by Nancy Warren
“Lise,” he said. Just that one word.
“Steve?” Her heart banged painfully against her ribs. She calculated rapidly, he must be halfway to Hawaii by now. Was he phoning her from the plane?
“I need someone to pick me up from the airport. I was wondering if you were free.” Her head was spinning.
Airport? “Which airport?”
“San Francisco,” he said with the ghost of a laugh.
“What happened? Was your plane cancelled? Delayed?”
“No. It took off all right, but I wasn’t on it.”
She swallowed hard. With a mutter of protest, Anton removed the mock-up from her hands before her clutching, sweating fingers could destroy it.
“I’ll come back later,” he said and left, closing her office door behind him.
“Why weren’t you on the plane?”
“You know, I’m not entirely sure. I’d like to take some time to work that out.”
“How—how much time were you thinking of?”
“As long as it takes.”
Forever. She was thinking a question like that could take at least a lifetime to work out. In that time, so much could happen. There was Crane, acting if he wanted it, university if he still dreamed of being an engineer. They could spend time here and time in Australia. If they loved each other enough, anything was possible.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes. Sorry. You took me by surprise.” Why could she only find one shoe? She’d slipped them off earlier and now her questing toes could only reach one.
“So, you’ll come to the airport and pick me up?”
“Yes, if I can ever find my other shoe.”
He chuckled. “Borrow Sonia’s. And maybe you can borrow her dress again while you’re at it.”
“I can’t believe you—”
But she was cut off by a chuckle. “I love you,” he said.
And really, what else was there to say?
Try These Other Nancy Warren titles:
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You might like to try some more fun, sexy stories by Nancy:
The Crane Series
Sun Kissed
Sea Kissed
Star Kissed
Take a Chance Series:
Kiss a Girl in the Rain, Take a Chance Book 1
Iris in Bloom, Take a Chance, Book 2
Chance Encounter, a Prequel to the Take a Chance series
The Changing Gears series:
Fast Ride
Wild Ride
Crazy Ride
Rich Bitch, Everything’s Going to the Dogs
The Christmas Grandma Ran Away from Home
Steamy Southern Nights
Let it Snow
Unwrapping Santa
The 12 Dates of Christmas
Border Collie Christmas
The Toni Diamond Mysteries Series:
Frosted Shadow
Ultimate Concealer
About the Author
Nancy Warren is the USA Today bestselling author of more than fifty novels. She’s known for writing funny, sexy and suspenseful tales. She calls Vancouver, Canada home though she tends to wander. Her travels in Australia inspired the Crane Series, of course. She’s an avid hiker, animal lover, wine drinker and chocolate fiend. Favorite moments in her career include being featured on the front page of the New York Times when she launched Harlequin’s NASCAR series with Speed Dating. She was also the answer to a crossword puzzle clue in Canada’s National Post newspaper. She’s been a double finalist in the Rita awards and has won the Reviewer’s Choice Award from Romantic Times magazine. She spills secrets in her newsletter and you can sign up at http://www.nancywarren.net or come visit her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/nancy.warren.9655
Sneak Peek at Star Kissed
“Flat white, please,” Bronwyn Spencer said to the young guy at the coffee stand at Sydney Airport.
Trying to organize coffee and smother a yawn at the same time was using all the energy she possessed this early in the morning. A Saturday morning, too, her prime laying-in time sacrificed for some stiff-arsed Yank she had to babysit. Honestly, if it were anyone but Cam who’d asked her to give up a Saturday for a boring suit she’d have laughed right in his face. But Cameron Crane was her big half-brother and, in spite of the fact that he drove her crazy, bossed her about, lectured her about her extravagance and poor taste in men, and generally interfered in matters he should leave well enough alone, she adored him.
Nothing else would bring her here at this time of the morning. Not after the party last night. Bron was young, healthy, and attractive, and she firmly believed that youth was a time to party. Which she’d done heartily until hunger drove her out for a pie at Harry’s Café de Wheels in the wee hours, and then reluctantly she’d gone home, deciding on a few hours of sleep before her babysitting assignment.
She dragged out the photo of the man she’d be looking after for the next fortnight. Mark Forsythe. Even his name sounded wet. He was some sort of finance type, coming over to sort out Crane’s financial system and explain how all the taxes worked in the American market. She knew this was important, but she couldn’t imagine anything more boring. She’d tried to balance her checkbook once and found it so futile she’d given up. She’d discovered instead a wonderful thing called overdraft protection. And after that ran out, in extreme emergencies there was always Cam.
Except that he wasn’t here. Off with his new lovey dove right when she most needed him. Why did her overdraft have to run out right when the week’s rent was due? Oh, well. Luckily she was a resourceful woman and had allowed Cam to bail her out of a jam once more, even though he’d done it without his knowledge. Which wasn’t her fault. He hadn’t been around to ask.
She wasn’t going to stand around like a dickhead holding a sign with Mark Forsythe’s name on it, so she was going to have to recognize the man. She studied his corporate photo while she drank the coffee. Mark Forsythe gazed back at her from a corporate head shot, earnest and dull. Black hair that would look better if it was a little longer and not so neat, serious blue eyes in a serious, narrow face. Firm lips that looked as though they never smiled at a joke, never mind told one. Her lip curled. It was going to be a long two weeks. Already she was irritated with the man since she was on time and his flight wasn’t. She could have snatched a bit more sleep.
Her feet ached from all the dancing last night, and she stretched them out, noticing the coral polish on her nails was already chipped. With a quiet chuckle she remembered that Fiona had outlasted her at the party, and seemed pretty keen on a blond surfie from Brisbane wearing a shirt of so hideous a green that it ought to be burned. She wondered how Fi was faring and pulled out her mobile. She hesitated, and then decided that if she had to be up and functioning at nine in the morning on a Saturday, her best mate ought to as well. She punched in the number and after a few rings, Fiona answered.
“This better be life or death.”
“Did you go home with your surfie?”
A great groan met her ears. “What the bloody hell are you doing ringing me at this hour?”
“Well, did you?”
A few passengers began drifting out from the California flight. Idly she watched them blinking with tiredness, or stretching after more hours than she cared to contemplate stuffed in a tin can thirty thousand feet above earth. Bron shook her head; she firmly believed that if God had meant man to fly, he’d have given surfboards wings. She glanced down at the black-haired, serious and controlled-looking man in the photo and kept her eyes open while Fiona yawned and groaned.
“No,” her friend said, finally. “I didn’t go home with him. Now would you piss off?”
A man came through the glass doors alone. Right general age and he had black hair, but he was nothing like the photograph. His hair was a mess. He must have fallen asleep against
something that had pushed his hair up one side. His face was shadowy with stubble, giving him a disreputable look. He wore a navy short-sleeved shirt that had wrinkled badly and tan chinos. He moved slowly, but she liked the way he walked, with a kind of rolling gait, as though he were getting off a boat rather than a plane.
He stood as though he were about to fall asleep on his feet, his gaze searching out someone. Then their gazes connected and she felt her heart flop over. No photograph could have captured the blue of his eyes. They were the dark, smoky blue of a wailing sax at some bar at three in the morning, with a half-drunk whiskey and a smoldering cigarette. They were so tired, and so lonely in a cynical way that she wanted to fix everything for him and kiss his hurts better. It was an odd reaction for her to have for a stranger, but he didn’t even look like a stranger she thought with a spurt of recognition. He held a briefcase in one hand and a black suitcase in the other. She glanced at the photo and back at him, every hormone in her body doing a victory dance.
“Oh, my God,” she said into the phone. “He’s gorgeous.”