Flint tried to divert his unexpected attack of desire by redirecting his thoughts to something else. Something suitably distracting. He conjured up quick mental images of his teenaged half sisters, Camryn and Kaylin, who could always be counted on to infuriate him. But the mental trick didn’t work; the girls’ powers of annoyance faded in comparison to Ashlinn Carey’s considerable sensual draw.
He continued to gaze at her. The burgundy lipstick she wore looked freshly applied, perhaps moments before the plane had landed. The color accentuated the full, fine shape of her lips. She was wearing a one-piece black jersey outfit and a pair of ultra-fashionable black boots that added a few inches to her height. Still, at nearly six-four, he was considerably taller than she.
“You’re supposed to be a guy,” he said hoarsely.
How he wished she were! Barring that, it would’ve helped a lot if she didn’t have such an eye-popping figure, if she were one of those unappealing living toothpicks currently showcased in ads. Instead, Ashlinn Carey was soft and curvy in all the right places and projected a sultry allure without even trying. His skin felt uncomfortably warm, his entire body taut.
Ashlinn surveyed him coolly. “Well, I’m not a guy, am I? Are you Sam Carmody?”
“No.”
“You’re supposed to be.”
Flint assumed she was needling him with her argument about his identity, since he’d just done the same thing to her “I guess I had that coming,” he grumbled.
“My trip packet clearly states that Sam Carmody, the director of marketing for Paradise Outdoors, who is also in charge of this expedition, will meet my plane at the airport,” Ashlinn insisted.
“Carmody is in the hospital in traction for the next three weeks. Skateboard accident. The idiot,” Flint muttered under his breath before he could catch himself.
“You’re not very sympathetic. Three weeks in traction sounds awful.”
“I’ve been trying to be sympathetic since I got the bad news last night. But all I can think of is that any thirty-two-year-old man who tries to skateboard down the front steps of the high school is an idiot.” Flint grimaced. “I’m only a year older than he is, and I wouldn’t dream of going near a skateboard. Especially one day before the camping trip that’s been his own pet project from the start.”
“To be perfectly honest, I think I’d rather be in traction myself than to go to a place called the Badlands. I mean, the name itself says it all, doesn’t it? What can be good about going there?” Ashlinn smiled for the first time. “Since the trip is canceled, I’ll just book a flight back to New York and...”
“The trip is still on. The other four guys have already arrived and are raring to go. I’m the new leader of the pack, so to speak.”
Flint dragged his eyes away from her, a defensive move on his part because her smile had affected him tangibly, like a blow upside the head. He felt queerly disoriented.
Flint was appalled. And bewildered. First, the sight of her set his body on fire, then her smile literally dazed him. What was going on here? he wondered with a consternation mingled with alarm. He had never been the emotional type, succumbing to the impulses of a hot and instant physical attraction. He was a thinker, a planner, rational and controlled.
The last tune he’d been goaded into acting on impulse. . .
Flint frowned, remembering last year’s folly when his twin brother, Rafe, had persuaded him to pick up a blond businesswoman in a downtown hotel coffee shop. Within an hour, he had been back in his office, without ever laying a hand—or anything else—on the woman. He’d recognized that it was Rafe’s ribbing, not his own attraction to the blonde that had prompted his actions, and swiftly ended the impetuous date.
But Rafe hadn’t chided him about the lack of women in his life for months In fact, Rafe was so absorbed in his new marriage that Flint doubted that he even noticed his twin’s lack of a social life. No, he couldn’t blame his inconvenient impulses toward Ashlinn Carey on his brother.
Flint’s frown deepened. “Anyway, we’re not going to the Badlands, we’re going to the Black Hills. Since you’ve obviously not done your homework for this assignment, let me clue you in—they’re two different places.”
“Oh.” Ashlinn’s face flushed. “I. . . I was only recently given this assignment.”
“Sure” Flint made it clear that he didn’t believe her Great, just great. In addition to everything else, she was a slacker. As a devout workaholic, he couldn’t abide such behavior.
Ashlinn was looking none too pleased herself.
“Four other guys are taking this trip?” she asked succinctly. “I’m supposed to spend two weeks on an all-male adventure into the wild?”
Flint shrugged. “We took it for granted this trip was for men only. What woman reads a magazine like Tour & Travel? So why would they even have women writers on the staff?”
“Have you ever read Tour & Travel?” demanded Ashlinn. “Most of it is geared toward professional women who enjoy interesting weekend getaways and vacations to charming little places where. . .”
“Are you sure we’re talking about the same magazine? Carmody showed me a copy, and it was geared toward—well, guys like Carmody.”
“Thirty-two-year-old idiots who skateboard with teenagers,” Ashlinn said darkly.
“Men who are free from domestic responsibilities and have a penchant for adventure and challenge,” Flint found himself lapsing into the marketing-speak of Carmody himself. “And who also have plenty of disposable income to spend on the specialty items that Paradise Outdoors sells.”
“And that would be skateboards and other toys for the alleged adult male?” Ashlinn inquired sarcastically.
“Let’s stick to your magazine and its focus—whatever that is,” countered Flint. “For starters, redefine what you mean by ‘charming.’ Because if it involves things like running water and gourmet dinners and shopping, none of those were in last month’s issue of Tour & Travel.”
“Oh no, last month’s issue!” Ashlinn heaved a groan. “I’d actually managed to forget about it. Or maybe it’s simply pure denial. That issue was the first one to come out under the. . .new publisher. He’s changed the entire format, the entire concept of the magazine. Everything is different now.”
“I see. Sort of.” Flint gazed quizzically at her. “That still doesn’t explain why the magazine sent you out here. I can’t imagine that Carmody wasn’t clear about this being an all-male excursion.”
“Well, I guess the ‘Asher’ could have been a typo. But I’m becoming more and more convinced that he—Presley Oakes Jr., the new publisher of T & T—did this on purpose.” Ashlinn’s deep-brown eyes flashed fire. “It would be exactly like him to pull a stunt like this, first assigning me to write an article, then making it about a testosterone-fueled trip into some godforsaken wilderness.”
“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that you don’t much care for your new boss,” Flint said dryly.
She drew a sharp breath. “I was a senior editor at the magazine until Junior’s father bought it and turned it over to him. Do you know what it’s like to work for a boss who’s just celebrated his twenty-third birthday?”
“Twenty-three, huh?” Flint wondered what response she was expecting. Weren’t women