Romance for Cynics (17 page)
It had been a while since he had been so very up close and personal to a girl with such a fantastic figure and it took a few seconds before what was left of the logical part of his brain clicked back into place. He dragged his focus a little higher.
‘Nice top,’ he grinned and pressed his hands against the floor to steady his body. ‘Bit cold for the time of year.’
‘Oh, do you like it?’ She smiled and then looked down and gasped a little. In one quick movement she slid back and tugged at her top before squinting at him through narrow eyes. Clearly not too happy that he had been enjoying the view while she was checking his temperature.
‘Cheeky,’ she tutted. ‘Is this how you normally behave in public? I’m surprised that they let you out unsupervised.’
A short cough burst out of Sean’s throat. After sixteen years in the hotel trade he had been called many things by many people but he had never once been accused of being cheeky.
The second son of the founder of the Beresford hotel chain did not go around doing anything that even remotely fell into the ‘cheeky’ category.
This was truly a first. In more ways than one.
‘Did you just deck me?’ he asked in a low, questioning voice and watched her stand up in one single, smooth motion and lean against the table opposite. She was wearing floral patterned leggings which clung to long, slender legs which seemed to go on for ever and only ended where the oversized sweater came down to her thighs. Combined with the green top, she looked like a walking abstract painting of a spring garden. He had never seen anything quite like it before.
‘Me?’ She pressed one hand to her chest and shook her head before looking down at him. ‘Not at all. I stopped you from falling flat on your face and causing serious damage to that cute nose. You should be thanking me. It could have been a nasty fall, the way you burst in like that. This really is your lucky day.’
‘Thank you?’ he spluttered in outrage. Apparently he had a cute nose.
‘You are welcome,’ she chuckled in a sing-song voice. ‘It is not often that I have a chance to show off my judo skills but it comes in handy now and then.’
‘Judo. Right. I’ll take your word for it,’ Sean replied and looked from side to side around the room. ‘What is this place?’
‘Our tea rooms,’ she replied, and peered at him. ‘But you knew that, because you were hammering at our door.’ She flicked a hand towards the entrance. ‘The shop is closed, you know. No cake. No tea. So if you are expecting to be fed you are out of luck.’
‘You can say that again,’ Sean whispered, then held up one hand when she looked as though she might reply. ‘But please don’t. Tea and cakes are the last thing I came looking for, I can assure you.’
‘So why were you hammering on the door, wearing a business suit at nine on a Tuesday evening? You have obviously come here for a reason. Are you planning to sit on my floor and keep me in suspense for the rest of the evening?’
His green-eyed assailant was just about to say something else when the sound of female laughter drifted out from the back of the room.
‘Ah,’ she winced and nodded. ‘Of course. You must be here to pick up one of the girls from the Bake and Bit...Banter club. But those ladies won’t be ready for at least another half-hour.’ One hand gestured towards the back of the room where he could hear the faint sound of female voices and music. ‘The cakes are still in the oven.’ Her lovely shoulders lifted in an apologetic shrug. ‘We were late getting started. Too much bit...chatting and not enough baking. But I can tell someone you are here, if you like. Who exactly are you waiting for?’
Who was he waiting for? He wasn’t waiting for anyone. He was here on a different kind of mission. Tonight he was very much a messenger boy.
Sean reached into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and checked the address on the piece of lilac writing paper he had found inside the envelope marked ‘D S Flynn contact details’ lying at the bottom of the conference room booking file. It had been handwritten in dark-green ink in very thin letters his father would instantly have dismissed as spider writing.
Well, he certainly had the right street and, according to the built-in GPS in his phone, he was within three metres of the address of his suspiciously elusive client who had booked a conference room at the hotel and apparently paid the deposit without leaving a telephone number or an email address. Which was not just inconvenient but infuriating.
‘Sorry to disappoint you, but I am not here to pick up anyone from your baking club. Far from it. I need to track someone down in a hurry.’
He waved the envelope in the air and instantly saw something in the way she lifted her chin that suggested that she recognized the envelope, but she covered it up with a quizzical look.
That seemed to startle her and he could almost feel the intensity of her gaze as it moved slowly from his smart, black lace-up business brogues to the crispness of his shirt collar and silk tie. There was something else going on behind those green eyes, because she glanced back towards the entrance just once and then swung around towards the back of the room, before turning her attention on him again.
And when she spoke there was the faintest hint of concern in her voice which she was trying hard to conceal and failing miserably.
‘Perhaps I could help if you told me who you were looking for,’ she replied.
Sean looked up into her face and decided that it was time to get this over with so he could get back to the penthouse apartment at the hotel and collapse.
In one short, sharp movement he pushed himself sideways with one hand, curled his knees and effortlessly got back onto his feet, brushing down his coat and trousers with one hand. So that, when he replied, his words were more directed towards the floor than the girl standing watching him so intently.
‘I certainly hope so. Does a Mr D S Flynn live here? Because, if he does, I really need to speak to him. And the sooner the better.’
Copyright © 2014 by Nina Harrington
ISBN-13: 9781460325773
ROMANCE FOR CYNICS
Copyright © 2014 by Nicola Marsh
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