12 Men for Christmas

by Phillipa Ashley

  “His wife’s in the hospital having a baby, and no one else could come. Believe me, it’s not a job I would have volunteered for—actually.”

  “So it’s actually that bad, eh?”

  “Oh, no. I mean it was you I was thinking of…me being a woman…though now you come to mention it, I should really ask for danger money.”

  “Charming!” he exclaimed. “In that case, maybe I shouldn’t be Mr. December after all.”

  But as he took off his shades, she could see there was a definite glint in his dark-brown eyes.

  “What I meant to say was…it’s probably wholly inappropriate for me to be here in the circumstances. We did promise that it would be a men-only project. Just to save any awkwardness.”

  “Well, it only goes to prove one thing,” said Will, pulling his mountain rescue jacket tighter. “Never believe a word PR people say. Now, do you mind if I put the rest of my clothes on? You can supervise if you like.”

  “That won’t be necessary! I’ll wait over here until you’re decent,” she cried hastily and walked back to the rock. Keeping her gaze fixed on the horizon, she tried to fathom out why he’d been so resistant to the calendar. It was ridiculous. No one else had objected to the idea. Certainly not when they’d heard how much money the air ambulance had made from the one she’d produced for her old PR firm.

  How could Will not want the squad to raise funds for a new base? Frankly, she’d been shocked when she’d seen their present base, a ramshackle affair cobbled together out of some old farm buildings. They deserved so much better. And she knew she was good at her job.

  Now that she had a chance to put the carefully honed PR skills she’d brought from her senior position at Rogue—now that her ideas and enthusiasm were helping to achieve so much more than coverage for a new brand of smoothie or the latest electronic gadget—she’d begun to believe in herself again. Working for the tourist board, volunteering to help the mountain rescue, her skills could actually help people.

  She had to admit it felt good. For the first time in months, she felt good about herself.

  Perhaps Will was embarrassed at having to take his clothes off. Well, she had news for him—he shouldn’t be! With a body like that? Fit and hard and lean muscled. A swirl of desire stirred in her stomach.

  Oh…

  Emma swallowed a tiny lump in her throat, wondering where that swirl—which was unexpected but admittedly rather nice—had come from. This was Will, she reminded herself, grateful that the pink stealing into her cheeks could be put down to the effort of climbing up here. Will, who’d made no secret of the fact that he hated her idea and seemed to resent her presence. Will, who thought far too much of his own opinions and seemed to think everyone else should follow his lead. Besides, it was completely unprofessional to be thinking of a client in this way, especially one who needed more convincing than most that she was every bit as good at her job as he was.

  And even if he hadn’t been Will but some other gorgeous naked bloke, she still couldn’t risk having a crush on any man these days. It was too soon after Jeremy. Maybe it always would be.

  Emma snatched a lungful of cold mountain air, glad to feel the icy wind sting her cheeks. In a moment, she told herself, Will would be back in his clothes, and she’d be back in control.

  * * *

  While he got dressed, Will took the opportunity to size her up. Hmm, he thought, here she was again: Emma Tremayne, the squad’s new PR “guru,” on loan from the local tourist board. They were very fortunate to have her services, or so he’d been told.

  Against his will, he had to admit he’d been impressed by the professional way she’d pitched the calendar concept to the team. Impressed by her powers of persuasion—but not by the idea. He was still adamant that it was a gimmick, a publicity stunt that would only bring the squad into disrepute and make them the laughingstock of other teams.

  But her PR skills weren’t the only thing he’d taken notice of. Back then, she’d been wearing a short but businesslike black skirt and the kind of heels rarely seen in a mountain rescue base. Even today in her new fleece and walking boots, flustered and windswept, she was stunning. Suddenly, he was thankful he was back in the safety of his combat trousers.

  He fastened up his jacket and gave himself a mental shake. This wasn’t a good time or place to start thinking about the PR girl in that way, no matter how sweet or hot she was. In fact, Will reminded himself, there was never a good time or place to think about a woman like that.

  Not now.

  For nearly two years, he’d sworn off love the way other members of the team swore off alcohol and junk food. Unlike them, he had stuck to his pledge. It hadn’t been difficult to keep, considering the catastrophe that had prompted it. Two years ago, he’d gotten his fingers burned so badly he’d vowed he would never let a woman under his skin again. He wasn’t averse to letting the odd one near his bed, but closer than that?

  No way. Not after Kate.

  Yet he had to admit that there was a lot about Emma that was mouthwateringly attractive. Totally impractical, of course, but undeniably sexy. Although her long, dark hair needed tying back, he liked the way it kept flying away in the breeze and getting into her eyes. How her tight jeans, completely unsuitable for walking, clung to her pert bottom. The trace of makeup she was wearing wasn’t necessary, but it did set off her eyes—the exact shade of jade he’d seen on a temple idol in Thailand.

  Oh yes, thought Will, turning up his jacket collar against the wind, Emma was definitely one of the few women who might make it as far as the four-poster in his cottage. But first she looked like she needed a drink. He saw no sign of a rucksack—no sign of a map either, and somehow he knew that a compass and whistle were out of the question. She probably had a phone, though, and he suspected it would be a state-of-the-art, dinky little one with every feature possible except a signal.

  “It’s OK. I’m decent now,” he called to her, delving into his sack for some water and energy bars.

  He threw a bottle of water and one of the bars to Pete, the photographer, who was about to set off ahead of them. Then he unscrewed the top of a second bottle, walked over, and handed it to Emma.

  “Thanks,” she murmured in relief, drinking half straight down before ripping open the energy bar.

  He opened a third bottle, and as he sipped his drink, Will watched her munching the snack. She looked cold now. That much was obvious from the way her nipples were pressing against the soft cotton of her cute pink T-shirt. In his opinion, Emma Tremayne needed an intensive course in mountain survival. If only he’d brought the bivvy tent with him or a sleeping bag to snuggle under while he taught her the best way to keep warm in an emergency situation.

  “You shouldn’t have come up here on your own,” he said gruffly, trying to tame his unruly thoughts. He reached into his rucksack for another bottle. “And you’d better put your fleece back on now that you’ve cooled down a bit.”

  She shook her head as he passed the water to her.

  “Take it,” he insisted. “You look a bit dehydrated.”

  “I’m fine,” she blurted out, spraying crumbs over him from the last of the bar.

  Will dropped the bottle and her fleece in her lap anyway.

  “James shouldn’t have sent you up here alone. You’ve got no proper gear, no map, and no experience hiking by the look of it. You’ve been helping us out for a few weeks. You should know better by now.”

  “I’ve survived, haven’t I?”

  “Today,” he said grimly. “You’d be surprised what might happen if the weather closes in. See that bank of clouds over there?” He pointed at the western horizon. “That’s a weather front. You won’t be able to see a thing up here but mist in a couple of hours.”

  “Don’t exaggerate. I’ve got my phone, and this isn’t the Himalayas, and before you ask, I have got a signal. Absolutely nothing could g
o wrong.”

  “The times I’ve heard people say that. If only it were true, Emma, we’d all be out of a job. I just don’t want you to find out the hard way. Come on, then. Time to get back.”

  She was probably right. He was being a bit self-righteous. It was a busy route, and it was unlikely she’d have come to any harm. But he’d never been able to turn down a challenge, be it a playground skirmish, a difficult rescue, or a bright and sexy woman.

  * * *

  Emma handed him her empty bottle as he packed the trash away. It’s OK. I’m decent now—that was what he’d said. His words had zinged her from head to toe. Decent was the last adjective she’d have used in connection with Will.

  Strong, surprisingly warm fingers closed around hers as he hauled her up from the ground. They were rough—toughened by rocks and ropes, she supposed. Unlike Jeremy’s, soft and smooth from life at a laptop. She preferred Will’s. They felt…safe and dangerous all at the same time.

  She tugged herself free of his grip and, for a brief moment, caught a flicker of something in his eyes. But it was gone just as quickly as Will simply shrugged and concentrated on buckling up his rucksack.

  He was unfathomable, she thought. No doubt he was totally dedicated to his work with the squad, but on the few occasions they’d come across each other, he seemed to have taken particular exception to her. Well, so what if her idea of a “route” was finding the shortest way from the tube station to a skinny latté? She might not know anything about rappelling down a cliff, but she did know a lot about the power of publicity. At the end of the day, her help and ideas might get them a new base—even Mr. know-it-all December couldn’t deny her that.

  “You really don’t approve of this calendar, do you?” she asked as they set off down the path. She had to say something; his silence was more annoying than his caustic remarks.

  “Do you want me to be absolutely honest?”

  “I do consider it a desirable trait in a man.”

  Will halted on the stony path. “If you really want a straight answer, then no—I don’t like the idea at all. Frankly, I think it makes a mockery of a serious organization.”

  “Don’t sit on the fence, Will. Speak your mind.”

  “You did ask me for a truthful answer.”

  She was determined not to give up. This idea was her brainchild, and she was going to defend it to the hilt.

  “Come on now. Even you have to admit it will raise the squad’s profile and, more important, raise money for the redevelopment of the base. The facilities are hopelessly inadequate.”

  “They are indeed—hopelessly. And we desperately need to sort them out. But I’m not sure this is the way to go about it.” Will couldn’t bring himself to tell her the real story. That he had already put up half the funds for the new base. That, actually, he had offered the whole amount, but the committee had flatly refused to allow one team member to pay for the lot.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if he had no sense of humor. He needed it when he was out on a rain-lashed hillside, sometimes on a wild-goose chase. And, he reflected grimly, black humor was a way of coping with some of the awful things they saw. In fact, it was his only way of dealing with it. But he did not like being ridiculed. And if people thought he was the bad guy for expressing his opinions, that was their problem. He refused to be made a fool of by anyone—ever.

  Still, Emma was persistent, he’d give her that. In fact, she was so sweetly persuasive that his heart almost melted a fraction of a degree.

  “Will, the calendar is bound to generate a lot of helpful publicity—and that’s in addition to the sales. At my London agency—”

  “You’re forgetting something, Emma. We’re not in London now. This is Cumbria, or haven’t you noticed?” he said, dismissing her low-slung jeans and shiny new walking boots with a sweep of his hand.

  “Then if you’re so absolutely against it, why on earth did you agree to be Mr. December?” she replied, exasperated at last.

  “Once it was agreed by the committee, I had no choice. After all, I am one of the team leaders. We all stick together. You know that, Emma. I had to set an example, no matter how bad an idea I think it is.”

  They reached a ladder stile, and Will went over first, then put down the rucksack to help her over. “Not going too fast for you, am I?” he asked.

  “No, I’m fine—and I don’t need helping over the stile. Thanks,” she replied, climbing down the steps and ignoring his offered hand.

  He shrugged, suddenly adding, “Look, I may have been a bit unfair. I know you meant well in suggesting the calendar, but I’m not one for smooth talking. What you see is what you get with me.”

  Hmm…and that is something to shout about, she thought to herself, but as for his apology? It was a nice try, but he hadn’t eaten nearly enough humble pie. Several yards in front, his red rucksack was bobbing up and down as she descended the path. She felt tired. She’d spent the past few evenings unpacking the last of her stuff, and she’d been up late on the internet, emailing her brother and nieces who lived in New Zealand.

  Too hot again in her jacket, she was still struggling to keep up. It went against the grain, but she was going to have to ask him to slow down. Then she glimpsed heaven: the parking lot was visible just a few hundred feet below. She heaved a sigh of relief and quickened her step to catch up with him, knowing there wasn’t far to go. It was just as well, as her thighs were burning now and her calf muscles were starting to shake and cramp as she tried to keep pace with the long, long stride of those never-ending legs…

  It was inevitable, really—unavoidable that her world would suddenly turn upside down.

  One moment, she’d been trying hard not to concentrate on Will’s admittedly fit backside as she followed him down the path. The next, she was making a close acquaintance with the mud and something that looked suspiciously like sheep droppings. As she lay on the ground, she felt her heart pounding like a pneumatic drill and heard a loud thudding in her ears.

  “Emma! Are you all right?”

  A pair of oversized muddy boots had stopped inches away from her nose. She opened her mouth to reply but seemed to have been robbed of the power of speech.

  “Can you get up? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m OK,” she heard herself croak as she tried to struggle to her knees. “Just a bit shaken up.”

  This time, she didn’t hesitate in taking his offered hand.

  “Ow!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  He helped her to her feet and turned over her hand with surprising gentleness. Livid grazes glistened red across her palms, tiny chips of gravel adhering to the raw skin.

  “Just a few abrasions…nasty though,” he remarked and pointed to the knees of her jeans, now appliquéd with mud. “What about the rest of you?”

  “The grass and bracken saved my legs, I think…”

  “You’re lucky not to have broken your wrists,” he observed—rather harshly, in Emma’s view. She hadn’t done it deliberately, and if he hadn’t been going so fast, it might never have happened.

  “You need to get those hands cleaned up,” he ordered. “Come on. I’ve got a first aid kit in the Land Rover.”

  “No really, I’m fine.”

  “You’ll never drive home in that state. Don’t be silly. Unless you don’t trust me?” he challenged, narrowing his eyes.

  “Of course I do! I just don’t want to make a fuss, that’s all.” But that was the trouble. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust any man these days. Not even to do something as innocent as clean her sore hands.

  “It’s no bother,” he replied in such an unexpectedly gentle tone that her stomach flipped. “Now can you get down to the parking lot in one piece on your own, or do I have to carry you?”

  “You’d never manage it—not with all that gear too.”

  Will’s mouth t
wisted in a smile. “I was joking, actually, but if you really want me to, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

  “No!”

  Damn. She’d never hear the last of it if he did have to carry her down a mountainside. City girl Emma can’t even walk off a hill without something going wrong. They’d love that, especially the way Will would paint it.

  Minutes later, to Emma’s immense relief, they’d reached the little graveled parking lot, almost deserted now as the afternoon drew to a close. She thought of marching straight back to her car, but she had to admit her hands were hurting, and if she was brutally honest, she was in dire need of some TLC. It was too late anyway; Will was already striding purposefully toward her, cutting off any chance of escape.

  “Over here,” he said, indicating the Rescue Land Rover parked on the shoulder. Opening the back doors, he flipped open the lid of a professional first aid kit and brought out a pack of antiseptic wipes.

  * * *

  “Sit down, then, so I can look at you. Let’s get your jacket off,” he said, feeling unaccountably self-conscious. He helped her slide the jacket sleeves down her arms, carefully easing them over her sore hands. As he did so, he couldn’t help but notice the lush fullness of her breasts, the slight beading against her thin T-shirt.

  The desire suddenly running rampant through him was playing havoc with his bedside manner. Brisk cheerfulness, that was his aim with injuries, but Emma was starting to make him feel very unprofessional indeed. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her better. Kiss all of her better, in fact—maybe even use his mouth and tongue to make her better too.

  For some reason, she’d got him behaving like a teenager, and yet he hardly knew her. He tried hard to focus on doing his job, to stay on safe ground rather than venture any deeper into the unfamiliar territory that was Emma.

  Clearing his throat, he took her hands in his as if he were examining a piece of porcelain. “These grazes need washing thoroughly as soon as you get home, and you need to get every bit of grit out of them, but I’ll do my best to make it more comfortable until then,” he said curtly. Returning her hands to her lap, he ripped open the antiseptic pack and debated whether or not to warn her before he started.