The Socialite and the Cattle King. Lindsay Armstrong
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he reflected, these were improbable lengths to go to over a smattering of intrigue to do with a woman, particularly for him. But he had liked her fresh, slightly zany style in the pieces he’d read, he reminded himself, and he had even considered the possibility of offering her some publicity work for his new venture.
‘So?’ He lifted an eyebrow at her.
Holly meditated for a moment then replied quite candidly. ‘I’d love to say no, because you’ve pressed a few wrong buttons with me, Mr Wyndham. But—’ she flipped her hand ‘—you’ve also pressed a few right ones. My mother was an inspired one, in more ways than one.’ She cast him a strange little look from beneath her lashes. ‘Then there’s my editor. How I would explain to him I’ve knocked back this opportunity, I can’t even begin to think.’
She paused to take several breaths.
‘There’s more?’ he queried with some irony.
‘A bit more. You’ve got to be interesting—you’ve certainly captured the public’s imagination—so, on a purely professional level, I can’t turn it down.’
‘Am I expected to be flattered?’
Holly searched his eyes and could just detect the wicked amusement in their dark depths. ‘Yes,’ she said baldly. ‘I’m usually no pushover.’
‘OK, take it as read that I’m flattered.’ He stopped, flagged a passing waiter and ordered a bottle of champagne.
‘Oh. No!’ Holly protested. ‘I didn’t mean…’
‘You don’t think we should celebrate?’ He looked offended. ‘I do. It’s not every day I score a coup like this. Besides, I thought you liked champagne.’
‘You’re making fun of me,’ she accused.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Well, yes and no. You can be quite an impressive twenty-four-year-old. Thanks,’ he said to the waiter who delivered the champagne and carefully poured two glasses.
He handed one to Holly and held up his own. ‘Cheers!’
Holly reluctantly raised her glass to his. ‘Cheers,’ she echoed. ‘But I’m only having one glass. On top of everything else, I’m driving.’
‘That’s fine,’ he said idly.
‘Isn’t that a waste of champagne? Or are you going to drink it all?’
‘No. I’m meeting someone else here shortly. She also likes champagne.’
Holly took a hurried gulp. ‘Well, the sooner I get going the better.’
‘No need to rush; she’s my sister.’
Holly looked embarrassed. ‘Oh. I thought…’ She tailed off.
‘You thought she was a girlfriend?’
‘Yes. Sorry. Not that it matters to me one way or the other.’
‘Naturally not,’ he murmured.
She eyed him over her glass. ‘You know, I can’t quite make you out.’
He allowed his dark gaze to drift over her in a way that caused her skin to shiver of its own accord. She’d been inwardly congratulating herself on not having this happen to her during this encounter—an involuntary physical response to this man—but now it had.
‘The same goes for me,’ he said quietly. ‘Can’t quite make you out.’
Holly made an effort to rescue herself, to stop the flow of messages bombarding her senses. How could it happen like this? she wondered a little wildly. Out of the blue across a little glass-topped table on a terrace in the fading light of day.
But her rather tortured reflections were broken by a canine yelp, a squeal then howls of pain as, limping badly, a dog skittered across the terrace and disappeared into the shrubbery.
Chapter Three
HOLLY jumped to her feet but Brett Wyndham was even quicker.
He plunged into the shrubbery, issuing a terse warning to her over his shoulder to be careful because the dog, in its pain, could bite.
The next few minutes were chaotic as Brett captured then subdued the terrified dog, a black-and-white border collie. How, Holly had no idea, but he did, and a lot of people milled around. None of them was its owner, or had any idea where it had come from, other than it must have got loose from somewhere and possibly got run over as it had crossed the road.
‘OK.’ Brett pulled his phone out and tossed it to Holly. ‘Find the nearest vet surgery.’ He pulled out his car keys and tossed them to her. ‘And drive my car down here as close as you can get. It’s the silver BMW.’
Holly grabbed her tote and did so, and ended up driving the four-wheel-drive so Brett could attend to the dog on the way to the surgery. He was staunching a deep cut on its leg with his handkerchief and she heard him say, ‘You’re going to be all right, mate.’
She found the surgery with the aid of the GPS and helped carry the dog in. ‘Is he really going to be all right?’ she asked fearfully as they handed it over.
‘I reckon so.’ He scanned her briefly then looked more closely. ‘You better sit down; you look a bit pale. I’m going in for a few minutes.’ He turned to the receptionist, who was hovering. ‘Could you get her a glass of water?’
‘Of course. Sit down, ma’am.’
Holly was only too glad to do so. A mobile phone with an unfamiliar ring sounded in her tote. She blinked, remembered it must be Brett’s phone and after a moment’s hesitation answered it.
‘Brett Wyndham’s phone.’
‘Where is he and who are you?’ an irate female voice said down the line.
Holly explained and added, ‘Can I give him a message?’
‘Oh.’ The voice sounded mollified. ‘Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. It’s his sister, Sue. I’m waiting for him at Southbank, but I’m going out to dinner so I won’t wait any longer. Could you tell him I’ll catch up with him tomorrow?’
Ten minutes later Brett reappeared and held his hand out to Holly. ‘Let’s go. He’s got a broken leg, as well as the cut, but he’ll be fine. He’s in good hands, and he’s got a microchip so they’ll be able to track down his owner.’
‘Thank heavens.’ She got to her feet.
‘How are you?’ he queried.
‘OK.’
He studied her narrowly. ‘You don’t altogether look it.’
‘I…I once lost a dog in an accident. He was also a border collie. I called him Oliver, because as a puppy he was always looking for more food. He was run over, but he died. It just took me back a bit.’
Brett released her hand and put an arm around her shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but Holly discovered herself to be comforted. Comforted and then something else—acutely conscious of Brett Wyndham.
She breathed in his essence—pure man—and she felt the long, strong lines of his body. She was reminded of how quick and light on his feet he’d been, how he’d used the power of his personality and expertise to calm the dog—but above all how he’d impressed her on a mental level, and now on a physical one.
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