Читать книгу Loving Our Heroes (Help for Heroes) - Jessica Hart - Страница 11

SHE hoped that was the reason, anyway.

There wasn’t much point in finding man like Campbell Sanderson attractive, she reminded herself glumly. He was out of her league.

Friends would be furious if they knew she was thinking like that. Cleo was always urging her to forget Olivier and boost her ego with a quick fling. ‘You need to feel good about yourself again,’ she would insist to Tilly. ‘You don’t need to fall in love again just yet. You just need some fun. Find someone attractive and have a good time for a while. Think of it as a transitional relationship.’

The idea sounded good in principle but, as Tilly had discovered, it was a lot harder to put into practice. Even if her confidence had been up to it, attractive single men were in short supply in Allerby.

Anyway, Campbell wouldn’t be single, she decided. He must be in his late thirties, and even SAS types surely fell prey to a committed relationship of some kind somewhere along the line. He had probably been snapped up by someone slender and beautiful and—even worse—really nice long ago.

There was no sign of a wedding ring, of course, but macho men like him wouldn’t wear anything that remotely smacked of jewellery. So he might be married.

Or he might not.

Studying him covertly, Tilly drank some more water and wondered if she could ask him outright. It might seem a bit obvious, especially when they were going to be sleeping together in a tiny tent.

Sleeping together. Hmm. What was that going to be like?

Cleo would have told her to make the most of the opportunity but, like all of Cleo’s ideas, that was easier said than done. Tilly only had to look at Campbell to know that he certainly wasn’t fizzing with anticipation at the thought of sleeping close to her. He probably hadn’t given the issue of sleeping arrangements a moment’s thought.

He wouldn’t care what happened as long as he won this stupid race.

Tilly sighed inwardly. That was just her luck. She had finally stumbled across an attractive man only to discover that, even given the remote off-chance that he might be available, he was far too competitive to let himself be distracted by the possibilities of a man and a woman in a small tent.

Look at him now—totally focused, glancing at his watch, determined to keep her moving.

‘Let’s get going,’ he said.

Tilly groaned but hauled herself obediently to her feet. ‘How much further is it?’

‘We could do another three hours at least.’

‘I’m not sure my feet will last that long,’ she said, wincing as she wriggled her toes in her boots.

‘Mind over matter,’ said Campbell briskly. He threw his pack on to his back and adjusted the straps with deft movements. ‘The trick is to keep thinking about something else.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like what you’d really like to find at the top of the next hill.’

‘That’s easy,’ said Tilly, securing her own pack into place and trudging after him. ‘Can you please make sure there’s a fabulous bathroom, with a deep, scented bath piled high with bubbles? I’d like candles and a glass of champagne waiting for me on the edge of the bath…oh, and a little plate of nibbles, too. Smoked salmon, probably,’ she added reflectively. ‘Or nuts? No, smoked salmon,’ she decided. ‘Little roulades stuffed with prawn mousse and soft cheese.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Campbell in a dry voice.

He was taken aback by how vividly he could picture Tilly sinking into the water with a sigh of pleasure. Her skin would be pink and pearly and wet, her hair clinging in damp tendrils around her face, her breasts rising out of the bubbles as she tipped back her head and dropped smoked salmon into that lush mouth…

Campbell had to give himself a mental shake, and he picked up his stride. He felt almost embarrassed, as if someone had caught him peeking round the bathroom door.

Tilly was still fantasising. ‘While you’re at it, can you arrange for a wonderful meal to be cooking so that the smell comes wafting up the stairs? No niminy piminy nouvelle cuisine, though, not after the day I’ve had. I want something hot and tasty. It doesn’t have to be fancy.’

‘A roast?’ Campbell suggested, drawn back into the scene she was creating in spite of himself.

‘Yes, a roast would be very acceptable, especially if you can lay on all the trimmings, too. Or a really good casserole with creamy mashed potatoes.’ Tilly was beginning to salivate now. She could practically taste that first mouthful. ‘Or—I know!—steak and kidney pudding … mmm, yum, yum … Even a—’

Glancing at Campbell just then and catching his fascinated gaze, she broke off. ‘What—you don’t have fantasies?’

‘Not about food.’

‘What do you fantasise about then?’ she demanded grouchily, embarrassed at having revealed quite how greedy she was. Why couldn’t she be the kind of girl who hankered after a green salad or a mug of nice herbal tea?

Campbell lifted an eyebrow in response, and she tutted. ‘Not that kind of fantasy,’ she scolded as if he had spoken, although actually she wouldn’t have minded knowing that at all. ‘A fantasy you can share with a nice girl like me!’

‘I’m not sure any of my fantasies are suitable for nice girls.’

There was just the faintest thread of amusement in his voice and Tilly was sure that he was mocking her.

‘All right, imagine being really relaxed,’ she challenged him.

‘What?’

‘Just do it,’ she insisted. ‘Close your eyes—or, on second thoughts, you’d better not, you might trip—and picture yourself happy.’

Campbell sighed and prepared to indulge her. At least it might stop her whingeing about her feet for a while longer. He thought for a moment.

‘OK.’

‘Have you an image of yourself relaxed and happy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where are you?’

Tilly hoped that he wasn’t going to say that he was in bed. That would make it very hard to concentrate. She waited for him to say standing on top of a mountain or skiing down a black run.

‘I’m sitting in a comfortable chair in front of the fire.’

It was so unexpected that she actually gaped at him. Sitting? Wasn’t that a bit tame for a man like Campbell?

‘What are you doing?’

‘Reading.’

The defensive note in his voice made Tilly grin. ‘You make it sound like you’re confessing a dirty secret! What are you reading? Nothing illegal or immoral, I hope.’

‘Roman military history.’

Campbell practically bit out the words, and this time Tilly really did laugh.

He scowled at her. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘I’m sorry. It was just so unexpected,’ she tried to explain.

‘What, marines aren’t allowed to read?’

‘It’s not that. It’s just that you seem such a macho action man that it’s hard to imagine you poring over ancient history, that’s all.’

‘I don’t want to spend all day doing it. You asked me to imagine myself relaxed,’ said Campbell almost crossly. ‘That was just a picture that came into my mind. Obviously I should have said some kind of extreme sport instead!’

‘That wouldn’t have been as interesting, though,’ said Tilly, meaning it, but Campbell clearly thought that she was joking.

‘I’ve had the mick taken out of me for years,’ he said in a resigned voice. ‘Anyone would think I had some bizarre fetish. It’s only military history, for God’s sake.’

‘But why the Romans?’

He shrugged. ‘I like their logical approach. Their sense of order. They were great engineers. Great strategists.’

‘And successful,’ Tilly reminded him, sure that was the key to their appeal for him. ‘The Romans were winners, too.’ She caught his look. ‘Hey, I did history at school. Roman history may not be my bedtime reading, but I’m not completely ignorant!’

She studied him from under her lashes as she toiled on beside him. She hoped he wasn’t regretting telling her. She rather liked the idea of him sitting quietly and reading by the fire, and was touched by the fact that he seemed faintly embarrassed by it, as if he had confessed some weakness.

‘So…have you got a fantasy meal cooking in the background while you read your book?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not someone who spends a lot of time thinking about food,’ he said. ‘I eat what’s put in front of me. I’ll have some of your roast.’

Tilly wished he hadn’t said that. It was enough to conjure up an instant cosy domestic scene. There she was, upstairs in the bath, and there was Campbell by the fire. Any minute now he would look at his watch, put his book down and go and check on the roast, then he would come upstairs and sit on the edge of the bath.

I’ve turned the potatoes, he would say, topping up her glass. If you were going to have a fantasy, Tilly believed, you might as well make it a really good one. Will you be much longer?

And Tilly would sip her champagne and ask him to wash her back while he was there. She could almost feel his warm, firm hands soaping her, and obviously he wouldn’t stop at her back …

‘That must be some bath.’

Campbell’s voice jerked Tilly out of her daydream. ‘What?’ Disorientated, she looked around her to find that she had somehow made it to the top of the hill without even realising it.

‘You haven’t said a word for the last mile. I’m impressed by the power of your fantasising!’

If only he knew.

A guilty flush stained Tilly’s cheeks and her eyes slid away from his just in case an ability to mind-read was something else he had forgotten to mention, along with a knowledge of ancient military history.

Now that she had snapped out of it, she was appalled at herself. What had she been thinking? Harry and Seb had been right. She had been on her own too long. It was time she found another man.

At least she knew she was over Olivier. He had been the focus of her fantasies for quite a while, most of them involving him crawling back and confessing that he had made a terrible mistake. Satisfying in their own way, but nowhere near as erotic as the one that had carried her up the hillside.

‘Perhaps I can make one of your fantasies come true,’ said Campbell, digging in his rucksack.

For a blanket? Tilly wondered wildly and gulped. She must get a grip.

‘Which one?’ she asked, appalled to hear that her voice came out as barely more than a croak.

‘Chocolate,’ he said, and produced a bar. ‘You can have a rest for ten minutes, too.’

Tilly didn’t know whether she was disappointed or relieved. ‘Great,’ she said weakly.

The light was already going from the sky and the air was cooling rapidly as she perched on her pack. Unwrapping the chocolate, she broke the bar in half and offered part to Campbell, who shook his head.

‘You have it,’ he said.

He was fast becoming a fantasy man in reality, thought Tilly ruefully. A man who gave you chocolate and insisted you ate it all without sharing.

Unaware of the trend of her thoughts, Campbell was unfolding the map that he had shoved carelessly into his pocket.

‘Isn’t it a bit late to be looking at that now?’ said Tilly through a mouthful of chocolate. ‘I hope you’re not about to tell me that we’ve climbed the wrong hills?’

She almost wished he would so that she could go back to feeling cross with him. It would be a lot easier than this unnerving awareness. See what happened when you let your fantasies get out of control?

‘No, we’re in the right place. I’m sure Roger’s GPS would tell us exactly the same thing.’

‘Then why aren’t they here with us?’

‘We had a head start, remember? And Roger may well take a different route to Ben Nuarrh.’

‘I bet it’s an easier one!’

‘This is quicker,’ said Campbell firmly.

He passed Tilly the map. ‘We’re here,’ he said, pointing, and Tilly found her eyes riveted on his hand. The one that had done such incredible things with the soap in her fantasy…

‘Concentrate, Jenkins!’ Campbell’s peremptory tone made her jump. ‘You’re fading out, there.’

‘Oh…um, yes…sorry…I’m just a bit tired.’

A frown touched his eyes as he glanced at her. ‘I thought we’d camp there,’ he said, moving his finger on the map. ‘Do you think you can make it, or will you need a new fantasy to get you there?’

Tilly swallowed. ‘I think I’ve done enough fantasising for today!’

‘Are you ready to get on, then? I can’t promise a bath or a bed, but we’ll have something to eat and you’ll be able to sleep.’

‘That’ll be enough for me,’ said Tilly.

It was a mistake to have stopped. She found the last leg a real struggle. The threatened blister had become a reality, and her feet were killing her. She was stiff, too, and tired and cold.

Seeing her hobbling, Campbell took her pack for her and managed to walk just as easily with two. He stayed beside her, encouraging her up the last steep slope, and refusing to let her stop when she threatened to collapse.

Tilly couldn’t have done it without him, but she was vaguely distrustful of his motives all the same. It was all very well being Mr Nice Guy now. She might appreciate his help, but she knew quite well that he was only doing it because he wanted to get to the top of Ben Nuarrh first.

Her father was just the same—determined to get his own way whatever happened. If charm was the easiest way to get what he wanted, he would lay it on with a trowel, but he would never lose sight of his goal. Tilly had learnt early to distrust men who’d do anything to win, but it was still hard not to warm treacherously at the approval in Campbell’s voice as he practically carried her the last few yards.

‘Well done.’

It was almost dark by then, so Tilly couldn’t see much. They were somewhere high on the flank of Ben Nuarrh, that much she knew, and Campbell seemed to have found a sheltered hollow where a peaty burn ran between granite outcrops and there was enough flattish, if somewhat soggy, ground to set up the tent.

He lowered her on to one of the outcrops and she sat, numb with exhaustion, and watched as he put up the tent with an efficiency that didn’t surprise her in the least. Unrolling the bedding, he backed out and held open the flap.

‘Why don’t you get in?’ he said to Tilly. ‘You can take off your boots and do your video diary while I make the stew.’

‘Stew?’ She gaped at him, wondering how on earth he was going to conjure a casserole out of his pack.

‘Don’t get excited. It’s a dehydrated pack—add to boiling water and stir, which is pretty much my level of cooking. It won’t be your fantasy, but it’ll be hot and filling.’

‘I suppose that’s better than nothing,’ she said, getting up stiffly and hobbling to the tent.

It was very small. She bent and peered inside. ‘Is there going to be room for both of us?’ she asked doubtfully.

‘It’ll be tight, but that’s a good thing. We won’t be wasting body warmth,’ said Campbell. ‘But don’t worry,’ he added ironically as she straightened. ‘We’ve separate sleeping bags.’

Tilly wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She couldn’t decide whether to make it clear that she was relieved, or play it cool, as if she took the prospect of sharing sleeping bags in her stride the whole time.

Or perhaps this was a good opportunity to find out a bit more about him?

‘Still, it’s going to be very cosy,’ she said. ‘Are you going to have some explaining to do when you get down?’

‘What do you mean?’ Campbell glanced up from where he was setting up a portable gas ring with his usual deftness and economy of movement.

‘Well, if I discovered that my husband or boyfriend had spent the night with another woman in a tent this size I wouldn’t be very happy about it.’

‘Oh, I see,’ he said, returning his attention to the gas. ‘No, there’s no one I need to explain anything to, and that’s the way I like it.’

‘You’re not married then?’

‘Not any more.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Tilly hesitated by the tent entrance. ‘What happened?’

Campbell sighed and sat back on his heels, looking up at her with a sardonic expression. ‘Does it matter?’

‘God, you can tell you’re a man who’s been trained to withstand interrogation,’ grumbled Tilly. Talk about trying to get blood out of a stone! ‘Don’t they teach you the art of conversation in the Marines? I just thought it would be nice to find out a bit more about the man I’m going to be sleeping with,’ she told him with a huffy look and then, to her fury, blushed when he lifted one amused brow at her choice of words. ‘In a manner of speaking,’ she added stiffly.

‘Lisa left me for another man who could give her more than I could. We got divorced. She’s married again and lives in the States now. End of story.’

‘Do you have any kids?’

‘Nope.’

Tilly sighed. ‘I was about to say that must make it easier because that’s what people always say when a relationship breaks down. At least there weren’t any children. As if it helps somehow,’ she remembered with a bitter edge to her voice. ‘When someone leaves you, it doesn’t hurt any less just because you haven’t got children.’

‘Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,’ Campbell commented.

‘I am.’

‘Well, you don’t need to feel sorry for me,’ he told her, ignoring the opportunity to say that he felt sorry for her, Tilly couldn’t help noting. ‘It was a disaster from the start. I should never have married her.’

‘Then why did you?’

He shrugged. ‘Why? Because Lisa was—is—the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s absolutely dazzling. The moment I saw her, I had to have her.’

Tilly tried—and failed—to imagine a man ever saying that about her.

‘You must have loved her.’

‘Are you going to take your boots off?’ Campbell made it plain the conversation was over by getting to his feet.

Clearly not a man who believed in talking things through.

Resigned to the fact that she wasn’t going to get any more out of him, Tilly applied herself to the problem of actually getting into the tent. She was so tired that she was afraid that once she was in she would never get out again. Campbell had managed to make it look a perfectly simple business—he would—but she was reduced to kneeling down and then attempting an undignified dive inside between the entrance flaps.

Once in, she had to wriggle around until she was in a position where she could sit up and take off her boots—no easy task in itself. Campbell had set up a light near the entrance, which she had managed to knock over twice during her ungainly entrance, but at least it meant she could see what she was doing.

Pulling off the second boot with a gusty sigh of relief, Tilly collapsed back on to her sleeping bag and stared up at the weird shadows the light cast on the orange roof of the tent. She couldn’t remember ever being so tired, or so cold.

‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move again,’ she shouted out to Campbell, who had been to the nearby stream and boiled some water in the time it had taken her to sort herself out. ‘I’m going to have to spend the rest of my life here. They’ll find me in five thousand years, frozen like that prehistoric hunter guy in a glacier, and use my body to find out about twenty-first century society.’

Tilly rather liked the idea of scientists of the future poring over her body and speculating about her life. ‘They’ll decide I lived and worked up here, and that red salopettes were the height of fashion.’

Outside the tent, she could see Campbell shaking his head in disbelief. ‘You have the most extraordinary imagination,’ he said.

‘All that research,’ said Tilly, too carried away by her idea to care what he thought, ‘and none of them will know that I was only stuck up here because my loathsome brothers thought I should get out of my rut!

‘This is all their fault,’ she went on bitterly. ‘They’ll be sorry when I’m not there to cook for them and show them how to use the washing machine and be nice to their girlfriends! If only we hadn’t been so stupid, they’ll say to each other. What were we thinking? Dear Tilly could still be with us instead of stuck up on that mountain.’

‘Dear Tilly will be back with them by tomorrow night,’ said Campbell, unmoved by her story. ‘I’m not going to leave you here.’

‘You would if you thought you could win without me,’ said Tilly sulkily.

‘Fortunately for you, I can’t.’

Ducking into the tent, he handed her an enamel mug of black tea. ‘Have this to warm you up while I get the stew going.’

‘Warm? Warm? What’s warm?’ She shivered but took the tea gratefully. ‘The only trouble with stopping is realising how cold you are.’

Campbell tsk-tsked. ‘Stop complaining,’ he said ‘Have one of your fantasies instead—or, better still, do the video diary.’ He dug around in his rucksack for the camera.

‘Why do I have to do it?’ grumbled Tilly as he held it to the light so that he could see how it worked.’

‘Because you’ll be better at that than me.’

‘I won’t. I’d feel a complete idiot talking to a camera,’ she protested. ‘I wouldn’t know what to say.’

‘Just carry on wittering the way you’ve been doing all day,’ suggested Campbell with a touch of acid. ‘Tell them one of your fantasies—that should win a few votes!’

‘I’m not going to do that!’ She flopped back down on to the sleeping bag. ‘Why don’t we pretend we forgot about the video diary business?’

He shook his head firmly. ‘We can’t do that. The diary is part of the challenge.’ Propping the camera on top of his rucksack, he bent down to peer through it and check that it was pointing at Tilly. ‘You heard what Suzy said. We’re going to be judged on the video diary and film clips as well as on who gets back down from Ben Nuarrh first.’

‘If you care so much about winning, you do it,’ said Tilly crossly.

‘I’ve got to make the stew.’ Campbell moved the lamp so that the light fell on her. ‘Look, just talk for a minute and then it’s done. You don’t even have to get up. I promise I won’t listen, so you can be as horrible about me as you want.’

He pointed at a button on top of the camera. ‘I’ll set it going. Just press this when you’ve finished.’

‘Hang on!’ Tilly started to struggle up in protest, but he was already crawling out of the tent, leaving the red light beckoning encouragingly.

Tilly’s video diary:

[Staring at camera with a hunted look] Oh, God, I suppose I’ll have to say something … Um … [Long pause] OK, here I am, halfway up a Scottish mountain with a man I’d never met before this morning. It’s funny to think that this time last night I’d never even heard of Campbell, and now it seems as if I’ve known him for ever. And tonight we’re going to sleep together…well, not sleep together, except of course we will be sleeping … oh, you know what I mean. Can whoever’s watching this edit that bit out? [Yawns hugely] I’m so tired, I can’t think straight!

Where was I? Oh, yes, Campbell … Well, he was a terrible bully this morning. You should have seen him making me abseil down that cliff—two cliffs! Talk about competitive! And he’s not exactly chatty. I’ve never met a man who talks so little about himself, to be honest. His middle name must be Clam. Campbell the Clam Sanderson. [Giggles]

At least they’d never have to worry about him blabbing operational secrets. I bet he was in one of those special units, you know. No point in asking him, though. He’d just say he could tell me, but he’d have to kill me. He probably would, too. Still, I’m sure Suzy’s assistant is right. He’s got that steely-eyed thing going that’s quite exciting when he’s not pushing you down a cliff [Pauses, looks doubtful] Actually, could you cut that bit, too?

[Yawns again, belatedly covering mouth] Anyway, he wasn’t so bad this afternoon. In fact, he was really quite nice, especially the last few miles. [Pauses again, remembering] Yes, surprisingly nice. And now he’s making me supper. I’m not sure what this stew is going to be like, though. Dehydrated doesn’t sound very nice, but I’m so hungry I’ll eat it. I ought to offer to help, but I really don’t think I’ve got the energy to get out of the tent. [Slides out of view of camera] Perhaps if I just closed my eyes for a moment, and then I’ll go and give him a hand…

Campbell looked up from the pot he was stirring, suddenly alert. He could hear the wind whistling around the crags, the canvas flapping, the hiss of the gas, but when he listened, he realised there was something missing.

No Tilly. How long was it since he had heard her voice?

‘Tilly?’

He bent down to peer into the tent. She had crashed out over both sleeping bags, and appeared to have simply toppled from where she had been sitting talking to the camera and was sound asleep.

Shaking his head, Campbell turned off the camera.

Tilly was still fully dressed apart from her boots, and he contemplated her slumped form with a slight frown. How was he going to get her into her sleeping bag? He had no intention of undressing her, but she would be better off without her jacket. Its stiff fabric was digging into her face as it was. It would certainly be uncomfortable if she did wake up and, besides, she would need the jacket as an extra layer to put on in the morning.

‘Tilly?’ he tried again, but she was dead to the world and didn’t even stir when he lifted her up to pull her arms out of the sleeves and get rid of the jacket.

It was like dealing with a very large floppy doll, although he imagined dolls weren’t usually that warm and soft. Not having had even a sister, Campbell’s experience of dolls was negligible, but he was fairly sure they didn’t smell faintly of…what was it? He sniffed. Some flower. Roses, perhaps? He had never been very good on flowers but something about the fragrance of Tilly’s hair reminded him of his mother’s garden on a summer evening long ago.

The thought made Campbell frown. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about things like that. Unzipping one of the sleeping bags, he manoeuvred Tilly inside it, not without difficulty. Quite a bit of manhandling was required and he was very aware of her lush body even through the layers of clothing. It was all very well staying focused but it was hard not to be distracted by the fact that, whatever else Tilly might be, she was all woman.

An exasperating one, Campbell reminded himself. At least she was quiet now that she was sleeping. He had never met anyone quite so chatty. Lisa had been mistress of icy silence, and he wasn’t at all sure which was worse.

Tilly stirred and mumbled something as he tucked her legs into the sleeping bag and zipped her up. The next moment she was turning and snuggling down like a child with more unintelligible mumbling and some smacking of her lips before she sank back into a deep sleep.

Campbell sat back on his heels and watched her for a moment. It was the first chance he had had to look at her properly, he realised, and without that challenging blue gaze fixed on him he could see that she had lovely creamy skin and beautiful eyebrows. The heart-shaped face was slack with sleep, but her generous mouth still had a humorous curve to it, as if she were on the point of smiling.

Even now, sound asleep, there was something disorderly

about her, Campbell decided. She was all softness and curves and curls, and it made him twitchy. There were no straight lines with Tilly, no logic, no control. She talked the whole time and her imagination was so vivid he wasn’t sure whether she was talking nonsense or not half the time.

His eyes rested on her mouth almost unwillingly. Tilly might be high-maintenance, but there was a warmth and a sweetness about her, too, offset by an intriguing tartness and a stubbornness that had kept her climbing all day. No wonder she was tired!

Without quite realising what he was doing, Campbell reached out to smooth the tumbled hair from Tilly’s cheek. The silkiness of her curls and the smoothness of her skin were like a physical shock, and he withdrew his hand sharply.

Better have that stew, he told himself.

He took the video camera with him as he backed out of the tent. God only knew what Tilly had been saying to the camera before she had fallen asleep. Knowing her, it might have been anything! He had better make sure there was something sensible on there.

Campbell finished the stew, cleaned out the pot and his plate, and turned his attention to the camera. Clicking it on, he cleared his throat.

‘This is Campbell Sanderson. We’re camped on the shoulder of Ben Nuarrh, so if we leave at zero six hundred tomorrow morning we should be in a position to make it to the summit in good time. It’s been a successful day, after a slow start. I didn’t feel that Tilly was taking things very seriously to start with, but she’s done well this afternoon. Very well, in fact.’

There, that ought to do it. Campbell decided that he had been concise, accurate and generous. He hadn’t said anything about how long it had taken to coax her down the abseil, or about the stupid fuss she had made about jumping over a few stones to cross the river. He had carefully refrained from commenting on her lipstick or on how unfit she was. He had said nothing about her bizarre flights of imagination.

And nothing about her smile, nothing about the teasing humour in her dark blue eyes, or her infectious laugh.

Nothing about her enticing softness as she’d pressed up against him on one of those boulders.

No, he wouldn’t be saying any of that. Campbell switched off the camera with a sharp click.