Читать книгу Her Secret Fling - Sarah Mayberry - Страница 9

POPPY STILL COULDN’T BELIEVE she’d let Jake into her car. Even if she drove nonstop like a bat out of hell, she’d sentenced herself to twenty-four hours in The Snake’s company in a small enclosed space. Had she been on drugs twenty minutes ago?

She slid him a look. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses but he appeared to be staring out the windshield, his expression unreadable. He hadn’t shaved and his face was dark with stubble. He hadn’t said a word since they argued over who was driving the first leg and which route out of the city to take.

He resented having to kiss her ass, but she didn’t regret making him do it. It was nice to have a bit of power for a change, even if it was only temporary.

She focused on the road. If he wanted to play it strong and silent, that was fine with her. She’d had more than enough of his smart mouth over the past three weeks.

“Do you mind if I turn the air-conditioning on?” he asked ten minutes later.

It was an unseasonably warm day for September and she was starting to feel a little sticky herself.

“Sure.”

He fiddled with the controls. “Hmph.” He sat back in his seat. “It’s broken.”

“It can’t be.”

He turned his head toward her. She didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was giving her a look.

“Feel free to check for yourself.”

She did, flicking the switch on and off several times. He didn’t say a word as the seconds ticked by and no cool air emerged from the air vents.

“Fine. It’s broken,” she said after a few minutes.

“No shit.”

She cracked the window on her side to let some fresh air into the car. He did the same on his side. The road noise was loud, the equivalent of being inside a wind tunnel.

Great. Jake the Snake beside me, and a bloody hurricane roaring in my ear. This is going to be the road trip from hell.

After half an hour she couldn’t stand the noise any longer. She shut her window. A short while later, so did Jake.

The temperature in the car rose steadily as the sun moved across the sky. Jake shrugged out of his jacket and so did she. By the time they’d been on the road for two hours, her shirt was sticking to her and sweat was running down her rib cage.

Poppy spotted a sign for a rest area and turned into it when it came up on their left.

Jake stirred and she realized he’d been dozing behind his glasses and not simply staring out the windshield ignoring her.

“You ready to swap?” he asked, pushing his sunglasses up onto his forehead and rubbing his eyes.

“Nope,” she said. “I’m changing into something cooler.”

She got out of the car and unlocked the trunk. Jake got out, too, stretching his arms high over his head and arching his back. His T-shirt rode up, treating her to a flash of flat belly, complete with a dark-haired happy trail that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. She frowned and looked away, concentrating on digging through her bag in search of her sports tank. When she found it, she gave him a pointed look.

“Do you mind?”

He stared at her.

“What?”

“A little privacy, please.” She spun her finger in the air to indicate she wanted him to turn his back.

He snorted. “Lady, we’re on a state highway, in case you hadn’t noticed. Everyone who drives past is going to cop an eyeful unless you hunker down in the backseat.”

“I don’t care about everyone else. I have to work with you.”

She didn’t care if he thought she was prudish or stupid—she was not stripping down to her bra in front of him. She absolutely did not want him knowing what she looked like in her underwear. It was way too personal a piece of information for him to have about her. She wasn’t exactly sure how he could turn it to his advantage, but that was beside the point.

He sighed heavily and turned his back.

“If I see anything, I promise to poke an eye out,” he said.

She unbuttoned her shirt and shrugged out of it. She checked he still had his back turned. He hadn’t moved. Her tank top got tangled in her haste to pull it over her head. She twisted it around the right way and tugged it on. She glanced at him again. This time his face was in quarter profile as he gazed over the acres of grassland running alongside the freeway.

Had he sneaked a look? She stared at him suspiciously, but he didn’t so much as blink.

“I’m ready,” she said.

He turned and his gaze flicked down her body briefly before returning to her face. She was acutely aware that her tank top was small and tight and a far cry from the business shirts and jackets she’d been wearing to work to date.

She slammed the trunk shut and moved to the driver’s side door. He met her there, his hand held out expectantly.

“I’ll drive,” he said.

“No, you won’t.”

If he’d asked, maybe she would have considered it. But there was no way she was taking orders from him. They’d be serving ice cream in hell before that happened.

“There’s no way you’re driving all the way to Melbourne,” he said.

“I’m not an idiot. When I’m tired, I’ll let you know.”

His stared at her, his blue eyes dark with frustration. Then he turned on his heel and returned to his side of the car.

She waited till he had his seat belt on before pulling back onto the highway. Immediately he leaned across and turned the radio on. Static hissed and he fooled around with the dials until he found some music.

Johnny Cash’s deep voice filled the car. Poppy forced her shoulders to relax. Jake Stevens got on her nerves. She wished he didn’t, but he did. As she’d already acknowledged, she needed to get a grip on her temper when he was around.

It would also be good if she wasn’t quite so aware of him physically. Her gaze kept sliding across to where his long legs were stretched out into the footwell. And she kept remembering that flash of flat male belly. It was highly annoying and disconcerting. She didn’t like him. She didn’t want to be aware of him.

She slid another surreptitious glance his way and tensed when she caught him looking at her. More specifically, at her breasts.

She glared at him until he lifted his gaze and met hers. He had the gall to shrug a shoulder and give her a cocky little smile.

“Hey, what can I say? I’m only human.”

“Subhuman, you mean.”

“Staring at a woman’s breasts is not a capital offense, last time I checked,” he said.

“Maybe I don’t want you looking at my breasts. Ever think about that?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t make a habit of it.”

She stiffened. What was he saying? That he didn’t like her breasts? That he didn’t consider them ogleworthy? She glanced down at herself and frowned.

“What’s wrong with them?” she asked.

She could have bitten her tongue off the moment the words were out of her mouth. She could feel the mother of all blushes working its way up her neck.

She kept her eyes front and center as he looked at her.

“Relax,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Men check out women all the time. It’s basic biology.”

“I am relaxed,” she said through her teeth. “And I didn’t think you were about to propose because you checked out my rack. I might not be used to having boobs, but I know that much.”

She didn’t think it was possible, but her blush intensified. She couldn’t believe she’d made such a revealing confession to The Snake.

There was a short silence before he spoke.

“I wondered about that,” he said. “All the photos I ever saw, you looked about an A cup.”

“You made a note of my cup size?” she asked, her voice rising.

“Sure. I’m not blind. So, what, you stopped training and puberty kicked in, is that it?”

He spoke conversationally, as though they were talking about the weather. As though it was perfectly natural for him to go around guessing women’s breast size. And maybe it was—but not hers. She didn’t want him looking at her and thinking about her like that. It made her feel distinctly…edgy.

She clenched her hands on the wheel. “We are not talking about my breasts.”

“You brought it up.”

“I did not! You were staring at me!”

“Because you changed into that teeny, tiny tank. I could hardly pretend I didn’t notice.”

“The air-conditioning is broken and I was hot and you could have tried. A gentleman would have,” she said.

He laughed. “A gentleman? Baby, I’m a journalist. I wouldn’t have a job if I was a gentleman. Something you better learn pretty quick if you want to survive in this game.”

She held up a hand. “Spare me your sage advice, Yoda. You’re about three weeks too late to apply for the position of mentor.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“I will, thank you.”

“Always have to have the last word, don’t you?”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Thank you for proving my point.”

She pressed her lips together, even though she was aching to fire back at him.

He angled his seat back and stretched out, his arms crooked behind his head. “Do you miss it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Swimming. Training. Being on the team. Do you miss it?”

She made a rude noise in the back of her throat. “Just because we’re stuck in a car for a few hours doesn’t mean we have to talk.”

“It’s a long drive.”

“I’m not here to entertain you.”

He was silent for a moment. She flipped the visor to the side to block the sun as it began its descent into the west.

“Okay, what about this? I get a question, then you get one. Quid pro quo.”

“Thank you, Dr. Lecter, but I don’t want to play.”

“Why? What are you scared of?”

She shifted in her seat. He was goading her, daring her. She knew it was childish, but she didn’t want him thinking he could best her so easily.

“Fine,” she said. “Yes, I miss swimming. It was my life for twenty-five years. Of course I miss it.”

“What do you miss the most?”

“You think I can’t count? It’s my turn. Why haven’t you published a follow-up to The Coolabah Tree?”

She could feel him bristle.

“I’m working on one now,” he said stiffly.

“What’s it called?”

“Nice try. Why do you want to be a journalist?”

“Because it’s not swimming. And because I feel I have something to offer. How long did it take you to write your first book?”

“Two years, working weekends and nights.”

“How many drafts did you do?”

“Three. And that was two questions.”

“You answered them.”

He shrugged. “Do you ever think about the four-hundredmeter final at Beijing? Wish you could go back again?”

She should have known he’d bring that up. The lowest point in her swimming career—of course he’d want to stick his finger in the sore spot and see if she squirmed.

She put the indicator on and pulled into the approaching rest stop.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m tired.”

“Right.”

She got out and stretched her back. She was aware of Jake doing the same thing on the other side of the car. Dusk was falling and the world around them was muted in the fading light. They crossed in front of the car as they swapped sides.

She waited until he was on the highway again before answering his question.

“I used to think about it all the time, but not so much now. I had my chance and I missed it and I came home with silver instead of gold. I had a bunch of excuses for myself at the time, but the fact is that I simply didn’t bring my best game on the day. It happens. If you can’t live with your own mistakes, competing for a living will kill you.”

“You’re very philosophical.”

“Like I said, I used to think about it a lot. But you can’t live in the past.”

He reached up and adjusted the rearview mirror. “Your turn.”

She studied his profile. He was a good-looking man. Charming and interesting—when he wanted to be. Not that she’d experienced any of that firsthand, but she had eyes in her head. He’d cut a swath through the female contingent in the press box with his boyish grin and quick wit.

“Why aren’t you married?” she asked before she could censor herself.

He frowned at the road. “I was. We divorced five years ago.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t expected that. Watching him at work, the way he came in early and left late, she’d figured him for a loner, one of those men who had dodged commitment so many times it had become a way of life. But he’d been married. And he sounded unhappy that he wasn’t still married.

“What about you? Why aren’t you married?”

She smiled ruefully. Quid pro quo, indeed. “No one’s ever asked me.”

He glanced at her, a half smile on his mouth. “That’s a cop-out.”

She shrugged. “Maybe, but that’s all you’re going to get.”

They lapsed into silence, even though it was her turn to ask a question.

“We should stop for food soon. And start thinking about where we’re going to stay the night,” he said.

They wound up at McDonald’s since it was the only thing on offer. They studied the road map as they ate, deciding on Tamworth as their destination for the evening.

“There’ll be a decent motel there, and a few places to eat,” Jake said.

She pushed the remains of her burger and fries away.

“You going to eat those?” Jake asked, eyeing her fries.

“Go nuts.”

He polished them off then went back to the counter to order an apple pie for the road.

She waited outside in the cold night air, looking up at the dark sky, listening to the rush of cars on the highway and marveling that she and Jake Stevens had spent several hours in a car together and no blood had been spilled.

Yet.

“Okay, let’s hit the road,” he said as he joined her in the parking lot.

She glanced at him, straight into his blue eyes. They stared at each other a moment too long before she turned away. He walked ahead of her as they crossed to the car. She found herself staring at his butt. She’d always had a thing for backsides and he had a nice one. Okay—a very nice one.

Why am I noticing Jake the Snake’s butt?

She frowned and looked away. Must be the car equivalent of Stockholm Syndrome. At least she hoped that was what it was.

POPPY WAS DRIVING AGAIN when they pulled into Tamworth just before eight o’clock. Apart from one small disagreement over radio stations, their unofficial cease-fire was still in effect. Jake craned his head to read the brightly illuminated signs of the various motels as they cruised Tamworth’s busy main street.

“That place, over there,” he said, pointing to a blue-and-white neon sign in front of a brown-brick, two-story motel. “They’ve got spa baths.”

She rolled her eyes but pulled over, since she didn’t have a better suggestion.

“Park the car and I’ll get us some rooms,” he said.

Before she could say anything, he was out of the car and striding toward reception.

“Yes, sir,” she said to herself. “Three bags full, sir. Have you any wool, sir?”

Because it would rankle too much to obey him to the letter, she joined him in reception as he was handing over his credit card to the middle-aged clerk.

“Hang on a minute,” she said. “I’ll pay for my own room.”

“You got the car. I’ll get this.”

It was a perfectly reasonable argument but she opened her mouth to dispute it anyway.

“We can argue after dinner,” he said. “You can arm wrestle me to the floor and pound me into submission.”

“What makes you think I’m having dinner with you?”

“Because you can’t sit in your room and eat ice cream and chips two nights in a row. You’ll get scurvy. You need vitamin C.”

The desk clerk was watching their interplay curiously. Poppy took her room key.

“This doesn’t mean I’m having dinner with you,” she said.

But after she’d had a long shower and changed into fresh clothes, the sterile cleanliness of the room started to get to her. Plus she was hungry. When Jake knocked on her door ten minutes later, she pocketed her room key and stepped outside.

“There’s a steak place up the road,” he said.

He hadn’t doubted her for a moment, the smug bastard.

“This is only because I’m hungry and they don’t have room service,” she said.

“It’s all right. I didn’t think you were about to propose because you agreed to have dinner with me.”

He was deliberately echoing her words from during their ill-fated breast discussion. She couldn’t help it—she cracked a smile.

“You are such a smart-ass,” she said.

“You’re no slouch yourself.”

“No, I’m strictly amateur hour compared to you. You’re world-class.”

They started walking toward the glowing roadside sign for Lou’s Steakhouse.

“Now you’ve made me nervous,” he said.

“Sure I have.”

“You have. World-class—that’s a lot to live up to. You’ve given me performance anxiety.”

“I bet you’ve never had performance anxiety in your life.”

“That was before I met you.”

She became aware that she was still smiling and slowing her steps, dawdling to prolong their short walk to the restaurant. She frowned, suddenly uneasy. She looked at him and saw that he was watching her, an arrested expression on his face. As though, like her, he’d just realized that they were enjoying each other’s company.