Minding Amy (10 page)

After they caught a late lunch at one of the rustic pubs, he told her he'd go pick up supplies for that evening. "I'll give you some space. I don't think you'll come to too much harm, but keep me in touch with where you're at on your mobile."

Not surprisingly, she agreed.

By the time she headed back to him later in the afternoon, he'd planned the dinner menu and got the pool car running more smoothly. He'd even given it a quick wash and valet. He enjoyed the physical labor, he always did. He designated one weekend a month for a similar check and polish on his Land Rover. Every other fortnight he had his sister's kids to visit. The two scheduled events kept him from working around the calendar, something he could easily fall into since his ex, Catherine, had up and left with some bloke she'd met at her office, a year back. He'd been about to propose, blindly thinking she was content. He'd been ready to settle, make a home together and have a family.

When Amy caught sight of him polishing the car she waved with her notebook, smiling. The hem of the dress wavered around her shapely legs, drawing the eye. Sebastian was willing to bet everyone she spoke to would be eager to chat with her.

She nodded at the car. "They won't take it back. They'll say it's not theirs."

"Well, it's somewhere near roadworthy now. How did you get on?"

"You were right. It's all faked." She looked up the house. "The original site of the coven could be anywhere. Everyone thinks it's a hoot that the town was featured on the show. The whole yarn is down to a clever landlord who cashed in on a painting he found stashed in one of the local antique shops ten years ago, and no one remembers much about the Ghost Hunter crew aside from the space their equipment took up on the town square on the day of the farmer's market."

It was as he had suspected. Poor Amy, and she was so keen. He wanted to see her smile. "Do you like Thai food?"

"I love Thai food."

"I thought that might be a good way to start the evening."

"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking, Mr. Armitage?"

"I hope so." He reached for her hand and drew her fingers to his lips.

"So, Quentin is as vague a memory as any other tourist?" he asked as they went back into Hammer House. He'd decided he was going to try to guide her. It might blow up in his face, but he had to try.
Best to get it over with
.

"This has turned out to be a bit of a blind alley." She hung her shoulder bag over a chair in the hallway and stared ahead for a moment.

"Maybe you should think about going about the mystery in a different way."

She turned back to him, her eyes narrowing. "Are you questioning the way I'm working?"

He thought he'd broached it gently, apparently not. He'd expected a retort, but she looked mighty upset all of a sudden. Then he recalled her father's words of warning about her pride and her impetuous nature. "No, I'm not criticizing," he replied calmly as they made their way to the kitchen. "I'm only suggesting you look at the situation from a different perspective."

"I intend to look at it from a different perspective when I find something to look at." She sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, knotted her fingers and stared down at them, her mouth tense. She was disappointed at the lack of information she had turned up, and she was smarting. He hadn't helped. Perhaps he should have waited before he added his commentary.

"Okay, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound critical." He took a seat opposite her. He couldn't help smiling, though. She was an attractive hothead. He looked at her hungrily, reliving each exquisite expression that had passed over her face the night before and again, that morning, when she'd been in the throes of orgasm.

"Anyway," she said. "What can I do differently? I'm working in a logical fashion through the information I've been given."

He pounced on the window of opportunity. "That's exactly it. You're working with information you've been given."

"And…your point is?"

"Why trust the information you've been given? What makes you think you'll find out anything from it?"

Amy folded her arms across her chest defensively. "You really know nothing about journalism, do you?"

"A little, I have crossed paths with others in your field before."

"But you don't know me, and you don't really know what I'm after."

"Tell me." He opened his hands to her, willing to listen.

"There's huge readership interest in Quentin right now, I can exploit that in whichever direction I choose. Whatever my hunt for information reveals, I can use."

"But what you would really like to do is find Quentin and write that up, yes?"

"Well, yes. That would be ideal, but it's far from necessary for the purposes of writing up several features about the man and his disappearance."

The wistful look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She did want to find Quentin. That would indeed be a scoop. Sebastian had the urge to hunt down the elusive celebrity and leave her a trail of obvious clues so she could fulfill her ambition. "I got to thinking," he said, as casually as possible, "about possible ways to get results."

She eyed him warily. "Okay, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. What would you suggest I do instead?"

"Well, first of all I'd be wary of any unbidden clues I was being given in a case like this. Did you have to pay for the info?"

She shook her head.

"Why would anyone want to give you—a reporter—clues? What have they to gain from giving you information? You're falling into a cause and effect pattern. Your soundman drops you bait, you follow. It could be a decoy to steer you away from information that is more useful. He wants you to follow a path, but why? That might be a first line of inquiry, check this bloke out, rather than haplessly following a clue that leads you to an obvious dead-end."

As soon as he had stated it, he realized he shouldn't have.

She frowned at him disapprovingly.

"I didn't put that well, but with missing persons maybe lateral thinking is surely the best way to approach it."

"Lateral thinking?" She peered at him, a mite more subdued.

Perhaps he was getting somewhere. "Yeah. Think back from the event. Think about Quentin himself. Have a look at what's been going on in his life at the time of his disappearance and see if we…I mean you, if you can find out some clues in his circumstances at that time."

She almost looked convinced by his argument, then she shook her head.

"That's not going to be bring about the results I need quickly enough…look, Sebastian, I'll come clean with you. I only have a few days on this case then I'm back to writing for the Women's Page full time. This might be my big break and I can't afford to lose it sitting around reading Quentin's diary to figure out what might have happened next."

Sebastian stared at her, silently assessing her words and the situation she was trying to explain. It made sense and it also explained what he had picked up between her and her father at The City News offices. Whatever, he wanted to help the woman. She was far too attractive to him to do otherwise.

"Okay. I respect that, you're the boss." He could find out, though. He could put out some feelers of his own. It couldn't do any harm because she would be none the wiser.

Her gaze rose to his face. "I appreciate your input, Sebastian, really I do…and it's nice to have a sounding board, but at the same time it doesn't really figure into your job spec, does it? You've been hired to be a bodyguard, haven't you?"

Luckily, Sebastian considered himself a man of steel and such unintentional slights could be overlooked. "Sure," he replied, and gave her a strained smile.

Let her think whatever she wanted to, he told himself. She'd probably flip out if she knew he was one of the best and most highly respected Private Investigators in London, and head of his own company. She didn't know any of that and it was best kept that way. He didn't want her to freak out, or worse still have her eject him from his place by her side. Right now he'd be her bodyguard or whatever she wanted to stay there for quite a bit longer. He was more than a little interested in pursuing their affair, especially after the taster he'd already had.

Chapter Six

Bless the man—he was really trying to help her. Amy stared across the table at Sebastian while they ate the delicious meal he'd cooked. Much as she didn't want or need a minder, this was turning out to be a real treat. He'd cooked for her, escorted her, fixed the car, and he'd even tried to help with suggestions about her work. Mr. Machismo had turned out to be a real charmer.

The meal was delicious. He'd made a selection of dishes to choose from, spicy crab and mange tout served on a bed of noodles, sweet and sour jumbo shrimp with rice, chicken satay on the side.

Amy gestured at the plate with her fork. "Mm, this is really good."

"I'm glad you approve." He gave her a lingering stare that made anticipation thrum in the pit of her belly.

As she finished eating, she congratulated him again. "I can never do this, you know, get a range of dishes all ready at once."

"Thai food lends itself to staggered preparation. I only get to do it occasionally so I like to push the boat out. Besides, I wanted to be sure I had plenty of offerings to tempt your palate." He paused." I want to keep you satisfied."

He gave a suggestive smile.

She returned it. "Where did you learn to cook so well?"

"I grew up in a single parent family. My dad passed on when I was a child. My mother had to work to support us, so we all had to learn to chip in with chores and look after each other. I was the only boy in the house but I had to learn to cook too. My mother was a staunch believer in arming her kids with all manner of survival skills."

"Your mother sounds like an amazing woman. I'm sorry about your dad."

"Whilst I would love to have known him better, it was a long time ago now. It made us a closer, stronger family unit."

It surprised her to hear him talking about family that way, like he really valued it, but she was learning about him all the time. "My parents are more traditional, and I'm an only child."

"I gathered that from your doting father."

"I know. What is he like?" She rolled her eyes. "He's so overprotective. I've done advanced self-defense training and he knows it. However, your company is much appreciated, even though I don't need you." She added that on purpose, trying to get him to rise to it

He resisted comment, but gave her a sexy once-over look that practically scorched her.

"Would you rather be elsewhere?" she added, savoring the delicious slow burn between them.

"Absolutely not."

That was good to know. Personally, she wouldn't trade places with anyone in the world. Right at that moment the chemistry between them was simmering away, the atmosphere in the room vibrant with reciprocated attraction. Long after the meal was done and he'd cleared the table they sat there, sipping wine and talking about everything from their favorite foods to favorite destinations, the mutual arousal building slowly to fever pitch as they eyed each other across the table.

"Shopping in New York," she told him, "after a leisurely cruise over on an ocean liner. I'd like to do that one day."

"How about drinking wine in a villa in Tuscany," he offered, "with the city walls of Sienna in sight?"

"That does sound gloriously lazy and idyllic. Have you ever done it?"

"Not yet. It's one of many fantasies." He eyed her cleavage.

She shifted in her seat. "You have good fantasies."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Are we still talking about travel?"

"I'm not sure." Anticipation knotted inside her. "Have your thoughts strayed into other types of fantasies?"

He nodded, and when he did his eyes blazed at her.

She had to sit on the edge of her seat and squeeze her thighs together in an effort to control the desire thrumming inside her. "Tell me what's on your mind."

"You're sure?" His gaze was so intense it was unsettling.

She nodded.

"I want you," he stated. "In fact, I've had an erection for quite some time now."

His comment was so blatant she stared across at him, speechless, her skin tingling wildly.