Wild About the Man. Joss WoodЧитать онлайн книгу.
unnecessary,’ Nick said in a cool, calm, measured tone. The lack of temper in his voice made her feel about two feet high.
Was she ever going to win a round with this tall, rangy, muscly, grey-eyed demon?
‘Are you going to get your butt into the Landy or are you going to walk?’ His voice had fallen to sub-zero and she wished she could step inside it and cool down. She was quite certain there was a lake of perspiration in her boots.
Clem ignored the hand he held out, looked at the vehicle and bit her lip. Her skirt was too tight and too short for her to step up onto the runner board. She needed to bend her leg to step up and if she did that, then the Odious Owner and the pilot would get a great view of her tights covered bottom.
Clem cursed, looked at the runner board again and scratched her head.
‘Problem, Red?’
He needed to visit charm school, Clem fumed. She turned to face him and because she was so tall—five foot seven without heels—she just needed to lift her eyes to connect with his. She was annoyed to find that she had to swallow the excess saliva in her mouth. Good grief, she’d met some of the best looking men in the world and none of them made her mouth water. The last time she’d had such a physical reaction was when she’d first seen Cai and look how well that had turned out.
Not.
You’re tired, upset and emotional. Nothing has been normal about this day, the last couple of days, she reminded herself. Nothing had been normal about the last ten years.
Besides, any man would look good after what Cai did and said to you. Add it to the fact that she hadn’t had sex for close to a year and … whoosh! Chemical reaction.
‘We’re wasting daylight here,’ Nick snapped and Clem rubbed her forehead, trying to focus.
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘Not without embarrassing myself and you. And Joe.’
‘What are you going on about?’
Clem dropped her hands and pointed to the hem of her skirt. ‘It’s too tight and too short. I can’t lift my leg to get up without flashing.’
Nick rubbed his hand down his face and Clem was pretty sure it was to cover his grin. She glared at him. ‘It’s not funny.’
‘Judging by the number of naked photos there are of you in cyberspace, I’m surprised at your modesty.’
‘Now, you’re the one being stupid. Haven’t you heard of Photoshop? Every one of those images out there is my head on someone else’s body.’
Instead of looking chastised, Nick grinned and Clem felt as if she’d taken another mental body blow. It transformed his tough face from attractive to mind-blowingly, panty-scrunchingly, take-me-to-bed attractive.
Oh no! No, no, no, no.
While she was trying to get her dancing hormones under control, Nick slid a hand around her back, the other under her thighs, scooped her up and, in one easy and fluid movement, dumped her in the passenger seat of the vehicle. She had an impression of effortless strength, a hard chest, a spicy scent.
Then her bottom hit an exposed spring in the seat and she yelped.
‘Oh, and mind the spring,’ Nick suggested as he walked around the car, hopped onto the runner board and stepped over the closed door to drop into the driver’s seat.
Clem sat on one buttock and rubbed the other. ‘You did that on purpose!’ she accused.
‘Now we both have a pain in our butt,’ Nick commented and sent her a smile that any shark would be proud of.
‘I really don’t like you.’
‘Back at you,’ Nick muttered. ‘Now, can we get out of here? I want a shower and a beer.’
Clem leaned over the door and held out her hand to Joe, the co-pilot. ‘Thank you. Tell Nathan and Chloe I say thank you as well. Safe flight.’
Joe didn’t have much time to respond before Nick floored the vehicle and pulled away.
Clem held onto her seat and closed her eyes.
Ho, ho, ho, ho … it’s off to another part of hell I go.
Luella Dawson’s blog:
While fans of the reality TV show The Crazy Cs weren’t surprised at their decision to separate, they were shocked by Cai’s method of announcing it to the world. Public sympathy is lying with Clem and fans are clamouring for more footage of the couple now that the last of the series has just been aired. Campbell has responded by agreeing to do another ten episodes of the reality show but insiders know it will mean little without Clem’s side of the story. So where is the flamboyant heiress and ex-model? That, readers, is the million dollar question. Wherever she is, we’re presuming that she’s not having fun.
AFTER ten minutes of silence, Nick looked across at his passenger and noticed that the pale hand clutching the heavy silver locket was white in the setting sun. Tendrils of that, admittedly, amazing hair had escaped from the messy knot she’d pulled it into and were dancing in the wind. Her bottom lip remained between her teeth.
He could have been more welcoming, he supposed, but he’d been side-winded by the X-rated flashes of what he wanted to do to her in bed. Or he had been until she’d opened her mouth and starting spewing Diva. He’d had major royalty and minor royalty staying at the Lodge, movie stars and moguls, but she’d out prima donna-ed them all.
Nick glanced down at those long legs and thought that she could do with a couple of cheeseburgers. She was tall but too thin, her face held that pinched look that women got when they’d lived on a diet of lettuce and multi-vitamins for far too many years. He recognized the type. A lot of the trophy wives or girlfriends who glided in and out of the Lodge had the same look—sucked-in cheeks, stick-thin legs, silicone-enhanced breasts.
He dropped his eyes to her chest. He’d bet hers were natural—small, round … He shifted in his seat. If he was getting horny thinking about this skinny wildcat then he definitely needed to get some action soon.
Nick rubbed the back of his neck, saw the long, drooping branch of a thorn tree and spoke for the first time in ten minutes. ‘Mind the branch.’
Naturally, she didn’t listen and a long thorn caught her shirt, ripped through the fabric and scratched her skin. She squealed, looked down at her arm and squealed again.
Nick sent her a cursory glance and carried on driving. ‘Hell, woman, it’s just a scratch!’
‘There are drops of blood, it stings and this is a designer shirt! It’s torn!’
‘Call the fashion police; maybe they’ll care,’ Nick retorted. ‘Next time I say “mind the branch” I suggest you mind the branch.’
‘Aaargh! I hate this place and your stupid thorn trees and the heat and you!’ Clem yelled. Nick responded by deliberately hitting a bump in the dirt road and she bounced in the seat. He smiled.
‘And I hate this sodding seat with its stupid broken spring!’
Nick saw the twin flags of anger in her cheeks and her wobbling chin and erred on the side of caution and didn’t respond. He didn’t want to get brained with the oversized bag that sat on her lap. It looked heavy. He swung the Land Rover onto the road to the Lodge, sparing a glance at the pair of giraffes nibbling on an acacia tree.
‘Evening, boys.’ He frequently spoke to the animals he came across and didn’t care if his guests thought he was nuts. He glanced across at Clem and noticed that she still had that thousand yard stare.
‘Giraffe to your left.’
Clem didn’t respond