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'Here?'
'Are you changing into a parrot or something?' he snapped. 'Here.'
'But—it's the heliport.'
'Good grief, the girl can read. Pull in over there. Yes, this'll do.'
He eased himself out and strode off in the direction of the small terminal building, leaving Petra to watch suspiciously as he disappeared through a swing door. What on earth was he up to now? She didn't trust him an inch. Well, if you were wise you didn't trust Jared Tremayne, did you? Not as far as you could throw him, which wouldn't be very far. He reappeared with a young man in jeans and a dark green sweater. They were deep in what looked like quite a heated discussion, the man gesticulating as he tried to make a point. You're wasting your time, honey, she though ironically, and, sure enough, finally he gave a resigned shrug, nodded, then turned and went back into the office.
She sat where she was, watching as Jared came towards her, that easy confidence—no, call it what it was—downright arrogance showing in every loping stride. Some men—even young ones—walked with constraint, as if they were already bowed under shackles. Not Jared, though. He'd saunter through life, free and untrammelled, and a woman could no more tie him down than a soaring wild eagle . . . And all at once she felt a vicious little stab of pain as he bent towards her open window, his black curls ruffling in the wind, his white teeth showing in a triumphant grin.
'Settled everything to your satisfaction?' she enquired with a saccharine smile.
'Perfectly, my sweet.' He opened her door. 'Out you get.'
'But I don't understand. Where's your appointment? Here?' She looked around her at the neat, anonymous buildings.
'Not exactly.' He was removing their jackets and attache case from the boot.
'Wait,' as he went to close it, 'let me change my shoes.'
She kicked off her driving casuals and wriggled into the high-heeled pumps.
'Ready when you are, Mr Tremayne.'
The young man, who had made an instant change into a smart navy blue uniform and white peaked cap, was beside them, and Petra, her elbow held in Jared's iron grip, found herself trotting across the Tarmac towards a blue and white helicopter.
As the man climbed aboard SHE jerked her arm free. 'What's going on?'
'We're having a little ride, that's all,' Jared replied suavely. 'My appointment's in St Mary's.'
'St Mary's? You mean—across in the Scilly Isles?'
'Is there another?'
'But you said it was in Penzance!' she exclaimed furiously. 'You lied to me, Again.'
'Not really. I said we were going to Penzance. Well—we've come to Penzance, haven't we?'
'I suppose so,' she said sullenly, but then, acutely conscious of a pair of frankly curious eyes on them both, lowered her voice a fraction. 'But, if you really are going over there, there's no need for me to come. I'll wait for you here.'
She looked past the helicopter—really a very small one—to the windsock at the far end of the field, tugging at its moorings in the freshening wind, and she ran the tip of her tongue round her lips. 'I've—er—I've never been in a helicopter before.'
'My, my. First the Aston Martin now a helicopter. Two new experiences for you in one day.'
He paused. 'What a pity you didn't join me in that whirlpool bath. That would have made a third.'
Another pause. 'And, who knows, it might even have led to a fourth . . . ?'
Petra, the colour scorching her chilled cheeks, glowered up at him. 'All right, damn you. I'll come.'
'I'm so glad. It would have been so undignified for you, having to be dragged aboard.'
And, stone-faced, she climbed in and sat as far into the corner as she could . . . Jared stopped for a last word with the pilot, then vaulted down on to the ground beside her.
'That was wonderful.' Petra, her face glowing with the memory of them twenty-minute hop over turbulent green, lace-cap waves, smiled up at him,
all her ill humour gone.
