Table Of ContentANTARCTIC AFFAIR
A Modern Category Romance by Louise RoseInnes
www.louiseroseinnes.com
Copyright © Louise RoseInnes 2009
Louise RoseInnes has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this
work.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, is purely coincidental. This book is sold subject to the condition that it
shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be reproduced, copied, resold, hired out,
or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent.
CHAPTER ONE
Miami airport was heaving with people. Georgina stood silently for a moment
while the crowds swirled around her, trying to work out the direction of the
check-in counters. She stared at the display monitor through her fashionable
black-rimmed spectacles that she’d ordered just last week from Calvin Klein,
squinting to read the gate number. It looked like sixteen. She headed off, pulling
her large Louis Vuitton suitcase behind her. Thank heavens for expandable
handles. Her over-packed handbag, made by the same designer of course, was
fastened on top, along with her precious laptop. It would have been so much
easier if she could have checked her luggage straight through from London to
Santiago, but on a whim she’d decided to spend a night in Miami.
It was going to be a long flight to the Chilean capital and she wished now she
hadn’t worn her new sued high-heeled boots, gorgeous as they were, without
breaking them in first. They were pinching her toes and probably giving her
blisters. She had dressed carefully this morning in a silvery-grey designer suit
which pinched her in all the wrong places. It was probably not the most sensible
travel attire, but then first impressions were everything. Her ample bosom, as she
jokingly called it, had been nicely contained when she’d been parading up and
down the aisle in Selfridges but with all the heaving and lugging of this heavy
case filled with conservative attire she’d probably never use, she felt
dangerously close to bursting out at any given moment.
A sharp feminine voice rose above the general chatter in the airport lounge and
interrupted her thoughts.
“Bastardo! I cannot believe you’re doing this to me. To us!”
Georgina glanced behind her. An angry, predatory-looking woman with dark,
cropped hair was standing with her hands on her hips, arguing with the tall man
in front of her. Georgina couldn’t see his face. The woman, however, looked
stunning in a white Armani business suit, which provided a striking contrast to
her olive complexion.
The man tried to pacify her. He had a deep voice and spoke softly, “Look
Cristina, I really don’t think now is the time.”
“That’s just the problem! It’s never the right time with you, is it?”
“Cristina...” He shook his head in exasperation.
“So you are going to walk away, like that, and it’s over. Is that what you’re
telling me?”
The man sighed, “Cristina, we’ve been through this before. You know how I
feel.”
“No, caro. I don’t. You never tell me how you feel. Why don’t you tell me
now?” The woman’s voice rose a few decibels.
Heavens, Georgina thought. Miss Armani was getting more and more hysterical
by the second. She knew she shouldn’t watch, but it was hard not to.
The man didn’t answer. Instead he took the brunette firmly by the arm and
steered her over to the side of the room.
“Take your hands off me!” she demanded loudly. A few more heads turned in
their direction.
“Calm down, Cristina,” the man’s voice was brusque and Georgina could tell by
his stance that he was getting angry.
She watched, fascinated, while the woman let off a torrent of abuse, all in Italian,
and then burst spectacularly into tears. Finally she heard the man say, “Are you
quite finished?” He handed her a napkin from a nearby table and she noisily
blew her nose. The man’s voice dropped and Georgina struggled to hear what he
was saying. He looked to be comforting her though. He put a hand on her
shoulder, and wiped a stray hair from out of her eyes. In the next instant the
woman threw her arms around the man’s neck and hugged him passionately.
Georgina shook her head in amazement. She was exhausted just watching.
Thank God she had Charles. Calm, reasonable Charles. She looked down at the
diamond, glittering on her finger and thought fondly of the man she was about to
marry. He was perfect for her. Motivated, intelligent and most important of all -
stable. His ambition even outshone hers. Yes, it was going to be a very
successful union.
She closed her eyes and relived the moment he’d proposed. They’d been at Los
Barriles, a trendy Spanish restaurant in the heart of London. He’d dropped the
ring in her champagne and she looked up when she heard the dull clunk as it hit
the bottom of the glass. Okay, so it was a bit cheesy, but then Charles wasn’t
known for his creativity. Charles was a businessman, through and through. Her
Charles was reliable, steadfast and heir to one of the most successful publishing
empires in London. She was one lucky girl. She slipped the ring off her finger,
remembering that her fingers always swelled on long haul flights and popped it
securely into the zipper purse sewn into her hand bag. It was quite safe there, she
never let the bag out of her sight.
The queue had diminished and Georgina gratefully checked in her luggage. At
least she didn’t have to lug that heavy thing with her anymore, at least not until
she got to Santiago. There she was sure they’d have a tour bus or something to
transport them to the hotel where she would meet the expedition leader and the
rest of the group, including the photographer she was supposed to interview.
Feeling a bit better about life in general, she looked around for the glamorous
girl and her boyfriend but they were nowhere to be seen.
Georgina wondered round the departure lounge, sipping a double espresso from
a paper cup. She wished she could sit down, but every chair in the place was
taken. You’d think someone would stand up and give her his seat, but no one
offered despite her loud sighing and pointed stares. Chivalry was indeed dead.
She tried looking out of the wide airport windows, but aeroplanes didn’t interest
her and her thoughts kept returning to the project at hand.
The timing on this one had been really bad. Unfortunately with Muriel, the only
other senior features writer, having sprained her ankle the week before there was
no other option.
Eric, her Editor’s voice echoed in her ears. “Georgina you know there isn’t
anyone else who can pull off a cover feature on Taj Andrews. I need you.”
Talk about a guilt trip. But Georgina couldn’t say no. The magazine was her life
and she was in line for the upcoming Assistant Editor position so she didn’t want
to disappoint Eric. She had to prove she was reliable, that she could handle an
assignment like this. The piece on Taj Andrews was a coup for the magazine.
Eric had put his heart and soul into setting it up. Apparently the enigmatic
photographer didn’t give many interviews. If she managed to pull off a best
selling cover story, her position would be assured. Charles would be so proud.
And Eric was right, there was no one else who they could send. The engagement
party could wait a few weeks and Charles would just have to manage without her
at the book launch. It was almost as if they had an unspoken agreement, her and
Charles. Work first, relationship second. It had always been that way between
them. On their first date Charles had spent an hour on the phone doing business.
He had been deeply apologetic and had certainly made up for it afterwards, but
the deal could not wait and work had come first. A precedent had been set that
day.
The flight to Santiago was called and Georgina was one of the first in line. Once
seated, she took out her laptop and opened up her schedule. She hated wasting
time and was planning on using the flight to read through the biography on the
photographer she was interviewing. Muriel had emailed all the relevant
documentation to her that morning which she’d downloaded before she’d left the
hotel, she just hadn’t had time to read it yet.
“Excuse me, I think you’re in my seat,” a male voice interrupted her thoughts.
She looked up. It was him, the man with the hysterical girlfriend! She was sure
of it. Her eyes took in the leather biker jacket, the broad shoulders, the tanned,
rugged face with more than a hint of stubble, and locked with a pair of
unwavering aquamarine eyes staring intently back at her. Georgina was struck
by the unusual colour, so vivid, like the ocean. She couldn’t help but be
mesmerised.
“Bastardo,” Georgina mumbled more to herself than the stranger.
“Excuse me?” The man looked at her oddly.
“Never mind.” Georgina said hastily. What was she saying? Get a grip, girl.
He was regarding her with interest. She finally pulled herself together and
cleared her throat.
“Um… this is row 19. What seat number are you?”
The man checked his ticket.
“19b. This is me. You’re the window.”
“Oh, sorry. I must have misread the ticket.” She closed her filofax and gathered
up her laptop. She’d have to take his word for it, ‘cos her ticket stump was now
lying buried at the bottom of her carry-on bag which was stuffed under her, or
rather his seat.
“I can take the window if you like,” the man said jokingly.
Georgina smiled briefly. The window was the better seat, of course. She shifted
over and opened her laptop again.
The man stashed his bag in the compartment above and eased his tall frame into
the chair beside her. His legs are too long for the space, Georgina thought to
herself as she watched him try to get comfortable. She wondered briefly what
had happened with Miss Armani.
She pulled down the screen over the window, shutting out the bright sunlight.
The man glanced up. He frowned, obviously annoyed at the sudden lack of view.
Georgina pointed at her laptop and smiled apologetically. “The glare on the
screen...”
He nodded.
Georgina got back to work. Yes, he was disarmingly attractive, but she had work
to do. She couldn’t help but cast a sideways glance at him from beneath her
eyelashes. His eyes were shut and he appeared to be resting. She studied him for
a second. He really was magnificent up close. He was tanned all over, with
brown unruly hair, streaked with gold that curled softly over his temples and
ears. He had a strong jaw, a straight, aquiline nose and a sensual mouth that she
found hard not to stare at. There was a certain unconventionality to him, the way
he dressed, his wild hair, even the way he sat. It was casual, but in a confident,
devil-may-care kind of way. The man definitely made her nervous, but she had
no idea why. She felt awkward, perhaps because she’d witnessed the scene
between him and his girlfriend at the airport. She felt like she knew something
about him she wasn’t supposed to, something personal. She decided she would
just have to ignore him for the duration of the flight else she wouldn’t get any
work done.
She focused her attention on the email from Muriel, with the biography of Taj
Andrews attached. As she opened it, a large photograph popped onto the screen.
Georgina gasped, and the deep voice next to her said, “not one of my most
defining moments, but I suppose it’ll do.”
“Oh no, it can’t be!” Georgina stared with dismay at the man sitting next to her.
“I’m afraid it is.” He smiled broadly and waved his arms in the air as if to say,
‘this is me’.
“What have I done that is so terrible?” he asked.
“You’re Taj Andrews?” Georgina said. It was more of a question than an
answer. She still couldn’t believe the man that she had to write a profile on and
work with for the next ten days was sitting beside her looking like he’d just
stepped out of GQ magazine, albeit a little rougher around the edges.
So much for creating an impression, she thought dryly. She’d practically ignored
him when he’d spoken to her moments ago, her skin was already feeling dry and
wrinkled due to the air conditioning and the uncomfortable suit she was wearing
was making her hot and sweaty. Marvellous. At least her hair looked good.
She’d had it washed and blow dried in the hotel salon that morning, and it hung
in bright auburn strands over her shoulders.
“Is that such a bad thing?” He looked unconvinced, although his eyes were still
twinkling. He was watching her closely. His face was literally a hands length
away from her own. For a moment she was so mesmerised by his eyes that she
froze. They were an impossible aquamarine colour. Like a calm sea moving over
a shallow reef.
Georgina realised her mouth was still hanging open. She snapped it shut,
struggling desperately to find her tongue. He was looking at her questioningly.
No man had ever rendered her speechless before. She gave a little laugh.
“No, no, of course not. This is just very unexpected. I was told we’d meet at the
Hyatt in Santiago tomorrow night. I’m Georgina McKellar.” She held out her
hand.
“Georgina…” he said her name slowly, in a thoughtful drawl. He had a deep,
gravelly voice, the kind they used to use in cigarette commercials.
“Am I supposed to know you?” he asked, engulfing her small, pale hand in his
big tanned one. She jumped as the heat shot up her arm and she had to fight the
urge to pull her hand back. He held it fractionally longer than necessary, while
his eyes looked her over with interest. As he released her hand she saw him
glance briefly at her French manicure. He didn’t miss a detail.
“Not exactly,” she smiled. “I’m a journalist, for Verve Magazine.” She hoped
that would ring a few bells. His eyes narrowed and she could almost hear his
brain ticking over.
“Verve Magazine. So you’re the one that’s going to be following me around for
the next ten days?” He’d put two and two together.
“That would be me,” she gave him a bright smile.
His eyes lost some of their sparkle as he looked her over with renewed interest.
He seemed to be surveying her outfit, sizing her up. She could almost feel his
disapproval as he took her measure and found her lacking. She subconsciously
pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, a habit she had when she was
nervous.
“Isn’t your name supposed to be Maria or Margaret or something?”
“Muriel,” Georgina supplied. “Yes, I mean no.” She stopped. Could she possibly
sound more like a ditz?
“What I mean is, Muriel sprained her ankle and I’ve come in her place.” That
was better. Her communication skills had become non-existent. What in
heaven’s name was wrong with her today? It must be jet-lag. She wasn’t usually
this useless around men, even handsome men.
He absorbed the new information, still watching her closely.
“Is that my file?” he nodded at the photograph of himself still on her screen.
Georgina nodded, unsure how to proceed.
“Can I see it?”
She looked at him to see whether he was joking or not, but his face remained
expressionless.
“I’m afraid it’s confidential,” she said, and immediately regretted it. How could
it be confidential if it was about him?
He grinned as if he was enjoying her discomfort. “I see. Well, perhaps some
other time then?”
Georgina thought it was unlikely, but didn’t say anything. She wanted to read it
first herself. The man was still an enigma to her. She knew he had a reputation as
a rebel photographer, slicing out a niche in the nature market for himself, but she
had yet to see any of his work. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her lack of
knowledge.
Taj leaned back in his chair and lazily turned his head in her direction.
“Where was your last assignment, Georgina?”
Was he testing her, or just being friendly. The man was unreadable. His body
language said he was just making polite conversation, but somehow she
suspected it was more than that.
“My last article was on power dressing in the boardroom. It was also a cover
feature.” The December addition had sold like hotcakes.
“Power dressing?” Taj looked amazed. “Antarctica. Power dressing.” He seemed
to be comparing the two subjects in his head.
Georgina bit out, a bit defensively, “Yes, our readership is mainly successful
business women. Profiles such as yours are a real selling point.”
His expression was unreadable, but the hard eyes indicated he wasn’t completely
comfortable with the idea.
The airhostess came passed and told Georgina to pack away her electronic
equipment. They were getting ready for take off. Georgina quickly turned off her
laptop and put it at her feet.
“Do you often interview people on location?”
He purposely reached passed her and lifted the blind back up again. He was so
close she could smell his aftershave. Definitely spicy. She turned her head and
stared out of the window. The plane was taxiing along the runway.
In the interests of cultivating a good working relationship she decided to ignore
the blind move, even though she was amazed at his audacity. Obviously the man
was used to getting his own way.
“I interviewed someone on a movie set once, but that’s not the norm. Usually we
meet in London at their hotel or a restaurant.” The interviews were the best part
about her job. She loved getting to know the various famous and infamous
personalities that she wrote about. Their lives were always so interesting, so
exciting.
He nodded slowly. “Ever been to Antarctica before?”
Now that was just a silly question, she thought. It was hardly something
someone did every day. “No, have you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. This will be my second trip down south. I’m working
on a new book called Southern Lights, but I’m sure that’s in your file.”
Great. Now she felt like an idiot. Time to come clean. “To be honest, I haven’t
finished reading your biography yet. No offence, this was kind of a last minute
assignment for me.”
“None taken. I doubt you’ll find it very interesting reading.” For the first time
since she’d met him, he looked a little uncomfortable. He changed the subject,
“If you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t look like the outdoorsy type.”
Georgina smiled, “Oh, I’m not. I’m normally too busy to take a vacation,
although I did check out South Beach on the way here. But roughing it isn’t
really my style.”
“I would never have guessed.” He smiled woefully and Georgina didn’t miss the
sarcasm in his tone.
“Do you like nature? You know, animals, icebergs, that kind of thing?”
Georgina narrowed her eyes. Was he taunting her?
“Sure, I watch National Geographic,” she shrugged off-handedly. She really
hadn’t thought about it much. “Oh, and I go skiing every year.”
“Really, well that’s something I suppose. Where do you ski?”
“I have a chalet in Klosters. That’s in Switzerland,” she added, at his blank look.
“Ah, isn’t that where your royal family hang out?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s the place! My father bought it for me for my twenty-first birthday,
but I haven’t used it much in the last six years.”
“I see.” He looked doubtful.
“If you’re worried about the expedition, don’t be. I came prepared,” she felt
obliged to tell him.
“In Antarctica, coming prepared means a little more than making sure you’ve
packed your hairdryer.” His tone was gentle, but there was no mistaking his
meaning. What did he think she was, some airhead without a brain? She bit her
tongue and forced herself not to react. It would not do to get off on the wrong
foot now, would it?
Instead she smiled vacantly and said in her best airhead voice, “I’m sure I’ll be
fine. After all, it’s a cruise liner. How hard can it be?”
He made an odd coughing noise and chocked out, “Cruise liner? You think
we’re going on the QE2? Perhaps its time you read the brochure.”
“Well no, of course not the QE2, but something similar?” she said in a small
voice. Eric had assured her it was a big ship, fully equipped.
Taj Andrews gave her a wry grin, “Not exactly. It’s a former Russian research
vessel, which is a nice way of saying spy ship. It’s purpose-built to navigate the
frozen waters of the Russian arctic. We’re hiring it for this expedition.”
“Ah, well that’s all right then.” What was his problem?
“Have you ever seen one?”
“Sure, in pictures. They’re big, well equipped and warm.” She tried smiling at
him and attempted a joke, “What more could a girl want?”
He didn’t smile back.
“Just make sure you bring warm clothes okay. Last year we couldn’t get the
heaters to work on board until the voyage home.”
That did not sound like fun.
She tried to appear upbeat. “I’ve got my ski jacket and my Sheepskin Uggs, so
you don’t have to worry about me.”
She would never admit that she’d taken one look in her wardrobe and rushed out
in a blind panic to buy everything from thermal underwear and polar fleece’s to
snow goggles and a GPS in the outdoor store. Whether she’d actually use any of
them she wasn’t so sure. The goggles made her look like Ugly Betty and if
anyone at her magazine saw her sporting a thermal vest she’d be ostracised on
the spot. One could not make those kind of fashion fauxpas in the magazine
