Running from Fate

by Connelly, Rose

  She glanced sideways at James and wondered what was going through his head. He had barely spoken to her on the plane or in the ride from the airport. Mira considered breaking the silence, but decided against it. She had enjoyed the temporary truce that had existed between them since the scene at the airport and she didn’t want to risk damaging it.

  James continued to hold his silence until they arrived on the third floor, where they both had rooms. He glanced at his watch, which he had adjusted to British time on the ride over. It was just past noon and the meeting wasn’t scheduled until later in the evening.

  “Why don’t we both take some time to revive ourselves,” he suggested. “And we’ll meet down in the lobby at four.”

  “That’s fine,” Mira replied as she covered a huge yawn with her hand. She turned away from James and walked the few paces to her room. “I’ll see you later,” she called as she shut the door behind her.

  She paused just inside the door and surveyed the room in quiet appreciation. This was more like it. With its rose covered bedspread, matching armchair and footstool, and rich cream walls it made her think of the English countryside. It was the view from the window, however, which caught and held her attention.

  Hyde Park was a place that Mira was intimately familiar with. The beautiful, sprawling acreage in central London was a place that she came back to each and every time she visited. She had picnicked there with her parents when she was a child and walked the tree-lined paths with Lily as a teenager. She had also spent one memorable day there with Kevin when they were on their honeymoon. After that idyllic time it had been back to work for him and back to school for her. Unfortunately, they had never had a day like that again because he had been dead six months later.

  With a slight effort, Mira shook off the bittersweet memories. There was one thing that she had always really enjoyed doing in Hyde Park — running. She had started running when she went to boarding school and it was still one of her favorite activities. If she remembered correctly the park had some great paths.

  She glanced at her watch. There were still quite a few hours until the meeting and she had slept on the plane so she didn’t really need a nap. Before her common sense could kick in, she quickly changed into her workout clothes and headed out.

  Three hours later, refreshed by the exercise and a nice, hot shower, she stepped into a pair of sensible, black heels and checked her appearance in the mirror. She wanted to look both professional and feminine and she thought that she had pulled it off. Her suit was a rich, chocolate brown with a fitted jacket and a beautiful, flowing skirt that ended just below her knees. She had paired it with a forest green blouse that brought out her eyes and two emerald studded combs to hold her hair back. The combs had been a gift from her mother and they always gave her confidence.

  She quickly touched up her lipstick, grabbed her briefcase and walked out the door. James would be waiting.

  **********************************************************

  Sir Jonathan Ashton II was not exactly what James had expected. In his experience, people who had grown up with a lot of money rarely dabbled in business and when they did, they preferred not to be bothered with the niggling little details.

  This rich boy was a tall, dark haired man somewhere in his early 40s. His pinstriped suit was obviously tailored and expensive, but his handshake was firm and he spoke knowledgeably about the sustainable building industry. He was a man who obviously knew what he was talking about when it came to his business. He would understand what James meant if he talked about the benefits of using photovoltaic panels to convert sunlight into useable energy. He would bet that Mr. Ashton had thoroughly studied the subject before this meeting had been arranged. Speaking of which, where was Mira? It wouldn’t do for her to be late, again.

  He sighed in relief, which quickly turned to admiration, when she glided into the lobby. With her rich, chocolate skirt swaying around her shapely legs and her upswept hair highlighting her sculpted cheekbones, she looked delectable. Apparently, James reflected as he glanced at his companion, Jonathan thought the same thing. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. Client or not, James decided, the man would require watching.

  “Why Jon Ashton,” Mira exclaimed. She sat down her briefcase and held out both hands. “It’s been years since we’ve seen each other. Are you the client that we came here to impress?”

  Jonathan lifted both of her hands and placed a light kiss on each of her palms. “Mira Sw—no, wait, it’s Anders now, isn’t it?” He slowly ran his eyes over her. “I have to say,” he murmured, “that you get more beautiful every time I see you.”

  Mira felt her heat climb up her face. The blatant admiration in his blue eyes was starting to make her uncomfortable. She resisted fidgeting and pulled lightly against his grasp until he finally released her.

  “How is your husband doing?” He asked silkily, glancing around the lobby. “Did he let you go on this trip by yourself?”

  “My husband is dead,” Mira said briskly. She reminded herself that he was a potential client and she couldn’t slap him. She forced her voice to soften. “Kevin has been gone for eight years. He died soon after our honeymoon.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember, it was the last time that I saw you.” He touched her shoulder lightly, almost caressingly. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  James clenched his hand and told himself that he couldn’t punch the man in his aristocratic face. It was time to get things moving. He ushered them out of the lobby.

  An hour later he walked out of one of the hotel’s many conference rooms. The meeting had gone well and it looked as if they would get the contract, but if he had to hear that smarmy English lord compliment Mira one more time he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. He would be able to deal with the man much better when they were an ocean apart.

  “Thank you for your time Mr. Kelly,” Mr. Ashton said as he clasped James’ hand and shook it heartily. “I was quite impressed by your presentation and you can be sure that I will be contacting you in the near future.” He turned from James to wink at Mira. “Perhaps,” he continued, “I’ll even hop over there myself. It was wonderful to see you again,” he said, turning fully toward Mira. “Your work was excellent, just as I knew it would be.” He bent down and air kissed her cheek.

  Mira backed up a couple of paces and scooted next to James. “Thank you Jon. It was great to see you again too.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s getting quite late and we don’t want to keep you from anything. I’m sure I’ll see you again before we leave.”

  “Actually,” Jonathan interrupted. “I was hoping that we could catch up this evening, perhaps over dinner.”

  He’s a client, Mira sternly told herself. It wouldn’t do to insult him. She mentally sighed. It might be a good idea to have dinner with him after all. She could always plead fatigue and leave early.

  “I’m very sorry Mr. Ashton,” James said smoothly, “but that won’t be possible. Mira and I already have plans for the evening. She’s been begging me to take her to an authentic English pub. It’s not exactly my type of scene but, hey,” he shrugged. “What could I do? Perhaps we can all have lunch together before our plane leaves?”

  “I’m afraid I won’t have the time tomorrow.” He looked disappointed, but resigned. With a final, forlorn glance at Mira, he turned and walked down the hallway.

  “Could you have made me sound like any more of an airhead?” Mira said through gritted teeth once they were safely alone and on their way upstairs. “I know you thought you were helping, but I can handle myself.”

  “You liked having him slobber all over you, did you?” His eyes narrowed slightly with the beginnings of anger. “Perhaps I should have let you go out with him.”

  “I would have been able to handle him, but I suppose I should thank you,” she groused. They stopped in front of her room and Mira dug out her key. “Goodnight James.”

  “Wait a minute. What about dinner?” He ran his hand through
his hair, wondering what in the bloody hell he was doing. Hadn’t he sworn that he would stay away from her? “I could really go for some pub fare and I think we could both use a drink. What do you say?” He heard the words coming out of his mouth as if from a great distance, like he had no control over his speech. Despite his ambivalent feelings, though, he waited impatiently for her answer.

  Mira tapped her foot, the motion making barely any sound in the lushly carpeted hallway, and contemplated her choices. She and James were alone in what was, essentially, a foreign environment and he had a girlfriend back home. As much as she wanted to go out with him, she wasn’t one of those women. On the other hand, it could just be dinner. They did both have to eat and her stomach was starting to growl. Besides, she could do with a drink. “All right,” she decided. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 13

  The place was called the Boarshead Tavern and, had Mira actually been desperate to visit an “English pub,” it was all that she could have desired. The long, dark bar was suitably scarred and worn under dim, unflattering lighting, a large boar’s head hung in a place of honor behind the bar, and men in work boots sat shoulder to shoulder with women in tight shirts and miniscule skirts on leather covered barstools. In the corner, an obviously drunk older man was attempting to sing Frank Sinatra’s “My Way” in a warbling tenor. Hanging over the scene was a hazy cloud of smoke. The food, Mira found, was actually pretty decent and, after several drinks, she was beginning to enjoy the singing.

  “You and Jonathan seemed to know each other very well.” James poured some more vinegar over his chips and popped one in his mouth. He sighed in pleasure at the tart flavor. “When exactly did you meet him and why didn’t you tell me you already knew each other?”

  “First of all, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me who we were meeting with,” she responded archly. “And, secondly, I don’t really know him that well. We only met a few times.” She ignored his baleful look and dug into her mince pie.

  “For not knowing him that well, you two acted awfully familiar with each other.” He stabbed a piece of fish so violently that his fork clanged against the plate. The guy’s hands had been all over her, he fumed, touching her back when pushing her chair in, grasping her hands, laying his palm on her shoulder. He hadn’t seen her protest. In fact, it had looked like she had been about to say yes to his dinner invitation. If he hadn’t stepped in who knows what could have happened. Now he was stuck having dinner in this greasy, low-class place.

  Mira watched as James mutilated his fish and mumbled nastily under his breath. She picked up her beer and took a drink in an effort to hide her smile. So much for her fears that the man barely even noticed her. He was jealous. It was all she could do not to laugh.

  “Well?” James asked in a disgruntled tone. “How did you meet this man you say you don’t know?” He gave up on his fish, threw down his fork, and picked up his drink. It might do a better job of washing the bitter taste from his mouth.

  “It’s sort of a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

  “Did I no just say so?” He stood up and took her now empty glass. “I’ll get you another pint, but when I come back I want to hear it.” He grabbed his own mug and walked off.

  She leaned back in her chair, crossed her ankles and watched him work his way over to the bar. She couldn’t tell if it was due to the alcohol or the situation, but he was definitely different. His usually controlled stride was altered, somehow smoother and looser and every once in a while she could hear a hint of his Irish accent leaking out.

  He reached the bar, after not so politely rebuffing the advances of three women, and a wizened, white haired man turned to speak to him. James leaned closer to the man and appeared to be intently listening to something he was saying. Moments later, he threw back his head and laughed.

  The sound warmed something inside of her. No matter what ended up happening, she decided, it was worth it to see just a glimpse of the young boy that she used to know.

  “Here’s your beer.” James sat down and plunked a pint of Guinness in front of her. He took a long, slow drink of his whiskey before sitting it down and crossing his arms. “You were saying,” he prompted.

  Mira sighed and considered how much she could tell him without revealing who she was. She knew that it was deceitful to leave him in the dark, but the thought of ruining even the tenuous connection that they had developed, made her stomach churn. Besides, she rationalized fuzzily. It wasn’t even like they were dating. They were merely business associates.

  “The first time I met Sir Jonathan Ashton II, she began, “I was 19 and—“

  “Wait a minute.” He narrowed his eyes and glared at her. “Am I to believe the man was coming on to you were you were still a wee lass. I should go and back and find him just so I can give him a good taste of me fists.”

  “If you could refrain from interrupting,” she tapped her fingers on the table and glared back at him, “I’ll finish my story.”

  James leaned back in his chair, downed his whiskey, sighing as warmth slide down his throat, and tried to relax.

  She nodded her head regally and chugged her beer. Her mind buzzed pleasantly. “As I was saying,” she continued, thankful that her speech was still coherent. “I met Jonathan when I was 19. It was the summer after my sophomore year and I had come to London to do an internship at a large architectural firm. Jonathan was a client of theirs. I saw him in passing a few times and he didn’t seem to notice me. One day, however, he came over to me and said I looked a little lost. He offered to show me around the city.”

  “You went with him!?” He sprang up, upsetting his glass. “The man has to be at least 10 years older than you. Did you no have better sense than that?”

  “He’s 12 years older,” Mira replied hotly, “and my common sense is just fine. I said that he asked me. I didn’t say that I agreed.” She stood up and grabbed her now empty glass.

  “If you’re getting a refill could you please get me one? I’ll pay of course.” He held out his glass and a 10 pound note.

  As an apology it was severely lacking, but it was better than nothing. She took the money and stalked off. At least she tried to stalk, but it was kind of difficult when her legs insisted on wobbling.

  James watched her in brooding silence and wondered what it was about Mira Anders that affected him so strongly. He hadn’t had this much trouble controlling his emotions since he was a teenager. He watched her lean against the bar and strike up a conversation with the bartender. She looked like a young co-ed in her skintight jeans and soft, green sweater and way too young and innocent for her own good. The bartender winked and smiled at her. Making a quick decision, James pushed back his chair and stood up.

  Mira jolted when she felt a heavy hand come down on her shoulder. She fumbled and almost spilled the drinks she was holding. Carefully, she sat both drinks down on the bar and spun around, ready to give whoever it was a piece of her mind. Her face slammed into a solid, unmovable object. She lifted a hand to rub her sore nose and looked up. James’ beautiful blue eyes locked on hers and, forgetting her earlier pique, she smiled dreamily. It was several seconds before she realized he was saying something to her.

  “Mira.” James clutched her upper arms and shook her. She blinked as up at him as if coming of some kind of trance. Perhaps he shouldn’t let her have any more to drink.

  “What?” Mira asked when she had regained her wits.

  “I think it’s time we were getting out of here.” He dropped her arms and grabbed hold of her hand.

  “But I just bought two more drinks,” she sputtered. “Let go of me.” She jerked back, almost tripping over a barstool. “I’m sick of you dragging me around.”

  James ignored her comment, lifted his whiskey, and drained it in one swallow. He staggered slightly, but kept hold of her hand. “There, happy now?” He sat the glass down and pulled her toward the door.

  “What about my drink?”

&nb
sp; “You don’t need any more.”

  The evening air was bracing after the closeness inside the pub and Mira felt her head begin to clear. She gently tugged on her hand, but he merely tightened his hold and quickened the pace. She sighed and sped up, almost tripping in an effort to keep up with him.

  After several minutes, James realized that he was almost dragging her and slowed his pace and to let her catch up. He briefly considered letting go of her hand, but the warm weight of it felt somehow right and familiar.

  The cool, damp air of a London night surrounded them, enclosing them in a private bubble. The streets were strangely deserted so the only sounds were their shoes on the pavement and their breath in the quiet air. They walked along in silence for several minutes. After a couple of blocks the cool dampness condensed into a soft, misty rain that clung to their hair and slowly dampened their clothes.

  Despite the rain, James was feeling more at ease than he had in many years. His unrelenting race to the top had may have put his company at the forefront of a lucrative new market, but it hadn’t left him much time for relaxation. Truthfully, he hadn’t been that worried about it. Taking glittering, shallow women out for an evening and, sometimes, going to their home for the night had been enough. Now he wasn’t so sure. Something about the night and the woman walking beside him made him ache for something more. It was a slightly scary feeling, like standing on the edge of a steep cliff, but it was also exhilarating. He might regret it tomorrow, he thought as he tightened his hand, but he wasn’t ready to let the feeling go.

  He glanced down at Mira and almost laughed. Unlike most women of his acquaintance, who would panic if their hair got wet, she was walking with her eyes closed and her head tilted up to the sky, obviously trusting him not to steer her wrong. Water droplets clung to her long lashes and glistened against her full lips. She didn’t look like a young woman now, but like a pagan goddess, wallowing in the bounties of nature. A bolt of lust hit him so strongly that it was all he could do to stay upright. He clenched his teeth and fought for control.