language teasing and provocative.
'Do I look good?' she'd prompted, with all the confidence of sexual power.
'Good enough to eat,' he'd told her huskily. He'd crossed the room to her, his hands
loosening the sash of the dress and sliding beneath it to find the warm, moist core of her,
while his mouth took leisurely toll of hers. He'd kissed her throat, pushing away the deep
V of her neckline with his lips so that he could explore her breasts.
They'd been due at a book-launch party for another of Quentin's authors, and they'd been
hideously late. Her whole being bloomed with the memory of it.
Remember too, she cried out to him, silently, pleadingly. Remember how it always was
between us. How it can be again.
He said slowly, 'You look—breathtaking.' His eyes touched her, lingering on the shape of
her breasts, the subtle lines of her thighs beneath the clinging crepe. Then he turned his
glance, instead, on his watch. 'And the cab I ordered should be downstairs.'
'We could always send it away.' She felt the pulse leap in her throat, as she fought to
regain his attention. To fuel the desire she'd sensed in the sudden heat of his regard. To
build on this moment.
His brows lifted. 'We could,' he agreed. 'But that wouldn't be very polite to Louie, who's
expecting us, and who seems to need all the consideration we can muster right now.'
She'd already swallowed her pride. Now, disappointment left an equally bitter taste.
Her voice sounded brittle. 'You're right, of course. We'd better go. We don't want to be
late.'
She picked up her jacket and bag, and walked, head held high, to the door.
Trying to ignore the voice in her head, which whispered that it might already be too
late—for both of them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It probably wasn't the worst dinner party she'd ever attended, Kate reflected afterwards.
But if not it ran a close second.
Louie had welcomed them extravagantly, her generous curves swathed in pillarbox-red,
which she'd accessorised with a determined smile that seemed to have been nailed there.
Maybe she'd suddenly discovered she was going to miss Neil more than she thought,
Kate had thought ruefully, pinning on her own delighted expression.
The food had been delicious as always, with chilled avocado soup preceding seafood
served with pasta in a thick, creamy sauce, enriched with cheese, and a fresh fruit salad to
follow.
Kate had made herself eat and praise, as if she didn't have a care in the world beyond the
next mouthful, wanting the almost hectic cheerfulness of her voice to drown out the
fierce drumming of her own heartbeat. The frightened questions spiralling in her mind.
Across the table, she'd watched Ryan covertly, endlessly from under her lashes, trying to
see beyond the cool mask, but failing. Searching for answers she could not find.
But then he'd barely offered an unprompted word for the duration of the meal.
Perhaps his silence indicated that he too realised they had reached some kind of
watershed in their relationship, Kate thought, agony twisting inside her.
And all the time, somehow, she'd gone on chatting and laughing. Asking Neil about his
new job. Teasing him about the exacting Saudi alcohol laws. Exclaiming over the leisure
facilities and fringe benefits at the complex where he'd be based.
She'd be lucky if she had any voice left tomorrow.
Yet, in spite of her efforts, the atmosphere round the table had borne all the hallmarks of
a wake.
Neil, too, had been much quieter than usual, his responses muted. Even his enthusiasm
for this new departure had seemed wan.
Yes, he'd agreed, it was all a step into the unknown.
'But against that you have to weigh the value of what you're leaving behind,' he added.
'And I realised it was no contest.'
There was a brief awkward silence, broken eventually by Louie collecting the plates
together.
It was almost a relief when, after coffee, he excused himself on the grounds he still had
packing to do.
'Not one of my
'Do I look good?' she'd prompted, with all the confidence of sexual power.
'Good enough to eat,' he'd told her huskily. He'd crossed the room to her, his hands
loosening the sash of the dress and sliding beneath it to find the warm, moist core of her,
while his mouth took leisurely toll of hers. He'd kissed her throat, pushing away the deep
V of her neckline with his lips so that he could explore her breasts.
They'd been due at a book-launch party for another of Quentin's authors, and they'd been
hideously late. Her whole being bloomed with the memory of it.
Remember too, she cried out to him, silently, pleadingly. Remember how it always was
between us. How it can be again.
He said slowly, 'You look—breathtaking.' His eyes touched her, lingering on the shape of
her breasts, the subtle lines of her thighs beneath the clinging crepe. Then he turned his
glance, instead, on his watch. 'And the cab I ordered should be downstairs.'
'We could always send it away.' She felt the pulse leap in her throat, as she fought to
regain his attention. To fuel the desire she'd sensed in the sudden heat of his regard. To
build on this moment.
His brows lifted. 'We could,' he agreed. 'But that wouldn't be very polite to Louie, who's
expecting us, and who seems to need all the consideration we can muster right now.'
She'd already swallowed her pride. Now, disappointment left an equally bitter taste.
Her voice sounded brittle. 'You're right, of course. We'd better go. We don't want to be
late.'
She picked up her jacket and bag, and walked, head held high, to the door.
Trying to ignore the voice in her head, which whispered that it might already be too
late—for both of them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It probably wasn't the worst dinner party she'd ever attended, Kate reflected afterwards.
But if not it ran a close second.
Louie had welcomed them extravagantly, her generous curves swathed in pillarbox-red,
which she'd accessorised with a determined smile that seemed to have been nailed there.
Maybe she'd suddenly discovered she was going to miss Neil more than she thought,
Kate had thought ruefully, pinning on her own delighted expression.
The food had been delicious as always, with chilled avocado soup preceding seafood
served with pasta in a thick, creamy sauce, enriched with cheese, and a fresh fruit salad to
follow.
Kate had made herself eat and praise, as if she didn't have a care in the world beyond the
next mouthful, wanting the almost hectic cheerfulness of her voice to drown out the
fierce drumming of her own heartbeat. The frightened questions spiralling in her mind.
Across the table, she'd watched Ryan covertly, endlessly from under her lashes, trying to
see beyond the cool mask, but failing. Searching for answers she could not find.
But then he'd barely offered an unprompted word for the duration of the meal.
Perhaps his silence indicated that he too realised they had reached some kind of
watershed in their relationship, Kate thought, agony twisting inside her.
And all the time, somehow, she'd gone on chatting and laughing. Asking Neil about his
new job. Teasing him about the exacting Saudi alcohol laws. Exclaiming over the leisure
facilities and fringe benefits at the complex where he'd be based.
She'd be lucky if she had any voice left tomorrow.
Yet, in spite of her efforts, the atmosphere round the table had borne all the hallmarks of
a wake.
Neil, too, had been much quieter than usual, his responses muted. Even his enthusiasm
for this new departure had seemed wan.
Yes, he'd agreed, it was all a step into the unknown.
'But against that you have to weigh the value of what you're leaving behind,' he added.
'And I realised it was no contest.'
There was a brief awkward silence, broken eventually by Louie collecting the plates
together.
It was almost a relief when, after coffee, he excused himself on the grounds he still had
packing to do.
'Not one of my
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