He really had intended to be alone with his thoughts and a stiff drink. Jonathan left the penthouse suite and Max in order to escape that damn reporter Jennifer Edwards who wouldn't leave him alone. And he wanted to be alone. Alone in the bar of the Ritz with a Manhattan and a friendly smile to Gerald the bartender who he'd gotten to know the last time he came to London. That really was what he'd planned on doing.

But then a woman sat down next to him. Jonathan barely noticed her out of the corner of his eye. Enough to see she had auburn hair pulled back. He just thanked Gerald for the Manhattan and kept to himself. He was exhausted and annoyed, and he really did just want to be alone.

Jonathan didn't pay any attention to the woman sitting beside him until she spoke to order her drink. She had an American accent. And Jonathan Hart had two thoughts almost simultaneously.

First, she wasn't blonde, and he was really in the mood for a blonde, but he wasn't picky, was he?

Second, Americans—blonde or not—were always more fun than English girls.

So maybe he didn't want to be alone as much as he'd thought.

She ordered a double vodka martini straight up. That wasn't a drink for a pretender. This girl meant business. Jonathan turned his attention to her and then had two more thoughts simultaneously.

First, this was no girl. This was a woman if he ever saw one. Older than the last three women he'd been with. She was definitely over thirty, maybe even close to thirty-five. Older meant experienced. Interesting. Perhaps even challenging. And all of that added up to fun. Older and American would be a hell of a lot of fun.

Second, she had beautiful shiny hair pulled back to reveal just a bit of a pale neck above her high-necked blouse that nearly bowled him over. He had the overwhelming urge to untie the white silk knot at her throat and reveal all the rest of her neck to him. He almost felt like he would die if he couldn't press his face into that neck and mark her as his own and breathe in the smell of her and connect every single little freckle on that neck with is tongue.

Oh man was he in trouble.

Thankfully, he was more experienced than a teenaged boy whose brain short-circuited over the sight of a beautiful woman. Even if he felt like that on the inside right about now, he could certainly push that aside and turn on the charm to see what he might be able to get out of the situation.

"Rough day?" he asked. After all, she did order a double vodka martini.

She nodded and hummed in response. She looked at him with a flighty, nervous expression. Like she didn't want to look at him at all. But this he could deal with. If he made her nervous, he could be genial and friendly. If he didn't make her nervous, well, that would just make him even more nervous.

"Are you an American?" Always good to check. Easy place to start with conversation. Simple questions with simple answers, creating common ground between them.

"Yes." She still didn't want to look at him, just glancing his way to respond and then purposefully looking away.

"I'm an American, too," Jonathan said, taking his time drawing her into the conversation.

He shifted slightly on the barstool to face towards her. Because now he wanted her to look at him. She had the most incredible eyes. Warm brown but shining almost green in some places. Hazel in the best way. And the way she did her makeup brought out how beautiful her eyes were. Rimmed dark to draw him in. Long lashes he could almost feel against his cheek.

And her mouth. Wow, what a mouth. Those lips were soft and rosy, probably thanks to a very nice lipstick, but shaped so beautifully. Not so big as to be intimidating, but not too thin at all. Just right. He could bet her lips tasted just as pretty as they looked. He wanted to know if they'd fit against his as perfectly as he imagined.

Damn, he really was in trouble now.

Jennifer's heart thundered in her throat. She could hardly speak. Was she shaking? She felt like she might be. This was all just a little more than she was anticipating.

After days of hounding Jonathan Hart and getting the brushoff from every single person who answered a phone, especially that rude New Yorker assistant or valet or whatever he was, Jennifer was ready to throw in the towel for the day. She could have a drink and regroup tomorrow and decide what to do.

But when she sat down at the bar, who should she find right there but the man himself. Jonathan Hart. Looking even more gorgeous than the pictures she'd seen in Forbes Magazine.

And then he started talking to her! Possibly even trying to flirt with her! He was sitting right there, and he was so close and oh god she could smell him and that scent was intoxicating and delicious and she wanted to drown in a bottle of him. Jesus, he kept looking at her with those impossibly blue eyes of his, and that charming smile. Jennifer thought she might just slide off the barstool into a puddle of irrational arousal.

If ever she'd needed a martini…

"Excuse me, Mr. Hart, there's a reporter on the telephone," the bartender said, interrupting Jennifer's waking nightmare with something even worse. "He wants to know whether you're in the bar."

Jennifer froze, holding the cocktail stick with an olive in front of her face and not daring to move to eat it. She was about to get yelled at by Jonathan Hart, she just knew it.

Jonathan Hart turned to the bartender and said, "You can tell him that I am not only not in the bar, but as far as you know, I'm not even in the hotel. And that goes for any journalists that may call. Especially a woman called Jennifer Edwards."

"I'll handle it, Mr. Hart."

Jennifer bit the olive without even realizing what she was doing. Jonathan Hart didn't know who she was. Neither did the bartender. She wasn't going to get thrown out. Not yet, anyway.

"Thanks very much, Gerald," Jonathan said to the bartender. He turned back to Jennifer. "The press," he scoffed.

Okay. She could do this. She was a professional. She'd spent years getting stories out of people. She knew how to play a character and fib a little bit to get what she needed. And she needed a story out of Jonathan Hart. He certainly wasn't going to give it to Jennifer Edwards. But he didn't know she was Jennifer Edwards. She could work with this.

"The press?" she asked innocently.

"Mm," he replied, looking down at his drink with the obvious frustration at the press.

Jennifer straightened up, the panic leaving her as she focused on the role she was going to play. She had a job to do, and she was going to do it. No matter how attractive he was. "Forgive me," she said sweetly. "Are you famous?" He looked up at her, slightly surprised. And beautiful. Jennifer pushed past that. "I'll bet you're an actor."

He smiled, flattered. Good. "No, no I'm a businessman," he explained.

"Oh," she answered with a little laugh at her own feigned ignorance.

Jonathan continued, "But to the press around here, I seem to be the hottest thing that's happened since the Watergate break-in."

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly, ready to really lay it on him. "Why won't they just leave some people alone?"

At that point, Jennifer drank her martini while Jonathan Hart proceeded to tell her about how Jennifer Edwards was very pushy and must be the type to be a chain-smoking, love-starved matron peeking through keyholes to get a story. On the one hand, it was good for Jennifer to know that she had fooled Jonathan Hart into opening up to her and he obviously had no idea she was that Jennifer Edwards he was so frustrated by. But on the other hand, she was Jennifer Edwards and didn't like being spoken about in such an unflattering manner. If it weren't vital to her work to keep this man in the dark about her identity, she would have unloaded on him about how hard she worked and what a good journalist she was with talent and integrity and tenacity. And she'd quit smoking more than a decade ago! Oh, she'd show him 'love-starved' just watch, Jonathan Hart!

"She even came here and broke into my apartment," Jonathan continued.

Jennifer remembered to actually listen to him and not get too offended right now. "Huh!"

"And said that there was a leak coming from the top floor, not knowing that my apartment was on the top floor."

She laughed, because she was supposed to in that situation. That smug bastard. He thought he was so clever, getting one over on her. And, well, Jennifer did have to admit that was a stupid oversight on her part. "What a nitwit," she commented, feeling herself grimace. This act was starting to become less useful to her story and more harmful to her self-esteem. Jennifer checked her watch, briefly wondering if she might be able to catch a show tonight to get her mind off all of this.

Of course Jonathan Hart noticed. "You waiting for someone?

Her mind spun with the possibilities and landed on an option that seemed good enough to run with. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I was, but, uh…" She looked at her watch again and let out a humorless laugh to help sell it. "Apparently, I've been stood up."

And now she'd see what Jonathan Hart would do with that information. Everything Jennifer had seen so far from him led her to believe that he was the charming, gallant sort. He'd probably offer to buy her another drink at the very least.

The problem was, Jennifer had no idea what she actually wanted him to do. She was supposed to be getting a story. And if he asked her out, she might be able to get some information from him. But she caught another whiff of him and found herself not minding if she got any story at all. She just wanted to stay with him a little longer. She wanted him to buy her a drink or four and whatever else they might be able to get up to.

"Let me ask you a question," he began.

"What?"

"Would you consider having dinner with a complete stranger?"

She hesitated. She needed a quippy answer. This was the kind of man who would appreciate that. And it was how Jennifer preferred to operate, when she could. Being witty and teasing was always more fun than playing dumb. "The London-by-night tour?"

"A great sight to see," he fired back.

Oh he was good. He was very good. "Well, then I suppose I shouldn't miss it," she answered. She wasn't going to miss a second of Jonathan Hart if she could help it.

The way he looked at her in that moment made her insides turn to jelly. Jonathan Hart didn't just look at her, didn't just gaze at her face or take in her expression. He looked right into her eyes.

And she was a goner.

He held out his hand. "Jonathan Hart," he introduced officially.

Jennifer shook his hand, a small smile curling over her lips. "Louise Tobin."

"Shall we, Louise?"

"Whatever you say, John," she teased.

"Jonathan," he corrected.

Hit a nerve there. Good to know. "Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized, laughing as charmingly as she could manage. "Jonathan," she corrected. He was Jonathan and she was Louise.

They walked out of the bar at the Ritz together for a night in London. Jonathan Hart, the most charming, gorgeous man she'd ever seen, and Louise Tobin, a woman who didn't exist and was lying through her teeth. What could go wrong?