Skinny Dipping

The Proposition

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You can buy this book SKINNY DIPPING and the sequel SKINNY CAPPUCCINO on Amazon.

Chapter 2 Continued

A creature of habit? Did she really say that? What crazy inclination caused her to fasten his tie? Who did she think she was? A fool fawning over an over-indulged man with a Porsche? A rude man at that. Sophie must be more tired than she admitted.

She was pulling her fake fur wrap tightly round her shoulders when the distinct tone of her mobile phone sounded. It must be Matthew Silver. His timing was finally right.

Sophie began ascending the stone steps leading to the hotel's grand entrance. Multitasking as she often did, she fished through her bag as she climbed. She seized the phone, the name screen reading Roger Smart. Her dad. Not Matthew Silver. Typical, he still hadn't called. The phone stopped ringing.

Her foot caught a step and sliding like a novice acrobat, she thrust her arms out to steady herself. Her fur wrap and bag tumbled to the ground, and with a clattering commotion the contents spilled over the stairs.

"Damn," she swore under her breath and stooped down. She snatched at the wrap and dusted the dirt off. She clocked the blond man, the owner of the Porsche, swiftly squatting beside to assist.

"If only I had that effect on all women." His voice was low. "Falling at my feet and all."

The cheek of him.

Sophie darted a glance in his direction. "You might increase your chances of women falling at your feet if you were... nice."

His eyes widened. "Nice?" A mocking expression spread across his face. He started gathering her things. "I'm a concerned citizen and I've even come to your aid, haven't I?"

"Not because you're nice or well mannered. You feel obliged, not concerned." For the first time she appraised his eyes. They were large...the kind she could lose herself in. She tore her gaze away. Whatever was she getting into, studying this man? Besides, she had somewhere to be.

"I'm letting you off the hook from any obligation here. It's cool – really. I don't need help. I'm not the type of girl who always needs help. I'm a competent kind of girl." Sophie looked anywhere but at him. She focused instead on the ground, grabbing two – three – four chocolate wrappers, and shoving them back where they came from.

"I'm making an extra effort to be nice and well mannered. You might even consider me charming? What do you think about that? Is that okay?" he questioned pointedly as he handed her a bottle of nail polish, his eyes twinkling playfully. God he was irritating.

"I'm okay, thank you," she muttered. "I can get everything, like I said. I don't need help."

"Everyone needs a hand sometimes." He remained stubbornly crouched next to her. His hands reached, picking up her personal possessions. A mischievous grin crossed his face. "You like chocolate? Yet so slim."

"They're for work."

"Yeah, right. I know women can't resist chocolate."

Sophie glared. "You see these wrappers." She shoved one in her handbag. "They're all in the name of research for an advertising client."

"Is that what you call it, 'advertising research'?"

He was purposely teasing her. Yet she couldn't help herself. "It's true," she said. Sophie saw a fifth chocolate wrapper and held the foil up to him. "This is precisely why you don't understand women."