don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she cut in briskly, also glancing across the room at the man who had just entered, returning the polite inclination of his head with one of her own. ‘It’s been—interesting seeing you again, Liam,’ she said without any trace of sincerity. ‘But I have to be going myself now.’ She stood up, slim and elegant in her fitted suit and blouse, the strap of her patent black leather bag thrown over her shoulder.
‘Laura!’ Liam grasped her arm as she would have moved smoothly past him. ‘I want to see you again,’ he told her determinedly.
She looked at him. ‘To talk about old times, Liam?’ she taunted, shaking her head. ‘I don’t think so, thank you.’ She gave a humourless smile.
Liam’s eyes narrowed to blue slits. ‘I’m booked in here for another couple of days, Laura. Call me. If you don’t,’ he continued softly as she was about to refuse, ‘I’ll stay in London until I find you again,’ he assured her.
At least now she knew the reason she hadn’t seen him arrive at the hotel; he was actually a guest here and had probably come downstairs in the lift, which she couldn’t see from here in the lounge.
But that didn’t change the fact that there was an underlying threat to his words. Or that she had her own reasons for not wanting him to find her. Not yet, anyway.
‘How melodramatic you’ve become, Liam,’ she responded. ‘If it’s that important to you, I’ll give you a ring later.’ When she would make it plain to him that she had no intention of meeting him on a social level while he was in London!
He gave her an intense look before slowly releasing her arm. ‘It’s that important to me,’ he said, with a terse nod of his head.
She raised dark, sceptical brows at the admission. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really do have to go.’ She spoke coolly, aware of Liam’s gaze on her as she walked across the lounge and out into the reception area, collecting her outdoor coat from the attendant there before stepping outside into the bitingly cold November wind.
Not that she felt the ice of that wind; the shock of seeing Liam again had completely numbed her now. Face to face with him, remembering all that had happened between them in the past, it hadn’t been too difficult to keep up a veneer of cool self-possession. But now she was alone, away from the hotel, reaction had begun to set in.
Eight years ago she had dreamt of meeting Liam again, just once, if only for a few minutes. Part of her had longed to see him again; another part of her had been angry at his cruel desertion.
‘Mrs Shipley.’ Paul, her driver, stood by the car parked beside the pavement, the back door held open invitingly.
‘Thank you,’ she accepted distractedly, grateful for the warmth and privacy of the back seat of the limousine as the driver closed the door behind her.
‘Back to the office, Mrs Shipley?’ Paul prompted politely once he was seated behind the wheel.
‘No. Yes! I—’
Get a grip, Laura, she ordered herself firmly. Okay, so she had seen Liam again. So what? No doubt he was still the charming rogue he had been eight years ago, but that didn’t make her the same impressionable Laura Carter. She was Laura Shipley now; she ran her own business, owned a house in London, a villa in Majorca, travelled in chauffeur-driven cars wherever she chose to go. A single meeting with Liam O’Reilly was not going to take any of that away from her.
‘Yes, Paul, back to the office.’ She spoke more firmly now, relaxing back in her seat as the car moved slowly out into the flow of traffic.
There was no hurry for her to return home; Bobby wouldn’t be back for another hour and a half yet. Besides, she had told Perry that she would wait at the office for his report.
She wondered how his own conversation with Liam was progressing…!
‘AMAZING,’ Perry enthused, pacing up and down the room excitedly an hour later. ‘I still can’t believe the way you just knew, three weeks ago, that despite the fact the author was claiming to be one Reilly O’Shea, the manuscript that landed on my desk was really by Liam O’Reilly!’
Laura sat behind her own wide, imposing desk watching her senior editor. The jacket to her suit had been discarded in the warmth of the office, her emerald silk blouse a perfect foil for her dark colouring.
The way she had just known…!
She’d read that last Liam O’Reilly novel from cover to cover. She knew every twist and turn of the writer’s mind; knew every phrase and nuance, how he dotted every ‘i’ and crossed every ‘t’—of course she had recognised the manuscript that had been submitted to Shipley Publishing three weeks ago. Its sheer brilliance—brought to her attention by Perry—had been created by the same person!
She hadn’t quite been able to believe it, though, had found it incredible to believe that Liam might actually be writing again. Even more astounding was that the manuscript had been submitted under a different name, even if the name Reilly O’Shea wasn’t so far from Liam’s own. It was because of the uncertainty surrounding that name that she had felt today’s charade at the hotel necessary. It had been eight years since she last saw Liam, and he might have changed in that time—she certainly had! But if anyone could recognise Liam O’Reilly, no matter what the changes, she knew she could.
So she had deliberately arranged to be at the hotel today, strategically placed so that she might alert Perry when he arrived for his arranged meeting as to whether or not she had been correct in her assertion that the author was actually Liam O’Reilly.
It had not been part of the plan, however, for Liam to actually spot and recognise her! As it hadn’t been her intention to agree to telephone him later at his hotel…!
Laura still came over hot and then cold at the memory of that unexpected meeting between the two of them. Eight years. And apart from those added tell-tale lines, a little grey in the darkness of his hair, Liam looked exactly the same. The fact that he had recognised her too—despite her own changed hairstyle and the denims and tee shirts she’d used to wear having been replaced by the classically elegant suit and blouse—had momentarily stunned her.
But only momentarily, she was relieved to recall. The self-assurance she had acquired over the last eight years had stood her in good stead, even down to the acknowledging nod of her head she had given Perry when he’d arrived in the hotel lounge.
That Perry was pleased at the way his meeting with the author had gone was obvious. He was bubbling over with excitement at the prospect of Shipley Publishing being in possession of the long-awaited new Liam O’Reilly novel. Except that Laura knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as that…
She calmly brought her senior editor back to earth. ‘What actually happened at the meeting, Perry?’
Perry dropped down into the chair opposite hers. Comfortably so, Laura noted abstractedly, unlike Liam earlier when he had tried to bend his long length into the chair at the hotel—Oh, bother Liam—and how he did or did not fit himself into chairs!
‘Well, I covered a lot of ground with him, but we still have a long way to go, of course.’ Some of Perry’s excitement faded as he frowned slightly. ‘The biggest obstacle we’re going to face is that, despite several promptings from me about previous books and other even broader hints, the man stuck like glue to the identity of Reilly O’Shea.’
Laura nodded. ‘Do you have any idea why?’
‘Oh, that’s easy,’ Perry replied. ‘It’s how we’re going to deal with it that’s the problem. We have our hands on a Liam O’Reilly manuscript, and—’
‘Can we just go back a couple of steps, Perry?’ Laura interrupted slowly. ‘You know why the man is determined not to admit to being Liam O’Reilly?’
Since