The Man in the Buff Breeches Read Online Free PDF Page A

programmed by the computer and not by a little knob like it used to be.
    I check my diary for the day and then glance at the clock on the wall. Time has stood still since the last time I looked. I consider covertly pushing the hands forward an hour but decide the action would be a little juvenile, especially as I am supposed to be the one in charge of this section.
    There are two e-mails flagged urgent that demand my attention. I am eager to finish and get home early, so I plunge into the task with unusual enthusiasm and goodwill. Whatever or whoever is requesting something from my small department is in luck today.
    I leave the office half an hour earlier than normal, take the tube back to Hammersmith, and briskly cover the half-mile walk back to my flat. It is situated on the third floor of a purpose built block that stands like an awkward intruder at the end of a row of Georgian houses.
    My insides do a somersault as I recognize the person bounding down the steps of the entrance to the flats. Him again! The golden mane of hair is unmistakable. He is dressed in a black sweatshirt, and thankfully the provocative breeches have been replaced by faded jeans. What is he doing here? London is huge enough for this not to be a coincidence.
    We cannot avoid each other, and as he spots me I detect a flash of confusion cross his face before he displays the customary smirk. He looks different in the bright sunshine—older, despite his youthful physique. There are lines etched around his eyes and across his forehead which I didn’t notice yesterday.
    “Miss Bennet.” He gives a mock bow.
    “Mr. Horse.” Oh no—why did I say that? I am just feeding his ego . “And the name is Shona, as you well know.”
    “Ah yes, Shona,” he mutters, as he takes out his mobile and checks the screen.
    I scowl at him. “Visiting or have you moved in here? Please don’t tell me you are the new security.”
    The smirk broadens into a smile. It is damn irritating the way my insults always seem to entertain him.
    “No, sorry to disappoint you,” he finally replies, and then he starts to walk away.
    But I am not prepared to let him just leave without an explanation. I need some answers, so I swiftly move to block his path.
    “So what are you doing outside my home? Are you stalking me?”
    His dark brown eyes look hurt. “Just visiting a friend.” He waves a hand towards the building. “I had no idea you owned all thirty-five of these flats.” He resumes his departure walking carefully around me.
    “Where are you going?” I shout after him.
    He turns back to face me. “Starbucks. Want to come?”
    “No. I’m busy.”
    “A hot date?”
    He looks annoyed at the thought; so I reply, “Scorching, actually.”
    “Pity. I thought you might treat me…” He jumps forward and pulls me towards him as a bike whips by an inch from my back.
    “Get off the damn pavement,” he shouts after the cyclist. I am held tight against his body, and I can feel his breath on my neck. Although I know he has just saved me from being mown down, I can’t help but wonder about the coincidence of being manhandled by this man twice in a matter of days.
    “Any damage?” he says, putting me at arm’s length.
    “No! The bloody idiot,” I mutter. “What do they think the cycle lanes are for?”
    “Language! Miss Bennet.”
    I glance up in exasperation, but my breath catches at the way his eyes bore into me. “You should take more care of yourself,” he says before he turns and leaves me in a state of total bewilderment. A shiver courses through me as I watch him disappear around the corner. And I am totally disgusted with myself for not finding out why he was lurking outside my flat.
    I consider following him to Starbucks but am diverted as Lyn pulls up in her car.
    “And what happened to you yesterday?” she demands, as she jumps out.
    “You will never believe it,” I mutter.

    I hand Lyn a cup of coffee and then settle down to tell her what transpired