Tempt (Secrets and Lies #1) - Ainsley Booth Page 0,2

repeated in English. “Good evening, ladies and gentleman. We apologize for the sudden stop. We have a delay on the tracks ahead and have received instructions to hold position here for the moment.”

Damn it. He was right. “That’s too bad,” I say quietly, my heart sinking. Of course I hope whoever is in the collision is all right, and this could just be a short delay until they get the tracks cleared.

“I guess, uh…” He gives me a rueful smile, like he knows that I didn’t want to talk, but now we’re talking anyway, so the polite thing to do is do it right. “Can I introduce myself?”

My sinking heart jolts back into place. It’s an odd request, but I like it. I smile. “Sure.”

“I’m Sam. Sam Preston.”

I nod. Okay. Let’s do this. I hold out my hand. “I’m Aibhlin.”

That’s all he gets. My writing nom de plume, and only the first name at that. I don’t give him my last name. I don’t want him to google me with the same speed he found the news about the train stoppage.

“A pleasure, Aibhlin.” He repeats it exactly right, his pronunciation perfect. Aveline. No weird reaction, no questions. His gaze doesn’t leave my face, and his smile seems sincere.

I relax a bit. “Same to you, Sam.”

Then I put my computer in my bag, because who am I kidding? I’ll be too on edge to write any more words tonight.

And if we’re going to do this, I’m going to do it right.

He gives me another smile. This one is bolder. Inviting, seductive. Do you want to play a game? Flirt instead of work?

I don’t. Not really. I didn’t, anyway.

I glance at his hand. No ring. Means nothing, but I’m jaded now. I always check. “Heading to Ottawa for work?”

He nods.

I pick up the stemless wine glass that holds the remnants of my second drink. “And what do you do, Sam Preston?”

The corner of his mouth pulls up, forming an almost-dimple right at the point. Does he like the full name treatment? “I’m an investment banker.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. “Of course.”

He gestures down at his suit. “Predictable?”

“Entirely.”

“And you?”

Before I can answer—and who am I kidding, I wasn’t going to anyway—the door between the train cars clatters open behind me.

I turn and look at the steward, who is pushing the drinks cart. Just in the nick of time.

“Sorry about that, folks. I was in the next car over and it took some time to get back. You heard the announcement? We’re going to be here for a bit.”

“What’s the problem?” Sam asks, as if he doesn’t already know from Twitter.

The attendant doesn’t give us a real answer. “A delay on the tracks is all I’ve been told so far.” He gestures to the cart. “Good thing we’re well stocked. Can I get you another drink, miss? And then I’ll be back with dinner service shortly.”

Miss. My lips twitch and I hold out my glass. “Top me up. And keep calling me miss, I like that.”

“Of course.” He gives me a generous pour, then turns to Sam, who so far into this trip has declined service. “And you, sir?”

Sam exhales roughly. “Well, if we’re going to be here for a while, I’ll take a rye on the rocks. Make it a double.”

That’s more like what I expected. Investment banker. Make it a double. There’s something reassuring there. I know what to do with a man like this. Play with him, have my fun. Under no circumstances will I trust him, but that’s all right.

Trust is overrated.

Once we’re alone again, Sam lifts his glass in a toast. “To comfort while we wait.”

I drink to that. “I hope nobody is hurt too badly.”

“Same.” He takes a big swallow, his throat working quickly to down the fiery alcohol. No hesitation. Then he gestures to the window, where it’s started snowing. Big, fat, swirling flakes of white brush against the window. “Maybe the tweets are wrong. Maybe the train is stopped for another reason, like the weather.”

I’d like that. No injuries, no accident that’s ruined a family’s night.

“A storm,” I murmur, my imagination twisting the newly swirling snow into a monster. “Ice demons.”

I love the look of surprise on Sam’s face as his brows hit the roof. “Ice demons?”

“I like it better than an accident three days before Christmas.”

He shrugs. “Fair enough. There you go. So they’ve whipped up a weather system right in front of us? Iced the tracks and now we can’t move forward?”

“Something like