A Festive Treat Page 8

  Laughing, she grabbed his hand and led him off toward the car.

  “Please tell me you have some more of those special condoms.” He buckled in his seat belt as she drove away, the wheels almost spinning with her haste.

  “I have a couple, but I’ll definitely be buying some more.” She glanced across at him, her hazel eyes dark with desire, and he gave a helpless groan, lust surging through him at the thought of getting her naked.

  Reaching across, she slid a hand up his thigh to cup his erection. “Mmm. Nice.”

  “Help yourself.” He sat back and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of her stroking him through the denim.

  “Jeez, Owen. You’re so sexy. I’ve dreamed about you every night since I left you.”

  He rolled his head on the rest and opened his eyes to look at her. “What kind of dreams?”

  “The kind that leave a girl hot and sweaty and aching between her thighs.” She bit her lip as if she thought she’d gone too far, and color rose in her cheekbones.

  His heart thundered. He remembered her words to him on the waterfront, Let’s make it fun, eh? Or what’s the point? Although she said she’d slept around when she was young, he had the feeling it hadn’t been as much as she’d implied. She was pretending she was experienced and bold, but she exhibited a strange blend of hesitant and daring that suggested she wanted to use the temporary nature of their relationship to be experimental in ways she hadn’t tried before. She was trying to pretend this was just physical. Owen knew she was fooling herself—this was far from just physical already. But he was happy to play along.

  “And when you awoke from your dream?” he murmured, enjoying pushing her, “what did you do then?”

  She glanced across at him and her lips curved.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Tell me.”

  She returned her gaze to the road. “I think you know.”

  “Maybe you’ll give me a demonstration later?”

  “Maybe.” She giggled and touched the back of her hand to her cheek. “Goodness, you’re wicked. I haven’t blushed in years.”

  “Then clearly, you’ve been with the wrong guy.”

  She flicked him a glance again, but didn’t say anything, her expression turning thoughtful.

  Flicking the indicator switch, she signaled and turned into a quieter road. The houses became larger and more affluent, the gardens neat and well-tended.

  “Where are you staying?” He was puzzled—he’d assumed she would have booked into a bed and breakfast.

  “I’m in my parents’ sleep-out.”

  “Your parents?” He wasn’t sure he was quite ready to meet her folks.

  “Don’t worry. They’re over in Ahipara at the moment.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “We have the place all to ourselves for a few hours.”

  “Thank God. I had visions of having to sit down for afternoon tea when all I want to do is rip off your clothes.”

  She inhaled and moistened her lips, and he gave a secret smile, glad he got to her in the same way she got to him.

  Slowing the car, she turned into a drive. It led up to a long, low house, but she continued past it and circled a large lawn to a smaller sleep-out at the bottom.

  They got out of the car, walked around it, and met at the front. Unable to keep his hands off her any longer, Owen pulled her into his arms and kissed her, moving one hand down to her butt to press her hips to his, the other hand sliding to the nape of her neck so he could hold her there while he kissed her.

  Skye exclaimed, then melted against him, lifting her arms around his neck and returning the kiss, opening her mouth to his searching tongue and meeting it with tiny thrusts of her own. Owen groaned and pushed her back against the car, so hungry for her he was tempted to lift up her skirt and take her right there.

  She tore her lips away, however, her chest heaving, took his hand, and marched up to the door to the sleep-out. After unlocking it, she pulled him inside and shut the door, tossed her handbag and keys on the nearby table, then turned him and pushed him against the wall. Moving back, she caught the bottom of her T-shirt in both hands and ripped it off, then undid her bra and dropped that to the floor too. Coming back to him, she tugged at his T-shirt, and he took the hint and pulled it over his head. Then she was pressed up against him again, and this time it was skin on skin, to Owen’s delight.

  “Nice,” he murmured, filling his palms with her breasts. The afternoon sun had heated the sleep-out, and it was stiflingly warm. No doubt normally she’d have put the air con on, but he rather liked the heat. Her skin felt damp to the touch, and her warm nipples were like soft pieces of velvet—until he took them between thumb and forefinger and tugged them. They puckered, and she moaned and closed her eyes.

  Owen did it again, teasing her nipples to hard, tight buttons while he kissed her. Fuck, but she was so sexy. He loved that she hadn’t been able to wait until they were inside—that she hadn’t asked him if he wanted a drink, or taken him to the bedroom. She seemed as hungry as he was for him to be inside her. And he loved that she enjoyed having her nipples played with—not all women did, but clearly Skye was one of those who got turned on by them being handled. Wanting to see how rough she liked it, he plucked them, first gently, then harder. Her breathing grew harsh, and she ground her soft mound against his erection, once again suggesting she liked it a little rough. The thought made his head spin—he enjoyed tender, gentle sex too, but fast and furious took some beating, and the notion that she was open to a bit of uninhibited lovemaking sent every blood cell in his body heading to his groin.

  “Is that nice?” he murmured, licking his fingers before returning them to the tight peaks and doing it again.

  “Yes,” she said, panting. “Oh…harder…”

  Owen groaned, pinching her nipples and being rewarded with a frantic, abandoned kiss. She hooked a leg around him, thrusting against his erection, and at the thought of plunging into her hot, wet body, he lost the plot.

  Turning her, he pushed her against the wall, then reached over to grab her handbag. “Condom, now,” he demanded.

  She nodded, fished one out, and opened the packet while he unzipped his jeans and released himself from his boxers.

  Pushing his hand away, she rolled the condom on for him, nearly tipping him over the edge as her hand stroked firmly down his length.

  “Jesus, Skye, you’re fucking killing me.” Running a hand around her long skirt, he established it had an elasticated waist, and he tugged it off, then quickly pulled down her panties. She stepped out of them, now naked, her eyes alight with excitement.

  Owen lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. With her back against the wall, he maneuvered himself beneath her until he felt the tip of his erection part her folds. Then, without further ado, he lowered her, sliding inside.

  They both groaned, and he rested his forehead against hers, struggling to retain control. The feel of her soft, silky body clamped around him was almost too much to bear.

  “Oh God.” She tightened her muscles and tipped her head back on the wall. “Come on, I can’t wait.”

  Impaled on him, she couldn’t move much, and it was up to him to take charge of the thrusting. He was happy to oblige. Holding her firmly, he moved his hips back, then thrust home, burying his shaft completely in her, right to the root. She cried out, so he did it again, grinding against her hard, knowing he was arousing her as he did so. Skye sank her hands into his hair and tugged his head back so she could kiss him. They exchanged a hungry, demanding kiss, tongues sliding, lips sucking, teeth grazing, while he thrust inside her, deeper, it seemed, with every movement of his hips. Hoping he wasn’t hurting her, he lifted his head to look into her eyes, but they were filled with such fever, such desire, he knew she was enjoying this.

  So he threw aside any attempt to rein himself in, and gave into his instinct to plunge into her, his body taking over. In response, she tightened one hand in his hair, the fingers of the other digging into his shoulder.

>   “Fuck,” he said, the sharp pain from her nails only increasing his pleasure.

  “Harder,” she said, panting, and so he slammed into her, hard and fast.

  Her forehead creased and she gave a long, low moan, but Owen was right there with her. He came even as she tightened around him, her pulsing contractions intensifying his climax, his deep thrusts drawing out hers.

  It seemed to go on forever, and by the time his body finally calmed down, they were both covered in sweat and breathing heavily.

  “Holy shit.” He started to laugh, and she joined in. “Where’s your bedroom?”

  She indicated down the hallway, and he lifted her off the wall and carried her there. Lowering her onto her back on the bed, he withdrew, plucked a tissue from the box beside her bed to dispose of the condom, then collapsed onto the mattress beside her.

  She rolled onto her side to face him, propping her head on a hand. “Now,” she teased, tracing a finger across his chest. “Tell me that’s not more fun than playing Scrabble.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “This isn’t too bad for a sleep-out,” Owen said.

  Skye lifted her head and looked around. They lay on the bed, facing the windows on the far wall that looked over a small section of the garden. Owen was propped up on the pillows, and Skye had been lying with her head on his chest, his arms around her.

  “It’s small,” she said, “but it’s fine for a temporary stay.”

  “Look at that little sod.” He pointed to a rabbit digging a hole on the lawn. “He’ll be halfway to Australia by night time.”

  “I’d better not tell my father. He’ll be after them with a shotgun.”

  “Good grief.”

  She laughed. “I bet you’ve never shot an animal.”

  “I haven’t, no.”

  “Call yourself a real Kiwi man? I thought shooting possums and wild pigs was a rite of passage.”

  “Never appealed to me. I wouldn’t criticize others for doing it, but I couldn’t personally take the life of another living creature.”

  “How do you square eating meat?”

  “I don’t. I’m a pescatarian.”

  “A what now?”

  He grinned. “I eat fish and seafood occasionally, like George’s chowder, but on the whole I’m a vegetarian. Much to Mozart’s dismay. He’d much rather I eat bacon so he can steal it off my plate.”

  She picked up his pendant and turned it over in her fingers. “I like that about you.”

  “Doesn’t it make me a wuss? I thought women liked guys who eat two-pound steaks and can handle a shotgun.”

  “You’re different. Like me. It makes me feel less…lonely.”

  “Aw.”

  She smiled. “I’m guessing Mozart isn’t your first dog.”

  “No. Before him, I had a lovely Lab called Amalie.”

  “That’s a pretty name.”

  “She was the Princess of Saxony and a German composer. The real woman, not the dog.”

  Skye laughed. “You trained her, too?”

  “Yes—she was wonderful, although I have to say, not quite as on the ball as Mozart. Don’t tell him, though. It’ll make him big headed.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “She died. Old age. It was tough, but nobody lives forever.”

  Poor Owen. He’d had a lot of loss in his life for someone so young. She was surprised how light of heart he was, considering.

  They studied each other for a long moment. His long hair was ruffled, and he had a hint of a five o’clock shadow on his jaw. The way his eyelids drooped suggested she’d have trouble shifting him unless she had a forklift truck. Gradually, his lips curved up.

  “What?” she said.

  “You look just-fucked.”

  She giggled. “I am just-fucked. You’re very rude. Sexually, I mean.”

  “I do my best.”

  “You shocked me.”

  He snorted. “Yeah right.”

  “You did! You’re very…demanding.”

  “Come here and say that.” He pointed to his lips.

  Chuckling, she shuffled forward and kissed him.

  “Mmm.” When she pulled back, he sighed and checked his watch. “I just thought—I’ve only got my jeans and scruffy T-shirt. Should I nip home and change? It’ll make me a bit late, though.”

  “God, no. Fox doesn’t have a dress code—it’s not that sort of restaurant, not unless he has a special event on. Most people wear shorts and tees in there in summer. It’s all about the food.”

  “Nice. In that case, I might ring the next door neighbor and get her to look in on Mozart. Then, I’ll come back for round two.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

  “Wow. You have some energy.” She rolled onto her back, feeling as if she’d done a five mile run. Her limbs felt loose and heavy. She could easily have dozed off.

  He was still wearing his jeans, and when he got up, he took his phone out of his pocket. “I’m going to make the most of you while I have you,” he warned. “As many times as I can manage it. I might end up a shadow of my former self, but it’ll be worth it.” He winked at her, walked up to the glass doors and opened one, and stepped out into the garden.

  Skye curled up with the duvet around her and hugged a pillow to her chest as she watched him make the call. He was so down-to-earth and unpretentious, and yet he had the kind of body that many men would spend hours admiring in front of a mirror. The sun glinted off his long, silky hair and his sculpted muscles. Damn, the guy was cute.

  She thought it was wonderful that he was a vegetarian, that he adored animals, and that he loved his dog. She admired the way he’d established the Search and Rescue branch in the Far North, and that he spent his time rescuing people. It may have been rather shallow of her to admit it, but she found it really hot.

  He finished the call and came back in, still looking at his phone, swiping across the screen with a finger. Presumably reading a text, he stopped and frowned.

  “Everything all right?” She crossed her fingers that he didn’t have to go home. Now he’d found her, she didn’t want to let him go.

  He tossed the phone onto the bedside table, took off his jeans and boxers, and slid in beside her. “It was from my boss, the head of the Auckland office. He wants me to ring him on Monday.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  He lay back on the pillows, tucking one arm behind his head, the other automatically lowering around her. “He wants to talk about funding.”

  She leaned on his chest and rested her chin on the back of her hand. “I thought your dog handlers were all volunteers?”

  “They are, but I’m paid, and there are other costs, for equipment and training, that sort of thing, plus we don’t really have enough volunteers at the moment. The Northland branch used to cover this area, but as the tourist trade has grown up, there have been more calls, and they were struggling to answer them all. The opening of the Far North office has been a trial to see if it would work, and it has in terms of the number of people we’ve saved. But monetarily, we’re running at a loss.”

  “Is it likely to close?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Possibly.”

  She pushed herself up. “Oh no. What would you do?”

  He shrugged and smiled. “Move back to Wellington, or maybe to Auckland. It’ll be a shame, though. There’s a need for a branch here, and it’s only going to grow as the population increases.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help? Can I knock on doors and drum up business?”

  He laughed. “It might come to that. Being a volunteer is a significant commitment. They’re on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. They need to be very flexible—sometimes there are several calls a day, so it doesn’t suit someone who works full time. Families and bosses have to be understanding, and although we try and help with expenses, usually they have to buy their own equipment and use their own transport. It takes a certain level of fitness too. It’s not for everyone, but after
saying that, there are plenty of interested people. It’s about raising awareness and spreading the word, which is what I’m trying to do.”

  He lifted up and rolled her onto her back, half-lying on top of her and pinning her to the mattress. “Now then, enough about me. Let’s talk about you and how beautiful your breasts are.”

  Skye chuckled, then sighed when he closed his mouth over her nipple and sucked. She’d talk more to him about it later. For now, though, she gave herself over to his ministrations, and they made love leisurely, relaxed and content beneath the rays of the summer sun.

  *

  Just before six, they walked into Aqua Blue to see the rest of the gang already seated around one of the large tables. Fox was the only one missing, and Skye knew he’d be fussing in the kitchens, even though he was supposed to have handed over to his second chef for the evening.

  The restaurant was decorated for Christmas, and every table bore a centerpiece made from real pohutukawa flowers, the scarlet petals and green leaves complementing the décor.

  Everyone cheered as they walked up, and Skye smiled, a little bashful bearing in mind Owen had his fingers laced through hers and was refusing to release them, even though she’d given her hand a tug.

  “Hey, guys.” She gestured at the three people Owen hadn’t been introduced to yet. “This is Caitlin—she’s the fiancée of Fox, who runs the restaurant. He’ll be out in a minute.” Owen shook hands with her. “And this is Elle,” Skye continued, “Caitlin’s sister—they run Treats with Tasha and Maisey.” Owen shook hands with her too. “And finally, this is Stuart, Elle’s partner.”

  “I hear you have a chocolate Lab,” Stuart said, shaking his hand.

  “Yeah, Mozart. He’s probably sticking pins in a doll of me for leaving him at home.”

  Stuart grinned. “Cool name—my boxer’s called Chaucer.”

  “Ah, I love boxers. Mad as possums, but so loveable.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Owen had won a friend there, Skye thought with amusement—any praise of his dog and Stuart became your best mate.