If You Can't Stand the Heat...

You are not having a heart attack, you moron! Major overreaction here, dude, cool your jets!

So she wasn’t who he’d been expecting? In his line of work little was as expected, so why was his heart jumping and his mouth dry?

Jack rocked on his heels, looked around and tried not to act like a gauche teenager. ‘This is a really nice place. Do you own it?’

Ellie looked around and the corners of her mouth tipped up. ‘Yep. My mum and I are partners.’

‘Ah...’ He looked at the empty display fridges. ‘Where’s the food? Shouldn’t there be food?’

Her smile was a fist to his sternum.

‘Most of the baked goods are sold out and we put the deli meats away every night.’ She fiddled with the strap of her huge leather tote bag. ‘So, how was your flight?’ she asked politely.

Sitting on the floor of a cargo plane in turbulence, with bruised ribs and a pounding headache? Just peachy. ‘Fine, thanks.’

The reality was that he was exhausted, achingly stiff and sore, and his side felt as if he had a red-hot poker lodged inside it. He wanted a shower and to sleep for a week. His glance slid to a fridge filled with soft drinks. And he’d kill someone for a Coke.

Ellie caught his look and waved to the fridge. ‘Help yourself.’

Jack grimaced. ‘I can’t pay for it.’

‘Pari’s can afford to give you a can on the house,’ Ellie said wryly.

The words were barely out of her mouth and he was opening the fridge, yanking out a red can and popping the tab. The tart, sugary liquid slid down his throat and he sighed, knowing the sugar and caffeine would give him another hour or two of energy. Maybe...

He swore under his breath as once again he realised that he was stuck halfway across the world. He couldn’t even pay for a damn soft drink. He silently cursed again. He needed to borrow cash and a bed from Ellie until his replacement bank cards were delivered. He grimaced at the sour taste now in his mouth. Having to ask for help made him feel...out of control, helpless. Powerless.

He hated to feel beholden, but he reminded himself it would only be for a night—two, maximum.

Jack finished his drink and looked around for a bin.

Ellie took the can from him, walked behind the counter and tossed it away. ‘Help yourself to another, if you like.’

‘I’m okay. Thanks.’

Ellie’s eyebrows lifted and their eyes caught and held. Jack thought that she was an amazing combination of east and west: skin from her Goan-born grandparents, and blue eyes and that chin from her Irish father. Her body was all her own and should come with a ‘Danger’ warning. Long legs, tiny waist, incredible breasts...

Because he was very, very good at reading body language, he saw wariness in her face, a lot of shyness and a hint of resignation. Could he blame her? He was a stranger, about to move into her house.

‘Funky décor,’ he said, trying to put her at ease. Hanging off the wall next to the front door was a fire-red canoe; its seating area sprouting gushing bunches of multi-coloured daisy-like flowers. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen surfboards and canoes used to decorate before. Or filled with flowers.’

Ellie laughed. ‘I know; they are completely over the top, but such fun!’

‘Those daisy things look real,’ Jack commented.

‘Gerbera daisies—and I don’t think there’s a point to flower arrangements if they aren’t real,’ Ellie replied.

He’d never thought about flowers that way. Actually, he’d never thought about flowers at all. ‘What’s with the signatures on the canoe?’

Ellie shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I bought it like that.’

Jack shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans and winced when the taxi driver leaned on his horn. Dammit, he’d forgotten about him. He felt humiliation tighten his throat. Now came the hard part, he thought, cursing under his breath. A soft drink was one thing...

‘Look, I’m really sorry, but I’ve got myself into a bit of a sticky situation... Is there any chance you could pay the taxi fare for me? I’m good for it, I promise.’

‘Sure.’ Ellie reached into her bag, pulled out her purse and handed him a couple of bills.

Jack felt the tips of his fingers brush hers and winced at the familiar flame that licked its way up his arm. His body had decided that it was seriously attracted to her and there was nothing he could do about it.

Damn, Jack thought, as he stomped out through the door to pay his taxi fare. He really didn’t feel comfortable being attracted to a woman he was beholden to, who was his mentor’s beloved daughter and with whom he’d spend only two days before blowing out of her life.

Just ignore it, Jack told himself. You’re a grown man, firmly in control of your libido.

He blew air into his cheeks as he handed the money over to the taxi driver and rubbed his hand over his face. The door behind him opened and he turned away from the road to see Ellie lugging his heavy rucksack through the door. Ignoring his burning side, he broke into a jog, quickly reached her and took his pack from her. The gangster bastards had taken his iPad, his satellite and mobile phones, his cash and credit cards, but had left him his dirty, disgusting clothes.

He would’ve left them too...

‘Here—let me take that.’ Jack took his rucksack from her.

‘I just need to lock up and we can go,’ Ellie said, before disappearing back inside the building.

Jack waited in the late-afternoon sun on the corner, his rucksack resting against an aqua pot planted with hot-pink flowers. He was beginning to suspect—from her multi-coloured hair and her bright bakery with its pink and purple exterior—that Ellie liked colour. Lots of it.

Mitchell had mentioned that Ellie was a baker and he’d expected her to be frumpy and housewifey, rotund and rosy—not slim, sexy and arty. Even her jewellery was creative: multi-length strands of beads in different shades of blue. He could say something about lucky beads to be against that chest, but decided that even the thought was pathetic...

He heard the door open behind him and she reappeared. She pulled the wooden and glass door shut, then yanked down the security grate and bolted and locked it.

Jack looked from the old-style bakery to the wide beach across the road and felt a smile form. It was nearly half-past six, a warm evening in summer, and the beach and boardwalk hummed with people.

‘What time does the sun set?’ he asked.

‘Late. Eight-thirty-ish,’ Ellie answered. She gestured to the road behind them. ‘I live so close to work that I don’t drive...um...my house is up that hill.’

Jack looked up the steep road to the mountain behind it and sighed. That was all he needed—a hike up a hill with a heavy pack. What else was this day going to throw at him?

He sighed again. ‘Lead on.’

Ellie pulled a pair of over-large sunglasses from her bag and put them on, and they started to walk. They passed an antique store, a bookstore and an old-fashioned-looking pharmacy—he needed to stock up on some supplies there, but that would raise some awkward questions. He waited for Ellie to initiate the conversation. She did, moments later, good manners overcoming her increasingly obvious shyness.

‘So, what happened to you?’

‘Didn’t your father tell you?’

‘Only that you got jumped by a couple of thugs and were kicked out of Somalia. You need a place to stay because you’re broke.’

‘Temporarily broke,’ Jack corrected her. Mitchell hadn’t given her the whole story, thankfully. It was simple enough. He’d asked a question about the hijackings of passing ships which had pushed the warlord’s ‘detonate’ button. He’d gone psycho and ordered his henchman to beat the crap out of him. He’d tried to resist, but six against one...bad odds.

Very bad odds. Jack shook off a shudder.