A Bad Boy for Christmas (7 page)

It didn’t take much to make him happy. Not really. This place, this life, a pretty girl paying attention and a task in hand that he knew how to do. He was always this content.

Okay, maybe not quite this content.

There was just something right about her that soothed him even as it scared him.

*     *     *

He was even
more impressive when he worked, decided Mia as she followed every instruction to the letter and tried not to enjoy being in his presence quite so much. He was beautiful to look at, no question. An extravagance of brown skin wrapped around well-earned muscle, he moved like a man who knew his own strength and exactly what he could do with it. Confidence sat comfortably on him, but he didn’t show off the way she half expected him to. He worked; his mind wholly on the job.

Concentration sat comfortably on him too.

“Talk,” he said finally, once the net was winching smoothly back into place. “You’ve earned it.”

“You do realize you’re this incredible mix of arrogance, protectiveness and Neanderthal, don’t you?”

“Awesome, isn’t it?”

Mia refused to grin. “So who
does
do what around here?” she asked again, hoping this time he’d be more receptive to her questions.

“You can take those off now,” he said, gesturing towards her gloves.

Provided of course that she could
get
them off, what with the rubberized tight fit. “I’m on it.”

“If we’re talking officially, Caleb runs the dive boats, I run the fishing boats, and Eli designs boats and runs the marina,” he said. “In practice any one of us can do the diving, the fishing or run the marina, so occasionally we change it up a bit. My father and grandfather are retired—or semi-retired—but they also rotate in and out when needed.”

“A true family business.” She eyed him curiously. “Don’t you fight between yourselves?”

His smile took on a wry slant. “Yes.”

“How do you fix it?”

“There’s three of us. If push comes to shove we push, shove and then we vote. Loser pulls his head in.” He eyed her steadily. “Does Nash like Melbourne?”

“Is this a question for a question? We could play
never have I ever
next.” The well-worn drinking game was an excellent way to reveal secrets and secure leverage over others.

“You’d lose.”

“You’d enjoy it,” she said.

His eyes crinkled and seemed to lighten. He really had no idea how sweet he was, regardless of all the other traits he possessed. Or maybe he did. “Nash has a good life down in Melbourne. A good business and a loyal crew.”

“Does he have a woman?”

Mia shrugged. “Nothing serious.”

“That you know of.”

“I’d know.”

“Do you know what he wants from us?” The question came at her gruff and strained, as if he knew he shouldn’t ask but was nonetheless desperate to know. She could help him there. Make thing easier for everyone.

“I think he wants to meet his father. Ask him what happened all those years ago.”

“He looking for someone to blame?”

She hesitated, not the least because she’d wondered about that too. “Nash’s mother was a hard woman to come to grips with. Not real plugged in to reality, you know? I think maybe he’s just looking to understand her a little more.”

“Can’t other family members help with that? Grandparents? Aunts or uncles?”

“There aren’t any. His grandmother is dead and Nash never once met her. No aunts or uncles that he knows of. Nash knows squat about his mother’s family. They never came near her. Or him.”

Cutter shook his head.

“New question,” she said. “Say you have three words to describe yourself. Which words would you choose?”

“You’re not going to tattoo them around my neck are you? What if I change my mind?”

“Just choose. First words that comes to mind.”

“Firstborn,” he said.

Yeah. He was going to need to rethink that one. “What about captain?” she suggested instead.

“Sometimes I’m not.”

“Boss?”

“Voting system.”

Right. “What about brother?”

“That’ll work.” He knew what she was doing; she could see it in his eyes, even as he played along. She was trying to make him redefine himself in the wake of recent events.

“Good, that’s good. You have one word so far. What else?”

“Loyal.”

“To what?”

“To me and mine.”

“How do you know what’s yours?”

“That used to be an easy question. Now it’s not.” He stopped the winch, took his gloves off and slung them into a plastic crate alongside the empty beer and water bottles and then gestured for her gloves too.

“Can I take your shirt off now?” she asked as she handed them to him.

“Are you still in the sun?”

“I’m thinking overprotective might be your third word,” she offered as she shrugged out of the soft shirt that smelled of sea spray and him. She hadn’t minded wearing it. Quite the opposite. She handed it to him a little reluctantly, along with a smile and the crazy fishbone hat with the floppy brim. They too went in the crate, which he then picked up with one hand.

“That’s not my third word,” he said as he headed for the gangplank that would put them back on solid ground.

“So what is it?”

He reached the jetty and turned and held out his other hand to help her take that last step. She didn’t think it was a conscious gesture. More like an automatic one that came as naturally to him as breathing. She took his hand and felt the zing, the flame, the strength of it.

His smile came fast and smug, and
there
was the bravado he’d packed away while he worked.

“Hung,” he murmured.

“Hmmm,” she murmured back. “Well, fancy that.”

S
unday came around
too soon for Cutter. He hadn’t heard back from his father and he’d fallen down when it came to spending time with Nash and Mia. He should have asked them to Friday afternoon drinks at the marina but he’d wanted one last chance to relax before the onslaught of questions.

Why he’d thought his friends and crew
wouldn’t
have already heard about Jackson Nash—the newcomer to the Bay who was a dead-ringer for Cutter—was anyone’s guess.

There’d been questions and then more questions, and some he’d been able to answer and some he’d simply spread his hands and shrugged. The only good thing to come of Friday’s question time was that there’d be fewer questions to answer today.

He hoped.

So here they were, Sunday family BBQ with at least fifty or sixty extras of all shapes and ages. Could be he’d gone overboard on the ‘invite a few friends’ directive, but so too had Caleb, Eli, Zoey and Bree. Zoey’s sister was here. Bree’s parents. Every last one of them making an effort to welcome the newcomers.

So what if Nash had Cutter’s face and Cutter wanted Mia naked beneath him.

He was dealing.

“This is my brother, Nash, and his sister, Mia,” became his go-to phrase when he introduced them. “He’s ours, she’s his, and you should hang around and get to know them.”

To a man and woman, his friends did as he bid.

There was fish on the BBQ, salad dishes provided by all and sundry, there was bread and music and beer. Jacksons
knew
how to do this. And then Zoey found the Christmas lanterns, and it was the first week in December, so those had to go up and there were plenty of hands ready and willing to help.

He could stand back, nurse the one beer he’d been nursing all night, and watch from afar as a certain redhead fielded all sorts of interest in her delectable person.

She wasn’t shy. She held her own with the guys and had no problem fitting in with the girls. Zoey liked her. Mind you, Zoey would have given Jaws a second chance. Bree, Caleb’s wife, seemed a little more inclined towards quiet observation, but then she always had.

“What do you think of them?” he asked Bree as he pulled a batch of plump king prawns from a pot of boiling water and shook them onto a platter.

“I think he’s not as like you as I first thought, and she’s got a face a camera would love.”

“He’s not like me?”

“He’s warier than you are. More introverted.”

“He’s amongst strangers, Bree. Makes sense to play wait and see.”

“That’s the other thing. Play.”

“Play?”

“He doesn’t.”

Yeah, well. Maybe Cutter had noticed that too. “She plays enough for both of them.”

“Vivacious girl.” Bree sounded amused. “Confident.”

Cutter grunted.

“The white business shirt looks good with the red hair and the cutoffs,” Bree added.

So it did.

“I hear the tattoo underneath is spectacular.”

It was.

“Wonder why she’s not displaying it?”

“Maybe she doesn’t want the sun on it.”

“So, nothing to do with you chewing her out for having a tattoo in the first place and her trying her best to fit in around here for her brother’s sake?”

“Nothing at all.”

Bree smiled wryly. “She’s been tracking you all afternoon. Not too obviously, but still. She knows where you are, what you’re doing. What
are
you doing?”

“Cooking prawns.”

Bree gave him one of those looks and he stonewalled it.

“You’ve hardly exchanged two words with either of them. Zoey and I have a theory.”

Now there was a sentence to make a man shudder. “Whatever it is, it’s
wrong
.”

“Nah, we’re pretty sure we’re right, so here’s the deal. We’re going to lure Mia upstairs on the pretext of showing her Zoey’s costumes, at which point you are going to sit down with Nash and make him feel welcome. No Mia to complicate things.”

“She doesn’t.”

“In that case, why don’t I take these prawns over to them?” She picked up the platter and turned to stare back at him when he didn’t move. “You’re coming too, right?”

Sighing, he signaled for Paulie to come and turn another kilo of raw prawns into cooked ones, before dumping a heap of lemons, mayo and seafood sauce on to a plate. A roll of newspaper to spread out on the table so they could drop the shells and heads where they fell and he was set. Jackson hospitality at its best.

He didn’t much like the chances of Mia’s white shirt surviving the onslaught, but that was her problem, not his.

Bree was already at the table when he got there, along with Caleb, Nash, Mia and his grandfather.

“Where’s Gran?” he asked as he slid in next to his grandfather and put the condiments in the middle of the table.

“Zoey’s got her upstairs. Something about a shipment of Indian silk.”

“And Eli?”

“On the phone to the client from hell about yet another hull design modification.”

“Eli needs to cut that one loose. We don’t need the hassle.”

“Feel free to tell him,” his grandfather murmured.

“I will.” He could do it right now.

“But not yet.” Caleb pinned him with a mind-reading stare. “We have guests.”

Right. So they did.

And then distraction came in the form of two little boys who barreled up to Caleb and Nash, the younger one holding a soccer ball. It had been months since Cutter had last seen them and they’d grown browner and a fraction bigger. They belonged to Caleb’s friend, Gemma, and last he’d heard they’d been headed for Darwin.

“Gemma’s back?” he asked Caleb.

“I am.” The woman in question answered for herself as she came up behind her boys. “Darwin was a bad move. All I did was isolate us. Not the best plan, considering. Anyway, as I was telling the boys, we are
not
going to bother you with requests for soccer games until everyone has eaten. Isn’t that right boys?”

The younger one sighed, even as the older one drew abruptly away from Nash’s side.

“You’re not Cutter,” the boy said, eyeing Nash narrowly.

“No. I’m not.”

“Are you a Jackson?” asked the younger boy.

The silence that followed was fraught with tension as everyone waited for Nash’s reply. Both boys had retreated and now stood out of swinging range, the smaller one tucked behind Gemma, the older one standing protectively in front of her.

“He’s a Nash.” Mia broke the silence with a bright smile for the kids. “His name’s Jackson Nash instead of Nash Jackson. Cool, huh?”