Picnics in Hyde Park

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Copyright

HarperImpulse an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015

Copyright © Nikki Moore 2015

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Cover layout design © HarperColl‌insPublishers 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 author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

Ebook Edition © July 2015 ISBN: 9780007583249

Version: 2017-10-10

Praise for Nikki Moore’s #LoveLondon Series

’I know that Nikki Moore is an author that I can trust to deliver the feel good factor in whatever she writes…definitely one of my top author finds of the past year!’

Lisa Talks About

’I loved every single minute of this fun, flirty romance … the perfect read for your boring commute to work.’

Bookaholic Confessions

’Uplifting and at the same time thought provoking too. I guarantee you’ll be hitting that button on Amazon to order the fourth book in the #LoveLondon series as soon as you’ve finished this one.’

Dawn, Crooks on Books

’Game, Set and Match to a lovely romantic story full of sensuality, poignancy and humour … This short story flowed like a novel and the ending was believable. A lovely summer read.’

Jane Hunt Reviews

’A sweet and flirty short story, I really enjoyed it. I can’t wait to see what Nikki comes up with for the next book in the series.’

Sky’s Book Corner

Dedication

To my sister Natasha, who may be younger than me, but who is infinitely wiser some (but not all) of the time! Thanks for everything, love you Sis x

To my big little brother Ryan, we may not have a lot in common but when it matters, we’re there for each other. Lots of love, x

To Mark, my family and friends; thank you so much for the support during the last nine months of #LoveLondon madness! x

To Charlotte Ledger, for being so fantastic. Look what we did! x

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for Nikki Moore’s #LoveLondon Series

Dedication

#LoveLondon Series

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Bonus Material

Skating at Somerset House

Author Note

Author Q&A with Nikki Moore

Reader Q&A

Also by Nikki Moore

Nikki Moore

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

#LoveLondon Series

Skating at Somerset House

New Year at the Ritz

Valentine’s on Primrose Hill

Cocktails in Chelsea

Strawberries at Wimbledon

Picnics in Hyde Park

1

Matt Reilly is a complete, unbelievable bastard and I’m going to make him pay, Zoe Harper vowed as she pounded the gold lion-head knocker against the door of his exclusive Knightsbridge residence.

When there was no response, she switched to thumping the glossy black wood with the side of her fist.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Answer. The. Door.

Utter fury was squeezing her chest so tight it felt like her ribs were suffocating her lungs and a horrible pressure was building behind her eyeballs, the sure sign of a tension headache.

Where the hell was he? She stepped back to gaze up at the impressive facade of the town house, which had to be at least four storeys tall including the basement area below her. The top two floors were exposed brickwork but the ground and lower floors were painted white, decorated with manicured window boxes. The property screamed refined wealth, as did the beautiful leafy communal garden area in the middle of the square. He must have paid extra for the property, which sat back from the road slightly. It was one of the only houses with off-road parking.

She turned to look at the gravel driveway. Someone had to be in, there were three cars parked up; a garish, canary-yellow convertible sports model, a sexy low-slung black supercar and a more modest silver Prius hybrid.

Thudding the door again, there was still no answer.

If she was some kick-ass action movie heroine she could bust the door down, flatten whichever of the selfish idiots was inside (although both at the same time would be preferable) and just be done with it. But at five foot seven, as well as pounds lighter than she’d been in years, she hardly looked or felt the part. Still, if there was anything guaranteed to bring out her fighting side it was protecting her younger sister Melody. She was her only proper family left apart from their Great Aunt Ruth, who’d always been distant and had all the affection of a watermelon.

What it came down to was that anyone who hurt Melody deserved justice. But she didn’t really believe in violence, and ruining her beautiful nails with their miniature stars and stripes design on every tip didn’t appeal either. The manicure was a present from her ex-boss Liberty, named after the statue of. It was something to remember New York by, a city she’d come to love. But better not to think about that, or what else she’d loved and lost.

Where the heck was Mr. High and Mighty Reilly, or for that matter, his younger brother Stephen? Surely they had enough staff to answer the bloody door for them. A girl could die of heatstroke out here. The midday sun was ferocious and prickling heat along the back of her neck. It was sure to be scarlet by dinner time.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Her hand was never going to be the same again. Then she’d be suing the sods for personal injury as well as emotional trauma for Melody. Her sibling had been crying so hard at Jemima’s flat in multicultural, packed Holloway that Zoe hadn’t been able to get the full story on arrival from Heathrow. There’d just been a lot of mumbling and sobbing around swollen red eyes and handfuls of soggy tissues. Still, what she’d figured out had been enough to instantly trigger her big sister reflexes. The stale, stuffy black cab had made for a nightmare journey across London but the sunlight glinting off the windows had matched her heated, murderous thoughts perfectly. She’d avoided direct eye contact with the chatty driver, jaw clenched as she replayed the fragments of her sister’s story in her head.

Fell in love with Stephen…Matt ended it, fired me…kicked me out without notice… never see the kids again… looked after them for three years!

How dare he? It was bloody outrageous and unbelievably unfair. How could anyone be so uncaring that they’d do someone who trusted them out of a relationship, job, home and salary all on the same day? So here she was outside of his posh, rich-guy’s, I’m so fabulous home, fully intending to grab her sister’s belongings as well as telling Matt Reilly exactly what she thought of a guy who’d treat a naïve twenty-two year old like dirt. If she could grab his brother by the scruff of the neck at the same time and give him a good shake for helping break her sister’s heart, she’d do that too. He had a lot of explaining to do as to why he wasn’t answering Mel’s calls.

Bloody men. They were a faithless lot at the best of times, the reason she’d left the States after five long years. But her sister’s boss had reached new levels of bastardom, if that was even a word.

Part of her wished that when confronted, Matt might admit he’d made a terrible mistake, beg forgiveness, tell Melody that of course she was good enough for his brother, and ask her to come back to them. But the text that had just pinged on her mobile meant the idea was a non-starter.

Appreciate the support Sis, but

please don’t cause a scene and

DON’T try and get my job back.

I’m never going back there.

M x

Zoe didn’t really want her sister anywhere near them anyway. Still, an apology from Matt, an opportunity for Melody to say goodbye to the kids properly, pick up her belongings and be offered some kind of compensation for the notice pay she was surely entitled to would be something. Along with some explanation as to why Stephen had gone AWOL and seemed to be letting Matt make all the decisions. Perhaps he didn’t feel able to stand up to him? Or maybe he was intimidated by his older brother’s success.

According to the tabloids, Stephen was abroad a lot of the time, a playboy who basically partied and shopped his way around Europe with the family money. Why her sister had fallen for him she couldn’t understand. At thirty, Matt was older by seven years, a famous music producer who was hardly ever out of the press, despite his attempts to evade the spotlight. Snapping pictures of his children was a rabid hobby for British journos and there were rumours of a new girlfriend every week, although you couldn’t believe everything you read in the papers. She and Melody were close, despite the vast miles that’d been between them, and Melody had told her a lot about Matt’s children via Skype and text messages but nothing about any of his personal relationships, respecting her boss’s right to privacy. Not that she’d got any thanks for that loyalty and professionalism.

Zoe banged her fist on the wood one last time and to her satisfaction finally heard footsteps. The door was yanked open by a dark-haired guy in his twenties.

‘Yes?’ he drawled, stepping out into the sunlight, forcing her to move backwards down the three concrete stairs and onto the pavement.

Cocky green eyes ran over her flat black shoes, tight black jeans and the fashionable short-sleeved print top that hung off one shoulder. Having had no chance to change out of the clothes she’d travelled in, she felt rumpled, sticky and at a distinct disadvantage.

She couldn’t afford to jump to any conclusions, but this guy had to be Stephen.

‘Are you planning to say something today, or not?’ he demanded, looking her up and down again, a bit too slowly for her liking.

Sucking in a deep breath, shudders of rage and adrenalin swirled with the giddy exhaustion of jet lag and noon heat, making her feel light-headed and dangerously out of control. Face scalding, she started shaking, hands bunching into fists around her oversized bag. Ignoring the feeling, along with the urge to ask if he was done checking her out and start demanding what the hell he was playing at with her sister, she expelled the breath. If she lost it too soon it was game over; he’d likely slam the door in her face. Getting over the threshold was the important bit. Then she could tear strips off them both.

‘Yes, sorry. Hello. Matthew Reilly?’ It was Matt’s house and it might seem weird if she asked for Stephen.

‘God, no! Definitely not,’ smirking, he turned his head to yell over his shoulder. ‘Matt, there’s some Katy Perry lookalike-wannabe here for an interview.’ A pause. ‘I’m off.’ Shrugging when there was no reply, a strange expression flashed across his face. ‘All right,’ he hollered, ‘see you when I’m back.’ Reaching back inside the hallway, he grabbed a travel bag and hustled past her, leaving the front door yawning open behind him.

See you when I’m back?

‘Wait—’ she yelped, spinning around as his comment registered.

But the arrogant jerk ignored her, running down the steps and leaping into the yellow open-top car like some Dukes of Hazzard extra. Screeching away with a spin of tyres, gravel flew everywhere in an unholy rain of stones and he barely paused before roaring off towards the main Knightsbridge road. God knew how many people he was going to take out driving like that. Complete maniac.

Then his other words sunk into her sluggish, travel-addled brain. Katy Perry lookalike-wannabe? He was a cheeky bugger! She might have black hair and blue eyes but was no wannabe, wasn’t here to audition for some tacky talent show, didn’t care that Matthew Reilly was in the music business— Hang on, interview?

‘That was my brother Stephen. I’m Matt.’ A deep, terse voice said behind her.

She swung around to face the door, stumbling slightly. She needed to get out of this relentless sunshine, she was starting to feel pretty sick.

‘Ready?’

‘Ready?’ she repeated, thinking. She’d missed her chance to have it out with Stephen for now, but it was this man stood in the shadows who was ultimately responsible for her sister’s confused distress.

Keep calm, just breathe. She squinted, hardly able to make him out. The inside of the house was too dim and it was so bright outside, red dots blurring her vision.

‘Look, I’m very busy. Are you here to interview for the nanny position or not? I haven’t got any time to waste.’

He’d got rid of her sister only yesterday and was already trying to replace her.

At her dumbfounded silence, he began shutting the door. ‘Okay then, goodbye.’

‘I, uh— hang on! Sorry, of course I’m here for an interview,’ she thought fast. ‘There’s just a slight problem.’

The breath hissed loudly from between his teeth. ‘Which is?’

‘I flew in from New York this morning and came straight from the airport, as you can see from my lack of a suitable outfit,’ she gestured to her jeans, ‘so I don’t have my CV with me.’

‘How did you hear about the job then?’

It was hardly surprising he was suspicious. ‘A contact at the agency called me, knowing I was due back in the UK today,’ she fibbed, hoping she was right. ‘Zoe Harper, pleased to meet you.’ She nodded briskly in greeting to avoid shaking his hand. ‘I was added to the list at the last minute,’ she finished the lie, ‘haven’t the agency emailed the updated schedule?’ She prayed it was the same agency that’d placed Melody here originally, the one Zoe had also got the placement in America through.

A ringtone filled the hallway. Blowing out an exasperated breath, he prised a sleek mobile from his pocket and after checking the screen, cut the call off.

As he tucked the phone away, she chattered on. ‘When this job was mentioned,’ ironically one she was more than qualified for, ‘I asked to be put forward, especially when it’s working for you and this is such a lovely area to live in.’ Sucking up to him felt wrong but if it gave her an in, it’d be worth it.

‘My assistant is off sick, I haven’t had time to mess around checking emails and my kids are due back in two hours,’ he said in an irritated tone, ‘so I’m sorry but—’

‘But I’ve come all this way—’

His phone started ringing again and he swore, wrestling it back out of his pocket. ‘Sorry.’ After a quick glance at the screen, he answered. ‘Matt Reilly,’ he barked. ‘Yes?’

She forced her lips into a polite smile while she waited. It wobbled when she realised he was talking to the recruitment agency.

‘No, it’s not good enough. I’m completely dissatisfied with the level of service I’ve received. You know I need a new nanny urgently. You sent someone else along, but— What? Oh, never mind, forget it.’ He hung up, clenching the phone in his fist.

Jeez, was he this grumpy all the time? He must have been a joy for her sister to live with. Or maybe he was just having a bad day. If that was the case, it wasn’t going to get any better with her arrival.

‘That was about another no-show. Incredibly, the third today.’ He paused, then shook his head, as if already regretting what he was about to say. ‘I’ve only got this afternoon set aside for interviews, I suppose as you’re here you may as well come in.’ Gesturing her over the threshold. ‘You can talk me through your experience and the agency can get me your details later if things go well,’ he bit, slamming the front door behind them.

Gee thanks, don’t do me any favours. She stuck her tongue out crossly at his back as her eyes adjusted to the light inside the house, then blanked her expression as he moved past her.

But he didn’t stop, striding off down the wooden parquet hallway so that she had to hurry after him. ‘This way.’

She caught a flash of a staircase to her left and a dazzling though unlit chandelier overhead, but her focus was on following Matt. The scents of vanilla polish, flowers and some unnameable but appealing fresh male aftershave drifted over her as she caught up with him.

‘I’m presuming the agency will have up-to-date references for you, along with an enhanced DBS clearance,’ Matt threw open a door and lead her into a massive lounge filled with windows and light.

Zoe made a non-committal mmmm sound, taking in her surroundings. The parquet flooring continued straight through from the hallway, but apart from that everything was white; the ceiling, the walls, the fireplace that looked like it had never been used. On the far side of the room two French doors opened onto some kind of outdoor space, with matching conifers in square black pots sat outside them. There was very little furniture and no paintings on the walls. She walked over and sat on one of the shiny black sofas that faced each other across a blocky glass coffee table. Hiding a grimace, she slung her handbag down on the floor. It was so impersonal, more like a show-home than a real one. She hated it. It was way too pristine. How on earth did kids live here? Where was the personality, the clutter, the colour? Perhaps the children were kept in a cupboard under the stairs like Harry Potter, she thought unkindly, tongue in cheek.

She knew from her sister that Matt’s daughter Aimee was seven years old, didn’t talk much and was exceptionally bright, and that his son Jasper was nearly five and about to start school. Melody had described the little boy fondly but seeing her sister’s sometimes strained face on the laptop screen and listening to funny stories about what he’d got up to, Zoe had concluded he was a bit of a handful.

‘Anyone in there?’ a gravelly voice broke into her thoughts.

Straightening, she lifted her chin and met Matt Reilly’s gaze properly for the first time. ‘I—’ Oh.

Oh, man. The Americanism resounded in her head. Freezing, heart thudding, her mouth dropped open. Realising she must look like the village idiot, she shut it immediately, teeth clicking together. ‘Yes. Sorry.’

‘Good.’ Leaning forward, he grabbed a notepad and silver embossed pen, and made a few notes on the paper.

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. She’d seen blurred photos of Matt in the press, but he was always ducking his head away or wearing sunglasses, so there’d never been an opportunity to see what he really looked like.

The reality was that he was outrageously, jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

He shared his brother’s colouring, the green eyes and thick dark hair, but the similarity ended there. Stephen was tall and wiry, but with the long spread of his ridiculously muscular legs and the breadth of his shoulders Matt was far bigger and better built. In fact, he looked more like an international rugby player than some arty creative type who spent most days holed up in a dark studio.

And though she could understand why Melody found Stephen attractive, Matt was far more appealing. His face was leaner, rugged with stubble and with a fierce intelligence shining in his gaze under thick dark eyebrows. James Marsden chiselled cheekbones and a stern mouth might have given him a rugged male beauty were it not for the two tiny imperfections she’d always been a sucker for. A sinking feeling tugged at her tummy as she stared at a bump on the ridge of his nose, perhaps from a break, and a small, inch long scar that ran down into his top lip.

She’d had a thing about bad boys since a teenage crush on Harrison Ford in the Indiana Jones films, sparked by watching Christmas re-runs with Ruth. Their great aunt, who’d raised them since Mel was seven and Zoe was thirteen, loved adventure movies despite her appearance and stilted manner. Since then, the rebel characters in TV series and films had prolonged Zoe’s obsession with bad boys. It was unfortunate for her, because Matt definitely looked like the kind of guy who’d ride up on a motorbike wearing leathers and whisk a girl away for a dirty, dangerous weekend. The sinfully tight blue jeans and black t-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders reinforced the image.

‘Shall we get started?’ he asked, frowning.

‘Of course,’ she straightened in her seat, trying to reassert her professionalism.

His phone pinged. ‘For the love of—’ putting the pad aside, he checked his mobile, reading something and scowling like it was telling him the end of the world was nigh. ‘The sooner my assistant is better, the sooner my sanity will return,’ he muttered absent-mindedly, touching the screen and typing a reply message.

The deadpan delivery was unwittingly amusing and made him seem less grumpy. Zoe couldn’t help chuckling under her breath as she stared at him. A tingling awareness ran through her, a purely sexual heat beating between her legs and tightening her skin, raising bumps along it.

No. You detest him. He hurt Melody.

A pretty face and a toned body mean nothing.

Men aren’t to be trusted.

Get over it.

It was easy to clamp a lid on her unruly hormones as she reminded herself of those facts. Plus the intense physical reaction was ridiculous and just too much. It had to be down to the jet lag and fury, as well as her spinning, conflicted emotions about coming home.