Her guide to adventure…in and out of the bedroom

New Zealand wilderness guide Malcolm Quinn is stunned to learn that his father’s body—lost near the summit of Everest almost twenty years ago—has been found. The discovery stirs up painful memories for Mal, and brings eager reporters out in droves. He is ready to resist them all, until he meets the pretty little Yank who turns his blood to liquid lust….

Amy Engalls needs this story to make her career, but Mal refuses to be interviewed. Instead the gorgeous Quinn offers Amy the kind of adventure she’ll never forget. She accepts, realizing she may be jeopardizing her future for a short-term fantasy. By breaking the rules, will she lose everything…including her heart?

Praise for Kate Hoffmann’s Mighty Quinns

“Hoffmann does a wonderful job tying up the ends

of this saga with an open-ended conclusion.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Dex

“Keep your fan handy! It was impossible for me

to put this steamy, sexy book down until the

last page was turned.”

—Fresh Fiction on The Mighty Quinns: Jack

“Strong, imperfect but lovable characters,

an interesting setting and great sensuality.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Brody

“This is a fast read that is hard to tear the eyes from. Once I picked it up I couldn’t put it down.”

—Fresh Fiction on The Mighty Quinns: Dermot

“Sexy, heartwarming and romantic, this is a story to settle down with and enjoy—and then reread.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Teague

“The only drawback to this story is that it’s far too short”!

—Fresh Fiction on The Mighty Quinns: Kellan

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another Mighty Quinn adventure! This time, we’re introducing you to another branch of the family—the New Zealand Quinns: Malcolm, twins Rogan and Ryan, and Dana.

Rugged New Zealand is the perfect playground for these Quinns. Together they run an adventure travel business, giving vacationers the time of their lives all over the world. Adventure is in the Quinns’ blood—their father is a legend in the climbing world, even years after his untimely death on an expedition. Malcolm, as the eldest, has taken responsibility for the business and for his siblings. So when his father’s body is discovered and reporters swarm the family, Mal is determined to protect his mother and siblings from going through that pain again.

Amy Engalls is equally determined to get an interview from Mal. She’s staked her career on this story, and she won’t leave New Zealand empty-handed. But Mal has no intention of letting Amy leave just yet. He promises her an adventure…and not just on the mountain. It’s not the story she came for, it’s not the experience she expected to have, but together, she and Mal may just find ecstasy…and love.

Enjoy the trip!

The Editors

The Mighty Quinns: Malcolm

Kate Hoffmann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kate Hoffmann began writing for Mills & Boon in 1993. Since then, she’s published nearly eighty books, primarily in the Mills & Boon Temptation and Mills & Boon Blaze lines. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys music, theater and musical theater. She is active working with high school students in the performing arts. She lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her cat, Chloe.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Excerpt

Prologue

TENSION HUNG IN the air in the small house in Rotorua, setting everyone on edge. Ten-year-old Malcolm Quinn tried to keep his younger siblings occupied, seeing the growing worry in his mother’s expression. But the twins, seven-year-olds Rogan and Ryan, knew something was up. Only their little sister, Dana, was unaware that all was not right.

Their father, Maxwell Quinn, had left advance base camp with his climbing party and Sherpas earlier that day, ready to conquer Everest. It was his father’s sixth summit attempt and once complete, it would give him a perfect record.

Max Quinn and his partner, Roger Innis, had been guiding Everest expeditions for almost as long as Malcolm had been alive, first working for other expedition companies, and then for the past four seasons, working for themselves. Since founding Outbound Adventure, his father had rarely been home. But when he did walk through the front door, life was suddenly much brighter for the family. For in that moment, they all knew he was safe. They couldn’t say that today.

“What time is it?” Rogan asked.

Mal looked up. His gaze met his brother’s and Mal forced a smile. “Don’t worry. They’re probably just too busy to call. Or maybe they can’t get through. Satellite telephones can be dodgy.”

“But it’s getting late,” Ryan said. “It’s nearly midnight. That means it’s ten there. He should be back at camp by now, shouldn’t he?”

“I’m sure he is. But he has a lot of responsibilities.” Mal repeated the words that his mother had said to him just ten minutes before, hoping they calmed his brother’s concern more than they had his.

Ryan rubbed his eyes. “What if something bad happened?”

“Yeah,” Rogan said. “Maybe they’re afraid to call us.”

Mal crossed the room and pulled them both to their feet. “Go to bed. I’ll wake you when the call comes. I promise.”

To his great relief, they wandered off in the direction of their bedroom. Mal waited until the door shut behind them, then turned and hurried into the kitchen. Lydie Quinn sat at the kitchen table, Dana curled up in her arms, sound asleep. His mother was humming a tune that Mal didn’t recognize, repeating the same phrase over and over again.

Mal silently walked by her and put the teakettle on to boil. When he sat down across from her, she refused to look at him, her eyes fixed on a point above his head.

“Mum?”

Her gaze didn’t falter and the tune continued.

“Mum, would you like a cup of tea?”

Mal watched as tears welled up in his mother’s eyes. He rose to comfort her and as he did, the phone rang.

“Don’t answer it,” she said.

“But, I—”

“Don’t.” She shook her head, the tears now tumbling down her cheeks. He’d never seen his mother cry before and Mal wasn’t quite sure what to do. Dana stirred in her arms and Lydie grasped her daughter to her more tightly, rocking back and forth.

Mal quietly picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Who is this?”

“Malcolm Quinn.”

“Malcolm, it’s Roger Innis. I need to speak with your mother.”

“No,” Malcolm said. “You can tell me.”

“Son, put your mother on the phone. It’s very important. This is no time for childish games.”

“She won’t speak with you,” Mal insisted. “She can’t. We know something is wrong. Just tell me and I’ll tell her.”

As he listened to his father’s partner explain the situation, Mal slowly began to realize that his life—and the lives of his mother and siblings—would never be the same.

1

IT WAS GOOD to be home.

Malcolm Quinn grabbed his duffel from the back of his battered Range Rover and hefted it over his shoulder with a groan. He’d left Greenland three days ago after leading a four-week expedition across the ice cap from east to west, following the Arctic Circle. After boarding a bush flight from Greenland to Iceland, he’d flown from Reykjavik to Copenhagen, then to Dubai, then to Sydney and finally landed in Auckland just that morning after two days in airports. The two-hour drive home to Raglan was the final leg of his trip, and now that he was home, he could finally relax.

To say he was knackered was an understatement. But it was the good kind of exhaustion that he only experienced after a successful expedition. His clients had been thrilled with the experience and were grateful he’d led them on a trip without a single serious hitch.

But it was nice to be able to walk around in a light jacket and shorts. It was early April, spring in the northern hemisphere. But in New Zealand, winter was on its way. Still, the weather felt balmy compared to the constant cold of the Arctic.

The offices for Maximum Adrenaline were located in a low-slung white clapboard building just outside the town limits. For a company that specialized in high adventure, the office was rather unremarkable, distinguished from other nearby businesses by just a small sign above the door. A porch spanned the front facade; weathered wooden furniture was scattered along the wide expanse.

As he slammed the hatch on the SUV, the front door opened and the family dog, Duffy, came bounding out, followed by Mal’s younger sister, Dana. “Hey, Duff, look at you. Hey, Dana.”

The black Lab was so excited he wasn’t sure what to do with himself, and when Mal squatted down, Duffy knocked him off his feet. He surrendered to a thorough tongue bath, laughing as the dog pinned him to the ground. When he finally was able to sit up, Duffy had stretched out across his lap, the dog’s subtle way of keeping him in one spot.

“I can’t move,” Mal said to his sister, “or I’d give you a hug.”

“Welcome home,” Dana said. “I expected you tomorrow.”

“I caught an earlier flight. Martin stayed with our gear to get it through customs. God, it’s good to be home.”

Duffy wriggled in his lap, nuzzling his wet nose under Mal’s chin. “Enough, Duff,” he said, struggling to his feet.

“He’s missed you,” Dana said.

“I’m sure he hasn’t thought of me since I left. Considering the way you baby him, you’re the only one he’d truly miss.”

“I’ve been taking him running every day. And he’s actually lost a bit of weight.”

Mal bent down and patted the dog on his flank. “Ugh, don’t talk about exercise. Right now, I need a stiff drink and a shower. And I’m not sure which I’ll have first. Then, I’m heading into town to kick back and get laid. And I’m not sure which will come first.”

It was an unwritten rule in the guiding business that you didn’t bonk the clients, no matter how attractive they might be. He had one job and one job only—to bring his clients home safely. Sex was a distraction from that responsibility, especially in extreme environments. He was also a bit superstitious. You didn’t disrespect the mountain gods.

That didn’t mean the trekkers and climbers didn’t have sex in their own tents, but Mal turned a blind eye and often made excuses when the locals were offended.

So from the time he left until the time he returned, he lived a celibate life. But when he got back to Raglan, Mal knew a handful of girls that were willing to provide a randy bloke with a night or two in bed, no strings attached. Raglan was a surf capital, a beach town with a plethora of pretty girls.

Though Mal and his brothers were considered attractive, there weren’t many women on the North Island who wanted to settle down with a guy who was gone ten months out of the year, no matter how good he was in the sack. Which was just fine by Mal. He’d never been interested in anything long-term. His life was pretty perfect the way it was. And he wasn’t prepared to alter it to make a woman happy—no matter how good she might be in bed.

Besides, he had his family’s business to keep afloat. Any time wasted on a woman was time he could put to better use building their clientele, getting publicity for Maximum Adrenaline and working out new trips to offer.

“Any important messages for me?” Mal asked his sister as he got up.

He strode toward the door, but Dana stayed glued to the spot at the base of the porch steps. Mal turned to motion to her, then saw the pained expression on her face. A sick fear clutched at his gut and he drew a sharp breath. Something was wrong. “What is it? Is it Ryan? Rogan?”

His younger brother was climbing Lhotse in the Himalayas with an Aussie film crew. And Ryan’s twin, Rogan, was in Alaska, doing a prep course for a Denali climb. Either trip had the potential for trouble. And then there were the other hundred or so guides that they employed on various expeditions throughout the year. “Who is it?”

“It’s Dad,” she murmured.

“Dad?” Their father had died twenty years ago this spring, somewhere near the summit of Mt. Everest. Mal had been ten, the twins seven and Dana only five.

His sister nodded, fighting back tears. “They found his body.”

Mal gasped. “When?”

“Three weeks ago. Gary Branbauer’s expedition. The snow cover has been light this year and as they were descending, they noticed a flash of color in the snow. It was him.”

“How do they know?” Mal asked.

“They took a photo and got a GPS bearing. Roger Innis confirmed it was the right location and gear. The news is out and the media has been calling. It’s been crazy.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” He and Dana had been in contact by satellite phone at least four or five times over the past three weeks. And he’d been a simple email away for the past two days.

“I decided to wait until you got home. I haven’t said anything to Ryan and Rogan either, although considering how the news is spreading, they’ll probably both hear about it before I can tell them in person.”

“Mum,” Mal said. “She knows?”

Dana nodded. “She’s a little upset over all the attention. They’ve been calling and wanting to talk to her, but so far she’s refused to comment. She’s coming to stay with me for the weekend.”

The media attention made sense. Maxwell Quinn had been one of the most renowned climbers of his generation and, in the early ’90s, only one of a handful of men who had completed the Seven Summits in less than a year. Max’s partner, Roger Innis, had used the media coverage after Max’s death to his advantage, claiming that Max had died trying to rescue a client. With all the publicity, Outbound Adventure had suddenly become a high-profile guiding company.

But because of a badly written business agreement, Lydie Quinn had been left with virtually nothing. All the business assets went to Innis, and though Max was supposed to have had a life insurance policy through the company, Innis had stopped paying the premiums a few months before the Everest expedition. So Lydie had been forced to sell their little house in Rotorua and move the family back to Auckland, where they’d lived with Mal’s grandparents.

Though they’d moved away from their childhood home, Max Quinn’s sons couldn’t forget his legacy. So they’d started their own adventure guiding business, the name a nod to their father—Maximum Adrenaline. In deference to their mother, they refused to return to Everest, but with only two eight-thousand-foot expeditions on their trip list, it had been hard to compete with Innis’s company.

The family’s relationship with Roger Innis became almost hostile when they became competitors, with Outbound Adventure doing all it could to win the battle for clients and reputation.

But Innis took chances, sometimes putting his clients at risk in order to get them to the top of a mountain. The Quinns were known to err on the side of caution, and for climbers who paid dearly to get to the summit, this was not always a popular choice. Nor was it flashy enough to get them the media coverage they needed to expand their business.

But they were getting it now, weren’t they?

Mal sat down on the front steps and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“Well, you’d better come up with something. We’re going to have to make a statement to the media at some point. I didn’t think it was my place, and Mum just refuses to talk about it.”

“All right. The next person who calls, have them ring my mobile and I’ll make a statement.”

“There’s something else,” she murmured.

“Please tell me the business is bankrupt or my house has burned to the ground. I’d be much more equipped to cope.”

“Innis announced that he’s going to mount an expedition to recover Dad’s effects.”

Mal felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach, his breath leaving him. “What the hell? Where does he get off? It’s his fault Dad is dead. Does he think he can make up for that by rescuing him now? He should have done his job twenty years ago.”

There had been whispers all those years ago, comments from other climbers about Innis’s reckless disregard for his partner’s safety. They’d said he’d made decisions that had directly contributed to Max Quinn’s death. But those had only been rumors; no one knew the real story except for Roger Innis and Mal’s father—and neither one of them was talking.

Dana wrapped her arm around Mal’s and leaned against him. “It’s just talk,” she said. “Publicity. You know how he is—he’ll use anything to get his business in the news. Just last month he had the cover story in High Adventure magazine for his Antarctica expedition.”

“The cover?” Mal cursed. “How the hell does he manage that?” Mal had been trying to get a feature in High Adventure for years. Mal was convinced the glossy American magazine was key to capturing more American clientele. “I suppose he’s hoping for another cover with this harebrained scheme of his. The bludger.”

“He can’t mount a trip to Everest until at least next spring, and even then, he’d have to get permits and shuffle his clients around. By then all the interest will have died down and—”

“He wants Dad’s journal,” Mal muttered. “He’s well aware Dad kept it in his climbing suit and he’s afraid of what might be written there. Innis has worked all these years to rebuild his reputation. He’s not going to let it all fall apart now.”

The sound of a phone ringing echoed from the office and Dana stood up. “Probably another reporter.”

“Do you want me to handle it?” Mal asked.

“No. You’re just home. You deserve a chance to relax a bit. I’ll tell them what I’ve been saying for three weeks. No comment. Although that seems to make them even more determined to get a quote.” She paused. “You know, maybe we should give an interview. All of us, Mum, too. The publicity couldn’t hurt. We could beat Innis at his own game.”

“Maybe,” he murmured.

“And High Adventure magazine has rung three times in the past few days. I told the girl you’d be back tomorrow. Maybe you should talk to her.”

A feature article about their father and the Quinn family business might finally bring them out of the shadow of Roger Innis. Especially if they mounted their own expedition. Maybe it was time they learned the truth about that week on Everest.

But did he really want to know? It wouldn’t change anything. His father would still be dead and he’d force his mother to relive the tragedy all over again. And he’d promised her that he and his brothers would never climb Everest. There were so many reasons not to go.

Yet Mal couldn’t help but wonder if learning the truth—his father’s truth—might not put to rest some of the pain he and his family had suffered. Could the answers be found in his father’s journal? Had he written his farewells there before he died on the mountain? There were so many unanswered questions.

“I’m going to go see Mum,” Mal said, pushing to his feet. “And then I’m going home to grab a shower and a drink, and maybe I’ll get myself a haircut.”

“What about the woman?” Dana asked with a wry smile.

“That might have to wait,” he murmured.

Mal gave Duff a rough pet and the dog trotted beside him to the Range Rover. “You want me to take him?”

“No, I’ll keep him.”

He waved at his sister, Duffy at her side, as he drove out to the main road. Life had always been pretty uncomplicated for Mal and he liked it that way. But the reality of their business problems was beginning to weigh on him. There was never extra money; he could barely afford to make rent from month to month. When finances were tight, he bought new equipment instead of food and ate expired rations from their expedition stockpile.

He reached into his pocket and grabbed the wad of cash that he had left over from the client tips he and the other guides had divided amongst themselves. He’d take enough for a single night out. The rest would have to go to pay the bills.

“I’d better make it a bloody good night,” he muttered. “I’ve had enough of living like a damn monk.”

* * *

“HEY, BILLY FINSTER! Set me up with a pint and make it quick. I’ve got myself a powerful thirst!”

The shout echoed through the empty pub and Amy Engalls looked up from her laptop at the tall, lanky man who strode up to the bar. His hair was shaggy and he wore a well-worn T-shirt and faded jeans. The cap on his head was turned backward and his eyes were hidden by a pair of bright blue sunglasses.

He glanced around and his eyes lingered on her for a long moment. Amy grabbed a quick breath and held it. Was this Malcolm Quinn? He wasn’t due back until tomorrow, but she’d studied the photos and it could be him. Word around town was that he and his brothers hung out at Brawley’s Pub near his place on the beach. So she’d decided to stake it out. When he turned away, she quickly pulled a file folder from her bag and searched for a reference.

Her breath slowly escaped as she stared down at the handsome face in the photo, then compared it to the profile of the man at the bar.

An instant later, the barkeeper burst through the swinging kitchen door and confirmed her suspicions. “Mal Quinn, you old dog. I was wonderin’ when you’d roll back in. Where was it you were?”

“Greenland,” Mal said as he slid onto a stool.

The barkeeper drew him a glass of beer and set the pint in front of him. “Bloody hell, what’s in Greenland?”

Mal took off his sunglasses and tossed them on the bar. “Lots of ice. And snow and cold.”

“Any pretty girls?”

Mal laughed. “Not that I saw. The whole expedition was blokes. Not a woman for miles.”

Billy nodded, then slapped his hands on the worn wood surface of the bar. “At that is exactly the reason why you’ll never find me out there, trudging up some mountainside or walking across some bloody glacier. I can’t do without female companionship. And they can’t do without me.”

“You can’t do without your smokes and Foster’s for more than a day,” Mal teased. “It’s hard yakka out there. Not for a piker like you.”

The barkeeper frowned, then patted his stomach. “I could get in shape for it. Give up the ale and the cigs. You could put me with a group of ladies and I’d keep them all entertained.”

Amy listened as they exchanged jibes, silently taking in Mal’s appearance. How would she describe him in her story? Tall, graceful, fit. He was thin but muscular, broad shouldered and narrow hipped. His dark hair was long and shaggy and streaked by the sun, and his tanned face was shadowed by the stubble of a beard.

He was, by all accounts, one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen. The pictures she had didn’t come close to conveying the energy that surrounded him. He was powerful and focused, even in casual conversation. Here was a man who lived life to the fullest, a man who wasn’t afraid of danger. A man she wanted.

She shifted uneasily, surprised by the depth of her attraction to him. It wasn’t just his looks. It was something deeper, more perplexing. Maybe she admired his courage because she had never had much of her own. She’d spent her entire life accepting what was tossed her way and had never really stood up for herself.

Until now, she hoped. She was here to change the course of her life. And she wasn’t about to let opportunity slip by, even if it meant approaching an impossibly sexy man and convincing him to do something he wouldn’t want to do.

A phone rang and Billy moved to the end of the bar to answer it. Amy continued to observe Mal Quinn from her spot at her table, wondering how she ought to introduce herself. Should she take the initiative now, or wait until tomorrow? What if she didn’t get another chance?

She’d worked as a copy editor for High Adventure magazine for the past six years, hoping for her big break into feature writing. But most of the feature writers were adventurers themselves, out in the world, doing daring deeds and living to tell their tales. She was just an ordinary girl who could write a really good story. An ordinary girl who just happened to be the publisher’s daughter.

Amy had never wanted to write for an adventure magazine. In truth, she would have been happy working at any one of the numerous women’s publications that her father owned. But with her father’s twisted sense of purpose, he’d put an impossible goal in front of her and challenged her to meet it, all the while assuming she’d fail. That was the way it had always been with Richard Engalls. He wanted his children to prove they were worthy of his valuable attention. Her brother had been a model student and was an adventurer himself. But Amy didn’t seem to possess the Engalls backbone. She was her mother’s daughter, still scarred by her parents’ divorce when she was thirteen, still hoping that her father might notice her and approve.

Which was why she was here. Amy knew a good story when she read one. And just because she’d never been on a big adventure didn’t mean she couldn’t write an adventure story, did it? For the first time in her life, she’d show her father that she had what it took to succeed in publishing. She’d cashed in her savings and wagered it on one bet—that she could land a feature with the Quinn brothers. She’d follow their journey, documenting the story of the three Quinn brothers in regular articles. It had everything her editor looked for in a feature—conflict, emotion, a high-profile location and adventurers with personality.

Her editor had scoffed at the notion that Amy could get an exclusive and convince her father to fund the expedition. But beneath his bluster, she could tell the editor had found her idea intriguing, and she didn’t doubt that he’d go to her father at the first available opportunity and ask for the story himself. But Amy was one step ahead of both of them. She took her two weeks of vacation and, after checking Mal Quinn’s online itinerary, bought a plane ticket from New York to Auckland.

Gathering her courage, she pushed her chair back and walked to the bar. She’d order something to eat and maybe strike up a conversation with Mal. She’d almost reached a spot beside him when his mobile rang. He fished it out of his pocket and then slid off the stool and walked to the front door, stepping out into the afternoon sunshine.

Amy groaned inwardly. She was no good at this. Give her a manuscript and she could make it pulse with excitement. She was better with words than people, and she’d never been comfortable talking to strangers. And now, because of her dithering, she’d lost her chance. Mal Quinn had walked out the door. What if he didn’t come back? Even worse, what if he did?

Talking to a handsome, sexy man wasn’t exactly her forte. Her palms sweated and her heart pounded in her chest and every rational thought just slipped out of her head. It was a wonder she’d managed to have relationships at all. She had, though they were never anything she wanted to make permanent.

When Billy the barkeeper returned from his phone call, Amy slid onto a stool.

“What can I get you, darlin’?” he asked. “Another diet cola?”

“I—I thought I’d have something to eat. Do you have any specials today?”

“Bangers and mash, mussels in cream sauce and a crispy salmon patty. The soup is a crab chowder. The kitchen opens for supper in another half hour. I can probably scratch up a sammie for you or some potato fries if you can’t wait.”

“I’ll just have a bag of crisps,” Amy said. “And a beer. Whatever you have on tap.”

She needed the drink. Diet cola wasn’t going to give her any courage at all. It only made her jittery. She drew a deep breath, then heard the door open behind her. Afraid to look, Amy tried to appear nonchalant.

Billy brought her the beer and crisps. “That’ll be six dollars.”

“I’ll get it.”

She froze as she heard his voice behind her. Slowly, Amy turned, and her gaze met his. Oh, hell, he was even more handsome close up. He had that rugged, outdoorsy thing going on. The kind of man that just oozed masculinity. He probably smelled like fresh air and soap and woodsmoke.

Amy wanted to speak, but she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She gulped some air and felt the blood rush to her head as he came closer. Oh, he did smell good. But like cologne, subtle and musky.

Was she supposed to accept his gesture? Was that why he was regarding her so strangely? “I—I have money,” Amy finally managed to say.

“So do I,” he said with a crooked smile. “I’m just back from a month away and I’ve got tips burning a hole in my pocket. I reckoned I’d buy the house a drink.”

“There’s only two of us here,” she said.

He leaned closer. “I know. The perfect plan, don’t you think?”

“Thank you,” she murmured, grabbing her beer and crisps. “And—and welcome home.”

She hurried back to her table, needing just a moment to regroup. All right, he was handsome and very charming. And that smile was enough to melt any woman’s resistance. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t act like a professional.

Amy fixed her attention on her computer screen, afraid to risk another glance. The problem was, she really wasn’t a professional journalist. She knew exactly what made for a perfect story, she could even write a perfect story. She’d just never gone out and found a story. There were probably all sorts of tricks that journalists used to get their subject to confess all their deepest secrets. She just had no idea what those tricks were. She’d been more worried about beating her father and her editor to the story than to research journalistic practices.

Should she introduce herself right off the bat or should she get friendly with him first and ease her way into an interview? Maybe she could just get him to talk about his work or his family and he wouldn’t even realize she was interviewing him. Was that ethical? Probably not, but it might be the only way she could get what she needed.

“So what are you staring at? You seem awfully intent on that screen. Let me guess. Porn?”

Amy froze, then slowly looked up. “No, not porn. It’s my work computer. I can’t watch porn on my work computer. That would be against the rules.”

“Do you always follow the rules, then?”

“I—I try to,” Amy murmured. Mal pulled out the chair across from her, turned it around and straddled the seat. He rested his arm across the back and took a slow sip of his beer. “Go ahead. Carry on. I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

Amy’s heart slammed in her chest as she refocused on the screen in front of her. Here he was, ready to talk. Now she just had to keep up her end of the conversation. “Thank you for the drink—and the crisps.” She glanced up to find him grinning at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” Malcolm replied. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

She scanned the room. “I—I don’t understand.” Then she realized he was talking about her. Amy’s face flushed with embarrassment.

“I haven’t seen a beautiful woman in a month, so I’m just going to sit here and stare at you, if you don’t mind. I’ll try not to bother you.”

Pretty? Did he really think she was pretty? She’d never really applied that term to herself. She wasn’t unattractive, just...ordinary.

“You must have been gone longer than a month if you think I’m pretty,” she murmured, unable to keep herself from returning the smile.

“Aw, now, don’t say that. You’re lovely.”

She glanced around the pub. “I don’t have much competition,” she countered.

“Well, I happen to be a very good judge of beauty. I’ve seen some of the most beautiful places in the world. So trust me on this.”

“Thank you,” Amy said. “For the crisps and the compliment.”

“I’m Mal Quinn, by the way,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Amy said.

A long silence fell between them as she tried to decide what to do. In the end, she didn’t have a choice, the introduction just came out. “I’m Amy Engalls. I’m a reporter from High Adventure magazine and I’ve come here to interview you.”

She quickly grabbed his hand and shook it, then held on tight, hoping that he wouldn’t get up and walk out the door.

He studied her silently, as if he needed time to form a response. “Well, I certainly didn’t expect that.” Mal slowly got to his feet. “I suppose you want a quote. I’ll make it quick and painless. No comment.”

He pulled out of her grasp and headed toward the door. Amy hurried after him. “Wait. I’m sorry. Let me explain.”

“No explanation necessary,” he muttered. “Billy, it was nice seeing you again.”

The barkeeper watched them, confused. “You goin’ already, Mal?”

“Yeah. The place is a little quiet for my tastes right now. I’ll be back later.” He set his glass on the bar and walked out.

Amy looked at Billy and groaned. “I’m sorry,” she called.

“What the hell did you say to him?” Billy asked.

“No comment.” She hurried over to her table and gathered her things, hoping she could catch up to him. A real reporter wouldn’t give up her story without a fight, and neither would Amy.

* * *

THE MOMENT MAL got outside the pub, he let out a long string of profanities. He’d realized he’d have to deal with this sooner or later, but he hadn’t expected it this soon. What the hell was a reporter doing here, in his hometown? The story must be much bigger than he’d ever assumed.

And how the hell was he supposed to react? He and his family had dealt with the loss for nearly twenty years now, and yet the pain hadn’t dulled at all. There were still the “what ifs,” all the possible scenarios that could have unfolded that day on the mountain that could have resulted in a different outcome. Those were the worst.

What might it have been like to grow up with a father? It wasn’t as if his childhood had been bad. There’d just been a huge, gaping hole in his family that Max Quinn should have filled. How was he supposed to explain these things to a total stranger? This wasn’t about some frozen body on Mount Everest. This was about his father.

“Mr. Quinn!”

He spun around to find the reporter running toward him. In the next instant, she stumbled over a crack in the pavement and before he could reach to help her, she went down, face-first. “Oh, hell,” Mal muttered, racing to her side.

By the time he got to her, she had managed to sit up, but both her knees were scraped and bleeding and her computer was in pieces around her. “Oh, no,” she said, picking up the shattered bits of plastic.

“Are you all right? Did you hit your head?”

She reached up and touched her forehead. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Anything broken? Does it hurt anywhere?”

“Just my pride,” she said, wincing.

He met her eyes and his anger softened. She was only trying to do her job. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so rude. “Can you stand?”

She nodded her head. He took her hand and helped her to her feet. “Thank you.”

“What’s your name again?”

“Amy Engalls.”

“Amy Engalls from High Adventure,” Mal said. “Any relation to Richard Engalls, the publisher?”

“He’s my father,” she said.

“And that would make David Engalls your brother?”

“Yes,” she said.

Richard Engalls had built his media empire, in part, to fund his love of adventure. He’d circumnavigated the globe in a balloon, had attempted to row across the Atlantic, and had climbed all Seven Summits. He’d also funded a number of expeditions and was the go-to investor in adventure expeditions after the National Geographic Society. Mal had also met David Engalls, the younger version of his father, who was very good at spending millions of Daddy’s money on his own exotic adventures. Mal’s opinion of David was that he was a horse’s arse—but a very wealthy horse’s arse. Mal had never known there was a daughter involved in the business, as well.

He reached down to brush the dust off her skirt, moving to a spot on her backside before he realized what he was doing. She had a very nice bum, as bums went. In fact, there wasn’t much about Amy Engalls that he found unattractive—beyond her profession. “Come on. Let’s get those scrapes fixed. I live just down the road. I’ve got antiseptic and bandages.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

“If I were you, Amy Engalls, I’d accept my offer. And while I’m bandaging your knees, you can try to get a comment out of me.”

This brought a smile to her pretty face. “All right.”

He picked up the pieces of her computer and then led her to the Range Rover. She groaned in pain as he helped her climb up into the passenger seat. Mal jogged around to his side and hopped in, then started the car.

As they headed out of town, he glanced over at her. She was pretty. Not overblown gorgeous, but cute in a clean, girl-next-door way. Her pale hair fell in waves around her face, framing eyes that were an odd mix of green and blue. Although none of her features were particularly striking, when put together, they made a face that he found very pleasant to look at.

As for her body, she was slender, but there were curves in the right places. Coming from a climbing family, he expected her to be lean and wiry, the kind of woman who could hold her own on a mountainside. But instead, she seemed soft and feminine despite clothes that did nothing to enhance her figure.

“So tell me about yourself, Amy Engalls. Do you share your family’s love of adventure?”

“Oh, yes,” she said.

“What was the last mountain you stumbled up?”

She laughed softly. “Very funny. I’m not always so clumsy. I studied ballet. I’m just not used to...running.”

“I can see that. That was quite a fall you took.”

“I wasn’t actually running, I was chasing. You,” she said.

“Oh, and now you’re blaming me?”

“No, I just wanted to explain.”

“That you studied ballet?”

“No, why I came here to interview you.”

“You have me alone right now. It’s as good a moment as any. Have at it.”

She didn’t say anything for a long time and Mal waited, wondering what her first question might be. “I’m not sure I can do this,” she finally said.

“Do what?”

“Pry into your personal life,” she said.

“You’re not a top-notch chaser, and if you won’t pry, you won’t get very far as a reporter, either.”

She straightened in her seat. “All right. Tell me how you felt when you heard the news that they’d found your father.”

“My father’s body,” he corrected. Mal could explain exactly how he’d felt. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to start blathering on about it. From the time of his father’s death, he and his family had always maintained a stiff upper lip. Max Quinn had died doing what he loved, that was what they’d always said. And no one ever knew when he’d go. He could be hit by a bus tomorrow.

And yet, what had that answer ever gotten them?

Mal glanced over at her and sighed softly. “The answer would be...gobsmacked.”

“It must have brought back a lot of memories.”

“He’s never been far from my mind,” Mal admitted.

In truth, his father’s memory had loomed large in Mal’s life. Max Quinn was a legend, a man everyone had assumed was invincible. Hell, he was the bloody Titanic of mountain climbing, the guy who could conquer any peak and do it with a smile.

And the climbing community had expected Mal to take after his father, to court risk, to laugh at danger. But even though Mal wanted to do his father proud, he knew what another loss would do to his family. Yes, he was carrying on his father’s legacy. But would Max Quinn have been proud?

“It’s been a long time,” she said.

“I was ten when he died. My siblings don’t remember him as well as I do.”

“He was just six years older than you are now when he died.”

“Thirty-six,” Mal murmured. Jesus, she was right. His father had already accomplished so much by that age. He’d founded a successful business and had been up and down Everest five times. And what did Mal have to show for his life? A struggling business? A dwindling clientele? He didn’t need to conquer Everest to carry on his father’s legacy. He just needed to run a successful guiding business. At least that was what he’d always told himself.

As they pulled up to Mal’s small “bach” on the beach, he thought of his father, with so much of his life in front of him, with a wife and family back in New Zealand. Had he been flooded with regret in his last moments? Or had he been satisfied that he’d died doing something he loved?

Mal shut off the Range Rover, then rested his hands on the wheel. “Some people said that he was a selfish man. That he should have given up climbing the moment he got married and had children. What do you think?” he asked.

“I think that some people are driven to make something out of their lives. And others are content with what they’re given along the way.”

“And what kind of man am I?” he asked.

“I can’t say,” Amy said. “We’ve only just met.” She paused, then shook her head. “That was a rhetorical question, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe not,” Mal said, opening the car door. “If you come up with an answer, let me know.”

He helped Amy out of the car, grabbing the pieces of her computer as she slid down to the ground. They walked slowly up to the cottage and he pointed to a wooden rocker on the wide porch. “Sit. I’ll be right back.”

He pulled open the screen door and stepped inside. Reporters were all alike, only interested in getting the story they wanted and never worrying about the people involved. Even now, he remembered those days after his father’s death, how they’d been hounded by the media hoping to get photos of the grieving mother and her children. Lydie Quinn had been so upset, she’d refused to let her children leave the house, depending upon friends to bring them what they needed. So Mal knew he shouldn’t trust her.

Yet even though she was a reporter, Mal couldn’t deny that he found her attractive. And she didn’t seem like the kind of cutthroat opportunist that most journalists were. She was...sweet. And he found the “damsel in distress” thing sexy as hell.

“Don’t fool yourself, Mal,” he muttered as he rummaged through a tin of first-aid supplies.

When he returned to Amy, she was bent over, examining her injuries more closely. “It’s not so bad,” she said.

He squatted down in front of her, then sprayed antiseptic onto both knees. She winced and Mal leaned in and blew on her wounds, hoping to take away the sting. “Better?”

“Mmm,” she said, nodding.

He carefully bandaged the scrapes, then slowly ran his hand from knee to ankle. She had beautiful legs, slender yet shapely. He couldn’t seem to help himself and he ran his hand up her calf, enjoying the feel of her flesh beneath his fingers.

When he heard her suck in a sharp breath, Mal risked a look up and found her staring at him, wide-eyed. “It should be good now,” he murmured. He sat back on his heels. “I could use a drink. Would you like one?”

“Sure,” she said. “Water would be fine. Or a diet cola.”

“I was thinking about something a bit stronger. Whiskey, perhaps.”

“Oh, whiskey would be fine,” she said.

Mal straightened, his gaze still locked on hers. He ought to just kiss her now and be done with it. He’d never been the kind of guy to hide his desires. When he wanted a woman, he made it clear from the start. And what was there to stop them? They were two consenting adults. At least, he was consenting.

Mal cursed inwardly. Was he reading her wrong? Was she playing him just to get her story? He could see she was attracted...tempted. But maybe she was trying to be “professional.” “I’m going to go get those drinks,” he said.

2

AMY PUSHED TO her feet and walked to the rail of the porch, staring out at the water. The sun was dropping closer to the horizon and the sunset colors painted the sky in a blaze of orange and pink.

He lived in paradise, she mused. Though the cottage, or bach as he called it, was small, the location couldn’t be beat. But then, Mal probably took stunning scenery for granted.

Her thoughts returned to his comment at the bar, the sideways compliment he’d given her. Mal Quinn had said she was pretty. What did that mean? She knew how it felt. An odd anticipation had settled over her, as if she was waiting for something she wasn’t sure she wanted.

It wasn’t difficult to read his intentions. He’d been on a glacier for the past month with a bunch of guys. He’d rubbed her calf and now he was getting them both a drink.

But if Amy knew only one thing about being a reporter, it was that you didn’t sleep with the subject of your story. She had to maintain professional objectivity, and she couldn’t do that if she was constantly undressing Mal Quinn in her mind.

She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, the images floating through her head. There had been a number of men in her life, but they’d all been rather ordinary—an accountant, a lawyer and the owner of a bookstore. Not the kind of guys who hung off the sides of mountains for a living. They didn’t even venture outside when it was raining.

Mal Quinn was a passionate man. And someone who lived his life on the edge would certainly bring that same intensity to the bedroom. A shiver skittered down her spine at the idea of the two of them together. There was a bed inside his cottage, probably just ten or fifteen short steps away.

The door opened and Mal stepped out onto the porch, a bottle and two tumblers in his hands. He held a glass out to her and then poured a small measure of whiskey into it. After he poured himself a drink, he sat down in the chair next to hers.

They sat silently for a long time, staring out at the sunset. Amy was afraid to talk, sensing that he was still considering her offer to be featured in the magazine. Or was he considering something else? Maybe he was undressing her in his head.

Amy winced inwardly. She didn’t spend a lot of time working out or watching her diet. He was probably used to women who could free-climb a rock wall or trek to the South Pole. There were days when she could barely make it from the subway to her office without complete exhaustion.

“This is a beautiful country,” she said. “Everything is so...wild. Untamed. Unspoiled—”

“I’m not going to do your story,” Mal said. “I can’t.”

“Someone is going to write about this,” she said. “With me, you could get your story out there the way you want it to be told.”

Mal shook his head. “It took my mum a year to make it through the day without crying. I’m not going to make her relive that time. You can write what you want to write, but without me or my brothers.”

“Without you, there’s no story,” Amy murmured.

“You’re not going to write anything?”

Amy shook her head. “I know good stories, and that wouldn’t be a good story. I wanted to write about your father and the aftereffects of the tragedy that took his life.” She shrugged. “I understand that wouldn’t be easy for you.”

She didn’t want to give up, but Amy saw the pain in his expression. The emotions were still raw, the wounds unhealed even after twenty years. She was sure in her heart she could tell their story the right way, putting aside the sensational and focusing on the human element. But if he wasn’t going to participate, what was the point?

Amy pushed to her feet. “I should probably go. I can’t afford to miss any more work.”

“Isn’t this your work?”

She didn’t want to admit the truth to him, but then again, what difference did it make now? “I was hoping if I got this story, I could convince my father to mount an expedition to Everest for you and your brothers.”

He gasped, then looked away. Gulping down the last of his whiskey, Mal sat silently for a long moment. Amy waited, wondering if the revelation might change his mind. “I thought we’d do a series of articles. Profiles on all three of you, then we’d follow the preparations for the expedition. And then cover the expedition itself. I wanted to put a historical perspective on the story and show the way climbing Everest has changed in the past twenty years.”

“You have a lot of grand plans,” he said.

“I do,” Amy admitted.

Was he really considering her offer? Would the expedition change his mind? Amy knew she ought to tell him the truth, that an Everest trip wasn’t actually a firm part of the deal, but if she wanted this story, then she had to do everything in her power to make it happen. That was what a real journalist did.

“I’m still not going to do the story,” he said.

Frustration welled up inside her. So he’d decided to string her along and get her drunk. “Then I think I’ll go back to my hotel.” She walked down the porch steps, then realized that she didn’t have her car. And she wasn’t really sure how to get back to her hotel.

“Come on,” Mal said. “At least let me buy you dinner for your trouble. You came all the way to New Zealand.”

“You already bought me crisps and a beer. I’m good.”

Mal jogged down the steps and grabbed her hand. The physical contact sent a tremor through her body. When he leaned closer, she forgot to breathe. She realized she should put some distance between them. And yet she couldn’t seem to make herself move.

She wanted him to kiss her, to come away with that one singular experience. She’d consider her trip a mild success if she left with that memory. After all, this whole trip had been about expanding her horizons, about reaching for new goals.

“Can I take you out?” he asked. “I promise, I’ll show you a good time.”

She couldn’t help but smile. If he knew the kind of fun that she had in mind, he might not be so anxious to keep her around. Or maybe he would....

Glancing down at their hands, her fingers still caught up in his, Amy realized what she had to do. If she couldn’t have the story, then she’d satisfy herself with the man. Or at least a night out with him. Suddenly, the word adventure took on a whole new meaning.

“All right,” she said. “I am hungry.”

Mal gave her hand a squeeze, then pulled her along to the Range Rover. “A friend of mine has a burger place over on Bow Street. Do you like burgers? Of course you do, you’re American. You’re going to love this place.”

He opened the door and helped her into the truck. Amy watched as he jogged around to the driver’s side. He moved with such ease, as if he was in absolute control of every muscle in his body. What would it feel like to have that body beside her in bed? To be able to touch him at will?

As he slid in behind the wheel, she pushed the thought out of her head. She’d blown all of this entirely out of proportion. He’d touched her calf; he’d squeezed her hand. That didn’t mean he wanted to carry her into his bed and ravish her. It was Mal Quinn’s business to be charming and accommodating. They would have a fun meal, that was all.

She searched her mind for a topic of conversation. Now that he’d refused the article, she didn’t want to probe his past too deeply. She took a different tack. “Do you surf?”

“Yes,” he said. “After my father died, we moved up from the south island. My mum’s parents lived here and we lived with them at first. They ran a little restaurant.”

“Does your whole family still live here?”

“My grandparents have a place closer to Auckland now. The bach was theirs. They used to rent rooms out to visiting surfers. Now my brothers live there with me, although we’re rarely there together. And my younger sister also lives in town with a few friends. She used to live with us, but that didn’t really work out once she started bringing men home.”

“Your father was Australian. Do you ever see that side of the family?”

He glanced over at her. “You’ve done your research.”

She smiled. “I wanted to be prepared.”

“He was an only child and his mother passed away when he was thirteen. He never knew his father. He lived with foster families for a couple of years, then ran away when he was sixteen. He just wandered from adventure to adventure after that, working when he had to. He ended up in New Zealand, where he met Roger Innis, and the rest is history.”

Amy wanted paper and a pen to take notes, but since she’d managed to gain his trust, she had to keep it. “That adds a whole new context to his life,” she said. “I’ve always wondered what drives a man to risk his life for...thrills.”

“I couldn’t tell you.”

“You don’t feel that thrill?”

He shook his head. “Not the kind of thrill that makes me want to risk my life. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. I love seeing new and beautiful places, and I love showing those places to other people. But it’s not about me, it’s about the clients. With my father, I think it was about him. Even when he had clients with him.”

They pulled up in front of the restaurant and Mal parked the car and turned off the ignition. He stared out the windshield, a perplexed expression on his face. He laughed softly. “You know, I never really made the connection before, between his childhood and his need to tempt the fates.”

“I can understand his urge,” she said. “Maybe, after all that had happened to him as a kid, he was a little numb. Risking his life made him feel alive.”

He twisted in his seat, facing her. “But why have a family? Why put them at risk, too?”

“That’s easy,” Amy said. “Love. He lost his mother when he was young. I suppose he always wanted a family again, and when he met your mother, that happened. It just didn’t heal all the wounds.” She shook her head. “I’m not a psychologist, so this is all speculative. I guess we’ll never really know.”

“My father kept journals. My mother said she burned them, but I believe she still has them. They might provide more insight.”

“Maybe you should ask her if you can read them,” Amy said. “It might give you the peace you need.”

He considered her suggestion for a long moment. And then, without any warning, he reached out and pulled her toward him. His lips met hers and she realized that he was kissing her.

His tongue gently probed and she eagerly joined in. He was everything she’d imagined he would be—warm and passionate and powerful. He caressed her face with his hands as he deepened his assault and Amy sighed, the sound swallowed by the kiss.

When he finally drew back, she was light-headed and breathless. She wanted to kiss him again and keep kissing him until...until they found something more exciting to do. She leaned into him and he immediately took the cue and captured her mouth in another deep, delicious encounter.

This time, when he drew back, she held fast to the front of his shirt. They couldn’t go on until she understood exactly where she stood with him. “What are the chances you’re going to do this story with me?” she asked. “Just give me the odds.”

“As much as you’ve made an enticing pitch, I just can’t,” Mal said.

“Then I suppose there’s nothing to stop you from kissing me again.”

He grinned. “There was nothing stopping me before,” Mal replied.

“All right, then, carry on,” she said.

With a low growl, he shook his head. “I think maybe we should go inside and have dinner.”

Amy drew a deep breath. “Right. Let’s have dinner.”

A meal would give her an opportunity to regroup and figure out what the hell she was doing. If the story was a no-go, then she was free to pursue other avenues with Mal Quinn. Sexual avenues...and boulevards...and expressways. She’d come to New Zealand to make a major change in her life. Maybe she should start with herself.

* * *

MAL HAD BEGUN the evening searching for a warm body to take to bed. To his surprise, he’d found a funny, smart and sexy woman. Too bad she was a journalist.

He watched in amusement as she tackled the huge hamburger, digging into her dinner with enthusiasm.

“It’s good, right?” he asked.

“Really good,” she said.

“New Zealand beef. It’s the best.”

“I think all the cheese and truffle oil might have something to do with it, too,” she said, closely examining the burger.

They sat on the wide front porch of the restaurant, which overlooked the street. Raglan was a typical surf haven, filled with funky shops and casual restaurants. The laid-back atmosphere was exactly what he needed when he came home from an expedition, these surroundings providing the perfect atmosphere to decompress.

Though he’d been to many breathtaking spots in the world, home was always the most beautiful to him. He’d grown up here, learned to surf here and made plans for his first solo adventure in the cozy bach on the beach.

“I’ve never seen a woman eat like that,” he said.

“Then you haven’t been hanging around real women,” Amy countered. “Not all of us eat like rabbits.”

“I reckon not,” he said. He respected that about Amy. She didn’t try to turn herself into someone she assumed he wanted. She was true and genuine. “So tell me about your travels. I’ve read about your father and your brother. What about you?”

She gazed across the table at him, an odd expression on her face. “I’d much rather hear about your trip to Greenland. That sounds interesting.”

“It was,” he said. “At the rate the glaciers are melting, there will come a day when that trip isn’t possible. I’m glad I’m able to give people the experience before it’s too late.”

“What’s your favorite trip?” she asked.

“Every trip has something special,” he said. “It’s not the scenery, it’s more the feeling. I’ll be standing in some marketplace in Nepal or talking to some Argentinian farmer and I’ll say to myself, what the bloody hell am I doing here? I can’t believe I live this life.”

“Have you ever thought of settling down and staying in one place?”

Mal shook his head. “Never. I make my living as a guide and even though I’m very careful, there are still dangers. I’d never put someone through what my mother went through.”

“Do you think she regrets marrying your father?”

“No. They loved each other. And she understood what she was getting into when they got married. But I do think it might have been easier if they hadn’t had children.”

“How can you say that? You and your siblings are a part of him that lives on.”

It was so odd to talk about these matters, especially with a virtual stranger. And yet discussing his father with Amy had already given him new insights. Until now, he’d been pretty rigid in his opinions, but he was starting to realize that it was not always black-and-white.

The subject turned to his business and Amy was curious about the expeditions his company offered. Though she knew a great deal about the locations, Mal got the impression that she hadn’t done a lot of adventuring herself. Or maybe she was just trying to keep him talking. Either way, he didn’t mind. She had a way of making him feel completely comfortable. There was no question she might ask that he wouldn’t answer.

Which was dangerous. She was a reporter after all. And he couldn’t be completely certain about her motives. Though this flirtation was fun, Mal wasn’t sure he was willing to take it to the next level.

But why not? If she was willing, why not enjoy a night of passion before she went home? Having sex with her certainly wasn’t going to change his mind. And he was positive they’d have a great time indulging in the desire that was growing more intense with every minute that passed.

He reached out and snagged her hand, hooking his little finger around hers. “Why don’t we walk off this meal? We can go get your car and you can follow me back to the house. I’ll show you my beach.”

The waitress brought the bill and though Amy insisted on paying, Mal couldn’t agree. He wanted this to be a real date, not just two people sharing a casual meal. He’d follow dinner with a romantic stroll on the beach and that would lead to more kissing and touching. And maybe, after all that, she’d end up in his bed.

They walked down the front steps and Mal linked his fingers through hers. He didn’t want to let any opportunity slip by, but Amy needed to know that his intentions were purely carnal. That way, she’d make the choice.

They got in the Range Rover and he pulled it around and headed toward the pub where they’d met earlier that afternoon. She seemed oddly silent and he risked a glance over at her, wondering if she was reconsidering her choices.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Mal asked.

“You mentioned your father’s journals. Have you ever thought of writing your own book about him?”

Her reply caught him by surprise. Unlike him, she clearly wasn’t thinking about sex. She was thinking about business. “I can’t write.”

“Everyone can write,” Amy said. “You’d just need a good editor to help you put things in order.”

“Do I know any good editors?”

She sent him a haughty smile.

“Are you volunteering?”

“It’s just an idea. But it might be good for you. You’d get to know your father again, only this time with an adult perspective.”

“Why is it that everything you say makes perfect sense to me?”

“That’s funny, most things I say don’t make sense to me.”

He’d never considered an autobiography, a project that he and his family could control. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea....

They found her car where she’d left it earlier that day. “Just follow me,” he said. “It’s not far.”

She jumped out of the Range Rover and turned to him. “Maybe I should go back to the hotel.”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t want this night to end quite yet. Take a walk with me. It’s just a walk.”

“All right.”

He watched as she got into her rental car, a sense of anticipation growing inside him. He had every intention of kissing her again. And if that led to something more, he wasn’t going to worry about the future. He didn’t need just any woman right now, he needed Amy Engalls. She was the only woman who could satisfy him.

But though she appeared to be quite confident and self-assured, there was an underlying vulnerability to her. He saw it in the way she deftly changed the subject when he tried to get her to talk about herself. At first, he’d assumed it was just a reporter’s method of always turning the question back on the subject. But over the course of dinner, he’d begun to believe that she figured her life might seem uninteresting to him.

In truth, he wanted to learn everything about her. What did she do on a normal Saturday night? Where did she live? What kind of music did she enjoy? They were all such insignificant questions, but he was curious.

They reached the cottage and he pulled the Range Rover to a stop in the sandy drive, then jumped out and jogged to her car. Mal opened the door and held out his hand, helping her out. “Do you have a cardie or a jacket? It’s probably going to be a bit chilly.”

“I don’t,” she said.

“I’ll grab you something,” he said. “Wait here.”

He ran into the house and pulled a fleece jacket from the hook near the door, then grabbed a second for himself. When he returned, she was standing at the bottom of the steps. Mal held out the jacket and she slipped her arms into the sleeves. Then he spun her around and zipped the front.

“Cozy,” she said, rubbing her arms.

He glanced down at her bare legs. “Do you want to put on some pants?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

A breeze had come up and it whipped her honey-blond hair around her face. He reached out and tucked a strand behind her ear. “Let’s go, then,” he said.

Mal held out his hand and she placed her fingers in his. They walked down a sandy path to the beach. The sun had set a few hours before and the stars had come out, pinpricks of light scattered across the inky black sky.

Waves rolled against the shore and they strolled to the edge of the water. She kicked off her shoe and dipped her toe in. “It’s cold.”

“It never warms up enough to surf without a wetsuit. Not like California or Hawaii.”

She kicked off her other shoe and waded in, reaching down to run her fingers through the water. She didn’t see the wave rolling in behind her, but Mal did. He figured the water was shallow enough that she could maintain her balance, but the minute the wave hit her calves, her feet got swept out from under her and she fell into the water. She screamed as the wave surrounded her.

Cursing softly, Mal reached her in a few short strides and pulled her upright. Amy clutched his jacket, her hair stuck to her face in damp strands, her breath coming in deep gasps.

And then suddenly, she started laughing, a boisterous giggle that came from deep inside of her. “What is wrong with me?” she shouted. “Why can’t I stay on my feet?”

Mal reached down and scooped her up, then carried her out of the water. “I’m not sure. Maybe you’re better off your feet.”

She shivered, crossing her arms over her breasts.

“I think we’d better go find you some dry clothes.”

“Well, at least I can say I’ve been swimming in the Indian Ocean. That’s a first,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“It’s actually the Tasman Sea.”

“Even better,” Amy said. She brushed the wet hair out of her eyes. “Oh, my shoes!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll come out in the morning and find them. They’ll be washed up on the sand.”

“I’m going to need shoes.”

“Not tonight,” he said. “I don’t think you should do any more walking. You might end up in the hospital.”

* * *

WHEN THEY REACHED the warmth of his cottage, Mal set her down on her feet and quickly stripped off the sodden jacket. The dress she wore beneath clung to her skin, made almost transparent by the damp. Amy plucked at the fabric with her fingers. By now she was cold to the bone and shivering. But the trembles coursing through her body had less to do with the cold and more to do with the way he was looking at her—as if he might devour her at any moment.

“Why don’t you jump in the shower and warm up. I’ll get you something to wear. The bathroom is just down that hall,” he said.

Amy nodded and turned in that direction. But at the last moment, he caught her hand and pulled her into his arms. His mouth came down on hers, only this time, it felt like he was sending her a message: things were about to get much more intimate. If she wanted to leave, she ought to do it now.

Amy didn’t need to think twice. She was sure of what she wanted. And to that end, she reached down and began to unbutton her dress. Mal stepped back, his hands resting on her shoulders, his gaze fixed on her fingers.

When she reached the end of the buttons, she glanced up at him, hoping he’d take the next step. To her relief, he did, reaching out and brushing the damp fabric from her shoulder.

His lips found a spot at the base of her neck and Amy tipped her head to the side, enjoying the rush of heat that raced through her body. He caught her fingers in his, raising her hand above her head. Then he reached down, grabbed the hem of her dress and slowly pulled it up and over her arms.

The air hit her damp skin, goose bumps prickling her until she shuddered with the chill. Mal was wet from rescuing her and he kicked off his sodden shoes, then shrugged out of the fleece jacket and T-shirt. Grabbing a faded quilt from the back of the sofa, he wrapped her up in it.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes,” Amy said in a soft voice. “Much.”

“Sit,” he said.

She did as he asked and Mal knelt down and took her foot in his hand, brushing the sand from between her toes and then gently rubbing until her foot was warm. He did the same for the other foot, and within a few minutes, Amy was no longer shivering.

Until Mal leaned in and pressed a kiss to the curve of her instep.

Amy drew a quick breath and he raised his eyes to meet her gaze. She sighed softly. “That felt good. Do it again.” It was the closest she could come to an open invitation. Go ahead, ravish me, was what she really wanted to say. But then, that would be very bold, even given her newfound courage.

His lips found the arch of her foot. Though it was an odd way to begin a seduction, to Amy it seemed even more intimate than kissing her mouth. Slowly, his lips traced a path from her foot to the inside of her calf.

When the quilt got in the way, Mal braced his hands on either side of her and brushed a kiss onto the exposed skin of her shoulder. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Amy wondered about the ethics of what she was doing, about the wisdom of sleeping with a man she still wanted to interview. But he’d said himself she wouldn’t be able to convince him, and once he touched her, none of it mattered.

Mal’s lips found hers again and this time his kiss was a lovely mixture of desire and surrender, soft and sweet, yet filled with unrestrained need. He moved his mouth to her neck, pulling the quilt aside to kiss the spot below her ear.

He cupped her face in his hands and moved back to her mouth. Amy’s fingers clutched at his T-shirt, pulling him closer until he was nearly lying on top of her.

It felt wonderful to have the weight of a man’s body stretched out over hers. And though she ought to have considered this more carefully, at this point Amy’s desire far outweighed her common sense.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked. “Or do you want to take that shower?” He paused. “Or we could crawl under the covers on my bed and I could—”

“Okay,” Amy interrupted. “Bed sounds good.”

She didn’t hesitate and stood up beside the sofa, the quilt still wrapped around her body. Amy could barely catch her breath. It was as if she was tumbling down a mountainside and she couldn’t seem to gain a foothold. Things were moving so fast, and she felt as if she’d lost all touch with reality. But now that she’d gained momentum, she didn’t want to stop. She couldn’t.

There was no use denying the attraction. It had been there from the moment he’d first looked at her. In truth, it had been there from the very first time she’d seen his photograph. He was the kind of guy she could only dream about having—handsome, charming, fearless.

And now she’d been handed the chance to be with him, to experience something she might never find in her life again. Sure, she’d had lovers in the past, but they’d never lived up to her expectations. They’d never made her feel wild and uninhibited. Just once, she wanted to be with a man who could make her heart pound and her body ache.

Just a week ago, she’d been curled up on her sofa in her Brooklyn flat, eating a pint of cherry-chocolate-chip ice cream and watching a string of romantic comedies. That had been her life, waiting for Mr. Right. Well, it was time to stop waiting. She’d found Mr. Right Now here in a bach on the beach in New Zealand.

This wouldn’t be about love or even affection. It would about pure, unadulterated passion. This would be the adventure she’d never been brave enough to take, the mountain she’d been too fearful to climb. She wasn’t about to pass this opportunity by. If she couldn’t leave New Zealand with a story, then she’d leave with a damn good memory.

Mal stopped at the bedroom door and she glanced inside to see a large, comfortable bed covered with a deep down duvet. Mal grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head against the door frame, searching her gaze intently. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he murmured, pressing his hips against hers.

The quilt fell away, leaving Amy dressed only in her damp underwear. She could feel his desire beneath the faded fabric of his jeans. He was already completely aroused. Amy wanted to touch him there, to smooth her fingers over the hard ridge of his erection. She could be bold, too. “Yes,” she said, pushing back with her body.

He kissed her again, his lips and tongue demanding a response. She opened beneath the assault and did her best to match his intensity. And when he groaned, Amy knew that she was exactly what he wanted. Untangling her fingers from his, she let her hands drop to his shoulders and then his chest.

Gently, she pushed him away, then walked into the bedroom and stood at the end of the bed, facing away from him. With trembling fingers, she reached for the clasp of her bra and unhooked it. A moment later, her panties lay at her feet. She couldn’t make her need much more evident. She heard his breath catch as she turned to face him.

A tiny sliver of doubt coursed through her. She’d never been more vulnerable than she was now. But Amy didn’t care. For once in her life, she had the courage she’d always wanted. And, as long as he was there, it wasn’t going to leave her.

He approached her slowly and Amy’s knees began to give way. She wanted to sit down on the end of the bed, but she was afraid to move. As if Mal sensed her distress, he slipped his arm around her waist and drew her against him.

His palms smoothed over her spine, drifting down to her waist and then cupping her backside. The sensation of his touch made every nerve in her body sing with anticipation until she felt as if the tingling would never stop. Gently, he moved her to the bed, then pulled them both down in a tangle of limbs.

As he kissed her again, he began to strip off his clothes. First his T-shirt, then his belt and jeans. She was so distracted by his single-minded assault on her mouth that when he stretched out on top of her, the touch of his skin against hers was a shock.

Amy held her breath, taking it all in. Was this really happening to her? She tried to keep a clear head, knowing that after it was over, she’d want to savor every detail again, but Mal was determined to drive her over the edge with passion.

His lips trailed across her shoulder, then moved lower. She waited for the touch of his tongue on her nipple, but he continued down, halting at the spot between her legs. A moan tore from her throat as his tongue began to tease at her sex.

Amy’s body tensed and she felt as if she was about to leap out of her own skin. Every flick, every gentle suck, sent wave after wave of delicious sensation coursing through her. She arched against him, unable to ask for more yet needing him to continue.

He knew exactly what he was doing and he showed no uncertainty. Mal wanted her complete surrender and Amy didn’t care what it cost. Her fingers slipped through his thick hair and she coaxed him on as he brought her closer to the edge. Her heart slammed in her chest and her body writhed against his mouth. And suddenly, she was there.

The world exploded in a riot of unbearable sensation, shudders of pleasure racking her body. He continued on until she was desperate to stop, the torment too sweet for her to bear. “Stop,” she whispered.

He slowly brought her body down from the peak, the spasms subsiding until she was left boneless and mindless, a victim of his seduction. Mal pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh and she stared down at him.

“That was lovely,” he said with a wicked smile.

Amy wasn’t sure whether she should laugh or cry. It had been lovely. Better than anything she’d ever experienced in her life. And she wanted to do it again. But she couldn’t help the doubts creeping into her head. Had she made a mistake? How was she supposed to live the rest of her life knowing that this was what passion was really about?

After it was all over, she’d have had her adventure. But then what? Was she meant to go home and forget it had ever happened?

No. If she wanted everything, the perfect experience, then it couldn’t end here. She could give him as good as she’d got.

Amy pulled him up next to her, stretching out beside him. Smoothing her hands over his belly, she brushed up against his shaft.

Mal smiled, his eyes still glazed with desire. Wrapping her fingers around him, Amy gently stroked. His response was immediate and he growled softly, nuzzling his face into the curve of her neck.

Her touch was soft and gentle. She wanted to tempt him, but not too far, as there was so much more she needed before he finished. Amy felt powerful, in control. She’d heard stories about climbers, men like Mal who flirted with danger and death. They approached sex in the same way, with a powerful passion that couldn’t be denied, as if every moment in bed with a woman might be their last.

She wanted to be the woman he remembered when he was sleeping in his tent on some distant mountainside. She wanted him to imagine her there with him as he pleasured himself on lonely nights.

She pressed her lips to the center of his chest, the soft dusting of hair tickling at the tip of her tongue. As he’d done to her, she moved lower. And when she closed her mouth over the tip of his shaft, Amy realized he was now at her mercy.

He reacted as any man would. But to Amy’s surprise, he wasn’t a silent participant. He softly urged her on, telling her when it felt good, whispering encouragement. She reveled in the sound of his voice, hearing how she made him feel.

And then suddenly he froze, his body stiffening beneath her touch. Amy knew he was close, fighting back the surge of pleasure that threatened. He held her tight, unwilling to let her continue, and she waited for him to regain control.

When he did, he pulled her up against his body, then reached over to grab a condom from the bedside table. He quickly sheathed himself and drew her on top of him, dragging her legs up on either side of his hips.

Amy shifted above him, the simple movement causing a groan to rumble in his throat. Slowly, he pushed inside her, burying himself deep in her warmth. Closing her eyes, she let the delicious sensation overwhelm her. For a long time, he didn’t move. She looked down at him and found her staring at her.

“What?” she whispered.

“Nothing. I’m just enjoying paradise for a bit longer.”

Paradise. That was exactly what this was. The place where life was perfection. Amy leaned forward and dropped a kiss on his lips, her long hair falling around his face. “Maybe I can find a way to extend your stay,” she said.

“Actually, I was just thinking of ways I could extend your stay,” Mal said. “Maybe you should get rid of your hotel room and move into the caboose.”

“Caboose?”

“It’s a little guesthouse out back. We usually rent it to visiting surfers, but it’s empty now. It’s close to the water and it’s simple, but nice. You don’t have to leave right away, do you?”

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