his stomach wouldn’t lurch when he smelled her and his eyes wouldn’t stray to her when she walked by…
The best defence was absence.
Until he could get complete control of his faculties when she was around. And if that was never…well, then…
He’d work out how to deal with that.
How could she have forgotten what Clint looked like filling a doorway? In only a week?
He braced himself with casual arms on top of the doorframe to the office kitchenette, the stretch pulling his muscles into intriguing angles. If not for the simmering storm in his eyes, Romy’s heart might have lurched for very different reasons.
He was clean-shaven today. And that shirt looked new. He still seemed terrifying.
Beside her, Simone’s jaw dropped in a most unladylike fashion and her coffee mug tilted perilously close to losing its contents. But when he finally dragged his glare from Romy to her, Simone ditched the mug and turned to make a rapid excuse.
‘I…Um…’ Nothing came. ‘Okay, ’bye.’
Clint stepped aside to let her flee and then filled the gap again, effectively cutting off any further escape.
Romy shook her head. She’d been just seconds away from ferreting out the information she needed about where Justin had worked in the US. ‘You really don’t try with people, do you, Clint?’
He prowled in through the door and leaned against the bench, his arms folded across his chest. ‘Good morning to you, too.’
She matched his pose. Minus the casual lean. Her smile was tight, her sarcasm honed. ‘Good morning, Clint. What can I do for you?’ It wasn’t as if he was in the neighbourhood. He’d tracked her down for a reason.
Dark eyes pinned her. ‘How are you?’
They were not seriously going to do this? ‘I’m fine. And you?’
He looked out at her from under very non-army-issue lashes. ‘Okay, let’s start again.’ He nudged the kitchen door shut with his size-eleven boot and shifted closer to her. She shuffled back a little. Straight into the cabinetry. ‘I’m sorry about what happened at my house. I didn’t mean for it to…go that way.’
She read sincerity in his expression. Her shoulders loosened. ‘I meant what I said. I can’t afford to…I can’t see past…some things. But it’s not personal. I don’t hold it against you.’
‘That’s good.’
It was in the change of light in his eyes—from an intense glowing to a loaded gleaming. She narrowed hers. ‘Why is that good?’
‘Because I was hoping…What are you doing Friday night?’
Her eyebrows shot up. Had all that solitude affected his brain? Surely she wasn’t going to have to say it again?
He pushed on. ‘The Hohloch Foundation is having a fund-raiser in town. It’s part of the million-acres habitat-protection program and all the major landowners in the region are expected to go.’ His swallowed nervously. ‘I’d like you to come along. Meet some of the locals. It’s a good opportunity to network.’
There was a strange kind of vulnerability about him. ‘So this is a work thing?’
‘If that gets you there, yes,’ he said. ‘But you’ll need a dress.’
The empathy evaporated completely. She pressed her lips together. ‘You say that like I might not have one!’
‘I mean a dance dress. A gown. It’s formal.’
Her arms crossed protectively in front of her. ‘Just because you’ve never seen me in a dress doesn’t mean I don’t own one! Every woman has a formal dress.’
He raised two hands. ‘Ceasefire, cadet. I just wanted to make sure you understood what kind of a gig it was.’
She knew what fundraiser meant. How many kinds of idiot did he think she was? ‘You think I might embarrass WildSprings? Turn up in my underwear?’
His green eyes flared.
‘You’re the hermit, McLeish. I’d be more worried about what you’ll be wearing.’
He ignored that. ‘So you’ll come?’
‘If it’s a work thing, yes. I’ll be there. In a dress.’
He straightened and turned to release the door. ‘Great. I’ll pick you up at six.’
‘Wait! Why do I need a lift?’
He looked at her, quizzically. ‘We’re neighbours going to the same event, sixty clicks away. You think we should drive separately?’
Nice one, Carvell. Way to appear more competent in his eyes. Think, think. She had to wrestle back some control. ‘Um, I could collect you?’
He stared her down. ‘You want to pick me up?’
No. She lifted her chin. ‘Yes. It seems only fair.’
He smiled and shrugged. ‘Fine. I’ll be waiting for you at six.’
Romy fumed as he walked out of the kitchenette. Damn him! Finding her, cornering her in the kitchen, insulting her wardrobe. And her professionalism. Her chest heaved with unvented passion. Then her indignation started to settle as the reality set in. Sixty kilometres there, a full night out and then sixty home. Together. Alone. With the man she’d been unable to get her mind off but couldn’t be in the same room as.
And—brilliant!—she was driving him so she couldn’t leave early with one of the other staff. She roared her frustration as she tossed her half-drunk coffee into the sink. Damn! She’d just been played by an expert.
And—damn!—she’d have to buy a dress.
Oh, Lord…
Romy saw him the moment she pulled up at the base of the tree house sharp on six o’clock. He looked like a model striding towards her on a catwalk made of beams from her headlights.
She swallowed. He’d cut his hair short. Not quite military enough to make her nervous but close enough to highlight the square line of his jaw and to reveal the smooth arc of a forehead that served as a canvas for his fringed, sage eyes.
How on earth had he ever found a coat to fit those shoulders? It wasn’t a tuxedo, but the expensive black fabric draped on him like a second skin. Black suit, black shirt, black tie. She suddenly got a flash of what he must have looked like in full Taipan ops gear. He would have carried himself and fifty kilos of equipment with the same easy grace as he sauntered towards her now.
You will not find that sexy…
Her little pep talk helped for a moment. But only a moment. Clint stopped in front of the car and stared at her. All her usual Romy-isms failed her. No single eyebrow lift, no sarcastic comment, no impatient
