Think…Think!
‘And it’s an orange chocolate biscuit.’
‘Is that it?’ he asked. ‘All done?’
‘All done,’ she admitted. She was out of ideas. Out of excuses. Out of flavourings.
‘Nice try—’
There was the smile again. The whole works. Crinkles fanning out from the corners of his eyes, something magical happening to his mouth as the lower lip softened to reveal the merest glimpse of white teeth. And then there were his eyes…
His eyes seemed to suggest that he was as surprised as she was to find he was smiling and, as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished.
And she could breathe again.
‘—but no cigar,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but potatoes don’t count as a vegetable.’
‘They don’t?’ She made a good fist at surprised.
‘Not as one of your five-a-day.’
He didn’t look sorry.
‘You’re telling me I’m going to have to stop counting fries?’ she demanded, hoping to make him forget himself again and actually laugh. Get him on her side. ‘Well, that’s a swizz.’
‘And you can forget the flavourings, too.’
‘I was afraid that might be stretching it. I did have orange juice with my breakfast,’ she assured him, as if determined to prove that she wasn’t a complete dietary failure. Playing the fool in an attempt to lull him into believing that she’d bought his act.
‘Good start. And since breakfast?’
‘I had green beans with my lunch and I’m fairly sure that the fruit in the dessert was the real thing.’
‘Apple tart, right?’
‘How on earth do you know that?’
‘The cinnamon was the giveaway.’
‘Cinnamon?’ Had he been that close? Mortified, she smothered a groan. Time to put a stop to this. ‘What about you, Mr Hart?’
‘Nat.’
‘Nat?’
‘Short for Nathaniel. A bit of a mouthful.’
‘But nicer than Nat, which is a small spiteful insect which takes lumps out of you when you’re innocently enjoying a sunset.’
‘Very nearly,’ he agreed, rewarding her with a flicker of a smile that went straight to her blush. And too late she realised her mistake. ‘What about me?’
She’d thought she was being clever, keeping him talking, while she scoped out the shower room, hoping to pick up the faint illumination of an emergency exit, but it was hopeless. This was the basement and there was no escape, but she could still let everyone know where she was. What was happening. If only she could convince him that she wasn’t going to make a run for it so he’d leave her to get dressed…
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. My name is Lucy, by the way. Lucy Bright. But you already know that.’
‘I caught the Lucy on the news. Not the Bright. It explains the B in Lucy B.’
News?
That hideous scene had been on the news? Well, of course it had. The unveiling of the new look for his fashion chain, taking it upmarket, providing aspirational clothes for the career-minded woman. Clothes for work and play. Clothes with a touch of class and a fair trade label was a big story. Providing new jobs both here and in the Third World.
‘How d’you do, Lucy Bright?’ he said, finally removing his hand from her arm and offering it to her.
She clutched the towel with one hand, placed her other in his, watching as his long fingers and broad palm swallowed up her own small hand. A rush of warmth warned her she was doing the head to toe blush again.
‘To be honest, I’ve had better days, Nathaniel Hart.’
‘Maybe I can help. Why don’t you get dressed and then we’ll go and see what’s good in the Food Hall? I’m sure I can find something more enticing than crisps and chocolate for your supper.’
What?
‘There is nothing more enticing than crisps and chocolate.’
Healthier, maybe, but right now she was in the market for high carb, high calorie comfort food.
‘And we do need to discuss your camping arrangements,’ he continued, ignoring the interruption, ‘because, even if you manage to evade the security cameras, I’m afraid the cleaners will spot you.’
‘They clean inside the tents?’
‘That’s probably a push of the vacuum too far,’ he admitted, ‘but they will certainly notice one zipped up from the inside. You don’t imagine you’re the first person to have that idea, do you?’ He didn’t wait for her answer. ‘Take your time. No rush,’ he said, surrendering her arm, leaving a cold spot where his hand had been, using it to take a phone from his pocket as he turned and walked away, finally leaving her to get dressed.
Appointments…
20:00 Camping out for the night in H&H outdoors
department.
20:30 Or maybe not.
Nat finished his call, then leaned back against the wall opposite the locker room door and waited, closing his eyes in an attempt to block out the image that was indelibly imprinted upon his mind.
Lucy Bright backing naked out of the shower stall, water pouring off her shoulders, back, the deliciously soft curve of her backside. Her determined chin as she’d faced him down despite the hot pink flush that had spread just about everywhere.
Her struggle not to smile, when a smile would, undoubtedly, have been in her best interests.
A drop of water sliding slowly around a curl released from its airy hold, hanging for a moment before it finally fell. Lying for a moment in the hollow above her collarbone before it was joined by another and had gathered sufficient weight to overcome inertia and trickle down between her breasts.
Smooth shoulders lifted in the merest shrug as she adopted a carelessly casual response to the awkwardness of the situation.
Like a swan, all appeared serene on the surface, while her brain had clearly been whirring like the freewheeling cogs of a machine as she tried to engage gear and figure out how to escape him for a second time. Work out her next move.
Or maybe his.
Good question. What exactly was he going to do?
Until five minutes ago, he’d thought it was simple. He would deliver her to friends and walk away. No more, no less complicated than driving Pam home this afternoon.
But it wasn’t simple. Simple had become a fantasy from the moment he’d touched her, looked into her green-gold eyes. From the moment he’d glimpsed her luscious curves.
While his head was demanding that he call a cab, dump her in it and send her on her way, do what he could to help without getting involved, his heart—mostly his heart—wasn’t having any of it.
That foolish organ demanded that he scoop her up, carry her to his apartment and keep her safe from harm.
Neither was an option.
It was clear that she didn’t trust him further than she could throw him, and why would she? In her shoes, he’d be expecting the police to arrive at