Amy Andrews - Australian Escape

“No, thanks,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest, “I’ll wait for the boat.”

“You sure?” he asked, his eyes dropping to where her crossed arms had created a little faux cleavage. Her next breath in was difficult. “It’ll be a good eight hours from now, the sea rocking you back and forth, all that noise from a bunch of very tired kids after a long hot day at the beach—”

Avery held up a hand to shush him as she swallowed down the heave of anticipatory post-cocktail seasickness rising up in her stomach. “Yes, thank you. I get your point. So where’s our pilot?”

At the twist of his smile, she knew.

Before she could object, Jonah’s hands were at her waist, shoving her forward. Her self-preservation instincts actually propelled her away from his touch and towards the contraption as if it were the lesser danger.

When he hoisted her up, she scrambled into her seat with less grace than she’d have liked. And then suddenly he was there, his silhouette blocking out the sun, the scent of him—soap and sea and so much man—sliding inside her senses, the back of his knuckles scraping the T-shirt across her belly...

Oh, he was plugging her in.

“That feels good,” she said. Then, cheeks going from sunburned to scorched in half a second flat, added, “The belt feels good. Fine. Nice and tight.” Nice and tight?

A muscle in Jonah’s cheek twitched, then without another word he passed her a set of headphones, slid some over his dark curls, flipped some dials, chatted to a flight-control tower, and soon they were off, with Avery’s stomach trailing about ten feet below.

It didn’t help that Jonah seemed content to simply fly, sunlight slanting across the strong planes of his face, his big thighs spread out over his seat.

Three minutes into the flight Avery nearly whooped with relief when she found a subject that didn’t carry some unintentional double entendre. She waved a hand Jonah’s way.

He tapped her headphones. Right.

“I hope you found someone to look after your dog,” she said, her voice tinny in her ears. “I was thinking about it before I fell asleep last night. I mean, since it was my fault you couldn’t go home to him last night.”

“Hull’ll be fine.”

Hull. It suited the huge wolfish beast. Like something a Viking might call his best friend.

Then Jonah added, “But he’s not my dog.”

“Oh. But I thought... Claude said—”

“He’s not my dog.”

Okay, then.

An age later Jonah’s voice came to her, deep and echoey through the headphones. “Want to know what I was thinking about when I finally fell asleep?”

Yes... But she was meant to be getting better at saying no. And this seemed like a really good chance to practise. “No,” she lied, her voice flat even as her heart rate shot through the roof.

He shot her a look. Grey eyes hooded, lazy with heat. And the smile that curved at his mouth was predatory. “I’m going to tell you anyway.”

Oh, hell.

“I wondered how long it will be before I have to throw myself between you and a drop bear.”

Avery wasn’t fast enough to hide the smile that tugged at her mouth. Or slow enough not to notice that his gaze dropped to her mouth and stayed. “I may be a tourist, Jonah, but I’m not an idiot. There’s no such thing as a drop bear.”

His eyes—thankfully—slid back to hers. “Claudia tipped you off, eh?”

“She is fabulous that way.”

At mention of her friend another option occurred to her! Sitting up straighter, she turned in her seat as much as she could, ignoring the zing that travelled up her leg as her knee brushed against his.

“Speaking of Claudia,” she said. Here goes. “She thinks you’re hot.”

A rise of an eyebrow showed his surprise. “Really?” And for a moment she thought she had him. Then he had to go and ask, “What do you think?”

Her stomach clenched as if taking a direct hit. “That’s irrelevant.”

“Not to me.”

“Why do you even care?”

His next look was flat, intent, no holds barred. “If you don’t know that yet, Ms Shaw, then I’m afraid that fancy education of yours was a complete waste.”

She tried to blink. To think. To come up with some fabulous retort that would send him yelping back into his man cave. But the pull of those eyes, that face, that voice, basking in the wholly masculine scent of him filling the tiny cabin, she couldn’t come up with a pronoun, much less an entire sentence.

And the longer the silence built, the less chance she had of getting herself off the hook.

It took for him to break eye contact—when a gust of wind picked them up and rocked them about—for her to drag her eyes away.

With skill and haste, he slipped them above the air stream and into calmer air space. While her stomach still felt as if it were tripping and falling. All because of a little innocent flirting.

Only it didn’t feel innocent. It felt like Jonah was staking a claim.

But he scared the bejesus out of her. Not him so much; the swiftness of her attraction to him. It was fierce. And kind of wild. And she was the woman who calmed the waters. Not the kind who ever went chasing storms.

Even while she knew she was about to admit she understood exactly what Jonah meant, she said, “I told you—I’m interested in someone else.” Considering becoming interested, anyway.

Then, as if it just didn’t matter, he said, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Because it’s a ridiculous question!”

“You brought it up.”

So she had. How had this suddenly gone so wrong?

Avery risked a glance to find Jonah’s eyes back on her mouth. His jaw was tight, his breaths slow and deep. And his deep grey eyes made their way back to hers.

“Good Lord, Jonah, first the girls at the hotel were all swoony over you—”

“You noticed?” The smile was back. And a sheen of perspiration prickled all over her skin.

She held up a hand to block his face from sight. “Then Claude mentions in passing that she thinks you’re a ‘supreme example of Australian manhood—’”

His laughter at that echoed through the tiny space till her toes curled. But still she forged on.

“You really need me to be in the line-up too? Are you really that egotistical?”

“No, Avery. I’m really that interested. I want to hear you admit you’re as attracted to me as I think you are,” he said, and not for a second did he take his eyes from hers.

If she hadn’t been strapped up like a Thanksgiving turkey she’d have been on him like cranberry sauce. But she was, and she couldn’t. And the conversation had become such a hot mess, Avery wished she could go back in time. Perhaps to the very beginning when all that mattered in life was sleep, food, and a safe place in which to hide from pesky dinosaurs.

“You want to know what I want?” she asked, proud of the fact that her voice wasn’t quavering all over the place. “What I want is for you to keep your eyes on the sky! No matter what you think of my survival skills, I have no intention of dying today.”

She waited, all air stuck in her lungs, for him to say something like I’d rather keep my eyes on you. But he merely smiled. As if he knew that she was a big fat liar. Deep down in the dark places inside her that she avoided at all costs. The place where Pollyanna had been born: always positive, not a bother, things would get better, they would! No wonder she worked in PR.

When Jonah’s smile only grew, she muttered, “Oh, shut up.”

“I didn’t say a thing.”

“Well, stop thinking. It doesn’t suit you.”

The smile turned into a laugh—huh-huh-huh. Then, easy as you please, he shifted eyes front and left her alone for the rest of the flight.