talked about their respective days over the evening meal
which Kate made a point of being there to prepare.
But, while Ryan had been unswervingly kind and concerned during her recurring bouts of
nausea, she was uneasily aware just the same that there was no real intimacy between
them. That he seemed as far away as ever in other respects. Their conversation touched
no depths and even the laughter rang hollow.
Once we walked towards each other, she thought. Now we seem to be constantly
tiptoeing round, avoiding no-go areas.
Was this what happened in all marriages? she wondered painfully. Did everybody wake
one morning and find that the burning impetus which had once sent them into each
other's arms had cooled into a pale memory?
Not that she was sure she'd have been able to respond whole-heartedly even if he had
reached for her, she realised, grimacing. Having to interrupt your love-making in order to
dash off and be sick was about the unsexiest scenario possible.
But neither did she want to reach a stage where sharing a bed with him was simply a
habit. If that happened, then the gulf between them was probably unbridgeable.
But I don't feel like that, she argued. I still want him so much, yet I'm scared to make the
first move in case he turns me down again.
With hindsight, she bitterly regretted the destruction of the letter. Far better to have
shown it to him, and risked the agony of his guilt, than attempt to live with this
continuing uncertainty.
At least, she thought, I would have known...
And Ryan was busy, of course, she reminded herself, preparing the notes for his seminar,
as well as making the slight changes to his latest script that Penny had suggested.
Both Quentin and Penny were full of enthusiasm for the book, predicting it would be his
top seller yet, and the contract that was being drawn up reflected this.
Kate had been embarrassed to find the time and place of each meeting with agent and
publisher elaborately circled in red on the phone pad.
Altogether, it had been a strange week, with a sudden influx of enquiries at work—
enough to fill their schedule to the end of the year and beyond.
Once she'd have been thrilled. Now, for the first time, the success of the company wasn't
her major priority.
Louie seemed preoccupied too. Maybe the prospect of Neil's departure had affected her
more deeply than she'd bargained for, Kate mused without particular conviction. Or
perhaps she was considering ways and means of winning over the man she really loved.
She stood up, viewing herself critically in the mirror. The dress she'd chosen wasn't new,
but it was one that Ryan had always liked, unashamedly sexy in soft black crepe, with a
deep neckline, and a wraparound skirt which fastened on one hip with its own sash.
Her stockings were black too, as was the sinuous new lingerie she'd treated herself to.
She'd shadowed her eyes and applied blusher with meticulous care, and her mouth
glowed like some scented, mysterious rose.
And if this doesn't work I'll give up, she thought as she turned away to pick up her bag.
Except that she wouldn't do any such thing. She would fight and go on fighting to keep
Ryan with every breath in her body until all hope was gone. And beyond.
She felt ridiculously self-conscious as she went downstairs.
Ryan was on the phone, talking to the organiser of the seminar. 'I should be with you
around lunchtime,' he was saying. 'We can go over the final details then. Cheers.'
He replaced the receiver, and turned. As he caught sight of her, she saw his eyes widen—
become suddenly intent. Felt the air between them shiver with awareness, and something
more.
Her breasts strained against the silk which confined them. A deep quiver of need ran
down her body to her loins.
Her voice shook slightly. 'How do I look?'
The last time she'd worn this dress, she'd asked the same question, spinning round on one
high-heeled foot, her eyes, her voice, her entire body
which Kate made a point of being there to prepare.
But, while Ryan had been unswervingly kind and concerned during her recurring bouts of
nausea, she was uneasily aware just the same that there was no real intimacy between
them. That he seemed as far away as ever in other respects. Their conversation touched
no depths and even the laughter rang hollow.
Once we walked towards each other, she thought. Now we seem to be constantly
tiptoeing round, avoiding no-go areas.
Was this what happened in all marriages? she wondered painfully. Did everybody wake
one morning and find that the burning impetus which had once sent them into each
other's arms had cooled into a pale memory?
Not that she was sure she'd have been able to respond whole-heartedly even if he had
reached for her, she realised, grimacing. Having to interrupt your love-making in order to
dash off and be sick was about the unsexiest scenario possible.
But neither did she want to reach a stage where sharing a bed with him was simply a
habit. If that happened, then the gulf between them was probably unbridgeable.
But I don't feel like that, she argued. I still want him so much, yet I'm scared to make the
first move in case he turns me down again.
With hindsight, she bitterly regretted the destruction of the letter. Far better to have
shown it to him, and risked the agony of his guilt, than attempt to live with this
continuing uncertainty.
At least, she thought, I would have known...
And Ryan was busy, of course, she reminded herself, preparing the notes for his seminar,
as well as making the slight changes to his latest script that Penny had suggested.
Both Quentin and Penny were full of enthusiasm for the book, predicting it would be his
top seller yet, and the contract that was being drawn up reflected this.
Kate had been embarrassed to find the time and place of each meeting with agent and
publisher elaborately circled in red on the phone pad.
Altogether, it had been a strange week, with a sudden influx of enquiries at work—
enough to fill their schedule to the end of the year and beyond.
Once she'd have been thrilled. Now, for the first time, the success of the company wasn't
her major priority.
Louie seemed preoccupied too. Maybe the prospect of Neil's departure had affected her
more deeply than she'd bargained for, Kate mused without particular conviction. Or
perhaps she was considering ways and means of winning over the man she really loved.
She stood up, viewing herself critically in the mirror. The dress she'd chosen wasn't new,
but it was one that Ryan had always liked, unashamedly sexy in soft black crepe, with a
deep neckline, and a wraparound skirt which fastened on one hip with its own sash.
Her stockings were black too, as was the sinuous new lingerie she'd treated herself to.
She'd shadowed her eyes and applied blusher with meticulous care, and her mouth
glowed like some scented, mysterious rose.
And if this doesn't work I'll give up, she thought as she turned away to pick up her bag.
Except that she wouldn't do any such thing. She would fight and go on fighting to keep
Ryan with every breath in her body until all hope was gone. And beyond.
She felt ridiculously self-conscious as she went downstairs.
Ryan was on the phone, talking to the organiser of the seminar. 'I should be with you
around lunchtime,' he was saying. 'We can go over the final details then. Cheers.'
He replaced the receiver, and turned. As he caught sight of her, she saw his eyes widen—
become suddenly intent. Felt the air between them shiver with awareness, and something
more.
Her breasts strained against the silk which confined them. A deep quiver of need ran
down her body to her loins.
Her voice shook slightly. 'How do I look?'
The last time she'd worn this dress, she'd asked the same question, spinning round on one
high-heeled foot, her eyes, her voice, her entire body