Valerie Parv - Kissed By a Stranger

Luke was actually asking if she wanted to see him again Luke was actually asking if she wanted to see him again “I thought you hated the limelight,” Sarah said, avoiding a direct answer. “This has nothing to do with the limelight. I want a place in your life, not on your show.” She felt renewed stirrings of uncertainty. They saw life very differently. Was the attraction between them, however magnetic, enough of a counterbalance? “Yes,” she said decisively, out loud. “Yes?” Luke queried. Sarah felt a blush starting, and fought it. “Yes, I’d like to see you again. Are you satisfied?” Luke took his time responding. “Not yet, but I’ve no doubt I will be....” About the Author Valerie Parv, a successful journalist and nonfiction writer, began writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon in 1982. Born in Shropshire, England, she grew up in Australia and now lives with her cartoonist husband and their cat—the office manager—in Sydney, New South Wales. She is a keen futurist, a Star Trek enthusiast, and her interests include traveling, restoring dollhouses and entertaining friends. Writing romance novels affirms her belief in love and happy endings. Title Page Kissed By A Stranger Valerie Parv www.millsandboon.co.uk CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN EPILOGUE Copyright

Luke was actually asking if she wanted to see him again

“I thought you hated the limelight,” Sarah said, avoiding a direct answer.

“This has nothing to do with the limelight. I want a place in your life, not on your show.”

She felt renewed stirrings of uncertainty. They saw life very differently. Was the attraction between them, however magnetic, enough of a counterbalance?

“Yes,” she said decisively, out loud.

“Yes?” Luke queried.

Sarah felt a blush starting, and fought it. “Yes, I’d like to see you again. Are you satisfied?”

Luke took his time responding. “Not yet, but I’ve no doubt I will be....”

Valerie Parv, a successful journalist and nonfiction writer, began writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon in 1982. Born in Shropshire, England, she grew up in Australia and now lives with her cartoonist husband and their cat—the office manager—in Sydney, New South Wales. She is a keen futurist, a Star Trek enthusiast, and her interests include traveling, restoring dollhouses and entertaining friends. Writing romance novels affirms her belief in love and happy endings.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

SARAH barely had time to think about the folly of counting her chickens when her world turned sickeningly on its side.

One minute she was talking on the two-way radio to the camera crew following a few car-lengths behind, and the next she had slammed into a big red four-wheel drive car which had careened out of a side-street into her path.

Metal crunched against metal, the impact throwing her around inside her own car like dice rattling in a shaker. She slammed against the roof, then the dashboard, then the steering wheel, but her seat belt held—although it felt as if it was cutting her in two. Glass rained around her, spattering her skin and hair.

In the timeless silence which followed the crash she became aware of two things: by a miracle she wasn’t hurt, although she was pinned by the angle at which her car had come to a stop, and she could smell petrol.

Her teeth ached from the shaking, and from clenching them so tightly. Her vision was blurred but cleared when she shook her head, although the action didn’t help the headache she could feel building.

‘Of all the stupid, idiotic . . . ’ Her mind refused to supply a fitting description for the other driver. The fool hadn’t even looked before barrelling out into the traffic. On the Gold Coast Highway, one of Queensland’s busiest roads, it was a good way to commit suicide. She only wished he hadn’t tried to take her with him.

Through the shattered front window she could see a crowd gathering around the mangled vehicles. Furious enough to spit nails she might be, but she hoped no one was hurt. As a TV journalist, she’d covered enough serious accidents not to wish such mayhem on anyone.

The sight of the crowd sounded another warning. The petrol smell. She had to get out of here and warn everyone to get back before the whole car blew up.

Easier said than done, she soon found. The driver’s side door was jammed, and hammering her shoulder against it had no effect. She leaned close to the shattered window. ‘Somebody help me open this door.’

Unbelievably, a man was there within seconds, practically wrenching the door off its hinges. As soon as it was open he unsnapped her seat belt. ‘Are you hurt? Can you move safely?’

She nodded. ‘Mainly bruised, I think. Everything I can flex seems to work.’

She saw him sniff the air then frown. ‘Put your arm around my shoulders. I’ll lift you clear.’

He had reached the same conclusion she had. The car was no safe place to hang around. With a groan of effort she got her arm around his shoulder, some part of her noting that he was built like a tank. It was a reassuring discovery.

He wasn’t even breathing hard by the time he set her down on the grass verge, some distance from the car. She watched in amazement as he left her long enough to persuade the onlookers to move well away from the vehicles. The crowd seemed to recognize his authority instinctively. A military man? No, but definitely a leader of some sort, she concluded, watching him as he strode back to her side. In the distance sirens wailed, coming closer as she listened.

It reminded her that there was still considerable danger. She tried to struggle to her feet, but the man stayed her with a hand on her shoulder. ‘Take it easy. You could be in shock.’

‘I feel fine.’ But when she tried to rise her rubbery legs refused to support her. She sank back onto the grass. ‘On the other hand . . . ’

The man hunkered down beside her. ‘Now will you do as you’re told?’

‘The other driver?’

‘Being looked after. It doesn’t look as if anyone else is involved, which is a miracle considering the stupid way he shot out into the traffic.’

‘There was nowhere else for me to go except into him,’ she said shakily. To her fury she felt her eyes brim and squeezed them shut. ‘I feel like such a fool.’

‘Aren’t celebrities allowed to have normal, human reactions?’

Surprised, she opened her eyes. ‘You know me?’

Humour flickered across his features, which she now saw were more craggy than handsome but incredibly appealing for all that. The eyes regarding her with mild amusement were the deepest blue she’d ever seen. ‘You can’t watch Coast to Coast and not recognise its star, Sarah Fox. My name’s Luke.’

‘Hi, Luke.’ She glanced down at her bruised, tattered state, unwilling to admit how much his recognition warmed her—or how much she wished they could have met under different circumstances. ‘Some star,’ she muttered. ‘Can’t even make it back to the studio in one piece.’

He brushed long fingers through his thick black hair, exposing a streak of silver at each temple. The streaks looked natural but she’d bet they hadn’t come with age. If he was much over thirty-two she’d be amazed. ‘The accident wasn’t your fault,’ he insisted.

‘But the car belongs to the show. They’ll . . . ’

Whatever else she might have said was drowned in a roar like a train going through a tunnel. She gasped as Luke threw himself across her body, shielding her as the fuel tank of her car finally burst into flames. A fireball leapt skywards, the hot wind fanning across them, and she clutched at Luke, instinctively burying her face against the thickly padded muscle of his shoulder.