The Pleasures of Winter (2 page)

He offered her his hand. He had big hands, she noticed, with a strong, firm grip. ‘I’m Jack Winter.’ His voice was a low rumble and his accent was even more enticing than Kevin’s.

Finally, he smiled. A smile as wicked as his reputation. Those sensuous lips curled, showing white teeth and a single dimple in his lean cheeks. His eyes blazed even bluer. She caught her breath. On the screen, he was handsome. In the flesh, Jack Winter was heart-stopping.

He continued to smile, waiting for a response.
Oh, settle down. You’re not a star-struck intern on the lifestyle pages. He’s just another job
. Abbie leaned forward and placed her hand in his. ‘Abbie Marshall. Pleased to meet you, Mr Winter. Thanks for the ride.’

‘Call me Jack.’

Abbie was in no frame of mind to do an interview. She had dealt with some frightening people in her day, but none had had this effect on her. Even in the face of gun-toting insurgents she had managed to keep a clear head. Not this time – both her pulse and her thoughts were racing. There was nothing for it but to get on with it. She reached down into her bag to pull out her recorder.

‘I’ll try to get the interview over quickly.’

His smile vanished. ‘What interview?’

‘The interview you agreed to give the
New York Independent
. That’s why I’m here.’

Jack looked at her suspiciously. His aversion to journalists was well known. But she could see the flash of recognition
in those steely blue eyes: the studio’s publicity machine had set up an ambush and there was nothing he could do. It didn’t mean he was happy about it. Abbie shivered as he gave her a long, steady look, assessing her coldly.

‘Of course,’ he said finally. ‘I’m looking forward to a grilling.’

His dry tone and raised eyebrow told her that this wouldn’t be an easy interview. What the hell had Josh dropped her into?

Kevin made his way to the front of the plane and returned with three bottles of iced tea. He offered Abbie one and she took it gratefully.

Abbie held up her digital recorder. ‘Do you mind if I record this?’

Jack shrugged. He opened his bottle and took a long swig. ‘Go ahead.’

Like a light being switched off, the charm was gone.

Abbey smiled encouragingly. ‘I promise this won’t take long, Mr Winter.’

Jack took another swig.

She switched on the recorder. ‘So, why are you in Honduras?’

Jack gave her a blank stare before draining the last drops of iced tea. ‘You haven’t done your homework.’ He sounded annoyed.

Abbie flushed. ‘Sorry, I was kind of dropped into this, Mr Winter, but if you wouldn’t mind filling me in on –’

‘Lady, I’ve been up for thirty-six hours straight. I’m too tired for this.’

If Jack Winter wouldn’t cooperate, this would be a short interview. Abbie could feel her temper rising and
she took a deep breath before replying. ‘I got this assignment thirty minutes ago. Just how much homework do you think I’ve been able to do?’

Jack pressed a button in the armrest of his seat and eased it back into a reclining position. ‘Let’s make it interesting. For each question you ask me, I get to ask you one. And you call me Jack. Agreed?’

‘That is no way to conduct an interview, Mr … Jack.’

‘Take it or leave it.’ He closed his eyes.

She heard Zeke Bryan chuckle from further up the aisle.

Abbie sighed with frustration. Jack Winter might be Hollywood A-list but he was turning into a major pain in the ass. There was no way that she was going to let him get the better of her.

‘Very well, Jack.’

He opened those amazing eyes and smiled at her. ‘I’m all yours, Abbie. Ask your questions.’

‘Why are you in Honduras?’

Before he had a chance to speak, Zeke Bryan interrupted. ‘Jack was here to open a medical facility for the people of Tegucigalpa. We filmed
Jungle Heat
there last year and Jack promised to return when it was complete.’

His answer surprised her. A lot of the studios made promises to help the local people when they were on location, but they seldom delivered.

‘My turn, Abbie. Why are you here?’

There was no harm in telling him. The story would hit the papers in a couple of days. ‘I was covering a story about a link between drug cartels and political figures in the Honduran government.’

‘A dangerous job for a woman.’

‘Why?’ She tried not to snap at him. ‘Don’t you think women should cover serious stories?’

She could feel herself shrinking under the intensity of his gaze. ‘I didn’t say that, but yes, I would consider covering a drugs story in Honduras to be a dangerous occupation.’

She couldn’t even argue with that, considering Scarface and his associate. She decided not to mention that and forced her attention back to the interview. ‘But you’re famous for courting danger yourself, aren’t you, Mr Winter? I mean, Jack.’

‘I enjoy pushing my limits. Don’t you find that you can learn a lot about yourself that way?’

‘Is that a question?’

This time his smile was genuine. ‘No, just an observation. Here’s my question – since you obviously like going after big stories, what are you doing interviewing an actor?’

Was that a joke? She couldn’t read him well enough to tell.

‘Like you say, it’s good to push your limits,’ she said. ‘I guess I was just in the right place at the right time. You know, taking on a role outside of my usual comfort zone. Haven’t you ever done that?’

‘Oh Abbie, you’d be surprised at my range,’ he said.

Abbie had an uncomfortable feeling she was missing something.

‘You’re obviously committed to your career. Where does that leave the rest of your life? Tell me, are you married? Single? Still looking for the right guy?’

‘Single,’ she said. ‘But I have a fiancé back in New York.’ Abbie suppressed a pang of guilt when she remembered William. She hadn’t spared him a thought in days. She would have to call him when she got to Miami.

‘So, no serious relationships, then.’

Across the aisle, Kevin had been listening and guffawed. Abbie scowled at him. ‘We’ve been engaged for four years.’

Jack whistled. ‘Four years, and he hasn’t managed to get you up the aisle. Doesn’t sound like much of a fiancé to me.’

Abbie gritted her teeth. ‘You’ve had your question, Jack. Let’s talk about your relationships. Are you married or still looking for the right woman?’

She knew he wasn’t married. Jack had a reputation for womanizing and now she could add being irritating and chauvinistic to his list of attributes.

Jack considered her question. ‘I’ve never been married and never intend to be. As for the right woman, I don’t believe there is such a thing. Only the one who is right for now.’

‘And there have been a hell of a lot of those,’ Kevin said as he got out of his seat and walked up the cabin again.

Abbie didn’t know what possessed her to ask the question. ‘How many?’

One dark brow crooked in surprise. ‘It’s my turn to ask a question, and as we’re getting up close and personal –’ He leaned in closer.

Abbie couldn’t help swallowing as she looked at his mouth.

‘When was the last time that you made love?’

She flushed scarlet. It was weeks, maybe months; she couldn’t remember, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

‘That’s a very personal question.’

‘That’s not an answer.’

Kevin returned with more iced tea. Jack took the bottle from him without taking his eyes off her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so utterly exposed, but then she had never had a man like Jack Winter look at her so intently. He popped the cap while she played with her recorder and tried to ignore the question, but it seemed he wasn’t going to let her get away with that.

‘Well?’ he said.

‘It’s none of your business,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘In that case, the interview is over.’ He stuck the bottle into the holder, pushed his seat all the way back, settled himself and closed his eyes.

Jack had watched Abbie blush like a virgin with a mixture of amusement and fascination and wondered how far he could push her. As he lay back, he ignored her outraged gulp and waited to see how long it would take before she cracked and told him what he wanted to know.

And he did want to know, he was surprised to find. Abbie Marshall wasn’t his usual type, but there was something about her …

Even with his eyes closed, Jack had no problem picturing the shape of her face with its baby-soft skin and dusting of freckles. The women he normally dated wouldn’t
be seen dead with freckles, they’d have had them peeled and sandpapered away. Her mouth was wide and inviting with the perfectly even teeth of someone who had spent years in braces.

Her short hair framed her face, highlighting her eyes. He allowed himself a brief fantasy of running his fingers through that shiny dark hair, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be fighting half a pound of extensions and hair product. ‘Don’t touch the hair’ was a mantra with his dates.

And those eyes: wide, green and sparkling with curiosity and intelligence. Oh yes, this was a woman who could stand up to him if necessary. He enjoyed the snap of animosity between them and if things had been different, would have enjoyed taking things further.

But she was a journalist. That was bad enough, even without the cut-glass accent which he recognized as Old Money. He was never getting involved with a woman like that again. He’d learned his lesson the hard way.

He heard her inhale.

‘Mr –’

He opened one eye at her, shook his head and closed it again. Ms Marshall would learn that if she wanted to interview him, she had to play by his rules and answer his questions. His interest in her answer was beside the point.

She huffed and he couldn’t resist a grin. She must have seen it because she huffed louder, but she refused to speak.

Gradually, the previous thirty-six hours caught up with him and despite the drone of the engine, he dozed.

The irregular splutter of the engines roused him. He opened his eyes and checked the cabin. Nothing looked
out of place. Kev and Zeke had their heads together over an iPad and Abbie was curled up in her seat, her legs tucked under her in a way that his would never fit. When he glanced out the window, the engines looked as normal. But – he frowned – they were flying closer to the clouds than he would have expected.

The engine coughed again and the hairs prickled on the back of his neck. He got up and headed for the cockpit. On impulse, he snapped the safety belt around Abbie before he went.

She woke up and scowled at him. ‘What are you doing?’

She sounded cranky and he wanted to smile, but his instincts were kicking in. ‘Stay here, and keep that belt tight on you.’

‘I don’t take orders from you.’

‘Take this one.’ He didn’t have time to explain his unease.

‘Like I was going anywhere,’ she said, but she settled back down, with the belt still around her.

Jack moved forward, noticing that there was a distinct slope in the floor of the cabin. Something was wrong.

The cockpit was tiny, not so much a room as a seat with a bunch of electronics behind a folding screen, and only enough room for one pilot. Jack forced the screen open and asked, ‘Is anything wrong?’

The pilot, a silver-haired man with ruddy skin, was paler than Jack remembered. His face had a light sheen of sweat and there was a blue tinge to his lips. ‘I don’t feel so well,’ he muttered. He gripped the steering column, but he seemed to be ignoring the urgent red lights blinking at him.

Under Jack’s horrified eyes, the pilot’s grip shifted and the nose of the plane dipped another few degrees.

‘Got an aspirin? I’ve got a bit of a pain.’ The pilot rubbed his chest, pressing hard on it, before grabbing the steering column again. The man kept his eyes glued on the sky, but ignored the instruments. He paled even further and sweat rolled down his face.

‘Where are your meds?’ Jack asked. Please let him have meds that would fix this.

The pilot’s voice slurred. ‘What meds?’

Fuck! To Jack’s untrained eye, the pilot was having a heart attack. He shoved his way back into the cabin. ‘Where’s the first-aid kit?’ he asked no one in particular. There should be aspirin in there.

Kev dragged his attention away from the iPad. ‘The what?’

‘The first-aid kit. I need aspirin.’

‘I’ve got some paracetamol,’ Abbie said. She moved to unbuckle her seat belt.

‘Stay where you are,’ Jack said and handed her the rucksack. He had no idea if it would do any good, but it was better than nothing. She fished though a pile of clothes, including some intriguingly lacy panties, and handed him a blister pack with two gone. ‘Thanks.’ He grabbed his bottle of iced tea to help the pilot wash it down. It would be warm, but who cared.

‘What’s going on?’ Abbie asked as he moved back towards the cockpit.

‘Nothing,’ he replied gruffly. None of the others seemed to notice that anything out of the ordinary was happening and he wasn’t about to cause a panic by telling them.

When he got back, the pilot’s face was grey and he was struggling for breath. His grip on the steering column jerked and he slumped forward. His head hit something and the plane shuddered. Jack hauled him up to force the pills into
him, but it was too late. The pilot had stopped breathing – and the plane was heading down through the clouds towards the ground.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This wasn’t good. Jack frantically tried to remember the flying lessons he had taken for
Fly Hard 3
. The first thing was to take control of the plane. He had to get it level and restore altitude. He pushed the pilot out of his seat. The man slumped forward, clearing the seat but blocking the foot pedals and far instruments. He tried to pull him out of the way, but he was wedged in place. This was going to get dirty.

Jack sat down in front of the controls, grabbed the steering column and pulled back on it, forcing the nose of the little plane up and away from the ground.

What was the emergency frequency number – 121.5? As soon as he had a safe altitude, he’d call for help.

He battled to keep the steering column pulled back, but the pilot must be pressing on something because the plane kept descending and pulling to the left. They dropped down into clouds and Jack found himself staring at a sea of white. The clouds muffled even the noise of the engines. If it weren’t for the altimeter’s rapidly changing numbers, everything would have seemed strangely peaceful.