Resisting Nick (Wicked in Wellington) (6 page)

She tried to struggle away from him. “No!” she exclaimed, squirming with unease. “Don’t go there Nick—we were only kids.”

“
You
were. I knew better. I never would have hurt you, but I couldn’t leave you alone.”
 

“You came here to talk,” she said, sounding half strangled.
 

Why didn’t I slap his hand away the instant he touched me?

Nick shot her a long considering glance. “And maybe I’ve hit the jackpot in an odd way. What did you know about my family, Sammie? Why did I end up at the orchard every school holiday?”

She looked up warily. This was Nicky. Lovely Nicky, who’d been part of her life so long ago, and part of her deep dark fantasies ever since. Against all the odds, here they were together again, and he was hurting, and maybe she could help.

“I didn’t know much about your family at all.” She flicked her eyes away from his intense scrutiny. “You were just a boy who stayed at the orchard sometimes when I was little. I had no idea why. I spent quite a lot of time with my grandparents because my Mom worked and couldn’t take all the school holidays off, so I suppose I assumed much the same about you.”
 

He gave a bitter laugh at that. “Not likely. My mother never worked at anything for long, and my father...” He stopped on a scowl.

“What?”

“My so-called father wasn’t known for working with any enthusiasm either. He was a thief and a con man and sometimes in jail.”
 

Sammie gave up resisting Nick’s embrace and relaxed against his chest again. She drew a cautious breath. The fresh salty scent of his skin floated down her throat to expand her lungs with happiness.

“God, it feels good to be able to say that out loud without feeling guilty,” he added. “I’ve been ashamed of being his son ever since I knew he was such a loser. My brothers aren’t much better.”

Sammie heard anguish in his bitter words and searched for a comforting reply. “You’re nothing like them, so you no doubt have good ancestors behind you.”

“I want to
know
,” he ground out. “I’ve had my whole life stolen away from me—which probably sounds stupidly melodramatic to you, but it’s the way I feel.”

She burrowed even closer, finding her own comfort in his warmth. “Nicky, I understand more than you expect. A while after you left, my parents sailed to Fiji. I was fifteen. They never arrived. I had quite a chunk of my life stolen too.”

His arms tensed around her as her revelation sank in. “And what happened after that?”

She gazed up into his dark, dark eyes, trapped and sinking. She’d unconsciously yearned to be close since the moment she’d seen him on Monday morning, half dressed and sensational. She’d tried not to look at him for most of the last two long confusing days. Now she saw every strand of his glossy black hair, every dark eyelash, the faint gleam of teeth between warm, inviting lips. The thread of their conversation deserted her.

“Fifteen?” he prompted. “Too young to look after yourself. What happened next?”

“I lived at the orchard,” she muttered, finally pulling free from him and reaching for her wine. She took a deep gulp before continuing. “When I was twenty, I went flatting with a couple of girls at work, but within a few weeks Grandpa got ill and I had to go back home. We sold the orchard, and he moved into town.” She worried at her bottom lip, hoping not to sound like the buttoned-up unadventurous girl he’d assume from that sad description. “And he needed a caregiver so I stayed with him again. Not very interesting. What happened to you?”

He shot her a very level look. “I suspect you’re glossing over things there, little Sammie. So you were orphaned a couple of years after I left? You had nice parents—I remember them being nicer than mine.”

Sammie nodded, her ‘last time’ picture of them vivid in her memory. “Penny and Michael. They did everything together. Even built their boat together.”

Nick huffed out a bitter laugh. “You couldn’t say the same about Brian and Gaynor. They spent a lot of time apart because he was so often in jail. That’s why we left town. He was convicted for growing hash in a big way. Gaynor brought us to Wellington because she has a sister here.”

“So that’s why you disappeared? I often wondered.”

They sat on in silence for a few minutes. Nick finished his wine and set his glass down. “If you can think of anything, I’d be grateful. I went to the Child, Youth, and Family office this morning but they were no help. You can’t see a caseworker without an appointment. You can’t
get
a caseworker without filling in forms. And that didn’t seem to be the way to go, anyway.”

“You could Google ‘adoption’?”

“Which takes you through to Births, Deaths, and Marriages.” He closed his eyes for a moment and then began to quote. “‘Once you turn twenty you can write to the Registrar General to get a copy of your original birth certificate. It may show details of one or more of your birth parents.’”

“So have you?” She remembered the furious pounding on his computer mid-morning and wondered if that was what he’d been doing.

“Yes, of course. But I’ve a perfectly normal looking birth certificate already showing Brian and Gaynor Sharpe as my birth parents. I’m not expecting there’ll be anything else on file.”

“Wait and see.”

He dipped his head in a slight nod. “Pigs may fly.” He slapped a hand against his forehead in exasperation. “I can’t believe I didn’t query things years ago. Both my so-called brothers are losing their hair early like Brian.”

“And you’re certainly not losing yours.”

“They’re both classic slow gainers. Scrawny as.”

“But you’re—”
Perfect, just perfect,
she told herself.

“I’m what?”

“Umm...stronger?” She’d soon be blushing. “You have nice muscles.”

“Need them in my business.” He sent her half a smile as thanks for her compliment.

“And there’s the Salvation Army,” she suggested, trying not to drown in his slow easy grin. “I think they do a lot of people tracing.”
 

“But again, I’d need a name to start with.”

“Surely your parents can tell you something?”

Nick’s expression changed as swiftly as if someone had slammed down a shutter. Jaw clenched, eyes dead.

“Haven’t asked. Can’t face them for a while yet. I’ll smash Brian’s bloody head in, the way I’m currently feeling. Lucky for him they’re away for a couple of days.” He sent her a glance that challenged her to disagree. “I’m not doing it on the phone. I want to look into the bastard’s eyes when I ask him.”

Sammie rested a hand on his knee for a second before pushing herself upright. “Another wine before you go? I’m throwing you out in a few minutes. I need to get myself properly unpacked and organized.”

Nick grabbed her hand before she slipped free.

“Thanks for listening. Just a coffee maybe? So I don’t drink myself into a maudlin haze and end up sleeping here on your sofa?”

Sammie’s heart gave a lurch of anticipation. Her brain followed up with a bucket of cold water.
 

“Not a chance, Nick. I’d push you out long before that.”

Or drag you into my bed.
 

“It’ll have to be instant coffee I think,” she somehow managed. “I haven’t been here long enough to check all the cupboards, but I don’t see a coffee maker.”

He shrugged, beautiful shoulders lifting and falling again, making the white T-shirt reshape itself so she imagined snowy marble sculpture coming alive. “Fine. Keep the rest of the wine for another day.”
 

“Take it with you.”

He shook his head and sent her another of his slow incendiary smiles. “I might come back for a glass tomorrow night.”
 

“I might be out.”

“You got a boyfriend, Sammie?”

God—what was she supposed to say to that? ‘Yes’ might mean he never came back. ‘No’ would make her sound far too eager and available.

“Not here in Wellington.”

“Back home?”

She shook her head. “Broke it off.” Well, it was only a small lie. “I’m going overseas, Nick. My relationship wasn’t going anywhere, but I am.” She turned and headed for the kitchen, busying herself finding mugs and teaspoons and a jar of coffee granules, head down, eyes well away from the glittering darkness of his.

CHAPTER SIX

Next day it poured, and a blustery northerly sent leaves tumbling everywhere and sheets of water sluicing sideways in the cooler air.

Sammie fed Zorro in the murky early morning light and stood for a few moments on the small balcony, sheltered from the worst of the weather. She’d bought a couple of energy bars with her, but Kelly’s pantry had plenty of cereal, and there was half a loaf of bread so breakfast was easy.

She intended taking her car to get around the possible ‘wine-with-Nick-after-work’ thing, but when she went to the secure basement parking garage, she found several boxes of personal possessions still on the back seat. Boxes she’d intended carrying up the night before until she’d been waylaid by her unexpected visitor. With no time to do that now, and not wanting the car sitting outside with tempting looking boxes visible to attract thieves, she decided to walk. The apartment was only a few blocks from BodyWork, and the shop verandas would mostly protect her from the rain.
 

But that left the possibility of Nick insisting he drove her home to share the rest of the wine after work tonight. The prospect had teased her from the moment he’d left.
 

She wanted no romantic entanglements. Needed to be free to travel. It had been her parents’ dream, and they’d infected her with their wanderlust. Even though they’d left her behind every time they went away, she’d shared their anticipation as they planned, and marveled at the things they brought back. The colorful souvenirs. Unusual gifts. Photos of strange and exotic places.
 

Grandma and Grandpa hadn’t been travelers. The orchard and Grandma’s indifferent health had kept them close to home, and although Sammie had enjoyed several short holidays with friends, she’d been caught up again caring for Grandpa after his stroke.
 

But finally, finally, her turn had arrived to experience it all, and no hot and hunky flirt would be stealing her dream.
 

Especially as he’d burst back into her life at exactly the wrong time.

She hugged the smallest box against her and headed back up to the apartment. Because of the weather, and her own wariness towards Nick, she’d gone with jeans and boots today. And her favorite zipper-fronted red top with the bands of scattered beads and sequins around the demure neckline and wrists. She’d pulled the zipper right up so there was no skin to tempt him. Not a glimpse of a breast. Not a hint of ankle or midriff or arm. She had to stay strong somehow. She grabbed her leather jacket as protection from the rain, picked up her bag, and set off at a brisk pace. In future she’d be starting at 8.30 and working through until five.

Nick’s head jerked up as Sammie walked past his open doorway. He caught the faint drift of the fragrance she wore, and rose and followed her to the staffroom on silent feet, watching as she slid out of her sexy little black bomber jacket and hung it in her locker. “Back in your jeans today?”

She flinched, then turned and stared him down with her clear green eyes. “It’s turning colder.”

“No worse than yesterday.”

“So?”

“I liked yesterday’s skirt.”

“I’ll wear it again sometime then.”

She was different—not just her clothes, but her attitude. Definitely cooler after last night’s friendly concern.

“Coffee?” she asked before he had time to comment further.

“Thanks.”

She turned away and ignored him while she fussed with the machine. Which put her pert little butt in the snug jeans right where he could best admire it. What the hell was it about her that got to him? She had no designer clothes or classy hairdo, wasn’t huge in the breast department. Not his usual taste in women at all. Yet he was drawn to her as strongly now as he had been at the orchard all those years ago.

More. Much more. She was far too young then, and I had no business fooling around with her. Even though I was just a curious kid myself.

He stood there, itching to mold his fingers around her peachy curves, yearning to drop kisses on her tender exposed nape. Damn near exploding with sudden lust.

As he swung around to return to his office she asked, “When are your parents back?”

“My
non
-parents. Brian and Gaynor. Tomorrow I think. Unless Brian’s changed his mind—or got arrested again.”

“You need to talk to them, Nick.”

“Yeah, yeah...”

“I mean it. It’s no good trying to do anything else until you hear it straight from them. They might have an instant answer for you.”

He folded his arms across his chest and looked daggers at her. In his heart of hearts he knew she was right, and doing nothing, getting nowhere, killed him. He’d be damned if he’d simply phone and ask them though. His so-called father could lie his way out of anything—often had—and Nick wanted the element of surprise to maximize his chances of a straight answer.
 

Sammie putting on this cool, concerned façade—the caring-but-don’t-get-close act— killed him. They’d had a real connection the previous evening. He’d loved having her wrapped around him trying to hug his hurt away. He’d like some more hugging instead of her careful distance.

He snarled to himself as he turned for his office again. Women—how could you trust them? His own mother had given him away. Gaynor had palmed him off on someone else every school holiday but kept her biological sons close. Sammie had switched on the affection last night but had now switched it off again.

Stick to the one-nighters, the one-weekers.
Show them a good time and keep sending them on their way.

A few minutes later Sammie breezed in with his coffee, made a great show of searching for a vacant place on his desk to set it down rather than looking at him, and turned to leave.