Millionaire Dad's SOS (2 page)

‘I might well be seeing things,’Rylie said, finally upright and now staring brazenly at the silent stranger, ‘but isn’t that Zach Jones?’

Meg grabbed Rylie by the hand and spun her around to face front. All the while her wits began to return and synapses connected in the back of her brain. ‘Why do I know that name?’

Rylie said, ‘He was a rower years back. Olympic level. Keeping it up too, by the looks of him. Now he’s a businessman. Big time. Owns this place, in fact, as well as a dozen-odd of its like all ’round the world. Self-starter. Self-made. Renegade. Refuses to list his company on the exchange. Not all that much known about him otherwise. He somehow manages to live under the radar.’

‘Single?’ Tabitha asked.

‘Perpetually,’ Rylie said with a grin.

‘Perfect.’ Tabitha grinned. ‘Your dad’ll hate him.’

Meg turned on her. ‘So?’

Rylie said, ‘She has a point. You don’t have to limit your dating schedule to charming, skint, ambitionless, undemanding men to get back at Daddy.’

Meg’s right eyebrow tweaked to a point. ‘I actually
prefer
to spend time with men who don’t consider bragging about that day’s corporate buyout fit for pillow talk, thank you very much. I get enough of that around the family dinner table to find it in any way an aphrodisiac. The only way my father comes into it is that at least men not on their way up the corporate ladder never try to get to him through me.’

Tabitha mirrored her expression. ‘Whatever you say.’

Meg poked a face, then looked decidedly back to the front of the group.

What she didn’t say was that the men she favoured also weren’t the types to press for any kind of commitment. They weren’t in any rush to start families of their own. One less pressure to concern herself with.

Besides, it had been a long time since she’d bothered doing anything extreme in order to get through to the big man herself. What was the point? It had never worked anyway.

Rylie pushed in tighter, her voice a secretive stage whisper. ‘It has to be him. Zach Jones. He’s notoriously impossible to pin down. He’s one of those ungettable interviews that would take a girl like me out of Sunday morning fluff TV into the big leagues. I wonder what he’s doing here rather than flitting around the world buying up great wads of
prime real estate like it’s going out of fashion? I smell a scoop.’

Meg shook her escaping curls from her cheeks and peeked out of the corner of her eye one more time.

He’d tilted his head up ever so slightly. Sunkissed skin was smoothed over the most immaculately masculine bone structure Meg had ever seen. The shadow of three-day growth covered a jaw that just begged to be stroked. And his lips were so perfectly carved she struggled to take her eyes off them.

All that perfection somehow managed to pale in comparison when she finally saw his eyes.

They were locked on hers.

Dark, dangerous eyes, too far away for her to make out the colour, but she had the feeling she could have doubled the distance between them and still been hit by the thwack of awareness behind them.

She sucked in a breath, thick with tropical humidity that caught in her throat. And a trickle of what was most definitely sweat ran down her neck and between her breasts.

Zach Jones.

His name buzzed about inside her head in her father’s most frosty voice as he flapped the
Financial Times
in a way that meant he was not happy. ‘
He got too big, too quick. Stubborn fool is
overreaching. One of these days he’ll land flat on his face. Mark my words.’

Meg didn’t know about overreaching, but she did know that her father didn’t give a damn about
anyone
below a certain level of accomplishment—client, competitor, offspring…

She swallowed.

There was no flirtation in Zach Jones’s gaze. No measure of awe about who she was. Just copious amounts of brooding intensity centred in those unfathomable dark eyes. Despite it all, the backs of her knees began to quiver.

He blinked. And rolled his shoulders. The first sign he wasn’t as nervelessly blasé as he was making out.

The very thought made way for an unimpeded rush of sexual attraction to slide through her, like a waterfall breaking through a dam of knotted foliage that had held it back a decade.

The ferocity of her reaction had her literally taking a step back. The blister on her heel popped, again. A hiss of pain slid through her teeth as she hopped madly on her good foot.

The man took a step towards her, a hand appearing to flicker in her direction. The tension curling inside her ratcheted up a notch and a half and she knew her sudden breathlessness had far less to do with her stinging foot, and more to do with the stranger in her midst.

Thankfully she caught her balance all on her own, and the man unclenched from his ready-to-pounce position.

She spun back to face front. ‘When are we going to start running, for Pete’s sake?’ she whispered through her teeth.

Rylie reached out and pinched her hot pink cheek. ‘Look who’s suddenly Miss Eager Exerciser.’

‘You bet,’ she said, shuffling from one foot to the other as though she had ants in her pants. ‘Bring on the lactic-acid burn!’ Better that than having to endure the feel of the man’s burning eyes on her back.

She shook out her hands, attempting to shake off the fidgets. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been rebuffed before. It came with the celebrity package as much as being excessively adored. It just thankfully generally happened from afar. By strangers. Whom she didn’t have to look in the eye and pretend it didn’t sting.

‘Meg, he’s coming over!’ Tabitha said so loud those straggling nearby must have heard.

‘We’ll leave you to it, then,’ Rylie said cheerily. ‘I’m counting on you to get me the exclusive!’

‘No, no, no!’ Meg begged.

But it was too late, they were off—Rylie the runner, and Tabitha the gym junkie. There was no way Meg was keeping up with them, even with the
amount of adrenalin pouring through her body as she stood all alone in the middle of the dirt track, Zach Jones making a beeline her way.

M
EG
jogged for almost five minutes before pulling up to a walk. By then she was already wishing she’d brought a better bra, a hairband and a scooter.

The rest of the stragglers passed her by, including the wellness facilitator who had been bringing up the rear.

All bar one.

She could feel a male presence tucked in behind her. She could hear the heavy pad of his large feet on the compacted dirt path. Dragging in deep, unfit breaths, she caught his scent on the hot summer breeze—expensive, subtle, and wholly masculine.

All this from a man who’d managed to get under her skin in half a second flat. A man who’d rejected her come-hither smile in even less time. Sheesh. The sooner she found out what he was after and got rid of him, the better.

She said, ‘Are we there yet?’ just loud enough he could have no doubt she was talking to him.

‘Do a U-turn and ask me again,’ a deep voice rumbled beside her. A voice that matched the rest of him so perfectly that if she wasn’t gleaming with perspiration from the effect of it she deserved some kind of medal in self-control.

Meg pinched her side with the hopes of fending off an oncoming stitch and the slow burn of attraction that was infusing her in one fell swoop, and turned.

At a distance Zach Jones was something. Up close and personal he was too beautiful for words. Her breath shot from her in a discombobulated
whoomph
.

She concentrated on the slight bump of a oncebroken nose, the different angles each of his dark brows took above his hooded eyes, the stray sunkissed flecks within his dark hair, lest she be overwhelmed by the whole.

‘Please don’t hang back on my account,’she said, oft-practised casual smile firmly entrenched. ‘My pace is purposeful. Those chumps up ahead don’t realise how much more one can appreciate the scenery by walking.’

He said, ‘I’m fine right here.’

If she didn’t know better she could have taken those words a whole other way. As it was she had to give her heart a mental slap for the unwarranted little dance it was currently enjoying.

‘Excellent,’she said. ‘We’ll walk together. Scenery is always more enjoyable when you have someone to share it with.’

And then neither of them said another word for a whole minute. The unmistakable tension was almost enough for Meg to start jogging again, despite the fact that she’d barely caught her breath.

‘Would I be right in thinking you’re not a big runner?’ he finally said.

After Meg’s laughter died down she waved her hands in the direction of her well-tended curves. ‘Do I look like a runner?’

Given the invitation to do so, the man’s eyes travelled down one side of her body—over her borrowed hot-pink short shorts and black T-shirt with sparkly designer name splashed across her chest—and up the other. Given the chance, she looked into his distracted eyes.

Deep, dark, soulful brown they were, with the kinds of creases at the edge that she just knew would make a girl’s heart melt at ten paces when he smiled.
If
he smiled, which she realised he still was yet to do. In fact, he carried with him the distinct impression of a frown.

Finally, and none too soon, Meg managed to duck out of the heady cloud of attraction to hear cymbals crashing inside her head. They warned of impending doom.

There was no doubt he was intentionally at her side. He’d had to have waved the wellness facilitator on to get her alone. But it was becoming increasingly
clear he wasn’t exactly over the moon to be there. On both counts she was clueless as to why.

She worried the tiny chip in her front right tooth with her tongue, an old habit that re-emerged only when she felt as if things were slipping out of her exacting control. An old habit she worked hard at keeping at bay.

She curled her tongue back where it belonged and answered her question herself. ‘Between us, running’s not my forte. I’m more of a yoga girl.’

Sometimes. Every now and then. Okay, so she’d taken a couple of lessons with Rylie once.

‘Yoga,’ he repeated, his eyes finally, thankfully, leaving the contours of her body and returning to hers.

She shouldn’t have been so thankful so soon. For in those dark, deep, delicious brown eyes she saw that he had seen the equivocation in hers.

She dropped her gaze to the fraying collar of his T-shirt lest he see the surprise in her eyes as well. She’d had a lifetime in which to perfect the art of being Meg Kelly, public figure. Her front had been demonstrably shatter-proof.
Two minutes
after meeting her, Zach Jones had seen right through it.

Who was this guy and what did he want with her?

‘Downward dog? Upward…tree?’ she shot back, arms swinging in what she knew was a terrible impression of something she’d seen on TV once. ‘Okay, so I’m not a yoga fanatic or a runner. I’m more an eat-chocolate-for-breakfast dance-it-off-in-your-living-room
kind of girl. Either way there is no way on God’s green earth I’ll be catching up to the others any time soon. So please go ahead. Jog. Be free.’

‘Between us,’ he said, leaning in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone that sent her blood pressure soaring, ‘I’ve already run five K today.’

‘Oh.’ Oh, indeed. ‘So what brings you out here again?’

All she got for her blunt question was an out-held hand. ‘I’m Zach Jones.’

Meg twisted her body to slide her smaller hand into his. Even the coolest of customers usually gave themselves away when shaking her hand. A nervous vibration here, a sweaty palm there. She was extremely adept at ignoring their nerves.

With Zach Jones they never eventuated. His grip was warm, dry, strong, masculine and wholly unmoved.

Remarkable
, she thought. More than remarkable. The man was perspiration-inducing, utterly gorgeous and wholly unsmiling even though he had the kind of warm, open, likable face purpose built for the function.

And don’t forget
, she reminded herself,
beneath the casual curls, the sexily shabby clothes, and the body of an Olympic god, Zach Jones is an alpha in beta camouflage. So not worth worrying about.

So why was she still holding his hand?

Because it really is so very warm, dry and blissfully enveloping, that’s why.

‘I’m Meg,’ she said, pumping once more, then letting go.

At the last second she held back her surname. As if there was a slim chance she’d been reading too much into every cheek flicker, or lack thereof, from the very beginning. Maybe he was just some cute guy too shy to chat her up even though he had a thing for girls with impossibly curly hair and a glaringly obvious lack of sporting prowess.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Meg,’ he said, his mouth quirking at her omission.

Argh! What was she thinking? He knew. Of
course
he knew. She’d have to go further than the Gold Coast to find a man who didn’t know who she was. A man whose mind wasn’t already made up about her before they even met.

She squeezed her eyes shut a moment. Using a technique they’d encouraged in internal reflection class the day before, she searched for her centre. Patience thin, she failed miserably. Instead she went with what worked in the real world: she summoned her inner Kelly and looked the guy dead in the eye.

‘So, Zach Jones, from what I hear around the traps you own this joint.’

The full-frontal approach brought out a combative
glint in his darker than dark eyes. If possible it only made the guy more tempting. Warmth curled through her empty stomach.

But rather than doing the polite thing and answering her charge, he ignored it and asked, ‘How long are you planning on staying?’

Frustration began to war convincingly well with attraction. In response, her practised smile only grew wider.

‘A survey?’ she said, lobbing it right back in his corner. ‘Aren’t you the hands-on boss?’

The most sensuous mouth she’d ever laid eyes on kicked into a sexy almost-smile, creating an arc in his cheek that hinted at so much more, but still it never quite reached his eyes. He didn’t believe her devil-may-care performance for a second.

‘How long?’ he repeated.

‘We’re here the week.’

His eyes skimmed the empty path ahead. ‘We being?’

Something in his tone gave her the sense the impending doom wouldn’t be impending that much longer.

She casually lifted a foot and stretched her…whatever the muscle that ran down the front of your thigh was called. ‘Two of my closest mates gave me this holiday as a present. Rylie Madigan and Tabitha Cooper.’

At the last second she threw out their full names
on a gamble, for Tabitha, with her ex-Prime Minister dad, and Rylie, with her job on TV, were almost as recognisable as she was.

Her fishing paid off. He breathed deep, his fists bunched at his sides, and the sexy hollows in his cheeks grew their own hollows.

‘So you go home…?’ he said.

‘In a few days.’

He nodded, breathed out deeply, apparently most satisfied that she’d be out of his sight as soon as that.

Whoa. That was harsh.

Even though beneath the bright smiles and fancy clothes she was a tough cookie—she had to be in order to survive being a Kelly—it turned out she was still just a girl whose pride could be hurt like anyone else.

Okay, so there had been a time before she’d toughened up. A time when she’d been in danger of imploding under the relentless pressure. A long time ago, a lifetime really, in some perverse effort to get her father’s attention she’d let things go far too far. It had scared her enough to buck up and take control over her image, her life. To figure out how to use the process that used her.

Any naivety she might have had was lost for ever, making a certain amount of cynicism unavoidable. On the upside she was no longer easily fazed. By anything.

Yet somehow this guy was getting to her.

Frustration finally won out, bringing with it a desire to share the pain. She lifted her chin and breathed deep of the tropical air. ‘I have to say you picked a gorgeous spot here. I could really get used to it. Who knows? We may stay longer yet.’

His eyes slid back to hers; dark, gleaming, shrewd.

She raised both eyebrows.
Now what are you going to do about that?

What he did was smile.

Naturally it was everything she’d imagined it might be and so much more. The latent vitality his physique hinted at shone from his eyes when he smiled. It made him appear playful, warm, engaging. Her knees turned to jelly. Her resolve turned to mush.

She opened her mouth, ready to ask him outright what the hell was going on when he placed his bare hand in the small of her back and gave her a light shove. She was so surprised she gave a little yelp.

Through the thin cotton of her T-shirt his fingers were hot. Insistent. Touching her without fear or favour.

Only when she looked up to see a small tree in the middle of the path did she realise he was merely stopping her from thwacking into the thing.

And even after his hand moved all too easily away, and even while he was making her feel more and more out of step with every step in his presence,
she could still feel the hot, hard press of Zach Jones’s hand against her skin.

Now why did he have to go and touch her?

A simple, ‘Watch out for the tree,’ would have sufficed. Instead, constant glimpses of that tattoo peeking out from the rise of her shorts had been like a magnet.

Now he had to do this thing with the sensation of that soft warm skin imprinted on the tips of his fingers.

Zach curled said fingers into his palm and took a small step to the left to add a little more physical distance between himself and the woman at his side. The woman whose very proximity could expose everything he’d worked so hard to keep preserved. Protected. Pure.

He stretched out his shoulders and shot her a sideways glance. He had to concede that for a woman who appeared to bloom under the spotlight like an orchid in a hothouse, in person she was smaller, more low-key, and more approachable than he’d expected her to be. Funny, mischievous, switched on…

He actually had to remind himself her father was Quinn Kelly, one of the most patronising men he’d ever had the displeasure of dealing with in the early stages of his business career. No doubt there would be a good dash of spice beneath the sweet. That kind of bite had to be genetic.

As for the rest of her?

His gaze lingered on her mouth before skimming over her pale bare shoulder, down her slim arm, over her Betty Boop hip, before being drawn back to that mouth.

Surely lips that lush could not be the real deal. Soft, pink, curving up at the corners even when she frowned as she was doing right then. Those lips alone were enough to make sure half the men of Brisbane thought themselves in lust with her. The other half simply didn’t read the right papers. And as it turned out
his
body didn’t give a hoot if they were genuine. Saliva gathered beneath his tongue. He swallowed it with such force his throat ached in protest.

His gaze moved north only to be reminded of those infamous blue eyes. The colour was mentioned every time her name was spoken aloud. The second she’d turned them his way he’d known why. They were startling—glinting, bright, sapphire blue. The kind of blue that looked as if it could cut glass. The kind of blue that could make even the most disinterested man dive right in and not care if he drowned.

Luckily for him the fact that his hormones had so spectacularly tuned into Meg Kelly’s siren song was not going to be a problem to add to the reasons why he needed her as far away from there as possible. He’d long since been wise to the barb of wanting someone that would never be his to have.
He had the relentless dislocation of his childhood to thank for that vital life lesson if for nothing else.

There was no getting away from the fact that she was trouble. Add friends who were of all people a TV reporter and an ex-Prime Minister’s wild child to the mix and his day had just got a whole lot worse.

It was time to turn things around.

‘Ms Kelly,’ he said, making sure she knew without a doubt he knew who she was, ‘I need you to tell me what you and your friends are really doing here.’