Aussie Rules (11 page)

The footsteps came close, heading directly for her, which couldn't be, no one had seen her. She held her breath and wiped her bloody knuckle on the thigh of her coveralls, then grimaced at the burn.

The footsteps stopped.

Utter silence reigned, the kind that was too quiet. Awkward.

Unable to stand the suspense, she lifted her head.

And locked gazes with a set of sea green, amused eyes. “Problem?” Bo asked.

Argh!
“You. You're my problem!” She stopped trying to make herself invisible, though there was something to be said for invisible. She knew what she looked like—hair wild, grease and blood smeared across her coveralls, no makeup—and she wished he'd stop looking at her. Wished she didn't care that he was looking at her. “I'm pretty busy,” she said, in open invitation for him to leave.

“Working?”

That was better than admitting to hiding. “Yep. Lots of work, so—”

“Cuz it looked like maybe you were hiding.”

“Why would I do that?”

“No reason—”

“Good. Because I'm not.”

“…Except the man in the office wanting his payment for the plane he sold you.”

Damn it. “Fine. I'm hiding, all right? But I'm not late on that payment, he's just an—”

“Asshole.”

She stared at him. “What?”

Bo shrugged. “I don't like it when blokes with too much money harass people doing the best they can.”

“You—you think I'm doing the best I can?”

“Let's just say I know you're trying, although you need to get on North Beach's receivables. You have too much outstanding.”

“And you know that why?”

“Because I'm holding the deed.”

“How do you know what's going on in the books, Bo?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Dimi spent some time in the stock closet with the parts delivery guy the other day, and I sat at her desk and answered phones. And maybe perused a bit.”

“You are a shifty bastard.”

“Yeah, I probably resemble that remark. Anyway, it's not looking good. Not bad, but not good.”

Mel didn't need him to say so, she'd felt the noose tightening around her neck all on her own, and it was getting tighter every single day. “Some months we do just fine,” she said, chin up. It was the other months, the slow ones, that killed them.

Her.

But even those months they survived. They loved it here, she loved it here, and that love had kept Sally's memory alive. Sally, who'd begun North Beach with nothing more than her own wits and a big grin—who'd kept it going on those wits.

And now, Bo wanted her to believe that for ten years, it'd all been an illusion.

As if reading her thoughts, he sighed, seeming to wrestle with himself over something. Probably the urge to strangle her. Putting his hands on her arms, he hauled her down off the ladder in one swift, economical movement, setting her on the floor right in front of him as if she weighed no more than a sack of potatoes.

The touch felt predatory, and just aggressive enough to have her pushing him away from her, but once again her hands hit the solid wall of his chest. She didn't, couldn't, budge him. “I really hate that,” she said.

“What, that there's someone stronger than you? You can't always be the queen bee, Mel.”

“You want to be the queen?”

He smirked, then lifted her bloody knuckle. “You need to clean this.”

“Yeah, I know—” Her breath clogged her throat when he pressed his mouth to her fingers. Her pulse leapt into high gear, pounding like a steady drumbeat at each pulse point, making her head swim, her body feel like her clothes were too tight, like she needed to strip down to skin and have him do the same.

All because of his lips on her fingers. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing it all better.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “Did it work?”

If he only knew.

M
el yanked her hand free, sending a glare in Bo's general direction without looking right into his eyes. Looking into his eyes was bad, very bad, as she tended to see things there that couldn't really be there, things like desire, heat…affection.

An illusion, of course. He was here to get back what he thought Sally had stolen.

“Touchy,” he said as she pulled away.

“Just keep your grimy paws off me.”

He arched a brow at that, clearly noting that only one of them was grimy, and it was certainly not him. Watching her, he leaned against the hull of the plane, crossing his arms over his chest as he got comfortable. “Bill's gone, by the way. You can relax.”

Yeah. Except she couldn't, not with him this close. “How do you know he's gone?”

“Because I told him to come back when the payment was due.”

Well, if that didn't throw her off balance. But hell, she'd been off balance for five days now, ever since Bo had landed here and flashed that deed.

A deed that had her world upside down.

God, it all made no sense, no sense at all, and her brain hurt sorting through it all.

“Are you trying to come up with a thank you?” he asked, looking amused again.

“Thank you,” she said, just a little bit grudgingly.

He ran a finger over her chin. “You know, I think you just might be the most stubborn woman on the planet.”

“Don't touch me,” she said, and slapped his hand away. “I can't seem to think when you do.”

His gaze ran over her features. “Giving information to the enemy, Mel?”

“You're holding a deed that puts the most important thing in my life at risk. Like it or not, you're not my enemy, you're in my camp.”

He said nothing to that for a long beat, but relaxed, letting out a slow smile that made her knees wobble.

“Stop that,” she demanded, pointing at him.

The grin spread, and she shook her head, baffled, and admittedly aroused. Good God, he was potent. “Bo…What do you want from me?”

“Interesting question.” He peered into the engine compartment, while she peered at him. He wore jeans, cargo styled, loose and low on his hips, but leaving no doubt that beneath the denim was a Class A body in prime condition. His T-shirt was black, half tucked in and half not. Carefree, laid-back, sexy.

Dangerous
.

At least to her own peace of mind. “You buy that plane you were looking at?”

“I'm thinking about it. With a little work, I could make a sweet profit off it. I saw another the other day, too. A '38 Spartan, you see it?” He glanced back at her, his eyes shiny, his smile easy.

She hadn't seen him excited about something before, she realized. He was happy, and damn it, it looked good on him. “I saw it.”

“You have a beauty right here as well.” He stroked a hand over the Hawker, peering into the engine. “Ah,” he said, and pointed to the casing. “Bad bolt, it's all rusted, see? No worries, mate. Hand me a wrench.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Because I can get it off for you.”

“I'll do it myself, thanks.” She'd been trying for days.

“I'm standing right here, and I've got better leverage than you.” He cocked his head and gave her that smile, which she was sure had charmed the panties off too many women to count. “You're afraid to let me help you.”

“I'm afraid of what you'll want in return.”

“Just a tiny little thing, really.”

She crossed her arms. “I told you, I don't know where Sally is.”

“Yeah, yeah. Old news. I figure one of these days you'll either cave or she'll show.”

Her gut tightened. “Why wouldn't she?”

“Why don't you tell me?”

He sounded…confident. As if he knew something, which of course, he didn't.

Did he?
“Why would you hang around?” she pressed. “Why don't you just go home and I'll call you—”

“Ah, but will you?” He smiled, a challenging light in his eyes. “Nah, I think I'm better off sticking around, thanks. Plus there's the added bonus, of course.”

More than her gut tightened now. “What's that?”

“Bothering you.”

“You don't get to me.”

“Is that right?” He took a step toward her, bringing them entirely too close, so close that she could see those mesmerizing flecks of gold dancing in the green of his eyes. So close that she could smell him, that complicated, glorious scent of a far-too-sexy man. So close she could do nothing but soak him up. “Yeah, I get to you plenty,” he said.

She waited until she could be sure her voice would be even. “You really think you can get that bolt off?”

“Sure.”

“Is it going to cost me?”

He just looked at her, eyes hot.

Her belly quivered. Her everything quivered. To hide it, she laughed. “Men.” She whirled back to the plane. “I'll fix it myself.”

“Suit yourself.” With another shrug, he went back to holding up the hull with his butt and back, all casual and laid-back as he watched her from eyes at half-mast.

Sort of the way a sleeping lion might watch its prey.

Mel decided to put him out of her mind as she dove into her toolbox. She got a bigger wrench and went back for the bolt, wielding the tool as hard as she could—until her fingers slipped, scraping yet another knuckle.
“Damn it.”

“Need me to kiss that one, too?”

Yes, begged her body.
“No!”
She wiped the blood off on her coveralls. “It's just a little nick.”

He agreed with a low laugh. “Yeah, and you've had more than your fair share of knocks.”

“It's called shit happens.”

“Yeah.” His smile faded. “Neither of us have lived a walk in the park, have we?”

Her eyes met his, saw the understanding there, and sighed. “Ah, hell, Bo. Do we really want to do this?”

“Do what?”

“You know.
Talk
.”

He smiled. “Afraid of a little chitchat? No worries. Charlene and Al already told me all about you.”

“They did not.”

“Oh, yes they did. I sang along to a Twisted Sister song on the radio and Char melted on the spot. She was worried you broke my heart. I told her I'd recovered.”

“Yeah, I'll bet.” She put her head back in the engine compartment. Recovered, her ass. They both knew only one of them would get hurt here. Damn, if only she really could get that bolt off by herself…

“Oh, and I might have mentioned…” He arched a brow. “That I intended to get you back.”

At this, she dropped the wrench. It landed right on her toe. Hopping up and down, she glared at him.
“What?”

“You heard me.”

She gritted past the throbbing radiating up her leg. “Get me back. Ha! And why aren't you taken, anyway?”

He choked out a laugh. “A personal question, Mel?”

She actually felt herself blush. “Forget it.”

“No, you're curious.” He smiled. “It's cute.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see how hard up you are.”

“Pretty damn hard up.”

Her gaze flew to his, wondering if he meant the words as hot and erotic as he'd said them.

His eyes were burning up.

Oh, God.

“You going to offer to help me get un-hard-up?” he asked.

“No! And this isn't funny,” she said when he laughed.

“Well, actually, it is a little.”

She wouldn't look at him as she looked down at her feet, because her toe hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.

Again he pushed away from the plane and came close, too close. “Char thinks I'm still carrying a torch for you.”

“She has a heart of gold and you took advantage of her to get information.”

“She does have a heart of gold,” he agreed, not denying the charge. “But I have a feeling you're the real heart bleeder here.”

“What does that mean?”

“I've seen you; working late, working your ass off and your knuckles to the bone. Literally.” He smiled when she rolled her eyes. “I've seen you mother Kellan and Ritchie, and listen to Ernest give you yet another reason why he can't clean that damn closet you want him to clean. You help Charlene when she gets busy, you get Al photography work with a customer…face it. You love these guys, all of them, and you treat them like family because your own failed you so badly.”

“Leave my past out of this.” At least he hadn't figured out that her bleeding-heart syndrome didn't extend to her social life, and that she hadn't had sex in—

“I would, but then Char told me how you don't date much.” He tipped her chin. “You hard up, too, Mel?”

She pointed her wrench at him, put it to his chest to make sure he kept his distance. “Not that hard up.”

“I don't know, you nearly went off like a rocket when I kissed you—”

“Hey, there were
two
of us going off like rockets, thank you very much!”

He grinned. “Me thinks the lady protest too much.”

“You are impossible!”

“Yeah, I've heard that one before.” As she spun to limp away, he caught her, pulling her back around. “What do you suppose it says about me that your snarling attitude turns me on?” He put his other hand on her arm, holding her. “Stand still, darlin', I want to look at you.”

“You are one sick man.”

“I meant your toe.” Crouching down, he lifted up the pants leg on her coveralls.

Oh, God, had she shaved in the past week?
“I'm fine,” she said, trying to pull away.

He looked up, his hair falling across his forehead, his eyes now level with her belly. An undeniably erotic position. “Yeah, you are,” he said softly.

She stepped back, putting some space between them, turning away while he straightened.

“This place,” he said to her back. “It really means a lot to you.”

She closed her eyes, struggled to keep her voice even. “You shouldn't believe everything Charlene says. She's working with cooking sherry.”

“Are you denying you care deeply about North Beach, that you put everything of yourself into it?”

To this, she said nothing. She couldn't, or she'd give herself away.

“Odd that you'd do so much for just a job,” he continued, and she could feel him watching her. “Why, when Sally knew this place wasn't hers.”

“I don't know that.” Not yet.

“Why would I lie?”

She turned back to him. “After what your father did to Sally…?”

In a blink, all hints of heat and amusement vanished, leaving in their place a cold, tough, impenetrable hostility.

“I just don't see how Sally could be the bad guy,” she murmured, willing him to try to understand. “
You're
holding the deed. If Sally swindled your father, as you say, then where's the money? The plane?”

“Where's Sally?” he countered.

They stared at each other, at an impasse. Finally, Mel conceded, and buried her head back in the engine compartment, going back to the only sure thing in her life: work.