The Pleasures of Spring

by Evie Hunter

  The soft Northern Irish burr was breathtakingly sexy. Even in the middle of a shoot-out with guns blazing, something inside her melted. That accent should be licensed. Typical Andy McTavish, flirting with any female he met, even in the middle of a gun battle. And he hadn’t recognized her.

  She quashed a stab of hurt and forced a strong Yorkshire English accent to her tongue. ‘You’re welcome.’ Her disguise had held.

  He ran interested eyes over her, stopping when he took in the bump that strained the front of her dress and his expression changed. ‘Don’t distress yourself, ma’am, I’ll have you out of this in no time, I promise.’

  ‘You and whose army?’ she snapped. If there was one thing she hated, it was men who promised the moon and the stars, but failed to deliver.

  His face changed, hardened. ‘Ma’am. I’m a Ranger. I am an army.’

  Despite herself, she couldn’t help believing him.

  One long arm reached up to the display and lifted down three of the knives from it. Andy tested the edges against his thumb, and nodded with satisfaction. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’ He tipped her chin up, planted a quick kiss on her forehead and said, ‘Stay hidden, I promise I’ll come back.’

  Then he vaulted over the counter and was gone.

  A stuttering round of gunfire hit the metal walkway. Sparks flashed as the bullets ricocheted, striking a shop-front and shattering the glass. More screams, but further away this time. A dull phut-phut as bullets hit the ceiling, spraying slivers of plaster onto his Savile Row suit.

  Andy grinned and shook his head. Only a sad bastard missed being shot at, but things had been quiet lately. Even for him. What should have been a meeting with an informer about stolen art and the Eastern European mafia had suddenly got more interesting. His grin widened.

  That pregnant brunette in there had doubted him? He would prove he was as good as his word. There was something familiar about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on.

  Another shot sounded and he dismissed the woman from his thoughts and concentrated on the job in hand.

  Crouching, he tucked the smallest knife into his boot, and another one into his belt. The largest he jammed into his coat pocket, slicing the silk lining like a hot knife through butter. A gun would have been better, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  Andy moved closer to the robbery, sliding along the wall, out of sight, in the direction of the jeweller’s shop, listening intently. It sounded like the idiots were trying to shoot open a safe. Two guns meant two tangos inside and there was probably a third nearby, sweating his ass off in a stolen car.

  The sub-machine gun stuttered to silence.

  ‘How was I to know the safe was on a time lock? Fucking piece of shit.’ The roar came from inside the shop. More expletives followed before the gun sailed through the open doorway and over the railings to land in the fast food court below.

  One weapon out of the way, but leaving empty handed would piss the thieves off and that could be dangerous.

  ‘Get up, bitch. We’re out of here.’ Andy heard a different voice this time, older and harder.

  ‘Please, no. I have a little girl. She’s only four.’ The woman’s plea bordered on hysterical.

  The sound of flesh striking flesh was startling in the silence of the empty shopping centre and she cried out in pain.

  Andy’s jaw locked and he forced himself to relax into his role of a businessman caught up in something nasty – the perfect bait for a pair of losers who needed a way out.

  The woman emerged first, clutching helplessly at the arm around her neck. Her face was tear-stained and Andy could see the beginnings of a bruise on her cheekbone. Keeping his back to the wall, her captor moved them slowly along the walkway towards the emergency exit.

  The second man exited the shop, clearly nervous. Without a human shield he was exposed. He scanned the area as if fearful that a police sniper was already in place.

  Andy came to his knees and raised his hands. ‘Please don’t shoot me.’

  Relief swamped the younger gunman’s face.

  ‘Grab him,’ the older man ordered.

  Andy put up no resistance as he was dragged to his feet.

  Like a chain gang from a black and white movie, they shuffled slowly towards the exit. Andy weighed his options. He needed to sort this out before the police got involved. His boss didn’t pay him to spend time explaining fuck-ups in police stations.

  The blaring sirens outside warned him that he was almost out of time.

  Feigning clumsiness, he stumbled against the pair in front and they staggered. Andy pulled the smallest knife from his boot. As he righted himself, he stomped down hard on the younger gunman’s foot. He slammed his elbow into his captor’s solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs before spinning and jabbing his fist hard into the man’s face. He enjoyed the satisfying crunch of bone and gristle.

  Andy pulled out the second knife.

  The older man turned swiftly, dragging the woman with him. His eyes narrowed and Andy could almost hear him weigh up his options. His grip tightened on the gun he was pointing at his hostage.

  Acting purely on instinct, Andy let the knife fly. Like a slow-motion sequence from an action movie, it sailed through the air and the woman shrieked as it embedded itself in her captor’s throat.

  There was a noise behind him. Andy spun around. The younger robber was on his feet again and he was clutching the smaller knife.

  Did these guys not know when to quit?

  Andy reached into his pocket and grasped the handle of the largest knife but it tangled in the lining of his coat and refused to come free.

  With a roar, the man lunged forwards. ‘I’m gonna fucking gut you.’

  The knife came straight at his eyes but Andy sidestepped. He tugged again at the knife in his pocket, but was forced to give up when the next slash grazed his jaw. Fuck. He was running out of options and time. Grasping the bone handle, Andy jerked the blade upwards.

  As intimate as a lovers’ dance, his assailant clutched at him. His expression slid from vicious anger to disbelief as a scarlet flood spread across his chest. ‘Motherfucker,’ he gasped, his knife dropping to the ground.

  Andy stepped away and pulled the blade free. He forced his knife through the lining and it clattered onto the tiled floor.

  ‘Ma’am,’ he nodded to the woman as he stepped over the unconscious thief and returned to the moneylender’s shop.

  The brunette peeked out from behind the counter. ‘What took you so long?’

  ‘I was a bit busy,’ he said. ‘No kiss for the conquering hero?’

  She snorted. ‘You’ve had one already.’

  He laughed. ‘That wasn’t a kiss.’

  Was it his imagination or had her Yorkshire accent faded? There was definitely something familiar about her. Those startling blue eyes reminded him of someone.

  She struggled to her feet, her belly getting in the way, and he reined in his unruly imagination. ‘Come on, I’ll help you get to an ambulance.’

  She froze. ‘No. No ambulance.’

  The woman put her foot down on something wet and slipped. As she went down, Andy was there at her side. He caught her in his arms and registered that she felt slighter than he had expected. Then something else caught his eye. Her hair had moved.

  Andy put up his hand and touched it. The brown wig slipped, revealing bright red hair.

  Stunned, he stepped back, staring at her. It had been so long since he had last seen her, but there was no doubt who it was. The furious blue eyes belonged to the woman who had led him a merry dance for over a year. She adjusted the wig, tugging it back into place.

  ‘Roz O’Sullivan?’ he asked, just to make sure.

  He thought he heard, ‘Busted!’ under her breath before she straightened her shoulders defiantly. ‘Roz Spring, actually.’

  It was her! This was the brat who had stolen a fabulous jewel from a museum in Switzerland by impersonating her sister and had been
on the run ever since. Andy had caught her once and dragged her back to give evidence at her sister’s trial, but she had given him the slip right after by climbing through the second-floor window in the judge’s chamber.

  And here she was, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. Eyes which had kept him awake more often than he wanted to admit, but he knew this was one woman he couldn’t pursue. Even if she weren’t as slippery as wet soap, as trustworthy as an election promise and as cunning as a cat smelling tuna, she was off-limits: Roz was a wanted woman. He’d been on a watching brief for Moore Enterprises for the past year, with orders to pick her up if she crossed his path. The fact that Roz was his boss’s sister-in-law irked Niall Moore more than he would admit.

  But now Andy had her, although her distended abdomen troubled him more than the fight. How could Roz Spring be pregnant?

  The usual way, fuckwit!

  For some reason, he didn’t want to think about Roz O’Sullivan or Spring, or whatever she called herself, with some strange man. Not that it was any of his business. She was nothing to do with him and never could be.

  He caught her arm. ‘You gave me a good run, but it’s time to come in.’

  Andy half expected her to fight him, to try to pull away and escape from him. God knows she could run. Instead, she doubled over and moaned. ‘Oh, Oh!’

  The stains on her dress and the pool of liquid on the floor made his stomach clench. ‘Jesus, you’re in labour? You’re going to have the baby?’

  Maybe it was the panic in his voice, but she had a hint of laughter in her eyes. ‘Not quite, but if you don’t get me out of here soon, I will.’

  It couldn’t be fucking easy, could it?

  Andy ushered her along the walkway and down the stairwell. The lifts had already been shut down as part of the police emergency response. He pushed down on the bar of the security door and they were immediately greeted by an ERU team.

  Ignoring her protests, he lifted Roz up in his arms. ‘My wife is in labour. The shock …’

  ‘An ambulance is on its way, sir.’

  Still carrying Roz, Andy pushed his way through the crowd. A smattering of applause came from the group of schoolchildren behind the police barrier. Shit. He couldn’t afford to get caught up in this. Across the street, a taxi pulled up and Andy dodged the oncoming traffic as he ran for it. God, but she was heavy. Babies were small creatures, weren’t they? How much weight did a pregnant woman gain?

  He eased Roz to her feet and yanked open the door, ushering her into the back seat of the cab, before sliding in beside her. ‘Which hospital?’

  ‘None. Get me out of here.’ She glared at him like a feral cat.

  Maybe she was in shock. He tried again, more patiently this time. ‘We need to get you to hospital, but you have to tell me which one.’

  More glaring. She clutched her damp dress, raising her skirt away from her and in the process displaying a pair of shapely legs.

  You’re a pervert, McTavish. Andy tried to avert his eyes, but a sick fascination prevented him. He caught a glimpse of dark red panties.

  Yep, you’re definitely going to hell.

  ‘Hey. My face is up here,’ Roz snapped. ‘And I don’t need a hospital. I need to lie down for a while.’

  His instinct was to get her to a doctor as soon as possible, but he supposed she would know if she needed one or not. And besides, he was certain that in a hospital, she would give him the slip again.

  ‘Fine. We’ll go to my hotel.’ He nodded to the driver. ‘Take us to the Savoy.’

  2

  She was silent on the journey. Andy could almost hear the wheels whirring inside her head. Roz Spring was a con artist and a chameleon. She was also in danger, something which didn’t seem to trouble her a bit.

  ‘You’re looking well,’ he ventured. The shapeless maternity clothes did nothing for her, but nothing could hide the vibrancy of her red hair, visible now that she had taken off the wig.

  Roz gave him a speculative look. ‘You’re unbelievable, do you know that? Coming on to a pregnant woman. That’s disgusting.’

  ‘I am not coming on to you.’

  ‘I saw you looking,’ she said, raising her voice so that the driver could hear.

  The temptation to snap back at her was almost overwhelming. Instead, Andy took a deep breath. She had been running for over a year and it was pure luck that he had caught up with her now. He wouldn’t give her an excuse to run again.

  The official reason Europe’s top private security firm was still pursuing Roz was that she had witnessed a brutal murder and Interpol wanted her to give evidence in court. The police had failed to catch her, but Moore Enterprises hadn’t given up.

  Andy knew that the real reason his boss wanted Roz caught was that his wife would give him no peace until her missing twin was found. The sisters had grown up apart. Sinead was raised by her millionaire uncle, while Roz had been brought up by her low-life criminal father. No wonder she had turned out bad. Andy was under orders to find her and capture her, no matter what he was doing.

  He smiled grimly. He bet his boss hadn’t expected this. Niall Moore might be pissed off that the stolen art job was a wash-out. He wouldn’t get to pose as a buyer after all, but at least the suite at the Savoy wouldn’t go to waste.

  He glanced at Roz again. Why hadn’t she turned herself in to the police? She had a baby to protect, for god’s sake. She would be defenceless against a ruthless murderer. What the hell had she been doing, getting pregnant when her life was such a mess? It made no sense. And where was the father?

  She had done a good job of disguising herself, he admitted grudgingly. The nondescript clothes and brown wig had transformed her.

  ‘Something on your mind?’ Her question interrupted his musing.

  ‘Not a thing,’ he replied evenly. ‘Couldn’t be better. There’s nothing like a knife fight to set a man up for the day.’

  She paled and he regretted his words immediately. Andy patted her hand. ‘Relax. You’ll be fine when we get to the hotel and you can lie down.’

  Roz turned away, staring at the London traffic, but as he watched her reflection in the glass, he caught a glimpse of her impish grin. She was up to something. If there was one thing he had learnt from trying to catch her, it was that Roz didn’t give up easily.

  Roz couldn’t resist watching Andy’s reflection in the window. London slid by unseen while she soaked in the sight of the Irishman who had haunted her dreams for months.

  God, he was a treat for the eyes. Andy was tall and elegant but his outward appearance was deceptive. She knew that under the expensive clothes he was lean and ripped, with lightning reflexes and a body to die for. His cheekbones alone would have made him a fortune as a cover model, while those dark brown eyes could see into her soul. Black Irish. She had heard the phrase before but had no idea what it meant before she met him.

  And that mouth. Mobile and sensual with a hint of wicked promise. The mouth of a man who knew how to seduce a woman.

  Her dreams hadn’t done him justice, she decided. She had met him twice before, once on a wild run through the streets of Paris, and once when he had dragged her along to give evidence at her sister’s trial.

  She had never really spoken to him before, or got close enough to smell the distinctive scent of his skin, musky and woody and male. Close enough to see the slight darkening of his jaw which signalled that he needed to shave again. The hint of a dimple in one lean cheek.

  Don’t think about that. She shivered.

  She was too old for stupid fantasies about the impossible. Most of her experiences with men had been disappointing. Eventually, when her life was sorted out, she’d find a nice man, someone solid and reliable and nice looking.

  Not a living, breathing fantasy.

  The taxi pulled up outside the Savoy. Andy held her arm as he helped her out, and the taxi driver smiled the smile of a man who had been lavishly over-tipped.

  Roz was conscious of her mud-coloured clothes, bough
t on the sale rack in Primark. The disguise had been necessary for the scam to work, but now she was hideously out of place. Around her, women dressed in real silk and fur swanned through the foyer, and the scent of expensive perfume competing with elaborate floral displays made her want to sneeze.

  The immaculately polite doorman ignored her condition and saluted Andy. ‘Mr McTavish, welcome back, sir.’

  ‘Thanks Bill, can you help me look after my guest?’

  The two of them herded her towards the lifts. Yes, she was definitely going to his room.

  Roz allowed herself to waddle, and was rewarded when Andy winced.

  He might have the beauty, but she had the brains.

  Naturally, he was staying in a suite – a big, expensive one, with a king-sized bed, a panoramic view of London and a bathroom bigger than her flat in Peckham. She wondered what it cost for a night, and shuddered.

  ‘Slumming it, are we?’ she asked.

  ‘Working.’ He gave her a sardonic smile before he tipped her helper discreetly and allowed him to go. Andy guided her to the bed.

  Roz was almost reluctant to climb onto the silk coverlet, but decided that he deserved whatever happened. Roz groaned as she lay down, a sound of relief that she didn’t have to fake. That belly was heavy and uncomfortable.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, with what sounded like genuine concern. His mesmerizing eyes were fixed on her.

  Roz knew people. She had spent a lifetime reading them, learning how they reacted, what they would respond to. And in spite of Andy’s efforts to stay detached, she thought she caught a glimpse of something more than simple concern.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Do you remember that day in Paris when we met?’

  He nodded.

  That day had changed her life, in more ways than one. And Andy was a part of it. Running alongside him as they raced to save her sister’s life was an experience which had never left her.

  ‘Me too,’ she admitted.

  His eyes darkened. ‘You were the most beautiful, aggravating, annoying trouble-maker I ever met.’ The words seemed to be dragged from him.