Losing Angeline: London Calling Book Two Read Online Free Page B

Her shoulders relaxed from where she’d been holding herself rigidly upright.
    “Yes, we apologize. She’s at a stage, as I’m sure you’re both familiar.” Both men had children of their own; she was confident they’d accept her excuse. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you,” she addressed the politician before turning to her employer. “And I’ll see you on Monday, bright and early. Enjoy the rest of the evening, gentlemen.”
    John lightly cupped her elbow, leading her through the thinning crowd. Angeline angled her head slightly to look up at him. “How did you know?”
    “I saw the vaguely suppressed panic of your expression.” Humor creased the corners of his eyes. “Besides, it’s no secret how you feel about politicians. And as always, I enjoy charging to your rescue.”
    It wasn’t the politicians themselves, but the publicity they represented. Of course, John wouldn’t know that.
    He stepped to the wall of elevators and casually pressed the call button. As he turned back to face her, Angeline dropped a cheeky curtsy. She batted her eyes and exaggerated her accent. “Sir, I am ever in your debt. How could I possibly repay you?”
    John clasped her hand and bowed gallantly over it, peeking up to meet her eyes. “I think we’ll think of something. Don’t you?” He pressed a chaste kiss to the back of her hand before turning it over to touch his lips to her palm. His tongue snaked out to briefly bathe it.  
    They both laughed, caught up in their private world of sexy banter and teasing foreplay.  
    Everyone else faded into the background. Including the photographer that snapped a photo, capturing two beautiful people in thrall with each other.
    ***
    Two days later, a man settled himself at the yellowed Formica counter of a local diner in Lincoln, Nebraska. Adding a half packet of sweetener and a mini tub of cream to his coffee, he absentmindedly stirred until it turned grayish brown. Clinking his spoon on the side, he licked it clean before placing it back on the folded paper napkin in front of him.  
    He waited to give his usual order of eggs over easy with two slices of bacon and wheat toast before snapping his newspaper open. At once, he was mildly annoyed by the story featuring a politician from over a thousand miles away.  
    “Why do we care about politics in Georgia?” he grumbled, half to himself and half to the bustling waitress behind the counter.
    She actually answered him, used to his half-hearted rants and comments from out of the blue. “Edward,” she began.
    He raised a brow at her familiarity.  
    She started over. “It’s an election year, Mr. Pierce, and state governors wield more power than ever before.” She pointed to the article laid out before him. “You might be looking at a future president there, you never know.”
    He grimaced, but something about the photo caught him. Peering more closely, he fumbled in his shirt pocket for his habitual reading glasses. The would-be governor was shaking hands with a woman, but her face was turned to the side so only the barest suggestion of her profile remained clear.
    She stood tall, nearly the same height as the politician and the other men nearby. Long hair cascaded down her back, but he couldn’t be sure of the color from the grainy black and white photo.
    A memory nagged at him. Another female but who was not yet a woman. Even before full adulthood, she’d had the same cheekbones. Her jaw had angled into the long curve of her neck in the same way as the woman’s in the photo. He abruptly folded the newspaper shut, crumpling some of the pages in his haste.
    He was seeing things.  
    As the waitress brought his breakfast over, he picked up his cutlery to angrily stab at his bacon, cutting each slice into neat fifths before forking each piece into his mouth with repressive precision.
    He’d looked for her, his Angel, for years without ever finding so much as a whisper of a trail. She’d run from him. Escaped him.