Outback Angel. Margaret WayЧитать онлайн книгу.
lawyers to secure a record settlement—it was a hard-faced blonde with the body of a stripper who was now the second Mrs. Huntley.
Jaw clenched, he forced himself to speak. “So you didn’t go into hiding?”
“From you?” Angelica, too, was so traumatised she hardly knew what she was saying. Neither of them had made the slightest attempt to feign ignorance of the other. Both of them were instantly seized up by that shameful incident years before. Angelica’s recollection of this man, however brief, was so acute, so agonising, she had to work hard to cope. Here was the tawny lion with a mane of deeply waving gold-streaked copper hair brushed back from a broad forehead. Could she ever mistake those distinctive amber eyes, or the condemnation in them? What inner trauma prompted that response?
This was the man who billowed in and out of her dreams. A man in full possession of himself and his world.
By a strange stroke of fate, Jake McCord. Her knees bumped together. “I wonder if I could ever convince you—” she began, turning away from the huge window.
The full glare of the sun was hitting her like a spotlight, finding no fault in her golden-olive skin. He cut her off swiftly. “Really, Miss De Campo, I don’t want to know.” She was still staggeringly beautiful, so lusciously ripe and alive, her skin so healthy and glowing it begged to be touched. How could a woman like that have allowed herself to be mixed up in such a murky demeaning affair? How could she have allowed herself to be mauled by a callous womaniser like Huntley?
She looked at him, upset, but very ready to defend herself. After all, she had done no wrong. She, like many another woman, had been the victim of a predatory man. “You’re very judgmental, aren’t you?” she said. “You really know nothing about what you saw years ago. I’m amazed you even remembered.”
“You did, didn’t you?” he countered, horrified by the harshness of his own tone, which in essence was an intertwining of past and present events. “I certainly didn’t see you fending him off. God knows it couldn’t have been that hard.” His eyes swept her tall, svelte body. “Anyway, it no longer matters. Carly is re-making her life. Huntley’s welcome to the ex-hooker he married. Didn’t he want you after all?” He wondered why he asked, but was forced to confront the fact he really wanted to know. “Or didn’t you want him?”
Her hair had come out of its too casual arrangement, dark masses of it atop her slender body. She put a hand to it. “You’re taking this very hard, aren’t you?”
“Hell, yes,” he drawled. “Carly is part of my extended family.” And his mood was pervaded by a sense of deep disappointment.
“Have you ever tried to check out your theory with her?” she questioned bluntly, not knowing any other way to put it.
“That you were having an affair with her ex-husband?” he scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. God forbid I should have added to her worries.”
“You really should do something about your habit of jumping to conclusions, Mr. McCord,” she suggested, seemingly unaware she was filling the air around them with her femininity and fragrance. “One of these days, when you’re prepared to listen, I’ll tell you what it was all about.”
He laughed, ashamed of the swift desire he felt for her, though he had the wit to realise it was a matter outside his control. “But, Miss De Campo, can’t you see there’s no way I’ll listen. I regret the fact you’ve had to travel all the way out here, but I need to make a decision. In view of what we both know, and find embarrassing, I have to say you’re not the woman I need to run our functions. I guess you’re what most men would call a femme fatale. That’s great up to a point, but I’m not paying for one to come out to Coori. Who knows how many guys might be prepared to make fools of themselves over you. There will be plenty around. Two polo teams, and you don’t play by the rules. The womenfolk might hate you. I don’t want to bump into you half-naked on a couch again either.”
“Why would you?” she asked silkily. “You couldn’t handle it the first time. It seems to have burnt itself into your brain.”
“I’ll get over it.” He stood in front of her, shielding her from view, his face almost stern. “You do understand my position?”
“Frankly, no.” She tossed her exuberant mane, putting him in mind of a high-strung filly. “We had a deal, Mr. McCord, and I’m going to hold you to it. I’ve put off other functions to come out here.”
“I’m quite prepared to compensate you for your trouble.”
“I’m sorry. I’m too full of pride. Right up to here!” She stepped forward and levelled a hand just beneath his arrogant nose. “I can’t let you walk away from a commitment and I won’t!”
“Really?” He raised a supercilious brow, hiding his unwilling admiration for her spirit. What would she be like if she were really angry? “Do you mind if we walk outside? We appear to be attracting quite a bit of attention.” People were indeed looking their way, which might have a lot to do with her glorious appearance or the hostility of the body language.
“Well you will turn this into a crisis situation.”
They walked out into the spiralling heat, the aromatic smell of baked earth and baked eucalyptus leaves blowing on the wind.
“Good grief, there’s a kangaroo,” she said, sounding as excited as a child about to make a spectacle of herself by running after it.
“You’ll see plenty of them out here,” he told her dryly, lulled by the lovely crooning quality of her voice.
“So I’m staying?” She turned to him hopefully, staring into his eyes. Playing him for all he was worth.
“It’s hard to know what to do with you.” His answer was therefore curt. At least it kept him from falling at her feet. If a latter day Cellini needed a model for the Roman goddess Venus, she was it. “I know in my bones, you’re good old-fashioned Trouble.”
“Would it help if I put on my half-moon reading glasses?” she asked with a kind of tart sweetness.
“You need glasses?” He felt a little shock. He didn’t think she had a single flaw.
“Going on your masculine logic they might help,” she answered with some of his own dryness.
“Well I’ve pretty much approved the mini-skirt,” he told her coolly. “You don’t feel self-conscious wearing it?”
“I’m not ashamed of my legs.” She looked down at their slender length, then at him. “Have you finished checking them out?”
Not half finished, he thought. “You’re certainly very forthright, Miss De Campo.” He glinted, inevitably reminded of the shy reticence of his stepmother and sister.
“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,” she pronounced philosophically. “I insist now we hold to our agreement. From all accounts you need me.”
“What do you mean?” For a moment hostility held sway. Had she heard some unkind comments about Stacy’s lack of organisational skills?
“No need to bite my head off. I’m only saying, there’s very little time to find my replacement even if I’d allow it. And I do have your initial cheque. Banked,” she stressed.
“Is there any possibility you might accept it as compensation?” His expression hardened while he waited for her answer.
“None whatever. I’ve come, Mr. McCord, and I’m going to stay,” she announced, exuding determination. “What’s more, you’ll find no fault with me. I intend to work as hard as I know how.”
“Better yet you might think of a uniform.” He glanced meaningfully at her well-endowed body, fighting down those unwelcome flares of excitement. “Keep it simple. Nothing revealing.”
“You’re very timid around women, aren’t you?” She glanced at him sidelong. The man had sex appeal coming out