by Nicola Marsh
‘I think our young tour guides have a crush on you.’
Plonking a frying pan in the sink with enough vigour to raise his eyebrow, she muttered, ‘Not likely.’
The way she reacted whenever Rhys was near, it was more likely she was the one with a stupid crush.
‘As long as the feeling’s not mutual?’
She smirked at his question, a small part of her wishing he’d asked out of jealousy before remembering his anti-fraternising-employees policy—which obviously didn’t include them!
‘What do you think?’
‘I think you know exactly how you affect the male species.’
She loved the timbre of his voice: rich, deep, sensual. It reminded her of her favourite caramel chocolate, all smoothness and honey. And probably just as dangerous to her well-being as the chocolate was to her hips.
Flicking soap suds his way to distract from a growing blush, she rinsed her hands and dried them. ‘Yep, that’s me, a regular femme fatale.’
Glancing down at her moss-green jumper, black jeans and hiking boots, she nodded. ‘Just give me a minute to slip into my diamonds and satin.’
He laughed. ‘Any plans for today?’
‘Not really. Thought I’d scout around the local area, check out the wildflowers.’
It would be her first chance to explore freely and she’d been looking forward to it all week. With the added bonus of keeping out of his way and away from the temptation of dragging him back to that canoe.
For all her earlier sassy bravado after his impromptu massage, she now had a serious case of nerves. Casually flirting to cover up her blossoming crush was one thing; now she had him alone a tiny part of her was scared. Scared she was in over her head, scared she might botch this and ruin her limited professional credibility in the process, scared she already liked him too much and was in danger of getting hurt.
‘How about I show you some of the best spots?’
So much for avoiding temptation. Why didn’t he just offer her the apple in paradise and be done with it?
He turned away and draped the tea towel over the oven handle, effectively preventing her from reading the expression on his face. Where had the invitation come from? Did he want to get her alone in the wilderness and go for a repeat performance on the lake or was he establishing distance by donning his professional park naturalist hat and giving her a tour?
Whatever his motivation, her heart raced at the thought of spending time alone with him.
‘Sure, sounds good. Thanks for the offer.’
‘You’re welcome.’
His slow-burning smile sent a quiver of anticipation through her, the stacked plates in her hands making a giveaway rattle.
‘Do I need to bring anything?’
If his sexy smile did wicked things to her insides, it had nothing on the briefest touch of his knuckles running gently down her cheek.
‘Just yourself.’
The plates barely made it into the cupboard in one piece.
Jade sketched, desperate to capture the intense colours of the flowers. Her fingers flew over the paper, reproducing the exact shape and colour of the Arctic forget-me-not, the Tundra rose and the bell-heather flower, oblivious to Rhys’s presence until he tapped her on the shoulder.
‘Hey, remember me?’
She looked up from her sketchpad, startled at his close proximity. ‘Sorry, I’ve been so caught up I forgot you were here.’
He clutched his heart. ‘Ouch! My ego’s wounded.’
She laughed at his antics. ‘Your ego’s big enough. I’m sure a dent here or there wouldn’t affect it that much.’
Grimacing, he rubbed the chest area over his heart. ‘Nope, still smarting. What did I do to deserve this?’
She swatted him on the arm. ‘I don’t know, but you hired me, remember?’
‘How could I forget?’
His voice deepened and her pulse took off at the predictable rate whenever he so much as glanced her way.
She shivered at the recollection of her interview. It had only been a few weeks yet her first impression of her sexy boss hadn’t dulled. If anything, her feelings had intensified. Frighteningly so.
Ignoring her thudding heart, she quickly changed the subject. ‘What do you think of these?’
He studied her sketches. ‘You’re good. If the biology doesn’t work out, you can always become an artist.’
‘No way. I’m not creative enough for that.’
He stared directly into her eyes. ‘I think you are.’
She looked away, wishing her heart would stop pounding like a teenager’s every time he flirted with her.
‘Here, I made you this.’
Rhys held out his hand. He had wound together a colourful chain of mountain flowers. She picked it up and inhaled, savouring the combination of sweet floral scents.
‘Thanks, it’s beautiful,’ she murmured, wondering if she could press them.
She’d always been prone to sentimentality and had held on to keepsakes from past crushes. Pathetic. Thankfully, she’d kicked the habit with Julian and had thrown out every last card, letter and flower he had ever sent her.
Rhys plucked it out of her hand and placed the floral wreath on her head.
‘Now it is.’
Their gazes locked, the silence crackling with a tangible heat.
‘Not bad for a cheechako,’ he said, his eyes burning with an emotion she couldn’t begin to fathom.
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I have the distinct impression you just called me a nasty name.’
‘Would I do that?’ His face was the picture of innocence. If she could call the devil innocent.
She merely raised an eyebrow.
‘Cheechako is native Alaskan, means a tenderfoot trying to survive their first year in Alaska. You’re doing a good job. It can be tough with limited entertainment and only guys for company.’
She blushed, thinking the guy sitting before her had provided her with more entertainment than she could’ve wished for. And, yeah, it had been tough, looking at all that eye candy whenever he’d pulled off his shirt or squatted down when working. Real tough.
‘Thanks. I love it out here. It’s everything I could’ve hoped for.’
Looking around, she took in the sweeping mountain views, the endless azure sky, the lush, verdant landscape.
‘Besides, entertainment is overrated.’
She didn’t see his hand coming until it snaked across her sketchbook, captured hers.
‘Is that why you love this place so much? It’s the antithesis of your life in Sydney?’
Her startled gaze flew to his. ‘How do you do that?’
‘What?’
‘Hone in on what I’m thinking.’
He shrugged, his smile bashful. ‘I’m a man of many talents.’
Wasn’t that the truth, his mind-reading being the least of them.
She stared at his hand over hers, so strong, the pads of his fingers calloused, making her skin tingle with the slightest abrasive scrape.
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
As she lifted her gaze from their joined hands and took in the spectacular view, drew a deep breath that filled her lungs with pure floral ambrosia, snuggled deeper into her anorak, she knew there was no place she’d rather be than here.
But it was more than Alaska and having his hand squeeze her gently in encouragement only served to increase the scary feeling expanding in her chest.
Rhys didn’t want a relationship; he’d spelled it out. For all she knew he was still hung up on his dead girlfriend. Yet here, now, in the perfect stillness of a perfect moment, she wanted to share a small part of her nobody else saw.
‘I love this place because it’s simple. Sure, it’s freezing, occasionally brutal on a newbie like me, but it’s essentially honest.’
Turning her hand over, she slid her fingers between his. ‘And yeah, you’re right, that’s the opposite of my life in Sydney.’
He searched her face
for answers she had a feeling were clearly displayed. ‘You’re not just talking about your rat bastard fiancé, are you?’
Smiling at his apt description of Julian, she nodded. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I loved my life there, but when everything went pear-shaped, it’s like I had the metaphorical blinkers ripped from my eyes. Everything seemed so clear…’
And that was what scared her the most: that she’d seriously loved Julian, had idolised her parents, had coasted through her cushy life, content to only see what she wanted to see.
She’d been so hung up on appearances, just like them, she’d lost sight of the stuff that really mattered, and lost a piece of herself in the process.
Her faith in her own judgement had taken a serious whack, making her doubt herself in so many ways. A doubt that crept over her now as Rhys squeezed her hand, released it, making her wonder if she’d said too much, had got too deep too quickly and scared him.
‘Don’t beat yourself up. At times we see what we want to see.’
He didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on a distant mountain, his jaw rigid.
‘We’re not just talking about me any more.’
Dejection tightened his features, his eyes despairing before he blinked, erasing a depth of feeling that staggered her.
‘I just meant sometimes it’s easier to drift along, seeing the good stuff, pretending the rest doesn’t exist until it’s too late—’
He stopped abruptly, as if he’d said too much, and leapt to his feet.
‘I’m going fishing.’
Considering his lack of gear, fishing was a euphemism for escaping their discussion. Looked as if Ranger could add ‘master of the quick bolt’ alongside his impressive park naturalist qualifications.
‘Hope they’re biting.’
With a brisk nod, he stomped off into the forest while she gathered up her gear, managing a weary smile.
She’d been nervous about being alone with him out here for fear of a continuation of their hot make-out session.
Instead, she now had something even greater to fear: gaining more insight into a guy who now tugged on her emotions as well as her hormones.
Rhys trudged through the forest, mentally kicking himself.
What on earth possessed him to blab whenever he was alone with Jade?
Must be his libido messing with his head. The more he tried to ignore the spark between them, the more he veered towards a touchy-feely side he never knew existed.
Kicking at a tree root, he enjoyed the stab of momentary pain, distracting from a deeper, harsher pain he kept buried. The pain of loss, the pain of guilt, the pain of helplessness.
Losing Archie had introduced him to all those incredibly soul-destroying pains. Losing Claudia reinforced it.
She’d never been the love of his life—he’d need to have a heart to have one of those—far from it. The fiery redhead had been a daredevil, a kindred spirit, wild and carefree and totally living in the moment.
He’d identified with her, had lived vicariously through her when he’d had to play the responsible boss and she’d been free to indulge her wild streak.
They’d connected on so many levels. Until things got complicated. And he never did complicated.
Withdrawing had only served to push her towards that final day, the day he could barely think about for the weight of guilt crushing him.
Now there was Jade, all bright-eyed and enthusiastic and ready to tackle whatever Alaska threw her way.
While she wasn’t as crazy or fearless as Claudia, the similarities were there: the willingness to prove herself, the eagerness to learn, the unbreakable spirit.
But there was far more depth to Jade. Her sensitivity, her caring, her ability to gently delve into areas he’d deliberately closed off from everyone, particularly himself.
He didn’t want to open up to her.
He didn’t want to like her.
What if it was too late?
Letting fly a curse, he broke into a small clearing near the river’s edge, dragged in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut.
When he reopened them, took in the gurgling water tumbling over rocks, saw the flash of pink salmon darting low and the scattering of pale sunshine on the river’s surface, he immediately calmed.
If Davidson Glacier was his favourite place on earth, this place was a close second.
Heading to his makeshift shed, he gathered his rod, bait and folding stool, plonking the lot next to the river.
He’d never had the patience for fishing, had hated anything sedentary when he’d rather be caving or abseiling or parachuting.
But those days were behind him and there was something infinitely calming about sitting next to flowing water with a rod in his hand, with nothing better to do than wait for a bite, alone with his thoughts.
As he settled on the stool, baited his hook and cast out, letting the welcome silence wash over him, he wondered at the wisdom of being here.
He could usually control his thoughts, keeping them away from random forays into the part of him locked away.
However, after another conversation with Jade fresh in his mind he couldn’t do anything but think; about her.
His plan to keep busy, keep her working hard and ignore the attraction between them was failing miserably. If anything, the harder he pushed her, and seeing her struggle valiantly to keep up, only served to ratchet up his admiration.
As for their shared confidences, those little snippets of personal stuff they kept dragging out of each other…he’d never felt so close to anyone.
So what the hell was he going to do?
His first plan of keeping his distance wasn’t working. Maybe he should go the other way? Get this thing for her out of his system. Lose the mystique, the fascination she held. What did he have to lose?
He’d already lost a piece of himself to her, opening up about Claudia, revealing more than he wanted anyone to know.
Perhaps focusing on the physical would obliterate his crazy need to confide in her the closer they grew?
But he’d persistently pushed her away; she’d think he was nuts if he did the opposite. Unless he showed her…
As his line grew taut and he concentrated on reeling in their dinner a glimmer of an idea worked its way into his muddled head.
Dinner…
Showing her…
Yeah, he was sick of all this talking they seemed to be doing.
Time for a little action.
Chapter Eleven
SEVERAL hours later Jade woke to the tantalising aroma of grilled salmon.
Her nose twitched as she sat up, rubbed her eyes and glanced at the time. Looked like her nana nap had turned into an exhausted two-hour siesta. Considering her lack of sleep lately, she must’ve needed it. No prizes for guessing the cause of her insomnia.
As if on cue, Rhys knocked on the door before opening it and sticking his head in. ‘Dinner time, Sleeping Beauty.’
‘Be there in a sec.’
Better make that an hour, she thought as she washed her face and ran a comb through her messy hair. After dumping Julian she’d had her thick hair layered, opting for a less extreme change than getting the lot hacked off. Considering it was now totally unruly, refusing to behave to any ministering whatsoever, maybe she should’ve gone with the GI Jane look.
With a slash of pale pink lip gloss, she was ready. Poking her tongue out at her reflection, she marvelled at the changes in herself. A few months ago she wouldn’t set foot outside her palatial bedroom without a full face of make-up. Appearance had been everything. Unfortunately, she’d learned that the hard way.
Slamming the door on her memories, she headed for the main house, following the sounds of soft R & B from the living room.
Rhys had a thing for rhythm and blues. He also had a thing for soaring ceilings, bleached pine boards and views for miles around if this room was any indication.
The first time he’d given her the grand tour and she’d stepped into here, her mouth had dropped.
She’d visited ostentatious palaces and showy mansions in her time, but this place demonstrated money could be used for subtle class.
Modular ebony leather sofas and reclining chairs, thick rugs, and a modern steel-enclosed open fire added to the ambiance created by the ivory walls, high exposed beams and those floor-to-ceiling windows showing nature at its best.
It should’ve clashed amid the rugged wilderness outside but, somehow, this house and everything in it blended into the landscape, as if a giant hand had scooped out a chunk of mountain and nestled the house inside the hole, cradling it, nurturing it, approving.
‘Hope you’re hungry.’
He stepped into the room, silhouetted against a window, rivalling the view for breathtaking beauty.
‘Starving.’
Helpless to stop her hammering heart, she sauntered towards the fire, where he’d laid out their dinner on a picnic rug.
She’d never had an indoor picnic, never done anything so wildly romantic, and it confused the heck out of her. When he’d stomped off on his fishing expedition earlier, she’d thought he’d retreat tonight. It wouldn’t have surprised her in the least if he’d feigned a headache and eaten in his room.
Yet here he was, playing the charming host, laying out a romantic setting complete with music. What was he up to? As if he didn’t bamboozle her enough without the trimmings.
‘This looks delicious.’
‘Thanks. Thought we’d dine informal tonight. Hope you don’t mind?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Good.’
Her mouth watered as he handed her a plate filled with grilled herb-encrusted salmon steak, corn on the cob and a baked potato slathered in butter and chives, though she didn’t know what made her salivate more. His impressive culinary skills or his impressive chest, every muscular ridge and bump highlighted in an azure shirt the same stunning colour of his eyes.
Heat surged to her cheeks—thankfully, she could blame it on proximity to the open fire—as she focused on her plate and not on the expanse of skin visible where his collar opened in a tantalising V.
