Australian Escape: Her Hottest Summer Yet / The Heat of the Night. Элли Блейк
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lost along the way, and slathered herself in Australian sunscreen and handed her key in to the day staff at Reception.
The girls behind the desk chattered about the shock of Claudia’s and Luke’s parents suddenly heading off into the middle of nowhere, and asked how Claudia was coping. Avery said her friend was coping just great, all the while thinking shock and coping were pretty loaded words. Making a deal with herself to pin Claude down asap, Avery still knew the moment Jonah had arrived, for she might as well have turned invisible to the two women behind the desk.
“Hi, Jonah!” the girls sing-songed.
“Morning, ladies,” he said from behind her, his deep Australian drawl hooking into that place behind Avery’s belly button it always seemed to catch. Then to Avery, “Ready to go?”
And the girls’ eyes turned to her in amazement and envy.
Avery shook her head infinitesimally—I get the lust, believe me, but don’t panic, he’s not the guy for me.
Then she turned, all that denial ringing in her head as it got a load of the man who’d arrived to take her away.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Jonah was still unshaven, and yet the sight of all that manly stubble first thing in the morning did the strangest things to her constitution. As did the warm brown of his skin against the navy blue shirt, and the strong calves beneath his long shorts, and the crystal-clear grey eyes.
“Shall we?” he asked.
We shall, she thought.
“Bye, Jonah!” the girls called.
Avery, who was by then five steps ahead of Jonah, rolled her eyes.
When they hit sunlight, she stopped, not knowing which way to go.
“What time’s the boat?”
“No boat today. Not for us anyway.” And then his hand strayed to her lower back, burning like a brand as he guided her along the path, leaving nothing between his searing touch but the cotton of her T-shirt and her still-damp swimmers.
“This way,” he said, guiding her with the slightest pressure as he eased her through a gate marked Private then down a sandy path beneath the shade of a small forest, and back out into the sunshine where a jetty poked out into the blinding blue sea. And perched on a big square at the end—
“A helicopter?” A pretty one too, with the Charter North logo emblazed across the side.
“It was brought here this morning on a charter. They don’t need it back till four. Quickest way off the island.”
“No, thanks,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest, “I’ll wait for the boat.”
“You sure?” he asked, his eyes dropping to where her crossed arms had created a little faux cleavage. Her next breath in was difficult. “It’ll be a good eight hours from now, the sea rocking you back and forth, all that noise from a bunch of very tired kids after a long hot day at the beach—”
Avery held up a hand to shush him as she swallowed down the heave of anticipatory post-cocktail seasickness rising up in her stomach. “Yes, thank you. I get your point. So where’s our pilot?”
At the twist of his smile, she knew.
Before she could object, Jonah’s hands were at her waist, shoving her forward. Her self-preservation instincts actually propelled her away from his touch and towards the contraption as if it were the lesser danger.
When he hoisted her up, she scrambled into her seat with less grace than she’d have liked. And then suddenly he was there, his silhouette blocking out the sun, the scent of him—soap and sea and so much man—sliding inside her senses, the back of his knuckles scraping the T-shirt across her belly...
Oh, he was plugging her in.
“That feels good,” she said. Then, cheeks going from sunburned to scorched in half a second flat, added, “The belt feels good. Fine. Nice and tight.” Nice and tight?
A muscle in Jonah’s cheek twitched, then without another word he passed her a set of headphones, slid some over his dark curls, flipped some dials, chatted to a flight-control tower, and soon they were off, with Avery’s stomach trailing about ten feet below.
It didn’t help that Jonah seemed content to simply fly, sunlight slanting across the strong planes of his face, his big thighs spread out over his seat.
Three minutes into the flight Avery nearly whooped with relief when she found a subject that didn’t carry some unintentional double entendre. She waved a hand Jonah’s way.
He tapped her headphones. Right.
“I hope you found someone to look after your dog,” she said, her voice tinny in her ears. “I was thinking about it before I fell asleep last night. I mean, since it was my fault you couldn’t go home to him last night.”
“Hull’ll be fine.”
Hull. It suited the huge wolfish beast. Like something a Viking might call his best friend.
Then Jonah added, “But he’s not my dog.”
“Oh. But I thought... Claude said—”
“He’s not my dog.”
Okay, then.
An age later Jonah’s voice came to her, deep and echoey through the headphones. “Want to know what I was thinking about when I finally fell asleep?”
Yes... But she was meant to be getting better at saying no. And this seemed like a really good chance to practise. “No,” she lied, her voice flat even as her heart rate shot through the roof.
He shot her a look. Grey eyes hooded, lazy with heat. And the smile that curved at his mouth was predatory. “I’m going to tell you anyway.”
Oh, hell.
“I wondered how long it will be before I have to throw myself between you and a drop bear.”
Avery wasn’t fast enough to hide the smile that tugged at her mouth. Or slow enough not to notice that his gaze dropped to her mouth and stayed. “I may be a tourist, Jonah, but I’m not an idiot. There’s no such thing as a drop bear.”
His eyes—thankfully—slid back to hers. “Claudia tipped you off, eh?”
“She is fabulous that way.”
At mention of her friend another option occurred to her! Sitting up straighter, she turned in her seat as much as she could, ignoring the zing that travelled up her leg as her knee brushed against his.
“Speaking of Claudia,” she said. Here goes. “She thinks you’re hot.”
A rise of an eyebrow showed his surprise. “Really?” And for a moment she thought she had him. Then he had to go and ask, “What do you think?”
Her stomach clenched as if taking a direct hit. “That’s irrelevant.”
“Not to me.”
“Why do you even care?”
His next look was flat, intent, no holds barred. “If you don’t know that yet, Ms Shaw, then I’m afraid that fancy education of yours was a complete waste.”
She tried to blink. To think. To come up with some fabulous retort that would send him yelping back into his man cave. But the pull of those eyes, that face, that voice, basking in the wholly masculine scent of him filling the tiny cabin, she couldn’t come up with a pronoun, much less an entire sentence.
And the longer the silence built, the less chance she had of getting herself off the hook.
It took for him to break eye contact—when a gust of wind picked them up and rocked them about—for her to drag her eyes away.
With skill and haste, he slipped them above the air stream and into calmer air space.