Dangerous Ground (Harlequin Presents, December 118)

by Alison Kelly

  But had she? Oh, no! The very first time that Jacqui I’dnever-put-myself-in \-that-position Raynor had found herself facing the ultimate temptation, she’d tumbled into the man’s arms without a second thought. Actually, she couldn’t even recall if she’d had a first thought. One look into Flanagan’s seductive brown eyes and her brain had seized!

  The urge to sniff made Jacqui realise that her tears were no longer a trickle but a deluge. Darn! Things were bad when a person could cry and not know she was doing it. Thank God Flanagan was too far away to hear, or that would have been more embarrassment that she could do without, especially since she had to work with the guy until who knew when. And she was legally bound to work for him. She had no options. Well, technically she could have fought the contract, but since she had no money…

  She mentally sighed. Never before had the burden of her father’s debts seemed so heavy. But, she decided, instead of letting them get her down she would use them as positive motivation to get through the rest of her time with Flanagan. She remembered reading somewhere that one of the top international models had said that the only way she got through some shoots was to ‘think of the big bucks at the end’.

  That was what she would do. She’d concentrate on the fact that at the end of this assignment, or very shortly after, she’d have the cash to pay off the people that her father had unwittingly defrauded. Once that was done she wouldn’t have to smile again unless she felt like it!

  Even if she couldn’t forget what had happened last night she would pull herself together enough so that the shoot would run smoothly and be over quickly! Once it was, Flanagan’s face, like his touch, would be only a memory!

  Sensing reborn strength, Jacqui mopped her face with the end of her belt, hesitating for only a second before slipping the robe from her shoulders. Then, carefully, so as not to reveal more than necessary to the man standing on shore, she wriggled free of the garment.

  She braced herself for the discomfort of the rough sandstone beneath her buttocks, then gingerly edged the fabric from beneath her, not wanting to fall into the creek. While the thought of death still seemed like the least of a whole heap of evils, she didn’t want to experience one where her life would supposedly flash before her eyes. The last thing she needed was a video replay of her past—especially her recent past.

  At the sound of Flanagan’s splashing approach Jacqui’s traitorous heart sped up, and no amount of silent commands for it to behave made any difference. Irritated, she rolled the robe into a tight ball and was securing the belt around it when his voice cut the silence.

  ‘OK, give it to me.’

  He sounded about a metre away, and yet her skin tingled as if he’d reached out and touched her. The recollection of exactly how gentle his touch could be sent such a hot flame of desire rocketing through her that her nipples immediately hardened.

  Then, seemingly without any directive from her brain, her tongue began moving around her mouth, as if trying to detect any lingering taste of the male one which only hours before had initiated her to experiences she’d never dreamed of. Such thoughts were making her sway with sensual weakness.

  ‘Jacqui, give me the flippin’ robe, will you?’

  Feeling more foolish than ever, and grateful that the length of her hair concealed her bareness, she extended her arm behind her.

  ‘H-here.’ He took so long to take it that she thought for an instant that he must have gone back, but she wasn’t risking turning round to check. Concealing her face, which after her crying jag was bound to be blotchy and red, was suddenly as imperative as concealing her body from him. More so. Because it would reveal that he had the power to hurt her.

  ‘Flanagan, take it before I get a cramp in my arm!’

  She heard him swear at the same instant as she pulled back from the brush of his fingers against hers. Then all she could think about was stopping herself from falling into the water while trying to preserve her modesty at the same time. Somehow she managed it.

  ‘Brilliant!’ Flanagan exclaimed, and she knew that he wasn’t talking about her balancing act. ‘Look what you’ve done!’ he said, presenting her peripheral vision with a lump of dripping wet material.

  ‘What I’ve done!’ she exploded, barely staying balanced on the awkwardly shaped rock as her brain immediately checked her body’s instinct to turn to him.

  ‘You should have waited until I had a better grip on it before you let go,’ he insisted.

  ‘You should’ve given me a plastic bag when I asked for it!’ she countered with her back to him. ‘Now what do I do?’

  ‘What you’re being paid to do! Pose!’ he snapped. ‘You claimed to be a model, remember?’

  ‘I am a model!’

  ‘Good, then perhaps we’ll finally finish what we started nearly two hours ago!’ came the response. ‘We’ve still got another shoot to get through today.’

  ‘Don’t remind me,’ she muttered over her shoulder to his departing back. ‘I can only live one nightmare at a time.’

  Focusing on a distant tree, Jacqui draped her hair over her left shoulder, baring herself from shoulder to buttocks and, taking a deep breath, mutinously assumed the cross-legged pose he wanted.

  CHAPTER TEN

  PATRIC stepped away from the camera and mopped at the perspiration coating his face. What wouldn’t he give for a sudden onset of Canadian winter now? He cursed as his conscience told him that he was deluding himself if he thought that the climate was the cause of the anger and frustration knotting his gut.

  The truth was that he already knew that the developed prints of what he’d shot so far this morning would stink. More annoying was having to acknowledge that even if they stayed here all day what he’d already got was as good as he was going to get.

  ‘OK, Jacqui, that’ll do!’ he shouted. She gave no indication of having heard him, but then he wasn’t surprised. She’d been statue-still for the last thirty minutes, even though he’d nearly sent himself hoarse telling her to relax. Corpses in the morgue would have looked more life-like than she had!

  ‘Hoy! Jacqui!’ he bellowed. ‘I said that’s it! You can come in now!’

  Out on the rock her blonde head turned slightly. ‘Bring me something to put on first!’

  His initial instinct was to refuse—but, hell, he couldn’t take the strain. If it had been torture focusing in on the back view of her nakedness for the last forty-five minutes, then watching her walk towards him would be hormonal suicide. Swearing under his breath, he tugged his sunglasses down on to his nose, as if they would dim the mental image of her doing just that, then snatched his shirt from the ground and waded into the water.

  Jacqui frowned over her shoulder at the khaki shirt held out to her. ‘My clothes are in a nylon rucksack in the front of the car.’

  His sigh was heavy with martyrdom. ‘Just put this on for now. It’s not a damn fashion show; no one’s going to see you in the few seconds it’ll take you to walk—’ His words ended in a succinct curse, but it wasn’t what he said that caused Jacqui to blanch, it was the touch of his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘You’re burnt!’ he accused. ‘Didn’t I tell you to put sunscreen on?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Garbage, Jacqui! Your back is pink.’

  His words reminded her to toss her hair back over her shoulder to conceal the expanse of flesh she’d forgotten was displayed. As his hand reached for her chin she pulled away.

  ‘I just want to see your face—’ he started.

  ‘My face is fine. I put sunscreen everywhere I could reach,’ she told him, hurriedly slipping her arms into his shirt.

  ‘Which might have been fine if you’d been a contortionist!’ he chided. ‘The last thing I need is a blistered and peeling mod—’

  ‘I tan easily,’ she said, buttoning the shirt and trying to gauge exactly how much of her it would cover before she stood up. ‘It’ll be gone by morning.’

  ‘Huh!’ His tone was unconvinced. ‘You’re lucky that
this afternoon’s shots are all frontals.’

  Oh, yeah, she thought, lowering her feet into the water; I couldn’t be more blessed!

  While Patric packed up his camera gear Jacqui climbed into the Land Rover to swap the masculine shirt for a pair of bikini pants and an oversized T-shirt which reached to mid-thigh. It was no use wishing the day was over, because she still had tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that and all the rest to confront. She shoved her sunglasses on and checked the side-mirror of the car—not for her own reflection, but to calculate how much breathing space she had before Flanagan hauled himself into the seat next to her.

  His back was to her and he was in the process of folding up the camera tripod. He was shoeless and his jeans were rolled almost to his knees, the ends wet from his foray into the creek. His bare torso glistened in the noonday sun, and unconsciously her fingers fluttered, as if anxious to touch the sleek mahogany skin and feel the muscles move beneath it.

  The memory of how they’d responded to her last night made her groan and close her eyes—touching him had been every bit as arousing as being touched by him. Well…almost.

  The sound of him at the rear of the vehicle caused her eyes to fly open, and the discovery that she was holding his shirt to her breast and of how close she’d come to being caught doing so made her furious! She flung it on to the driver’s seat and edged closer to the door.

  He climbed in and started the engine with curt, angry movements before revving the engine and quickly releasing the handbrake. Jacqui was jolted against the door as he swung them into a tight turn then accelerated towards the rough bush track they’d come along earlier. While she wasn’t stupid enough to think that off-road driving, even in a fourwheel drive, was supposed to be smooth, it seemed to her that Flanagan wasn’t making any effort to avoid the worst sections of ground. She’d had only one filling to date, but, considering the teeth-rattling way he was negotiating the track back to the main road, there was a strong chance that she’d be wearing dentures in the not too distant future!

  On cue she was bounced off the seat, and she butted her head against the roof. Grabbing the dashboard with one hand and the side of the door with the other, she swung her face to the driver. ‘Hey, go easy, will you! This crate is going to fall apart!’ They became almost airborne and she gasped.

  ‘Listen,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Quit complaining, OK? I’ve had a gutful of it from you today!’

  If she hadn’t had to hold on for grim life Jacqui would have punched him. He’d had a gutful? He’d done nothing but roar at her the whole time she’d been posing for him!

  ‘Your shoulders are too tense; relax…! You’re slouching! Straighten your back! Get that flyaway strand of hair out of the way! Relax! Dammit, Jacqui, I thought you said you were a professional? Loosen up!’

  If she’d had the money she’d have put a contract out on his life! If she’d had a gun she’d have shot him herself—and not just for the personal satisfaction! Compared to this a gaol term would have seemed like a holiday in paradise!

  She looked down at the slogan on the T-shirt she wore—Life’s a bitch and then…you die! Only on a good day, she thought. Only on a good day!

  Patric watched her trying to unseal the sandwiches the hotel had packed, tormenting himself with the thought that last night those unpolished but perfectly manicured nails had been scraping his skin and not plastic wrap. And he was subjected to even more pain as the same long, slim fingers lifted ham-filled bread to perfectly formed lips and even white teeth, which opened and then closed around it.

  Arousal rippled through his blood and he looked at his left shoulder, expecting to see traces of the perfect indentation he’d worn on waking. The delicate bite-mark was gone, so his eyes reverted to the source of his awareness.

  She sat in the shade of a huge gum-tree only a few feet from him. Her hair billowed down over her shoulders and her long legs were stretched elegantly out in front of her.

  If it hadn’t been for the succulent way her navy T-shirt hugged the curves of her body, she’d have passed for a fourteen-year-old. Yet, for all the youthful innocence she personified, sitting there sipping a can of cola, Flanagan’s body was still reacting to the wanton sensuality she’d exhibited last night.

  He wondered if she could feel the heated desire radiating in him, if her loins were also melting from it. He groaned. Apparently aloud.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asked, her voice neutral.

  He almost laughed at the irony of her question. If he told her, what reaction would he get? She was gazing right at him, but though she’d discarded her sunglasses her eyes were shaded by the peak of her baseball cap and impossible to read.

  ‘Nothing.’ He grabbed a cold drink from the small coolbag they’d brought and opened it. After a long swallow that emptied half the can he clamped its coolness in his lap, where it would do the most good, and picked up a sandwich to feed the one appetite he didn’t have!

  Twenty minutes later, with lunch packed away, it was time to explain what he wanted Jacqui to do. The idea was for her to stroll slowly down the slope of the hill situated to their west, with her hand extended and trailing over the waist-high grass. Ideally he’d have liked a light breeze to be lifting her hair out so that in the finished photograph it would look like strands of gold spread against the vivid cloudless sky, but there was never a breeze when you needed one.

  ‘So do you understand what I’m aiming for?’ he asked her.

  ‘I think so,’ she said, stretching her arms behind her neck to lift her hair away from her neck.

  The action made Patric swallow hard—the way her T-shirt pulled tight against her obviously braless breasts made him hard. Willing his thoughts to anything other than the woman in front of him, he tried to concentrate on the normally simple task of putting a fresh roll of film into his camera.

  Jacqui was hit by a fresh onslaught of nerves as she watched Flanagan load the camera and then point it in the direction of where she was to pose. This was going to be much worse than last time, because this time she would have to face him in her nakedness. It didn’t matter that they’d be separated by roughly three hundred metres, because the powerful camera would allow him to see her face as clearly as if she was standing in front of him.

  ‘How far do I have to go?’ she asked. When the bent dark head ignored her she repeated the question.

  ‘Huh? Pardon?’ Flanagan’s totally distracted expression infuriated her.

  ‘I asked how far up the hill do you want me to go?’

  ‘About three-quarters of the way. A wide-angle lens will ensure I get in everything.’

  Wouldn’t it though, she thought as she turned away.

  ‘Hey, and do a bit better than you did last time, huh?’

  The words stopped her in her tracks and she swung around to glare at him.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she challenged.

  ‘That I want you relaxed. I want a dreamy look on your face. A real nature’s child type of thing—understand? I don’t want you looking like a store mannequin that’s been stuck in a paddock this time instead of on a rock,’ he said drily.

  Jacqui’s blood boiled and she jutted her chin at the unfair criticism.

  ‘Listen,’ she said, with sheathed aggression, ‘I have a reputation in the modelling business for being able to deliver exactly what a photographer wants.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Yes!’ She defiantly flicked her hair over her shoulder. ‘I gave you exactly what you asked for,’ she continued. ‘If you are unhappy with the results then it’ll be because you weren’t specific enough with the directions, Flanagan!’

  A wry grin tugged at his mouth. ‘So you’re saying I wasn’t explicit enough?’

  ‘Bingo!’ she said. ‘I can hardly be expected to read minds—especially where one doesn’t exist!’

  He grabbed her arm and hauled her up against him. ‘If my mind has become non-existent it’s entirely your fault.�
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  ‘Let me go!’

  ‘Uh-uh,’ he murmured, moving one hand to her bottom and drawing her lower body up against his own. ‘Not until I show you just how explicit I can be. Oh, and forget the mind-reading, babe,’ he advised, lowering his head. ‘Concentrate on the body language.’

  The feel of his mouth against her own stunned her, not because she’d not known the kiss was coming, but because it was so ruthlessly cold compared to those he’d lavished her with the night before. Insulting was the only word to describe it, but to her surprise she was released even before she had a chance to struggle.

  ‘Ah, hell!’ he said, running both hands through his hair.

  ‘Don’t you ever do that again!’ she screamed, jumping away when he stretched a tentative hand in her direction.

  Her reaction made Patric feel like the lowest form of life. What the hell had he been trying to prove? And to whom?

  ‘Jacqui, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Good, then it’s unanimous!’ she said, giving him a lethal stare.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a steadying breath. ‘We need to talk about last night,’ he said, meeting her gaze squarely. ‘Clear things up between us.’

  ‘The only thing I want clear, Flanagan, is that it won’t happen again. I’m not a tramp! Contrary to what you may think after last night, I’m not in the habit of whoring around!’

  Bending down, she picked up the bag which held sunblock, a hair brush and would shortly contain the clothes she now wore, and began to walk away. ‘Let’s get this over and done with a.s.a.p., Flanagan.’

  He hesitated for a moment, then called her name.

  ‘Now what?’ she snapped, spinning to face him.

  ‘Just for the record, I don’t think you’re a tramp,’ he said softly.