by Anna Cleary
‘What else?’
‘I hope you haven’t forgotten my office.’
He spread his hands. ‘In progress as we speak.’
‘Good.’ She beamed and he acknowledged it with a wry smile. Then his brow corrugated, almost as if he was worried.
On the flight, she threw herself into her MA role with enthusiasm.
‘What’s the theme of the conference?’ she enquired, nestled into her business class seat sipping lemonade through a straw.
Joe frowned ahead into space, seemingly reluctant to answer.
‘Making money any way we can,’ he growled at last. ‘What else?’
‘Sounds good. Talk me through the agenda.’
He was lounging back, his eyes nearly closed, but she could see their glint through the dark lashes. His deep voice had a smoky sensuality. ‘Do you still have that sexy little vest you used to wear? What was it you called it? You know…’ He painted a curvy outline with his hands.
She sent him a repressive glance. ‘You may be referring to a bustier. Are you sure it was me who used to wear it, or one of your chicks?’
‘It was you. I’m sure it was you. I remember because it was the same bluey green as your eyes.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I doubt if they had much to do with it.’
He gave a lazy, reminiscent laugh. ‘Oh, I can assure you, baby, they had everything to do with it.’
As the hours flew by he grew increasingly flirty and difficult to pin down about work. She’d brought her laptop, and expected to spend at least part of the flight going through the agenda with him. He should at least brief her about the appointments he’d set up with other delegates. Every time she suggested it he changed the subject.
All right, so he didn’t feel like concentrating. She wished he’d tell her more about what to expect, though. How was she to do the job operating in the dark, so to speak?
He’d always been the same, as she recalled. Loath to open up. He was such a private guy, the year they’d been lovers he’d hardly even told her a thing about his family, except a few rare, affectionate allusions he made to his father. Though Jake Sinclair had died a bitter, broken man according to Auntie Mim, who’d even hinted that he’d chosen to abandon his teenage son and die by his own hand, Joe had never seemed to harbour any resentment towards him.
At least, ten hours into the flight he was looking slightly less gloomy. Devastating, in truth, lounging back in his seat, his blue shirt rolled back a little at the cuffs to reveal his sinewy forearms. It was probably safer for her not to look at him, though when she looked elsewhere his image stayed etched on her retina like a solar flare.
His book lay open on his lap but he wasn’t reading. She leaned over and flipped it to the cover. High Finance and Ethics. Whew. The guy really liked to relax on a flight.
‘Will there be anyone you know at the conference?’
‘I sincerely hope not,’ he growled.
She lifted her brows in surprise. ‘No, really? No old banking friends from the past?’
He looked amused. ‘Bankers don’t make friends, they just make money.’
She laughed, wincing. ‘That’s such a bleak outlook. How lonely you make it sound.’
‘Well, isn’t it?’ He smiled, watching her face with curiosity. ‘You’ll find it out soon enough if you stay in it.’ He gave his head a small shake. ‘A crusader like you in investment. I have to say I was surprised.’
She gazed wonderingly at him. ‘It doesn’t have to be the way you describe, though, does it? Good things can be done with money. It just takes enough good people to influence an organisation to make a real difference in the world.’
Joe saw the shining conviction in her eyes and felt a pang in his chest. Even now that passion was still bubbling through her like a constant spring. Her enthusiasm for righting the world’s wrongs had struck such a resonant chord with him back then. How enchanted he’d been. He realised there’d been no one in his life since with quite that quality.
‘I hope you find you can hold onto your ideals,’ he said quietly.
She turned an unnervingly perceptive glance on him. ‘Is it that hard, Joe?’
Only a constant clench in the gut. But he had to admit it was a relief to talk about it, even so lightly. And he was impressed at her quick understanding. He examined her, trying to reconcile the woman she’d become with the girl he’d known. Maybe this was what he’d been missing. A woman he could talk to.
He yawned and stretched his long frame, then leaned across and patted her knee. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll still find a way to save the world.’ He tightened his hand on her knee, savouring its sensual shape against his palm.
Mirandi waited a second, then coolly removed his hand and placed it firmly on his side of the barrier.
He laughed, while her knee felt deprived.
Still, she was pleased to hear him laugh. Since the airport there’d been a tiny, permanent crease between his brows, and now she zeroed in on the grim little lines around his mouth. She guessed it wasn’t all champagne and roses being the CEO.
He noticed her gaze and gave his jaw a rub. ‘What? My beard still fascinate you?’
She gave his advancing shadow a wry inspection. The black fuzz hadn’t even made it to the stubble stage, though it had the tantalising effect of outlining his chiselled mouth and making his lips seem sexier than ever.
‘You’re overstating, as usual,’ she said. ‘It has a long way to go before it can rate as a beard. As for whether it still fascinates me, that implies it ever did.’
A sensual gleam warmed his eyes and his expressive mouth edged up a little at the corners. ‘Admit it.’ His deep voice was low and silky. ‘It’s the best you’ve ever rubbed up against.’
She lowered her lashes, sipped her lemon squash, took a moment to contemplate an elderly woman’s progress down the aisle. Then she turned to meet his sleepy, teasing glance.
‘The brashest, maybe. The cockiest. Certainly the most conceited.’
His deep laugh broke out and illuminated his face. ‘You’ve become very sassy along the way, Miss Summers. Don’t you know that can get you into trouble?’
His sensuous mouth held the smile for a few extra heartbeats and there was seduction in his eyes.
Mirandi felt her heart lurch with the old dangerous thrill. But it was only banter, wasn’t it? A few harmless flirty words were only natural between a man and a woman confined together in a travel situation. It didn’t signal anything, or promise that anything might happen between them later.
So, regardless of how sexy he looked, how desirable he was making her feel, she was still on the straight and her conscience was clear. Strangely though, Marilyn Monroe seemed to take over her voice and she became quite breathy, as if his grin had soaked into her bloodstream and taken up the oxygen.
She made an effort to keep her mind on the matters at hand. ‘Don’t you just love a conference?’
‘No.’
‘Why not? You get to travel, have a free holiday, meet people…’
He scowled. ‘There are people in Sydney.’
‘Well,’ she said, exasperated, ‘if it’s such a bore why didn’t you send someone else along?’
‘Because I have to go myself.’ He gestured with some impatience. ‘I’m researching a project the board is keen to invest in.’
‘What project?’
He hesitated, then with a careful lack of expression, said, ‘Investing in the entertainment industry.’
‘Really? How exciting. There’s big dollars to be made there.’
He searched her face, a frown in his eyes, then gave a shrug. After a while he leaned across and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
First her knee, now her hair. And there had been the cheek, though maybe that didn’t count. Her ear tingled, and she met his hot, slumberous gaze with the blandest one she could manage, considering her blood was quickening its flow, seething with the old anticipation. She knew what those touches
signalled.
Temptation was lurking in the grass and she was faced with a dilemma. A crossroads was approaching.
While she mused on the fraught possibilities, she continued on with the easy chat. ‘Why don’t you look on the trip as a lovely break? The south of France, of all places. Who wouldn’t want to go there?’
He must have suddenly felt tired because he tilted his chair back and closed his eyes. She could tell he was still listening though by the tense way his arms were folded across his belt.
‘It must be one of the most charming locations in the world.’
‘Charming.’
‘But you don’t care for it?’ After a while he shrugged, and she said, ‘How many times have you been there?’
He was silent for an age. She started to repeat her enquiry when he growled, ‘Once.’
‘For how long?’
He frowned and opened his eyes. ‘A weekend. What is this? The inquisition?’
‘Must have been a lousy weekend.’
His patience snapped. ‘Aren’t you tired?’
She settled back into her seat. ‘I remember that about you now. You always get grumpy when you’re in need of sleep.’
His eyes sparked. ‘And I remember things about you. One of them is that you’re too nosy by half.’
Smiling, she tilted her seat into horizontal position, arranged the pillow, pulled the blanket over her and closed her eyes. Some bell rang in her memory, some distant echo from an old conversation, but when she tried to pin it down it slipped away. But give it time. It would come back.
She let herself drift into a doze.
When the blessed silence had settled for a while, Joe opened his eyes. Sleep was too risky here in a public space. Last thing he wanted was to be bellowing out about yellow taxis in front of several hundred people. He pulled his chair upright and took the opportunity to examine Mirandi Summers’ unguarded face.
Something about the honest freshness of it put that twinge back in his chest again. Hell, he’d been through a dozen women since—maybe even a couple of dozen if he was to be honest with himself—but no break-up had been as rugged as that one. Possibly because the fling hadn’t run its full course when it hit the wall at top speed. He hadn’t had time to get bored, and she’d stayed fresh in his memory. Unspoiled.
He smiled to himself. That effervescent optimism was so infectious.
If this had been his first trip to Provence, he might even have shared it. He felt that wall of distaste again, and crushed it down. Since he had to be there, he’d focus his mind squarely on his task, think about the firm’s bottom line, and get out as soon as he decently could. This hangover from his recent rash of nightmares would soon dissipate.
It wasn’t as if any unwelcome faces would be looming up out of the distant past to confront him. No one he had any remote connection with even knew he was coming, and that was how he wanted it.
It would all be cool. He’d stay well away from Antibes, keep to his end of the coast, and allow the ghosts to moulder undisturbed at theirs.
In the meantime he had the perfect antidote.
Business class meant passable meals and some quite drinkable wine, though his newest MA kept to softer drinks. Without him around to lead her astray, her father’s early training had prevailed. No smoking, no drinking, no gambling. No sex with bad men?
‘Red wine is good for the heart,’ he urged her when the stewardess came by.
‘It didn’t help mine,’ she said, smiling her refusal to the woman.
‘What was that pledge you took when you were a little girl?’
She searched his face as if sensing a trap. Seeing her wariness gave him a slight pang of remorse. Perhaps he had been guilty of teasing her in the past for the things her old dad had taught her. Maybe he’d been a bit embarrassed, knowing how often the good honest captain had been the one to drag Jake Sinclair out of the club and bring him home to his hungry kid.
With some reluctance she admitted, ‘To do the most good to the most people in the most need.’
He laughed, though the words cut him in a way he didn’t care to acknowledge right then. ‘I’m so glad you joined MPI.’
During the dark hours, when most people were asleep under their blankets, Joe kept himself awake by reading in the cone of light from overhead. He must have disturbed Mirandi, because she woke and squinted at him.
‘Can’t you sleep?’
‘Shh.’
After a while she pressed the upright button on her seat. ‘All right, I give up. I’m too excited now. My mind keeps spinning.’
He put his book aside and suggested they stroll up to the lounge cabin so they could talk without disturbing people. She stood up and stretched, and he caught a glimpse of her breasts outlined against the material of her shirt. It was a pleasure and a torment to walk behind her and watch the supple muscles work, the pull of her jeans, snug against her taut little arse.
Mirandi felt his eyes on her in a turmoil of feelings she didn’t care to acknowledge. She could sense his desire and she was affected, there was no denying it. The attraction was still there. Just a few hours in his company and she was savouring every move he made, every nuance. She shouldn’t encourage it. She really shouldn’t.
But, oh, some yearning part of her cried, it had been so long since she’d been appreciated by a truly sexy man. Shouldn’t she just accept the gifts that life offered and bask in this pleasant time out of time?
There were a couple of other non-sleepers enjoying the open space of the lounge cabin. She stood a while, wriggling her toes, inviting her blood to flow to her ankles, conscious of Joe an arm’s length away, leaning idly back against the bar. Too conscious. Too aware of the invisible pull. Here, a mile high, time had no meaning, as if the usual rules should be suspended.
Joe moved closer to her to make room for a newcomer at the bar. What was it about green eyes that gave a woman that look of potential mischief? He remembered the sensation he always used to have with her. Whatever they talked about on the surface, he felt that other, mysterious female complications were whirring away in her head.
He leaned her way and caught a trace of her fragrance. ‘Do you still sing in the choir?’
‘Not for years.’ Her passionate mouth curved. ‘Do you still sing in the shower?’
‘Never seem to now. Funny, that.’ The reminder evoked some intimate occasions where she’d been a star participant. ‘You were pretty good in the shower yourself. I seem to remember you striking some high notes.’
Her shadowy emerald eyes flickered, then she turned away with a brief laugh. A low, throaty, sexy laugh.
‘Does your father know where you are?’
She hesitated just a beat, then gave a perfectly serene shrug. ‘There wasn’t time to tell him, but if I had he wouldn’t have been concerned.’
That little hesitation made him wonder how much the old man knew. Had she even told her father she was working for him now?
He searched her face. ‘Wouldn’t he? Even if he knew you were with that wicked Joe Sinclair?’
‘Course not. He knows I’m a big girl. Anyway, he’s never thought you were wicked.’
‘Not even after I stormed the citadel and snatched away his princess?’
Her lips were enticing, curved in a smile. So plump and juicy and edible. ‘It wasn’t Dad who was so worried. It was poor Auntie Mim.’
Ah, so she still didn’t know. Probably just as well, though some insane reckless impulse tempted him to push the boundaries of the subject. Maybe he should tell her, let her know her father’s part in their little drama.
‘Poor Auntie Mim,’ he echoed, remembering the anxious little lady who could be so surprisingly fierce. ‘What was she so worried about?’
Something disturbed the tranquil irises. Too late he felt the warning pang slice through him. His heart-rate bumped up a notch.
But her smile didn’t waver. ‘She was afraid you’d break my heart.’
For a second he won
dered if the airbus engines had died and they were about to fall out of the sky. Then he realised it was his lungs that had stopped working.
Knowing she’d struck some momentous note, Mirandi parted her lips to say something to ease the thundering tension, but with a shock of primitive recognition saw his eyes darken.
He inclined his head and kissed her just as the plane gave a shudder, or it might have been herself being rocked to the foundations. His scorching lips touched hers with a blaze of delicious fire. Electricity sizzled through her like a lightning bolt and held her paralysed, while her blood lifted off in a wild erotic surge and swelled her breasts.
She was vaguely aware of a warning ping, a voice issuing instructions over the tannoy, then the plane vibrated again and they rocked apart.
Hypnotised, she stared at him, her heart thundering in her ears, her breath coming in quick, erratic bursts. The hostess’s voice sounded again, urging everyone to return to their seats and fasten their belts until they were through the bout of turbulence, but that brief searing touch of Joe’s lips had aroused a flame.
The bar attendant stood by while people filed from the small cabin. Mirandi braced against the vibrations of the plane, under a spell, mesmerised by the fire in Joe’s blue eyes, the tingling ache in her parched lips. The attendant watched them all leave, then headed for his own seat. As she and Joe started down their aisle Joe’s hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist, and he pulled her back and bundled her into the washroom.
She should have resisted, but her blood was aroused and her brain had gone into a retreat. When had she and Joe not snatched every illicit opportunity? Squeezed into the impossibly narrow space, her guilty senses thrilling with forbidden excitement, she felt his strong arms around her, his chest in friction with her breasts, and forgot her resolutions. Distantly she heard the steward’s warning voice, but it came from another realm.
In panting accord, their hungry lips met in a cosmic sensual collision. As Joe took hungry possession of her mouth Mirandi was oblivious to the discomfort of hard edges sticking into her, and concentrated on the familiar angles and planes of her hard, lean lover. Electricity was shooting through her flesh from every point of contact, knees, thighs, his angular pelvis, his strong chest pressing her breasts.