Billionaire on Her Doorstep by Ally Blake Page A

hunger.
    “Here goes nothing,” he said, before walking over to her table and sitting down. Maggie blinked up at him, those great grey eyes of hers all confusion for a brief second, before they brightened, turning to molten silver.
    His head knew she only looked so darned happy to see him because it meant she wouldn’t be sitting there alone. But his heart obviously hadn’t received the memo that she was off the market as it missed a beat in response. He mentally told it to get a grip on itself.
    ““What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought you’d be out fishing.” Which, is why I braved coming into town, her eyes said, even if her words did not. At least one of them was prudent.
    “Been there, done that. Have you ordered yet?” he asked.
    He grabbing a spare menu from the next table. So much for saying hello and heading off. It seemed his hands and voice box had joined the rebel side along with his feet and his heart.
    “Ah, no,” she said, sitting on her hands and looking sheepish. “I’ve been here for about twenty minutes and I think I may have been forgotten.”
    That’s because you’re meant to order at the bar.”
    “Oh.” Her eyes grew wide. Her cheeks grew pink.
    Tom sat on his own hands to stop himself from reaching out and cupping her cheek and telling her that he wasn’t such a nice guy after all and he could forget about her husband if she could.
    “Then do you mind watching my handbag while I order?” she asked.
    “Sure. Go ahead.”
    She grabbed her wallet and slid out of the booth seat, knocking knees with him and giving him a shy smile by way of apology.
    It’s nothing more than an accidental knee knock! he told himself, but his skin felt a degree warmer all the same. “And while you’re there order me the crumbed fish and fries,” he said. “Extra slice of lemon.”
    “You’re staying for dinner?” she asked. He’d imagined that she would find a kind way of telling him to leave, but instead he caught a flare of hope in her eyes.
    What the heck did the two of them think they were playing at? There was no way Tom could leave now without finding out. He leaned back and rested an arm along the edge of the booth seat.
    Thank you. I’d love to.”
    “Good,” she said, blushing even deeper. “I’ll get the same as you. Though I think I’ll order my fish beer-battered.”
    Beer-battered fish? Why did that just have to be another thing for Tom to like about her?
    “You’re living on the edge tonight, Ms. Bryce,” he drawled. “Fish and chips, dinner in town, no paint stains. I hardly know you.”
    “You know me just fine,” she said. Then she half smiled, half frowned, looked as though she was about to say something, then shook her head, spun on her heel and walked away.
    Tom let out his breath in a great whoosh of air as he watched her willowy form slinking between the closely stacked tables.
    When she disappeared behind a pillar, he rubbed both hands over his face. Hard and fast. He should have been paying closer attention to the reasons why she was all wrong for him. It hadn’t been a hard task at other times, with other women. When he’d ever felt as if he was getting too close, he’d pulled away. Simple as that. So why couldn’t he simply switch it off with Maggie?
    Maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t have her that was making her that much more desirable. Hunting, gathering and survival of the fittest. The instinctive desire to be the dominant male.
    Tom laughed. Out loud. While sitting all on his lonesome. Heads turned. He smiled and waved to the octogenarian Clements, who were glaring at him as though he’d sworn in church.
    Since when had he become an expert in animal husbandry? Since never, that was when. Even he could see that he was getting desperate. But he’d learnt to live without the priorities that were part and parcel of a city life. He could live without merlot and lobster. And he could live without Maggie Bryce.
    “Tommy Boy!”
    Tom