Irresistibly Exotic Men. Laura Iding

settled in the soft leather seat, buckled up and prayed for the forty-minute drive to be over as quickly as possible.

      “Drink?”

      She glanced up and he nodded to the bar fridge laid into the dash. “Mineral water, juice, Coke …”

      “Tequila?”

      He didn’t bat an eye. “Sure.”

      She smiled humorlessly. “Mineral water’s fine.”

      She waited until he’d finished playing host, until he handed her the drink, poured himself a Scotch on the rocks then settled back.

      She pointedly turned to the window and drew the icy glass across her cheek with a sigh.

      First those cameras, the frenzied questions, everyone pushing and shoving. Then the scary, gut-wrenching flight that felt as if her stomach had been sucked out with a straw.

      Yet she’d made it.

      Triumph curved her lips in the tinted reflection. She’d done it. With Luke’s help, she’d taken that first step into the unknown and conquered some of her fears.

      The victory lingered briefly, until the inevitable memories began to seep in. And slowly, she watched her mouth flatten and her eyes harden.

      She’d been eighteen—just a kid. Too young to know better, too weak to hold on.

      Frustration snaked its way under her skin, making everything achy, her breath like jagged pieces stabbing her throat on the way in. Those months after the crash had been mind-numbingly tough, her desperation for privacy tested by the public’s morbid fascination with every gory detail. On the very first anniversary she’d caved and given an interview, naively assuming the reporter would keep her personal details anonymous. In the ensuing press avalanche, she’d gone off the grid, working a dozen different cash-in-hand jobs, living in near squalor in Sydney’s far west before reinventing herself. All had been worth it to finally get through night college and earn her TAFE certificate in remedial massage.

      She could’ve joined the other survivors in their class action suit but that would’ve involved too many questions, too much publicity. For so long the crash had been her first and last waking thought, consuming every hour, every day, every dream and horror-filled nightmare until she’d somehow managed to leave the past behind and focus on her future.

      Stop. You can’t go back. Only forward.

      Beth rubbed at her eye sockets until her face ached, until she managed to shove those memories away and her shoulders slowly relaxed.

      When she softly exhaled, the window misted. She wiped it away. Now was not the time and place to lose it, not when she needed all her wits and strength to deal with the here and now.

      Through the window’s reflection she glanced at Luke, but the melting ice in his drink had his rapt attention.

      He handled millions, no, billions, on a daily basis, rubbed shoulders and dealt with clients who made ridiculous amounts of money. The sheer scale of the league she was now in blew her away.

      “Do you still think I’m your uncle’s secret mistress?” she asked quietly, still staring out the window.

      He paused, but when she turned to face him, he shook his head. “No.”

      “Good.”

      Another moment of silence passed as they studied each other like wary opponents unwilling to concede.

      “I’m serious about my offer to buy you out,” he said suddenly. “I can make it worth your while. You can start over in a new place, something closer to Surfers—”

      “Let me tell you something.” She shifted, crossed one leg over the other and gave him her full attention. “Imagine someone gives you a car—it’s old, it’s worn, there are a few bumps and scratches on it and a bit of rust. But still you can see the potential behind all that because up until now, all you’ve ever had were total lemons that weren’t even roadworthy. You spend years on improving that car, banging out the dings, replacing the tires, giving it a new paint job. You sweat and obsess because it gives you a purpose, transports you from your studies, from your crappy waitressing and cleaning jobs, and shows you the possibilities that come with a little hard work and determination. It becomes more than just a project—it becomes a part of who you are. And finally, when you’ve got it running perfectly and that sweet feeling of pride sings through your veins, a guy shows up and demands you turn it over to him. Yes, legally I know I’m just a tenant,” she added quickly just as he opened his mouth. “But, Luke, I put my heart and soul into that place when I had absolutely nothing else. Can you understand that?”

      After an interminable silence, a faint ring permeated the air. Without a word he pulled out his phone. Beth sighed and went back to staring out the window.

      “Connor. What’s up?” Luke said by way of greeting.

      “I heard about the commotion on the 10:00 a.m. newsflash.”

      Luke ground his teeth and muttered a curse. “Yeah, we lost them on the way to Brisbane airport.”

      “Where are you now?”

      “Surfers. Pacific Highway.”

      “What? And who’s ‘we’?”

      Luke glanced at Beth staring out the window then brought his best friend and boss up to speed.

      “I see,” was all Connor said when he’d finished explaining. Luke cringed. He could just picture the dark, impassive expression on Connor’s face.

      Luke clamped down on his jaw, grinding his teeth hard. Gino was his uncle. Everything he did reflected on Luke, which in turn reflected on Jackson and Blair. And because of that, good men and women had suffered the fallout. Like Connor Blair. The court case may be over, but the securities commission was still determined to put Jackson and Blair through an internal inquiry.

      No wonder Connor was on edge.

      “So what’s Gino’s connection to this woman—Beth Jones?” Connor finally said.

      “No idea. I called Dylan.”

      “The ex-con?”

      “P.I. now. The guy owes me a favor.”

      “You’re supposed to lay low. In case you missed it, that wasn’t a request.”

      Luke ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “And I can kiss that promotion goodbye if I don’t get my name cleared.”

      “You will. You made a statement and the majority of the Board is behind you. I’m working on the rest of them. Now it’s up to the commission next month.”

      “But—”

      “You’ve never second-guessed yourself before, Luke. Why now?” Luke remained silent until Connor broke it. “Your cousin still pissed at you?”

      “Yep.”

      “And this Beth Jones. She’s not a criminal?”

      “Not as far as I know.”

      “She an ax murderer? A hit man? A reporter?” He could barely keep the contempt from his voice.

      “What—?”

      “Do you have a natural disaster about to open the ground? A flood? A bushfire that will raze the house? Because these are the only things I’ll be looking for if I see your name in the papers.”

      “Mate …”

      “I don’t want to hear it. This latest news flash is the last straw. The company’s under an internal investigation and my soon-to-be vice president is accused of money laundering only because he shares blood with Gino Corelli. Unless your life’s in danger, you are going to wait this out.”

      Luke thought of a dozen comebacks, none of them adequate. “How long?” he finally said.