by Heidi Rice
In that instant Andy knew what it felt like to be the most important and most beautiful person in the room, but instead of squirming and wanting to slide under the table she lifted her chin. Heart thumping. Brain spinning. An odd and unfamiliar tension hummed down her veins. Every cell of her suddenly alive and tuned into the vibrations emanating from his body.
Suddenly she wanted to preen and flick her hair and roll her shoulders back so that she could stick her chest out.
It was as if she had been dusted with instant lust powder.
Wow.
#sportybloke had truly arrived.
Sitting up a little straighter on her chair, Andy quickly swept away her sketch pad and focused her gaze on the arrangement of the menus on the table, trying to find something to do with her hands, only too aware that he was still watching her.
She could practically feel the heat of that laser-beam gaze burning a hole through her forehead and was surprised that there was no smell of smoke or a scorch mark on the wall behind her.
Even though she had chosen the most spacious coffee shop she could find, this man weaving his way towards her seemed to block the light. According to his profile he was six feet two inches but he certainly filled every inch. He was tall and tanned and broad-shouldered and muscular and every ounce of his attention was totally focused on her.
His feet slowed as he reached her table and she looked up into a pair of eyes the colour of dark bitter chocolate below heavy dark eyebrows and wavy brown hair. He had eyes a girl could drown in and not want to come up for air. And they locked onto hers as though they could see into her soul, wander around for a while, looking for trouble, then move on leaving her lonely and bereft.
‘I’m a sort of a sportybloke. You may be expecting me, city girl.’
His transatlantic voice was rich, deep and came from low down in his diaphragm, giving it a certain roughness that resonated inside her head.
It was the kind of voice that should be on the radio promoting late-night ballads, but it had no place at all in a small London coffee shop where she was in touching distance of its owner.
He just stood there, patiently waiting for her reply, with a smile on his lips and a body aimed at her. A male cover model made flesh.
Just hearing his voice made her glad that she was sitting down and, judging by the glances from the other women on the nearby tables, allure this powerful had a range of at least ten feet.
What was he doing here? On an Internet date of all things? This man could win a gold medal in charming women without even trying hard!
‘Absolutely,’ she lied, horrified at how pathetic and squeaky her voice sounded, and she tugged at the lilac silk scarf Elise had chosen as her marker. ‘Scarf and all.’
‘I am sorry I’m late.’ He smiled, shrugging off his waterproof and throwing it casually onto the wooden floor behind her chair, showering the planks and smothering her umbrella in the process. ‘Had to take someone to the airport and the traffic was pretty bad. Thanks for waiting.’
‘No problem,’ she replied, and held out her hand. ‘It’s nice to finally meet you in person.’
He stepped forward and grasped hold of her hand and his long fingers wrapped around hers with a strong, masterful grip, which was probably perfect for grappling ropes on sailboats and back-slapping athletes, but left her fingers feeling as though she had been sitting on them for several minutes. But who needed blood anyway?
Inappropriate and totally crazy thoughts about the effect those same fingers could have on other parts of her body flitted through Andy’s mind and it was a relief when he broke contact first and slid down into the smallish wooden chair opposite, which seemed far too flimsy for his body.
‘You too. Corporate promotions. Tricky stuff.’
Andy felt her heart rate increase several notches as he moved even closer.
Keep to the script. Keep to the script. Give him five minutes to get a coffee, and then break it to him gently. Talk business. That usually works.
She took a long drink of coffee to give her brain a chance to catch up and form something close to a sensible reply. ‘It can be. But I suspect that every successful entrepreneur has to take risks. Even in sportswear.’
His brown eyes focused on her face, but there was just enough of a crunch between the dark brows to capture her attention. ‘Damn right.’
Then one side of his mouth lifted into a half-smile. ‘You could almost say that was the best part. Pushing yourself against the limits, knowing just what kind of risk you are taking. Yeah. I guess that we are both in the risk business. Can I get you another coffee?’
And without waiting for her reply he lifted his head and, like a genie from a lamp, the barista instantly appeared on their side of the counter. ‘Two of what the lady had and I’ll take an omelette. Three eggs, ham and mushroom. No onion, heavy on the herbs. And can you throw in some of those Panini and a couple of cookies? Cheers.’
Two fingers to the forehead and their server was gone. Amazing.
Andy looked in astonishment to the counter, where the two girls were feverishly working on the order, and then back to #sportybloke, who was sitting back, legs outstretched to one side. Watching her.
‘Do you always do that?’ She asked with a quick jab of her head towards the counter.
He blinked and hit her with a grin that displayed his straight white teeth to best effect. ‘Do what? Order coffee? Yeah, I might do that now and again. Especially in a coffee shop.’
‘I mean, do you always just shout out the order from your chair instead of going up to the counter like everyone else? And how do you know that I needed another coffee? I might have preferred a tea for a change. Or maybe even one of those hot steak sandwiches?’
His reply was to rest his bare arms on the table, hands loose and relaxed, and lean the top half of his long wide frame towards her from the hips so that she had to fight the urge to lean back against the wall and protect her space.
The top two buttons of his shirt stretched open as the fabric stretched over a broad chest, and revealed a hint of deeply tanned skin, and more than a few dark chest hairs.
At this distance she could have reached out and touched the curved flicks of dark wavy hair that had fallen over one side of his temple, but she had the idea that he would like that far too much, so she simply lifted her chin and inhaled a long calming breath through her nose.
Big mistake.
Instead of a background aroma of coffee and baked goods, she was overwhelmed with the scent of gentle rain on fresh-cut grass blended with lime zest, which was tangy against the sweetness of the air.
He smelt wonderful. Fresh, distinctive and on a scale of one to ten on the testosterone level she would give it a twelve. Because there was no mistake. The man below the flamboyant floral shirt that the dreadful Nigel would have completely refused to wear, even for a bet, was certainly adding a lot of himself to the mix. From the sun-bleached hair on his arms and the way the muscles in his neck flexed when he moved, to the ‘know it all’ confidence in the smile he was giving her at that moment, he was off the scale.
And then he ramped it up a notch by lowering the tone of his voice so that she was the only person who would be able to hear him whisper in words that were as smooth as molten chocolate.
‘I took a chance. City girl.’
Then he slid his arms into his lap, sat back against the wooden chair and winked at her.
CHAPTER TWO
A CHANCE? He took a chance? Oh! Could he be more of a caveman and testosterone driven?
And he knew it! He knew exactly what effect he was having.
And suddenly every alarm bell in her body started sounding all at once.
Why on earth did a man this gorgeous need to meet women on the Internet?
It was obvious from his emails that he was a flirt, but this man looked as though he was getting ready to beat his chest and roar or if that didn’t work, sling the nearest stone club over his shoulder and head out into the rain l
ooking for dinosaurs to slay.
His too-long dark chocolate-brown hair was tousled and so unkempt that one heady thick wave fell forward across his high cheekbone, and he flicked it back with his fingertips. It was a move that any professional fashion model would be proud to have mastered so perfectly—while still looking manly and gruff.
Then there was that mouth.
#sportybloke had an expression that was somewhere between suggestive and cheeky and as infectious as chicken pox. Andy had to fight from smiling automatically in return.
Until now she had believed that she was immune to such charms. After all, she had been exposed to this type of infection many times before and just about survived.
But this man was a carrier for a super powerful version of charm that no amount of medical science and previous experience had a chance of fighting off.
She might have guessed.
#sportybloke was one of them.
According to his online profile he ran a sportswear company with his brother and spent a lot of time promoting water sports overseas. Their speciality was surfing gear.
Well, from the looks of #sportybloke he was just another wealthy, arrogant and handsome entrepreneur who had been in the right place at the right time and had made his pile of money and was determined to flash it at every opportunity. A man like him spent his winters at some luxury ski resort and his summers bumming it around the Caribbean on other people’s yachts while his was being built to his own specifications.
Little wonder that he probably expected everyone to jump when he clicked his fingers, when, in fact, CEOs of international sports companies had all the time and money in the world.
Sheesh. Well, Andy had news for #sportybloke. The dinosaur was right here in the room and she was looking at him. Okay, so that was no hardship, but it was definitely time to get back to the script and earn that bonus that she knew Elise would pay, even if she had pulled the plug on the whole Internet dating business.
Just tell him and get it over with. He can cope!
Andy took a breath for courage, her back braced. But just as she was about to blurt out who she was and why she was there, the food and fresh coffees arrived and she was temporarily distracted by the delicious aroma from two cheese and ham freshly grilled Panini and crisp chocolate-chunk-and-hazelnut cookies.
One of the bar staff actually whimpered slightly under her breath as she slid the plate of steaming hot, fragrant herby omelette in front of #sportybloke, who thanked her with a smile.
Unbelievable.
‘Ladies first,’ he breathed and gestured towards the Panini; he had deftly cut each in half diagonally and left them in the centre of the table. They were oozing with molten cheese and tomato in between the crunchy bread and her mouth was already watering at the aroma, but just as she was about to say no her stomach growled in anticipation of the fat and carb treat that was on display.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, leaning forward towards him, ‘but there is something I need to tell you and it is quite urgent. You see, I’m not who you think I am. When I sent you those emails I …’
Suddenly a chair was knocked over on the next table only inches away from where Andy was sitting. An older man was on his feet, gasping in air through his nose, his hands clutched tight onto the sides of the table. He was panicking, his eyes darting from side to side. Face and neck red.
Without waiting for permission Andy darted out from her seat. ‘Someone please help. He’s choking.’ Oblivious to the sound of people standing and shuffling chairs, she gave the man an almighty thump between his shoulder blades with the heel of her hand. Her hand ached with the effort and she was puffing slightly but her back slap had no effect.
Andy stepped back to inhale and was just about to repeat the process when #sportybloke appeared at her side, stepped into the gap, linked his hands in front of the now very wheezy and panicky diner and pulled sharply upwards with all the force that a muscular man over six feet tall with long arms could produce on a crouched person’s stomach. A sizeable piece of unchewed steak sandwich shot out onto the check tablecloth and the diner sucked in breath after breath, his shoulders shaking with relief.
#sportybloke gave him a quick nod in reply to the handshake and man-thumped the stranger on the arm before stepping back to their table. Apparently oblivious to the slight cheer that had gone up from the other patrons and the anxious waitresses.
But instead of sitting down, he clamped his fingers tightly around the back of his chair and exhaled slowly from deep inside his chest, with a definite wince.
‘Anything the matter?’ she asked, quietly.
His gaze shot onto her face. It was fierce and intense, and for one microsecond she had an insight into the power and strength of this man who could freeze her to ice with just one glance.
But then he blinked and his eyes softened. ‘Leg cramp.’ He coughed and slapped his upper thigh with the flat of his hand. ‘I’m not used to sitting around for long periods. But I’m fine. Thanks.’
And he immediately pushed his chair closer to the wall so that he could sit down with his right leg stretched out in front of him.
Andy slid back in the chair and sat back to wait for her heart to stop thumping before blinking, swallowing hard and pulling her chair to the table.
‘Well. If you’re okay. That was … different,’ she said, looking over #sportybloke’s shoulder. ‘If I was the suspicious type I might think that you set that up just to impress me. Luckily for you I’m not, but I didn’t see emergency first aid on your online dating profile. Is that new?’
‘My first regular paid job was as a lifeguard in Cornwall. Compulsory first-aid training. Although I can’t say that I have used that move for a while. Glad to have helped—but you did okay for a city girl. One tip? Thump harder next time.’
‘Next time? I don’t want there to be a next time, thank you.’
She held out her right hand in front of her and watched the fingers tremble. ‘How can you stay so cool? I’m a wreck.’
His reply was to smile and seize hold of her hand between the palms of both of his, trapping it inside as he slowly moved his hands up and down, inch by inch, massaging life and heat and stimulation into the nerves.
His skin was warm and surprisingly soft except for the callouses on the fingers and inside his palms, but there was no mistaking the hidden strength in those hands and fingers.
She liked hands, always had. It was usually one of the first things she noticed about a person. And this man had spectacular hands. Long slender fingers with clean short nails. His knuckles were scarred and bruised as though they had been bashed at regular intervals.. Sinewy. Powerful.
They were clever, fast, working hands, and for the first time Andy wondered if she had made a mistake slotting #sportybloke into the arrogant CEO slot. These were not the hands of an office worker like the men she usually met. Far from it.
Um. Maybe he had been telling the truth about his surfing line in those emails?
‘Being cool has nothing to do with it. I simply knew what I had to do and did it. Feeling better now? Great. Let’s eat.’
He slid his hands away and her rock-steady fingers waggled back. But to her disgust she already missed having his warm strong hand around hers.
Then he cut the omelette into quarters, then eighths before spearing a portion with some of the salad garnish and carefully closing his mouth around the fork. Then slowly, slowly, drew the fork from his mouth.
And suddenly Andy found that her neck had become amazingly hot for some reason and she put down her dinner to loosen her scarf.
He was eating an omelette using cutlery. That was all. And the whole fork thing was not sensuous at all. Oh, no. Not a bit. Well … Maybe a little.
Well, that clinched it.
This man was way too handsome to be single and looking for girls online. And he could speak in joined-up sentences and use cutlery.
There had to be something wrong with him.
She had heard a
bout married or engaged men who went on Internet dating sites to have extramarital affairs with unsuspecting girls. Perhaps he already had a perfectly charming lovely lady back at home? Or he was actually a journalist doing a documentary about desperate sad girls who met men through Internet dating.
She inhaled sharply.
Focus, Andy, focus. Stop letting your imagination run away with you.
She took a breath and her words came tumbling out in one huge rush.
‘I need to tell you something. I am not the #citygirl executive you were expecting. My boss is. Only she had to go away on urgent business and it was too late to cancel. So, I came instead to apologise. Sorry.’
And then she sat back, dropped her hands into her lap, focused her gaze on his chin and waited for the fireworks to start.
The man on the other side of the table continued chewing for a moment, then put down his cutlery, crossed his arms, stretched out his neck and seemed to double his size. If he was intending to be imposing and maybe a little intimidating, his plan was working perfectly.
He stared at her through slightly narrowed eyes, his eyebrows low and dark, and she had to fight down the sudden urge to start chewing at her fingernails.
‘So let me get this straight. You’re not the girl I was supposed to meet here tonight.’
Andy pressed her lips together and risked a small apologetic shrug.
‘And you’re not a company executive?’
She shook her head very rapidly from side to side.
‘I see,’ he replied with something close to disappointment in his voice. ‘So how do I get to meet the girl who wrote those emails? Or has she got cold feet?’
She blinked twice before answering. ‘Oh, that was me. I wrote the emails. My boss paid me to write them for her, you see, and I really enjoyed chatting to you and learning about your life as …’
A low growl stopped her mid tracks. ‘Paid you? To write them. Right. So just who are you and what are you really doing here?’ he asked, and slid the whole top half of his body across the table towards her.
She tried shuffling backwards as he invaded what little personal space she had left but it was no use. Unless she wanted to leap sideways like a gazelle and make a run for it she was stuck. It was confession time. If he let her get a word in edgeways.