Her Sweet Surrender: The First Crush Is the Deepest

‘Shame on me? Shame. On me?’

Amber felt the heat burn at the back of her neck which had nothing to do with the Indian food and she crashed her hand down onto the table hard enough to make both Sam and the plates jump, and leant forwards towards him.

‘How dare you? How dare you tell me that I should be ashamed of the fact that my family love me and care what happens to me? No, I don’t always agree with what they tell me, but at least they make an effort to be part of my life. But you know all about that, don’t you? How are you getting on with your dad these days? And remind me of the last time you saw your mum?’

The words emerged in harsh outbursts which seemed to echo around her patio and reflect back from the stone-faced man sitting opposite. And she instantly regretted them.

It shocked her that Sam was capable of making her so spiteful and hard. She was one of the few people who knew how hard it had been for him when his mother abandoned her husband and son. But that didn’t mean that she had to throw his pain back in his face.

She was better than that. Or at least she was trying to be.

‘In fact I don’t know why I am even listening to you in the first place.’ She blinked and tossed her head back and calmly sipped her water. ‘You are hardly qualified to take the moral high ground. I certainly don’t need a lecture on making decisions from you, Sam. Understood?’

‘Perfectly.’ Sam nodded, then leant forward and rested his elbows on the table while his gaze locked onto her face. ‘Is your little tantrum over now, Miss DuBois? Because I would really like to get this so called interview over and done with as soon as possible. I have a real assignment waiting for me back at the paper, so can we move on, please?’

‘Absolutely,’ Amber replied, trying to calm her heart rate and appear to be more or less in control again. ‘But it does make me wonder. What are you really doing back here in London? Because whatever it is must be very important to persuade you to go through with this little game of charades.’

* * *

Sam tried to savour more of the delicious food as slowly as he could while his brain worked at lightning speed, trying to form an answer, but his appetite was gone and he pushed his meal away.

Amber had fired her arrow and hit her target right in the centre.

Strange how this girl was one of the few people alive who knew just what his emotional hot buttons were and was not afraid to press them down hard when she needed to.

Just as he had pressed hers.

That was the problem with working with people who understood you.

Touché Amber.

If this was a game, then it was one point to each of them.

Sam sat back in his chair and watched Amber as she turned away from him and looked out over the city, all joy in her food and apartment forgotten.

The warm sunlight played on her pale skin and delicate features. Up close and personal, she was even lovelier than the girl on the magazine cover. Her chest rose and fell and he could sense the emotional strain these last few minutes had cost her.

Strain he was responsible for.

Shame on him.

Amber DuBois was gunpowder and those few minutes they had just shared in the dressing room had proved just how explosive getting within touching distance could be.

Any ideas he might have had about staying distant and professional had just gone out of the window the instant his fingers touched her skin.

He might be over his teenage crush but this woman he was looking at now had the power to get under his skin and bother him.

Bother him so badly that suddenly it felt easier to keep his change of heart towards his father to himself. If she had a whiff that he was some sort of self-sacrificing martyr who desperately wanted to make it up to his dad for all those angry years, she would never let him forget it.

A few days. He could stay cool and professional for a few days for his dad’s sake.

His eyebrow lifted. ‘I told you. I need the promotion and the boss made it clear that I will only get that if I come back with an exclusive from, and I quote, “the lovely Miss DuBois”. That’s it, job done,’ and Sam went back to the food.

No way was he going to fall into Amber’s trap and start spouting on about how guilty he felt about leaving his dad all alone for years on end while he lived the high life in California. This was Amber he was talking to. She would be only too ready to believe that he was a heartless son who had only come back to London for the job and the status.

After what had just happened in the dressing room he intended to keep as far away from her as physically possible.

He had to keep up the pretence that he was still the self-absorbed young man who would let nothing come between him and his career. Which was not so far from the truth. Happy families were for other men. Not men like Sam Richards.

‘Job done. Right,’ Amber replied and picked up her water glass. ‘Come on, Sam. Out with it. From what I hear, you can get a job anywhere you like. Why here? Why now? And why do I suspect that there is a lovely lady involved in the answer?’

‘You think I came back to London for a woman? Oh, no. Sorry to burst your romantic bubble, but this was strictly business all the way.’

‘Um,’ Amber replied. ‘Pity. I could have given her a few tips. Such as run for the hills now, before he breaks your heart. That sort of thing. But not to worry, it will keep for another time.’

And she smiled sweetly at him over her water glass. ‘But do tuck into your lunch. You are going to need it for this afternoon’s opportunity to shine.’

‘More pictures?’

‘Yes, but that is for later when you deliver the paintings to Saskia and hang them up for her,’ Amber replied. ‘But in the meantime I have something which is much more suited to your...talents.’

She narrowed her eyes and rested her elbows on the table so that she could support her chin with one hand. ‘Did you bring your camera and tripod? I’ll take that nod as a yes. Super. My shoes really do need the right angle to look their best.’

Sam spluttered into his water glass. ‘Shoes? You want me to photograph your shoes?’ he asked in complete disbelief.

‘Eighteen pairs of designer loveliness.’ Amber sighed. ‘Worn once or not at all. Gorgeous but unloved. Kate wanted them but she has tiny feet so I am selling them on the Internet.’

‘You are selling your shoes.’ Sam snorted and tossed his head with a sigh. ‘Things must be desperate. Cash flow problems?’

Her tongue flicked out and she licked her lips once. And right there and then he knew that she was keeping something from him.

‘Don’t try and hide your enthusiasm. I knew that you would be excited by the opportunity. This is just part of the modern girl’s annual clearing out of last season’s couture so that she can buy new ones to take their place—and all the money goes to charity. Oh—and tomorrow gets even better. The lovely Saskia is trying to launch Elwood House as a private dining venue and her online presence is just not cutting it. She needs a professional writer to redesign the website and create a whole new photo gallery—and it has to be complete in time for my birthday party on Thursday.’

‘Is there any good news in all of this?’ he spluttered, while shovelling down more chickpeas and rice.

‘Of course. You have a front row seat at my birthday party, hobnobbing with the great and good of the London scene. Even if you are taking the photographs for Saskia’s website at the same time.’

Sam blew out slowly. ‘I am so grateful for your kind consideration. So that’s Saskia covered. Are you sure that Kate Lovat wouldn’t like me to stand in her shop window modelling a tartan dinner suit in my copious spare time?’

‘Hey, that’s not a bad idea. You might be able to fit it in after you have cleaned the spiders and mouse droppings out of her attic tomorrow. Oh. Didn’t I mention that? Silly me. And after you have sorted the ladies out, then you can pop back here. By then I should have sorted out my unwanted lingerie. I am sure you can come up with some suitable slogan like “as worn by Amber” when you put together the adverts for the Internet auction.’

Amber tilted her head to one side as he glared at her through slitted eyes.

And this was the girl he was thinking of asking to be his friend.

‘Not lingerie. Shoes I can understand. But I draw the line at photographing lingerie unless you intend to model it in person.’

‘But this is your audition, sweetie. Have you forgotten so quickly? Of course, if you are refusing to carry out my perfectly reasonable requests, well, I shall have to phone the journalist on the other paper and see if she is still interested... And no, my modelling days are over.’