name buzzed about inside her head in her father’s most frosty voice as he flapped the Financial Times in a way that meant he was not happy. ‘He got too big, too quick. Stubborn fool is overreaching. One of these days he’ll land flat on his face. Mark my words.’
Meg didn’t know about overreaching, but she did know that her father didn’t give a damn about anyone below a certain level of accomplishment—client, competitor, offspring …
She swallowed.
There was no flirtation in Zach Jones’s gaze. No measure of awe about who she was. Just copious amounts of brooding intensity centred in those unfathomable dark eyes. Despite it all, the backs of her knees began to quiver.
He blinked. And rolled his shoulders. The first sign he wasn’t as nervelessly blasé as he was making out.
The very thought made way for an unimpeded rush of sexual attraction to slide through her, like a waterfall breaking through a dam of knotted foliage that had held it back a decade.
The ferocity of her reaction had her literally taking a step back. The blister on her heel popped, again. A hiss of pain slid through her teeth as she hopped madly on her good foot.
The man took a step towards her, a hand appearing to flicker in her direction. The tension curling inside her ratcheted up a notch and a half and she knew her sudden breathlessness had far less to do with her stinging foot, and more to do with the stranger in her midst.
Thankfully she caught her balance all on her own, and the man unclenched from his ready-to-pounce position.
She spun back to face front. ‘When are we going to start running, for Pete’s sake?’ she whispered through her teeth.
Rylie reached out and pinched her hot pink cheek. ‘Look who’s suddenly Miss Eager Exerciser.’
‘You bet,’ she said, shuffling from one foot to the other as though she had ants in her pants. ‘Bring on the lactic-acid burn!’ Better that than having to endure the feel of the man’s burning eyes on her back.
She shook out her hands, attempting to shake off the fidgets. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been rebuffed before. It came with the celebrity package as much as being excessively adored. It just thankfully generally happened from afar. By strangers. Whom she didn’t have to look in the eye and pretend it didn’t sting.
‘Meg, he’s coming over!’ Tabitha said so loud those straggling nearby must have heard.
‘We’ll leave you to it, then,’ Rylie said cheerily. ‘I’m counting on you to get me the exclusive!’
‘No, no, no!’ Meg begged.
But it was too late, they were off—Rylie the runner, and Tabitha the gym junkie. There was no way Meg was keeping up with them, even with the amount of adrenalin pouring through her body as she stood all alone in the middle of the dirt track, Zach Jones making a beeline her way.
CHAPTER TWO
MEG jogged for almost five minutes before pulling up to a walk. By then she was already wishing she’d brought a better bra, a hairband and a scooter.
The rest of the stragglers passed her by, including the wellness facilitator who had been bringing up the rear.
All bar one.
She could feel a male presence tucked in behind her. She could hear the heavy pad of his large feet on the compacted dirt path. Dragging in deep, unfit breaths, she caught his scent on the hot summer breeze—expensive, subtle, and wholly masculine.
All this from a man who’d managed to get under her skin in half a second flat. A man who’d rejected her come-hither smile in even less time. Sheesh. The sooner she found out what he was after and got rid of him, the better.
She said, ‘Are we there yet?’ just loud enough he could have no doubt she was talking to him.
‘Do a U-turn and ask me again,’ a deep voice rumbled beside her. A voice that matched the rest of him so perfectly that if she wasn’t gleaming with perspiration from the effect of it she deserved some kind of medal in self-control.
Meg pinched her side with the hopes of fending off an oncoming stitch and the slow burn of attraction that was infusing her in one fell swoop, and turned.
At a distance Zach Jones was something. Up close and personal he was too beautiful for words. Her breath shot from her in a discombobulated whoomph.
She concentrated on the slight bump of a once-broken nose, the different angles each of his dark brows took above his hooded eyes, the stray sun-kissed flecks within his dark hair, lest she be overwhelmed by the whole.
‘Please don’t hang back on my account,’ she said, oft-practised casual smile firmly entrenched. ‘My pace is purposeful. Those chumps up ahead don’t realise how much more one can appreciate the scenery by walking.’
He said, ‘I’m fine right here.’
If she didn’t know better she could have taken those words a whole other way. As it was she had to give her heart a mental slap for the unwarranted little dance it was currently enjoying.
‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘We’ll walk together. Scenery is always more enjoyable when you have someone to share it with.’
And then neither of them said another word for a whole minute. The unmistakable tension was almost enough for Meg to start jogging again, despite the fact that she’d barely caught her breath.
‘Would I be right in thinking you’re not a big runner?’ he finally said.
After Meg’s laughter died down she waved her hands in the direction of her well-tended curves. ‘Do I look like a runner?’
Given the invitation to do so, the man’s eyes travelled down one side of her body—over her borrowed hot-pink short shorts and black T-shirt with sparkly designer name splashed across her chest—and up the other. Given the chance, she looked into his distracted eyes.
Deep, dark, soulful brown they were, with the kinds of creases at the edge that she just knew would make a girl’s heart melt at ten paces when he smiled. If he smiled, which she realised he still was yet to do. In fact, he carried with him the distinct impression of a frown.
Finally, and none too soon, Meg managed to duck out of the heady cloud of attraction to hear cymbals crashing inside her head. They warned of impending doom.
There was no doubt he was intentionally at her side. He’d had to have waved the wellness facilitator on to get her alone. But it was becoming increasingly clear he wasn’t exactly over the moon to be there. On both counts she was clueless as to why.
She worried the tiny chip in her front right tooth with her tongue, an old habit that re-emerged only when she felt as if things were slipping out of her exacting control. An old habit she worked hard at keeping at bay.
She curled her tongue back where it belonged and answered her question herself. ‘Between us, running’s not my forte. I’m more of a yoga girl.’
Sometimes. Every now and then. Okay, so she’d
