LITMIR.BIZ

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later she was seated at her computer, fingers flying over the keyboard as she chased any remnant of information about the mysterious Luke Ansfield.

      He had said he owned property near the solar energy community, so she started by accessing council records of neighbouring landholders. Most of the names were familiar, from various news stories or local events, but one very large property was registered in the name of a holding company whose name she didn’t recognise. She would bet her last dollar that company was owned by Luke Ansfield.

      Noting the address, she made an effort to suppress her rising excitement and get at least a few hours’ sleep. Tomorrow she would go in search of her reticent rescuer.

      

      By morning her certainty had receded a little. What if he did own the land but didn’t welcome visitors? She considered telephoning ahead but rejected the idea. If she turned up unannounced, he could hardly tell her not to come.

      Having covered the Sunville story, she knew the area in the Gold Coast Hinterland where the property was located. The narrow road wound through the foothills near Nerang to the Beechmont Plateau.

      Around her, rolling green slopes were dotted with beef cattle farms. She kept her pace slow and her eyes open for horseback riders. One accident for the week was quite enough.

      The turn-off to Luke’s land was so overgrown that she almost missed it. She wasn’t sure whether she’d expected high wrought-iron gates and electric fences, but it certainly hadn’t been the inconspicuous post-and-rail entry that she found. A small sign identified the property as Hilltop.

      If you wanted to be discreet this was a good way to go about it, she thought, although the deeply rutted dirt track winding up the face of an almost vertical mountain seemed like overkill.

      She had just about given up on reaching any human habitation when the road opened onto a clearing among the forest trees. In the centre was a colonial-style house of substantial proportions.

      Care had been taken to incorporate traditional materials and colours. The building had wide verandahs surrounding its U-shaped design. What looked like a natural rock-pool, but probably wasn’t, served as a swimming pool off to one side of the clearing. Picturesque was the first word which sprang to Sarah’s mind.

      At least here was a residence befitting Luke Ansfield’s status, she thought, feeling her spirits lift. She had begun to have serious doubts after traversing that daunting driveway.

      Fresh doubts assailed her as she spotted a man polishing a jade-green Branxton cabriolet. Just the sort of car she’d imagined Luke Ansfield driving, but the man working on it wasn’t Luke.

      The man met her halfway from her car. ‘Are you lost?’

      Her reflection stared disconcertingly back at her from the car’s glossy finish. She looked away. ‘Is this your place?’

      The man’s face hardened slightly as he sensed her evasion. ‘I live here, yes.’

      Sarah also had an instinct for evasiveness. He hadn’t exactly answered her question. She took the plunge. ‘I’m looking for Luke Ansfield.’

      The man frowned. ‘What makes you think he’s here?’

      ‘It is his property, isn’t it?’ she persisted.

      The man dropped the chamois leather he was wielding and came closer. ‘I think you’d better leave.’

      ‘It’s all right, Glen. You could say I was expecting her.’

      At the sound of his voice a strange sensation wound along her spine, all the way to the soles of her feet. Luke Ansfield was her rescuer. She would recognise that deeply resonant voice anywhere. She spun around. ‘Hello, Luke. I came to the right place after all.’

      His midnight-blue eyes were masked behind dark glasses and his mouth tightened. ‘I had no doubt that you would, Ms Fox.’

      ‘It was Sarah yesterday.’ Damn, why was her voice so husky all of a sudden? She’d interviewed royalty without such a betraying effect.

      He gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘Yesterday I didn’t know who you were until I pulled you out of that crumpled car.’

      ‘You mean, if you’d known you’d have let the car blow up and take me with it?’

      ‘Hardly. What do you want, Sarah?’

      It was progress of a sort, but his tone was hardly encouraging. She was also aware of the man, Glen, leaning against the Branxton, absorbing every word. Who was he—assistant, bodyguard? Both? ‘I wanted to thank you for saving my life,’ she offered.

      ‘You thanked me yesterday.’

      ‘Well, I...didn’t know who you were then.’

      A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘Does it make a difference?’

      She threw caution to the wind. ‘You kissed me yesterday. It’s at least worth an introduction.’

      He looked as if keeping his temper in check was requiring considerable effort, but he said, ‘Come inside.’ To the other man, he said, ‘No need to loose the dogs yet, Glen.’

      Following him inside, she flicked a nervous glance over her shoulder. ‘Dogs?’

      ‘Guard dogs,’ he supplied, confirming her fears. ‘Between Glen and the Dobermanns, I’m well protected up here.’

      Well protected from what? Or from whom? Fans from his racing days, or the problem in his past Kitty had alluded to? Either way, Sarah was grateful Luke wasn’t making any moves to set Glen or the dogs onto her yet.

      As he strode ahead of her into the house she again became aware of his sheer physical presence. Yesterday she’d put his startling impact down to the shock of the accident. But what was today’s excuse?

      She made herself focus on the imposing kitchen into which he led her. It seemed to be the hub of the house, judging by the vast colonial table which was strewn with papers and a state-of-the-art laptop computer. Dog toys on the floor reminded her uncomfortably of the absent Dobermanns, and the sheer size of a chewed wicker basket made her gulp in dismay.

      She brought her gaze back to Luke himself. ‘Coffee?’ he asked, and when she nodded, he began setting up a plunger coffee-maker. His movements were assured, economical and definitely sexy. A man who elevated coffee-making to an art form, she thought with a start.

      In an amazingly short space of time he set before her a cup of the most delicious coffee.

      ‘My own blend,’ he told her when she said so.

      She looked around the beautifully appointed kitchen and into the comfortable luxury of the house she could glimpse beyond it. ‘This is a lovely home. Do you live here all the time?’

      Tension radiated visibly along his broad shoulders. ‘Is this an interview?’

      The sheer mystery of the man had aroused her reporter’s instincts, but she’d resisted the temptation, knowing her interest in him was much more personal. Since she didn’t want to admit as much, she said, ‘It is news, yes. When the Coast to Coast audience finds out who my knight in shining armour turned out to be—’

      ‘They aren’t going to.’

      His furious denial cut across her so abruptly that she spilled coffee into the saucer. ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘I said they won’t find out because you are not going to tell them.’

      She’d known he was camera-shy but this was totally unexpected. ‘Surely your neighbours know who you are? Your face isn’t exactly unknown.’

      ‘My neighbours mind their own business, as I would prefer you to do,’ he stated, in a tone which suggested she would do well to co-operate. ‘These days I’m an ordinary man living an ordinary life, and I value my privacy highly. I would have thought that message came across clearly enough yesterday.’

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