Minding Amy

Janine's champagne had done a good job of anaesthetizing her nerves, though. Far too good, in fact. They'd ended up laughing over a list of possible excuses she could use if she hated him on sight and had to do a runner. She'd almost forgotten to leave the office on time. What with the champagne and the mad dash to get there, Amy felt rather reckless and dizzy.

Before she entered the lounge bar she ran her hands over her hips, smoothing the line of her skirt. He was probably hoping for a blonde stick insect, not a curvy brunette. There was no putting the deed off any longer though, and she braced herself and pushed open the door.

The bar was busy. All the comfortable booths along the wall were already full. Roger had said he'd wait for her at the bar. There were a bunch of women at one end, gossiping in a huddle. She could see two men sitting on bar stools at the near end. Amy straightened and shook back her hair. One of the men was a suited blonde, the other wore more casual clothes and was dark haired. What would a TV producer be wearing, and

why hadn't she at least thought to ask him what color his hair was?

She tried to peer round to see what they were drinking. As she did, the blonde man stood up and turned away from the bar with two tall glasses in his hand. He headed off to a banquette on one side. That left the dark guy. He was concentrating on something, possibly reading. Roger had said he would be drinking a bottle of Becks and he'd have a copy of The City News with him. So far, so good.

She looked him over. His dark hair looked as if he had ruffled it with his fingers, casually spiked. He wore black jeans and a casual white shirt that was fitted well enough to outline his attractive build. Broad shoulders and tapered hips. Nice. And a gorgeous backside, she couldn't help noticing. Her pulse began to pick up speed. If the rest of him matched up to the rear view, she would have to remind herself not to drool.

He turned a page. He was definitely reading a newspaper. She took a step forward then one sideways in order to try to get a glimpse of his face. He reached out to pick up his drink. When he put it back down on the bar, she could see the label on the bottle. Becks. It was him.

She started her approach. A leather jacket was folded over the bar stool to his right-hand side. She headed for the left-hand side, planning to slide elegantly onto the stool next to him. As she sidled onto the stool, her right foot skidded from under her. Those damned heels.

Amy snatched onto the nearest thing—his arm. It didn't stop her sliding.

"Whoa, steady." The man grabbed her against him, reacting quickly, turning on his seat to hold her up.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." She found herself wedged up against one strong thigh and staring into mesmerizing gray-green eyes, heavily fringed and filled with a warm, friendly expression. He had strong, chiseled features and a handsome mouth that was giving her a surprised, lopsided smile. Gorgeous. The arm around her waist was firm and reassuring, holding her easily.

When she spoke, he lifted an eyebrow and drew her closer still. "Don't be sorry," he murmured, "I'm not."

He held her tightly, as if he didn’t want to let her go. She laughed softly and put her hands against his chest. It was broad and firm and the heat of his arm around her set loose a flurry of sensation in her belly, and lower.

His smile grew wider. She returned it.

"New shoes," she explained, nodding down. The smell of his cologne caught her attention, making her breathe him in.

"Ah, that explains it." He glanced down at the shoes, giving her figure an appraising once-over as he did. He didn't look disappointed.

Neither was she. The thigh she leaned up against was so hard she felt an overwhelming urge to straddle it. He was totally gorgeous, and she wanted him. She blinked. He returned his attention to her face, and she glanced at his mouth. It was inviting, and his smile was so sensually suggestive.

Neither of them made a move to alter their positions.

"I like the shoes, especially since they landed you in my lap." Once again he quirked his eyebrow and his eyes twinkled mischievously.

The bedroom action his phone calls made her think about was looking like a distinct possibility. "I can't argue with that," she responded, "because I can’t think of any other place I'd rather be right now."

She lowered one hand to his hip. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, and her lips parted in anticipation.

"What can I get you?" The question came from the other side of the bar.

Amy turned toward the voice, startled. She realized the barman was waiting on them with an expectant look on his face.

"Oh, I'll take a bottle of Becks too, please." Was beer on champagne a good idea? It didn't really matter. She just wanted to acknowledge his signal. Smiling at her rescuer, she reluctantly slipped from his embrace. She noticed he kept his arm loosely across her back while she took up her position on the stool next to him, as if he didn't want to break the physical contact they'd had. It made her aware of every inch of skin on her body.

"I have to admit, I was little bit nervous about coming here this evening."

"Nervous? A woman like you? Surely not." There was humor in his tone.

"Yes, a woman like me. But when you said no strings attached, that made me feel a whole lot more relaxed, I have to confess."

He looked amused by her remark. She noticed he had a roguish scar running down one cheek, which only added to his charm.

"That kind of comment would certainly help to minimize the pressure," he eventually replied.

He had the most amazing mouth. She wouldn't mind finding out how it might feel on hers. So much for Quasimodo and the list of excuses. What an absolute dream come true this had turned out to be.