by Jessica Hart
Campbell was appalled at the very idea. He had got through life perfectly well without ever talking about his feelings and he had no intention of starting now. They could whistle if they wanted anything interesting out of him!
‘We don’t both have to do them, surely?’
‘Of course you do.’ Suzy was firm. ‘We’re interested in how you react to each other. For this part of the challenge, you’re the one who knows what he’s doing, but for the next part, it’ll be Tilly who’s in charge.’
‘What next part?’ asked Campbell with foreboding.
‘When Tilly teaches you how to make and decorate a wedding cake.’ Suzy’s smile faltered as she saw his expression. ‘Didn’t Keith tell you?’
‘No.’ His voice was grim. ‘He omitted that part.’
No doubt because Keith had known exactly how Campbell would react! He’d thought it would just be a question of getting Tilly to the last checkpoint before anyone else. Physical challenges, he could deal with. A race was no problem, but making a cake? What a ridiculous waste of time!
‘I’m not sure I can do that,’ he said.
‘Oh, come now,’ said Tilly, who had been watching his expression and reading it without any difficulty. ‘That’s not the right attitude, Sanderson,’ she quoted his words back at him wickedly. ‘You’re supposed to be thinking positive.’
The look he shot her promised vengeance but, with the camera still trained on them, he had to refrain from the murder that was clearly on his mind.
Tilly didn’t care. This was the first time she had enjoyed herself all day. Let Campbell Sanderson see what it was like to be made to do something completely alien! Suddenly she could see the point of the programme. She would be able to get her own back when he was in her kitchen. All she had to do was survive Ben Nuarrh.
‘I’m thinking about timing.’ Campbell frowned at her before turning to Suzy to explain. ‘I’m leaving Manning very soon and moving to a new job in the States. Obviously, I’ve got a lot to do before then.’
Suzy was dismayed. ‘If you can’t do the second part of the challenge, we’ll have to cut you,’ she said. ‘That would be such a shame! We’ve got some great footage of you two already. Roger and Leanne are doing well, too. If you drop out, it’ll probably mean a walkover for them, and then the competition would lose any tension. You know, it could be worse than a wedding cake,’ she added in a wheedling voice. ‘Roger’s got to learn to do a pedicure.’
‘Plus, they’ll all think we dropped out because we were losing,’ said Tilly, knowing Campbell would hate the very thought. It wasn’t that she cared about winning, but she wanted her revenge for today’s humiliations.
Campbell sucked in an irritable breath. He had a fairly clear idea of why Tilly was so keen for them to continue. She might look sweet with that rosy, heart-shaped face but there was an intriguing tartness to her, too. She would no doubt be hoping that it would be his turn to make a fool of himself next.
Let her hope. Campbell had no intention of indulging her. If he pulled out now, there would be no question of winning and, having got this far, he was loath to give up. How hard could it be to make a cake, after all? It wouldn’t take long, and if he needed to make more time, he would just delegate a few things to Keith. Serve him right for getting him into this mess in the first place.
‘But if we’re carrying on with the competition, we’re going to win,’ he warned Tilly as they said goodbye to Suzy and set off towards Ben Nuarrh. ‘That means no more dawdling!’
He set a punishing pace and Tilly was soon struggling. ‘Can’t we stop for five minutes so I can get my breath back?’ she pleaded at last.
‘You can have a rest when we get to the top.’
When she finally clambered up to where Campbell was waiting, Tilly was wheezing and bright red in the face.
‘God, this is killing me!’ She collapsed on to a rock while she struggled for breath. ‘If this is just a hill, I’m never going to get to the top of that mountain.’
‘You’re very unfit,’ he said disapprovingly.
Tilly scowled. ‘Why not come right out and say I’m fat?’
‘I would if that’s what I thought,’ he retorted. ‘You’re screwed up about your weight, clearly, but you don’t look fat to me. You do seem unfit. Don’t you take any exercise?’
‘Not if I can help it,’ said Tilly, only slightly mollified. ‘I’m too busy.’
‘Making cakes?’ Campbell didn’t bother to hide his disbelief.
‘Yes, making cakes,’ she said evenly. She was used to men pooh-poohing what she did for a living. ‘It’s my business.’
Campbell unscrewed a water bottle and passed it over to her. ‘Doesn’t that get boring?’
She shook her head as she drank gratefully. ‘I love it. And every cake I make is different. It’s not just piping endless icing roses for traditional wedding cakes. Every one I make is unique. I spend a lot of time talking to my clients so that I can come up with an individual design for their special occasion.’
‘Like what?’
‘It was some guy’s fortieth birthday the other day, and he’d always dreamt of having a Porsche. His wife couldn’t afford one of those, obviously, but she got me to make a cake in the shape of a Porsche 911, down to the last detail. Or I quite often make shoes or bags for girls’ twenty-first birthdays-they’re always fun.’
Campbell’s eyes rested on her face. She was recovering from her breathlessness and her colour was fading, but she still glowed pinkly. Her eyes were a dark and rather beautiful blue, he found himself noticing, and the lush mouth curved in remembered enthusiasm.
He wished he hadn’t noticed quite how warm and soft and inviting it looked.
He looked away.
‘I’ve never thought of cakes as fun before,’ he said.
‘I’ve never thought of climbing hills as fun either,’ said Tilly frankly. She blew out a breath and pushed her hair back from her face. ‘I suppose they put us together because we’re so incompatible.’
‘That was the general idea,’ said Campbell.
‘I wonder if Roger and Leanne found anything in common?’
Campbell snorted. ‘Roger could always use his GPS. He says he can find anything with that.’
They glanced at each other, then suddenly both began to laugh, although Tilly was so startled by the effect a smile had on Campbell’s expression that she almost stopped. Who would have thought a laugh could make such a difference? A mere crease of the cheeks, a simple curve of the mouth, a brief glimpse of strong white teeth? That was all it was, really.
The cool green eyes were lit with amusement as they met hers, and Tilly felt her heart give an odd little skip that left her almost breathless. It was as if a switch had been flipped, brightening the light so that she could see him in extraordinary detail-the pores of his skin, the dark ring around his pale irises, every hair in the thick brows-and she was abruptly aware of him as a powerful male animal, all muscle and leashed strength.
The image made Tilly blink and sent heat flooding through her, reaching places that hadn’t tingled in quite that way for a very long time. Jerking her gaze away from his, she took a long glug from the water bottle, aware that her cheeks were burning.
Well, she would be hot, wouldn’t she? She had just climbed a huge hill.
CHAPTER THREE
S HE hoped that was the reason, anyway.
There wasn’t much point in finding man like Campbell Sanderson attractive, she reminded herself glumly. He was out of her league.
Friends would be furious if they knew she was thinking like that. Cleo was always urging her to forget Olivier and boost her ego with a quick fling. ‘You need to feel good about yourself again,’ she would insist to Tilly. ‘You don’t need to fall in love again just yet. You just need some fun. Find someone attractive and have a good time for a while. Think of it as a transitional relationship.’
The idea sounded good in principle but, as Tilly had discovered, it was a
lot harder to put into practice. Even if her confidence had been up to it, attractive single men were in short supply in Aller by.
Anyway, Campbell wouldn’t be single, she decided. He must be in his late thirties, and even SAS types surely fell prey to a committed relationship of some kind somewhere along the line. He had probably been snapped up by someone slender and beautiful and-even worse-really nice long ago.
There was no sign of a wedding ring, of course, but macho men like him wouldn’t wear anything that remotely smacked of jewellery. So he might be married.
Or he might not.
Studying him covertly, Tilly drank some more water and wondered if she could ask him outright. It might seem a bit obvious, especially when they were going to be sleeping together in a tiny tent.
Sleeping together. Hmm. What was that going to be like?
Cleo would have told her to make the most of the opportunity but, like all of Cleo’s ideas, that was easier said than done. Tilly only had to look at Campbell to know that he certainly wasn’t fizzing with anticipation at the thought of sleeping close to her. He probably hadn’t given the issue of sleeping arrangements a moment’s thought.
He wouldn’t care what happened as long as he won this stupid race.
Tilly sighed inwardly. That was just her luck. She had finally stumbled across an attractive man only to discover that, even given the remote off-chance that he might be available, he was far too competitive to let himself be distracted by the possibilities of a man and a woman in a small tent.
Look at him now-totally focused, glancing at his watch, determined to keep her moving.
‘Let’s get going,’ he said.
Tilly groaned but hauled herself obediently to her feet. ‘How much further is it?’
‘We could do another three hours at least.’
‘I’m not sure my feet will last that long,’ she said, wincing as she wriggled her toes in her boots.
‘Mind over matter,’ said Campbell briskly. He threw his pack on to his back and adjusted the straps with deft movements. ‘The trick is to keep thinking about something else.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like what you’d really like to find at the top of the next hill.’
‘That’s easy,’ said Tilly, securing her own pack into place and trudging after him. ‘Can you please make sure there’s a fabulous bathroom, with a deep, scented bath piled high with bubbles? I’d like candles and a glass of champagne waiting for me on the edge of the bath…oh, and a little plate of nibbles, too. Smoked salmon, probably,’ she added reflectively. ‘Or nuts? No, smoked salmon,’ she decided. ‘Little roulades stuffed with prawn mousse and soft cheese.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Campbell in a dry voice.
He was taken aback by how vividly he could picture Tilly sinking into the water with a sigh of pleasure. Her skin would be pink and pearly and wet, her hair clinging in damp tendrils around her face, her breasts rising out of the bubbles as she tipped back her head and dropped smoked salmon into that lush mouth…
Campbell had to give himself a mental shake, and he picked up his stride. He felt almost embarrassed, as if someone had caught him peeking round the bathroom door.
Tilly was still fantasising. ‘While you’re at it, can you arrange for a wonderful meal to be cooking so that the smell comes wafting up the stairs? No niminy piminy nouvelle cuisine, though, not after the day I’ve had. I want something hot and tasty. It doesn’t have to be fancy.’
‘A roast?’ Campbell suggested, drawn back into the scene she was creating in spite of himself.
‘Yes, a roast would be very acceptable, especially if you can lay on all the trimmings, too. Or a really good casserole with creamy mashed potatoes.’ Tilly was beginning to salivate now. She could practically taste that first mouthful. ‘Or-I know!-steak and kidney pudding…mmm, yum, yum…Even a-’
Glancing at Campbell just then and catching his fascinated gaze, she broke off. ‘What-you don’t have fantasies?’
‘Not about food.’
‘What do you fantasise about then?’ she demanded grouchily, embarrassed at having revealed quite how greedy she was. Why couldn’t she be the kind of girl who hankered after a green salad or a mug of nice herbal tea?
Campbell lifted an eyebrow in response, and she tutted. ‘Not that kind of fantasy,’ she scolded as if he had spoken, although actually she wouldn’t have minded knowing that at all. ‘A fantasy you can share with a nice girl like me!’
‘I’m not sure any of my fantasies are suitable for nice girls.’
There was just the faintest thread of amusement in his voice and Tilly was sure that he was mocking her.
‘All right, imagine being really relaxed,’ she challenged him.
‘What?’
‘Just do it,’ she insisted. ‘Close your eyes-or, on second thoughts, you’d better not, you might trip-and picture yourself happy.’
Campbell sighed and prepared to indulge her. At least it might stop her whingeing about her feet for a while longer. He thought for a moment.
‘OK.’
‘Have you an image of yourself relaxed and happy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where are you?’
Tilly hoped that he wasn’t going to say that he was in bed. That would make it very hard to concentrate. She waited for him to say standing on top of a mountain or skiing down a black run.
‘I’m sitting in a comfortable chair in front of the fire.’
It was so unexpected that she actually gaped at him. Sitting? Wasn’t that a bit tame for a man like Campbell?
‘What are you doing?’
‘Reading.’
The defensive note in his voice made Tilly grin. ‘You make it sound like you’re confessing a dirty secret! What are you reading? Nothing illegal or immoral, I hope.’
‘Roman military history.’
Campbell practically bit out the words, and this time Tilly really did laugh.
He scowled at her. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘I’m sorry. It was just so unexpected,’ she tried to explain.
‘What, marines aren’t allowed to read?’
‘It’s not that. It’s just that you seem such a macho action man that it’s hard to imagine you poring over ancient history, that’s all.’
‘I don’t want to spend all day doing it. You asked me to imagine myself relaxed,’ said Campbell almost crossly. ‘That was just a picture that came into my mind. Obviously I should have said some kind of extreme sport instead!’
‘That wouldn’t have been as interesting, though,’ said Tilly, meaning it, but Campbell clearly thought that she was joking.
‘I’ve had the mick taken out of me for years,’ he said in a resigned voice. ‘Anyone would think I had some bizarre fetish. It’s only military history, for God’s sake.’
‘But why the Romans?’
He shrugged. ‘I like their logical approach. Their sense of order. They were great engineers. Great strategists.’
‘And successful,’ Tilly reminded him, sure that was the key to their appeal for him. ‘The Romans were winners, too.’ She caught his look. ‘Hey, I did history at school. Roman history may not be my bedtime reading, but I’m not completely ignorant!’
She studied him from under her lashes as she toiled on beside him. She hoped he wasn’t regretting telling her. She rather liked the idea of him sitting quietly and reading by the fire, and was touched by the fact that he seemed faintly embarrassed by it, as if he had confessed some weakness.
‘So…have you got a fantasy meal cooking in the background while you read your book?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not someone who spends a lot of time thinking about food,’ he said. ‘I eat what’s put in front of me. I’ll have some of your roast.’
Tilly wished he hadn’t said that. It was enough to conjure up an instant cosy domestic scene. There she was, upstairs in the bath, and there was Campbell by the fire. Any minute now he would look at his watch, pu
t his book down and go and check on the roast, then he would come upstairs and sit on the edge of the bath.
I’ve turned the potatoes, he would say, topping up her glass. If you were going to have a fantasy, Tilly believed, you might as well make it a really good one. Will you be much longer?
And Tilly would sip her champagne and ask him to wash her back while he was there. She could almost feel his warm, firm hands soaping her, and obviously he wouldn’t stop at her back…
‘That must be some bath.’
Campbell’s voice jerked Tilly out of her daydream. ‘What?’ Disorientated, she looked around her to find that she had somehow made it to the top of the hill without even realising it.
‘You haven’t said a word for the last mile. I’m impressed by the power of your fantasising!’
If only he knew.
A guilty flush stained Tilly’s cheeks and her eyes slid away from his just in case an ability to mind-read was something else he had forgotten to mention, along with a knowledge of ancient military history.
Now that she had snapped out of it, she was appalled at herself. What had she been thinking? Harry and Seb had been right. She had been on her own too long. It was time she found another man.
At least she knew she was over Olivier. He had been the focus of her fantasies for quite a while, most of them involving him crawling back and confessing that he had made a terrible mistake. Satisfying in their own way, but nowhere near as erotic as the one that had carried her up the hillside.
‘Perhaps I can make one of your fantasies come true,’ said Campbell, digging in his rucksack.
For a blanket? Tilly wondered wildly and gulped. She must get a grip.
‘Which one?’ she asked, appalled to hear that her voice came out as barely more than a croak.
‘Chocolate,’ he said, and produced a bar. ‘You can have a rest for ten minutes, too.’
Tilly didn’t know whether she was disappointed or relieved. ‘Great,’ she said weakly.
