No, disappointment was too bland a word. Her heart actually lurched as she looked around, while trying not to look as though she was searching for anyone in particular. But there was no sign of the tall, broad-shouldered Irishman.
Her suitcase had been loaded into the boot of the rather ramshackle taxi, and Catherine had climbed reluctantly into the back, when she saw him. Swiftly moving through the bougainvillaea-covered arch, making a stunning vision against the riotous backdrop of purple blooms.
He reached the car with a few strides of those long legs and smiled.
‘You made it?’
‘Just about.’
‘Got your passport? And your ticket?’
If anyone else had asked her this she would have fixed them with a wry look and infor
med them that she travelled solo most of the time, that she didn’t need anyone checking up on her. So why did she feel so secretly pleased—protected, almost? ‘Yes, I have.’
He ran his long fingers over the handle of the door. ‘Safe journey, Catherine,’ he said softly.
She nodded, wondering if her own words would come out as anything intelligible. ‘Thanks. I will.’
‘Goodbye.’
She nodded again. Why hadn’t he just done the decent thing and not bothered to come down if that was all he was going to say? She tried to make light of it. ‘I’ll probably be stuck in the terminal until next week—that’s if this taxi ever gets me there!’
He raised his dark brows as he observed the bonnet, which was attached to the car with a piece of string. ‘Hmmm. The jury’s out on that one!’
There was a moment’s silence, where Catherine thought he was going to say something else, but he didn’t. On impulse, she reached into her bag for her camera and lifted it to her eye. ‘Smile,’ she coaxed.
He eyed the camera as warily as he would a poisonous snake. ‘I never pose for photos.’
No, she didn’t imagine that he would. He was not the kind of man who would smile to order. ‘Well, carry on glowering and I’ll remember you like that!’ she teased.
A slow smile broke out like the sun, and she caught it with a click. ‘There’s one for the album!’
He caught the glimpse of mischief in her green eyes and it disarmed him. He reached into the back pocket of his snug-fitting denims. He’d never had a holiday romance in his life, but…
‘Here—’ He leant forward and put his head through the window. She could smell soap, see the still-damp black hair and the tiny droplets of water which clung to it, making him a halo.
For one mad and crazy moment she thought that he was going to kiss her—and didn’t she long for him to do just that? But instead he handed her a card, a thick cream business card.
‘Look me up if ever you’re in Dublin,’ he said casually, smacking the door of the car as if it was a horse. The driver took this as a signal and began to rev up the noisy engine. ‘It’s the most beautiful city in the world.’
As the car roared away in a cloud of dust she clutched the card tightly, as if afraid that she might drop it, then risked one last glance over her shoulder. But he had gone. No lasting image of black hair and white shirt and long, long legs in faded denim.
Just an empty arch of purple blooms.
Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
‘CATHERINE, you look fabulous!’
Catherine stood in her editor’s office, feeling that she didn’t want to be there, but—as she’d told herself—it was her first day back at work after her holiday, so she was bound to feel like that. ‘Do I?’
Miranda Fosse gave her a gimlet-eyed look. ‘Do you?’ She snorted. ‘Of course you do! Bronzed and stunning—if still a little on the thin side of slender!’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Good holiday, was it?’
‘Great.’
‘Get Peter out of your system, did you?’