Walk on the Wild Side by Natalie Anderson Page A

rest of the day fulfilling carnal fantasies with her—even if it was what his body was screaming at him to do. He really didn’t want to hurt her and he’d seen the vulnerability in her eyes—he’d seen her surprise when he’d shown his interest. She wasn’t a player.
    So it was better to end it all now.
    As he waited at a red light on the city side of the hill he leaned across and woke her with an irresistible last little kiss. ‘Where do you live?’
    She stirred, blinking rapidly as she told him. He drove straight there, determined to finish up this oh-so-gorgeous interlude before he was tempted back to touch more.
    â€˜You don’t want me to drop you somewhere?’ She straightened up in her seat.
    He shook his head. ‘The walk will be good for my knee.’
    If she went within a mile radius of his hotel he’d drag her in with him.
    He pulled over where she’d said to. ‘Big house.’
    Her pretty nose wrinkled. ‘It’s been converted into four flats. It’s all carved up inside.’
    He looked closer at the old stately house. One of the last original buildings remaining on the street—and the For Sale sign up in front of it meant she’d probably be moving soon. The property would be demolished and developers would put up ten town houses in its place—as what had happened with the rest of the street. Shame for the old dame—despite the wear and lack of love the structure was solid and the detail handcrafted.
    He got out of her car, trying to ignore the horrible tightening inside. He didn’t much like drawn-out goodbyes. But she moved so she was right in front of him, standing onher tiptoes in her bare feet, her fingers lightly cupping his jaw so she ensured she had his attention.
    â€˜You were right, you know,’ she said simply. ‘Thanks so much, Jack.’
    He swallowed and nodded and simply couldn’t give her a kiss. Oddly hurt that she so readily accepted that there wasn’t going to be anything more between them. Not really wanting to be thanked as if it were some kind of service he’d provided—as if he’d just been her intimate masseuse or something.
    Hell, maybe she was tougher than she looked. Maybe he should just go in there with her and explore the comfort of her bed. Except she was walking. Away. As if she didn’t care at all—and that was for the best, right?
    â€˜Good luck with your training,’ she called.
    He stood on the footpath and watched her open the big wooden door. Not moving until it had closed again behind her—because he was too tempted to storm in there after her and kiss her ’til she begged him to be inside her again. But she’d disappeared now, so he walked, trying to make his tense muscles relax—reminding himself that he’d just had a fun time on a beach with a cute girl. That was all. Nothing more. Nothing serious.
    But he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that he’d just left a part of himself behind.

CHAPTER FOUR
    T HERE was always a pin to burst a bubble. And it didn’t take long for Kelsi to find one. All she’d had to do was enter ‘Jack’ and ‘professional snowboarder’ and ‘New Zealand’ into her computer.
    Jack Greene was featured on a zillion webpages. And no wonder he looked as if he’d stepped out of a catalogue—he really had, modelling for the snow’n’skate chain of stores he’d got her the hat and wrap from. For their exclusive New Zealand designed snowboard gear range—he was the celebrity endorsement.
    Worse still, he was Jack Greene of the Pure Greene Trust that owned Karearea—the Maori name for the New Zealand falcon—and a private ski field. A couple of hours’ drive from Christchurch, it was the favourite winter playground of New Zealand’s sporting elite and showbiz celebrities and snobby super-rich people. Home to the exclusive,