Lucy King - Say It with Diamonds

At the sight of the outrageously gorgeous, abominably rude and unfairly dry head sticking out of the window of the car that was purring alongside her, her heart, the treacherously pathetic organ it was, skipped a beat even as her indignation soared.

Oh, this was great. Just great. He would have to turn up now , wouldn’t he, looking all cool and relaxed and sexy when she was doing an excellent impression of a drowned rat? An extremely cold, extremely stroppy drowned rat.

‘What do you want?’ she said, too fed up with everything to care that she was the one now sounding rude.

‘Would you like a lift?’

Yes. ‘No, thanks,’ she said mutinously. ‘I’m fine.’

‘It’s pouring.’

‘I had noticed,’ she said, aiming for withering but finding withering annoyingly hard to do when her hair was plastered to her face, her arms ached from trying to protect her head with her weighty equipment case and her feet squelched in her boots.

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