The Determined Husband. Lee Wilkinson

that made butterflies dance in her stomach, and was suddenly breathless.

      His dark eyes studied her flawless, heart-shaped face as he asked, ‘Are you all right?’ His voice was low-pitched and attractively husky.

      Flustered, as much by his powerful sex appeal as by the narrowness of her escape, she answered a shade jerkily, ‘Yes, thanks to you.’

      His white smile set her pulses racing and she found herself unable to take her eyes off that chiselled mouth.

      ‘Considering that I’m the one who almost knocked you flying in the first place, that’s a nice, forgiving sort of way of looking at it.’

      Tearing her gaze away, she told herself crossly that, though she was a level-headed twenty-three-year-old, she was acting like some gauche schoolgirl.

      Doing her best to sound casual, to hide the effect his nearness had on her, she managed lightly, ‘I’m a nice, forgiving sort of person. And, to be honest, it was partly my fault.’

      ‘Honest as well as forgiving,’ he mocked gently. ‘A woman in a million.’ Before she could think of a suitable rejoinder, he added, ‘And undeniably English.’

      With unconscious pride, she told him, ‘I’m half American…’

      A level black brow was raised in surprise. ‘I wouldn’t have guessed.’

      ‘Though I’d never been to the States until I got this chance to spend a year in the Wall Street branch of the company I work for.’

      ‘Which is?’

      ‘Anglo American Finance.’

      ‘I know them,’ he said at once. ‘In fact, I’ve had business dealings with Martin Rothwell, the man who virtually owns Anglo American… What do you actually do?’

      ‘I’m PA to Cheryl Rothwell, Mr Rothwell’s sister. I met her when she came over to the London office and, after she discovered I was half American, she offered me this opportunity.’

      ‘I see. So, which of your parents came from the States?’

      ‘My mother. She was born in Boston.’

      ‘Now, there’s a coincidence! So was mine.’

      ‘Oh… Then you are American? I couldn’t be sure from your accent.’

      ‘That’s probably because, like yourself, I’m half American and half English. I was born and brought up in New York, but educated at Oxford.

      ‘My paternal grandfather lives there, though our family originally came from Caithness.’

      Just as he finished speaking, an orange, which had been balanced precariously on the edge of the top step, rolled off with a thump.

      Glancing down, he said, ‘Though it’s much more fun standing here and holding you, I’d best rescue the shopping before it all ends up in the hall.’

      As, bemused, she watched him deftly gather together the straying fruit and groceries, she knew that something special and momentous had happened to her.

      Returning everything to the brown paper carrier, he remarked, ‘Not a great deal of damage done, except to the eggs. They’ll never be the same again.’

      He looked ruefully at the damp, mangled package and added, ‘I hope you weren’t intending to have them for supper tonight?’

      ‘I was as a matter of fact.’

      His eyes on her left hand, which was bare of rings, he queried, ‘Were you planning to eat alone?’

      ‘Yes,’ she admitted.

      He clicked his tongue. ‘On a Friday night, with the weekend just beginning?’

      A shade defensively, she explained, ‘I’ve only been in New York for a few days. I haven’t had a chance to make friends.’

      Though most people liked her, her natural shyness compounded by her upbringing, meant that she had never found it very easy to make friends.

      He smote his forehead and cried theatrically, ‘Poor little Annie! Alone and friendless in the big city!’

      She was surprised into laughter by his clowning.

      Gazing at her, fascinated, he exclaimed, ‘Twin dimples as well as beautiful green eyes. My two favourite things. Do you know, Annie, I’ve never met anyone with dimples and green eyes before.’

      ‘My name’s Sera,’ she told him. ‘Sera Reynolds.’

      ‘And I’m Keir Sutherlands.’

      They shook hands gravely.

      ‘Well, Sera, after knocking you about and depriving you of your supper, the very least I can do is take you out for a pizza. What do you say?’

      About to eagerly accept, she found herself recalling all the dire warnings her grandmother had dinned into her, and hesitated.

      ‘If you don’t like pizza we can have pasta instead.’

      She half shook her head. ‘I love pizza.’

      Watching her face, he suggested evenly, ‘But you’ve been warned about letting yourself be picked up by strange men?’

      Her faint blush was answer enough.

      He grinned. ‘I may be a little odd in some ways but I hardly think I qualify as strange.’

      Mischievously, she said, ‘It might depend on one’s definition of strange, and I’m afraid I don’t know you well enough to judge.’

      ‘We could easily remedy that.’

      ‘Ah, but by then it might be too late.’

      ‘A good point. In that case, let me reassure you as to my intentions, my status, and my propensities…

      ‘I have no designs either on your purse or your person; I’m not married, or even mildly involved with anyone; and I’ve never been known to grow horns and a tail, or turn into a homicidal maniac, without warning.

      ‘On the other hand, if you prefer a more positive approach, we’re both Anglo-American, and I do live in the same building. Which means I count as a neighbour…’

      ‘I’m not sure the latter is entirely reassuring,’ she teased. ‘I imagine even the Boston Strangler must have been somebody’s neighbour.’

      He pretended to be aggrieved. ‘Of course, if you don’t like the look of me, just say so. I may go and throw myself in the Hudson, but you’ve no need to feel any guilt…’

      They were both enjoying the exchange, and she laughed. ‘That’s nice to know. I don’t stand up too well to guilt.’

      Studying her face, the clear, long-lashed almond eyes, the straight nose, the wide, generous mouth and softly rounded chin, he asked, ‘How well do you stand up to a spot of friendly persuasion?’

      ‘Not too well,’ she admitted.

      ‘Then, supposing I was to say it would make me very happy if you would come and share a pizza with me?’

      ‘I can feel myself weakening.’

      ‘Thank the Lord for that!’ he exclaimed fervently. ‘Now, suppose we go and dump the shopping before we both die of hunger? Which floor do you live on?’

      ‘The top floor at the back. I have a bedsit.’

      ‘Here, it’s classed as one room apartment,’ he told her with a grin, adding, as they turned to climb the stairs together. ‘I live on the top at the front, so we really are neighbours.’

      ‘It’s a wonder we haven’t met before,’ she marvelled.

      He shook his head. ‘It’s a wonder we’ve met now. You said you’d only lived here a few days. I haven’t been here much longer myself.