The Maverick Millionaire. Alison Roberts

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      ‘Yeah...right...’ He wrenched his gaze free, turning back towards the fire and using a stick to poke at it. He didn’t want to talk about Ben. He didn’t want to show this stranger how he was really feeling. How afraid he was. Who knew what contacts she might have? What could turn up as a headline on some celebrity website?

      * * *

      The warmth Ellie had been getting from the stove seemed to have been shut off and the cold in her gut turned into a lead weight.

      No wonder they’d been arguing about who got to be rescued first. Or that Jake had said he would have stayed if he’d been given the choice. She didn’t even have a sibling and these men were twin brothers. She could imagine how close they were. As close as she’d dreamed of being with another living soul. Loving—and being loved—enough for one’s own safety to not be the priority.

      She would have gone back for Ben if it had been possible, but it hadn’t been. At least she’d brought Jake to safety, but maybe, in the end, he wouldn’t thank her for that. He obviously didn’t want to talk about it. He was hunched over in front of the fire, looking very grim as he poked at the burning sticks, sending sparks flying and creating a new cloud of smoke. Fiercely shutting her out.

      Was it the smoke in his eyes that made him rub at them with the heel of his hand? Even hunched up, she was aware again of what a big man he was. Intimidatingly big. She knew that trying to offer any further comfort would be unwelcome. She’d probably put her foot in it, too, the way she had when she’d tried to make some kind of joke about his obvious limp.

      It had been the way Grandpa had brushed off any concern about his physical wellbeing.

      It’s nothing, chicken. Just the old war wound playing up.

      But Jake was an American. Had she made a joke about some horrible injury he’d suffered in somewhere like Afghanistan? She’d been too flustered to think of a way to apologise without it seeming insincere. Or prying. There was something about this man that suggested he valued his privacy a lot more than most people.

      So, once again, she simply avoided anything personal.

      ‘I’ll go and see if I can find us those dry clothes.’

      * * *

      By the time Ellie returned with an armload of clothes from the old tin trunk, the living area of the small house was already feeling a lot warmer.

      ‘The trousers are pretty horrible, but we’ve scored with a couple of Swanndris.’

      Jake looked up from where he was still crouched in front of the fire. He was shivering uncontrollably despite being so close to the heat. ‘S-swan—what?’

      ‘They’re shirts. I’m wearing one.’ Ellie dumped the pile she was holding onto the sofa, extracting a black-and-red-checked garment to hold out to Jake. ‘New Zealand icon. A hundred percent wool. Farmers have relied on them for decades over here and they’re the best thing for warmth. Even better, these ones are huge. Should fit you a treat.’

      Neither her father or grandfather had been small men by any means. The shirt Ellie was wearing came well down over the baggy track pants she’d struggled into in the bedroom, but it was just as well they were so loose because they’d gone right over the sodden boots that had laces she couldn’t manage to undo yet. And maybe it was better to leave them on. At least her ankle was splinted by the heavy leather and padding of her socks.

      He took the shirt and nodded. ‘Thanks.’

      ‘Don’t just stare at it. Put it on. No, hang on...’ Ellie dived back into the pile. ‘Here’s a singlet that can go on first so it’s not itchy.’

      Getting changed into dry clothes was easier said than done. Ellie had found it enough of a struggle getting out of her wet clothes in the bedroom and she’d been wearing state-of-the-art gloves to protect her hands up until now. Jake’s hands had been bare ever since he’d been plucked from the life raft and were still so cold there was no way he could manage the zipper of the heavy anorak he was wearing.

      He fumbled several times, cursed softly and then stopped trying. Ellie dragged her gaze up from his fingers to his face and, for a long moment, they simply stared at each other.

      The fire was crackling with some enthusiasm now. Adding enough light to the dark, stormy afternoon for her to get a good look at this man. He was big, broad shouldered and...and wild looking, with that long hair and the beard. His face was fierce looking anyway, with a nose that commanded attention and accentuated the shadowed eyes that had an almost hawk-like intensity.

      The pull of something—an awareness that was deep enough to be disturbing—made Ellie’s mouth go dry. She tore her gaze away from those compelling eyes. They both knew she had no choice here.

      ‘I’ll help you,’ she said.

      Her voice sounded weird so she pressed her lips together and said nothing else as she started to help him undress. The scrape of the metal zip sounded curiously loud. He had layers underneath. A sodden woollen pullover and thermal gear beneath that.

      And then there was skin. Rather a lot of skin covering the kind of torso that spoke of a great deal of physical effort.

      Ripped. That was the only word for it.

      Dark discs of nipples hardened by the cold decorated an almost hairless chest that seemed at odds with the amount of hair Jake favoured on his head and face.

      And...dear Lord, there was a tattoo in the strangest place. A line of what looked like Chinese characters ran from his armpit to disappear into the waistband of his jeans.

      It was discreet body art and it must have significance, but Ellie wasn’t about to ask. She shouldn’t even be looking. Just as well it got covered up as Jake pulled on the black singlet and then the thick woollen shirt. He managed to pop the button on his jeans but, again, the zipper was beyond the motor skills that had returned to his hands so far.

      Ellie had undressed countless patients in her career. She’d cut through and removed clothing and exposed every inch of skin of people without the slightest personal reaction. Why did it have to be now that she was so aware of touching someone in such an intimate area? Why did she feel so uncomfortable she had to swallow hard and actually close her eyes for a heartbeat?

      Like remembering her past when it should have been totally obliterated by the adrenaline of being in real danger, maybe this was a sign that she was no longer fit for active service as a paramedic. Something like grief washed through Ellie at the thought and it was easy to turn that into a kind of anger. Impatience, anyway, to get the job over with.

      ‘I’ll do the zip,’ she snapped. ‘You should be able to manage the rest.’

      She tried not to think of what her fingers were brushing. The zipper got stuck halfway down and she had to pull it back up and try again. A warmth that had nothing to do with the fire crept into her cheeks. As soon as she got the zipper down past where it had stuck, she dropped her hands as though the metal was red hot and she turned away as Jake hooked his thumbs into the waistband and started peeling the wet fabric from his skin.

      She’d seen enough.

      Too much.

      * * *

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