Blind-Date Baby (8 page)

Martin went a little red and pretended to attend to a stray thread in his waistcoat. ‘Thanks, love. Now, what were you looking for?’

‘Military history,’ said Grace, feeling a little flutter in her tummy as the words left her mouth.

Now, where would Grace be on a fine morning like this, if she wasn’t in The Coffee Bean? Noah peered through the window. Caz waved madly at him and motioned for him to come in.

She was a character in her own right, that one. Today, she was dressed head to foot in white and rhinestones, from her bejewelled flip-flops to her floaty skirt and the scarf in her hair. If she stepped outside into the sunshine, she was likely to blind someone.

He opened the door and wandered up to the counter, eyeing up the display case. There was a new pink thing in there, with raspberries and white chocolate, and he was itching to taste it. Who cared that he’d had to double the length of his morning runs to make sure his trousers didn’t get too tight?

‘She’s just popped next door,’ Caz said, not even pretending to beat around the bush.

Caz knew. Noah knew she knew. They both smiled at each other.

‘Fine. Could I have a coffee and some of that raspberry thing while I’m waiting?’

Caz just winked at him.

Martin’s military section was completely out of proportion to the size of his shop, Grace thought as she ran her index finger along the spines on yet another shelf. Mind you, he looked the sort to enjoy making up intricate model aircraft kits, so perhaps it was a passion.

She couldn’t find a Noah Smith anywhere. But this was a little book shop on a small suburban high street. Perhaps she’d have to go further afield. Perhaps she’d have to use the Internet to find his titles, even if she ordered the actual book from Martin.

Two women walked into the shop as she emerged from behind the shelves and headed for Martin’s counter.

‘Have you got number four in the
Frozen Spies
series?’ one
asked. ‘The latest is in the window, but my son has just got into them and wants to read them in order.’

‘Let me go and look, madam,’ Martin said and scurried off.

Madam. So quaint. And Grace would lay money on the fact that whatever franchise bought this little shop wouldn’t have staff that said anything but,
Huh?

‘Did you see him on telly the other week—on that Friday night chat show?’ the second woman said while she rummaged in her handbag for something.

‘Who?’

‘The author of
Frozen Spies
.’ She nudged her friend and did a wink that didn’t quite work. ‘Wouldn’t mind a little bit of undercover action with him myself, if you know what I mean.’

Grace stifled a smile as Martin returned with a book and placed it on the counter. ‘Here we go!
Wasteland. Frozen Spies
number four.’

The book-buying woman picked it up and checked out the photo on the back as Martin rang it into the cash register—nothing so newfangled as a bar code scanner in this shop, thank you very much.

‘Ooh, yes,’ she said, winking at her friend. ‘I see what you mean! Come to Mama!’

And the pair of them collapsed into giggles like a pair of fifteen-year-olds. Unfortunately, Martin’s prehistoric till was playing up and it looked as if Grace would have a long wait if she wanted to quiz him about military books. She waved at him over the top of the giggling duo’s heads and mouthed, ‘I’ll be back later.’

With a scone, probably. Martin looked as if he could do with a little cheering up.

Out of curiosity, she looked for the book the woman had been talking about as she walked past the window. There was a large display of a dramatic-looking hardback, the jacket in shades of silver and blue and grey.

Silent Tundra
by Noah Frost.

Grace ran back into the shop and dived into the window display.

Noah choked on the raspberry thing when he saw Grace striding into The Coffee Bean with his latest book clasped in her hand. She spotted him sitting in his usual spot and he could have sworn he’d seen a wave of static electricity run up her body and leave her hair standing just a little on end.

Part of him was truly worried about what she was going to say; part of him was triumphant at this totally unique reaction to his identity.

‘Oh! Mr
Smith
. So lovely to see you!’

He tried to swallow the mouthful of pink raspberry mousse stuff and just made himself cough again. Grace whacked him on the back. With the book. He really should try and write thinner ones.

He swallowed hard and managed to clear his mouth of food. His voice came out hoarse and raspy. ‘Grace! I can explain…’

‘I bet you can! But I don’t want any more of your lies.’

‘Grace—’ the voice was low and authorative, and coming from the woman in white with her hands on her hips ‘—you are creating a scene in my coffee shop.’

Grace shut her mouth and looked around. Noah counted at least twenty pairs of eyes staring at them. Not even a teaspoon clinked.

‘Sorry, Caz.’

‘Now, go and have a walk and calm down. Listen to what the man has to say.’

‘I—’

‘Go,’ Caz said and nodded at the door.

Grace stalked out of the shop with the book tucked under her folded arms. Noah followed her. She waved his book at him. ‘I have to give this back to Martin. I didn’t pay for it.’

He just nodded and caught up with her. He could wait a few minutes if he got the chance to explain.

The book shop owner was standing in his doorway, frown lines furrowing his forehead. Noah nodded at him as Grace swept past him and climbed into the shop window. He, the shop owner and two customers watched in silence as she rebuilt a pyramid of books.

‘Oh, my God, it’s you! It’s him, Julie!’

Noah closed his eyes and waited for the ground to open. Of all the times…

‘Will you sign my book for me?’

Grace emerged from the window display and stood, arms folded across her chest next to the door. ‘Yes, Noah. Why don’t you sign the lady’s book for her?’

He couldn’t really do anything else, could he? The shop owner hurried round the other side of the counter and produced a pen. Noah took it from him and scribbled his standard best-wishes-hope-you-enjoy-the-book thing.

‘Can you put “To Julie, with love”?’

Noah compromised and put “To Julie”.

‘I haven’t got a book,’ the other woman said. ‘Could you sign something else for me?’ She hunted around in her handbag as Noah handed Julie her signed copy.

‘Aren’t you tall,’ Julie said, shuffling a little closer. ‘Were you really a spy?’

‘No,’ Noah said, resisting the urge to clench his teeth. ‘I make it up. It’s fiction.’

‘I bet no one’s told you this before, but I reckon you’d make a fabulous James Bond.’

Actually, he’d heard that line so many times he couldn’t count. Next she’d be telling him he looked like—

‘You remind me a bit of Pierce Brosnan,’ the other women chimed in.

Noah looked over at Grace, whom he expected was billow
ing smoke by now. She was just standing there, her arms by her sides, her quick eyes taking the whole situation in. That was it. He was never going to get any further with her now.

‘I can’t find a bit of paper,’ Julie’s friend said with a giggle. ‘How about this?’

And she leaned forward and parted her blouse to reveal an expanse of crêpey décolletage. Noah dropped the pen. When he stood up, Grace handed him one of his hardbacks that she’d nabbed from the window display. Again.

‘How about I just sign this one for you?’ he said quickly and started writing before she had a chance to disagree.

‘Don’t worry, Martin,’ Grace whispered to the man behind the counter. ‘He’s paying. Full whack too. None of this ‘special offer’ nonsense.’

Martin nodded and busied himself with a pot of rubber bands.

The two women left in a flurry of good wishes and ‘hope to bump into you again’s. Noah turned to look at Grace.

‘Okay,’ she said, her face unusually expressionless. ‘I get it.’

G
RACE
let out a shaky breath as the car Noah had ordered for them drew up outside the Regent Palace, one of London’s swankiest hotels. She turned to Noah.

‘Are you sure about this? About me?’

He gave her a look that made her insides melt. ‘Of course I’m sure.’

Right. Okay, then. Part of her had been hoping he’d slap his forehead and mutter,
What was I thinking?
She was just going to have to go through with it now.

‘Grace?’

‘Mm-hmm?’

‘Relax. You look stunning.’

She gave him the tiniest of smiles. She’d dipped into her savings and bought a cocktail dress that she’d fallen in love with when walking past one of the exclusive little boutiques that had opened up in the High Street in the last couple of years. The fabric was the most amazing silver-grey silk and the dress had a fifties feel about it, with its wide, scooping Audrey Hepburn neck and a soft, full chiffon skirt. It was looking a little creased after the car journey and she smoothed the ridges away with her palms.

Noah was looking pretty stunning himself. She totally agreed with the mad shopping lady’s James Bond compari
son, although she didn’t think he looked like Pierce Brosnan at all. He had dark hair and matching charisma, but facially they were totally different.

The driver opened the door on her side. She looked down at her legs, wondering if she could remember the way to get out of a car in a dress without showing her knickers. It was something to do with keeping her knees together—or should it be her ankles? She scanned his face carefully as she took his hand and swivelled out of the car. His expression didn’t change in the slightest and she thanked heaven that she must have got the manoeuvre right after all.

As she walked onto the red carpet, she felt like a trespasser, her strappy high sandals making little pock marks in the pile. Noah’s strong hand clasped hers and tugged her into his side. Grace pulled herself straight and prepared herself to walk without making an idiot of herself.

While the event wasn’t in the league of the film premieres in Leicester Square, there was a smattering of photographers and journalists and a small crowd had gathered. Noah walked over to the railing and shook hands and signed a couple of autograph books, all the time making sure she was by his side. People stared at her.

She tried to smile, but it felt so unnatural. A little muscle at the corner of one of her eyes kept twitching.

Oh, Lord. What was she doing here?

She was just a spare part. Window dressing. All fluff and no substance.

Noah signed the last autograph and slid his hand back into hers. She grasped it greedily and he leaned across to whisper something in her ear.

‘You have no idea how much I hate this bit. I always feel such a fraud.’

They smiled at each other, just for a few seconds, before moving on.

Grace tried to ignore the crowd, the paparazzi, the fans pushing themselves at the barriers hoping to see a TV star or two. The women, both on and off the red carpet, were looking at Noah as if they’d like to serve him up for supper on a bed of chocolate, garnished with a sprig of mint in his belly button.

If there was anyone fake here, it wasn’t him. She’d sneaked into Martin’s book shop during the week and bought his first book. It had left her yawning—not because it was bad; far from it! She’d been yawning because she’d stayed up to two in the morning three nights in a row, totally caught up in the clever plot and life-and-death situations. It had left her feeling as if she had discovered a whole extra level to him.

Just a few days ago he’d been Noah Smith, the nice-looking man who came into her café and ate cake. Now he was Noah Frost, the celebrity author, general superstar and stud-muffin. Suddenly, she was a little in awe of him.

He gently tugged on her hand and they were moving again, towards the liveried doormen who were guarding the hotel’s front entrance. Grace let him pull her forwards and soon she was carefully placing her sandals on each step of a sweeping staircase, heading for the ballroom where the awards ceremony was being held.

When they reached the threshold to the room, Grace stopped, her eyes wide.

It was like something out of a fairy tale. A very modern fairy tale with glitz and glamour and celebrities instead of kings and nobles. She could see a few TV comedians and a couple of newsreaders just from where she was standing.

Huge marble columns lined the room and vast crystal chandeliers dripped from every part of the ornate plaster ceiling. Flowers were everywhere—enough to give the population of Vinehurst buttonholes three times over.

Wow.

Noah squeezed her hand and she looked up at him. The
smile for the cameras was gone now and his beautiful pale green eyes held such honesty. Her heart did a little pirouette.

‘Thank you, Grace,’ he said and placed a delicate kiss on her cheek, just in front of her ear. ‘I really appreciate you doing this for me.’

Was he kidding? Most women would sell their own shoe collections to be at an event like this, with a man like him. She straightened her spine. She would just have to think of good old Audrey in
My Fair Lady
—without the OTT cut glass accent, of course—and she’d be fine.

It struck her that this was New Grace’s first public outing, her ‘coming out’ ball, if you liked. She squeezed his hand in return.

‘Okay, Mr Frost,’ she said, winking her mascara-laden eyelashes at him. ‘Let’s go get ’em!’

‘Sorry you didn’t get the gong, Noah.’

Noah turned to find one of the other authors from his publishing house standing beside him. Rebecca was the hot new thing in women’s fiction at the moment and had won the award for Best Newcomer.

‘Ah, you can’t get too worked up about these things, can you?’ He nodded at Rebecca’s award, which she was clutching with one hand while she balanced a glass of champagne in the other. ‘Congratulations to you, though.’

‘Thanks.’ She sipped her drink for a moment and looked across the room.

‘And are congratulations supposed to be coming in your direction too?’

Noah laughed. ‘Not unless I go and “relieve” Frankie of his award and run very fast indeed.’

Rebecca rolled her eyes. ‘Not the award, dummy. Her.’ She gestured in Grace’s direction with her glass. The liquid sloshed around and glinted under the chandeliers. Rebecca focused on it slowly and then took another glug.

‘Grace?’

‘There’s much crying in the Ladies tonight, now everyone thinks you might be off the market.’

Noah tried to remain the picture of composure. ‘And why would they think I might be “off the market” as you so eloquently put it?’

Rebecca licked her lips, blinked and swayed slightly. ‘’Cos you’ve hardly taken your eyes off her all evening. She must be pretty amazing if she’s finally caught the attention of publishing’s most eligible bachelor.’

Noah opened his mouth to pooh-pooh the whole ‘eligible bachelor’ thing, but suddenly the group around Grace erupted into laughter and he got caught up in watching her smiling and talking. ‘She is pretty amazing, isn’t she?’

Rebecca, however, was downing the rest of her glass and had obviously lost track of what they were talking about. ‘I think it’s time I held off the champers, Noah me old darling,’ she said and let out a tiny burp.

‘I think you’re right, Becca.’

Noah ushered her in the direction of the lobby, where she said her boyfriend was waiting for her. Once he’d safely handed her over, he went looking for Grace. They’d got separated a while ago and every time he tried to reach her, someone—

‘Noah, me old mate!’

Here we go again, he thought, as he fixed a smile on his face and turned round. He stood chatting to the group for a while, but after the first ten minutes he found it easy enough to just sip his drink and nod. At literary parties, you were never short of someone who was ready to hold court. It just so happened that, this time, it was coming in rather handy.

Noah stood back and just watched Grace sparkle. She was talking to a group from his publishers and they were hanging on her every word. He was so glad she wasn’t a
carbon copy of everybody else here, that he had gone with his gut instinct.

He exhaled. There was only so much watching from the sidelines that a man could do. He extracted himself from the conversation he’d been having on autopilot and made a beeline for Grace. When he reached her side, he stood close and wrapped an arm around her waist. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even scowl. She just finished what she was saying and flicked a glance in his direction, smiling. That smile was his undoing.

It wasn’t one of her sassy smiles, or even one of her wide grins. This smile was soft, almost…shy.

His inner Rottweiler, who’d been sleeping nicely all evening, suddenly decided to go in for the kill.

He didn’t want to look for anyone else. He didn’t want to spend any more time scouring Blinddatebrides.com. He wanted Grace. He wanted to marry her.

As Noah handed Grace her coat, she sighed. ‘What a great night!’

‘I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.’

She gave him a look of sheer disbelief. ‘Enjoyed myself? Did you see him? That guy who was in the latest Sunday night costume drama on telly? He kissed my hand. Twice!’

And Noah would like to punch him. Just once.

Grace put her hand over her mouth to smother a yawn. ‘I’m so glad you decided to book hotel rooms for tonight.’ It had been one of the sweeteners he’d come up with when trying to persuade her that this was a good idea. ‘My feet are killing me and I couldn’t face the drive back, not at—oh, my goodness! Is that really the time?’

He nodded. ‘Cinderella left quite some time ago.’

She yawned again and set him off.

‘Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Time to get a cab. The hotel we’re going to is a little bit quieter than this one, thank goodness.’

‘And I’ve got my own room?’

‘Yes, for the third time tonight, you’ve got your own room! What do you think I am?’

The limousine nipped down side streets and darted round corners until Grace was hopelessly disoriented. She yawned again. She’d drunk just enough champagne to leave her feeling slightly fuzzy. Only about three glasses over the course of the evening, but she didn’t get the opportunity to drink anything but cheap plonk from the local supermarket, and the real thing had gone straight to her head.

A head that was feeling rather heavy at present. And there was a nice warm chest close by, perfect to loll against.

The car swung round another corner and Grace let gravity take the blame as she landed on Noah. He didn’t seem to mind, prising his arm from his side and resting it round her shoulders. A delicious bubbly feeling, which had nothing to do with champagne, started in her toes and worked its way up to her ear lobes.

She breathed out, long and steady. This was nice, leaning against Noah, feeling the warmth of his chest against her back and the pads of his fingers lightly brushing her upper arm. He smelled so good…

But they were here as friends, and it really wouldn’t do to turn her head and bury her face in his shirt as she was tempted to do.

The sounds of hooting horns, revving engines and sirens were just starting to come from far, far away when the car stopped and Grace found herself being gently shaken. Everything seemed slightly unreal as she yawned and walked and yawned and walked, following Noah into lifts and along corridors.

A bellboy opened the door and she just stared at a fabulous room, all in cream and gold and ivory.

‘There’s no bed,’ she said, frowning slightly. ‘A room this nice and there’s no bed?’

Noah put an arm around her back and ushered her into the room. ‘It’s a suite. Your room is this way.’

Grace didn’t notice much about the room but the vast, squashy-looking bed. She twisted herself around and just fell onto it, her feet lifting off the floor with the force of impact. Heaven. If she could live in this bed for the rest of her life, she would.

Her shoes were being taken off and she wiggled her toes and let out a giant sigh that grew and stretched until it became yet another yawn. A pair of warm lips kissed her temple.

‘Goodnight, Grace. Sweet dreams.’

Grace woke from a delicious sleep and stretched, long and hard, right down to the muscles in her toes and right up to the fingertips above her head. She was naked, having peeled off her dress some time in the night and climbed under the covers.

The clock by the bed showed it was eight. A fairly respectable time to rise after such a late night. She snuggled back into the goosedown pillow. It all seemed so decadent, lying in—on Egyptian cotton, no less—and not going into work today.

She had one last stretch and headed for the shower. When she’d finished, she pulled her pyjamas from her bag, which had miraculously appeared in her room, and then wrapped the soft white towelling robe from the back of the door over the top. She opened the door to the sitting room part of the suite and peered out. Noah was sitting at a desk near the window, working away on his laptop and looking as if he’d been conscious for hours.

He finished a series of taps, hit the enter key, then turned in her direction. ‘Good morning. How did you sleep?’

Grace stepped into the room. ‘Wonderfully, thank you…And thank you for such a great night last ni—oh, bother!’ She pulled up the sleeve of her bathrobe and in
spected her right hand. ‘I wasn’t going to wash the hand that Randolph Marks kissed, but I forgot all about that and gave it a good scrub in the shower.’

‘Too bad,’ Noah said, a smug smile twitching at his lips. ‘How about some breakfast?’

He motioned to an open set of French windows and Grace gasped. Outside, on a small terrace that she hadn’t even known existed, was a table laden with rolls and croissants, orange juice and fresh fruit platters.

She ran outside to look at it all. And then she leaned over the balcony. They were at least ten storeys up, and big red buses, taxis and cyclists all jostled far away on the street below. People in dark suits carrying briefcases hurried in straight lines. It was a beautiful morning, with the sky so blue it was almost too perfect. The trees lining the street below shimmered in the breeze and the sun was warm on her face and bare feet.