Kissed By a Stranger

Kissed By a Stranger Valerie Parv Conflicting desires…Sarah Fox has never let a man come between her and her high-profile career as a TV reporter, until a handsome stranger saves her life…and shows her other, more rewarding ways of spending her time!Since a tragic brush with the pres, Luke Ansfield has had no desire to be back in the limelight. Sadly, his desire to be with Sarah keeps thrusting him into it.Luke could encourage her to change careers, but can he live with himself if he stands in the way of Sarah's future? Maybe he should convince her to leave him–but can he live without her? Luke was actually asking if she wanted to see him again (#u32ef5be3-f763-5c20-b46f-7ee59f613af1)About the Author (#u37d76b07-5105-59ac-ac5e-eea2989fb1f5)Title Page (#u3bbc0e8c-0b52-588b-9687-b74d856a0dae)CHAPTER ONE (#u40b4dcfb-3611-5691-8cfa-5f100591bf1a)CHAPTER TWO (#u090939e6-4774-59b7-8f6b-8edd20143dee)CHAPTER THREE (#u0d988b12-2fd2-5a15-b878-6aee334068d7)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) Luke was actually asking if she wanted to see him again “I thought you hated the limelight,” Sarah said, avoiding a direct answer. “This has nothing to do with the limelight. I want a place in your life, not on your show.” She felt renewed stirrings of uncertainty. They saw life very differently. Was the attraction between them, however magnetic, enough of a counterbalance? “Yes,” she said decisively, out loud. “Yes?” Luke queried. Sarah felt a blush starting, and fought it. “Yes, I’d like to see you again. Are you satisfied?” Luke took his time responding. “Not yet, but I’ve no doubt I will be....” Valerie Parv, a successful journalist and nonfiction writer, began writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon in 1982. Born in Shropshire, England, she grew up in Australia and now lives with her cartoonist husband and their cat—the office manager—in Sydney, New South Wales. She is a keen futurist, a Star Trek enthusiast, and her interests include traveling, restoring dollhouses and entertaining friends. Writing romance novels affirms her belief in love and happy endings. Kissed By A Stranger Valerie Parv www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) CHAPTER ONE SARAH barely had time to think about the folly of counting her chickens when her world turned sickeningly on its side. One minute she was talking on the two-way radio to the camera crew following a few car-lengths behind, and the next she had slammed into a big red four-wheel drive car which had careened out of a side-street into her path. Metal crunched against metal, the impact throwing her around inside her own car like dice rattling in a shaker. She slammed against the roof, then the dashboard, then the steering wheel, but her seat belt held—although it felt as if it was cutting her in two. Glass rained around her, spattering her skin and hair. In the timeless silence which followed the crash she became aware of two things: by a miracle she wasn’t hurt, although she was pinned by the angle at which her car had come to a stop, and she could smell petrol. Her teeth ached from the shaking, and from clenching them so tightly. Her vision was blurred but cleared when she shook her head, although the action didn’t help the headache she could feel building. ‘Of all the stupid, idiotic . . . ’ Her mind refused to supply a fitting description for the other driver. The fool hadn’t even looked before barrelling out into the traffic. On the Gold Coast Highway, one of Queensland’s busiest roads, it was a good way to commit suicide. She only wished he hadn’t tried to take her with him. Through the shattered front window she could see a crowd gathering around the mangled vehicles. Furious enough to spit nails she might be, but she hoped no one was hurt. As a TV journalist, she’d covered enough serious accidents not to wish such mayhem on anyone. The sight of the crowd sounded another warning. The petrol smell. She had to get out of here and warn everyone to get back before the whole car blew up. Easier said than done, she soon found. The driver’s side door was jammed, and hammering her shoulder against it had no effect. She leaned close to the shattered window. ‘Somebody help me open this door.’ Unbelievably, a man was there within seconds, practically wrenching the door off its hinges. As soon as it was open he unsnapped her seat belt. ‘Are you hurt? Can you move safely?’ She nodded. ‘Mainly bruised, I think. Everything I can flex seems to work.’ She saw him sniff the air then frown. ‘Put your arm around my shoulders. I’ll lift you clear.’ He had reached the same conclusion she had. The car was no safe place to hang around. With a groan of effort she got her arm around his shoulder, some part of her noting that he was built like a tank. It was a reassuring discovery. He wasn’t even breathing hard by the time he set her down on the grass verge, some distance from the car. She watched in amazement as he left her long enough to persuade the onlookers to move well away from the vehicles. The crowd seemed to recognize his authority instinctively. A military man? No, but definitely a leader of some sort, she concluded, watching him as he strode back to her side. In the distance sirens wailed, coming closer as she listened. It reminded her that there was still considerable danger. She tried to struggle to her feet, but the man stayed her with a hand on her shoulder. ‘Take it easy. You could be in shock.’ ‘I feel fine.’ But when she tried to rise her rubbery legs refused to support her. She sank back onto the grass. ‘On the other hand . . . ’ The man hunkered down beside her. ‘Now will you do as you’re told?’ ‘The other driver?’ ‘Being looked after. It doesn’t look as if anyone else is involved, which is a miracle considering the stupid way he shot out into the traffic.’ ‘There was nowhere else for me to go except into him,’ she said shakily. To her fury she felt her eyes brim and squeezed them shut. ‘I feel like such a fool.’ ‘Aren’t celebrities allowed to have normal, human reactions?’ Surprised, she opened her eyes. ‘You know me?’ Humour flickered across his features, which she now saw were more craggy than handsome but incredibly appealing for all that. The eyes regarding her with mild amusement were the deepest blue she’d ever seen. ‘You can’t watch Coast to Coast and not recognise its star, Sarah Fox. My name’s Luke.’ ‘Hi, Luke.’ She glanced down at her bruised, tattered state, unwilling to admit how much his recognition warmed her—or how much she wished they could have met under different circumstances. ‘Some star,’ she muttered. ‘Can’t even make it back to the studio in one piece.’ He brushed long fingers through his thick black hair, exposing a streak of silver at each temple. The streaks looked natural but she’d bet they hadn’t come with age. If he was much over thirty-two she’d be amazed. ‘The accident wasn’t your fault,’ he insisted. ‘But the car belongs to the show. They’ll . . . ’ Whatever else she might have said was drowned in a roar like a train going through a tunnel. She gasped as Luke threw himself across her body, shielding her as the fuel tank of her car finally burst into flames. A fireball leapt skywards, the hot wind fanning across them, and she clutched at Luke, instinctively burying her face against the thickly padded muscle of his shoulder. Screams and shouts erupted over the fire’s dragon voice, and people scattered in panic. The sound pounded at her ears and she screwed her eyes tight shut. She felt Luke’s hold on her tighten. ‘It’s okay, I’ve got you.’ In the odd timelessness of crisis, she recognised that he meant it. He wouldn’t let any harm come to her. She felt her laboured breathing ease a little. Then the wail of sirens split the air as rescue vehicles screamed to a halt around them and workers raced to attend the blazing car. It could have been seconds or minutes before they got the flames under control. Her perception of time was distorted by the unreality of the situation. But gradually the car was reduced to a smouldering wreck, emitting ribbons of yellow smoke which curled lazily into the air. Luke helped her to sit up. He looked pale but in better control than she felt. The back of his shirt was flecked with cinders but he shrugged off her concern. ‘What matters is that you’re all right.’ ‘Thanks to you—again,’ she acknowledged. His lopsided grin did strange things to her insides. ‘Glad to be of service. Were you rushing back to the studio with a hot story?’ He was trying to defuse the horror of what had just happened, she recognised. She shot a shaky glance at the still smoking car. ‘Not that hot, I hope. We’re on our way back from doing a solar energy story at a mud-brick community called Sunville.’ ‘In the Gold Coast Hinterland. I know it. It borders a property of mine.’ He frowned. ‘How will you get home from here?’ She grimaced. ‘I can’t even think about home until I’ve checked in with the studio. Luckily the camera crew weren’t involved, so I can hitch a ride with them.’ Was she imagining things or did he seem relieved that she wouldn’t need a lift home? She found the thought oddly disquieting. Already she found herself curiously reluctant to see him walk away. Whether it was the thought of him leaving her life as abruptly as he’d entered it or the sight of Rick walking towards her wielding his camera, she wasn’t sure. But she felt light-headed suddenly. She fought the sensation down. Automatically her hand went to the tangled mess of her hair. ‘Don’t look now, but here’s one of my crew now, and he’s got the camera turning. He must have decided we’re part of the story.’ Luke’s dark gaze flickered to the approaching cameraman. Then he looked around at the crowd pressing in on them from all sides. In seconds Rick would have them on film for that evening’s edition of Coast to Coast. ‘Do you want to have this on film?’ Luke asked her urgently. She shook her head. Her shoulder-length blonde curls were a mass of tangles, her skin felt gritty with cinders from the explosion and her clothes were torn and dirty. ‘Not looking like this.’ ‘Neither do I. So there’s only one solution.’ ‘What are you—?’ Before she could complete her question, his mouth fastened over hers. It was just as well he had consulted her, because resistance would have been futile. It would have been like wrestling with a brick wall resting on her chest. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked between breaths. ‘Giving you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation,’ he said, the same way. It was hard to speak when her mouth was being covered every few seconds by his. It was also unnerving to be kissed by a man who already set her senses on overdrive. Under other circumstances she could have managed to enjoy having his mouth covering hers. But these weren’t ordinary circumstances. ‘I know you don’t want Rick to film you, but is this really necessary?’ she asked. ‘Unless you have a better idea.’ The soft wind of his breath in her mouth and the warm, compelling feel of his lips moving over her own made thinking clearly next to impossible. She allowed her eyes to close but it was a mistake, serving to focus her awareness even more closely on her rescuer and his effect on her. Her senses reeled. She tried to blame the shock of the accident but knew it wasn’t the whole explanation. When she felt Luke relax, she opened her eyes cautiously, striving to sound more composed than she felt. ‘Do you think you put Rick off the idea of filming us?’ ‘I was a bit too busy to notice, but I think so. A studio isn’t likely to use footage of somebody being resuscitated. A bit too graphic for the evening news.’ ‘Let’s hope so,’ she said fervently. ‘In any case, our faces were well hidden, so you can relax. Your image is intact.’ And his privacy was assured, she thought. Well, the man had pulled her out of the wreckage, probably saving her life. If he didn’t want publicity, she wouldn’t force it on him. She owed him at least that much. He sat back on his heels. ‘When your cameraman saw me working on you, he went to fetch the paramedics. You should let them check you over. Nothing seems to be broken but your colour’s high and your breathing is a bit shallow.’ She was tempted to laugh. The symptoms he described hadn’t been present until he’d started ‘resuscitating’ her. What was going on here? Maybe she was shocky from the accident after all. ‘You could be right,’ she agreed. She closed her eyes again, trying to sort out her confused feelings. When she opened them a woman in ambulance uniform was bending over her. Luke was gone. ‘The man with me—did you see where he went?’ she asked tremulously as a sense of loss swept over her. Her fingers resting on Sarah’s pulse, the paramedic frowned. ‘You mean your friend with the camera? He’s over with the rest of your people.’ Had she dreamed Luke’s presence? It seemed impossible that a complete stranger could have made such an impact on her in a few minutes. What had he done besides take care of her—and kiss her senseless in the guise of first aid? A tremor shot through her and the paramedic looked concerned. ‘Are you cold?’ ‘I’m fine, honestly,’ she repeated, for what seemed like the dozenth time. She was still repeating it when Rick and the crew yielded to her request to be dropped off at a friend’s place on the Gold Coast. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ ‘The ambulance people checked me over and everything’s working perfectly,’ she insisted. Everything except possibly her common sense. Why else was she so anxious to track down a man she’d never seen before today? Yet something drove her to try, even if it proved hopeless. ‘I’ll join you at the studio as soon as I take care of a personal problem,’ she promised, waving the crew away. She stood outside her friend’s office, gathering her thoughts. If anyone could help her find out more about her mysterious, camera-shy rescuer, it was Kitty Sale. Kitty ran the most successful photo library on the coast and had supplied Sarah with more useful information than she could remember. ‘You realise he could be passing through? He may not even live in Australia,’ Kitty pointed out over herbal tea when Sarah had finished relating the afternoon’s adventure. Sarah sighed. ‘I know. I have so little to go on. But I must find him and thank him for pulling me out of the car. He probably saved my life.’ Kitty regarded her shrewdly. ‘All you want to do is thank him?’ ‘Well, maybe a bit more than that.’ She set the cup of chamomile tea down on a side-table. ‘All right, he intrigues me.’ Kitty’s eyebrow lifted. ‘Personally or professionally?’ Sarah hesitated. She’d been telling herself that her interest in Luke was professional, but in the instant she opened her mouth to tell Kitty so she knew it wasn’t the whole story. ‘Probably both.’ ‘At least you’re honest. He sounds worth the effort—although your description could fit a dozen dark-haired hunks on the Gold Coast.’ ‘All called Luke?’ ‘If it’s his real name.’ Sarah pressed her fingers to her temples. Her head ached, thanks to the accident, making it hard to think clearly. Then she remembered something more. ‘His hair is unusual,’ she said, without opening her eyes. ‘He has a streak of silver at each temple.’ When she opened her eyes, Kitty was grinning. ‘Silver streaks, huh? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?’ She dived for her voluminous photo catalogues, shuffling through files until she located a brown envelope. With a flourish, she pulled out a glossy photo of a man in sleek black and gold racing leathers. ‘Is this him?’ Sarah’s heart missed a beat as she took the photo from Kitty. The midnight eyes seemed to lock with hers as she studied the craggy face above the leather outfit. It was Luke. He cradled a full-face helmet in one arm and stood, with legs braced wide apart, alongside something that looked more like a silver bullet than a car. The power and purpose she’d sensed emanating from him suddenly clicked into place. Her throat dried. ‘Yes, it’s him.’ ‘I knew it. As soon as you mentioned the silver streaks. They are . . . were . . . his trademark. He’s Luke Ansfield and those same streaks earned him the nickname “Lightning”. He used to be the top Formula One racing driver—five times world champion, if I recall correctly.’ Sarah resisted the urge to hold the photo close against herself, hardly daring to examine her motives. The man had saved her life. She shouldn’t read more into this than there was. All the same she heard herself ask Kitty, ‘Can I keep this for a while?’ Kitty nodded. ‘What are friends for? When you return it, make sure you put his phone number on the back.’ Something sharp stabbed Sarah, yet she had no claim on Luke Ansfield. She had no reason to react so strongly to Kitty’s suggestion. She made herself laugh. ‘What happened to Jeff, the one who jumps out of helicopters?’ ‘He only did it once, to get an award-winning aerial photo. In any case, I’m involved with Kevin now. He’s a cinematographer at the film studios.’ This time Sarah’s laugh was genuine. ‘Ian, then Jeff and now Kevin. Still working your way through the alphabet?’ Kitty grinned. ‘Maybe. And you know what comes after K? L—as in Luke.’ ‘Remember what you told me. He may not even live on the coast.’ ‘Neither did Jeff or Kevin. It doesn’t have to be a handicap—especially at the speed a man like Luke moves.’ Surprise jolted through Sarah, but Kitty was referring to Luke’s racing career, not to what had happened on the highway earlier. Still, the comment had hit so close to home that Sarah shuddered. ‘He used to have a pretty wild reputation,’ Kitty went on. ‘He’s supposed to have settled down after he got into some trouble in Europe—enough to make him give up racing, since he came back to Australia four years ago. So it might pay you to be a bit cautious.’ Kitty meant well, Sarah knew. But she sensed that nothing Luke could have done could be so terrible. But it had made him give up a sport he loved. She chewed her lower lip. ‘How do you know so much?’ she asked Kitty. ‘Gavin, who came before Hedley, was a pit-man on the Grand Prix circuit. When we were together I spent some time trackside. How do you think I got that shot of Luke?’ Sarah nodded. ‘I’m glad you did.’ ‘What will you do now? Use your journalistic skills to track your hero down?’ ‘You never know.’ Sarah looked at her watch and started. ‘But not right now. I was due in make-up half an hour ago.’ Throwing her thanks over her shoulder, she flew out of the building and hailed a taxi to take her to the studio. Donna Blake, the producer of Coast to Coast, was tearing her hair out. ‘Didn’t the guys tell you about the accident?’ Sarah asked, allaying the woman’s censure. Immediately the producer looked concerned. ‘You went to a doctor?’ Sarah squirmed uncomfortably. ‘Not exactly. But the delay did involve the accident.’ It was the truth, Sarah told herself. The producer looked severe. ‘Sarah, the contest for the job of permanent anchor on this show is down to you and Richard Nero. Unless you buckle down and work like mad, you’re practically handing him the job.’ Sarah was only too aware of it. ‘Sometimes I feel like making him a present of it,’ she retorted. But it wasn’t entirely true. The anchor job on Coast to Coast would be the culmination of years of commitment and hard work on her part. Starting as a newspaper journalist, she’d progressed to on-air reporter, occasionally filling in as anchor when the show’s regular front-person, Angela Fordham, was on holidays. Angela had been head-hunted by a national network six months before. Since then, the anchor job had been shared between Sarah and Richard Nero. The two of them spent alternate weeks in the job while management and the ratings made the decision. So far Sarah felt she was ahead on points, but it was no reason to be complacent. Office gossip had it that management favoured a male presenter, although they couldn’t admit to any such thing, and Richard’s main strength lay in his ability to play corporate politics, which Sarah hated. Somehow she managed to get through the show, reading the solar energy story from the autocue over the film they’d taken that morning at the Hinterland community. The final story was almost her undoing. One of the roving reporters threw to a late story and suddenly Sarah’s monitor showed the film Rick had taken at the scene of the accident. It was a shock to see film of herself lying on the ground, intercut with shots of the mangled car, and also to see Luke’s powerfully male form bending over her, his lips pressed to hers in the so-called ‘kiss of life. Her heart sank. So much for Luke’s belief that the studio wouldn’t screen such a traumatic moment. He had reckoned without the news value of his ‘patient’. Her face was white beneath the studio make-up by the time they cut back to her for her closing remarks. For the life of her, she couldn’t recall what she said, although it must have been acceptable because nobody commented once the on-air light went out and everyone relaxed. The producer came up to her. ‘You looked pale when we did the accident story. Brought it all back, huh?’ It had, but not for the reason Donna suspected. ‘Yes, it did,’ she admitted, disturbed to hear how shaky she sounded. ‘Just as well Richard’s in the chair tomorrow,’ the producer commented. ‘Go home and get some rest. You look like you need it.’ She went home, but she was much too keyed-up to rest. She had vowed not to look at the videotape of the show she automatically recorded every day. But, as if in a dream, she found herself replaying the accident segment, freezing the tape when the camera lens closed on Luke’s broad back. His face wasn’t visible, as he’d ensured, but she felt a sudden strange longing to reach out a hand and run it across those corded muscles. She already knew how it felt to be kissed by him. What would it be like if there was genuine passion in the kiss? Hold it, she told herself, drawing a deep breath. What did she know about the man—other than his name and occupation, and Kitty’s suggestion that there had been some scandal attached to his departure from motor racing? And the fact that he excited her beyond anything she’d ever experienced before. Minutes later she was seated at her computer, fingers flying over the keyboard as she chased any remnant of information about the mysterious Luke Ansfield. He had said he owned property near the solar energy community, so she started by accessing council records of neighbouring landholders. Most of the names were familiar, from various news stories or local events, but one very large property was registered in the name of a holding company whose name she didn’t recognise. She would bet her last dollar that company was owned by Luke Ansfield. Noting the address, she made an effort to suppress her rising excitement and get at least a few hours’ sleep. Tomorrow she would go in search of her reticent rescuer. By morning her certainty had receded a little. What if he did own the land but didn’t welcome visitors? She considered telephoning ahead but rejected the idea. If she turned up unannounced, he could hardly tell her not to come. Having covered the Sunville story, she knew the area in the Gold Coast Hinterland where the property was located. The narrow road wound through the foothills near Nerang to the Beechmont Plateau. Around her, rolling green slopes were dotted with beef cattle farms. She kept her pace slow and her eyes open for horseback riders. One accident for the week was quite enough. The turn-off to Luke’s land was so overgrown that she almost missed it. She wasn’t sure whether she’d expected high wrought-iron gates and electric fences, but it certainly hadn’t been the inconspicuous post-and-rail entry that she found. A small sign identified the property as Hilltop. If you wanted to be discreet this was a good way to go about it, she thought, although the deeply rutted dirt track winding up the face of an almost vertical mountain seemed like overkill. She had just about given up on reaching any human habitation when the road opened onto a clearing among the forest trees. In the centre was a colonial-style house of substantial proportions. Care had been taken to incorporate traditional materials and colours. The building had wide verandahs surrounding its U-shaped design. What looked like a natural rock-pool, but probably wasn’t, served as a swimming pool off to one side of the clearing. Picturesque was the first word which sprang to Sarah’s mind. At least here was a residence befitting Luke Ansfield’s status, she thought, feeling her spirits lift. She had begun to have serious doubts after traversing that daunting driveway. Fresh doubts assailed her as she spotted a man polishing a jade-green Branxton cabriolet. Just the sort of car she’d imagined Luke Ansfield driving, but the man working on it wasn’t Luke. The man met her halfway from her car. ‘Are you lost?’ Her reflection stared disconcertingly back at her from the car’s glossy finish. She looked away. ‘Is this your place?’ The man’s face hardened slightly as he sensed her evasion. ‘I live here, yes.’ Sarah also had an instinct for evasiveness. He hadn’t exactly answered her question. She took the plunge. ‘I’m looking for Luke Ansfield.’ The man frowned. ‘What makes you think he’s here?’ ‘It is his property, isn’t it?’ she persisted. The man dropped the chamois leather he was wielding and came closer. ‘I think you’d better leave.’ ‘It’s all right, Glen. You could say I was expecting her.’ At the sound of his voice a strange sensation wound along her spine, all the way to the soles of her feet. Luke Ansfield was her rescuer. She would recognise that deeply resonant voice anywhere. She spun around. ‘Hello, Luke. I came to the right place after all.’ His midnight-blue eyes were masked behind dark glasses and his mouth tightened. ‘I had no doubt that you would, Ms Fox.’ ‘It was Sarah yesterday.’ Damn, why was her voice so husky all of a sudden? She’d interviewed royalty without such a betraying effect. He gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘Yesterday I didn’t know who you were until I pulled you out of that crumpled car.’ ‘You mean, if you’d known you’d have let the car blow up and take me with it?’ ‘Hardly. What do you want, Sarah?’ It was progress of a sort, but his tone was hardly encouraging. She was also aware of the man, Glen, leaning against the Branxton, absorbing every word. Who was he—assistant, bodyguard? Both? ‘I wanted to thank you for saving my life,’ she offered. ‘You thanked me yesterday.’ ‘Well, I...didn’t know who you were then.’ A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘Does it make a difference?’ She threw caution to the wind. ‘You kissed me yesterday. It’s at least worth an introduction.’ He looked as if keeping his temper in check was requiring considerable effort, but he said, ‘Come inside.’ To the other man, he said, ‘No need to loose the dogs yet, Glen.’ Following him inside, she flicked a nervous glance over her shoulder. ‘Dogs?’ ‘Guard dogs,’ he supplied, confirming her fears. ‘Between Glen and the Dobermanns, I’m well protected up here.’ Well protected from what? Or from whom? Fans from his racing days, or the problem in his past Kitty had alluded to? Either way, Sarah was grateful Luke wasn’t making any moves to set Glen or the dogs onto her yet. As he strode ahead of her into the house she again became aware of his sheer physical presence. Yesterday she’d put his startling impact down to the shock of the accident. But what was today’s excuse? She made herself focus on the imposing kitchen into which he led her. It seemed to be the hub of the house, judging by the vast colonial table which was strewn with papers and a state-of-the-art laptop computer. Dog toys on the floor reminded her uncomfortably of the absent Dobermanns, and the sheer size of a chewed wicker basket made her gulp in dismay. She brought her gaze back to Luke himself. ‘Coffee?’ he asked, and when she nodded, he began setting up a plunger coffee-maker. His movements were assured, economical and definitely sexy. A man who elevated coffee-making to an art form, she thought with a start. In an amazingly short space of time he set before her a cup of the most delicious coffee. ‘My own blend,’ he told her when she said so. She looked around the beautifully appointed kitchen and into the comfortable luxury of the house she could glimpse beyond it. ‘This is a lovely home. Do you live here all the time?’ Tension radiated visibly along his broad shoulders. ‘Is this an interview?’ The sheer mystery of the man had aroused her reporter’s instincts, but she’d resisted the temptation, knowing her interest in him was much more personal. Since she didn’t want to admit as much, she said, ‘It is news, yes. When the Coast to Coast audience finds out who my knight in shining armour turned out to be—’ ‘They aren’t going to.’ His furious denial cut across her so abruptly that she spilled coffee into the saucer. ‘I beg your pardon?’ ‘I said they won’t find out because you are not going to tell them.’ She’d known he was camera-shy but this was totally unexpected. ‘Surely your neighbours know who you are? Your face isn’t exactly unknown.’ ‘My neighbours mind their own business, as I would prefer you to do,’ he stated, in a tone which suggested she would do well to co-operate. ‘These days I’m an ordinary man living an ordinary life, and I value my privacy highly. I would have thought that message came across clearly enough yesterday.’ She felt her face flood with colour. ‘You made your point very successfully.’ He moved closer and her pulses began to race afresh. ‘I could make it again, just so we understand each other.’ She didn’t understand anything, least of all him. All she knew was that the closer he came the warmer the room suddenly became. When his arms slid around her, she held her breath. There was no camera, no reason to let him kiss her, yet she knew as surely as she knew her own name that she was going to allow it. Her heart thudded as he lowered his mouth to hers. When his eyes locked with her startled gaze, the air seemed charged between them. Her thoughts rioted. What was it about Luke Ansfield that practically bewitched her in his presence? Whatever it was, it was powerful. Though his kiss was light, almost teasing, daring her to pull away, she could no more have done that than she could have flown. Instead, she felt an urge to rest her head against his chest and let his strong arms enfold her, shutting out the world as he had shut out the blast from her car yesterday. He stepped away from her before she could do anything so betraying. She released the breath she had been unaware she was holding. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Mr Ansfield.’ If he heard the tremor in her voice, he ignored it. ‘Then you’ll do what I ask?’ ‘Well, you did save my life,’ she said diffidently. When their eyes met, she was surprised to see something very like appreciation in his sea-dark gaze. ‘It was worth saving.’ She looked quickly away. ‘Why is it so important to you not to be recognised?’ ‘Isn’t it enough that it is?’ Her silence was a high price to pay for what he had done, but it was equally obvious that it was his price. How could she refuse? To her astonishment, she realised it was also what she wanted to do, which was against all her professional instincts and training. What was happening to her? With a reluctance which didn’t bear close scrutiny, she stood up. ‘Very well, I’ll respect your privacy. I owe you at least that much.’ His gaze remained on her. ‘Do I have your word?’ It was her turn to bristle with annoyance. ‘I’ve said I’ll keep your secret and I will,’ she snapped. ‘So there’s no need to set your dogs onto me.’ He ignored the taunt. ‘I’ll show you to your car.’ Her nerves leapt. She told herself it was the prospect of encountering the guard dogs. It couldn’t have anything to do with Luke’s presence at her side, could it? CHAPTER TWO A WEEK later, Sarah joined Kitty for cappuccino at the Oasis on Broadbeach. Aware of the curious glances they were receiving, she tried to ignore them. It was part and parcel of having your face on television every other week. Kitty leaned closer. ‘Have the powers-that-be decided on a permanent anchor for Coast to Coast yet?’ Sarah played with the froth on her coffee. ‘Richard seems to have the inside running, simply because he happens to be male. If only I could come up with a real attention-grabber of a story.’ Kitty grinned. ‘I can think of one.’ ‘You mean Luke Ansfield?’ Sarah shook her head fiercely. ‘I gave him my word I wouldn’t mention that he was the man who rescued me.’ ‘What if it comes down to Luke’s privacy or your job?’ Sarah shook her hair back. ‘I wish you wouldn’t ask awkward questions, Kit. Maybe I’m not much of a journalist if my word means more to me than a story, but I only know it does.’ A Ulysses butterfly hovered over the table and Kitty watched it before she said, ‘What about Luke himself? What does he mean to you?’ Sarah started so forcefully that the butterfly swooped away. ‘He doesn’t mean anything to me. We’ve only met twice, and one of those times I was in no condition to appreciate the experience.’ Kitty nodded sagely. ‘You were so much in shock you made a beeline for my office to find out who he was.’ ‘All right, he made an impact. But he hasn’t called me since I went to his place to thank him.’ Cradling her cup in both hands, Kitty met Sarah’s eyes. ‘Do you want him to call?’ ‘Of course not . . . Well, maybe.’ Yes, definitely, sang an inner voice so loudly that it was a wonder Kitty didn’t hear it. Sarah had hoped that Luke would contact her. She hadn’t misread the sparks which had charged the air between them. It was a stronger feeling than anything she’d ever know. His role in rescuing her didn’t begin to account for it. He didn’t have her telephone number but he could easily have reached her at the studio. His silence rankled more than she cared to admit, even to her best friend. Kitty startled her by slamming the cup down hard on the mesh tabletop. ‘For goodness’ sake, woman. Move into the present. You don’t have to wait by the phone any more. What’s stopping you from calling him?’ Kitty was right, and Sarah had asked men out on occasion. But with Luke it was different. It wasn’t that she thought he would object to her calling so much as fear that he didn’t want to hear from her at all. As long as she did nothing, there was still a chance he would get in touch. She was interrupted by a middle-aged couple, tourists judging by their cameras and travel company hand luggage, asking for her autograph. She gave it with a smile, earning their gratitude. ‘Wait till we tell our daughter. She lives up here,’ the woman explained. They left and Sarah released a pent-up breath. ‘I still don’t understand why Luke hides away in the Hinterland. I know that public attention can be difficult, but there must be more to his decision.’ Kitty shrugged. ‘I only know there was something in his past which made him want to escape the limelight. Maybe he just got tired of the adulation.’ She grinned. ‘You must be the only woman for miles who wouldn’t recognise him on sight.’ ‘Motor racing was never my sport,’ Sarah said. ‘He looked familiar, but I was too groggy from the accident to wonder why. So many people look familiar to me in my job; it didn’t strike me as unusual.’ ‘But they don’t all knock you for a loop,’ Kitty said with a smile. ‘Admit it, Sarah, he got to you.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Not surprisingly. Having the kiss of life performed on you by Luke Ansfield would bowl any woman over.’ ‘He did not bowl me over,’ Sarah insisted with less than total honesty. ‘Why are we having this conversation anyway? I’ll probably never hear from the man again.’ She should have known better than to tempt fate when a low voice said close beside her, ‘Good morning, Sarah.’ Her throat dried and it was all she could do to summon the one word. ‘Luke.’ ‘We were just talking about you,’ her friend said, earning a sharp kick under the table. ‘Luke Ansfield, this is Kitty Sale. Kitty runs a photo library,’ Sarah explained. He regarded Kitty with interest. ‘Haven’t we met before?’ Kitty nodded. ‘I’m amazed you remember. I used to date Gavin Corcoran who was . . . ’ ‘One of the pit crew when I raced with Team Branxton,’ he supplied. ‘Do you still see Gavin?’ ‘We broke up a couple of years ago. I’m kind of available right now.’ Sarah wanted to kill her friend there and then, until she saw what Kitty was up to. Well, it wasn’t going to work. She didn’t know Luke well enough to care whom he dated. Nor was she likely to reach that exalted state. He was already making restless moves. ‘Nice seeing you again, Sarah—Kitty.’ ‘Join us for coffee,’ Kitty invited. He seemed about to refuse until she added, ‘I have to go, but Sarah would be glad of the company.’ Yes, she would definitely have to kill Kitty later. What was the matter with the woman? Matchmaking wasn’t usually her style, unless it was on her own account. ‘You said you weren’t busy this morning,’ she hissed. ‘Just remembered an urgent job,’ Kitty said cheerfully, picking up her satchel. ‘See you two later. Have fun.’ Have fun, indeed. A panicky sensation gripped Sarah as Luke slid into Kitty’s vacant chair and signalled the waiter to bring more coffee. He ordered his long and black, she noticed, with the odd awareness she seemed to be developing about him. Small things, such as the way his dark chest hair curled invitingly around the open neck of his polo shirt, seemed to leap out at her unbidden. ‘You don’t have to keep me company if you have other things you’d rather be doing,’ she offered around the tightness constricting her throat. ‘If I had other things to do, rest assured I’d be doing them,’ he stated. ‘Right now, this has a lot of appeal.’ ‘It is a lovely day,’ she agreed, choosing to misunderstand. He was only being polite, she assumed. His eyes rested on her, their sea-depths compelling in the sparkling Broadbeach sunshine. ‘Beautiful,’ he said, in a deep voice redolent with double meanings. He took a sip of coffee, and the way the steam curled around his sensuously full upper lip hammered through that strange awareness. ‘What are you doing in Broadbeach?’ she asked, finding her tongue at last. ‘I had business in town,’ he said dismissively. ‘Are you fully recovered from the accident?’ She frowned. Was she ever going to get a direct answer from this man? ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she said tautly. ‘The studio wasn’t thrilled about their car, though, and I’m stuck using cabs until they get around to giving me a new one.’ Thinking of the accident reminded her of her amazingly lucky escape. If Luke hadn’t pulled her clear . . . ‘You’re alive, that’s the main thing,’ he said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Thanks to you. Of all people, you knew the risk of the car exploding, but you didn’t hesitate.’ It was the first time anyone had risked their life for her. ‘Anyone would have done the same,’ he insisted. ‘But they didn’t.’ She gathered her courage in both hands. ‘Why didn’t you want your face seen on television? Was it something to do with why you gave up racing?’ ‘Maybe I’ve had enough of celebrity,’ he said, although she felt certain it wasn’t the whole answer. The feeling nagged at her, but he deflected it by asking, ‘Doesn’t it bother you to have people stare at you wherever you go?’ She glanced down at the table. ‘It’s part of the job,’ she said, disliking the defensive note which had crept into her tone. He gave her a studied look. ‘You enjoy it, don’t you?’ She tossed her hair back, meeting his gaze defiantly. ‘I worked damned hard to get where I am now. Why shouldn’t I enjoy it?’ He drained his cup. ‘You’re right. There’s no reason you shouldn’t enjoy it—for now. But when you find you can’t go anywhere or do anything without attracting attention, and it becomes impossible to tell if your friends like you for yourself or your celebrity, then tell me how enjoyable you find it. I have to go. Nice seeing you again, Sarah.’ A knife-life sensation stabbed through her. He was about to walk out of her life as swiftly as he’d entered it, and every fibre of her being shrieked a protest. Without thinking, she said, ‘Don’t go, please. At least not like this.’ ‘Believe me, Sarah, it’s better if I do.’ ‘Better for whom—you?’ It was said so bitterly that a flame ignited behind his dark eyes. He raked a hand through his hair and the silver streaks glinted in the sunlight before he smoothed them down again. ‘I’m thinking of you, Sarah, not myself. You’re correct; you do have a right to enjoy your hard-earned fame. My opinion on the subject shouldn’t influence you.’ She managed a shaky laugh. ‘I think we just had our first fight.’ After a moment’s pause, he laughed too. The sound was unexpectedly warm, diffusing some of the tension radiating out of him. ‘It probably means we’re engaged,’ he said. A strange thrill shot through her, setting thousands of nerve-endings on fire. It took every bit of self-control she possessed to match his jocular tone. ‘Let’s see, we’ve kissed—in the line of duty, of course—we’ve shared coffee, and now we’ve had a minor disagreement. These days that practically constitutes a relationship.’ He regarded her gravely. ‘I can hardly walk out on such a long-standing relationship, can I? Have you had lunch yet?’ She glanced at her watch. It was well past noon. ‘I’ll have to do something about it soon. I’m due at the studio at two.’ ‘Your show isn’t on air until tonight,’ he said. ‘But there are promos—promotional commercials—to be recorded, stories to edit and scripts to write,’ she pointed out, adding with a sigh, ‘You aren’t the first person to think that just because the show lasts an hour I work only an hour a day.’ ‘I’ve had enough contact with the media not to make that mistake,’ he assured her. ‘But I thought Richard Nero was tonight’s presenter. I gather you take turns.’ It thrilled her much more than it should have to think he kept up to date on her career. It was common enough knowledge, and probably meant nothing, but for some reason the discovery pleased her. ‘Tonight’s show is part of a charity fund-raising telethon, so we’re doing it together for once,’ she explained. ‘You don’t relish the experience?’ She looked away. ‘I can’t stand the man. He wants the job of permanent anchor and will do anything to get it.’ ‘And you?’ She felt herself flushing. Surely he didn’t think she was as ruthlessly ambitious as Richard Nero? ‘I want it,’ she admitted frankly. ‘But I’d rather win it on merit than play corporate politics to achieve it.’ ‘You don’t think Nero has merit?’ ‘Of course he does. But ethics should play a part in getting stories.’ ‘Then it’s just as well it was you and not Richard Nero I pulled out of the car,’ Luke observed. She couldn’t help smiling. ‘Would you have given the kiss of life to Richard so readily?’ His assessing gaze lingered on her face. ‘Let’s say it wouldn’t have been so . . . pleasurable.’ There was a wealth of meaning in the way he said the word. He knew, she thought as warmth pervaded her limbs. He knew exactly his effect on her from the moment his mouth had touched hers. She felt the blood scorch her face and wished for a concealing layer of television make-up. As it was, she wore almost none when she wasn’t working, so her discomfiture blazed like a beacon for him to see. ‘Sarah?’ he queried softly. ‘I . . . uh . . . let’s have lunch,’ she said, taking refuge behind the caf?’s menu. For a small beachfront establishment, it boasted an amazingly large menu—for which she was grateful as she hid behind it. From her hiding place she heard the throaty growl of his laughter. The wretched man was mocking her. She lowered the menu, her eyes flashing fury at him. ‘What’s so funny?’ ‘You,’ he said pointedly. ‘The case-hardened TV reporter can still blush. It’s quite a contrast.’ ‘I’m not blushing,’ she denied fiercely. ‘It’s the sun. It’s...’ ‘The sun,’ he echoed flatly. ‘Not the thought of me holding you, kissing you, breathing into that delectable mouth of yours.’ ‘Stop it,’ she hissed, looking around to be sure no one could hear him. It would be all over the local newspapers next day. Luckily there was no one close enough to eavesdrop. ‘If you recall, I did you a favour, helping you conceal your identity from the cameras. I could have screamed the place down, you know.’ He steepled his hands on the table in front of him. ‘Why didn’t you scream?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Yes, you do. You enjoyed it. Both times. And now you’re wondering how soon we can do it again—preferably without having to write off a couple of vehicles first.’ She felt her eyes widening. ‘You’re unbelievable. You don’t, by any chance, subscribe to the theory that a life you save becomes yours, do you?’ ‘It would never occur to me,’ he said mildly. ‘But you didn’t answer my question. Do you want to repeat the experience, Sarah?’ Confusion rocketed through her. Now that he was actually asking if she wanted to see him again, she wasn’t sure of the answer herself. He had haunted her thoughts ever since he’d pulled her from the wreckage, but they were poles apart in beliefs and value systems. ‘I thought you hated the limelight,’ she said, avoiding a direct answer. ‘This has nothing to do with limelight. I want a place in your life, not on your show.’ She drew a taut breath. ‘My show and my life are pretty much intertwined.’ ‘They don’t have to be.’ He took the menu from her hands and set it to one side. ‘You’re more than your work, Sarah. Once, I believed I was nothing unless I was in the cockpit of a Formula One car, beating the field at San Merino. Four years off the circuit, living an ordinary life, has shown me it isn’t true. Your own valuation of yourself is what counts, not world championships or the centre seat on some television show.’ ‘Tell that to my parents,’ she said sourly. ‘For the first time in my life they’re actually proud of me, because I’m doing this job.’ He gestured dismissively. ‘Then more fool them. They should have been proud of you the moment they set eyes on you, just for being you.’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘It’s a nice theory. But when you have sisters like mine you need a lot more to hold your own in the family. My sister, Leanne, is a top model, and Isabel, the oldest, is the new political wunderkind in Canberra.’ He nodded, recognising the names. ‘So you have a super-model and possibly Australia’s first woman prime minister in the family. So what?’ ‘So the only way I can keep up is to get this job,’ she said, recognising the note of despair in her voice. ‘Haven’t you ever wanted something so much you could practically taste it?’ A tightness gripped his features. ‘You obviously know little about the Grand Prix circuit or you wouldn’t need to ask. The world championship is a heady prize, no matter how many times you win it. The point is, I went after it for my own reasons, not to prove my worth to anyone. Your worth as a person is a given, Sarah, not something you need to earn.’ She sighed. ‘Intellectually, I know you’re right. The problem is remembering it when I’m around my family.’ In the last few minutes she had told him more about herself than she usually told anyone, she thought with astonishment. It was just as well he spurned the headlines. He could have a field day with her confession if he chose. Instinctively, she knew he wouldn’t, but it didn’t stop her feeling embarrassed as she thought of how much of herself she had revealed to a man she barely knew. Except that she did know him, she thought in amazement. Maybe there was some truth in the idea that there are no strangers in the world. Kitty believed that it was no accident who sat next to you in a crowd, that you had probably been close to them in an earlier life. Sarah wasn’t sure she agreed, although she was in no position to argue, but there was no denying that being with Luke felt oddly right—as if they did, indeed, have a long history behind them. At the same time she realised he had revealed almost nothing significant about himself. ‘What do you do now you’re not racing?’ she asked. He frowned. ‘Do I have to do anything? Of course—your yardstick for acceptability. Very well, I’m a consultant on computerised car design to several international companies.’ His answer felt like a rebuke, as he’d probably intended. She felt renewed stirrings of uncertainty. They saw life very differently. Was the attraction between them, however magnetic, enough of a counterbalance? ‘Yes,’ she said decisively, out loud. The sea-dark eyes held hers until she had to fight a sensation like drowning. ‘Yes?’ he queried. ‘You asked me a question. The answer is yes.’ He chose to misunderstand. ‘Yes to what?’ Damn him. She felt another blush starting and fought it. ‘Yes, I’d like to repeat the experience,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘Yes, I want to see you again. Are you satisfied?’ He took his time responding. ‘Not yet, but I’ve no doubt I will be. And so, my dear Sarah, will you. I’ll collect you from the studio after you finish work.’ She should have been annoyed at his assumption that she had no other man waiting for her. Instead she felt a disturbing sense of exhilaration at the thought of walking out of the studio to find him waiting. Under the table she felt his knee nudge hers. It was a casual, almost accidental touch, but it sent a tremor all the way along her spine. She had a feeling tonight’s show was going to seem endless. CHAPTER THREE AFTER lunch Luke insisted on driving Sarah to the studio, although she protested that she could take a taxi. ‘I’ve already taken up enough of your day.’ ‘Will you stop organising my time for me?’ he said, a steely undercurrent in his voice. ‘If I want to spend an entire day ferrying you around the Gold Coast, it’s my choice to make.’ His authoritative tone met the tiniest resistance. She didn’t need him taking care of her, but at the same time his willingness to sacrifice his time to her needs brought an unwonted thrill of pleasure. No one had done that before, even men who’d sworn they were madly in love with her. She’d still been expected to fit in with their needs and schedules. It was almost too good to be true. Was it too good to be true? Her hand froze on the car door and she looked at him. ‘Tell me one thing, Luke.’ ‘What is it?’ ‘Why aren’t you married?’ A vision of his assistant, Glen, working on this very car, flashed into her mind. Oh, no, surely Luke wasn’t...? There was an icy pause. ‘Not for the reason you’re evidently thinking, so you can retract that journalistic antenna right now.’ He slid into the driver’s seat and leaned across to open her door. She almost collapsed into the passenger seat. ‘I wasn’t implying . . . ’ ‘Yes, you were,’ he snapped. ‘Although you have no basis for it. If you must know, I was engaged to be married but a lot of things went tragically wrong. I decided I was better off alone.’ Was this the trouble which had driven him out of competitive racing? ‘What happened?’ she asked. He eased the powerful car into the stream of traffic heading north along the highway. Without taking his eyes off the road, he said, ‘It’s a long story and not very pretty. Besides, I could ask you the same question.’ Clearly he wasn’t about to say anything more until he was ready. She wondered if that moment would ever come. Biting back her disappointment, she asked, ‘What question?’ ‘Why isn’t there a man in your life?’ ‘There was someone until recently,’ she admitted, determined to be more forthcoming with him than he was being with her. ‘What went wrong?’ ‘He couldn’t handle the publicity that comes with my job. Being called by my surname was the last straw.’ ‘So now you’re wedded to your career?’ His choice of words rankled. ‘Just because you walked out on a successful career it doesn’t mean we all have to.’ A muscle worked along his jaw and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. ‘Thank you for the reminder.’ Desolation assailed her. She was allowing annoyance at being excluded from this part of his life to rule her tongue. It was so unlike her that she blanched and rested a hand on his arm. The muscles rippled under her fingers and she swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.’ His sigh gusted between them. ‘No, I’m the one who’s overreacting. You’re entitled to your opinion.’ But it was a further reminder that he didn’t share it, she thought uncomfortably. Would he change his mind about seeing her tonight? How would she feel if so? ‘What time shall I pick you up?’ he asked, forestalling her concern. As she named a time her heart did a curious somersault. It turned into a full-blown circus when he leaned across to open her door from the inside. Then he cupped her face and turned her to align her mouth with his, kissing her gently, but with lingering promise. As he drew his lips away he slid a thumb caressingly down the side of her face. ‘Until tonight.’ ‘Tonight,’ she echoed, her voice husky. Suddenly what was in his past seemed to matter a lot less than what might be in their future. It was an effort to keep her back turned and walk into the studio. Watching him drive away would have been too much of a give-away for both of them. Because of the telethon, the studio was crowded. The usually quiet set where she prepared her segments was flooded with light and activity. The red on-air light flashed over the door, warning her to enter on tiptoe. She waved a silent greeting to the floor crew as she made her way behind the heavy backdrop curtains and up the stairs to her dressing room. This room was also occupied by telethon performers, who apologised cheerfully as she backed out again. The only remaining refuge was the make-up room, so she spent the afternoon there, making notes and plans for the evening. Half an hour before airtime, Richard Nero dropped into a chair alongside her. ‘It’s bedlam around here today,’ he complained. ‘At least you didn’t lose your dressing room.’ Why had he been spared? she wondered. Unless management was sending her a message about the anchor position. She searched Richard’s face for clues, but he was always so insufferably smug that his expression told her nothing new. She indicated the evening’s running sheet. ‘What’s this segment marked “to be confirmed”?’ He avoided her eyes. ‘It’s a late-breaking story I’m working on.’ ‘What about?’ One of the make-up people shrouded Richard in a cape and he shrugged, indicating his helplessness. Her anger rose. How long would it take for him to answer her? But he closed his eyes and the make-up artist went to work, ending any further conversation. Two could play this game. She sat back and closed her eyes, willing her taut body to relax as a make-up artist began to apply the heavy television make-up. Whatever Richard had in mind was bound to enhance his image in the eyes of the powers-that-be. She only hoped it wouldn’t have the opposite effect on her image. Do you really care? The question seeped into her mind and she gave a start, earning a reproving mutter from the make-up artist. ‘sorry,’ she murmured, and tried again to relax. Luke had planted the question in her mind, she knew. He was the one avoiding the limelight, implying that enjoying her fame was some sort of character flaw. She didn’t agree, did she? If so, she was in the wrong business. Damn him for sowing such doubts in her mind. Except that damning him wasn’t as easy as it should have been. Instead of the expected censure, she felt anticipation at the prospect of seeing him after the show. What then? Maybe she’d invite him home for coffee after dinner. She lived at Mermaid Beach, a few minutes’ drive from the studio. It was a glorious evening. They could meander out onto the terrace overlooking the phosphorescent ocean. How long was it since she’d invited a man to her home? Since she’d started appearing on television regularly it was more a case of keeping them from following her home. Luke was different. ‘I want a place in your life, not on your show,’ he’d said, sounding as if he meant it. Her eyes widened. He was the first man—the first person—in years to appreciate her for herself, not for what she did. ‘Sarah, please!’ The make-up woman’s cry of frustration jolted Sarah back to reality. She’d opened her eyes as the eyeshadow was being applied. She schooled herself to behave, and the job was finished moments later. As she climbed out of the chair she flashed an apologetic smile at the make-up artist. ‘Things on my mind today.’ Understatement of the week, she thought as she made her way to the studio. Richard was already on the set—in the right-hand seat she normally occupied. His grin dared her to complain. Somehow Luke was in her mind again, giving her his rare sense of perspective—rare in this business, anyway. She smiled and took the left-hand chair, enjoying Richard’s look of surprise. Maybe he’d hoped to provoke a row on the set to make her look bad. It wasn’t going to work. Well, not today. Today she had a guardian angel looking over her shoulder, counselling her. She had a suspicion his name was Luke Ansfield. It was just as well. Since they rarely worked on-camera together, Richard made the most of every opportunity to upstage her. He stepped on her lines, read the autocue out of order, forcing her to improvise, and ad-libbed jokes which brought the camera back to him, as designed. After forty-five minutes of this, Sarah was ready to scream. It took all the professionalism she possessed to keep smiling and treating Richard as her on-screen buddy. Only thinking of her date with Luke kept her on an even keel. Richard seemed disappointed by the failure of his efforts to provoke her. During a commercial break before the final segment, he said, ‘You should enjoy the last story, Sarah. In fact, you should have written it.’ Before she could ask what he meant, the floor manager counted them out of the break. As Richard’s opening remarks scrolled up the autocue, a leaden sensation invaded Sarah. Oh, no, he couldn’t do this to her. But he had. She could do nothing but sit there in agony as Richard publicly identified Luke as Sarah’s rescuer. Footage of the car accident was followed by a newsreel clip of Luke on the racing circuit four years before. Against her will, she sat forward. The first view was from the driver’s set of Luke’s car as he hurtled around the Suzuka track at the Japanese Grand Prix. Then the camera caught Luke himself, his compelling eyes the only part of his face visible beneath a balaclava and helmet, as he battled Schumacher, Berger and Mansell for lap upon lap. ‘Ansfield, the ultimate competitor, manages to pass the competition and take the Japanese Grand Prix,’ the commentator gasped. Sarah released a pent-up breath. Several times Luke had appeared to be inches from death as he hurtled around the tight curves with more than seven hundred horsepower beneath him. Her vision blurred as he was shown climbing from the car to be decked in wreaths. Dazedly she registered that they were showing a close-up of Luke while Richard read from the autocue. ‘Today a mystery surrounds this road warrior, who now lives in seclusion at his home on the Gold Coast Hinterland. Why did he quit when he had the world at his feet? We’ll bring you more as this intriguing story unfolds. ‘One person who has cause to bless Luke Ansfield’s presence on the Gold Coast is our own Sarah Fox, who might not be with us today if not for this reticent racer. Sarah?’ The camera came back to her. She blinked hard to clear her vision. This was the very thing Luke had sought to avoid. ‘You caught me by surprise, Richard,’ she said, ignoring the script scrolling beneath the camera. ‘Luke doesn’t want public recognition for saving my life. Naturally I’m grateful to him, as I’ve already assured him privately. I’m sure you’ll understand if I leave it at that, Richard?’ Her co-host gave a wolfish grin, but beneath his make-up he looked furious. ‘News is news,’ he said smoothly. ‘Although Sarah’s shyness on the subject suggests that more than her car caught fire last week. Could the former racing driver catch the Fox? You’ll hear it first on Coast to Coast. I’m Richard Nero—goodnight.’ Sarah was too incensed to care that he hadn’t thrown to her for the customary sign-off. As soon as the floor manager gave the all-clear, she tore her ear-piece from her ear and threw it onto the chair, whirling on Richard. ‘How could you run that story without consulting me first?’ He shrugged. ‘They loved it upstairs.’ ‘But it was my story.’ He stood, dwarfing her by half a head. ‘Admit it, Sarah, you had no intention of blowing the whistle on Luke Ansfield.’ She felt her colour heighten. ‘Of course not. I gave him my word I wouldn’t reveal his identity.’ A gasp came from their producer. ‘You did what?’ Sarah hadn’t seen Donna Blake come up behind her. There was nothing for it but to continue. ‘Luke saved my life. Keeping quiet was the least I could do to repay him.’ Donna’s nostrils flared. ‘You’re a journalist, Sarah. This is a major story. You should be digging around to find out what he’s doing holed up in the hills instead of making deals with him. How long did you plan to sit on this scoop?’ Even Richard looked uncomfortable, as if he hadn’t expected so much furore over his story. Sarah gritted her teeth. ‘It isn’t a scoop. Luke’s an ordinary man and he’s entitled to his privacy.’ She didn’t even want to admit to herself why she hadn’t dug into his background. Was she afraid of finding something unsavoury? No, he had done nothing to warrant such an investigation, she told herself. It would be poor repayment to him for saving her life. Donna gave a sceptical snort. “Ordinary” depends on your point of view. Luckily Richard warned me you’d try and stop this story from going to air.’ Sarah swung on her co-host. ‘So you sprang it on me unannounced. Thanks a lot, partner.’ Before Richard could frame a reply, the producer intervened. ‘Partner may be a relative term. As soon as management hears about this it will help decide the show’s permanent host. You couldn’t blame them for wanting an anchor whose first loyalty is to the programme.’ Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/valerie-parv/kissed-by-a-stranger/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.