by Tricia Jones
Mia followed his gaze, then turned back to him. Heck. Right then she almost wished she was the sort of person who accepted drinks from perfect strangers, but it just wasn’t in her nature. The unpredictable? The spontaneous? Anathema to her soul. She thrived on control.
During her first year as a psych undergraduate, she learned that people controlled their world in an attempt to feel safe, constructing an invisible shield of protection against life’s capricious nature. By the time Mia graduated with a First from Oxford, she came to accept that her own need to control stemmed from losing her mother, from feeling deprived of a mother’s love. Not that love had been lacking in her life, her father and aunt saw to that.
Studying for her doctorate, she finally acknowledged that she was one of those people who, having lost their mother at birth, experienced an almost overwhelming need to make their lives mean something. To work hard, push themselves to achieve. The living-for-two syndrome. Survivor’s guilt.
Intellectually, she knew there was no foundation for guilt. Emotionally, she felt it anyway.
Work helped. Kept her grounded. Safe. Secure. As long as she controlled her environment nothing would happen. Nothing would creep up and knock the stuffing out of her nice ordered existence.
Which was absolutely fine by her.
Mia pulled at the shield of the umbrella. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. O’Donnell.”
She started to walk away but someone bumped into her, nudging her back against him. Looking up into his eyes, her stomach gave an uncomfortable flutter. Not helped by the feel of his hard, uncompromising chest.
His slow, meaningful smile increased her discomfort. “It’s only a drink.”
At his husky tone, Mia straightened. “Then it won’t matter if I say no, will it?”
She dodged around him and wove her way amongst heavy foot traffic and a bewildering array of umbrellas. Mia ignored him when he fell into step beside her, and continued to weave and dodge. Annoyingly, he kept pace. “Can’t you take a hint?”
“Nope. Never could. Me? I need it spelled out. Good and clear.”
She stopped so abruptly that a woman all but slammed into the back of her again. Mia’s muttered apology was met with a stare as stark as the woman’s suit.
That only increased her irritation. “Well, why don’t I spell it out then? Good and clear.” She had to apologize twice more in quick succession at the grumbled protests of impatient passers-by eager to get out of the rain. When she turned back to him and noted the way his brow crumpled in feigned concentration, her annoyance slipped up a few more notches. “I don’t want a drink with you. I don’t care that you’re American, I don’t care that you’re Irish. I don’t even care if your ancestors lived in a…a jungle.”
“All our ancestors lived in a jungle—if you believe Darwinian theory, that is.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
“Come on. Take pity on me. I’m getting soaked here.”
Rain trickled down his strong face and across a rather full lower lip. Mia’s own lips felt suddenly dry and tingly. “If you don’t like our weather you could do us all a favor and go back to wherever you came from. Goodbye.”
She turned and wedged her way through the crowd. Go away. Just go away and let me get back to my nice ordered life before I start wondering about things I don’t want to wonder about.
The crowd thinned out as she turned a corner. Pulling the umbrella down further and blocking out everything except the few feet of ground in front of her, Mia hurried down the relative quiet of a side street that offered a short cut to the nearest tube station. Luckily she only had to make one change and then she would be back in the home she shared with her father.
She barely acknowledged the black shoes that came into her line of vision, but when they sidestepped mirroring her movement she remained still to give the man a chance to move around her. The black shoes didn’t move either. Mia was about to offer up an apology when she felt the burn in her shoulder as her arm was yanked back.
The umbrella dropped to the damp pavement, fluttering in the wind as it skittered along the ground. She fell back against a shop window, gripping her arm that felt like it had been ripped from its socket.
Rain sluiced through her hair as a man in a navy raincoat raced back down the street with her bag dangling from his gloved hand.
Chapter Two
“Holy shit! Are you okay?”
Mia closed her eyes against the sharp jab of sensation rocketing down her arm. She recognized the deeply concerned voice, and knew that the gentle fingers brushing over her good shoulder belonged to him. The pushy American.
“Fine.” When she opened her eyes she found herself looking into his sharp, concerned gaze. Giving her a quick once-over, he looked down the road in the direction of the mugger, and rocked back on his heels about to take off. “Please don’t even think about it,” Mia gasped. “He’s long gone.”
“We need to report it.” He barked it out, then lowered his voice and guided her into the shop doorway out of the rain. “Let’s take a look at that arm. Can you move it?”
She rotated her shoulder, wincing a little as pain reverberated around the joint. “I think it’s just jarred.”
“You should get it checked out. I’ll get us a cab.”
“No really I’m all right. A bit shaken, that’s all.”
He watched her steadily, until she gritted her teeth and rotated her shoulder again for his benefit.
“At least let’s get you out of this rain.” He looked around. “Come on.”
Mia let him lead her across the road toward a bar. She felt shaky and weirdly empty. She made herself focus by running through a mental list of her bag’s contents. Purse, credit cards, money...and the pendant.
“Here.” Saul found a table by a radiator and helped Mia ease off her coat. Warmth seeped through, making her shoulder throb. He signaled a waiter. “Brandy,” he said, keeping his eyes on Mia. “Doubles.”
“I don’t need brandy,” Mia said, as he shrugged out of his jacket and dropped it next to where her coat lay on a spare chair. “Really, I’m all right. But perhaps some tea would be good.”
Those charcoal eyes remained steady on hers, doing that checking-out thing. Then he caught the attention of the waiter. “Make that tea. Strong.”
Her system jittered with the aftereffects of shock, not helped by his long and steady perusal. She managed a smile. “Looks like you got me into a bar after all.”
“You do what you can,” he said absently. He dug into the back pocket of his trousers. “We should report what happened to the cops.”
Mia looked down at his cell phone, then shrugged. “There’s no point. Muggings are run of the mill, the police can’t do anything about it. But I should call the bank, cancel my cards. My phone was in there, and my keys. My father will need to get the locks changed.”
He handed her his phone as the tea arrived.
Several minutes later she gave Saul back his phone. “All done. They’ll get replacement cards to me in the next couple of days. Dad says he’ll call a locksmith.” She sighed. “Damn it, what a pain.”
“Lose much cash?”
“No.” Mia sipped her tea, letting its heat warm the empty space in her chest. “But my phone with all my numbers and the pendant I bid on tonight.”
“All replaceable.” Saul smiled, then took a swig of his own tea. “How’s your shoulder?”
She rolled it out. “Better.”
“So, now that I’ve managed to lure you into a bar, do I get to know your name?”
The fact he’d bid against her, and tried to pick her up afterward, didn’t seem so bad considering he was now helping her in her hour of need. She smiled, reassuring herself that when they’d finished their tea she could be on her way. “It’s Mia.”
He raised dark eyebrows. “Mia?”
Well, what was the harm? She’d never see him again. “Mia Freeman.”
He leaned back. “What do you do when not
bidding for Art Deco jewelry?”
She thought of the pendant, the fact that some stranger was probably at that moment rifling through her purse, maybe even using her phone. Was there anything in her bag with her name and address on it? A shiver of unease rippled through her.
She took in a shaky breath, thankful at least that her diary was safe at home in her work bag. Her lifeline to everything solid and dependable. Lily often joked that Mia’s diary was her own personal comfort blanket and getting it away from her was like prizing a filling from a tooth. Perhaps that wasn’t far from the truth, and maybe she did control her diary in the same rigid manner she controlled her mind. But for good reason. Fill them both with work and you knew where you were.
“I’m a lecturer,” Mia offered in answer to Saul’s question. “Psychology. What about you?”
“Journalist. Well, photojournalist if we’re being specific.”
Seeing it was pretty decent of him to be helping her like this, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be nice. “So, what was a photojournalist doing at an auction?”
He ran his finger around the edge of his cup. “Peace offering for my sister. I pissed her off a while back. Like you, she’s into collecting old stuff and told me I might find my way back into her good books by acquiring a certain piece she had her eye on.”
“The pendant?”
“That was the plan. Until you outbid me.”
“Will she be disappointed?”
He grinned and something about it warmed her insides better than the hot tea. “About the pendant? No.” He took a sip of his own tea, winced, and put it back on the table. “She’ll be too busy drooling over my successful bid. Though why in hell anyone would want an old porcelain doll with a tattered dress and a stench that repels people at a hundred paces beats me.”
“I saw that,” Mia said remembering the Victorian doll. “It’s lovely.”
“Maybe I’m just a philistine but I can’t for the life of me work out why people don’t prefer state of the art.”
“It’s tradition. Continuity. Old things root us to the past. They make us remember our history, where we came from.”
While he watched her with those knowing grey eyes, Mia ignored the butterflies in her stomach and continued to sip her tea.
“Is that why you collect old jewelry?”
She shrugged. “It’s a hobby of mine.”
“Something tells me there’s more to it than a hobby.”
She’d expected to see the sexy grin when she looked up, but his serious expression made her want to tell the truth. “My mother collected jewelry from the same range. Like I said: continuity, tradition.”
“Collected? She stopped?”
“She died when I was born.”
“Sorry.”
Mia shrugged, although the shaky feeling intensified. The mugging had left her raw, vulnerable. It was only natural thinking about her mother at this time would heighten those feelings. “She left me a pendant my father gave her when they found out she was pregnant with me. Apparently, it was one of her most prized pieces of jewelry. I fell in love with it, too. And I know it’s because it was my mother’s, but still. I sort of feel a link with her whenever I buy another piece.”
He gave her a rueful smile. “Now I’m feeling guilty I jacked up the price.”
Mia laughed, pleased to have the opportunity to release some of the ache in her chest. There was something about him. Something scary and unsettling, but something else. Perhaps it was those tiny lines fanning out from the corner of his eyes, or the way he smiled with those deep dimples. No, not dimples, it was too cute a word for so masculine a man.
“Since you bought tea, I’ll forgive you for pushing the price up. It looks like neither of us were destined to own it.”
“Yeah. Looks like.”
Mia finished the last of her tea. “I should get home.”
“Why don’t you let me feed you first?”
With her good arm, she reached for her damp coat, her fingers brushing against the cool leather of his jacket in the process. “I’m not sure I could get anything down right now, but thanks anyway.”
He stood too, coming around to help with her coat. Mia was tall but he was taller, and she hated the ridiculous thrill trickling down her spine as he placed her coat around her shoulders. He kept his hands there, leaning down so that his deep voice made her body hum. “I’ll call a cab. Where do you live?”
She’d already told him about her mother, but she wasn’t about to tell where she lived. She suddenly felt hassled, crowded and the half full bar seemed to close in on her. “It’s not necessary. I can get myself home.”
At his frown she felt the urge to make a run for it, but something told her he’d give chase. Her heartbeat raced then thumped painfully against her chest. What was happening to her? To her ordered world? In the course of one day she’d received another anonymous note with a cryptic quotation, been mugged, and met a man who seemed capable of sending her pulse into orbit.
Careful to avoid touching her shoulder he turned her slowly to face him. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I know, but I think I’d like to get out into the air.”
The rain was down to a steady trickle and little shafts of sunlight streamed across the pavement. Mia pulled at the lapels of her raincoat and grabbed a lungful of oxygen. The hand at the small of her back guided her gently but firmly along the street toward the busy main road.
At the corner Mia turned to him and held out her good hand. “Thank you so much for everything. I hope it hasn’t inconvenienced you too much.”
Saul took her hand. Her fingers felt cold and clammy against his palm. Her face paler than before. The rain had plastered her short pixie cap of hair to her head, making her green eyes seem huge. “No problem.”
She gave him a shaky smile and pumped his hand. A gesture that very firmly signaled he was now superfluous to need. Her shoulders went back, her chin shot up, and if he hadn’t been focusing on her so intently he would likely have missed the little flicker of pain in those emerald eyes.
“Maybe you should get that shoulder checked out.”
Another shaky smile. “It’s fine. Thanks again.”
“No problem.”
While he liked the thrill of the chase the same as any man, some women were just too much trouble. And something told him Mia Freeman was way too much trouble.
She negotiated the crowded street favoring her injured shoulder, taking care to steer clear of people walking into her. His own hip tweaked in sympathy. He cursed under his breath. Not sure whether it was for his own predicament or hers. But suddenly he was walking after her, weaving and twisting as she did. Keeping her in view while she waited at a crossing, he stopped to make a quick purchase from a street vendor.
“Hey, Mia.”
Suspicion gleamed in her eyes when he caught up with her and held out the small bunch of flowers. “What are these?”
“Freesia. I just thought you looked a bit lost without some kind of shield. My mother always says that a woman without her purse is like a samurai without a sword.” He jiggled the flowers. “Can you take these? Anybody sees me waving a bunch of flowers about, I’ll lose what little street cred I have left.”
Mia took the bundle like someone might take a hand grenade. “You’re only visiting. Nobody here knows you.”
“Honey. Somebody always knows you. Especially when you least expect it.”
She looked down at the flowers, sank her nose into them, then looked back at him. “I’m not sure what to make of you.”
“I’m not that complicated.”
“Why don’t I believe that?”
He dug his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Cab fare.” He pushed a note to her palm, curling his fingers around hers. “After we’ve had dinner you can ditch me and get a cab home.”
He saw the battle in her eyes. Saw the moment she wavered. He made sure to keep his fingers curled tight around hers.
“I don
’t…it’s very kind of you, but I don’t think…”
“Women who’ve had a blow to the shoulder shouldn’t think too much, it’s bad for the recuperative process.” When she laughed, he went in for the kill. “I’d just like to have dinner with you and, seeing as I’m a lonely stranger in your city, you should do your civic duty and help me out. No strings.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I doubt that.”
He held up two fingers. “Dead poets honor.”
“What?”
“Dead poets honor. It means my word.” At her blank look he shook his head. “Didn’t you see the movie—Robin Williams?”
“No.”
When he feigned outraged disbelief, she laughed. Damn, but she had such a great laugh. “Now that’s hard to get past, but I think I can forgive you.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What exactly do you want, Saul O’Donnell?”
“That’s a loaded question, and one I doubt I could answer truthfully without it throwing me right back into the three-strikes-and-I’m-out scenario.”
She rolled her fingers around the note pressed into the palm of her hand. “I suppose that’s truthful enough an answer. But since you told me you need things spelled out, let me clarify a couple of things just to make certain there are no misunderstandings.”
He folded his arms, screwing up his forehead in mock concentration as the rain started again. “Better make it quick so we can get in out of this weather.”
“It’s very kind of you to help me like this, to buy me flowers, lend me money for the taxi fare home…and I’ll insist on having a forwarding address so I can send it back to you tomorrow.” She waited until he pursed his lips and gave a somber nod. “I have no objection to having dinner with you. In fact I think it might be a pleasant enough way to pass an hour or two. But I have no intention, absolutely none, of going back to your place, or you coming back to my place, when dinner is over.”
“I don’t technically have a place, seeing as I’m only here for six weeks to cover a story. I don’t think my friend’s landlady would appreciate my bringing strange women back when I’ve only just unpacked.”
