“You obviously don’t mind getting personal?” She came a step further, strangely appealing in her tallness.
“I fail to see what’s personal about that.”
“Talking about the length of my skirt was. Your lady friend is a fellow rancher, I understand?”
He marvelled at her cheek, giving her a cool stare. “You’re not getting paid to ask questions like that, Miss De Campo. As it happens, I’m a committed bachelor.”
She didn’t know if he was telling the truth or having her on. Not the time, really, to tell him he could very well be the man of her dreams. That would come later. Now she settled for, “You don’t look like one.” Indeed he looked like the hero of some big-budget adventure movie. The sort who kept a woman’s eyes glued to the screen.
He didn’t appear to be taking her seriously. In fact he moved off abruptly in the direction of his lovely plane, causing her to utilise some of what she thought of as her beanstalk height to catch up.
Equally abruptly, he turned back, smiling so tigerishly, he surprised her into slamming into him. Multiple little shocks like a charge of electricity rippled through her; a little sound suspiciously like excitement escaped her. The big cat’s eyes swished over her.
“And you know them all?”
Angelica felt his condemnation like an actual burden. She didn’t care how long it took, she’d convince him there’d been absolutely nothing between herself and Trevor Huntley, no matter what his eyes had deceived him into thinking. Things weren’t always what they seemed yet he’d already brought in a verdict. It was awful to be accused of a crime like indecent exposure when one was perfectly innocent.
“So what about my luggage?” she prompted, although she’d just remembered it herself. Some measure of proof her customary aplomb had collapsed. “Surely you don’t intend taking off without it?”
He laughed, a sexual sardonic sound. Something he was good at. “If all your clothes are as brief as what you’re wearing,” he observed, “I’m surprised you’re not carrying it over your shoulder.”
Good-natured as she was, she couldn’t contain a flicker of temper. “Obviously you don’t realise what’s going on in women’s fashions. I expect it comes with the landscape. You’re a very long way from the big city.”
“Which doesn’t mean I don’t get there part of the time to catch up.” He hesitated a moment, his gleaming gaze speculative. “Any chance you’ve packed a few things a couple of inches longer?”
She responded sweetly though sparks were crackling between them. “To bring all this off successfully, and I so want to, Mr. McCord, perhaps I could arrange a showing of my wardrobe for you. You could tell me what you like and what you don’t. The kind of thing a nice girl wears. We could talk about it.”
His amber eyes sparkled with half malice, half amusement. “Which calls for time I don’t have. You are the same woman I spoke to on the phone?”
“You have doubts?” She seemed to be gravitating towards him, drawn by his powerful magnetism.
“It is a concern,” he mocked. “You don’t seem like my initial choice.”
“I’m me, I can vouch for it.”
The handsomely defined mouth compressed. “In that case, you’d better come along. Your luggage, unless it’s been stolen, should be beside the plane by now. I know the guy who drives the van.”
“Let’s hope he’s not a cross-dresser,” she joked.
“I beg your pardon.” He paused to look down at her, eyes narrowed.
“I said—”
“I know what you said.” Despite himself he had to laugh. Whatever else the ravishingly wanton Miss De Campo might prove to be—and he just knew she was going to be an extravagant handful—she wouldn’t be dull. That’s what he had liked about her in the first place.
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