Aussie Rules

by Jill Shalvis

  Pathetic.

  She moved away, into the lobby and into her office, where she settled in to the stacks of bills and files she needed to work on.

  One of these days you’re going to eat those words…

  He believed in his cause, with his whole heart. It was even more disturbing than the fact he’d turned her upside down and upside right, not to mention on.

  And for the first time, she wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing. Wasn’t sure of anything at all.

  God, she hated that.

  Chapter 8

  Dimi had a tradition when it came to entering the bookkeeping information for North Beach. The first half of the month, she sat at her desk and pretended to work while she actually read a book. The second half of the month she raced to catch up.

  Unfortunately, it was the second half of the month. Even more unfortunately, she was in the middle of a good book. But she needed to get on top of things before Mel crawled up her ass about it, wanting to see the accounting printouts.

  First she sorted the mail into piles, then opened her stacks and sent each to the correct in-box. Then she went through Mel’s mail, which was how she found herself staring down at a letter that read nothing more than:

  Leave. It. Alone.

  Dimi grabbed the envelope it’d come in. The postal stamp was dated five days ago, the place it’d come from so smeared she couldn’t read it.

  At that moment, Bo happened to walk by, heading toward the tarmac. He took one look at her face and stopped. “Dimi?”

  Clearly she had her feelings all over her face, which she changed into a scowl to reflect her feelings for him. “What do you want?”

  “You okay?”

  “I’d be better if you were back in Australia.”

  With a sigh, he began walking again, and when he was gone, she picked up the phone to dial Mel’s office. “You’ve got a letter here you’re going to want to see.”

  One minute later they were both staring down at the plain white piece of paper with the plain Courier 12-point computer font.

  “Matches that e-mail I received,” Mel finally said. “Friendly, huh?”

  “You do have a way with people.”

  “I try.”

  They stared at the letter some more.

  “Bo?” Dimi asked.

  Mel shook her head. “No, he wants the opposite of leaving it alone.”

  They were silent another minute, then Dimi shook her head. “Not Sally—”

  “She’d call,” Mel agreed.

  But why hadn’t she?

  “Hell,” Mel said heavily, and took the envelope and note with her, vanishing back into her office.

  Dimi went to work entering the receivables. Not exactly rewarding work. In fact, she could have saved Mel the trouble of reading all these worksheets and simply told her it was same as always—that is, shaky—but she never had the heart to break Mel’s.

  Mel, who tried so hard to keep them all together, Mel for whom this place meant everything, Mel who kept Dimi on the straight-and-narrow path.

  Mostly.

  Dimi thought about her little transgression with Previously Gorgeous Guy, and sighed. So she still made the occasional bad decision. Sue her. A leopard couldn’t change its stripes. Or spots. Or whatever it was.

  Bottom line, she wasn’t perfect.

  And neither, she thought, as she watched the pretty flickering vanilla candle on the corner of her desk, was Mel. Mel could have, should have, kicked Bo’s excellent ass for touching her. But she hadn’t.

  Interesting. And telling.

  Dimi could see Bo on the tarmac now, looking over an aircraft that belonged to a customer he’d brought in. Since he’d gotten here, he’d been bringing people, helping customers, booking them charter flights…generally upping their business without effort.

  Damn, he was good. Bastard.

  A mug was set down on the desk before her, and then a lemon muffin—her favorite. She looked up.

  “You were talking to yourself,” Danny said. “Maybe sugar and caffeine will help.”

  It wasn’t often she felt self-conscious with men, or revisited past actions, but ever since Danny had had to intervene with that idiot, she’d had a hard time looking him in the eye.

  It wasn’t as if he’d said a word about it, either. In fact, Danny was a man of very few words, but she felt off her footing nonetheless. “Thanks.”

  Perching a hip against her desk, he sipped at his own mug. He wore another baseball cap today, on backward, his blond surfer-dude hair brushing his shoulders, which were encased in his mechanic’s overalls. The sleeves were shoved up, revealing corded strength in his forearms from all the heavy lifting and work he did. On his left wrist were two black leather bands. He had clean hands for a mechanic. Work roughened, but clean.

  “You okay?” he asked quietly, bringing her gaze up to his.

  They’d been friends forever, but this was something she couldn’t talk to him about. “Are you kidding?” She busied herself with the paperwork spread before her. “I’m fantastic.”

  “Yeah.” He shook his head. “Don’t you ever get tired of lying through those pretty teeth of yours?”

  She went still but refused to look at him, instead started hitting keys on her computer, which brought the screen to life. Unfortunately the last thing she’d been doing was playing Solitaire, and it started beeping at her, and she got herself good and flustered before she managed to lower the volume. “Maybe I am always fantastic.”

  “Uh-huh, and I’d buy it off your looks alone,” he agreed. “But I’m not much an exterior kind of guy.”

  Again she lifted her head and found her eyes locked on his dark, melting ones. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m more interested in what you have going on in here.” Reaching out, he touched her temple. “And here.” Shocking her with his nerve, he tapped her chest, just above her left breast.

  She caught his hand and pushed it away. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  Don’t…hell, she didn’t know, but her heart was doing some funny, jumping thing, and she stood up. “Look, I’m really busy here.”

  “Right.” A single nudge of his finger and the file covering her book fell to the side. The cover revealed a guy wearing a loincloth with a woman on her knees in front of him in a ragged ball gown.

  Dimi’s dirty little secret—exposed. She devoured historical romance novels, the sexier the better. As for why…Well, it didn’t take a shrink to figure that out. She knew exactly what drew her, and it wasn’t just the fabulous, amazing, jaw-dropping sex—but the happily ever after.

  But so what? Everyone was entitled to their occasional vice.

  Or three.

  Danny cocked his head. “Interesting work.”

  She shoved the book in the drawer. “Listen, if you don’t have something you need done, beat it.”

  “Oh, I need something done.”

  She felt herself flinch at the sexual innuendo, and faced him, jaw jumping, head high, eyes oddly burning because this was Danny, and she’d not expected it of him. “Look, just because I slept with that idiot,” she said tightly, “and just because I read romance, does not mean I’m easy—”

  “Whoa.” His smile faded as he rose to his feet. “I don’t think that. I’ve never thought that.”

  Her heart was still pounding, her eyes hot with embarrassment. She didn’t want to do this. God, she didn’t. In fact, she needed a drink. Now. “Go away, Danny. Just go.”

  He stared at her for a long beat before letting out a jagged, frustrated breath.

  “Please.”

  Clearly unhappy about it, he turned away.

  Dimi let out a sigh of relief, but it backed up in her throat when he suddenly pivoted back, hunkering down at her side so that she had no choice but to look right at him.

  “What?” she asked with the haughty tone that had sent lesser men running.

  “You’re keeping a dangerous pace,
Deem.”

  “Yeah? And what would you know about that?”

  His eyes held secrets. “Plenty.”

  She closed her eyes, then heard a twin-engine plane approaching right before the radio crackled, and felt shamefully grateful for the diversion. “I’ve got to—”

  “Yeah.” He held her gaze another moment, then rose and walked away.

  Damn it. To give herself a minute, she sniffed at the mug he’d left her.

  Earl Grey. Not quite the alcohol she craved but instead, her favorite tea. She swallowed past the odd lump in her throat and sipped as she watched him go, that long rangy form moving with the ease and confidence she imagined he’d honed from years and years on the waves.

  To have even half of that belief in herself…with a sigh, she reached for the radio. The incoming customer was Wayne White. Wayne had a woman in every port in the world, and as Dimi sipped her tea, she opened her purse and checked her reflection in a small compact.

  Because—something no one else knew—Wayne had a woman in this port as well.

  Her.

  It’d been going on and off for years, since the day she’d turned eighteen and he’d bought her a gold and diamond tennis bracelet to celebrate. Now as his plane circled and lowered, she wondered if he was alone.

  You’re keeping a dangerous pace, Danny had said.

  No doubt. But it was that pace that made her feel alive.

  “We got it under control?” Mel’s voice asked Dimi via radio.

  “It’s covered,” Dimi assured her, applying lip gloss as she watched the tarmac. “Ritchie’s out there right now.”

  Still holding her radio, Mel stuck her head out of her office and looked at Dimi from across the expanse of the lobby. “Why are you primping?”

  “I always primp.”

  “There might be passengers with Wayne.”

  “So?”

  “So…Maybe one of them is a wife.”

  Yeah, Wayne had a habit of collecting those. “Let me repeat myself. So…?”

  “So a new wife is going to take one look at you and be jealous as hell. We want him to loiter, buy gas, maybe some maintenance hours…”

  Dimi tossed her compact aside. “I hear you.”

  “Do you really?”

  “Don’t worry, Mel. I don’t have to act impulsively.”

  “Huh. Didn’t know that.”

  “Funny. I’ll make sure he keeps his pants on, okay? Does that make you happy?”

  “I’m dancing in the hallway,” Mel said.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  “Killjoy,” Dimi muttered, and sipped her tea.

  “Yeah, I live to kill your joy,” Mel muttered back.

  That night Mel stayed late catching up on paperwork, and when she was finished being unable to pay all the bills, she walked through the lobby, restless. She ended up in the employee break room, eyeing the dart board. If only she’d been able to talk to Sally, if she’d heard from Greg on the legitimacy of the deed, if, if, if…she’d feel better. Or at least not tense enough to shatter if someone so much as looked at her cross-eyed. She reached for the darts, thinking maybe a game with herself was just what she needed.

  “You any good?”

  God damn it. Why was that man always where she didn’t want him? She pulled out her darts, then turned and eyed Bo, who was propping up the doorway with a broad shoulder, an easy but daring smile on that mouth of his. It made her want to smack him.

  Or kiss him.

  Where that thought came from, she had no idea. She weighed the darts in her hand. “I’m okay.”

  “Yeah?” He didn’t believe her, it was in his voice.

  Spoiling for trouble, she balanced, aimed, and threw the first dart.

  Bull’s-eye.

  He arched a brow. “Better than okay, I’d say. How about a game?”

  “You any good?” she asked him, mocking him.

  A slow smile curved his lips and stirred the butterflies in her belly. “I’m okay,” he said.

  She handed him her darts but he shook his head. “Oh, no. Ladies first,” he said politely. “Three darts. How about highest score wins?”

  Hmmm, should be no problem for her, she’d been playing darts since before she could fly. “Wins what?”

  His eyes heated and darkened. “Winner’s choice.”

  Staring at him, she experienced a fission of unease. “Um…”

  “What’s the matter, Mel, you afraid I’ll win?”

  “No.” Ha. Bastard. “I’m going to win.”

  “Then you’re afraid of what you’d pick as winner’s choice.” He shrugged. “No worries, if you’re afraid. We don’t have to play.”

  “Bite me.”

  “When and where?”

  Her belly quivered again, damn him. Ignoring his soft laugh, she moved to the board to pull out the one dart she’d thrown, extremely aware of him behind her, tall, watchful, quiet now. Back at the line, she took a deep breath and threw.

  Her first dart hit the triple twenty, and a confident smile returned to her mouth. Her game was still on. Smirking seemed unsportsmanlike so she bit her lip to keep it back and threw her next dart.

  Double twelve. Hmmm. A little off.

  “Worried?” he asked, from right behind her now.

  He stood at her shoulder. She could feel the heat of him, the strength. And if she closed her eyes she could almost feel his breath at her temple—

  No. No closing her eyes. Because then she could smell him, just soap and all man. “Back up, you’re in my breathing space.”

  He grinned, a flash of white teeth and pure trouble. “You’re worried.”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m never worried.”

  He just kept grinning.

  She threw her last dart. She knew better than to throw when mad, to throw when she hadn’t taken a deep breath and gotten him out of her system.

  She landed a three. Straight up, no double, no triple.

  “Eighty-seven,” he said, and winced. “Ouch.”

  “You think you can do better?”

  “Let’s see.” He made sure to brush against her as he went for the darts, pulling them from the board, arm raised, biceps straining at the sleeve of his T-shirt.

  He caught her looking at him and winked.

  She ground her teeth and backed up to give him room.

  He eyed the dartboard, aiming with his tongue between his teeth, gaze narrowed in concentration. Then he let the dart fly.

  Like a pro.

  Triple goddamn twenty. Catching her jaw hanging open, he smiled. “I’ve seen a guy do this once or twice.”

  Oh, boy. Had she really agreed the winner could pick the prize?

  Was she insane?

  She forced a yawn. “Man. I’m awfully tired.”

  “Not falling for that one, mate,” he said, and threw his second dart.

  Double fifteen.

  She stared into his green eyes and saw the humor spiked there amongst the flames. He was playing with her.

  Crossing her arms, she took a big step back and waited for him to throw the third dart, but she knew without looking he’d beaten her score.

  “Another triple twenty,” he said very softly, and came up behind her, his legs brushing the backs of hers. “I win.”

  His hands settled on her shoulders and turned her around, his smile positively wicked, eyes flashing.

  In spite of herself, her heart caught. Her nipples tightened. Bad nipples. “I’m not sleeping with you because you won.”

  He laughed. “Darlin’, trust me, if that was my prize, I wouldn’t waste our time sleeping.”

  The growl began low in her throat, and he laughed again. “But as lovely as your body is…” His gaze swept over it from head to toe and back again, stopping at all the points that tingled and burned. “I think I’m going to pass.”

  Wait a minute. He was going to pass? She didn’t know whether to be giddy with relief or insulted.

  “It’s i
nformation I’m looking for,” he said very quietly now. “And you have it.”

  She crossed her arms. “I don’t know where Sally is.”

  “Swear it.”

  “I swear it.” She held her breath, expecting him to call her a liar. Or demand another prize.

  He did neither. He just stared at her, as if assessing her for honesty, then nodded once and walked away.

  Chapter 9

  The next morning, Mel braced herself and checked her e-mail, but found nothing odd. When the early North Beach rush faded, she took the leave-it-alone letter and envelope to the post office to see if they could read the return stamp for her. She waited twenty minutes in line only to be told that the return stamp couldn’t be read, too blurred.

  But the barcode…another thing entirely. They could trace that. If the right guy was in, that is, which he wasn’t. They told her to come back tomorrow. The joys of rural routing.

  Mel got back to North Beach and had a charter to fly to Santa Cruz, which took her until midafternoon. Finally back at her desk, she called her attorney. He was sorry for the delay, he’d been out of town, he’d get back to her regarding the deed first thing tomorrow.

  Warning: another sleepless night ahead.

  But she still had the rest of the afternoon to face. She changed into her coveralls to put some time in on the Hawker. Char caught her heading to the main hangar and called to her over the sound of Motley Crue on the boom box, rattling the windows. “Come eat before I close up.”

  Mel shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ve still got to—”

  “Eat,” Char said in that Southern voice of steel. “You probably skipped lunch, didn’t you?” She was fanning her shiny face with an oven mitt, looking flushed. “I’ve been talking to men all day and I need an estrogen fix. Please? I know you’re swamped but just leave it alone and keep me company for a few.”

  Mel went still. Leave it alone. The three little innocuous words that had been ringing in her head for days. Coincidence? She took a good look at Char, who was clearly overheated and quite possibly the sweetest woman Mel had ever met. There didn’t seem to be any way that Char could have anything to do with the e-mail. For one thing, she and Al hadn’t come to North Beach until after Sally had left the country. They’d never even met her. “You look hot, Char.”