Her men?

She grinned at the direction her thoughts were taking. That was a laugh. Her men. Her men were a figment of her imagination.

Figment or not, this man looked great. Wonderful. He was strongly built and had a sort of chiselled look about him: like one of Rodin’s statues. His bone structure was superb-intensely, wonderfully masculine.

What else? Some things were obvious. He certainly wasn’t the sort who lived in the bush. Even without the royal regalia, he looked the type who’d be at home drinking café latte, or sipping wine in trendy city bars, with a sleek little Lamborghini parked nearby.

She knew the type, and it wasn’t her type at all. Cheap tea boiled on a campfire with a few eucalyptus leaves thrown in for flavour was more Tammy’s style.

So, what on earth were these two men and their chauffeur doing here? She swung lazily back in her harness and considered.

The bureaucrat was about fifty-twenty years or so older than the royalty-type-and he was podgy. He was wearing a dark suit and his shirt had a too-tight collar. In comparison the younger man looked smooth, intelligent and sophisticated.

What a pair! In combination they looked almost absurd. Here they were, in the middle of the Australian bush, and they were dressed as if they were expecting a royal reception. And to receive them there was only Tammy, swinging thirty feet above their heads.

What did they want?

‘Miss Dexter?’ the bureaucrat called, and Tammy frowned. Miss Dexter? That was her. What were this lot doing looking for her?

‘This is ridiculous,’ the royalty guy was saying. ‘The sort of woman I’m looking for wouldn’t be working in a place like this.’