by Alison Kelly
‘So you said on the intercom, but I didn’t catch your name.’
Patric decided that there was only one thing to do—go with guts! ‘Flanagan,’ he said, extending his right hand. ‘Patric Flanagan.’
‘Oh, right!’ The hulk smiled, moving to grasp his hand. ‘Phil Michelini.’
‘Hey, nice to meet you, Phil.’ The relief in his body was almost overwhelming.
‘Jac’s round back in the pool,’ Michelini told him. ‘Use that side-gate, mate.’
‘Oh…sure. Thanks.’ Breathing easier, he made his way around the side of the house.
Until now he hadn’t given Jaclyn’s private life any consideration, but now he was speculating—boyfriend? Bodyguard? Both? The guy was in his early forties at the most, so that eliminated the possibility of his being her father. ‘Jac’ he’d called her, so he was definitely on friendly terms with her. Lucky him—he’d probably never had hot liquid thrown in his lap!
A floodlight illuminated a large rectangle of water artfully disguised as a lake. Against the hum of October’s chirping crickets the sound of someone moving through water could be heard. He moved closer, then halted to watch in appreciative silence as a streamlined female form displayed a smooth, fluid freestyle.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood observing her, but at some point he found himself counting the laps she completed. When he reached thirty-one he figured it was time to say something, otherwise he would still be there at dawn.
As she approached the end of the pool, and before she had a chance to execute a tumble turn and head back up the other end, he crouched down and called her name. Her stroke slowed and she glided gracefully into the wall, then looked up and let loose with a succinct four-letter expletive.
She tugged off her racing goggles. ‘How the hell did you get in here?’
With her long blonde hair completely hidden under a latex swimming-cap the impact of her face was overwhelming; droplets of water sparkled like crystal in the subdued lighting, lending an almost ethereal quality to her flawless skin and perfect bone-structure. Patric felt his body tighten.
‘I asked how you got in, Flanagan.’
‘Your boyfriend let me in.’
For a split-second Jacqui was lost, but finally the penny dropped. She decided not to correct his misconception about Phil—what was one more amid all the others this man had of her?
‘Why?’
‘I guess he thought I looked harmless,’ he said drily. ‘Then again, he’s probably aware of the fact you’re more than capable of physically defending yourself, regardless.’
Guilt instantly sent her gaze to his legs. In the limited light it was impossible to see how they were after the tea incident, but his firm muscles were beautifully delineated—as were those of his arms, even though his hands were shoved nonchalantly into the pockets of his fashionably baggy shorts. The aura of high-voltage sexuality the man gave off made Jacqui’s stomach clench.
‘I meant, why the hell are you here?’ she snapped, furious with her observations and her body’s reaction to them.
‘I came to apologise.’
He was in an area of ground where the floodlight barely reached, and its weak efforts to battle with the darkness gave the planes of his handsome face a sculptured look. They almost managed to make him look sincere, too. Almost!
‘Oh, r-r-right. You’re apologising for letting me tip tea over you.’
‘I’m apologising for provoking you. It’s you who has to apologise for the tea.’
‘I already did that.’ She said it so matter-of-factly that Patric felt a sudden need to see if the woman was capable of even an atom of concern for anyone’s feelings but her own.
‘Obviously I must have missed it,’ he said, deliberately lifting the leg of his shorts to reveal the raw red area. ‘But then pain can short-circuit a guy’s hearing.’
‘Oh, God! I’m so sorry!’
Her words were half gasped, half squeaked, and it astonished him that the anguish glistening in her eyes should cause him more discomfort than what, in fact, was only a mild burn.
‘Oh, Lord, hot tea! I…I can’t believe I did that. I…I overreacted. I could have done real damage.’ Her contrite blue eyes sought his. ‘Oh, Lord, I’m so very, very sorry I—’
‘Hey,’ he cut in, feeling like the world’s biggest heel for milking the injury for more than it was worth. ‘It’s not that bad.’ She didn’t look convinced. ‘Really, the tea wasn’t that hot.’
‘That doesn’t excuse what I did. Have you had a doctor look at it?’ she asked.
‘I got it checked out at the local medical centre. They don’t expect there’ll be any long-term scarring.’
‘Thank God for that!’ Again her anguished blue eyes sought his. ‘I really am sorry.’
The desire to console her physically hit him so hard that he was actually reaching for her before his brain kicked into gear and stopped him. He wasn’t here to grant her absolution; he was here purely for business purposes! He needed her as a model in top physical shape—he had no interest in her mental or emotional guilt-trips! If she was as overcome with regret for her actions as she seemed then good; it might work in his favour.
She moved towards the steps of the pool and began to emerge slowly from the water. Patric couldn’t look away.
The sight of her beautifully moulded body forced into slinky navy Lycra sent his heart-rate into the danger zone and put his ability to breathe under question. The legs of the one-piece swimsuit were cut to the waist and exposed a mouthwatering expanse of hip, and a hint of firm, taut buttock. He could think of one particular international sports magazine which would have killed if they’d known they’d missed scoring this for their annual swimsuit edition!
The view was improved even more when she turned and walked to where she’d left her towel a few feet to his right. Too quickly—then again, given the sexual heat cruising through his body, perhaps it was just in time, Patric decided—she wrapped it sarong-style around her.
Again he was forced to congratulate himself on being able to spot quality a mile off. Well, physical quality at least, and only when it came to business.
On a personal level his instincts regarding women had proved to be abysmal, although common sense told him that if he ever decided that he wanted to form a permanent relationship with a woman again he was going to have to move beyond his usual business and social circles to find a decent one. If you wanted an exclusive gem you didn’t scout retail jewellery outlets.
Using the corner of the towel draping her body to pat the moisture from her face, she turned to him. She was so close that he could see a solitary droplet of water which still clung to her wet, spiked lashes.
‘I really am sorry about what happened today,’ she said.
‘Yeah, well…I guess you took what I said the wrong way—’
‘Took it the wrong way!’ Her eyes flashed fury, and Patric wondered how her remorse could have evaporated so quickly. ‘Telling a woman that she’s put the goods on display comes under only one heading in my book, Flanagan! Insults! And right under that is another you’re familiar with—strutting one’s stuff!’
Again he witnessed the emotive energy, which hadn’t been caught in any photo he’d ever seen of her. Not even his father had managed to harness it on film, and whatever else he thought of his father he acknowledged that he had been a brilliant photographer.
‘Nothing to say?’ she said with pseudo-sweetness, reminding him of the fact that she was still ticked off with him in a big way, and that it would take some verbal gymnastics to appease her.
‘All I meant was that…’
‘Was that?’ she prodded.
‘Was that…well, you’d deliberately dressed out of character because you wanted to show me you could shed the sophisticated Risque image.’ He smiled, silently congratulating himself on coming up with such a plausible excuse on the spur of the moment.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that a fact?’
�
��Look,’ he said. ‘I can understand how, being desperate for work, you didn’t want to take the risk I’d change my mind—’
‘Oh, give me a break!’ she cut in.
Once again Patric was forced to acknowledge that despite what he wished to the contrary the woman before him wasn’t the type to be fooled by smooth talking.
‘If I’m the one who so desperately wants to do this shoot, Flanagan, how come you’re here?’
He gave her what he hoped was a cajoling smile. ‘Would you believe I’m a big-hearted guy who wants to give you a break?’
‘Not in a million years! You need me, Flanagan,’ she said confidently. ‘Every bit as much as I need the money.’
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘Because as the Risque—sorry, ex-Risque Girl I’m worth more to you than any other model you could get.’
‘No, I mean why do you need the money? You’ve obviously done extremely well over the years.’ He waved a hand to indicate the house and grounds. ‘A place like this hardly comes cheap.’
Her stance stiffened noticeably. ‘You’re right. In fact this place has cost more than you’ll ever know,’ she told him. ‘But what I do with my income is my business. Even if I agree to work with you, how I spend what I earn by doing so isn’t open to discussion.’
He held her gaze and wondered what personal extravagances—or vices—made her so defensive.
‘Relax,’ he said, taking a step forward and placing a hand on her arm for fear that she might storm off.
The touch of his hand against the bare flesh of her right arm poured warmth through her entire body, and yet the parts of her skin that he wasn’t touching seemed painfully cold. She lifted her head to meet his eyes and suddenly felt as if she’d been gripped by a raging fever.
She lowered her gaze and, finding that his mouth wasn’t such a great alternative, quickly focused on the tanned column of his throat. When his other hand came up to rest on her left arm she couldn’t think of anything except how it would feel to be a consenting adult in the hands of the man standing opposite her.
The notion surprised her. It had been years since she’d experienced even mild sexual awareness of a man, and then never anything on this scale. What a damn waste that it had to occur now, with a guy she not only had to work with but whom she didn’t like! Considering the hand fate was dealing her lately, if her luck got any better she’d be run over by a bus tomorrow.
‘So what about this idea of mine?’ His voice intruded into her musings. ‘Do we have a deal or not?’
‘I’m not sure we could work together, Flanagan,’ she told him.
‘Why not?’ His eyes glittered with amusement. ‘Because we’re physically attracted to each other?’
Oh, Lord! Jacqui thought He felt it too! That was as scary as it was reassuring. He was looking at her in a way that suggested she wouldn’t have been able to diagnose the problem if he hadn’t pointed it out, and she’d have loved to come back with a retort such as, Me attracted to you? In your dreams! But she was determined to be adult about this.
She met his glance squarely. ‘That’s part of the reason.’
‘So what’s the other part?’
‘I’m not sure I particularly like you.’
‘So?’ He shrugged. ‘It won’t be the first time I’ve had to work with a woman who didn’t like me.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’
‘Damned if I know,’ he said, with a pseudo-innocence that made her roll her eyes heavenward. ‘But don’t let the sexual thing bother you. I’ve outgrown one-night stands, and besides, I make it a point never to sleep with anyone my father did.’
Jacqui saw red. ‘I never slept with your father, you moron! Wade and I didn’t have that kind of relationship! What do I have to do to convince you of that?’
He shrugged again. ‘Nothing. I’ll take your word for it.’
His easy acceptance of the truth stunned her. ‘You will?’
‘Sure. But don’t get your hopes up; it doesn’t change anything. I’m still not going to bed you—’
‘Get my hopes up!’ She almost choked getting the words out. ‘I wouldn’t sleep with you if we were humanity’s last chance of survival!’
‘Good, then that solves our problems. Now, is there somewhere we can go and hammer out the details on this?’
Jacqui knew exactly where she wanted to tell him to go, and just enough expletives to do it thoroughly! Mentally she let them all fly—aloud, she said, ‘Follow me.’
CHAPTER FOUR
PATRIC had expected them to head in the direction of the house, but instead Jaclyn led him towards a fenced tennis court and across the perfectly rolled clay surface.
The lady sure hadn’t been worried about a budget when she’d forked out the money for this place. Not that it was any of his business, as she’d pointed out, but speculating on her lifestyle was a hell of a lot more comfortable than speculating on how she’d perform in the sack!
‘You want to tell me where we’re going?’ he asked as they reached a twenty-foot hedge on the extremity of the limited lighting.
Her only response was to push open a concealed gate in the hedge and indicate that he should precede her. He did, and found himself on a small, grassed area facing what appeared to be a boathouse, albeit an elaborate one; it had a paved patio and tinted glass sliding doors.
‘What’s this?’ he asked. ‘Your office?’
‘My office.’ She shrugged. ‘And my sanctuary.’
Jacqui entered the modernly furnished apartment, immediately wishing that she’d suggested having this discussion tomorrow. Dozens of fashion magazines were scattered both on and under the coffee-table, wrappers and paper cups from a hamburger franchise were prominently displayed on the small timber table in the dining nook, and the pile of clothes her niece had been playing ‘dress-up’ with earlier was dumped on the sofa and armchair.
‘Maid off this week, huh?’
‘No,’ she said, scooping up the clothes, determined not to apologise to anyone as judgemental and arrogant as Patric Flanagan. ‘She never comes in on a Thursday. Have a seat while I change.’
She hurried into her room and tossed the armful of clothes on to her papazzan chair. Terrific! Why hadn’t she remembered that she’d left the place looking like the backstage area of a fashion show? Of course, if she hadn’t been so upset when she’d got back from her earlier encounter with him she wouldn’t have. If the place was a pigsty it was his fault! Not that she gave a tinker’s cuss what he thought!
She’d have given anything to dive under the shower and rinse the chlorine from her skin and the tension from her shoulders, but she was too conscious of the man in her living-room to do so. Besides, her tension wasn’t likely to disappear until he did! The sooner the better.
Pulling open her wardrobe, she reached for dry panties and a T-shirt, and shorts too baggy to draw any snide comments about her body. As an afterthought she reached for a bra too. It was bad enough that she was aware of her traitorous body’s response to the man without Flanagan knowing it as well.
Lamenting the fact that her brain and her hormones had vastly different tastes in men, she dashed into the adjoining bathroom, splashed fresh water over her face, and gently began to peel off her swimming cap. As she did so the mirror above the sink reflected facial expressions which—unless she happened to jam her hand in a car door during a shoot—would never be caught on film.
Jacqui was counting the days until she could cut the trademark blonde tresses to a more practical length; others might think her thigh-length hair spectacular but she yearned for something manageable.
‘Actually,’ she told her reflection as she hurriedly brushed her dead straight mane, ‘perhaps I’ll even try a perm.’
She tried to imagine herself with a short, curly mop and couldn’t She tried to imagine herself posing nude for Patric and felt her pulse start to race. Relax! she commanded her heart silently. So you’re a tad nervous about this. That’s natura
l. But think of the money. Think of what it’s going to do.
Determined to stay firmly focused on the positive aspects of this assignment, she left the bedroom to face the biggest negative one, waiting in her living-room…
She found him staring at the cork board adorned by dozens of black and white photographs.
‘Who did them?’ he asked
‘Me.’
‘You?’ Amazement registered not just in his voice but in his face. ‘I wasn’t aware you worked both sides of the camera.’
‘It’s just a hobby. I know my limitations.’
Perhaps, Patric thought, but it was pretty obvious that she wasn’t aware of her capabilities; her skill with a camera far surpassed that of the average hobbyist. He again looked at a close-up of a toddler’s wide-eyed surprise as a water fountain she was about to drink from caught her unawares.
‘Did Wade encourage your hobby?’ he asked.
‘He sparked my interest in photography, but if you mean did he give me lessons—no.’ She gave a half-smile. ‘Well, not consciously at any rate; but I mentally noted everything he ever did or said about photography.’
‘It paid off. You’re good.’
She gave him a droll look. ‘Cut the flattery, Flanagan; I’ve already agreed to pose for you!’
‘Hey, I’m serious. Some of them are really good. I’m a photographer, I should know.’
‘So was Wade, and in his opinion I was competent. So don’t try and con me,’ she told him.
Patric wanted to say that he wasn’t the Flanagan who’d conned her—but why waste his breath? As far as she was concerned Wade had probably been able to walk on water.
He looked around the small flat and again found that his curiosity about Jaclyn Raynor went beyond what was necessary for them to work together. He wanted it satisfied regardless.
‘What’s the story with all this?’ He let his gaze roam the room. ‘Who’s the guy up at the house? Is—?’
‘I’m not sure you need to know the ins and outs of my private life, Flanagan,’ she interrupted. ‘Now, before we start, can I get you a drink?’