Take a Chance on Me. Fiona Harper
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special in his book. He preferred places that were obviously exclusive now he could afford them. Give him women with diamonds, men with fat wallets and waiters that bowed any day.
However, the food was supposed to be tasty, and the critic had raved about a cannelloni dish. Not that it would make any difference to Serena. She was probably going to push a couple of lettuce leaves drenched in balsamic vinegar round her plate and complain about how everything went to her rather expansive hips.
The escape window was sounding more tempting with every step. Perhaps he should pop round the back and check the exact dimensions before he went inside?
He was so lost in thought that he didn’t see the blocked drain. He didn’t see the deep puddle that had collected over the top of it. He also didn’t see the sports car driving up behind him.
He did, however, see the great tidal wave as car met puddle. He watched, helpless, as in slow motion tendrils of spray reared up and soaked him from head to foot.
She saw the wall of water in her rear-view mirror and gasped.
She’d been so busy daydreaming about the evening ahead she’d forgotten to manoeuvre round the small pond that always appeared on this corner in bad weather. Without thinking whether it was a good idea or not, she pulled the car to a halt, got out, and ran straight up to the sodden figure on the pavement. He didn’t look as if he’d moved at all. He was just staring down at his dripping suit with his arms aloft.
‘Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry—’
He lifted his head and glared at her.
‘Are you okay?’
One eyebrow shot up. At least she thought it did. It was hard to tell under the dark hair plastered onto his forehead.
‘You’re soaked! Let me give you a lift to wherever you were going. It’s the least I can do.’
She’d been talking to him for a good fifteen seconds, but suddenly she had the feeling he was only just taking a good look at her. He was staring. Hard. She looked down at her suede boots and ankle-length skirt. Sure, she was getting a little soggy as she stood here in the rain, but it wasn’t as if she’d come out with her skirt tucked into the back of her knickers. At least she didn’t think she had.
When she looked back up he was smiling. And not just the polite tilt of the mouth you gave waitresses when they brought you a drink. This was a real one.
A shiver skittered up her spine. That was a great smile. She looked a little closer at the face it was attached to.
Nice.
This was one cute guy she’d drenched.
‘You were saying …?’
She shook herself.
‘Yes. It’s just—I … I mean it’s the least I can do. Drop you off somewhere, that is.’
‘That’s probably a good idea. I’m not sure I’m in any fit state to go out to dinner like this.’
Her hands flew to her mouth. ‘I feel just awful … Well, that settles it, then. I’ve ruined your evening. I’m dropping you off somewhere dry and warm. No arguments.’
He looked her up and down, a crinkle at the corners of his eyes. ‘No arguments from me. Shall we?’ He motioned towards the car. ‘Nice wheels.’
The drizzle was making a more concerted effort at proper rain, and a drop splashed on her forehead. Without talking further, they both ran to the low-slung metallic blue sports car and climbed inside.
She watched him shake his head and run his fingers through thick dark hair as he sat in the passenger seat. He looked even better with it slicked back. She could see his face properly. How did eyes that cool blue manage to smoulder? And look at that firm jaw. He looked like a man in control of his destiny. She liked that.
‘The car’s not mine, actually.’
The smile was back. ‘What did you do? Steal it?’
‘No, of course not. Mine’s being repaired. I borrowed this from my … a friend.’
She wasn’t about to tell him she was riding round in her father’s car. It had mid-life crisis stamped all over it. Not that her father’s crazy behaviour had started in his fifties. He’d got a head start in his teenage years, and had never stopped long enough to mature.
She didn’t like admitting to her parentage when she met a man who caught her eye. She’d learnt the hard way to keep dear old dad out of the picture until it was safe to drop the bombshell—and even then she was never one hundred per cent sure if she was the main attraction.
The smouldering eyes were looking at her intently. ‘A friend?’
Drat! He’d spotted the little detour in her explanation.
He sat back in the seat and smiled, a wistful expression on his face. ‘That’s too bad. Tell him I think he’s got great taste in cars … and women.’
She fumbled with the keys in the ignition.
Come on, girl! Think of something sparkling and witty to say! Tell him he’s got the wrong end of the stick.
‘So, where can I drop you off?’
Great. Really smooth. Well done.
‘Great Portman Street. Do you know it?’
‘I know someone who lives down that way.’ She indicated and pulled away. ‘It’s not that far from here, is it?’
‘No, but in this traffic it could take a good twenty minutes.’
‘I know. Sometimes I think it would be quicker if I walked.’
‘My opinion exactly.’ He pinched at his trouser leg and inspected it. ‘Although I can’t vouch for it being the drier option.’
She sighed and started to speak, but he warded the words off with a raised hand.
‘Please, don’t apologise again. You did me a big favour, in fact. I wasn’t looking forward to my evening, and you’ve given me the perfect excuse to bow out.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. I was destined for a date from hell with a girl that looks like a horse—and I’m not sure whether it’s the front end or the back end she most resembles!’
Her laugh was loud and unexpected.
‘Well, consider me your knight in shining armour, then,’ she added, giggles bubbling under the surface.
He laughed along with her. ‘My eternal gratefulness, kind lady. In fact, I should thank you in some way. How about dinner?’
Since they were sitting at yet another red light, she shot a look across at him. ‘Have you forgotten why you’re in my car in the first place? You’re dripping wet!’
‘It wouldn’t take me long to get dry and changed. We could nip out somewhere local. We’d be in a public place. You’d be perfectly safe.’
‘How do I know that? We’ve only just met. I don’t even know your name.’
‘It’s Jake.’
‘Well, Jake, I still don’t know you from Adam—except that your name’s not Adam, that is.’ Oh, God, she was rambling!
‘Then why did you let me in your—I mean your friend’s car, then? I could be anyone. I could be an axe-wielding maniac, for all you know.’
She went cold. He was right. She’d been so busy feeling bad for him she hadn’t even considered basic personal safety. Her voice was braver than she felt when she answered.
‘Don’t be daft! I rescued you, remember? You’re a Jake-in-distress.