Page 2 of One Hot Chase

I wave my hand dismissively, forcing a laugh. "No, no, don't go all sappy on me now. I'm just thinking out loud. Besides, who needs a man when you've got a fabulous career as an insurance underwriter? It's every girl's secret ambition."

Naturally, my sister doesn't miss the self-deprecating sarcasm in my voice. Tabby turns to face me, her hands on her hips. "Sabrina Remington, don't you dare start that self-pity routine. You're brilliant, beautiful, and have so much to offer. Just because things didn't work out with Peter doesn't mean you're doomed to a life of loneliness and actuarial tables."

I roll my eyes, but can't help smiling at her fierce defense. "Okay, okay. I promise not to wallow in self-pity...at least not until after your wedding. Deal?"

Tabitha narrows her eyes at me. "That's not exactly the enthusiasm I was hoping for, but I'll take it. Now, help me out of this thing so we can go celebrate finding The One."

As I carefully unzip the gown, I can't resist asking, "By 'The One,' do you mean the dress or Spencer?"

Tabby laughs, her eyes twinkling. "Both, of course. Though right now, I'm dying to see my honey."

Once the alterations are done, and everything is paid for, we head for our favorite restaurant to celebrate. After that, Tabby wants to go home to Spencer, and I don't blame her for that. She's happier than I've ever seen her.

Will I ever find my perfect catch? I'll find out soon enough. I'm flying to England tomorrow to begin my search. Somehow, I just know I'll find my PC, no matter how long the search takes.

Chapter One

Sabrina

Just call me Sabrina Remington, man hunter. I have all the tools of the trade---determination, sex appeal, and brains. My designer dress catches the attention of every passerby, but so far, I haven't spotted any potential targets in my search for a British hottie here in London. How difficult can it be? If my sister could snag her PC, I can do it too. That would be my Perfect Catch, not a personal computer or Prince Charming. Fairy tales and circuitry won't get me what I want. It's time to fry those circuits and get real about love.

I swore I'd never date again. But I don't want to be the only Remington girl who isn't hitched. That's pathetic.

As I step out of the taxi that brought me to my destination, I give the driver a generous tip. He kept me entertained with his jokes during the ride from Heathrow airport to the luxurious Savoy Hotel in the heart of London. The name alone exudes sophistication, doesn't it? Savoy. My almost brother-in-law, Spencer Halfenaked, used his connections to secure me a suite at one of the most exclusive hotels in the city. He's a great guy, and he makes my sister Tabitha so happy. Spencer's friend, the British billionaire Diana Hahn, arranged for me to stay in one of the swankiest suites at the Savoy.

But I digress.

As I make my way toward the building's entrance, I tilt my head back to admire the large, illuminated letters above me that spell out the name: S-A-V-O-Y. Wow. I'm actually here. A grin spreads across my face as I take in the moment. Finally, after all these years, I've left America and arrived at my destination. And it all begins here, at the Savoy.

I try my best to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor as I step into the foyer. Holy cow. This is by far the fanciest hotel I have ever laid eyes on, even compared to the ones I've seen on television. Growing up in Asheville, North Carolina, I never had much exposure to luxury or glamour. Londoners probably think this hotel is nothing special. As I come to a halt in the center of the grand foyer, I spin around slowly to take in every detail. That includes gorgeous harlequin tiles on the floor and a sparkling chandelier suspended above me.

When I'd said goodbye to my sister Tabitha at the Asheville airport, I'd asked her how much the hotel cost. It took some prodding, but I eventually got her to confess just how expensive the Savoy really is.

Four thousand dollars a night, that's how much. Four thousand.

Damn, I have amazing family and friends.

I approach the front desk, where a friendly-looking clerk welcomes me with a warm smile. He efficiently checks me in and gives me a key card, then gestures toward a bellhop who takes command of my luggage. We ride the elevator up to my floor and straight to the one-bedroom River View Suite, which offers a stunning panorama of the Thames. I tip the bellhop generously, thanks to the spending money donated by my family and friends. They support my wild ideas about man-hunting. Not sure why they're willing to finance my plan. I suppose they realize I'm on a mission and nothing can stop me from searching for my PC.

As soon as the bellhop leaves, I begin to explore my environment. The entryway and bathroom both feature stunning harlequin tiles, but ooh, the living room offers lavish wood floors. And wow, I've never seen such a huge TV before. There's even a cozy fireplace and a comfy sofa for cuddling up with my as-yet-unnamed honey.

Finally, I tear myself away from the fireplace and rush over to the big picture window to get a closer look, nearly stumbling over the small table and chairs placed only a few inches away from the glass. An exclamation of "shit!" bursts out of me, but I cannot be stopped. I plaster my hands and face to the window.

And I start talking to myself. It's a bad habit of mine. "Ooh! Oh, my God! That huge Ferris wheel is the London Eye."

Spencer described the giant wheel to me, and I can't wait to take a spin on it during my UK adventure. He also promised that I'd have a great view of Westminster Bridge from my suite, which I can now see in the distance. I can also see another bridge, but I can't recall its unusual name. And though Big Ben isn't within sight, I know it's nearby.

Once I'm done gawking, I turn around---and yelp.

My heart races briefly. I hadn't noticed the big mirror hanging on the wall beside the TV. It's possible I'm a little too excited about my ritzy vacation. A quick perusal of the rest of my digs convinces me that I've died and gone to heaven.

Once I've washed away the travel grime in my luxurious shower, I spiff myself up for the evening. Tonight, I won't need to leave the hotel. I'm heading straight for the Savoy's Beaufort Bar.

The moment I step into the room, I know this is where I'll find my first target. It sets the perfect mood for my hunt. With dim lighting and stylish chairs, plus a DJ spinning steamy tunes, I feel the warmth of anticipation blossoming within me. And as I browse the menu, I discover a variety of indulgent options like caviar, oysters, grilled chicken with spicy dressing, and tempting desserts. I settle on a cocktail first, selecting a Halo Highball made with whisky as well as carbonated strawberry and pink peppercorn wine water. Not sure what that is, but it sounds yummy.

Sipping my drink, I browse the room for a potential target. But most of the men who walk into the bar arrive with a woman on their arm. Come on, there must be one hot single guy in this hotel.

I take a slow sip of my cocktail, letting the flavors mingle on my tongue as I survey the bar. And there he is---my quarry. A tall, gorgeous man in a three-piece gray suit saunters into the room, his movements smooth and confident. He pauses for a moment, scanning the crowd before he begins to make his way toward me. As he comes closer, I can't resist admiring the way his suit hugs his muscular frame, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. His dark brown hair is cropped short, just long enough for me to run my fingers through it. His crisp white shirt is open at the collar, revealing a hint of the tanned skin beneath.

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