When she spoke, he lifted an eyebrow and drew her closer still. "Don't be sorry," he murmured, "I'm not."
He held her tightly, as if he didn’t want to let her go. She laughed softly and put her hands against his chest. It was broad and firm and the heat of his arm around her set loose a flurry of sensation in her belly, and lower.
His smile grew wider. She returned it.
"New shoes," she explained, nodding down. The smell of his cologne caught her attention, making her breathe him in.
"Ah, that explains it." He glanced down at the shoes, giving her figure an appraising once-over as he did. He didn't look disappointed.
Neither was she. The thigh she leaned up against was so hard she felt an overwhelming urge to straddle it. He was totally gorgeous, and she wanted him. She blinked. He returned his attention to her face, and she glanced at his mouth. It was inviting, and his smile was so sensually suggestive.
Neither of them made a move to alter their positions.
"I like the shoes, especially since they landed you in my lap." Once again he quirked his eyebrow and his eyes twinkled mischievously.
The bedroom action his phone calls made her think about was looking like a distinct possibility. "I can't argue with that," she responded, "because I can’t think of any other place I'd rather be right now."
She lowered one hand to his hip. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, and her lips parted in anticipation.
"What can I get you?" The question came from the other side of the bar.
Amy turned toward the voice, startled. She realized the barman was waiting on them with an expectant look on his face.
"Oh, I'll take a bottle of Becks too, please." Was beer on champagne a good idea? It didn't really matter. She just wanted to acknowledge his signal. Smiling at her rescuer, she reluctantly slipped from his embrace. She noticed he kept his arm loosely across her back while she took up her position on the stool next to him, as if he didn't want to break the physical contact they'd had. It made her aware of every inch of skin on her body.
"I have to admit, I was little bit nervous about coming here this evening."
"Nervous? A woman like you? Surely not." There was humor in his tone.
"Yes, a woman like me. But when you said no strings attached, that made me feel a whole lot more relaxed, I have to confess."
He looked amused by her remark. She noticed he had a roguish scar running down one cheek, which only added to his charm.
"That kind of comment would certainly help to minimize the pressure," he eventually replied.
He had the most amazing mouth. She wouldn't mind finding out how it might feel on hers. So much for Quasimodo and the list of excuses. What an absolute dream come true this had turned out to be.
The barman set a glass and the bottle in front of her. She turned to thank him, tossing her hair back and savoring the heady rush she was experiencing.
That was when she caught sight of the other man.
The man standing further along the bar.
The man who was drinking a bottle of Becks.
Her heart missed a beat. Where the hell had he come from?
He was standing next to a pillar—had he been there all along, hidden from view? She watched in horror as he tapped a copy of The City News against his hand, glancing over his shoulder at the entrance, expectantly.
Oh no. She swallowed and forced herself to look back at the man by her side. He smiled at her, and she noticed how quizzical it was. No, he hadn't been expecting her at all. He'd acted on the fact she'd flung herself all over him, but he hadn't even welcomed her or said her name.
She bit her lip, embarrassment racing over her. There were two of them, and she'd picked the wrong one. She'd made a big, big mistake, the worst kind. She'd made a complete idiot of herself with a total stranger. Stupid, stupid reckless woman, she scolded. Why hadn't she thought to double check she had the right man? Bloody typical, she'd gone and outdone her usual ditzy self this time.
"Are you okay, you've turned quite pale?" The stranger looked genuinely concerned for her.
The voice was wrong. It was deep and sexy all right, but it wasn’t the same as the one she'd heard on the phone. She'd been so enamored with his looks she hadn't even thought about it. "I'm so sorry," she mumbled, to no one in particular. "I've just realized I should have been elsewhere."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
So was she. Damn it, what a fool. And now the other guy, Roger, was glancing in her direction. What if he came over? She would have to bolt, there was nothing else for it—she would have to do a runner after all.
Amy staggered up from her stool, pulled a ten pound note out of her bag and dropped it onto the bar.
"Excuse me," she said in the general direction of the man at her side, without making eye contact. "I've got to err, dash off, now."
The stranger didn't let her escape easily. He put out his hand and grasped hers and when he had her attention, he raised it slowly to his lips. She felt their firm touch on her skin. The lingering kiss and his warm breath sent a tingle across the entire surface of her body, kindling a flame of desire deep inside. His sexy green eyes glanced up at her and he smiled again as he lifted his head. He was gorgeous—and she had to leave. The cruel irony of her situation did not escape her.
Amy stifled a disbelieving laugh and without taking another glance at either of the men, she set off with as much dignity as she could muster, the wretched heels scrambling under her as she sped toward the exit.
* * * *
Sebastian Armitage watched the woman high tail out of the bar with a regretful stare. What a siren. He'd been more than happy to go along with the rather surreal charade because she fascinated him. The fact she was one sexy lady had made it all the more interesting.
She'd obviously mistaken him for someone else, but why? He took another swig of his beer and glanced along the bar. The man who had caused her to take flight had a copy of The City News neatly folded beside his unused glass. He was drumming his fingertips on the polished surface of the bar, occasionally glancing toward the door behind him.
Sebastian wasn't a stickler about such things, but he knew he looked nothing like that bloke down there, apart from the similarity between his chosen drink and the newspaper in his possession. The man was pleasant enough, but no one could mistake them for brothers. The later arrival was slim and tall, sort of arty looking. It must have been a blind date, Sebastian surmised. How unfortunate it was for the other bloke that the siren had missed her target.
Sebastian smiled to himself. It was a shame he hadn't got her name and number before she'd taken off. Still, he'd enjoyed the interlude while it lasted. He glanced back at the man down the bar. His curiosity was about to get the better of him. Curiosity ran in Sebastian Armitage's veins. Hunting down information is what he did for a living, and he did it well. He stood up, picked up his bottle and the paper and walked along the bar behind the man. He almost felt as if he should apologize to him. Instead, he sat down next to him and glanced over at the paper.
"Excuse me, but is that the latest edition?"
The man started, glanced around and smiled as if relieved. He was clearly nervous about his blind date. Sebastian gave him his warmest "buddy" smile and gestured with the paper in his hand.
"I think you've got a more recent addition of The City News. Would you mind if I have a quick look at it if you're not reading it right now? It won't take a moment. I want to check something out."
"Of course," the man replied. "Although…I'd better hold your copy in exchange."
He looked embarrassed about the situation but Sebastian shrugged it off easily. He was feeling sorry for the poor bloke. The newspaper had definitely been the signal. He took the paper and sat on a stool about three away from his target. He flicked open the paper.
"It's an unusual one this, a weekly, but not a weekend day publication." It was a rhetorical statement, leaving it open for the other man to engage in conversation or
not, as he chose. Sebastian was adept in such matters.
"I think that's where its strength lies, a bit like a serialized midweek TV show. You know, reliable, familiar, every Thursday evening you pick it up on the way home."
He started to chat—perhaps to take his mind off what he thought was his forthcoming meeting. He smiled and held out his hand. "Roger Green, I'm in TV myself but the similarities are there."
"Sebastian Armitage. Pleased to meet you." Sebastian did not give the nature of his business. He was quite used to sidestepping such things. "I'm new to this field," he offered. "I'd be grateful for your opinion of the paper. I've just been up there for a job, minor league stuff, but anything you could tell me would be helpful." It was somewhere near the truth, he was about to embark on a short-term contract with the paper.
"Sure," Roger replied. He glanced toward the door again, then at his watch. "I did have a date, but it looks as if I might have been stood up." He gave a wry smile and turned his attention to the timely distraction that had been offered, opening the paper to the editorial and contents list.
"Their loss is my gain," Sebastian replied, although that wasn't quite what he was thinking. More like your loss is my gain. And would he be able to get Roger to divulge the name of the sexy siren, along the way? It was certainly worth a shot.
Chapter Two
"Don't ask." Amy declared when Janine walked into the office the next morning. She put her elbows on her desk and her chin sank onto her hands. "I blew it, big time."
Janine looked cool and efficient in a jade linen dress, a matching jacket hanging from one finger. She flipped her sunglasses onto her desk and stood looking at her forlorn colleague with a frown. "You didn't get to spend the evening with the man of your dreams?"
"Nope." She had spent the rest of the evening thinking about the man of her dreams, and most of the night too, but it was a mixture of restless fantasizing about the gorgeous stranger, punctuated with bouts of frustration and embarrassment over what had happened.
"Not the Quasimodo complex?"
"Far from it, the guy I met was gorgeous, a total hunk with dreamy green eyes. Charming too."
"So, what's the problem?"
"I met the wrong guy."
"You did what?" Janine's eyes began to sparkle with amusement.
"I started talking to the wrong guy." Amy folded her arms across her chest defensively. "By the time I realized and saw the other one, the real Roger, I was up to my neck in trouble."
Janine rested back on her desk to support herself. "Blimey. It could only happen to you."
"Tell me about it." Amy shook her head in dismay. Sadly, it was true. She was ditzy and ill fated, no way around it.
"And what was the real Roger like?"
Amy struggled to remember. It was difficult to get the picture of the gorgeous stranger out of her head. "It's hard to say."
Janine laughed aloud. "This hunk of yours must have been good, if you started chatting to him and you can't remember anyone else in the pub. It's a wonder you even noticed Roger was there at all."
Amy nodded. It was kind of funny, but she wasn't ready to laugh about it yet.
"So you didn't have your date with Roger. Please tell me you got the hunk's number."
Amy shrugged helplessly
"Oh dear, and did you explain it to Roger?"
"No, I just left."
"So…he will be ringing here any minute now to ask why you didn't turn up for the date."
Amy nodded.
Janine shook her head then leapt away from her desk when the phone blared from behind her at that very moment. "That'll be him now," she declared.
Amy gave her an imploring look.
"Oh, no. No way." Janine waved her hands, backing behind her desk, when she saw Amy's face. "You answer it yourself, matey, you got yourself into this mess."
Amy stared at the loud, offensive machine, dumbstruck. What on earth was she going to say to him? It had to be done.
"Hello, Women's Page," she faltered, as she picked up her phone.
"I'd like to speak to a Ms. Amy Norton, please."
She breathed a huge sigh of relief. It didn't sound like Roger's voice. The caller had a cockney accent.
"You found her."
"Oh, hi, I'm phoning from the set of Ghost Hunter."
She tensed again.
"My name is Jake. I'm the soundman. I understand you are the journalist writing up the story of Quentin's disappearance."
She relaxed.
"That's right." Amy had to force out the little white lie. She hadn't yet secured permission to pursue the feature. She still had to convince her father how serious she was about it at the meeting later that morning, but she wasn't about to put off a potential lead in the meantime.
"Well, I'm an old friend of Quentin's and…I'm concerned."
"Inevitably so, Mr.?"
"Brent, Jake Brent, but call me Jake, please."
"Okay, Jake, did you have something you felt our readers would like to know about Quentin?" Amy reached for her notebook and pen. She had planned to begin her investigations at the filming studios, but after the dreadful mix-up with Roger, that starting point had gone out of the window. If all went well with her father later that morning, she could begin with Jake's story instead.
"Possibly… "
"But you're concerned about privacy?"
"It's not that, it's well…it's awkward."
Amy's sensors focused. The man obviously had information.
"I believe Quentin got a bit too involved in some of the more esoteric aspects of the show here."
"Esoteric?"
"I mean things like the occult." He paused, as if to measure her response.
Amy swallowed. The occult? What sort of a can of worms was she opening up here? "I see," she said, wishing she didn't. "Can you give me any specific examples?"
"I know he took a particular interest in one of the houses we filmed at. It's said to have been built on the site of a witches' coven in the sixteenth century. Ever since then he was kind of different. Preoccupied, moody."
"Perhaps you could give me the details of this place and I'll make a note of it." She began to scribble, thanking him and asking him to get back in touch if he heard any other news.
All the time her internal voice kept reminding her to be professional. She wished it didn’t sound creepy. Occult or no occult, it was a good lead.
* * * *
"Trixie, love, come in." Richard Norton stood up from his desk when Alison, his secretary, showed Amy in to his office.
Amy gave her Father a warning glance as she took her seat. Trixie was his pet name for her and he knew she'd long since grown out of it. She settled down, placing her notepad on the arm of the chair and folding her hands loosely in her lap. She had worn one of her favorite office outfits, a smart but feminine tailored trouser suit in cream. It helped her feel every bit as cool and assured as she needed to appear. She noticed her father's tie was at half-mast. Even as a little girl she remembered her Mother would sort his tie out every morning and as soon as he stepped outside, he would loosen it.
It was her father's shining career as an investigative journalist that had inspired Amy to go into journalism herself. He was a grass roots reporter at heart and his more recent office-bound senior editor post chafed. Like father like daughter, she wanted to be out in the thick of it too. Amy loved interviewing people, capturing their enthusiasm for their particular field. Ideally she would like to bring more of that into the Women's Page, but it was traditionally based on tidbits pulled together from press releases and product launches.
"It's a good proposal." He toyed with her memo regarding the Ghost Hunter feature. "Popular media figure in trouble, large readership interest."
"And..?" She was itching to get on with it. She knew she'd put together a good proposal, but she hadn't approached him for a job like this before.
"And…I don't know why you want to take it on. Your work for the Women's Page is respe
cted."
"I appreciate you saying that, but I'd like to break it up with something a bit more challenging."
He nodded, pursing his mouth. "This is well thought out." He gestured again at the memo. "But I want you to walk me through the proposal. I want to know what motivates you to pursue this."
He wasn't about to make it easy for her. Amy took a deep breath. "I was attracted to it firstly because, as you say, the readership interest is already there. He's a popular personality and people want to know what's going on with him. It is real news they want though, not something the rumor mill has churned out for them."
He nodded at her, suppressing a smile.
"The missing celebratory story is interesting in itself. If I was able to pursue it as it unfolds I could get a major scoop in the making. That really motivates me—to be there when the reasons for his disappearance are unfolded, that would be a big story."
"You're willing to admit there may be nothing more than speculation to be had, but you hope for something more?"
"Exactly." He'd conceded to her reasoning. The job was almost within her grasp.
He contemplated the memo again, one finger tapping against his chin as he re-read it. He glanced up at her, frowning. "This could be dangerous work. A missing person, high profile. Could be criminal involvement."
She wondered if all his journalists got this kind of pep talk, or if it was because it was his own daughter sitting there in the hot seat. "I do realize that, Dad. I'm twenty-seven years old and quite capable of looking after myself. I assure you I won't let you down."
He observed her for a moment, in silence. "Okay, this is the deal."
The deal? Amy gave a mental groan.
"You get the feature, a small budget, and the use of a pool car."
That wasn't so bad after all.
"Well, thanks." She broke into a triumphant smile.
Minding Amy Page 2
