A Perilous Pursuit

by Diane Gilmore

  Taylor bristled, and she felt her fingers begin to curl into fists. The numerous empty mugs that littered the bar in front of the group made her wonder if the band had had too much to drink to understand what she was saying to them. Still, their cavalier attitude was becoming more offensive to her by the minute.

  “Come on, lads, give the lady a chance,” the drummer said, as he took a long drink of the Guinness before him.

  “All right. What’s your name?” Steve asked Taylor.

  “Taylor Fairchild.”

  Shaun interjected. “Taylor? What a darling little name to call yourself!” When he saw her stunned expression, he laughed. “Oh, come on, luv, loosen up. Come over here, join the party!”

  “Don’t give her such a hard time, mates,” Craig finally spoke up from the back. His voice was gentle, smooth, and sinfully sexy. “We wouldn’t want her to think all Englishmen are rude, would we?”

  Finally he was coming to her rescue, Taylor thought with relief. Alas, not for long.

  “Well, I’d say that’s a good description of us!” Shaun shot back to another round of laughter.

  That was it. Taylor had heard enough. How dare they act like a group of unruly teenagers, treating her like a love-starved groupie, or worse?

  Her eyes narrowed as she glared at Shaun. “That was unnecessary.”

  Then she turned to the others. “You know, I came over here because I thought I could help you,” she said, the anger rising in her voice, “but I’m glad I found out now what you’re all like. Our company doesn’t need a bunch of arrogant, spoiled brats to work with!”

  “Uh-oh, we’ve ruffled her feathers,” Shaun slurred in mock remorse. Then his voice hardened. “So what the hell are you gettin’ so out of whack about, anyway, miss? Ain’t you got a sense of humor?”

  “Never mind,” Taylor said, in a tone similar to a parent reprimanding a group of errant children. “You all belong in this type of environment. Two-bit gigs like these are all you will ever be good for!”

  Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heels and walked away from their startled gazes.

  ~ ~ ~

  The next morning, as she readied herself for breakfast, Taylor went over the previous evening in her mind, trying to justify her own behavior at the Sword & Stone Pub. It was a shining opportunity as a professional entertainment representative to garner a new act, and she had failed miserably.

  She was angry at the band’s reaction to her, and rightly so, but her response was not exactly her finest, either. She had reacted to their arrogant behavior like an over-sensitive child, not the take-charge businesswoman she knew herself to be. It didn’t speak well for her as a representative of a company whose reputation was among the best in the business. They weren’t the first difficult band she’d had to deal with in her career, and yet she’d ended up acting as poorly as they did by walking away. Could she afford to be so sensitive and sabotage a chance at a successful account for Fairchild Management Group? What was wrong with her?

  Perhaps it was because, for a moment last night, she’d felt helpless, and she didn’t take well to helplessness. She had worked hard since the divorce to always remain in control of every situation. And last night, for the first time in a long while, she had not been in control.

  Taylor sighed as she brushed her hair before the hotel mirror. Helplessness and control had nothing to do with it. She knew what the real trouble was. She always got angry and defensive when she felt herself on shaky ground emotionally, especially when she felt threatened by her attraction to a man. She’d never had a problem with her emotions, or at least not until her marriage to Derek. After that disaster, she was always able to keep her dealings with men in check and her wits intact.

  But last night was different. Her attraction to this guitarist, Craig, was undeniable, and that troubled her. In fact, it disturbed her immensely. She remembered how he had watched her during that entire scene, his dark eyes intently focused on her, yet not saying a word. He stirred something within her dormant heart—that fluttering, ecstatic feeling she had worked so hard to bury.

  Perhaps this band wasn’t ready for a bigger commitment yet, but she hated the thought of losing a good business prospect for the company. They were quite a find, and any entertainment scout would agree. The odds of stumbling upon a band of such potential, especially while taking time off due to an expensive whim of her father’s, were incredible.

  She pursed her lips together with resolve. There was no question about it. She’d have to go back to that pub and make them listen, even for five minutes. This band was too great an opportunity for Fairchild Management Group to pass up. They’d be picked up by another company in a matter of time. If she had to track the band down all over London to propose an offer, then so be it. She would have to give it another shot.

  A tap on the door of her room brought Susan shuffling in, a pot of tea and two cups in her hand.

  “A pot like this in every room sure comes in handy this early in the morning,” she greeted Taylor. She slumped down on Taylor’s bed. “Oh, I shouldn’t have done that,” she moaned, holding her head. “I’ve got one killer hangover.”

  Taylor smiled as she filled the delicate china cups. “Too much partying with the townies last night?”

  Susan shrugged. “It was worth it.” She took the cup of steaming brew from Taylor. “I met a few locals at that pub who asked me to come back tonight. Want to go?”

  “Not a bad idea,” Taylor replied. “I was thinking about going so I could try and talk to that band again. If,” she added darkly, “they’re in the mood to listen this time.”

  Susan leaned back against the down-filled bed pillows. “From the way you ranted about them all the way home, I thought you wouldn’t want to bother.” A wicked grin formed across her face. “What a shame. Good-looking group of guys. I should have gone over there with you.”

  Taylor felt the heat rise through her body again as she remembered last night. She’d give anything to repeat that encounter, only this time she wouldn’t be so taken by surprise.

  “I wouldn’t give the whole episode a second thought if I wasn’t sure they were a hot prospect for the company,” she said. “I didn’t do a great job of getting my point across, so I’m going to try again.”

  Susan’s brows arched as she contemplated the thought. “Good idea.” She giggled. “Even if they are a bit unruly, you can’t deny they look fine. Hotties, every one of them. And I bet they’ve been trading on it since puberty, too.”

  “You may be right. So you’ll come with me?”

  “Sure, maybe I can help you persuade them,” Susan said, then sighed. “Seems all musicians have the same rowdy sense of humor and big ego.”

  Taylor nodded. “Well, this time I’m ready for it.”

  That evening, a light drizzle outside the Sword & Stone Pub made the cobbled streets of Soho slick and gleaming. The pub’s door was propped open to let in some of the fresh, though humid, air. The place was just as crowded as it was the night before, with every seat taken. People leaned on tables or gathered at the bar, anywhere with an inch of space. Taylor again found a place to stand by an exterior wall while Susan scanned the crowd.

  “They should list this place on every online travel site,” Susan commented, her eyes darting about, scanning the male clientele. “I’ll go get us some beer.” Before Taylor could reply, she disappeared into the crowd.

  While Taylor waited for Susan to return, she looked for the band. They were grouped together in the same corner as before, with the same groupies hanging around them. They hadn’t gone on yet.

  Her eyes wandered to Craig. She followed the long line of his smooth neck, wondering how she could nuzzle her head into it. He had broad shoulders and strong, firm arms attached to a masculine body, perfect for a girl to melt into—Stop it, Taylor! she
chided herself. He could be married with a family waiting for him at home right now!

  As if on a silent cue, he turned from his companions and looked in her direction. For a moment, their eyes locked, his powerful, dark gaze reaching out and gripping her from clear across the room. Staring into those intense eyes, her heart began to pound as if with a life of its own. His head nodded in greeting, and his lips curved into a smile.

  Steve followed his gaze and noticed Taylor’s presence. He nudged the others, and before she knew it, they were all staring in her direction, giggling. Shaun, the bass player, turned his mouth into a child-like pout in a look of mock remorse.

  Taylor clenched her teeth, fighting back a few choice words while she fumed inside. There was not going to be an encore of last night’s performance! She turned away from them. She would wait until the band finished their set. Then she would take care of business without getting into any verbal sparring matches with them.

  As soon as the band’s set was over and the crowd dispersed, Taylor found an empty table. Across the room, she saw Susan socializing with a large group of locals at a corner table, seeming to forget all about the task at hand.

  Great, Taylor thought. She was back where she started with this band—on her own.

  Suddenly a set of fingers dangling a white bar napkin in front of her nose invaded her thoughts. Startled, she looked up.

  “Truce?” The masculine English voice belonged to Craig. He looked even more striking now as he towered above her. Up close, his eyes were invitingly warm and complimented the layers of hair that fell around his chiseled face.

  Before she could say a word, he sank down into the chair next to her.

  “So,” he began, ignoring her surprised expression, “I see you’ve come back.”

  He had an openly admiring gaze for her, and Taylor felt the heat sweeping up to her face. His fresh, clean scent wafted its way across the table, drawing her into his power and magnetism. Compressing her lips, she forced herself to recover and concentrate on this unexpected opportunity.

  “I came back on business,” she replied in the most professional tone she could muster. “I’m glad you came over here. I have something to discuss with you.”

  “Do you, now? Well, I gathered that from what you told us last night—er, before you left our company so suddenly, that is.”

  Before she could retort, the bartender came by and handed Craig a bottle of white wine, along with two glasses.

  “Wait,” Taylor said. She knew that in England, one did not ‘order’ something to be brought to a table from the bar, as in America. “Where did this come from?”

  “Isn’t this what they do in America?” He placed a glass before her and winked at his friend. “Thanks for bringing it over for me, mate.”

  He turned back to Taylor. “I hope you will extend me the courtesy of sharing a drink. It’s sort of a peace offering from the band.” Without waiting for an answer, he popped the cork on the bottle and filled the glasses.

  She hesitated and looked at the half-filled glass, torn by sudden, conflicting emotions. Her immediate reaction was to protest his bold advances, but the increasing fluttering in her stomach distracted her common sense. His beautiful brown eyes sparkled at her, almost daring her to let go and be herself.

  He sighed. “Now you’re going to tell me you don’t like wine,” he said with exasperation seeping into his voice. “Tell me, are all American women so difficult to please?”

  “Let’s just say I’m wary of Englishmen bearing gifts.”

  His laughter was deep and exhilarating. “You’re funny. As well as a pretty girl.”

  “In my country, that kind of remark would be very sexist.”

  “I’m all for it, as long as it’s directed at you. So what do you say we forget all about last night and start over, eh?”

  His smile was maddening, and Taylor felt her resolve begin to melt. Her first impression of him in the company of his comrades offended her, but now she found herself becoming more and more attracted to him as his own man. He had a gentle English courtliness she was finding more difficult to dismiss by the minute.

  “That’s a good idea,” she agreed.

  Craig grinned. “We might as well make a proper introduction, then. I’m Craig Phillips.”

  “Taylor Fairchild,” she replied, taking a sip from her glass. “But then, I already told you that last night.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” he said, his eyes softening. He boldly reached over and clasped her hand. “I apologize for our behavior last night. We’re not a bad lot, really.”

  His hands felt warm and soft, all the way down to his long, tapered fingers. Taylor felt how his fingertips were hard and calloused from the endless plucking of his guitar. A disturbing tingle shot up her arm from his touch. He was warm and kind and handsome. Almost like Diesel . . .

  Almost, Taylor reminded herself firmly. She yanked her hands from his and tucked them between her thighs, which seemed to be getting hotter by the second. She had stumbled onto something that would help the company. Period.

  Just then Susan arrived at their table. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Craig.

  Craig rose while introductions were made. “Here, sit down,” he gestured to his chair. “We were just leaving.”

  Taylor stared at him, stunned.

  He ignored her reaction and continued talking casually to Susan. “You can have the wine. I believe the lady has some business to discuss with me. When we’re finished, she’ll be brought safely back to your hotel.”

  His boldness left her as tongue-tied as a teenager.

  “I— I can’t let you do that,” she stammered.

  Her reaction seemed to amuse him. “I see you haven’t been in London long, Ms. Fairchild,” he said, grinning. “Last night you left here pretty early. In case you didn’t know, many pubs start closing around here after midnight. The subway quits running, too. It’s getting late, and unless you know someone with a membership in a decent late-night club or have a ride home,” he jerked his thumb toward the door, “you’ll find yourself out there with nowhere to go. The hackneys will all be taken by now, and I think you know that Soho isn’t exactly Disneyland late at night, especially for an attractive, unescorted lady like yourself. I will see you safely to your hotel. Nothing compromising, I assure you.”

  “Go on, Taylor,” Susan encouraged. “I don’t want to leave yet, and anyway, I can get a ride.”

  Taylor hesitated, knowing full well she didn’t have much choice in the matter, while Craig, with a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes, found the entire situation thoroughly entertaining. Damn him! she thought. Craig Phillips certainly knew how to take advantage of an awkward moment.

  “I can’t just leave Susan here,” Taylor said. “The pub is closing, remember?”

  “Oh, she’ll be all right,” he said. “I know the fella she’s with. He’s harmless. He only thinks he’s James Bond.”

  “All right,” she finally conceded, her mouth curving into a smile. “My business with you is important, after all.”

  “I’m sure it is,” he said, but his expression held a different meaning. Then he smiled. “Well, come on. My chariot’s waiting!”

  They left through the pub’s back door. A sleek, bronze sports car awaited them in the parking lot.

  “I don’t make a habit of leaving places with perfect strangers, you know,” Taylor said as Craig unlocked the passenger side of the car.

  “Neither do I!” Craig laughed, his hand lingering on her elbow as she got into the front seat. “Anyway, I’m not a perfect stranger. And besides, you’re the stranger around here.” He closed her door before she could reply.

  In a flash, Craig was off, zigzagging through the London streets like a first-place contender at a stock car race. He maneuvered through the city s
treets and, at one point, passed the now semi-darkened London Transport Museum.

  “One of our better tourist traps,” Craig commented as they drove past. “That place houses the entire history of our transportation system. Even a replica of the first bus from 1829.”

  “A development London copied from Paris,” Taylor added.

  Craig laughed. “So, you know more about the English than I thought.” He cast an approving glance at her before continuing. “Yeah, we did copy the idea. Never let it be said the English don’t know a good thing when they see it, even if it did come from the frogs.”

  Taylor couldn’t help but smile at his un-politically correct reference to the French. “Speaking of transportation, you have a beautiful car,” she said, noting the vehicle’s impressive leather interior. “The pub circuit here must pay you well for your shows.”

  Craig darted a look in her direction, and Taylor thought she saw his body stiffen for a moment. Then, his eyes narrowing, he brought his gaze back to the roadway before him.

  “Well, yeah, I suppose it does,” he said. Then he added, “I also play the piano around here sometimes. Pretty good, too.”

  Taylor’s brows raised. “A pianist? You don’t seem to be the type.”

  “There are two things that I do better than anyone,” he declared.

  “Playing music,” Taylor guessed for him.

  “Well, that’s the second thing,” Craig said, winking at her.

  Taylor didn’t try to guess the first, at least out loud, anyway.

  “I do a bit now and then in a Covent Garden bistro near where I live,” Craig continued. “Concert solos. I’ve written some of my own melodies, as well as what the band does.”

  Then his voice relaxed, and he added, “Most nights I’m with the band. We’ve been cruising the London club circuit for a while now, trying to break into the business. Played in some pretty dive places, and other pretty decent ones. I must admit, though, that crowd tonight was a good one. We’re lucky to get that kind of crowd.”