she could find, this man weaving his way towards her seemed to block the light. According to his profile he was six feet two inches but he certainly filled every inch. He was tall and tanned and broad-shouldered and muscular and every ounce of his attention was totally focused on her.
His feet slowed as he reached her table and she looked up into a pair of eyes the colour of dark bitter chocolate below heavy dark eyebrows and wavy brown hair. He had eyes a girl could drown in and not want to come up for air. And they locked onto hers as though they could see into her soul, wander around for a while, looking for trouble, then move on leaving her lonely and bereft.
‘I’m a sort of a sportybloke. You may be expecting me, city girl.’
His transatlantic voice was rich, deep and came from low down in his diaphragm, giving it a certain roughness that resonated inside her head.
It was the kind of voice that should be on the radio promoting late-night ballads, but it had no place at all in a small London coffee shop where she was in touching distance of its owner.
He just stood there, patiently waiting for her reply, with a smile on his lips and a body aimed at her. A male cover model made flesh.
Just hearing his voice made her glad that she was sitting down and, judging by the glances from the other women on the nearby tables, allure this powerful had a range of at least ten feet.
What was he doing here? On an Internet date of all things? This man could win a gold medal in charming women without even trying hard!
‘Absolutely,’ she lied, horrified at how pathetic and squeaky her voice sounded, and she tugged at the lilac silk scarf Elise had chosen as her marker. ‘Scarf and all.’
‘I am sorry I’m late.’ He smiled, shrugging off his waterproof and throwing it casually onto the wooden floor behind her chair, showering the planks and smothering her umbrella in the process. ‘Had to take someone to the airport and the traffic was pretty bad. Thanks for waiting.’
‘No problem,’ she replied, and held out her hand. ‘It’s nice to finally meet you in person.’
He stepped forward and grasped hold of her hand and his long fingers wrapped around hers with a strong, masterful grip, which was probably perfect for grappling ropes on sailboats and back-slapping athletes, but left her fingers feeling as though she had been sitting on them for several minutes. But who needed blood anyway?
Inappropriate and totally crazy thoughts about the effect those same fingers could have on other parts of her body flitted through Andy’s mind and it was a relief when he broke contact first and slid down into the smallish wooden chair opposite, which seemed far too flimsy for his body.
‘You too. Corporate promotions. Tricky stuff.’
Andy felt her heart rate increase several notches as he moved even closer.
Keep to the script. Keep to the script. Give him five minutes to get a coffee, and then break it to him gently. Talk business. That usually works.
She took a long drink of coffee to give her brain a chance to catch up and form something close to a sensible reply. ‘It can be. But I suspect that every successful entrepreneur has to take risks. Even in sportswear.’
His brown eyes focused on her face, but there was just enough of a crunch between the dark brows to capture her attention. ‘Damn right.’
Then one side of his mouth lifted into a half-smile. ‘You could almost say that was the best part. Pushing yourself against the limits, knowing just what kind of risk you are taking. Yeah. I guess that we are both in the risk business. Can I get you another coffee?’
And without waiting for her reply he lifted his head and, like a genie from a lamp, the barista instantly appeared on their side of the counter. ‘Two of what the lady had and I’ll take an omelette. Three eggs, ham and mushroom. No onion, heavy on the herbs. And can you throw in some of those Panini and a couple of cookies? Cheers.’
Two fingers to the forehead and their server was gone. Amazing.
Andy looked in astonishment to the counter, where the two girls were feverishly working on the order, and then back to #sportybloke, who was sitting back, legs outstretched to one side. Watching her.
‘Do you always do that?’ She asked with a quick jab of her head towards the counter.
He blinked and hit her with a grin that displayed his straight white teeth to best effect. ‘Do what? Order coffee? Yeah, I might do that now and again. Especially in a coffee shop.’
‘I mean, do you always just shout out the order from your chair instead of going up to the counter like everyone else? And how do you know that I needed another coffee? I might have preferred a tea for a change. Or maybe even one of those hot steak sandwiches?’
His reply was to rest his bare arms on the table, hands loose and relaxed, and lean the top half of his long wide frame towards her from the hips so that she had to fight the urge to lean back against the wall and protect her space.
The top two buttons of his shirt stretched open as the fabric stretched over a broad chest, and revealed a hint of deeply tanned skin, and more than a few dark chest hairs.
At this distance she could have reached out and touched the curved flicks of dark wavy hair that had fallen over one side of his temple, but she had the idea that he would like that far too much, so she simply lifted her chin and inhaled a long calming breath through her nose.
Big mistake.
Instead of a background aroma of coffee and baked goods, she was overwhelmed with the scent of gentle rain on fresh-cut grass blended with lime zest, which was tangy against the sweetness of the air.
He smelt wonderful. Fresh, distinctive and on a scale of one to ten on the testosterone level she would give it a twelve. Because there was no mistake. The man below the flamboyant floral shirt that the dreadful Nigel would have completely refused to wear, even for a bet, was certainly adding a lot of himself to the mix. From the sun-bleached hair on his arms and the way the muscles in his neck flexed when he moved, to the ‘know it all’ confidence in the smile he was giving her at that moment, he was off the scale.
And then he ramped it up a notch by lowering the tone of his voice so that she was the only person who would be able to hear him whisper in words that were as smooth as molten chocolate.
‘I took a chance. City girl.’
Then he slid his arms into his lap, sat back against the wooden chair and winked at her.
A CHANCE? He took a chance? Oh! Could he be more of a caveman and testosterone driven?
And he knew it! He knew exactly what effect he was having.
And suddenly every alarm bell in her body started sounding all at once.
Why on earth did a man this gorgeous need to meet women on the Internet?
It was obvious from his emails that he was a flirt,
