Dangerous Ground (Harlequin Presents, December 118)

by Alison Kelly

  ‘Listen, Flanagan, no one—least of all me—would call you accommodating!’ she blazed. ‘And I’d tell you why, except that firstly I’m booked on a flight which leaves Port Macquarie in a little over an hour, and secondly the human life-span isn’t that long!’

  ‘This might be your idea of professionalism, but it sure as hell isn’t mine! We’ve got a contract—’

  ‘So sue me!’ she challenged. ‘Because the day my career becomes more important than my sister is the day—’

  ‘What the hell has your sister got to do with it?’

  ‘Everything! She’s pregnant!’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So she’s gone into premature labour!’

  ‘Then why didn’t you say so?’

  ‘Because, Flanagan, you never gave me a chance!’

  He watched her stride from the room and felt like an absolute heel—as if she hadn’t had a rough enough day already, without him jumping down her throat. He sighed, knowing that the knot of jealousy which had formed in his gut the minute she’d dashed to take the phone call hadn’t loosened any. Regardless of why she was going to Sydney, the fact remained that Michelini was still going to be there.

  On that cheering thought he left the bar. The least he could do was offer to drive her to the airport. And—who knew?— with any luck he might be back on an even keel by the time she returned. No! He would be back on an even keel when she got back. And it was his own common sense, not luck, which would guarantee it!

  The trip to Port Macquarie airport had been tense and silent. Jacqui was feeling utterly drained from the almost bizarre physical and emotional buffeting she’d taken since getting out of bed yesterday morning.

  On reflection she backdated the start of her problems to the ill-fated night she’d met Flanagan for dinner. She’d been vitally aware of him ever since. But then, that was his fault— no man had the right to look as good as he did! Even the woman at the airline office where they’d picked up her ticket ten minutes ago had drooled over him!

  Now, as she waited for the instruction to board, she smiled at the remembered incident…

  While she’d had been frantically shifting her weight from one foot to the other, worrying that she’d miss the check-in deadline, the woman who had been supposed to issue her ticket had been more interested in mooning over the silently waiting Flanagan!

  The immaculately groomed redhead had ignored all of Jacqui’s discreet efforts to regain her attention, and had seemed blissfully ignorant of the fact that passengers were expected to check in thirty minutes before departure and it was still a five-minute drive to the terminal building. To make matters worse, when Jacqui had turned around to tell Flanagan to wait outside or she’d never get her ticket he’d had to go and return the woman’s doe-eyed admiration with a smile! For Jacqui’s patience that had been the last straw!

  ‘Forget it,’ she’d advised the woman in a sympathetic tone. ‘He’s gay.’ At the startled disbelief directed at her she hadn’t been able to resist adding, with a solemn nod, ‘Camp as a row of tents.’

  With a last rueful glance at Flanagan the woman had returned her attention to Jacqui. ‘What a waste…’

  Jacqui struggled to contain a grin, imagining how Flanagan, now standing beside her, would react if he knew of her fib. Her furtive sideways glance at him only reinforced her impression of his rugged masculinity, and she marvelled that the redhead hadn’t laughed in her face! Ha, she thought, and they say we blondes are dumb!

  She couldn’t work out why Flanagan had found it necessary to wait with her until boarding-time, especially since he hadn’t spoken a word. But then, nor had she encouraged conversation, since with them it invariably led to confrontation, and she wasn’t up to another public slanging match. The one in the bar had been enough—not that it had been loud, but Flanagan’s table-thumping had drawn one or two curious glances.

  The grim line of his mouth and his crossed-arm stance told her that he was still put out about this latest disruption to his precious schedule, but Jacqui had appreciated his offer to drive her here, and was compelled to tell him so.

  ‘No sweat,’ he grunted.

  ‘I should be back in a week.’ She scribbled down the phone number of the main house. ‘You can contact me on this number.’ She paused, then added, ‘If you need to,’ not wanting to appear as if she expected it. Which she didn’t.

  ‘OK. Give me a call and let me know how things go.’

  The request surprised her. ‘Oh, OK.’

  ‘And let me know when you’re coming back,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t have to pick me up; I can get a cab.’

  ‘I know. I need to try and reschedule the shoot.’

  ‘Oh, right…of course.’ She felt like an absolute fool for having jumped to stupid conclusions and having been put in her place so effectively. ‘Well, I guess I better go.’

  ‘Yeah. Is someone meeting you at the airport?’

  ‘Providing there’re no hitches, hopefully Phil.’

  ‘Right. Well, you’d best go then, huh?’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  JACQUI stared out at the cotton-wool clouds enveloping the plane, and watched them merge into the even, sculptured features of Patric Flanagan. She wondered if he’d received the message she’d left with the hotel manageress that she was arriving back today—three days early. The anticipation of seeing him again was both exhilarating and scary.

  Leaning her head back against the seat, she tried for the hundredth time to convince herself that she wasn’t in love with him.

  Give it up, Raynomovski! her mind said. You’ve fallen harder and faster for the guy than a brick would out of this plane!

  She sighed ruefully, knowing that lying to herself was as hopeless as the entire sorry situation. Millions of guys in the world, and she had had to pick Flanagan—who not only considered models in general as being morally corrupt but Jacqui Raynor as the prime example of that corruption!

  Terrific! She wasn’t sure when precisely he had won her stupid, traitorous heart, but she was certain that in life’s raffle of love he’d be the last person wanting to hold the winning ticket if she were the prize!

  Her first instinct had been to stay in Sydney for as long as possible in the hope that her feelings would change. And yet, even with all the distractions that two noisy toddlers, a howling newborn and a set of bemused parents could create, Patric had stubbornly remained foremost in her mind.

  So yesterday she’d decided to move to Plan C—confront the cause of her bout of lovesickness and prove that he was no longer a threat to her. After all, when she’d had her vaccine against typhoid a few years ago she’d initially suffered a mild fever, but after that she’d been immune. It would be the same with Flanagan, since, like the fever, he caused her to sleep fitfully and wake up in a lather of sweat.

  He was the first thing that Jacqui saw as she entered the small airport lounge, and the sight of him froze her to the spot. In that split-second she became oblivious to everyone and everything around her save the dark-haired man propped negligently beside the exit.

  His long, denim-clad legs were crossed at the ankle and his arms were folded across his tanned, muscular torso. The stance was totally male and, given the fact that he was wearing a loose-fitting black T-shirt with its armholes slashed almost to the waist, blatantly sexy.

  It took the weight of another passenger’s luggage swinging into the back of her knees to project her forward again. Afraid of what her eyes would betray, she lifted her sunglasses from where they hung around her neck and shoved them on as she shortened the distance between herself and the man who seemed to have bought time-share in her head.

  ‘Hi, Flanagan. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Nothing special; I often spend my Mondays hanging out at small country airports.’

  Jacqui knew that as opening lines went hers had been pretty clichéd and had deserved his dry response. But, since clear thoughts—much less original ones—would have been a mir
acle given the flustered state of her brain right now, she followed his lead.

  ‘Really? Well, since you’re here, is there any chance I could get a lift with you?’

  He frowned, as if having to give consideration to his answer.

  ‘Sure. Why not? I’ve been here for nearly forty minutes anyway,’ he said, pushing away from the wall to tower over her.

  Overawed by his sudden closeness, she tried to rally her defences. ‘I didn’t ask you to meet me, Flanagan.’

  ‘I know. Give me your bag.’

  The touch of his hand against hers sent an electric current straight up her arm and, seemingly without any signal from her brain, her hand released its grip on her bag.

  ‘This all you got?’

  For some reason that seemed like the hardest question she’d ever been asked, and it took her a full ten seconds to analyse it and another ten to manage an affirmative nod.

  ‘OK, then.’ He gave a lazy smile. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  With the effects of that smile drugging her body, Jacqui followed him in a state of slow-moving panic. This wasn’t going to go away! This wasn’t anything as innocuous as a mild case of typhoid—not by a long shot! This was something that had to be resolved.

  These thoughts ricocheted about in her head as they walked in silence to where the Land Rover was parked.

  Strangely it was the sight of the battered vehicle which jolted her to the realisation that the only reason she was here, being met by Flanagan, was that they had a business arrangement. Nothing more, nothing less. Sure, they’d slept together, but it had simply happened. Suddenly—without warning, without planning, without…anything!

  There had never been anything between her and Flanagan other than a business arrangement. There still wasn’t. So how could she resolve something she didn’t understand? How could she rid herself of a feeling which she had no logical reason for having?

  A person didn’t fall in love with someone for no good reason. Yet, when she stopped to try and think of what Flanagan had done to warrant her being cursed with the sensation that the world was a whole lot better when he was with her, she came up empty!

  OK, so there had been a strong physical attraction between them from the start, but Jacqui knew at least a dozen people who’d survived purely physical relationships without falling in love or becoming candidates for the funny farm. She, however, had not only fallen victim to warped-minded Cupid, but was rapidly approaching the stage when, if the guys in the white coats didn’t come and get her soon, she was going to turn herself in voluntarily.

  ‘You’re unusually quiet. What’s up?’

  It was the caring tone in Flanagan’s voice that caught her attention rather than his words.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘You haven’t said a word since we left the airport. What’s on your mind?’

  You, she replied mentally, but, instead of answering, climbed into the passenger seat and buckled her seatbelt, hoping that he’d let the question drop. No such luck! He remained standing beside her seat, making closing the door impossible, and wearing an expectant expression—an incredibly handsome expectant expression.

  ‘Well?’ he prodded when she stayed mute. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘N-nothing.’ She was almost drowning in his eyes; he had the most marvellous brown eyes and—

  ‘Jacqui?’

  ‘What makes you think something’s up?’

  He shrugged. ‘You’re quiet. You’re defensive. You—’

  ‘I’m often quiet, Flanagan!’

  ‘And you’re very often defensive,’ he said quickly, then grinned. ‘But usually it’s because of something I’ve done or said, and as I’ve been on my best behaviour since you got off the plane I figure there must be another reason.’

  ‘There isn’t.’

  ‘No problems in Sydney?’ He looked genuinely concerned.

  ‘Do you mean besides a severe case of sibling rivalry on the part of my niece and nephew towards their new brother, a four-day-old who won’t sleep, and two sleep-deprived parents?’

  His grin slammed her heart into her ribs. ‘Yeah, I mean besides that.’

  ‘Then, no. Everything at home is fine.’ She shrugged. ‘At least it was when I left.’

  ‘So the only reason you’re back early is because you missed me, huh?’

  Jacqui gasped so hard that she almost choked, but she managed a denial none the less. ‘In your dreams, Flanagan.’

  Laughing, he slammed the door and walked around the front of the car. His patient good humour was both irritating and confusing—but then irritation and confusion were par for the course when Flanagan was around. Of course, recently a whole new set of emotions had come into play where he was concerned.

  Dammit, Flanagan was the last person she wanted to be vulnerable to! Although being vulnerable to him was infinitely better than having him know that she was vulnerable to him! Therefore it bothered her that he was so attuned to her inner disquiet—actually, unnerved was a more apt description of how his sudden intuitiveness made her feel.

  Worried that he might start drawing far more accurate conclusions if she remained untalkative, she launched into speech the instant he engaged the engine.

  ‘So, have you done much photography since I’ve been gone?’

  ‘Nope.’

  When he didn’t expand she fired off another safe question. ‘How come? Has it been raining up here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I thought there were several local beauty spots you wanted to do without me?’

  ‘Changed my mind.’

  ‘Why?’

  He shrugged.

  Gee, she thought, pulling teeth from a rabid Rottweiler would be easier than this! She’d have got a better conversation from a store-window mannequin.

  Tenaciously she tried again. ‘No problems with Sergeant Taylor over the snake thing?’

  ‘Nope.’ The grin accompanying his reply made her suspect that he was aware that she was grasping at straws now, but too bad! Her pride was at stake here.

  ‘Oh…well, that’s good. I was worried,’ she lied in a mutter, her mind racing to find something else to say.

  ‘I was surprised to see you at the airport,’ she continued, despite his look which said that she was stating the obvious. ‘When I phoned from Sydney the hotel said you were out. How did you know what flight I was on? I didn’t leave a message.’

  She saw his smug smile side-on. ‘Simple. I called and checked.’

  Idiot! she chided herself. Keep this up and you’ll be declared brain-dead! As furious with him as she was with herself, she grabbed the first cassette her fingers touched on and shoved it into the tape deck.

  Seconds later the voice of John Cougar Mellencamp singing the raunchy, provocative ‘Hurt So Good’ was blaring from the speakers, and Jacqui was ready to tear her hair out!

  They’d been stationary almost a minute before it registered with her that they’d stopped in the car park of one of the best hotels in Port Macquarie.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘This is where we’re staying now. Our next three locations are between here and Coffs Harbour,’ he said.

  ‘But…what about my other bags? I left two suitcases at the pub.’

  ‘Relax,’ he said, jerking his thumb towards the back of the car. ‘I had the manageress check your room.’

  ‘Oh. Well…thanks. I’m surprised you remembered them.’

  He laughed. ‘Pretty hard to forget carrying anything that heavy.’

  She pulled a face. ‘How long are we here for?’

  He looked at her for a moment, with a half-smile lurking at his mouth, before winking and letting it become a fullblown grin which ignited sparks in her belly. She squirmed, remembering how less than a week ago he’d fanned those sparks into a raging blaze, then single-handedly tamed them in the most—

  ‘Er—Jacqui—’ his voice from the back of the car startled her ‘—any reason why you’re s
itting in the car looking all hot and bothered when you could be inside in air-conditioned comfort having a drink?’

  She blinked, only now becoming aware that she was still strapped in the passenger seat. Oh, this was ridiculous! She could hardly believe that he was affecting her so much. She quickly got out of the car.

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ Flanagan said as he lifted the last of the luggage from the Land Rover, ‘but right now an ice-cold beer sounds better than sex. How about it?’

  Jacqui reeled at his words, her body temperature rocketing up another thousand degrees.

  ‘Good idea,’ she croaked. ‘I could use a beer!’ His arm brushed hers and sent a million volts of sexual electricity rushing through her body.

  She leapt away, yelling, ‘And—and a shower! Boy, I could really use a shower,’ she reiterated, snatching up the nearest of her bags and hurrying towards the main entrance, desperate to put some distance between them. ‘I’ll—er—go and check in right now! And…have a shower. I…I’ll send someone to help you with the rest of the bags,’ she promised.

  She ignored his amusement. Ignoring him was the only way she could hope to get both her body and mind functioning with some degree of normality. Of course, it would be easier said than done!

  Jacqui’s room this time was as far removed from the last one that Flanagan had booked as one could get. Not only did it run to a bedside telephone, but it had a separate loungedining area, and a full-size bathroom, complete with spa.

  Deciding that a spa was exactly what she needed, she dumped her bag at the foot of the bed and went to turn it on. Returning to the bedroom, and knowing that she’d have to wait until the hotel staff brought the rest of her luggage, she reached for the mini-bar menu.

  ‘Typical,’ she muttered as she glanced at the prices. Why was it that things readily available in any supermarket or milk bar invariably cost three times as much in places like this? Shaking her head, she reached for an extravagantly expensive ginger ale.

  A noise outside her door announced the arrival of her luggage. She was moving to open it when it swung inwards of its own accord to admit Flanagan and a teenage boy wearing a staff uniform; both were laden down with bags and camera equipment.