in: Swimming in Brazilian waters.
The search engine results loaded onto the screen. ‘Eureka.’
She leaned forward, intent on clicking the link to a website that looked as if it would give her the information she needed.
‘Do not move a muscle, Ms Hartley,’ a deceptively soft voice said from the doorway.
Imogen froze. She moved nothing but her eyes to meet her employer’s gaze. ‘Is there…?’ She swallowed. ‘Is there a snake or a scorpion about to pounce on me?’ Her voice came out hoarse, but she was too afraid to cough and clear her throat in case she incited some animal to attack.
‘Don’t be ludicrous. Of course there isn’t. Unless you call yourself a scorpion or a snake,’ he added, striding towards her with a purposeful step, his lips pressed into a thin line.
Danger. The word whipped through her for the second time. This man was dangerous. She should’ve followed her first instincts. Leaping to her feet, she shot around the farthest side of the desk, keeping its wide expanse between them. She grabbed a paperweight in one hand, and then seized a pen and held it like a dagger in her other.
He slammed to a halt so quickly he swayed where he stood. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I don’t like the look in your eyes.’
For some reason, her words made him pale. His chest lifted as he dragged in a breath. ‘I don’t like undercover journalists.’
‘I’m not a journalist,’ she spluttered, ‘undercover or otherwise!’
‘I hold the same contempt for industrial spies.’
She pointed the pen at his computer. ‘You think I’m snooping in your personal files or…or your work files?’
Lips that shouldn’t look quite so full twisted. ‘The thought had crossed my mind.’
Wow, was this man paranoid or what? No wonder he lived on a desert island. And no wonder her aunt had warned her to be circumspect around him—difficult and temperamental had been the words she’d used.
‘We seem to be at an impasse, Ms Hartley. I never for one moment meant for you to think that you were in physical danger from me.’
Oddly enough, she believed him.
‘But I want to look at that computer screen to see precisely what it was that had you grinning like a Cheshire cat and shrieking “Eureka”.’
That was probably a very good idea. ‘How about I go this way until I’m standing in front of your desk?’
‘And I’ll go this way—’ he gestured in the opposite direction ‘—until I’m behind my desk.’
‘I want it on record that I take exception to the charge of shrieking, Mr Coleman. I don’t shriek.’
‘Duly noted, Ms Hartley.’
‘Right, well…let’s call that Plan A, shall we?’ Imogen Hartley’s lips lifted, but that didn’t assuage the acid burning in Jasper’s gut. The fear in her eyes as he’d started towards her had nearly felled him. What kind of brute did she take him for?
‘Do you want me to count?’ He didn’t want to give her any further cause for alarm. ‘On the count of three—’
With a frown in her eyes, as if he puzzled her, she shook her head and started moving around the desk. He kept his own steps measured and unhurried as he moved in the opposite direction.
Once they’d switched places, rather than looking meek and mild, or guilty and ashamed, Imogen Hartley made an exaggerated flourish towards the computer like a model in an infomercial.
He muffled a sigh and took his seat. At least she didn’t look frightened any more. Steeling himself, he turned to his computer. He stared at it for several long moments, blinked, and then eased back, his shoulders unhitching. ‘You’re checking the surf conditions?’
She nodded.
He tried to keep a frown from forming. ‘Did you really think Ilha do Pequeno Tesoura—’ he used the full Portuguese name of the island ‘—would be in the database of some surfing website?’
‘Well, no, not exactly. But we’re only a leisurely thirty-minute boat ride from the coast. Which means it’d be quicker by speedboat,’ she added with a shrug, as if that explained everything.
A speedboat would reach the island in less than fifteen minutes. And her shrug explained nothing.
‘So I thought that checking the surfing conditions on the coast might tell me what I needed to know.’
‘Which is?’
She gestured, presumably towards the Atlantic Ocean on display outside his office window. ‘If it’s safe for me to swim on your beach.’
‘Why?’
Two vertical lines appeared on her brow as if he’d just asked the most ridiculous question ever put to her—as if two seconds ago she’d considered him a sensible man and now she didn’t.
Two minutes ago, she’d thought him a scary man. He’d never forgive himself for that.
Still, those lines on her brow were oddly cute…and kind of disturbing. Disturbing in the same way that seeing her dancing and singing while she’d been vacuuming had been disturbing. This woman was full of life and energy and spontaneity—full of unguarded reactions. It reminded him of normal people, and the outside world, and life. It was why he’d been so unforgivably short with her. The ache she’d unknowingly created inside him—an ache he’d thought he’d mastered a long time ago—had taken him off guard. It was why he’d come back early from his run—so he could ask Katherine to apologise to the girl on his behalf.
Apologise yourself now.
He opened his mouth. He closed it again. Katherine had rolled her eyes when she’d spoken of her niece—had said she was flighty and impulsive…recovering from the latest in a string of unsuitable relationships…had hinted, without saying as much, that her niece would find him irresistibly attractive. Be that as it may, while she might be irresponsible this girl was untouched by all the ugliness that surrounded him. And he’d like to keep it that way. It’d be better for all concerned if she considered him a temperamental grump rather than a reasonable human being.
He watched, fascinated, as she forced her face into polite lines. ‘The reason I was checking the surf conditions is because I want to swim on the beach out there. My aunt couldn’t tell me. She doesn’t like the surf. If she wants a dip, she swims in the lagoon. You only swim in your pool. So…’
It took an effort of will not to lean towards her. ‘So?’
‘So I wondered if there was something wrong with it. Is there a great white shark colony camped just off the reef? Are there hidden rips or strange jellyfish? I mean, I’ve not noticed anything unusual, but…’
She
