She stepped forward and leant against the door, pushing down on the steel bar with all of her force.
‘I do have to say that my male pride is going to be significantly injured if you open that door.’
‘I’ll feel I’ve let down the women of Britain if Idon’t.’ She shoved at it. ‘I’ve decided the woman in the red dress is going to be a lot better off without you.’
‘Whoa, that hurts.’
Hayley pushed, pressed and shunted, all at the same time and the door whooshed open, taking her with it. Her feet hit the snow-covered concrete of the alleyway outside but she held onto the door, steadying herself. The snow was falling thick and fast and the night was as black as tar, its air ice-cold.
‘Well, it’s open.’ She looked back at him, standing just inside the doorway, his eyes still on her.
‘And I feel like the biggest dick,’ he replied.
There was no humour in his tone and when she met those nut-coloured eyes, she realised just how jaded he looked. There was exhaustion written over every part of him: the tense shoulders, the tight jaw, his hands clenching into fists. Maybe Mr Meanie had a lot more on his mind than being civil to his workforce. Maybe he did have a good reason for running.
‘Thank you,’ he said sincerely, stepping out and joining her on the snow.
She waved her arm out. ‘So, there you go, wide open alleyway. You’d better get a move on, save the city.’
‘I guess I should.’
Snowflakes were circling down, catching in his hair and landing on the shoulders of his shirt, seeping through the expensive material. The mighty fine bone structure could be admired now he was so close. A Jason Statham-esque layer of light brown covered his jaw, those full lips pink with cold, his chin firm.
He shivered. ‘So, what do I call the English rose who rescued me tonight?’
He sounded more confident now, his eyes bright, standing a little straighter.
She smiled. ‘Given that you’re still acting like you’re on the run, I don’t think I can share such personal information.’
‘That’s very wise. But if you won’t tell me your name, I’ll just have to call you Bridget Jones.’
‘Is that really the best you have? How about Emmeline Pankhurst, the leader of the Suffragette movement or Margaret Thatcher, one of Britain’s greatest Prime Ministers?’ Now she sounded a little like Angel.
‘What would you like me to call you?’ Oliver asked.
‘I thought you promised I’d never have to see you again.’
‘Fingers were crossed behind my back.’
She couldn’t help but smile. ‘Sneaky. Just the sort of behaviour I’d expect from someone abandoning their date.’
‘There are extenuating circumstances, I promise.’
Hayley thought for a moment then spoke. ‘Seeing as you say you’re Superman, you can call me Lois.’ She nodded. ‘I’ve always had a bit of a thing for Clark Kent.’ Wow, where had that come from? Was she flirting?
‘Lois,’ Oliver said. ‘Yeah, that works.’
A shiver ran over her, the velvet notes of his voice making her insides rumble. She held out her hand to him. ‘Iwouldsay it was nice to meet you, Clark.’
‘Why don’t you?’
She swallowed as he took a step closer to her. Hewascompletely gorgeous. But he wasditchinga date, running out of a back exit and leaving without saying a word.
‘It was nice to meet you, Lois,’ he said, taking her hand in his.
Hayley broke the connection. ‘Well, goodnight. I’ll leave the business card I just pilfered from your pocket for your date.’
She watched the horror coat his features and he reached a hand down to pat the pocket of his trousers. And then he smiled, obviously realising she was playing him.
