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If she hadn’t had complete faith in his journalist abilities, she certainly did now.
Unfortunately, her growing sexual awareness of him was not helping her to handle the gargantuan task of trying to circumvent his avoidance techniques. Which appeared to be even more well honed than they had been twenty years ago.
The only good news so far was that the hot tub remained out of bounds for both of them.
&n
bsp; Not so good was the fact that Monroe’s programme kept them bonded together like superglue during the day. They’d gone on two more hikes, luckily not to secluded waterfalls, done a two-hour horse ride—which her bottom had only just recovered from—and a geocaching trip the day before, during which they’d resolutely failed to find a single geocache.
But she’d discovered this morning that the next day of the programme involved a two-day kayak trip. Which meant one night spent at an island campsite on Fontana Lake.
And while part of her was pleased to have Luke secured in one spot with nowhere to hide, another part of her was very apprehensive about inviting any more intimacy into their situation.
That and the indisputable fact that she was not a natural-born kayaker.
Her arms were already chaffing on the PFD and she didn’t like the look of the Tuckasegee River, even though Chad had assured them that this fork of it, leading into Fontana Lake, was only a class two—which was supposed to translate as tame for this time of year. Tame was clearly relative, because the white froth rippling ominously over the rocky riverbed while they’d been driving along the NC288 towards their drop-off site in North Carolina did not look tame to her.
Still, at least her uneasiness over their latest adventure was distracting her from her uneasiness at spending the night with Luke at a wilderness campsite.
Because even more unsettling than the spike in sexual awareness had been the building familiarity. Each new day in the cabin brought with it a new reminder of the days they’d once spent together in their cramped council flat in Hackney.
He still drank his coffee black enough to tar the M4. He still smelled of sandalwood and minty toothpaste after his morning shower. He still only bothered to shave every couple of days, giving him an increasingly rakish look on his off days—the specks of grey in his stubble the only appreciable difference.
And to add to her apprehension about their night alone together was the fact she would have to do it without the trusty shield of make-up.
She’d never been high maintenance as a teenager, but an intricate personal grooming regime had become part of her daily routine in the years since. Not only did she not want to risk going out in London without her concealer and eyeliner and end up in some blurred snapshot in Heat magazine looking like a bag lady, the careful application of moisturiser and foundation, expensive powders and gels made her feel secure, protected, like a knight donning her armour ready to do battle with the demons of daytime TV.
Armour she needed now more than ever as a defence against Luke’s dark arts of dishabille.
She’d already reduced the half hour she gave herself in London each morning to apply her make-up to a measly ten minutes, because it seemed like a rather daft indulgence to go hiking or geocaching in the middle of the Smoky Mountains. But this morning she’d been forced to go cold turkey, when Luke had taken one look at the bulky make-up case and announced, ‘You’re not taking that. Perfume scents can attract bears. And, anyway, you don’t need it. You look great without it.’
How would he know? Seeing as he hadn’t seen her without since she was twenty? But as she could hardly point that out without making it seem as if she was wearing make-up for his benefit, she had been forced to leave the case behind. She hadn’t even been able to take some portable concealer or lip gloss on pain of a flipping bear attack.
Then again, a day without make-up and the risk of a bear attack might be the least of her worries. After all, there was no guarantee that she’d even get to this campsite alive.
‘How long did you say it would take to get there?’ Halle asked as she double-checked the fastenings on her PFD for the tenth time.
‘Between five and six hours,’ Chad replied with an easy smile. ‘It’s only twelve miles to the camp island from this location.’
‘Six hours to paddle twelve miles! Wouldn’t it be quicker to walk?’
Chad seemed confused by the question. ‘I guess, but you get a great view of the landscape from the water. And the hiking’s—’
‘Stop moaning and get in the bloody boat.’ Luke interrupted Chad’s earnest explanation.
‘If you don’t mind, I’m trying to ascertain how long this is going to take.’
‘It’s going to take a heck of a lot longer with you standing on the shore. And if we don’t put up our tents before nightfall, you’re going to be sleeping in the open with the bears.’
‘Stop bullying me,’ she said, but she scrambled into the boat, the mention of bears having the desired effect.
She shrieked as she put her second foot into the boat and the kayak dipped on one side, obviously planning to toss her out on her arse.
Chad grasped her arm above the elbow to steady her. ‘Don’t worry, ma’am. It’s real hard to roll a kayak,’ he reassured her, as if he’d read her mind. ‘They have a much lower centre of gravity than a canoe.’
‘Thanks for that.’
Stop calling me ‘ma’am’. I’m not your grandmother.
