Take Me Now

by Nancy Jardine

  “Guest cloakroom is second door on the left,” he rasped, pointing to the internal entrance doors facing them. His face had leached every vestige of colour.

  Aela’s opinion remained – the numbskull should be resting.

  “Office, second right, when you’re done.”

  Whether she wanted to use the amenities or not, it appeared he’d just issued another order she needed to obey if she wanted this job and having made landfall at this cute castle the location appealed a lot, though she willed her mind to remain open regarding its ignorant owner. He didn’t like her – but that was okay because liking each other didn’t have to come into it. In a contrary way, it made her more determined to get the temporary job.

  “Got that, Mr. Malcolm.”

  After using the facilities, she gave her face a good wash to clear off the salt spray and tidied her hair with her fingers having found most of the pins holding her top knot had vanished to the wind during the boat trip. Rummaging in the pocket of her jacket, she pulled out two pencils and secured her long hair into a new knot. She felt a bit tidier, if not quite business-perfect.

  The hallway was impressive, many doors to either side, light and airy but also very silent. Nobody seemed to be around, or they were too well-trained to come and find out who wandered the corridor. Adjacent to the cloakroom was a cosy little breakfast nook, bright and welcoming, its large window overlooking the well-stocked side garden. A small arch led through to an impressive kitchen, the décor old-style wooden cabinets, interspersed with modern appliances. She was dying to investigate the rest of the castle, though instead headed for the office reckoning she’d given Nairn enough time to get his broken bones settled.

  “Here, please!” His order was terse, his scowling focus entirely on his screen.

  “So kind. Thank you.” She sat opposite him though, as far as she could tell, her sarcasm had fallen on deaf ears.

  There were sharp intakes of breath each time Nairn Malcolm moved, looking even worse than he had outside.

  “One minute.”

  His voice was hostile as he fiddled with his computer mouse while peering, one-eyed, at his monitor. Having noticed he’d avoided eye contact since she entered the room Aela’s brows drew together, the first flicker of doubt stealing into her mind. Was she wasting her time even if it had been a lark so far? She pulled her gaze away from him and studied the room. The office was large with an efficient setup. The L-shaped desk arrangement he sat behind was mirrored behind her; the second display angled so the desks weren’t directly facing each other.

  A thin bead of sweat trickled down his left temple and made a track on his battered face, into the heavy growth covering his jaws. He was the most unkempt prospective employer she could ever imagine. So ridiculous after the effort she’d put in to look professional in her charity-shop pale grey suit with its too-short flaring skirt, and nipped-in-waist jacket, but the suit, shoes and fuchsia camisole had been the best she could find at such short notice. It had been a difficult call – come dressed for sailing, or wear more typical PA garb.

  “This interview might have to be short.”

  Her smile faded as she nodded back, disappointment warring with irritation, but she made no attempt to speak. Was the dratted man admitting he was too ill to continue?

  “But first give me brief details about flying my floatplane, and then my 525b jet.”

  He inched two advertising brochures across the desk toward her, information on the two vehicles he’d referred to. The floatplane she’d seen in his boatshed, but she scanned the jet specifications before she lifted her gaze back to him. His skin tone was as grey as the granite walls of his castle, his deep voice like gravel as he brought his good arm across his chest to brace himself more comfortably in the chair. Stupid man. Determined clearing of her throat grabbed his attention, which seemed to have strayed to somewhere to the right of her shoulder.

  Talk about his planes? Nothing would please her better. She loved everything about flying. She licked her lips before starting.

  “Your floatplane down in the cove is similar…”

  Recounting her experience with comparable planes she watched his eyes glaze over, both lids lowering to slits. Surely, he wasn’t bored? Her eulogy hadn’t been that long. Her information and experience was as relevant as he would get from anyone, male or female.

  “Although I haven’t flown the last five months while on my world tour, I kept myself updated on all new developments via the internet.”

  Only the merest disgruntled twitch broke the stern facemask, which she processed as sort-of listening. As she continued, he slid further down in the chair. His head lolled back to lean on the backrest, his breathing settling to an even shorter rhythm which drew her gaze firmly onto his chest. A deep whimper escaped him as he shunted around a bit more and then his eyes closed again, his good hand making the tiniest of gestures she understood to mean carry on.

  Why couldn’t the damned man make proper eye contact for more than a nanosecond? Even with his one good eye?

  He moaned again and pushed his body back up, his head now awkward, hanging beyond the backrest support, his gaze rolling to the ceiling, his eyelids flickering.

  “Excuse me! If you’re not already too bored to listen, Mr. Malcolm, I’ll tell you about your jet.” She waited, till a nod indicated she should continue. “Thank you very much, sir.” Full of the deepest sarcasm, but she might have been talking to a blank wall because his response was non-existent. “Hey! Are you even listening to me?”

  Not a professional tone of voice, Aela knew that, but she wasn’t used to being ignored. He struggled to open his eyes, looking like a total drunk as his Cyclops-gaze flickered, before his chin flopped down onto his chest.

  “Flippin’ heck. Look at the state you’re in.”

  Unable to contain herself she jumped to her feet. Kneeling at his side, she lifted his chin into one hand and used the fingertips of her other hand to pry open his good eyelid. Mmm. It looked like a seriously dilated pupil. She let her trembling fingers drop away as she reflected on his condition. Without her chin support, his head wavered to the side.

  “Mr. Malcolm.”

  Her shrill tone jolted his eyes open as she manoeuvred both hands to rest his cheek against her chest. He snuggled right in, his nose against her breasts…and sniffed. Aela stared down at him. The thrumming pulse at her wrist beat against his cheek. His lids flickered, his mouth wriggled and his one good eye…beseeched?

  “Boats…”

  Chapter Two

  “What? You still want me to tell you about bloody boats when you’re almost comatose?”

  Aela imagined her question sounded as flabbergasted as she felt, yet the guy’s expression flickered assent as he swallowed, the muscles of his cheeks pressing into her softness. Looking down into the battered face of the stubborn fool she was supporting she knew she couldn’t keep up the deferential interview stuff. “This is absolute crap! You want me to keep talking?”

  “Yes.”

  His growling sigh was accompanied by lolling head shakes, as though he was clearing his head, his pained whimper making her squirm as he whiffed on her silk blouse. He smelled startling so close up; a mixture of aromas assailing her nostrils as she cradled him. Dried blood still lingered on his hair, a hint of some kind of medicinal alcohol wipe and slightly stale sweat was at his brow – but underlying those was the musky male smell of Nairn himself. She released his head slowly down onto the backrest of his chair, the sole protest from him being another tweak of his lip before he murmured, “Love your voice.”

  Aela felt herself glow. Blushing was something she’d not done for at least a decade.

  Returning to her seat gave her a little time to gain composure before she related her knowledge of speedboats and dinghy sailing. Nairn Malcolm’s torso squirmed further down in the chair, the heel of his rigid cast scraping the wooden floor as his legs stretched out below the desk. His eyes flickered, though his attempts to focus on her wer
e failing. At least she thought that was what he was attempting till disturbing sounds emanated from his clenched teeth bordered by lips becoming bluer by the second. Rushing her information, she attempted to speed up the interview process, since he was a hint more tuned into her sailing information. “…but I haven’t piloted a catamaran as new as the one used to bring me here today. Uncle Harris hasn’t upgraded the fleet to those specifications yet.”

  He stretched forward two fingers, wildly aiming at the keyboard, the words wrenched from his mouth. “Uncle Harris?”

  In the face of what now was a complete travesty of an interview her answer snapped out. “My uncle, Harris Cameron, owns Cameron Transport Group.”

  His head dipped as if in recognition, and after taking a deeper breath, he grunted. It was beyond the silly man to breathe normally, but Aela could tell he wasn’t acknowledging his limitations. The mumble that followed took all her deciphering powers.

  “Good old, Harris. Met him. How’s ‘e doing?” His fingers stabbed at the keys as tense seconds passed.

  She waited till his gaze flipped up, though his chin remained down, his head appearing too heavy to lift. “My uncle’s very well, thank you.”

  “How many hours?” His words slurred.

  “What the friggin’ heck has that got to do with my Uncle Harris!”

  She could contain herself no longer. Leaping up she strode a few paces around the room before returning to her chair, her hands clenched at her sides, composure not much better but a grim determination in place. After plunking herself down, she groaned even louder than Mr. Malcolm. What was the man’s frazzled brain referring to? The whole interview had become too surreal now, but she wasn’t sure what to do about it.

  His focus was still on her mouth because she could swear his face was stuck fast, his bent chin supporting the full weight of his head. His intent stare was making her feel ill-at-ease.

  “Your only job?”

  His question came at her as though there had been no break in the conversation at all, no little walkabout for her, none of her inappropriate rejoinders. She wondered if the conversation might go better if she were in cloud-cuckoo-land as well. Maybe she should ferret out some of his happy pills and join him? Biting her lip she answered, calm and collected – she hoped.

  “Yes, I’ve only ever worked for Cameron Transport Group.”

  His fingers randomly jabbed since he didn’t look as though he was even seeing the keys. She was getting too used to his pained breaths as he struggled to raise his head from the chair, gave up, and let it slump back against the headrest. His whole torso drooped as his arms slid down to his sides, the weight of the arm cast making him perch at an awkward tilt. Yet the whine escaping sounded gratified.

  Peculiar.

  His gaze was almost re-focused when it latched onto hers. “Ah. That’s much better.”

  The guy’s weak smile stunned since it was the first proper cracking of his austere demeanour and totally changed him. He breathed slow and measured for a few seconds, a little colour returning to his face. “Bret Walker trained me. Bet you didn’t know that,” he mumbled, naming a colleague at Cameron Airways, the original sector of the transport group. His head cocked to one side, his smile deepening into a slumberous one, his good eye attempting a wink of sorts.

  “I know Bret Walker quite well.” Her answer was careful since his Cyclops expression was quite different from before. The miniscule lift at the edge of his mouth she imagined was an attempt at being agreeable. “Bret’s still Cameron Airways best training pilot, but it was my uncle who trained me.”

  “Wish you’d trained me. Mmm. You’re real gor…jus. D’y know …at?” A lopsided grin broke free as he slid down even further, and his chin settled on his chest again. “…can’t have you, though. S’too dange…us.” His head wobbled again before his eyes closed.

  Aela’s gaze widened at the tenor of his out-of-order comment, and the fleeting look that had accompanied it. The stupid man was passing out. He was on another planet! What would he say next though?

  “Lovely voice, matches…spectacular… face.”

  “What did you just say?”

  Her concern over this strange man’s behaviour increased. Her personal safety didn’t make her fearful, but she was beginning to feel responsible for him since it seemed she was alone with him in the castle. However, why she should feel responsible was the biggest mystery ever.

  His eyes flicked open again. “Where am I?”

  “Your office, Mr. Malcolm.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Office…speriens?”

  His mumble just decipherable, she detailed what she’d undertaken as Office Manager for Cameron Transport Group. It was once again to his closed eyes; though his little nods she interpreted as an indicator that he was listening. He had to be the most stubborn man she’d ever clapped eyes on, yet she had to award him some merit for persistence. His weird determination annoyed her, but she couldn’t watch him suffer any longer.

  “I need water, Mr. Malcolm,” she lied.

  One finger flicked towards the mini-services in a corner of the room. A few seconds later she forced his attention when she waved a glass of water at his face, having pulled his chair free of the desk so that she could get in front of him. Sliding his good leg to the side she knelt between his knees and again lifted his chin, her tone low, but stern.

  “Look at me, you stupid bastard. I know you’re not interviewing for a nursemaid, but you need to swallow some painkillers.”

  Her commanding tone managed to get through, just sufficient for him to rouse a little.

  “If you fall down, you great lummox, I’ll find it difficult to get you up, whereas if you’ll just resort to the damn painkillers you’re too macho to take I might manage to assist you to bed when they’ve kicked in.”

  Having disgorged the anger, Aela waited for the fallout. The man’s eyelids flickered, his hand a limp wave at a bunch of pencils on his desk. A blister pack of tablets and the original package – a squashed mess of cardboard – were stuffed inside the round pencil canister. She scanned the dose of the pain killers she was familiar with.

  “Have you taken any during the last two hours?”

  She waited but no answer came. All he seemed capable of was staring at her. Grasping his prickly chin to lift his face up, days’ worth of beard growth scratched the soft pads of her fingertips as she repeated her question.

  “No.” His mutter was so faint she had to lean closer as he repeated it.

  “Tongue out!” she demanded.

  “Oh…Yeah.”

  A glassy gaze locked onto hers. She placed two tablets onto his tongue and brought the water to his lips. After he gulped some she replaced the glass and hunkered back down between his legs.

  “Look at me!”

  Nairn Malcolm blinked his eyes open. “Y’re so pretty.”

  “Cut the inappropriate comments, you silly numbskull.”

  Again she forced him to make eye contact. His weary pupils locked on, and remained fixed on her.

  Her condescending tone she intended, every single syllable of it, her teeth doing a really nice gritting thing that made her feel better about the ridiculous situation she seemed to have got herself into. “Good. That’s good, Sir Smash-Em-Bloody-Up, keep looking at me. Now be a good boy, and while we’re waiting for the painkillers to kick in I’ll tell you my duties as my uncle’s main secretary, and then as office manager. After that, you dense prat, you’ll know everything you need to know.”

  She needed him to gather sufficient strength. There was no way she could manhandle a man of his physique if he was unable to even hobble. Her comments were accompanied by invectives quite innovative for a woman who was being interviewed for a job.

  His chin slumped, his slit-eyed focus somewhere below the table, but the lopsided smile on his face she found very weird – as weird as the aerial floating movements of his good hand, which at times did manage to stroke her hair. A sort of soothing pat that made her feel…
odd? She really hadn’t a proper word for how it made her feel, but she hadn’t the heart to stop since he seemed to take comfort from what he was doing, though his breathing was worryingly shallow.

  “Don’…need’em…p’ncils.”

  Before she knew what he was about Nairn Malcolm plucked the pencils out of her hair, sending a tousled mess falling round her shoulders.

  “Better.” His happy sigh was accompanied by the clattering of the pencils onto the wooden floor.

  Aela couldn’t prevent her grin because the look on his face was incredible – a mixture of satisfaction, drunkenness and…lust? The jolt of his head slamming forward came as quite a surprise, even more so when his lips collided with hers in a bumbled kiss, unable as he was to aim properly, his fingers clutching her breast for support. Or maybe not, since the squeeze was surprisingly firm. The kiss became more rushed…till the grunt of sheer agony vibrating against her lips was enough to wipe the surprise from her face. Pulling away from him, she gentled his shoulders against the chair. Eyes fast shut, and a tight grimace furrowing his cheeks, the idiot made no objection.

  “Rain check on that one, sir?” As the words popped out Aela knew that should a job offer transpire another kiss like that one could never happen. The pain killers were taking effect, though, since there was a dramatic change to his breathing, Nairn’s whole demeanour relaxing. She was wondering how to get him to do her bidding when his brows whipped into a frown.

  “Got to go, Mz…?”

  Aela winced because he couldn’t even remember her name.

  “’Scuse me.” Shrugging himself upright with his good leg his whole body tilted.

  “Wait a minute, you reckless idiot! Where’s your bloody bedroom?” Jumping up she wedged him against the desk, puffing as his whole weight bore down on her, his head plastered against her face.

  His mouth quirked upwards, his chuckle tickling her ear. “Y wanna go bed me?”

  A disgusted huff passed her lips. “You’re the one who needs to be in bed. Just tell me where.”