Chance of Love

Chapter 1

"Is this seat taken?"

The voice was loud enough for her to hear above the music in the nightclub and it was surprising to her that it was masculine.

When Amanda Thomas turned around to see who owned the voice, she was stunned to the core of her being. Standing before her was a tall, blond man who seemed to have a god-like aura. He was a vision of her subconscious, a man she'd seen only in her dreams. And he was smiling at her.

Fighting the urge to glance around and see if he was talking to someone else, she could only nod.

He sat down beside her. Even in the dark gloominess of the club she could tell that he had a perfect physique. She glimpsed muscular thighs encased in tight blue jeans before she looked up.

His eyes were incredible. It was hard to tell what colour they were because it was so dark. But they were bright. And they were looking deep into her own eyes. His hair was blond and thick and it was cut stylishly to the bottom of his neck. He had a strong jawline and his cheekbones were prominent. To say he was handsome was an understatement. She found it difficult to say anything, as a matter of fact.

"I couldn't help but notice you've been sitting by yourself most of the evening," the man said, smiling kindly.

"I'm guarding the purses," she said pertly, motioning to her friends' things all over the table.

"Ah, yes," he said, chuckling. "I should have known you would be a purse-guarder."

Amanda smiled for the first time and he noticed that it even reached her eyes. She knew he was only flirting with her but she didn't care because he was so gorgeous.

"By the way," he said deeply, "my name is Mark." He held out his hand and she grasped it firmly. His flesh was warm and her hand felt tingly at his touch.

"I'm Amanda," she said, hoping he could hear her in the noisy club. Mark asked her if he could buy her a drink.

"No, thanks," she replied, keeping her hands clasped around her glass in front of her. She always coddled her drinks until all the ice was melted.

"I'm only drinking pop," she explained, "I'm the designated driver."

Mark nodded.

"Are you always the designated driver?" he asked.

"Most of the time," she answered, looking down at her glass. Now he would think she was boring. She still couldn't believe he was talking to her and now he would leave because she wasn't drinking alcohol or acting like a party girl.

But he showed no signs of leaving. Rather, he leaned closer to her.

"Now, let me get this straight," he said lightly, making her laugh at his tone of voice. "You don't drink, you guard purses, and you drive your friends home after they've had a good time?"

She had to laugh at the way he said it. He didn't make it sound bad at all. He made her friends sound like they were the weirdos.

"I bet you're wondering what I'm doing here at all," she said, smiling.

"I was just getting to that," he said, chuckling. "Don't rush me."

She laughed and said, "It beats staying home by myself and pigging out in front of the TV."

Mark looked down and eyed her figure. She hoped she would pass his inspection.

"You don't look like you pig out that much," he said appreciatively.

Amanda felt herself blushing. She hoped the darkness would hide it.

"My job keeps me trim," she explained.