by Joss Wood
After university, because he was used to being the best, he’d gone big, aiming to establish a six-star lodge—exclusive, expensive, elitist. Finding an investor had been a hassle but his father’s old school tie network had come in handy and his parent had browbeaten his school buddy Copeland into meeting with him. He’d walked away with thirty million in his pocket and minus a twenty-five per cent share of his company.
It had been a good day.
Working his dream of creating one of the premier game reserves in Africa had meant sacrifices: time, money, a social life. His need for stability and … serenity … had led him into a five-year marriage which, ultimately, resulted in him being estranged from his family.
Choices and consequences were a bitch.
But his wife was long gone and he was content being single. Besides it was, Nick decided, too much of a fag to look for a woman who could, firstly, tolerate living in isolation and then would be prepared to live with a man who’d made the conscious decision to remain emotionally unavailable.
Essentially, he wanted a witty conversationalist with superior mattress skills who’d be happy to be ignored as and when he pleased.
Unfortunately, he’d hadn’t yet heard where those aliens had landed.
Brief affairs, he’d stick to those. Tidier, easier, less complicated … and not difficult to find when he felt the woman was interesting enough to make the effort.
He rubbed his hand over his face. Where had all these thoughts about love and life come from? Must have been triggered by hearing that Copeland’s daughter had come an emotional cropper …
Nick heard the distinctive sound of turbine engines and picked up his hand held radio. He glanced down the runway to check that it was still empty—it wasn’t uncommon to see lions stretched out on the tar or impala nibbling at the grass on the edges. He tuned into the open frequency and informed the pilots that they were good to land. The plane rushed past him and he stayed were he was, watching as it slowed, turned at the bottom of the strip and taxied back up the runway towards him. The door opened and the co-pilot dropped the stairs and jogged down, holding out a hand for Nick to shake.
‘Nice landing,’ Nick said, jamming his hands into his khaki shorts.
‘Thanks.’ He looked around. ‘Wow, seriously wild. So, no lions, huh?’
‘Not today.’ Nick turned and looked up as a figure appeared in the doorway of the cabin. Her hair was a long fall of pale rust, several shades lighter than his wife’s fire-red, shot through with strawberry-blonde streaks that even the most expensive salon could not recreate. Sculpted cheekbones, a pixie chin and a body that was long, lean and scrawny.
‘Jace, I’m going to miss you. Thank you.’
‘Keep in touch. You will get through this.’ The voice was deep and rumbling.
‘Call me when you get home.’
The words floated down to Nick and her voice was low, melodious and as smooth as syrup. English, with the slightest crisp that good schooling added. She sauntered—he doubted this woman knew the meaning of the word walk—down the steps dressed in a white man’s style shirt, a strip of fabric across her hips that might, when it grew up, become a skirt, solid black tights and knee length boots. She looked like every one of the several million dollars she was reputed to be worth. Then he noticed her father’s eyes, the colour of seedless green grapes, and forgot how to breathe. Long lashes and arched brows framed them to perfection.
He’d been fired on by poachers, faced down a charging elephant and had an engine out in his Cessna but his lungs had never just stopped working like this before. Breathe, you idiot, he told himself, before you pass out at her feet.
Nick sucked in a hot, deep breath, needing the air to smooth out his bumping breath, his racing heart. While his wife had been all banked flames and controlled heat, he suspected this one was a raging bush fire.
Lord, another redhead. Like malaria, buffaloes and black mambas, experience had taught him that they were best avoided.
Three things slapped Clem simultaneously as she stepped out of the plane. It was scorchingly hot, it was desperately wild and she was totally out of her depth.
She wanted to go home.
She nearly turned around, opened her mouth to tell Jason that she was returning with him, when she saw him standing on the tarmac, looking up at her. For the first time—ever—she forgot what she’d been about to say.
Nut-brown hair, overlong and shaggy, topped a face that was as rugged as the land surrounding them. Light stubble, thin lips and can’t-BS-me—grey? green?—eyes. He was tall—six two, six three—and built. A swimmer’s body, she decided, her eyes tracing his broad shoulders and slim hips. It was easy to imagine his rippled stomach, the long muscles in his thighs.
Her earlier description of the land applied to him as well. Scorchingly hot and desperately wild.
Clem caught the intelligence in his eyes and the wry twist of his lips told her that he’d already made up his mind about her. Spoilt, snobby, stuck up. The hell of it was that he was right, she was all of those things and, oh, damn … she instinctively knew she couldn’t play him, couldn’t charm him, couldn’t snow him. And she, especially, didn’t like being summed up so quickly, and so well.
He angled his head when she reached the bottom of the stairs. She noticed, and was glad, that he didn’t hold out his hand for her to shake. ‘Ms Copeland, I’m Nick Sherwood.’
His voice was moderately deep and held more of an English accent than she’d expected. It sent a shiver skittering along her spine and she frowned … What on earth was wrong with her?
Clem watched as he shot a glance at Joe, who was transferring her luggage from the hold onto the back seat of what she thought might have once been a Land Rover, checked his watch and tapped his foot. He couldn’t have made it clearer that she was an imposition and a waste of his precious time.
Really, who did he think he was? King of all he surveyed? He was very confident—almost insolent—for an employee. Pity that impertinence came wrapped up in such a smoking hot package.
‘Aren’t you going to help him?’ she demanded.
Nick looked at Joe, looked back at her and shook his head. ‘He’s got it under control.’
Grrr. Clem fanned her face and plucked her white shirt off her overheated skin. ‘I’m so hot I could die. Is it always this hot?’
‘It’s Africa. Spring going into summer. It’s hot but it helps if you’re appropriately dressed. Shorts and T-shirts, yes. Tights and boots, no.’
‘Get me some water …’ Clem started to say please and sneezed instead. She watched his eyes narrow and she knew that he didn’t like spoilt, annoying, demanding women. Well, that suited her just fine because she didn’t like the fact that he made her skin prickle and …
‘No.’ Nick pointed at the plane. ‘Feel free to climb the stairs and get it yourself.’
Clem shrugged and called up the stairs. ‘Jace? Please ask Chloe for a bottle of water for me, I’m melting.’
‘So, you do have a vague concept of what passes for rudimentary manners,’ Nick commented.
Jason appeared at the top of the stairs, a bottle of water in his hand. He scooted down the stairs, handed it to Clem and sent Nick a sympathetic smile as he shook his hand and introduced himself. ‘Clem’s always impossible when she’s in a mood.’
‘I am not in a mood.’ Clem stamped her boot and dust billowed. She coughed and waved it away. ‘And if I were, I’m entitled!’
‘Not around me you’re not,’ Sherwood stated.
‘You are exceptionally rude.’
‘Ditto.’
Clem gestured to his vehicle with her oversized glasses. It was more rust than paint and looked about fifty years old.
‘So, I suppose that’s your vehicle?’
‘It is.’
Huh. Mr Talkative he was not. Normally, most men would be falling over by now, chatting her up, fluffing their feathers. He just stood there, looking sexy. And hot. And annoyed.
&nb
sp; Clem twisted the top of her bottle of water but the top held firm. After a couple more tries, Nick took the bottle, cracked the lid in one try and handed it back to her.
‘Thank you.’
Nick smirked, which made Clem just want to poke him. ‘So, is it your job to pick up guests?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘And does your boss know you’re picking up guests in a battered, rusty car that looks like it’s about to fall apart? It’s not the right image for a luxury lodge.’
Nick narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. The veins in his forearms raised his skin and she swallowed. She’d always found that physical indication of fitness sexy.
‘No, the guests are normally collected in the game viewing vehicles but they are all being used at the moment.’
‘It’s six in the evening. What are they being used for at this time of night?’
‘Oh, let’s think. We’re on a game reserve. What would game vehicles be used for …? Um, maybe game viewing?’
Oh, could she sound any more stupid if she tried? Clem winced, looked down and kicked a loose stone with the toe of her boot. ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic,’ she muttered.
‘I haven’t even reached sarcastic yet.’
Ooh, fighting talk. Clem snapped her head up. ‘Do you talk to all the guests like this?’
‘Not usually.’
‘So, why do I get your special treatment?’
Nick stepped over to the Land Rover and yanked open the passenger door, ignoring the fact that the door was attached with just one hinge. ‘You’re not a guest. You’re me doing your father a favour. Get in.’
‘I don’t understand what you’re muttering about and my father won’t like your attitude. So check it or I will have you fired.’
Clem caught the light roll of his eyes and realized that this man wasn’t in the least bit fazed by her unusually sharp tongue and simmering temper. She looked into his cool grey eyes and saw that he didn’t give a flying fig for what she thought.
While she didn’t like him, her respect for him soared. When last had she met a man with a healthy ego?
‘Your father is old friends with my attitude and, unlike you, knows exactly how far he can push me. And, since I own The Baobab and Buffalo Lodge, your threats are both childish and unnecessary,’ Nick said in a cool, calm, measured tone. The lack of temper in his voice made her feel about two feet high.
Was she ever going to win a round with this tall, rangy, muscly, grey-eyed demon?
‘Are you going to get your butt into the Landy or are you going to walk?’ His voice had fallen to sub-zero and she wished she could step inside it and cool down. She was quite certain there was a lake of perspiration in her boots.
Clem ignored the hand he held out, looked at the vehicle and bit her lip. Her skirt was too tight and too short for her to step up onto the runner board. She needed to bend her leg to step up and if she did that, then the Odious Owner and the pilot would get a great view of her tights covered bottom.
Clem cursed, looked at the runner board again and scratched her head.
‘Problem, Red?’
He needed to visit charm school, Clem fumed. She turned to face him and because she was so tall—five foot seven without heels—she just needed to lift her eyes to connect with his. She was annoyed to find that she had to swallow the excess saliva in her mouth. Good grief, she’d met some of the best looking men in the world and none of them made her mouth water. The last time she’d had such a physical reaction was when she’d first seen Cai and look how well that had turned out.
Not.
You’re tired, upset and emotional. Nothing has been normal about this day, the last couple of days, she reminded herself. Nothing had been normal about the last ten years.
Besides, any man would look good after what Cai did and said to you. Add it to the fact that she hadn’t had sex for close to a year and … whoosh! Chemical reaction.
‘We’re wasting daylight here,’ Nick snapped and Clem rubbed her forehead, trying to focus.
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘Not without embarrassing myself and you. And Joe.’
‘What are you going on about?’
Clem dropped her hands and pointed to the hem of her skirt. ‘It’s too tight and too short. I can’t lift my leg to get up without flashing.’
Nick rubbed his hand down his face and Clem was pretty sure it was to cover his grin. She glared at him. ‘It’s not funny.’
‘Judging by the number of naked photos there are of you in cyberspace, I’m surprised at your modesty.’
‘Now, you’re the one being stupid. Haven’t you heard of Photoshop? Every one of those images out there is my head on someone else’s body.’
Instead of looking chastised, Nick grinned and Clem felt as if she’d taken another mental body blow. It transformed his tough face from attractive to mind-blowingly, panty-scrunchingly, take-me-to-bed attractive.
Oh no! No, no, no, no.
While she was trying to get her dancing hormones under control, Nick slid a hand around her back, the other under her thighs, scooped her up and, in one easy and fluid movement, dumped her in the passenger seat of the vehicle. She had an impression of effortless strength, a hard chest, a spicy scent.
Then her bottom hit an exposed spring in the seat and she yelped.
‘Oh, and mind the spring,’ Nick suggested as he walked around the car, hopped onto the runner board and stepped over the closed door to drop into the driver’s seat.
Clem sat on one buttock and rubbed the other. ‘You did that on purpose!’ she accused.
‘Now we both have a pain in our butt,’ Nick commented and sent her a smile that any shark would be proud of.
‘I really don’t like you.’
‘Back at you,’ Nick muttered. ‘Now, can we get out of here? I want a shower and a beer.’
Clem leaned over the door and held out her hand to Joe, the co-pilot. ‘Thank you. Tell Nathan and Chloe I say thank you as well. Safe flight.’
Joe didn’t have much time to respond before Nick floored the vehicle and pulled away.
Clem held onto her seat and closed her eyes.
Ho, ho, ho, ho … it’s off to another part of hell I go.
CHAPTER TWO
Luella Dawson’s blog:
While fans of the reality TV show The Crazy Cs weren’t surprised at their decision to separate, they were shocked by Cai’s method of announcing it to the world. Public sympathy is lying with Clem and fans are clamouring for more footage of the couple now that the last of the series has just been aired. Campbell has responded by agreeing to do another ten episodes of the reality show but insiders know it will mean little without Clem’s side of the story. So where is the flamboyant heiress and ex-model? That, readers, is the million dollar question. Wherever she is, we’re presuming that she’s not having fun.
AFTER ten minutes of silence, Nick looked across at his passenger and noticed that the pale hand clutching the heavy silver locket was white in the setting sun. Tendrils of that, admittedly, amazing hair had escaped from the messy knot she’d pulled it into and were dancing in the wind. Her bottom lip remained between her teeth.
He could have been more welcoming, he supposed, but he’d been side-winded by the X-rated flashes of what he wanted to do to her in bed. Or he had been until she’d opened her mouth and starting spewing Diva. He’d had major royalty and minor royalty staying at the Lodge, movie stars and moguls, but she’d out prima donna-ed them all.
Nick glanced down at those long legs and thought that she could do with a couple of cheeseburgers. She was tall but too thin, her face held that pinched look that women got when they’d lived on a diet of lettuce and multi-vitamins for far too many years. He recognized the type. A lot of the trophy wives or girlfriends who glided in and out of the Lodge had the same look—sucked-in cheeks, stick-thin legs, silicone-enhanced breasts.
He dropped his eyes to her chest. He’d bet hers were natural—small, round … He shi
fted in his seat. If he was getting horny thinking about this skinny wildcat then he definitely needed to get some action soon.
Nick rubbed the back of his neck, saw the long, drooping branch of a thorn tree and spoke for the first time in ten minutes. ‘Mind the branch.’
Naturally, she didn’t listen and a long thorn caught her shirt, ripped through the fabric and scratched her skin. She squealed, looked down at her arm and squealed again.
Nick sent her a cursory glance and carried on driving. ‘Hell, woman, it’s just a scratch!’
‘There are drops of blood, it stings and this is a designer shirt! It’s torn!’
‘Call the fashion police; maybe they’ll care,’ Nick retorted. ‘Next time I say “mind the branch” I suggest you mind the branch.’
‘Aaargh! I hate this place and your stupid thorn trees and the heat and you!’ Clem yelled. Nick responded by deliberately hitting a bump in the dirt road and she bounced in the seat. He smiled.
‘And I hate this sodding seat with its stupid broken spring!’
Nick saw the twin flags of anger in her cheeks and her wobbling chin and erred on the side of caution and didn’t respond. He didn’t want to get brained with the oversized bag that sat on her lap. It looked heavy. He swung the Land Rover onto the road to the Lodge, sparing a glance at the pair of giraffes nibbling on an acacia tree.
‘Evening, boys.’ He frequently spoke to the animals he came across and didn’t care if his guests thought he was nuts. He glanced across at Clem and noticed that she still had that thousand yard stare.
‘Giraffe to your left.’
Clem didn’t respond and Nick shrugged. He caught the swish of a tail out of the corner of his eye, braked and reversed.
She stood with her monstrous back to them, a tiny calf at her heels … A week, ten days old, Nick surmised, craning his head to see if he could identify the female elephant. But she kept her face stubbornly hidden and Nick eventually pulled off.