His Personal Agenda. Liz Fielding
for a moment he saw the girl, still there behind the sophisticated veneer. ‘But don’t worry if you haven’t,’ she said, indicating the projector with a wave of her hand. It was a gesture that would have done justice to a geisha, controlled, exquisitely graceful, and for just a moment his body seemed to do a loop-the-loop as he imagined what that hand could do to him. ‘I’m about to enlighten you, so save your questions until after the show.’
There was a murmur of laughter as the light dimmed until there was just a small shaded lamp over the notes on the lectern, the powerful beam from the projector directing all eyes to the screen with its aerial view of the small market town of Delvering.
As if this was a prearranged signal, several people leapt to their feet in the darkness. There was an angry yell that turned into a cry of pain from the man standing by the projector as it was overturned, hitting the floor was a crash that blew the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
The heavies. He didn’t have to see them to know. He’d recognised them for what they were, despite their suits and their careful interest in Nyssa Blake’s work, and he’d assumed they were minders. He’d been wrong.
And there was one right in front of the lectern.
Without pausing to consider the wisdom of his actions, Matt Crosby hurled himself towards the shaded light that illuminated nothing but Nyssa Blake’s small hands, frozen in the act of turning over the first page of her notes.
CHAPTER TWO
STARTLED by the crash, Nyssa looked up. The room was dark beyond the small circle of light illuminating her notes and for a moment she froze. Then, as her confused wits began to make some sense of the sounds coming out of the darkness, she began to move.
Too late.
She stepped straight back into the waiting arms of a man who, as he seized her from behind, clamped his hand over her mouth, cutting off her instinctive shout for help.
Matt was still feet away when she let out a startled protest, instantly muffled, and it didn’t take much imagination to supply a picture of a large hand covering her face, a burly arm pinning her arms as she was lifted from her feet.
Surging forward, Matt carried them both down onto the floor and, just to make sure he’d got the message, crashed his fist into the man’s nose. It was something he’d regret later, when he had time to feel the pain. But not now. Now he simply had to get Nyssa Blake out of there.
He leapt to his feet and, without stopping to waste time or breath in explanations, caught hold of her as she scrambled up, determined on escape. Assuming he was her attacker, renewing his assault, she struck out at him and her bunched fist connected with the side of his face as he lifted her to her feet. Ignoring the dizzying blow, not stopping to explain, he shouldered her and carried her through a small door that led into a corridor, blinking in the sudden light.
Ignoring the main entrance, he headed for the rear of the building and burst out into the fading light of the late August evening, crossing to the narrow side street where he’d left his car.
Nyssa Blake was yelling and kicking all the way, but all hell appeared to have broken out on the pavement in front of the Assembly Rooms and no one was taking any notice. Anyone whose business it was to notice undoubtedly assumed he was the guy now trying to put his nose back together.
Neatly done, Parker, he thought grimly as he opened the driver’s door of his car, pushed her in and, still hanging onto her, followed. She immediately stopped struggling, and as his grip was hampered by the awkward angle gave a deft wriggle and escaped his grasp. Matt slammed the door behind him and pressed the central locking switch before she reached the door handle.
Small she might be, but when she turned and lunged furiously at him, nails outstretched, it was all he could do to hold her off. And the mule kick effect wasn’t confined to her eyes.
‘For crying out loud, will you stop that? I’m not trying to hurt you,’ he said sharply, then swore as the toe of her fashionable shoe connected with his shin for a second time. She wasn’t listening. As she came at him again he was forced to abandon passive defence and instead grabbed both her arms, pinning them behind her as he dragged her hard against him so that she could no longer strike out. His leg thrown over her, pinning her to the seat, dealt with her feet.
For a moment she continued to struggle furiously. He simply hung on until she realised she was wasting her time. Then she went quite still and opened her eyes to look up at him.
‘Okay, you win,’ she said huskily, her chest heaving as she gasped for air.
Matt deeply distrusted her sudden surrender. He might have subdued her temporarily, but the minute he let go she would undoubtedly let fly at him. And, having tested him to the point where she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, she could let rip without fear of the consequences.
But holding on had its dangers too. Her body was pressed beneath him and he was practically drowning in the deep, dangerous currents of her eyes, in the scent that came from her hair, her skin. And her full red mouth was lifted towards him, unconsciously seductive, but seductive nonetheless.
‘This isn’t a contest, lady,’ he said, more harshly than he had intended, and released her so suddenly that she fell back, her dress halfway to her waist where the buttons had parted. He wanted to look away. He really needed to look away. But he knew the minute he did she would fly at him again. So he swallowed hard and tried not to think about the glimpse of black lace and thighs that would give a monk disturbing dreams. ‘For your information I just saved you from being kidnapped.’
‘Kidnapped?’ Impossibly, her eyes widened further.
‘You don’t think that the projector fell over all by itself, do you? Or that the guy who grabbed you just wanted to dance?’ He didn’t elaborate; he was sure she was quite capable of working it all out for herself.
Kidnapped? Everything had happened so quickly. Disruption she could understand. The threat of it was always there. But what would be the point of kidnapping her? After a long pause, when all that could be heard inside the car was the sound of ragged breathing being brought under control—his as well as hers—she said, ‘You were at the back of the hall.’ He was the man she’d known on sight wasn’t just some small-town news hound. ‘You must have moved very fast…’ She eased up in the seat, aware that he was watching her carefully, as if expecting her to bolt at any moment, and began to rub absently at her wrists. ‘Unless, of course, you knew what was about to happen.’ Which begged the question…if he wasn’t a journalist, what was he? Exactly? ‘Who are you? What do you want?’
Her eyes narrowed. They did that pretty spectacularly too, Matt thought. She should be shouting, yelling, screaming for the police. It was what any normal girl would do under the circumstances. Her control was slightly unnerving. He sensed she knew that, was using it to her advantage, waiting for an opportunity to flee the moment his guard was down. That was something he could not allow. Not until he was sure she was out of danger. Her reputation was one thing…but that she might be hurt—or worse—he could not allow.
‘I’m a freelance journalist—’ it depressed him how easily he said the lie ‘—and I was hoping for an interview.’
She continued to regard him steadily, as if deciding whether to believe him. ‘Couldn’t it have waited until after the presentation?’ she asked finally, then managed a slightly shaky laugh. ‘You didn’t have to hijack me, you know. If you’d left your number, I’d have called you.’
He managed a grin. This was one cool lady. ‘Maybe I have a tight deadline,’ he offered. ‘Perhaps now, over a brandy, might be a good time.’ He needed one even if she didn’t. The feeling was beginning to come back to his knuckles with a vengeance.
She regarded him coolly. ‘You think that saving me from being kidnapped entitles you to jump the queue?’
‘It seems only fair,’ he countered. ‘After all, I was in the front of the queue when that thug grabbed you.’
‘Maybe