Unwrapping Her Perfect Match

Sneak Peek at Knowing the Score (London Legends #1)

Dear Reader,

My London Legends series all started with a broken heart...but it's not the kind of broken heart you might be thinking about.

Caitlyn Sweeney is an American aid worker who's temporarily living in London. On her way to work early one morning, she finds an elderly man having a heart attack. She gives him CPR and soon meets his sinfully sexy grandson, rugby player Spencer Bailey. There's just one problem: Caitlyn's a 26-year-old virgin who needs to take things slowly, and Spencer is used to, ahem, getting straight to the point.

Here's Chapter One of Knowing the Score. I hope you enjoy it!

***

Wapping, East London

The old man walking in front of her gave an agonized groan and fell to his knees. Caitlyn's breath caught in her throat, her brain scrambling to understand what her eyes were telling her. When the man clutched his chest and sank forward, his forehead scraping the asphalt of the narrow pedestrian path behind the Tower of London, she dropped her bag and sprinted the ten yards separating them.

"Sir? What's wrong? Are you okay?" She laid her hand on his back, then slid it to his shoulder so she could help him sit up.

He shook his head. "Pain."

She frantically glanced around, but at 5:00 a.m. they were the only two people on the path. "It's all right. You'll be all right. Lean back against me."

He was so skinny that she had no problem kneeling behind him, supporting his back as he sat on the asphalt. According to the first-aid courses she'd taken, this position might help stave off the big one long enough for her to call-

Crap! Her phone was in her bag-the bag lying on the ground, far out of her reach. You are such a moron.

She stroked his silver pompadour as she tried to figure out what to do. "You're going to be okay. What's your name?"

"Philip," he whispered in a slurred voice, as if his mouth had filled with peanut butter. Or-more likely-as if a vise was squeezing his breath from his chest. "Please..."

"It's okay, Philip. You don't need to speak. I'm Caitlyn and I'm going to help you."

He moaned, his body jerking. He collapsed against her and, on the verge of panic now, she eased herself out from under him and lowered him onto his back.

One, two, three. Caitlyn kept her arms straight as her flat palms compressed Philip's chest, pushing hard so his rib cage would do the work his heart should be doing. She'd spent years working in countries the State Department warned people to avoid, but she'd never once had to use her first-aid training-and she'd prayed she would never have to. Go figure, on a normal London morning...

Don't die, Philip. Fifteen...no, seventeen? Crap, she'd lost count.

Sunrise bathed the Tower's white stones in pink light, and she was the only help poor Philip had.

This path was normally clogged with tourists taking photos as business-suited Londoners politely elbowed their way through to the neighboring financial district, but this early it was deserted. She wouldn't have been here herself if she hadn't been shaking off jet lag from her Sumatra trip. As an American who'd recently moved to London, she went out of her way to pass by the thousand-year-old Tower every chance she could. To think she might not have been here at all...

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine...please don't die.

She tilted the man's head back, pinched his nose closed, sealed her mouth over his wrinkled lips and blew two sharp breaths into him. She paused to watch his chest. Still not moving. Shit, shit!