A Bride For His Convenience

She was nothing if not resilient, however. ‘And you may go to hell, Mr Leicester,’ she told him with all the hauteur she could muster.

A spark of interest lit Rob Leicester’s hazel eyes. ‘I see. A rebel without a cause as well.’

‘This is my first week on the job,’ she replied. ‘All I require is a little time to hone my skills.’

‘What you require is a qualified tour guide as an assistant, someone to co-ordinate your clients’ baggage, their dietary requirements and all the nuts and bolts of the job. So you can just be,’ he subjected her person and her long dark hair to a thorough inspection, ‘decorative and dazzle us with your French,’ he drawled.

‘I don’t like you,’ Caiti stated through her teeth.

A flicker of a grin revealed white teeth in Rob Leicester’s tanned face. ‘You don’t have to and I don’t have to like you, Ms Galloway. The fact remains we prepared twelve non-vegetarian dinners last night for twelve subjects of vive la France! who are all vegetarians because you ticked the wrong box.’

Caiti coloured.

‘Can you imagine, when the error was discovered, the kind of chaos it caused in the kitchen?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘I was in a rush. May I say that your kitchen coped brilliantly? I’ve received nothing but compliments from the guests this morning.’

Rob Leicester folded his arms and regarded her impassively for a moment. Then his lips twisted. ‘Amazing what a pair of lavender eyes, hair like rough black silk and a very jaunty derriére can do.’

She opened her mouth on a cutting retort then decided to disengage with dignity—she walked away without a backward glance.

On her next encounter with Camp Ondine, she went out of her way to have everything under control but their four-wheel-drive bus broke down in the middle of the Daintree Forest in a tropical downpour. By the time she and the driver were able to organise a replacement vehicle, it was ten tired and very wet tourists she brought to Camp Ondine, four hours later than expected and two hours after the dining room was expecting them for dinner.

Rob Leicester was on hand to greet the party this time and the look he cast her spoke volumes. It was not until her tour was fed and bedded down for the night that Caiti was able to defend herself.

She was making her way wearily across the lounge to her cabin when she bumped into Rob.

‘You cannot blame me for a broken differential,’ she said, going immediately on the attack.

He shrugged. ‘There’s a theory that trouble attracts trouble.’ Khaki trousers and shirt had replaced the old jeans and sweatshirt tonight.

Caiti opened her mouth to refute his theories but he forestalled her by suggesting they have a drink.

She closed her mouth and said instead, ‘Why would I want a drink?’

‘Because you’re tired, you’ve had a tough day?’ he hazarded.

‘Let me rephrase.’ She regarded him coolly. ‘Why would I want to have a drink with you? We don’t like each other, remember?’

‘That could change. And I never said I didn’t like you.’

Caiti blinked and cast her mind back with an effort.

At the same time Rob reached behind a small bar and produced a chilled bottle of wine and a beer. ‘What I said,’ he opened the wine competently, ‘was that we didn’t have to like each other. Not quite the same thing.’

He poured the wine, popped the beer can and handed her the glass—he literally put it into her hand and closed her fingers around the stem at the same time as he invited her to sit down.

Caiti looked around. The lounge had a thatched roof held up by gnarled tree trunks. The floor was slate, dotted with thick, colourful rugs and there were comfortable settees with softly lit lamps on their end tables. Beyond the glass walls that looked out over the forest, rain dripped ceaselessly off the thatch but that only served to highlight how pleasant, comfortable and safe this safari lounge felt.

She sat down with a sigh. ‘How do you keep them out?’

He sprawled out opposite her. ‘Keep what out?’

‘The frogs.’ She shuddered. They were everywhere!

‘Ah. While you were broken down in the Daintree?’

‘Yes.’ She sipped her wine. ‘It’s just as well none of my tour speak much English.’

He grinned. ‘You were moved to express yourself colourfully?’

‘I was moved to use several words I have never used in my life in public,’ she said.

‘Some words are—universal.’

She glanced at him through her lashes. ‘I hope not,’ she said as his gaze drifted down her figure, now cleanly and drily dressed in slim aubergine trousers with a cream silk fitted blouse.

As it did so, it crossed Rob Leicester’s mind that although she was not technically beautiful, she was unusual and compelling. Her face was narrow and oval, her skin golden and her heavy hair, swept up into an elegant knot, was gorgeous, the perfect frame for her face and slender neck. Not only that, but her eyes were also stunning and her presentation was essentially chic.

‘How did you get this job?’ he enquired then, just as Caiti was starting to feel uneasy beneath his minute scrutiny.

‘Because I speak French.’

‘That all?’ He lifted an eyebrow.

‘I also spent three months in France once. And I’m not an idiot,’ she replied evenly.

He didn’t comment on that. ‘What’s the French connection?’

‘My mother is French, born in New Caledonia. But I was born in Port Douglas.’ Port Douglas was not that far from Camp Ondine. ‘Something else that made me suitable for this job,’ she added with a toss of her head. ‘I’m a local.’

‘So put that in your pipe and smoke it, Rob Leicester,’ he murmured.

Caiti tossed him a deadly little glance although she said smoothly enough, ‘What I would really like you to put in your pipe and smoke is this. Circumstance may have made me appear a trifle…silly and less than capable, Mr Leicester. You can go on believing that if you like but it’s far from the truth. Good night.’

She drained her glass and stood up.

He followed suit, crumpling his beer can around the middle in one strong hand. ‘Good night, Miss Galloway. By the way, we don’t always manage to keep the local wildlife out.’

Her eyes widened.

‘Would you like me to check your cabin before you retire?’

For a second she was terribly tempted. Then it occurred to her that, mysteriously, there was something more flowing between them. He was studying her assessingly again but this time he was concentrating on her figure.

And beneath that penetrating hazel gaze, her stomach lurched as the full masculine impact of the man hit her. It was a curiously devastating impact. It was as if he was paring things down between them to the fundamentals between a man and a woman. As if they were flesh on flesh, breathing each other’s essence, tantalising one another, withholding, granting, testing, fulfilling…

And so powerful was it, she glanced involuntarily down at his hands because she could almost feel them on her breasts, burning through the thin silk of her blouse.