What a weirdo. What did I ever do to him? Recognise him? He shouldn't be bloody famous then, if he doesn't want the friggin’ attention!

Chapter 7

Celebrity close encounter

Fifteen minutes later, and I was contentedly sipping on the remains of my large daiquiri when a deep cough interrupted my thoughts.

Tudor North stood behind me with folded arms and a dangerously sexy lopsided smirk. Now he had moved away from the cover of the table I could see him in his full glory, and glo-ri-ous he was.

Wearing a fitted black T-shirt, ripped dark jeans and an oversized beanie hat tucked in at the back, he towered above me, and for once in my life I actually felt dainty next to his remarkably wide, tall and sculpted body.

“You work here as well as school or something?” he asked in a low, gruff voice.

“No. Just waiting for my friend to finish work, he gets off at ten. But hello to you too. Aren’t you the epitome of manners? So… friendly and approachable!” I jibed, feigning nonchalance.

Why is he over here?

“He?” he inquired, looking down at the floor and then back up at me, ignoring my bitchy remark.

“Yeah, Tin- er, John.”

He wouldn't get the ‘Tink’ reference and I couldn't be arsed explaining it to someone I frankly was beginning to detest. Although my body, currently covered in goose bumps, didn't exactly agree with my mind’s assessment. His good looks were making me queasier than the super-strong daiquiri I had just necked.

“Is he your boyfriend or something?” he asked in a very abrupt and direct manner.

“Not that it concerns you but, hell no! Take a look; do you think that’s my boyfriend?”

I pointed over to Tink, who was in the kitchen picking up pizzas above his head and strutting out to the main restaurant, doing his best Tyra Banks walk and screaming, “Work it, girl!”

“Ahh, guess not. He’s g*y, then?”

Please don’t let him be homophobic too.

“Yep. He’s as camp as Christmas and oh, he’s a cage fighter too,” I replied dryly.

He swerved to study Tink’s slender frame. “What-? Ahh,” he nodded his head with a knowing grin. “Touché, Ms. Munro. Payback for my display of sarcasm earlier?” he commented, with the ghost of a smile.

Is he actually trying to be nice?

“Tit for tat, Mr. North. Tit. For. Tat,” I scolded, exaggerating each word with a click of my fingers.

He pierced me with those forest-green eyes for what seemed like hours. I couldn’t look away. Slowly licking his lips, he looked me up and down and said, “Well, I’ve got the tats, so…”

Redirect, reverse, and just go back to being pissed off, not turned on!

I shuffled on the suddenly-hot seat, and pulled my libido back from sneaking up his trouser leg. “He jokes! An actor with a sense of humour, who knew? Not the f**k-nut I thought, then?” I said, finally finding my poker face.

“Not always, whatever the hell that is,” he murmured, seemingly slightly amused.

Phew! That voice.

“My name’s Tash by the way, I feel like an S&M madam you calling me ‘Ms.’ all the time.”

“Tash… I like it,” he leaned down, his arms trapping me against the bar. He put his mouth to my ear and whispered huskily, “But I like the idea of calling you Ms. as well.” He met my now-stunned gaze, and stepped back as if that little conversation had never happened.

He’s done that to wind me up, unnerve me but... but – man, he’s so hot! Oh my God, he has dimples… write me off now or let me take up residence in those little caves of cuteness!

Shuffling uncomfortably on the spot like he was nervous, he peered down at me. “So, do you want to join our table? Boleyn keeps raving about you and quite honestly I’m intrigued to hear all about the ‘famous Ms. Munro’ in person. Plus, it may shut her up for the remainder of the night if you sit with us. She’s been craning her neck all over ever since you came back here. Claims I was a bad brother and an even worse human being to speak to ‘the best teacher ever’ like that,” he declared, putting on a teenage-girl whiny voice.

“Ahh, so this little conversation is not altruistic, then? You want back in your sister’s good books,” I shook my head in mock disappointment. “And just when I thought you might have a heart, a conscience for offending little old me,” I lilted, acting upset and fluttering my eyelids.

Looking at me like he was aware of my sarcasm but playing along anyway, he replied, “I admit I may have been a bit of a 'fuck-nut' as you so eloquently put it. Sorry, I really shouldn't have spoken to you like that,” he apologised, one side of his mouth curving up in a devastatingly sexy way.

Trying to ignore the fact that the temperature in the room seemed to have gone up a hundred degrees, I jumped down from my stool.

“Well, lead the way, oh dutiful brother, we can't have your little sister pissed at you, can we?” I directed with a swing of my arm, earning a shake of the head from a begrudgingly entertained Tudor North.

Seated at the table next to Tudor, I fell into easy conversation with the rest of the family.

“So where are you from, Ms. Munro? I can’t place your accent,” asked Henry.

“You can all call me Tash. Well except you, missy. I’m still Ms. Munro to you,” I said, pointing to Boleyn. “I’m from England. A place called Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. You probably don’t know it. We are pretty much as far north a city as you can get to before you hit Scotland,” I informed.