Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Thank you for reading…
About the Author
Also by Cassie Connor
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For, Ellie, a feisty, strong, bold and brave woman – an absolute inspiration and role model.
Chapter One LYDIA
Flying to Barcelona for the day sounds dead glamorous, except my in-flight bag contains a hi-vis vest, hard hat and steel toe-cap boots. Today’s trip hasn’t started off well. At stupid o’clock at Heathrow on a Friday morning, I find out my boss Jeff Truman has bailed, some family emergency. A replacement is en route. Which is a bummer. Dependable old Jeff is happily married, with trendy, popular teenagers. They’ve trained him well – he’s never tried to talk me into bed on a business trip or made inappropriate comments. The perfect workmate. Always a plus in my book.
When I land, my phone starts vibrating like a Rabbit on maximum setting, a flurry of texts bursting onto the screen advising me that I’ll be joined by a colleague who’s just joined the company, so I’ve not encountered him before. Great. I always love an unknown quantity. Apparently he was on my flight, so our driver can pick us at the same time.
I indulge in a spot of people-watching as the escalator glides down to the main concourse. There are an awful lot of hot Spanish men in their forties with just the right amount of distinguished grey tinting their temples. Is that something in their collective genes?
There’s a guy a few steps below. He immediately captures my attention, even from behind. His hair is cropped short at the back, neatly trimmed and leading down into a strong neck, and if you were into that sort of thing, you might fantasise about wrapping your arms around it when you’re kissing him. Dark grey suit. Fitted across broad manly shoulders. Long lean legs and the sort of taut arse that makes parts of me sit up and purr. His suit jacket is rucked up by the strap on his laptop case, allowing me to totally objectify the hell out of him. I’m wondering about his haunches, that sexy muscle and tendon bit of thighs and buttocks.
Yeah, I know, a bit weird, but I’ve had a thing about haunches ever since the time I had the BEST sex of my life. The filthiest, full-on two-night stand that left me starry-eyed and my nerve endings throbbing for a week. Just thinking about it still creates a rosy glow between my legs. I clamp my thighs together. Don’t go there, Lydie. Not now, when you’re about to meet a new work colleague as well as Señor Lopez, head honcho of the sports retail company that owns the distribution centre that has just burnt down.
I avert my eyes from Sexy Suit man who, to my disappointment, takes a sharp left at the bottom of the escalator, while I turn right, following the exit signs, my eyes scanning the ranks of men bearing whiteboards, handwritten signs on A4 sheets of paper and – fancier – iPads with a variety of international names.
Although I’ve travelled a lot with my work, it never ceases to be a thrill that someone has come especially to collect me. Someone is here for me.
With the usual burst of happiness, I spot my name.
On. An. iPad.
‘Lydia Smith’ is spelled out in large white letters out of black. Proper text. For some stupid reason it makes me even happier. Someone had to make an extra bit of effort to do this. Even having to share the billing doesn’t dim my delight. Beneath my name it reads ‘Tom Dereborn’. This must be the name of New Guy. The surname rings a bell and I feel like there was a girl in my college at university that had that same name. Although I’ve not met him before, I’m not too worried about him being chucked in at the deep end as I seem to recall he’s come from another well-respected loss adjuster.
I approach the driver at exactly the same time as Sexy Suit retraces his steps and comes towards me. Our eyes look at the iPad and then at each other.
Oooooh Fuuuuuck!
Some higher being on another plane is obviously bored today.
I do not sodding well believe it. Seriously?
I know this guy. Intimately. Very, very, very intimately. It’s Mr BEST Sex of my Life or at least … I think it is.
There is the faintest flicker of recognition in his steel-blue-grey eyes but then, like a portcullis slamming down, it’s gone. He blanks me. Completely. Now there’s nothing in his bland impassive face to suggest we had sex numerous times, in numerous positions, in numerous rooms in his apartment. I could almost believe he’s never met me before.
A middle-aged man steps forward from behind the driver like a referee stopping me from blurting out, ‘You!’
‘Señorita Smith. Señor De Reborn. I’m Guido Lopez from Consa-Calida. I thought I’d meet you here and we can go straight to the site for a survey before going into the city to our offices and for some lunch.’ He holds out a hand, and as I’m closest, I hold mine out.
So does Tom Dereborn.
The client looks from one to the other of us and out of gentlemanly chivalry takes my hand and shakes it first.
