Can't Say No. Sherryl Woods

the sides and started to hoist herself right back out again, but Blake’s hand was firmly attached to her belt.

      “Whoa! Where do you think you’re going?”

      With the strength of sheer terror, she jerked free, whirled around and faced Blake Marshall, her eyes flashing with the sparks of a finely cut amethyst. This time she found the words and the emphasis that had been missing in her conversation with Harvey, the authoritative, indignant tone that might have saved her from getting into this preposterous situation in the first place.

      “Let me out of here, you idiot! I am not going up in this thing!”

      “It’s too late to back out now, love. When I hire a crew, I expect them to stay until the job’s done,” he said. “I want you along for this ride.” As if that settled the matter, his attention once more focused entirely on the equipment.

      With Blake’s attention diverted, Audrey scrambled back toward the side. “I am not one of your crew and it is not too late,” she said, trying desperately to swing one leg up over the edge of the basket...gondola...whatever.

      If only she’d been half-awake, she would have seen this coming. From the minute he’d put her to work, she would have realized he’d mistaken her for someone else. Well, she’d just have to get out of here and find that someone else for him. Either that or he could fire her. She didn’t much care, as long as she stayed on the ground where God had meant her to be.

      With a dawning sense of absolute horror, she realized it was too late. The ground was receding rapidly and she felt the gentle, almost indiscernible sway of the basket as it drifted skyward. She looked from the shrinking landscape below to the flames shooting puffs of hot air above her head, then glanced out toward the mountains looming before her in the distance.

      “Oh, my God,” she sighed softly, clamping her eyes shut and sinking down into a sitting position. She drew her legs up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and buried her face on her knees. “I will never, ever, not in a million years forgive Harvey for this.”

       Two

      Subconsciously, Audrey’s solemn vow registered in Blake’s head, and suddenly he really looked at her for the first time. She was huddled in the bottom of the gondola and clinging to her purse with the desperate, white-knuckled grip of a woman trying to prevent a mugging.

      An unexpected and untimely shaft of sympathy pierced his heart and he muttered a disgusted oath under his breath. Judging from the way she was swallowing and from her ashen complexion, she was probably trying to quell the beginnings of a well-earned anxiety attack.

      Why the devil hadn’t he listened to his instincts? From the moment he’d met her, he’d sensed that Audrey Nelson didn’t know a blasted thing about ballooning. Hell, she’d told him as much.

      But then he’d been lured by something in the depths of those violet eyes of hers and some part of him—no doubt his self-indulgent libido—had wanted her along for the ride almost as much as he’d wanted to win the race. Blake was used to taking risks. He thrived on them, in fact. Hauling Audrey Nelson into the gondola over her protests had been a risk, but one he’d been so certain would pay off.

      His well-honed self-confidence had convinced him it just might be possible to have both a victory and the companionship of the woman with the delightfully fiery temper, valiant determination and, most intriguing of all, an almost childlike sense of wonder. With some arrogantly masculine, possessive urge, he’d wanted to initiate her into the glories of ballooning and he’d simply made up his mind to do it. That same decisiveness had made him a success at business, but today it just might have gotten out of hand. If only he hadn’t felt such an unexpected and overwhelming need to hear that tart tongue of hers whispering his name, he might have stopped to think twice about what he was doing.

      What an insensitive fool he’d been!

      For one thing, he hadn’t counted on her sheer terror. For all of Audrey’s rather vocal protests, he’d expected eventual delight and he was still getting unfeigned panic. Obviously more than inexperience was at play here. He had to find some way to distract her, to calm her down before she fainted. He’d have enough trouble guiding the balloon without having her passed out at his feet or delivering well-aimed blows to his shins, which was what he suspected she wanted to do.

       Charm, Marshall, all the tabloids say you have it.

      Almost casually, he glanced down at her. Referring to her muttered threat—the last words she’d spoken—he asked, “Harvey who?”

      He already suspected the answer, and he knew now why there’d been a sense of familiarity about Audrey, the allure of some elusive past connection. Obviously, he’d seen her around the office.

      Blake didn’t spend a lot of time in the corporate office. He preferred the action of the fields or processing plant. The men and women who worked the fields had led tough, migratory lives until he’d given them a feeling of permanence. They worked hard with a sense of pride and dignity that he admired and respected. The men who took the grapes and turned them into wine were craftsmen. They excelled at the challenge of creating the best in a highly competitive field. Again, he found them more fascinating than the corporate desk jockeys he’d met through the years.

      Spending as little time behind his own desk as he did, it was no wonder he was only beginning to suspect what Audrey’s real role was at Blake Marshall Vineyards. If she worked for Harvey, she had to be tough and competent. Like him, Harvey wouldn’t tolerate anyone who couldn’t pull her own weight.

      “Harvey Fielding,” she responded. She scowled at him fiercely as she uttered the name with the vehemence of a curse. At least it had brought the color back into her cheeks. “You’d better start looking for a new PR executive, because when I get my hands on him I intend to do serious bodily damage to him.”

      He fought to suppress a smile. She was maybe 110 pounds to Harvey’s 225. It ought to be an interesting battle. “Harvey’s a good man. I don’t suppose you could leave him in one piece? Maybe if you’d just relax and enjoy the ride?” he suggested hopefully.

      “Not even for a hundred exorbitantly expensive bottles of your well-publicized private stock of cabernet sauvignon,” she retorted without so much as an instant’s hesitation. She was one very angry lady. In this mood, she just might be able to take Harvey on.

      Blake winced. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but do you know anything at all about ballooning, or is this a first trip?”

      “Do I look like I do this every day?” Audrey snapped back. “I’m not exactly convinced about the aerodynamics of a plane. This flimsy contraption isn’t even in the same league. Now that you know the awful truth about me, you can put this thing down anytime and I’ll be out of your way.”

      It was a sensible suggestion. It was certainly the only way he was likely to win the race to Glenwood Springs. He couldn’t concentrate on piloting and on her at the same time. Then his eyes roved leisurely over her, darkening appreciatively as they lingered on the full breasts heaving beneath her baggy sweatshirt. His heart pounded in a way he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. It was a fine time for it to engage in acrobatics. He took a very deep breath, then made his decision.

      “I don’t think so,” he said slowly.

      Audrey swallowed hard, but managed a confident, direct stare that increased his admiration for her. She was definitely a gutsy spitfire. She might be scared out of her wits, but she wasn’t one whit intimidated—or fascinated—by him. It was a unique experience. Most women, especially those who were interested in his sizable bank account, went out of their way to be accommodating. They’d have declared a passionate shared interest in ballooning. Some of them actually seemed to think if they got him at a high enough altitude, he’d lose his senses