All Saints: Love and Intrigue in the Stunning New Zealand Wilderness (The New Zealand Soccer Referee Series Book 1) Read Online Free

“You’re right; it’s none of my
business. Play, don’t play. It’s up to you.”
    “Thank you!” I
snapped. “What I choose to do with my weekends will be my choice from now on.”
    “And what’s that?”
His tone seemed placid and so non-confrontational; a casual enquiry from a
stranger. He didn’t know me, my family or my circumstances.
    “Pole dancing,” I
said, keeping a straight face. “I figure it’ll be fun.”
    Teina’s eyes
crinkled at the sides and his lips spread in an attractive grin. “For who?”
    “Whomever I choose
to dance for,” I replied and then bit my lip. Who was I kidding? I tutted and
closed my eyes, pinching my exposed thigh hard enough to stem the unexpected
flash of emotion.
    I heard the sofa
creak and tensed, waiting for the tap of Teina’s shoes on the wooden floor as
he left. His footsteps sounded light and I jumped as the sofa cushion next to
me dipped. He slipped an arm around me and kissed the side of my head and the
fraternalism of the action stabbed at the root of my misery. “Sorry,” he
whispered. “My sister says I shouldn’t bait people but I can’t help it.
Besides,” he squeezed my shoulder, “your eyes flash when you’re mad.”
    “And that’s a good
thing?” I asked, sounding sore.
    “Yeah,” he replied
and kissed the side of my head again. “You know why.”
    But I didn’t and
the courage I needed to ask for clarification evaded me. I smelled pleasant
aftershave and comforting maleness and in a fit of false modesty, shrugged
myself free of Teina’s arm and snatched up his glass. “I’ll get you another.”
My legs felt shaky on the way to the kitchen and nervousness made me slop wine
over the side of the glass. I put it into his hand and crossed to the other
sofa, leaving the coffee table between us like a boundary marker.
    “Who do you play
for?” I repeated the question and handed him the glass, watching his discomfort
in the long blink of the enviable dark eyelashes.
    “Nobody,” he said
and I narrowed my eyes and let them rove across the muscular chest and athletic
build. His gym training showed in the definition beneath the fabric of his
shirt and he’d seemed at ease around the club house and Mark Lambie. Why would
he lie?
    “You’re a referee.”
The realisation came to me as his identity fitted into place. In my mind’s eye
I saw the black shirt and shorts on the lithe body and marvelled he’d been
allowed to attend the wedding. My family hated any brand of soccer authority,
especially those in possession of whistles, cards and the ability to turn the
game against All Saints. “You red carded my husband once,” I said, a smile
playing on my lips.
    Foxy winced. “Yeah.
Sorry.”
    “He deserved it.” I
shrugged. My mind wandered, remembering that one game when Pete didn’t go out
with the team to drown his sorrows. He came home to me that night instead,
robbing my peace with his whining about the card and making me wish he’d gone
on a bender that would last through Sunday when he rolled home stinking of
beer, other people’s scent and sex. Something happened that night; something
I’d rather forget.
    Foxy sipped the
wine, silence growing between us. If I kept this up he’d leave and I’d be alone
again. The walls threatened to close in on me, squeezing so hard I couldn’t
breathe. I didn’t want that; I needed his company and I rallied, trying not to
drive him away. “What do you do when you’re not blowing your whistle?” I asked,
wincing at my social ineptitude.
    Foxy’s dark eyes
settled on me, his black fringe flipping into his face as he blinked. “Law,” he
replied after a moment’s hesitation. “In town.”
    I nodded, sensing
the thread of connection as he held my gaze and my stomach flipped. “From one
sort of refereeing to another,” I replied sagely, thinking of cops and hardened
criminals and he laughed. His teeth looked straight and white against his olive
skin, a small chip in the side of one