earlier. And I’ll make it up to you next week. You’ll have my undivided attention each evening—promise.’
He got briskly to his feet, tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed and totally single-minded.
Armoured, Flora thought dispassionately, in his own concerns.
She said quietly, ‘Chris—don’t do this—please. Because I really need to spend some time with you. To talk…’
‘And so you shall, sweetheart, when I get back.’ He gave her a coaxing smile. ‘Anyway, it will give you some space—let you get ahead on the work front—or do some of the girlie things you say you never have time for. Why not give Hester a call? She’s probably not doing anything either.’
He aimed a kiss at her unresponsive lips on his way past. ‘I’ll ring you if I get the chance. If not—see you Monday.’
The door banged, and he was gone.
Flora stood, carriers at her feet, feeling completely deflated and more than a little lost.
Chris was her wall—her barricade against the invasion of all these disturbing thoughts and emotions that were assailing her. And suddenly, frighteningly, he wasn’t there for her.
Anger began to stir in her as she recalled his dismissive parting comments. She said aloud, ‘How dare he? How bloody dare he?’
What low expectations he had of her—and of Hester, come to that, assuming that her friend would have nothing better to do on Friday night than keep her company.
Was that how he had them down? she wondered incredulously. A couple of sad single women settling down with a takeaway and a video? Manless and therefore hapless?
Because, if so, he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life.
She stalked into her bedroom, flung open the wardrobe door and began to search along the hanging rail, pulling out a silky slip of a black dress with shoestring straps and a brief flare of a skirt. She’d bought it a few weeks before and had been waiting for a suitable occasion to wear it.
And tonight was the perfect opportunity, she thought defiantly, removing the price tag and ignoring the alarm signals going off in her brain. That small inner voice telling her that she too was about to commit a blunder that would leave Chris standing. That what she was planning was actually dangerous.
All my life I’ve played it safe, she argued back, rummaging for the black silk and lace French knickers that were all the dress would accommodate underneath. And where’s it got me?
To a situation of being taken totally for granted—that was where.
This wasn’t the first time that Chris’s business interests had left her stranded at the weekend, she thought. Up to now she’d told herself that his ambition was laudable, that he deserved her whole-hearted support.
But there came a point when ambition became selfishness, and they’d reached it.
Because it wasn’t only business which had taken him away from her. He could have cancelled that solo trip to the Bahamas, but he hadn’t, even though it had come at a time when she’d desperately needed his love and support. When she hadn’t wanted to be left alone.
She hurriedly closed down that train of thought, and the memories it engendered. That was all in the past, and for the moment the future seemed confused. Which left her with the here and now.
And she wasn’t going to spend another Friday evening staring at her own four walls when, just for once, there was an attractive alternative.
For a moment she halted, looking at her own startled reflection in her dressing mirror as she acknowledged what she was contemplating. What she was risking.
Because Marco Valante was light years beyond being merely an attractive man. He was a force of nature, she thought, her body shivering in mingled apprehension and excitement.
From the moment she’d seen him that day in the restaurant she’d been drawn to him—a helpless tide to his dark moon.
All that stood between her and potential disaster was his own guarantee that tonight would involve dinner and nothing else.