The Perfect Gift: A Christmas Billionaire Sexy Romance (Three Wise Men Book 1) (9 page)

They walked to the end of the beach and back, taking their time and talking while they splashed through the shallows. Erin listened while Brock told her about his job at the hospital. She was full of admiration for his dedication and the number of hours he devoted to making children better.

“What job did you do before you became pregnant with Ryan?” he asked.

Erin told him about the publishing company she used to work for, editing and writing features for magazines, and by the time she’d finished they were back at their rooms.

“So I’ll call for you just before seven?” Brock said.

“Sure. I can’t believe I actually have ninety minutes to myself.”

He laughed. “Make the most of it. See you in a while.”

He walked to the door of his own room, gave her a wave, and disappeared inside.

Erin let herself in, feeling oddly disquieted. Was it her imagination, or had he been a little… distant since their kiss on the beach? He’d mentioned the difficulty of moving on after the death of his wife. Did he regret getting intimate with Erin now?

She sighed. If he did, there was little she could do about it. She went into the room and wandered across to the deck. A high fence separated her deck from the others so she couldn’t see if Brock was out there too.

Leaning against the post, she looked down at the beach, thinking of how she’d felt when he’d kissed her. It made her sad to think he might be feeling regretful. Two years was a long enough time to grieve, wasn’t it? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t even got past the first anniversary of his wife’s death. Erin wondered what it must feel like to think you’d found your soulmate and married them, only to lose them at such a young age. It was difficult for her to imagine the depth of grief he must be feeling.

She touched her fingers to her lips, feeling the smile there. His desire for her had been evident, his kiss gentle but passionate. His body wanted her, whatever his heart thought. Caitlin’s suggestion of a one-night stand lingered in her mind and wouldn’t be banished. Would Brock be interested, or would he decide he wasn’t ready to move on?

Erin checked her watch. She liked the idea of trying out the hot tub on the deck, but she decided it would be more fun to use in the dark and instead decided to have a lie down for a while to refresh herself for the evening. The thirty minutes turned into forty-five after the long walk and the fresh sea air, but she still had plenty of time for a shower and to get ready for dinner, and a quick call home to her mother to make sure Ryan was okay.

By the time Brock knocked on the door, she was ready, and she opened it with a smile. The smile turned into an open-mouthed stare at the sight of the gorgeous guy standing on the step. He’d been leaning against the post, looking out across the courtyard, but turned as the door opened and pushed off to stare back at her. So far she’d only seen him in shorts and T-shirt, but tonight he wore smart, dark jeans and a sexy, light-gray shirt that had a contrasting dark-gray strip where the buttons were and along the edge of the collar.

“Wow,” she said, unable to hide her admiration.

“I second that.” His gaze slid down her, then back up to return to her face with generous warmth.

Erin looked down at herself. Disliking black, and not sure whether to go for smart or casual, she’d followed Caitlin’s advice and treated herself to a new summer dress that could fit both categories. A beautiful aqua color she knew complemented her eyes, it reached just above her knees at the front but fell to her ankles at the back in a light gauzy fabric that lifted in the breeze. The bodice wasn’t as revealing as she’d intimated, with thin straps and a wide dark belt at the waist, but she knew it drew attention to her curves, and she’d purposely not worn a bra beneath it. Pretty high-heeled sandals completed the look, and she’d washed her hair and left it to bounce around her shoulders, adding a touch of makeup to give herself confidence.

She felt like a million dollars—a perfect complement to a billionaire—and for the first time in three years she felt like a woman first and a mother second rather than the other way around.

“You look fantastic,” he said, his eyes filled with admiration.

“Thank you.” Picking up the small clutch she’d left by the door, she stepped out and pulled the door shut, then took his outstretched hand.

“You looked beautiful before, but you look amazing tonight,” he said, his fingers tightening on hers.

Erin bumped her arm against his as they walked. “I feel amazing. Funny what half an hour on your own without someone constantly wanting you to feed him or play with his dinosaurs will do for a woman.”

Brock laughed and pulled her close so he could put his arm around her, and they walked together to the restaurant in the main block.

This was even more impressive than the rooms, if that were possible. Round tables covered in white cloths bore shining silver cutlery and sparkling wine glasses. A waiter showed them to their table, which nestled in a private corner in prime position on the deck overlooking the bay. A deck heater stood nearby in case the sea breeze picked up as the sun sank below the horizon, and a pretty row of tea lights in glass holders were strung on tinsel along the glass barrier.

“This is wonderful,” Erin said as she took the seat the waiter held out for her. She reached out to touch the glittering table decoration made from a red candle surrounded by scarlet pohutukawa flowers with deep green leaves and tiny golden baubles. “I feel really Christmassy all of a sudden.”

“I know what you mean.” Brock sat opposite her. “I’m half-expecting the chef to come out in a sleigh pulled by reindeer halfway through dinner.”

“I’m sure he’s far too busy sorting out the menu to do that,” she said, accepting it from the waiter.

“As long as he’s checked it twice,” Brock said.

Erin bit her lip until the waiter had withdrawn and then let the giggle loose. “Sorry,” she said at Brock’s amused look. “I had one of those small bottles of wine from the mini bar and it’s gone straight to my head.”

“Excellent,” he said, looking pleased. “I plan to get you completely drunk tonight.” His eyes widened at her laughter. “Because it’s your birthday,” he clarified, “not because… Oh I give up.”

Chuckling away, thoroughly enjoying herself, she studied the menu, her jaw dropping at the sight of all the wonderful dishes. “I could eat everything on this list.”

“You’re very welcome to try.” Brock appeared impressed by the choice. “This place lives up to its reputation.”

“It does,” Erin agreed, hoping she looked as if she spent every weekend at a restaurant where the bill would no doubt come to well over a week’s rent. “I honestly don’t know what to have.”

“Well, we’re in no hurry, are we? It’s only seven. Why don’t we start with something like the seafood platter, and we’ll just take our time. It’s amazing how much you can eat and drink when you spread it over a few hours.”

Erin shook her head in bemusement. If someone had told her a few weeks ago she’d be spending her birthday with a billionaire at Paua Cliffs, she’d have laughed them out of the room!

They shared the seafood platter, nibbling at the tempura battered prawns, the maple-pepper salmon bites, and the Bloody Mary oyster shots, and Erin had a glass of Pinot Gris from the local vineyard, while Brock had a glass of Merlot.

While they ate, they talked about everything under the sun, music, movies, sports, art, gradually feeling their way around each other’s lives and discovering what they liked and disliked. As they progressed onto their mains—medium-rare Angus fillet for Brock and Tuscan-style grilled tuna steak for Erin—they moved on to talking about deeper things, enjoying their exploration of each other.

Brock asked her lots of questions, and whereas normally Erin would have been hesitant to discuss her personal thoughts on delicate topics, especially on a first date, his genuine interest and the way he listened to her opinion meant she gradually relaxed and opened up.

That might have had a little to do with the wine too, she conceded as the evening progressed. She made sure she sipped water alongside the Pinot Gris, but there was no doubt the alcohol was having an effect. As they moved onto a rather splendid trio of chocolate desserts and then coffee, Erin welcomed the warmth and slight haze that accompanied the wine, enjoying not having to worry that someone might need her.

For the first time in a while, a silence had fallen between them, and Erin’s gaze drifted across the bay. They’d been sitting at the table for nearly two-and-a-half hours, and the sun had set, flooding the sea with orange and then purple. Inside the restaurant, a grand piano sat in one corner next to a small dance floor, and about an hour ago a man in a suit had started playing Christmas songs while a beautiful young woman in a silver gown sang along. Now, she was singing
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
, and a shiver descended Erin’s spine.

“Would you like to dance?”

She turned startled eyes to her dinner partner. He was watching her, his head tipped to the side, a smile on his lips. She glanced across to the piano. “There’s nobody else dancing.”

“So?” He got to his feet and held out his hand. From the things he’d told her throughout the evening, Erin had gradually come to understand that beneath his quiet, gentle facade was the steely determination of a man who hadn’t got where he was by taking no for an answer, and who didn’t care a jot what other people thought of him.

She stared at his hand, her face warming, then slowly got to her feet and took it.

Erin slipped her hand into Brock’s, smiling as his fingers closed around hers. He led her into the restaurant, threading through the diners to the wooden floor by the piano, then turned her into his arms and pulled her close.

After several hours of sitting there, watching him across the table and listening to his low, sexy voice, it felt blissful to finally being able to touch him. He held her right hand in his left, and rested his other hand on her hip. Erin placed her left hand on his shoulder, conscious of the smell of his aftershave rising from his warm skin. He’d told her he was going to shave before dinner, and sure enough, his jaw was smooth, free of the bristle that had darkened it earlier.

Conscious of some of the other diners watching them, she kept her gaze lowered, the heat in her face telling her she was blushing.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he teased, lowering his head to touch his lips to her cheek. “Every man in this room is wishing he was the one dancing with you.”

“And every woman is wishing you were holding her.” She looked up, meeting his gaze for a moment, then looked back at his collar again. “I like this shirt.”

He gave a short laugh and pulled her a little closer as the song changed to “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,” starting to sing along softly to the song. He had a lovely voice, deep and smooth like Nat King Cole’s, and Erin closed her eyes, feeling as if she were made of chocolate that was slowly softening under the heat of his gaze.

Now he was humming, his mouth close to her ear, and she knew if she turned her head his lips would brush her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered open, her gaze captivated by the sparkle of the tinsel around the windows. It was like creeping down the stairs as a child on Christmas Eve and spotting a large parcel in front of the tree with a big red bow. She wanted to sneak up and shake it, slowly pull the bow undone, and see what was inside. Part of her didn’t want to spoil it, wanted to prolong the anticipation, just in case the gift wasn’t as wonderful as she imagined, but equally she knew she couldn’t make it last forever.

Turning her head, she lifted her face a little, and he looked down, his lips almost touching the corner of her mouth. Gosh, he was tall, at least four or five inches taller than her in her heels, and as she moved her hand across his shoulder, her fingers tightened on firm muscle.

They were moving more slowly now, and she felt his hand splay on her lower back, not descending onto her butt, but daring nonetheless, pulling her to him so their bodies were flush from hip to chest. Something was happening between them, she could feel it, changing subtly the way flour and eggs and raisins and cinnamon turned to delicious Christmas pudding in the oven.

She giggled and felt his lips curve against her cheek.

“What are you laughing about?” he murmured.

“I’m comparing you in my head to Christmas pudding.”

“I’ve been called worse in my time.”

She laughed, caught up in the spell of the evening, and Brock chuckled, turned her nimbly around on the dance floor, then slowed again.

“You’re incredibly sexy,” he said, nuzzling her ear.

“Thank you.” She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, knowing he shouldn’t kiss her in the middle of the dance floor, desperately hoping he would. “I’m having such a lovely evening.”

“I’m glad.”

She wondered if he’d say
And it’s not over yet,
or something equally as suggestive to tell her he was interested in taking this further. He didn’t, but his breath was warm on her skin.

Erin lifted her face a fraction. He dropped his head a tiny bit more. And then his lips were touching hers, and they exchanged a long, sedate kiss that nevertheless sent her pulse racing.

When he eventually lifted his head, she glanced around the room, wondering if anyone had noticed. Judging by the smiles, several people had, and she returned her gaze to his collar, embarrassed and also gleeful at having been caught smooching in the middle of the dance floor with such a gorgeous guy.

“I like the way you make me feel fifteen again,” she said.

“I expect you to pass me notes in Science tomorrow.”

She giggled. “Only if you promise to meet me behind the bike sheds.”

“It’s a deal.”

They both laughed. Erin closed her eyes again, drifting off into a dream world. She didn’t want tonight to end. If only they could keep dancing here forever, Brock’s arms warm around her, his lips grazing hers from time to time.

But of course all good things come to an end, and eventually the song finished. Brock took her hand and led her from the dance floor, smiling as the other diners clapped and one older man whistled.

“You make a lovely couple, dear,” the old man’s wife said as they passed. “So romantic.”

“Thank you,” Erin said graciously, deciding it would take too much effort to describe the situation.

Brock gave her an amused gaze before giving the waiter his room number for the bill, and then they left the restaurant and walked slowly across the courtyard back to their rooms.

Although far from cold, the temperature had dropped a little, and the cool evening air cleared the wine-induced haze from Erin’s mind. Her heart started to race as they neared her door. What was Brock going to say? Would he ask her back to his room? And what would she reply if he did? She couldn’t possibly have a one-night stand with him. Could she? Did it make her a terrible person that she desperately wanted to get him naked? She hadn’t had sex for so long that the notion of letting this man strip off her sundress and make love to her in the gorgeous bed made her as nervous as it did excited.

They stopped outside her door, and Brock turned her to face him. He was smiling, and he pulled her close and lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you have a nice evening?” he asked.

“I did, thank you, the best in… well… ever, I think.”

“I’m glad. Happy birthday, Erin.” He bent his head and touched his lips to hers, but it was a demure kiss, just a press of lips, and within seconds he lifted his head again. “I hope you sleep well,” he said softly. “I’ll call for you in the morning, around eight, and we’ll catch some breakfast before we go, eh?”

She nodded, surprised at the intensity of the disappointment that rose within her when she realized he was going to leave. “Sure.”

Their eyes met, but she couldn’t read his expression. Was he thinking about his wife? She opened her mouth, but no words would come. If she asked him to stay, he might say no, and how would she feel then?

“Goodnight.” He gave her a last smile, turned, walked to his door, and let himself in.

The door closed.

“Fuck.” Erin looked up at the Southern Cross constellation that glittered in the sky above her, more beautiful than any of the Christmas baubles in the restaurant, and blew out a long breath. She’d practically forced him to state that he didn’t expect anything in return for taking her away for the night, plus he was still struggling to get over losing his wife.

It had been a lovely evening, and she had to take it for what it was—a pleasant date with a nice guy, rather than be disappointed because it hadn’t turned into a steamy sex session.

She would have loved some steamy sex. But it didn’t mean there wouldn’t be any in the future. It wouldn’t surprise her if he asked to see her again, so maybe in a few weeks’ or months’ time, when he’d got used to the idea of seeing someone else, they’d get around to it. It would have to be baby steps for both of them, and that was much more sensible than diving into bed on the first date.

Sighing, she went in and closed the door. She crossed the room and opened the sliding doors onto the deck, and turned on the hot tub, heating up the water ready for the dip under the stars she’d promised herself earlier.

Returning inside, she slipped out of her dress and put on her bikini, not quite brave enough to get into the tub naked even though nobody would be able to see her, then went over to the minibar and studied the contents. She didn’t want anything to eat and she’d already drunk several glasses of wine, but she fancied taking something into the tub with her.

There were a few little bottles of spirits, and she surveyed them moodily. Brock had promised her a glass of Lagavulin, but they hadn’t gotten around to it before they’d left the restaurant.

Perhaps she should ask him if he fancied a nightcap.

Her heart rate picked up at the idea, but she scolded herself for it. How desperate would that look? She couldn’t just bang on his door and say
Do you want a whisky to finish off the night?
Could she?

Biting her lip, she grabbed the complementary white bathrobe and slipped it on, shoved her feet into her sandals, and walked to the door.

Then she stopped. This was stupid. She couldn’t possibly knock on the guy’s door and practically beg him for sex. How cheap was that?

She walked back to the bed and took it off.

Put it back on.

Took it off again.

Growling at herself, she went to the hot tub and tested the water. She retrieved a towel from the bathroom and laid it on the table next to the tub, along with a hair clip, a tumbler and a miniature of Jack Daniel’s, and a small pack of mint chocolates from the minibar. She put her phone into the speaker system on the table and chose a playlist of Christmas songs. Then she tidied up her clothes.

Finally, she swore out loud, put on the bathrobe, marched across to the door, and wrenched it open.

She stopped with a gasp. Brock stood outside, still dressed in his jeans and shirt, carrying a bottle of something that look suspiciously like an Islay malt whisky, obviously in the process of pacing up and down.

They stared at each other, their lips gradually curving up.

“How long have you been out here?” she asked.

“About five minutes.” He scratched his cheek, then lifted the bottle to show her the Lagavulin label. “I thought you might like a nightcap. Then I told myself I’d promised you I didn’t want anything in return for arranging the trip and you might feel obliged to say yes. Then I thought if I didn’t ask you, you might think I’m not interested in you, and that is so far from the truth it seemed idiotic not to ask. Then my brain started to hurt.”

Erin sighed. “I think we know each other well enough by now to understand what’s going on. I’d love a drink, and the hot tub’s all ready to go, so for God’s sake come in and pour us both a glass before one of us dies from old age.”

Laughing, he walked past her into the room. Erin closed the door behind him, filled with relief and a heady sense of excitement.
Thank God
. He felt the same way about her that she felt about him. They were two consenting adults who enjoyed each other’s company, and it was the twenty-first century, and it wasn’t anyone else’s business what went on in this room except hers and Brock’s.