Loving Lies by Julie Kavanagh Page A

floor. Those self-defence classes hadn’t been in vain.

Chapter Two
    Willow ran; her feet fleetingly fast over the cobblestones and q uickly turned into the alleyway which led to her tiny flat. If she was quick, he’d never know where she’d gone. Once home, she locked the front door, drew the curtains and sat on the old, comfy sofa while she contemplated her next move. She could phone the police but he’d done nothing more than grab her arm and tug her to the door of the shop- -d id that count as assault? He hadn’t hurt her, to be fair; he’d been quite gentle. It had to be mistaken identity or someone had put him up to it.
    Helen.
    Yes, it had to be Helen. Her best friend knew of her love for steamy romances and had set her up with a tall, dark handsome stranger and a plot full of romantic intrigue. It was the sort of thing she’d do with her endless round of useless blind dates although this was the best so far even if the method of delivery left a little to be desired.
    Willow laughed softly- all that nonsense about being a witch. Helen had outdone herself this time but she could redeem it all by giving Willow the handsome stranger’s telephone number… unless he was some kind of gigolo and had been paid for the night. Willow raised a hand to her mouth; she could easily believe it. He was too handsome for his own good with his piercing dark eyes and long black lashes. His mouth was hard and thin making her picture what he’d be like to kiss. How wonderful would it be to watch that man smile, a touch of tongue tasting his lips … She sighed again; she should go back, tell him she’d guessed Helen’s prank and he would grin and offer to buy her a drink. It didn’t matter, if he was a gigolo, she wouldn’t mind buying the drinks if she could stare into his sexy eyes and, if it led to other things-- darker sensual things--then that was okay too. From what little she’d glimpsed, he had a long lean body and she wondered how he would look sprawled across her tiny double bed with his….
    “Why did you run?”
    Willow yelped, leaping to her feet and grabbing the vase of cut flowers on the side-table, ignoring the sloshing of water over her hand.
    “How did you get in here?” She held the vase as though it was a weapon and she turned on the man standing in the doorway. She could see the astonishment on his face even though the only light was the beam of the street lamp through the drawn curtains.
    “The door was open.” He waved a hand at the door she’d locked. It was still locked. How the Hell???
    “I locked that door,” Willow stated calmer than she felt. She couldn’t believe she’d been fantasising about him and he’d followed her, forcing his way through her locked door and was standing there surprised that she’d tried to escape him. “You better get out before I call the Police.”
    But he didn’t move, except to note the movement of a small animal, which left its bed in the corner, its green eyes lazily appraising the situation before sitting down in between them to watch.
    “You have a cat,” the man said as though it was the most important thing in the world.
    “Yes, I have a cat,” she confirmed. Was h e allergic to cats? Wouldn’t that be just her luck? The first good-looking man in a million years to take any notice of her and he didn’t like cats.
    “Of course you do,” the man muttered, confirming something in his head.
    “That doesn’t make me a witch,” Willow raised the vase higher. “Owning a cat doesn’t make anyone a witch. I like cats; that’s all.”
    “My apologies, I should have realised.” The man bent his head and Willow wanted to tell him it was okay, and if they were quick, they could catch last orders at the Red Bull, before she realised he was talking to the cat.
    “You’re apologising to my cat,” Willow stammered, barely noticing the man step forward and remove the vase from her hands before replacing it on the table, out of her reach.
    “Willow