Читать онлайн книгу «Can′t Say No» автора Sherryl Woods

Can't Say No
Sherryl Woods
Audrey Nelson had heard the words “We knew we could count on you” too many times. She was known as a good sport, but to her that meant she was just a wimp! Cancelling her vacation to cover a hot-air balloon festival was the absolute last time she would give in.But Blake Marshall’s high-handed manner didn’t give her a chance to say no. He literally swept her off her feet before she could protest, and his charm made dangerous inroads into her outrage. Audrey knew Blake understood her need for control and self-respect. Could he get her to say yes to the most important question of all?


New York Times bestselling author Sherryl Woods sweeps readers away with a reader-favorite tale of finding strength—and love—in unexpected places.
Audrey Nelson had heard the words “We knew we could count on you” too many times. She was known as a good sport, but to her that meant she was just a wimp! Canceling her vacation to cover a hot-air balloon festival was the absolute last time she would give in.
But Blake Marshall’s high-handed manner didn’t give her a chance to say no. He literally swept her off her feet before she could protest, and his charm made dangerous inroads into her outrage. Audrey knew Blake understood her need for control and self-respect. Could he get her to say yes to the most important question of all?

“Everything working okay now?”
Everything was tingling, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “I’m not sure.”
“Come here and let me check.”
Audrey groaned at the seductive gleam in his eyes. “Don’t you ever think about anything else?”
Blake considered the question carefully. “Nope. Not since you turned up. Before that, my mind was entirely on this balloon race.”
“You have a fascinating array of seduction techniques, Mr. Marshall. Perhaps we should try marketing them to one of the men’s magazines. 101 Ways to Get a Woman into Your Arms.”
“I’d rather think of some way to keep her there. My technique must need work. You keep running away.”
“It should give you no end of satisfaction to know that as long as we’re up here, I won’t get far.”
“Eventually, though, we’ll have to land,” he said, his expression suddenly sobering. “What happens then, Audrey?”
SHERRYL WOODS has written more than seventy-five romances and mysteries in the past twenty years. She also operates her own bookstore, Potomac Sunrise, in Colonial Beach, Virginia, where readers from around the country stop by to discuss her favorite topic—books. If you can’t visit Sherryl at her store, then be sure to drop her a note at P.O. Box 490326, Key Biscayne, FL 33149 or check out her Web site at www.sherrylwoods.com (http://www.sherrylwoods.com).
Can’t Say No
Sherryl Woods


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

Contents
Cover (#u996c2919-3723-5064-a04a-771a38b8f4be)
Back Cover Text (#u95a4a813-712a-5011-8e47-da62e8cc19ff)
About the Author (#u896b7aac-ec68-5ff3-a174-c5cfb2fe9c7f)
Title Page (#u3a28c0df-5e59-5d11-9d7b-3f62c8e31625)
One (#u288c028b-b791-5fa3-ae74-43ade7ea7737)
Two (#u2fbfe019-f74b-50a9-a54b-bc859cac3703)
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Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

One (#ulink_b87efbc0-e4ce-5079-8cbb-cc295587ee83)


“No.”
There was a disgusting catch in Audrey’s voice. She scowled at herself in the mirror. One simple, common, everyday word and she couldn’t get it out with any authority. Ridiculous. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin defiantly and tried again.
“No!”
This time the word rang out in the tiny motel room. It was firm, emphatic, convincing. Obviously it was not the tone she had used with her boss yesterday, or she wouldn’t have been spending the start of her vacation on an assignment that held all the appeal of mud wrestling.
“Audrey, I’ve got a little problem,” Harvey had said on Thursday morning. He’d said it early, before her first cup of coffee, when he knew her resistance was at its lowest.
She had promptly clamped her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear it. When you have a little problem, it means I have an even bigger one. I’m leaving on vacation in precisely thirty-two hours—” she’d glanced at her watch “—and seventeen minutes. Whatever problems you’re having will have to wait until I get back.”
“But this won’t wait and besides, you’re going to love it,” Harvey insisted, waving his unlit pipe in her direction and beaming at her. He wore a deceptively jovial look that usually spelled doom. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Harvey Fielding wasn’t known as one of the best public relations men in the country for nothing. He’d joined the Blake Marshall Vineyards when they’d been little more than a field of grapes in the Napa Valley. Now it was one of the fastest-growing California wine companies, thanks to Blake Marshall’s genius for business and Harvey’s ingenious instincts for promoting it. He was a master at what Newsweek had described as “The Hyping of Napa Valley.” He’d been one of the first to offer tours of the winery, then gone on to add other enticements for visitors, including a moonlit champagne-and-classical-music concert series that had drawn thousands during the summer months.
Audrey had worked for the company for more than two years. She knew all about Harvey’s “once-in-a-lifetime opportunities.” The last one had plunked her in a rowboat in the middle of a freezing stream for eight solid hours with a clipboard in her shaking hands and water splashing all over her new sneakers, while a camera crew tried to shoot a thirty-second commercial that Harvey had assured her would be a snap. Not even the presence of one of television’s steamiest, most sensual actors had warmed her blood. At least they’d given him hip boots, a sexy brunette actress and a magnum of the finest champagne to hold on to. They hadn’t even offered her a sweater. She still couldn’t view the ad on television without getting goose bumps.
Harvey was not the steamroller sort of boss. He never made demands. Quite the contrary, he was subtle and persuasive. He knew exactly the right buttons to push—at least with her.
Yesterday morning, for example, his expression had sobered impressively and he’d settled his considerable bulk on the edge of her desk. He’d leaned toward her conspiratorially with that “you’re the only one who can handle this” gleam in his eyes, and Audrey automatically had tried to inch her chair out of his line of attack. Unfortunately, she couldn’t retreat to the next county fast enough. Besides, Harvey would have followed her. He was looking very determined.
“Look, I know you’re supposed to be going on vacation, but I swear I’ll make it up to you,” he said with enough sincerity to win votes from an opposition party.
“Supposed to be? I am going on vacation.” Even though she said it firmly, she could still hear the questioning lift in her voice. Damn.
Harvey hurried right on. “It’s just one of those things. Joe was supposed to handle this, but his wife—You know Kelly Marie, don’t you? A really sweet girl. Anyway, she’s expecting a baby....”
There had been this sinking sensation in the pit of Audrey’s stomach. She had sighed fatalistically and completed the sentence for him, “And Joe would never be able to forgive himself, if he weren’t around when she delivered.”
In retrospect, she knew that was the moment when she should have said no. Emphatically. Instead, thinking of poor Kelly Marie going into labor all alone, she had muttered resignedly, “Okay, Harvey, what’s the assignment?”
“The hot air balloon festival in Snowmass.” The words sort of ran together in a rush. When Harvey actually displayed overt signs of nervousness, it was definitely ominous.
“What about it?” she asked, eyeing him warily. “Are we providing the champagne? Am I supposed to pour five thousand glasses of our finest?”
Harvey scowled at her sarcasm. “No, it’s nothing like that. You won’t have to do a thing, really. Just be available. Blake’s entered in the race—it’s a damn crazy obsession for an executive, if you ask me—but we need one of the PR folks on hand to make sure the media gets anything they need about him or the company. The bio is all prepared. Joe even ran off a history of Blake’s record in these ridiculous competitions. Our boss is actually pretty good. He won down in Albuquerque this year and we weren’t around to capitalize on it. I don’t want that to happen again. All you’ll have to do is hand the press the prepared stuff and maybe do one quick release if he wins any of the events this time. I hear one of the networks will be there. You might try to set up something with them.” He peeked to check her reaction, then added, “I’d do it myself, but I’m scheduled to work that wine-tasting event in San Francisco.”
He tried to make himself sound like a nominee for martyrdom, but Audrey wasn’t buying it. She knew all about those wine tastings. Harvey’s extraordinary talents would not be taxed. What she didn’t know much about were balloon races. She tried to pin Harvey down on the details. “Simple, straightforward PR and that’s it? You’re absolutely sure? There are no hidden agendas, no arranging middle-of-the-night tête-à-têtes for the boss?”
“From all I’ve heard, Blake can handle those quite nicely on his own. As for you, you’ll get an all-expenses-paid weekend in Snowmass or Aspen. Take your pick. I’ll even consider throwing in a few extra days on the company, if you want to spend the rest of your vacation there. I hear it’s great in the summer. You can go hiking, go to the music festival, whatever it is people do in those ski resorts when there’s no snow on the ground.”
“And my nonrefundable ticket to Hawaii?”
“No problem. We’ll cover it and you can reschedule the trip for whenever you like.”
Audrey regarded him warily. There was some little nugget of unpleasant information Harvey had yet to share with her. There had to be. He was still awfully edgy. “What’s the catch?”
“There’s no catch.” He made a little cross-my-heart gesture. Audrey noticed he didn’t quite finish it, probably because he knew God would strike him dead on the spot.
“Harvey, I know you. You don’t go tossing around paid vacations unless you know there’s something I’m going to hate.”
Harvey regarded her indignantly. “Well, you will be delaying your vacation in Hawaii. I know how much you’ve been counting on it. Isn’t that enough?”
“It is for me, but I have this funny little suspicion nagging at me that it’s not enough to explain your sudden burst of generosity. What’s the rest?”
“Well, you will have to get up a little early....” At the lift of her brows, he hurried on, “But it won’t be so bad, really. It’s just for a couple of days. You’re a real trooper. You can manage.”
“Forget the snow job. How early?”
Harvey stared at the Monet print behind her desk, another ominous sign. Usually he could at least manage to look her in the eyes. Besides, he hated that print. He’d always said it was too “mushy.”
“Harvey!”
“You’ll have to be at the rodeo grounds in Snowmass by six to keep an eye on what’s happening.” He beamed at her again...unconvincingly. “But by noon you should have the rest of the day to yourself and it is only for the weekend. After that you can sleep all day, if you want to.”
“Six o’clock in the morning?” Audrey had asked in a horrified whisper. “Harvey, you know perfectly well that I can barely get my eyes open by nine. I certainly can’t function before that. Do you want to trust Blake Marshall’s public relations to a woman who’s practically comatose?”
“You won’t have to function exactly, at least not at that hour. You just have to show up, look things over, make a few contacts.”
“Sounds like functioning to me.”
“It’ll be a breeze. I promise. You know Blake’s reputation. He loves the limelight and the media gravitate to him. He’ll do most of his own public relations.”
“Then why do I need to be there at all? He’ll probably fire both of us, when he discovers you’ve hired a woman who can’t talk in coherent sentences until lunchtime.”
“You’re doing okay now.” Harvey had grinned at her and looked as though he might pat her on the head. If he had, she might very well have slugged him.
Instead, he simply said, “I want you there because Blake Marshall owns this winery. Sales are climbing and he’s a hot story, if we play it right. If he wanted the entire public relations staff to fly balloons from Snowmass to the East Coast as a publicity gimmick, we’d all be climbing into those flimsy little baskets.”
Even Harvey, who claimed more than his share of unorthodox youthful adventures, had shuddered at that prospect. “Fortunately, he seems to be willing to do that part himself. All you’ll need to do is put in an appearance and make sure the press and Blake get exactly what they need, a lot of solid PR for Blake Marshall Vineyards and his Grapes of Wrath balloon.”
“His what?”
Harvey grimaced. “I know. I didn’t pick the name. Ask him about it. Maybe it has something to do with that notorious temper of his.”
“I hope it’s because he reads Steinbeck,” Audrey had retorted, stalking off to make her plane reservations only to discover that Harvey, the smug creep, had already made them for her.
So, here she was on Friday at barely 5:00 a.m., with rain pouring down outside and the temperature hovering around 50 degrees. It was July, for God’s sakes! This was definitely not Hawaii.
Three alarm clocks strategically placed around the room and a wake-up call from the front desk were needed just to get her out of bed. She was still standing bleary-eyed in front of a cracked mirror—another ominous sign?—wondering once again why she didn’t have any of that noble strength her mother swore her name was supposed to impart. As near as she could recall, the last time she had said no effectively, she had been barely two and it was practically the only word in her vocabulary. According to her parents, it had been her favorite for quite some time. Maybe she’d used it all up.
More likely, she was just a sucker for a sob story. All that stuff about Joe’s pregnant wife, for instance, had gotten to her, played on her sympathy, just as Harvey had known it would. Five minutes after she’d left Harvey, though, she’d realized it was also so much hogwash. Kelly Marie was expecting a baby all right—in October, three months from now. She’d been sitting in her office muttering curses about her gullibility, when Joe had walked in to thank her. He’d looked worried sick.
“Kelly Marie’s been having problems,” he’d said, running his fingers through his wheat-colored hair. His freckles stood out even more than usual against his pale complexion. “The doctor wants her to stay in bed for the next three months. If she doesn’t, we could lose the baby. I just couldn’t go away, Audrey. I’m real sorry about your vacation, though. Harvey promised he’d take care of it.”
Audrey had immediately forgiven Harvey and thanked heaven that she hadn’t given him a rough time about it. It would only have made Joe feel guilty and he didn’t need anything more to worry about right now.
“You just take good care of Kelly Marie,” she’d reassured him. “I’ll work things out with Harvey. Hawaii will still be there, when I get around to it. Is there anything I can do for the two of you before I go?”
“No. Kelly Marie’s mom is helping out, too, so we’re okay. You just try to have a good time.”
She tried to tell herself that she’d instinctively sensed that Joe’s predicament was real, but that was utter nonsense. She’d said yes because being a good sport had gotten to be a habit. Her friends reminded her of that every time she crawled out of bed in the middle of the night to pick one of them up or drove across town in rush hour traffic to substitute for the baby-sitter who’d failed to show up.
Less than a week ago she had been lured into leading an entire troup of raucous Cub Scouts around Fisherman’s Wharf, and she still wasn’t quite sure how she’d gotten pulled into that! One of her friends had been a very fast talker. Putting her crying, hiccuping eight-year old on the phone to plead with Audrey had probably been the clincher.
“We knew we could count on you” was rapidly becoming a refrain that turned her stomach.
“Enough is enough,” she muttered, gesturing determinedly with her toothbrush. “No more Ms. Nice Guy. No more Understanding Woman. No more guilt when you turn down some outrageous request. Do you understand that, Audrey?”
“Got it,” she retorted sleepily and stepped into the shower. Maybe a week in Aspen wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe she could use the time to reread every book ever published on assertiveness. Maybe this time their message would sink in and she could go back to California with a new aggressive, stand-firm outlook. It was one thing to be a friend people could call on in a pinch. It was quite another to be a doormat.
By the time she’d made the twenty-minute drive to the Snowmass Village rodeo grounds, she was prepared to say an emphatic no to everything just for practice...with the possible exception of a large cup of very strong coffee.
* * *
A half hour later, with caffeine surging through her bloodstream, Audrey stepped gingerly from the shelter where a full-scale country breakfast was being served by volunteers from the Little Red Schoolhouse day care center. The rain had stopped, leaving the cool, damp air smelling crisp and pungent with the lingering scent of horses, though there wasn’t a single animal grazing in the sprawling meadow or roaming in the paddock. A sliver of bright blue sky sliced through the dark, low-hanging clouds, hinting that a spectacular dawn was about to break over the snowcapped mountains.
Pickup trucks and cars hauling trailers were pulling into the meadow, where the contestants were beginning to unload their equipment. Cursing the dampness, which was already seeping through her shoes, Audrey headed for the field in search of Blake Marshall.
She’d only met the man once and then very briefly. Yet the impression that remained fixed in her mind was of overwhelming masculinity, self-assurance that bordered on arrogance, and the startling blue eyes and curling dark hair of an Irish rogue. Even if she hadn’t seen dozens of newspaper and magazine clippings since then, she doubted she would have any trouble in spotting him. She’d need only to look for the largest circle of beautiful, adoring women dressed in the very latest color-coordinated sportswear, their flowing waves of sun-streaked hair pushed back by designer sunglasses.
As she worked her way toward the launch area, she was suddenly overcome with unexpected curiosity at the bustle of activity around her. She’d never imagined that this many people could be masochistic enough to rise before dawn. She paused as one of the contestants began to unload the cargo from a trailer.
Out came the gondola, which resembled an oversize wicker basket with an identifying number on the side. Then came a huge fan that reminded her of the kind that were once used to cool living rooms in a pre-air-conditioned era, followed by a dangerous-looking propane tank. Finally came a huge bundle of burgundy material. She eyed it skeptically. It didn’t look nearly sturdy enough to provide a means of transportation over the mountain range. In fact, it didn’t look like something that ought to get off the ground.
“Hey, you! You in the burgundy shirt.”
The husky, masculine voice came from about fifty feet away and had an imperious tone that immediately made her hackles rise. She whirled around to encounter the scowling features of Blake Marshall, hands on slender, denim-clad hips, a bright blue windbreaker stretched taut across broad shoulders. Fully prepared to offer some snappy retort, she found herself simply trying to catch her breath. He was far more for midable than she’d remembered and as sexy as the most lurid tabloids had portrayed him.
“You work for me, right?”
“Yes. I’m Audrey Nelson. I work—”
“Never mind all that,” he said impatiently. “Just get over here.”
Audrey wanted to believe that the man had an incredible memory for the faces of each and every one of his employees. In fact, for an absurd, fleeting instant, she wanted to believe he’d never forgotten their one brief encounter in Harvey’s office, but she suspected his recognition had more to do with her burgundy-colored “Marshall Arts” sweatshirt. They’d been given to members of the company softball team. The pun of its name hadn’t been the only thing wrong with that team. It had been neither strong, nor particularly adept. The mere fact that she was even on it had been a bad omen. She had reluctantly volunteered, after Harvey had told her that they were desperate—“really desperate”—for one more player to substitute in emergencies. He’d spent the first three games patiently trying to explain the rules. Fortunately she’d never had to go to bat.
“You’re late,” Blake announced as she strode slowly toward him, feeling a sudden surge of adrenaline that had nothing at all to do with the coffee. She wasn’t wild about his attitude, but that smoldering look in his eyes was something else. “I wanted the crew here at six.”
There was something wrong with that sentence, but she was too sleepy to put her finger on it. “I was here at six. I stopped to get some coffee. Is there something in particular you’d like me to do for you, Mr. Marshall?” She was deliberately cheerful and cooperative. The man was her boss, after all. There was no point in antagonizing him. Harvey had warned her he took this balloon race nonsense seriously. Maybe the media had been bothering him and he was looking for someone to act as a buffer. She wasn’t sure she was alert enough to fend off flies, much less a pesky reporter, but she was willing to try.
“You can start by opening the envelope,” he said briskly. “John will help you, if you need him.” Then he turned his back on her and went back to doing whatever mysterious task he’d been doing before he spotted her.
“I beg your pardon.” Maybe this envelope of his contained important instructions, but she didn’t see one lying around. Nor did she have the vaguest idea who John was.
He glanced over his shoulder and regarded her quizzically. “You do know how to unroll it, don’t you?”
“Not exactly.” She still didn’t even know what it was, but saw no point in giving away too much about her ignorance. It was bad enough that she was having to delve through mental mush to come up with words that made sense.
Blake shot a disgusted gaze heavenward, then grabbed the balloon—so that’s what it was—and began demonstrating. “That’s all there is to it. Even a novice should be able to do it. Where the hell did you take your lessons?”
Audrey shot him a horrified look. “But that’s not what I’m here for.” What if the damn thing got all tangled up and crashed because of something she’d done? She’d be responsible for the death of the man Fortune had described as California’s brightest young entrepreneur, one of the men to watch in the coming decade. If the courts didn’t get her, Harvey surely would. “Wouldn’t you rather I go look for some of the media?”
“What do I need with the media? They’ll be crawling all over the place once the race is over. Now, let’s haul it, woman. We haven’t got all morning. We have to get the balloon launched and out of the way, so the next group can get into the area.”
Audrey looked at the dark burgundy bundle, then glanced around at the other workers. A grizzled old man shot her an encouraging, sympathetic smile. Audrey gave him a wobbly grin and shrugged her shoulders. If Blake Marshall wanted to entrust his life to the hands of an amateur, who was she to argue? Surely she could manage a simple task like unrolling this stupid thing.
The old man moved to her side and introduced himself as John Harley. “Don’t mind Blake, missy. He’s always a little jumpy before he takes off. Just follow his directions and you’ll do just fine. He’s one of the best around at this.” He winked at her. “But if he gets too pushy, tell him off. Won’t hurt him none to be put in his place, especially by a pretty young gal like you.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember that.” It was advice she ought to hang on to. Blake Marshall had a definite arrogant streak that needed taming. Then again, she had no business being the one to try it. “Could you give me some clue about handling this thing?”
“I’d be happy to, missy.”
As Audrey set to work, fumbling over the routine task, Blake’s black eyebrows knit together in a puzzled frown. It wasn’t like his partner to send him an inexperienced crew member, not for a race as important as this one. Why the hell couldn’t he remember the name Cal had given him? Had it been Audrey? The woman had said she worked for him and she was wearing one of the company shirts, so she must be the one. Though he’d caught the tiniest glimmer of fear in her eyes when he’d assigned her the task of opening the envelope, while he went over the propane tanks and gondola.
As he completed his checks, he studied her. She was working gamely at the assigned task, and he noticed that John Harley had gone to her assistance and seemed to be giving her one of his special pep talks. No wonder. She had a helpless, if determined, look about her that appealed to something deep inside him that he’d thought had died long ago. Its sudden reawakening might have convinced him to get to know her better, if he’d met her on any other day.
Not this morning, though. Now he had to focus all his attention on getting the balloon into the air so he could judge the wind direction and speed at several altitudes. The first day’s competition was a distance race to Glenwood Springs and he wanted to win it. From the moment he had started ballooning seriously, he’d wanted to be the best. He was closing in on his goal now, but to reach it he needed a support team as skilled and intuitive as he was. This Audrey had better know what she was doing or he’d have Cal’s hide.
He shrugged and dismissed his concern as he began the task of hooking the balloon to the gondola, then turning on the fan’s generator to begin the slow inflation process. As cold air filled the huge balloon, it unfurled to reveal a graceful trail of grapes winding across the wide expanse as it might along an arbor. Grapes of Wrath was written in white, three-foot-high script around the base of the balloon. He had spent nearly twenty thousand dollars for the design and construction, and it still sent a thrill of pleasure through him when it was displayed in all its colorful majesty.
He glanced over and saw the woman was staring at the huge balloon with a spark of excitement in her eyes that hadn’t been there when she’d first joined him. With a jolt, it occurred to him that it was the expression of someone who’d never seen a balloon up close before. Dear God, surely that couldn’t be.
“What do you think of it?” he asked.
“It’s incredible,” she said with a satisfying note of awe. He told himself it was the admiration of another enthusiast for a beautifully designed, well-constructed balloon and, though he was still troubled, he dismissed his doubts again.
He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her face quite so easily, though.
Wide-eyed, she was glancing around the meadow at the splash of vibrant colors that would soon fill the sky. For the first time, Blake noted the startling violet shade of her eyes, the fringe of thick dark lashes and the gamine face with its pert nose and surprisingly full, sensual lips. They were ripe lips that tempted and lured. He immediately experienced an unexpected and disturbing tightening in his loins. With a sheer effort of will, he determinedly turned his attention to the rest of his ground crew.
“Are we all set?”
“It looks good, boss,” John Harley said. “I’ve been scouting around a little, too, and there ain’t no reason I can see why you won’t walk away with this one.”
“It’s not walking I’ll be doing,” Blake reminded the older man, who’d taught him everything he knew about balloon competition. “We’ve got to make this baby soar if I’m going to beat Larry Hammond. According to the weather service there should be some terrific air currents. All I have to do is find ’em and then hang on for the ride.”
“I wish I weren’t too damn old or I’d be up there with you. This old ticker of mine can’t take the altitude anymore. Some days I miss it worse ’n not having a woman around.”
Audrey listened to the two men talking and caught some of their enthusiasm. For the first time since she’d risen at such an ungodly hour, she felt terrific, even invigorated. It had a lot to do with the day, which had fulfilled its early-morning promise by whisking the last of the clouds away beyond the mountain range. The sun was burning off the morning chill and the azure sky was a postcard-perfect backdrop for the bright yellows, reds, greens and blues that were billowing to the height of tall buildings as they filled with cool air. Her exhilaration also had just a little to do with the man who’d been working side by side with her and John Harley. Blake’s instructions had been crisp and precise, but after his initial sternness he’d flashed her a few unexpected and thoroughly devastating smiles that had made her pulse skip erratically.
Now he hopped over the edge of the gondola and began checking the equipment for a second time, sending a stream of fire upward to heat the air in the balloon, which tugged against the tethers holding it to the ground. His concentration was intense, his finely chiseled mouth was set in a line of determination.
Audrey had never met a man who seemed to thrive so on what she considered such a frivolous challenge. She’d met ambitious men, who viewed success as the ultimate achievement with money as the only measurement. She’d met womanizers who thrilled only to the chase and left behind a wake of broken-hearted lovers. She supposed she’d even met a few men who took their games—tennis, golf, even poker—seriously. But there was a fierce, single-minded edge to Blake Marshall’s drive to win that was a bit frightening in its intensity.
It also piqued her curiosity. What made such a man tick? Why wasn’t he satisfied with the professional acclaim, the growing wealth, the well-publicized social whirl?
“Are you all set?” he was asking her now, his voice still rough with an early-morning huskiness that strummed across her nerves.
“Yes. I think I have everything I need.”
“Okay, then, why don’t you hop in?”
Audrey’s delicately arched brows shot up and her mouth dropped open.
“Hop in?” she repeated blankly.
Blake acted as though he hadn’t heard the note of horror in her voice or noticed that her complexion was turning an interesting shade of green. “Here, I’ll give you a hand.”
Before she could voice a violent protest, one exceptionally strong arm snagged her around her waist and the other caught her behind the knees. She felt herself being effortlessly lifted high in the air, then set back on her feet in the confined space of the gondola. She grabbed the sides and started to hoist herself right back out again, but Blake’s hand was firmly attached to her belt.
“Whoa! Where do you think you’re going?”
With the strength of sheer terror, she jerked free, whirled around and faced Blake Marshall, her eyes flashing with the sparks of a finely cut amethyst. This time she found the words and the emphasis that had been missing in her conversation with Harvey, the authoritative, indignant tone that might have saved her from getting into this preposterous situation in the first place.
“Let me out of here, you idiot! I am not going up in this thing!”
“It’s too late to back out now, love. When I hire a crew, I expect them to stay until the job’s done,” he said. “I want you along for this ride.” As if that settled the matter, his attention once more focused entirely on the equipment.
With Blake’s attention diverted, Audrey scrambled back toward the side. “I am not one of your crew and it is not too late,” she said, trying desperately to swing one leg up over the edge of the basket...gondola...whatever.
If only she’d been half-awake, she would have seen this coming. From the minute he’d put her to work, she would have realized he’d mistaken her for someone else. Well, she’d just have to get out of here and find that someone else for him. Either that or he could fire her. She didn’t much care, as long as she stayed on the ground where God had meant her to be.
With a dawning sense of absolute horror, she realized it was too late. The ground was receding rapidly and she felt the gentle, almost indiscernible sway of the basket as it drifted skyward. She looked from the shrinking landscape below to the flames shooting puffs of hot air above her head, then glanced out toward the mountains looming before her in the distance.
“Oh, my God,” she sighed softly, clamping her eyes shut and sinking down into a sitting position. She drew her legs up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and buried her face on her knees. “I will never, ever, not in a million years forgive Harvey for this.”

Two (#ulink_f982393b-6703-5569-9bee-f4cee3ef2c31)


Subconsciously, Audrey’s solemn vow registered in Blake’s head, and suddenly he really looked at her for the first time. She was huddled in the bottom of the gondola and clinging to her purse with the desperate, white-knuckled grip of a woman trying to prevent a mugging.
An unexpected and untimely shaft of sympathy pierced his heart and he muttered a disgusted oath under his breath. Judging from the way she was swallowing and from her ashen complexion, she was probably trying to quell the beginnings of a well-earned anxiety attack.
Why the devil hadn’t he listened to his instincts? From the moment he’d met her, he’d sensed that Audrey Nelson didn’t know a blasted thing about ballooning. Hell, she’d told him as much.
But then he’d been lured by something in the depths of those violet eyes of hers and some part of him—no doubt his self-indulgent libido—had wanted her along for the ride almost as much as he’d wanted to win the race. Blake was used to taking risks. He thrived on them, in fact. Hauling Audrey Nelson into the gondola over her protests had been a risk, but one he’d been so certain would pay off.
His well-honed self-confidence had convinced him it just might be possible to have both a victory and the companionship of the woman with the delightfully fiery temper, valiant determination and, most intriguing of all, an almost childlike sense of wonder. With some arrogantly masculine, possessive urge, he’d wanted to initiate her into the glories of ballooning and he’d simply made up his mind to do it. That same decisiveness had made him a success at business, but today it just might have gotten out of hand. If only he hadn’t felt such an unexpected and overwhelming need to hear that tart tongue of hers whispering his name, he might have stopped to think twice about what he was doing.
What an insensitive fool he’d been!
For one thing, he hadn’t counted on her sheer terror. For all of Audrey’s rather vocal protests, he’d expected eventual delight and he was still getting unfeigned panic. Obviously more than inexperience was at play here. He had to find some way to distract her, to calm her down before she fainted. He’d have enough trouble guiding the balloon without having her passed out at his feet or delivering well-aimed blows to his shins, which was what he suspected she wanted to do.
Charm, Marshall, all the tabloids say you have it.
Almost casually, he glanced down at her. Referring to her muttered threat—the last words she’d spoken—he asked, “Harvey who?”
He already suspected the answer, and he knew now why there’d been a sense of familiarity about Audrey, the allure of some elusive past connection. Obviously, he’d seen her around the office.
Blake didn’t spend a lot of time in the corporate office. He preferred the action of the fields or processing plant. The men and women who worked the fields had led tough, migratory lives until he’d given them a feeling of permanence. They worked hard with a sense of pride and dignity that he admired and respected. The men who took the grapes and turned them into wine were craftsmen. They excelled at the challenge of creating the best in a highly competitive field. Again, he found them more fascinating than the corporate desk jockeys he’d met through the years.
Spending as little time behind his own desk as he did, it was no wonder he was only beginning to suspect what Audrey’s real role was at Blake Marshall Vineyards. If she worked for Harvey, she had to be tough and competent. Like him, Harvey wouldn’t tolerate anyone who couldn’t pull her own weight.
“Harvey Fielding,” she responded. She scowled at him fiercely as she uttered the name with the vehemence of a curse. At least it had brought the color back into her cheeks. “You’d better start looking for a new PR executive, because when I get my hands on him I intend to do serious bodily damage to him.”
He fought to suppress a smile. She was maybe 110 pounds to Harvey’s 225. It ought to be an interesting battle. “Harvey’s a good man. I don’t suppose you could leave him in one piece? Maybe if you’d just relax and enjoy the ride?” he suggested hopefully.
“Not even for a hundred exorbitantly expensive bottles of your well-publicized private stock of cabernet sauvignon,” she retorted without so much as an instant’s hesitation. She was one very angry lady. In this mood, she just might be able to take Harvey on.
Blake winced. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but do you know anything at all about ballooning, or is this a first trip?”
“Do I look like I do this every day?” Audrey snapped back. “I’m not exactly convinced about the aerodynamics of a plane. This flimsy contraption isn’t even in the same league. Now that you know the awful truth about me, you can put this thing down anytime and I’ll be out of your way.”
It was a sensible suggestion. It was certainly the only way he was likely to win the race to Glenwood Springs. He couldn’t concentrate on piloting and on her at the same time. Then his eyes roved leisurely over her, darkening appreciatively as they lingered on the full breasts heaving beneath her baggy sweatshirt. His heart pounded in a way he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. It was a fine time for it to engage in acrobatics. He took a very deep breath, then made his decision.
“I don’t think so,” he said slowly.
Audrey swallowed hard, but managed a confident, direct stare that increased his admiration for her. She was definitely a gutsy spitfire. She might be scared out of her wits, but she wasn’t one whit intimidated—or fascinated—by him. It was a unique experience. Most women, especially those who were interested in his sizable bank account, went out of their way to be accommodating. They’d have declared a passionate shared interest in ballooning. Some of them actually seemed to think if they got him at a high enough altitude, he’d lose his senses and propose.
Unlike those women, Audrey Nelson depended on him for a paycheck, yet she was more than willing to tell him to take a flying leap straight out of this balloon. And she was definitely not harboring any thoughts of marriage. In fact, she was staring at him right now as though he were a particularly repulsive, if somewhat intriguing creature.
“Why on earth not?” she asked incredulously. “I thought you wanted to win this race. Harvey says you’ve got this absurd obsession about winning and after listening to you issue orders down there like a drill sergeant, I have to agree with him. You’re a little weird on the subject.”
She regarded him speculatively. “It’s not too late, you know. Most of the others probably aren’t even ready to take off yet. You have plenty of time to find the qualified person this Cal sent. I’ll just get busy on those press releases. We’ll forget this little incident ever took place.”
She gave him what she obviously hoped would be a persuasive smile. He grinned back. All that good humor—hers so clearly phony, his sincere—hung in the air.
“Do you intend to let Harvey forget?”
Her smile faded so rapidly it made him regret having brought up the subject. “Perhaps sometime in the next fifty years or so,” she said darkly. “Until then, I want him to pay dearly for getting me into this.”
“Harvey didn’t get you into this,” he reminded her. “He sent you to Colorado on a perfectly legitimate PR assignment. I hauled you into the balloon. Are you going to make me pay as well?”
Her icy gaze met his, challenged the fiery look in his eyes, then faltered. The ice melted. “I’ve already said we could drop it, if you’ll just get me back on the ground.” It was a plea of sorts, but she was trying very hard not to beg. He liked that, too.
“I have plenty of work to do down there,” she added, when he didn’t respond. “There are probably newspaper people, maybe even magazine writers from all over. We could get terrific coverage. I think I even saw a network camera crew. Harvey especially wanted me to try to set something up with them. If he doesn’t see you on the national news tonight, he’ll have my hide.”
Blake waved his hand dismissively. “Forget the releases. The press has enough background and gossip about me to fill the entire feature section.”
Her hard-won control snapped then and her eyes flashed at him angrily. “Then why the hell did you want someone from public relations out here?”
He shrugged. “You know Harvey. When he told me about Joe’s situation, I told him it wasn’t necessary, that I’d handle things myself, but the man takes his job seriously. He seems to think if he has someone around, I’ll stay in line.”
Suddenly, Audrey laughed. It began as a chuckle low in her throat. The sound rippled sensuously along his nerves, before erupting into a full-scale roar. Tears rolled down her cheeks. He watched her anxiously.
“Are you okay? You aren’t going to go hysterical on me, are you?”
The laughter died and she shot him a calculating look. “Will it get me down?”
“Probably not.”
She choked back another nervous laugh, rubbed the tears from her cheeks and sighed. “Then I won’t waste my energy.”
She studied him curiously, and Blake felt another wave of heat sear his insides. “I’m surprised at Harvey,” she said, when she’d completed her rather thorough, disconcerting examination. “He’s usually very perceptive, but you don’t strike me as the type of man who’s easily kept in line. Goodness knows, I’m not having any luck at it.”
“Maybe you’re not trying hard enough.”
A flush stained her cheeks as she caught the blatant innuendo, but she responded gamely, “Does Harvey have some special technique he failed to share with me?”
“Nope, but he does keep trying. I used to think he was worried about me, but then I figured out it was only the company. Every time my picture turns up on a tabloid at the supermarket checkout, he’s convinced our sales will plummet.”
“If you ask me, they’d probably go up. The same people who read those things for vicarious thrills will probably buy your wine just to see if it improves things for them the way it has for you. Do you realize there are probably thousands of men sipping your Chablis and expecting some incredibly sexy actress to materialize by their side?”
Blake grinned at her. “Precisely my point. The company benefits from my image. It was a calculated intention on my part that began the day I took over a failing winery and swore to turn it around. It’s probably the only PR gimmick for which Harvey isn’t responsible. Now I’m caught in my own trap. If I had my way, I’d live a quiet, secluded life-style, surrounded by five or six kids and a doting wife.”
She regarded him skeptically. “Why don’t you, then? According to the figures I put in the annual report, the company is now on solid financial ground. Surely, you no longer have to make the supreme sacrifice of dating all those gorgeous women just to keep it afloat.” She sounded as though she found the thought of all those women intensely irritating. “Maybe you’re enjoying it more than you want to admit.”
To his astonishment, he realized that her irritation pleased him. Normally he sent a woman packing at the first sign of jealousy. Instead, he found himself wanting to offer some explanation that would remove that disdainful look from her eyes. She’d obviously accepted his playboy reputation as fact and found it distasteful. He wondered if she’d believe the truth coming from him, especially when he was holding her hostage. He decided to try.
“Actually, my exploits have been greatly exaggerated. These days I’d be a fool if I behaved as irresponsibly as the press would like everyone to believe I do. Even so, doting wives are hard to come by in my particular circle of so-called friends, especially if it means living on a ranch that doesn’t even offer a Jacuzzi. Most of the women I know can’t live that far from Saks and Neiman-Marcus, much less Elizabeth Arden and their personal fitness trainer. Not one of them has any desire to see a grape until it’s been duly processed into an expensive vintage of wine.”
Suddenly he peered at her intently. “Let me see your nails.”
A dark brow lifted quizzically. “My nails? Aside from a tendency toward kidnapping, you also have some weird thing about fingernails?”
He grinned. Thank God, she was finally making jokes. He tapped her on the nose. “Just humor me. Hold out your hands.”
Like a child whose hand-washing technique was being evaluated by a critical parent, she glowered at him, but she held out her hands for his inspection. They were dainty, the sort of hands that could caress a man with a gentle, magical touch. Her short nails, just long enough for setting up shock waves along a man’s spine, were buffed to a clear shine.
“I knew it,” he said approvingly, sharply aware of the little frisson of excitement that was racing along his own spine. “You don’t spend half your life at a manicurist. Do you realize how many women go into a deep depression if they break a nail? Do you realize how often some of them change their polish to match their outfits? I’ve been left cooling my heels while some woman had her nails wrapped, whatever that is,” he muttered in bewilderment. Sometimes he wondered how he’d survived the inanity of it.
“Sounds like a tough life,” Audrey said with a touch of mockery. If he’d been expecting sympathy, he’d definitely taken the wrong tack. She gestured at the balloon. “What about this? Where does this fit in? Are all the stories about your obsession with this exaggerated, too? Is this just another public relations ploy?”
Audrey watched closely as Blake’s blue eyes instantly sparkled with unsophisticated, boyish excitement. She saw the tension leave his shoulders and the gentle softening of his lips. “Now this is something else again,” he said in that husky tone that played over her nerves like a lover’s caress. “Every word you’ve ever read about my love affair with this is probably true.”
“I don’t get it. Is it the danger, the thrill, what?”
“It’s an escape. It gives me a sense of total freedom, a release from all the pressures of work, even though it has its own challenges. I think all of us harbor a desire to be able to experience flight like a bird. This is the closest man can come.”
“It’s a little too close, if you ask me.”
“Come on now,” he chided. “Just take a look around.”
“I’d rather not,” she muttered, pointedly keeping her gaze directed at his knees, where the denim of his jeans was unexpectedly and charmingly worn and faded. Good heavens, what was wrong with her? She didn’t want to be charmed by anything about this man—not his infectious smile, his brief flashes of sensitivity and certainly not by a worn spot in his pants. “I think I’ll just stay right down here. I get dizzy standing on the first step of a ladder.”
“Come on,” he taunted persuasively. “You’re no coward.”
“Who says?”
“I do. Stand up. You don’t know what you’re missing.” He held out his hand. His fingers were square and strong, his hands roughened by work, good honest labor. Blake Marshall was clearly no pampered executive and, for all the publicity, he was apparently far more than a jet-setting playboy. She’d heard tales of his days in the fields working side by side with his men. She’d thought they were merely publicity schemes dreamed up by Harvey. Now she saw the proof. It only added to the enigma.
When Audrey took his hand at last, she told herself she wasn’t abandoning her fury at her predicament, that she wasn’t giving in. Except, perhaps, to temptation. She allowed him to pull her to her feet, then didn’t do a thing to stop him when he drew her to his side. She told herself she needed the support, especially since her eyes were clamped tightly shut again.
“Now just look around,” he urged. “Have you ever seen anything any more beautiful?”
She opened one eye and peeked. A bright yellow balloon, decorated with a large rat that reminded her rather vividly of her opinion of Harvey, hovered a few hundred feet away. A multicolored balloon was just above them to the right. Snowcapped mountain peaks beckoned from a distance, and far, very far, below were thousands of colorful specks dotting the meadow like so many wildflowers.
“People?” she mumbled in a choked whisper. “Those are people down there? Exactly how high up are we?”
“Not so far.”
“How high, Blake?”
“Maybe a thousand feet, probably less. That’s nothing. We’re just drifting now. Wait until we go over the mountains.”
She twisted around until she could get a good look at his face. He seemed to be serious.
“I am not going over any mountains,” she said adamantly. An assertive woman made her point without wavering, wasn’t that what she’d read? “Am I making myself clear? No way. You do not pay me enough money to make me go one foot higher in this thing.”
The blasted man grinned at her. “Perhaps not,” he said, “but I do seem to have you at a disadvantage, unless you brought along a parachute.”
She obviously didn’t have the knack quite yet for making herself perfectly clear. He thought she was still pussyfooting around. Like Harvey, he was just hunting for the right buttons to push. In this case, there most definitely weren’t any. She wanted to be back on the ground and she wanted to be there now! She was tired of being understanding about this little case of mistaken identity. She was tired of being patient. And she was definitely tired of floating around up here, like a dandelion caught on a breeze. The only thing she wasn’t tired of was Blake and that wasn’t something she cared to deal with.
“Blake Marshall, you take me back down there this instant or I will report you to every government agency I can think of that supports and enforces employee rights. I will charge you with harassment, unsafe working conditions, discrimination. I will dream up so many lawsuits, your attorneys will be able to retire on what you’ll have to spend to defend yourself.”
Her outburst, of which she was particularly proud, didn’t seem to faze him one whit. “Harassment, huh? Sexual harassment? An interesting idea.”
There was a decidedly wicked gleam in his eyes that suddenly made her even more nervous. Her heart, which had been ready to stop when she looked out and saw where she was, was now palpitating so fast she was sure she ought to be heading straight for an emergency room. She doubted if Blake would even bother to call Mountain Rescue. His mind seemed to be on other things. Her mouth, for instance. He seemed to find it fascinating.
His arm, which had never loosened its firm grip on her waist, tightened just a bit and his head lowered ever so slowly. She could see the kiss coming, could feel the warm whisper of his mint-scented morning breath against her cheek and she was powerless to stop it. Blast it all, she didn’t even want to, which was the worst trick yet this morning. What good did it do to say no, when your whole body was shouting yes? Blake was a perceptive man. He obviously heard those shouts all too clearly.
She caught the triumphant gleam in his eyes just before his lips covered hers, slanting heat across trembling moistness. She had just a fraction of a second in which she might have managed a half-hearted objection, but it stuck in her throat as his mouth teased gently and then possessed, taking away not only her breath, but all thoughts of protest. In fact, there wasn’t a rational thought left in her head as she gave herself up to the most provocative, enticing sensations she’d ever experienced.
Maybe it was the altitude. More likely, it was Blake Marshall teaming up with her suddenly rampaging hormones. Whatever it was, the kiss left her weak and chastened and just about willing to do anything the man suggested, short of jumping out of the gondola at one thousand dead-on-crashing feet. For a woman who’d planned to spend the next week learning to be assertive, it was obvious she’d failed the first lesson. Worse, with Blake’s arms tight around her, she didn’t even mind.
Then the phrase “good sport” crept into her mind, followed by “understanding woman.” It was like hearing a battle cry, with enemy troops just over the crest of a hill. She put her hands against Blake’s rather solid chest and shoved with all her might.
“You have some nerve!” she said indignantly, when she could manage to get a word out without sounding all breathless and fluttery. “Is this how you seduce your string of women? Do you get them up in one of these dumb balloons and then take advantage of them, when they don’t have anyplace to run?”
“At the risk of sounding egotistical, most women I know aren’t interested in running.”
“Well, I am. I don’t even know you. I do not go around kissing strangers.”
“Then I guess we’ll just have to change that, won’t we?” he said with absolute calm as he shot another blast of hot air into the balloon.
Audrey had seen enough by now to know that the hot air sent them up, not down. Her stomach rolled over. “Change what?” she asked, regarding him warily.
“The fact that we’re strangers.”
Audrey didn’t want to be disagreeable, not if it would end her captivity at a height that made her head swim. “Fine. We’ll meet later for drinks. After the race. A friend told me about this great little outdoor café in Aspen. We can have a drink and celebrate your victory.”
“Why wait?”
Good question. He’d already heard most of her salient answers and he wasn’t particularly impressed with them. She tried one last time to remind him of the race. Not so long ago it had been all-important.
“How much talking will we be able to do, if you have to keep your mind on the race?”
One brow arched. “You could help. Working side by side often makes a relationship much stronger.”
She folded her arms stubbornly across her chest. “Not on your life.”
“Then I can probably manage to do two things at once.” His glance slid over her with provocative slowness. His voice softened to a purr. A little more oomph and it would have been a predatory growl. “If I couldn’t and had to choose, though, I think I’d opt for getting to know you.”
Her pulse leaped crazily.
Flattery, Audrey, that’s all it is, she told herself. A man resorts to insincere flattery when he’s losing his case. All she had to do was muster a few more convincing arguments along this line and she’d be down on the ground in no time and Blake would be soaring on to another victory. Harvey would have his publicity coup and she would have her sanity, to say nothing of keeping her limbs in one piece.
Then, Blake lifted his gaze to meet hers and her optimism faded, along with rational thought. There was a depth of sincerity in his eyes that rattled her more than anything else that had happened all morning. Her mouth dropped open in astonishment, then her heart began to pound.
Oh, sweet heaven! she thought, her eyes widening in dismay.
There was absolutely nothing more disconcerting than a man who switched obsessions when you were least expecting it. She had the oddest feeling that she wouldn’t feel one bit more panicky, if he’d suddenly announced that the bottom was about to drop out of the gondola.
In fact, she was beginning to think that was the only way she was ever likely to get back down to earth.

Three (#ulink_49b721be-2fcd-5c05-a4d0-cc902a709afd)


A disembodied voice that she didn’t want to believe came from heaven—though it wouldn’t have surprised her the way her day was going—suddenly penetrated Audrey’s consciousness.
“That’s the last of the competitors lifting off the ground now, folks. In another five minutes, this year’s Snowmass Balloon Festival will officially get underway.”
Audrey peered cautiously over the side of the gondola and saw the announcer perched on top of the shelter, a microphone in his hand, his legs swinging over the edge of the roof. His blithe little announcement made her blood run cold. She’d been arguing with Blake for the better part of an hour to no avail. Five minutes didn’t seem like nearly long enough to come up with a clincher.
The announcer went on with what she thought was disgusting enthusiasm. “Today’s event is an unusual one, a long distance race, with the winner being determined by the distance achieved. For those of you who plan to follow on the highway, keep an eye on that blue and gold balloon piloted by Larry Hammond of Austin, Texas, and on the Grapes of Wrath, piloted by Blake Marshall, who makes that excellent California champagne you’re all sipping today.”
Nice PR, Audrey thought instinctively, then wondered about the announcement’s overall implications for her under the current circumstances. She didn’t have to wonder for long.
“Word has it these two men have been locked in a fierce competition on the circuit this year. Right now, they’re tied. This weekend’s three events will break the deadlock, so you can bet they’re going to give us a hell of a race.”
Audrey’s startled gaze shot to Blake’s face and caught the grim expression as he surveyed Larry Hammond’s balloon. Unexpected sympathy welled up and replaced both her irritation and her single-minded concern about her own safety.
“This race isn’t just for fun,” she said. “It’s much more important to you than you’ve been admitting, isn’t it?”
Blake refused to meet her eyes. “I’ve been after Larry Hammond for the past five years, practically since the day I started ballooning. This year I’ve finally caught him,” he said in a neutral tone.
Despite his apparent indifference, she could see the tension in his shoulders. She also thought she could sense his disappointment. He had to know he was giving up his shot at a victory by keeping her with him.
“Then why on earth don’t you give yourself a real chance? Get someone up here who knows what they’re doing.”
Blake shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t respond. They were hovering just a short distance above the ground now, too high for Audrey to jump, but low enough for her to seriously consider it. She could see John Harley and the rest of Blake’s ground crew waving frantically and pointing at a man in their midst, who was obviously supposed to be where she was. Despite the sparks between her and Blake, and because of those fiery dragon’s flames shooting above her head, she would have gladly traded places with him.
She caught a flicker of temptation in Blake’s eyes, but it vanished almost as quickly as it had come. He gave her a jaunty grin. “I think the two of us can do it.”
“Blake!” She uttered his name with an exasperated moan. “What on earth is with you? You’re certainly not being very practical. Unless having me around for ballast is a help, I won’t be of much use to you.”
“If you work for Harvey, then you know how to take directions. I know what a stickler for details he is.”
“Harvey knows my limitations. He has never asked me to fly a balloon before,” she pointed out. “He’s stuck with the simple stuff like writing press releases and pulling together the annual report. The most daring thing he’s ever asked me to do was to choose the ink for the company stationery. Even then, he was very nervous until he saw that I hadn’t picked orange.”
“Just think of the absolutely fascinating, realistic press release you’ll be able to write, after you experience this firsthand.”
“Part of the joy of being a writer is that I get to use my imagination,” Audrey countered.
Blake parried right back, not with words, but rather with a thoroughly bewitching smile. His lips curved into soft temptation. His eyes dared her. And all of her polite, sensible arguments promptly stuck in her throat.
“Please,” he said, his voice thick with husky persuasion. “Won’t you just give it a try? For me? I promise you’ll be safe. The last thing I’d ever want to do would be to put your life at risk.”
For the first time since this crazy odyssey had begun, he actually appeared to be giving her a choice. Yes or no, it was as simple—and as complex—as that. Could she say no to him? Could she turn down a man who was willing to sacrifice a dream just to keep her at his side? Could she break with twenty-seven years of tradition as a good sport?
The last one brought her up short. A good sport? She was back to that again. Her head screamed at her to take a stance this time, to say no just this once to prove she could do it, to say it forcefully without wavering. Then she met Blake’s hopeful gaze and caught his enticing half-smile.
“Well?” he said softly.
She looked determinedly at the ground below, at the mountains ahead, and tried to give her intellect—and her nervousness—full rein, but her heart was clamoring for equal attention. For some utterly insane reason, it seemed to want to stay up here with a man who had absolutely no scruples. She’d never realized she had a latent suicidal streak, to say nothing of incredibly bad taste in men. Blake might be considered quite a catch by most women, but by her standards he was no better than a presumptuous rake.
“What the hell,” she muttered at last. “Let’s give it a shot.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she groaned, turned away and pounded on the side of the gondola. The willow ridges cut into the soft side of her fist. The pain was almost welcome.
“Poking a hole in this isn’t a particularly good idea,” Blake said casually. “Care to explain why you feel the need to try?”
She peered over at him. “You’d never in a million years understand.”
“As soon as we get this thing moving, why don’t you try to tell me? I’m a pretty good listener.”
The last thing Audrey wanted to do was inform a man who clearly had a will of iron that she had a backbone with all the resilience of overcooked spaghetti. If he was around her for long, he’d figure it out for himself, a prospect that didn’t please her. In fact, it had occurred to her more than once this morning that while she might be increasingly attracted to Blake, he was absolutely the last man on earth she should ever consider looking at twice.

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