Flynn shot her an irritated look. ‘What is this, Twenty Questions?’ he growled. ‘Right, it’s my turn. Have you seen the time? Because wherever it is you’re heading for on your day out, I suggest you get on the road again. It’s gone two o’clock and—’
‘I’m not here for the day,’ Danielle cut in, ‘I’m here for three weeks.’
‘Three weeks?’ he repeated incredulously.
‘Why not?’ she protested.
Silver-grey eyes moved over her silky blouson top and slim-cut linen skirt, both of which bore the label of an élite London store. ‘Because you don’t strike me as the kind of girl who’d be interested in spending that amount of time stuck in a jungle. You’re too much of a class act.’
Normally, Danielle would have been pleased with the description, but coming from Flynn it ranked as a gibe. Her lips blotted together. She knew she was overdressed—more suited for a city office than a steamy rainforest—but it could not be helped. When packing for Australia she had decided to leave her casual summer clothes behind and treat herself to some new ones on arrival; but her first fortnight had been too busy for shopping, and so the short-notice order to head for the tropics had found her woefully unprepared. A hasty visit to the shops in Port Douglas that morning had equipped her with shorts, T-shirts and a bikini, but they languished in their plastic bags in the back of the four-wheel-drive.
‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ Danielle said tetchily.
‘So I’ve heard,’ he drawled.
‘And your perception of women is obviously as expert as your touch with a razor,’ she went on, spearing a disdainful look at his stubbled jaw, ‘because I shall be perfectly content.’
Flynn moved his shoulders in a shrug. ‘Life here is casual and no one dresses for dinner,’ he said, his eyes travelling over her in a leisurely re-run, ‘so I’d advise against sauntering along to the restaurant in your ball gown and tiara.’
‘Thanks for the tip,’ Danielle replied grittily. ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’
‘You’ve come all the way from England to spend three weeks in the rainforest?’ he said, still sounding sceptical despite her claim.
Danielle hesitated. Should she say that she had only travelled from Melbourne? But if she did, an explanation would be needed for her presence there and, in turn, for her presence here. Then, if he mentioned her raison d’être, it could be picked up by the local grapevine, and, if that long shot existed and somebody did happen to be growing marijuana, ranks would close and access to information be denied her.
‘Correct,’ she replied.
‘You’re here alone?’ he enquired. ‘There isn’t some lover joining you for three weeks of unbridled passion and sexual gratification?’
‘No.’ Danielle gazed coolly back. The gleam in his eyes indicated Flynn was baiting her again, but she refused to be fazed. ‘I don’t consider a woman needs a lover in order to enjoy herself,’ she declared.
‘Which, in translation, means whoever’s slept with you, they haven’t done such a great job of it. Pity. If they had, you’d know that good sex is the ultimate in enjoyment. So,’ he went on, not missing a beat, ‘how do you intend to pass the time?’
‘Er…’ His so careless analysis of her sex life had knocked her thoughts askew. ‘I shall sunbathe, swim, relax.’
Tipping back his head, Flynn drained the can of cola. ‘That’s all?’
Danielle hesitated, aware that to justify travelling halfway around the world for this supposed holiday she needed a more specific motivation. After all, she could sunbathe, swim and relax far closer to home.
‘I also want to learn about the flora and fauna. This is where the forest meets the reef,’ she said, trying to recall paragraphs fleetingly scanned in a guidebook which she had bought at the airport, ‘and it’s a remarkable area. I hope to see orchids and scrub fowl and—maybe a crocodile.’ Darting him a glance, she saw that he remained dubious. It seemed that the only way to convince him of the validity of her journey was to offer a few grains of truth, albeit twisted truth. ‘And I shall be collecting information for some articles which I plan to write,’ Danielle added.
Flynn sat upright. ‘You’re a reporter?’ he demanded.
She looked at him in surprise. His jaw had tensed, his eyes were dark and critical, stony disapproval was etched in his frown. She had been going to say that she worked as a journalist for an English newspaper, but not now. Her career had brought her face to face with sufficient animosity to know when someone harboured a dislike of the Press, and she had had more than enough of him haranguing her for one day.
‘No, I’m a—a secretary,’ Danielle improvised. ‘I write for a hobby and whether any of my articles’ll be published is in the lap of the gods. But I’m going to take masses of photographs to illustrate them,’ she said, hastily embroidering, ‘in the hope that that’ll make them more acceptable.’
‘Best of luck,’ Flynn said.
‘Thanks.’
‘And thank you for lunch, but now, difficult though it is to tear myself away,’ he said sardonically, ‘I must be going.’ As she packed away the remains of the picnic, he walked over to retrieve his shirt and pull it on over his head. ‘Shall I reverse your Land Rover on to the road?’ Flynn offered, when he had raked his dark hair back into unruly order.
Danielle gave a grateful smile. There was insufficient space beside the stream to turn the vehicle around and she had been wondering how she was going to manage such a difficult backward climb.
‘That would be kind,’ she said.
‘It isn’t kindness,’ he responded, ‘it’s called selfpreservation. After experiencing what happens when you reverse, I’ve no intention of putting myself at risk again.’
Danielle’s hackles rose. ‘You wouldn’t be at risk,’ she said forcefully. ‘I’m an excellent driver.’
Flynn chose not to reply—a most effective comment. Picking up the cardboard box, he stashed it away in the rear of the off-roader and strode round to the driver’s seat. As the sound of revs soared, Danielle took her place alongside him.
‘Does the engine feel right to you?’ she asked, her query offhand and throwaway.
He revved up again. ‘It feels fine. Hold on,’ he instructed, and drove up the incline and on to the road without stopping.
As Danielle walked around the front of the Land Rover to take her place at the wheel, her expression was tight. Not only had she hoped Flynn might detect some quirk in the engine, she had also been hoping he would not find the reverse journey quite such kid’s stuff and irritatingly easy.
‘Thank you,’ she said crisply, and placed her foot on the step.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘You must’ve brightened up the lives of a hell of a lot of guys today.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Danielle said, but when she followed the dip of his grey eyes she saw her skirt had ridden high up her thighs; so high that she was in danger of exposing her white lace briefs. Hoisting herself rapidly into the driving seat, Danielle slammed the door. Had her skirt ridden up every time she had climbed into the vehicle? The answer had to be yes. And had Flynn mentioned it in order to embarrass her? Again the answer was undoubtedly yes. ‘Goodbye,’ she snapped.
‘Bye,’ he said.
Flynn had left the engine running and, as she pushed into gear, Danielle frowned at him through the open window. He might be a louse, but he was an attractive louse—and would be more so if he shaved. He did not appeal to her, but his tough, sexy glamour must have a certain sector of the female population salivating. Could he have Latin blood? she wondered. The sultriness