Driving Her Crazy - By Amy Andrews Page 0,3

in the street. Gone was the long hair and scraggy goatee that gave him a younger, more carefree look. Instead he was sporting a number-two buzz cut, which laid bare the shape of his perfectly symmetrical skull and forehead. His facial hair had also been restricted to stubble of a number-two consistency, emphasising the angularity of his cheekbones and jaw, shadowing the fullness of what she had to admit was a damn fine mouth, exposing the creases that would become indentations when he smiled.

If he smiled.

The man sure as hell wasn’t smiling now. He had his arms folded beneath her scrutiny and Sadie became aware suddenly she was watching his mouth a little too indecently. Quickly, she widened her gaze out.

Unfortunately it found a different focus. The way his folded arms tightened the fabric of his form-fitting, grey turtle-neck skivvy across the bulk of his chest. The bunch of muscles in his forearms, where the long sleeves had been pushed up to the elbows.

‘Yes,’ Kent said smoothly, interrupting her inspection. ‘A road trip.’

He watched as Sadie took that on board with eyes as remarkable as the rest of her. Finally he understood what people meant when they talked about doe-eyed. They were huge, an intense dark grey, framed with long lashes. They didn’t need artfully applied shadow or dark kohl to draw attention—they just did.

His gaze drifted to the creamy pallet of her throat, also bare of any adornment. In fact, running his gaze over her, he realised Sadie Bliss was a bling-free zone. No earrings, no necklaces, no rings.

In stark contrast to Tabitha there was nothing on Sadie’s person that sparkled or drew the eye.

Not an ounce of make-up.

Not a whiff of perfume.

Even her mouth, all red and lush, appeared to be that way all on its own merit.

Sadie cleared her throat as his gaze unnerved her. An odd little pull deep down inside did funny things to her pulse and she glanced at Tabitha to relieve it.

‘From Darwin to Borroloola? That’s like...a thousand kilometres.’

Sadie did not travel well in cars.

Tabitha shook her head but it was Kent who let loose the next bombshell. ‘Actually, it’s Sydney to Borroloola. You can fly from Borroloola to Darwin and then back to Sydney once the interview is done.’

Sadie forgot all about the funny pull, Kent’s celebrity status and the good impression she was trying to make with Tabitha. ‘Are you nuts?’ she said, turning to face him. ‘That would have to be at least...’ she did a quick mental calculation ‘...three times the distance!’

Kent remained impassive at her outburst although it was refreshing to hear a knee-jerk, unfiltered opinion for once instead of one couched in the usual kiss-arse afforded to his level of celebrity. Tarnished as it was.

Did she honestly think he wanted to spend three days in a car with her? But he knew Tabitha well enough to know that she was an immovable force when her mind was made up.

‘Three thousand, three hundred and thirteen kilometres to be precise.’

Sadie felt nauseated at the mere thought. ‘And we’re not flying because...?’

Kent didn’t blink. ‘I don’t fly.’

‘It’ll be great,’ Tabitha enthused, jumping in as Kent’s voice became arctic again. ‘You and Kent. A car. A travel diary. The Red Centre. The true outback. Journalism at its most organic.’

Sadie gave Tabitha a look that suggested she was probably also certifiable. ‘But that will take days!’

‘Let me guess,’ Kent drawled, amused by her horrified demeanour. ‘City girl, right?’

Sadie looked back at him. ‘No,’ she denied, despite the fact that she was an urban creature to her core. Fast lane, city lights, cocktail bars and foreign film festivals.

‘I just get really, really car sick.’ It sounded so lame when she said it out loud but she doubted the great Kent Nelson would tolerate stopping every two minutes so she could hurl up her stomach contents.

Kent’s jaw tightened again. Great. Three days in a car with a city chick and her weak constitution.

It just kept getting better.

‘I guess that’s why they invented motion sickness medication,’ he said woodenly.

Sadie shook her head vigorously. ‘Oh, trust me, you do not want to be around me when I’m on that. I get totally trippy. It is not pretty.’

Kent raised an eyebrow. Vomiting or tripping. Sounded like a trip forged in hell.

Maybe another place, another time in his life he would have been more than happy to see Little-Miss-Curvy getting trippy. But now just the thought was plain annoying.

‘Thanks for the heads up,’ he said.

‘This could be a