by Lynne King
Then the crowd cheered and it was over. He could breathe again as the plane soared over their heads doing barrel rolls. Finally, it circled and prepared to land. David continued watching as the plane came to a standstill and Danny climbed out smiling and waving at the crowd and giving thumbs up as if he was some kind of hero.
The gradual calming down now turned to anger. He felt like marching over and shaking some sense into his brother. This time they had been lucky. Danny had put Chantelle’s life on the line and for nothing more than a cheap thrill for the crowd.
***
“I tell you, the crowd bloody loved it. I’ve done that stunt a thousand times before,” Danny argued.
“Not with a wing walker strapped to your wings, you fool. What were you trying to prove? We’re meant to be a team, not a bloody one-man show. And besides that, we could end up grounded for what you did.”
Don, the team’s founder, was furious and Chantelle felt he was quite justified. She was angry with Danny herself. Steve, the team’s mechanic, had unclipped her waist from the support and helped her down, because she’d felt so weak with nausea. Luckily, it had passed, but her legs still felt like jelly.
Danny hadn’t even consulted her about the knife-edge pass; if he had, she would have told him no way. It maddened her to think the show had been a brilliant success without Danny’s solo performance and that he had just put a damper on it by upsetting the rest of the team. It was as if he wanted the limelight to himself.
Walking away toward the caravan, she decided to leave them to it. Her thoughts on the subject could wait until Danny and she were alone and she was clearer in the head. At present, the leather suit was stifling and the spins had left her head buzzing.
Entering the caravan, she stripped off the leather catsuit and went straight into the tiny bathroom cubicle, which had been installed with a shower. While the cool droplets cascaded down her body, her mind became filled with depressing thoughts, first David Bishop’s rejection and now this. The day couldn’t get any worse.
Stepping out, she dabbed her body dry, towel-dried her hair and dressed in khaki cotton combat shorts and a white vest T-shirt. Slipping on a pair of leather sandals and with her hair still damp about her shoulders, she stepped out into the bright sunlight, ready to enjoy the rest of the show.
“I feel I’ve lost half a bloody stone in this sweat suit,” Tracey, the other wing walker, remarked as she approached the caravan. “Oh, by the way. Next time you two want to stage your own display, do it elsewhere, not under the Swift Circus banner. That was a dirty trick you played on Don. It just goes to show you’re both in it for yourselves. You don’t give a damn about the team. Well, remember the Swift Flying circus was doing fine before you two came along and can continue that way without you.” It was a scathing attack even by Tracey’s standards.
“I had no idea Danny was going to do that stunt and am just as upset as you are.”
“Right. He would never do anything without consulting you first and he certainly wouldn’t want to upset you, now would he?”
Chantelle didn’t know what was going on. Tracey sounded like she was jealous of Danny and her. “Do you know what, Tracey? You’re right. I don’t give a damn, well not about what you think anymore; believe what you like.” A year on the team and they had not become the best of friends, but lately Tracey seemed to resent her and for reasons she still couldn’t determine. Slamming the caravan door shut behind her, Chantelle strolled off.
After half an hour of mingling with the crowds and watching the various displays, Chantelle found herself at the small fun fair. A few stalls, a horse carousel, bumper cars and other amusements to keep the children occupied.
“Ten ducks down and win this lovely cuddly tiger! Come on, anyone can do it, even your old gran,” a voice rang out.
She watched as adults and children lined up, bent over rifles aimed at moving ducks. Tacky, but nevertheless Chantelle found it fun to watch and not as easy as it looked. The ducks moved pretty fast and only a man aged in his fifties managed to get eight ducks down. His consolation prize was a beanie. As the contestants moved off, others took their places. It left only one position unfilled.
Seeing Chantelle, the stall holder shouted out to her. “Come on, love, we need one more to make up the number.”
She shook her head.
“Well, get your fellow to do it for yer. You’ll do it mate, won’t yer? Win yer pretty lady one of these.” He pointed to a large orange and black striped tiger on the shelf above him.
Chantelle spun around, wondering whom he had referred to as being with her. She would have knocked straight into him, had he not gently taken hold of her shoulders and moved her to one side as he stepped forward.
“Why not? I’m sure the pretty lady would love me to.” His eyes were lazy, mocking her.
Broad shoulders took position behind the rifle, his bare arm muscles tensed as he stooped his finger on the trigger, and one eye against the sighting. A bell sounded and for the next twenty seconds, there was rapid fire and clinks of metal as the ducks fell backward. Chantelle watched in amazement as he knocked down all ten ducks without a single miss with one hand supporting the rifle, the other arm casually hung by his side.
“Blimey, we have a Clint Eastwood here,” the stallholder exclaimed as he rang the end of time bell.
The other contestants turned to look at David, only he had moved away and was walking off.
“Hey! Don’t you want your prize?” the stallholder shouted after him.
“Let the lady choose,” he called back over his shoulder.
“I’ll take that one.” Chantelle pointed to the large tiger with a long fluffy tail, all the while watching David’s back so she wouldn’t lose sight of him. Tucking the tiger under her arm, she hurried through the crowds. She had nearly reached him when a group of youths stepped into her path. Chantelle collided with a burly one, knocking his can of lager out of his hand to spill down his shirt and trousers.
“Steady on, darling. Where’s the fire?” The youth jokingly swung her around in his arms, the lager now soaking into her T-shirt as well before she managed to disentangle herself and step back. Unfortunately, she had dropped the tiger which another youth was quick to snatch up.
“I’m so sorry,” Chantelle spluttered, trying to catch her breath. Her gaze darted in all directions looking for David. She spotted him and was relieved that something had made him stop and look back. Then she couldn’t see him anymore; the youths with their skinhead haircuts and tattoos had surrounded her.
Chantelle reached out to take possession of the tiger. The one holding it laughed and held it at arm’s length before throwing it to his friend. They were obviously making a childish game out of this at her expense, all of them slightly worse for drink. Anger began to surface as she faced the one now holding the tiger. “Look, I said I’m sorry. Now kindly return my property.”
“Come and get it,” he leered. “And while you’re at it, I’ll take back some of my beer.” His eyes lowered to her chest, his tongue sliding over his lips.
She swung the toe of her sandal back and then forward, kicking him hard in the shin. The force of it brought his arms down as he yelled his discomfort. Snatching the tiger back, she went to storm past when the burly youth grabbed her arm.
“Hey, bitch. What about my ruined shirt, and my beer?” The tone was no longer jovial. Malevolent eyes stared back at her.
“Look, mate, go and get yourself another beer.” David stepped into the circle and removed the youth’s hand, slapping a five-pound note into it .The skinhead stared back at David, silence falling as he sized the intruder up. David held his glare with a threatening stance, his eyes backing up the warning. The youth stepped away and closed his hand over the five-pound note.
“Gee thanks, mate,” he sneered. “You should keep her on a leash.”
Chantelle felt her wrist grabbed in his hard vice-like grip as David yanked her away with him. “Did you just hear what that basta
rd said?” she spluttered, not sure who she was most angry with, those group of morons or the way David had treated her like a spoiled child, not even defending her honor.
“Yes, I heard him, and perhaps you deserved it the way you kicked that lad’s shin. You’re lucky they didn’t resort to physical violence back.”
“What did you expect me to do, play their stupid game, go along with their lurid suggestions even?” She came to an abrupt halt, forcing him to stop.
He took her by the shoulders as if he was lecturing a small child. “No, but you could have forgotten this stupid tiger and walked away. They would have given it back.”
Confusion replaced the anger as she stared up into the depths of his penetrating blue eyes. He wasn’t as angry with her as he was with himself.
“What’s your problem, David? Why are you treating me this way? We barely know each other and yet it’s as if you want to fight with me. Have I done something I’m not even aware of? Please tell me because I would like to know.”
Several eyes were upon them now as if they were staging some kind of lover’s quarrel. Gently, David took her hand. “Come on; let’s move away from here,” he said in a low, serious tone.
They left the crowd and found an isolated area behind a drink marquee near the airfield perimeter fence.
“Look, I’m sorry. It’s not you; it’s me. Yes, I am attracted to you and in different circumstances, who knows.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But I’m not looking for any kind of relationship at present and you don’t strike me as a one-night stand.”
“Well, yes, I suppose I do like to go out on a few dates first, get to know the person. But don’t worry; I’m not after a ring on my finger.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled invitingly at him. “Well, what shall we do now, shake hands and walk away or…” She stepped forward, placing her arms about his neck, the tiger dangling down his back, her body close to him.
“You are also a friend of my brother, which makes it a little too personal.” His hands rested firmly on her hips, holding her away from him.
She let out a small laugh. “So that’s it! You think Danny and I might have a thing going. You’ve got to be kidding. He goes for tall willowy blondes, preferably Swedish or at least the last two were. Us red heads don’t get a second look. Perhaps you have the same taste; if so, your loss, not mine.” Her voice was husky, her eyes reaching out to him even as she withdrew her arms and went to step back.
Suddenly his lips were upon hers, her body slammed up tight against his, the pleasure like a million nerve endings all tingling with anticipation of the further pleasure he could bring her. The tiger fell to the ground, as the world around them seemed to disappear. Finally they parted, Chantelle wishing desperately they were not out in the open with thousands of spectators milling around.
David stepped back while she straightened her top and ran a hand through her hair. She could feel his gaze upon her and found herself gliding her tongue over her bottom lip as if to still taste him. He looked as though he was mentally undressing her, his eyes lowering over her tanned legs and resting on her bare ankles before meeting her gaze head-on. Placing his arm about her shoulder, he led her from behind the tent.
From a discreet distance, Hendersson watched. Having witnessed the passionate display, he took a long draw on his cigarette. A self-satisfied smile slowly crept across his thin lips as he blew the smoke out in one long, thin trail.
Chapter 3
Feeling him next to her, his hard thigh pressed up against hers, his arm still draped about her shoulders, was a heady experience. Physically she was right there with him, but emotionally she couldn’t afford to get involved. Something about him told her she would be the one ending up hurt and paying for it. She would think like a man for a change, enjoy the experience and forget about caring what his likes and dislikes were and what they had in common. No, it was pure lust that had consumed them both from the moment they had stepped from behind that marquee. Or in truth since she admitted that she wanted him at any cost.
He had led her through the crowd, his arm possessively around her waist, his stride urgent and purposeful. She had collected her stuff from the caravan, changed her top and deposited the tiger with a note pinned to it for the team to be aware that she wasn’t traveling back with them. Unfortunately, Danny saw her as she stepped down from the caravan and came charging over.
“What’s going on?” he questioned, noticing David standing there waiting.
“Nothing that concerns you, Danny. I simply don’t fancy traveling back in the caravan or in that plane with you.”
Danny looked critically at her and then back at David. Shrugging his shoulders, he threw one last glance of disdain before marching off.
“He seems to take everything you do pretty much to heart,” David remarked.
Chantelle dismissed the harsh undertone in David’s voice, because she was too busy wrestling with her own morality, knowing full well where this was leading.
The taxi traveled for about ten minutes before arriving outside a quaint Tudor-style inn complete with beams and leaded-light windows. A large blackboard outside advertised restaurant and bed and breakfast facilities.
“Well, this is the nearest place where the food is pretty good. I don’t know about the accommodations though,” the driver called over his shoulder to them.
“This will do fine. I might be calling on your services later though.” David handed over the fare. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks, and I hope you’re in luck, well you know what I mean. Anyway, have a good night.” The taxi sped off up the road.
Chantelle laughed. “What do you think he meant by that comment - I hope you’re in luck?”
“I have no idea. It depends what he thinks we’re after, good food or something else?” David gently lifted her chin with his fingers, forcing her to look into his eyes.
“I’m not that hungry.” She smiled, wondering if she had lost her mind. Sure, she enjoyed risks, but up to now her virtue was pretty much intact. That was about to change.
They stepped into the small reception area and approached the desk. Minutes later, a young woman dressed in a waitress uniform appeared, confirmed they did have several vacancies and handed him over the key while he signed the visitors’ book.
“Do you have any luggage, sir?”
“No, it’s an unexpected stop,” David coolly replied.
Chantelle felt the sudden urge to giggle and her hand came up to cover her mouth. Avoiding eye contact, she couldn’t imagine what the woman must be thinking. Here she was dressed in shorts and T-shirt, bare-legged with sandals and hardly a trace of makeup on, booking into a hotel room at four in the afternoon with a man and no luggage between them. At least David looked decent enough in stone-colored chinos and a black T-shirt.
“Will you be dining in the restaurant?” The receptionist glanced once again at Chantelle.
“Do we need to dress for dinner?” David smiled and threw Chantelle a wink.
Giving an embarrassed smile in return, the receptionist obviously tried to sound sincere when she said, “No of course not, but if you prefer, the bar has excellent meals at a fraction of the cost.”
“Great, we’ll eat there.” David reached out for Chantelle’s hand.
She allowed him to lead her up the winding stairs, along narrow corridors with low-beamed ceilings, the place seemingly centuries old. Up more stairs until they reached the top floor, their room part of the actual attic space.
“Luckily, we are young and fit.” He let out a small sigh and jokingly clutched his heart.
“Well, I’m young and hopefully you are fit.” Chantelle laughed back.
Opening the door, he stepped aside and allowed her to walk in first, warning her to duck as the doorframe was shoulder height. The room was surprisingly big, magnolia walls with dark oak beams running across them, the ceiling at first higher than the doorframe, then narrowing as the eaves came down. The most striking feature was the dark oak four
-poster bed with satin burgundy swags hanging from it that matched the quilted bedspread and curtains.
“My goodness, what did you say, we were honeymooners?” It was like a Regency love nest with the ornate dressing table, full-length mirror and a hefty wardrobe complete with realistic woodworm marks. The only modern aspect to the room was the en-suite bathroom.
“It was the only room they had left.” His gaze met hers and an unnerving silence followed. Neither seemed to know what to say or do next.
“Are you regretting this; do you want to leave?” His query hung in the air like a giant question mark.
“Are you?” Her usual confidence had abandoned her. Instead, she found herself wringing her hands together as she stared down at her feet. Worse still, she began to chew her bottom lip, a nervous habit she hated but couldn’t stop herself from doing.
“I asked first. Chantelle, look at me. We’ve come here because there is no denying we’re attracted to each other. We are also both mature enough to realize we’re not talking about love here. There are no strings attached and you’re free to walk out that door any time you like.”
“You make it sound so easy,” she murmured.
“Easy to stay or go?” He stepped forward, his hand reaching out to stroke her cheek with the back of his fingers. His deep blue eyes caressed her with their intimacy as he moved closer, every inch draining her resolve to flee from him before it was too late.
“Chantelle,” he whispered as he kissed her earlobe, and then traced a pattern down her slender neck.
Curving her neck away from him, the sensation increased as his mouth rose over her chin to lay claim to her lips. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her body leaving the floor as he lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the bed. His lips never left hers as he gently lowered her onto the soft bedspread. Straightening up, he stripped off his T-shirt and kicked off his shoes.