Wild About the Man. Joss Wood

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       CHAPTER TWO

      Luella Dawson’s blog:

       While fans of the reality TV show The Crazy Cs weren’t surprised at their decision to separate, they were shocked by Cai’s method of announcing it to the world. Public sympathy is lying with Clem and fans are clamouring for more footage of the couple now that the last of the series has just been aired. Campbell has responded by agreeing to do another ten episodes of the reality show but insiders know it will mean little without Clem’s side of the story. So where is the flamboyant heiress and ex-model? That, readers, is the million dollar question. Wherever she is, we’re presuming that she’s not having fun.

      AFTER ten minutes of silence, Nick looked across at his passenger and noticed that the pale hand clutching the heavy silver locket was white in the setting sun. Tendrils of that, admittedly, amazing hair had escaped from the messy knot she’d pulled it into and were dancing in the wind. Her bottom lip remained between her teeth.

      He could have been more welcoming, he supposed, but he’d been side-winded by the X-rated flashes of what he wanted to do to her in bed. Or he had been until she’d opened her mouth and starting spewing Diva. He’d had major royalty and minor royalty staying at the Lodge, movie stars and moguls, but she’d out prima donna-ed them all.

      Nick glanced down at those long legs and thought that she could do with a couple of cheeseburgers. She was tall but too thin, her face held that pinched look that women got when they’d lived on a diet of lettuce and multi-vitamins for far too many years. He recognized the type. A lot of the trophy wives or girlfriends who glided in and out of the Lodge had the same look—sucked-in cheeks, stick-thin legs, silicone-enhanced breasts.

      He dropped his eyes to her chest. He’d bet hers were natural—small, round … He shifted in his seat. If he was getting horny thinking about this skinny wildcat then he definitely needed to get some action soon.

      Nick rubbed the back of his neck, saw the long, drooping branch of a thorn tree and spoke for the first time in ten minutes. ‘Mind the branch.’

      Naturally, she didn’t listen and a long thorn caught her shirt, ripped through the fabric and scratched her skin. She squealed, looked down at her arm and squealed again.

      Nick sent her a cursory glance and carried on driving. ‘Hell, woman, it’s just a scratch!’

      ‘There are drops of blood, it stings and this is a designer shirt! It’s torn!’

      ‘Call the fashion police; maybe they’ll care,’ Nick retorted. ‘Next time I say “mind the branch” I suggest you mind the branch.’

      ‘Aaargh! I hate this place and your stupid thorn trees and the heat and you!’ Clem yelled. Nick responded by deliberately hitting a bump in the dirt road and she bounced in the seat. He smiled.

      ‘And I hate this sodding seat with its stupid broken spring!’

      Nick saw the twin flags of anger in her cheeks and her wobbling chin and erred on the side of caution and didn’t respond. He didn’t want to get brained with the oversized bag that sat on her lap. It looked heavy. He swung the Land Rover onto the road to the Lodge, sparing a glance at the pair of giraffes nibbling on an acacia tree.

      ‘Evening, boys.’ He frequently spoke to the animals he came across and didn’t care if his guests thought he was nuts. He glanced across at Clem and noticed that she still had that thousand yard stare.

      ‘Giraffe to your left.’

      Clem didn’t respond and Nick shrugged. He caught the swish of a tail out of the corner of his eye, braked and reversed.

      She stood with her monstrous back to them, a tiny calf at her heels … A week, ten days old, Nick surmised, craning his head to see if he could identify the female elephant. But she kept her face stubbornly hidden and Nick eventually pulled off.

      ‘Her calf is very young; the rest of the nursery herd should be around here somewhere,’ Nick said as they climbed the last hill to the Lodge. Through the dusky, dusty air, he could see the blazing lights of the Lodge and the staff village beyond.

      Clem turned to look at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

      Nick frowned. ‘The elephant and her calf.’ She looked blank. ‘The one that was a couple of metres from you?’

      ‘I didn’t see it,’ Clem said tonelessly.

      Nick cursed, slammed on the brakes, put the car in neutral, reached across her lap and yanked open the door to the cubbyhole. Scratching around, his hand closed around the small torch and he flicked the switch. Grabbing Clem’s chin, he shone the light into her eyes.

      She slapped his hand away but Nick persevered. ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Are you on drugs?’ Nick demanded. Her pupils looked normal but what did he know?

      Clem yanked the torch from his hand and threw it onto the floor at her feet. ‘No, I’m not on drugs! Why would you think that?’

      ‘Because there was a four-ton elephant right next to you and you didn’t notice!’ Nick shouted.

      She turned to look behind her. ‘Oh. Where?’

      Nick muttered a curse and rested his forehead on his wrists, his hands gripping the wheel to keep them from encircling her neck. When the urge to throw her into the nearest bush passed, he put the Landy in gear and drove through the decorative gates that marked the gateway to the Lodge.

      Give me strength, he begged. She was worse than he’d imagined.

      Although it was not completely dark yet, lights blazed from the two-storey Edwardian villa that had once been his great-great-grandfather’s hunting ‘cottage’. Built in grey stone, the house sported an imposing portico over marble steps and Nick pulled up behind the four game viewing vehicles that were offloading guests. Two of his butlers were on hand to distribute glasses of sherry to the guests and he caught the babble of excited voices. Unlike his passenger, they were excited about what they’d seen in the bush.

      Jumping out of his car, Nick headed for his head ranger and spoke to him in fluent Shangaan. ‘All well?’

      Jabu’s white teeth gleamed in his dark face. ‘Mfo.’ He used the shortened but still traditional greeting for brother and friend—mfowethu—and they were. They’d grown up together and Jabu was his right-hand man, more partner than employee.

      ‘Who’s the woman?’ Jabu asked him after they’d had a quick discussion about the morning’s schedule. He glanced at Clem, who was looking up at the Lodge with what he thought might be approval in her eyes.