Читать книгу The Australian Affairs Collection - Margaret Way - Страница 41
ОглавлениеMIA STARED INTO the mirror and rubbed a hand across her chest in an effort to soothe her racing heart.
You look fine.
Dylan had assured her that tonight’s date—fakedate—was casual, not dressy. They were meeting Carla and Thierry at some trendy burger joint for dinner and then going on to a movie.
She really needed to go shopping for some new clothes. She’d not bothered much with her appearance since getting out of jail. She’d avoided pretty things, bright colours, shunning anything that might draw attention.
She glanced back at the mirror. Her jeans and pale blue linen shirt were appropriately casual, if somewhat bland. The outfit wouldn’t embarrass her. More to the point, it wouldn’t embarrass Dylan. On impulse she threaded a pair of silver hoops through her ears.
For the last five days Dylan had spent every morning at Plum Pines, helping her dig out weeds. And for the entire time he’d remained unfailingly cheerful and good-natured. He’d never once made her feel as if he was counting down the hours until he’d met his side of the bargain.
He continued to flirt outrageously—not just with her but with all the other female volunteers too. It made her feel safe.
She shook her head at that thought. She had to remain vigilant, make sure she didn’t become too comfortable around him.
She swung away from the mirror, tired of her reflection. The fact remained that she had limited wardrobe options and this was the best that she could muster. Brooding about it was pointless. Besides, she had more important things to worry about.
Like what on earth was she going to add to the conversation tonight?
She strode into her tiny living room and dropped to the sofa. She needed to come up with five topics of conversation. She glanced at the clock. Fast! Dylan would be here to collect her in fifteen minutes. She chewed on her bottom lip. No matter how much she might want to, she couldn’t sit through dinner without saying anything. That wouldn’t be keeping her end of the deal.
Dear God! What to talk about, though? Think!
A knock sounded on the door.
Her gaze flew to the clock. He was early. And she hadn’t come up with even one topic of conversation!
* * *
Dylan hated to admit it, but he couldn’t wait to catch a glimpse of Mia out of uniform. Not that he had anything against her uniform, but there was only so much khaki cotton twill a man could take.
In some deep hidden part of himself lurked a male fantasy he should no doubt be ashamed of, but... He’d love for Mia to answer the door in a short skirt and sky-high heels. So predictable! He had a feeling, though, that Mia probably didn’t own either.
Still, he’d make do with jeans and a nice pair of ballet flats. That would be nice. Normal. And maybe away from work she’d start to relax some of that fierce guard of hers.
He knocked again and the door flew open. He smiled. Bingo! She wore jeans and ballet flats. With the added bonus of surprisingly jaunty earrings that drew attention to the dark glossiness of her hair. He’d not seen her with her hair down before. He had an insane urge to reach out and run his hand through it, to see if it were as soft and silky as it promised.
He curved his hand into a fist and kept it by his side. He’d meant to greet her with his typical over-the-top gallantry—kiss her hand, twirl her around and tell her she looked good enough to eat—except the expression in her eyes stopped him.
He made no move to open the screen door, just met her gaze through its mesh. ‘What’s wrong?’
Puffing out a sigh, she pushed the door open and gestured him in. ‘You’re early.’
‘If you haven’t finished getting ready I’m happy to wait. You look great, by the way.’ He didn’t want her thinking that he thought she didn’t look ready. He didn’t want her stressing about her appearance at all.
‘No, I’m ready. I just... I don’t do this, you know?’
‘Date? Yes, so you said. It’s not a date, Mia.’
Her living room was small. In fact the whole cottage was tiny. She’d told him earlier in the week that she rented one of the Plum Pines workers’ cottages. There was a row of three of them on the south side of the reserve. From what he could tell, she ate, breathed and slept Plum Pines. He glanced around. Which seemed odd when she’d clearly taken few pains to make her cottage cosy and comfortable.
‘Are you sure about this plan, Dylan?’
He turned back, frowning at her unease. ‘What are you worried about?’
One slim shoulder lifted. ‘That I’ll embarrass you.’ She gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa. She planted herself on a hard wooden chair at the little dining table pressed hard up against one wall.
She moistened her lips and he realised she wore a pale mocha-coloured lipstick. Desire arrowed straight to his groin. Gritting his teeth, he did his best to ignore it. For pity’s sake, he’d warned himself off her—that should have been that!
He gritted his teeth harder. Apparently not. But, while he might find her attractive, he didn’t have to act like a teenager. He needed to put her at her ease—not crank up the tension further.
‘I can’t imagine how you think you’ll embarrass me.’
‘I’m... I’m not much of a talker, but I know I need to keep up my share of the conversation tonight.’
His heart stilled before surging against the walls of his ribs.
She lifted her hands, only to let them drop back to her lap. ‘I’ve been trying to come up with five fool-proof topics of conversation so that...’ She shrugged again. ‘So that I’m pulling my weight.’
In that moment he wanted nothing more than to tug her into his arms and hug her. He had a feeling that would be the last thing she’d want. He contented himself with leaning towards her instead. She wore a soft floral scent and he pulled it as far into his lungs as he could.
‘I don’t expect you to become a sudden chatterbox. It’s not who you are. I don’t want you to change. I like you just the way you are. So does Carla.’
Was she worried that the better they got to know her the less they’d like her? The thought disturbed him.
‘It’s just...you and Carla are so bubbly and fun. I should hate to put a dampener on that.’
She thought he was fun? A smile tugged through him. ‘You mean Carla and I are noisy chatterboxes who dominate the conversation and won’t let anyone else get a word in edgewise.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I did not say that!’
He burst out laughing. After a moment she rolled her eyes, resting back in her seat.
‘You must’ve worked out by now that Carla and I love an audience.’
She gave a non-committal, ‘Hmm...’
‘And you have to remember Thierry will be there, and no one could accuse call him of liveliness.’
‘I’m not sure I want to be compared to Thierry.’
He tried a different tack. ‘How did the school group go this afternoon?’
Her face lit up. ‘They had a great time. It’s so funny to watch them the first time they touch a snake or a lizard.’
He picked up the book sitting on her coffee table—a recent autobiography of a famous comedian. ‘Good?’
‘Yes, very. She’s as funny on the page as she is on the television.’
He set the book back down. ‘Did you hear about that prank the engineering students at the university pulled with the garden gnomes?’
She sent him an odd look. ‘I saw the photos in the paper. It was rather cheeky...but funny.’
‘What’s a dish you’ve always meant to cook but never have?’
Her frown deepened. ‘Um...veal scaloppini.’
‘I couldn’t help noticing that these cottages don’t have any off-street parking.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘And...?’
‘And I didn’t see a car parked out the front, which leads me to conclude that you don’t have a car.’
She folded her arms. ‘That’s correct.’
‘Are you planning to get one?’
‘Maybe.’
‘When?’
Her forehead creased. ‘What is this, Dylan? Twenty Questions?’
‘There you go. There’s your five topics of conversation, should you need them—a funny incident at work, a book recommendation, a local news story, does anyone have a recipe for veal scaloppini they’d recommend, and I’m thinking of getting a small to medium-sized hatchback—what should I get?’
She pushed her hair back behind her ears, all but glaring at him, before folding her arms again. ‘How do you know I want a hatchback?’
‘You’re young and you don’t have kids, which means you don’t have to settle for a station wagon yet.’
She unfolded her arms, but then didn’t seem to know what to do with them. She settled on clasping them in her lap. And then she smiled—really smiled—and it lit her up from the inside out. Her dark eyes danced and he felt a kick inside that should have felled him.
‘Five topics of conversation—just like that.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘You managed it effortlessly. How can you make it so easy?’
‘Probably the same way you can identify the difference between a bush orchid and a noxious weed.’ He grinned, referencing an incident earlier in the week when he’d set about eradicating the wrong plant.
She continued to stare at him as if he were amazing, and he had the disconcerting feeling that he could bask in that admiration forever. He shrugged. ‘Practice. In my line of work I have to talk to a lot of people. Though, if the truth be told, the sad fact is that I have a talent for frivolity and nonsense.’
‘Good conversation is neither frivolous nor nonsensical.’
He waggled his eyebrows. ‘It should be if you’re doing it right.’
She didn’t laugh. She met his gaze, her face sober. ‘It’s not nonsense to put someone at ease.’
His gut clenched up all over again. If he continued to put her at her ease would she eventually let him kiss her?
He stiffened. He and Mia were not going to kiss. They weren’t going to do anything except find out if Thierry deserved Carla. Full stop.
This was nothing more than a case of opposites attracting. He and Mia were too different—too mismatched—to make things work in the long term. And he refused to do anything to hurt her in the short term. She’d been through enough.
* * *
By the end of dinner Dylan could cheerfully have strangled Thierry. The only contributions he’d made to the conversation had been negative, except when Carla had won a grudging concession that his gourmet burger was ‘okay’.
Mia, for all her worry, had been a delightful dinner companion. And nobody had needed to ask her if her burger was good. The expression on her face after she’d taken her first bite had made him grin.
Thierry had scowled.
From what Dylan could tell, scowling was Thierry’s default setting.
When a lull had occurred in the conversation Mia had mentioned the book she was reading and asked if anyone else had read it.
Thierry had ignored the question.
Carla had invited Mia to join her book group.
Mia had kept her expression interested, but in her lap her fingernails had dug into her palms, creating half-moons in her flesh that he’d wanted to massage away.
She’d swallowed. ‘Are you sure I’d be welcome?’
‘All are welcome! We meet at the library on the first Wednesday of the month.’
‘Well...thank you. It sounds like fun.’ And she’d promised to read the following month’s book.
Dylan had wanted to hug her. He hadn’t known that asking her to befriend Carla, and the specific details involved, would be so difficult for her. The thing was, friendship didn’t seem to be an issue at all. He sensed that both women genuinely liked each other. But going out and mixing with people was obviously a challenge for Mia.
He couldn’t help thinking, though, that locking herself away and hiding from the world wasn’t the right thing to do.
He’d taken his cue from her, however, and gone out of his way to invite Thierry for a game of golf. Thierry had declined, saying he didn’t play the game. Dylan had then tried inviting him out on his yacht, but Thierry had declined that too, saying he was too busy with work at the moment.
His heart had sunk when Carla had avoided his gaze. What on earth did she see in the man?
Now dinner was over, and they were finally seated in the cinema—Mia on one side of him and Carla and then Thierry on the other—Dylan let out a sigh of relief, no longer obligated to attempt small talk with his sister’s fiancé.
It wasn’t until the cinema darkened, though, that he suddenly remembered Mia’s thin-lipped, pale-faced reaction to the nocturnal houses. Damn it! Did the cinema have the same effect?
He touched her arm and she started.
‘Is being here uncomfortable for you? Is it like the nocturnal houses?’ He kept his voice low so no one could overhear.
‘No, it’s fine. High ceiling...and it’s cool. Those things make a difference.’ Her eyes gleamed in the dim light. ‘Actually, I’m really looking forward to the film.’
It made him wonder when had been the last time he’d relished an outing as simple as this one. Reaching over, he took her hand. When she stiffened, he leaned closer to whisper, ‘It’s just for show.’
It wasn’t, though. He held her hand because he wanted to. He leaned in closer because he wanted to breathe in that subtle floral scent she wore.
When the movie started her hand finally relaxed in his as if she’d forgotten it was there. For the next ninety minutes Dylan experienced the romantic comedy tactilely—entirely through Mia’s reactions. They weren’t reactions visible in her face, but evident only via her hand in his—in the twitches, squeezes, sudden letting go, in her hand’s tension and relief. He sat there spellbound as Mia worried for and cheered on the romantic leads. All of it rendered for him through her fingers.
What miracle allowed him to read the language of her hand so fluently? His heart surged against his ribs. He had to be careful not to let his fascination with this woman grow. Very careful. Nothing good could come of it.
* * *
When Dylan pulled up outside the front of Mia’s cottage at the end of the evening she didn’t invite him in.
She shook her head when he reached for his door handle. ‘You don’t need to walk me to my door.’
But what if he wanted to?
This isn’t a real date.
He nodded. ‘Right.’
She undid her seat belt. ‘I just wanted to say...’ She swung back, and even in the dark he could see the wariness in her eyes. ‘I did have a nice time tonight, Dylan. Thank you.’
‘I’m not after thanks. I want to apologise. For Thierry. Again.’
She shook her head. ‘Not your place.’
He clocked the exact moment when she gave in to her curiosity.
‘But why in particular this time?’
There’d been an excruciatingly awkward moment at dinner. Carla had asked Mia what the last film she’d been to see had been, and Mia had paled. Thierry had pounced with a narrow-eyed sneer.
‘It might be more pertinent to ask, When was the last time you went to the movies?’
Dylan’s gut had churned and an ugly heat had flushed through him.
Mia had answered with a quiet, ‘It’ll be over four years since I’ve been to see a movie.’
And the reason why—the fact she’d been in jail—had pulsed in all the spaces between them.
Dylan couldn’t imagine Mia in prison—he couldn’t make it make sense. But then he recalled her Spartan cottage and wondered if she’d actually left prison at all.
He rubbed a hand across his chest, trying to dislodge the hard ball that had settled there. ‘Thierry went out of his way to make sure everyone remembered why you’d not been to see a film in so long.’
She glanced down at her hands. ‘Dylan—’
‘It wasn’t only rude, it was unkind.’ How could Carla marry someone like that?
Mia rubbed her hands down the front of her jeans. Finally she glanced at him. ‘No matter how much you try to ignore it or justify it, the fact I’ve been in prison is not a small issue.’
He reached out to cup her face. ‘Mia, you’re more than your past. You’re more than the mistakes that landed you in jail.’
Her bottom lip trembled. The pain that flashed through her eyes speared straight into his gut.
She reached up and with a squeeze removed his hand. ‘It’s kind of you to say that, but it’s not what it feels like. It feels huge. It was a defining moment in my life. I completely understand why other people take issue with it.’
With that she slipped out of the car and strode up to her front door.
Dylan waited until she was safely ensconced inside and the veranda light was switched off with an unambiguous ‘the night is over’ conviction. With a sigh he didn’t understand, he turned the car towards home.
* * *
Mia set her sandwich down and unclipped her ringing phone. ‘Mia Maydew.’
‘Mia, it’s Dylan and I have brilliant news.’
The sound of his voice made her pulse gallop. She swallowed and did her best to sound cool and professional. ‘Which is...?’
‘I have an appointment with Felipe Fellini—the photographer Carla’s been so hot for.’
That made her brows lift. She hadn’t thought the guy did weddings or celebrity functions any more. Still, the Fairweathers had a lot of clout.
‘She must be over the moon.’
‘I haven’t mentioned it to her yet. He’s agreed to a meeting—nothing more. I don’t want to get her hopes up until it’s official.’
Dylan was certainly going above and beyond where Carla’s wedding was concerned. Especially when he wasn’t even convinced that it would go ahead.
Correction—he wasn’t convinced that the groom was worthy of the bride. That was an entirely different matter.
‘Mia, are you still there?”
‘Yes. I... That’s great news.’ She tried to gush, but she wasn’t much of a one for gushing. ‘I’m very impressed.’
‘Liar.’ He laughed. ‘You couldn’t care less.’
‘I want Carla’s wedding to be perfect.’ And she didn’t care how surly, bad-tempered or humourless Thierry happened to be. With her whole heart she hoped he treated Carla with respect, that he made her happy...that he did indeed deserve her.
‘That I do believe. The thing is, Felipe wants to meet at Plum Pines this afternoon—two o’clock, if possible. He’s only in Newcastle for a couple of days, and his decision on whether or not to take the job apparently depends on the potential locations Plum Pines offers for wedding shots. He wants to start with the lily pond.’
In other words he wanted her to be available at two this afternoon to take Felipe around.
‘That won’t be a problem.’
She’d finished supervising the weed eradication programme last week. She was in the process of helping Veronica create an action plan for a particularly inaccessible area on the northern boundary. That, along with path maintenance, was what her week consisted of.
‘Are you on your lunchbreak?’
She traced a finger along the wooden edge of the picnic table. ‘I am.’
‘Excellent! That means we can chat.’
She stared up into the eucalypt canopy above and shook her head. Dylan always wanted to chat. The sooner he got back to FWE and his usual work the better. He wasn’t the kind of guy who liked sitting around and twiddling his thumbs, and she had a feeling Carla’s wedding wouldn’t have his full attention until he’d passed judgement on Thierry.
She suspected he rang her just to ‘chat’ in an effort to remove the sting of Thierry’s incivility. Which was totally unnecessary. Only she didn’t know how to say so without sounding ungracious.
‘What are you having for lunch?’
She was having what she always had. ‘A sandwich.’
‘What’s in it?’
She lifted the top slice of bread. ‘Egg and lettuce. Why is this important?’ Nevertheless, she found herself suppressing a smile.
‘Are you having chocolate once you finish your delicious sandwich?’
She choked back a laugh. ‘I refuse to have chocolate with every meal. I have a banana.’
‘But you’re missing a food group! You have carbohydrate, protein, a fruit and a vegetable, but no dairy. Chocolate is dairy. It makes for a rounded meal, Mia.’
She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I’ll see you at two, Dylan.’
She hung her phone back on her belt, a frown building through her. In the last fortnight Dylan had developed the habit of calling her a couple of times a week—always during her lunchbreak. Some days he didn’t mention the wedding at all. She sometimes thought his sole reason for calling was simply to make her laugh. But why would he do that?
Was it really all for Carla’s benefit?
Do you think he’s doing it for your benefit? Do you really think he could be interested in you?
It was a ludicrous notion—utter wishful thinking. They’d set their ground rules. Dylan wasn’t any more interested in a relationship than she was, and a fling was out of the question. But the wisdom of that reasoning didn’t dissipate the heat building between them. It didn’t quash the thrill that raced through her whenever she heard his voice. It didn’t stop her from looking forward to seeing him this afternoon.
She bit into her sandwich. Since when had the prospect of a meeting become more attractive than tromping along solitary paths with loppers and a pair of secateurs?
She had to be careful around Dylan. Very careful. She couldn’t go falling for his charm. Never again would she be a man’s sap, his puppet. Not even one as alluring and attractive as Dylan. She’d sworn never to travel that particular path again.
Couldn’t you just kiss him once anyway? Just to see?
The illicit thought came out of left field. She stiffened. No, she could not!
No way was she kissing Dylan. Any kissing was absolutely and utterly out of the question. That way led to the slippery slope of lost good intentions and foolish, deceitful dreams. She wasn’t descending that slope again. She had no intention of falling into the pit that crouched at its bottom.
So...that’s a no, then?
A definite no!
She wrapped up what was left of her sandwich and tossed it into a nearby bin. A glance at her watch told her she could manage an hour’s worth of path maintenance before she had to get back to meet with Dylan and his photographer. Wrestling with overgrown native flora sounded exactly what she needed.
* * *
Neither the exercise nor Mia’s resolution to resist Dylan’s appeal stopped her every sense from firing to life the moment she clapped eyes on him that afternoon. It made her want to groan in despair.
No despair! She’d only need despair if she gave in to her attraction—if she handed her heart to him on a platter and became his willing slave. The attraction part of the equation was utterly normal. She’d defy any woman to look at Dylan and not appreciate him as the handsomest beast she’d ever laid eyes on.
Not that he was a beast. Not when he moved towards her, hand outstretched, a smile of delight on his face at seeing her. Then he was an utter sweetheart.
She couldn’t stop herself from smiling back.
It’s polite to smile.
Polite or not, she couldn’t help it.
He kissed her cheek, his warm male scent raising gooseflesh on her arms.
‘Mia...’ He ushered her towards the other man. ‘I’d like you to meet Felipe Fellini.’
She shook the photographer’s hand. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr Fellini.’
‘Yes, yes, it is inevitable. Now this...’ He gestured to encompass the lily pond and its surrounds. ‘You must tell me that you have something better, something more original for me to work with than this.’
He strutted through the area in a coat embroidered with wild, colourful poppies, flinging his arms out in exaggerated disappointment while speaking in an affected American-Italian accent.
Mia stared at him, utterly flummoxed. Never, in all of her twenty-five years, had she ever come across someone like Felipe Fellini!
She moistened her lips. ‘I...uh...you don’t like it?’
‘Ugh, darling! You do? I mean, look at it!’ He pointed at the pond, the grass, a tree.
Behind Felipe’s back, Dylan started to laugh silently. Mia had to choke back her answering mirth. ‘I... I can’t say as I’ve ever really thought about it.’
He swatted a hand in her direction. ‘That’s because you’re not an artiste. My sensitivities are honed to within an inch of their lives, darling.’
It should have been dismissive, but the words held a friendly edge and she suddenly realised he was having the time of his life.
She planted her hands on her hips. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘It’s a cliché. An utter cliché.’
‘But isn’t that what a wedding is all about?’
The question slipped out before she could censor it. She wished it back the moment both men spun to face her—Felipe with his hands up to cover his mouth as if utterly scandalised, Dylan contemplating her with those deep blue eyes, his delectable lips pursed.
‘Dylan, darling, it appears I’ve met a creature I never thought existed—a truly unromantic woman.’
Dylan folded his arms, nudging the other man with his shoulder. ‘I saw her first.’
Felipe spluttered with laughter. ‘Darling, I’m not a ladies’ man—but if I were...you’d be in trouble. I’d have her eating out of my hand in no time.’
Mia started to laugh. She couldn’t help it. Felipe, it appeared, enjoyed flirting and games every bit as much as Dylan.
‘Come along, you unromantic girl.’ Felipe draped an arm across her shoulders with a smirk in Dylan’s direction. ‘Show me something worthy of my talents.’
Dylan fell in behind them with a good-natured grin. Mia led them to the utility she’d parked further down the track. One hundred and eighty hectares was a lot of ground to cover. They wouldn’t manage it all on foot before dark.
Felipe discounted the first two spots Mia showed him—a forest glade of wattle, with low overhanging branches, and a pocket of rainforest complete with a tiny trickling stream.
‘Clichéd?’ she asked.
‘Totally.’
‘You don’t know what you want, but you’ll know it when you see it, right?’
Dylan’s chuckle from the back seat filled the interior of the car, warming Mia’s fingers and toes.
‘I’ll have none of your cheek, thank you, Dylan Fairweather. You, sir, are an uncultured and coarse Philistine.’ He sniffed. ‘I understand you have a Gilmore on your wall.’
For a moment Dylan’s eyes met Mia’s in the rear-vision mirror. ‘You’re welcome to come and admire it any time you like, Felipe.’
‘Pah!’
At Mia’s raised eyebrow, Dylan added, ‘Jason Gilmore—like Felipe, here—is a world-class photographer.’
Felipe gave a disbelieving snort and Mia found herself grinning, Dylan and Felipe’s high spirits momentarily rubbing off onto her.
‘I’ve never heard of Jason Gilmore, but I’ve heard of Felipe. So I’m not sure this Mr Gilmore can be all that good. He certainly can’t be in the same class as Felipe.’
Felipe reached out and clasped the hand she had on the steering wheel, pressing his other to his heart. ‘I love this girl.’
In the next instant he almost gave her a heart attack.
‘Stop!’ he screeched.
She slammed on the brakes, and even though they weren’t going fast gravel still kicked up around them from the unsealed road. Before she could ask Felipe what was wrong, he was out of the car and moving with remarkable agility through the neighbouring strip of bush.
She glanced at Dylan in wordless enquiry.
He shook his head. ‘I have no idea. But I suspect we should follow him.’
‘This!’ Felipe declared when they reached him.
Mia stared. ‘It’s a fallen tree.’
He seized her by the shoulders and propelled her to the tree, ordered her to straddle it. Next he forced Dylan to straddle it as well, facing her. Mia straightened and folded her arms, frowning at the photographer.
‘Why do you frown at me?’ He glared at Dylan. ‘Why does she frown at me? Make her stop.’
‘Uh... Mia...?’
‘I can see that you—’ she pointed a finger at Felipe ‘—will have no regard for Carla’s dress.’
‘Pah! This is art. If Carla wants art then she will need to make sacrifices. Now, do as I say and lean in towards each other.’
Whipping out his camera, he motioned with his hands for them to move closer together.
He heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘As if you’re about to kiss. Mia, darling, I know you don’t have a romantic bone in your delightful body, but you have a pulse, and you have to admit that your fellow model is very pretty. I need to capture the light and the landscape. Art is work.’
She glanced at Dylan to see if he’d taken Felipe’s ‘pretty’ remark as a slight on his masculinity. She found him grinning.
He winked at her. ‘You heard what the man said.’ And then he puckered up in such an exaggerated way that any threat inherent in the situation was immediately removed. She puckered up too.
With the odd, ‘Tsk!’ as if in disapproval of their antics, Felipe set about taking photographs.
The flash made Mia wince.
‘Headache?’ Dylan asked.
‘I just don’t like having my photo taken.’ The last time a flash had gone off in her face had been when she’d been led from the courthouse...in handcuffs. It wasn’t a memory she relished.
As if he could sense her ambivalence, Dylan leapt to his feet.
‘Darling!’ Felipe spluttered. ‘I—’
‘You’ll have to make do with just me as a model, Master Fellini. Run!’ he muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Mia.
So she did. She shot to her feet and all but sprinted away, to stand behind and to one side of Felipe, in amongst the bracken fern.
She watched the two men’s antics with growing enjoyment. Felipe barked out orders and Dylan promptly, if somewhat exaggeratedly, carried them out. He flirted with the camera without a scrap of self-consciousness. Felipe, in turn, flirted outrageously back.
Double entendres flew through the air until Mia found herself doubled up with laughter. It was just so much fun watching Dylan!
Without warning, Felipe turned and snapped a shot of her.
She blinked, sobering in an instant.
Dylan was immediately puffed up, all protective.
Felipe beamed as he stared down at his camera. ‘Perfect!’
