THE STRICT BRITISH BARRISTER: ACT ONE Read Online Free PDF

wok vegetable dish, she placed her order, poured herself some coffee, and carried it to a table against a window.
    The room was surprisingly empty, and her thoughts remained with the handsome Brit, wondering where he might be. If he wasn’t in his cabin he had to be somewhere on the ship, but it was a big ship.
    He could be anywhere, doing anything. I wonder if I’ll run into him again, or that one meeting and my crazy dream will be my only memories of him.
    It was when she looked up to reach for the creamer that she saw him. Wearing olive green shorts and a soft cream shirt, he sauntered in carrying a leather satchel. Shocked that he’d appeared she took a deep breath and tried to remain calm.
    I can’t believe it. He’s here, in the flesh. Please, let him notice me, please, please.
    She watched him furtively as he wandered over to a nearby table and placed his bag on a seat, then moved across to the buffet. A waiter arrived carrying her wok-fried vegetables, but she barely eyed the steaming plate as it was placed in front of her.
    Duncan Rhys-Davies was even more attractive than she remembered, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He carried himself tall and straight, almost a military bearing, and as she watched him eye the various selections she could easily imagine his arms around her, her head curled up in the nook of his shoulder.
    Sighing, she was about to shift her gaze when to her delight he turned and stared directly at her. Smiling nervously she nodded her head, hoping against hope he would feel her invitation from across the room and join her.
    He had filled a plate with salad, and continuing to hold her stare, he began walking slowly towards her.
    Oh, my gosh. He’s coming over. Stay calm, just stay calm.
    “Care for some company?” he asked, reaching her table.
    “Sure,” she replied, hoping her voice did not reveal the quivering butterflies in her stomach.
    He sat his plate on the table, then quickly retrieved his satchel and settled in across from her.
    “I don’t think we officially met,” he said, “Duncan Rhys-Davies.”
    “Hello, Brittany Carter. Pleased to officially meet you,” she smiled.
    “Enjoying the cruise?” he asked, attempting to pierce his fork into a piece of escaping lettuce.
    “It’s great. Very relaxing. I feel so far away from everything out here.”
    “Yes, that’s the whole point for me, getting away,” he remarked.
    Her food was still sitting in front of her, uneaten; the butterflies had departed, but had given way to some strange flipping thing.
    “Oh? You need to decompress?” she asked.
    “Sort of, I’m a writer,” he replied. “It’s peaceful out here. No phones interrupting, it’s quiet and I don’t have to cook.”
    “Wow!” she exclaimed, her dream flashing through her mind. “A writer. What do you write?”
    A wry grin crossed his face and he tilted his head to one side.
    “Naughty novels,” he answered not looking up.
    The flipping thing in her stomach took on tornado-like proportions, and the imagery of being across his lap having her bottom soundly spanked was far too fresh in her mind; she couldn’t think of anything to say.
    “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he apologized, glancing up.
    “You didn’t,” she said hastily, “honestly. I was just wondering if I’ve ever read any of your books.” Why did you say that, you idiot? Now you’ve just told him you read naughty novels.
    “Really? You read erotica?”
    Aaarrgh… how do I answer that?
    Just be honest… this is great.
    “Sometimes,” she managed.
    He smiled at her again, but it was a warm, comforting smile.
    “It’s nice to meet a woman who actually admits it,” he remarked. “Most women get flustered and make an excuse to leave when I tell them, or they look at me as if I should be shot,” not that I tell many women, hardly any in fact. Why am I sharing this with you so quickly?
    “Oh, not me,” she lied, thinking she’d never felt so