Jackie Braun - By Request Collection 1

‘It would have to be more than I know—’ But now Heath’s hand was in the small of her back and everything dissolved in a flood of sensation. Jerking away, she bent down to pick up the overloaded pack.

‘Let me help you—’

‘Go away.’

‘Bronte—’

Heath waited a moment and then he strode off.

She turned to watch him go, still heated and furious—desperate for him to go, and longing for him to stay. She couldn’t believe how badly this much-longed-for reunion had gone. Heath, and that firm mouth—how she hated it. She hated the confident swagger of his walk, and those taut, powerful hips. She hated his manner, which was both cool and hot, and infinitely disturbing, as well as blatantly unavailable—at least, to her. Heath might have his own brand of rugged charm, but according to the press he attracted glamorous, elegant women—women who decorated Heath’s life without ever becoming part of it—

She nearly jumped out of her skin when he reappeared through the trees.

‘Okay,’ he said curtly, ‘I can’t abandon you here. Give me that pack.’

Heath didn’t wait for her reply. Wrestling the pack from her shoulders, he stalked off with it, leaving her stunned by the brief and definitely unintentional brushing of their bodies. ‘Hey—come back here,’ she yelled, coming to as Heath and her backpack disappeared through the trees.

She might as well have been talking to herself. Grinding her jaw, she started after him. Heath had never been a man to mess about with, but she wasn’t a girl to back down. Mud sucked at her trainers as she started to run. Wet leaves slapped at her face. Who could keep up with Heath? Bronte reasoned when she was forced to stop and catch her breath. Heath had always been a one-man powerhouse since the day he sewed the seeds of his empire on a computer he’d hidden in his bedroom, where damp dappled the walls and the only green Heath ever saw was the mould that flourished there. Bad start in life, maybe, but this city boy was fit—fitter than she was. Catching sight of Heath through the trees, she found a fresh burst of energy. He had always moved fast. The first time Heath had hit the headlines was because of the speed with which he had turned his old family home into an Internet café for the whole neighbourhood to use. The reporters had latched onto the fact that, far from turning his back on his miserable start in life, when Heath made money he celebrated his background, using his story to inspire others to follow his example and make the best of what they had. Leaning one hand against a tree trunk, she took another breather. So Heath Stamp was a saint, but right now that didn’t make her like him any better.

But if he could be persuaded to do the same for Hebers Ghyll the estate might stand a chance …

With this thought propelling her forward she got a rush of energy—right up to the moment when Heath yelled, ‘I’m dumping this pack on the road, Bronte. After that, you’re on your own.’

So much charm in one man. Blowing out an angry breath, she wiped the mud off her face with the back of her hand and pushed on. When she finally caught up to him Heath was the epitome of cool. He hadn’t even broken sweat.

‘I’d give you a lift …’ His sardonic gaze ran over her mud-blackened clothes.

‘Save it, Heath. You wouldn’t want to dirty your car.’

Heath threw her one of his looks. ‘Your rucksack wouldn’t fit in the boot.’

‘Lucky you.’ Heath’s sexy mouth was mocking her. His eyes were too. Hefting the pack up, she turned her back on him and marched away.

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