(2012) Evie Undercover by Liz Harris Page A

igh ing with pleasure , she g lanc ed across the table at Tom . He was trying to brush away a fly. He looked up and met her eyes. H e sat back in his seat , abandoning his battle with the fly, and smiled at her .
    God, he was absolutely fabulous .
    T he cornflower blue of his shirt brought out the deep blue of his eyes and brilliantly set off his light tan. He really was something.
    Not that his dishy appearance and cool sense of fun would get in the way of what she had to do , she thought quickly. I t wouldn’t – she’ d no choice but to get her story – but it was lovely to let herself imagine for a m oment that she was in Italy solely as Evie Shaw , secretary and interpreter. J ust that and no more – no digging into his past life; no pretending to be what she wasn’t; above all, no editor behind her.
    ‘We’ll sock it to him when it hurts the most,’ her editor had thundered down the phone on the night before she left for Umbria. ‘The minute that stuck-up bastard stands up in court to start on some poor sucker, our readers are gonna be learning the truth about Mr Squeaky Clean. Squeaky Clean, my arse! You’ve got the two weeks you’re back in London to flesh out the details, Evie – and believe me, I want flesh and lots of it – and then you send me the low-down on his fucking affair, and you make sure it’s fucking good.’
    On the Monday that her story came out – the day that his next big libel case was beginning – she’d be back in the offices of Pure Dirt . It was just as well that she would be . S he co uldn’t begin to imagine what he woul d say about her role in the whole thing. W ell, she could, but she ’d no intention of going there; it would hurt too much.
    She took a deep breath . S he was going to have to grow a thick er skin if she wanted to keep he r job at Pure Dirt long enough to be able to jump from it into a mainstream magazine. Perhaps it would help if she ke p t on telling herself that if it hadn’t been for Pure Dirt , she wouldn’t have met Tom.
    ‘I was hungrier than I thought I was ,’ she said. ‘That penne with vodka was yummy .’
    ‘It’s a specialty of Umbria. Eduardo introduced me to it on one of my early visits. I’m glad you liked it. How about some pudding now?’
    ‘I really couldn’t, thanks. I’ve had more than enough. What with the hot sun and all that food, I feel just about ready for bed as it is.’
    ‘Tut, tut, Evie. S exual invitations shouldn’t fall upon the ears of someone at risk of develop ing monastic aspirations.’
    Yay! He was as keen as she was to get back to the banter they’d had earlier in his bedroom. This was a very promising path, but she’d better decide quickly on where she wanted it to end – get ting his confession was her goal, not get ting into his bed.
    She straightened up in her chair .
    ‘I ’ll be more careful in future ,’ she said, a playful, demure lilt to her voice. ‘ I can assure you that I would n’t want to make you blush , Tom.’
    ‘My sentiments entirely.’
    Their eyes met and they smiled at each other in amusement. Tom moved first. He picked up the bottle of wine and re-filled their glasses. ‘What about a coffee , then ?’
    ‘That sounds good. Thank you.’
    ‘I’ll have one too.’ He caught the waiter’s eye and beckoned him over.
    ‘ Due caffè, per piacere ,’ she told the waiter.
    He returned a few minutes later with their coffees and a small dish of amoretti . She poured some milk into her coffee and took one from the dish. She unwrapped the biscuit, and popped it into her mouth. ‘Oh, they’re amoretti morbidi .’
    ‘How can a biscuit be morbid?’
    ‘ Morbido means soft. I prefer them hard, though.’
    Ohmigod, did she really say that!
    A wave of heat spread over her chest and up to her neck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. She must have gone scarlet. What must she look like ? Her frantic gaze fell on her glass of ice- cold water. S alvation! She hastily wrapped her hands hard around the