Barbara Hannay - Needed: Her Mr Right

Meg sighed. “I get pea-green just thinking about Simone Gray. She’s smart, successful, has the job I’ve always lusted after. And every time I see her, she seems to have a different guy in tow and they’re all madly in love with her, of course. And then, to cap it off, instead of just writing a cheque for her favourite charity, she put herself through a huge ordeal, training hard, getting sweaty and blistered and making the rest of us feel like lazy layabouts.”

Ryan set the magazine down abruptly and Meg frowned at him.

“Changed your mind about reading it?”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll get what I want firsthand.”

Meg treated him to a very weird look, but he was already halfway out of the office.

Simone had given her PA the day off because it was her elderly mother’s birthday, so when the phone rang for the twentieth or maybe fortieth time that morning, her response was automatic. “Good morning. Simone Gray speaking. How can I help you?”

“Morning, Simone. My name’s Ryan Tanner. I’m a fellow journalist and I’ve rung to congratulate you on the article in this month’s City Girl. I really enjoyed your story about China. Nice work.”

Simone frowned. Her article was workmanlike and professional, possibly inspiring for some readers, but not exactly the kind of writing that would attract attention from fellow journalists—especially a male with a beautifully modulated, deeply sexy voice.

He’d said his name was Tanner…Ryan Tanner…

She didn’t think she’d met him, but couldn’t be sure. The only Tanners she could think of offhand were billionaires who owned vast tracts of mining land in Western Australia and the Northern Territory. No one in that family would want to work as a journalist.

“Thank you, Mr Tanner. It’s kind of you to take the trouble to call me.”

“No trouble.”

She waited a beat.

“But there is something else, Simone…”

He paused again and in the silence she decided there was something undeniably sexy about the way he said her name—warming it with his voice, touching a chord deep inside her.

It occurred to her that if this guy was as smooth as his voice suggested, he might be going to ask her on a date. He wouldn’t be the first man to make contact after seeing her photo in a magazine. Her mind raced ahead, planning a quick exit strategy.

Ryan Tanner’s deep voice rumbled silkily down the phone line. “I have something of yours that I’d like to return.”

“Something of mine?”

“You lost a book at the airport last week.”

A blast of fear exploded in her chest.

Crash.

The phone receiver slipped from her hand, clattered on to her desk.

“Simone?”

Her vital organs collided. She’d convinced herself that her precious diary had been dumped by a sullen taxi driver, or had been swept up and pulped by one of those noisy street sweeping machines. Last week, she’d rung the taxi company countless times with no luck and had decided it was safe enough to publish the Himalayan article. Had decided that even if someone had found the diary, the chances of that person reading City Girl and putting two and two together were negligible.

But now, only one day after City Girl had hit the news-stands, her worst fears were realised.

And of all people to have found the diary and make the connection, it had to be another journalist!

Her hand shook as she picked up the receiver again and held it to her ear.

“Ms Gray, are you there?”

She didn’t answer.

“Ms Gray, are you OK?”

Ryan Tanner sounded concerned, but she didn’t trust him.

Her mind raced in crazy panicking circles. His faux admiration of her article was a front, of course. The only reason he’d rung was to let her know he had the diary.

The sickening question was: what else did this guy know about her? And how did he plan to use it? Her stomach heaved and sweat trickled down her back as she imagined her diary entries and her innermost secret fears splashed across some grubby tabloid newspaper. Ridiculously, she even pictured her story flashed on a television news bulletin. Nausea rose from the pit of her stomach.

She had to get a grip, had to think like an editor, not a panicking victim. It was time to think in terms of crisis management.

As calmly as she could, she said, “Tell me one thing, Mr Tanner. We’re not on air, are we?”

“Of course not. There’s no need to panic. I only work with print media.”

A huff of relief escaped her. “OK…RyanTanner…I’m trying to remember if I’ve seen your byline.”

“Used to be with The Sydney Chronicle, but I’ve been in London for the last year and a half.”

“And you believe you have something that belongs to me?”

“You must know what I’m talking about, Simone. Your diary.”

Thinking fast now, she realised she had to play for time, needed space to think, to work out a suitable response.

“Mr Tanner—uh—Ryan, I have people queuing up in the office here. I’ll have to call you back. Say in fifteen minutes?”

“OK, no problem.” He gave her his number.

“This is your private number?”

“Mine and only mine.”

Dropping the receiver, she sank back into her chair, cowered with shock for a second or two, then jumped to her feet and began to pace the office, her mind racing at a hundred miles an hour. What could she do? How on earth was she going to handle this nightmare?

There was only one answer: very carefully.

She wished she knew how her diary had ended up in Ryan Tanner’s hands. Had someone sold it to him? How many people had read it?

Fighting panic, she tried to unscramble her thoughts. She had committed the sordid details of her secret to paper and she’d exposed Belle and Claire too. And she’d recorded the pact she’d made with Belle and Claire—their commitments to find important people from their past, to right past wrongs.

How could she have been so thoughtless? So careless?

Oh, help.

Oh, hell!

Keep calm, girl.

Yes, she had to stay calm. If she kept her head, she might be able to find a way to deflect Ryan Tanner, to wriggle out of this. But she had to handle things very carefully, had to get him answering her questions, not the other way round.

She waited twenty-seven minutes, twenty-seven nerve-racking, nail-biting, agonising minutes before she rang him back.

“Hello, Mr Tanner.”

Her heart thumped so loudly it filled her ears and she could hardly hear his reply.

“Simone, thanks for calling back.”

“I’m rather busy, so I can’t speak for long, but I do appreciate your willingness to return my lost property.” Cringe. She sounded way too prim and uptight. She tried again, more casually. “Perhaps you could drop the book off at our front desk? Any time that’s convenient would be fine.”

“Well…Simone.”

She did her best to ignore the totally annoying coiling sensation deep inside her when he said her name, warming it with his dark midnight voice.

“There are a couple of things I’d like to speak to you about.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Tanner. I’m not interested in talking to you. Certainly not before I verify that this book is mine.”

“It’s yours, Simone.”

She clenched the receiver so tightly it should have snapped in two.

Ryan Tanner could be planning anything—even blackmail.

“How—” Her voice came out squeaky and scared. She paused, tried again. “How did the diary come into your possession?”

“Rainy day. Sydney Airport. Lovely girl waiting for a taxi. A backpack with a side pocket. Any of that ring a bell?”

Simone stifled a cry. This guy had been there? He’d been watching her at the airport?

Her frantic fingers twisted the phone cord. Was he stalking her?

She thought of the hot-looking guy she’d caught checking her out. Surely he wasn’t Tanner? He hadn’t looked like a stalker.

“So…so what are you saying, Mr Tanner—Ryan? You want to meet?”

“Why not? What about lunch?”

She needed more time, needed to find out as much as she could about this guy. “I—I’m busy today. How about tomorrow? Can we meet somewhere tomorrow?”

“Why wait? Couldn’t you make time today?”

She sighed. Perhaps it would be better to meet him; otherwise he might track her to her home. Best to get this over, to be rid of him.

Her throat was dry and she swallowed. “All right. Where do you want to meet?”

“How about the Jade Dragon restaurant in Chinatown? Unless you’re tired of Chinese?”

“I’ll be there at one.”

RYAN felt unusually on edge as he headed for Chinatown.

Had Simone Gray cast a spell on him?

How else could he explain why he’d invited her to lunch rather than taking the simple option of sticking her diary in the post or dropping it off at City Girl’s front desk?

How else could he explain his need to see her, to check again exactly why she’d stood out from the thousands of travellers at the airport?

In the photo in City Girl, her pretty eyes were sparkling, her mouth curved with laughter. He’d been entranced. Seeing a picture of her was like hearing a teasing scrap of enchanting music. He wanted to hear the whole song.

Under other circumstances, he might have gone out of his way to impress her at this meeting. Flashiest restaurant in town. Top wines. Waiter primed to fuss over her.

But she was already in panic mode and Ryan suspected that kind of carry-on would only make her more suspicious. Besides, it wasn’t really his style.

As he passed through the traditional paifang gate into Sydney’s busy, bustling Chinatown, he caught the tempting aromas of lemon grass, ginger and chilli rising from woks and he felt strangely nervous about this meeting—almost first date nervous.

Crazy, given his age and his track record with women, and the fact that, as far as she was concerned, this was so not a date.

He reached the Jade Dragon, stepped out of the sunlight into its darkened interior and took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

Simone was already there, seated at a small table on the far side, facing the entrance. A red lantern cast a rosy glow over her, illuminating the shock of recognition in her eyes.

She remembered. Remembered that fleeting moment last week when they’d locked gazes at the airport.

A tiny rocket of hope launched inside him, but it was quickly doused, as her surprised disbelief changed to clear disappointment, then displeasure.

Not the best of beginnings.

Nevertheless, he smiled as he made his way to her, kept smiling as he held out his hand.

“Hello, Simone.”

She ignored his attempt to be friendly, simply looked up at him with wary eyes and a tight, no-nonsense mouth. He took the seat opposite her.

Forgot to breathe.

Close up, she was even lovelier than he’d remembered—in spite of her aloofness. Her face, framed by waves of soft, wheat-gold hair, was classically oval and beautifully symmetrical. And there was a breath-robbing quality about her perfect skin, the delicacy of her nose and mouth, the vividness of her eyes—deeply blue and darkly lashed.

She was simply dressed, but the very simplicity of her pale blue dress and the fine gold chain about her neck served as a perfect foil for her beauty. The dress showed off her golden tan to perfection. It took every ounce of self-restraint to refrain from telling her straight out that she was, quite possibly, the loveliest woman he’d ever met.

How crazy would that be? The frost and wariness in her eyes were enough to assure Ryan that Simone Gray wouldn’t give a flying fig.