Jane Hollinger is thirty-one and recovering from a devastating divorce. After being dumped by her husband and business partner then discovering he had been having a year-long affair with a client, Jane doesn’t think she will ever recover from the betrayal. She isn’t in any hurry to begin dating again because, as she puts it, she’s the wrong side of thirty. She spends her time teaching family history evening classes and one of her students is a man named Mitch. His strange appearance makes her very nervous but at the same time she is intrigued by him.
After a few classes and encounters with Mitch, Jane discovers that the man who has been sitting at the back of her class is a man she thought she would only see in her dreams. His name is Robert Armstrong, one of Britain’s biggest acting stars, and she is stunned. Robert asks Jane to help her with an up and coming television role and also to help him with a mystery in his family tree.
Jane and Robert become friends but realise the chemistry between them is too strong to ignore. Jane begins to discover what dating a celebrity is like and Robert gets a taste of the normal life. Then, the British press get wind of their relationship, and Jane must decide whether she can put up with press intrusion and the paparazzi to be with Robert. Find out what she decides in Only You!
Jane Hollinger is divorced and the wrong side of thirty – as she puts it. Her friends are pressuring her to dive back into London’s dating pool, but she’s content with her quiet life teaching family history evening classes.
Robert Armstrong is every woman’s fantasy: handsome, charming, rich and famous. When he asks her to meet him, she convinces herself it’s because he needs her help with a mystery in his family tree. Soon she realises he’s interested in more than her genealogical expertise. Now the paparazzi want a piece of Jane too.
Can Jane handle living — and loving — in the spotlight?
Read An Excerpt From Chapter Six…
“Why do you run away?” he asked quietly. “Do I still frighten you or something?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because, if you want to date me, I don’t know how,” she confessed, feeling blood rush to her cheeks. “I haven’t dated anyone since university and that wasn’t even proper dating. Tom took me out to dinner once. We were students; we couldn’t afford to go to restaurants, so it was usually fish and chips or a burger. I don’t know how to date properly, Robert. I’ve never been out with a man your age and it’s mortifying to have to admit it. That’s why I take the easy way out and run. And, apart from that, your ex-girlfriend was everything I’m not.”
“Which is precisely why she is now my ex.”
“Why did you split up?”
“It’s a cliché, but we ended up wanting different things. I’m not into all that ‘let’s see how often we can get in the papers’ stuff. I didn’t like going to clubs or restaurants where there would be photographers outside. She did. I’m an actor, not a celebrity. I hate the whole celebrity thing.”
“But you’re very famous now,” she protested. “And you’ll be even more famous when Mitch Barnes is aired. I mean, on the web…” Tailing off again, she pulled a face.
“What on the web?” he asked.
“There are websites dedicated to you. Lots of websites. Some of them are a bit…” More blood gushed into her cheeks and he rolled his eyes.
“Look, I’m just an ordinary bloke.”
There was nothing ordinary about him. “There are millions of women out there who compete against each other to see who can come up with the best sexual fantasy involving you. That doesn’t really strike me as normal.”
“Looks like I’ve got some work to do, then.”
“What?”
“I’ll boot up my laptop and dedicate a few websites to you.”
“What?” she squeaked. “No you bloody won’t. If my parents saw—”
“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he interrupted softly.
“And that’s just corny.”
He shrugged. “That was meant to be a compliment. All right, you look like crap, if that’s what you really want to hear.”
She couldn’t help but roar with laughter. “Thank you,” she said and he inclined his head.
“Look, Jane. Just tell me whether I’m wasting my time.”
“No,” she replied with a sigh. “But I think you’re mad.”
He came slowly towards her and held her hands. “No, I’m not.”
“Are.”
“Not,” he whispered, then gently kissed her lips. “You’re not going to run, are you?”
“It’s my house.”
“Ah. Good point. Can I have your phone number?”
“Why?”
“Don’t you want me to text you sometime?” he teased with a wink.
“Sexy ones?” She winced as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
“They might be,” he replied mischievously. “So don’t show anyone.”
“I won’t,” she said as they exchanged phones and added their numbers then passed them back.
“Thank you.” He returned his phone to his jacket pocket. “I’ll ring you, too. Now, can I have a look at these websites about me?” he asked and her jaw dropped.
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because the women – and quite a few men – in the guest books, message boards and forums would queue up to rip your clothes off and handcuff you to the bed so they could smear cream all over you and lick it all off.
“Because you’d find some of them a bit embarrassing.”
“That bad, eh?”
“Coffee?”
“Yes, please. Milk, no sugar.”
“I won’t be long.”
She went to the kitchen, switched the kettle on again then leant heavily on the worktop. Right, let’s get this absolutely straight, she told herself. You are in a relationship with Robert Armstrong. She inhaled and exhaled deeply before reaching for the jar of coffee.
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Lorna Peel 