A Parisian Proposition

“Come back to my place.”

His eyes searched her face and she flashed hot and cold. They both knew they were talking about more than another kiss.

“Sure,” he said without smiling.

They hardly spoke as the taxi sped through the inky, neon-splashed streets. They were too tense, too burning, too anxious. Camille kept stealing little glances Jonno’s way and every time she saw him, she felt completely overwhelmed. This was Jonno Rivers, the most desirable of all Girl Talk’s heartthrob bachelors.

And here he was in a taxi with her. Coming back to her flat.

Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical North Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy.

Visit www.barbarahannay.com.

Barbara Hannay captures the terrifying uncertainty of falling in love, as well as butterflies-in-the-stomach attraction. A Parisian Proposition is compulsive reading—unpredictable, emotional and inspiring!

A Parisian Proposition
Barbara Hannay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

‘HEY, Jonno, there’s a woman asking for you.’

Jonathan Rivers dragged his attention from a first-class pen of Angus steers and shot a quick sideways glance down the muddy alley of the cattle sale yards.

A woman, dressed in a pale city suit and high heels, hovered at the far end of the pens where the concrete path ended and the sloppy mud began.

He stifled an urge to curse. ‘Not another husband-hunter?’

‘I guess so,’ Andy Bowen, his stock and station agent, admitted with a shrug. ‘But this one’s a cut above the rest. You should check her out, mate.’

Jonno groaned and shook his head in disbelief. ‘I was hoping I wouldn’t have to go through this again.’

‘At least this one’s got class,’ chuckled Andy. ‘And I reckon she’s as stubborn as you are. Classy, sexy and stubborn as the devil. Could be your lucky day.’

‘If you’re so impressed, you go see what she wants.’

Andy winked. ‘I’ve spoken to her and I know exactly what she wants.’ He raised his voice to reach Jonno above the crescendo of the auctioneer’s calls in the adjacent stall. ‘She wants you!’

Against his better judgement, Jonno let his gaze slide sideways again. He caught a fleeting impression of contrasts—of a sophisticated female in smart city clothes amidst rough-clad country folk and cattle. A mass of exotic dark hair, dark eyes and dark mouth, set dramatically against pale skin. Physical slenderness offset by a proud carriage that hinted at inner strength.

She wants you.

‘I’m not bloody available,’ he growled.

‘Course you’re available. You’ve sold most of your cattle. I’ll look after this last pen. I know the price you want for them. Get going, Jonno. You can’t leave a lady like her in all that mud and cattle muck.’

The woman was still watching him intently and Jonno knew she would be aware that Andy had delivered her message. He let out a noisy sigh. ‘I suppose I should be good at this rejection caper by now.’

Over the past months he’d literally lost count of the number of women who’d come chasing him since that crazy story turned up in the women’s magazine. Blondes, brunettes, redheads and all shades in between…older women and young girls…plain, beautiful…cautious, reckless, polite…rude…

He’d sent them all packing…

As he strode grimly towards this latest contender his gumboots squelched in the mud. Recent rains and the pounding of thousands of cattle hooves had turned the dirt floor of the sale yards into a quagmire.

The woman, dressed in a soft beige wool suit with pale stockings and neat beige, high-heeled shoes, was eyeing the smelly mud warily as she waited for him at the edge of the walkway.

He surprised himself by slowing his steps as he drew near so he didn’t splash her, but that was as far as his concessions went. He refused to smile. ‘You’re looking for me?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled cautiously and held out her hand. There was a small dark mole just above her upper lip. It was maddeningly distracting. ‘How do you do, Mr Rivers? I’m Camille Devereaux.’

Her curly hair was dark chocolate and glossy, her eyes and lashes closer to black than brown, and her nose and chin were saved from sharpness by an indefinable elegance. Camille Devereaux. It occurred to Jonno that she matched her French name perfectly.

As he extended a brief, reluctant handshake, she studied him with disturbing directness, her gaze intensely curious and not at all shy.

And damn it, her perfume drifted towards him, teasing his senses for a tantalising instant before it was overpowered by the prevailing stench of mud and cattle.

Her hand in his felt soft and cool. Jonno snatched his own rough and callused hand away, shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans and tried to ignore the fact that Andy had been right.

This one was a cut above the others…

She had the intriguing allure of an exotic stranger. Very Mediterranean. Unexpectedly sexy.

His mistake was to allow his gaze to connect with hers for just a shade too long. For a fraction longer than was wise, he’d stared into her eyes and—

And hell. He’d never experienced anything like the sudden certainty that he and this stranger shared an unwilling reaction, that they’d both felt the same helpless stirring. A deep shudder inside.

An involuntary leap of awareness.

‘Look,’ he said quickly. Too quickly. Although Camille Devereaux hadn’t told him why she was here, and although she looked different, he knew she would be the same as all the others. ‘I can’t help you. There’s been a mistake. The magazine got it wrong. I’m not looking for someone to date and I’m certainly not looking for a wife.’ He whirled away. ‘Sorry to disappoint.’

‘No, don’t go,’ she cried.

But he kept walking. He’d done this countless times and it was always embarrassing.

‘I’ve no intention of dating or marrying you,’ she called loudly. Way too loudly.

The bunch of cattlemen who were gathered around the nearby pen of heifers swung their fascinated gazes from Jonno to Camille and back to Jonno and grinned like mad.

‘Another one?’ someone called. ‘What’s the count now, Jonno?’

Teeth gritted, Jonno refused to turn. He kept hurrying through the mud.

‘Jonno!’ she yelled. ‘Mr Rivers, we’ve got to talk!’

There was a hint of desperation in that last cry but he didn’t look back. There was nothing more to say. He’d delivered his message and he wasn’t going to hang around chatting to a beautiful stranger while he fuelled the entire Mullinjim community with a month’s worth of gossip and cheap laughs.

Camille blamed the lack of coffee.

That was why she’d stuffed up. It had never happened before. She had never missed her mark. It was unprofessional.

It had nothing to do with meeting Jonathan Rivers in the flesh after weeks of trying to make contact. It was caffeine withdrawal that had made her hollow and shivery, brain-dead and tongue-tied. Not Jonno.

And it was lack of caffeine plus too much squelchy, smelly mud that had stopped her from running after the obstinate cattleman and forcing him to listen to her.

But what kind of experienced, hard-nosed journalist was she if she let him get away before she’d had a chance to explain anything? To ask anything! OK, maybe thinking of herself as hard-nosed was over-the-top, but she was experienced and competent.

And yet she’d stood there like a ninny and watched him walk off without unearthing one measly reason for his lack of co-operation in ‘The Bachelor Project’.

It had been so unreal…the way he’d looked at her…and…

She shook her head and shrugged. She’d lost it. For some reason, meeting Jonno had shrivelled her synapses. Which was pretty silly considering she’d seen his photo and had been expecting the magnetic intensity of his eyes, the rough, chiselled cheekbones and the dangerous mouth.

The heartthrob, half-mast smile.

It was his smile that had sealed Jonno Rivers’s fate. Well…if she was honest…it was the crooked smile and the huge shoulders and the breathtaking fit of his low-slung jeans.

For the team at Girl Talk magazine, choosing Jonathan Rivers for inclusion in ‘The Pick of Australia’s Eligible Bachelors’ had been a no-brainer. And they’d decided that the pic he’d submitted was so good there was no need to send a professional photographer.

That had been Girl Talk’s first big mistake.

If they’d sent someone out at the beginning, Camille might have been saved this vexing journey now.

The second mistake had been Camille’s. When she’d been put in charge of ‘The Bachelor Project’ she’d made a serious error of judgement. After selecting a range of bachelor volunteers from various walks of life, she’d taken the fellows she’d expected to be difficult as her personal responsibility—the high-powered lawyer from Perth, the owner of the construction company in Sydney and the executive chef in Melbourne.

She’d left the lower-profile contenders for more junior journalists to deal with—fellows like the tourist operator in Tasmania, the crocodile-hunter in the Northern Territory…and the cattleman in Queensland…

And it was only recently she’d discovered that the cattleman hadn’t been playing the game.

Now she’d had to travel all the way from Sydney to North Queensland to get to the bottom of his problem and after several false leads she’d finally, finally tracked him down. And she’d barely managed three words of conversation before she’d let him go.

But if Jonno Rivers thought she’d give up after such a brief, unsatisfactory exchange, he was in for a nasty surprise. Or three.

It was her mission to tell him he couldn’t back out of the bachelor story now. She wasn’t going to let him wreck her magazine’s project and she certainly wasn’t going to let him jeopardise her job.

He might have refused to return phone calls, e-mail, faxes and letters. And he might have put padlocks on the gate to his cattle property, Edenvale, as she’d discovered this morning when she’d driven all the way out there.

She’d crawled along muddy outback roads while her little hire car scraped its underbelly on every bump, only to find his front gate one hundred per cent, in-her-face locked.

But she hadn’t let smug, fat padlocks and rusty chains stop her.

And she hadn’t been deterred when she tracked down Jonno’s brother, Gabe, only to have him refuse to take her by helicopter over the locked gate and into Edenvale.

And now that she had tracked him down to these sale yards and had finally set eyes on the infamous and elusive Jonathan Rivers, she certainly wasn’t going to let sloppy mud stop her! Not when she had knee-high boots and an oilskin coat in the back of her car.

She hurried back through the car park, where the sight of men on horseback and enormous road trains the size of locomotives with triple decks of cattle pens on the back rekindled the unsettling sense of alienation she’d felt ever since she’d arrived in Mullinjim.

It was weird. She’d always thought of herself as a true-blue Aussie, but this was her first trip from Sydney to the real outback and she couldn’t have felt more of an outsider if she’d been on assignment in an exotic foreign country.

She was relieved that at least she was much less conspicuous when she prowled back through the disgusting mud of the sale yards camouflaged by her coat and boots.

Let Jonno hide. She would find him.

She scanned the lanes between the pens of bellowing cattle. Each lane was filled with cattlemen in look-alike wide-brimmed akubra hats, oilskin coats and jeans.

A sudden clomping of hooves forced her to turn and every organ in Camille’s body lurched when she saw a mob of cattle being herded down the lane towards her by a man on horseback. Help! The beasts were massive and their hooves looked heavy and hard enough to crush and maim!

She’d never seen a cow that wasn’t safely on the other side of a fence! And there were dozens of them bearing down on her. Some were snorting, others bellowing. Some had horns! Would there be enough room for them to pass?

Oh, God! Heart pounding, she squashed herself hard against the timber rails of the nearest pen, but even so one black beast eyeballed her fiercely as it drew close. She held her breath and squeezed in her stomach muscles, trying to flatten herself even more.

Glued to the fence like a fridge magnet, she felt her heart thrash. What would the girls in the office think if they could see her now? Surely this deserved some kind of bravery award. It was above and beyond the call of duty.

CITY GIRL SQUASHED FLAT BY FAT CATTLE…

Sydney journalist Camille Devereaux, faced a stampeding herd of wild beasts in the Mullinjim sale yards earlier today…Vale, Camille…Trampled to death while chasing a vital story for Girl Talk magazine…

She was so busy fighting her panic by composing more tributes to her bravery and courage that it was some time before it finally sank in that the animals were trotting past without paying her any particular attention. The man on horseback acknowledged her with a brief nod as he went by, then turned his mob into another lane.

Camille sagged against the pen as her breath escaped. She was still alive. She hadn’t spooked the cattle. The guy on the horse had given her a casual nod as if she had every right to be here.

How about that? Her coat and boots must have done the trick. She looked as if she belonged. She felt inordinately pleased with herself.

Something nudged her elbow and she whipped around to discover a large, damp and very bovine nose sniffing her sleeve. Oh, God! The pen she’d been leaning against was full of another lot of cattle! She suppressed the urge to panic again. It was OK. These four-footed fellows were securely inside the pen. Nothing to worry about here. A snap.

She allowed a few minutes for her heartbeats to steady and her breathing to settle and realised that the pen she’d chosen to lean against was becoming a matter of some interest. Half a dozen or more cattlemen were joining her to stare over the fence at the beasts.

But the men hardly gave Camille a second glance.

Wow! This confirmation that she looked like a country girl gave her fresh confidence. Now she could track down Jonno Rivers through any amount of mud.

There was a rising babble of voices around her and the excited chanting of an auctioneer calling cattle prices. ‘One-forty, one-forty! Hup! One-forty-five!’

She paid little attention. She was scanning the metal walkways above the pens for signs of Jonno and she thought she glimpsed him. This time she wouldn’t let him go till she got what she’d come for.

Her view was blocked by the press of men around the pen and she stood on the bottom rung of the fence to get a better view. Above her, a promising set of shoulders and a slow, almost insolent stride came into her line of sight. Yes, it was Jonno.

‘One-fifty-five!’ the auctioneer’s voice shouted.

She had no idea how to get up to that suspended walkway. If she could at least get Jonno’s attention…Standing on tiptoes, she waved.

‘Hup! One-sixty!’

Jonno was looking at a point just beyond her. She waved again.

‘One-sixty twice!’

Camille glanced briefly in the direction of the strident voice. The auctioneer was standing on the same walkway as Jonno but directly above her, pointing straight at her. All around her, men were moving away from the pen, heading off down the lane.

A ghastly suspicion sent shivers chasing down her back and arms. No, he couldn’t think that she—

‘One-sixty!’ the auctioneer shouted, staring straight at her. ‘Hup! I’ve got one-sixty! Going for one-sixty. Sold!’

‘Congratulations,’ said a voice at her side.

She whirled around to find the ruddy-faced man who’d fetched Jonno for her.

‘Oh, good grief!’ She gulped. ‘You’re not congratulating me, are you?’

His beaming, slice-of-watermelon smile widened. ‘Sure am. You’ve bought a fine pen of weaner steers.’

‘I have not!’ She gasped. ‘I can’t have. Tell me you’re joking.’

The man slapped his hand on the top rail of the pen. ‘This mob of little beauties here. All yours.’

‘But I was waving to Jonno Rivers. I…’ She flashed a frantic glance back to the auctioneer, but he simply gave a curt salute to the man at her side, then headed towards another pen. ‘It can’t happen like that,’ she spluttered. ‘I’m not a genuine buyer. How—how on earth could he have thought I wanted a pen of cattle?’

‘You were standing next to me.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘I’m a stock and station agent. Brian must have assumed you were one of my clients.’

‘Oh, my God!’ She pressed a shaking hand to her forehead. ‘You’ll go and tell him it’s a mistake, won’t you?’

‘You don’t want these steers?’

‘Of course I don’t want them.’ She sent a scathing glance over the pen of cattle and let out a laughing groan. ‘What on earth would I do with them? I live in a one-bedroom flat in Kings Cross. My courtyard is smaller than this pen.’

‘You could put them out on agistment.’

A deep voice sounded at her back. ‘Is this woman hassling you, Andy?’

Camille spun around to find a scowling Jonno Rivers close behind her. His suspicious gaze was cold enough to freeze an ocean. Two oceans.

‘Jonno,’ greeted the ever cheerful Andy. ‘You’re just the man we need.’

Camille wasn’t so sure. She’d had about as much as she could take of this pesky cattleman and his sulky silence and his stinking cattle. Her fists curled against her thighs and she felt an overwhelming urge to thump him on the nose.

‘This young lady seems to have a little problem,’ the agent explained calmly. ‘But I’m sure you can help her, mate.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Sorry, Jonno, I’ve got to see a man about a bull. Catch you later.’ With a brief salute, he hurried away.

Camille’s stomach and head were spinning as she gaped after him. She felt exhausted as she turned back to Jonno. ‘At least you’ve had the guts to show up,’ she muttered. ‘This is all your fault, so you’ll have to do something about it.’

CHAPTER TWO

JONNO took ages to respond.

He stood with his long legs planted wide and his arms folded over his broad chest and he looked down at Camille without any sign of sympathy. ‘Before you get too carried away with accusations,’ he said at last, ‘could you please explain what’s going on?’

‘I was simply waving at you,’ she said. ‘And…’ She ran nervous fingers through her curls, annoyed by his air of remoteness.

‘And?’

‘And apparently I bought these cows.’

He glanced at the pen beside her. ‘They’re steers.’

‘Cows, steers, whatever. They have four legs and they say “moo” and I don’t want them.’

A muscle in his cheek twitched and he looked away, then heaved a deep sigh as he stared at something in the distance. ‘I knew you were going to be more trouble than the others.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

He swung his gaze back to settle coldly over her. ‘Did you reckon I’d find you more attractive if you threw in a pen of steers as a bribe?’

Camille gaped at him. ‘You think I bought them as some kind of…of bait—like a dowry? To make myself more appealing to you?’

He didn’t reply, but a slight inclination of his head suggested an answer in the affirmative.

Where did this guy get off? He had an ego bigger than the outback! ‘You really think I fancy you?’

His big shoulders moved in a faint shrug. ‘You’re trailing after me, aren’t you?’

She had to shove her curling fists deep into her pockets before she did something really foolish. He was actually far too big to punch. ‘How about you clean your ears out and listen, mate?’ she said slowly and loudly and with what she felt was an impressive degree of menace. ‘I came out here because you reneged on your agreement with Girl Talk magazine. I have absolutely no interest in you as a date.’

She flung her arms out in a wide, sweeping gesture to take in the mud and the cattle. ‘Could you honestly believe I would be way out here splashing around in mud and muck if I had a choice? It’s certainly not my idea of fun. As for boyfriends, I have as many guys in Sydney as I—as I need. And the last—the very last—kind of man I’m looking for is a cowboy!’

For good measure she added, ‘And I haven’t the slightest interest in getting married. Not ever. Not to anyone. In case you haven’t caught up with the latest statistics, there’s a whole generation of girls like me who are not desperate to sacrifice ourselves on the matrimonial altar.’

His obvious surprise gave her a measure of satisfaction. And for the first time she thought she saw a hint of amusement lurking in the depths of his hazel eyes.

‘I think I believe you,’ he said.

‘Well, hallelujah!’ Nodding towards the cattle, she finished her speech. ‘You might also be able to accept the fact that buying these guys was a complete accident that’s turned a rotten day for me into a total disaster.’

A suspicion of a smile played around his mouth. ‘Did you pay a good price for them?’

‘I wouldn’t have a clue. But that’s not the point.’

‘It’s very much the point. And so is whether or not you have the money to pay for them.’

‘But I don’t want them.’ Camille scowled at him and then at the cattle standing meekly in their pen. ‘I’ve no idea if I can afford them,’ she admitted. ‘How much are they?’

He shrugged. ‘Fifteen weaner steers…at a good weight. I’d say you’re looking at somewhere around six thousand dollars.’

‘No way!’ She suppressed an urge to add a few swear words. ‘I’m saving for a trip to Paris and that’s almost my entire savings! I’m not going to blow it on a pen of cattle.’

She’d been saving madly over the past twelve months. Hadn’t bought any new clothes in all that time! Well…hardly any. And now her dreams were toppling like a collapsed football scrum.

All her lovely dreams…of travelling to see her father again after twelve long years, of discovering her favourite sculptures in the Musée Rodin, of hunting for exciting little cafés in the back streets of Montmartre, or buying something chic and extravagant on the Champs-Élysées…

In a few short minutes those dreams were gone, to be replaced by a nightmare…a pen of fifteen weaner steers in outback Queensland.

Desperate, she rounded on Jonno. ‘How can I get out of this?’

He shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Can I sue someone?’

‘The vendor could probably sue you if you don’t honour the bid.’

‘Oh, hell!’ Camille closed her eyes and tried to calm her rising panic. She needed to think clearly. There had to be a solution to this crazy situation. Her head was spinning. ‘I can’t think about this without coffee.’

‘There’s a canteen.’

She opened her eyes and squinted at him. ‘Good. Let me shout you a coffee.’ When he didn’t answer, she added, ‘Just coffee, Jonno. Not a date. Not a marriage proposal. I just want you on one side of a table, me on the other, a cup of coffee in my hand and a little market advice. If you were struggling to find a taxi in Sydney, or if you were out of your depth in Kings Cross, I’d do the same for you.’

He looked at her quizzically for a moment or two, but then to her relief he nodded. ‘The canteen’s this way.’

He led her down several muddy lanes lined with pens of bellowing beasts until they reached concrete paths and buildings that housed various administrative offices for the sale yards. After they scraped their boots on a rough outdoor mat, Jonno pushed open large glass doors.

Inside, the canteen was crowded with hungry cattlemen and their wives, but it was warm and clean and Camille could see a counter with shiny urns spouting steam and she could smell the fragrant aroma of coffee at last.

Jonno wouldn’t let her pay and she accepted that country guys were probably still old-fashioned about things like that. With her hands wrapped around a warm mug, she inhaled the familiar aroma of her favourite beverage and took a quick, fortifying sip before they reached their table near a window in the corner. Jonno had bought two packets of sandwiches as well. Wholesome, grainy, country bread filled with cold roast meat, pickles and salad.

‘So you want help to get rid of your cattle,’ he said, once they were settled.

Camille nodded. ‘Yes, please.’ Then she took another deep sip of coffee before setting down her mug. ‘You wouldn’t like to buy them, would you?’

His mouth tilted into the familiar, crooked smile that had caused so much of a stir in the Girl Talk office. She noticed that the hazel in his eyes was a fascinating mixture of brown and gold with little flecks of green.

‘No, thanks,’ he said. ‘I came to these sales today to sell, not to buy. It’s not exactly a buyers’ market.’

She sighed. So much for a simple, straightforward solution. ‘Can I throw them right back on the market and sell them tomorrow?’

His smile faded as he looked thoughtful. ‘It’s possible…But before we get too worried about that, why don’t you tell me why you’ve come all the way up here from Sydney?’

Camille’s breath escaped on a gasp of surprise. Buying a pen of cattle had a good side? It got Jonno Rivers talking? Wow! She hadn’t expected this breakthrough moment, but she might as well cut straight to the chase. ‘I’m here to find out what game you’re playing.’

‘I’m not playing anything.’

‘You know you’ve been playing games with our magazine. You haven’t answered our letters or phone calls.’

He showed no sign of apology. ‘Why should I cooperate with totally irresponsible journalism?’

‘Irresponsible?’ Her right eyebrow lifted, but she willed herself to stay calm. Now that she had him in her sights, she had to take extra care not to frighten him off. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘You expect me to fuel the dangerous illusions of a mob of silly, gullible women, who believe these bachelors you’ve unearthed are desperate for marriage and commitment.’

‘We never gave the impression our bachelors are desperate. Heavens, Jonno, they’re all heartthrobs.’ After a beat, she added, ‘Like you.’

He looked distinctly uncomfortable.

‘We chose gorgeous, well-heeled guys, who for some reason—whether it’s geographical isolation or twenty-four-seven commitment to their brilliant careers—are still single, but seeking a wife.’

When he didn’t respond, she added, ‘The reaction from readers has been amazing. We had no idea there were still so many women actively hunting for husbands.’

‘Unlike you,’ he challenged. ‘That’s another thing. How can someone who doesn’t even believe in marriage pretend that it’s so damn wonderful?’

‘How do you know what I think of marriage?’ Camille asked, then flinched. ‘Oh, yeah. It was the seminal text of my sermon in the cattle stalls, wasn’t it?’

She felt strangely caught out—embarrassed to realise that in the heat of the moment she’d aired her personal views about relationships to this man. This too, too sexy man.

She jabbed her finger at a piece of shredded lettuce that had fallen from her sandwich. ‘So I take it there’s been a mistake. You’re as allergic to marriage as I am.’

‘I never said I didn’t want marriage.’

Her head jerked up. Jonno’s eyes were an unsettling mixture of mild amusement and something else…something private and deep.

‘But—’

‘I don’t have any hang-ups about marriage,’ he said slowly. ‘But when I choose a wife I’d like to do the chasing. Nothing turns me off faster than a woman who blatantly chases after me.’

Camille frowned. ‘OK, so you’d better explain why on earth you agreed to take part in our project.’

His face grew hard and tight. ‘I didn’t.’

‘Hello? I have a signed statement saying otherwise.’

A bleak shadow darkened his eyes and his mouth twisted bitterly. ‘Look, I don’t want to go into details about how I ended up in your magazine.’

‘Are you saying…?’ Camille pressed a hand to her stomach. Right from the very start she’d had a strange gut feeling that there’d been something a little different about Jonno’s entry. ‘Are you telling me that you were entered against your will?’

‘Yes.’

‘Framed?’

He nodded.

‘So who sent us your photo? Your signature?’

‘I told you I’m not prepared to give details, but, believe me, it was a mistake. A huge mistake.’

Camille was surprised by how readily she believed him. Nevertheless, the urge to press him for details was strong. In the past she’d never shied away from getting to the bottom of a story and she longed to know how a handsome devil like Jonathan Rivers could end up in Girl Talk by mistake. Her magazine and its readers deserved to know.

But even as the questions lined up in her head, something in his face stopped her from voicing them.

Her experience of interviewing people from all walks of life told her that the door on this particular conversation had clanged shut. It was locked as securely as the gate to his property, and she sensed that to pry would be useless—even dangerous. She could alienate him completely if she pushed too hard.