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 of his ears. “Possibly you’ve had a bad experience?”
“One, but it was a long time ago. A femme fatale like you,” he countered suavely, not allowing her to take a rise out of him. “You must understand your staying depends on true-blue behaviour, Miss De Campo.”
“Angelica, please,” she begged. “Angelica. Angie. I get both. But I’m not sure I know what true-blue behaviour is.” She widened her beautiful eyes.
“It’s not playing around,” he explained. “Excuse the expression.” To his consternation he found he was unable to look away from her luscious mouth.
Surprise flickered into her eyes. “You know you’ve got it all wrong.” She gazed back with considerable appeal. “Huntley grabbed me,” she told him simply. “I was such an idiot to go with him.”
“Were you attracted to him?” It seemed both monstrous and bizarre.
“Lord, no!” She shuddered, making the clingy little top climb higher around her golden midriff. “Men like that I don’t give the time of day.”
“Really?” He’d heard something like this before. “Forgive me if I have to wonder why you were allowing him to maul you?”
“He was, wasn’t he?” she agreed dismally. “All that grappling. I still remember the tumble on the couch. It wasn’t my fault, I swear. But the way you were looking at me made me feel quite worthless. Odd to be innocent but found guilty.” She pushed back tight little damp curls, marvelling at the heat. “He found an excuse to get me into the study. I was working with a colleague that night doing the catering.”
“Did he send you a little note?”
“He spoke to me. He was the host. He was a big burly man who’d been tossing drinks down.”
“I wouldn’t call you little.” Extravagantly beautiful, maybe.
“Mr. McCord, I’ve been insulted about my height all my life,” she groaned.
“I don’t believe that at all.” She had to be fishing for compliments.
“Everyone called me Shorty at school. I know they were only joking but it hurt at the time.”
“I suppose being so beautiful you needed the odd remark.” The heat of the day wasn’t bothering him, he was used to it, but he indicated they should move further under the shade of the trees. God help him if he actually touched her. She was dynamite. “Miss McCord, I don’t feel in the least sorry for you,” he told her briskly. “You’re gorgeous. Have no doubts. One reason why I’m extremely anxious about taking you out to Coori.”
“So when do we get started?” she asked with a surge of hope, absent-mindedly crumbling a dry eucalyptus leaf between her fingers, so she could enjoy the sharp nostalgic scent.
“The plane is over there.” He pointed back through the trees to the light aircraft strip. It just so happened his was the only one there.
“My goodness! Unreal!” She gave a little gasp of admiration. “Your own private jet.”
“It’s not a jet, as you very well know. It’s a Beech Baron.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, absolutely fascinated.
“Thank you.” A shower of dry gum leaves suddenly fell from the trees, but he resisted the powerful impulse to brush them from her hair.
She shook her head, dislodging the burnished leaves herself. “Pardon my asking, but you don’t have a lady friend to pull this off?”
“What off?” he retaliated sharply.
“Why, your functions, of course,” she answered mildly. “I understand your stepmother and your sister, Gillian, are a little nervous about handling something so big?”
“Nice of Isobel to tell you.” So they’d discussed it. Why not?
“She had to tell me,” she answered with mild reasonableness, obviously a sunny-natured woman. “Not every woman wants to plunge into lots of catering activities. Fortunately for you, it so happens I love it.”
“So I can point the finger
