Page 58 of Under Southern Stars
“Ten days,” Jack murmurs against my neck, his accent thicker in his post-orgasmic haze.
“Ten days,” I agree, then remember Troy’s dig about the trip. “Jack? The flights—how exactly did you manage—”
“Points,” he says quickly. “Lot of miles between here and there. They add up real quick.” His eyes briefly shift away, a tell I’m starting to recognize. “Between flights home, medical conferences, even that All Blacks match in San Diego last year against Fiji—sixteen hours to Auckland or four to California still counts the same to the airline.”
“That’s a lot of flying.”
His hand traces circles on my hip, too casual. “Plus there’s routing bonuses. Stopover in LA adds miles. Premium credit card multipliers.” He’s explaining too much now. “Amazing what you can accumulate if you’re strategic.”
Something in his tone makes me want to push. But then he’s kissing me again, slow and deep, and Troy’s paperwork can definitely wait another hour.
Or three.
CHAPTER TWENTY
JACK
The phone rings at 6 AM, which means it’s 11 PM in New Zealand. I know who it is before I even check the screen.
“Kia ora, Mum.”
“Jackson! Finally! I was beginning to think you’d forgotten you had a family.” Her voice carries that particular mix of guilt and affection that only mothers can manage. “Charlotte says you haven’t returned her calls either.”
“Been busy, Mum. Work’s been—”
“Yes, yes, playing paramedic.” She dismisses a few years of my life with casual efficiency. “Now, about this Sophia…”
I groan internally. Here we go. “What about her?”
“When do we meet her? And her daughter? Madison, isn’t it? Emma’s already planning activities for a teenager. She’s got some daft idea about a rugby clinic.”
“Mum, they’re coming for a holiday, not boot camp.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic. Emma just wants to share her passion. Like your father with the vineyard tours he’s planning.”
My stomach drops. “Vineyard tours?”
“Well, of course! Can’t have them staying at the estate without showing them the operation. Your father’s alreadyselected the vintages for the tasting. The ‘15 Pinot is drinking beautifully right now.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Mum, I told you, we don’t need anything fancy—”
“Nonsense. It’s not every day my son brings home a woman. The staff are beside themselves. Mrs. Petersen is planning a proper welcome feast, and Tane’s already preparing the guest wing.”
“The guest wing?” My voice cracks slightly. “Mum, no. We don’t need the guest wing. The pool house would be—”
“The pool house? For your girlfriend and her daughter? Absolutely not. They’ll have the blue suite. Best views of the mountains and the lake.”
I can see it now—Sophia’s face when she realizes the “family property” has a guest wing. And staff. And multiple suites with mountain views.
“Mum, listen. Sophia doesn’t know about…everything.”
Silence. Then: “What do you mean she doesn’t know?”
“She thinks I’m just a paramedic.”
“You ARE just a paramedic, darling. That doesn’t mean you have to live like one. Honestly, this martyrdom is exhausting.” I can hear her frowning through the phone. “Jackson Charles McKenzie, please tell me you haven’t been lying to this poor woman. You’re representing the McKenzie name, whether you like it or not.”
“I haven’t lied. I just…haven’t mentioned certain things.”
