Minding Amy (2 page)

"Uhu."

"Isn't that some sort of crime?"

"Wait and see. It was the sexiest drink I ever had. You'll love it. Here."

Amy took the bottle Janine thrust in her hand and they tried to find a safe spot to offload the corks.

"What now?" Amy exclaimed as the bubbles began to froth.

Janine popped a straw into her bottle. It bobbed up and down, almost flying back out. She gestured at Amy to hold on tight and take a sip. "Quickly."

"Wow," she gasped, as the bubbles frothed into her mouth and the chilled champagne fizzed against the back of her throat. "That is sexy."

Janine winked at her approvingly.

"Told you so. It comes with best of luck for this evening."

"Thanks, and thanks for humoring me on this project." The Ghost Hunter project was outside the remit of her job, but Janine had been supportive and encouraging about it.

"No problem," she replied. "You’ve covered for me often enough."

It was true, she did cover for her, but that was usually when Janine dashed off on a mercy mission to help her sister manage her brood of kids.

"It's not that I'm looking to move, I just want to vary the workload a bit from time to time."

"I know, and it's not such a bad idea." Janine looked thoughtful. "I might give it a try myself sometime."

"If I get the go-ahead I'm hoping to get a bunch of work done for it over this weekend, but, even so, it might take a few of my days out of the office."

Janine nodded. "We've got most of the copy for the next edition, you go and have your little adventure. Speaking of which, have you ever had a blind date before?" She swizzled the straw in her bottle.

"Nope, you?"

"Yeah, once."

"What was he like?"

Janine slurped at her Moet before responding. "Don't ask," she replied. She grimaced and shook her head in distaste.

Amy began to giggle. Janine’s expression said it all. "Quasimodo?"

"Nah," she replied, deadpan. "His evil twin."

"Janine!"

"Hey, your guy must be okay, with a voice that sexy."

She shrugged it off, but Amy could see Janine was laughing at the idea of it, the cheeky Madam. She shook her head. What the hell—it was already too late to back out.

* * * *

An hour later Amy tottered up to The Frock and Jacket, cursing under her breath. It sure had turned out to be a bad day to break in her new heels, but she hadn't known she'd be going on a blind date when she put them on that morning. Thankfully Roger had suggested the nearest pub to her office.

The street hummed with traffic, the river of slow-moving cars interspersed with London's trademark red double-decker buses. On the pavements, crowds bustled past, either out on the town or homeward bound at the end of the working day. The city shimmered with midsummer heat. For Amy it was at its most vibrant, alive with tourists and the city dwellers enjoying the rare, sultry weather. She glanced up at the stained glass windows of the pub. She could see figures moving inside. Like most traditional pubs near the heart of the city it would be getting busy with the after-work crowd. She looked at the heavy oak swing door and braced herself.

"What the hell am I doing here?" she murmured to herself as she made her way through the entrance hall. At college she had dated easily, never seriously, but she always had the option of a male companion if she wanted the company, or the sex. Since then she'd pretty much made her career her partner, sacrificing her love life for the sake of her job. She'd had a couple of brief holiday affairs, relationships she enjoyed but carefully kept separate from her everyday life, and yet now she was embarking on a blind date.

Janine's champagne had done a good job of anaesthetizing her nerves, though. Far too good, in fact. They'd ended up laughing over a list of possible excuses she could use if she hated him on sight and had to do a runner. She'd almost forgotten to leave the office on time. What with the champagne and the mad dash to get there, Amy felt rather reckless and dizzy.

Before she entered the lounge bar she ran her hands over her hips, smoothing the line of her skirt. He was probably hoping for a blonde stick insect, not a curvy brunette. There was no putting the deed off any longer though, and she braced herself and pushed open the door.

The bar was busy. All the comfortable booths along the wall were already full. Roger had said he'd wait for her at the bar. There were a bunch of women at one end, gossiping in a huddle. She could see two men sitting on bar stools at the near end. Amy straightened and shook back her hair. One of the men was a suited blonde, the other wore more casual clothes and was dark haired. What would a TV producer be wearing, and why hadn't she at least thought to ask him what color his hair was?

She tried to peer round to see what they were drinking. As she did, the blonde man stood up and turned away from the bar with two tall glasses in his hand. He headed off to a banquette on one side. That left the dark guy. He was concentrating on something, possibly reading. Roger had said he would be drinking a bottle of Becks and he'd have a copy of The City News with him. So far, so good.

She looked him over. His dark hair looked as if he had ruffled it with his fingers, casually spiked. He wore black jeans and a casual white shirt that was fitted well enough to outline his attractive build. Broad shoulders and tapered hips. Nice. And a gorgeous backside, she couldn't help noticing. Her pulse began to pick up speed. If the rest of him matched up to the rear view, she would have to remind herself not to drool.

He turned a page. He was definitely reading a newspaper. She took a step forward then one sideways in order to try to get a glimpse of his face. He reached out to pick up his drink. When he put it back down on the bar, she could see the label on the bottle. Becks. It was him.

She started her approach. A leather jacket was folded over the bar stool to his right-hand side. She headed for the left-hand side, planning to slide elegantly onto the stool next to him. As she sidled onto the stool, her right foot skidded from under her.
Those damned heels.

Amy snatched onto the nearest thing—his arm. It didn't stop her sliding.

"Whoa, steady." The man grabbed her against him, reacting quickly, turning on his seat to hold her up.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." She found herself wedged up against one strong thigh and staring into mesmerizing gray-green eyes, heavily fringed and filled with a warm, friendly expression. He had strong, chiseled features and a handsome mouth that was giving her a surprised, lopsided smile.
Gorgeous
. The arm around her waist was firm and reassuring, holding her easily.

When she spoke, he lifted an eyebrow and drew her closer still. "Don't be sorry," he murmured, "I'm not."

He held her tightly, as if he didn’t want to let her go. She laughed softly and put her hands against his chest. It was broad and firm and the heat of his arm around her set loose a flurry of sensation in her belly, and lower.

His smile grew wider. She returned it.

"New shoes," she explained, nodding down. The smell of his cologne caught her attention, making her breathe him in.

"Ah, that explains it." He glanced down at the shoes, giving her figure an appraising once-over as he did. He didn't look disappointed.

Neither was she. The thigh she leaned up against was so hard she felt an overwhelming urge to straddle it. He was totally gorgeous, and she wanted him. She blinked. He returned his attention to her face, and she glanced at his mouth. It was inviting, and his smile was so sensually suggestive.

Neither of them made a move to alter their positions.

"I like the shoes, especially since they landed you in my lap." Once again he quirked his eyebrow and his eyes twinkled mischievously.

The bedroom action his phone calls made her think about was looking like a distinct possibility. "I can't argue with that," she responded, "because I can’t think of any other place I'd rather be right now."

She lowered one hand to his hip. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, and her lips parted in anticipation.

"What can I get you?" The question came from the other side of the bar.

Amy turned toward the voice, startled. She realized the barman was waiting on them with an expectant look on his face.

"Oh, I'll take a bottle of Becks too, please." Was beer on champagne a good idea? It didn't really matter. She just wanted to acknowledge his signal. Smiling at her rescuer, she reluctantly slipped from his embrace. She noticed he kept his arm loosely across her back while she took up her position on the stool next to him, as if he didn't want to break the physical contact they'd had. It made her aware of every inch of skin on her body.

"I have to admit, I was little bit nervous about coming here this evening."

"Nervous? A woman like you? Surely not." There was humor in his tone.

"Yes, a woman like me. But when you said no strings attached, that made me feel a whole lot more relaxed, I have to confess."

He looked amused by her remark. She noticed he had a roguish scar running down one cheek, which only added to his charm.

"That kind of comment would certainly help to minimize the pressure," he eventually replied.

He had the most amazing mouth. She wouldn't mind finding out how it might feel on hers. So much for Quasimodo and the list of excuses. What an absolute dream come true this had turned out to be.

The barman set a glass and the bottle in front of her. She turned to thank him, tossing her hair back and savoring the heady rush she was experiencing.

That was when she caught sight of the other man.

The man standing further along the bar.

The man who was drinking a bottle of Becks.

Her heart missed a beat.
Where the hell had he come from
?

He was standing next to a pillar—had he been there all along, hidden from view? She watched in horror as he tapped a copy of The City News against his hand, glancing over his shoulder at the entrance, expectantly.

Oh no
. She swallowed and forced herself to look back at the man by her side. He smiled at her, and she noticed how quizzical it was. No, he hadn't been expecting her at all. He'd acted on the fact she'd flung herself all over him, but he hadn't even welcomed her or said her name.

She bit her lip, embarrassment racing over her. There were two of them, and she'd picked the wrong one. She'd made a big, big mistake, the worst kind. She'd made a complete idiot of herself with a total stranger. Stupid, stupid reckless woman, she scolded. Why hadn't she thought to double check she had the right man? Bloody typical, she'd gone and outdone her usual ditzy self this time.

"Are you okay, you've turned quite pale?" The stranger looked genuinely concerned for her.

The voice was wrong. It was deep and sexy all right, but it wasn’t the same as the one she'd heard on the phone. She'd been so enamored with his looks she hadn't even thought about it. "I'm so sorry," she mumbled, to no one in particular. "I've just realized I should have been elsewhere."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

So was she. Damn it, what a fool. And now the other guy, Roger, was glancing in her direction. What if he came over? She would have to bolt, there was nothing else for it—she would have to do a runner after all.

Amy staggered up from her stool, pulled a ten pound note out of her bag and dropped it onto the bar.

"Excuse me," she said in the general direction of the man at her side, without making eye contact. "I've got to err, dash off, now."

The stranger didn't let her escape easily. He put out his hand and grasped hers and when he had her attention, he raised it slowly to his lips. She felt their firm touch on her skin. The lingering kiss and his warm breath sent a tingle across the entire surface of her body, kindling a flame of desire deep inside. His sexy green eyes glanced up at her and he smiled again as he lifted his head. He was gorgeous—and she had to leave. The cruel irony of her situation did not escape her.

Amy stifled a disbelieving laugh and without taking another glance at either of the men, she set off with as much dignity as she could muster, the wretched heels scrambling under her as she sped toward the exit.