Resisting Nick

by Kris Pearson

CHAPTER TWELVE — BRIAN AND GAYNOR

  “You planned this before you left this morning!”

  “So?” He stepped close in front of her and tipped her face up for a lazy kiss.

  Sammie tried to pull back but found herself trapped between Nick’s warm body and the hard edge of the kitchen counter.

  It’s easier to kiss him, and you’ve got no fight left anyway.

  She relaxed into him and enjoyed the embrace, even though she’d sworn blind she wouldn’t be doing it again.

  His hands smoothed down her neck, out over her shoulders, along her arms. He threaded his fingers through hers and drew her arms around his waist until she stood flattened against him right down to her knees. And all the time his mouth settled...lifted...tilted onto even more delicious angles...captured her bottom lip and nipped gently...sucked on her top lip until she moaned with the pleasure of it.

  Finally, she pulled away and laid her head against his chest. Somehow, she had to resist him. Somehow. Somehow.

  It seemed he had only to crook his finger and she become as eager to play as a six-week-old puppy. Why had she let this happen again? Why wasn’t she tugging her hands away from his waist instead of sliding them up and down those lines of hard muscle beside his spine?

  Too many questions, not enough answers.

  Last night had been bad enough. Or good enough, she corrected herself, pressing her sensitized lips together to try and banish the delight of his kiss.

  He wanted, he took, she gave.

  Last night had been the opposite. She’d been the one who’d wanted and taken. He’d been the one who’d given; given in to her very rapid invitation to bed. Given her orgasm after orgasm. Shame rippled through her.

  “Nick,” she sighed, “I’m sorry. I said I didn’t want to get involved. I’m going traveling as soon as I’ve finished working for you. I don’t need the complication of another man in my life.”

  “So I’m Rebound Guy?” His deep voice rumbled through the wall of his chest and into her ear.

  “Only from Grandpa.”

  He laughed, and his warm chuckle set up a frisson of deep gnawing need, making her nipples tingle, and her pelvis feel full of heat and frustrated longing.

  “Travel with me,” he coaxed. “I’m off to Sydney in a few days to check out properties.”

  At least she had ammunition to fight that off. “No passport yet, Nick. It’ll be a while before I can go anywhere—I didn’t apply for it until after Grandpa died. Anyway, I have a cat to feed.”

  The lid on the soup-pot started to dance as the steam lifted it. Nick released her and turned aside to lower the heat. “Make yourself useful with this then,” he suggested, indicating a bread-board and knife and a bakery bag which she found concealed a crusty wholegrain loaf. He dug into the freezer and pulled out a pack of frozen prawn tails, tossed two generous handfuls into the chowder and replaced the lid so it could come to a simmer again.

  Sammie sawed away at the bread. Because she’d lived in Grandpa’s house for the last eleven years, there’d never been any question of inviting men to potter in the kitchen with her before a sexy little dinner or for a morning-after breakfast.

  It felt wonderfully intimate to be sharing domestic chores with Nick. Curiously nice. She bit her bottom lip and tried to ignore the quiet buzz of happiness.

  She’d be leaving. Would probably never see him again after this month. And he wouldn’t be interested in her on any long-term basis, so that was just as well.

  “Don’t jump,” he said, right in her ear, but in her super-aroused state Sammie did. His hands settled on her shoulders, and his lips touched the back of her neck. “Wouldn’t want you taking fright and cutting yourself the way I did.”

  His breath puffed warm against her skin as he spoke. Then the heavenly sensation of his open mouth followed—hot, damp, incendiary, dragging down from her hair to the neckline of her cream top. She trembled as all her nerves lit up like tiny embers rushing from a bonfire. The knife clattered down onto the counter.

  “You have the sexiest little golden hairs catching the light there. They look as though they should be licked flat.” His husky whisper held her frozen, and she waited, unable to breathe while he proceeded to do exactly that. The sensation of his tongue on her nape felt almost as thrilling as it had on her clit the night before.

  Somehow, in the hard noon light in the middle of a workday, with him unseen behind her, the intensity had ramped up to intolerable heights. If he could do this to her while she stood fully clad in a kitchen, she despaired of resisting him if he was serious about seducing her again somewhere dimly lit and romantic.

  To her great relief the pot lid restarted its steam-dance. Nick gave a rueful curse and deserted her to pull the chowder away from the heat.

  Sammie picked up the knife with unsteady hands and cut another slice of yeasty smelling bread. Nick ladled out the savory soup.

  They sat, and he started to talk. “I phoned Doc Latimer earlier. He said as far as he was concerned Gaynor adopted one son and then struck it lucky by having a couple of her own. Not uncommon apparently. He thought nothing of it until last Friday.”

  “He doesn’t think your brothers are adopted too?”

  Nick shook his head. “They’re the image of Dad—Brian—and damn near as twisted. No, they’re his.”

  “No further ahead then,” she murmured, maneuvering a juicy prawn tail onto her soup spoon.”

  “I was clutching at straws. He wasn’t always our family doctor. We lived in Hastings until I was sixteen. Then we moved here to Wellington.”

  “And I never saw you again. After we...” Sammie knew she must look awkward. “I mean...I thought...maybe someone discovered what we’d been doing that final summer.”

  He sent her a long scorching gaze across the table. “I was a lot more careful of you than that.”

  She swallowed another spoonful of chowder as her body reacted to the heat in his eyes. Yes, he’d always been protective of her. Never rough. Never insistent. She’d joined in his games because she wanted to. Wanted to know more. Wanted to find out with him.

  “So I have a favor to ask,” he continued. “Will you come and see my parents with me? I want to use you as ammunition.”

  “How?” She was genuinely surprised. “What use will I be? It’s private family stuff, Nick. You don’t want a stranger there.”

  “But that’s exactly it—you’re not a stranger.”

  She shook her head, still puzzled. She’d never met them.

  “I want to introduce you as Erik’s grand-daughter and see if it rattles them. Maybe they’ll think we know more than we do.”

  She stayed silent for a while, considering the idea.

  “We needn’t say he’s dead,” Nick added. “It’s unlikely they’ve heard. Please?”

  “Would it be so terrible if you never found out?”

  He stopped with his soup spoon halfway to his mouth. “How would you feel?” he asked. “If you didn’t know what your background was, or who your parents were? If you discovered you’d been lied to your whole life?”

  “It’s really that bad?”

  “Right now, yes. I might feel better in a few weeks, but currently I don’t know where I belong, and I’m so damn fired up I just need to get on with it.”

  “Okay.” She took a slice of bread. “When do you want to go?” She saw relief wash over his face.

  “Tonight?”

  “Tonight!” She put the bread down again. “Do you know they’ll be home?”

  “Not for sure, but surprise is a powerful thing. If I can catch them unprepared they might spill something they wouldn’t otherwise.”

  “I planned on seeing Tyler tonight.”

  “We can do both. Hit Brian and Gaynor first in case they’re going out later. Then continue on and admire the baby. And end up at your apartment with the rest of that wine and some Thai or Indian?”

  “And that’s all you had in mind?” She picked up her b
read once more and bit into it.

  “Hell no—I want the full works again.”

  She drew breath at the wrong moment and choked on the crumbs. “Not going to happen,” she spluttered as he grinned at her reaction.

  But somehow it did. His parents weren’t there. Sammie felt almost relieved about that. Their home surprised her—a pleasant colonial that looked well cared for and more upmarket than she’d expected. Not that she knew the sort of home a criminal would choose or could afford.

  Pink and apricot dahlias bowed their heavy heads in the rain. She had to hold them aside as she climbed the steps.

  “It’s nice,” she murmured to Nick and they stood on the front deck after ringing the bell.

  “Gaynor likes ‘nice’,” he replied laconically. “Likes to think she’s fooling everyone that she’s a respectable suburban matron. As if this isn’t bought with drugs and double-dealing and God-knows-what.”

  Sammie stayed silent a moment, digesting that. “There’s no-one home,” she said a few seconds later.

  “We’re out of luck, then. Damn.” He took her hand and led her back to the car, standing looking at the house with bitter eyes before he beeped the doors unlocked and seated her.

  “Drugs?” she couldn’t help asking.

  “You name it, he’s into it—not that he knows I know.”

  Cold shivers ran along her spine. What if Nick was lying, and he was tied up with it too? Had he really made his own money with the fitness centers? “So how do you know about the drugs?” she asked.

  He closed her door, rounded the car, pulled his own open, and sat in silence for a while. She didn’t dare question him further.

  “Brothers,” he said eventually, closing the door with a hefty thud. “Both hard-assed, and not much better than him.” Another aching gap. Then he added, “I don’t see much of them, but I’ve had a bit to do with one lately. He considers me family, and family doesn’t rat on each other, so a few stories emerged.”

  He fired up the engine and gave it a vicious rev. Sat there with a closed expression on his face until at last he drew a deep breath and added, “Except I’m not family now. Suddenly a lot of things make sense.”

  He snapped his seatbelt closed and turned on the headlamps against the gathering gloom. “She’s at the main hospital, is she?”

  Tyler looked tired but triumphant, and reached up to give Nick a kiss on the cheek to thank him for the yellow roses. Her new daughter squirmed and snuffled, mostly concealed by a pink blanket. Cameron, brown haired and sleepy eyed, sat beside the crib, playing with the tiny fingers just visible above the blanket hem.

  “He’s besotted,” Tyler said with a smile. “She’s Daddy’s girl already.”

  Sammie tucked her arm through Nick’s once they were walking back along the corridor away from the overheated ward. She hated the troubled expression on his face. Six o’clock shadow darkened his jaw heavily now, and in the subdued light he looked feral and dangerous. “We could call by your parents’ place again,” she offered, not greatly wanting to.

  “Nah,” he said. “Bugger them. Let’s grab something to eat and take it back to yours.”

  Damn. He really needs an answer from them. He won’t settle until he has it. We should at least try once more.

  “They’re not far out of the way,” she said. “We’d be there in ten minutes. It might put your mind at rest if you talked to them?”

  He shot her a glance that combined amusement with resignation. “Persistent,” he confirmed. “I said you were persistent yesterday, and here you go again.” He pulled his phone out and punched one of the pre-selects.

  Sammie smiled to herself. However much he might claim not to be close to his family they were only one jab away.

  “Yeah, it’s Nick. You’re home?” A brief silence. “You weren’t earlier. Uh-huh. Right. Just need to call by for a few minutes. See you.” And he disconnected before there was a chance of being refused.

  The rain had stopped but the roads were still slick. Nick retraced their former route and braked too hard outside the house. The fat tires bit into the graveled driveway and stones flew everywhere. “That’ll give the old bastard something to do,” he said with satisfaction. “He can rake the ruts out tomorrow.”

  Sammie bit her bottom lip and tried not to smile at his mood. Here was a glimpse back to the surly teenager she’d known at the orchard. The boy who even then must have felt out of kilter with his family.

  This time lights shone inside the house, and a blinding security lamp blasted on as they approached the darkened deck. A middle-aged blonde in black leggings and a zebra-striped tunic opened the front door, drink clutched in long-nailed fingers. “Nick,” she said. “Long time no see.”

  “Gaynor.” No kiss. No embrace. “Samantha.”

  Sammie wondered whether she should shake hands, but Nick’s mother merely nodded and retreated inside, leaving Nick to close the door after them.

  She led them into a large room furnished expensively in neutral tones. The news blared from a gigantic TV.

  “Turn it down Brian,” Gaynor demanded.

  A rumble of annoyance issued from the depths of a tilted recliner chair. “Weather’s almost due,” a hoarse voice declared. A freckled hand grabbed the handle, the chair creaked into an upright position, and Sammie got her first glimpse of Nick’s father. Nick was no spawn of his.

  Tiny shrewd currant eyes inspected her from a busy network of lines and wrinkles in a hard-lived-in face. A fringe of once-red hair had paled to brassy gold, well threaded with silver. He had huge ears, incongruously long sideburns and a smile that showed no teeth. Sammie couldn’t help wondering if the sideburns were a ploy to disguise the ears.

  “To what do we owe the state visit?” he asked, waving them to a nearby sofa.

  “Drink?” Gaynor suggested, suddenly hospitable. “Beer, Nick? Tea, coffee?”

  Sammie shook her head.

  “Not right now,” Nick said.

  “Here we go.” Brian turned the volume up again as the weather started. It seemed they were expected to watch. Sammie caught Nick’s eye and tried to stifle a giggle. The situation was absurd.

  Nick leaned forward and planted his hands on his knees. “Dad!” he said, so loudly his father was obliged to kill the volume and pay him some attention. “You can watch the bloody weather update later. This is important. I found out on Friday I’m adopted. I want to know who my birth parents are.”

  “Nicky...” Gaynor remonstrated, eyes jerking up from her carmine nails. “What a thing to come out with. And in front of a stranger as well.” She glanced across at Sammie, but didn’t seem able to look at Nick again.

  There was a moment of utter silence.

  “All right—yes, you were,” Brian barked. “Your Mom was having trouble getting a baby to stick and we had the chance to give you a home.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. It was a long time ago.”

  “And?” Nick said again. The dangerous edge on his voice set the hairs on the back of Sammie’s neck prickling. His temper was barely leashed. His dark eyes crackled with intense emotion and his voice vibrated with fury.

  “It’s thirty years ago, son. No sense crying over spilt milk.”

  “Fuck you, Brian—I’m not your son. I want to know whose child I am and how you swung it.”

  “I didn’t ‘swing’ anything,” Brian rasped irritably, turning to look at Nick full-on for the first time.

  Sammie couldn’t help but compare them. Brian with his pasty debauched face and pale hair; Nick with his passionately alive features and vivid coloring.

  Gaynor took a swig of her drink and went back to inspecting her nails. She scraped at a corner of the glittering varnish, obviously on edge.

  “Was I born in Hastings?” Nick demanded.

  “Maybe.”

  “Was I born in Hastings?”

  “Geez, I don’t know—probably.”

  “And why did you send me out to Sve
nson’s orchard every school holiday?

  “That’s nothing to do with anything,” Brian blustered.

  “I think you’re wrong. Samantha is Erik Svenson’s grand-daughter and she thinks you’re wrong too.”

  Brian and Gaynor immediately swung accusing eyes on her.

  “Well, well, well. Old Erik,” Brian muttered. “You used to like your holidays with Uncle Erik and Auntie who-was-it?”

  “Felicity,” Sammie supplied.

  “They weren’t my aunt and uncle,” Nick snapped. “I have Sammie to back me up on that.”

  “Not your real aunt and uncle maybe, but as good as.”

  “So who were my parents?”

  Brian now looked as though his patience was at an end. He dragged in a deep exaggerated breath. “Some little fruit-picking student girl,” he ground out. “That’s all I can tell you—okay?”

  “From my grandfather’s orchard?” Sammie asked. “One of the seasonal pickers?” She looked across at Nick with anguished eyes. It sounded like a horribly dead end. “Why did Nick come and stay with us for holidays then?”

  “You’ll have to ask your grandmother that,” Gaynor said with sudden bitterness. “She insisted. To make sure we were looking after the boy properly. As if we wouldn’t.” She gulped the final mouthful of her drink. “I’ve had enough. This is very upsetting. You shouldn’t just spring things on people, Nick. I’m going to bed.”

  “It’s not even eight o’clock,” Brian objected.

  “So?” She banged her glass down and hot-footed it away over the tasteful beige carpet.

  “Spring things on people?” Nick bellowed. “How the hell do you think I felt when it was ‘sprung’ on me?”

  “Who told you?” Brian’s eyes glittered sharp and vengeful. Sammie couldn’t suppress a shudder of unease. He was a piece of work for sure.

  “You’re the one who knows everything, Dad. Work it out. How did you fake the paperwork anyway?”

  “Work it out,” Brian muttered in return.

  A short thrumming silence surrounded them all.

  “She was a little foreign girl,” Brian added, apparently feeling some small shred of remorse. “Dark-haired like you. Can’t you just be grateful you were given a good home and leave it at that?” He swiveled back to the TV and blasted the volume on again.

  Sammie slipped her hand into Nick’s, feeling his rage in the deep trembling that wracked him. She stood and pulled him up. They walked wordlessly to the front door and left. The sharp odor of bruised dahlia foliage hung in the drenched air on the deck, and she was glad once they were enclosed in the car again, away from the smell.

  “Some ‘good home’ I got,” he needled, tipping his head back into the headrest, and making no attempt to start the engine. Gaynor and Brian’s harsh security light caught the aggressive bristles on his up-thrust chin, making them sparkle like a forest of tiny cut-down tree trunks.

  “Nick, I hate to say it but if she really was a foreign student who was fruit-picking...?”

  “Yeah—instant dead end. I know. She could be anywhere.”

  She hated hearing him so defeated and bitter. Where had the energetic optimist gone? Not that she blamed him.

  If only Brian had said Nick’s mother was a Hastings girl, they’d have a place to start; could maybe interest the local paper in running a reunion search story, or failing that, advertise with a photo of Nick and see if anyone came forward with memories of a young man who resembled him. Best of all, a response might have come from the girl herself. A tentative reaching out toward the son she’d given up.

  But a foreign student passing through for a few weeks of casual work? No wonder his hopes were dashed.

  The security light snapped off, leaving them in sudden darkness.

  “Thai or Indian?” she asked. “I don’t mind which.”

  “Thai for choice.” He started the engine. “I’ve got that flight to Auckland early tomorrow.”

  “Then I’d better get you into bed as soon as,” she said, cursing herself for offering, but wanting to comfort him so much that surely just once more wouldn’t matter?

  “I...thought that wasn’t on the menu?”

  “After news like that I think you need a treat.” She reached over and touched his chin. “I might try shaving you first or I’ll end up with whisker rash.”

  His teeth glinted briefly. “All over the place.”

  Just the thought of it made her prickle everywhere in the most amazing way. “Hmmm,” she managed, imagining where.

  “How are you going to shave me, Sammie?” His voice taunted her in the darkness. The security lights blasted on again as he started reversing down the driveway.

  “With the razor I use under my arms.”

  “A little pink girlie thing, I bet? Might do for your soft female fluff, but not for what I grow. I need a triple-head top-of-the-line electric.”

  Sammie hoped he was wrong. “We could do it in the bath,” she said. “If it takes more than one go over I can rinse you off and try again.”

  Nick groaned—a long deep rumble of frustrated anticipation—as he switched the headlights on and accelerated into the street.