Game On

chapter 4


“I THINK YOU OVERESTIMATED THE HUNKIS Americanii.” Clara rested her head against the low back of the white leather banquette and stared at the deco lamp hanging above. Considering her determination to get a hot bath and decent sleep, her disappointment in not meeting the man she didn’t know existed an hour ago was completely irrational. She stirred the ice cubes in the bottom of her empty glass, wishing Pato were here instead of the snooty, orange-tanned barmaid.

Lydia’s eyebrow rose. “You doubt me?”

“Not normally, but bloody hell, Lyds, a wink?” Clara straightened and arched her stiff spine. “You winked and they’re supposed to have followed us? They have no idea where we’re staying, who we are, or that we’d be sitting in the bar. A bit of a long shot, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed,” Lydia replied with a half-smile. She canted her head toward the lounge entrance. “But it seems to have paid off.”

Clara, gobsmacked to see their lures walking in, humbly nodded toward Lydia. “You could have a career in this, Ms. Truelove. You really know your XYs.”

“Are you suggesting I become a professional escort?”

“I was thinking psychologist, actually, but either one works well for you.”

Clara stole another glance, pleased Lydia had chosen to sit at the farthest end of the long, narrow lounge so they had ample time to observe their prey. Or were they predators?

“I was wrong about the swagger, though,” Lydia mused. “Alas, normal walking ensues. Pity. I do love a good swagger.”

“Perhaps American men are too cool to swagger.”

“Nonsense. Marion Morrison invented the swagger, and he’s both iconoclastically cool and American.”

“Who?”

“Marion Morrison, aka John Wayne.”

So many people mistook Lydia Truelove for just a pretty face. Most didn’t realize that under the golden-blonde tresses was a brain bursting with facts and trivia. “You frighten me, Lyds.”

“You’re not alone, Bean.”

The men were close enough now that it would be rude to ignore them, so Clara offered a shy smile and was rewarded with a glimpse of heaven. The American obsession with dentistry was not exaggerated. Her MIB had the slightest dimple in his left cheek, which softened his features, made him look roguish, charming, and completely un-surly. There was no swagger but his stride was long, confident and proud. His dark hair and attire made a startling contrast to the white-and-chrome interior of the hotel bar. He could have been a Hollywood leading man making his big entrance in a black and white film, except the intense blue of his eyes ruined the effect.

“Look, Riley. I believe it’s the ladies from EuroNow,” he said, his eyes darting to Lydia before settling on Clara. She quickly looked down, embarrassed at the thought he might spot the giddiness exploding inside of her. “What a coincidence.”

“What took you so long?” Lydia said with a flirty smile. Clara envied her smooth self-assurance because if she’d been forced to answer, no doubt she’d have tittered like Sue.

“Charlie is a chatty fellow,” he said, choosing the leather armchair next to Lydia while his friend settled on the banquette next to her. The arrangement secretly pleased Clara for if he sat next to her, she wouldn’t be able to look at him.

“He is that,” Lydia said, speaking for them both while Clara offered an infantile nod.

“I’m Luc,” he said, extending his hand to her.

Luc. His name suited him so perfectly, Clara had to stop herself from sighing it. Hard, masculine, sexy. Luc.

Clara, sure she looked like a doe in headlights, intended to return the gesture but before she could raise her hand, the surfer leaned in between them and thrust his palm toward Lydia. “Oh, and I’m Sutter. Riley Sutter. I hope we’re not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” Lydia said. “We were just discussing John Wayne.”

“Ah, The Duke,” Sutter said, surprised. At least Clara assumed he was surprised from his tone. His eyebrows probably shot up at the prospect of two British women discussing a dead American actor, but she had no intention of taking her eyes off Luc long enough to check.

Casual small talk filled the next half hour. Or it could have been hours. Clara lost all sense of time and place whenever she happened to look across the cube table and collide with Luc’s cerulean-blue stare.

Try as she might to follow the conversation, she was distracted by the back flips in her tummy. She was supposed to play along with this plan and, though on some level she wanted to drag Luc to her suite and have wild, reckless sex, an orgasmic night to forget all her worries, she had no intention of sharing her cushion-soft duvet with anyone tonight. Not even with the desperately handsome man who was looking at her, moving his luscious lip over those glorious teeth—





“Are you enjoying Miami?” Luc asked for the second time. She hadn’t said more than a few words since he and Sutter had arrived, and Luc was getting desperate to hear her voice. She was looking right at him, watching his mouth. He could feel the heat of her eyes on his lips, making him conscious of every word he spoke, and yet the pixie didn’t answer. He hated himself for being banal, longed to ask what she wrote, but Lydia made them swear on their swizzle sticks not to bring up anything work related. “We’re all journalists,” she had declared. “And that’s all we need to know.”

It was hard finding excuses to look at Clara for more than a passing glance, but if she’d only say something, preferably a long oration, he could stare without appearing creepy.

Luc watched her eyes widen as she realized she’d been addressed.

“What? Oh, who? M-me?” she stammered. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

“I asked if you’re enjoying Miami.”

“It’s lovely, from what I’ve seen, from the air, you know, and the taxi ride.”

“You’ve been so quiet; I thought you weren’t enjoying yourself—”

“Oh no, I’m fine, thank you—”

“Because I was thinking, if you like—”

“It’s just—”

They were speaking at the same time, words overlapping, thoughts colliding, until they both halted in mid-sentence.

It’s just what? What was she about to say? He leaned forward, but instead of saying anything, she blushed. The hockey game was worth missing to see the pink bloom rise from her cleavage to her cheeks, though he’d never admit that to Sutter. Technically, his time owed had expired and he could take his leave. First, he needed to figure out a way to see Clara again and he figured asking her about Miami would be the perfect segue to offer a guided tour during her stay.

Before either of them could continue, Lydia spoke. “Her dog died yesterday.”

“Yes, it’s true,” Clara said, bravely trying to hide her sadness. “My little pup went off to the great bone yard in the sky.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Luc knew what it was like to lose a pet. No wonder she was subdued.

“Thank you. You’re too kind,” she said, holding his gaze.

He didn’t want to break this connection, even if he had to talk about her dog all night. The sound of her voice was enchanting—soft, lilting, and moderated, as if she’d given great thought to every word, every syllable pronounced to perfection. “Was he very old?”

“He was about eleven, but I inherited him from my aunt so I only had him for four years.”

Luc was about to ask the dog’s name and anything else he could think of, but Lydia butted in again. “Let’s toast the old mutt, shall we?” She held up her glass. “Bloody hell, I’m empty.” She motioned for the waitress with a royal wave.

“Not for me,” Clara said, pushing her glass away. “I’ve had enough alcohol to pickle a bucket of herring.”

Before he could think, before his brain could formulate a strategy, Luc blurted, “There’re a few coffee shops along Ocean Drive if you feel like a stroll.”

“Sounds delightful.”

It may have been wishful thinking, but he thought Clara sounded eager.

“I could kill for a cup of tea,” she added.

“You two kids run along. I’ve got an early flight,” Lydia said. “Mr. Sutter, would you join me for a nightcap?”

“And there’s the buzzer,” he mumbled to Sutter, knowing he’d get the game-over reference. Though if this night went as hoped, technically it was game on.

“Shall we?” He offered his arm to Clara, pleased that she took it, and turned to Lydia. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Miss Truelove. I hope we can do this again.”

“Likewise,” Lydia replied. “And Luc? You will see that Clara gets back to her room safely, won’t you? Miami is a very dangerous city.”