by Tricia Jones
She hoped to heaven it wasn’t the latter, because she was tempted to relax her reservations a tad and seeing just where this frisson between them went.
“Hey.” She jolted from her reverie and looked up to see Saul walking toward her bench. “Must be some private joke to have you smiling to yourself like that.”
He sat beside her, his presence seeming to dislodge the very air around her. Which was nothing short of ridiculous. “I was just thinking about something.”
His eyes bored into hers, the unrelenting dark grey doing wonderful things to her senses. “About what?”
Maybe it was time to see what side of that equation he’d come out on. “Whether or not I’m prepared to let this thing between us go a little further.”
His eyes turned wary and narrowed a little. “Is that a trick statement?”
She grinned, pleased to unsettle him for once. “Maybe. Maybe not. Did you find out anything?”
“Huh?”
“The notes. The ring. Did you find out who sent them?”
Still looking at her with that steady dark gaze, he blew out a breath. “Give me a minute. I need to remember a few things. Like my name.”
She laughed. “I never lose the gist of the conversation when you hit me with sexual innuendoes.”
“So that was definitely a sexual innuendo? I wasn’t imagining it?”
With a deliberate tilt of her chin, she considered him. “You weren’t imagining it.” When he shifted closer, she moved back. Okay, so he definitely wouldn’t lose interest. She needed a moment to gauge how she felt about that, so nudged the subject back to safer territory. “The notes?”
“Yeah. The notes.” He frowned. “But just to clarify before we move away from this enticing subject matter, you’re still thinking around the taking-things-further aspect? It’s still a work in progress, so to speak, and open to further consideration on your part?”
There really was something about him, and it made her stomach flutter deliciously and heat move into her core. “I’m still thinking. And further considering.”
His grin intensified, making her whole body bask in the glow. She wondered if, barring any unforeseen disasters or revelations, she would quite possibly end up throwing caution to the wind with one rather gorgeous American photojournalist. The thought sent shockwaves of panic skittering down her spine, but her treacherous body showed no respite from the thoughts burning through her brain.
Unable to meet his gaze any longer, Mia glanced down at his hands. It was impossible not to imagine how those hands would feel against her skin. No doubt he’d know what to do with them.
She imagined him stroking…exploring…coaxing...
Hell. Swallowing, she forced her gaze back to his. From the gleam in his eyes she knew his thoughts were travelling along the same edgy precipice as hers. This time when he shifted closer, she stayed where she was.
His gaze moved down to her mouth, his eyes skimming the outline of her lips in a way that made her ache for his tongue to do the same. She parted her lips and raised her chin. His touch was light, his mouth barely making contact with hers, but the fire he ignited sped through her system like a flame to dry kindling.
He pressed forward, his mouth covering hers. His lips were warm, inviting. It felt like a slice of heaven. And forbidden fruit. All at the same time. He wasn’t touching her anywhere else and suddenly she ached for it. She wanted to move in, move closer, but instead she gathered every inch of control she could garner and broke the kiss.
His mouth was slightly parted, his eyes slumberous. “Too fast?”
Not fast enough. But it didn’t seem wise to tell him that she currently felt so hot for him, she was tempted to jump right in at the deep end and damn the consequences. “Work in progress, remember?”
His breath shuddered out on a long sigh. “You’ve got me fired up pretty fast here.”
“I’m not playing games, Saul. It’s just that I don’t really do casual sex.”
“And I’m not looking for it. At least not with you.”
Why did that terrify her so much? “I’ll admit I’m attracted to you, but I’m not entirely sure what I intend to do about it.”
He grinned. “That’ll work for me. For now.”
She swallowed, unsure whether to continue with the current topic of conversation to make certain he really understood what she’d said. But perhaps it was best to get back on a safer footing. “So, can we just get back to the notes?”
He looked at her steadily, then took a small notebook from an inside jacket pocket. He flicked open the pages like one of the cops she’d seen in the TV shows. It made her smile.
“No fingerprints matched against the system. The notepaper was a premium brand not readily available from department stores or stationers. Matching envelopes.” He read through his notes. “Which seems strange if we’re looking at a student.”
“Why?”
“Expensive taste. Most college kids I know could only afford the cheap stuff.”
“Unless they used Mummy or Daddy’s. I could do a check to see who has well-off parents. We could narrow it down from there.”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “You do that, Sherlock.” Her lips twitched as he returned to his notebook. “Nothing popped from a preliminary run on the ring.”
“What sort of run?”
“Where it was made. Who. When. That sort. So far no record of ownership, but it’s early days.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble over this. You’ve your own work to do.”
“No problem. I had help.”
“Help?”
“Friends in high places,” he said, cryptically. “I’m owed a favor or two.”
After closing the notebook, he sat back and stretched his arm along the back of the bench behind her.
“I really appreciate your help.”
“Like I said, no problem.”
Well, he might not think so, but she was grateful. And there was the kiss. Her jittery system still hadn’t recovered from that. “How about I treat you to dinner as a thank you?”
“Can’t. I’m on a stakeout.”
“A stakeout?”
“Fancy word for a dull evening.” He flicked his fingers through her hair, making her shiver. “I’d much rather be having dinner with you.”
“It’s nothing dangerous, is it?”
He huffed. “I wish to God it was, but no. Few hours watching a hotel entrance keeping a check on that politician I told you about.” He stroked a finger along her jaw. “Worried about me, Professor?”
“No,” she lied. “And you do know I’m not really a professor, don’t you?”
“Not yet.” That finger slipped to her mouth and he traced the outline of her bottom lip. “But I’m betting you soon will be. You’ve got workaholic written all over you.”
“You don’t?”
“I like to take time out for other things.”
“And we all know what they are.”
“There you go again, thinking the worst of me.”
She grinned back at him. “Simply stating a fact.”
He leaned across and kissed her again. Lighter this time, but no less potent. “Why don’t you come with me?”
“Where? On the stakeout?”
“Why not? Having you there would certainly liven things up for me.”
Her stomach fluttered with anticipation. She’d never in her life done anything quite so intrepid. “What would we actually do?”
“We’d sit in my car, suitably supplied with takeout and coffee, and watch the hotel entrance for evidence of skullduggery. You game?”
Despite her enthusiasm, Mia didn’t consider it particularly fitting for a university lecturer to participate in such activity. Especially one who’d been invited to become an adviser on a new government committee being set up to investigate educational testing on preschool children. But it would certainly be interesting to get a take on Saul’s job. She didn’t personally know any journalists, a
nd it would be fascinating to delve into the psyche of people who watch people for a living. It was all grist for her own research, a good insight into covert activities. She could perhaps use it in a future research paper.
“Yes. I’m game. Do I need to bring anything?”
“A blanket, maybe,” he said with a wicked grin. “It can get real cold at night.”
Saul loved the indignation that tightened her expression. Loved it even more when her face relaxed and her mouth flickered the moment she realized he was winding her up.
“No doubt we’ll have to huddle underneath that blanket to keep warm.”
Her haughty expression didn’t quite ring true since the laughter in her eyes gave her away.
“No doubt,” Saul agreed. “Your climate can be a bitch.”
“Maybe I’ll bring two blankets then. One each. And a couple of hot water bottles. That should solve the problem.”
“You’re killing me, Professor.”
She laughed, a tinkle of sound that shot straight to his manhood. “I doubt that. I think we both know the general direction this work in progress is taking.”
Hell. He’d died and gone to heaven. “And you think to tell me this when I can’t do anything about it?”
“Who says you can’t do anything about it?”
He took a moment to suck in a breath and then let it out on a long sigh. “Stakeout, remember? Work.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Shit. I can’t believe I said that. Kill me now.”
Another laugh, which didn’t exactly still his raging hard-on. “If I did that you’d miss out on all the fun.”
The thought of the type of fun he could get up to with his luscious professor had lust spiking through his system, and he had to keep himself from hauling her against him right there in the middle of Hyde Park. “Just so we’re clear, the work in progress thing is what we were talking about earlier, right?”
“The very same.”
“Shit.” A driving need for her stormed through him. He wasn’t entirely sure he could wait much longer to have her in his arms. “How about I just call in and resign?”
She stifled another laugh, and gave him a reprimanding look. “I think you’re losing your focus. We were talking about the stakeout, remember? How long will it take?”
He’d never been a praying man, but he offered one up now in the hope that one Victor Colcannon, upstanding politician and future prime minister, if the spin doctors were to be believed, really was squeaky clean and that the tip-off his editor had received regarding misappropriation was wildly off base. He needed to do some digging before he parked himself outside the nondescript hotel where Colcannon was allegedly meeting with a certain undesirable businessman whose nasty little fingers delved into many unscrupulous pies. With any luck he’d discover the politician was somewhere else entirely. Preferably in another city. Another country.
“It’s hard to say how long it will take.” He brushed his hand along her thigh. “But why don’t you just bring along one blanket…and forget the hot water bottles.”
****
“This would be sort of fun, if it wasn’t so sad.”
Saul took his eyes from the hotel entrance and turned to look at Mia. “Sad?”
“Well, it seems a bit low to be sitting here in a car hoping to find evidence that could destroy a man’s career. Colcannon’s wife was mentally ill apparently, and he was really caring and supportive. I read somewhere that he was always rescheduling his appointments so he could visit her regularly before she died.”
“Yeah, pretty sad.” Saul looked back to the entrance. He didn’t relish the job he’d been tasked to do, but that didn’t stop him doing it. Hell. If he took a stand against every unpalatable assignment, he’d have been drummed out of journalism years ago.
“Do you think he’s been involved in shady dealings?” Mia asked.
“Hard to say. But if I had to guess about a man who has secret assignations in a London hotel in the middle of the working week, I’d put my money on there being a woman involved.”
“Even if that were the case, it’s hard to blame him after what he’s been through. And he’s obviously trying to be very discreet about it.”
The slight rebuff in her voice had him turning to her again. “And I should keep my nose out of his business and let him get on with it.”
“I don’t see why the world has to know about his personal life to that extent. It doesn’t affect his job.”
“The public has a right to know about anything off center and if it does involve an affair they need to know about the woman who is keeping a prominent political figure warm at night.”
“I still think it’s his business and he should be able to have a private life without reporters breathing down his neck. He obviously misses his wife, was devoted to her, apparently. They had no children, but were married for decades and I don’t remember there ever being talk of him having an affair. But even if he’s having one now, he’s not hurting anyone, so why can’t he be left alone and find a little comfort after years of being upstanding and responsible?”
“He’s tipped to be the next Leader of the Opposition, on course to be your future PM. You don’t want to know everything about the man who might run your country?”
“I want to know that he’s up for the job. He hasn’t given anyone reason to believe he isn’t.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way.” Saul checked his watch and shifted in his seat. Momentarily, he forgot the injury to his hip, and winced from the pain that shot down his leg.
“Are you okay?”
“We’ve been here close to two hours now,” he said, focusing on the man across the street sitting in the black SUV. “Just getting antsy.”
Saul had noticed the man when they’d first arrived. His features, illuminated by the lights from passing cars, had seemed vaguely familiar. Saul assumed he was a fellow reporter he must have met somewhere.
“Shall I get more coffee?” Mia nodded toward the vendor along the street. “Maybe a burger, or something?”
He could kill for a burger, but truth was his antsy feeling had a lot less to do with the failed stakeout or the uneasy feeling about the fellow reporter across the street, and more to do with sitting next to a sexy blonde whose scent washed over him like a second skin. “Since my source seems to have been having an off day, why don’t we give it a few more minutes then call it a night? We can do better than coffee and a burger.”
“Sounds good. Does this happen very often? Your source not panning out?”
It did, but when two reporters turned up at a roost, likely from two different sources, there was usually a fire along with the smoke. “Happens now and then. My old man warned me never to take it personally. He had over forty years on the job so I guess he knew what he was talking about.”
“Are your parents still alive?”
“Yeah. Took early retirement and moved to Florida.”
“Are you close?”
“Pretty much. I don’t see them as much as I’d like, but they’ve never been the type who think their kids owe them a living. They’ve always encouraged us to live our own lives, make our mistakes, learn from them.”
“They sound nice. Balanced.”
“Mostly they are, nice that is. Balanced is a matter of opinion. My mother tends to lead my father astray, since she’s the most unconventional senior I know. If there’s some new fad going down, you can bet she’ll be in the thick of it.”
Mia laughed. “I think I like her. She sounds like an interesting woman.”
“Another matter of opinion, but yeah, she’s really something.”
“Oh, look.” Mia jerked upright and nodded toward the hotel entrance. “There’s Colcannon.”
Saul grabbed his camera and started snapping as the politician headed toward a car that appeared from nowhere. The man got in and the car sped off. Saul waited, camera at the ready, but nobody else emerged from the hotel entrance.
Beside him, Mia leaned forward.
“Are we going to give chase, or something?”
Saul couldn’t resist a quick glance toward her, already abandoning the idea that whoever Colcannon had been meeting was unlikely to emerge soon. He shoved the camera on her lap and started the engine. “You’ve been watching too many cop shows, Professor. We’re just going to ride behind him a while and see where he goes next. Grab that camera and take some shots of the car’s number plate.” They moved into the flow of traffic.
Since something continued to niggle, Saul checked the rearview mirror as he followed the car at a safe distance. The SUV was on his tail. Since the man he’d assumed was a fellow reporter had been closer to Colcannon’s car at the hotel, he wondered why the man hadn’t snuck in behind the politician’s car ahead of Saul. Any reporter worth his salt wouldn’t forego the chance for the first sniff of anything remotely juicy. In the past, Saul had almost been mown over by members of his profession intent on getting the story first.
He continued to mull over the uncommon behavior, and suddenly realized where he’d seen the SUV driver before. He’d been sitting on a bench in Hyde Park that afternoon.
Shit. He wasn’t following Colcannon. He was following Mia.
Chapter Six
Mentally listing the events of the last couple of days, Saul didn’t much like the conclusions. Mia had been mugged, received strange notes, jewelry, and now it seemed she was being stalked. The mugging hadn’t been random. It had been deliberate. Mia had been specially targeted for that pendant. Had to be. And it linked to her receiving the ring a day later.
Shit. Why in hell hadn’t he clicked into the association before? His only excuse was that he was rusty. His damn injury and the resultant months away from the job had left him soft, incompetent. Added to which there was this attraction to Mia...
When his mental machinations made him lose focus, he had to turn the wheel fast to avoid overshooting the turn Colcannon’s car made. Maybe he should keep his mind on the damn job. But he knew right then that if Mia had been targeted by some idiot for a piece of jewelry, who was to say the same idiot wouldn’t strike again to get that ring?
