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