Wild About the Man. Joss Wood

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      ‘Then it’s high time you started,’ Nick suggested and told himself to stand up. He had to repeat the instruction because he was fascinated by the collection of tiny freckles on her nose. ‘Twelve minutes, Red.’

      When he reached the door he heard her sigh and the rustle of bedclothes. ‘You are the most high-handed, arrogant, annoying man I’ve ever met.’

      Nick grinned. ‘Well, your opinion of me is sure to deteriorate as the day marches on.’

      In fact, he could practically guarantee it.

      She made it to the vehicle with thirty seconds to spare and clambered over the passenger door, not bothering to try opening the door. Ha, he hadn’t thought she could get ready in time … points for me, Clem thought as she sat down, trying to avoid the broken spring.

      ‘What are you wearing?’ he demanded.

      Clem looked down at her vintage studded denim shorts, frayed at the hem. Admittedly, she usually wore these to go clubbing in, but they also worked with the lace vest she’d pulled on.

      ‘A taffeta ball gown, obviously.’

      ‘Those shorts would be declared illegal in some countries. If you were wearing anything shorter, it would be a thong.’

      ‘Rubbish.’

      Clem sat back and mused that she would rather eat worms than admit to Nick that she was glad to be out of the house, that his guest room was becoming claustrophobic and that she could see herself going slowly out of her mind with boredom if she stayed in there one more day.

      Even his stupid Lodge and stupider vehicle and this back of beyond place were a welcome relief from the white walls and her own company. She was pretty good at sulking, even better at wallowing, but a girl could only keep it up for a finite length of time.

      Yeah, she’d rather eat worms and slugs than admit that.

      Clem turned in her seat. ‘So, what do you want me to do? I’m good at talking to people, so I could work with your guests.’

      ‘I wouldn’t let you anywhere near my guests,’ Nick said, picking up a coffee cup from between his knees and raising it to his lips. Clem sighed; she hadn’t had a chance to have any more of her coffee than a couple of quick hot gulps.

      ‘So, because I’m basically a reasonable guy, you get a choice of duties.’

      Yeah, reasonable like the Black Friday or January sales shoppers.

      ‘The Baobab and Buffalo Lodge and Animal Rehabilitation Centre employs trainee game rangers and they start at the bottom of the food chain. In addition to their studies—fauna and flora—they are the general skivvies.’ Nick smiled. ‘You’re the latest intern.’

      ‘So, do people do this willingly or do you blackmail them into being slaves for you too?’ Clem demanded.

      ‘Blackmail is a harsh word but, in your case, remarkably accurate.’ Nick rested his elbow on the steering wheel. The morning sun caught his two day stubble and picked up the sun-lightened tips of his hair. He looked tough and hard in his Two-B uniform of a navy-blue golf shirt and khaki shorts, a tiny tree embroidered onto the pocket of his shirt above the company name.

      This morning his eyes were the shade of moonlight.

      ‘Normally, I’d never give interns a choice of duties but what the hell. You can clean out the staff bar, called The Pit for a reason. On good nights you need a tetanus jab to go in.’

      Clem pretended to think. ‘No.’

      ‘Ironing? Sheets, duvets, pillowcases.’

      ‘Still no.’

      ‘Cleaning toilets?’

      ‘As if.’

      She couldn’t do this, Clem thought. Maybe she should just bite the bullet and go back to London. How bad could it be …? She’d be stalked and hassled by the press everywhere she went but they’d back off. Eventually.

      On the plus side, there would be no cleaning, ironing and skanky bars to clean.

      Clem stared at her hands and opened her mouth to tell Nick to call her father and ask him for the jet. He beat her to the punch.

      ‘Yeah, I thought so. You’re just good at looking decorative.’

      Clem stared at him as his dismissive words sliced deeper and deeper until they hit her soul.

      Temper, hot and wild, shot up from the core of her being and flashed in her eyes. ‘What did you say to me?’ she hissed.

      ‘I—’

      ‘How dare you? You don’t get to say that to me. Nobody says that to me any more.’

      ‘Red …’

      ‘I took it from him for far too many years but I will not take it from you!’ Clem shouted. Her hands gripped the edge of the ragged seat as she started to shake. Her voice was wobbly but her words were coated with determination. ‘I can take anything that you throw at me.’

      Clem, feeling as if she was having an out of body experience, looked at her furious other self and shook her head. No, she couldn’t. She was a pampered society girl …

      ‘You sure about that, Princess?’

      No, not at all sure. Clem wanted to recant but the crazy woman inside had her biting her tongue instead. ‘Do your worst.’

      She looked at Nick’s handsome, amused face and his certainty that she would fail stiffened her spine. How dare he dismiss her, assume that he knew her? She was not just a pretty face. She did have more depth than the average puddle.

      Maybe. Hopefully.

      ‘I won’t quit,’ she muttered, mostly to herself.

      The man had ears like a bat. ‘Oh, you so will,’ Nick assured her.

      She gritted her teeth. ‘Watch me. Do your damnedest, Sherwood.’

      ‘Seriously?’ Nick laughed. ‘Are you challenging me?’

      ‘Yeah. I’m tired of stupid men telling me what I am and am not, what I can and cannot do.’ Clem caught the speculative look in his eye and wondered if she hadn’t pushed him a touch too far.

      Two voices were clamouring for air time in her head.

      Just call your father and go home, the coward in her begged.

      But the louder voice was more encouraging. You can do anything you want to. You’re only good at looking decorative, my sweet butt.

      That voice sounded strong and powerful and sounded as if it knew what it was talking about.

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