Of course she’s going to fight me on this. ‘I’ll do it with you. Two, four, six...’
She mutters something under her breath and, while I don’t catch the words, her tone is cynical. But she begins to count with me. The plane drops and steadies and she opens her eyes, staring at me, but I keep counting and she starts up again.
We make it to two hundred and eighty-six before the plane touches down and her expression is one of pure, unadulterated relief. She stares out of the window, as if scarcely believing we actually made it, then pulls her hand out of mine, wipes her palm on her knee and unclips her belt.
‘Thank you.’ Her voice is stiff.
I’m tempted to tease her but she’s clearly defensive about this, if her closed-off expression is anything to go by. It just doesn’t make sense—the woman I met last night was kind of...fearless, I would have said. A pole-dancing, sexy, sophisticated, funny, erudite woman.
‘I’ve had hypnotherapy,’ she says, standing, reaching for her handbag and hooking it over her shoulder. ‘Flight immersion courses, counselling—you name it, I’ve done it. I just don’t like the idea of being in a big tin can up in the sky with weather and flocks of birds and God knows what kind of maintenance crew and mechanical defects and fuel quality...’
Her admission touches something inside of me, I think because she’s the last kind of woman I’d ever expect to have such a neurotic fear. I know flying phobias are common enough, but to this degree?
‘Hart planes are serviced every time they fly. They’re maintained meticulously, refit completely every six to twelve months depending on air time. Our pilots are ex-marines, capable of starting a Boeing in a mid-air stall—and routinely trained on it. If you’re ever going to fly and not be afraid, it’s on this jet.’
She doesn’t believe me, I can tell. But the part of her that sees me as her client makes her nod. ‘If you say so.’
‘You don’t agree?’ I push, because I don’t want our relationship dynamic to change to that degree.
‘I think the statistical unlikelihood of something happening is no guarantee it won’t.’
I feel like there’s so much more she wants to say, but now she’s all business. ‘I’ve arranged for a driver to take us to the accommodation now, where you’ll have an hour or so to freshen up before we tour the course. I presume that meets with your approval?’
An hour to freshen up sounds like a waste of time—time we could be doing something far more pleasurable. But didn’t I promise we would keep our boundaries in place?
‘That sounds fine, Miss Llewellyn. I look forward to it.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘THE SIXTH AND ninth are blind tee shots, where angle is more important than distance. Otherwise, each hole is visible from the tee. The course was designed in the 1920s by Owen Moorsman, but redesigned in the ’80s to reflect the changing skill of the game.’
He lifts a brow, a smile tilting his lips. I’m not sure my heart has ever raced so hard nor so fast.
‘Go on,’ he drawls, his accent seductive.
I take the golf buggy forward a little, over the immaculate green, finding it as breathtakingly beautiful now as I did when I first viewed the course.
‘It’s marram grass, and these greens are mostly flat. As you head around the course there’s a gentle undulation that favours a bounce-and-run style of play. The course attracts serious golfers, though its location in the Whitsundays and the reciprocal membership scheme it has with top clubs around the world means it’s also favoured by more recreational or tourist golfers.’
He’s staring at me in a way that sets my pulse skittering. My knee bumps his as we crest over the top of a hill and sparks simmer in my blood. I don’t look at him.
‘Do you play?’
I shake my head a little. ‘Golf? No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I never had any interest,’ I say simply. ‘Do you?’
‘Do I what?’ His eyes linger on my face. I’m pretty sure he’s enjoying this. Enjoying the heat that simmers between us—the heat that’s making my tummy zip and my gut twist.
But a deal’s a deal and I’m not going to fall down in ours so early on. Daytime is for work. Night-time...fun.
‘Do you play golf?’ I keep my tone crisp, businesslike. ‘Because I think a game’s scheduled, but I can cancel it...’
‘I play. I spent a lot of time at my father’s country club. It was practically impossible not to pick it up.’
‘And when you say your “father’s country club”, you don’t mean the club he’s a member of, do you?’