Authors: Sally Clements
Andie read scorn in his eyes. Tinged with disapproval.
She was grateful for his actions, grateful for his concern, but he knew nothing of Emily’s uncaring disregard, and he wouldn’t understand if she bothered to explain.
She forced a tight smile, and pretended she hadn’t picked up on the unspoken accusation that blazed from his eyes. “It was good of you to think like that. Caring. Thank you.” Her spine stiffened.
Ryan picked the bill up from the table. Avoided her eyes. “Ready to go?”
They left the café, and walked to the car. Andie fastened her seat belt then touched his arm. “I’m sorry I snapped about my mother. It’s just difficult.”
His gaze clashed with hers.
“Can we just pretend for a while that I’m not Emily Harte’s daughter? Have a little fun or something?”
Ryan nodded and a slow smile spread across his face. “I guess. What exactly did you have in mind?”
“Well, all my plans for this week are totally up in the air now.”
A forgotten memory struck. After a quick glance at her watch, she rooted in her bag. “I forgot I have a meeting in London this afternoon—I’ll have to cancel.” She couldn’t find the card she’d been given with the telephone number. Andie rubbed her chin with knuckles of the first two fingers of her left hand. Groaned aloud.
“Will the press be expecting you, wherever this meeting is?” Ryan leaned closer. He smelled of something woodsy, sandalwood maybe, mixed with man.
Andie’s fingers stilled on her handbag. Her mouth parted and she couldn’t look away from the mesmerizing emerald of his eyes. His mouth tilted upwards at the corners, and Andie’s heart started to gallop.
What was the question?
His pupils expanded, and attraction sparked in the air between their bodies.
“Ryan…” She tilted her mouth up to his, saw the moment that he lost the fight and gave in to the overwhelming need that rivaled hers.
At the touch of his lips, Andie felt consciousness expanding. As if her heart was unfurling, like a banner caught in the breeze.
Passion spiked, providing an aura of volatile air, and, as Ryan’s tongue traced her bottom lip, a spark flashed, igniting a blaze of heat like a match thrown onto petrol.
She cupped his cheek, internally cursing the handbrake that stuck between their two bodies like an irritating, mechanical chaperone. His hands were everywhere. Sliding over her shoulders, stroking down her upper arms, then curling around her torso.
Andie angled her chin up as his lips traced her jawline, teasing over the sensitive skin there before following the proffered arch of her neck down to her collarbone in a series of teasing kisses.
Last night she’d wanted to make love to banish reality.
In the light of day, those fears had faded, and what was happening now had none of the taint of need about it. It was desire, pure and simple. The same desire that had swept over her when they first met. When he was just a handsome stranger holding her hand on the rollercoaster.
He’d shown himself to be a caring man. One who, like Emily, was obsessed with war zones, sure and one who wouldn’t be interested in a long-term relationship.
But none of that mattered as she breathed in his scent, felt his thick hair between her fingers. Falling in love wasn’t on her list of challenges.
But having a wild fling is.
A car horn beeped.
Ryan jerked away then put both hands on the steering wheel. He looked out the windscreen, chest still rising and falling as rapidly as Andie’s. “This is crazy.”
Andie’s heart sank into her sandals. She wanted him. Didn’t he want her too? How could he just…
A gaze full of heat slanted her direction. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter Five
It was like being on the rollercoaster all over again. The slow build up with one heat-filled glance across the car’s silent interior. The inevitability of where this wild journey was heading, ratcheted up the tension to an out of control thrill ride.
Conflicting emotions, desire and caution, warred within Ryan. The reasons for avoiding involvement were as clear today as they had been the night before, but the need, the desire glimpsed in the depths of her azure eyes had burned away the last of his resistance. Something about her pulled him in, like a fish rising to a lure. There was no turning away now. No hope of staying detached. Desire was a yearning that raced through his veins, heating his blood, and filling his mind, to the exclusion of all else.
The Audi cut cleanly through the traffic. Ryan concentrated on the road.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her fidgeting. Crossing and uncrossing her long legs, and squeezing her hands together in the lap of her skirt.
“Can I turn the radio on?”
“Do.” It would be half an hour before they got back to the cottage. When they got there he’d taste her lips again, pull her into his arms, and…
The sound of a bored announcer reading the news washed over Ryan like white noise, until he heard his own name.
“…was last seen with the war correspondent, Ryan Armstrong,” the voice intoned. “There’s no comment as yet from Miss Harte on the news that the charred and mutilated body has been identified…” Ryan turned off the radio.
He pulled into a lay-by and turned to Andie, who covered her mouth with both hands, as if to hold back whatever sound wanted to escape.
His heart sank as the passionate miasma enveloping them dissipated like mist. “I’m sorry.”
Tears threatened in the blueness of her eyes. She rolled in her bottom lip, and clenched down on it for a moment. “Hearing it again…the way she died…” Arms crossed over her torso, hugging tight.
“I know.” A deep sense of loss filled Ryan. Loss for the stolen moments yet to come. He forced the feeling away. Damped down his emotions. She needed him to be practical, to deal with this situation. Silence stretched for long moments. “We’ll go in to my office. You should make a statement.” Once the press heard from Andie, their blood lust would be satisfied. The photographers waiting outside her home would drift away, and they’d both be able to get on with their own lives.
Ryan turned the car, and headed towards London.
“I have to cancel my appointment.” Andie pulled her large black handbag from the floor and rummaged around in it, then unzipped a pocket at the front and retrieved a small white card.
She tapped in a number. “Dr. Stern? Hi, it’s Andie Harte.” A quick glance revealed she was turning the card over and over between nervous fingers. “I’m sorry for the short notice, but I have to cancel my two o’clock.”
She listened, then gave a shaky smile. “No, I’m not avoiding it. Things are crazy here…yes, the press is everywhere. I just need a few days, I’ll call next week to reschedule.”
She hung up and stuffed the things back into the bag.
Was she sick?
Ryan waited for her to reveal more about the meeting she’d just cancelled, but she stayed silent.
Mere moments before they’d been preparing to go home and tumble into bed, to be as intimate as it is possible to physically be with each other. Asking about the phone call was a different type of intimate. A line he couldn’t cross.
They joined the motorway.
He called the news network through his hands-free as the powerful car ate up the miles.
“She’ll need a jacket for on-air. Navy, size ten,” he stated, acknowledging Andie’s nod with a tight smile. He glanced at his wristwatch. “Yes, schedule the segment for the three o’clock news bulletin.”
Ryan disconnected the call, and reached across to squeeze Andie’s hand briefly before returning it to the wheel. “It’ll be over soon, and tomorrow…”
He stared through the windscreen. “Let’s deal with tomorrow when it comes.”
Starting an affair with Andie when he had to get back to Bekostan and organize the interview with Arnat was crazy.
All it could be was a stolen few days of passion. He couldn’t offer more than that, but the thought of ending this before it had properly begun chewed at his gut. The sensible thing was to walk away before they got in any deeper. Before this burning inside blazed out of control, and her emotions got scorched.
But dammit, walking away was not an option.
*****
Ryan was quite something in his native environment. As they strode through the large glass double doors of the television station, many people acknowledged his presence with a nod and the occasional smile, but it wasn’t until the door swung into an inner office that anyone actually approached.
“Joe.” Ryan shook the hand of an elegantly tall, thin interviewer Andie recognized from the news. “This is Andie.”
“Hi, Andie,” Joe said. “We’re going to do a five minute segment. I’ll ask you a couple of questions and we’ll film your answers. It won’t be live, so don’t worry about messing up. We can always re-shoot.” His warm smile was sympathetic. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Andie nodded.
“Karen here will take you into the make-up room and help you get ready.”
Andie glanced at Ryan.
“I’ll be in the control booth. You’ll be fine.” He ran his hand down her back, then turned and walked away.
She watched him go, unable to look away until he turned the corner, out of sight. The borrowed blue blazer and the careful attentions of the make-up artist lent Andie some well-needed confidence.
She still couldn’t understand why on earth the world should care what she thought about Emily’s death. She supposed it was because Emily was so famous, yet her innate privacy had led the world to believe she was single and childless. The revelation she was a mother had been almost as newsworthy as her murder. No doubt the world’s capacity for feeding on the misery of those left behind had to be assuaged somehow, but it seemed voyeuristic of the general public. Andie was determined not to let Emily’s memory down. Not to be yet another crying victim of the Bekostani regime. Ryan was nowhere to be seen, but knowing he was watching gave her courage.
The interview flowed smoothly until Joe lobbed an unexpected verbal hand-grenade. “Do you want vengeance for your mother’s murder?”
Andie stifled her gut-felt response. She did want vengeance. Wanted someone to pay for the loss of the mother she’d spent so little time with, but now wasn’t the time to admit to it.
“Many people have lost a loved one,” she answered slowly. “I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone.” She pulled in a deep breath. “My mother spent her life bringing injustice to the attention of the world, and if there is to be a legacy from her untimely death, it should be that the world pays attention to the causes that consumed her.”
The man standing beside the camera waved a hand across his throat, and Joe relaxed. “That’s a cut, Andie. Thank you.”