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you.’

      ‘But now you have to tell me something else that you want, because I truly feel as if I’m taking utter advantage of you.’

      She glanced up to find him glaring at her. For some reason his outrage made her want to smile.

      ‘What do I want?’ she shrugged. ‘I want to be out on the eastern boundary, helping with the weed eradication programme.’

      * * *

      Dylan stared at Mia and his heart thumped at the wistful expression that flitted across her face. He had a feeling that she didn’t have a whole lot of fun in her life. Not if weed extermination topped the list of her wants.

      If she agreed to his fake dating plan he resolved to make sure she had fun too. It would be the least he could do. There might be a lot of things he wasn’t good at, but when it came to fun he was a grandmaster.

      He rose. ‘Okay, let’s go and do that, then.’

      ‘We?’ She choked on her surprise.

      He sat again, suddenly unsure. ‘You’d prefer to go on your own?’

      ‘Oh, it’s not that. I... It’s just...’

      He could almost see the thoughts racing across her face. It’s hard work, dirty work, menial work. ‘You don’t think I’m up to it, do you?’

      ‘It’s not that either—although it is hard work.’ She leaned towards him, a frown in her eyes. ‘Dylan, you run a world-class entertainment company. I’m quite sure you have better things to do with your time. I expect you’re a very busy man.’

      He shook his head. ‘I’m on leave.’ He’d taken it the moment Carla had announced her engagement. ‘I have capable staff.’

      And he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do at the moment than lighten Mia’s load.

      Inspiration hit him. ‘Listen to this for a plan. If I become a volunteer here that might encourage Carla to become a volunteer too. If you get to work with her and build up a friendship then the fake dating stuff will be easier.’

      Her frown cleared. ‘There might even be no need for fake dating stuff.’

      Maybe. Maybe not. He couldn’t explain it, but the thought of fake dating Mia fired him to life in a way nothing else had in a long time. He’d relish the chance to find out what really make her tick.

      ‘We need a cover story.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I can tell Carla that you piqued my interest—hence the reason I became a volunteer—and then we worked together, discovered we liked each other...and things have gone on from there.’

      She screwed up her nose. ‘I guess that could work...’

      He grinned at her. ‘Of course it’ll work.’

      She suddenly thrust out her jaw. ‘I’m not going to spy on Carla for you.’

      ‘I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to become her friend.’

      ‘If this works—if Carla decides she wants to be friends—then I mean to be a proper friend to her. And if that clashes with your agenda—’

      He reached over and seized her hand, brought her wrist to his lips. Her eyes widened and her pulse jumped beneath his touch. A growing hunger roared through him. He wanted to put his tongue against that pulse point and kiss his way along her arm until he reached her mouth.

      As if she’d read that thought in his face she reclaimed her hand. He forced himself to focus on the conversation, rather than her intriguing scent.

      ‘I’m asking nothing more than that you be Carla’s friend.’

      The way her gaze darted away betrayed her assumed composure. ‘That’s okay, then. As long as we’re on the same page.’

      ‘The same page’ meant no fling, no relationship...no kissing. He had to keep things simple between them. There was too much at stake.

      ‘Definitely on the same page,’ he assured her.

      Starting something with Mia was out of the question. She wouldn’t last the distance any more than Caitlin had. His whole way of life was anathema to her.

      A fist reached inside his gut and squeezed. Caitlin had left him at the absolute lowest point in his life. The devastation of losing his parents and her had... It had almost annihilated him. The shock of it still rebounded in his soul. The only thing that had kept him going was Carla, and the knowledge that she’d needed him. He’d found his feet. Eventually. He wasn’t going to have them cut out from under him again by repeating the same mistakes.

      He turned to find Mia halfway through a sentence.

      ‘... I mean, we can give you overalls, but that’s not going to really help, is it?’

      She was worried he’d ruin his clothes? ‘I have my workout gear in the car.’

      She folded her arms. ‘Along with a four-hundred-dollar pair of trainers, no doubt? I don’t want to be held responsible for wrecking those.’

      He had no idea how much his trainers had cost. But she was probably right. ‘Couldn’t you rustle me up a pair of boots?’

      She gave a reluctant shrug. ‘Maybe. Are you sure you want to do this?’

      ‘Absolutely.’

      ‘We’ll need to register you as a volunteer. There’ll be forms to fill out and signatures required to ensure you’re covered by the Plum Pines insurance.’

      The more she tried to put him off, the more determined he became.

      He rose with a decisive clap of his hands. ‘Then let’s get to it.’

      She rose too, shaking her head. ‘Don’t say you weren’t warned.

      * * *

      ‘What’s going on here?’ Gordon boomed, coming into the office just as Dylan emerged from the change room wearing the overalls and boots that Mia had found for him.

      She sat nearby, already dressed for an afternoon of hard work.

      She shot to her feet. ‘Dylan—’

      ‘Mr Fairweather,’ Gordon corrected with a pointed glare.

      ‘Dylan,’ Dylan confirmed, deciding it would be just as satisfying to punch Gordon on the end of his bulbous nose as it would Thierry. He glanced at Mia and wondered when he’d become so bloodthirsty. ‘I’ve decided to register as a volunteer.’ He shoved his shoulders back. ‘I want to see first-hand what my hundred-thousand-dollar donation will be subsidising.’

      Gordon’s jowls worked for a moment. ‘It’s very generous of you to give both your money and your time to Plum Pines...’

      Behind Gordon’s back, Mia gestured that they should leave. Dylan shrugged himself into full supercilious mode and deigned to nod in the other man’s direction.

      ‘Good afternoon, Gordon.’

      ‘Good afternoon, Mr Fairweather.’

      Dylan didn’t invite Gordon to call him by his Christian name—just strode out through the door that Mia held open for him.

      Behind him he heard Gordon mutter to the receptionist, ‘Bloody trust fund babies,’ before the door closed behind them.

      Mia grinned as she strode along beside him. ‘I think he likes you.’

      He glanced at her grin and then threw his head back and roared.

      * * *

      ‘What on earth...?’

      The moment Dylan rounded the side of their family home—affectionately dubbed ‘The Palace’—Carla shot to her feet. Behind her a vista of blue sea and blue sky stretched to the horizon. It was a view he never tired of.

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