“I’ll unpack,” she said. “And see if I’ve anything smart enough for this lovely place.”
She was absorbed in doing this when he reappeared with a slippery chocolate-brown dress draped over his arm.
“Just in case.”
Fiona held it up by its jeweled straps and frowned.
“Jan bought this for your last wedding anniversary. I helped her choose it. I couldn’t possibly wear it.”
He shrugged his big shoulders.
“Whatever. Sadly, she won’t need it again. Have it anyway. Wear it on your ship. I’ll buy you a couple at the Lodge’s boutique if you like.”
She shot him a disbelieving look. “A boutique—way out in the country?”
“Absolutely. Antoine’s wife owns ‘Marielle’s’ in the city. She is Marielle. She set up a branch here as well. Our ladies like to have something beautiful to wear to dinner. Their gentlemen—not always their own husbands, I might add—are very generous spenders.”
His suggestive grin brought some joyful life to his face and turned him into a different man. Fiona tried to recall the last time she’d seen him looking so relaxed. Almost two years, she decided. Before Jan had been diagnosed with her cancer, and when six-month-old Nicky was giving them great happiness. How cruel life could be.
Instead of leaving as she’d expected, Christian threw himself down on the bed to tickle and tease Nic while Fiona hung her selection of casual garments in the roomy wardrobe.
“Only one skirt,” she said, holding up the short bright blue linen number she’d bought the day of the haircut.
“Not quite the thing for our dining room,” he agreed. “Come on, let’s get this little girl fed and we’ll see what’s good at Marielle’s.”
“It’ll be far too late,” she objected.
“Fiona, this is Pounamu Lodge. Our guests can have whatever they want, twenty-four hours a day.”
Thirty minutes later he opened the cottage door, beeped the car unlocked, then gathered up Nicky and the bag of baby supplies. Once Fiona was seated in the car, he lowered his daughter into her arms.
“Okay? Not too heavy for a couple of minutes?”
“You’re fine, aren’t you Nic?”
Nic rewarded her by cuddling close.
“Antoine’s young cousin is going to earn some pocket-money baby-sitting tonight.”
“Then you hardly need me here at all?”
“I need you, Blondie. You don’t know how much.” His dark eyes held hers. And slow drugging heat began to flood her belly as he closed the door.
“But you said you wanted to cool it,” she remonstrated, after he’d rounded the Mercedes and settled into the driver’s seat.
“I lied.” His eyes were fathomless pools. “I didn’t know I was lying at the time, but I knew it straight off once I saw you again.” He pulled his door to with a quiet ‘thunk’ and fired up the engine.
“No Christian,” she protested. “You’re not playing fair.”
“I’m not playing at all.”
She sat there, holding his child; wretchedly aware in every cell of her body that she wanted him almost more than life itself.
“Nor am I,” she managed. “I don’t play games. I can’t play games with you. You’re my brother-in-law, for heaven’s sake.” She glanced down to Nicky.
“Ex brother-in-law,” he said very softly. Fiona wondered if she was even meant to hear that. She bent and kissed Nicky’s fair hair, and cast about for anything that might distract her from the heat of being so close to him again.
Twenty minutes later, she stood in the elegant cabernet and gold fitting room of the boutique, inspecting herself in the long gilt-framed mirror. Christian had introduced her as ‘Jan’s sister’. Marielle’s assistant had not raised either of her carefully-plucked eyebrows.
“How’s it look?” His husky query surprised Fiona out of her reverie.
“Wonderful,” she called back.
“Come and show me.”
Skin prickling, she stepped out of the little room, smoothing her hands down over the silky turquoise fabric. There was nothing particularly outrageous in the shape of the narrow-strapped dress, but the bias-cut clung to her body, and the iridescent peacock feather embroidery over the bodice blazed under the lights like emeralds and sapphires.
Christian rose from the leather chair and surveyed her through sleepy half-closed eyes.
“Dynamite.” He rotated a finger to indicate she should turn and show him the back. Fiona swiveled.
“Yes, definitely that one,” he confirmed, eyes sliding with appreciation over her bare shoulders. “How’s the red?”