Aussie Rules (9 page)

“Okay, repeat after me,” Mel snapped. “Just. A. Kiss. And believe me, it won't be repeated.”

“I don't know…” Dimi watched her oldest friend pace, which didn't make her feel any better. “They say that once he kisses you, it's like a drug. You have to have him again. And again.”

“Whoever ‘they' are, they're wrong.”

“Good, because he's a
Black,
Mel.”

“Yeah.” Mel rubbed her temples. “I know.”

“He's been making himself at home, working from here.” She let some of her panic show. “Acting like he has the right. He really believes that deed is real.”

“I know.” Mel closed her eyes. “He has got to go far, far away.” She tossed the paper towels into the trash.

If Dimi had had herself together, she'd have opened her purse and offered moisturizer, but as things were, she didn't have either her purse or her wits.

“Okay, let's try this again.” In the way that Dimi had admired for years, Mel drew herself up straight and tall.

“Try what again exactly?”

“The whole damn day. And trust me, if Bo so much as looks at me, he'll regret it.” With that, Mel stormed out of the bathroom in much the same way she'd stormed in.

Dimi looked in the mirror. “She's going to need you,” she told herself. “Which means you have to be the strong one for once.”

Her reflection looked worried.

 

Mel worked her tail off, struggling to stay one step ahead of North Beach's needs, their customers' needs, her employees' needs.

Of Bo Black.

But everywhere she turned, things seemed to go wrong. The morning after the kiss—she refused to think in plurals when it came to the incident, though it had been plural kisses, heavenly plural kisses she'd dreamed about all night long—she came into work and found the front door of North Beach unlocked. Dropping her things, she rushed through the airport, but nothing looked touched. Nothing missing. Nothing bothered.

And yet later, sitting at her desk eating a donut from Char, she'd have sworn someone had been through her things.

Paranoia?

Or reality?

With nothing missing, she had no idea. And still nothing from her attorney on the deed.

At least her e-mail box remained empty of vague threats.

The next morning, the fourth since Bo had shown up, they had a scheduled five thirty
AM
incoming. Mel had come in early—tired from
still
dreaming of Bo's body buried in hers—only to find herself devoid of linemen. Pissed, Mel called Ritchie, and got no answer. She dialed Kellan.

“Yo, dude,” he said groggily. “This'd better be good.”

“Yo,
dude,”
she shot back, with some sarcasm added in because it was early and she hadn't had any caffeine yet. “There's an incoming, and you're not.”

“Ah, shit.” This was followed by a rustling noise, probably the kid falling out of bed.
“Shit,”
he said again, breathless.

“Shit on your own time.”

“Yeah, Mel—I'm sorry—”

She hung up. He was sorry, and so was she because she could hear the plane now. Once again she dropped her own job and found herself racing through the lobby, grabbing an orange vest and directing the aircraft herself, a beauty of a Raytheon King Air. She handled the tie-down, greeted the pilot and his guests, then stayed on the tarmac for a moment, enjoying the sun rising in the chilly, purple-blue dawn.

“So do you do every job in this place by yourself?”

She turned and faced the outline of a man as he came toward her, the sun in her face. Didn't matter. She'd have recognized him from the way he walked, confident, of course, with a carefully banked bad-assness in every line of his tough body, a body he'd pressed against hers. The taste of his kiss came back in a flash, hot and sweet. The feel of his hands on the skin of her back, where he'd skimmed beneath her shirt and—

Stop
. Don't think about it…Try not to think about it every living moment of every single day…

Was he thinking about it, too?

Unable to see Bo's expression, she lifted her hand to block her eyes and watched his long, sleek shadow move closer. His face seemed to have as many strong lines and angles as the rest of his tough, lean form. His hair had been finger-combed at best. Against the early chill, he wore jeans, and a soft, worn leather jacket, and looked a little rough, a little edgy.

And a whole lot sexy.

“You work too hard,” he said gruffly. “And half the time, it isn't necessary. You have linemen.”

Nope, he was definitely not thinking about The Kiss. “Kellan overslept.”

“Slacking off,” he said and shook his head. “You should have his ass for breakfast.”

A little flicker of panic. If the deed turned out to be real, would he fire all of them? Sell? “It was a mistake, Bo. We all make them.”

“Like yours?”

“What are you talking about?”

He crossed his arms and looked down at her. “The lie you told me.”

Oh, God.

“Trying to remember which lie, aren't you?” he asked very softly.

Now, see, she hated that he was right nearly as much as she did the twist in her gut.

“This place is sinking,” he said. “You're a great pilot, but business clearly isn't your strength.”

True enough, but how would he know unless…“So it
was
you. Snooping through my files.”

He frowned. “What? No. Ernest likes to talk.”

“Ernest? Are you kidding me?”

“I saved a spider, and now I have a friend for life. That's how it works, Mel, a little give and take.” He ran a finger over her hairline. “So you ready for the big reveal? Because
I
am. You know, where you tell me what's going on.”

She stared into the gorgeous morning, feeling the fist around her heart tighten a bit more. “I called Sally.”

His eyes met hers for a long moment, a little intense, a little intimidating, and a whole lot exciting, giving nothing away. “Is that right?” He stepped closer, so that now they were nose to nose. Or her nose to his fabulous chest. “What did she say?” He'd shaved, the scent of his shaving lotion or soap floating to her on the breeze. Citrusy. Woodsy. Inherently male.

His eyes held hers prisoner, and there were things in them, a barely banked heat, and…yep, the memories of their kiss.

He
was
thinking about it.

And right there in the morning chill, she began to overheat from the inside out. “She's swamped.”

“Ah. Too swamped to talk to me, right?”

She couldn't do this. It was one thing to lie when she believed one hundred percent in the cause, when she was doing what was right, in the only way she could. But it was another entirely when she felt lost and alone and afraid, very afraid. She turned away, but he pulled her back around, putting his hands on her arms as if he had a right, as if he was comfortable enough with her to do whatever he wished.

In defense, her hands came up and settled on his chest, where she could feel the rock-hard strength of him—just in case she hadn't seen it along with sheer determination blazing from his gaze.

He wasn't going to just go away. He couldn't. And he wasn't going to take her word for anything.

He wasn't ever going to give up
.

“Just talk to me,” he said. “It's all I'm asking.”

“Maybe it's not any of your business.”

“It was my father's business. With him gone, it became mine.”

“Your father didn't earn that deed fairly.”

His jaw tightened. His eyes went to ice. “You don't have any proof of that.”

“And neither do you.”

He stared at her. “One of these days you're going to eat those words.”

“Take your hands off me.”

“Funny, that's not what you said the other day.”

Shoving free, she took a step backward. And then another, because with him, she needed distance, lots of it. Whenever he looked at her, strange things happened; she could feel the sexual pull, like a relentless, unchanging tide, and damn if she didn't actually feel a hint of that old painful, unrequited crush she'd once had on him.

Pathetic.

She moved away, into the lobby and into her office, where she settled in to the stacks of bills and files she needed to work on.

One of these days you're going to eat those words…

He believed in his cause, with his whole heart. It was even more disturbing than the fact that he'd turned her upside down and upside right, not to mention
on
.

And for the first time, she wasn't sure she was doing the right thing. Wasn't sure of anything at all.

God, she hated that.

D
imi had a tradition when it came to entering the bookkeeping information for North Beach. The first half of the month, she sat at her desk and pretended to work while she actually read a book. The second half of the month she raced to catch up.

Unfortunately, it was the second half of the month. Even more unfortunately, she was in the middle of a good book. But she needed to get on top of things before Mel crawled up her ass about it, wanting to see the accounting printouts.

First she sorted the mail into piles, then opened her stacks and sent each to the correct in-box. Then she went through Mel's mail, which was how she found herself staring down at a letter that read nothing more than:

 

Leave. It. Alone.

 

Dimi grabbed the envelope it'd come in. The postal stamp was dated five days ago, the place it'd come from so smeared she couldn't read it.

At that moment, Bo happened to walk by, heading toward the tarmac. He took one look at her face and stopped. “Dimi?”

Clearly she had her feelings all over her face, which she changed into a scowl to reflect her feelings for him. “What do you want?”

“You okay?”

“I'd be better if you were back in Australia.”

With a sigh, he began walking again, and when he was gone, she picked up the phone to dial Mel's office. “You've got a letter here you're going to want to see.”

One minute later they were both staring down at the plain white piece of paper with the plain Courier 12-point computer font.

“Matches that e-mail I received,” Mel finally said. “Friendly, huh?”

“You do have a way with people.”

“I try.”

They stared at the letter some more.

“Bo?” Dimi asked.

Mel shook her head. “No, he wants the opposite of leaving it alone.”

They were silent another minute, then Dimi shook her head. “Not Sally—”

“She'd call,” Mel agreed.

But why hadn't she?

“Hell,” Mel said heavily, and took the envelope and note with her, vanishing back into her office.

Dimi went to work entering the receivables. Not exactly rewarding work. In fact, she could have saved Mel the trouble of reading all these worksheets and simply told her it was same as always—that is, shaky—but she never had the heart to break Mel's.

Mel, who tried so hard to keep them all together, Mel for whom this place meant everything, Mel who kept Dimi on the straight-and-narrow path.

Mostly.

Dimi thought about her little transgression with Previously Gorgeous Guy, and sighed. So she still made the occasional bad decision. Sue her. A leopard couldn't change its stripes. Or spots. Or whatever it was.

Bottom line, she wasn't perfect.

And neither, she thought, as she watched the pretty flickering vanilla candle on the corner of her desk, was Mel. Mel could have,
should
have, kicked Bo's excellent ass for touching her. But she hadn't.

Interesting. And telling.

Dimi could see Bo on the tarmac now, looking over an aircraft that belonged to a customer he'd brought in. Since he'd gotten here, he'd been bringing people, helping customers, booking them charter flights…generally upping their business without effort.

Damn, he was good.
Bastard
.

A mug was set down on the desk before her, and then a lemon muffin—her favorite. She looked up.

“You were talking to yourself,” Danny said. “Maybe sugar and caffeine will help.”

It wasn't often she felt self-conscious with men, or revisited past actions, but ever since Danny had had to intervene with that idiot, she'd had a hard time looking him in the eye.

It wasn't as if he'd said a word about it, either. In fact, Danny was a man of very few words, but she felt off her footing nonetheless. “Thanks.”

Perching a hip against her desk, he sipped at his own mug. He wore another baseball cap today, on backward, his blond surfer-dude hair brushing his shoulders, which were encased in his mechanic's overalls. The sleeves were shoved up, revealing corded strength in his forearms from all the heavy lifting and work he did. On his left wrist were two black leather bands. He had clean hands for a mechanic. Work roughened, but clean.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, bringing her gaze up to his.

They'd been friends forever, but this was something she couldn't talk to him about. “Are you kidding?” She busied herself with the paperwork spread before her. “I'm fantastic.”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “Don't you ever get tired of lying through those pretty teeth of yours?”

She went still but refused to look at him, instead started hitting keys on her computer, which brought the screen to life. Unfortunately the last thing she'd been doing was playing Solitaire, and it started beeping at her, and she got herself good and flustered before she managed to lower the volume. “Maybe I
am
always fantastic.”

“Uh-huh, and I'd buy it off your looks alone,” he agreed. “But I'm not much of an exterior kind of guy.”

Again she lifted her head and found her eyes locked on his dark, melting ones. “What does that mean?”

“It means I'm more interested in what you have going on in here.” Reaching out, he touched her temple. “And here.” Shocking her with his nerve, he tapped her chest, just above her left breast.

She caught his hand and pushed it away. “Don't.”

“Don't what?”

Don't…hell, she didn't know, but her heart was doing some funny jumping thing, and she stood up. “Look, I'm really busy here.”

“Right.” A single nudge of his finger and the file covering her book fell to the side. The cover revealed a guy wearing a loincloth with a woman on her knees in front of him in a ragged ball gown.

Dimi's dirty little secret—exposed. She devoured historical romance novels, the sexier the better. As for why…Well, it didn't take a shrink to figure that out. She knew exactly what drew her, and it wasn't just the fabulous, amazing, jaw-dropping sex—but the happily ever after.

But so what? Everyone was entitled to their occasional vice.

Or three.

Danny cocked his head. “Interesting work.”

She shoved the book in the drawer. “Listen, if you don't have something you need done, beat it.”

“Oh, I need something done.”

She felt herself flinch at the sexual innuendo, and faced him, jaw jumping, head high, eyes oddly burning because this was Danny, and she'd not expected it of him. “Look, just because I slept with that idiot,” she said tightly, “and just because I read romance, does not mean I'm easy—”

“Whoa.” His smile faded as he rose to his feet. “I don't think that. I've never thought that.”

Her heart was still pounding, her eyes hot with embarrassment. She didn't want to do this. God, she didn't. In fact, she needed a drink. Now. “Go away, Danny. Just go.”

He stared at her for a long beat before letting out a jagged, frustrated breath.

“Please.”

Clearly unhappy about it, he turned away.

Dimi let out a sigh of relief, but it backed up in her throat when he suddenly pivoted back, hunkering down at her side so that she had no choice but to look right at him.

“What?” she asked with the haughty tone that had sent lesser men running.

“You're keeping a dangerous pace, Deem.”

“Yeah? And what would you know about that?”

His eyes held secrets. “Plenty.”

She closed her eyes, then heard a twin-engine plane approaching right before the radio crackled, and felt shamefully grateful for the diversion. “I've got to—”

“Yeah.” He held her gaze another moment, then rose and walked away.

Damn it. To give herself a minute, she sniffed at the mug he'd left her.

Earl Grey. Not quite the alcohol she craved but instead, her favorite tea. She swallowed past the odd lump in her throat and sipped as she watched him go, that long rangy form moving with the ease and confidence she imagined he'd honed from years and years on the waves.

To have even
half
of that belief in herself…with a sigh, she reached for the radio. The incoming customer was Wayne White. Wayne had a woman in every port in the world, and as Dimi sipped her tea, she opened her purse and checked her reflection in a small compact.

Because—something no one else knew—Wayne had a woman in this port as well.

Her.

It'd been going on and off for years, since the day she'd turned eighteen and he'd bought her a gold and diamond tennis bracelet to celebrate. Now as his plane circled and lowered, she wondered if he was alone.

You're keeping a dangerous pace,
Danny had said.

No doubt. But it was that pace that made her feel alive.

“We got it under control?” Mel's voice asked Dimi via radio.

“It's covered,” Dimi assured her, applying lip gloss as she watched the tarmac. “Ritchie's out there right now.”

Still holding her radio, Mel stuck her head out of her office and looked at Dimi from across the expanse of the lobby. “Why are you primping?”

“I always primp.”

“There might be passengers with Wayne.”

“So?”

“So…Maybe one of them is a wife.”

Yeah, Wayne had a habit of collecting those. “Let me repeat myself. So…?”

“So a new wife is going to take one look at you and be jealous as hell. We want him to loiter, buy gas, maybe some maintenance hours…”

Dimi tossed her compact aside. “I hear you.”

“Do you really?”

“Don't worry, Mel. I don't
have
to act impulsively.”

“Huh. Didn't know that.”

“Funny. I'll make sure he keeps his pants on, okay? Does that make you happy?”

“I'm dancing in the hallway,” Mel said.

“Fine.”

“
Fine
.”

“Killjoy,” Dimi muttered, and sipped her tea.

“Yeah, I live to kill your joy,” Mel muttered back.

 

That night Mel stayed late catching up on paperwork, and when she was finished being unable to pay all the bills, she walked through the lobby, restless. She ended up in the employee break room, eyeing the dart board. If only she'd been able to talk to Sally, if she'd heard from Greg on the legitimacy of the deed, if, if, if…she'd feel better. Or at least not tense enough to shatter if someone so much as looked at her cross-eyed. She reached for the darts, thinking maybe a game with herself was just what she needed.

“You any good?”

God damn it. Why was that man always where she didn't want him? She pulled out her darts, then turned and eyed Bo, who was propping up the doorway with a broad shoulder, an easy but daring smile on that mouth of his. It made her want to smack him.

Or kiss him.

Where that thought came from, she had no idea. She weighed the darts in her hand. “I'm okay.”

“Yeah?” He didn't believe her, it was in his voice.

Spoiling for trouble, she balanced, aimed, and threw the first dart.

Bull's-eye.

He arched a brow. “Better than okay, I'd say. How about a game?”

“You any good?” she asked him, mocking him.

A slow smile curved his lips and stirred the butterflies in her belly. “I'm okay,” he said.

She handed him her darts but he shook his head. “Oh, no. Ladies first,” he said politely. “Three darts. How about highest score wins?”

Hmmm, should be no problem for her, she'd been playing darts since before she could fly. “Wins what?”

His eyes heated and darkened. “Winner's choice.”

Staring at him, she experienced a frisson of unease. “Um…”

“What's the matter, Mel, you afraid I'll win?”

“No.” Ha. Bastard. “
I'm
going to win.”

“Then you're afraid of what you'd pick as winner's choice.” He shrugged. “No worries, if you're afraid. We don't have to play.”

“Bite me.”

“When and where?”

Her belly quivered again, damn him. Ignoring his soft laugh, she moved to the board to pull out the one dart she'd thrown, extremely aware of him behind her, tall, watchful, quiet now. Back at the line, she took a deep breath and threw.

Her first dart hit the triple twenty, and a confident smile returned to her mouth. Her game was still on. Smirking seemed unsportsmanlike so she bit her lip to keep it back and threw her next dart.