Page 10 of Hot Nights in Morocco
He slows down to overtake an old cattle herder by the side of the road. The skinny hindquarters of his animals are a strange compliment to his jutting collarbone and sunken face.
“Truth is, I might enjoy the novelty.” He gazes out at the hungry animals. “At least you’re not scared of me. Yet.”
“So, not for my outstanding work ethic, then?”
“I’m hoping that’s a given. I’ll be firing the head of my HR department otherwise.”
“Would you miss me?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself. Like hell he will! He’s only known me for five minutes and we’ve been sparring for most of it.
“Don’t,” he warns suddenly.
“Don’t what?”
“You know what.”
I feign ignorance to salvage what’s left of my dignity. “I made pretty good grades at school,Mr.Dalton, but I’m not a mind reader.”
“Christ, the mouth on you! Did any of those qualifications include a module on respect and deference to employers? I’m guessing not. And call me Jake.”
“I thought you said I had to show you deference?”
“Shut up, Books. I need to think.”
About what?But I never get my answer. The air has shifted between us again. It has changed shape like a burning pyre caught up in a late evening breeze and now it’s crackling with something thick and indefinable.
We turn off the main road onto a sandy track. Peering through the windscreen I can make out the fuzzy outline of a white Winnebago encampment on the horizon, the image distorted and unworldly, courtesy of the fierce desert heat.
“Unit base, I presume?” I say, hazarding at a guess. His clues are scant at best. “Is it always this hot?” I can feel the moisture trickling between my shoulder blades.
“It’s the desert. Get used to it.”
He’s barely sweating in his designer black shirt and jeans. He’s too damn cool for that. He screeches to a halt beside a catering van and is out of the jeep before I’ve unclipped my seat belt. I clamber out through the open door after him.
The place is bedlam. White noise drenched in chaos. There are gray camera trucks, humming generators, and billowing canvas tents everywhere. It’s like a circus where all the animals have been replaced by swarms of overheated humanoid ants, all yelling out instructions to one another.
I catch up with Jake on the steps of the largest Winnebago. He can really shift it when he wants to. He barely glances at me. It’s as if I don’t exist anymore. He doesn’t even hold the door open for me when he barges inside. I manage to catch it with my fingertips, just as it’s closing on the parting image of his perfectly taut ass.
“Some gentleman you are,” I mutter, wrenching it open again and then pausing in the doorway to let my eyes adjust to the lack of light. I’m hit by a tsunami of fragrance and my nose wrinkles in distaste. Chanel No. 5.I’d know it anywhere—my mother drenches herself in the stuff. The atmosphere inside the trailer is already heavy and claustrophobic. I don’t need any more reminders ofher.
“I won’t do it, Jake. Not this time!”
My head snaps up in surprise. Jake and some gorgeous, half-naked supermodel of a woman are angrily squaring up to one another at the other end of the trailer. Light and dark. Her long, ash-blond hair is as fair as his is black. They haven’t noticed me yet, but I can’t stop staring at them. They’re like a movie scene all of their own. They’re so beautiful together, so cool and composed, despite their scorching tempers. In comparison, I’m a hot, sweaty mess. I can feel the beads of sweat dripping between my shoulder blades again as they continue to hurl words in each other’s flawless faces.
“Don’t push me, Cassie. I’m warning you!”
“Screw you, Jake!”
Her accent is shrill and foreign. American. The electricity continues to crackle and pulse between them. Any minute now this is going to erupt in bloodshed…or crazy, passionate sex. I feel a flicker of envy at the latter, then banish it twice as quick. She’s barely half his size. They can’t be more than a foot apart.
Should I intervene?
She’s wearing little more than a black bikini, and I risk a glance at her smooth, sculptured midriff. She must live at the gym. My own enthusiasm for cross-trainers and treadmills grinds to a halt on the second of January.
Jake’s back is turned so I can’t see his expression, but I’m mesmerized by hers. Her foxy brown eyes are fixed on his face. She wants him, that much is clear, but she wants to antagonize the hell out of him first.
“I’m not working under these conditions,” she warns, tossing a delicate sliver of ash-blond hair away from her face. “My agent and manager both agree I should walk.”
“You knewexactlywhat you signed up for here, sweetheart. We’re paying you ten million bucks, so quit messing us around.”
