The Temptation Test Page 6

  ‘But you’ve stopped now.’ Noah pointed out the obvious. Once again he glanced her way, his gaze sweeping over her. ‘Get too old?’

  She chuckled.

  ‘If you want to offend me, you’ll have to do better than that. Believe me, most models have been offended by experts. And, no, I didn’t get so old I couldn’t get plenty of work—I simply got tired of it. Tired of the travel, the working conditions, people’s attitudes…’

  She regretted the last admission the moment she’d made it, but losing the job she’d really wanted when she’d made the shift to television, for no other reason than the producer’s perception of her as a ‘face’ rather than an intelligent being, still rankled. Inevitably, Noah echoed the words with a question mark at the end.

  ‘Dumb-blonde syndrome!’ she muttered at him. ‘And don’t bother asking what that is. I saw it reflected in your eyes this morning when you snatched the jack out of my hands.’

  He didn’t defend himself, but argued the assumption.

  ‘Surely such thinking doesn’t still exist? I know people make a joke of it, but blonde women are everywhere, from reporting on television to running companies.’

  ‘Of course they’re everywhere,’ Jena said. ‘After all, we make up a large portion of the world’s population, but in the film and television world where so many models—mostly blonde—have tried to make it and failed, there are some lingering attitudes that can make life very difficult.’

  She was tempted to tell him about the job she’d lost, but knew the story would sound pathetic to someone who hadn’t suffered a major career setback.

  Not that he seemed to expect further conversation on the topic, simply turning off the main track down the overgrown excuse for a drive that led to Matt’s old holiday shack.

  ‘What are you doing for water?’ Noah asked, eyeing the loose weatherboards and sagging verandah with distaste. ‘That tank’s rusted right through.’

  ‘I brought plenty with me,’ Jena told him, feeling a slightly irrational need to defend her temporary home.

  ‘And power?’

  ‘I’ve got a gas bottle, a gas ring with a barbecue plate and a gas lamp.’

  She opened the car door and got out, the uneasiness she was feeling in his presence far stronger than her doubts about her primitive accommodation.

  ‘Well, remind Matt that the ban on generators running after nine at night still exists and if I hear his going later, I’ll come over and personally disable it.’

  She’d been about to shut the car door when he added this threat, but this new reference to Matt made her open it again and poke her head inside the car.

  ‘Not only is there no generator, Matt Ryan isn’t here either. And he won’t be,’ she said firmly, then she retreated and again was about to shut the door—possibly with a slight slam—when Noah’s hand prevented her. He’d leant across the passenger seat and was studying her face.

  ‘Then what the hell are you doing out here?’ he demanded. ‘This place is a wreck. You could fall through a floor board, have moths and possums and possibly even flying foxes flitting about all night. You can’t possibly want to live there.’

  Jena suppressed a shudder. Moths she could cope with, even possums, but she had grave doubts about the flying foxes!

  However, that wasn’t Noah Blacklock’s business, and there was no way she was going to reveal her fears to him, of all men.

  She gave him her best smile, the one she used when the photographer wanted ‘radiant’ and said earnestly, ‘Oh, but I do!’

  He might not believe her but it was the truth. For the next three weeks she did want to live in the shack, to prove to herself as much as to Matt that she could do it.

  He lifted his shoulders in a disbelieving way then, as she tried to shut the door, he exerted more pressure on it.

  ‘You’ve got a mobile?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And my card?’

  Another nod—surely it was somewhere in her handbag.

  ‘If you walk down to the beach in front of the house, my place is about a hundred yards along to the right. You can’t see it from here, but there’s a cleared track running from it down to the beach so you should be able to find it easily enough.’

  It wasn’t exactly an invitation, but Jena was grateful to know there was someone close at hand so she smiled as she thanked him, and this time he let her shut the door.

  Noah watched her climb cautiously up the wobbly steps to what remained of the verandah. One false move in the dark and she’d go straight through some of those floorboards.

  Stubborn bloody woman! Why on earth was she staying there? To prove something seemed the likely answer, but to herself or someone else?

  Matt Ryan?

  Noah backed up and turned the Jeep, wondering if the anger he was feeling was a hangover from the days when Matt—Matt the perfect, Noah had dubbed him—had haunted his holidays. Surely it couldn’t be anything else.

  He roared off up the drive, turned onto his own track and slowed as he approached the little shack which had been his family’s holiday home. Unlike the Ryans, his parents had spent money on the place, keeping it in good repair and using it at regular intervals even after their offspring had grown up.

  Noah had recently taken over its upkeep, putting in solar cells and storage batteries so he rarely had to use the generator. But how could he sleep soundly in his comfortable bed when Jena was virtually camping out just a hundred yards away?

  He went inside, checked his fridge and in the end pulled a pack of chicken tenderloins from the freezer. He’d drop them in marinade and let them thaw in it, then throw them on the barbecue later. There’d be enough for two if he happened to see Jena down at the beach.

  Inviting her to join him would be a neighbourly thing to do—nothing more!

  Stripping off his work-day clothes, he pulled on an old pair of swim shorts, grabbed a towel and headed for the beach. A good swim in the solitude of the lake would wash away the tension the day had generated. Perhaps Linda had done him a favour, forcing him to seek refuge out here.

  But the lake wasn’t all his this evening. There, cutting through the water with efficient grace, her long hair hidden beneath a bright yellow cap, was Jena Carpenter.

  A rush he hadn’t felt since he couldn’t remember when tightened sinews in his body.

  ‘A lake that’s five kilometres long and two k’s wide should be big enough for both of you!’ he told himself, but the words failed to convince.

  He dived in anyway, and found the water didn’t transmit her presence, though it seemed slightly stupid for two people to be keeping carefully to their ‘own’ bit of the lake.

  He kicked leisurely towards her.

  ‘Hi, neighbour.’

  She greeted him with a wary look—enough to make him regret his hospitable impulses.

  ‘Hi!’

  ‘Am I intruding on your solitude? Would you prefer to swim alone?’ Daft question, but his brain wasn’t working too well—something to do with the mesmeric effects of long, slender legs treading water only a metre in front of him and a shapely body made, it seemed, for swimsuit ads moving in a sinuous manner above the legs. ‘Actually, I came over to ask if you’d like to have dinner at my place. I’m just going to throw some chicken pieces on the barbecue and put a salad together.’

  She gave him an even warier look. The trip out from town had been uncomfortable, though they’d both maintained polite façades. Surely this, he felt, would be taken as a declaration of a truce.

  ‘I’m quite all right on my own, you know. I’ve got food, bedding, lights and plenty of books to read.’

  ‘I realise that, but as we’re neighbours…I didn’t see any harm…‘

  He sounded half-witted—perhaps less than half. Was there such a thing as quarter-witted?

  ‘I suppose I could come,’ she said, hardly overwhelming him with delight.

  ‘OK,’ he found himself replying, although any sane man would have taken
the negativity of her reply as an insult and promptly withdrawn the invitation.

  Jena continued to tread water, wondering why she’d agreed, however reluctantly.

  Because it was polite and you need a lift to work tomorrow, she told herself, but she knew it wasn’t. Though, given she found Noah Blacklock attractive and right now the last thing she needed in her life was a man to complicate her plans, she should have been avoiding contact at all costs.

  ‘What time?’

  He looked surprised.

  ‘I don’t think much about time out here. I usually start the barbecue when I go back from my swim and it heats up while I shower, then I cook and watch the sun go down.’ He paused, then added, ‘Why don’t you come straight from your swim? The weather’s warm but I can always lend you a shirt if you’re feeling cold.’

  Jena found herself agreeing again—although it was the thought of a shower which had seduced her. She’d brought plenty of water—to drink. It hadn’t occurred to her to work out the logistics of bathing water, thinking there’d be some in the tank Matt had mentioned—even if it wasn’t drinkable. And although the lake was fresh water, swimming didn’t give quite the same feel of cleanliness, particularly as she had no intention of polluting the pristine environment with soap.

  Compared to a wash in a small basin of water, a shower would be bliss!

  Noah swam away while she was making excuses to herself. Apparently he’d done his duty and was satisfied. She watched his tanned, fit form slice effortlessly through the water and felt again the physical reactions of her own body, betraying her when she most needed it to be strong.

  Though wanting a shower and wanting a man were very different levels of betrayal!

  She turned over and, looking up at the blue arc of the sky, kicked her way back to shore. If she raced up to the house and found some clothes to put on after a shower, would it make her reason for accepting his invitation too obvious?

  Probably.

  Well, she had the long shirt she’d worn over her costume when she’d walked down to the beach. She’d put it back on after the shower—buttoned up, it would look like a dress.

  She wrapped her towel around her body so the shirt didn’t get wet, and walked along the beach, her feet digging into the soft sand, her legs heavy with a reluctance she didn’t want to analyse.

  Noah was still swimming so when she reached the place where a mown strip of grass indicated a track up to a dwelling she sat down and looked around. His towel was dropped about twenty feet away, a red and green blob on the fine white sand.

  Before her, the lake stretched like a shimmering sheet of glass, blurred at the edges by the reflections of the she-oaks which grew in the sandy soil above the high-water mark. To the east, a line of sand dunes marked the division between the freshwater lake and the surf beach and ocean. To the west, the sun was already sinking behind the reed-thin leaves of the she-oaks, the beginnings of what promised to be a spectacular sunset already painting colour across the sky. Violet bled down into a dusky pink which teased its way through the range of reds towards vermilion on the horizon.

  ‘I’m going for a jog before I go up to the house. Would you like to go ahead and use the shower?’

  Jena had been so absorbed in watching the deepening colours in the west she hadn’t heard Noah leave the water. He lifted the towel and rubbed it over his face and chest, though the water trickling down from his hair immediately wet his skin again.

  ‘Clean towels in a cupboard just outside the shower room. I’m sure you’ll find whatever you need.’

  Mesmerised by a trio of droplets racing each other down the smooth tanned skin of his chest, Jena didn’t reply—well, not immediately.

  Neither did she protest that she couldn’t use his shower. She’d already lost that battle with herself.

  ‘Thanks,’ she managed as he dropped the towel and turned to jog away, denying her the opportunity of seeing which droplet won.

  In the race to his waist—or the top of the faded swimsuit which had ridden on his lean hips?

  She felt another blush—second rarity today—heat her cheeks, and scolded herself on her lack of control.

  Commitment, that’s what she needed. Hadn’t she all but convinced Matt she had it by the bucketload? What she had to do now was get through these weeks in the shack and she’d land the one and only female spot in his new challenge survival series. Then she’d prove herself a capable and resilient woman—intelligent, too, as the challenge was mental as well as physical. She’d make people take her more seriously.

  She walked up towards the small dwelling, and smiled when the clearing widened and she could see the little wooden structure. Although the design suggested Matt’s place might have been built to the same plan, it was obvious what a little care and attention could achieve. The unpainted timber had weathered so it had a silvery sheen, against which the bright canvas deckchairs, set out in front of it, provided a vibrant contrast.

  Wooden louvred doors had been concertinaed back so that outside and inside melded into an inviting living space. There were more canvas chairs in here and a couple of couches which, she suspected, could be turned into beds for extra guests.

  Towards the back of the room, the right-hand corner became a small but functional kitchen, while on the left a door led into a hall which gave access to the bathroom.

  No bedrooms?

  Intrigued but uncomfortable about prying, Jena cautiously opened a door which she’d imagined led outside.

  It did, but only onto another wide timber deck, roofed over but open on the sides—a combined sitting area and breezeway. Beyond the breezeway was a small, newer, two-storeyed structure, walls of louvred glass revealing a double bedroom upstairs and a weird assortment of double bunks and beach gear on the lower floor.

  Smiling to herself as she imagined family holidays when all the beds were occupied, she went back to the bathroom, showering swiftly so she’d be out before Noah returned.

  Almost out!

  She was delayed because of the shirt, which hadn’t been such a good idea. She put it on as planned and buttoned it, then realised it was so sheer she might just as well have been naked. Back into the swimsuit—with the shirt as a cover-up.

  He was on the front deck when she emerged, poking at the fire he had burning in the barbecue, so intent Jena had time to study his broad shoulders and tapering waist.

  More like a lifeguard than a doctor—that was her immediate impression. Most doctors she’d met had little time for keeping fit and existed on a diet of fast food.

  ‘You do eat chicken?’ He must have sensed her presence for he turned to ask the question, but the sight of his face, dark hair still damp, the hard bones of cheek and jaw emphasised by the barely dry tautness of his skin, snatched at her breath and made answering impossible.

  She nodded and looked beyond him to where the sunset was living up to its promise of bright beauty.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ she said quietly, hoping he’d think she was concentrating solely on nature’s spectacular show.

  ‘Very,’ he said, but his eyes didn’t turn towards the sunset and the husky timbre of the word made more than her cheeks heat.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A FEW notes of a Bach suite made Jena turn towards the house, but Noah had obviously recognised the signature tune of his mobile because he abandoned the barbecue and strode past her.

  Not wanting to eavesdrop, she took his place in front of the fire. The coals were beginning to glow through the grill plate but, knowing many men felt territorial about their barbecues, she refrained from poking it.

  ‘Dinner’s off, I’m afraid, although you could cook yourself a couple of pieces of chicken if you like,’ he said, hopping out the door as he tried to pull on a pair of shorts over his bathers and shrug into a shirt at the same time. He paused to push his feet into casual canvas shoes.

  ‘Crisis?’ Jena asked, though a whiteness around his lips had already told her the answer.


  ‘And then some,’ Noah muttered grimly, his long legs eating up the space between house and car. ‘You’ll find your own way back to Matt’s? The beach is safest.’ He frowned at her.

  ‘I’d suggest you wait but it could be an all-nighter.’ He paused, then added, ‘Some drunk holding his wife and kids hostage in a tent, would you believe? In the camping ground just up the road.’

  Jena followed him towards the car, hoping to hear more details.

  He turned again, frowning more fiercely this time.

  ‘No! Hell! What am I thinking? Come on, get in the car.’

  ‘Get in the car?’

  ‘Well, it’s obvious you can’t stay here—or at Matt’s place—with some madman loose with a gun. You’ll have to come with me.’

  And be about as welcome as a head-lice infestation, Jena thought, but he was right, there was no alternative. No way was she braving the darkness on her own under these circumstances.

  ‘Well, if there are kids involved you might need extra help,’ she offered, more to answer the taunts of cowardice an inner voice was uttering than to appease Noah.

  He couldn’t have looked more surprised if the house had made the suggestion, but Jena didn’t wait for a reply, walking around to the passenger side and climbing into the Jeep.

  ‘I’ll stay right out of the way,’ she told him as he climbed in beside her, grumbling under his breath, no doubt about being stuck with the added responsibility of a woman. ‘I’ve got enough sense to know an extra person can sometimes do more harm than good.’

  The noise that greeted this remark could only be described as disbelieving, but he didn’t reply, merely telling her to hang on as he was going to drive along the beach.

  The powerful engine growled to life, and Noah, wondering if there wasn’t a bit of gratitude mixed with his aggravation towards Jena Carpenter, guided it past the shack and down the mown strip to the beach. With kids involved, she could come in handy.

  The sun had disappeared completely and the moon not yet risen, but the lake seemed to give off its own luminosity so he drove with only the parking lights, not wanting the brightness of full headlights to further upset the man at the camping ground.