She stuck out her hand. ‘Laura Mackenzie.’
Matt resisted the urge to grind his teeth. ‘Matt Saxon.’ He took her hand and ignored the leap of electricity that shot up his arm. ‘Look, is there something I can help you with?’
‘I hope so.’ Her voice sounded a little hoarse and she ran her hand over her hip as she cleared her throat.
Matt frowned. ‘If it’s directions you’re after I’m afraid I won’t be of much use.’ He spent so little time in the area he’d had to programme his satnav just to get here.
She shook her head and the sun bouncing off her hair, dazzled him for a second. ‘I’m not after directions.’ She shot him another smile that made his stomach contract. ‘In fact I’m after you.’
For a second Matt couldn’t work out what she was talking about. ‘Me?’
She nodded and a chill, as if the sun had disappeared behind a cloud, snaked down his spine. The lingering trace of desire fled and his body tightened for an entirely different reason.
Why would she be after him? How did she know who he was?
Unless she’d been watching him.
As suspicion slammed into him his pulse began to race. She couldn’t be…
He ran his gaze over her again, this time skating over the curves and the clothing. This time his eyes clocked the camera slung over her shoulder. The corner of a notebook and the pen sticking out of the back pocket of her shorts. The hopeful, eager look on her face.
The chill running through his body turned to ice. Oh, damn. It appeared she was.
His gaze trailed back up and he scrutinised her features, comparing them against the bank of journalistic faces he’d filed away over the past few months. But he drew a blank. Whoever she worked for, he thought grimly, she was new.
Stamping down hard on something that felt suspiciously like disappointment, Matt hardened his heart. Why was he surprised? Why was he disappointed? Once again life was simply proving that some people were only out for what they could get.
‘I’m glad we bumped into each other,’ she said.
He just bet she was. ‘Why?’
The smile faltered and her eyes widened a fraction at his tone. ‘I was on my way to see you.’
‘Were you?’ he drawled as a strange sort of numbness seeped through him.
‘You’ve come from the manor house.’
‘I have.’
Matt shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels, deciding to wait and see to what lengths this one would go to wangle an interview. Her outfit was certainly designed to kill.
‘Nice place.’
‘Thank you,’ he said coolly.
‘Fabulous detail on the gabling.’
‘Really.’
‘Absolutely. And beautiful—er—grounds.’
‘Naturally.’
‘Are you the gardener?’
Matt frowned. The gardener? Hah. ‘I’m the owner.’ As if she didn’t know.
Her eyes widened. ‘Oh.’ And then she gave him a smile that had the ground beneath his feet tilting all over again before he could tell it not to. ‘Well, that’s even better.’