The Reluctant Lark by Iris Johansen

Author:Iris Johansen
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780345546128
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2013-04-23T14:00:00+00:00

Seven

The wave of dry heat struck Sheena like a blow as the door of the jet was opened and the steps were lowered at the private landing strip at Crescent Creek. From the air, the runway and hangar had looked as if they had been dropped in the middle of nowhere, and when she had commented on the fact to Rand, he had explained that his private airport was located some twenty-five miles from the main residence and outbuildings.

“I leave a few security men and mechanics on duty at all times,” he had added. “But I’ve found that isolating the strip is the only way to maintain the degree of privacy that I require at the ranch.” He smiled grimly. “It’s my own early warning system.”

Since she was aware of the seclusion of the strip, it came as no surprise to see a sturdy Renegade jeep parked at the edge of the tarmac a short distance away. But the driver of the vehicle obviously awaiting their arrival was another matter entirely. The young man leaning indolently against the fender of the canary yellow jeep straightened slowly as Rand swung her down from the steps and they started across the tarmac.

“Great heavens!” Sheena said, startled. “Can the man be real?”

“Oh, he’s real all right,” Challon replied. “I think Nick must have seen a John Wayne movie when he was a kid, and he’s been afraid of disappointing the lady tourists with less than the real thing ever since. I didn’t realize that he’d be the one to meet us, or I would have warned you about Nick O’Brien. He takes a little getting used to.” In spite of the ambiguous words, there was a note of warm affection in Challon’s voice that caused Sheena to look with even greater interest at the colorful figure by the jeep.

Nick O’Brien was an incredibly handsome man in his twenties of obvious Latin extraction. His gleaming dark hair was worn a trifle long and trendily styled. His features had the aristocratic definity of a modern-day Montezuma, and his eyes were a startling aquamarine that fairly crackled with vitality and good spirits.

It was not his dazzling good looks that amazed her so much as his outfit. A stunning red shirt was teamed with a black leather vest for the maximum dramatic effect. And his black jeans were surely the tightest she had ever seen. The denim material molded his powerful thighs and calves with a detailed closeness that was almost indecent. His black boots were polished to a mirrorlike shine, and glittering silver spurs complimented the silver Indian belt encircling his narrow waist.

“He’s quite—unusual,” Sheena said faintly, her eyes fixed in fascination on O’Brien’s arresting figure. “O’Brien? He doesn’t look at all Irish.”

“He’s part Irish, part Mexican, and part pure devil. So don’t think you’ve found a soulmate in Nick, no matter how charming you may find him. He’s as dangerous as a high explosive.”

“Yet you’re very fond of him,” Sheena said thoughtfully. “Does he work for you?”

“When he’s in the mood,” Rand answered, shrugging.

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