The Honeymoon Prize

‘Oh, these old things? I’ve had them for ages.’

Dan laughed. ‘You shouldn’t keep them hidden away. You always look so demure sitting at the newsdesk,’ he went on, lowering his voice and gazing deep into her eyes. The effect was rather like sinking into a vat of melted chocolate. ‘I had you down as a good girl, but you sure don’t look like a good girl tonight. You look…naughty.’

Crikey, thought Freya, as his smile broadened suggestively. How was one supposed to respond to a comment like that? Clearly bursting into laughter would be out of order. Should she smirk? Try to simper? Or smoulder?

Unsure how to do any of them, she compromised by attempting all three at once, although judging by the looks on her guests’ faces, it came out as a leer instead.

As if in response to some unspoken dismissal from Dan, the simpering girls were turning disconsolately away. Not wanting to look as if she were monopolising him, Freya made to back away too, but Dan caught hold of her hand.

‘Don’t go,’ he said. ‘I haven’t had a chance to talk to you all evening.’

Freya swallowed hard and tried to look as if holding hands with the likes of Dan Freer was all in a day’s work for her. Another evening, another gorgeous guy unable to keep his hands off her, that was the attitude.

Did the Julia Robertses of this world get bored by this kind of thing? Freya wondered wildly. Did they ever wish they were the girl making laborious small-talk with an accountant instead of having every woman’s fantasy draped possessively around her?

Dan’s fingers were warm around hers. What was she supposed to do now? Squeezing his hand might seem a bit too forward, but if she just left hers sitting there like a wet fish, he might think that she wasn’t interested. God, there was so much to think about. Wouldn’t it be easier in the long run just to stick to the sofa and fantasies about George Clooney?

‘Let’s dance,’ he murmured.

‘Er…all right.’

Freya didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed when Dan ignored the lively beat and pulled her against him in readiness for a good old-fashioned smooch. ‘This is my lucky day,’ he told her, smiling.

‘Really?’ Freya managed to croak, distracted by the feel of his hand playing up and down her spine. It was bad enough concentrating on staying upright on her heels as it was, without having to make conversation as well.

‘I think so,’ said Dan smugly. ‘A new job and a new you all in one day. It feels pretty lucky to me.’

Freya wasn’t sure how to respond to that. ‘New job?’ she echoed, opting to ignore his comment about the ‘new you’.

‘You, Freya, are snuggling up to News Live Network’s new Africa correspondent!’

‘Africa?’

‘A whole continent all to myself!’ he said complacently, unable to keep the grin from his voice.

‘Won’t you have to share it with one or two Africans as well?’ she said without thinking.

There was a tiny pause, while, too late, Freya heard the tartness in her voice.

Bad, Freya, very bad, she thought gloomily. According to Lucy, who was an expert on relationships, men didn’t like criticism or snippy comments or the faintest suggestion that you thought they were anything less than a hundred per cent perfect.

‘I thought you were going for a job here in London,’ she added hastily.

Dan, who had stiffened imperceptibly, relaxed. ‘I thought so, too, but then this job came up unexpectedly. I’ve always wanted to be a foreign correspondent, and I’ll be able to cover stories all over Africa.’

‘It sounds great,’ said Freya dutifully. ‘Where are you going to live?’

‘Usutu. The capital of Mbanazere,’ he added when she didn’t answer immediately.

Memory stirred queerly inside her. Usutu was where Max had been based before Lucy’s wedding. He had told her about the Arab forts and the markets and the smell of cloves and coconuts.

‘I know,’ she said.

‘Of course you do. I keep forgetting you’re the foreign newsdesk secretary.’ Dan obviously felt that he had erred in some way. ‘Well, anyway, it’s a good base for East Africa, and it’s easy to get to the southern and central countries as well. And of course it’s an incredibly volatile region. They’ve been trying to build up tourism, but it’s more likely to be the next flashpoint. That’s what I’m banking on, anyway. I should be filing lots of stories.’

‘Oh, good,’ said Freya, wondering how the people of Mbanazere would feel about having their lives disrupted in order to provide good disaster stories to keep Dan on television.

Dan didn’t seem to find anything amiss in her answer. He was talking on, telling her about the political situation and the difficulties of reporting, which she only listened to with half an ear. She knew how reporters liked to make out that their assignments were more dangerous than they actually were.

‘It sounds like you’re raring to go,’ she said when she judged it time to contribute to the conversation, trying not to sound too resentful. She could have spared herself the expense of a party if she had known that Dan would barely have time to knock back a martini before buggering off to Africa. What was the point in planning a wild affair with someone who wasn’t going to be around?

Freya sighed to herself. This was typical of her. All that effort bringing herself to point where she was actually prepared to do something about the fact that she found a man attractive, and he promptly left the country. It served her right for picking on someone who was obviously right out of her league.

‘The funny thing is that right this minute I’m not anxious to go,’ said Dan, his mouth against her ear, his breath warm on her throat, and in spite of herself she shivered.

‘When are you leaving?’

‘Not for another month,’ he murmured. ‘And a lot can happen in a month, can’t it, Freya?’

It was true, thought Freya. Maybe she didn’t have to abandon her plan as a lost cause before it began after all. Here Dan was, his arms around her, murmuring suggestively in her ear. How much more encouragement did she need?

It wasn’t as if she wanted a long-term relationship. No, excitement was what she wanted, the headiness of a wild, passionate affair, not the nitty-gritty of compromising over squeezing toothpaste and whose turn it was to stack the dishwasher.

If she was being honest, a month on the emotional roller-coaster of getting involved with a man like Dan would be more than enough for her. She could wave him off to Africa and go back to her sofa with her honour, not to mention her libido, satisfied, and whenever Pel and Lucy started going on about getting a life, she would be able to remind them that she had had a fling with no less than Dan Freer.

So, get on with it, Freya told herself. Dan was making all the right moves, and with his tongue practically in her ear there was never going to be a better time to indicate that she was ready to have that fling.

Putting her arms around his neck, she smiled at him in what she hoped was a seductive way. ‘It can,’ she agreed, ‘if you want it to happen.’

‘I’m beginning to think that I do,’ said Dan. ‘You know, you’re quite a surprise.’

‘A nice surprise, I hope?’ Freya winced at the corniness of her response, but Dan didn’t seem to mind.

‘Very nice, and very intriguing. In fact, so intriguing that I think I’m going to have to do some undercover investigation to find the real Freya King. Could be an exclusive…’

It was actually happening. She, Freya King, was flirting with Dan Freer!

Over Dan’s shoulder, Freya could see Lucy grinning broadly and sticking her thumbs up, but still she couldn’t quite believe it. She could feel Dan’s hand pressing against her spine, pulling her into the hardness of his body; she could smell his aftershave, hear his voice, deep and warm, as his lips drifted from her earlobe down her throat. She should be thrilled, but all she could feel was vaguely detached.

It was all too pat. Dan might have been reading a script. Any minute now he’d be suggesting they go and find somewhere they could be alone.

‘Let’s go,’ whispered Dan. ‘Let’s find somewhere we can be on our own.’

Relax, Freya told herself sternly. This was it. She was on the verge of a passionate affair with an incredibly attractive man. It would be wild and exciting, and when it was over, she would be able to say that she had lived dangerously. Thirty years from now, when her hair was grey and she didn’t need to worry about her weight any more, she would be able to hint darkly at a broken heart and—

God, what was she doing fantasising about being fifty when Dan’s hands were on her bottom and his mouth was hot on her skin?

‘It’s my party. I can’t just walk out on everyone,’ she demurred, wishing she could stop feeling as if she were acting a part—and not very well, at that.