Interview with the Daredevil. Nicola Marsh

him stroll towards the door? For a moment she wanted to run after him, grab hold of that robe and rip it off as she had last night.

      Biting her bottom lip to stop from saying anything else, she pasted a bright smile on her face as he stopped at the door and turned back.

      ‘If you have any free time, I’m staying another day.’

      Unsure whether he wanted to see her again or was reverting to type with the flirtation, she managed a mute nod and some stupid half-salute as he let himself out.

      The minute the door closed, she slumped down the bed and flung her forearm over her eyes.

      Maybe that would block out the stupid voice in her head, the one that insisted she had the guts to discover his room number and ring him before he left.

      Ludicrous, as one-night stands were just that: one night.

      But in the time it took to reject the idea as ridiculous, frivolous and totally unreal, she had envisioned herself having dinner, a midnight swim and possibly a whole lot more with the guy who had rocked her world.

      Roman glanced at his watch as he entered the Michelin-starred restaurant on the hotel’s ground floor. He was running late. Not that he cared. The cause of his tardiness had been worth it.

      And how.

      Even now, forty-five minutes later, he couldn’t get the last image of Ava out of his head. Tousled, wide-eyed, sated, sitting up in bed clutching a sheet to hide what he’d already seen and admired and tasted all night long.

      She’d looked so vulnerable, the exact opposite of the wild, passionate woman she’d been in his arms, and it had taken every ounce of will power to walk away from her.

      Though what would hanging around have achieved? They’d had a memorable one-night stand. They had separate lives to lead on different continents. They had nothing in common beyond what they’d shared last night.

      So why that parting shot about how long he was staying here? The last thing he needed was a newly divorced woman finding her feet in singledom latching onto him.

      He mentally winced at that poor judgement call. Nothing Ava had said or done implied she’d be latching onto anyone any time soon. In fact, from what she’d said, she’d spent her life under a microscope and was probably looking for a little freedom.

      Being the prime minister’s daughter would’ve sucked. As for her marriage to a politician, he’d schmoozed with enough A-listers around the world to know how these things worked. Family expectations, moving in the right social circles, marrying a partner deemed suitable.

      He’d bet his last grappling hook Ava had said all the right things and done all the right things from birth, had probably married some slick politician hand-picked by Daddy. Poor kid.

      Then again, her inherent naivety had attracted him right from the beginning. She’d seemed oblivious to their physical proximity when he’d rescued her after their heads collided but he’d been all too aware of her slick body millimetres from his.

      She’d been flustered; he’d been aroused.

      Then he’d started flirting and while she’d reciprocated there’d been an innocence about her, an inexperience that didn’t gel with a divorcee. In his travels, how many times did he meet a woman who still blushed? Not often.

      He dated extensively, from princesses to pop starlets, blondes, brunettes and every shade in between. Not that he was half the playboy the paparazzi made him out to be but he was a well-known, successful, single guy and that status came with perks. Plenty of perks.

      So what was it about Ava that shook him up?

      Once he’d left her room he should’ve forgotten about her, should’ve focused on this meeting. Instead, he wondered how soon he could wrap up business and maybe ring her, see if she was free for a quick catch-up before they both went their separate ways.

      Rattled more than he cared to admit, he tugged on the ends of his shirt sleeves and adjusted his cufflinks, the same steadying ritual he went through before any jump. Though in his sporting career it was usually a buckle or safety knot he was adjusting.

      Glancing around the restaurant, he spotted Rex Mayfair, an old friend of his mum’s, partially hidden by a screen and towering palm.

      Rex had often stopped by their Chelsea apartment when he’d visited London and as a kid he’d wondered if Rex might in fact be his dad. Despite careful scrutiny, it didn’t look as if the old guy was anything more than a platonic friend of Estelle’s. Not that she’d tell him anyway. He’d given up asking about his paternity years ago.

      ‘Father unknown’ sucked on his birth certificate but not as much as having a mother who’d made him pay for being a burr in her side every day growing up.

      Annoyed he’d let old bitterness creep into this otherwise sensational morning, he strode across the restaurant, ready to hear what Rex thought of his plan.

      Rex caught sight of him first and stood, a welcoming smile accentuating the many creases lining his ruddy face.

      ‘Roman, my boy, good to see you.’

      ‘Likewise.’

      As he neared the table and reached out to shake Rex’s hand a prickle of awareness raised his hackles and he glanced over his shoulder to find Ava sitting at the next table, partially hidden by a palm, poring over the morning newspaper’s employment section.

      The smart thing to do would be to acknowledge her with a greeting then distance himself and catch up with Rex. Easy. Until he caught sight of her teeth worrying her lower lip and the frantic eye movements speed-reading the job ads.

      She needed a break and as Rex pumped his hand an idea completely out of left-field smacked him upside the head.

      ‘Excuse me a moment.’

      Rex raised an eyebrow as Roman squatted next to Ava’s chair.

      ‘We meet again.’

      Her head snapped up, her blue eyes wide with panic until she registered who it was. ‘Hey there.’

      They lapsed into an awkward silence and he stood, touching her lightly on the back. ‘If you’re free, I’d like you to meet someone.’

      Confusion creased her brow but she wouldn’t refuse; etiquette training would be hard to shake.

      ‘Sure.’

      She stood, her arm brushing his and he gritted his teeth against the urge to touch her.

      He should’ve done the right thing and walked away last night but he hadn’t been able to conquer his insatiable hunger for her. Now he had a chance to make things right, to take her vulnerability and turn it into the confidence of a young woman revelling in a fresh start.

      ‘Rex, I’d like you to meet Ava, a friend of mine.’

      She shot him a dubious look at his mention of friend, which he ignored and gestured to the seat between Rex and his.

      ‘Pleased to meet you, young lady.’

      ‘Likewise.’

      Before Rex’s journalistic instincts kicked in and he prodded Ava for info on how they met, he angled his body towards her.

      ‘Rex is the chief editor of Globetrotter magazine.’

      A spark lit her eyes, quickly replaced by suspicion. Clever girl—he knew she’d cotton on to the rationale behind this introduction.

      ‘Must be an interesting job.’

      Oblivious to the simmering tension, Rex waxed lyrical about his work while Roman relaxed into his chair, very much aware of the freshly showered, floral-scented woman beside him.

      How could he not be, when every cell in his body screamed for a repeat of what they’d done last night?

      All night.

      That