Holding Back
by Helen Pollard
Published by Clean Reads
www.cleanreads.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
HOLDING BACK
Copyright © 2015 HELEN POLLARD
ISBN 978-1-62135-413-0
Cover Art Designed by CORA GRAPHICS
Chapter One
"Excuse me. You've picked up the wrong bag."
Deep and decisive, the voice startled Laura from behind as she loaded her luggage onto her hard-won airport trolley.
"No, I don't think so." She swung round to confront the voice's owner. Unnerved to find him towering over her, she took a step back, stumbling over her trolley in the process.
With lightning speed, he reached out to catch her arm, his grip strong as he helped her regain her balance. When she was upright again, she took in piercing blue eyes, thick dark brown hair, a hint of stubble on a tanned face—and felt an immediate jolt of attraction.
Laura ignored it. "I can manage, thank you," she snapped, thinking she wouldn't have tripped if he hadn't surprised her like that.
He released his hold and raised an eyebrow. "As I said, you have my bag."
Pushing away long strands of chestnut-brown hair that had dared escape their ponytail, Laura returned his gaze.
"No, this is definitely mine." She was hot, harassed, and late. The last thing she needed was a futile argument over her own luggage!
"Would you mind if I check?"
"Help yourself." Unable to disguise her impatience, Laura waved at it, adding, "But I am in a hurry." She winced at the hostile tone in her voice, but she really didn't have time for this. Tapping her foot in irritation, she waited to be proved right as he crouched over her trolley.
"Would you care to look?" he asked.
Laura's foot stopped tapping. Recognising undisguised triumph on his face, she read the label over his shoulder with trepidation, but there it was in black and white—Daniel Stone, London Gatwick to Porto. The heat that rose in her cheeks seemed to burn right through her skin.
"But it's the same as mine!" she blustered, watching with embarrassment as he hoisted the heavy bag from the trolley with ease.
"It's hardly a unique design," he commented, shrugging broad shoulders. "If you weren't in such a tearing hurry, you might have spotted your own on the carousel."
Laura spun around to see her bag riding forlornly around with the few that were left. Mortified, she opened her mouth to apologise.
But he spoke first. "Personally, I would advocate that old saying 'More haste, less speed.'" His tone softened a little as he added, "I'm sorry, but you're not the only hot, tired person whose flight was delayed, you know." And off he strolled through the terminal, his bag flung over his shoulder, without a backward glance.
Laura watched him disappear through the crowds, any chance of apologising gone with him. Heaving her luggage from the conveyor belt, she checked the label in a fit of pique. Anyone could make a mistake, for goodness' sake, although it was a rare occurrence on her part. It was also unlike her to be so impolite. Then again, Mr. Stone left something to be desired in the courtesy department, too. At least he could have lifted her bag off the belt!
"Pity his manners aren't as attractive as the rest of him," she muttered as she pushed her trolley through the throng. And, she had to face it, the rest of him was attractive, even to her usually oblivious eyes.
When she saw the size of the queue at the car hire counter, she cursed the time spent over the bags and glanced impatiently at her watch. Paulo and Rachel were expecting her at the hotel by five, but it was four o'clock already. She needed to be there to greet the new arrivals for them, so they could get ready for their holiday tomorrow.
Pulling her phone out of her bag, she texted to explain the delay, smiling as she read Rachel's reassuring reply. Laura was so looking forward to seeing her again—once a year just wasn't enough. The two of them had been inseparable at university, but while Laura went on to become a teacher, Rachel married Paulo and came to live in Portugal at the Quinta Maria, the country hotel he ran with his family. Every summer since, Laura had been invited to help Maria and Teresa— Paulo's mother and younger sister—while he and Rachel visited friends and relatives back in England. Since Laura spoke Portuguese and was free during the school holidays, it was a perfect arrangement for everyone!
Her paperwork processed, she hurried out of the terminal into the late afternoon heat. Spotting a red hatchback along the row of cars, she clicked the key and—nothing. She tried again, with the same result. Huffing, she stabilised her luggage trolley against the boot of the car, threw her handbag onto the roof and tried once more.
No good. Her key must be faulty. Unwilling to troop inside and join the back of the queue to complain, she pulled the manual key out of its casing and pushed it into the lock—where it firmly stuck. As she impatiently shoved hair out of her eyes, she heard an ominously familiar voice.
"Adding car theft to bag stealing?"
Her heart sinking, Laura turned to see Daniel Stone leaning casually against the car next to hers, tall and imposing, his arms folded across his chest. It made her inexplicably cross that he appeared so cool and in control, his light cotton shirt and khaki trousers clean and unwrinkled. Acutely aware of her own smudged face, unruly hair, and the heat causing her tee-shirt to cling uncomfortably to her body, she
