by Jena Petrie
Overall, she was like a beautifully-wrapped compact package. Would she perform the magic he needed and revitalise his enthusiasm for rowing?
Or show him a totally different path to the future?
***
"This is us." Connor held the door open, allowing Bailey to slip past and into their Mt Cook village motel.
Two paces in, ice-cold panic churned her stomach to pulp and froze her in place. "No! You promised!" Another deception; only one room. With one king-sized bed filling most of the space, mocking her.
He dropped his sports bag onto the suitcase stand and pointed at the far wall.
An open door. Creeping towards it, she peered in. Another bedroom. Two beds. Phew. Automatically, her shoulders dropped.
"Hope you don't mind if I take the big bed?"
"No. It's fine." And safer.
"You can lock the door from your side if you want. Of course, if you change your mind and need company one night, you know where to find me."
"Some hope you have!" Still, she couldn't resist a glance over her shoulder. His cheeky grin flipped her insides right over.
"Hey, you're so small we'd both fit in this big bed."
She stopped walking. Stopped breathing, it seemed, as her body cooled. Then with a massive intake of breath she marched towards him till she stood only a foot in front. "Don't you ever," she jabbed him in the chest, "ever," another jab, "call me small again. Do you hear?"
"Sorry. Never meant to offend." He backed away a pace. "Sure aren't small on determination, are you?"
"You'd better believe it. When I have a plan, I go for it. Same as you I guess, aiming for Olympic gold."
"We've started the interview already? Don't waste time, do you?" A slight smile touched his lips.
"Just getting to know you."
In her room, he opened another door. "Bathroom," he explained. "Shared, bathroom."
"Then both doors had better lock from the inside." Slipping in, she checked them out. "Yep."
"I'll still hear you shower." With those last words Connor's voice changed to a low, sexy rumble. It whispered suggestions around her and sent heat spiralling through her. What was it about this man that caused such a reaction? It could almost make her forget her history. And her goal.
Ah, but this King of Flings loved to tease, as he'd done over the window seat in that tiny plane as well as his talk. "Listen all you like," she retorted, exiting the small room. "How much do I owe—"
With a wave he dismissed the query. "We can discuss that later. Why don't you unpack now? When that's done you can join me in my room and we'll figure out what to do next."
So she spent the next few minutes putting clothes in drawers and hanging up her good dress. When she opened the connecting door, Connor sat at the small table, two steaming cups, a small milk carton and several sugar sachets in front of him. Open on the table sat a folder displaying photos of the mountain.
"Ah. Bailey." The room lit with his typical, dazzling smile.
No wonder his fans loved him.
"Coffee?" Lifting the carton, he asked, "Milk and sugar?"
"Just milk, thanks."
"Sweet enough already?"
"Didn't say that," she protested.
"No. I did." Instead of passing the carton, he poured the liquid. "Settled in?"
"Yes. You, too?"
"All done." He slid the cup towards her. "Shirt and jacket hung up, socks and jocks"— he nodded towards the bedside cabinet—"in drawers; shaving kit and aftershave"—fingers slid over his five o'clock shadow—"in the bathroom."
"Not going to use it, are you? The shaver?"
"Why not?"
"Thought you wanted to be inconspicuous. So grow a beard while you're here. It'll distract any who think they might recognise you."
He rubbed at the fuzz. "A beard? Now there's an idea. Wouldn't change your appearance though." Leaning forward, he added, "Perfect like it is, green eyes and all. In fact, I've never seen eyes such a bright green." His voice sounded husky and hesitant, as if he'd suddenly lost all his previous bravado. "Contacts?"
"Nooo. Just me. Yours are–" Gorgeous.
"Grey," he filled in, and she gave a shaky laugh at the insipid description.
"A warm grey," she corrected. "With a smattering of yellow, like tiny gold flecks embedded in rock. And I noticed from the Olympics photos, your skin is well tanned–"
"But not all over." His eyebrows went up and down.
Jeez. Talk about sexy! Abruptly, she stood, her gaze darting around the room for a more permanent distraction. Outside, the sun sat low over the mountains, its rays casting deep shadows that stretched ahead like an advancing army.
"Sunshine disappears early in this terrain." Connor voiced her thoughts. "Want to go outside, explore the village, find somewhere to have a drink, and dinner?"
As long as it was away from the confines of this room, his bed and his too-close presence. The coming interview might change her career, but she'd never again succumb to an interviewee's lies and sexual needs. "Yes. Let's."
***
Outside, the glare was so intense Connor slipped on his sunnies. "Helps the disguise so we can stay incognito," he whispered as he walked beside Bailey along the path to the village. "No point attracting the paparazzi."
"Paparazzi?" Terror laced her voice and she stopped so suddenly he didn't realise, and walked on. "You really think—?" Bug-eyes stared up at him as he rejoined her. "Oh. Another tease, huh?"
This time, he grinned. "You're getting used to me. Good." Like he was getting used to feeling his old cheerful self again. Amazing the change she'd created in only a few hours.
Further down the hill he pulled her towards the information office so they could study the window display. "What did you do the time you came here with your family?"
"Why? It's not important."
"Just trying to avoid repetition."
She punched fists onto both her hips. "I was seven, Connor. I don't recall much at all from that age. Do you?"
"Said you enjoyed it so something must have stuck."
"Yeah, well." She turned back to the display. "The imposing mountains are what I remember."
"Did you walk up the Hooker Valley?"
"No. My parents were keeping that till last, as a highlight."
"Want to do it tomorrow?"
"Oh! I'd love to, if it's alright with you?" She peered up at him, her face alight with enthusiasm like the school kids when he tempted them with his medal.
"Sure, but I need help choosing other activities, so how about—?"
"Let's go and look at brochures," and she yanked the door open and marched into the small centre.
Visitors crowded around the displays—a group of Asians, probably part of a bus tour, chatting in their own language—and one European guy studying a model of the area.
Bailey had wandered along the wall of posters and he peered over her shoulder as she flicked through some maps and brochures on display. Nudging him, she pointed to a poster depicting the boat ride to the Tasman Glacier ice face. "How about the hike in the morning and this one in the afternoon?"
"Okay. What about Sunday?"
"You choose for Sunday."
Generous. "What say we walk to the Red Tarns that day? Apparently the view's awesome."
"That's only one thing. Didn't you say we're not leaving till four? We'll have time for a second activity; or should we keep it for the last of the interviews?"
Bending, he spoke quietly. "Thought we'd check out the sky tomorrow night. The show might finish quite late. Might need to sleep in next day. Mm?"
"Not me! I'm a morning person." Turning, she marched away, leaving him shaking with silent laughter.
But instead of walking outside, she'd stopped by the huge window, staring out, her mouth open in tandem with her eyes. "Wow. Look at that, will you?"
"Got your camera?"
"No-o. Mind if I go and get it?"
"Course not. Meet you outside in fifteen."
Not long enough, apparently. When she didn't show, he went back up the path till he found her. "Finished?"
"Photos, yes. Admiring the scenery, never. When have you seen anything so impressive?" She spread her free arm wide to indicate the view. "Doesn't Mt Cook look glorious? The peak appears to have a light inside."
"Stunning."
"The sky's almost clear now. We could do the stargazing tonight."
"Or just sit and chat, get to know each other a little." From his pocket he pulled out a brochure of the glacier trip and handed it over. "Hope you don't mind, but I booked this for the morning. Figured it'd be better not having a time limit for the walk, especially if you're going to run off and take photos every five minutes."
"Hey, what's wrong with taking photos of such a beautiful spot? Don't you want some memories?"
"They're in my head." No point recording anything that might remind him of his depression.
"Nothing for your Facebook page, to email your crewmates and make them jealous, your fans, coach, anyone?"
"We're keeping this private, remember?" Applying a little pressure on her back, he started walking down the path, keeping pace with her. "One reason Mt Cook's such a good location for us is that internet connection's patchy. With luck, your phone or computer won't pick up our location."
"I might use the place for a travel article–"
He glared down at her.
"After I've written the one on you."
"Travel, now? For your paper?"
"No, no. Magazine of course. I need to grab every opportunity I can. You know, to get my name in front of editors and be noticed."
"You think a travel article's going to do that?"
"Worth a try. Anything, in my opinion, is worth a try."
"Anything?"
The look she threw him suggested there should be a dagger involved and again, he chuckled. Man, what a bonus this woman had turned into. Must be months since he'd laughed, let alone twice in one hour. Automatically, his arm slipped around her shoulders.
Only to have it drop a moment later as she shook herself free and marched ahead. "Business this weekend, remember?" She threw back.
"You're my girlfriend this weekend, remember?" he countered, catching up in only a couple of strides and taking her hand.
"Acting," she corrected, her gaze focused on those hands. "And in my book, acting doesn't include taking the pretence this far."
"No? Then we won't look authentic and people might get suspicious. And that's besides you reneging on our agreement." To stop himself sounding like a kid with a serious gripe, he whistled a tune as they continued towards the village.
"Got it!" she announced a minute later.
"What?"
"If you come on that fast with every girl you meet, you probably frighten them all off. That's why you don't have a girlfriend."
Thought she had it figured, did she? Nope. Way off beam. If only she knew how hard it could be to find a girl with enough knowledge of rowing to provide the support he craved, without being jealous of his success. "How do you know they don't scare me first? All those young girls hanging around at regattas, wanting my autograph on the chest of the T-shirt they're wearing."
With a soft laugh she squeezed his hand.
Yup. She really did. It sent an instant message south, unwelcome at this time. If only, huh.
"I guess that's the price you pay for being a celebrity." Her mouth twitched. "You weren't tempted to take advantage of their offerings?"
"What do you think I am? A pervert?" Stupid thing to say when she was already wary of him and he swiped a hand through his hair. Perhaps the sign outside the large building further down the hill might bring a distraction. "Look; a bar. Let's go there."
***
Bailey laughed at Connor's latest humorous account of his experiences overseas, but her gaze swung away again, back to the guy who watched from the next table. Who was he for God's sake? His thick-set features, heavy body and greying hair were totally unfamiliar, so why did he keep looking? Probably just amusing himself at her expense and nothing to worry about. She picked up her wine glass.
Empty. Maybe that was the trouble; too much alcohol had rendered her brain useless. Still, the ambience in the large room had improved after a group of noisy patrons stumbled out and she'd relaxed more, listened to Connor's stories more intently and really enjoyed his company. In quick succession he'd changed humour from charming to teasing to flirting to dead serious. Such a mixture, it had been hard to keep up.
"Dessert?" Connor asked, reading the blackboard menu after they'd finished their main course.
The unknown guy still sat at his table. Still sipped his drink. Still watched her. "No, thanks."
"No?" His eyebrows rose. "You might need more food, if we're late tonight."
"Not me," she growled, picking up her wine glass again. Empty. That's right.
Again Connor leaned forward, so close this time she could feel his breath when he whispered, "Why don't you tell me what you've been looking at over my shoulder all evening, huh?"
"Oh." She folded her paper serviette, opened it again and scrunched it in a ball. "A... man. Keeps looking–"
"What?" The clipped, whispered sound portrayed fear. "Someone who knows you? Someone who could spill the beans? The paparazzi? Jesus, Bailey!" Grabbing her hand, he hauled her to her feet and towards the door.
"But he doesn't have a camera," she argued, trying to resist the pull as he hurried her towards the stairs. "Or a phone, recorder, or—"
"That we could see."
Outside, Connor pulled her up the hill until they'd almost reached the fork in the path, his hand squeezing hers. "I need to ask about hiring a day pack from reception. Why don't you go straight back to our unit?"
"Okay. I can start writing—."
"Or warming the big bed."
With both hands on his chest she shoved him away. "Fat chance!" and with a sharp turn she marched off, followed by the sound of Connor's gentle laughter.
Blast him. Time he realized this pretext wouldn't carry over into their private time.
Above her, the massive Milky Way formed a sparkling arch across the expansive inky sky and she stopped to absorb the spectacle. What an awesome panorama, and so rare without the distraction of street lights and flashing advertising signs.
This would make an ideal background for a romantic retreat, although would she ever need such a place? Sure wouldn't be with a sportsman, not after her experience with Sam. He'd used her articles to promote himself, then dumped her the moment the national selectors beckoned. "You're too small," he'd told her, but what he'd meant was, "Too insignificant."
She must appear insignificant to Connor too, but thank God he'd taken up her challenge and agreed to help her cause, but what advantage would he gain? A printed rehash of his achievements would hardly do anything for him this long after the Olympics, and a weekend away with a companion seemed like nothing compared with her possible career advancement.
Outside their unit she stopped short. Stuck to the door was a piece of white paper, with Bailey Stoddart written untidily in large letters. Who would message her this way instead of via cell phone? Flatmates Lauren and Gemma?
Yikes, they might have an urgent message. With the door unlocked she slipped inside, yanked the paper from the blue-tack with one hand and flicked on the light switch with the other. Pushing the door closed with her foot, she opened the single fold and scanned the contents.
No! Hedgehog spikes prickled her scalp and her body froze.
'So the rumours are true. You do sleep with your interviewees to get your stories. Does your boss know your sneaky tactics?'
CHAPTER 3
"Bailey?" The sight of her slumped in the chair, shoulders hunched and her body shaking, made Connor's heart hammer such a loud drumbeat she could probably hear it too.
She jerked, looked up, her eyes huge in a pasty-pale face instead of its previous healthy colouring.
Christ
! Something had happened in the last ten minutes to change her into this frightened animal. Something serious. Why'd he been such a dick-head as to leave her alone in the dark? For some reason, his big-time screw-up had put her through hell. So much for impressing her; instead, he'd been too intent on giving her a surprise to even think straight.
She stood, so quickly the chair almost fell and he grabbed it, pushed her back. "You're cold. I'll get the heater." While it warmed, he made a cup of sweet tea, put it in front of her and sat opposite, waiting till she'd finished drinking before he spoke. "Now, why don’t you tell me what happened?"
Slowly, her fingers opened, revealing a scrunched-up piece of paper and he spread it out on the table and read.
Shit. "Where was this?"
"Th-the door. Stuck to the door. Outside." Again, she covered her face, rocking from side to side. "Oh, why didn't I insist on separate motel units? Whoever he is won't know this one has two bedrooms."
"So, someone wants to scare you off. Is that what you make of it?"
"But... Why?"
"And who. Like a rival at your paper? Or the reporter Jerry turned away?"
"More likely my boss, finding a new reason to dismiss me. Or if he knew about this s-story I want to write, angry that I went behind his back and planned to do it for a magazine, instead of offering it to his paper."
"You think your boss is responsible?" Good God.
"Just saying it's p-possible."
He dropped into a crouch to watch her face. "An ex, with an axe to grind?"
Thumb and forefinger slid down a strand of hair beside her face. Reaching the end, she twisted the curl around her finger. "No."
"The guy you kept watching at dinner?"
"No, no. He was just amusing himself by pulling funny faces."
"What about past reporter colleagues?"
Another head shake. "None who'd suddenly pop up out of nowhere like this." She leaned forward and pushed the Off button on the heater, then stood. At least, she tried. Apparently not enough strength in those legs yet because he had to grip her arm to stop the collapse.
