Strawberries at Wimbledon
The fifth short story in the fun & flirty #LoveLondon series from exciting new chick lit author Nikki Moore!The one that got away?Sipping Pimms and eating fresh strawberries at Wimbledon are the perfect start to the British summer for Rayne. Immersed in her career as a journalist in the City, she's been too busy and distracted to give men – or other outside interests – much of a chance lately. That's something her friend Lily thinks she should correct, coming up with the perfect ‘sex with an ex’ solution – much to the amusement of the crowd on Centre Court!When Rayne runs into old flame Adam, former good guy who is now all grown up with a hint of bad boy about him, it's a tempting thought. But is that such a good idea, when she knows that four years ago, she broke his heart?Back from travelling the world and settling into running the family business, Adam never expected to see his university girlfriend again. And he definitely didn't think he would still be angry with her for running away, or that she would still have the same stunning effect on him. But she does, so maybe the perfect way to get her out of his dreams and from under his skin, is to have a hot sex-filled night with her? The only trouble is, one night might not be enough…
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HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015
Copyright © Nikki Moore 2015
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Cover layout design © HarperCollâinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Nikki Moore asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
Ebook Edition © April 2015 ISBN: 9780008126858
Version: 2017-10-10
To my amazing friends and fantastic family; I might not see you as often as Iâd like to, but youâre always on my mind or in my heart.
To my readers â I hope you enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Have a great (hopefully sunny) summer.
Contents
Skating at Somerset House
New Year at the Ritz
Valentineâs on Primrose Hill
Cocktails in Chelsea
Strawberries at Wimbledon
Picnics in Hyde Park
âHey, isnât that Adam?â Lily elbowed Rayne, pointing down a packed Henman Hill next to No.1 Court and the Aorangi Pavillion, her blonde curls glinting in the mid-morning sunshine.
Rayne dropped the cooler bag with a thud and the wine bottle inside rattled against the specially bought plastic glasses. âHuh? No, it canât be.â She gulped. âHeâs working abroad.â Or he had been the last time sheâd checked on LinkedIn six months ago. The trick was not to look at his profile too often.
Lily shielded her eyes with one hand, squinting across the sea of heads, shoulders and multi-coloured blankets. âReally? It looked like him.â Standing on tiptoes, she peered into the expectant crowd, who were watching the introductory Wimbledon coverage on the big screen. âDamn, heâs gone.â
âIâm sure itâs not him.â Rayne replied firmly, to make it true. âWhat did you even see? The back of his head?â
âNo, the side of his face. He had stubble and I know Adam never did, and his hair was different too, but still-â Lily turned, noticing her friendâs expression. âMaybe I was wrong.â She backtracked hastily. âIt could have been anyone.â
âYeah.â Rayne picked the bag up, curling her fingers tightly around the woven fabric strap, and forced a smile to her face. Just because Lilyâs announcement had caught her off guard, it didnât have to spoil their day during the opening week of Wimbledon. It was just sheâd never imagined seeing Adam again. She thought of him as a match that had been played and lost. In the past, with no chance of a replay.
Anyway, it didnât matter. Today was about fun and friendship, about being British and making the most of whatever summer theyâd have. It was about tennis whites, yellow balls, lawn courts, fruity Pimms, sunshine and laughter. It was definitely not about men. Especially ones that belonged to her uni days, and being young and stupid.
âI know we constantly complain itâs wet and windy,â Lily fanned her letterbox-red face with the latest copy of Cosmo a few hours later, âand moan about not having proper summers, but is it me or is it too hot?â
âThereâs no such thing, itâs just you,â Rayne grinned, basking on her back on the navy picnic blanket, arms cushioning her head. âYouâre a complete wimp.â
Theyâd decided to relax on the manicured grass until it was time to go down to the Centre Court for the Menâs Singles qualifying rounds. She still couldnât believe theyâd managed to score tickets. Mind you, they had joined âThe Queue,â at eight the previous evening and spent an uncomfortable night in sleeping bags in a tiny pop-up tent. Just as the sun was rising, a steward had woken them and told them to pack up, stow their belongings in the left luggage facilities and go through the queuing card system. The broken nightâs sleep had been totally worth it for the ticket and an interesting life experience, even if she did now feel a bit grubby and jaded.
