Misbehaving Under the Mistletoe (Mills & Boon M&B): On the First Night of Christmas... / Secrets of the Rich & Famous / Truth-Or-Date.com (Mb)

by Heidi Rice

  A small smile creased her lips and Andy blinked away her tears and sniffed.

  Yes. She had her painting and her studying—and that was enough for anyone.

  Maybe Miles was having a bad influence on her? Now there was a true entrepreneur who acted first then asked for permission later. What had he said? He took a chance. A risk.

  She had been snatching an hour here and there over the past few months to work on what Saffie called her secret squirrel passion. Illustrating. The one thing in this world she would love to do more than anything else. That was why Nigel’s betrayal hurt so much. She had sacrificed the time she could have spent on her true passion for him.

  A man like Miles would never have put up with him.

  Lesson learnt. Not again. Never again. No more waiting. No more putting it off until later.

  Andy wrapped her hand tightly around the bannister and was just about to pull herself to her feet when her mobile phone rang out from her bag.

  Saffie! She scurried around in her bag, terrified that she would ring off before she found her phone in the near darkness of the hall, and flicked it open, instantly creating a bright panel of light. Her shoulders slumped down in disappointment. It wasn’t her friend. It was an email.

  Then she froze. What if it was from Nigel?

  Hardly daring to look, she quickly scanned down the list.

  It was the online dating agency. #sportybloke had sent her a message.

  Drat. Closing Elise’s account was on tomorrow’s list of things to do.

  Exhaling slowly, she paused for a second before clicking on the email. He must think that she was a total idiot, running out on him into the rain like that without even a decent explanation.

  Then her eyes widened and she sat back on the stair and looked through the stair rails to the hall before reading the message again.

  From: #sportybloke

  To: #citygirl

  Hi Andy.

  Hope that you managed to dodge the rain and are not working too late.

  I wanted to apologise for my rash act in the coffee shop this evening. Kissing you in front of the office gossips was neither tactful nor courteous. I do hope that it does not complicate things.

  After you left I found a purple flowery umbrella which might be yours.

  If you can stand it, I would like to meet you again and return your property in person.

  You said in one of your emails that you like modern European food, and I happen to know about a new Spanish restaurant which has just opened in Soho.

  How about dinner? Thursday. 7.30pm. Looking forward to it.

  Say yes. Miles.

  P.S. They have good cheese.

  Andy stared at the screen, put down the phone and pressed her hand against her mouth, her mind buzzing with questions and options and excuses.

  This was her get-out clause.

  All she had to do was to thank him politely for the invitation and tell him that it hadn’t worked out. Sorry. Best of luck. And that would be it. Job done.

  She put the phone down on the stair and rubbed both of her hands across her face, then back over her hair to her neck. Her fingers massaged her neck for a few minutes, her eyes closed.

  Nigel had deceived her. Tricked her. Used her for his own advantage.

  And then she had done exactly the same with these online coffee dates. She had lied in every one of the many emails she had sent for Elise.

  This was so wrong it was not funny. So many lies.

  Well, that was over now. She was done with being used by other people who lied to her.

  These men deserved better. Miles deserved better. A lot better. He had been nothing but nice to her and he was even more of the man she had imagined from his emails.

  Andy read the message again on the brightly lit screen that was illuminating her small strip of staircase. And the more times she read it, the more clearly the hidden message screamed out at her.

  This was a pity date.

  Miles felt sorry for her. Sorry for kissing her. Sorry for the trouble he might have caused. Sorry for being a nuisance—so he offered her a meal out as an apology which would make him feel better. He wasn’t interested in her. Not really.

  Her fingers moved over the tiny keyboard with the only answer possible.

  To: #sportybloke

  From: #citygirl

  Hello Miles.

  Thank you for your message but there is no need to apologise.

  Spanish food sounds wonderful, and I am deeply flattered by your kind invitation, but I don’t think seeing each other again would be a good idea. Hope that you enjoy your time in London. And best of luck with the online dating.

  Please keep the umbrella. I think it would suit you.

  Andy.

  P.S. I love cheese.

  Her finger hovered over the send button before she pressed hard down and watched the message go off into the ether.

  Finished. Over. Done.

  Andy pulled herself to her feet and inhaled deeply before lifting her leg and moving forwards. One step at a time, girl. One step at a time. Time to feed Saffie’s goldfish Madge and relive a kiss from a sporty bloke that for a few brief moments had made her world a much brighter place.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  From: saffie@saffronthechef

  To: Andromeda@ConstellationOfficeServices

  Subject: Moment of madness

  Hiya Gorgeous—thanks for the update. And for the good news about Miles—your hunky sporty bloke. Now we’re talking. And I still cannot believe you turned him down!

  Here’s an outrageous idea. Track down this Miles and tell him that you have changed your mind and would LOVE to go out for dinner so that he can feed you cheese then dance the flamenco with a rose between his teeth. Tight pants and all. [I shall require photos]

  What you need is a large dose of Aunty Saffie’s famous remedy for getting over a rubbish relationship. Have a fling! Throw caution to the wind, raid my wardrobe for glad rags and go out and let your hair down and have some fun.

  Otherwise I have this sneaky suspicion that you will be sitting hunched over your drawing board for days on end. Don’t do it.

  Anyhow. Must dash. Or I will be in mucho troublo.

  Have fun. Saffie

  P.S. I mean it. Put down that pen and ink, right now. And, yes, I know that I am bossy but that is why you love me. J

  MILES sat up against the bed head and flicked on the bedside lamp, his lungs fighting for air, squinting against the light until he could see all around him.

  Heart thumping, his skin shiny with sweat, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, onto the solid oak floorboards, and felt the slight roughness of the wood under his toes. Reassuring. Real.

  It had been the same dream again.

  A memory played out so many times it had become like a scene from a favourite movie. A video played over and over until the words and images were embedded in the subconscious. Until the reality was lost, and the dream took its place.

  Miles looked around the room.

  Where was he? Focus.

  The Cory Sports building. Upstairs in Jason’s penthouse apartment.

  London, he was in London.

  In a too quiet, too calm and way too white bedroom, which looked just like all of the hospital rooms he had got to know over the past eleven months. Only without the smell.

  Air. He needed air! Action. Sound. Movement. Colour. Life!

  A cold autumn dawn was trying to creep around the edges of the window blind at the patio doors and he tried to push himself off the bed.

  But his knee did not like that idea one little bit, and he winced in pain and lay down flat again, his fingers crushed into fists of anger and frustration.

  How long had he slept?

  Miles squinted at the electronic gizmo with about twenty dials that Jason called a clock. Five hours. Maybe six. Not enough.

  The latest physiotherapist had given him strict instructions to get off his feet as much as possible and give his k
nee some chance at recovery.

  Yeah. Right.

  Miles lay back, legs stretched out in front of him, but the pain was too much to ignore and his right hand automatically rubbed his right knee.

  When would he be able to block out that movie clip from his memory?

  Probably never.

  He could still hear the voices in his head.

  Have you heard that Miles Gibson has been in a car accident? Now he really has lost everything, hasn’t he? Poor guy. He won’t ever get up on a board again. Must be hard not having any career left.

  Well, they were wrong. And he was going to prove just how wrong they were, then prove it again and again until they got the message straight. Miles Gibson was back on his feet and the same man he had always been.

  The Gibson family had built up Cory Sports on the strength of having world champion kite surfer Miles Gibson at the helm. They were a good team. But these were hard economic times and the competition was fierce. His family had sacrificed everything to make his dream of being a professional surfer a reality. They needed him to get up there and tell the world that he was back to stay.

  He would not let them down. No matter how much it cost him.

  He was a fighter. And that was what he should focus on now.

  Fighting. Every hard-won step of the way. Fighting through the pain.

  Miles scrubbed harder at his leg, trying to massage the blood back into muscles and joints.

  He had spent most of the past week visiting specialists all over London and they had all come to the same conclusion. There were no magical treatments or remarkable new experts that he could fly in to save the day, no extra medical equipment he could buy or new procedures.

  The brilliant surgeons who had pinned his left leg back together had taken one look at his right knee and done the best they could. But it was no good and they knew it. His career had ended inside a vintage sports car that was never intended to comply with modern safety regulations. There was no airbag, no protective roll cage. Just a few layers of metal between him and the road.

  His life as a professional kite surfer was dead. Gone. Finished.

  Twenty years of hard work and pushing himself to be the very best in his profession. Over in an instant.

  And he hated that. He hated it with a passion that very few things in this life could match. One of them required the kind of escort agencies that might give him some distraction in the short-term, but were a terrible idea at any time, and the other needed sea, surf, high waves, quality boards and acrobatic kites.

  Problem was—he still actually needed his knee in some sort of working order to be able to walk. Anything to avoid being confined to a wheelchair again.

  Miles stopped punching at the innocent headboard, sat up and scrubbed at his hair with his fingertips just as Jason stumbled into the room, wiping his eyes then blinking at Miles over the top of his spectacles.

  ‘I heard yelling. You appear to be alone so it can’t be the obvious. The old dream again?’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry if I woke you,’ Miles answered as Jason flopped down on the bed and pulled the pillow under his head.

  ‘No problem.’ Jason yawned. ‘I need to get in early anyway. That pretty receptionist the agency sent over knows nothing about sports and still managed to crash our complete online ordering system yesterday, so that’s my morning wasted on interviews. How about you? Back to the physio?’

  ‘No. Not today. But one thing is for sure—I need to get out of this apartment. I don’t know how you do it, Jase. Seriously. I had no idea it would be so hard to stay indoors for more than a few days at a time. I didn’t have any choice in the hospitals but this office work is killing me. Don’t you ever yearn for fresh air and a beach now and then? No?’

  Miles sighed and shook his head. ‘Cabin fever.’ He scanned the room, then shrugged. ‘Great apartment. But you might have added something in the way of colour? All I can see are plain cream walls and if I look out the window I see grey skies, greyer buildings and most of the people in this city could use some sun and a humour transplant.’

  Instantly he thought of #citygirl Andy and broke into a smile.

  ‘One more thing to add to that list of things to do, Jase. Email that online dating service and tell them that the coffee date was a hit but the lady has decided that Internet dating was not for her.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Jason groaned. ‘Do I have to call lawyers? What did you do this time?’

  ‘Relax, I didn’t do anything unusual.’

  ‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’ Jason inhaled sharply and lifted his chin. ‘Hit me with it. Was she ancient, desperate, frigid or a gold-digger?’

  Miles thought for a moment and did a rerun of their conversation, especially the part when she confessed that she was a stand-in for her boss. ‘None of those things. Andy was different, cute. Although I’m not totally surprised that she didn’t want to see me again seeing that … I might have, maybe, possibly …’

  ‘Bro. Out with it. You didn’t strip off in the middle of the restaurant to impress her with your tattoos or abs again, did you?’

  ‘Worse. I embarrassed her in front of a couple of girls she used to know. She ran off before I could apologise. And there may be photographs.’

  Jason winced. ‘And you are supposed to be the ladies’ man in the family. Well, our press cuttings agency will pick up anything that hits the gossip columns. What does this Andy look like?’

  Miles conjured up an image of a girl with delicate cheekbones, silky fine brown hair curling at her ears and full pink lips, which had made one Panini the highlight of his day, and chuckled.

  ‘Brunette. Green eyes. Dainty. Sassy in a suit. Doesn’t freak when she drops food on her top and knows first aid. Nice hands. And she likes cheese.’

  ‘Hands. Sassy. Cheese. Got it,’ Jason said, slipping off the bed and polishing his spectacles on his tee shirt.

  ‘You like this Andy, and don’t try and deny it. Usually the only thing you are interested in is how she looks in or out of swimwear. I know you way too well. Pity you blew it.’

  ‘What did I say?’ Miles raised his arms in protest. ‘You were the one who talked me into this online-dating game. All I need is a date for next week. One night. Not a relationship. End of story. And in case you have forgotten I am off the dating circuit and will be until further notice, remember?’

  ‘I don’t know why. Lori made her decision to dump you at the worst time possible. Fact. But that was months ago and you are more or less back on your feet. Another fact. You have been whining at me for weeks about having to find a date for the show. Don’t blame me for taking the initiative.’

  ‘Initiative? I’ll give you initiative,’ Miles growled. ‘I am staying in this dull grey city long enough to show my face at the Sports Personality Award show, and then I am taking the initiative and getting out of the city to get some colour and spark back into my life. The Cory Sports roadshow hits Australia in less than eight weeks. Sun. Sea and surf. And it couldn’t come soon enough.’

  Andy grinned as a madcap bike courier jumped his cycle onto the pavement at breakneck speed, only feet in front of her, to overtake a stationary car, and then whipped back onto the road with a quick wave and was gone.

  Normally she would have taken a second to steady herself and call after him with a cutting critique of what she thought about his driving skills. But not today.

  Today she was going to the museum to show her friend the shop manager her Christmas card designs. There were so many fabulous commercial cards on display—but hers were hand painted, personalised and based on her favourite designs in the illuminated manuscripts room.

  This was it. This was what she had been working on in every spare moment over the past year or more. Experimenting with new ideas for colours and borders and working late into the night until she was happy with the final result.

  And she was happy with her work. Very happy.

  Plus it was a bright sunny November afternoon and she had only
one more party invitation to deliver for Elise—and then she would be free. Free!

  Which was most excellent.

  It was such a lovely day that she had walked through Covent Garden and up towards Holborn through streets she had known all of her life. The trees still had some of their leaves and the deep russets, reds and golds were stunning in the pale late-autumn sunshine. Shop windows were bright and bursting with colour from their displays of Christmas gifts and decorations. She had always loved autumn in the city. Especially when the sun was shining and she had the whole day ahead of her to enjoy.

  Andy double-checked the address and map, turned the corner through a high stone archway and stood quietly for a moment, admiring the stunning ornate architecture of the exclusive side street. Cory Sports had their London office in a converted four-storey stone Victorian building, which had been built when the British Empire was at its peak. Now the marble and glass entrance was modern and clean and welcoming rather than intimidating, but somehow it fitted in perfectly on this quiet pedestrianised area with its flower tubs and boutique shops and restaurants.

  Elise had already paid her to hand paint the party invitations for her client’s annual fundraising party in aid of high school art projects in London. Those A-list celebrities and senior business leaders expected a promotions company to send them a special invitation with a difference. Last year it was engraved crystal glassware—this year, hand-painted cards, each one designed to fit the person being invited.

  No pressure, then.

  Of course Andy would never tell Elise but she had loved every minute of this work. It was challenging, intricate and detailed. And she’d adored doing these pieces. But now they were done.

  Thirty invitations. All personal. All hand drawn with the guest name written in calligraphy.

  Cory Sports had been a special delight. It had only taken a quick glance at their online sales brochure to see that Cory was short for the Spanish word for the heart—Corazon.

  Spanish. Perhaps she could have picked up a few more Spanish words if she had accepted the dinner invitation from Miles?