Jill Shalvis - Aussie Rules

Mel shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“So…” Dimi had to ask. “Are the old rumors true? Can he make a woman orgasm with a single touch?”

Instead of laughing, as Dimi had expected, Mel turned away. “It was just a kiss.”

Which didn’t answer the question, Dimi noted. More panic. It jangled inside her belly. “You going to turn into me now, Mel, and fall for the wrong guy?”

“Okay, repeat after me,” Mel snapped. “Just. A. Kiss. And believe me, it won’t be repeated.”

“I don’t know…” Dimi watched her oldest friend pace, which didn’t make her feel any better. “They say that once he kisses you, it’s like a drug. You have to have him again. And again.”

“Whoever ‘they’ are, they’re wrong.”

“Good, because he’s a Black, Mel.”

“Yeah.” Mel rubbed her temples. “I know.”

“He’s been making himself at home, working from here.” She let some of her panic show. “Acting like he has the right. He really believes that deed is real.”

“I know.” Mel closed her eyes. “He has got to go far, far away.” She tossed the paper towels into the trash.

If Dimi had had herself together, she’d have opened her purse and offered moisturizer, but as things were, she didn’t have either her purse or her wits.

“Okay, let’s try this again.” In the way that Dimi had admired for years, Mel drew herself up straight and tall.

“Try what again exactly?”

“The whole damn day. And trust me, if Bo so much as looks at me, he’ll regret it.” With that, Mel stormed out of the bathroom in much the same way she’d stormed in.

Dimi looked in the mirror. “She’s going to need you,” she told herself. “Which means you have to be the strong one for once.”

Her reflection looked worried.

Mel worked her tail off, struggling to stay one step ahead of North Beach’s needs, their customers’ needs, her employees’ needs.

Of Bo Black.

But everywhere she turned, things seemed to go wrong. The morning after the kiss-she refused to think in plurals when it came to the incident, though it had been plural kisses, heavenly plural kisses she’d dreamed about all night long-she came into work and found the front door of North Beach unlocked. Dropping her things, she rushed through the airport, but nothing looked touched. Nothing missing. Nothing bothered.

And yet later, sitting at her desk eating a donut from Char, she’d have sworn someone had been through her things.

Paranoia?

Or reality?

With nothing missing, she had no idea. And still nothing from her attorney on the deed.

At least her e-mail box remained empty of vague threats.

The next morning, the fourth since Bo had shown up, they had a scheduled five thirty AM incoming. Mel had come in early-tired from still dreaming of Bo’s body buried in hers-only to find herself devoid of linemen. Pissed, Mel called Ritchie, and got no answer. She dialed Kellan.

“Yo, dude,” he said groggily. “This’d better be good.”

“Yo, dude,” she shot back, with some sarcasm added in because it was early and she hadn’t had any caffeine yet. “There’s an incoming, and you’re not.”

“Ah, shit.” This was followed by a rustling noise, probably the kid falling out of bed. “Shit,” he said again, breathless.

“Shit on your own time.”

“Yeah, Mel-I’m sorry-”

She hung up. He was sorry, and so was she because she could hear the plane now. Once again she dropped her own job and found herself racing through the lobby, grabbing an orange vest and directing the aircraft herself, a beauty of a Raytheon King Air. She handled the tie-down, greeted the pilot and his guests, then stayed on the tarmac for a moment, enjoying the sun rising in the chilly, purple-blue dawn.

“So do you do every job in this place by yourself?”

She turned and faced the outline of a man as he came toward her, the sun in her face. Didn’t matter. She’d have recognized him from the way he walked, confident, of course, with a carefully banked bad-assness in every line of his tough body, a body he’d pressed against hers. The taste of his kiss came back in a flash, hot and sweet. The feel of his hands on the skin of her back, where he’d skimmed beneath her shirt and-

Stop. Don’t think about it…Try not to think about it every living moment of every single day…

Was he thinking about it, too?

Unable to see Bo’s expression, she lifted her hand to block her eyes and watched his long, sleek shadow move closer. His face seemed to have as many strong lines and angles as the rest of his tough, lean form. His hair had been finger-combed at best. Against the early chill, he wore jeans, and a soft, worn leather jacket, and looked a little rough, a little edgy.

And a whole lot sexy.

“You work too hard,” he said gruffly. “And half the time, it isn’t necessary. You have linemen.”

Nope, he was definitely not thinking about The Kiss. “Kellan overslept.”

“Slacking off,” he said and shook his head. “You should have his ass for breakfast.”

A little flicker of panic. If the deed turned out to be real, would he fire all of them? Sell? “It was a mistake, Bo. We all make them.”

“Like yours?”

“What are you talking about?”

He crossed his arms and looked down at her. “The lie you told me.”

Oh, God.

“Trying to remember which lie, aren’t you?” he asked very softly.

Now, see, she hated that he was right nearly as much as she did the twist in her gut.

“This place is sinking,” he said. “You’re a great pilot, but business clearly isn’t your strength.”

True enough, but how would he know unless…“So it was you. Snooping through my files.”

He frowned. “What? No. Ernest likes to talk.”

“Ernest? Are you kidding me?”

“I saved a spider, and now I have a friend for life. That’s how it works, Mel, a little give and take.” He ran a finger over her hairline. “So you ready for the big reveal? Because I am. You know, where you tell me what’s going on.”

She stared into the gorgeous morning, feeling the fist around her heart tighten a bit more. “I called Sally.”

His eyes met hers for a long moment, a little intense, a little intimidating, and a whole lot exciting, giving nothing away. “Is that right?” He stepped closer, so that now they were nose to nose. Or her nose to his fabulous chest. “What did she say?” He’d shaved, the scent of his shaving lotion or soap floating to her on the breeze. Citrusy. Woodsy. Inherently male.

His eyes held hers prisoner, and there were things in them, a barely banked heat, and…yep, the memories of their kiss.

He was thinking about it.

And right there in the morning chill, she began to overheat from the inside out. “She’s swamped.”

“Ah. Too swamped to talk to me, right?”

She couldn’t do this. It was one thing to lie when she believed one hundred percent in the cause, when she was doing what was right, in the only way she could. But it was another entirely when she felt lost and alone and afraid, very afraid. She turned away, but he pulled her back around, putting his hands on her arms as if he had a right, as if he was comfortable enough with her to do whatever he wished.

In defense, her hands came up and settled on his chest, where she could feel the rock-hard strength of him-just in case she hadn’t seen it along with sheer determination blazing from his gaze.

He wasn’t going to just go away. He couldn’t. And he wasn’t going to take her word for anything.

He wasn’t ever going to give up.

“Just talk to me,” he said. “It’s all I’m asking.”

“Maybe it’s not any of your business.”

“It was my father’s business. With him gone, it became mine.”

“Your father didn’t earn that deed fairly.”

His jaw tightened. His eyes went to ice. “You don’t have any proof of that.”

“And neither do you.”

He stared at her. “One of these days you’re going to eat those words.”

“Take your hands off me.”

“Funny, that’s not what you said the other day.”

Shoving free, she took a step backward. And then another, because with him, she needed distance, lots of it. Whenever he looked at her, strange things happened; she could feel the sexual pull, like a relentless, unchanging tide, and damn if she didn’t actually feel a hint of that old painful, unrequited crush she’d once had on him.

Pathetic.

She moved away, into the lobby and into her office, where she settled in to the stacks of bills and files she needed to work on.

One of these days you’re going to eat those words…

He believed in his cause, with his whole heart. It was even more disturbing than the fact he’d turned her upside down and upside right, not to mention on.

And for the first time, she wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing. Wasn’t sure of anything at all.

God, she hated that.

Dimi had a tradition when it came to entering the bookkeeping information for North Beach. The first half of the month, she sat at her desk and pretended to work while she actually read a book. The second half of the month she raced to catch up.

Unfortunately, it was the second half of the month. Even more unfortunately, she was in the middle of a good book. But she needed to get on top of things before Mel crawled up her ass about it, wanting to see the accounting printouts.

First she sorted the mail into piles, then opened her stacks and sent each to the correct in-box. Then she went through Mel’s mail, which was how she found herself staring down at a letter that read nothing more than:

Leave. It. Alone.

Dimi grabbed the envelope it’d come in. The postal stamp was dated five days ago, the place it’d come from so smeared she couldn’t read it.

At that moment, Bo happened to walk by, heading toward the tarmac. He took one look at her face and stopped. “Dimi?”

Clearly she had her feelings all over her face, which she changed into a scowl to reflect her feelings for him. “What do you want?”

“You okay?”

“I’d be better if you were back in Australia.”

With a sigh, he began walking again, and when he was gone, she picked up the phone to dial Mel’s office. “You’ve got a letter here you’re going to want to see.”

One minute later they were both staring down at the plain white piece of paper with the plain Courier 12-point computer font.

“Matches that e-mail I received,” Mel finally said. “Friendly, huh?”

“You do have a way with people.”

“I try.”

They stared at the letter some more.

“Bo?” Dimi asked.

Mel shook her head. “No, he wants the opposite of leaving it alone.”

They were silent another minute, then Dimi shook her head. “Not Sally-”

“She’d call,” Mel agreed.

But why hadn’t she?

“Hell,” Mel said heavily, and took the envelope and note with her, vanishing back into her office.

Dimi went to work entering the receivables. Not exactly rewarding work. In fact, she could have saved Mel the trouble of reading all these worksheets and simply told her it was same as always-that is, shaky-but she never had the heart to break Mel’s.

Mel, who tried so hard to keep them all together, Mel for whom this place meant everything, Mel who kept Dimi on the straight-and-narrow path.

Mostly.

Dimi thought about her little transgression with Previously Gorgeous Guy, and sighed. So she still made the occasional bad decision. Sue her. A leopard couldn’t change its stripes. Or spots. Or whatever it was.

Bottom line, she wasn’t perfect.

And neither, she thought, as she watched the pretty flickering vanilla candle on the corner of her desk, was Mel. Mel could have, should have, kicked Bo’s excellent ass for touching her. But she hadn’t.

Interesting. And telling.

Dimi could see Bo on the tarmac now, looking over an aircraft that belonged to a customer he’d brought in. Since he’d gotten here, he’d been bringing people, helping customers, booking them charter flights…generally upping their business without effort.

Damn, he was good. Bastard.

A mug was set down on the desk before her, and then a lemon muffin-her favorite. She looked up.

“You were talking to yourself,” Danny said. “Maybe sugar and caffeine will help.”

It wasn’t often she felt self-conscious with men, or revisited past actions, but ever since Danny had had to intervene with that idiot, she’d had a hard time looking him in the eye.

It wasn’t as if he’d said a word about it, either. In fact, Danny was a man of very few words, but she felt off her footing nonetheless. “Thanks.”

Perching a hip against her desk, he sipped at his own mug. He wore another baseball cap today, on backward, his blond surfer-dude hair brushing his shoulders, which were encased in his mechanic’s overalls. The sleeves were shoved up, revealing corded strength in his forearms from all the heavy lifting and work he did. On his left wrist were two black leather bands. He had clean hands for a mechanic. Work roughened, but clean.