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need one back. I’ll see you Tuesday.’
    With that she gave him a short wave, before jogging down the stairs—only to see the pilot had her bags plonked on the Tarmac next to another set of luggage that looked distinctly like Bradley’s.
    ‘What’s he doing?’ she asked. Then turned to find Bradley was right behind her.
    Instinct had her slamming her hands against his chest so as not to topple onto her backside.Her hips against his thighs. Her right knee wedged hard between his.
    Hard muscles clenched instantly beneath her touch. Hot, hard, Bradley-shaped muscles.
    All she could think was that, God, he felt good. Big. Strong. Solid. Warm. All too real. She blinked up into his eyes to find glinting circles of deepest grey staring down at her.
    ‘You’re shaking,’ he said, glowering as though she had somehow offended his sensibilities.
    She curled her fingers into her palms and hid them beneath her poncho as she took a distinct step back, her body arching towards him even while she dragged herself away. ‘Of course I’m shaking. It’s barely above zero.’
    He looked out across the Tarmac, as though for a moment he’d forgotten where they were. Then his hand hovered to where her hands had been against his chest. He scratched the spot absent-mindedly. ‘Really?’ he rumbled. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’
    Truth was, neither had she. For, while the wind-chill factor had probably taken the temperature
below
zero, she was still feeling a tad feverish after being bodily against a human furnace.
    Hannah took another step back. ‘Why has James deposited your luggage beside mine?’
    ‘I’m researching.’
    ‘What? The difference between Tarmac in Tasmanian and New Zealand airports?’
    Humour flickered behind his eyes. It made her senses skedaddle and a purely feminine heat began to pulse. Then he slid his sunglasses into their usual hiding place and she had no chance of reading him.
    ‘Less specific,’ he said dryly. ‘Try Tasmania.’ Then he sauntered on past.
    ‘Wait!’ she called. ‘Hang on just a minute. What am I missing here?’
    ‘You sell yourself short on your PR abilities. You sold me.’
    ‘Sold you what?’
    ‘Tracts of wild, rugged, untouched beauty. Jagged cliffs. Lush forests. Roaring waterfalls. Lakes so still you don’t know which way is the sky. Sound familiar?’
    Sure did. One of her many effusive speeches about her gorgeous home.
    He continued, ‘It got me to thinking. So it’s decided. The team know what to do in New Zealand. They’ll go that way, while I do a solo recce of this area this weekend.’
    So that was what they’d been cooking up in the back of the jet. She’d been busy playing holiday, so as not to get caught up in office stuff—sipping on a cocktail, reading a trashy magazine and listening to the music blaringfrom her iPod—and she’d blissfully let it all go by.
    She must have been gaping like a beached fish, because he added, ‘Don’t panic. I have no intention of invading your holiday. Spencer’s hired me a car and planned me a course.’
    Hannah snapped her mouth shut. The fact that he was staying was still beyond her comprehension. But mostly she was struggling with the intense sense of envy that the one time she’d cut herself off was the one time she could have proved her producer potential. Sure, Spencer was great with an online map, but
nobody
in Bradley’s circle knew the island, the detail, the most TV-worthy spots of her home island more than her.
    Her timing couldn’t have sucked more.
    An insistent voice knocked hard on the back of her brain.
Let it go. Give yourself a muuuuuch needed break. And come Tuesday sit him down and tell him exactly why he needs to put you in charge of the project.
    ‘Okay,’ she said, overly bright. ‘Well, that’s just … excellent. Truly. You won’t regret it.’
    With that she turned away and headed towards her luggage. And that was when she heard it. A penetrating feminine voice shrilled thinly in the far