A Risky Business Read online

  A Risky Business

  By

  Sandra K. Rhoades

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  "Leon, is that why you made love to me?"

  Merle took a deep shuddering breath. "I want to know if you made love to me so you could convince me to go with you to Calgary?"

  "And why would I want to do that?" Leon asked warily.

  "I can't scout your well if I'm in Calgary, can I?"

  "Are you suggesting that I would prostitute myself to get you off this well?" His eyes were like hard jewels.

  "Perhaps I should be asking you the same question, is that how you operate? I thought we had made love, but that wasn't what you were doing at all." Angry color was starting to build along his cheekbones. "What were you hoping for? That I would whisper pressure readings and core reports in your ear instead of endearments?"

  She didn't care about the well anymore! She loved him, and she wanted him to love her, too. How could she have been so foolish?

  SANDRA K. RHOADES began reading romance novels for relaxation when she was studying for her engineering degree and became completely hooked. She was amazed at how much fun the books are, and before long her sights were set on a career in romance writing. Colorado-born, she now lives in British Columbia with her husband and their two children. There she raises livestock, and every summer keeps a large garden.

  Harlequin Presents first edition September 1986

  ISBN 0-373-10917-2

  Original hardcover edition published in 1986

  by Mills & Boon Limited

  Copyright © 1986 by Sandra K. Rhoades.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Merle's hair was damp with perspiration beneath her battered Stetson. A trickle of sweat escaped the confines of the hat, trailing across her brow then down the bridge of her nose. Impatiently, she brushed it away and quickly returned her hand to the binoculars. She was lying prone, her elbows supporting part of her weight as she held the glasses steady. Finally, she saw the last section of drilling pipe emerge and the roughnecks move forward to remove the worn bit from the drill stem, their movements clumsy but coordinated as they negotiated the mud surrounding the hole.

  Laying the glasses aside, she reached for her notebook and jotted down the number of sixty-foot drill pipe sections she had counted being taken from the well hole. Doing a quick multiplication in her head, she estimated the well depth then flipped through the pages of the book. The drillers appeared to have reached a hard layer, chert probably. She could have a few days off from watching the well now. They wouldn't be finding any petroleum in this layer.

  Merle glanced up to take a final look at the well site and saw a figure emerge from the office trailer and move towards the rig. She identified the man as Greg Larson, the field geologist for the site. He was staying at the same motel as she was and she supposed she should spend the next few days getting closer to him.

  At the thought, her mouth twisted into a grimace. She was already closer to Greg than she liked, but since she wanted to know the results of the exploratory well, the geologist was the logical one to tell her. At least Greg was too stupid to realise why she was dating him. Even so, keeping him happy, while at the same time stopping him from becoming too demanding emotionally and physically, wasn't the easiest task in the world.

  Sighing, Merle gathered up her equipment and started placing it in the knapsack. She shouldn't let the thought of Greg's demands get to her. It was just part of the job. When you were scouting an oil well, you couldn't afford to leave any possible source of information untapped. The company drilling the well made it difficult enough to find out how things were going without letting yourself get squeamish about the methods you used.

  Merle was almost ready to leave her position on the hilltop when she looked up and saw a black sports car pull up to the locked gate that was the only entrance to the drilling site. The security guard came out and after a brief conversation with the driver, unlocked the gate and motioned the car through. The car glided to a halt near the office and a man, dressed in a grey business suit and carrying a briefcase, slid out of the driver's side door.

  Merle's curiosity was aroused. Obviously he was someone from the head office if the car and his mode of dress were anything to go by. Quickly, she retrieved her glasses from the knapsack and put them to her eyes. Very nice, she thought, moving the glasses to follow his progress as he walked towards the rig. Not movie-star handsome, but definitely attractive. His features were angular, with prominent cheekbones and a firm, square jaw line. His nose had a slight bump near the bridge, as though it had been broken at some time in the past. His complexion was deeply tanned, his light brown hair sunstreaked. If he was an oil executive, he either spent a lot of time in the field—or on holiday in the tropics.

  When he reached Greg she studied the faces of the two men. Greg's face held that perpetually sullen air she knew only too well: even when he smiled, you never felt he was pleased with life. The other man's face had a certain charm; even though he wasn't smiling, he looked cheerful. Merle continued to stare at the man through the glasses. Perhaps cheerful wasn't the word; maybe content was more like it. Greg always had this underlying bitterness in him, as though he dwelled in life's little set-backs. This man appeared to be the sort who took what life threw at him and dealt with it, instead of brooding over it like Greg did.

  She watched the two men talking together for several minutes longer, wishing she could read lips, before they turned to walk towards the office. Halfway across the yard the stranger halted, his eyes moving over the countryside surrounding the drilling site. Merle froze, holding her breath. Damn, she cursed silently. Had he seen something? A flash of light off the lens of the binoculars? Her heart was beating heavily in her chest and sweat collected across her brow. She didn't dare lower the glasses, afraid the movement might catch in the sunlight.

  After an eternity, the man, shrugging slightly, motioned to the geologist and continued towards the office. It wasn't until she saw the door close behind them that Merle was able to unlock her frozen muscles and move. Hastily she repacked the knapsack and, moving in a crouch, left her position on the crest of the hill. Fortunately the earth was hard-packed and she would leave no betraying footsteps or depressions to indicate that someone had been using the hill as a vantage point to spy on the well site.

  On the drive back to the motel Merle found herself thinking about the stranger at the well site, weaving little fantasies about him. There had been something about him—an air of authority. I'll bet he likes having his own way, being the one in charge all the time, she thought. Maybe he wasn't that attractive after all. She didn't like men who tried to tell her what to do. Still, men that were too easily managed were boring after a while: he could be kind of a challenge.

  God, Merle, you're getting weird, she derided herself as she turned into the motel parking lot. The chances of her ever seeing him again were remote. Very few oil executives made a habit of hanging around the rigs—they seemed to prefer the comfort of their offices.

  She parked her Blazer and walked to her room, determinedly putting all thoughts of the man from the well site out of her mind. As she let herself into the room, the air pleasantly cooled by the air conditioner, she thanked God that at least this well was reasonably close to civilisation. While the motel wasn't exactly in the Hilton class, at least it was comfortable. On some jobs she had been forced to camp in the bush for weeks on end, driving out only to call in reports and restock her supp
lies.

  Merle stripped off her dusty blue jeans and sweat-stained shirt, tossing them carelessly into the corner. Deciding to forgo a shower in favour of the swimming pool, she retrieved her white bikini from the floor of the bathroom where she had left it after her last swim, and headed for the pool. She swam for several minutes, then pulled herself out and lay face down on one of the padded loungers that edged the pool area. After unclasping the bra top of her bikini so her back wouldn't be marked, she gave herself up to the sensual pleasure of hot sun on bared flesh.

  The steady hum of tyres on asphalt from the nearby highway combined with the heat created a soporific effect and Merle dozed. When she awoke it was to the sound of laughter and splashing from the pool. The sun had moved lower in the sky and the lounger where she lay was now in shade. She must have slept for hours. Awkwardly she reached back to do up the top of her bikini before rising.

  'Allow me.' A deep, masculine voice threaded with amusement came from somewhere above her head and Merle froze. It's strange how, when startled, one's brain stops working, then, when it resumes functioning, the first thought is often totally irrelevant to the situation. In this instance, Merle's first thought was that the man had a British accent, a very sexy British accent.

  She hadn't got far enough beyond this thought to react when she felt the edge of the lounger depress as someone sat down beside her. Strong hands removed the sections of the bikini from her lifeless fingers and deftly fastened the clasp. His fingers against her warm flesh raised the fine hairs along her spine, sending a shiver racing down her back as he let them linger. Merle remained motionless, her heart beating solidly in her chest. He momentarily caressed her rib cage, then left one hand resting lightly on the small of her back.

  His hand seemed to burn through her skin, sending hot blood surging through her veins, and Merle jackknifed into a sitting position. She turned to face him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes flashing with outrage. 'Who…?' The question died in her throat. It was him, the man she had seen at the well site.

  Close-up, he was better looking than she first thought, though still not handsome. His features were softened by the expression of amusement he wore, tiny lines of humour fanning out from the corners of his startling green eyes. His only covering was a pair of tightly fitting navy blue swimming briefs. He was deeply tanned, his chest covered by a mat of dark, curling hair. He looked very big, very sure of himself, and very male. Sexual awareness uncurled in the pit of her stomach and Merle swallowed hard, trying to suppress it. 'J-just what do you think you are doing?' she stammered.

  He grinned broadly. 'I never could resist a lady in distress.' His eyes slid over her scantily clad form in intimate inspection. As his gaze rested on her breasts, partially revealed by the low cut of her bikini top, Merle's jaw tightened. Don't tell me he's going to turn out to be a lecher.

  When he lifted his eyes to hers, a faint smile twitched on his lips as he read the outrage in her grey ones. 'You look hot and bothered,' he commented, laughing softly. 'Come for a swim with me.' He stood up and reached out to take her hand and pull her to her feet.

  She didn't know if it was the impact of the physical awareness that he had on her, or the faint inflection of an order in his request, but whatever it was it reacted on her like a cattle prod. Merle flinched away from him, then in one quick movement rolled off the lounger on to her feet, putting it between them. She was a tall woman, but still she was forced to tip her head back to meet his eyes. In the corner of her vision she could see several people splashing about in the pool and was reassured by their presence. She tossed her head, the action disturbing the slick cap of her closely cropped black hair. With icy politeness, she said, 'If you'll excuse me.' She reached down and picked up her bottle of suntan oil, then moved to retrieve the hat that lay near the head of the lounger. The man seized it first and held it out to her, but when she went to take it from him, he snatched it back, grinning.

  When he saw her expression, he again offered her the hat. 'I couldn't resist teasing you,' he explained, obviously puzzled by her cold glare. 'Let's start over. My name's Leon, what's yours?'

  All else went out of her mind as Merle's brain went into overdrive. Leon—Leon Crane??? It had to be. Before scouting a well Merle made it a policy to find out something about the company who was doing the drilling. Puma Resources had been founded by Leon Crane, an Englishman who had arrived on the Calgary oil scene about three years ago. Prior to this, he had spent several years working in different countries around the world for various multi-national oil companies. Rumour had it that he came from a very wealthy, very prominent upper crust family whose backing had allowed him to start Puma Resources.

  Not that he had needed the continued support of a wealthy family. During its first year of operation Puma had made a major find in the Peace River district, establishing it as one of the leaders among the hundreds of independent oil companies that abound in Alberta. That find had also established Leon Crane as a prominent figure in the oil world. He was frequently quoted in the financial pages and it was rumoured that the 'blue-eyed sheiks' of Alberta often sought his advice on energy policy.

  As Merle studied him thoughtfully she remembered something else about Leon Crane. Not only was he featured in the business section of the newspapers, he was no stranger to the society pages, either. A bachelor, his name was frequently linked with that of some of the most beautiful women in Alberta society.

  But whatever his social life was like, one fact remained: he would know all about what was happening at the well. She was suddenly swamped with indecision. Should she…? He was obviously attracted to her, she had seen that expression in enough men's eyes to know what it meant. She might never have another opportunity like this. He could be a heaven-sent source of information. Her eyes went to his, then skittered away uncertainly. She was having difficulty handling Greg but she had the feeling that that would be child's play compared to managing Leon Crane.

  He was still watching her, one eyebrow lifted slightly as he waited for her to answer his question. She couldn't stand here dithering all day and only a fool would pass up a chance like this. Besides, hadn't she just told herself he would be a challenge? Her lips curved into a smile. 'Merle, my name's Merle Halliday.'

  'Merle,' he said softly, testing the sound of it. 'I like that.'

  He was still holding out the hat to her and now she accepted it, but didn't bother putting it on. She let her eyes hold his, injecting warm appreciation in them even though she knew she was playing a dangerous game. She would have to be very, very careful with this one. There was always a risk when you decided to use someone who attracted you; it wouldn't do to fall in love with them.

  Their eyes held for several seconds, absorbed with one another, and neither of them was aware of the approaching footsteps. When a hard, male arm slipped around Merle's waist in a possessive gesture, she jumped. Her head swivelled in startled reaction and Greg pressed his mouth down hard on hers. The kiss ended almost before it began and as he released her, the geologist grinned down at her. 'Hi, honey. I see you've met my boss, Mr Crane.' He looked over to the other man, retaining his hold on her waist. 'Merle is staying here at the motel.'

  'I see.' There was an odd note in his tone and Merle looked at him swiftly. His eyes were on Greg's arm where it rested about her waist, their expression veiled.

  As if sensing the other man's interest, the geologist tightened his hold and Leon's mouth seemed to firm. Merle felt like screaming with frustration. Greg was going out of his way to make his claim on her apparent and there wasn't a thing she could do about it. She had been dating him for two weeks and if she gave him the cold shoulder now, he was bound to stage a scene.

  Greg turned his attention back to Merle, a faint smile of satisfaction playing about his mouth. 'I came to tell you we would be leaving a little early for dinner tonight,' he said, dropping a kiss on her temple. 'I'm getting tired of the truckstop and thought it would be a nice change to drive into Medicine Hat for a meal
.'

  With difficulty, Merle bit back the urge to tell Greg exactly where she thought he should go for his evening meal. As if it wasn't enough that he was queering her pitch with Crane, did he have to tell her what they would be doing for dinner? Just because they usually ate together, didn't mean he could take it for granted that he could dictate her evening for her.

  She glanced over to Leon. Why couldn't Greg have stayed away just a little longer? If she could have been sure of Crane, she would have dumped Greg. As it was, she didn't want to take the risk, so, since Greg was the bird in hand so to speak, she forced herself to smile at him. 'That sounds great. What time do you want to leave?'

  He glanced at his watch. 'It's after five now. Can you be ready in an hour?'

  Merle had started to agree when Leon Crane interposed, 'I'm sorry to disrupt your plans for the evening, but you and I have business to discuss.' He didn't look the least apologetic as his gaze rested on the other man. Since Greg had arrived on the scene Leon's potent charm seemed to have been placed into cold storage and Merle frowned slightly. He wasn't getting suspicious of her motive for dating Greg, was he? She shot both men a look from beneath her lashes. Greg was looking distinctly disgruntled, but she couldn't tell what Leon was thinking.

  'I thought we had covered everything we needed to this afternoon,' the geologist protested.

  'There are a few points that have occurred to me since then. I'd like to go over them tonight so I can head back to Calgary first thing in the morning. I'm sure Merle will understand.' His eyes flicked over her coldly and Merle felt a sense of relief. He was branding her a flirt, maybe even displaying a shade of sexual jealousy, but he didn't look suspicious.

  Greg looked at her, his expression dismayed. 'Merle…?'