Their Scandalous Affair. Catherine George

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Their Scandalous Affair - Catherine George Mills & Boon Modern

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heavens for that,’ she said with relief, and sat down again. ‘For one horrible moment I thought I’d blown it. How do you do? I’m Avery Crawford.’

      His eyebrows rose above amused eyes as dark as her own. ‘Why do you need company while you wait for the lucky Philip?’

      ‘I’m not the one meeting him. I’m here as a sort of safety net for a friend.’

      ‘Safety net?’ he repeated, and sat back, relaxed, with the air of a man ready to be entertained. ‘Go on.’

      Avery hesitated. ‘It’s really my friend’s story, not mine, but in the circumstances I don’t suppose she’ll mind. She’s coming here soon to meet someone.’

      ‘Then why does she need you along?’

      ‘Frances is divorced, lonely sometimes, and in a wild moment put an ad in the local paper. “Forty-something lady, slim, blonde, good sense of humour, would like to meet similar gentleman, etc.” Philip is one of the men who answered. But once she’d actually arranged to meet him here she got cold feet, so I came up with a plan.’

      He grinned. ‘Let me guess! If she doesn’t like him you rush to the rescue?’

      ‘Exactly. Look,’ she added, ‘I must be keeping you from something. If you lend me your paper to hide behind I can leave you in peace.’

      ‘I was just killing time before going up to my room here,’ he assured her. ‘Don’t look now,’ he added in an undertone. ‘I think Philip may have arrived.’

      The man eyeing the tables on his way to the bar had dark hair with a hint of silver at the temples, and wore a tweed jacket with a cut Avery’s professional eye noted with respect.

      ‘I hope you’re right,’ she muttered. ‘He looks promising. The right age group, too. The others on the shortlist were a bit elderly. I warned Frances about that. A forty-something male is likely to go for a twenty-something female with a bra size bigger than her IQ. Three down is chrysalis, by the way.’

      ‘So it is.’ Jonas pencilled it in and glanced towards the door. ‘Is this your friend?’

      She glanced over her shoulder to see Frances White hesitating at the entrance, with the look of someone about to take to her heels and run. But the man waiting at the bar hurried forward, smiling. Avery buried her nose in the crossword again. ‘I dare not look,’ she whispered. ‘What’s happening?’

      ‘They’re sitting down together.’

      ‘Does she seem happy?’

      ‘They’re both laughing.’

      Avery chanced a quick look and smiled, relieved. ‘My back-up probably won’t be needed. I should be able to go soon.’

      ‘You can’t leave yet!’ said Jonas promptly. ‘What’s the drill if your friend wants out?’

      ‘In a little while she’ll make for the cloakroom, and I’ll join her for instructions. When she goes back to Philip I ring her cellphone to announce some emergency, or, if Frances is happy to carry on, I just go home.’

      Jonas Mercer shook his head. ‘I’ve got a better idea. After you talk to your friend I buy you a real drink and we finish the crossword together while we keep tabs on the stay of play. Unless,’ he added, ‘there’s someone waiting for you at home?’

      ‘Not a soul.’

      ‘Good.’ His eyes held hers for an instant before they returned to the crossword. ‘Just for the record, there’s no one waiting for me, either. And sixteen down is parapet.’

      She eyed his bent head in disbelief while he filled in the clue. No one waiting here in the hotel, maybe, but back home it was sure to be a different story.

      ‘On your mark,’ he murmured a couple of clues later. ‘Your friend is on the move.’

      Avery allowed time for Frances to reach their rendezvous, then got up too quickly and knocked her handbag over. Her companion jumped up to help her collect a few belongings, looming so much taller than expected as he straightened that Avery grinned, surprised.

      ‘What’s the joke?’ he demanded.

      ‘I’ll tell you when I get back.’ She strolled off, taking a quick look at Philip as she passed.

      Frances was waiting impatiently for her. ‘Who’s the handsome stranger?’

      ‘Never mind that—don’t keep me in suspense. Is Philip interesting? Do you like him? Are you staying for a while or—?’

      ‘All of the above. I’m having dinner with him.’

      Avery whistled. ‘Where?’

      ‘Right here in the hotel. He booked a meal just in case.’ Frances beamed as she patted Avery’s hand. ‘Thanks a lot, boss. Without you I’d have bottled out, which would have been a shame because Philip seems like a really charming man. And I think he likes me.’

      ‘Of course he likes you, woman! Have fun and give me a full report tomorrow.’

      ‘Are you going home now?’

      Avery batted her eyelashes. ‘I’m staying on for a drink with my handsome stranger first. So scoot. I’ll see you in the morning.’

      Avery renewed the discreet lipstick chosen for the operation, and thought about loosening her hair but with regret decided against it. Too obvious. She brushed a stray tendril back into the severe twist and rejoined Jonas.

      He held out her cellphone. ‘It escaped from your bag.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She looked round, but there was no sign of Frances and her date.

      ‘They’ve gone,’ he informed her.

      ‘Philip’s booked dinner here.’

      ‘Then we can both relax. How about that drink?’

      Avery asked for a glass of red wine, and eyed Jonas Mercer with frank curiosity as he went off to the bar to fetch it. Very tall and lean, with the muscular, co-ordinated look of someone who kept himself fit, he was attractive in a self-confident, all-male kind of way, rather than movie-star pretty. And in contrast to the decisive cut of his features there was a laid-back aura about him she found very appealing. Though normally she preferred her men dark and edgy. Men? She smiled bitterly. What men?

      ‘Still smiling at your joke?’ he asked, returning with her drink.

      Avery looked blank for a moment, then laughed. ‘Oh, right. Earlier, when I was willing more people to arrive, I pegged you as “six feet two, eyes of blue”, but I was wrong on both counts.’

      ‘Only a couple of inches out. How about you? Five nine?’

      ‘In my bare feet, yes. In heels I tower a bit.’

      ‘Do you mind that?’

      ‘Not any more.’

      ‘But

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