‘It looks like it,’ he replies sardonically.
I push the tangle of hair from my face, my view filled by a pair of highly polished black brogues, the kind that are probably handmade, before my gaze travels the length of a pair of well-cut grey suit pants with knife-sharp pleats. The fabric coats a strong pair of thighs, and a leather belt denotes a trim waist. Ridiculously, my eyes follow the row of tiny buttons on a matching vest, up the flat planes of his stomach, and farther still to a broad chest. His shirt is white and open at the collar, exposing a triangle of tan skin.
‘And I wasn’t aware the footpath belonged to anyone but one of the London Boroughs,’ I grumble, keeping my gaze resolutely on the dusting on his chin.
Call me a chicken, but something tells me I should stop my perusal here. Especially if his face is as delicious as the deep tenor of his voice ... And I certainly don’t mean to tilt my head at the sound of his deep chuckle.
Strong brows frown down at me over coffee-coloured eyes narrowed for effect. The man has cheekbones you could probably sharpen a knife against, though they’re a perfect frame for a mouth that, without those hard angles, would be far too lush for a man. All in all, the effect is quite striking.And he’s all too aware of it, I decide as I focus instead on the gravel and debris pitting the flesh of my palms.
Handsome. Older. Sophisticated.
And not my type.
‘Come.’ With a smile that’s more amused than kind, he holds out his hand. ‘Only street urchins languish in the gutters.’
Reluctantly, I slide my hand into his. I’m pleased to report no bolts of electricity as our palms meet, just the continuing simmer of annoyance at his tone. Once upon a time, I was a sucker for a man in a good suit, but these days, I recognise it isn’t the clothes that maketh the man but rather the substance stuffing it.
And this is a stuffed shirt if I ever met one.
‘I’m a little too old to be a street kid.’ Maybe not by my sulky tone.
‘You are young but not too young.’
‘Whatever that means,’ I reply under my breath as I allow him to help pull me upright. I feel foolish and a little angry. After examining my now grazed and smarting knees, I turn and scan the ground for my laptop when a large—likereally large—man passes it to the guy who just helped me up.
‘Thank you.’ I hold out my hands expectantly, protesting as the thing is passed over me, the buckle on the strap unceremoniously thumping against my head. ‘Hey, that’s mine!’
‘Of course it is.’ His smile is almost cryptic as he passes the leather satchel into my hands, and I find myself frowning back at him. It feels like I’m in a scene from an old movie, and I’m not sure if that would make him the villain or the leading man. He’s all sharp suit and clean shaven, and good looking enough to be the lead, but something about him that makes me think he’d be killed off before the credits roll.But I haven’t got time to dwell on any of this, not if I’ve a hope in hell of making this meeting.
‘Thanks for nothing,’ I mutter ungraciously, shoving the strap over my shoulder. I turn on my heel and make for the stairs, my skirt hiking around my thighs as I take them two at a time. As the glass doors swish quietly behind me, I allow myself to turn, but the stuck-up stranger is nowhere to be seen.
‘Ols!’ I turn to the sound of my name and find Luke passing through the security point with a look of genuine happiness. Why? After he went to the considerable trouble of wrangling this meeting, I pay him back by turning up late?’They probably won’t even see me now.
‘God, I’m so sorry, Luke. There was some kind of signal trouble on the Jubilee line, and then I fell over, and—’
‘Don’t worry. It’s all under control. Your meeting’s not until ten thirty.’
‘You mean you—’
‘Purposely told you the wrong time,’ he says with a smug grin, ‘to make sure you’d be here on time.’
‘I don’t know whether to kiss you or kick you,’ I tell him as he leads me over to the reception desk that’s the size of the bow of a ship. I try not to hobble across the expanse of shiny tile as my skinned knees begin to stiffen. Goose-stepping there would bring the wrong kind of attention.
‘A kiss or a kick?’ he ponders, the smile evident in his words. ‘Do I get to choose?’
‘Maybe. If you’re lucky.’ I duck my head, a hank of unruly hair falling across my face.
‘Here’s a thought.’ Without coming closer, he angles his body in such a way it becomes obvious his intention is to not be overheard. ‘I could claim that kiss tonight, and in the morning, be your alarm clock. I’d wake you in the best kind of ways.’
‘Stop,’ I protest in the vein oftell me moreas my heart rate goes from a trot to a gallop. This is such a big day. First, my meeting and then dinner with Luke.Finally. ‘So you’d wake me up and then what?’
‘Make you late again,’ he answers with a grin. ‘But in a really fun way.’
‘I’m not sure you’d be all that helpful.’
‘No,’ he says, ‘but I’d be fun.’
‘I don’t need the added incentive to be late. It’s not even as if I go out of my way to be late,’ I say, changing the subject before I turn beet red.
