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“I’m not going to do your story,” Mal said. “I can’t.”
“Someone is going to write about this,” she said. “With me, you could get your story out there the way you want it to be told.”
Mal shook his head. “It took my mum a year to make it through the day without crying. I’m not going to make her relive that time. You can write what you want to write, but without me or my brothers.”
“Without you, there’s no story,” Amy murmured.
“You’re not going to write anything?”
Amy shook her head. “I know good stories, and that wouldn’t be a good story. I wanted to write about your father and the aftereffects of the tragedy that took his life.” She shrugged. “I understand that wouldn’t be easy for you.”
She didn’t want to give up, but Amy saw the pain in his expression. The emotions were still raw, the wounds unhealed even after twenty years. She was sure in her heart she could tell their story the right way, putting aside the sensational and focusing on the human element. But if he wasn’t going to participate, what was the point?
Amy pushed to her feet. “I should probably go. I can’t afford to miss any more work.”
“Isn’t this your work?”
She didn’t want to admit the truth to him, but then again, what difference did it make now? “I was hoping if I got this story, I could convince my father to mount an expedition to Everest for you and your brothers.”
He gasped, then looked away. Gulping down the last of his whiskey, Mal sat silently for a long moment. Amy waited, wondering if the revelation might change his mind. “I thought we’d do a series of articles. Profiles on all three of you, then we’d follow the preparations for the expedition. And then cover the expedition itself. I wanted to put a historical perspective on the story and show the way climbing Everest has changed in the past twenty years.”
“You have a lot of grand plans,” he said.
“I do,” Amy admitted.
Was he really considering her offer? Would the expedition change his mind? Amy knew she ought to tell him the truth, that an Everest trip wasn’t actually a firm part of the deal, but if she wanted this story, then she had to do everything in her power to make it happen. That was what a real journalist did.
“I’m still not going to do the story,” he said.
Frustration welled up inside her. So he’d decided to string her along and get her drunk. “Then I think I’ll go back to my hotel.” She walked down the porch steps, then realized that she didn’t have her car. And she wasn’t really sure how to get back to her hotel.
“Come on,” Mal said. “At least let me buy you dinner for your trouble. You came all the way to New Zealand.”
“You already bought me crisps and a beer. I’m good.”
Mal jogged down the steps and grabbed her hand. The physical contact sent a tremor through her body. When he leaned closer, she forgot to breathe. She realized she should put some distance between them. And yet she couldn’t seem to make herself move.
She wanted him to kiss her, to come away with that one singular experience. She’d consider her trip a mild success if she left with that memory. After all, this whole trip had been about expanding her horizons, about reaching for new goals.
“Can I take you out?” he asked. “I promise, I’ll show you a good time.”
She couldn’t help but smile. If he knew the kind of fun that she had in mind, he might not be so anxious to keep her around. Or maybe he would....
Glancing down at their hands, her fingers still caught up in his, Amy realized what she had to do. If she couldn’t have the story, then she’d satisfy herself with the man. Or at least a night out with him. Suddenly, the word adventure took on a whole new meaning.
“All right,” she said. “I am hungry.”
Mal gave her hand a squeeze, then pulled her along to the Range Rover. “A friend of mine has a burger place over on Bow Street. Do you like burgers? Of course you do, you’re American. You’re going to love this place.”
He opened the door and helped her into the truck. Amy watched as he jogged around to the driver’s side. He moved with such ease, as if he was in absolute control of every muscle in his body. What would it feel like to have that body beside her in bed? To be able to touch him at will?
As he slid in behind the wheel, she pushed the thought out of her head. She’d blown all of this entirely out of proportion. He’d touched her calf; he’d squeezed her hand. That didn’t mean he wanted to carry her into his bed and ravish her. It was Mal Quinn’s business to be charming and accommodating. They would have a fun meal, that was all.
She searched her mind for a topic of conversation. Now that he’d refused the article, she didn’t want to probe his past too deeply. She took a different tack. “Do you surf?”
“Yes,” he said. “After my father died, we moved up from the south island. My mum’s parents lived here and we lived with them at first. They ran a little restaurant.”
“Does your whole family still live here?”
“My grandparents have a place closer to Auckland now. The bach was theirs. They used to rent rooms out to visiting surfers. Now my brothers live there with me, although we’re rarely there together. And my younger sister also lives in town with a few friends. She used to live with us, but that didn’t really work out once she started bringing men home.”
“Your father was Australian. Do you ever see that side of the family?”
He glanced over at her. “You’ve done your research.”
She smiled. “I wanted to be prepared.”
“He was an only child and his mother passed away when he was thirteen. He never knew his father. He lived with foster families for a couple of years, then ran away when he was sixteen. He just wandered from adventure to adventure after that, working when he had to. He ended up in New Zealand, where he met Roger Innis, and the rest is history.”
Amy wanted paper and a pen to take notes, but since she’d managed to gain his trust, she had to keep it. “That adds a whole new context to his life,” she said. “I’ve always wondered what drives a man to risk his life for...thrills.”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“You don’t feel that thrill?”
He shook his head. “Not the kind of thrill that makes me want to risk my life. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. I love seeing new and beautiful places, and I love showing those places to other people. But it’s not about me, it’s about the clients. With my father, I think it was about him. Even when he had clients with him.”
They pulled up in front of the restaurant and Mal parked the car and turned off the ignition. He stared out the windshield, a perplexed expression on his face. He laughed softly. “You know, I never really made the connection before, between his childhood and his need to tempt the fates.”
“I can understand his urge,” she said. “Maybe, after all that had happened to him as a kid, he was a little numb. Risking his life made him feel alive.”
He twisted in his seat, facing her. “But why have a family? Why put them at risk, too?”
“That’s easy,” Amy said. “Love. He lost his mother when he was young. I suppose he always wanted a family again, and when he met your mother, that happened. It just didn’t heal all the wounds.” She shook her head. “I’m not a psychologist, so this is all speculative. I guess we’ll never really know.”
“My father kept journals. My mother said she burned them, but I believe she still has them. They might provide more insight.”
“Maybe you should ask her if you can read them,” Amy said. “It might give you the peace you need.”
He considered her suggestion for a long moment. And then, without any warning, he reached out and pulled her toward him. His lips met hers and she realized that he was kissing her.
His tongue gently probed and she eagerly joined in. He was everything she’d imagined he would be—warm and passionate and powerful. He caressed her face with his hands as he deepened his assault and Amy sighed, the sound swallowed by the kiss.
When he finally drew back, she was light-headed and breathless. She wanted to kiss him again and keep kissing him until...until they found something more exciting to do. She leaned into him and he immediately took the cue and captured her mouth in another deep, delicious encounter.
This time, when he drew back, she held fast to the front of his shirt. They couldn’t go on until she understood exactly where she stood with him. “What are the chances you’re going to do this story with me?” she asked. “Just give me the odds.”
“As much as you’ve made an enticing pitch, I just can’t,” Mal said.
“Then I suppose there’s nothing to stop you from kissing me again.”
He grinned. “There was nothing stopping me before,” Mal replied.
“All right, then, carry on,” she said.
With a low growl, he shook his head. “I think maybe we should go inside and have dinner.”
Amy drew a deep breath. “Right. Let’s have dinner.”
A meal would give her an opportunity to regroup and figure out what the hell she was doing. If the story was a no-go, then she was free to pursue other avenues with Mal Quinn. Sexual avenues...and boulevards...and expressways. She’d come to New Zealand to make a major change in her life. Maybe she should start with herself.
* * *
MAL HAD BEGUN the evening searching for a warm body to take to bed. To his surprise, he’d found a funny, smart and sexy woman. Too bad she was a journalist.
He watched in amusement as she tackled the huge hamburger, digging into her dinner with enthusiasm.
“It’s good, right?” he asked.
“Really good,” she said.
“New Zealand beef. It’s the best.”
“I think all the cheese and truffle oil might have something to do with it, too,” she said, closely examining the burger.
They sat on the wide front porch of the restaurant, which overlooked the street. Raglan was a typical surf haven, filled with funky shops and casual restaurants. The laid-back atmosphere was exactly what he needed when he came home from an expedition, these surroundings providing the perfect atmosphere to decompress.
Though he’d been to many breathtaking spots in the world, home was always the most beautiful to him. He’d grown up here, learned to surf here and made plans for his first solo adventure in the cozy bach on the beach.
“I’ve never seen a woman eat like that,” he said.
“Then you haven’t been hanging around real women,” Amy countered. “Not all of us eat like rabbits.”
“I reckon not,” he said. He respected that about Amy. She didn’t try to turn herself into someone she assumed he wanted. She was true and genuine. “So tell me about your travels. I’ve read about your father and your brother. What about you?”
She gazed across the table at him, an odd expression on her face. “I’d much rather hear about your trip to Greenland. That sounds interesting.”
“It was,” he said. “At the rate the glaciers are melting, there will come a day when that trip isn’t possible. I’m glad I’m able to give people the experience before it’s too late.”
“What’s your favorite trip?” she asked.
“Every trip has something special,” he said. “It’s not the scenery, it’s more the feeling. I’ll be standing in some marketplace in Nepal or talking to some Argentinian farmer and I’ll say to myself, what the bloody hell am I doing here? I can’t believe I live this life.”
“Have you ever thought of settling down and staying in one place?”
Mal shook his head. “Never. I make my living as a guide and even though I’m very careful, there are still dangers. I’d never put someone through what my mother went through.”
“Do you think she regrets marrying your father?”
“No. They loved each other. And she understood what she was getting into when they got married. But I do think it might have been easier if they hadn’t had children.”
“How can you say that? You and your siblings are a part of him that lives on.”
It was so odd to talk about these matters, especially with a virtual stranger. And yet discussing his father with Amy had already given him new insights. Until now, he’d been pretty rigid in his opinions, but he was starting to realize that it was not always black-and-white.
The subject turned to his business and Amy was curious about the expeditions his company offered. Though she knew a great deal about the locations, Mal got the impression that she hadn’t done a lot of adventuring herself. Or maybe she was just trying to keep him talking. Either way, he didn’t mind. She had a way of making him feel completely comfortable. There was no question she might ask that he wouldn’t answer.
Which was dangerous. She was a reporter after all. And he couldn’t be completely certain about her motives. Though this flirtation was fun, Mal wasn’t sure he was willing to take it to the next level.
But why not? If she was willing, why not enjoy a night of passion before she went home? Having sex with her certainly wasn’t going to change his mind. And he was positive they’d have a great time indulging in the desire that was growing more intense with every minute that passed.
He reached out and snagged her hand, hooking his little finger around hers. “Why don’t we walk off this meal? We can go get your car and you can follow me back to the house. I’ll show you my beach.”
The waitress brought the bill and though Amy insisted on paying, Mal couldn’t agree. He wanted this to be a real date, not just two people sharing a casual meal. He’d follow dinner with a romantic stroll on the beach and that would lead to more kissing and touching. And maybe, after all that, she’d end up in his bed.
They walked down the front steps and Mal linked his fingers through hers. He didn’t want to let any opportunity slip by, but Amy needed to know that his intentions were purely carnal. That way, she’d make the choice.
They got in the Range Rover and he pulled it around and headed toward the pub where they’d met earlier that afternoon. She seemed oddly silent and he risked a glance over at her, wondering if she was reconsidering her choices.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Mal asked.
“You mentioned your father’s journals. Have you ever thought of writing your own book about him?”
Her reply caught him by surprise. Unlike him, she clearly wasn’t thinking about sex. She was thinking about business. “I can’t write.”
“Everyone can write,” Amy said. “You’d just need a good editor to help you put things in order.”
“Do I know any good editors?”
She sent him a haughty smile.
“Are you volunteering?”
“It’s just an idea. But it might be good for you. You’d get to know your father again, only this time with an adult perspective.”
“Why is it that everything you say makes perfect sense to me?”
“That’s funny, most things I say don’t make sense to me.”
He’d never considered an autobiography, a project that he and his family could control. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea....
They found her car where she’d left it earlier that day. “Just follow me,” he said. “It’s not far.”
She jumped out of the Range Rover and turned to him. “Maybe I should go back to the hotel.”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t want this night to end quite yet. Take a walk with me. It’s just a walk.”
“All right.”
