An idea suddenly struck her that made her feel even more annoyed. Maybe he wouldn’t have to face much opposition to his plans. He was, after all, a rather big fish in a small pond—perhaps he got away with all kinds of things because of that. Money talks, as Suzanne had pointed out at the base. People would put up with a lot when hard cash was involved.
But later that evening, as she sat in the window seat of her flat, Emma’s mind was focused on a very different aspect of Will. She’d also told him a little white lie earlier that day. She hadn’t exactly had the proofs of the calendar photos in her folder. She’d had only one of them.
His to be precise. The others were safely locked away in her desk drawer at work, but she just couldn’t resist sneaking Mr. December home. Just for the occasional peep, mind. Mainly for the purposes of research. Research into spotting wolves in sheep’s clothing. Six-foot-three-inch wolves with broad shoulders, a taut stomach, and a dark trail of hair that went all the way from his navel to his… She couldn’t confirm exactly where the trail ended, because the photographer had hidden Mr. December behind the cairn.
She shoved the proof back into the envelope with disgust.
Had it come to this? Sneaking home a risqué photograph in a brown envelope like someone hiding naughty magazines? She had turned into a dirty old woman—although twenty-eight wasn’t that old…
Her fingers went to the envelope and withdrew the picture one last time. Just to study her enemy. Just to find out if he really did have the most magnificent pair of thighs she’d ever seen. It took half an hour of close scrutiny to convince her that yes, he really did.
* * *
On the opposite side of the lake, Will was pulling up outside his house. After the launch, he’d spent until seven o’clock in the office. He was ready for another quiet night in at Ghyllside Cottage, and he couldn’t think of anywhere better suited to peace and tranquility. At times, he had to admit, it was almost too peaceful. It might have seven bedrooms, but only one of them was ever used—and almost exclusively by him.
Will stopped short on his way up the gravel drive to the front door and instead turned and headed over the lawns to the jetty that pointed, like a finger, at the village on the opposite shore. Peering at the sunlit buildings straggling up the hillside, he could just make out the flat where Emma lived. He wondered what she was doing. Maybe she wasn’t even there. Maybe she was out on a date. Someone might be with her now, in her bed…and why should he care? Their encounters had been few, but all of them had left him feeling frustrated and sometimes, as it had today, pretty pissed off.
After all, he told himself as he turned his back on the lake and walked back along the jetty, he knew very little about her background or her past. Nothing at all about why a bright and confident woman like her had moved up here to what must be the back of beyond, career-wise. Will knew he was as much a part of the Lakes as the rocks and hills that towered above the house.
He pushed open the door to the cottage, dropped his keys on the hall table, and flicked on the table lamp. The old longcase clock ticked slowly, sounding unduly loud in the silent house. Will sighed. He’d known for a long time he would never share Ghyllside Cottage with Kate Danvers. After the reception he’d had earlier, it didn’t look like Emma would be tasting his hospitality for even one night.
Chapter 4
No whiteboard, no audiovisual kit, and absolutely no mineral water. Emma had to smile as she helped Dr. Suzanne Harley carry an old table to the front of the meeting room at the mountain rescue base. How far she’d come from the boardroom of Rogue Communications. They’d been legendary in the marketing world for their lavish entertaining and innovative product launches. The base, on the other hand, was legendary for drafty toilets and a temperamental boiler.
The two-hundred-year-old building had once been a barn, and while it was in the ideal spot for reaching the fells, the team had outgrown it several years before. The gear was stowed away in perfect order, but it was absolutely everywhere, filling every nook and cranny. There was no private place where relatives could sit quietly and wait for news or, worse, comfort each other when, as inevitably happened, there were fatal accidents. They needed a bigger, better-equipped HQ, and Emma felt proud that her idea was going to help them get it.
She was on her way to collect a chair from the stack when Will appeared. “Let me take that,” he offered, and before she could protest, he was placing it behind the table. She noticed his designer stubble was back, and his sunglasses were now perched unnecessarily on top of his head. His close-fitting T-shirt gave just a hint of the taut body underneath—a body she knew so well by now it could have been her specialist subject on Mastermind.
Unpacking her briefcase, she watched him put out chairs as the other team members drifted in one by one. Her eyes rested on the large board-backed envelope on the table that contained the proofs for the calendar. Twelve arty shots in stark monochrome, save for a shocking splash of scarlet in each. The designer had picked out the distinctive red Rescue logo in every shot: the sign on a Land Rover, a badge on a bag, a jacket slung over a shoulder.
A glance at her watch told her it was time to get proceedings underway. She wondered if there was time to go to the ladies’ to redo her lipstick. Naturally, it didn’t matter what she looked like, not up here anyway. Still, a final check might not do any harm…
“Nervous?” Suddenly, Will was standing beside her as the rest of the team settled into their seats.
“Why? Do you think I should be?”
“It’s your big night, isn’t it? I know I would be.”
“You’re forgetting that this is my job. I’ve done more presentations like this than you’ve done rescues.” That was one thing: at least she sounded confident.
“Yes, but you’re forgetting you’ve got a much tougher audience to convince here. We’re not a bunch of fancy marketing suits. This is the real world. I’ll just sit here quietly and wait to be impressed.”
“I’d like to see that,” she replied sweetly, then banged on the desk for attention as he positioned himself in the front row, one long leg crossed over the other, arms casually folded across his chest. This was his territory, and he wanted her to know it.
As her eyes swept over her audience, she was congratulating herself on the decision to keep her jacket on. It gave her a semblance of control at least. She reminded herself to take a deep breath. You can do this, she told herself, and it can’t be that bad, can it? Not as bad as the last product presentation you made…oh heavens, no…
Besides, she was sure she could detect a touch of nervousness among the normally blasé crew. Maybe a tiny edge of hysteria to the laughter? A tiny trace of fear on the face of Will? Perhaps it was just wishful thinking…
She picked up the envelope and smiled brightly.
“OK. Are we ready, gentlemen? It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for. First of all, I want to thank you all for daring to take part. I know it’s been a leap of faith for some, but I’m certain none of you will regret it. With the models concerned, I know this calendar is going to be an enormous success. Huge!”
The sniggering broke the tension and—miracles would never cease—she noticed that even Will had managed a smile.
“I’m going to hand them out one by one. First—and may I say the best, in my opinion—Bob.”
Walking confidently toward him, she handed Bob his picture. She’d barely moved on to her next target when she heard his howl of laughter, followed by a shriek from Suzanne.
“Bob, darling, I may be a GP, but you don’t see that every day. I congratulate you,” she giggled, patting him on the back.
“That ice axe doesn’t leave much to the imagination,” roared a deep voice Emma recognized as one of the local hoteliers.
Thank goodness for that. The banter had started. Some of it risqué, some just plain rude, and all of it music to her ears. The exact opposite
, in fact, to the nightmare scenario that had been passing through her mind all day: a horror-struck silence.
She felt her shoulders sink in relief as she carried on handing out the photographs, pausing here and there to make an encouraging remark. She knew she needn’t have bothered. The calendar boys were too busy trying to outdo each other with insults.
“Bet that climbing harness chafed, Phil…”
“Jason. What the bloody hell were you doing with that helmet?”
They were all out of their seats by now, gathered in huddles, ridiculing each other’s photos with good-natured howls of derision. Only one person was still in his seat. Still sitting there with one long leg resting across the other, a cool gleam of amusement in his eyes. Will was waiting patiently for her to come to him.
Emma sat down beside him on the empty chair and pulled the last print from the envelope. Without saying a word, she offered it to him and saw the tremor in her hand transfer itself to the photograph.
His fingers brushed hers as he took it, sending a shiver of excitement through her that connected with something deep inside. He made her suffer for a moment by placing it facedown across his lap.
“Aren’t you going to look?” she said quietly.
“Is it compulsory to do it in public?”
“Why? Do you think you’ve got something to worry about?”
“You tell me…”
As Will turned the print over, Emma’s deep blush gave him all the answer he needed. There he was, standing behind the cairn. In his shades and boots, backlit against the late-afternoon sun, casually holding a climbing helmet with the rescue logo on it. His body didn’t look too bad, he had to admit, but it was his face that bothered him. He couldn’t care less whether anyone thought he was handsome or good-looking. That was ridiculous. But he did think he looked a bit, well, world-weary. Where was the zest for life he’d once prided himself on?
His lingering look was not lost on Emma.
“What do you think, then? Very tasteful, aren’t they?”
“You might have told me to smile.”
“I don’t recall you being too happy to be there, and anyway,” she added, lowering her voice, “it’s called the mean and moody look.”
Her voice was so smooth and silky, had so much of the vixen about it, that it took every ounce of self-control he had to stop himself from pulling her across his lap and forcing a kiss on her. A full-blooded French kiss to jolt her out of her cool poise.
He didn’t know what had come over his colleagues. She’d swept all before her with her blithe confidence and charm—even gruff Bob and Suzanne. He’d been amazed at the relish the plain-speaking doc had shown for seeing her colleagues stripped on a calendar. He’d have thought she’d have seen enough of it in her day job. A large hand appeared and swept the photo from his fingers. It was Bob Jeavons.
“What made you think you needed a pile of rocks that big, Will? A few pebbles would have done, eh, Emma?” he roared.
Emma smiled weakly, hoping against hope she didn’t have to reply. Torn between scoring points and admitting she had, actually, taken a peek at the original.
“You’ll not get the chance to find out, Bob,” said Will evenly.
“Unlike half the female population hereabouts!” he bellowed, handing back the picture before being hauled away by Suzanne to get his opinion on Mr. October’s equipment.
Will’s face twisted into a grimace as Emma regarded him like something a particularly snooty Persian cat had brought in. He tried a diversion tactic. A risky one.
“You do realize we’ll be the laughingstock after this?” he demanded coldly. “We’re making complete fools of ourselves. Don’t you know what the other teams are saying about us?”
“Will, surely it can’t be that bad?” she soothed. “My charity client made a fortune out of their calendar. They got heaps of coverage—even made the regional TV news. It shows you as a modern, caring organization that’s not afraid to laugh at itself.”
“No one will take us seriously ever again after this.”
“For a successful businessman, you’re not very commercially aware, are you? And I’d have thought as an entrepreneur, especially one with his eye on the main chance, you’d have been more open-minded. It is the twenty-first century, you know. Time to stop living in the past and to move on.”
His face darkened. Emma hadn’t been able to resist a barb about his property plans, but it was something else that seemed to have upset him more.
“Stop living in the past?” he echoed. “Well, perhaps it is time I moved on, if that’s what you recommend.”
Emma didn’t know why but she suddenly felt ever so slightly afraid of him. Tinged with her anxiety was a frisson of desire that made her breasts prickle. Suddenly, he got up and strode away, the print discarded on his chair. She picked it up and slotted it carefully into her folder before escaping into the tiny kitchen to make a tray of tea.
Pouring out the drinks, she asked herself, once again, why Will had to be like this. Everyone else was thrilled. The black-and-white images were beautifully shot and very tasteful. They were funny and sexy, and she knew they would be flying off the shelves by Christmas. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps it wasn’t the photos that had provoked such a strong reaction—perhaps it was her.
Half an hour later, the meeting was over, and Emma was helping to stack the motley collection of chairs around the edge of the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Will appear in the doorway. This time, he didn’t offer to help.
“See you at the weekend then, Emma? We’re off to Stickle Crag to do some rappelling. Why don’t you come along?” asked Suzanne as they added the final two chairs to the stack.
“That’s very kind of you but—”
“Go on,” urged her friend. “It’ll be far more interesting than listening to budget figures and the maintenance reports you get in the monthly meeting, and there’ll be the chance to see Will dangling off a rope. You don’t want to miss that, do you?”
Emma hesitated. The last thing she wanted to do was watch people launching themselves off a cliff. She was absolutely hopeless with heights. She’d once had to leave a cocktail party when Jeremy, worse for wear as usual, had started fooling around on the balcony, pretending to climb over the rail. He’d known she hated it but thought it was funny to tease her.
Suzanne’s voice cut in. “You could even have the chance to do a bit of dangling yourself. Why don’t you have a go?” she suggested.
“Me?” asked Emma, incredulous. Although she knew Suzanne was being friendly, the idea of actually rappelling made Emma shudder. There was no way she could do this, no matter how much she wanted to fit in. “I’d better not,” she said. “It’s way out of my comfort zone. Maybe in a few months.”
“Out of your comfort zone?” said Will, walking over to them. “What was it you said back there—that some of us had had to take a leap of faith? Well, I think it’s time for you to take one.”
Emma felt her heart quicken. Everyone could hear him, and she could feel the situation rapidly getting out of hand. Will was in a provocative mood, and this time, she didn’t feel in control. “I…I don’t think…”
“What? Don’t think you can do it? You can, Emma, if you really have faith in yourself and your friends.”
“Will, don’t torment her,” warned Suzanne.
He was determined, it seemed, to have his revenge for being forced into doing the calendar. She felt her hands shaking as he pushed harder. Her palms were sweating too, and her pulse was racing.
“I really don’t think it’s me, walking backward off a cliff.”
“I think it’s exactly you, Emma…willing to step over the edge.”
Step over the edge? So that was what he wanted. Something snapped inside her. Well, she’d damn well show him she wasn’t afraid of anything he might care to
try with her. She glared at him defiantly.
“Well, have you got the nerve?” he asked, locking eyes with her.
She smiled politely, knowing that everyone was listening. “I suppose I’m willing to try anything once.”
Will raised his eyebrows in surprise, making it obvious he hadn’t thought she had the guts to do it.
“Bravo.” He applauded softly. “See you on Saturday then.”
And he strode out the door without a glance behind, leaving Emma shell-shocked. What the hell had she gone and done?
Suzanne put a hand on her arm. “You don’t have to do this. Don’t let him back you into a corner.”
“What choice do I have after a challenge like that?” cried Emma. “When I persuaded everyone else into doing something I would never dare do. Though why Will had to do this to me, I don’t know. Surely I haven’t upset him this much.”
“For someone in communications, you’re doing a great job of ignoring the signals,” said Suzanne, shaking her head in disbelief. “He likes you, Emma. This is just his very funny way of showing it.”
* * *
It took precisely five minutes before Will would have given his right arm to take back his challenge. Barely had the Range Rover passed the gate of the parking lot when his conscience gave him the kick in the stomach he knew he deserved.
What kind of a man was he to force a woman into a corner like that? A woman he liked and respected, even. A woman he’d like to try and persuade into his bed… Will Tennant, you deserve a medal for stupidity.
Emma’s reaction to his challenge, meanwhile, was more straightforward. She had gone home and started on a family-size block of chocolate while she tried to make sense of her latest encounter with Will.
12 Men for Christmas Page 6
