Authors: Alice Ross
An Autumn Affair (24 page)
It wasn’t until they were packing up that he had an opportunity to speak to her.
‘Busy day?’ he asked, kicking himself at how lame that sounded when he’d had hours to concoct something more original.
Fortunately, she appeared unfazed by his lack of ingenuity.
‘Manic,’ she exclaimed, flopping down into a chair. The manoeuvre caused her skirt to ride up. Rich tried not to gawp at the smooth expanse of thigh now on show. ‘There were supposed to be two of us on today,’ she explained. ‘But my colleague, Sheila, called in sick at the last minute. Just got back from holiday in Egypt. Dicky tummy.’
‘Shame,’ muttered Rich, contorting his features into what he hoped was a sympathetic expression, while wondering – not for the first time that day – if the black nylon covering her legs came in the form of tights or stockings.
‘It is,’ the girl continued, tucking a wayward blonde curl behind her ear in a way that made Rich’s heart stutter. ‘We normally make a proper break of it when we’re away at these things. Use the hotel spa, have a nice meal, that kind of thing. Now I’ll be ordering room service and crashing out in front of
Coronation Street
.’
Rich didn’t reply. He couldn’t. A battle raged in his head: one side desperately trying not to think about stockings, the other attempting to digest the information she’d just hurled at him. Because, if his digesting was correct, it meant she would be staying over tonight. In a hotel. All by herself. And as he would be staying over, too … in a hotel … all by himself … wouldn’t this be the perfect opportunity to ask her to dinner? He opened his mouth to do just that, but no words came out. Completely pathetic. He’d never had a problem asking women out before. In fact, although never usually one to blow his own trumpet, his success rate in that area would probably be classed as impressive. Particularly at trade fairs, where a large proportion of the contingent were happy to exchange more than business cards with their counterparts. Something about this girl, though, put her way above all that. And it wasn’t just her killer bod.
‘Anyway …’ She hauled herself to her feet and rubbed a hand across the back of her neck. Rich suddenly felt slightly giddy. ‘I’m so shattered, I think all I’m good for is crashing in front of the telly tonight.’
Rich cleared his throat. ‘Right,’ he muttered, feeling like a medicine ball had landed in the centre of his chest, knocking the wind, and his ability to form a sentence, completely out of him. What a plonker. He’d just passed up the perfect opportunity to spend some quality time with this goddess, to find out more about her – assuming, of course, she’d accepted his dinner invitation. Still, he deftly reasoned, there was always tomorrow. He’d be more prepared then; have his thoughts ordered; his usual sparkling, witty repartee polished.
‘See you tomorrow, then,’ she said, gazing at him with the greenest eyes Rich had ever seen.
‘Wh … what?’ he stammered.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she repeated, a slight smile touching – what he considered – her very kissable lips.
‘Oh. Right. Yes. Tomorrow,’ he managed to mumble. Before turning around and colliding with a pile of air-con units: the self-evaporating type with three fan speeds, he absurdly noticed.
Rich didn’t sleep a wink that night. He couldn’t settle. Images of that pert bum and what lay beneath that tight black jacket skipping through his mind like an Irish dancer on acid. And the thought of her curled up in bed wearing God knows what, possibly in the same hotel, possibly in the next room, drove him to distraction.
By the time morning came around, he felt like he’d completed three marathons – in a spaceman’s suit. Despite the dark smudges under his eyes he made every effort to appear the consummate professional, spending an age arranging his hair so it looked naturally dishevelled, and using half a bottle of mouthwash, just in case there’d been any trace of garlic in the bangers and mash he’d consumed the previous evening. Today, he resolved, he would not act like a gawky, adolescent school kid. Today he would be perfectly in control. Play it cool, but not
so
cool she didn’t get the message.
He sucked in a deep, reassuring breath before entering the exhibition hall. Then, affecting his best nonchalant swagger, made his way over to his stand. Spotting the figure at the opposite stand, though – a podgy male figure in a cheap, pinstripe suit, with a jowly, sweaty face – Rich’s swagger dissolved into more of a stumble
‘Morning,’ the chap called over. ‘I’m Eric. I’m manning the stall today.’
Rich’s head began to spin. ‘Um, where’s the, er, girl who was here yesterday?’
‘Had to dash home,’ Eric informed him, tipping a box of branded pens into a wicker basket. ‘Something about a burst pipe. I’ve only been with the company three weeks but there was no one else available at such short notice. Hope I do okay.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be fine,’ Rich mumbled, an urgent need to sit down suddenly overtaking him. God, what a prat he’d been, passing up that platinum-plated, diamond-encrusted opportunity to ask her out yesterday. What on earth had he been thinking about – other than stockings? He hadn’t been himself, obviously. A few minutes in her dazzling presence and he’d completely lost his head. Still, there was no point crying over spilled milk, he reasoned, as a willowy redhead sashayed past. It wasn’t, after all, as if Ms Theron/Monroe was the only good-looking female on the planet. But as much as he tried to steer his thoughts down that route, or indeed any route which did not include gorgeous, petite blondes, Rich couldn’t shift the image of that delectable form, those startling green eyes, and that tumble of blonde hair from his mind. Three weeks on, the fantasising continued. So much so that, after hours staring at her company’s website, he plucked up the courage to call, under the guise of a prospective customer enquiring about their next sales event.
‘Glasgow,’ a nasally male voice informed him. ‘Then I’m afraid that’s it for the year. The next event isn’t until spring.’
Rich’s heart sank. Glasgow was at least a six-hour drive away. But there was no way he could wait until spring. He’d be a physical wreck by then if he carried on at this rate. So, with all the resolve of a starving lion out to catch his prey, he booked three days’ holiday from work, packed a bag, filled the car with diesel and headed up the road. It had been the middle of November, the slate-grey sky sending forth intermittent flurries of snow. The radio informed him that several roads north of the border had been closed. But Rich ploughed on regardless. Even persistent negative thoughts – that she might not be manning the stand; that he didn’t even know her name; that she could be married with three kids; and that she probably hadn’t given him a second thought since their one and only meeting – didn’t deter him.
By the time he arrived at his destination, he’d been both mentally and physically exhausted. But the moment their eyes met, and her beautiful face lit up, he forgot all about the harrowing journey; all about the mental anguish. It had, he knew instantly, all been worth it.
‘Hi,’ she said, those incredible green eyes twinkling. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I checked the attendees, but your company wasn’t listed.’
‘I’m not here on business,’ Rich informed her.
‘Oh?’ A slight flush touched her smooth, creamy cheeks.
‘I came to see you.’
At which point her extremely kissable mouth broke into a wide smile and Rich’s insides turned to semolina.
They became a couple immediately after that and, even now, fifteen years on, Rich still considered his wife the sexiest female on the planet. And a terrific businesswoman. They’d started Bubbles from scratch and, within the first year, had blasted to smithereens all of his meticulously considered financial predictions. Add to the mix his adorable six-year-old daughter, Bethany – a smaller version of Alison – and life was good. Or at least it had been.
Until two days ago.
When a nineteen-year-old girl appeared in the showroom.
With news Rich could never have predicted.
CARINA™
ISBN: 978 1 474 03361 9
An Autumn Affair
Copyright © 2015 Alice Ross
Previously published as
A Country Affair
Published in Great Britain (2015)
by Carina, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited, Eton House, 18–24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
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