Wild About the Man

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

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.