Resisting Nick (Wicked in Wellington) by Kris Pearson Read Free Book Online Page A

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.”