful goodbye before she flew off on her long-delayed travels? That enticing cocky grin positively begged to be kissed.

  “Yup,” he said to the builder, eyes still on her. “We can do that.” He fingered the tile catalogue. “I’ll bring it with me.”

  He reached for a grey document tube, pushed it across to her, and indicated she was to roll up the plans. She swallowed hard and drained her coffee mug.

  “This one too?” She held up the original old drawing.

  He nodded. “Okay matey, see you in thirty.” He pocketed the phone. “Yes, that one especially.”

  “You should make a copy and keep the original safe. Frame it and hang it in the house when it’s finished.”

  He shot her a considering look and then nodded again. “As I said—a brain as well as a body. Can you copy it for me before we leave?”

  She smiled inwardly at his repeated compliment, left the new plans on the table, and carried the old one out to reception. It took two passes to get the whole image. She made two copies and then trimmed the overlaps, taped the halves together, and returned to Nick’s office.

  “Where can you store this?” She handed him the old version. “Somewhere flat until you take it to the picture framer’s. Or I will, if you like?”

  His dark eyes caressed her as she turned aside, set one copy on top of the new plans, rolled them up, and inserted them in the document tube. Two days ago the sensation had unnerved her. Now it felt like foreplay.

  “Leave it there for now.” His voice sounded a shade huskier than earlier.

  Sammie’s bones buzzed as she registered the sexy timbre.

  “No-one comes in except the cleaners,” he continued. “And they don’t touch what’s on my desk. Ready?”

  Readier than you know...

  “I’ll grab my bag and jacket,” she said, glancing at her watch and trying to appear cool. “Are we done for the day?”

  Nick grimaced. “You are. I’m not.”

  “Pity the poor old boss...”

  “Not so poor any more, and not so old, thanks.”

  She laughed as he crossed the office and pulled the door further open. He stood just far enough back to let her pass, but she had to squeeze by quite close. She almost bumped hips with him, and her red top brushed against his snowy T-shirt, dragging gently as it caught on the soft knit fabric. A frisson of anticipation shimmered through her. God, he smelled good.

  “Who’s on duty?” She turned aside to put some distance between them.

  “I’ve let Heidi an
d a couple of the others know we’ll be out together.”

  And what are they going to make of that?

  “See you downstairs,” he called as Sammie headed for her locker.