Interview with the Daredevil

by Nicola Marsh

  Being the prime minister’s daughter would’ve sucked. As for her marriage to a politician, he’d schmoozed with enough A-listers around the world to know how these things worked. Family expectations, moving in the right social circles, marrying a partner deemed suitable.

  He’d bet his last grappling hook Ava had said all the right things and done all the right things from birth, had probably married some slick politician hand-picked by Daddy. Poor kid.

  Then again, her inherent naivety had attracted him right from the beginning. She’d seemed oblivious to their physical proximity when he’d rescued her after their heads collided but he’d been all too aware of her slick body millimetres from his.

  She’d been flustered; he’d been aroused.

  Then he’d started flirting and while she’d reciprocated there’d been an innocence about her, an inexperience that didn’t gel with a divorcee. In his travels, how many times did he meet a woman who still blushed? Not often.

  He dated extensively, from princesses to pop starlets, blondes, brunettes and every shade in between. Not that he was half the playboy the paparazzi made him out to be but he was a well-known, successful, single guy and that status came with perks. Plenty of perks.

  So what was it about Ava that shook him up?

  Once he’d left her room he should’ve forgotten about her, should’ve focused on this meeting. Instead, he wondered how soon he could wrap up business and maybe ring her, see if she was free for a quick catch-up before they both went their separate ways.

  Rattled more than he cared to admit, he tugged on the ends of his shirt sleeves and adjusted his cufflinks, the same steadying ritual he went through before any jump. Though in his sporting career it was usually a buckle or safety knot he was adjusting.

  Glancing around the restaurant, he spotted Rex Mayfair, an old friend of his mum’s, partially hidden by a screen and towering palm.

  Rex had often stopped by their Chelsea apartment when he’d visited London and as a kid he’d wondered if Rex might in fact be his dad. Despite careful scrutiny, it didn’t look as if the old guy was anything more than a platonic friend of Estelle’s. Not that she’d tell him anyway. He’d given up asking about his paternity years ago.

  ‘Father unknown’ sucked on his birth certificate but not as much as having a mother who’d made him pay for being a burr in her side every day growing up.

  Annoyed he’d let old bitterness creep into this otherwise sensational morning, he strode across the restaurant, ready to hear what Rex thought of his plan.

  Rex caught sight of him first and stood, a welcoming smile accentuating the many creases lining his ruddy face.

  ‘Roman, my boy, good to see you.’

  ‘Likewise.’

  As he neared the table and reached out to shake Rex’s hand a prickle of awareness raised his hackles and he glanced over his shoulder to find Ava sitting at the next table, partially hidden by a palm, poring over the morning newspaper’s employment section.

  The smart thing to do would be to acknowledge her with a greeting then distance himself and catch up with Rex. Easy. Until he caught sight of her teeth worrying her lower lip and the frantic eye movements speed-reading the job ads.

  She needed a break and as Rex pumped his hand an idea completely out of left-field smacked him upside the head.

  ‘Excuse me a moment.’

  Rex raised an eyebrow as Roman squatted next to Ava’s chair.

  ‘We meet again.’

  Her head snapped up, her blue eyes wide with panic until she registered who it was. ‘Hey there.’

  They lapsed into an awkward silence and he stood, touching her lightly on the back. ‘If you’re free, I’d like you to meet someone.’

  Confusion creased her brow but she wouldn’t refuse; etiquette training would be hard to shake.

  ‘Sure.’

  She stood, her arm brushing his and he gritted his teeth against the urge to touch her.

  He should’ve done the right thing and walked away last night but he hadn’t been able to conquer his insatiable hunger for her. Now he had a chance to make things right, to take her vulnerability and turn it into the confidence of a young woman revelling in a fresh start.

  ‘Rex, I’d like you to meet Ava, a friend of mine.’

  She shot him a dubious look at his mention of friend, which he ignored and gestured to the seat between Rex and his.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, young lady.’

  ‘Likewise.’

  Before Rex’s journalistic instincts kicked in and he prodded Ava for info on how they met, he angled his body towards her.

  ‘Rex is the chief editor of Globetrotter magazine.’

  A spark lit her eyes, quickly replaced by suspicion. Clever girl—he knew she’d cotton on to the rationale behind this introduction.

  ‘Must be an interesting job.’

  Oblivious to the simmering tension, Rex waxed lyrical about his work while Roman relaxed into his chair, very much aware of the freshly showered, floral-scented woman beside him.

  How could he not be, when every cell in his body screamed for a repeat of what they’d done last night?

  All night.

  That scent…a rich, evocative blend…rose and lilacs she’d told him, a fragrance imprinted on his receptors, a fragrance to drive a man wild.

  He straightened, needing to get to the crux of this meeting so he could flee before he did something crazy, such as drag her back to his room and throw away the key.

  ‘Rex, last time we spoke you mentioned expanding the layout for Globetrotter? Starting to incorporate human interest interviews, that kind of thing?’

  Rex folded his hands and leaned on the table. ‘I know that’s why you’re here, trying to get that mug of yours into my magazine.’

  Roman chuckled. ‘That too. Though maybe I can do you a favour in return?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Ava’s a writer. If you’re looking for new slots to fill, she’s your gal.’

  Ava blanched and he rushed on. ‘You’ve got mainly freelancers on staff, right? She’d be a huge asset to the magazine.’

  He could practically hear her teeth grinding behind the practised smile she gave Rex, while she reserved a death glare for him.

  He grinned in response, draping an arm across the back of her chair and murmuring, ‘You can thank me later.’

  She kicked him under the table.

  ‘Most of our freelancers are snowed under so I was looking at putting new people on…’ Rex narrowed his eyes, assessing. ‘You interested, Ava? You could do a piece for me, shoot it across, I’ll take a look and let you know if we have ongoing assignments for you? Sound doable?’

  Ava’s fingers pleated the tablecloth while she nodded, her eyes sparkling with an enthusiasm that hit him like a wayward waterski to the chest.

  ‘Sounds great, thanks for the opportunity.’

  Rex steepled his fingers, his shrewd gaze flicking between the two of them. ‘In fact, I think I can kill two birds with the proverbial stone. My buddy Roman here was trying to take advantage of our long-standing friendship and grab a profile spot in the revamped Globetrotter. Why don’t you do your piece on him? Kind of like an exposé on extreme sports, focusing on the personal angle.’

  Ah…this just got better and better.

  ‘I’m game.’

  This time he avoided her kick in time.

  The epitome of a poised pro, Ava clasped her hands together and nodded. ‘Thanks, Rex, I’ll get straight on it.’

  ‘Better pack your bags, then.’

  The heat from her narrowed eyes could’ve melted him. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Change of plans. I’m leaving for Surfers Paradise today.’

  By the mutinous twist of her lips she didn’t want to fly to Queensland with him. Wait ’til she heard about the private jet.

  ‘If it’s okay with you I’ll arrange another room at the hotel I’m staying at?’

  Her wary gaze clashed with his and
it sent an unexpected jolt through him, catapulting him straight back to last night and the same hesitancy she’d shown when their flirting hotted up.

  He’d seen the conflicting emotions flicker across her face then—caution, mistrust, yearning, excitement—and as she met his gaze now, unflinching, he saw the same myriad emotions.

  He knew the moment she made a decision, for a determined glitter replaced previous chariness.

  ‘Fine by me.’

  Her bright smile managed to encompass him and Rex at the same time. ‘When do we leave?’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’ Rex rubbed his hands together as if he’d masterminded a huge deal. ‘How about we make the deadline a week from today?’

  ‘Sounds good. I’ll email you my details.’

  When Rex stood Ava held out her hand and Roman noticed the jagged edges of her cuticles where she’d been picking at them beneath the table.

  Doubt wasn’t in his vocabulary but at that moment he wondered if he’d done the right thing, shoving her in Rex’s face, almost insisting Rex hire her so the old guy had no option but to make an offer out of politeness.

  Considering the sideways glares she kept shooting him, he’d soon find out.

  Rex shook Ava’s hand. ‘Look forward to seeing what you can do.’

  Ava visibly straightened and glowed under the faith Rex showed in her, making Roman wonder if she’d received much of it growing up. Had she been ignored by her father, too busy running the country to bestow attention on his kid? Had she been raised by nannies? Did she have any siblings?

  He never wondered about women he’d slept with, content to keep his liaisons short and sweet. So what was it about this one that raised a heap of questions he wanted answers to?

  ‘As for you, you’ll have your spot in Globetrotter. And say hi to your mother when you see her.’

  Rex slapped him on the back and he bit back a grin when Ava frowned. Curiosity about his relationship with Rex was probably burning her up.

  He could string it out, make her ask, but he’d be pushing his luck. He’d gained enough ground having her agree to accompany him, especially considering last night. Best to smooth the way for he had a feeling they’d be seeing a lot more of each other over the next few days.

  He waited while Rex wound his way between tables before turning back to Ava. Before he could explain, she braced forearms on the table and leaned forward.

  ‘Did you plan this?’

  Gone was the wide-eyed ingénue. In her place was a narrow-eyed less-than-impressed woman.

  ‘When? Last night?’

  A faint pink stained her cheeks, making her blue eyes sparkle with fire. ‘Yeah, then. This morning. Before now.’

  Knowing it would drive her crazy, he reached across and patted her hand. She didn’t disappoint, visibly recoiling from his patronisation.

  ‘Rex is an old family friend. I’m after more exposure for a new sport so he met me here to tee it up.’

  ‘You still haven’t answered my question.’

  She hadn’t budged an inch and he admired her all the more.

  ‘No, I didn’t plan this.’

  He waved his hands between them. ‘It didn’t click ’til I walked in here, saw you scanning the job ads and remembered what we discussed last night about dream jobs.’

  ‘But I’m not a writer!’

  ‘You will be if you treat me gently, use your most persuasive interview techniques and compose a killer article.’

  ‘You’re a pain in the—’

  ‘You can thank me later,’ he said, clasping his hands behind his head and leaning back, enjoying their banter as much as he’d enjoyed having his hands all over her last night. Well, maybe not as much as that.

  ‘Thanks,’ she muttered begrudgingly, crossing her arms and leaning on the table. ‘But did you stop to think if I mess this up…?’

  Her fingers fidgeted with the cutlery and, stung by a pang of remorse, he straightened. He recognised the fear in her eyes, experienced a fleeting flash of it every time he stood on top of a cliff or had his toes curled around the edge of an open plane door.

  The fear of stuffing up and facing the consequences. And while Ava’s weren’t life and death, for someone as fragile as her at the moment, on the crest of starting a new life, failing at this would terrify her.

  He touched her hand, stilled it. ‘If you mess up, you start over at something else. If writing is your passion, you deserve to give it a go.’

  The corners of her mouth curled slightly. ‘I’m still mad at you for interfering like that.’

  ‘Promise not to do it again.’ He held up two fingers to his temple. ‘Scout’s honour.’

  ‘Something tells me you were never in Scouts.’

  Glad they’d moved onto safer ground, flirtatious ground, a ground he understood well, he sat back and clasped his hands behind his head.

  ‘Not angelic enough?’

  Her gaze momentarily dipped to his lips, as if remembering exactly how non-angelic he could be.

  ‘You really want me to answer that?’

  Enjoying their sparring, surprised by how easily it turned him on, he grinned.

  ‘Please do.’

  Darting a quick glance around them to ensure no one was eavesdropping, she shifted her chair a little closer to his and his libido kicked into overdrive.

  ‘Angels have wings and halos.’ She pointed to the top of his head. ‘You, on the other hand, have horns.’

  ‘How do you figure?’

  ‘That collision in the pool? The bump on my head?’

  A coy little smile tilted her mouth and tilted his world off its axis.

  ‘Definitely the result of coming into contact with the devil.’

  He laughed outright. ‘Don’t forget my tail.’

  She blushed again and, unable to resist, he trailed a fingertip down her cheek.

  ‘I was referring to the fact it may be pointy to go with the horns, but if you were thinking of something else…’

  ‘You know damn well you’re much better at this flirting stuff than me.’

  She swatted his hand away like an annoying fly. ‘Think we established that among other things last night.’

  She didn’t sound uneasy but he noticed her hands had resumed their nervous plucking, pleating a linen serviette this time.

  ‘Is that why you’re uptight? The fact we’ll be travelling to the Gold Coast together?’

  ‘And the rest,’ she muttered, finding her serviette pleating infinitely more interesting than looking at him.

  She meant the hotel. His libido had roared the instant she’d agreed to stay, separate rooms or not.

  ‘I’m a big boy and the Palazzo is a big hotel. If you don’t want to see me when we’re not working, I’m sure the place is big enough for the both of us.’

  Her eyebrows shot up. ‘We’re staying at the Palazzo Versace?’

  ‘That’s right, six star all the way.’

  Eager to tease another smile out of her, he added, ‘Stick with me, kid, and I’ll take you places.’

  Thankfully, her lips eased into a smile. ‘The hotel’s not the problem.’

  ‘Then what is?’

  After a lengthy pause, she finally glanced up and the apprehensive fervour in her glowing blue eyes kicked him where he wanted to feel it least: his chest.

  ‘How I’ll do the best job possible on an article I need to nail while being distracted by the guy who rocked my world last night.’

  Speechless at her honesty, he grabbed her hand, surprised yet pleased when she didn’t yank it away.

  Defiant, she tossed her shoulder-length blonde hair in a gesture he hazarded a guess she’d never done in her life.

  ‘What? Nothing to say? That’s gotta be a first for you.’

  Aroused beyond belief by her beguiling contrasts, shy to bravado in a blink, he eased into a grin.

  ‘Do you have any idea how hot you are when you’re all riled up?’

  She rolled her eyes, but not b
efore he’d glimpsed a pleased smile hovering at the corners of her mouth.

  ‘Yeah, that’s me, a regular Angelina Jolie.’

  Raising her hand to his lips, he brushed a kiss across the back, buoyed by her sharp intake.

  ‘Sweetheart, you’re way hotter than any movie star.’

  ‘Now I know you’re full of it,’ she said, but she still didn’t slide her hand from his.

  ‘Full of admiration for you.’

  She screwed up her nose. ‘That’s a woeful line.’

  Jeez, he loved her quick-fire responses. ‘Well, I guess if you don’t believe that, you won’t believe the rest.’

  A brow raised in a perfectly inverted comma. ‘The rest?’

  ‘Could be fate we’re staying together at a luxurious hotel hot on the heels of what happened last night?’

  ‘Rubbish,’ she muttered, tempering her blunt opinion with a demure smile. ‘Don’t believe in fate.’

  ‘What do you believe in?’

  She pondered the question, shadows clouding her eyes, and the fact she had to think about her answer spoke volumes.

  If he’d been asked what he believed in he could respond instantly: the mind-clearing clarity that came the moment before a B.A.S.E. jump, the peaks of the world’s tallest mountains, the guaranteed adrenalin rush of a free fall.

  Solid, dependable things he’d come to rely on, things that didn’t let him down, things that didn’t use him when convenient then throw him away like a ripped parachute.

  He’d almost given up on a response when she finally cleared her throat.

  ‘My writing—I believe in that.’

  ‘Good to hear.’

  She gnawed on a deliciously full bottom lip, something he’d done repeatedly last night. ‘I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. I always loved it but did an economics degree at uni, ended up working for a major international bank instead.’

  Bitterness mingled with regret rolled off her and a smart guy would leave well enough alone. But he didn’t usually have these deep conversations with women and the fact she trusted him enough to reveal some inner secret made him feel ten feet tall.

  ‘Why?’

  She looked unbearably cute as she wrinkled her nose. ‘Apparently writing is a “frivolous, unstable occupation”. End quote.’