Книга - Wild About the Man

Wild About the Man
Joss Wood


Nick Sherwood has no time for poor little rich girls. All he wants is to run his luxury game reserve in peace.So socialite Clementine Campbell - a tempestuous redhead with flashes of vulnerability he knows shouldn’t intrigue him – is his guest from hell! For Clem, getting dumped on live TV was bad enough. Having to kick her stiletto heels on safari whilst her PR team run damage control?She doesn’t care how gorgeous the enigmatic Nick is – she wants out! Until he gets under her skin, and dangerously close to her battered heart. Then only one question remains - what will it take to get Nick to lose his cool and finally kiss her properly?!












About Joss Wood (#ulink_7163ea8d-0333-50f4-b2fe-2132e55450f6)


JOSS WOOD wrote her first book at the age of eight and has never really stopped. Her passion for putting letters on a blank screen is only matched by her love of books and travelling—especially to the wild places of Southern Africa—and possibly by her hatred of ironing and making school lunches.

Fuelled by coffee, when she’s not writing or being a hands-on mum, Joss—with her background in business and marketing—works for a non-profit organisation to promote local economic development and the collective business interests of the area where she resides.

Happily and chaotically, surrounded by books, family and friends, Joss lives in Kwa-Zulu Natal, South Africa, with her husband, children and their many pets.




Wild About the Man


Joss Wood






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


A couple of years ago, while sitting in a hanging basket on the edge of Lake Malawi, after a long, lazy, sunshiny conversation—the only type you can really have on holiday in Malawi!—I realised that writing filled my soul and it was time that I gave it the attention it deserved. So for that conversation, and many, many others around life and love, faith and hope, this book is dedicated to our very special friends Taffy and Jen at the Norman Carr Cottage, Namakoma Bay, Malawi.




Table of Contents


Cover (#u9d25f023-1aa9-5eb7-8d07-ea3ed833cb4c)

About Joss Wood (#u567364d1-2752-5fc6-9852-4e3c78ad059a)

Title Page (#uc6dd8d8f-2365-5734-b98d-c3c419ea69e2)

Dedication (#u70cbd641-92f6-5e68-a3df-e145033b05f6)

Chapter One (#u41681116-179f-5a00-b437-35c52c3b4b6d)

Chapter Two (#ub92a0134-d06d-5a87-9eb8-b3d032d244b9)

Chapter Three (#u4d6e5c35-4c8e-5552-a3a5-538d46fd8207)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_11cd3f98-3aa1-5602-8616-b747f1e38964)


Luella Dawson’s blog:

So, friends, my interview with Cai Campbell and Clem Copeland on my show, Night Drive with Luella last night was so much more than I—we all—expected. There was the announcement of their split—no surprise there—but what followed had us all agape. For the past ten years Cai has ducked the question of marrying Clem, so none of us expected to meet Cai’s new fiancée (blonde, buxom). We were just recovering from that when he told us that he’d been shooting blanks all these years—poor Clem. Who can forget that episode of The Crazy Cs where Clem told us how her infertility was eating away at her soul?

IT WAS early evening before Nick Sherwood made it to his desk, dusty, grumpy and sweaty. His mouth held all the moisture of the Kalahari Desert and he felt he was melting from the inside out. After grabbing a bottle of water from the small fridge behind his desk, he stood underneath the air conditioner, cracked the top of the water bottle and swallowed the contents in three big gulps. Tossing the bottle into the dustbin at his feet, he immediately opened another, resting the icy plastic against his forehead when the worst of his thirst was quenched. He’d spent most of the day in the seventeenth level of hell and the raging heat outside had only been a minor contributing factor to his nightmare day.

Normally he enjoyed taking the walking photo-safaris and it was a good way to connect with his guests; they loved the personal touch of having the owner of the six-star lodge conduct the tours. Except that he’d spent the last six hours walking so slowly that ants had dashed past them, constantly wondering when he’d have to give one of his overweight, red-faced charges CPR.

Of course they’d seen no animals, mostly because they couldn’t keep their mouths shut for more than five minutes. Wildlife tended to run when confronted with loud curses, shouts and laughter.

Nick understood the animals’ flight reaction; he’d considered doing the same many, many times and at various points throughout the day.

He dropped into his chair and yanked open the messy top drawer of his desk, hoping to find a container of aspirin. Eventually he found the pills and dry-swallowed three, chasing them down with the water left in the bottle in his hand.

He needed a cold beer, a swim and hot sex.

What he’d get was maintenance reports, the payroll and e-mails.

Nick pulled his computer out of standby and reached for the file on the corner of his desk. He’d barely cracked open the cover when a Skype call came in. He looked at the computer and frowned when he saw the name of his silent partner and chief investor. Hugh Copeland rarely called him and had never, in the ten years he’d known him, Skyped him.

‘Good afternoon, sir.’

Copeland was at least sixty-five, formal, monstrously wealthy and Nick was still in debt to him for a couple of million. Setting up a six-star lodge wasn’t cheap and maintaining a game reserve and an animal rehabilitation sanctuary sucked up money like an industrial Hoover.

Calling his chief investor ‘sir’ seemed appropriate.

‘Nicholas. I trust you are well.’ Copeland was standing, dressed in a three piece suit. When he placed his arms on the back of his chair and glared into the camera Nick caught a hint of a flashing temper in his light grape-green eyes.

Trouble. Nick cursed. And it was heading straight for him.

‘Very, sir. What can I do for you?’ he asked as his heart raced. He’d submitted his financial report to his office, paid the instalment—and more—on his loan … What else could he have done to earn this man’s displeasure? Copeland had a twenty-five per cent stake in his company and he mostly left Nick alone.

‘I’ve been trying to contact you since this morning.’

Hell.

‘I was on a walking safari, I’ve just got in.’ Nick decided to bite the bullet and get it over with. ‘What’s the problem and how can I fix it?’

‘I am sending Clementine to you.’

Clementine? Who was Clementine? Nick shook his head. ‘Who?’

‘My daughter, Nicholas. She’s landed herself in a spot of bother and needs a place to escape to. Somewhere private and isolated and remote.’

Nick lifted dark eyebrows. ‘What type of trouble?’

If she’d murdered someone or needed rehab, he’d rather not take her, millions owing or not.

He’d rather not take her, period.

‘Press trouble. They want her blood. Her common law husband of a decade introduced her to his new fiancée on a nationally syndicated television chat show.’

Nick worked through that, and then winced in sympathy. Ouch. He searched his memory bank and recalled that his partner had a daughter living with Cai Campbell who, in his opinion, was a mediocre musician at best.

And what was with all the names starting with the letter C? Clem, Cai. Copeland. Campbell.

Nick snorted. Typical Hollywood. There were another twenty-five letters in the alphabet.

So Campbell dumped his ex-model partner for a newer version … and she was now his problem. In what universe was that fair?

‘She’s coming here?’

Copeland must have heard the doubt in his voice because his gaze sharpened. ‘Is that a problem?’

Nick folded his arms and nodded. ‘Actually, sir, yes, it is. We’re one of a handful of six-star lodges in Africa and we’re booked up to a year in advance. We do not have any vacancies and my next opening is next year.’

She can come back then, Nick thought. And she, like everyone else, could pay for the privilege.

The old man cursed, rather eloquently, Nick thought. ‘You have nothing at all?’

‘Two dormitory-style beds in a room in the junior rangers’ house.’

Those piercing eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t you have a spare room in your house?’

Hell, no!

‘Uh—’

‘Well?’

‘I don’t think my house is up to her standards. I mean, it’s OK, but not like the rooms in the Lodge.’

‘She’ll cope. And if she doesn’t, then she can just deal with it.’

Nick closed his eyes and counted to ten. He opened his eyes to see that Copeland was now sitting on the corner of his desk. He stared at Nick and tapped his finger against his thigh. Nick didn’t need him to voice the obvious:

Ten years ago I was the one person prepared to listen to a twenty-five-year lunatic who had nothing more than a Masters degree in Zoology, the shirt on his back and a piece of land adjoining the Kruger National Park. I took a chance on you … You owe me.

Nick sighed. Message received, loud and clear. ‘When does she arrive?’

Copeland looked at his slim watch. ‘In about thirty minutes; she’s flying in on my jet into your airfield.’

Oh, so he’d never really had the option of saying no.

‘Fine.’ It wasn’t but what could he do?

‘Thank you, Nicholas. I do appreciate this.’

Nick tipped his head back to look at the ceiling above his head. What had he done that warranted him being sentenced to sharing his house with a society princess—born with not a silver spoon but a canteen of diamond encrusted cutlery in her mouth—and who had a doctorate in being a rich man’s arm candy?

He rested his forehead on his desk. All he wanted was a cold beer, a swim and sex. Really, was that too much to ask?

In her father’s jet, Clem Copeland yawned, stretched and blinked away the last remnants of a brief restless sleep. She tucked her long legs up under her and caught the eye of her best friend, and personal assistant, who sat in the chair opposite her, eyeing her with quiet sympathy. Jason had been with her since her modelling days and he knew her inside out and upside down. As the memories of the past thirty-six hours rushed back to pummel her, she was grateful for his shoulder to lean on.

Tears, hot and angry, fell.

‘Sweetheart.’ Jason sighed, handed her a bottle of water and patted her knee.

‘It wasn’t just a horrible dream, was it?’

‘Sorry.’ Jason pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Selfish, narcissistic ass.’

Clem saluted him with her bottle. ‘Careful, Jace, or else I’ll start to think that you don’t like him.’

‘I’ve never liked him! And I told you that he was planning something.’ Jason shoved both hands into his bleached blond hair, visibly frustrated.

‘I thought that if we could part amicably, then the press would shrug it off. After all, they’ve been predicting our breakup for years!’ Clem protested.

‘Cai has all the morals of an alley cat. He’s lied to you for ten years and yet you still fall for it!’ Jason poured himself a glass of wine and downed the contents in one long swallow. Clem reached for a tissue and wiped her eyes, light green and surrounded by long tinted lashes. Wet from her tears, they were even more startling than normal. ‘I’m not crying because I’m sad, I always cry when I’m angry!’

‘Mmm.’

‘I swear this time I could just boil him in oil.’ Clem gripped the bridge of her nose. ‘How long do you think he’s known her for and when did he propose? Two weeks? Three? That was quite a ring he’d bought her.’

‘You’re avoiding the subject.’

Damn right she was. That Cai had announced their breakup and introduced the world to her replacement and had proposed to her was humiliating enough, but the other bombshell he’d oh-so-casually dropped rearranged every atom in her body.

‘At least I vomited into her designer tote. That had to be a highlight.’

‘On national TV. But you did hide most of your face in her bag so you did it very discreetly.’

‘Thanks for pulling me off the show during that commercial break.’

‘Yeah. I’ve never hit anyone in my life but I came close to decking him.’

Clem tried to smile but her lips refused to cooperate. She dropped her legs and rested her forearms on her knees. She stared at the plush carpet beneath her knee length boots. When she looked up, she saw Jason’s occasional grimace as he worked on his laptop.

‘I’ve accessed the onboard Internet service,’ he explained.

‘I figured. How big is the fallout?’ Clem asked in a dull voice.

‘Nuclear.’

Clem ran her hand over her eyes. ‘Let me guess what the headlines say … “What would Roz think?” or “Clem is not a chip off the old block” or “Was Clem swapped at birth”?’

Jason sighed. ‘Not quite so harsh but getting there.’

‘Can I not just have my own little public meltdown without them bringing in my mother?’

Jason pursed his lips. ‘If your mother had been anyone else, maybe.’ Anyone other than a glamorous heavyweight war correspondent and news presenter, public darling, rising political star and tipped to be the future prime minister. ‘But you know that the press have hyper-idealised her since she died in her prime.’

‘And I’ve lived down to her memory.’ Clem pushed her waist length hair over her shoulder and held the large ornate silver locket that hung from her neck on a heavy silver chain.

‘You’ve just taken a different path to her,’ Jason said quietly.

‘I took a different motorway as fast and as hard as I could.’

Jason draped one plump leg over the other and linked his hands around his knee. ‘You once told me that you had a hole inside you before she died, that all you wanted was her time and she was always so busy. Do you think you used Cai to fill up that hole?’

‘No, I fell into bed with Cai in a rush of hormones because I was nineteen and stupid,’ Clem replied, her voice tart in response to his prodding. She was coming off a bad breakup and Jason wanted to analyse her relationship with her dead mother? Not going to happen. ‘He was hot, older and I loved his rock and roll lifestyle. And, I repeat, because I was nineteen and stupid. You shouldn’t make life changing decisions when you are nineteen.’

‘Or, obviously, when you are stupid,’ Jason added.

Clem sighed. She should’ve just cut her losses nine years and six months ago. Then she wouldn’t be sitting in her father’s jet, running from the press and feeling as if she was about to snap under the weight of this soul scorching rage.

Clem sat back and folded her arms. ‘Where are we going by the way? We’ve been flying for ever. The villa in the Seychelles? The flat in Sydney?’

Jason shook his head. ‘Your father is sending you to a private game reserve in South Africa.’

Clem’s arched eyebrows flew up. ‘You’ve got to be joking! Africa? Animals? Insects? Sun? I’m a redhead, for goodness’ sake!’

Jason smiled. ‘Sorry, honey, but we did ask for private and isolated. The press are going to try and track you wherever you go and they won’t find you there. It’s a very exclusive, very expensive lodge. One of those where you pay a set price and everything is included, including spa treatments. They have elephant-back safaris—you should do that.’

Clem narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Uh … no! Can you see me riding high in the blistering sun, going “Oooh! There’s a buck” or “Wow! There’s another”?’

‘You should open yourself up to new experiences.’

‘I don’t do the country or anything close to it!’ Clem stared out of the window. ‘We’ll just have to make the best of it.’

‘You’ll have to make the best of it,’ Jason corrected and shrugged when her eyes connected with his. ‘The Baobab and Buffalo Lodge has a bed for you but not me. I’m going home with the plane.’

‘But I need you!’

‘I need to go back to do damage control. You know I do.’

Clem tapped her fingers against her thigh, thinking of an argument to keep him with her. She wasn’t joking when she said she needed him; she didn’t want to be alone.

Her heart contracted and her throat closed again. She bit her lip so hard that her teeth left marks in the skin.

‘You know, I get that I’m spoilt and lazy, selfish and inconsiderate.’ Jason started to protest but the small shake of her head had the words dying on his lips. Clem shrugged. ‘I have too much time and money and I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of. I don’t love Cai any more and he’s welcome to get married … Seriously, I wish her luck.’

‘But?’

‘He knew how much I wanted a child, Jace. So why would he let me think that I was infertile for so long? He came with me when I went for all those tests, took my temperature to check if I was ovulating, slept with me—well, up until a year or so ago—when the time was right. He did all that, all the while knowing that he had a vasectomy before we even met! Why would he do that?’

‘Because he’s a jerk who likes to play games?’

‘That would explain it.’ Clem sniffed and blew her nose. ‘I think we’re banking, we must be nearly there.’

‘Then maybe you should fix your face,’ Jason suggested. ‘You look like hell, you know, from all your angry tears.’

Next to the runway, Nick sat on the bonnet of his roofless Land Rover. His scarred boots rested on the bull bar and he watched the blood-red sun sink behind the bank of acacia trees. It was his favourite time of day and the heat was holding steady. He looked at the cloudless sky and sighed. The daily temperatures were climbing towards unbearable, the waterholes were almost dry and the residents, human, bird and animal, were desperate for the first of the summer rains, which had yet to arrive.

But sunsets like these were one of the myriad reasons why he’d worked sixteen, eighteen-hour days for the best part of a decade. He considered it a privilege to watch the sun go down and listen to the night song of a little piece of Africa that was under his protection.

From his first memory of walking this land with his paternal grandfather at the age of four, he’d felt an affinity for this place, this soil. He loved the element of danger, the age old fight of the survival of the fittest. Two-B had always been his sanctuary, his favourite place in the world, the place that fed his soul. As a child he’d run to his grandfather and this land when being the only introvert in a large family of noisy, outspoken, non-privacy-respecting, intimacy-demanding party animals became overwhelming. He’d find the peace and solitude here he needed and never found in his chaotic family home, surrounded by four siblings and left-of-centre parents. He could never imagine living or working anywhere else.

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.

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 (#ulink_e54280de-09ce-5364-937c-ecb0c718bbd1)


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 shifted 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.

‘Her calf is very young; the rest of the nursery herd should be around here somewhere,’ Nick said as they climbed the last hill to the Lodge. Through the dusky, dusty air, he could see the blazing lights of the Lodge and the staff village beyond.

Clem turned to look at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

Nick frowned. ‘The elephant and her calf.’ She looked blank. ‘The one that was a couple of metres from you?’

‘I didn’t see it,’ Clem said tonelessly.

Nick cursed, slammed on the brakes, put the car in neutral, reached across her lap and yanked open the door to the cubbyhole. Scratching around, his hand closed around the small torch and he flicked the switch. Grabbing Clem’s chin, he shone the light into her eyes.

She slapped his hand away but Nick persevered. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Are you on drugs?’ Nick demanded. Her pupils looked normal but what did he know?

Clem yanked the torch from his hand and threw it onto the floor at her feet. ‘No, I’m not on drugs! Why would you think that?’

‘Because there was a four-ton elephant right next to you and you didn’t notice!’ Nick shouted.

She turned to look behind her. ‘Oh. Where?’

Nick muttered a curse and rested his forehead on his wrists, his hands gripping the wheel to keep them from encircling her neck. When the urge to throw her into the nearest bush passed, he put the Landy in gear and drove through the decorative gates that marked the gateway to the Lodge.

Give me strength, he begged. She was worse than he’d imagined.

Although it was not completely dark yet, lights blazed from the two-storey Edwardian villa that had once been his great-great-grandfather’s hunting ‘cottage’. Built in grey stone, the house sported an imposing portico over marble steps and Nick pulled up behind the four game viewing vehicles that were offloading guests. Two of his butlers were on hand to distribute glasses of sherry to the guests and he caught the babble of excited voices. Unlike his passenger, they were excited about what they’d seen in the bush.

Jumping out of his car, Nick headed for his head ranger and spoke to him in fluent Shangaan. ‘All well?’

Jabu’s white teeth gleamed in his dark face. ‘Mfo.’ He used the shortened but still traditional greeting for brother and friend—mfowethu—and they were. They’d grown up together and Jabu was his right-hand man, more partner than employee.

‘Who’s the woman?’ Jabu asked him after they’d had a quick discussion about the morning’s schedule. He glanced at Clem, who was looking up at the Lodge with what he thought might be approval in her eyes.

‘Copeland’s daughter. She’s staying with me at the house.’

Jabu’s brown eyes danced. ‘Been telling you that you need a woman, mfo. Try to last more than a minute.’

‘Funny.’ Nick scowled. ‘I’d rather mate with a honey badger. She needs a severe attitude adjustment.’

‘Can’t help noticing that she’s a redhead,’ Jabu said with a sly grin.

‘Yeah, but so are fire ants.’ Nick slapped Jabu’s shoulder and walked back towards his vehicle, tossing his next sentence over his shoulder. ‘I’ll see you boys in The Pit later, you can buy me a beer.’

The Pit was the staff bar which adjoined the staff games rooms, where the rangers and staff working at the Lodge and the animal sanctuary could, in addition to the gym, TV room and a computer gaming room, chill out after a long day.

Nick took a moment to look at the Lodge and sighed with pleasure. The deep green grass complemented the double storey grey-blue stone house and carefully landscaped indigenous gardens added to the luxurious feel. No matter the time of day, the house always looked welcoming, the staff were, without fail, convivial and helpful and his guests stepped into unparalleled luxury.

He frequently wished he could have the guests’ money without having the guests but the unfortunate reality was that he needed his top dollar clients to fund the running of the reserve.

Nick heard a loud whooping sound and smiled when he heard his chief butler, Simon, reassuring a nervous guest that the hyena laughing was definitely behind the electric fence. The Lodge, the staff village and the animal sanctuary all had a perimeter electric fence to ensure that his guests, staff and wounded animals didn’t become a snack for a prowling leopard or stalking lion. His own house was situated outside the security fence, closer to the edge of the cliff and away from the Lodge.

It was his refuge, his safe haven, his favourite place in the world. Or it had been until Princess Red’s arrival.

Clem stood up in her seat and Nick raised an eyebrow at her when he reached the Landy. ‘And now?’

‘If you’d be so kind as to help me down and show me to my room, we can say goodnight and maybe try to be civil to each other when next we meet.’

Oh, that cool voice just killed him. It immediately made him want to rattle her cage. ‘You think you’re staying here?’

‘Aren’t I?’

Nick hopped back in the vehicle. ‘Not unless you booked a room approximately a year to eighteen months ago. Did you?’

‘Stop being facetious and tell me where I’m sleeping!’ Clem retorted, those incredible eyes flashing. She reminded him of a snapping turtle he’d once seen in Florida—mean, ornery and … snappy.

‘You’re sleeping with me, Red. In my house but not in my bed, just in case you have any ideas to the contrary.’

‘I’d rather sleep with my ex. And if you could measure how much I detest him right now, then you’d realise how monstrous an insult that is.’

Two nights later Clem sat, Indian style, on her bed under the mosquito net in Nick’s guest room, her open book unread in her lap. She hadn’t ventured further than his kitchen in two days and the last real conversation she’d had, with anyone, was the clipped one she’d exchanged with Nick the night he’d shown her to this room. In fact, it wasn’t a conversation, it was more Nick throwing a couple of orders at her head.

There was food and drink in the fridge; she had to help herself. If she left anything out in the outdoor shower, the monkeys or baboons would probably swipe it, especially if it sparkled. If she saw a snake, stand still. Sleep under the mozzie net; this was malaria country. She shouldn’t walk around outside because the electric fence didn’t extend to his house and if she heard any noises outside, she shouldn’t investigate. It could be a lion, leopard, hyena, all of which would like to take a chunk of her skinny hide.

Clem rested her head on her bent knees, grateful for the swirl of cool air from the air conditioner. She felt utterly drained, as if someone had taken her and wiped the floor with her head. She’d held herself together until she’d heard Nick leaving in that wretched vehicle the night before last and then she’d dissolved. She’d sobbed for hours and hours and when she’d heard him returning she’d buried her head under her pillow and cried some more.

Utterly drained, she knew that the worst of the emotional storm had passed and, as it passed, a modicum of sanity returned.

It would be so much less embarrassing if she could say that she was crying over the loss of a grand passion, a soulmate, her raison d’être. But she couldn’t because she’d meant what she said on the plane about Cai—she didn’t care if he married what’s-her-face or an alien. Every last emotion she’d felt for him was dead, six feet under, and she just wanted to get past him and onto the rest of her life.

So that couldn’t explain why she’d spent the last two days raising the world’s water levels.

Clem buried the heels of her hands into her eye sockets and whimpered. The truth she could no longer avoid was that she was crying over lost time, stupid decisions, wasted years, humiliation, embarrassment and, hardest of all to admit, brazen, in your face and utterly fearless … fear.

Terror.

For the second time in her life the foundations of her world had been washed away. When her mother died she’d been rocked to her core. Nothing in the world made sense until Cai came along with his ‘live for today’ philosophy. He’d encouraged her to pursue instant gratification and the pursuit of pleasure had ruled their lives.

At the time it had made sense to her.

Fast forward a decade and what had she to show for those decisions? A spectacularly public failed mock-marriage, a closet full of clothes and an identity that was wrapped up in being Roz Hedley-Copeland’s daughter and Cai Campbell’s lover.

If only she’d had the brains, the confidence to kick him to touch after she’d found out about his first affair but he’d talked her out of it. Guilted her out of it as well.

No, don’t study … you’re too pretty to put your nose into a book.

A job? Why would anyone want to hire a washed up ex-model who has never worked a day in her life?

Working for charity? You?

Face it, darling, you’re not much good for anything more difficult than looking gorgeous.

Puke.

So what could she do, who was she going to be? She needed to find a new normal, a new reality, a new everything and she was scared, soul-deep terrified.

Clem rolled over in bed and placed her forearm over her eyes. She couldn’t hide out in a stranger’s house in South Africa for ever but the thought of leaving had the breath catching in her throat, her heart pounding. She couldn’t leave until the press furore died down, and until she had some sort of plan … She couldn’t face her father, the press, the world without one.

Or that grey-eyed, six foot something of bol-shie attitude on the other side of her door.

The thing was, she’d never had to do this on her own before and she didn’t know where to start.

Jabu had met Nick after the evening game drive and accepted Nick’s offer of a beer back at his house. Nick dumped his radio on the long wooden dining table while Jabu yanked two beers out of his fridge and cracked the tops. The door to his guest’s bedroom was still firmly shut and Nick frowned at the half-eaten tub of yoghurt and the barely touched apple on a plate next to the sink.

He was going to have to do something about the redhead soon but he had no idea what.

Jabu handed him a beer and walked from the kitchen to the lounge, sliding open the doors that led onto the deck. His house was a rectangle, with the well designed kitchen, study and a home gym at the back of the house. The kitchen, dining room and lounge were all open-plan, with a long wooden table covered in books, files and rolled up maps separating the leather couches of the lounge from the kitchen counters. A flat-screen TV with an X-box attached dominated the wall and floor-to-ceiling wood and glass sliding doors led out onto the wooden deck.

It was comfortable and he liked it—a far cry from the two room shack he and Terra had shared in the early days.

Nick followed Jabu out to the deck and imitated his friend’s stance, forearms on the railing, beer bottle dangling from two fingers as they scanned the vegetation below. A herd of zebra were grazing to the right, impala were in the thick bush a little way away.

‘We need to move those rhinos we bought from up north,’ Jabu commented.

‘The translocation costs a freaking bomb. The Foundation doesn’t have the cash right now to fund it. The charity ball is in a month’s time, though … I’m hoping for some big donations to come in then. Can we wait that long?’

‘We can but I don’t know about the rhinos.’ Jabu sipped his beer and sent Nick a sly look. ‘How’s your guest?’

Nick shrugged. ‘Dunno. Haven’t seen her. She stays in her room.’

Jabu’s eyebrows lifted. ‘For two days?’

‘Hey, it suits me. She has an attitude that can strip paint off walls.’ Nick blew out his breath. ‘I don’t know what to do about her. She was a royal pain when she stepped off the plane but I can cope with that. But she’s shut herself in her room and doesn’t come out when I’m here. She’s not eating, she’s not sleeping. I hear her pacing.’ Nick took a pull of his beer. ‘I keep thinking that I should make her work, which is just crazy.’

‘Why?’

‘I doubt she’s worked a day in her life. But I keep remembering what your mother said to me when Terra … you know. That work is the best medicine.’

‘My mama is a wise woman. Crazy mad but wise. I think you’re right. Get her out of that room and interacting with people.’ Jabu pushed off the railing. ‘I must go … I need to spend some time with the kids before bed.’ He took Nick’s empty bottle and shook his head when Nick started to accompany him out. ‘Stay here. Decide what you want to do about Clem. Later.’

‘Night, Jabs.’

Nick returned back to his previous stance and looked down the steep cliff at a chattering dove on a rock halfway down the cliff. The zebras had moved off and a jackal scurried across the bank of the waterhole. The sun dropped behind the thorn trees and the subdued gold between the branches was the same shade as Clem’s hair.

He was tired of living with a ghoul. Like it or not, Clem was going to work.

It felt as if Clem had just drifted off to sleep when Nick yanked back the heavy curtains and bright morning sunlight streamed over her bed and into her eyes. She yelped and covered her eyes as he banged a cup of coffee on the night stand next to her.

‘Coffee,’ Nick told her. ‘Get up, Princess.’

Clem groaned and when her eyes focused on the bedside clock she growled, ‘It’s five o’clock in the morning.’

‘Yeah, and you’re going to be late. Get moving, Red.’ Nick grabbed her mosquito net, spun it and expertly tied it into a knot. He yanked back her sheet and stared down at her long body, barely covered by a tight cotton camisole and low-slung cotton sleeping shorts. The shirt had ridden up to reveal four inches of her flat stomach, complete with a diamond stud in her belly button. Nick immediately wanted to dip his tongue there, feel the contrast between the cool stone and her warm skin.

Clem half sat and glared up at him, pushing her riotous hair back with her hand. ‘What is wrong with you?’

Nick backed away from the bed and placed his fists on khaki-covered hips. ‘Your free ride at Two-B—what we call The Baobab and Buffalo Lodge—is over. You can wallow while you work.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ Clem sat up properly and immediately reached for the cup of coffee. She took a sip and closed her eyes in appreciation.

‘You’re going to get out of bed and do some work,’ Nick told her, thinking that he had to get out of her room before he put her to work in a very different, and far more pleasurable, way. He kept seeing places on her body, apart from the obvious, he wanted to explore. A spot on her foot underneath the fine ankle chain, the pulse point at the bottom of her throat, the place where her jaw met her neck that looked so soft, so silky.

Nick hovered by the door. ‘You’ve got fifteen minutes. We leave then, however you’re dressed.’

Clem stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. ‘No! You’re not the boss of me!’

‘How old are you? Five?’ Nick stalked back to the bed, hiding the fact that he was pleased to see some fire in her eyes, heat in her cheeks. ‘And, actually, I am. This is my house, my property, my business. In case you haven’t noticed, you are sleeping in my bed, drinking my coffee.’ He placed his hands on either side of her on the bed and deliberately caged her in. She smelt of lilies, her amazing eyes had his heart stuttering and it took every bit of willpower he had not to lower his mouth to hers.

‘So, you have two choices. You get your very pretty butt out of bed, into some old clothes—or, in your case, clothes that you don’t mind getting dirty—and get into my vehicle in—’ he looked at his watch ‘—thirteen minutes or you work in your pyjamas. If you don’t want to work, then ask Daddy to send his jet for you but, until it arrives, you will work. Are we clear?’

Clem held the cup near her mouth and he could see that her fingers were trembling. She held his gaze for a minute and he saw the realization dawn that he was as serious as a snake bite.

‘But what am I going to do? I don’t work! I’ve never worked!’ she wailed.

‘Then it’s high time you started,’ Nick suggested and told himself to stand up. He had to repeat the instruction because he was fascinated by the collection of tiny freckles on her nose. ‘Twelve minutes, Red.’

When he reached the door he heard her sigh and the rustle of bedclothes. ‘You are the most high-handed, arrogant, annoying man I’ve ever met.’

Nick grinned. ‘Well, your opinion of me is sure to deteriorate as the day marches on.’

In fact, he could practically guarantee it.

She made it to the vehicle with thirty seconds to spare and clambered over the passenger door, not bothering to try opening the door. Ha, he hadn’t thought she could get ready in time … points for me, Clem thought as she sat down, trying to avoid the broken spring.

‘What are you wearing?’ he demanded.

Clem looked down at her vintage studded denim shorts, frayed at the hem. Admittedly, she usually wore these to go clubbing in, but they also worked with the lace vest she’d pulled on.

‘A taffeta ball gown, obviously.’

‘Those shorts would be declared illegal in some countries. If you were wearing anything shorter, it would be a thong.’

‘Rubbish.’

Clem sat back and mused that she would rather eat worms than admit to Nick that she was glad to be out of the house, that his guest room was becoming claustrophobic and that she could see herself going slowly out of her mind with boredom if she stayed in there one more day.

Even his stupid Lodge and stupider vehicle and this back of beyond place were a welcome relief from the white walls and her own company. She was pretty good at sulking, even better at wallowing, but a girl could only keep it up for a finite length of time.

Yeah, she’d rather eat worms and slugs than admit that.

Clem turned in her seat. ‘So, what do you want me to do? I’m good at talking to people, so I could work with your guests.’

‘I wouldn’t let you anywhere near my guests,’ Nick said, picking up a coffee cup from between his knees and raising it to his lips. Clem sighed; she hadn’t had a chance to have any more of her coffee than a couple of quick hot gulps.

‘So, because I’m basically a reasonable guy, you get a choice of duties.’

Yeah, reasonable like the Black Friday or January sales shoppers.

‘The Baobab and Buffalo Lodge and Animal Rehabilitation Centre employs trainee game rangers and they start at the bottom of the food chain. In addition to their studies—fauna and flora—they are the general skivvies.’ Nick smiled. ‘You’re the latest intern.’

‘So, do people do this willingly or do you blackmail them into being slaves for you too?’ Clem demanded.

‘Blackmail is a harsh word but, in your case, remarkably accurate.’ Nick rested his elbow on the steering wheel. The morning sun caught his two day stubble and picked up the sun-lightened tips of his hair. He looked tough and hard in his Two-B uniform of a navy-blue golf shirt and khaki shorts, a tiny tree embroidered onto the pocket of his shirt above the company name.

This morning his eyes were the shade of moonlight.

‘Normally, I’d never give interns a choice of duties but what the hell. You can clean out the staff bar, called The Pit for a reason. On good nights you need a tetanus jab to go in.’

Clem pretended to think. ‘No.’

‘Ironing? Sheets, duvets, pillowcases.’

‘Still no.’

‘Cleaning toilets?’

‘As if.’

She couldn’t do this, Clem thought. Maybe she should just bite the bullet and go back to London. How bad could it be …? She’d be stalked and hassled by the press everywhere she went but they’d back off. Eventually.

On the plus side, there would be no cleaning, ironing and skanky bars to clean.

Clem stared at her hands and opened her mouth to tell Nick to call her father and ask him for the jet. He beat her to the punch.

‘Yeah, I thought so. You’re just good at looking decorative.’

Clem stared at him as his dismissive words sliced deeper and deeper until they hit her soul.

Temper, hot and wild, shot up from the core of her being and flashed in her eyes. ‘What did you say to me?’ she hissed.

‘I—’

‘How dare you? You don’t get to say that to me. Nobody says that to me any more.’

‘Red …’

‘I took it from him for far too many years but I will not take it from you!’ Clem shouted. Her hands gripped the edge of the ragged seat as she started to shake. Her voice was wobbly but her words were coated with determination. ‘I can take anything that you throw at me.’

Clem, feeling as if she was having an out of body experience, looked at her furious other self and shook her head. No, she couldn’t. She was a pampered society girl …

‘You sure about that, Princess?’

No, not at all sure. Clem wanted to recant but the crazy woman inside had her biting her tongue instead. ‘Do your worst.’

She looked at Nick’s handsome, amused face and his certainty that she would fail stiffened her spine. How dare he dismiss her, assume that he knew her? She was not just a pretty face. She did have more depth than the average puddle.

Maybe. Hopefully.

‘I won’t quit,’ she muttered, mostly to herself.

The man had ears like a bat. ‘Oh, you so will,’ Nick assured her.

She gritted her teeth. ‘Watch me. Do your damnedest, Sherwood.’

‘Seriously?’ Nick laughed. ‘Are you challenging me?’

‘Yeah. I’m tired of stupid men telling me what I am and am not, what I can and cannot do.’ Clem caught the speculative look in his eye and wondered if she hadn’t pushed him a touch too far.

Two voices were clamouring for air time in her head.

Just call your father and go home, the coward in her begged.

But the louder voice was more encouraging. You can do anything you want to. You’re only good at looking decorative, my sweet butt.

That voice sounded strong and powerful and sounded as if it knew what it was talking about.




CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_d4ee65be-d424-5588-8359-4f6b070b9ac7)


Luella Dawson’s blog:

So, we had a taster of the second series of The Crazy Cs from the interview I did with Cai and his new lady-love. They were in his home in LA, into which Kiki has been installed. One word, Cai—tacky! Then again, the man is taking tacky to a new art form lately.

So, was anyone more bored than me? I’ve had more fun watching mould form. Kiki is vapid and moronic and, as for that rat-on-a-rope she calls a dog? Pathetic! Come back, Clem! All is forgiven!

NICK drove into the staff village, past a building that had ‘The Pit’ stencilled across it and past the fenced off swimming pool. Veering left, away from the amenities and the houses, he made for an isolated corner, just inside the electric fence and hidden from view by a split-pole fence. He pulled the Land Rover up, hopped out and stood at the entrance.

The smell of decomposing garbage had Clem wrinkling her nose. ‘What are we doing here?’

‘This is our recycling centre.’ He led her into the enclosure, where black refuse bags were piled up on the hard packed dirt. He pulled a pair of heavy gloves off the fence and handed them to her.

Four large skips were lined up against the fence. ‘Glass, paper, tin and plastic.’ He nudged a black bag. ‘What’s in here goes in there.’ He pointed to the skips. ‘Glass in glass, paper in paper … organic matter goes on the compost heap over there. The staff are supposed to recycle but it doesn’t always happen.’

Clem, her heart sinking to her toes, shook her head. ‘Oh, no, this is too cruel. I’m wearing designer espadrilles.’

‘Hey, you said to throw my worst at you. This is it.’

Of course it was. Clem bit her lip. ‘So, I presume you’re leaving me alone here?’

‘Yep.’ Nick pulled a spare radio from his back pocket and handed it to her. ‘You’re within the electric fence so you’re good, animal wise. The radio is already set on the open channel, number two, press this button to talk. Anything you say on this channel will be broadcast to every staff member who has a radio. If you want to talk to me in private, call me and ask me to switch to channel thirteen.’

Clem took the radio and kicked the sand with her shoe, trying not to breathe. She tucked the radio into the band between her shorts and stomach and looked around, trying not to cry. ‘So, you’ll pick me up in about eight hours?’

Nick laughed, shook his head and tapped her nose. ‘No, Red, not even I am that cruel. Stick it out for the morning and we’ll call it a draw.’ He sent her a speculative look. ‘But that actually means you have to do some work, not just sitting on your butt. If you don’t work, you will do a double shift tomorrow.’

So he wasn’t a fool … She’d been planning on finding the least smelly area and waiting him out. A morning, Clem thought. She could do this for a morning. She put her hands on her hips and watched Nick walk away, then drive off. She desperately wanted to run after him but stubborn pride kept her feet glued to the spot. Then she sat down in the sand and looked around.

Crap. Figuratively.

And, obviously, literally.

7.05 a.m.

Clem, knee deep in rubbish, lifted her hot heavy hair off her neck and yanked the perspiration-covered radio from her shorts. She couldn’t do this, she really couldn’t. She wanted to go home … she wanted a macchiato, a hot stone massage, sushi. She wanted her life back, damn it!

She pushed the call button to cry uncle. ‘Nick, this is Clem.’

‘Giving up already, Red?’

I was until you said that. ‘No, I thought I’d just let you know that I think you are a loathsome toad.’

‘Switch to channel thirteen, Red, if you’re going to curse me.’

‘Oh, I haven’t even started to curse you and I think I’ll stay on the open channel. People of Two-B, your boss is a loathsome toad.’

‘You said that already.’

‘Give me a minute to come up with something a bit more creative.’

9.35 a.m.

Nick, sitting down at a table in the staff dining room, remembered that Clem hadn’t eaten yet. He sighed, thumbed his radio and called in. ‘You hungry, Red?’

Clem’s voice was sharper than the canine teeth on a leopard. ‘I’m knee-deep in fetid organic waste, gunky tin cans and soaked paper, Sherwood. Of course I’m not hungry. Tu es complètement débile!’

Nick looked up, saw the amusement on the faces of his staff and raised a hand. ‘I know I’m going to regret this, but can anyone translate?’

Janet, a junior receptionist, giggled. ‘Um, I think she called you a moron, boss.’

Nick hauled in a deep breath. Giving her a radio was not his brightest idea. ‘Channel thirteen, Red.’

‘Bite me.’

10.45 a.m.

‘Nick …’

Was he ever going to get any work done today? ‘What now?’

‘There’s a monkey.’

Nick stared at the requisition form in front of him and dashed his signature at the bottom of the page. ‘Uh huh. We have them. What’s it doing?’

‘Looking at me.’

‘Looking at you how?’

‘Um … just looking. Kind of cocking its head …’

Nick grinned. ‘Maybe it’s just surprised to see an It girl in a rubbish dump. Ignore the monkey and get back to work, Princess.’

Nick picked her up at twelve and Clem ran out to meet the Landy, barely allowing him to stop before hopping up on the running board.

‘It’s about time you got here.’

Nick put his hand to his nose when she climbed up next to him. Shaking his head, he jerked his thumb to the back seat. ‘There is no way you’re sitting next to me!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you reek? Good grief, what did you do? Roll in something dead? Sit in the back, on the edge of the back seat and as far away from me as possible.’

Clem considered refusing, then the thought occurred to her that he might make her walk home, wild animals or not. She was tired and stiff and … starving. So she climbed over to the back seat, sat on the edge and held onto it with a death grip. If she fell out and he drove over her then it would serve him right! Not that that would work for her … but she’d like to see him trying to explain her demise to her father.

Hah … whoah! She wobbled and clutched the seat in front of her. ‘Will you take it easy? I’m used to sitting on a seat!’

On the drive back to the house, Clem’s eyes kept returning to the back of his strong neck, the breadth of his shoulders. He needed a haircut and she spent far too much time looking at his hands, easy on the wheel. They were worker’s hands, she thought. Tanned, with short nails, a couple of nicks and scars. He held the wheel like she’d imagine he’d hold a woman, easily and competently, as if he’d been doing it his whole life.

She wondered how they would feel on her skin …

‘Red, we’re here.’

Nick’s voice shattered her reverie and she jerked her eyes up and looked around. They were parked on the patch of grass outside his house so she stood up and jumped down from the side of the Landy, her ruined shoes in her fingers. She looked at them and sighed … Poor shoes.

Clem started for the house but a pair of fingers snagged the waistband of her denim shorts and she was brought to a sudden halt.

‘What—?’

‘Where do you think you are going?’ Nick growled.

‘I am going to shower.’

‘You are not going into my house smelling like that,’ Nick told her, pulling her backwards. Clem twisted in an effort to get out his grip and nearly managed it until a strong arm bounded around her waist and hauled her against his chest.

Nick swore. ‘You’ve given me your stench!

Damn it, Red!’

He easily held her with one hand and grabbed hold of the spigot of the garden hose, flipping the tap open with his knee. Without warning, he dropped Clem and turned the hose on her and she gasped when a stream of cold water hit her in the face.

Clem slapped her hands to her face and turned her back to the deluge. ‘Nick!’

‘Princess?’ The water hit her shoulder, the back of her neck, drenched her hair.

‘I’m going to disembowel and string you up for the hyenas!’ she shouted in between her splutters.

‘You can try,’ Nick said, aiming the water at her bottom. ‘What on earth did you sit in, Red?’

Clem twisted to look. ‘A bag burst and I slipped. I think it’s a mixture of rotten tomatoes and cabbage.’ She tipped her head back as Nick aimed the water at her chest. ‘Actually, that’s kind of nice. It’s the first time I’ve felt cool since I got here.’

‘I think that’s a spinach leaf on your ankle.’

‘Eeew.’ Clem reached down and picked the leaf off her skin. ‘So, am I clean enough to go into your precious house?’

‘Not in those clothes. Strip.’

Clem lifted her eyebrows. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Nick looked impatient. And amused. ‘I can still smell you and ninety per cent of the smell is in your clothes. I’ll get you a towel if you’re feeling modest.’

Oh, she was very tired of that smirky smile, that expression that said he was dealing with the village idiot. He wanted her to strip?

Well, OK then …

Clem narrowed her eyes and, without removing her annoyed gaze from his face, lifted her vest and pulled it up and over her head and dropped it to the grass. Standing in her low-cut lacy scarlet bra, she reached for the snap of her denims.

Nick tried to looked insouciant but she saw the telltale muscle jump in his jaw. So she flipped open the buttons and deliberately wiggled her shorts down her legs, slowly revealing a brief pair of matching panties. The hosepipe in Nick’s hand dropped as she stepped out of the denims—destined to be burnt—and she swung her hips as she sauntered up to him.

His eyes were everywhere they shouldn’t be and, for once, she was OK with that because he didn’t notice what she was doing. In a flash she lifted the pipe and directed a stream of water at his crotch before whipping it up and directing it into his open-with-shock mouth.

Grinning, she dropped the hose and, listening to him splutter, walked into the house. She hadn’t been a lingerie model for nothing.

When Nick brought Clem back to the house it was after five and she was shattered. She showered, hopped out and could still smell the rubbish dump on her skin so she hopped back in. She’d used up half a bottle of her favourite shampoo and she still reeked of … something vile.

It had been a dismal day, she decided. After her hose down—with neither of them referring to her impromptu striptease—a shower and a huge salad sandwich in the staff canteen at lunch time, Nick had carted her off to the laundry room, where she was given a pile of sheets to iron. After she’d burnt two million-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, the housekeeper had thrown a hissy fit, picked up the sheet and cursed her in her native language. She’d been hustled out of the laundry, told that she was useless, that she was making the sheets smell and was put to work cleaning out The Pit.

That was an experience she’d rather not repeat. Not as bad as the recycling but sticky floors, grimy bar, dirty glasses. Ugh.

Clem pulled on a sleeveless sage-green patterned top, cream shorts and flip-flops and walked into the lounge, towelling her hair dry.

Nick was also freshly showered, dressed in white cargo shorts and a button down navy shirt, and he looked up from his laptop that sat on the kitchen counter.

‘Do you want a glass of wine? Or a beer?’

‘Something soft?’ Clem responded, rubbing the ends of her hair. ‘I don’t drink alcohol.’

Nick looked surprised. ‘At all?’

‘Yeah. And no, I’m not a recovering alcoholic, nor have any addiction problems. My mum was killed in a car accident and the other driver was drunk and stoned.’

Why had she told him that? Apart from the very rare comment to Jason, she never discussed her mother with anyone.

‘I’m sorry.’ Nick turned away from her and looked in the fridge. He pulled out a box of fruit juice. ‘This OK?’

‘Thanks.’ Clem watched him as he pulled out a glass and poured her juice. Their fingers brushed as he handed the glass over and sparks shot up her arm. OK, now she was just being pathetic.

Clem bunched the towel in her hand and wrinkled her nose. ‘Nick, I still stink.’

Nick grinned and her heart pitter-pattered. ‘I’m sure you don’t.’





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