Catch My Breath
Authors: Lynn Montagano
Contents
I’m a former TV news writer who took the plunge and finally wrote a novel. I know, right? Insanity. Prior to jumping into novel writing, I spent the majority of my career working in radio and television as a promotions director, writer and associate producer. I love any job that is challenging and creative.
I grew up in a small town in Rhode Island before spreading my wings to discover this great, big world. Traveling, like writing, has become a necessary part of my life. My favorite place is and always will be London. It’s my home away from home.
For now, I’m a displaced New Englander hanging my hat in Northern California. If you can see me through the fog, wave hello.
To my family and friends, for always being my biggest supporters and loudest cheerleaders.
And to my passport (yes, my passport), for opening up the world and introducing me to my favorite place on Earth.
“Amelia Grace Meyers. Naptime is over. Let’s
go
. We’re getting picked up at seven for the benefit. I don’t want to be late.”
The blankets were unceremoniously ripped from my body, destroying the warm cocoon I’d wrapped around myself. I sat up with a start, blinded by the bright light spilling from the bedside lamp. Grabbing the blankets, I flopped back onto the mattress.
“You’re mean,” I whined into the pillow, trying to figure out what the hell my best friend was talking about. And more importantly, where I was. I opened a sleepy eye and saw Stephanie Tempe, all perfumed and primped, standing at the foot of the bed.
Oh right. Scotland.
“What time is it?” I yawned.
“Quarter past six. Get up.”
I crawled out of bed, shooting a half-hearted glare in her direction. Why I agreed to go to this event with her tonight was beyond me. I stumbled toward the bathroom, deftly avoiding the suitcases that were scattered in a schizophrenic maze on the floor. I’d been in Glasgow for twelve hours and still hadn’t technically seen the outside of this room. Who knew jet lag could be so vicious?
Twenty minutes - and a furious effort on my part to look presentable - later, our heels clicked in unison on the marble floor in the hotel lobby.
“You totally set a new record for getting ready,” Stephanie remarked as we waited for our ride. I nodded, yawning. When the black Land Rover arrived, I curled up on the seat, watching the streets of Glasgow streak by in a blob of color.
My brain finally sprang to life as I stepped onto the sidewalk, marveling at the hectic, excited energy surrounding me. I didn’t get dazzled easily, but this was shaping up to be a fun night. The stunning Victorian building glowed under the bright lights as scores of men and women dressed in their finest suits and gowns chatted amongst themselves. I stood in place, smitten with the old world charm of the city.
I knew I was smiling a bit too much, giving away my status as a tourist, but I couldn’t help it. The way the old buildings mingled with eye-popping steel and glass structures reminded me of New York. Only this version had a Scottish accent.
Taking a few steps to my right, I nearly stumbled off the curb. I steadied myself on the backend of a gray Mercedes SUV.
Wake. Up.
I tried to see if anyone was inside to witness my less than suave move, but couldn’t make out anything through the dark tint.
“Come on, Lia. Darren’s waiting for us inside.” Stephanie waved, immersing herself in the twinkling aura of elegance and waltzing toward the main doors. I snapped out of my daze and followed her.
We passed through a grand entrance hall with small domed ceilings covered in tiled mosaics. I was struck by the two massive staircases flanking either side. One was made out of white Carrara marble, while the other was a deep red. Multi colored and gold veins swirled around the staircase, giving it a darker, more alluring feel.
As I walked up the white marble stairs, I felt a twinge of disappointment that the other one led to a different part of the building. All that rich color seemed much more exciting.
We navigated our way through the crowd and found Darren MacCourty leaning against the bar. He looked rather dashing in a black suit and tie.
"Steph! Lia! You made it.” He engulfed Stephanie in a giant bear hug and swung her around a couple of times. After he put her down, he gave me a quick peck on each cheek.
"You ladies look gorgeous. Can I offer you something to drink? There’s champagne, wine and something called a Kilted Knight.” A Glaswegian accent danced around his words, much to my delight. He was our one-man welcoming committee for our extended Scottish vacation.
Stephanie opted for champagne while I chose the Kilted Knight. A delectable combination of peach, melon and mint yumminess floated over my taste buds.
“How’s the holiday going?” he asked as we walked to our table.
“Eh, it’s going. Lia’s been asleep since we got here,” Stephanie teased.
“Have a few more drinks.” Darren grinned at me. “You'll feel brand new. Never mind the sleep.”
“If you say so,” I said, smiling back. “Thanks for inviting us to this, by the way.”
“Ah, no worries. Probably not as exciting as the events you go to in Orlando, but it’s a good excuse for me to look sharp on the arms of two lovely lasses like yourselves.”
He winked, draping his arms around our shoulders. I laughed at his easy, boyish charm. I’d met him through Stephanie a few years ago, but he made me feel as though I’d known him forever.
“Looking for someone?” I followed his gaze through the room.
“Yeah. I wanted to introduce you both to one of my mates. He was supposed to meet us here. Probably buggered off to a dark corner to avoid the guests.”
“Is he single?” Stephanie grinned.
“That’s nice. Ask about the availability of others right in front of me,” Darren teased. “You can ask him tomorrow at the football match. Excuse me, soccer game.”
I got a kick out of watching them tease each other. There weren’t any romantic feelings, just an honest tight friendship that continued to get stronger no matter how far Glasgow and Orlando were from one another.
The three of us meandered around the room, chatting with some of Darren’s co-workers. They were intrigued by the “colonials,” as one of them put it. Stephanie ate up the attention. I was still so tired; taking a back seat to people watch seemed more appealing.
By the time we sat down for dinner, I was borderline comatose. Several people gave speeches and thanked everyone for their generous donations. Before the silent auction started, I excused myself to use the ladies’ room. One other woman was in there fixing her hair.
“I love your dress,” she said. “Where did you get it?”
“Neiman Marcus.”
“Are you Canadian?”
I shook my head, stifling a yawn. “American. I’m here on vacation.”
“Watch out for the local fellas. They’re rather sweet on American girls. Something about your accents.”
Bright white teeth appeared from behind her over-glossed lips. I wanted to believe she was being nice and welcoming, but I’d had enough experience engaging in high society bathroom small talk to know the difference.
“Thanks for the tip.”
After she left, I gave myself a once-over in the mirror, then made a pass at the bar for another drink.
My heel snagged on the carpet, sending me flying. I landed nose-first in a charcoal gray tailored Armani suit. Momentarily stunned, I clutched onto the toned arms that were wrapped around me. As I looked up my heart nearly stopped.
Wide emerald eyes fringed with long lashes gazed down at me with guarded curiosity. His sculpted mouth twisted into a cautious smile, softening his jawline.
“Are you alright?” he asked as he loosened his grip on me. His voice was rich and smooth, like a full-bodied wine. The English accent he had could charm the pants off a nun. It made me want to fall into his arms again.
I stepped back, smoothing down my dress. He didn’t look much older than thirty, but his worn eyes betrayed his youth.
“I’m fine. I’m not usually that clumsy. Sorry.”
His brows furrowed. “I kept telling them someone was going to stumble over that patch of carpet. You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Aside from my bruised ego and general lack of grace, I think I’ll be alright.” I smiled up at him in an effort to thwart the growing blush from creeping up my neck. I wasn’t the type who embarrassed easily and needed to regain some sort of composure. No luck.
His expression altered subtly as his stare intensified. Something shifted in the air between us. It was as though he’d tethered me with some freakishly strong invisible rope. My pulse quickened. I was caught smack dab in the middle of his magnetic pull without any means of escape.
Not that I wanted to get away. His tall frame filled out the suit with powerful elegance. The quiet control with which he held himself mirrored royalty. A tousled mass of thick, dark red hair framed chiseled features that would inspire Michelangelo. But it was those eyes that got me.
They were so astute, yet veiled. I wanted to know what was behind them.
“Would you like a drink?”
How he made such an innocent question sound so seductive was beyond me. His dark stare was unflinching. If I said no, he’d probably take it as a personal insult. And I did want another one of those fruity-minty drinks; I just couldn’t articulate the words.
“I hear the signature drink is rather good. Would you like that?”
“Yes, please,” I finally managed to say.
Forget my cheeks, my whole body flushed as I watched him move toward the bar. A silver cufflink glinted off his crisply pressed gray and white pinstriped shirt. I noticed he paired it with a solid gray tie before he caught me looking. A smile ghosted across his lips as his languid gaze traced my curves. I made a big deal out of inspecting the carpet for more hidden traps that my shoes could fall victim to.
He handed me the drink, my fingers brushing his when I clasped the glass. Against my better judgment I fell captive to his stare once more. Luckily, I remembered my manners and thanked him.
“My pleasure. Have you been enjoying yourself?”
“Yeah. Well, aside from making an ass of myself just now.”
A flash of white appeared revealing a dazzling smile. It was extremely sexy and charming.
And dangerous
. I felt myself falling deeper and deeper under his spell.
“Trust me, stumbling on a carpet is not the worst thing I’ve seen at these events.”
“No?”
“Stick around long enough and you just might see some of these well-dressed ladies toss off their shoes and throw some shapes when the band starts playing.” He grinned.
“Throw some what?”
“Dance.” His eyes flared with humor.
“You Brits and your crazy sayings,” I laughed.
“We like to keep you Americans on your toes.”
I took a long sip of my cocktail to prevent a stupid grin from spreading across my face.
“Don’t have too many of those. They’re rather potent.”
“But they’re so
good
. Don’t piss on my fireworks.” I smiled broadly.
A deep, throaty laugh filled the space between us.
“’Throwing shapes’ baffled you, but you know ‘piss on my fireworks?’”
“My sister only taught me the fun slang,” I laughed.
“Does she live here?”
“Not in Glasgow, no. She lives in London.”
“Well then, you’ll have to thank her for me,” he said, smoothing down his tie.
“Thank her for what?”
“Pretty Americans who know British slang are rare in these parts.”
“Interesting.” I looked up at him through my lashes.