Christmas Holiday Husband (4 page)

Ginny shot her a very direct look. “Me too, dear, but I hope you’ll enjoy it, and be a help for the twins. I did my bit, nursing Julia, poor girl. Her daughters need a proper teacher now, not just a well-meaning Granny.”

She looked away, and Ellie saw her mouth tighten before she bent and smoothed a hand over the broad expanse of blue bedcover. Once she’d recovered her composure she asked, “Are you all right bringing your own bags up? Robbie’s still busy outside and I’ve got dinner nearly ready. I’d better get down to the kitchen.”

Ellie followed a minute or two later and found the five-year-old twins already seated and eager to chat. “I have a son a little bit older that you,” she told them. “Our house burned down so he’s gone to live with his granny while I’m here.”

“You must bring him out to see the farm sometime soon,” Ginny said over her shoulder.

Ellie watched her carving the leg of delicious-smelling lamb onto flower rimmed plates, and wondered if she should offer to help.

“There’s a folding bed in your wardrobe,” Ginny added. “Lots of visiting children have slept on it. Even though he’ll enjoy staying with his grandmother, he’ll miss you.”

“And I’ll miss him. But this seemed an ideal arrangement all round. You get a teacher and I get accommodation. And it’s only for a few weeks.”

She pictured Cal’s dark hair and killer eyelashes, and knew her mother would be spoiling him rotten.

“He could ride my pony when he comes here,” Antonia offered.

“Thank you,” she said, returning her attention to the twins. “You might have to teach him because he’s never ridden a horse.”

“Only a pony,” Antonia scoffed. “He could do it. He’s a boy.”

Ellie grinned. “He’d love to see where I’m staying—and meet you two.”

They seemed a self sufficient pair, roaming the land around the farmhouse without fear of strangers or traffic. Cal didn’t have that luxury. Right now Ellie knew he couldn’t even ask a friend from school to sleep over; his grandmother’s flat was tiny.

After dinner the girls scampered off to watch TV and Ellie helped Ginny clear away the dinner things. “They’ll be fun to teach.”

“They’ll be quite hard work for you, I think. Their first year has been rather neglected, I’m afraid. Robbie and Julia wanted to home-school them for a while—they’re so young to go to boarding school yet.” She turned away to return the milk jug to the big refrigerator. “Julia planned for them to go to her old school, Iona College. But Robbie’s much busier than your average farmer, and Julia ... well...”

xxx

Ellie banished her thoughts of the previous evening and shook herself back to the present moment, wondering where to put her sandals to dry. The bedroom she’d been assigned was a large, richly appointed room—much grander than she’d been expecting. Deep blue paper with a swirling gold botanical design covered the walls up to a gleaming timber picture-rail. The carved bed head and chests of drawers and long freestanding mirror looked like genuine antiques. A well stocked bookcase stood in one corner. Two stately leather armchairs flanked the open French doors. She’d pushed the ivory voile curtains aside before breakfast, and now they danced and floated in the slight breeze.

She stepped between them onto the generous balcony that had remained unexplored the previous night. There were tubs of orange French Marigolds smelling sharply fragrant in the sun, and some outdoor chairs. Another set of French doors stood open a little further along. In today’s bright light she saw the balcony formed the roof of the big front portico—she’d parked her car directly beneath her feet yesterday. Smiling at that thought, she set her sandals on one of the chairs, then returned to her room and pulled on her spare pair before going downstairs to reclaim her pupils.

The rest of the morning crept by with her ears ever alert for evidence of Tony. She hustled the twins into the schoolroom and made a start on the promised reading lessons. Ginny appeared after her early morning trip to arrange flowers in the small district church for a funeral that afternoon. Cardboard cartons were produced. Ellie cut one up and taped the pieces together to look something like the Wharemoana homestead, complete with portico. They walked briefly around the outside of the house as she sketched in windows.

“Whose room is this?” she asked, felt pen poised.

“Mine,” Caro squealed.

“And this one?”

“Ginny’s window.”

“This one here?”

“The schoolroom.”

“How many windows in this wall?”

“One... two... three!” yelled Ants.

“And what colour is the door?”

“Red...”

She proceeded around the rest of the cardboard model, pointing to windows, labelling them, asking the girls to add up the totals on each wall... subtract one, subtract two.

“And whose is this window upstairs?”

“Mummy’s one.”

“And this?”

“Ellie’s window.”

“And this?”

“Daddy’s one.”

Ellie blanched. He was sleeping in the room next to hers. The other French doors were his. “How many windows on this wall?” she asked, less steadily.

“Five. And the little bathroom ones,” Ants added as an afterthought. Ellie inked those in with a less than steady hand.

“And what colour is the roof?”

“Green,” they chorused.

“Okay, you can colour that in then,” she said, leading them back to the schoolroom table and pushing a box of felt pens and a paint-box across to them. Silence reigned as they concentrated on this interesting new game.

She presumed ‘Mummy’s window’ was the master suite. Tony had not moved back into it. Maybe his memories were too vivid, his heart too wrecked to want to return there yet? Ellie turned her thoughts around and around.

The picture of his drowsy body sprawled in bed just through the wall from her was hard to shake. The summer weather meant he’d be wearing little, if anything. She knew exactly how enticing he’d look... relaxed, sleepy eyed, deeply tanned. He’d been like that each evening in Sydney, ready to awaken her to ever more astonishing pleasure every time they made love. Once again the mere memory of his expertise had all her nerve endings thrumming—with tension and terror and a deep distracting desire.

CHAPTER THREE

The afternoon passed with intolerable slowness and ever building anticipation.

She couldn’t wait to see him again.

Dared not be anywhere near him.

Was desperate to hear his voice.

Knew she needed to harden her heart.

Late in the afternoon she paced about her room, unable to settle to anything.

This is ridiculous.
He’s only a man. A man who’s way in my past. Nothing is going to happen between us. Nothing
can
happen.

If he finds out about Cal, our lives will be impossible. I don’t want him upsetting everything now we’re almost okay.

So why
, her aroused body retorted,
are you so turned on?
Why are you wondering if he’ll still feel as good inside you? As big and hot? As smooth and silky? As gentle? As out of control? As much fun as he was in Sydney?

She slapped her thigh sharply to dispel the unwanted sensations flooding through her. God, this was impossible!

Finally she slid out of her muddy-hemmed jeans and rinsed them in her bathroom. She pulled on a pair of white cotton trousers and shook her hair free of its ponytail. She was
so
not making any effort to look good for him. She’d wear her hair loose only because she’d had it pulled back tightly all day. It was for her own comfort, certainly not because Tony used to enjoy playing with it...

She brushed at it fiercely, tugging at tangles, so clumsy and on edge that the hairbrush went flying from her hand and landed on the carpet. Annoyed beyond measure, she retrieved it and gave a last couple of impatient swipes before turning away from the mirror and leaving the room. Mindful that Tony slept next door, she pulled her door closed to ensure he’d never glimpse Callum’s photo—and nearly cannoned into him.

“Hell, you scared me,” she gasped, staggering back against the banister rail and grabbing it for support. She leaned away from him when he reached out to steady her.

He withdrew his arm with a wry grin. “Sorry. Quiet carpet. I didn’t hear you either.” He rubbed a hand over his darkened jaw and sighed.

Ellie registered the rasp of bristle under his fingertips. After his day’s work he looked rough and tired, and it was all she could do not to reach out and touch him after her initial shock. She grasped the rail harder to stop her wayward hands from wandering in his direction.

Tony straightened. “How did the rest of your day go? Caro and Ants behaving for you?”

“I survived. They survived. Fair enough start.”

Apprehension stole across his face. “Are they a long way behind? Will they be okay?”

She dredged up a consoling smile. “They’re bright little girls. They’ll be fine.” Catching sight of their photo amongst the others on the wall, she moved slightly for a better view. “How long ago was this taken?”

“Just before Julia...died. I wanted to have one of them happy before she slipped away.”

Ellie’s heart went out to him. Bad enough to lose your wife, but knowing how tough it would be for your children was a huge extra burden. “Good thinking,” she said, her voice catching. “It’s a great shot. Quite recent?”

Tony rubbed his chin again, plainly not comfortable. “A couple of months.”

She glanced away, sensing agonising pain was barely contained below his stoic surface. “There’s Virginia,” she exclaimed, catching sight of a young slim bride with a trailing bouquet. Beside her stood a long-haired groom with a handlebar moustache. “
He
looks like a real hippie with all that hair.”

Tony laughed. “David? He was an accountant. Ambitious bloke, and conventional beyond belief. There’s one of Mum and Dad’s wedding here, too—and they’re looking much the same.”

She prowled on, fascinated. If only she’d done this yesterday she might have avoided the huge raw surprise of meeting Tony again over breakfast. If she’d known this was his home she’d have scudded off like a frightened rabbit. Run for her life without hesitation.

Or would she?

That thought set her back on her heels. Could she have resisted seeing him again, knowing he was so close? She’d done that furtive Google search years ago. Now she searched the wall instead.

And there he was, maybe sixteen, in singlet and shorts beside the stern of a yacht. Not too much older than Cal. Something twisted painfully in her heart as she compared them.

In another he stood beside his parents under shady trees; the resemblance between father and son extreme. Both were wearing cricket whites. She leaned closer, and Tony said, “District Father and Son match. Summer school holidays at Glenleighton. They used to do it every year.”

“But not now?”

He shrugged. “Old Alfred Hamlin’s not so sociable these days.”

Ellie moved on, eyes focussing on every photo of Tony. There he was again, looking infinitely more gorgeous, a few years older than when she’d met him—the tall confident groomsman at a wedding. “You cleaned up well for that one,” she said.

“Matt McLeod’s marriage. We were at school together in Auckland. He’s a couple of years older than me, but we ended up sailing for the same club. Won a few races. That’s his brother, Hamish,” he added, pointing to the other groomsman. “It didn’t last long. Matt and Martine split after a couple of years.” He tapped the glass over one of the bridesmaids. “Julia.”

Ellie’s mouth dropped open in a soundless gasp. So that’s who he’d married? She moved a step further along the landing, but her eyes remained glued on the former image.

“And that’s her again of course,” Tony said, pointing to his own wedding photo.

Ellie followed his finger. His bride was fair, slim, delicate. He’d wrapped a possessive arm around his trophy, drawing her to him as though she was the most precious woman in the world.

Her heart pounded with pain. He’d looked at
her
that way for one incredible week. Watched her with those eyes that shone clear as whiskey in crystal when the sun danced in their depths. Pulled her hard against his divine body. And kissed her with that fascinating mouth.

“Tell Ginny I’ll be down in a minute.”

She jumped. She’d been miles away. “Okay,” she said, but the closing of his bedroom door made her comment unnecessary.

Alone now, she peered more closely at the photo. She’d loved his mouth. Loved the full bottom lip that was so sexy she wanted constantly to bite it. Adored the precisely outlined bow of his top lip. Was so turned on by the sharp edges of something she knew to be hot and damp and sinfully soft when it wandered slowly down her neck or over her breasts, sucking, nipping, wreaking havoc with her senses.

But his mouth could be hard, too. Demanding, voracious—biting passionately as they’d writhed out of control together. And she’d been willing to agree to anything he’d wanted—eager to make the flames lick even hotter. They’d kept each other as taut as piano wires, vibrating sensually at the slightest touch.