Dangerous Ground (Harlequin Presents, December 118)

by Alison Kelly

  She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Well, I sure as hell feel like one!’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE heat was so punishing that Jacqui decided the sun was shining straight from hell. She coated her bare flesh with yet another layer of sunscreen and waited for the signal from Flanagan telling her to start her descent down the slope.

  She was standing in almost bust-height grass and, despite the way it prickled her skin, wished it several centimetres higher. At least it would’ve covered two more of her femininely vital parts. Still, at least she could get away with keeping her knickers and trainers on this time. As for future shoots…well, she feared the worst was yet to come!

  In an effort to get some relief from the heat, she lifted the hair from her neck. While she acknowledged that, topless, the action was provocative in the extreme, she also knew that distance kept her safe from the eyes of the man below.

  So far Flanagan hadn’t approached the camera, and that meant that to his naked eye she’d appear as he did to her— little more than an indistinct figure. Of course, that would all change the moment he stepped up to the tripod and waved his shirt.

  ‘Then kiddo,’ she told herself, ‘you start thinking of the money!’

  The scream literally curdled Patric’s blood, and instinctively he looked to the spot where Jacqui had been standing. Now she was some distance below it, and racing down the hill as if the devil himself was after her.

  Leaping from his haunches, he sprinted across the uneven ground, closing the gap between them while simultaneously visually scouting to see who or what had startled her. When he was within twelve feet of her she all but flew into his arms, nearly knocking the breath out of him.

  ‘God, Jacqui! What’s happened?’

  ‘He w-w-was staring at…at me! L-l-looking like he was g-g-going…’ Her rapid speech was made more incoherent by breathlessness and the way her body quaked.

  ‘Hush, hush. Honey, it’s OK. You’re OK. I’m here.’ He held her tightly against him, one hand wrapped around her lightly oiled body and the other stroking her hair.

  ‘Oh…God…h-h-he was w-w-watching me!’ Her fingers clutched partly at his open shirt and partly at his haired chest as she continued shaking and stammering. ‘All that t-t-time he was s-sitting there w-w-watch—’

  ‘You’re safe now, honey. It’s all right now.’ As he spoke Patric continued to eye the hillside, trying to find the man who’d reduced one of the toughest women he’d ever met to a sobbing, terrified wreck. He’d break the perverted bastard’s neck, and smile doing it!

  For an instant he thought he was being given the chance as the grass began to sway, but his hopes were dashed by the realisation that the front end of a southerly had arrived, and it was only the wind sweeping the grass and making it dance.

  Another shiver came from the woman in his arms and he squeezed her even closer. ‘Steady, sweetheart. I’ve got you now.’

  ‘His—face…’ Again she shuddered. ‘Ugh! He was…was so ug-ugly. And…and…’

  ‘Easy, babe,’ he whispered, gently running his hand up and down her back. ‘It’s OK. He didn’t get you.’ He felt her nod against his chest. ‘Attagirl. Settle down, you’re safe now.’

  Once more his eyes scouted the area where she’d been. The son of a bitch was probably hiding. He continued to croon gentle reassurances, and after a few minutes he felt her still against him as the tension drained from her body.

  ‘Feeling better?’ he asked, and received a muffled affirmative response. ‘Want to tell me what he looked like?’ Patric raised the idea almost absently as he focused on the landscape—not merely because he wanted to catch sight of the creep who’d frightened her, but also because he was beginning to need a distraction from the warm female curves nestling softly against him.

  ‘Ugly!’ she said with feeling. ‘Ugly and…evil. His eyes were like…like glass.’ Jacqui couldn’t help the tremor that went through her at the memory. Instinctively she pressed herself closer to her rescuer. It didn’t matter that she didn’t actually like Flanagan—she trusted him. Trusted him to keep her safe, to protect her.

  It wasn’t until her fingers were being prised from the front of his shirt that her mind was able to look beyond the horror of the hill. It dawned on her that Flanagan, though still holding her, was trying to shrug out of his shirt. A new wave of panic flooded her system at the thought of her nakedness merging with his.

  ‘Relax,’ she was told. ‘I’m going to slip my shirt over your shoulders and turn around while you put it on. OK?’

  Her sigh of relief and the movement of her arms to shield her breasts summoned a dry male chuckle.

  ‘Thought you’d jumped from the frying-pan into the fire, huh?’

  ‘N-no,’ she said as he stepped back and turned away from her. ‘Not exactly.’ She quickly slid her arms into the shirt and began buttoning it. Even now her fingers were less than steady.

  ‘Decent yet?’

  She nodded before realising that while his broad muscular back was far superior to any other man’s it still didn’t have eyes. ‘I…You can t-turn around,’ she stammered.

  For the first time she raised her face to him, and wasn’t surprised to see a frown crease his brow.

  ‘I know,’ she said, striving for lightness. ‘The red blotchy look doesn’t work for me.’

  He smiled and let his gaze skim to her bare legs. ‘My shirt sure does.’

  If his words did nothing else at least they evened out the colour in her face as she blushed from the neck up.

  ‘C’mon, Jacqui,’ he said, putting an arm across her shoulders. ‘Let’s call it a day.’

  She nodded, content to forget all of her life beyond that moment.

  ‘We’ll contact the police as soon as we get back into town.’

  His words froze her steps. ‘The police?’

  ‘We have to report this.’

  ‘We do?’

  His smile was sympathetic. ‘You know we do. You can’t just ignore something like this.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because this type of thing has to be investigated. Look, it won’t be that bad,’ he assured her. ‘I’ll be with you.’

  He was probably right, she conceded. What did she know about how things were done in the country? She just hoped that the police wouldn’t want to know what she’d been wearing at the time.

  While Flanagan packed up his gear she changed into the shorts and shirt she’d worn when she’d left the hotel that morning. Then, sipping on a much needed can of soft drink, she kept herself busy trying to think of the last time she’d had such a diabolical twenty-four hours. Nothing came to mind.

  When Flanagan finally eased himself behind the steering wheel he was frowning.

  ‘What about the bag you had?’ He nodded towards where she’d posed earlier and, following his gaze, she couldn’t repress a shiver of distaste.

  ‘I left it there. I couldn’t think of anything except getting away.’

  ‘You want me to go and get—?’

  ‘No!’ The thought of it terrified her. ‘He could still be up there; he could—’

  He grasped her hand. ‘OK, OK. I won’t go.’

  She sank back in her seat, breathing more easily.

  ‘Besides,’ he said, gunning the engine, ‘at least it’ll show the cops the exact spot where it happened.’ He darted her a quick look. ‘About how far away from you was he?’

  Again a shiver skipped down her spine. ‘A…a metre, I’d say, tops.’

  The thought of the bastard being that close to her turned Patric’s blood instantly cold.

  ‘Are you sure this is necessary?’ Jacqui asked as they approached the front desk of the small country police station.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘G’day.’ A huge, blue-uniformed officer wearing sergeant stripes moved to the desk. ‘Sergeant Taylor. How can I help you folks?’

  ‘We’d like to report a pervert—’

  ‘A what?’ the sergeant and Ja
cqui said in unison.

  ‘A pervert,’ Patric repeated.

  ‘I’ll be damned,’ Taylor said, then chuckled. ‘This’ll perk the boys up. Can’t say we’ve had one of them round here before.’

  Patric, seeing Jacqui’s confused wide-eyed gaze, knew that she wasn’t up to dealing with an insensitive, overweight, underworked country cop, and decided to save her the hassle of correcting him.

  ‘Well, you do now, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘He caused this woman a great deal of distress only an hour ago, and I hate to think what would have happened if she’d been alone.’

  ‘Quite so. Well, I’ll need to get a description from both of you and—’

  ‘I didn’t actually see him,’ Patric explained. ‘I was some distance away and came running when I heard Jacqui—Ms Raynor—scream. I—’

  He stopped as his recalling the incident caused Jacqui to lay her face and arms on the counter sobbing.

  ‘Ah, hell, honey,’ he said, immediately laying his hands on her shaking shoulders. ‘It’s all ov—’

  Sergeant Taylor bellowed for someone to bring a cup of tea with plenty of sugar. ‘It’s shock, of course,’ he told Patric. ‘Here, let me talk to her. Miss? Miss?’

  Jacqui raised her face a fraction and found herself looking into the blurred image of the sergeant, who’d squatted down until his three chins were resting on the opposite side of the counter to hers. She wiped the tears from her eyes, but it was no use—the moment the man opened his mouth they started all over again.

  ‘Now, now. I know these sickos can seem pretty threatening, but statistics show that they rarely actually carry out their threats. You’ll probably be safe—’

  ‘Oh, great job, Sergeant! That’s hardly what I’d call reassuring her!’ Flanagan’s voice was swimming with irritation, but the policeman paid him no heed and continued to address her.

  ‘Did you get a good look at him?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Great, great That’ll be a big help. Now, what did the mongrel look like?’

  ‘He…he…’ Trying to speak was almost beyond her. ‘He was…a snake!’

  ‘Yes, well, I’d use stronger words. But what I really need from you is a more accurate description. How old was he?’

  Unable to speak, Jacqui backed away from the counter, shaking her head as a raucous burst of laughter burst from her.

  ‘Oh, cripes,’ muttered the sergeant. ‘She’s hysterical.’

  In that instant she saw a glimmer of understanding dart across Flanagan’s face, but the desk sergeant still looked worried.

  ‘You…don’t…don’t understand,’ she stuttered between giggles. ‘He was a…a snake! A…real live…h-hissing snake!’

  ‘Is this some kind of joke?’ Sergeant Taylor demanded to know.

  A wide grin broke on Flanagan’s face. ‘I didn’t think so at first,’ he said, trying to contain his amusement long enough to placate the now angry-looking policeman. ‘But, you gotta admit, it’s bloody funny!’

  He was still smiling as Jacqui carried two glasses of beer and a bag of peanuts from the bar and deposited them on the table. She’d insisted on buying the drinks, saying that it was her way of repaying him for saving her life. Personally, Patric could have suggested and would have preferred something a lot different!

  After sitting down opposite him she grinned, lifting her glass in a toast. ‘To me—for saving us from being charged with filing a mischievous complaint.’

  Patric pulled his glass back before it clinked with hers. ‘In a pig’s eye!’

  ‘Uh-uh, Flanagan. I don’t think you should make threats towards nice Sergeant Taylor,’ she chided.

  ‘Very funny!’

  ‘I’ll say!’ She laughed. ‘Oh, Lord, Flanagan! I can’t believe you tried to have a snake arrested!’

  ‘Me? You went along with it—’

  ‘Only reluctantly,’ she reminded him, tearing open the bag of peanuts and placing them in the centre of the table. ‘I did point out that I thought it unnecessary, but—’ she shrugged ‘—when you insisted…’

  ‘Well, if you’d said it was a goddamn snake in the first place,’ he said, ‘or at any point, I wouldn’t have.’

  ‘I thought you’d realised. I mean it’s not like I was shouting, Help—pervert! at the top of my lungs.’

  ‘You weren’t shouting, Help—snake! either,’ he pointed out. ‘Besides, your reaction was way over the top for something as mundane as a snake.’

  ‘Mundane? It was a black snake! Those little cuties can kill you like—’ she snapped her fingers ‘—that.’

  ‘OK, but what about the sex?’

  Jacqui nearly choked on her beer.

  ‘You kept saying he. If you’d said it I’d have picked up right off what you were gibbering about.’

  ‘I guess I just associate all snakes with being male,’ she said, relieved that he was talking about the serpent’s sex and nothing more personal. ‘Or—’ she grinned ‘—do I mean that the other way round—that I associate all males with being snakes?’

  ‘Do you?’ he countered, his brown eyes serious as they held hers.

  She held his gaze. ‘Not all.’

  ‘But most.’

  ‘A few. So tell me,’ she said, quickly searching her brain for a safe change of topic, ‘er—what’s going to happen now that a reptile has ruined your plans of getting that grassy slope shot?’

  He raised a speculative eyebrow. ‘Has it?’

  ‘There is no way, Flanagan,’ she said, ‘that you are going to get me back up there in this decade!’

  ‘The snake will have moved by tomorrow,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t care if the stupid thing is at this moment emigrating to Ireland; I’m not going up there again!’

  ‘What about your bag?’

  ‘Let the snake have it!’ His half-smile was so gorgeous that she immediately wanted to provoke it further. ‘Who knows?’ she went on. ‘Nylon rucksacks are probably as big a fashion statement in the reptile world as snakeskin ones are in ours.’

  His genuine amusement somehow intensified her own, but the lightness of their shared laughter quickly thickened into a silent, electric exchange of glances.

  The thickly lashed brown eyes of the man opposite held her mesmerised, and because of the sensual heat they created within her it took Jacqui a long time to separate the two messages flashing in their depths. Finally she did. One was a whispered promise of short-term physical pleasure beyond anything she’d ever known, and the other was a shouted warning against long-term emotional expectations.

  Yet surely, her own eyes queried, an enormous short-term profit offset the long-term loss? But, before she could read an answer in the deep brown eyes opposite, thick lashes closed over them.

  Jacqui, still wavering on the fringes of the trance, was only dimly aware of Flanagan reaching for his glass. Yet the instant he raised it to his lips—lips that in the last twenty-four hours had both worshipped and insulted her own—and began drinking, her concentration was immediately drawn to the long column of his tanned masculine throat.

  It seemed as if an invisible thread linked the muscles in his neck to those in her lower abdomen, and that with each swallow he took the movement of his Adam’s apple tugged that thread tighter and tighter. When he lowered the glass and used the tip of his tongue to capture the trace of froth clinging to his lip, the strength in Jacqui’s hands dissolved to a point where the peanuts she’d been holding fell to the table.

  ‘Whoa.’ Flanagan reached over to slow her hasty efforts to pick up the nuts. ‘You’re still pretty shaken up about what happened, aren’t you?’

  She knew that his smile was intended to be comforting, to calm her, but unfortunately it was negated by the effect of his thumb stroking her hand. Her insides were sparking as if someone was trying to weld her ribs together! And she was grateful that Flanagan had interpreted her clumsiness as stemming from fraught nerves rather than fraught hormones.

  She snatched her ha
nd away. ‘Considering it’s my first encounter of the reptilian kind, that’s to be expected, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Sure,’ Patric responded, suspecting that something had to be responsible for the way she’d gone from laughingly relaxed to aggressively tense.

  ‘So, Flanagan,’ she continued, ‘you either do without the shots you wanted on the hill—’ her tone was all business ‘—or you do them with another model.’

  Considering how moody she is right now, Patric mused, now isn’t going to be a real good time to tell her that I got a full roll of candid shots of her with my hand-held! No, discretion was def—

  His thoughts were cut short by the arrival of the sour-faced manageress at the table.

  ‘Ms Raynor,’ she said, ‘there’s a man called Phil Michsomething on the phone. He says it’s—’

  Jacqui leapt from her chair and grabbed the woman’s arm. ‘What phone? Where? In the bar?’

  ‘In Recep—’ The woman’s reply was cut short in the wake of the mini-cyclone which blew up as Jacqui sped from the room.

  ‘Must be someone really important,’ the manageress mused aloud.

  ‘Yeah.’ Patric tossed back the rest of his beer. ‘Sure looks that way.’

  He was midway through his second beer when an excitedlooking Jacqui all but ran to his table.

  ‘I’m going back to Sydney.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Only for a week or so,’ she went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘Ten days tops.’

  ‘No way!’ he said. ‘We’re already behind schedule—’

  ‘I know, but I have to go—’

  ‘No!’ He thumped the table, toppling both glasses; the action clearly surprised her, but he was too enraged to care about the spilt drinks. ‘You agreed to this trip knowing it would take three weeks when we left Sydney. If it clashed with other arrangements you should have said so then.’

  ‘But…I wasn’t expecting this—’

  ‘Listen, Michelini might be used to saying “Jump” and having you ask “How high?” when you’re already off the ground, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be so quick to accommodate his whims or yours!’