Nina Harrington - Truth-Or-Date.com

‘You too. Corporate promotions. Tricky stuff.’

Andy felt her heart rate increase several notches as he moved even closer.

Keep to the script. Keep to the script. Give him five minutes to get a coffee, and then break it to him gently. Talk business. That usually works.

She took a long drink of coffee to give her brain a chance to catch up and form something close to a sensible reply. ‘It can be. But I suspect that every successful entrepreneur has to take risks. Even in sportswear.’

His brown eyes focused on her face, but there was just enough of a crunch between the dark brows to capture her attention. ‘Damn right.’

Then one side of his mouth lifted into a half-smile. ‘You could almost say that was the best part. Pushing yourself against the limits, knowing just what kind of risk you are taking. Yeah. I guess that we are both in the risk business. Can I get you another coffee?’

And without waiting for her reply he lifted his head and, like a genie from a lamp, the barista instantly appeared on their side of the counter. ‘Two of what the lady had and I’ll take an omelette. Three eggs, ham and mushroom. No onion, heavy on the herbs. And can you throw in some of those Panini and a couple of cookies? Cheers.’

Two fingers to the forehead and their server was gone. Amazing.

Andy looked in astonishment to the counter, where the two girls were feverishly working on the order, and then back to #sportybloke, who was sitting back, legs outstretched to one side. Watching her.

‘Do you always do that?’ She asked with a quick jab of her head towards the counter.

He blinked and hit her with a grin that displayed his straight white teeth to best effect. ‘Do what? Order coffee? Yeah, I might do that now and again. Especially in a coffee shop.’

‘I mean, do you always just shout out the order from your chair instead of going up to the counter like everyone else? And how do you know that I needed another coffee? I might have preferred a tea for a change. Or maybe even one of those hot steak sandwiches?’

His reply was to rest his bare arms on the table, hands loose and relaxed, and lean the top half of his long wide frame towards her from the hips so that she had to fight the urge to lean back against the wall and protect her space.

The top two buttons of his shirt stretched open as the fabric stretched over a broad chest, and revealed a hint of deeply tanned skin, and more than a few dark chest hairs.

At this distance she could have reached out and touched the curved flicks of dark wavy hair that had fallen over one side of his temple, but she had the idea that he would like that far too much, so she simply lifted her chin and inhaled a long calming breath through her nose.

Big mistake.

Instead of a background aroma of coffee and baked goods, she was overwhelmed with the scent of gentle rain on fresh-cut grass blended with lime zest, which was tangy against the sweetness of the air.

He smelt wonderful. Fresh, distinctive and on a scale of one to ten on the testosterone level she would give it a twelve. Because there was no mistake. The man below the flamboyant floral shirt that the dreadful Nigel would have completely refused to wear, even for a bet, was certainly adding a lot of himself to the mix. From the sun-bleached hair on his arms and the way the muscles in his neck flexed when he moved, to the ‘know it all’ confidence in the smile he was giving her at that moment, he was off the scale.

And then he ramped it up a notch by lowering the tone of his voice so that she was the only person who would be able to hear him whisper in words that were as smooth as molten chocolate.

‘I took a chance. City girl. ’

Then he slid his arms into his lap, sat back against the wooden chair and winked at her.

A CHANCE? He took a chance? Oh! Could he be more of a caveman and testosterone driven?

And he knew it! He knew exactly what effect he was having.

And suddenly every alarm bell in her body started sounding all at once.

Why on earth did a man this gorgeous need to meet women on the Internet?

It was obvious from his emails that he was a flirt, but this man looked as though he was getting ready to beat his chest and roar or if that didn’t work, sling the nearest stone club over his shoulder and head out into the rain looking for dinosaurs to slay.

His too-long dark chocolate-brown hair was tousled and so unkempt that one heady thick wave fell forward across his high cheekbone, and he flicked it back with his fingertips. It was a move that any professional fashion model would be proud to have mastered so perfectly—while still looking manly and gruff.

Then there was that mouth.

#sportybloke had an expression that was somewhere between suggestive and cheeky and as infectious as chicken pox. Andy had to fight from smiling automatically in return.

Until now she had believed that she was immune to such charms. After all, she had been exposed to this type of infection many times before and just about survived.

But this man was a carrier for a super powerful version of charm that no amount of medical science and previous experience had a chance of fighting off.

She might have guessed.

#sportybloke was one of them.

According to his online profile he ran a sportswear company with his brother and spent a lot of time promoting water sports overseas. Their speciality was surfing gear.

Well, from the looks of #sportybloke he was just another wealthy, arrogant and handsome entrepreneur who had been in the right place at the right time and had made his pile of money and was determined to flash it at every opportunity. A man like him spent his winters at some luxury ski resort and his summers bumming it around the Caribbean on other people’s yachts while his was being built to his own specifications.

Little wonder that he probably expected everyone to jump when he clicked his fingers, when, in fact, CEOs of international sports companies had all the time and money in the world.

Sheesh. Well, Andy had news for #sportybloke. The dinosaur was right here in the room and she was looking at him. Okay, so that was no hardship, but it was definitely time to get back to the script and earn that bonus that she knew Elise would pay, even if she had pulled the plug on the whole Internet dating business.

Just tell him and get it over with. He can cope!

Andy took a breath for courage, her back braced. But just as she was about to blurt out who she was and why she was there, the food and fresh coffees arrived and she was temporarily distracted by the delicious aroma from two cheese and ham freshly grilled Panini and crisp chocolate-chunk-and-hazelnut cookies.

One of the bar staff actually whimpered slightly under her breath as she slid the plate of steaming hot, fragrant herby omelette in front of #sportybloke, who thanked her with a smile.

Unbelievable.

‘Ladies first,’ he breathed and gestured towards the Panini; he had deftly cut each in half diagonally and left them in the centre of the table. They were oozing with molten cheese and tomato in between the crunchy bread and her mouth was already watering at the aroma, but just as she was about to say no her stomach growled in anticipation of the fat and carb treat that was on display.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, leaning forward towards him, ‘but there is something I need to tell you and it is quite urgent. You see, I’m not who you think I am. When I sent you those emails I …’

Suddenly a chair was knocked over on the next table only inches away from where Andy was sitting. An older man was on his feet, gasping in air through his nose, his hands clutched tight onto the sides of the table. He was panicking, his eyes darting from side to side. Face and neck red.