Man vs. Socialite. Charlotte Phillips
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and broad chest. She could see part of an eagle tattoo on the rock-hard muscle of his left upper bicep.
She slapped on the don’t-care smile that she’d perfected over a number of years.
‘As I’ll ever be,’ she breezed.
‘Nervous?’ he pressed. She gave away the answer in the drop of her eyes and she could have kicked herself.
‘It will be fine,’ he said, his voice softened a little. Her stomach gave a skip in response. She hadn’t really thought Jack Trent did anything as sappy as reassurance. ‘Tough but fun, right?’
Fun?
‘How the hell did you get involved in this kind of thing?’ she blurted before she could stop herself. ‘I mean, it’s not exactly something vocational you decide on doing at school, is it? How do you come to the conclusion that the career for you will involve eating rodents and crossing freezing rivers?’
He grinned at the sudden outburst.
‘Says the girl who’s famous for...well, for being famous. How do you get involved in that?’
Her hand betrayed her and ran itself nervously through her hair before she brought it back to clench at her side.
‘I am not remotely nervous,’ she said, avoiding the question. ‘I work out five times a week, I run and I do toning with weights. I think I can manage what’s basically a revved-up camping trip.’
He laughed out loud, a rich, deep sound that made her traitorous stomach go soft.
‘Revved-up camping trip? Have you actually taken the time to watch any of the shows?’
‘I’ve seen a few clips,’ she said.
She wasn’t about to admit to him that his shows looked like a mud-soaked freezing nightmare. No way was she just going to take his arrogant implication that she wasn’t up to the challenge.
‘Fitness is only a small part of it,’ he countered. ‘It’s about initiative, it’s about self-control, it’s about how you react in a difficult situation with limited resources.’ He was watching her intently as if trying to read her mind. ‘I read your change of tack in the press,’ he said.
‘Change of tack?’
‘From washing your hands of all responsibility to holding your hands up and begging for forgiveness.’ He paused. ‘With accompanying photo spread.’
His green eyes held hers intently without the slightest flicker and her pulse jumped at his pointed tone. She knew perfectly well which photo spread he was referring to. She swallowed to clear her suddenly dry throat. She was determined to keep control of this situation, to squash any stupid misplaced attraction to him.
‘Are you complaining that I’ve said I’m publicly sorry?’ she said.
‘No, I’m just wondering whether it’s genuine or just a new spin.’
She glanced up at him, the blue eyes giving nothing away.
‘If it cleans any smears from your reputation, what do you care which it is?’ she asked.
He shrugged.
‘I don’t. Not really. Just trying to get the measure of you.’
Jack watched as she abandoned the pile of kit, as if she’d had any interest in it anyway, and turned to face him, giving him her full attention. She was close enough now for him to pick up the scent of her perfume. She smelled delicious and expensive. She watched him steadily with wide blue eyes that sparked off a slow burn low in his abdomen. She was seriously cute.
‘I’d really like it if we could put any bad feeling behind us,’ she said. ‘I know the situation is difficult but I really am doing all I can to put it right. I think we could both focus on the weekend ahead a lot more effectively if we made some kind of truce.’
If she thought she’d be able to charm him into going easy on her by suggesting he might not be totally focused, she was way wrong.
‘How I feel about you has no effect whatsoever on my responsibility to you in the field,’ he said. ‘I’m a professional. Your safety is my priority.’
‘So a truce isn’t out of the question, then?’ she pressed.
‘Depends on the terms,’ he said, just to see what she would do next. She was clearly used to getting her own way.
He saw her eyes widen briefly in surprise. She obviously hadn’t expected him to give in so easily. She rushed on quickly while the going was good.
‘Thing is, Jack,’ she said, ‘we both want the same thing.’
‘Which is?’
She shrugged.
‘To get through this weekend without any hitches,’ she said. ‘I know perfectly well the public want to see me slip up but would that really be the best showcase for your survival courses? Isn’t the whole point that the candidates survive? With that in mind, maybe it might be...prudent...for both of us to approach the tasks in a way that shows the situation in the best light.’
That showed her in the best light, in other words. Oh, she really was something else. Her we’re-on-the-same-side-here persuasion might work on other people but he’d had enough dealings with TV luvvies to develop immunity to that kind of manipulation. Fame and fortune mattered only inasmuch as they furthered what he considered to be his real work: his charity initiatives and the courses he’d developed for kids.
She smiled winningly at him and he wondered vaguely if she’d ever encountered a situation in her cushy existence without an expectation that she would somehow come out on top no matter what. Charm held no weight with him when held up against hard graft. And looking at her soft, beautifully manicured hands, he doubted there’d been much of that in her life. She was from a totally different world.
She held his gaze with wide blue eyes, waiting for him to just fling himself at her designer-clad feet and agree to her every whim.
‘I think we understand each other,’ he said.
‘Good.’ She smiled at him. He smiled broadly back at her.
‘Despite your brushing it off as a—what was it?—“revved-up camping trip”,’ he said, ‘you still want me to go easy on you this weekend. Sorry, sweetheart, the clue’s in the name. It’s a survival course, it’s not meant to be a piece of cake.’
She stared at him as he headed for the door.
‘I thought you came up here to check through any concerns I might have,’ she said.
‘I did. I meant legitimate ones, like your swimming ability or maybe questions about the kit. Not schmoozy concerns about getting an easy ride. No can do. I’ll see you at the base at dawn.’
He closed the door behind him and smiled at the plastic number plate on the door. He’d give it until lunchtime tomorrow before she walked off set.
‘So we start at Jack’s base camp with him talking through the kit you need. Then you head out with him into the wilderness on foot.’
Evie clutched desperately at the sides of the passenger seat as a production assistant dressed in head to toe waterproofs bumped the Jeep along what barely passed for a muddy track. The silver-grey tendrils of dawn were creeping in across the Scottish Highlands and the landscape was soaked by a relentless drizzle of fine rain, the kind that lulled you into thinking it was nothing while insidiously soaking you to the bone. Leaving the awful hotel in the small hours had felt like leaving civilisation.
‘There’s a support team though—right?’ she said. ‘I mean, he doesn’t film himself doing all this stuff, does he? It wouldn’t just be the two of us with no backup.’