Tycoon's Terms of Engagement
Natalie Anderson
The Winner Takes All… To notorious tycoon Jack Wolfe, billion-dollar deals are his lifeblood. So no one is more surprised than he is when his meeting with Australia’s most stylish blogger Steffi Johnson gets completely out of hand! He wants to buy her blog but, fascinated by her latent sensuality and too-smart mouth, he can’t resist making an entirely different offer…Steffi’s torn – she can’t afford to jeopardise the business deal, but Jack’s touch ignites a desire that is as addictive as it’s overwhelming! She recognises the demons driving him – it takes one to know one – but can she make this deal with the devil and walk away unscathed?Discover more at www.millsandboon.co.uk/natalieanderson
‘You’re not allowed to touch your phone. Nor am I allowed to touch mine,’ said Jack. ‘Not for the next six hours. Not even if they ring or beep or spontaneously combust.’
‘Six hours?’ They were going to be out that long?
‘That okay?’
‘I… I guess.’ It was better than staying the night, right?
‘First to cave loses.’
‘Loses what?’
His sudden unexpected smile was too wicked for her liking.
‘What you should be asking is what the winner receives.’
Stephanie turned in her seat, her heart drumming heavy-metal style. ‘What do you win if I cave?’
‘A taste.’
‘Of…?’
‘What do you think?’ he asked, too softly.
‘My blog is ready to be bought but I’m not on the table, Mr Wolfe,’ she breathed, trying to be icy. And failing.
‘Not yet—and it’s Jack.’
‘Not ever, Mr Wolfe.’
‘You’re afraid I’ll bite? I won’t. I’m talking about one kiss.’
She stared at him. He was driving along as if he hadn’t a care in the world. As if he hadn’t just suggested something wildly inappropriate. And so wildly tempting.
Finally he glanced over at her. ‘You can’t tell me you haven’t considered the idea already.’
NATALIE ANDERSON adores a happy ending—which is why she always reads the back of a book first. Just to be sure. So you can be sure you’ve got a happy ending in your hands right now—because she promises nothing less. Along with happy endings she loves peppermint-filled dark chocolate, pineapple juice and extremely long showers. Not to mention spending hours teasing her imaginary friends with dating dilemmas. She tends to torment them before eventually relenting and offering—you guessed it—a happy ending. She lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, with her gorgeous husband and four fabulous children.
If, like her, you love a happy ending, be sure to come and say hi on facebook/authornataliea, on Twitter @authornataliea (http://Twitter.com/authornataliea), or at her website/blog: www.natalie-anderson.com (http://www.natalie-anderson.com)
Tycoon’s Terms of Engagement
Natalie Anderson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#ua9bdc3ab-6606-58a7-be63-dfdde5d35ca8)
Excerpt (#u20e9d407-4fdf-5c62-909b-bd1a38e19455)
About the Author (#u7060b069-66e2-5475-bcf1-8d792d3bd1de)
Title Page (#uc18bdb47-d07a-5c5f-8cd6-27f1d9ded9e2)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_bf002854-3c61-5af3-ad96-e7994c83de7f)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_3a4ebffd-ef4c-53d1-9e78-f57c827e87f4)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_99fcb9c7-5a88-5130-a565-85370d624d60)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_7307bf2a-017a-5ab5-8c3b-ed2e7d2fe8f9)
‘YOU’RE NOT TO leave me alone with him, you understand?’ Stephanie Johnson—Steffi Leigh to her quadrillion blog subscribers—closed the passenger door and glared at her best friend.
‘Stop stressing. It’s not like he’s dangerous.’ Tara rummaged in her oversized handbag as she walked round to the footpath, not bothering to look up or to lock the car.
‘He’s more than dangerous. He’s like God,’ Stephanie argued. Because Jack Wolfe held her whole world in his hands. ‘And you know I can’t keep the act up for long.’
Long enough for the ninety-second vlogs she recorded in the corner of her bedroom—sure. But staying as ‘Steffi Leigh’ for a three-hour meeting out in the real world? She hadn’t a hope. At least not without help.
Absently she nibbled on her fingernail, only to get a bite of fabric. Ugh. She’d forgotten she was wearing sleek white gloves—their purpose to hide the chewed-to-the-quick ugliness of her nails. Her whole vintage look was to hide her real, slightly screwed-up self.
‘Well, if you’d stop rubbing your face…’ Tara stepped in close, her blusher brush raised like the weapon it was. ‘And stand still…’
As if that was possible. Her kitten-heeled shoes were half killing her toes, her stomach was churning and she was freezing, despite the weather app on her phone reckoning it was thirty-two degrees already. Stephanie waved Tara’s annoying brush away and checked the time on her phone again.
‘Let’s go. We can’t be late.’ She didn’t need the blusher—she’d probably turn beetroot the second he asked her a tricky question.
As she turned towards the hotel her panic sharpened. She was going to give herself away in the first five minutes… Because Steffi Leigh was all fiction. And Stephanie Johnson was a phony.
‘Of course you can be late,’ Tara scoffed, burrowing in her bag again. ‘You’re Steffi Leigh. You’re going to make an entrance.’
Stephanie winced. That was going to happen anyway, given she looked as if she’d just stepped out of a nineteen-fifties sewing catalogue—all full-skirted dress, nipped-in waist, kid gloves, kitten heels and pin-curled hair. She could see people driving past and turning their heads, probably wondering if it was a photo shoot—what with the make-up artist touching up her face on the street.
If only she was a model. If only she wasn’t going to have to speak and try to sell her site as some stellar investment.
‘Stephanie.’ Tara looked up and eyeballed her. ‘You can do this. You need to.’ Tara smiled. ‘You’ve got to get on with your life.’
Stephanie looked at her friend and a fatalistic determination sank into her bones. Yeah, she could do this. Because she had to—not for her life, but her brother’s.
She tucked her phone into her vintage bag, squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She was Steffi Leigh, and today she’d do the best job of staying in character ever.
Fake it. Make it. Rake it in.
She walked the few yards to the grand columned entrance. The Raeburn Hotel was one of the oldest, and definitely the most glamorous of Melbourne’s many five-star hotels, and the venue for her meeting with Jack Wolfe, CEO of the massive global media conglomerate that been publishing the world’s most popular and trusted travel guides for years. His company had transitioned well into the online environment, and he was interested in talking to her about her blog.
Monetising had been a key word in the blogging/vlogging/have-your-own-channel world of the internet for years now. Anyone could start yapping online, but getting people to part with their cash to hear what you had to say…? That was the Holy Grail.
But right now an even better grail was within her grasp. Because it wasn’t just a few followers wanting to pay her a couple of dollars a day, or funds from the few ads she could bear to have littering her design, it was a famous heir to a fortune offering a bundle of cash for the lot. And Stephanie was willing to do almost anything to get her hands on a decent amount of money. It was the only hope she had left to lift her brother out of his downward spiral. To get him into study, get his life started again.
A one-off instant cash offer would be incredible.
So Jack Wolfe could never know how much of a faker she was. That the huge platform she’d somehow accumulated was built on a façade that she projected from one corner of her small bedroom. If anyone ever saw the rest of the room…
The CEO of Wolfe Enterprises certainly wasn’t going to. Jack Wolfe was getting nothing but the façade for a few hours. She had to get him to buy it. Literally.
She smiled as the liveried attendant held the door for her, then paused for a moment, trying not to blink in naive appreciation of the marble-columned lobby. It had been a while since she’d got out. And never had she spent much time in a place as opulent and expensive as this.
‘I’m just nipping to the little girls’ room,’ Tara murmured.
‘Now?’
‘Your brother barricaded himself in the bathroom so I didn’t get a chance to go before we left.’ Tara shrugged.
Stephanie forgot the glorious surroundings and stared at Tara in horror. ‘You didn’t tell me that. Was he okay?’ She’d thought Dan had been sleeping. Even now, months since his last operation, he needed his rest.
‘He was fine. He was sulking.’ Tara fossicked in her bag again, as if she’d dropped the Hope Diamond in there. ‘Jeez, that boy knows how to play you.’ She looked up and sent Steffi a disapproving look. ‘Put the phone away. You don’t need him emotionally manipulating you two seconds before this meeting.’
‘He doesn’t emotionally manipulate me.’ Stephanie paused, her phone in her hand, embarrassed that Tara knew she’d been about to call and check up on him.
Tara shook her head and strode to the bathroom, barely watching where she was going, still searching for that elusive lost item in the bottom of her bag.
‘He doesn’t,’ Stephanie muttered under her breath, and clicked her phone to check the time on the screen. And to make sure there were no messages from Dan.
There weren’t.
She didn’t know whether that fact ought to make her worry more.
But Tara had been right—now wasn’t the time. Dan would have to wait a couple of hours. It was for his benefit that she was here. She’d head to the reception desk and get them to let Jack Wolfe know she’d arrived, and hopefully Tara would be back before he made it downstairs.
As she walked towards the beautifully clad reception staff she couldn’t help noticing a lone man standing with his back to her at the far corner of the lounge area. Sleek leather briefcase in one hand, he was talking into his phone. His stance emanated strength… his attire denoted power. And his American accent carried across the clear space.
‘I don’t care if he’s busy. I’ve waited long enough,’ he snapped. ‘Arrange it. Now.’
Turning, he stabbed his phone screen and then shoved it in his pocket.
Stephanie lifted her brows at the brusque arrogance of his demand. He was definitely used to giving orders, but he didn’t do it nicely. Curious to see his face, she kept an eye on him as he turned towards the rest of the room. Dark-haired, tanned, ocean-blue eyes. He’d be attractive if all that anger wasn’t radiating from his rigid posture.
He was looking down, but even so she could see the stark expression building in his eyes. Her footsteps faltered as she registered that he was feeling more than angry. He looked hurt. For a moment he looked utterly exposed, and the depth of his unhappiness stole her breath. A flood of sympathy rose unbidden, puckering her heart. For such a man to look so defeated, no matter how momentarily, it had to be something bad. And she understood bad. She knew heartache intimately.
He stiffened suddenly and looked up, across the short distance, right at her. Totally catching her gawping.
Instantly his expression changed. Closed. Hardened.
His blue eyes narrowed, focusing. And then to her astonishment he looked her over—slowly, blatantly—appraising every inch of her. All the way from her kitten-heeled feet to her perfectly curled hair.
Stephanie stood frozen, shocked, and just blinked back at him as he dared sum her up in one stare. His lips pressed into a thin line and his demeanour implied a total thumbs-down. He couldn’t have looked less impressed—or more hostile.
Okay, so she wasn’t Top Model striking, or Cosmo cover potential, but she wasn’t bad. And with Tara having worked her magic she was more than passable. And even if she wasn’t, his visual disapproval and dismissal was just plain rude.
Was he angry because he was embarrassed that she’d heard him? Or that she’d seen him looking upset for a second? She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop—he’d been the one who hadn’t had the courtesy even to try and refrain from letting the rest of the world hear his conversation.
Now she couldn’t be sure she’d seen such bleakness in his eyes. And had she really, just for a moment, felt for him?
Well, she wasn’t going to let him know he’d pierced her pride. Summoning every ounce of Steffi Leigh, she sent him her most sparkling smile—albeit insincere. Without waiting to see his reaction she turned her back on him and his wordless judgement and walked over to the receptionist.
‘Could you please let Jack Wolfe know that Steffi Leigh is here to see him?’
‘I’m Jack Wolfe.’ A deep voice interrupted just behind her.
Stephanie’s heart sank. But her already tense muscles braced even more. She’d known it—the accent had warned her. She just hadn’t wanted to be right.
She smiled her thanks to the receptionist, but the woman wasn’t paying her any attention—she was too busy making eyes at the man who’d spoken.
Yeah, he was like that—vacuuming up the sexual attention of every woman in the vicinity.
Quelling the nerves churning her stomach, Stephanie turned to face him.
The Wolfe Guides were geared towards the independent traveller. Those infinitely cool types who managed to travel around fifteen countries for nine months with only a small backpack on their backs and yet looked hip and stylish every step of the way. But Jack Wolfe wasn’t in a quick-dry shirt. He wore a made-to-measure, made-to-perfection suit. And he definitely had to have chosen the shirt to complement his eyes and make their blue even more blindingly brilliant.
‘You look exactly as you do in your blog profile, Ms Leigh.’ He didn’t make it sound as if it was a good thing.
So he’d recognised her and had still looked at her with such cold dismissal? Nice.
‘Please call me Steffi,’ she invited with crisp politeness, extending her hand. She’d start over. Pretend that intense moment had never happened. Ignore his rudeness.
‘Not Steffi Leigh?’ He took her hand in a firm grip.
‘Just Steffi is fine.’
A pulse of energy shot into her fingers and up her arm, making her glad of the gloves. Because even through the cotton she could feel the warmth and strength of him and she couldn’t tear her gaze from his. It had been too long since she’d looked such a handsome man in the eye. Okay, she’d never actually seen such a handsome man in real life before.
She’d never actually gone weak at the knees before either.
It was nerves, right? Or some Neanderthal woman instinct—to be drawn to the most powerful male in the room… She could use her brain better than this.
Tara had been wrong. This man was dangerous.
‘Is Steffi short for Stephanie?’ he asked.
She nodded, withdrawing her hand as quickly as she could. No one called her Stephanie now, aside from her brother. And only then when he was mad with her. Which was, unfortunately, quite often.
‘Stephanie is a lovely name,’ he said. But the chill in his voice undermined any chance his comment had of being a compliment.
And what, exactly, was he implying about her pseudonym, then? Stephanie ground her teeth even as she maintained her smile and channelled her alter ego.
Steffi Leigh always acted as if anyone could be wrapped around her little finger. Just because this guy looked as if he was made from titanium, it didn’t mean she couldn’t pretend.
‘Shall we snap a selfie to record the moment?’ She forced a laugh. In terms of coming up with content, getting pictures for her social media accounts nearly killed her—this would be a good one.
‘No.’
Flat. Uncompromising. Unimpressed.
Way to start, Steffi. She nibbled the inside of her cheek, momentarily set back. But the ‘Steffi Leigh’ scene was what he wanted, right? This was the deal—the personality and pop culture vibe was what he wanted to buy.
‘No? I’ll go solo, then.’ She wasn’t going to let him crush her. She held out her phone and quickly took a shot. She’d never use it, but he didn’t need to know that.
‘You do that often?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘I do whatever it takes.’ She smiled at him, refusing to hear the sarcastic, slightly improper thread to his question. ‘My followers enjoy my pictures.’
Most of her pictures didn’t actually feature her—usually she put together some quirky set piece with a new product, or made a meme to amuse.
‘Are you going to spend the next two hours tweaking the image with filters and Photoshop?’ he asked.
‘I don’t do that either. Most of my photos are unfiltered.’
He looked at her—another slow appraisal, up and down. ‘Yes. That I can believe. You obviously took the two hours to apply filters in real life.’
Actually, that wasn’t far from the truth. Her perfectly blended layers of concealer, foundation, blusher, powder and eyeshadow had taken Tara almost two hours, and Stephanie was sure it was melting off already.
What was this guy’s beef? Why be so pointed when he was the one who’d requested this meeting? But she was the one who needed it. So she had to play nice.
‘You got me.’ Determinedly she kept smiling up at him from between thickly mascaraed lashes.
‘What do you look like without it?’
‘Even more amazing,’ she flipped back at him, unable to stop her irritation sparking.
‘I’d like to see that.’
Never going to happen.
She glared at him, her eyes locking with his. And, even though she hadn’t voiced it, she was certain he knew exactly what she was thinking. He thought she was some painted-up doll and an airhead to boot.
Patronising jerk.
But suddenly, finally, the man smiled.
Stephanie almost gasped in shock as another bolt of electricity kicked through her. If she’d thought him attractive in a ruthless kind of way before, now he was just meltingly gorgeous. He looked younger, more fun, more mischievous. Yeah. Total personality transplant.
It might have been better if he’d stayed icy and unimpressed.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve been abrupt,’ he said. And he was still totally abrupt, but with that winning smile it didn’t seem so rude. ‘I was distracted when you first arrived.’
Yeah, and she needed distraction now.
Think, brain. Think.
Then she remembered she’d made a plan. She’d known there was no way she was going to manage sitting across a table from him for three hours. Steffi Leigh only did twenty-second intros, then used what was around her—products, lists, the totally random—to fill in the time. So she was going to take Jack Wolfe on tour.
‘No problem—no one’s perfect,’ she said smoothly, still inwardly stunned by his apology. ‘Look, here comes Tara.’ She gestured towards the slim woman walking towards them, mentally muttering thanks to the heavens. ‘She’s my assistant.’
But Jack didn’t look at Tara. He kept his too blue eyes on her.
‘We’re kidnapping you,’ Stephanie added brightly.
‘You’re kidnapping me.’ He glanced down at her dress again. Then looked at himself. Raised one eyebrow. ‘You have chloroform with you?’
So there was a size difference. A huge one. But her being small didn’t mean she didn’t have strength. Or cunning.
‘Charm is more effective.’ She smiled.
‘Charm, you say?’ A gleam lit in his eye. ‘I’m not sure I’d call what you have charm.’
Stephanie’s blood heated, but she refused to rise to the bait and ask what it was he did think she had. Not going to do it. And she was not going to respond to his low, alarmingly sexy chuckle either.
‘Tara’s our chauffeur for the afternoon,’ she told him. Chauffeur, make-up diva, sidekick. Saviour.
‘Sorry about that…’ Tara breezed towards her, looking down and rubbing her hands. ‘There was this hand cream in there that I just had to try, only it had—’
‘Tara.’ Stephanie interrupted quickly. ‘This is Jack Wolfe.’ The man didn’t need to know about Tara’s insatiable cosmetics fetish.
‘You’re Jack Wolfe?’ Tara finally stopped admiring her hands and looked up at him. Her stunned expression would have been comic if it hadn’t been so annoying. that the guy had this effect on everyone?
‘I’m afraid so,’ he said, with surprising softness. ‘Were you expecting someone else?’
‘No. You’re… perfect as you are.’
‘Thank you.’ He shot Stephanie a sideways look and echoed even more softly, ‘Hear that? Perfect.’
Stephanie eyed him coldly and then turned back to Tara.
But Tara’s eyes had rounded and she looked from Jack to Stephanie and back again. Her mouth opened. Then closed. And then she smiled.
It wasn’t a smile Stephanie trusted.
‘Shall I go get the car?’ Tara said chirpily. ‘I’ll bring it to the main entrance.’
Stephanie stared, aghast, as her so-called friend left her alone with the man—again.
‘Why do we need the car?’ Jack asked.
‘As I said, we’re kidnapping you. You’re going on the Steffi Leigh tour of Melbourne.’ She pulled on her best smile again. ‘You only arrived in Australia this morning, right?’ His assistant had sent his schedule to her—all efficiency. And apparently he travelled without an entourage.
He frowned.
‘Or would you like to stay in the hotel for high tea instead?’ Stephanie’s heart sank. ‘We can go over the paperwork I’ve brought…’
‘I’m not hungry.’
Really? He looked it. He was about six feet tall, and sharp muscled in a lean way—as if he’d been fed only just enough to maintain optimal performance capability, like a caged cheetah kept on rations, so he’d run world-record-fast for the kill.
‘You’re sure?’ she queried.
He nodded.
‘Then that’s it.’ She smiled between gritted teeth. ‘The abduction goes ahead.’
Without waiting for him to say anything more, she turned and walked back across the expansive lobby to the door. Surely she could do the comebacks, put on the charm, maintain the persona just long enough to seal the deal? She was not going to let him annoy her into slipping and lowering her guard again.
‘Why can’t you drive?’ he asked, keeping pace alongside her.
‘I’m going to be talking to you.’ Selling it to him.
‘I thought women were good at multi-tasking.’
‘Actually, I think it’s better to focus on one task at a time and do it to the best of your ability.’
‘I’ll drive, then.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I’ll drive.’
As if Tara was ever going to let him near her precious car. And as if he’d want to be seen behind the wheel of it once he saw it.
‘Will you be able to listen and drive?’ Stephanie asked.
‘That’s going to depend on whether what’s being said is interesting enough.’
He’d thrown down the gauntlet now. Stephanie straightened. Could he smell the desperation clinging to her? She couldn’t let him see just how badly she wanted this deal.
‘Tara can drive us,’ she said firmly. ‘So it’s not going to be a problem.’
‘Does Tara own the blog or do you?’ he asked, and stopped walking. Forcing her to stop and face him.
‘I do.’
‘Then you’re the one I need to negotiate with. Only you.’
Insisting on meeting with her alone was unconventional—possibly bordering on unprofessional. But could she really complain when she’d been the one to say she was going to abduct him?
‘Can you drive that?’ Stephanie gestured at the car turning into the entranceway. The vintage Mercedes convertible in ultra-feminine pale pastel yellow was not a car a man like him would want to drive, surely.
‘Where are you going to sit?’ he asked, looking puzzled.
‘In the middle—in the back.’
‘You’re a contortionist?’ He cast a disbelieving gaze at the tiny back seat.
‘The size is deceptive,’ she muttered, walking out. She wanted to warn Tara about his attempt to change the plan.
But Jack spoke the second Tara cut the engine. ‘Steffi’s agreed to let me drive.’
‘She has? Okay.’ Tara smiled up from the driver’s seat and then unclipped her seat belt and exited the car. ‘If you like, I’ll stay here and find out what I can about that lotion. It could be a good one to profile, Stef.’
Stephanie wasn’t near enough to stab her in the ribs with her index finger. Or stomp discreetly on her toes. But she could glare. ‘You don’t mind not coming?’ Stephanie questioned pointedly.
‘Not at all.’ Tara didn’t even look at her as she dropped the car key into Jack’s outstretched hand. Instead she smiled at him. ‘I’m sure you’ll be careful with her.’
Her the car? Or her Steffi?
Jack looked amused. ‘I’m always careful.’
Stephanie wanted to kidnap them both and drop them into the Southern Ocean. Instead she acted all Steffi Leigh and stepped in front of Jack to pull Tara into a quick hug.
‘Will you check on Dan for me?’ she asked quickly into her friend’s ear.
She hadn’t left her brother alone for as long as this in months.
‘Of course.’
As Stephanie stepped back Tara looked too happy for comfort.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Tara added meaningfully.
‘You will check, though? In person?’
‘Trust me.’ Tara leaned forward and wrapped Stephanie in another quick hug. ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’ She stage whispered, ‘It’s only a couple of hours. Go enjoy yourself.’
How was she supposed to enjoy herself with the wolf?
And yet there was a tightening in her body, as if her muscles had sharpened and her skin had shrunk. As if she was preparing for something.
Anticipation.
She hadn’t felt it in such a long time. Hadn’t looked forward to anything in so long. She was looking forward to negotiating with this man—to taking what she wanted from him. She was going to secure this deal, for all his initial disapproval.
‘Bye, Jack. Nice to meet you.’ Tara waved and practically skipped back into the hotel.
Jack walked around to the driver’s door.
‘You know we drive on the left side of the road here?’ Stephanie muttered grimly.
‘I’m aware of that.’ He got into the car and slung his briefcase on the back seat.
By the time she got into the passenger seat he already had his seatbelt fastened and was sliding his hands over the steering wheel, getting the feel of the vintage beauty.
‘You’re sure you don’t want me to drive?’ Stephanie wasn’t sure she could cope with sitting so near to him. He seemed bigger, somehow.
His answering smile was not innocent.
Stephanie ignored the traitorous warmth invading her body. She could not be attracted to someone so arrogant. ‘You don’t want to have to listen to me issue directions all the time.’
‘We’ll get to where we want to be more quickly without directions.’
Without directions? ‘You don’t know where I’m going to take you.’
‘But I know exactly where I want to go.’
She pressed her lips together, understanding. He’d been to Melbourne before. He had somewhere he wanted to go. So he’d hijacked her abduction plan.
‘You don’t like ceding control? Always have to be in charge of the destination? Hence your need to write travel guides telling people the best way to get to the best place to go?’
She shouldn’t have said that—Steffi Leigh was supposed to be too sweet to get snippy.
‘You’re the one dictating what colour gelato people should eat to look “effortlessly cool”,’ he mocked. ‘As if flavour doesn’t matter.’
‘You have it wrong. Taste is everything.’
‘Is it?’ His lips curved. ‘What do you suggest I taste?’
She was not responding to the suggestion in that question. She was ignoring it altogether. ‘And there was me thinking that the Wolfe way was to take the route less travelled—to put yourself in the care of the locals…’ Coolly she spouted his own travel tips at him.
‘You want to take care of me?’ He laughed.
That genuine sound surprised her into silence. He was a different man from the one she’d first laid eyes on. Had she dreamt the terse way he’d spoken into the phone and that bleak expression? And then that naked hostility? Because now he was all charm.
He turned the key and the car purred. Slowly he pulled out into the lane of traffic.
‘Who’s Dan?’ he asked.
She gritted her teeth, holding back the What business is it of yours? bite that had leapt to her throat. ‘My cat.’
‘Cat…?’ he echoed. His eyes narrowed on the road ahead. ‘You don’t look like a cat lady. I’d have thought you’d be a handbag dog diva.’
‘So last decade,’ she murmured. ‘And you know I live to subvert your stereotypical assumptions about vapid creatures like me.’
‘I never said you were vapid.’
‘You didn’t have to. It was all in the look.’
‘Look?’
‘The look you sent me when I first arrived.’
‘How did I look at you?’
‘Like you couldn’t believe you were going to have to sit through a boring business meeting with a brainless piece of fluff like me.’
He pulled up at a red light and turned to meet her eyes. ‘How am I looking at you now?’
Meeting his eyes, she couldn’t think at all. Then she remembered his contortionist comment and his taste comment and saw the unrestrained provocation in his eyes. ‘Like you’re hungrier than you claim to be.’
An electrical charge pulsed in the resulting silence.
‘All big eyes and sharp teeth?’ he finally responded. ‘You’re afraid I’m the Big Bad Wolf?’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘You’re confusing me with my brother George. I’m no wolf—not really.’ For a second that bleakness flashed into his eyes again, but he blinked and it was gone.
‘How disappointing,’ Stephanie murmured.
‘You were looking forward to the chase?’ he challenged. ‘Did you want to be caught and devoured?’
‘I was looking forward to running away.’ As she answered she realised it wasn’t a mere Steffi Leigh comeback but the honest truth. She had been looking forward to running away for a couple hours this afternoon. Escaping her tiny flat, her brother, her blog. Taking Jack Wolfe on a tour had been an excuse, so she wouldn’t feel guilty about walking out for a little while.
He looked at her more thoughtfully. More intensely. ‘You surprise me.’
‘I’m so pleased,’ she replied, far too politely. And far too falsely even for Steffi Leigh.
‘Stephanie—’ He broke off at the sound of a phone ringing.
He looked at the phone, his face becoming that rigid mask again as he glanced at the name on the screen. ‘Excuse me a moment. I need to take this.’
He pulled over to the side of the road, ignoring the blare of the horn from the car behind.
‘Well?’ he asked tersely. There was a moment as the caller replied. Then, ‘Fine. I’ll be there.’
Jack tucked his phone inside his jacket pocket, but didn’t pull back into the line of traffic. His hand on the steering wheel clenched into a fist. Stephanie ran her tongue over her dried lips, unsure whether or not to speak. She knew he was looking at her—she wasn’t sure she wanted to look back at him.
Finally she did, and was instantly caught in the swirling blue storm of his eyes. That rawness was back—intense banked emotion, threatening to surge and spill. That electrical current spiked between them again.
‘Steffi Leigh…’ he murmured slowly, using her blogging name. ‘Do you really want to run away?’
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_95b29e61-ba3d-5c7d-8db8-00531d6fd064)
THE QUESTION WASN’T all innocent, but Jack Wolfe couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
Or to apologise.
Not as he watched the emotions flicker in her big eyes. For a second she looked startled, but then fire flashed in those blue-green, draw-you-in depths. A sizzle sparked under his collar in response. He realised he was holding his breath—seriously? As if her answer mattered that much?
He blinked, trying to pull his wayward brain back to reality, but for a moment it seemed she actually was contemplating an escape with him. As if the two of them could run away together and steal time alone in the heat?
His body grew hotter. His skin tighter.
But then, as he watched, that polite veneer of hers descended. Back to frosted—frosty—perfection. Disappointment trickled, cooling his jets. He’d bet she was like one of those ornate overpriced cupcakes people queued for at fashionable boutiques. A tempting confection, smothered in layers of intricate icing, beautifully presented… but when it came to the tasting there was very little cake.
Jack liked cake. Icing…? Not so much.
‘Do you?’ Her voice was low, but there was the slightest of catches in it. An edge.
Was this how she was determined to play it? To be ‘nice’ and ‘accommodating’ and turn everything back to his wishes? Was she that eager to impress—to please? To secure this deal?
Would she say yes to anything he offered or asked?
For a moment he was tempted, so tempted, to ask for everything he shouldn’t.
Because, yes. He wanted to run away. And right now he wanted to run away with her.
Instead, he drew a steadying breath and answered. ‘Always.’
The spark in her eyes reignited. Defiance.
‘Because your life is so dreadful?’ she asked.
‘Everyone has their challenges,’ he answered coolly.
Another emotion, frostier than ever, entered her eyes. She thought he was spoilt. Inwardly he laughed at the irony. This was a woman who spent her life online, talking about new perfumes and places to party.
‘Yes, it must be tough producing all those travel pieces. Getting to go to the furthest corners of the planet…’ she murmured.
Nowadays too much of his time was spent chained to a desk in one of many offices Wolfe Enterprises had around the world. It was his underlings and contractors who got to see the actual sights.
But he wasn’t about to try to prove himself to her. She could think what she liked. In fact, he was pleased she wasn’t the total yes-girl he’d had her pegged as.
So he smiled at the sceptical expression she was failing to hide from him. ‘Don’t you have things you want to escape from at times?’ he asked, keeping his focus on her unbelievably beautiful face.
If her make-up weren’t so bulletproof he’d guess there would be colour running into her cheeks. She licked her lips in a nervous gesture that—inexcusably—turned him on.
Now was not the time for his body to go renegade. Steffi Leigh was everything Jack Wolfe didn’t want in a woman. She was a high-maintenance, shallow ‘stylista’, dictating to the rest of the world what to eat, what to wear, where to go and what to talk about. All instruction given in that relentlessly positive, upbeat, girly way. Did she even believe half the stuff she spouted? She was the kind of candy usually hanging off his brother George’s arm.
Though he had to concede she wasn’t as vapid as she looked. She wasn’t afraid to needle him a little. Yeah… surprisingly Steffi Leigh was not entirely nice. And that appealed more than it should. Now he wanted to peel back those perfect layers and find the essence of her. He suspected it wasn’t purely vanilla.
‘Stephanie?’ he prompted a little roughly, feeling the urge to spar harder with her. How far would he have to push to make her ditch that relentlessly smiling persona and snap at him?
He was not nice today.
‘No.’ She smiled. ‘Not at all.’
That overly determined answer both annoyed and amused him. He knew to his bones she wasn’t being honest. He’d irritated her, but she wasn’t going to bite back. Which made her better than him. Because he was close to snapping.
‘No?’ he asked, letting his disbelief show.
She continued to meet his gaze with a defiant little tilt to her chin. He fell silent, falling into the spell she seemed to cast wordlessly—all with those big blue-green eyes that made his skin burn.
For too long he looked at her. Desire sank deeper into his muscles, slicing through to the bone. What he’d do to make her mask slip—
But then his damn phone beeped, signalling a new text message. He didn’t read it, but the sound alone was enough to make reality race back.
He cleared his throat. ‘Where were you planning to take me?’ Time to pull back and be professional—focus on the far more important meeting he had in two days’ time. ‘Some new mall? A new consumer paradise?’
‘Not a mall, no.’
Thank God. But he faked a crestfallen look. ‘That’s a shame. I wanted to see you in action.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Her eyes widened.
He bit back a grin. It was obvious she’d heard inappropriate innuendo when he hadn’t meant it. Interesting.
‘I wanted to see how you come up with all your content,’ he clarified with an easy smile. ‘How you create all those lists and pictures…’
‘Oh…’ She nodded. ‘Well, there are a couple of out-of-the-way places I thought it would be nice for you to see. They’re upcoming features on the blog.’ She bestowed her wide ‘Steffi Leigh’ smile upon him. ‘So your wish will be granted.’
As if she was some fairy princess? Yeah. That was totally how she sold herself. A bright, bubbly bringer of beauty and joy.
‘What about your office?’ he asked. ‘Where you film your vlogs? I’d like to see that.’
He wanted to see what was on the other side of the camera—what it was that wasn’t shown on screen. Because his curiosity had been aroused—along with a few other things.
‘You want to see my room?’ She shifted, lifting a hand to adjust her seatbelt as if it were strapping her in too tightly.
For a split second she looked startled. In fact, he’d go so far as to say she looked scared. But then she released the belt and put that smile back on her face.
‘I’m sorry—not today.’
She wasn’t sorry, and now he really did want to see her space. What was all this icing hiding?
‘Actually, I was going to take you to the zoo,’ she suddenly spoke again, looking down at her lap.
‘The zoo?’
‘Perfect place for you,’ she murmured.
‘Pardon?’
‘Have you ever seen a baby echidna?’ She lifted her lashes, her eyes now limpid. ‘They’re very cute.’
‘Cute?’ He couldn’t decide if her eyes were more green than blue or more blue than green. All he really knew was that the colour was natural. He was close enough to know she wasn’t wearing contacts. ‘I don’t do cute.’
Whereas she did nothing but.
‘Do you even know what an echidna is?’ she asked.
‘A small, strange-looking thing that’s one of the very few mammals that lays eggs,’ he replied. He did travel guidebooks for a living—he knew random facts about animals in so many countries. ‘Is that why you’re wearing gloves? So you don’t get your hands dirty while you feed the cute little animals?’
For a moment she didn’t answer. But her gaze sharpened, held his ensnared. Was it him, or was it getting hotter? The temperature was searing.
Finally, pointedly, she lifted her eyebrows. ‘You think I’m afraid of getting dirty?’
Her reply sounded so innocuous. But that glimmer in her eyes… She’d turned some innuendo on him. Turned him on tighter…
He glanced up at the crystalline sky above, taking a breather from the intensity. They’d got barely two blocks from the hotel and he couldn’t be more on edge. Who’d have thought she’d pack such a punch?
‘Why else the gloves?’ He couldn’t resist glancing back at her.
She eyed him thoughtfully. ‘I’m wearing gloves to hide the state of my fingernails.’
‘You’re not happy with the colour of the polish? Does it clash with the car?’ he mocked.
‘Don’t tell anyone…’ She leaned a touch closer to him and spoke with a conspiratorial smile. ‘But they’re bitten down to the quick and I didn’t get the chance to put on fake ones.’
Honesty? It almost touched him—except she was all about covering up.
‘You’re wearing other fake things?’ He couldn’t help a glance to her chest. His bad. He owned it, but he figured she’d started it.
She pulled back to settle into the farthest corner of her seat. ‘A woman never gives up all her secrets.’
‘No? Only enough to engender interest?’ he taunted. ‘Is that one of the tips you dish out on your blog?’
She smiled a secretive, frankly seductive fairy princess smile. ‘My tips are very popular.’
That they were. And he could see why. She could write—her lists were entertaining. But it was the vlogs that had the greatest number of hits. It seemed people liked watching her prance about in her bedroom. His body winched tighter.
‘You’re interested in wildlife?’ And, yeah, he might have emphasised the ‘wild’ just a little.
‘Most people are.’ She continued to smile at him—so innocent and perky. Except for that heat in the back of her eyes. ‘And I thought you’d like to see some that’s unique to Australia. We have some amazing creatures. There’s a very big saltwater crocodile at the zoo. I think you’d like him. I’m sure he’d like you.’
He chuckled, appreciating the less than subtle implication. ‘I’m tougher than I look. Can’t be chewed up and spat out as easily as all that.’
‘Oh?’ She sounded disbelieving. ‘So you don’t want to go to the zoo? Where do you want to run away to?’
Anywhere. As long as it was with her.
He looked at her silently, trying to ride out the intense impulse sweeping over him. The car seemed to be shrinking. She was so near he saw her breath hitch, heard that faintest gasp. The urge to kiss her was overwhelming.
Sex. The body’s happy place. And for him the ultimate avoidance activity. He’d bury himself in her hot, tight body and screw their brains out. Until he could think of nothing else. Until he was exhausted and could sleep—not lie awake for hours and hours and hours, wondering and worrying and worrying and worrying…
It wasn’t such a bad idea, was it?
Wrong. It was the worst idea ever. He hadn’t succeeded as much as he had by bedding possible business partners.
He’d never done that.
Steffi Leigh was the excuse he’d given for making this trip to Australia. His brothers had been on his back about working too hard, but he’d said he needed to assess the viability of this acquisition himself. Truth was, he was hunting for something far more personal and he didn’t want to hurt his family by telling them yet. Not until he knew for sure. Not until he’d found everything out—even if it was the worst.
‘Jack…?’ A soft query.
He’d been silent too long—staring… all but eating her with his eyes. And in her eyes now was not just that spark that lit brighter as he neared, but the concern he’d turned away from the first moment he’d seen her.
She’d seen his anxiety again. And he hated it just as much as he had in the hotel foyer.
Unable to take the heat any more, Jack shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the ludicrously small back seat of the femininely sweet car.
Her eyes widened. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m hot.’ No lie. And it wasn’t because of the sun beating down on them.
He loosened his tie. Then thought better of it and took it off entirely, lying it on top of his jacket. Then he undid the top two buttons of his shirt, undid the cufflinks and rolled his sleeves to just below his elbows.
‘Do you mind?’ he asked as he worked.
‘Of course not.’
But not even the make-up could mask her blush now.
So he wasn’t the only one feeling it.
He knew that. Knew there was no way she wasn’t feeling the electricity arcing between them.
His phone beeped again. Sighing, he twisted to retrieve it from his jacket pocket and glanced at the screen to read the message. His private investigator had gone all efficient and diarised their meeting for him.
Reading it in black and white, he felt his lungs tighten. As did every one of his muscles. Anxiety returned in an unexpected tsunami. He gritted his teeth. He’d travelled the world over—going into war zones, danger zones, crossing arid deserts and ice floes. But he’d never felt as freaked out as he had when he’d taken that call ten minutes ago. As he did now.
But he’d been waiting over twenty years for this meeting—what was another forty-eight hours?
Torture. That was what it was. Pure, poisonous torture.
And hell, yes, he wanted to run away for the duration.
He needed time to speed up. Needed something else to think about for the next day or two or he was going to go insane.
Unable to help himself, he looked at her again and drank in the sight of her strawberry blonde hair, so intricately curled and coiled against her head, and her flawless pale complexion. Her eyes were bright, her lips glossy, and her petite figure was shown off to perfection in that pressed mint-green dress.
She didn’t look exactly like the profile picture on her blog. She looked better. It was the spark in her eyes. Not the make-up and the ‘look-but-don’t-touch’ dress, but the underlying attitude. That hint of something more dangerous within her—the certainty that she was keeping part of herself back.
He found her as irritating and as attractive as hell.
Yeah, he’d do anything to avoid thinking about that meeting. Absolutely anything. And everything.
He’d bite through those layers of rich, sweet icing. There was definitely more substance—more cake—than he’d first thought. And he did like cake.
But it wasn’t all about him. He wanted to see her fall into it—fall apart. He wanted to watch her eyes glaze and her cheeks redden without the aid or the mask of make-up. He wanted to see her sweaty and wet and flushed and laughing. And then crying her release. He wanted her mindless and begging to be tipped over the edge. He wanted to be the one to make her.
So inappropriate. Borderline insane. Sexual harassment stuff.
He had to rein it in.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had sex in years. He enjoyed holiday affairs with women who didn’t know who he was. When they found out he moved on. They were a short escape from his real world.
He wanted to escape now. He wanted to scoop her up and toss her into the nearest swimming pool so he could see her clearly. He wanted to see her wet.
The urge to provoke her was irresistible. The urge to touch her he was restraining. Just.
Because he hadn’t lied. Jack Wolfe wasn’t like his playboy brother George. Or his bona fide hero James.
Truth was, they weren’t related at all. And there was the cause of the ache. He was no Wolfe.
‘Are you going to answer that?’ she asked, her soft voice rasping.
His phone was ringing.
She watched him. No expression creased that immaculately painted face. But in her eyes all was emotion—all concern.
He hated it. He wanted nothing but that heat again.
He forced himself to tear his attention away from her. Glancing down, he read his brother’s name on the screen.
‘No,’ he said shortly.
He wasn’t going to answer. He couldn’t speak to his brother at this moment without giving himself away. If his brother heard his anxiety he’d be hounding him for the reason. And Jack wasn’t ready to explain it yet. But the second his phone stopped ringing it chimed to signal another text message.
‘Busy guy.’
He put his phone on the back seat again. ‘I run a company. “Busy” comes with the territory.’
A phone chimed. Hers this time.
‘Do you mind?’ She echoed his words as she opened her small bag.
‘Not at all.’ He watched as she quickly scanned the screen, a very faint frown pulling at her eyebrows. ‘Busy blogger?’
‘Of course. As you know, my audience is global. People like to have their comments acknowledged.’
‘So you’re always on call?’
‘Not for just anyone.’ She sent him a look. ‘Only my followers.’
He smiled, finding her slight snarkiness oddly soothing. ‘Your fans?’
‘People who like what I do,’ she said proudly. ‘I like to keep them happy.’
‘You’re not out to please everyone, then?’
‘We all know that’s impossible. We all know the internet has plenty of haters lurking behind anonymity.’
He didn’t like the idea of haters hating her. Even though he’d come close to it himself.
‘I perform for my crowd,’ she said.
‘And that’s what it is? Purely a performance?’
Caution clouded her eyes. ‘I believe in what I do.’
So did a lot of people, given how popular she was. Her blog and video channel transcended borders. Her audience went way beyond Melbourne—beyond Australia, even. Apparently millions of young women hung on her every word. And she had plenty of words. There were lists on what not to wear, on make-up, movies. On where to eat, what to eat… There were commentaries on celebrity outfits during the awards season. She had people clicking on her blog as she provided chat through movie awards, music awards…
It was a bright, bubbly mash-up of lifestyle, design and travel tips, geared towards the urban young woman. The segment of the market his company wanted greater engagement with.
Jack had read only a couple of her blogs and watched mere seconds of one video before switching it off in annoyance at the over-the-top girlish effervescence. But he’d relied on the advice of his researchers that Steffi Leigh was it. Apparently making enough money not to need a real job. And yet she wanted this deal.
That was why she was determined to be nice to him. Even when she didn’t really want to be. Which told him that she needed this sale to go ahead. Badly.
Why was that? Did she need the money to fund her lifestyle? Her purchases? He’d wanted to know why—within five minutes of meeting her he now wanted to know everything.
What he didn’t want was an afternoon of traipsing around while she fed him bubbly tips, trying to close the sale. He wanted to cut to the chase and understand the reality.
‘What if I took you somewhere?’ he asked.
‘As you’ve insisted on driving, I’d assumed that was happening already. By the way, I’m loving being parked illegally for so long.’
Suddenly Jack knew exactly what he was going to do. A long drive in a vintage convertible with a beautiful woman beside him was every man’s fantasy, right?
It wouldn’t be the first time for Jack, but he had the feeling it was going to be the most fun.
‘We’re going to be little longer than we scheduled,’ he said unapologetically. ‘But it’ll be worth it.’
Her polite façade tilted. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t stay longer than we initially scheduled.’
‘Why not? Is there some place you’ve got to be? Some new restaurant opening?’ He wondered if she’d answer honestly.
Her smile remained fixed. ‘No, but—’
‘There’s no problem, then.’ He didn’t give her time to argue. ‘We can escape.’
‘I’ve already told you I don’t need to escape anything in my life.’
‘Everyone needs to escape some time.’
She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. But she didn’t answer. Didn’t lie. She did want to run away—and not really from him. There were things in her life she wanted to escape.
‘You want me to buy your blog?’ he asked.
Her lips parted. ‘Are you blackmailing me?’
He wasn’t, actually, but it was interesting that she’d leapt to that conclusion. She definitely had thoughts on the darker side.
‘All I meant was that we might talk at length about the deal on our drive. I find driving helps me think. And make decisions.’
She still hesitated.
He was used to people saying yes. Spoilt, perhaps, but there it was. He was used to asking and receiving. In terms of business and in terms of women. But it was only because of what they could get from him in return. And that wasn’t emotion. It was cash. Or connections. Or both.
‘There’s a retreat I have to take a look at.’ He was booked to stay there after his day in the city. He’d bring his stay forward a night.
‘A retreat?’ she queried.
He nodded. ‘It would be a good source of inspiration for your blog. You can take a look around and show me how you’d put it all together online.’
Truth was the Green Veranda wasn’t right for her blog. Nor was it going into one of the Wolfe travel guides. It was too expensive, and already too exclusive to need it. It catered to a celebrity clientele, or the über-wealthy who didn’t want attention from the general public or any intrusion. Solitude and privacy guaranteed.
Jack didn’t want that level of isolation and introspection now—not with these two days stretching before him like purgatory. No, he needed distraction.
And he had it sitting right beside him.
‘A retreat as in… like a health spa?’ she asked.
‘Sort of. A very expensive private hotel. You can stay the night, yes?’ The idea was growing on him with every second.
‘Stay the night?’ she echoed.
He laughed at the hint of horror in her voice. He’d let her off that hook a little later—for now it was too much fun taking in her reaction. Wickedly amused, he watched her internal war—whether to breathe yes or snap no?
Her blush deepened as she gazed back at him, her eyes as huge and as brilliant as the sky above them. Spark, heat, defiance, indecision. He swore he could almost hear her pulse racing. His own heart quickened in response.
In the end he decided to take the burden from her.
‘Sure.’ He smiled as he put the car in gear and pulled back into the line of traffic. ‘Because I’m kidnapping you.’
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_fd9275ea-1189-5a59-a2ff-eca31485b4dc)
JACK WOLFE DIDN’T need either chloroform or charm to get what he wanted—he had cash.
Because of the possibilities he represented, Stephanie couldn’t refuse him. And now she knew he wasn’t afraid to take advantage of the fact. She also knew he had a wicked streak—an impulsiveness she’d never have expected from the grim-looking man she’d first laid eyes on.
Stay the night? Never.
The car sped along the road, taking the quickest route out of the city. The sun beat down on her, addling her brain. Or maybe the sizzling heat was emanating from him. With his tie removed and his shirtsleeves rolled, some of his body was exposed. The muscles in his forearms flexed and she could see the strength in his large hands as he handled the delicate, sometimes temperamental vintage car assuredly.
He made it look easy, when she knew for a fact that it wasn’t.
But to indulge in the utter fantasy of being in this dress, in this car, next to him, for an hour or so of illicit escape…
‘No choice,’ she muttered.
A small, wicked smile played on his lips. It seemed he’d taken the brakes off both the car and himself, leaving him relaxed and carefree and so strikingly attractive it was a wonder she could breathe.
‘Stephanie…’ he drawled softly. ‘There should always be a choice.’ He glanced her way, a half-question in the back of his blue eyes.
Stephanie licked her dried lips. She could say no. Could demand that he turn around and take her back to the hotel immediately. If she insisted he’d acquiesce. He wasn’t about to abduct her for real. Not for a whole night.
But what a choice it was—stay and play along with his whim, or go and kiss goodbye to any chance of the deal happening?
As she looked at him time stopped. There was that unspoken communication—that intensity that she wanted to run from yet couldn’t break. Fascination. She wanted to be near him for longer. Was this what it was like for her mother when she went headlong into her latest affair?
Stephanie shivered, almost repulsed by her intense reaction to him.
When her oxygen-deprived brain decided to reinstate the use of her vocal cords she answered his question with one of her own. ‘Do you know where you’re going?’
‘I have a rough idea.’ His wicked smile went on full wattage. He looked outrageously pleased with himself. And devastatingly attractive.
She’d bet he knew exactly where he was going. Even in that moment of distress she’d seen back at the hotel he’d been decisive, confident. And determined.
The car sped faster down the motorway and Stephanie slipped into the realisation of a long-held private fantasy—not knowing where she was going. For years she’d dreamed of randomly picking a road and driving along it for as far as she felt like. Or letting someone else take her for a ride for as far and as long as she wanted…
Sweet temptation accelerated along her veins. She’d always wanted to ‘up and leave’—see where the wind blew her. Had always yearned to go deep into the dry heart of the country and explore the infinite unknown possibilities…
Except the one time she’d tried she’d almost destroyed what little was left of her family.
Dan.
Cold memories slammed into her. Her mistakes burned, and regret tasted as acid and as fresh as the day disaster had struck.
She felt responsible for her brother’s disabilities. Every single one of the golden possibilities he’d had had been destroyed. Dan had gone from sporting superstar to wheelchair-bound and broken. His future had once been assured. Now it was up to her to assure him a different future.
He was the reason she was here now.
So she shouldn’t be ogling Jack’s powerful-looking hands or feeling tantalised by his smile. She wasn’t here to flirt. She needed to focus. And she needed to check on her brother ASAP.
Her fingers tightened on her mobile phone. She’d send a quick, quiet text to Dan and another to Tara to double-check her brother was okay.
Jack wasn’t finding out about her brother. She wasn’t telling him he was the reason why she couldn’t be out for hours and hours. She was not playing the pity card. She’d keep up her ‘take it or leave it’ aura—the projection that she had no worries, no need of his offer, was key. She didn’t want him thinking she had to sell her site. She couldn’t appear desperate.
But in truth she’d do whatever it took to secure Dan’s future.
As she texted, Jack’s phone rang again. He didn’t bother to pull over and answer it this time. If anything, it felt as if he hit the accelerator more heavily.
‘Tell me more about your blog. You write all kinds of lists, right?’ he said, talking loudly over the top of his incessant ringtone.
‘That’s how it started, yes,’ she answered, still looking down at her own phone.
Her blog was still titled ‘The List’. She’d begun with all kinds of crazy lists, but the lists had really been a cover for random comments on everyday absurdities to entertain her friends. It had evolved from there, although now they were more straight lists than any kind of astute commentaries, but she tried to keep them as fun and entertaining as always.
‘Because lists are catchy?’ he asked. ‘“Ten Ways with a Tank Top” or something?’
‘Or something…’ she murmured. ‘Lists are easy and quick to read, and people like them. They’re popular. It’s that simple.’
‘Do you write lists for everything?’
The tips of her ears burned as she thought she caught an intimate nuance in his voice. Was he thinking personal lists?
She sent him a sharp look and registered his amusement.
She turned back to glare at the bitumen ahead. She wasn’t biting. But, sure, she could list a number of things she’d like to do with him—none of them polite. Not all of them strictly businesslike and professional either.
‘Yes!’ She made herself reply in ultra-perky Steffi Leigh style. ‘They help me stay organised.’
‘So, do you have a list of everything you’re going to achieve in life?’
‘Like many of your travellers will have a list of all the must-do, must-see places—of course.’
‘I’m curious about what’s on it.’
‘Oh, you know—the usual stuff anyone has.’
‘I can’t believe that. I get the impression you’re not like just “anyone”.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ She laughed. Pure Steffi Leigh.
‘Tell me about the haters. How do you handle them?’
‘I don’t,’ she said, her amusement fading. ‘I ignore them.’
‘It’s that easy?’
It was never that easy. ‘To be honest, I let a lot of my hard-core fans respond to them. I used to moderate the comments, but it took up too much time.’
‘But you still read them all?’
‘Yes.’
‘And it doesn’t get to you?’
‘Why would I let it?’ She maintained her smile with determination. ‘There are far more positive comments than negative. They’re the ones I think about when I’m working on a segment.’
At first the blog had been for her own fun. Then it had grown legs of its own—until she’d been sprinting to try to keep up with its demands. Since Dan’s illness it had got harder to maintain the schedule, and yet she had all the more reason to make it bigger and better. Leveraging her ‘platform’ was the only way she could think of to earn the money she needed to get her brother motivated and into some kind of study.
She waited, but Jack still ignored the strident ringing of his phone.
‘So your lists cover everything—no topic is off-limits? How do you decide the content? By strategy or whim?’ He glanced at her. ‘Don’t get me wrong—I’m not criticising. I’m trying to understand your success.’
Because it was so hard for him to believe little ol’ her could have made something so massive?
How could she be so attracted to someone so irritating? She had not got out enough in the last eighteen months.
‘Well…’ She smiled another Steffi Leigh smile through gritted teeth, determined to stay positive and upbeat. ‘There’s a lot of hair and make-up stuff going on. And fashion choices—what to wear, how to wear it. And, yes, there’s some whimsy—designing doilies from paper towels or sewing slippers from comic book covers… whatever takes my mind. But I do plan and keep a list of topics—’
‘Of course you do.’
‘Right.’ She conceded another laugh. ‘And of course there’s restaurant recommendations,’ she concluded. ‘And good places to go.’
‘You make it sound easy, when we both know it isn’t,’ he commented.
And, stupidly, that was enough to make her feel all warm about him again.
‘What’s the best trip you’ve been on?’ he asked.
She hesitated, thinking of that fateful holiday to the Northern Territory. For once Dan hadn’t had a sporting camp or competition and they’d been able to go. It had been perfect—until his fever and headache had suddenly come on. She’d loved the vast, isolated beauty. But she couldn’t bear the reminder of it now.
‘I love the big city thrill of Sydney.’ She reverted to an answer he’d expect from Steffi Leigh.
‘And the shopping?’
‘Why, yes…’ she all but cooed. ‘And all those restaurants. The scene is a lot of fun.’
‘And beyond Australia?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ve not been many places outside of Australia.’
She’d not been anywhere outside Australia, despite her mum now living in France with husband number three. Because, unlike her mum, she wouldn’t walk out on her whole world for a man. Unlike her mum she wouldn’t walk out on her responsibilities. And Dan needed someone. By default it had to be her.
That fateful trip Outback had been the first Stephanie had planned—her choice, her organisation—and she’d been so excited because, yes, she’d longed to travel. But Dan had been recovering from the flu just before they’d left and his immunity had been weak. And when they’d been miles from anywhere he’d suddenly got really, really sick.
Headache. Fever. Rash.
Stephanie had never been so afraid. Her brother had almost lost his life. As it was the meningitis had cost him limbs—his lower arm, his leg. All his dreams of sporting fame and fortune had been obliterated.
And all because she’d been the one who’d insisted on their trip to the back of beyond—where medical help was hours away.
‘But what about Queenstown, New Zealand? You had a list on that just the other day on your blog.’
Jack interrupted her thoughts.
Frowning, she glanced at him—and registered his frown.
Queenstown?
Oh, yes. Her face burned as she suddenly remembered. A schoolfriend had emailed and helped her. She was so close to being caught out right now.
‘Oh, you know—I meant further afield than New Zealand,’ she recovered quickly. ‘I meant Europe.’
‘Mmm…’ he nodded, negotiating an exit onto a different motorway. ‘The travel pieces on your blog are done well. You can tell you’ve spent some time in the places.’
Well, someone had. That person just wasn’t always her.
Tara helped her with the make-up lists, and a few of her other school and uni friends helped her with the destination and restaurant lists. Other stuff she gleaned from the internet.
The truth was that Steffi Leigh was a phony—a caricature of a woman, and not even the author of all the ideas she shared.
So she had to be more careful in answering him. If he knew she faked it—that she got as much help as she did to generate content—he wouldn’t be interested in buying the blog at all.
‘I haven’t covered many destinations outside of Australia,’ she said brightly. ‘I guess that’s something your people could build on if you decide to take it over.’
‘Possibly.’
She fidgeted with her phone, absently rubbing her gloved thumb back and forth over the screen, wishing Tara or Dan would hurry up and text back to let her know all was okay.
‘What about you?’ She flipped the question back at him to fill the lull. ‘What was your most amazing adventure? You must have had so many.’ And, yes, she was envious.
‘It’s a thing in our family to take a year out to travel. Nothing but a backpack and a few hundred dollars. ‘Bye-bye—see you in a year’.’
‘Really? No big money? No five-star hotels?’ she teased.
‘None.’
Wow. Curiosity piqued, she twisted to look at him. ‘Where did you go?’
‘I didn’t travel around as much as my brothers did when they went. I spent most of my time in South East Asia. A little village in Indonesia.’
‘Working?’
‘Volunteering,’ he corrected. ‘At an orphanage.’
‘Doing “the charity thing”?’ A tiny thread of jealousy tinted her tone.
‘Is that cynicism I hear from Steffi Leigh? Is it so awful to want to help others?’
Of course not. And cynicism wasn’t what she’d intended. But now he’d heard it the only thing she could do was make a joke of it. ‘So you did your year and now your conscience is salved? You can spend the rest of your life doing the five-star thing?’
‘Answer me this, Ms Five Ways with Ugly Festive Woollens, do you do charity work?’
‘Sure.’ Charity begins at home. But she played up the flippant. ‘A cocktail party. A fundraising dinner. Art auctions. You know how it goes…’
And she was so faking it now. She’d never been part of that wealthy socialite do-gooder scene.
‘Perhaps.’ He glanced at her, his eyes glinting brighter than the sun.
Possibly. Perhaps. Full of the non-committal, wasn’t he?
‘That’s your phone again.’ She grimaced as it rang loudly yet again.
‘You can’t cope with the fact I won’t answer it?’
‘Isn’t it rude?’
‘Isn’t it more rude to sit texting while we’re trying to have a conversation?’ He nodded pointedly at the phone in her hand. ‘You’re the one addicted to your phone. Updating your social media status every two seconds?’
‘I was letting Tara know I’m going to be a little late, otherwise she’d worry. Don’t you check in with family when you travel?’
‘No.’
‘Well, someone wants you now.’
That grim look hardened the line of his mouth. Whoever it was, he was fully into avoidance. And what was the betting it was a woman?
Irritation spurted. ‘What if it’s an emergency?’ she prompted.
‘It’s not.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘Because we have a special ringtone for emergencies.’
For a half-second she gaped at him. ‘You’re making that up.’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘What if someone is worried about you?’
That oddly tense look crossed his face just has his phone started ringing again. ‘I can’t answer it. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m driving.’
‘You want me to answer it?’ she asked, not meaning it at all.
Suddenly he smiled. ‘Would you mind? That’d be great.’
Huh? He’d called her bluff.
‘Fine.’ She twisted to get his phone from where it lay on the tiny back seat, swiping the screen to answer it. ‘Jack Wolfe’s phone—this is Steffi Leigh speaking. How may I help you?’ she asked in dulcet tones.
‘Uh… pardon me?’
Yep. A woman. Stephanie’s blood simmered. ‘This is Jack Wolfe’s phone… Steffi Leigh speaking,’ she repeated. Ultra-dulcet.
‘Uh, hi… Steffi. Is Jack there? Can I speak to him?’
Definitely a woman. A young, breathless woman, desperate to speak to him.
‘I’m sorry,’ Stephanie said slowly, ‘he’s driving at the moment, and the vehicle we’re in doesn’t have any kind of hands-free capability. Can I take a message for you?’
‘Uh, yes, please… This is Bella.’
Bella. Nice name for a lover. What was the betting she was tall and slender and stunning—?
‘Can you tell him that the board is waiting for that report and they’re really pressuring me for a date.’ Bella sounded apologetic. ‘I know he doesn’t want to be disturbed, because he’s really busy over there, but they want to know his thoughts as soon as possible. They won’t make a decision without his input.’
Huh? Not a personal call.
‘Also, he’s had a zillion messages,’ Bella added. ‘I’ve tried to prioritise, and I’ve put most of them off ‘til he’s back next week, but the Italian printing company are really pushing to speak with him. Tell him I’m almost out of options for holding them off. The others I’ve listed in an email to his private account. If he can go through that when he has a minute that would be great.’
‘Okay—anything more?’ Steffi asked, wanting to get off the phone now.
‘Actually, yes…’ Bella sounded ultra-apologetic. ‘That freelance photographer has been phoning every morning since last Thursday, desperate for an answer on the shots he sent over. I know Jack wants to review them personally, so if he can take a quick look that would be fantastic, because I know he doesn’t want to lose him to any competitor if he turns out to be any good. Oh, and the couple who are doing the revision to the French cycling route had all their gear stolen when they were waiting for a train. They’re covered with insurance, of course, but now the local mayor is on us because he’s worried his town is going to get a bad report. He won’t settle for speaking to anyone but Jack. And—’
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