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Perfect Strangers
Laura Martin
This was what she'd been waiting for all her life. This stranger was her destiny!Olivia had never dreamed that, on her first night in her new home, she'd sleep with a perfect stranger! But Jake knew–men like Jake Savage always knew when women found them irresistible. Olivia had fallen in love with Jake at first sight. He was perfect for her. Now if Olivia could just convince him that she was the perfect woman for him–
Jake glanced across at her. “You’re nervous—why?” (#ubf903c22-b04c-5a5a-9614-f11b56583adc)About the Author (#u7fb1d066-93d8-59dd-982c-edff5322668a)Title Page (#u27c7e62a-c1a1-5305-a45b-979210e3d6a9)CHAPTER ONE (#udd9c56bd-7ce0-5c00-bf9d-d40b5ac8eec6)CHAPTER TWO (#u6dc232df-6660-553d-8a90-3781da8d74cf)CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)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)EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Jake glanced across at her. “You’re nervous—why?”
Olivia lifted her head and stared defiantly at the assured, handsome face. “I’m...” She had been about to deny it—pointlessly, of course, because they both knew she was nervous. “I...don’t know you.” She shrugged awkwardly. “And yet I find myself drawn into deep conversations that...disturb me...and...” She closed her mouth abruptly. What on earth had possessed her to be so frank...and to a perfect stranger?
Laura Martin lives in a small Gloucestershire village in England with her husband, two young children and a lively sheepdog. Laura has a great love of interior design and, together with her husband, has recently completed the renovation of their Victorian cottage. Her hobbies include gardening, theater, music and reading, and she finds great pleasure and inspiration from walking daily in the beautiful countryside around her home.
Perfect Strangers
Laura Martin
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
THE journey had tired Olivia more than she had anticipated. She had been craning her neck over the last few miles, like a child on a day trip to the sea, waiting and watching for that first magic glimpse of the cottage. She smiled to herself. Mad. But then, it was a good sign. It meant that her dream hadn’t palled in the intervening weeks. It meant, surely, that she was still doing the right thing.
She forced herself to lean back in the taxi. The countryside was as wonderful as she had remembered on her fleeting visit a few weeks ago. Still green and lush. The daffodils hadn’t been properly open then. . . now they seemed to be everywhere, so bright and cheerful; yellow bunting welcoming Olivia to her new home.
The taxi driver was youngish with sandy hair. Something about the back of his head reminded her of Paul. Olivia’s eyes rested unseeing on the tanned neck and slightly wavy hair, and for a moment her thoughts spun the one hundred miles or so back to London. This time last week, she thought, I was sitting at my large glossy desk, wearing my high-powered suit, playing executives. Being someone else. Pretending. Trying desperately not to think of Paul as a husband—somebody else’s husband. . .
She had broken her first rule—no thinking about Paul, or London, or the life she had left behind.
Olivia shook herself mentally and focused on the passing countryside, glancing anxiously up at the patchy sky because there were dark clouds looming on the horizon.
‘Do you think it will rain?’
The stocky denim shoulders in front lifted slightly, surprised maybe at being addressed. ‘Don’t know, love; maybe. Those clouds don’t look too promising, do they?’
‘Do you live near here?’ Oliva asked, determined to strike up a relationship of sorts with someone local. That was one thing she had promised herself. Integration with the community. She would be no commuter, living in the country, working in the city—not that she had a job at all now. She took a deep breath. Eight years of working her way up the ladder, reaching the top rung and then throwing herself off into the abyss of unemployment below.
‘No.’
It wasn’t much of a start. The taxi driver swung the rather aged car around a bend too quickly and with not a lot of finesse.
Almost there.
She blinked and the village with its pub and school and tiny shop had been passed. Just a few more minutes and she would see the cottage, her cottage; thatched and quaint, with little leaded windows and roses around the door—well, maybe not exactly roses, she amended swiftly, more likely weeds, but still looking wonderful, still hers. . .
Olivia leant forward and offered the directions, written down by the estate agent on her first visit at the end of March, to the taxi driver. ‘Perhaps it’s best if you look at them,’ she murmured. ‘I never was very good at navigation and there are so many different turnings around here.’
They were travelling along a winding lane with high hedges on either side now. The car was flung around another bend, and then the taxi driver glanced down, just for a second, and in that moment, seemingly out of nowhere, there appeared a large, immaculate black Range Rover.
It all happened so quickly. Olivia, already perched on the edge of her seat with her crumpled directions, was jolted forward as brakes squealed, the car swerved and a slow-motion impact took place. She winced as the side of her face came into contact with the vinyl-covered seat in front and spent a moment or two in dazed disbelief, aware of a stream of curses spewing forth from the taxi driver’s lips.
Olivia released a shaky breath, rubbing gingerly at her sore cheek, and watched miserably as the taxi driver wrenched open his door and marched aggressively over to the other, far more opulent vehicle.
The door of the Range Rover was opening. Tinted windows gave it a somewhat mysterious air as well as keeping out prying eyes, and it was a few moments before the other driver emerged.
What had she expected? A local farmer with ruddy cheeks and a cloth cap? Or maybe an irate woman with a tight perm and strings of pearls swinging angrily over an ample bosom?
Olivia found herself drawing a deep breath. Not this. Definitely not someone like this.
Unexpected exhilaration coursed through her body, as six feet plus of successful, handsome male personified came into full view.
Ignoring the taxi driver, who hovered menacingly, the man bent and without haste examined the damage to his vehicle.
Glossy black hair, ruffled by the chilly breeze, fell over one eye and a large tanned hand smoothed it back from his strong, tenacious face.
Olivia felt a prickle of excitement run through her. She knew she was staring, but somehow she didn’t seem able to help herself. Her eyes wandered over the rust suede jacket, the cream open-necked shirt, resting for a fraction of a second longer on the chocolate-brown corduroy trousers that fitted well enough to define the powerful shape of well-muscled thighs.
If this had been London instead of the Oxfordshire countryside, if she had still been editor of the best glossy magazine in town, she would have got out of the car and offered him a modelling assignment on the spot, any assignment—it wouldn’t have mattered what.
Olivia’s lips twitched slightly; not that he would be the type to accept such a proposition—she recognised strength of character when she saw it—but it would have been well worth the try, if only for the chance of making contact with such a man.
Cautiously she opened the door of the taxi and got out.
‘You were travelling too fast.’
His voice didn’t mar her first impression of authority and power and success. Deep, with a gravelly masculine undertone that brooked no argument. Precise, too. Direct.
Olivia glanced briefly across to witness the reaction of the bullish, red-faced taxi man and then her eyes were fixed once more on the magnificent face.
‘Now just you look here!’ The taxi driver’s tone and demeanour were depressingly predictable. Olivia stood silently, unable to drag her gaze away from the formidable figure, as the driver’s aggressive tone filled the chilly spring afternoon air.
What was wrong with her all of a sudden? she wondered. Had the bump to her face done some real damage? Stop staring like a besotted idiot! she chided silently. You’ve come across a thousand handsome men before! But not like this. Olivia inhaled a breath and tried to steady her breathing. This man was different.
‘You were driving too fast and you know it.’ The slightly hooded gaze was as direct as the words used, the deep voice clipped and assured. ‘This is a narrow country lane, not the M25. Just give me your name and insurance details and quit the bluster. I’m not going to waste my time arguing with you.’ He glanced with irritation at the slight dent in the Range Rover’s bumper. ‘You’re lucky; the damage to my vehicle is negligible, so your bill won’t be too extensive.’
‘I’m lucky? Now wait a minute!’ The flabby face turned a deeper shade of puce. The taxi driver moved forward angrily, and for a moment Olivia thought he was going to lose his temper completely and actually embark on physical violence. A disastrous course of action. Surely he could see that? she thought. One blow from that tall, powerful physique and the pugnacious little man would be laid out cold.
‘You have a passenger, I see.’ The dark, arrogant gaze was flicked in Olivia’s direction. She burned as he studied her face, feeling the flames of awareness rising as if he had touched her, as if. . .as if he had done more than that. Such eyes, she thought. Such presence.
‘Are you OK?’ She saw a slight softening of the mouth, a concern momentarily in the deep, dark eyes. ‘You look a little pale.’
She nodded, conscious of a curious reaction at being addressed directly; exhilaration, rapture, a sudden surge of well-being that made absolutely no sense at all. He was. . .magnificent. ‘Yes. . .yes, I’m fine,’ she murmured. ‘I just banged my cheek a little on contact, that’s all.’
He walked slowly towards her, ignoring the taxi driver, who stood near by with his face set in an angry scowl. ‘Where? Here?’ Shockingly the man, the stranger, raised a hand and placed cool fingers to her face, touching the slightly reddened skin with a gentleness that completely disarmed. Olivia’s pulse began an erratic beat. He smelt wonderful; a mixture of fresh cologne and suede jacket and fresh, clean skin. A perfect combination. A potential feast for all five of her senses.
‘Looks as if there will be a slight bruise. Your face could end up being quite sore.’ His touch lingered. ‘If I were you I’d sue.’
‘Now look here!’
More bluster from the taxi man, but Olivia wasn’t listening, and neither, it seemed, was the stranger. Her eyes rested on the tanned throat, the curl of dark hair visible at the opening of the shirt, as he continued to make contact.
‘What’s your name?’
She tried to still the fluttering in her stomach as intense jet eyes lingered on her face. Feeling like this, juvenile, gauche, unable to identify a million and one other emotions, was unnerving to say the least. ‘Olivia.’ Her voice came out as little more than a squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Olivia Hamilton.’
‘Jake Savage.’ His hand fell from her cheek at last and was offered in a greeting that seemed totally natural, totally right, despite the absurdity of the situation. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ Olivia, sensing the dry humour in his tone, placed her own hand in his, briefly, silently. ‘And you are?’ He broke contact completely and the dark gaze switched direction, the tone hardening in an instant as the taxi driver was once again put under formidable scrutiny.
‘Oh, no, mate!’ The small man shook his head. ‘No chance! This bang is your fault.’ The taxi driver walked around to the front of his crumpled bonnet. ‘Just look at this! I want your details, your name. This passenger’s my witness. She’ll tell you I wasn’t driving too fast. Won’t yer, love?’
A patronising arm was suddenly being wound possessively around her shoulders. Olivia extricated herself and took a few steps away from the stocky figure. She didn’t see why she should lie to save him. It wasn’t her way; never had been, never would be.
She took a steadying breath. ‘I’m afraid,’ she announced in a clear voice that bore no resemblance to the one she had used with Jake Savage, ‘that I thought you were taking the bends too fast.’ She glanced at the spiteful, angry face and decided to go on. ‘And you certainly didn’t keep to the speed limit when you went through the village.’
She was cursed immediately, the sharp words uttered with such unnecessary venom that Olivia stood shocked, her mouth sagging open a little at the abusive words used to describe her. She tried to think of something to say in return, but before she could utter a single word Jake Savage was gripping the denim shirt and the foul-mouthed taxi driver was being spun away, slammed forcibly against his own crumpled bonnet.
‘Apologise to the lady!’ The voice, low and controlled, was of a man used to being obeyed. Olivia watched in amazement as the taxi driver was lifted bodily by the lapels of his shirt and slammed back down on the car with a thud. There was a moment of tense, shocked silence. ‘Go on!’ Jake Savage’s voice was as quietly menacing as his expression. ‘Do it now before I’m tempted to knock that thick skull of yours off your pathetic little shoulders!’
A hastily muttered apology rang out in the dank, cold air. ‘Now,’ Jake Savage gave the man his freedom accompanied by a look of irritated disgust, ‘get back in this pathetic heap of rust and get out of my sight before I do something that I might regret!’
Olivia stared down at her luggage, dumped unceremoniously in the middle of the road. It was extremely gloomy now. The dark rain clouds overhead were preparing to do their worst. ‘You didn’t get his name or insurance number,’ she murmured, glancing back down the lane, her nostrils prickling at the smell of burning rubber.
Laura Martin
This was what she'd been waiting for all her life. This stranger was her destiny!Olivia had never dreamed that, on her first night in her new home, she'd sleep with a perfect stranger! But Jake knew–men like Jake Savage always knew when women found them irresistible. Olivia had fallen in love with Jake at first sight. He was perfect for her. Now if Olivia could just convince him that she was the perfect woman for him–
Jake glanced across at her. “You’re nervous—why?” (#ubf903c22-b04c-5a5a-9614-f11b56583adc)About the Author (#u7fb1d066-93d8-59dd-982c-edff5322668a)Title Page (#u27c7e62a-c1a1-5305-a45b-979210e3d6a9)CHAPTER ONE (#udd9c56bd-7ce0-5c00-bf9d-d40b5ac8eec6)CHAPTER TWO (#u6dc232df-6660-553d-8a90-3781da8d74cf)CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)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)EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Jake glanced across at her. “You’re nervous—why?”
Olivia lifted her head and stared defiantly at the assured, handsome face. “I’m...” She had been about to deny it—pointlessly, of course, because they both knew she was nervous. “I...don’t know you.” She shrugged awkwardly. “And yet I find myself drawn into deep conversations that...disturb me...and...” She closed her mouth abruptly. What on earth had possessed her to be so frank...and to a perfect stranger?
Laura Martin lives in a small Gloucestershire village in England with her husband, two young children and a lively sheepdog. Laura has a great love of interior design and, together with her husband, has recently completed the renovation of their Victorian cottage. Her hobbies include gardening, theater, music and reading, and she finds great pleasure and inspiration from walking daily in the beautiful countryside around her home.
Perfect Strangers
Laura Martin
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
THE journey had tired Olivia more than she had anticipated. She had been craning her neck over the last few miles, like a child on a day trip to the sea, waiting and watching for that first magic glimpse of the cottage. She smiled to herself. Mad. But then, it was a good sign. It meant that her dream hadn’t palled in the intervening weeks. It meant, surely, that she was still doing the right thing.
She forced herself to lean back in the taxi. The countryside was as wonderful as she had remembered on her fleeting visit a few weeks ago. Still green and lush. The daffodils hadn’t been properly open then. . . now they seemed to be everywhere, so bright and cheerful; yellow bunting welcoming Olivia to her new home.
The taxi driver was youngish with sandy hair. Something about the back of his head reminded her of Paul. Olivia’s eyes rested unseeing on the tanned neck and slightly wavy hair, and for a moment her thoughts spun the one hundred miles or so back to London. This time last week, she thought, I was sitting at my large glossy desk, wearing my high-powered suit, playing executives. Being someone else. Pretending. Trying desperately not to think of Paul as a husband—somebody else’s husband. . .
She had broken her first rule—no thinking about Paul, or London, or the life she had left behind.
Olivia shook herself mentally and focused on the passing countryside, glancing anxiously up at the patchy sky because there were dark clouds looming on the horizon.
‘Do you think it will rain?’
The stocky denim shoulders in front lifted slightly, surprised maybe at being addressed. ‘Don’t know, love; maybe. Those clouds don’t look too promising, do they?’
‘Do you live near here?’ Oliva asked, determined to strike up a relationship of sorts with someone local. That was one thing she had promised herself. Integration with the community. She would be no commuter, living in the country, working in the city—not that she had a job at all now. She took a deep breath. Eight years of working her way up the ladder, reaching the top rung and then throwing herself off into the abyss of unemployment below.
‘No.’
It wasn’t much of a start. The taxi driver swung the rather aged car around a bend too quickly and with not a lot of finesse.
Almost there.
She blinked and the village with its pub and school and tiny shop had been passed. Just a few more minutes and she would see the cottage, her cottage; thatched and quaint, with little leaded windows and roses around the door—well, maybe not exactly roses, she amended swiftly, more likely weeds, but still looking wonderful, still hers. . .
Olivia leant forward and offered the directions, written down by the estate agent on her first visit at the end of March, to the taxi driver. ‘Perhaps it’s best if you look at them,’ she murmured. ‘I never was very good at navigation and there are so many different turnings around here.’
They were travelling along a winding lane with high hedges on either side now. The car was flung around another bend, and then the taxi driver glanced down, just for a second, and in that moment, seemingly out of nowhere, there appeared a large, immaculate black Range Rover.
It all happened so quickly. Olivia, already perched on the edge of her seat with her crumpled directions, was jolted forward as brakes squealed, the car swerved and a slow-motion impact took place. She winced as the side of her face came into contact with the vinyl-covered seat in front and spent a moment or two in dazed disbelief, aware of a stream of curses spewing forth from the taxi driver’s lips.
Olivia released a shaky breath, rubbing gingerly at her sore cheek, and watched miserably as the taxi driver wrenched open his door and marched aggressively over to the other, far more opulent vehicle.
The door of the Range Rover was opening. Tinted windows gave it a somewhat mysterious air as well as keeping out prying eyes, and it was a few moments before the other driver emerged.
What had she expected? A local farmer with ruddy cheeks and a cloth cap? Or maybe an irate woman with a tight perm and strings of pearls swinging angrily over an ample bosom?
Olivia found herself drawing a deep breath. Not this. Definitely not someone like this.
Unexpected exhilaration coursed through her body, as six feet plus of successful, handsome male personified came into full view.
Ignoring the taxi driver, who hovered menacingly, the man bent and without haste examined the damage to his vehicle.
Glossy black hair, ruffled by the chilly breeze, fell over one eye and a large tanned hand smoothed it back from his strong, tenacious face.
Olivia felt a prickle of excitement run through her. She knew she was staring, but somehow she didn’t seem able to help herself. Her eyes wandered over the rust suede jacket, the cream open-necked shirt, resting for a fraction of a second longer on the chocolate-brown corduroy trousers that fitted well enough to define the powerful shape of well-muscled thighs.
If this had been London instead of the Oxfordshire countryside, if she had still been editor of the best glossy magazine in town, she would have got out of the car and offered him a modelling assignment on the spot, any assignment—it wouldn’t have mattered what.
Olivia’s lips twitched slightly; not that he would be the type to accept such a proposition—she recognised strength of character when she saw it—but it would have been well worth the try, if only for the chance of making contact with such a man.
Cautiously she opened the door of the taxi and got out.
‘You were travelling too fast.’
His voice didn’t mar her first impression of authority and power and success. Deep, with a gravelly masculine undertone that brooked no argument. Precise, too. Direct.
Olivia glanced briefly across to witness the reaction of the bullish, red-faced taxi man and then her eyes were fixed once more on the magnificent face.
‘Now just you look here!’ The taxi driver’s tone and demeanour were depressingly predictable. Olivia stood silently, unable to drag her gaze away from the formidable figure, as the driver’s aggressive tone filled the chilly spring afternoon air.
What was wrong with her all of a sudden? she wondered. Had the bump to her face done some real damage? Stop staring like a besotted idiot! she chided silently. You’ve come across a thousand handsome men before! But not like this. Olivia inhaled a breath and tried to steady her breathing. This man was different.
‘You were driving too fast and you know it.’ The slightly hooded gaze was as direct as the words used, the deep voice clipped and assured. ‘This is a narrow country lane, not the M25. Just give me your name and insurance details and quit the bluster. I’m not going to waste my time arguing with you.’ He glanced with irritation at the slight dent in the Range Rover’s bumper. ‘You’re lucky; the damage to my vehicle is negligible, so your bill won’t be too extensive.’
‘I’m lucky? Now wait a minute!’ The flabby face turned a deeper shade of puce. The taxi driver moved forward angrily, and for a moment Olivia thought he was going to lose his temper completely and actually embark on physical violence. A disastrous course of action. Surely he could see that? she thought. One blow from that tall, powerful physique and the pugnacious little man would be laid out cold.
‘You have a passenger, I see.’ The dark, arrogant gaze was flicked in Olivia’s direction. She burned as he studied her face, feeling the flames of awareness rising as if he had touched her, as if. . .as if he had done more than that. Such eyes, she thought. Such presence.
‘Are you OK?’ She saw a slight softening of the mouth, a concern momentarily in the deep, dark eyes. ‘You look a little pale.’
She nodded, conscious of a curious reaction at being addressed directly; exhilaration, rapture, a sudden surge of well-being that made absolutely no sense at all. He was. . .magnificent. ‘Yes. . .yes, I’m fine,’ she murmured. ‘I just banged my cheek a little on contact, that’s all.’
He walked slowly towards her, ignoring the taxi driver, who stood near by with his face set in an angry scowl. ‘Where? Here?’ Shockingly the man, the stranger, raised a hand and placed cool fingers to her face, touching the slightly reddened skin with a gentleness that completely disarmed. Olivia’s pulse began an erratic beat. He smelt wonderful; a mixture of fresh cologne and suede jacket and fresh, clean skin. A perfect combination. A potential feast for all five of her senses.
‘Looks as if there will be a slight bruise. Your face could end up being quite sore.’ His touch lingered. ‘If I were you I’d sue.’
‘Now look here!’
More bluster from the taxi man, but Olivia wasn’t listening, and neither, it seemed, was the stranger. Her eyes rested on the tanned throat, the curl of dark hair visible at the opening of the shirt, as he continued to make contact.
‘What’s your name?’
She tried to still the fluttering in her stomach as intense jet eyes lingered on her face. Feeling like this, juvenile, gauche, unable to identify a million and one other emotions, was unnerving to say the least. ‘Olivia.’ Her voice came out as little more than a squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Olivia Hamilton.’
‘Jake Savage.’ His hand fell from her cheek at last and was offered in a greeting that seemed totally natural, totally right, despite the absurdity of the situation. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ Olivia, sensing the dry humour in his tone, placed her own hand in his, briefly, silently. ‘And you are?’ He broke contact completely and the dark gaze switched direction, the tone hardening in an instant as the taxi driver was once again put under formidable scrutiny.
‘Oh, no, mate!’ The small man shook his head. ‘No chance! This bang is your fault.’ The taxi driver walked around to the front of his crumpled bonnet. ‘Just look at this! I want your details, your name. This passenger’s my witness. She’ll tell you I wasn’t driving too fast. Won’t yer, love?’
A patronising arm was suddenly being wound possessively around her shoulders. Olivia extricated herself and took a few steps away from the stocky figure. She didn’t see why she should lie to save him. It wasn’t her way; never had been, never would be.
She took a steadying breath. ‘I’m afraid,’ she announced in a clear voice that bore no resemblance to the one she had used with Jake Savage, ‘that I thought you were taking the bends too fast.’ She glanced at the spiteful, angry face and decided to go on. ‘And you certainly didn’t keep to the speed limit when you went through the village.’
She was cursed immediately, the sharp words uttered with such unnecessary venom that Olivia stood shocked, her mouth sagging open a little at the abusive words used to describe her. She tried to think of something to say in return, but before she could utter a single word Jake Savage was gripping the denim shirt and the foul-mouthed taxi driver was being spun away, slammed forcibly against his own crumpled bonnet.
‘Apologise to the lady!’ The voice, low and controlled, was of a man used to being obeyed. Olivia watched in amazement as the taxi driver was lifted bodily by the lapels of his shirt and slammed back down on the car with a thud. There was a moment of tense, shocked silence. ‘Go on!’ Jake Savage’s voice was as quietly menacing as his expression. ‘Do it now before I’m tempted to knock that thick skull of yours off your pathetic little shoulders!’
A hastily muttered apology rang out in the dank, cold air. ‘Now,’ Jake Savage gave the man his freedom accompanied by a look of irritated disgust, ‘get back in this pathetic heap of rust and get out of my sight before I do something that I might regret!’
Olivia stared down at her luggage, dumped unceremoniously in the middle of the road. It was extremely gloomy now. The dark rain clouds overhead were preparing to do their worst. ‘You didn’t get his name or insurance number,’ she murmured, glancing back down the lane, her nostrils prickling at the smell of burning rubber.
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