Outback Angel

“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,” she pronounced philosophically. “I insist now we hold to our agreement. From all accounts you need me.”

“What do you mean?” For a moment hostility held sway. Had she heard some unkind comments about Stacy’s lack of organisational skills?

“No need to bite my head off. I’m only saying, there’s very little time to find my replacement even if I’d allow it. And I do have your initial cheque. Banked,” she stressed.

“Is there any possibility you might accept it as compensation?” His expression hardened while he waited for her answer.

“None whatever. I’ve come, Mr. McCord, and I’m going to stay,” she announced, exuding determination. “What’s more, you’ll find no fault with me. I intend to work as hard as I know how.”

“Better yet you might think of a uniform.” He glanced meaningfully at her well-endowed body, fighting down those unwelcome flares of excitement. “Keep it simple. Nothing revealing.”

“You’re very timid around women, aren’t you?” She glanced at him sidelong. The man had sex appeal coming out of his ears. “Possibly you’ve had a bad experience?”

“One, but it was a long time ago. A femme fatale like you,” he countered suavely, not allowing her to take a rise out of him. “You must understand your staying depends on true-blue behaviour, Miss De Campo.”

“Angelica, please,” she begged. “Angelica. Angie. I get both. But I’m not sure I know what true-blue behaviour is.” She widened her beautiful eyes.

“It’s not playing around,” he explained. “Excuse the expression.” To his consternation he found he was unable to look away from her luscious mouth.

Surprise flickered into her eyes. “You know you’ve got it all wrong.” She gazed back with considerable appeal. “Huntley grabbed me,” she told him simply. “I was such an idiot to go with him.”

“Were you attracted to him?” It seemed both monstrous and bizarre.

“Lord, no!” She shuddered, making the clingy little top climb higher around her golden midriff. “Men like that I don’t give the time of day.”

“Really?” He’d heard something like this before. “Forgive me if I have to wonder why you were allowing him to maul you?”

“He was, wasn’t he?” she agreed dismally. “All that grappling. I still remember the tumble on the couch. It wasn’t my fault, I swear. But the way you were looking at me made me feel quite worthless. Odd to be innocent but found guilty.” She pushed back tight little damp curls, marvelling at the heat. “He found an excuse to get me into the study. I was working with a colleague that night doing the catering.”

“Did he send you a little note?”

“He spoke to me. He was the host. He was a big burly man who’d been tossing drinks down.”

“I wouldn’t call you little.” Extravagantly beautiful, maybe.

“Mr. McCord, I’ve been insulted about my height all my life,” she groaned.

“I don’t believe that at all.” She had to be fishing for compliments.

“Everyone called me Shorty at school. I know they were only joking but it hurt at the time.”

“I suppose being so beautiful you needed the odd remark.” The heat of the day wasn’t bothering him, he was used to it, but he indicated they should move further under the shade of the trees. God help him if he actually touched her. She was dynamite. “Miss McCord, I don’t feel in the least sorry for you,” he told her briskly. “You’re gorgeous. Have no doubts. One reason why I’m extremely anxious about taking you out to Coori.”

“So when do we get started?” she asked with a surge of hope, absent-mindedly crumbling a dry eucalyptus leaf between her fingers, so she could enjoy the sharp nostalgic scent.

“The plane is over there.” He pointed back through the trees to the light aircraft strip. It just so happened his was the only one there.

“My goodness! Unreal!” She gave a little gasp of admiration. “Your own private jet.”

“It’s not a jet, as you very well know. It’s a Beech Baron.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, absolutely fascinated.

“Thank you.” A shower of dry gum leaves suddenly fell from the trees, but he resisted the powerful impulse to brush them from her hair.

She shook her head, dislodging the burnished leaves herself. “Pardon my asking, but you don’t have a lady friend to pull this off?”

“What off?” he retaliated sharply.

“Why, your functions, of course,” she answered mildly. “I understand your stepmother and your sister, Gillian, are a little nervous about handling something so big?”

“Nice of Isobel to tell you.” So they’d discussed it. Why not?

“She had to tell me,” she answered with mild reasonableness, obviously a sunny-natured woman. “Not every woman wants to plunge into lots of catering activities. Fortunately for you, it so happens I love it.”

“So I can point the finger at Isobel for telling you about my so-called lady friend?” He unleashed a certain toughness.

“Don’t get cross,” she coaxed. “You probably have no idea how ferocious you can look.”

That rocked him. “I’ve hardly said a word.” He imagined a situation where he could simply pick her up and carry her off, caveman-style.

“You obviously don’t mind getting personal?” She came a step further, strangely appealing in her tallness.

“I fail to see what’s personal about that.”

“Talking about the length of my skirt was. Your lady friend is a fellow rancher, I understand?”

He marvelled at her cheek, giving her a cool stare. “You’re not getting paid to ask questions like that, Miss De Campo. As it happens, I’m a committed bachelor.”

She didn’t know if he was telling the truth or having her on. Not the time, really, to tell him he could very well be the man of her dreams. That would come later. Now she settled for, “You don’t look like one.” Indeed he looked like the hero of some big-budget adventure movie. The sort who kept a woman’s eyes glued to the screen.

He didn’t appear to be taking her seriously. In fact he moved off abruptly in the direction of his lovely plane, causing her to utilise some of what she thought of as her beanstalk height to catch up.

Equally abruptly, he turned back, smiling so tigerishly, he surprised her into slamming into him. Multiple little shocks like a charge of electricity rippled through her; a little sound suspiciously like excitement escaped her. The big cat’s eyes swished over her.

“And you know them all?”

Angelica felt his condemnation like an actual burden. She didn’t care how long it took, she’d convince him there’d been absolutely nothing between herself and Trevor Huntley, no matter what his eyes had deceived him into thinking. Things weren’t always what they seemed yet he’d already brought in a verdict. It was awful to be accused of a crime like indecent exposure when one was perfectly innocent.

“So what about my luggage?” she prompted, although she’d just remembered it herself. Some measure of proof her customary aplomb had collapsed. “Surely you don’t intend taking off without it?”

He laughed, a sexual sardonic sound. Something he was good at. “If all your clothes are as brief as what you’re wearing,” he observed, “I’m surprised you’re not carrying it over your shoulder.”

Good-natured as she was, she couldn’t contain a flicker of temper. “Obviously you don’t realise what’s going on in women’s fashions. I expect it comes with the landscape. You’re a very long way from the big city.”

“Which doesn’t mean I don’t get there part of the time to catch up.” He hesitated a moment, his gleaming gaze speculative. “Any chance you’ve packed a few things a couple of inches longer?”

She responded sweetly though sparks were crackling between them. “To bring all this off successfully, and I so want to, Mr. McCord, perhaps I could arrange a showing of my wardrobe for you. You could tell me what you like and what you don’t. The kind of thing a nice girl wears. We could talk about it.”

His amber eyes sparkled with half malice, half amusement. “Which calls for time I don’t have. You are the same woman I spoke to on the phone?”

“You have doubts?” She seemed to be gravitating towards him, drawn by his powerful magnetism.

“It is a concern,” he mocked. “You don’t seem like my initial choice.”

“I’m me, I can vouch for it.”

The handsomely defined mouth compressed. “In that case, you’d better come along. Your luggage, unless it’s been stolen, should be beside the plane by now. I know the guy who drives the van.”

“Let’s hope he’s not a cross-dresser,” she joked.

“I beg your pardon.” He paused to look down at her, eyes narrowed.

“I said—”

“I know what you said.” Despite himself he had to laugh. Whatever else the ravishingly wanton Miss De Campo might prove to be—and he just knew she was going to be an extravagant handful—she wouldn’t be dull. That’s what he had liked about her in the first place.

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