Needed: Her Mr Right

Ryan was chatting to Meg James, one of the journalists, when he saw the girl from the airport.

He stared at her picture, smiling up at him from the pages of a glossy magazine—a full-page colour photo of her, sitting cross-legged on a grassy slope with a spectacular rocky gorge behind her and snow-capped mountains in the distance. Felt again that gut-punching sensation.

He had rung the airport’s lost property office, but no one had reported a missing diary. And now, here was the girl. She was wearing slim-fitting bike shorts, revealing her legs in all their shapely, golden-tanned loveliness.

He remembered the way she’d caught his attention at the airport—as if she were in glowing Technicolor and the rest of the scene was in black and white. Remembered the uncanny moment of connection when he’d locked gazes with her. Thought of the crowded handwritten pages of her diary, still sitting on his bookshelf. It was the weirdest feeling, almost as if he knew her and he’d let her down somehow.

With admirable restraint, he refrained from snatching up the magazine. Instead, he pointed to the open pages with an excessively casual hook of his right thumb. “Do you mind if I borrow this?”

Meg James shot him a curious smile. “Be my guest. But since when have you been a fan of City Girl?”

“I’d just like to check out this story. About the bike ride in the Himalayas.”

“Oh, sure, it’s a great travel piece.” Meg glanced at the picture and rolled her eyes. “Simone puts the rest of us to shame.”

Simone. He repeated her name softly, savouring it, letting it settle inside him. It was a sensuous name—just a little exotic—a good fit for her.

“Simone Gray,” he said, reading her byline.

“Yep. Don’t you know her? She’s the Big Chief at City Girl. Executive editor.”

“No kidding?” A pulse began to throb in his jaw and fine pinpricks erupted over his arms. “Tell me more about her.”

Meg sighed. “I get pea-green just thinking about Simone Gray. She’s smart, successful, has the job I’ve always lusted after. And every time I see her, she seems to have a different guy in tow and they’re all madly in love with her, of course. And then, to cap it off, instead of just writing a cheque for her favourite charity, she put herself through a huge ordeal, training hard, getting sweaty and blistered and making the rest of us feel like lazy layabouts.”

Ryan set the magazine down abruptly and Meg frowned at him.

“Changed your mind about reading it?”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll get what I want firsthand.”

Meg treated him to a very weird look, but he was already halfway out of the office.

Simone had given her PA the day off because it was her elderly mother’s birthday, so when the phone rang for the twentieth or maybe fortieth time that morning, her response was automatic. “Good morning. Simone Gray speaking. How can I help you?”

“Morning, Simone. My name’s Ryan Tanner. I’m a fellow journalist and I’ve rung to congratulate you on the article in this month’s City Girl. I really enjoyed your story about China. Nice work.”

Simone frowned. Her article was workmanlike and professional, possibly inspiring for some readers, but not exactly the kind of writing that would attract attention from fellow journalists—especially a male with a beautifully modulated, deeply sexy voice.

He’d said his name was Tanner…Ryan Tanner…

She didn’t think she’d met him, but couldn’t be sure. The only Tanners she could think of offhand were billionaires who owned vast tracts of mining land in Western Australia and the Northern Territory. No one in that family would want to work as a journalist.

“Thank you, Mr Tanner. It’s kind of you to take the trouble to call me.”

“No trouble.”

She waited a beat.

“But there is something else, Simone…”

He paused again and in the silence she decided there was something undeniably sexy about the way he said her name—warming it with his voice, touching a chord deep inside her.

It occurred to her that if this guy was as smooth as his voice suggested, he might be going to ask her on a date. He wouldn’t be the first man to make contact after seeing her photo in a magazine. Her mind raced ahead, planning a quick exit strategy.

Ryan Tanner’s deep voice rumbled silkily down the phone line. “I have something of yours that I’d like to return.”

“Something of mine?”

“You lost a book at the airport last week.”

A blast of fear exploded in her chest.

Crash.

The phone receiver slipped from her hand, clattered on to her desk.

“Simone?”

Her vital organs collided. She’d convinced herself that her precious diary had been dumped by a sullen taxi driver, or had been swept up and pulped by one of those noisy street sweeping machines. Last week, she’d rung the taxi company countless times with no luck and had decided it was safe enough to publish the Himalayan article. Had decided that even if someone had found the diary, the chances of that person reading City Girl and putting two and two together were negligible.

But now, only one day after City Girl had hit the news-stands, her worst fears were realised.

And of all people to have found the diary and make the connection, it had to be another journalist!

Her hand shook as she picked up the receiver again and held it to her ear.

“Ms Gray, are you there?”

She didn’t answer.

“Ms Gray, are you OK?”

Ryan Tanner sounded concerned, but she didn’t trust him.

Her mind raced in crazy panicking circles. His faux admiration of her article was a front, of course. The only reason he’d rung was to let her know he had the diary.

The sickening question was: what else did this guy know about her? And how did he plan to use it? Her stomach heaved and sweat trickled down her back as she imagined her diary entries and her innermost secret fears splashed across some grubby tabloid newspaper. Ridiculously, she even pictured her story flashed on a television news bulletin. Nausea rose from the pit of her stomach.

She had to get a grip, had to think like an editor, not a panicking victim. It was time to think in terms of crisis management.

As calmly as she could, she said, “Tell me one thing, Mr Tanner. We’re not on air, are we?”

“Of course not. There’s no need to panic. I only work with print media.”

A huff of relief escaped her. “OK…RyanTanner…I’m trying to remember if I’ve seen your byline.”

“Used to be with The Sydney Chronicle, but I’ve been in London for the last year and a half.”