Praise for Nina Harrington

‘I look forward to reading this author’s next release … and her next … and her next. It truly is a stunning debut, with characters that will remain in your thoughts long after you have closed the book.’

—pinkheartsocietyreviews.blogspot.com on Always the Bridesmaid

‘Rich with emotion, and pairing two truly special characters, this beautiful story is simply unforgettable.

A keeper.’

—RT Book Reviews on Hired: Sassy Assistant

‘A well-constructed plot and a scrumptious, larger-than-life hero combined with generous amounts of humour and pathos make for an excellent read.’

—RT Book Reviews

on Tipping the Waitress with Diamonds

About Nina Harrington

NINA grew up in rural Northumberland, England, and decided at the age of eleven that she was going to be a librarian—because then she could read all of the books in the public library whenever she wanted! Since then she has been a shop assistant, community pharmacist, technical writer, university lecturer, volcano walker and industrial scientist, before taking a career break to realise her dream of being a fiction writer. When she is not creating stories which make her readers smile, her hobbies are cooking, eating, enjoying good wine—and talking, for which she has had specialist training.

Truth-Or-Date.com
Nina Harrington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for Nina Harrington

About Nina Harrington

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

From: Andromeda@ConstellationOfficeServices

To: saffie@saffronthechef

Subject: Our least favourite school friend and online dating

Hey Saffie.

I know, I know. I should have listened when you tried to warn me against working part-time for Elise van der Kamp in the first place.

Do you remember when Elise signed up with that expensive Internet dating agency for young executives? Well, now she has decided she is too busy to write her own emails and that I should do it for her. Write a few emails, she said. Then a few more. Just to get the ball rolling. After all, what else are personal assistants for?

Right.

I almost told her what to do with her job, but then she offered me a special bonus, which should be enough to pay for that professional illustrator’s course I’ve been yearning to go on. It would be perfect. And just what I need to be taken seriously as an artist.

Not much has changed from school, has it? Elise knew I couldn’t turn it down.

So guess who has been wooing potential Christmas party arm candy for our least favourite school friend every evening for the past week? Oh, yes.

Well, things have just sunk to a new low.

Ten minutes ago she texted me to say that she has to dash off to Brazil on some urgent business and—wait for it—she has changed her mind about the whole online dating thing. Apparently it is far too sordid and risky and she doesn’t want her reputation sullied by that kind of thing.

Sullied! Can you believe it? I don’t think she even read one of the emails I sent or the lovely replies I got back from the boys who had rearranged their schedules to meet her for coffee this week.

The real problem is that the first coffee date is tonight. As in half an hour from now, and it is far too late to cancel. This one’s username is #sportybloke and he sounds really nice over the Internet. I can’t stand the idea of the poor man sitting there all alone waiting for #citygirl Elise to show. I know what it’s like to be stood up and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. And I do feel sort of responsible.

Do you think I should go and meet him? And explain?

Ahhrrggg.

Hope that slave-driver of a master chef isn’t working you too hard in Paris.

Wish me luck. Andy

From: saffie@saffronthechef

To: Andromeda@ConstellationOfficeServices Andy Davies, you are making my head spin. I cannot believe that you would agree to go onto an Internet dating site posing as Elise van der Kamp. I mean … Elise? Social skills of a piranha and twice as mean? Sheesh.

I am not in the least surprised that she chose a friendly person to write her emails for her.

As for the coffee date? I think you would feel better if you took a minute to go there and apologise in person. But be careful. Executive type? Being stood up and lied to? He could get cross. Use your charm. And take extra sharp pencils. Just in case.

Love ya. Saffie the kitchen slave

ANDROMEDA Davies stepped down from the red London bus and darted under the shelter of the nearest shop doorway. The November rain pounded on the fabric awning above her head and bounced off the pavement of the narrow street in this smart part of the city.

Her gaze skipped between the pedestrians scurrying for cover until it settled on the giant mocha-cup bistro sign directly across the street.

Light from within the coffee shop streamed out in vertical bands like strobe lights between the pedestrians onto the wet pavement. She had already been here twice that week on a mission to find the perfect location for a first Internet date for Elise. It was ideal. Central, well lit, spacious and very public. They served hot food and the coffee was pretty good too.

Taking a deep breath, Andy tugged her shoulder bag across her chest, and hit the button on the handle of her umbrella with her thumb. It was so typical that the only umbrella she possessed was purple with pink cartoon flowers on the top and had been a gift from when she’d worked as a temp at a company that made novelty items for children’s parties.

In her current financial state she was hardly one to complain and if it kept her dry that would be a bonus—but Elise would have taken one look at it and thrown it in the bin.

Her cover story was that it was a unique design from an up-and-coming fashion designer who specialised in one-off graphics. Nobody else would have an umbrella just like it and …

Lies, lies, lies, lies. All lies. Some little fluffy cloud white lies and some great big stonking massive thundercloud of lies. But lies just the same.

Andy closed her eyes and wallowed in ten seconds of self-pity and shame before shaking herself out of it.

This had been her decision. Nobody had forced her to agree to impersonate Elise van der Kamp on the dating site. She could have refused and insisted that Elise write her own correspondence with these busy city boys. But Elise knew that she wouldn’t turn it down. Not when she was waving a sweet cash bonus as bait to lure her in.

Andy dropped her shoulders, and shoved her free hand into the pocket of her trendy dark navy raincoat with white piping, which she had snatched up from a charity shop in an exclusive part of town.

The things she did for her art!

She really didn’t have to worry about her umbrella or how she looked as long as she kept to her plan. All she had to do was dash in, wait for #sportybloke to arrive, apologise politely on behalf of Elise and then leave. The whole thing would be over in ten minutes.

Of course the girl he was expecting was the efficient and sophisticated executive director of one of the largest corporate promotion companies in Britain. Or, as Elise had insisted that she add to her online dating profile, aspiring marketing guru to the world.

Gag.

Ten minutes. And then she could get back on the bus and switch to being plain old Andy Davies, part-time personal assistant to Elise during the day, mostly unpaid illustrator in the evenings and weekend art historian, aspiring to pay the bills.

She would not be here at all if Elise had not suggested that she could ‘take care’ of the first round of emails—’so that she was not wasting her time on the no-hopers’.

Charming. And some of the men sounded lovely. On their profiles.

‘I know I can rely on you completely to manage my social diary,’ Elise had said with her full-beam smile. ‘There is simply no one else I could trust with my personal information. But we have been friends for so long, Andromeda. I just know that you will be totally discreet. Wonderful!’

Um. Right. It had probably never even crossed Elise’s mind that Andy had to juggle her hours at the last minute to fit all of the work in. But she had done it—just. Maybe now that Elise had pulled the plug on the Internet dating, they could both go back to what passed for a normal life in her crazy world. Like planning the Christmas and New Year party circuit.

Providing, of course, she survived explaining to #sportybloke that #citygirl had no intention of turning up to meet him.

Now that did give her the shivers. That and the rivulet of rain water spilling out from the awning.

Exhaling slowly, Andy glanced from side to side to find a gap in the stream of people who had their heads down, their umbrellas braced forward against the driving rain and oblivious to anyone who might walk in their way.

Seizing on a momentary lull, Andy lifted her umbrella high and dashed out onto the road in the stationary rush hour traffic. She had almost made it, when she had to dive sideways to dodge a bicycle courier and planted her right foot into a deep puddle. Dirty cold water splashed up into her smart high-heeled ankle boots and trickled down inside, making her gasp with shock.

Hissing under her breath, Andy stepped up onto the kerb, closed her umbrella, which had totally failed to keep her dry, and opened the door to the coffee shop and stepped inside.

Water dripping from every part of her, Andy shook the rain from her hair and inhaled the glorious deep, rich aroma of the freshly ground coffee beans. She was looking forward to the day when she could afford real coffee at home to replace the cheapest supermarket-brand instant coffee. The aroma combined with the background noise of the coffee shop—a low steady hum of voices, coffee grinders and espresso machines—created a wonderful soundtrack that she had every intention of enjoying, seeing as Elise was picking up the bill.

Andy gazed around the terracotta and cream walls to the groups of people sitting on the pale oak chairs behind red-and-white gingham check tablecloths.

No sign of the Hawaiian shirt #sportybloke had said that he was going to wear—and she was not likely to miss that type of clothing on a cold wet evening in early November in the centre of London.

Andy moved to the counter, bought her Americano coffee and took a seat at the small square table in the corner with her back to the wall. She propped her pink-and-purple umbrella against the wall, slipped off her raincoat over the back of the chair and ran her hands down the skirt of her favourite grey business suit.

A flutter of nervous apprehension winged across her stomach.

This was so ridiculous.

She wasn’t here on a real date. There was no need to be nervous.

She was here to apologise for Elise. That was all.

So what if she had tried to imagine what #sportybloke would look like in person? You could only tell so much from an online thumbnail photograph, and they could certainly be deceptive.

It was only natural to be curious, wasn’t it? Especially when #sportybloke told stories about the social life of a surfer in exotic places like Hawaii and California that had made her laugh out loud. He had a sense of humour … and he would certainly need one if he was dating Elise.

Andy bit down on her lower lip. Maybe coming here was not such a good idea. What if he was a total disappointment? And Saffie had a point. He had every right to be annoyed with her—and Elise—for tricking him. But she had to put it right with #sportybloke, tell him the truth face to face and apologise in person. She owed it to him—and herself.

Andy looked around the coffee shop at all of the happy couples, laughing and chatting merrily away over their lattes and pastries, and her heart twanged a little. But she sniffed and shook it off.

She wasn’t looking for a date. Far from it—this was her time to do her own thing without having to worry about rushing back to the office where she had worked with her so-called ex-boyfriend, Nigel, to sort out his project for him. She had learnt her lesson. No more lies. No more half-truths and self-delusion. In fact, no more boyfriends at all, if her last one was anything to go by. She was quite happy on her own. Thank you!

Andy checked her wristwatch. Ten minutes. Then she would finally be able to steal back the few spare hours she had in the day to work on the type of paperwork she loved most.

Hiding a quick smirk, Andy dived into her large shoulder bag and pulled out her sketch pad and pencil. The museum she worked at part-time had agreed to see her five favourite hand-crafted Christmas card designs with the view to possibly selling them in their shop and she was so close to being finished! This was her chance to persuade the museum to showcase her calligraphy and artwork.

Andy was so engrossed in a sketch of a decorative scroll of strawberries and clover leaves that it took a blast of cold damp air from the open door to snap her back into the present moment. She shivered in her thin suit and looked up in surprise.

A towering dark-haired man filled the space where the entrance had been, before he closed the door behind him.

His tanned face was glowing from the rain and wind and he ran the fingers of his right hand back through his long damp hair from forehead to neck in a single natural motion.

The water droplets stood proud on the shoulders of a hip-length waterproof sailing jacket, which he was slowly unzipping as if he were a male stripper in a cabaret act. Umm. And she would be right there in the front row telling him not to rush.

Wow. He certainly had the body to pull it off should he decide on a change in direction, and as he rolled back his shoulders with a casual shrug Andy sucked in a breath in anticipation, and then exhaled very slowly.

Yup. Hawaiian shirt.

His square jaw was so taut it might have been sculpted. But it was his mouth that knocked the air out of her lungs, and had her clinging onto the edge of the table for support.

Plump lips smiled wide above his lightly stubbled chin, so that the bow was sharp between the smile lines. It was a mouth made for smiling, with slight dimples either side.

The short-haired #sportybloke who had posed for the corporate shot on the online profile had been wearing a suit and tie and looked like a clone of all the other business execs. But the man in the flesh was something else. For once the photo had not done him justice. At all.

His button-fly denims sat low on his slim hips but there was no mistaking that he was pure muscle beneath those tight pants. Because as he stood there for a second, his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets, looking from table to table, scanning the horizon that was the confines of the coffee shop, every movement he made seemed magnified and as glaringly in your face as the scarlet-and-blue tropical flowers on his shirt.

The entire room seemed to shrink around him.

How did he do that? How did he just waltz in and master the room as though he were in command of the space and everyone in it?

This man was outdoors taken to the next level. No wonder he worked for a company making sports clothing. She could certainly imagine him standing at the helm of some racing yacht, head high, legs braced. The master of all he surveyed.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled with recognition. Her father had been like that once, when he worked in the city. So confident in his right to be the self-proclaimed master of the universe that when the financial crash came his world, his sanity and his identity tumbled down with it.

It was a pity that she was on a boyfriend ban. Because #sportybloke was truly the best-looking man she had seen in a very long time.

And then he saw her, but instead of giving her the up-and-down, toes-to-hair ‘beauty pageant’ special once-over, his gaze locked onto her face and stayed there, unmoving for a few seconds, before the corner of his mouth slid into a lazy smile.

The corners of those amazing eyes crinkled slightly and the warmth of that smile seemed to heat the air between them. And at that moment, this smile was for her. And her heart leapt. More than a little. But just enough to recognise that the blush of heat racing through her neck and face were not only due to the piping-hot coffee she had barely sipped.

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 looking 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 about 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.

‘Is this some sort of game you and your boss play with men you set up on the Internet? For all I know you could be pretending to be your PA because you don’t like what you see or maybe you’re using your boss’s Internet account to meet someone above your pay scale. Am I close? Which one is it?’

Andy stared at him in horror, the blood pounding in her neck.

‘A game? Of course it isn’t a game. Elise doesn’t even know that I’m here. And I would never use her account to meet people. That’s a terrible accusation. No, it’s nothing like that. Nothing at all.’

‘Okay. Then what is this all about? Why are you here?’

‘Well, I am beginning to wonder, because, if you must know, my boss cancelled less than an hour ago and I didn’t like the thought of you sitting here all alone waiting for a date who has stood you up. There. That’s it. Happy now?’

And before he had a chance to answer, Andy picked up the Panini with both hands and took a huge bite. And the second her teeth hit the toasted bread, a large squeeze of tomato shot out and hit her straight on the chest. And her white blouse. Her only, her favourite, her best and most expensive, white blouse.

Gulping down the rest of her overfull mouthful of food, she tried to scrub at the spot with her napkin. Only it was pink and made out of paper so that she now had a pink dye and a hot tomato stain on her blouse.

She put down her shredded napkin, took a quick glance at #sportybloke, who was looking at her in disbelief.

‘Fast food. Always a risky business. The steak sandwich is not the only dangerous item on the menu,’ she murmured, sighed out loud, picked up the Panini and took another bite. She couldn’t do any more damage so she might as well finish her food.

#sportybloke blinked several times, pushed his shoulders hard back against the chair and unfolded his arms so he could stretch them out on the table, his palms flat on the gingham. The white scars on the backs of his hands and knuckles were just large enough for her to notice, but then she had to look at something, because he was doing the laser stare again.

His gaze seemed to be locked onto her face, as though he was looking for something, and she tried desperately not to squirm. And failed.

‘Happy would be pushing it, but I completely agree.’ He nodded, a strange smirk on his face, then tapped his forefinger against his full pink lower lip, then pointed towards her. ‘About the food. Especially the cheese.’

Cheese? What cheese?

Andy patted her napkin against her lip in a dainty and ladylike fashion and all was going well until she dropped it back to her lap to reveal a string of molten yellow plastic-looking cheese, which must have been dangling from the corner of her mouth.

Well. So much for the sophisticated and elegant look.

‘That’s better,’ he said with a fixed smile, sitting back. ‘And the name is Miles, by the way. Now where were we? Oh, yes. Being stood up. Does that still happen?’

Miles? She looked at him with raised eyebrows.

She had rain-damp hair, a stained blouse and she had been sitting there in blissful ignorance of the fact that cheese strings were dangling from her lips.

Why did he trust her with his real name? If it was his real name.

Her mouth opened, ready to share her name, but then she closed it again. Not yet. But she could answer his question.

She paused and looked up at the ceiling. ‘Oh, yes, it has happened to me more than once. I think that’s why I hated the idea of doing it to someone else. Yes, I know that we have only talked through emails, but texting is not the same as apologising in person. Or at least it isn’t to me. That probably makes me sound very old-fashioned, but that’s the way I am.’

He seemed to think about that for a second before replying. ‘I happen to agree. And your boss doesn’t know that you are here?’

Andy shook her head. ‘She’s changed her mind about the whole Internet dating business. But there wasn’t enough time to call you and cancel. So here I am.’

Then she braved a smile over the top of her sandwich. ‘I hope you’re not too annoyed or disappointed. Especially since I’ve eaten most of your food and I’m not actually your proper date.’

He sat back, eyebrows high, and pressed one hand to his chest. ‘My pleasure. You have seen through my evil plan to win over a lady with toasted cheese and coffee. I feel the shame.’

‘You should.’ Andy nodded and inspected the last part of her Panini. ‘Even though this was a most superior cheesy snack. So thank you for that.’

‘Glad you approve,’ he murmured, and raised his coffee beaker. ‘Here’s to cheesy snacks, although I am curious about something. Does your boss often ask you to pimp for her?’

Only just as the words left his mouth Andy was swallowing some coffee and between spluttering and coughing it took her a while before she could attempt to reply with a raspy voice. ‘First time. And the last. We went to school together so I suppose Elise trusted me not to let her down.’ She flashed him a glance. ‘Did I? Let her down?’

A long, slow, languorous smile crept like dawn across the whole of his face, and then he wrapped his hands around his beaker. ‘I might have chatted to a couple of girls. But this is the first Internet date I have ever agreed to.’

He rested his elbows on the table to support his chin. ‘The only one. Does that answer your question?’

Andy froze, her coffee beaker suspended in mid-air.

‘This is your first Internet date?’

‘Absolutely. So far, not quite what I expected, but getting better by the minute.’

Her hand dropped. ‘Oh.’

Of course it is—fool. He doesn’t need to go on the Internet to meet women. But it did make her wonder. Why? Why now?

‘I enjoyed reading about all the wonderful countries you have visited for your work.’ She twirled one hand towards his shirt. ‘I suppose that must be a problem for your, um … romantic relationships.’

Oh, shut up now before you make an even greater fool of yourself, you idiot. Andy winced and picked at some salad, to avoid looking at him.

‘My romantic relationships?’ He sniffed. ‘Actually my romantic relationships, as you call them, are just fine. That isn’t the problem. Just the opposite if anything—I spend my days surrounded by sporty girls of all shapes and sizes, and usually they are wearing remarkably little in the way of clothing.’

He lifted his chin and smiled. ‘Did I mention that we specialise in water sports? Everything from paddle boarding to kite surfing. Our bikinis are very popular.’

A short chuckle and a nasal snort made her blink. ‘No, I have plenty of female company. But I don’t get to meet other kinds of women. And now I’m back in London, it might be interesting to meet girls who know more about the city than surfboards and sunblock. Plus I happen to enjoy meeting new people and getting to know them.’

She leant forwards, glancing from side to side as though about to tell him a secret of some sort.

‘I have a terrible fault.’

His eyebrows rose towards the ceiling but he did not take the bait.

‘Curiosity.’ Andy nodded. ‘I am well known for it. So you see, I can’t help but wonder … why now? What made you decide to come out on a wet night to meet this particular girl when you don’t even know her name?’

And without permission or any kind of warning, he clasped his long fingers around the palm of her right hand, raised it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles for two seconds before releasing her hand.

‘I wanted to meet the girl who wrote those emails. The girl I am looking at right now.’

His lips had been warm and full and soft and she was so totally taken back by how gentle and tender that ultra-soft whisper of his lips on her skin had been that she just sat there, still, and in silence. While he smiled at her. And this time his eyes were smiling as well as his mouth and all she could hear was the sound of his breathing, slow and deep, which matched hers perfectly, breath for breath.

The coffee shop and the background clatter of people and machine and chairs being dragged on wooden floors faded into some other world which she no longer had any part in.

The air in the space between them seemed to bristle with electricity, tense and thick with unspoken words and silences. The pulse at the side of his neck was mesmerising, strong and steady in tune with his breathing.

Killer. Absolute killer.

Then he leant slightly forwards and said in a low whisper, ‘I have a confession too. My brother Jason was the one who set up my profile and filled in the forms. Apparently he got fed up of my constant complaints about not being able to find a date for when I am in London.’

He raised his coffee cup and looked at her over the top of it—but his gaze was locked onto hers and somehow it was impossible for her to look away. ‘To online dating virgins everywhere,’ he whispered and took a long sip of coffee. ‘Perhaps we should exchange notes?’

Ah … so that was it. She should have worked it out. Miles was a sailor with a girl in every port. Online dating virgin indeed!

They looked across at one another in silence, his mouth curled into a smile for so long that the air crackled across the table.

Andy felt as though a small thermonuclear device had just been planted somewhere low in her stomach and was threatening to emerge as a girly giggle.

She did not do giggling, simpering or anything that came close. Not even for hunky hotties like the one sitting opposite her nonchalantly drinking his coffee as his gaze stared into hers, waiting to see how she responded. Maybe this was some sort of test?

‘I’ll drink to that,’ she replied, with a smirk. ‘Although it does make me wonder.’

‘Wonder?’

‘What were you planning to do with the hazelnut cookies?’ she replied in a flash, and pressed both of her lips tight together before sitting back in her chair, her head tilted to one side.

He roared with laughter. A real laugh, head back, shoulders shaking, holding onto the flimsy table, making it rock as his whole body joined in the joke, and this time she could not help herself. And for the first time in a very long while, Andy Davies laughed. Really laughed. Laughed until the tears were running down her cheeks and she was starting to wheeze.

She never laughed like this. Ever. And it was wonderful.

Even if people on the other tables had started to give them furtive glances.

Oh, Nigel would have been so mortified if she had made this kind of a scene on the few times when he was with her.

Nigel. Andy felt as if a bucket of icy water had been thrown over her head, and she instantly sat up straighter in her chair and tried to clear her head.

Stupid girl. She was not here to flirt and laugh with Miles. No matter how much he had brightened up her cold, wet evening. She was not ready to flirt and laugh with anyone.

She glanced up into his smiling face and a small shiver of disappointment and regret fluttered across her shoulders.

This was a horrible mistake.

It should be Elise sitting here, not her.

But he was worth meeting. If anything he was more open and extrovert than his emails had suggested. She couldn’t lie.

Andy’s gaze slid over to his long, muscular, tanned arms and she inhaled slowly.

Men like Miles stood at the helm of sailing ships and jumped off mountain peaks with only a pair of skis strapped to their legs. They did not do executive buffet lunches with mini canapés and fizzy pink water, which Elise specialised in.

It was time to call a halt to this embarrassing charade and make a quick getaway.

Stealing a secret smile, Andy was just about to make her excuses and leave when her view was blocked by the long cream designer raincoat of the most notorious gossip in Nigel’s office, who was standing right in front of her.

Leering.

Andy reared back in horror, a fixed smile cemented onto her face. She had walked out of Nigel’s office in tears six weeks ago and this was the first time that she had met any of the people she used to work with.

Worse. There were two of them. The second most feared, time-wasting gossip in the whole office building was glaring at Miles, her mouth hanging open in shock and lust.

‘Hello, Andy,’ the gossip whined, her eyes flicking from Andy to Miles and then back to Andy again. ‘Fancy seeing you here. I heard that you were working nights somewhere.’

‘Oh. Just taking an evening off,’ Andy replied, in a casual voice, refusing to get involved in any kind of conversation with these two. ‘You?’

‘Thought we would catch a movie,’ came the casual reply. Then her lips twisted into a knowing smirk. ‘Amazing who you meet on the way.’

‘Isn’t it? Have a good time at the movie. See you around,’ Andy replied with a quick wave of her hand, then her fingers clamped around her coffee beaker instead of the girl’s neck.

Sniffing at being so obviously dismissed without being introduced to Andy’s mysterious date, the two shuffled over to the only spare table, which thankfully meant that they were facing away from Andy, but from the sly sniggering glances they were giving her it was obvious that their lives were now complete.

Who needed a movie when they had just found out that Andy Davies was out with a hunky bloke in a coffee shop? Just think! Who would have thought she had the nerve, after Nigel had made such a fool of her?

It would be around the office in five minutes. In fact, they were probably texting all of their pals and her colleagues on their mobile phones at that very minute.

‘Friends of yours?’ a male voice asked from across the table.

She opened her eyes and blinked. Not only was Miles still there, but he was smiling at her and had started work picking out the whole hazelnuts from his cookie. She had been so absorbed in her own dilemma that she had forgotten about him.

‘Girls I used to work with in my last job. And no, they certainly are not my friends. Far from it. I despise them.’

Now why had she said that? It wasn’t their fault that she had fallen for all of the lies Nigel had told her so that she would work on his business proposals for nothing, night after night, while all the time he was living with the boss’s daughter and taking the credit for her work. And she was the only one who was not in on the joke. The rest of the office had been laughing behind her back for weeks. Just waiting for Nigel to dump her the second he got his promotion. And he had. Oh, yes. And in public. And in style.

That familiar cold dark blanket of humiliation and bitter disappointment wrapped itself around Andy’s shoulders, and she shivered inside her thin suit jacket.

‘I see. They tell me that girls can be hard to work with. I’m sorry if my being here is going to cause you a problem back in the office.’

‘Problem?’ She whimpered and slumped down. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’ Then she caught his change in breathing, and saw a flash of concern in his eyes. Tossing her head, she ran her fingers through her hair and smiled. ‘Sorry. It’s fine. Let’s try and ignore them. They have nothing to do with my life now.’

He rested both elbows on the table and leaned forwards until his fingers were almost touching hers, and nobody else could hear what he was saying, his back to the room. ‘None of my business but in my mind there are two ways to deal with office gossips. You say so what, and shrug it off. Or …’ He picked up Andy’s hand and started playing with it.

‘What are you doing?’ Andy snapped, trying to pull her hand away, but he was holding it in a vicelike grip. ‘They’re looking this way and taking photos on their cell phones,’ she groaned in a strangled voice, as if things could get any worse.

‘Excellent,’ he replied, in a low calm voice. ‘So let’s try the other option, and give them something to really talk about.’

There was something in his voice that should have warned her that actually things were going to suddenly get a lot worse, but her gaze was locked on his mouth as he licked his lower lip with the tip of his tongue.

Then without warning his entire body moved in one single continuous motion, so that as he lifted slightly from his chair his right hand reached back and cradled the base of her head.

And then he kissed her.

Not just a peck on the cheek. Oh, no. His warm, full, moist lips moved gently across hers in a kiss so tender and so loving that her eyes instantly filled with tears and she had to blink them away as she closed her eyes and tilted her head so that he could kiss her again.

Only this time it was deeper and she felt just the slightest tingle of his tongue, chocolate and coffee on hers before he slid his mouth away, leaving her staggered, wobbly and unable to speak and attempting to breathe again.

Wow.

Andy opened her eyes and he was breathing as hard as she was. She could not resist staring at his full mouth, which was still wet from her kiss, and in another place and another universe she would have liked to know what it would feel like to lift that shirt over his head and find out what kind of man was able to kiss a perfect stranger like that.

She wasn’t sure if she was meant to push him away and hit him for taking advantage, or pull him closer, and jump into his lap.

He did it for her. ‘Andy?’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you think that is enough to keep the gossips happy?’ he asked in a hoarse, breathless whisper.

‘Oh, yes. That would do it,’ Andy answered, and looked over to the girls who seemed to be huddled together over their phones. ‘That will definitely do it.’

She pulled back, scraping her chair along the floor, grabbed her bag and stood up. ‘Back in a moment. Too much caffeine,’ she lied and almost ran to the ladies’ room.

‘I’ll be right here,’ he murmured behind her back. She turned back to look at him, as his fingers started flicking across the screen of his smart phone. The way his fingertips pressed the keys told her a lot more about his finesse and gentle touch than any online profile could.

Miles would be amazing in bed. She sighed as she turned away.

And it was only when she got inside the stall and had locked the door firmly behind her that her brain caught up with her hormones.

Miles had just called her Andy. And now he knew her real name!

She sat down, fully clothed, her elbows resting on her knees, chewing at her raggedy small fingernail, trying to come up with a cunning plan as to how to:

#Thank Miles for his understanding about Elise and pray that he had enough cash for the bill. Then thank him for the nice kiss. No—make that a very nice kiss.

#Sneak out of the coffee shop alone past the two gossips. Or maybe she should stride past with her head high? Nigel the suit was nothing compared to the gorgeousness of the man she had just left at the table.

#Come clean to Saffie. It had to be done. Elise’s online coffee date had kissed her within an hour of walking through the door. Which either made her extremely lucky or a total strumpet. And she did not do strumpet. Never had. Not even when she was at school. The boys from their rival high school did not call her frosty knickers without good reason.

#Try and ignore the fact that Miles was the most attractive man that she had met in a very long time and that she would be reliving every moment of the last hour for a long time to come.

She keyed in the list on her organiser, looked at it, then shut the gizmo down and stuffed it into her bag, ripped off a long strip of toilet tissue and blew her nose loudly.

One thing was for sure. She was not going to get anything done sitting here feeling sorry for herself. Time to get going.

Andy pushed herself to her wobbly legs, turned the door handle and hobbled over to the washbasins in her high-heeled boots to try and repair the damage before facing Miles again.

She took one look at the medium-height, medium-pretty woman with the medium-brown scraggy hair in the mirror and winced.

Why had she stayed long enough to let Miles kiss her?

Miles was a flirt. A professional, Greek-god-handsome, used-to-women-falling-at-his-feet flirt. He had higher qualifications in manly allure and an honorary degree from the university of flirting and female dazzling.

And she was not in a place where she could handle that. Any of it.

He was everything she’d thought he might be from his emails. And more.

She simply wasn’t up to flirting with a man like Miles and the truth was … she didn’t know whether she ever would be. Time to go home.

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