Dangerous Ground (Harlequin Presents, December 118)

by Alison Kelly

  ‘Relax,’ she was told as male fingers kneaded the curves between her shoulders and neck. ‘Don’t waste your beautiful vitality dwelling on my past problems.’

  Startled at how easily he’d read her mind, Jacqui tried to turn, but gentle pressure from him discouraged it.

  ‘I…I’m not,’ she lied.

  ‘Good! ‘Cause, believe me, my scars have healed…’

  That’s what you think, Patric Flanagan, she responded mentally.

  ‘I didn’t tell you about Angelica to upset you or milk you for sympathy—’

  ‘I know that!’ Again she tried to roll over, but he prevented her.

  ‘Shh,’ he commanded. ‘Let me talk.’

  Sighing mutinously, she propped her chin back on her forearms and Flanagan resumed both his massage and his speech.

  ‘Hon’, even though you’ve made me realise all models aren’t like my mother and Angelica, I’d be lying if I said I still didn’t have misgivings about our relationship.’

  Beneath his fingers, she willed herself not to react physically to his words.

  ‘However,’ he went on, ‘I’d like for us to continue being lovers as well as business partners. I’m not sure it’ll work, but I’d like to try. But only,’ he said quickly and with emphasis, ‘if you’re prepared to accept that it’s a one-day-at-a-time deal, without promises or expectations.’ His hands stilled. ‘Are you?’

  Her pride shouted no! Her heart yelled yes! And though her mind recognised the internal war her body, glorying under Flanagan’s touch, declared it no contest.

  Oh, sure, he was only offering a short-term affair while she craved long-term commitment, but it was better than anything she’d hoped to hear from him, and a billion times more than anything she’d ever want to hear from another man. Put simply, she loved Flanagan so much that she’d have him any way she could.

  He interrupted her thoughts to add, ‘Of course, regardless of your decision—or of how things turn out—our business contract will still stand. But that’s the only promise I’m willing to give you.’

  Honestly, he was so thick at times that she could have thumped him! Did he really think that she was worried about how this would affect their business arrangement? She wanted to tell him that all the money in the world couldn’t have made her love him any more than she already did, but to have done so would have had him retreating at the speed of light, so she didn’t.

  ‘I haven’t asked for promises,’ she whispered, sifting a handful of sand between trembling fingers.

  ‘I know. But I have to be sure that you understand this isn’t going to last forever.’

  ‘I understand. It’ll last until you end it.’

  She was turned gently on to her back. ‘Or you,’ he said.

  He’d missed the subtle phrasing of her words. She wasn’t sure if she was glad or sorry.

  ‘Whatever,’ she muttered.

  The flavour of dried salt-water on his lips and the intensity of his kiss were like a drug, the side effects of which on Jacqui were a rapidly quickening pulse and a slow, melting sensation in her loins. She wrapped her arms around his neck, marvelling at the suppressed power of his muscled shoulders and the sensuality of his oil-slicked hands skimming down her thighs. With her body’s need for him escalating by the second, the groan she gave at the sudden departure of his lips from hers was a combination of arousal and complaint.

  ‘Honey,’ he whispered huskily into her ear, ‘there are two things I like about you over every other model I’ve ever known.’

  His tongue laved her ear and she sighed, twisting her head to grant him more access to her neck. ‘What are they?’

  ‘Firstly,’ he said, dampening her lobe in the most provocative way, ‘you’re dynamite in the sack.’ He groaned and quickly rolled away when her mouth tried to copy the action of his. ‘Not to mention on a public beach!’

  She grinned. ‘And secondly?’

  ‘You’re established in your career and financially independent. These days I like to know my woman is debt-free. So,’ he smirked, ‘want to go back to our room and discuss the first of your good points in detail?’

  Jacqui nodded vigorously. She sure didn’t want to discuss the second any time soon!

  It was two weeks later when Jacqui aimed her camera at Flanagan, who was carefully inspecting the bent front wheelguard on his trail-bike.

  When he’d complained because she wouldn’t allow him to take candid photos of her—especially as he had no intention of including them in his book—it had occurred to Jacqui that while the finished book would always be a reminder of her time with Flanagan, it wouldn’t include photographs of him. More than anything she wanted tangible evidence—even if it was only two-dimensional—of the man who’d brought her heart and body to fulfilment.

  So, hiding behind a faade of feminism, she’d argued that unless he could accept that what was good for the goose was good for the gander he could forget taking anything but professional photographs of her! Reluctantly he’d agreed to a trade-off, and so far Jacqui had gone through nearly four rolls of film.

  Finally satisfied with her focus, she fired off three quick shots of him crouched beside the wheel of the bike.

  ‘Jacqui,’ he said, with mock exasperation, rising to his full height. ‘It’d be more help if your aspirations lay in the panelbeating field rather than photography. I can do that myself.’

  She wrinkled her nose at him, then put the camera back in the car.

  ‘You know,’ he said, his muscles bunching as he lifted the bike on to the rack at the back of the Land Rover and secured it. ‘If anyone had told me that the sophisticated Risque Girl was a bike nut I’d have laughed at them.’

  This was the third time that they’d been off-road riding together, but the memory of how stunned Flanagan had looked when on the first occasion Jacqui had jumped on the bike and executed a wheel-stand and several other, more fancy tricks was something she’d never forget, even if she didn’t have it on film.

  ‘Let’s face it, Flanagan, publicising that the woman was who supposed to epitomise femininity to the nth degree had grown up hanging out with a group of bikers wouldn’t have been a shrewd marketing move.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I think you look incredibly sexy wearing dirt-caked jeans and bikers boots astride a trailbike.’

  ‘You don’t look so bad yourself, Flanagan,’ she retorted, not even attempting to avoid the male arms which reached around her waist and held her tight ‘Although I can’t wait to see you on that Harley you’re having shipped from Canada. A customised Hog definitely suits your macho image a lot better.’ She smiled. ‘And, don’t forget, you promised me a ride.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t!’ he vowed, lifting a hand to the flesh exposed by the opening of her blouse. ‘I find the idea of you straddling something masculine and powerful more than appeals to me.’ His finger snaked lower, dipping into her cleavage, and that, plus the scorching look in his eyes, had white heat coiling through her abdomen.

  ‘Too bad the Harley isn’t here, huh?’

  Instantly his hand moved to the back of her neck and brought her mouth level with his. ‘Who said I was talking about the Hog, honey?’ he said against her lips.

  Enclosed in the strong male arms holding her hard against his body, Jacqui felt like the most desired woman in the world, yet at the same time like a cherished, protected child. She wondered how a man could possibly make a woman experience two such sexual extremes at the same time, then gave up.

  It was useless to try and analyse the power of Flanagan’s wizardry; all she could do was accept it—accept that just as no man had previously evoked the sensations and emotions Flanagan did none ever would again. But it stunned her that, in the wake of the number of times they’d made love, a kiss alone should affect her so profoundly.

  He drew back slightly and she saw his handsomeness through a blur of desire as he cupped her face, then she closed her eyes, wanting only to concentrate on the seductive gen
tleness of his thumbs grazing her lips…her cheekbones…her eyebrows…

  He exhaled a ragged breath. ‘I have a suggestion to make,’ he said suggestively.

  Recalling the lovemaking which had followed their picnic lunch earlier that day, and the blanket lying only metres from them, Jacqui sighed. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Let’s pack up the rest of the stuff and head back to the hotel.’

  She tried to conceal her disappointment, but with her brain cloudy from his kisses and caresses her execution wasn’t good.

  ‘Don’t look like that,’ he urged, the hands on her face now still.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, then forced a smile. ‘I guess it has been a long day.’

  He pressed more firmly against her cheeks. ‘It hasn’t been a long day. For me it’s been a wonderful day. Ah, honey.’ He sighed and hugged her close. ‘I want you so much I ache! But it’s getting late.’

  ‘So?’ she said, petulant despite the pleasure she felt at his words.

  ‘So—’ he winked down at her ‘—I want you slow and gentle, and I don’t want darkness hiding your body from me when I love you.’

  Her aroused moan was caught in his mouth, but this time his kiss was exquisitely tender, stirring her love rather than her passion. When he lifted his mouth from hers Jacqui knew that the instant smile she gave him was genuine—she felt it burst from her heart.

  That night she awoke from the satiated slumber she’d drifted into after Flanagan had delivered on his promise of slow, gentle loving. From the feel of the even male breath breezing against her shoulder she knew that her lover was sound asleep, and she stretched carefully to flick off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

  When they’d first discussed Flanagan’s idea for his pictorial on Australian beauty spots, he’d told Jacqui that she could expect a total of three weeks of location work to fulfil her commitments to the project. But if Flanagan had been worried that the schedule he’d arranged for their stay on the New South Wales north coast had already run a week over time he’d hidden it well. Not that the shoots they’d done had been troublesome and consumed more time than necessary— quite the contrary.

  The acceptance and ongoing exploration of the physical attraction they shared had made Jacqui utterly uninhibited about posing nude, and if progress had been slower than planned it was only because she and Patric had become too easily lured into doing spontaneous things, such as sharing candlelit dinners, spending days at the beach or, like today, trail-bike riding and, of course, making fantastically beautiful love.

  And, on Jacqui’s part, she was falling deeper and deeper in love with each rapidly passing day.

  Now, viewing the room’s darkness through wet lashes and tearful eyes, Jacqui wished again that the heady cocktail of love and hope which kept her drunk with happiness during the daylight hours could be equally potent at night. It was only at times like this, awake on her own in the darkness, that she felt the claws of guilt gouging at her.

  She wasn’t the debt-free success that Flanagan thought her. Far from it. She’d intended to tell him the truth a hundred times, but somehow there had always seemed too many reasons not to.

  Originally she’d decided that what Flanagan didn’t know couldn’t hurt him—though all too quickly that had become a case of what Flanagan didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.

  It had been when she’d discovered that clichés couldn’t salve a guilty conscience that she’d started trying to justify her omission of the truth by telling herself that it wasn’t really any of his business!

  They were lovers, not a married couple with a joint bank account. And since Flanagan had been the one to request the no-commitment clause in their relationship she should hardly be expected to reveal her personal financial situation to him!

  And now? Well, now it was far too late…

  Feeling again the rush of dread she’d experienced when over dinner Flanagan had announced that he thought they should begin the trip back to Sydney the day after tomorrow, Jacqui swallowed down a sob. Though he’d said nothing about ending their affair, she was afraid that, once removed from the idyllic, ironically honeymoon-like state in which it had existed during the last few weeks, their relationship would crash and die.

  A shiver skipped down her spine, and desperately she snuggled deeper into the warmth of Flanagan, whose arm even in sleep tightened possessively around her.

  No! She simply wasn’t prepared to jeopardise even one precious second of what little time she had left with this man. It was entirely likely that if she explained now he’d think she’d agreed to an affair as a means of convincing him to bail her out of debt! She couldn’t take that chance. Not yet.

  Besides, when she received the money due to her for this assignment she would be debt-free! Finally and completely. Then she would explain everything to Flanagan…She would even tell him that she loved him.

  Tension and the uncertain light of dusk filled Jacqui’s living-room two days later as Flanagan lowered her luggage to the floor.

  ‘That’s the last of it,’ he announced unnecessarily, his eyes looking everywhere but at her.

  ‘Th-thank you,’ she stammered, feeling awkward beneath his thoughtful gaze, yet deserted when he turned it away.

  ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’ He appeared to be asking the photograph on her cork board, but she answered anyway.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, smiling eagerly. ‘What would you like to do?’

  He turned back to her, a slight frown marring his forehead as if he had actually been speaking to the photographs.

  ‘Huh? Nothing. What I mean is,’ he said quickly, ‘I’ll be in the dark-room most of the day.’

  ‘Oh, right. Of course,’ she said, as evenly as her disappointment would allow.

  ‘How about I bring the developed prints over tomorrow evening? We can discuss how they came out. I figure you’re as eager as I am to see them.’

  It wasn’t the damn photographs she cared about seeing, it was him. And if he didn’t realise that by now then she was going to leave him in no doubt about it tomorrow night! Smiling, she started to visualise the scene she would set… For starters she would dress as sexily as she knew how, and she’d have scented candles burning, soft music playing in the background, a romantic dinner…

  ‘Jacqui?’ he questioned, pulling her from her daze. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

  ‘What? Oh, yeah.’ She smiled provocatively up at him. ‘If you give me some idea of what time you’ll be here I’ll toss in a complimentary dinner.’

  He sighed wearily. ‘Babe, the way I am at the moment, schedules are the last thing I can think about keeping to. Better for you if you just expect me when you see me, and don’t go putting yourself to any extra trouble for my benefit.’ He took the kind of breath that made one expect a long monologue to follow, but instead he just grimaced. ‘Sorry, hon’.’

  His message was all too loud, clear and heartbreaking. Tears began to well in her eyes but she fought to quell them.

  ‘No, that’s fine! Really! I…I’ll just…expect you when I see you,’ she said glibly. ‘And I won’t be surprised if I don’t. I know how busy you are—’

  ‘Oh, I’ll definitely be here.’ His tone seemed vague and distracted. ‘There’s a lot we have to discuss, such as—’

  ‘I’m going to have a cup of coffee!’ Her interruption was swift and desperate. She didn’t want to hear him say, Such as our relationship. ‘You’re welcome to stay,’ she continued. Then as his head started to shake added, ‘For coffee, I mean! Just for coffee!’ She felt like an absolute fool. She’d suddenly become so conscious of not saying the wrong thing that she was making things worse.

  ‘Thanks, but no. Like I said, I’m worn out after the trip, and in more need of a decent night’s sleep than caffeine.’

  His implication that she was the cause of his sleep deprivation was anything but subtle! Huh! She wasn’t the one who’d instigated what had practically been an endurance marathon last night
!

  ‘I know how you feel,’ she said agreeably. ‘I can’t remember the last time I got a decent night’s sleep.’

  She ignored his frown and walked into the kitchen to fill the electric jug and switch it on.

  She was determined not to say another word until he did, which might be never—he’d hardly been receptive to conversation, much less inclined to instigate it, at any stage of their drive home!

  And he’d offered no explanation as to why ten minutes after they’d got in the Land Rover he’d announced that he was aborting his original plan of a leisurely three-day return via the New England tablelands and opting for a straight stint along the Pacific Highway. Jacqui, coward that she was, and fearing his answer, hadn’t asked.

  Feeling his eyes on her, but steadfastly refusing to meet his gaze, she set about placing everything that she needed for coffee on the bench. Her taut nerves stretched tighter and tighter, until she became terminally clumsy and was chinking mugs and juggling the sugar bowl like a drunken octopus.

  When the teaspoon slid from her fingers it clanged into the stainless-steel sink with a pitch high enough to break the sound barrier, but it wasn’t until she opened the refrigerator and realised that there was no fresh milk that her frustration became too much. She swore violently.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s no milk!’ she shouted, as if it was somehow his fault.

  ‘Want me to run down and borrow some from your sister?’

  ‘No! I’m more than capable of doing it myself. Besides, I thought you were going home?’

  ‘I am. I just wanted to make sure you were OK by yourself.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be, for God’s sake?’

  ‘No reason.’ He straightened. ‘Well, I’d better get going. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, OK?’