BRYONY AND MCNAMARA had finished their dinner and lounged on the sofa in Bryony’s sitting-room. The lass had persuaded him to lie down and lay his head in her lap, and they spent half an hour talking about the event that Bryony had organised for the next day.
Bryony stroked the man’s hair and the side of his face, and he felt content and relaxed.
“I really want to attend your signing tomorrow,” he sighed deeply. “Let’s hope I will find the time to come,” he said, although he didn’t hope too much to have that chance.
“Maybe you will, Artair,” she murmured, and McNamara caught her hand and brushed his lips over her palm.
The ring of his cell phone disturbed the peace in the room, and McNamara growled. ‘Now, what?’
He stretched his arm and picked up the cell phone he had left on the coff
