Resisting Nick (Wicked in Wellington) (5 page)

“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.

CHAPTER FIVE

She groaned inwardly and tried to concentrate. “Yes of course. They’d pass everything on. Half from each parent, unless one had more dominant characteristics. I think two brown eyed people can’t produce a truly blue eyed baby for instance.”

She reached out and took a desperate gulp of the deep red wine. It slid down her throat like a blessing. Why was she talking babies with him? “I might have that wrong about the blue eyes, but—”

“No, I get the picture. Same with body types. We get people at work who have a real hard time bulking up no matter what we do for them, and then we find their parents and siblings are the same build. ‘Slow gainers’ we call them.” He rasped a hand over his chin. “Sure we can tone them and reshape them to some extent, but if they’re naturally lean they can’t grow muscles like watermelons. One of my brothers...” He stopped. Sipped. Started again. “Someone who I thought was my brother until Friday is like that.” He shot her a direct anguished look. Pain blazed hot in his dark eyes.
 

“What do you mean, your brother until Friday?” Had he died? Somewhere along the way she’d lost the direction of the conversation. Could sense something huge was wrong, but had no idea what.
 

Suddenly big confident Nick looked sixteen again. Even less than sixteen.

His glass made a faint clatter as he set it down on the hard table with an unsteady hand. He dragged in a deep breath, trembling, obviously affected by some intense emotion, and directed his next words at the floor. “I’m just on thirty, Samantha. Doing okay businesswise. Nice car. No trouble getting money or women.”

“I’m so glad,” she needled.

He glanced across at her. The corners of his beautiful mouth pulled down in a tight line. “Yeah—sorry. But you get the drift. Life is fine and then everything explodes.”

“On Friday?”

He reached again for his glass and took another swig of wine. His Adam’s apple convulsed and then settled back into place as he put the glass down yet again. He drew another deep, deliberate breath. “I found out on Friday that my parents aren’t my parents and my brothers aren’t my brothers, and my name is not my name.” He swallowed again. Sammie suspected he’d gulped back tears.

“Adopted?” she whispered.

“Adopted and never told. Fucking cruel—because where does that leave me now?” He buried his head in his hands for a few seconds, dragging his fingers to and fro through his hair until it was thoroughly mussed and tousled.

She set her wine aside and turned. Slid an arm over his chest, around his shoulder, and pressed herself against him in a comfort hug. His arms came around her in return, and deep tremors of desperation racked him as he gripped her.

“Who the hell am I?” he rasped in her ear. “How can I find out thirty years later when the trail’s gone cold?”
 

“Ssshhhh,” she murmured, rocking him as though he was a child. There was relief in not having to look into his wounded eyes, but his grief burned so strongly there were tears in her own now. She’d be no help to him collapsing in a sobbing heap. She nestled her face a little closer, tucking her cheek against the strip of warm skin above his T-shirt. His scent was salty, earthy, ocean-fresh.

“Wasn’t going to do this,” he muttered. “Just wanted to talk about it with someone who can help me look at it from a bit of distance.”
 

He tensed against her, almost as though he might throw her aside.
 

“Sssshhhh,” she said again, clinging tighter.

“But shee-
itt!
It matters more than I thought it possibly could. My bastard of a father’ll be behind this. No-good scum. Twisted as a damn corkscrew.”

He dropped a kiss onto her hair. Did he even know he’d done it? She let him talk on to see if she could find something to respond helpfully to.

“It’s like I’m suddenly no-one. Now quite a few things make sense. They always treated my brothers differently from me. Softer.” His hard chest rose and fall against her as he sighed.

“My ‘so-called’ brothers. Jesus!”

She rubbed to and fro over his tense shoulder, willing him to relax and let her comfort him. “How did you find out? Are you really sure?”

“Straight from the doctor’s mouth. Same guy I’ve been to for years.”

Sammie’s resolve to conceal her identity crumbled a little. This made everything different. She couldn’t keep up the pretense of being a stranger any longer. “Nicky.”

“Hmmm?”

She took a deep breath. How would he accept her when she told him? “I really don’t want to do this.” She hesitated for a moment. “I thought I could just keep quiet and get on with being your temporary P.A. and it wouldn’t matter. It’s only a short term job...”
 

A strange and absolute stillness overtook him. “Spit it out, whatever it is. It can’t be any worse than what I’ve just told you.”
 

“No, not worse, but another surprise I’m afraid. I’m Sammie. Sammie from the orchard all those years ago.”

There was silence for a few seconds while he processed that. She continued to rub at his shoulder, but he suddenly thrust her backward so he could look at her.

“Why the hell didn’t you say?” Now his eyes burned with all manner of fierce accusations.

“Thirteen years, Nick—people change. I had no idea it was you yesterday. You used to be an angry boy who looked like a frog, with a mop of hair hiding half your face.”

He grimaced at her less than flattering description, and she rushed on to try and smooth things between them. “Now you’re a tall successful man and you’ve turned into the damn prince. Everything about you is totally different.”

His expression softened a little, and he gave a self-deprecating shrug before asking, “So how did you know it was me?”

Sammie reached for his hand and ran her thumb over the white scar line on his forefinger.
 

“I saw this and remembered making you jump and cut yourself. I’m sorry it’s left such a mark.”

Nick puffed out an amused breath. “Not you. I did it again about a year ago, gutting a fish, and it got infected. They had the devil of a job to get it right. The original scar had long gone.”

Now it was her turn to shrug. “So I might never have recognized you. I only knew you as Nicky. I wasn’t positive about the Sharpe.”

“Thirteen years,” he said, gazing down at her, wonder in his voice. “Where are your long brown pigtails, Sammie? Where’s my serious little shadow gone? You grew up in a big way.” He loosened his hand from hers and trailed his fingers across the tops of her breasts, keeping his caress just decent, but setting fire racing through her veins. “These grew up in a big way too. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”