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She must seem so gauche to him. She knew the women in his world didn't do the domestic bit, so why had she?

Because she liked to and her newly acknowledged love had demanded an expression.

When he'd called that afternoon to tell her he would be later than expected, he'd sounded ex­hausted, discouraged even. She had wanted to do something to help, but what was the point?

He had a housekeeper who could cook for him if he wanted to eat in. She would have spent the after­noon better occupied in an attempt to improve her image than acquainting herself with his kitchen.

"So is that what is on offer for later?"

"What?" Her head jolted up and she met his slate gaze, having lost the train of the conversation with her mental rambling.

"A movie."

"If you like."

He smiled and some of the tension inside her dis­sipated. "I like."

He took a bite of his dinner with every evidence of enjoyment and she followed suit, appreciating the burst of spicy sensation from the curry.

"How did you know I liked classic movies?" he asked a few minutes later.

"I didn't, but I'm glad you do." Or was he just trying to be kind? "Look, we don't have to watch it if you don't want to. This scene must seem pretty tame to you."

She indicated the table and her own less than per­fectly coifed appearance. Her knee length khaki straight skirt and casual knit top would have been perfect for an evening at home in California, but were too sloppy for dinner with a man like Sebastian, she now appreciated.

Oh, well. She could hardly run into her room and change without looking like an idiot.

Sebastian had stopped eating and was looking at her.

She paused with her fork midway to her mouth. "What?"

"I like it."

"You like it?" She really wasn't grasping the con­versation tonight.

"I enjoy being pampered. I like that you did all this for me and I like the idea of spending a couple of hours with you cuddled against me while we watch a movie."

"I don't fit in your world very well, Sebastian." She'd never fit in her mother's either. She wasn't the rich and famous type.

"Did I not just say I liked all this?" He looked confused.

"Yes, but you're simply being kind."

"I'm being honest." He frowned at her. "Do not spoil a special night doubting my sincerity."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Special?"

"Yes. Special. Believe it or not, the effort you made here is very special to me. I like it," he stressed again.

Finally, she let herself believe him. "I'm glad. I wanted you to feel spoiled, but it didn't occur to me until you'd gotten home that you could have had your housekeeper cook you a meal if you wanted to stay home."

"But you did it because you wanted me to relax. Because you cared."

And it occurred to her that sophisticated, or not, she'd tapped into a real well of pleasure as far as her tycoon companion was concerned. He really did ap­preciate the personal touch. She beamed at him.

“And the night, it is not over. This wonderful din­ner is only the beginning."

She swallowed hastily at the look in his eyes. She didn't think he was referring to the movie. If he meant what she suspected he meant, she would not deny him. She couldn't.

She loved him and if she were ever going to make love with a man, it would be Sebastian Kouros.

She licked suddenly dry lips and forced herself to say what needed to be said. "Tonight can be as spe­cial as you want it to be."

Recognition and desire flared in his eyes before a pained expression came over his features. "I want you, but I am not promising marriage here."

If he had one more ounce of tactlessness and one less of romantic idealism, he would be so basic, he wouldn't even have a rung on the evolutionary ladder. He was telling her he appreciated what she'd done tonight, would probably like even better the use of her body, but none of it altered the truth between them.

They had no future.

"I never thought you were. How could you? I'm Andrea's daughter and the last thing your family needs is a constant reminder of the pain she brought you all."

He opened his mouth to speak again, but she jumped up from the table. She'd had enough of this conversation. "Let me get dessert."

One more minute in his company right now and she would end up telling him to call one of his so­phisticated women friends as commitment phobic as he was to make his night special.

"Rachel."

She didn't turn around. "I'll be right back."

"I didn't say it to hurt you, but it wouldn't be fair to take you to my bed without spelling out the terms."

"Of course." But it hurt just the same and she could no more help that than he could help not loving her.

Sebastian watched Rachel disappear through the door to the kitchen, frustration knotting his insides. Could he have handled that any worse?

He had made her coming to his bed sound like a meaningless encounter between two people intent on scratching a sexual itch. It was nothing like that. He did not love her, could not marry her, but he desired her with a multilayered intensity he'd never known with another woman.

That's what he should have said, not the tactless spiel about not expecting a marriage proposal after­ward.

When she came back in with the dessert, she gave him no opportunity to rectify his error, keeping up an animated flow of conversation about the movie they were going to watch, how kind his housekeeper had been to give up her kitchen and how much Rachel loved the decor in his apartment.

She'd given him an odd look when he'd told her the man's name who had designed it, but had not asked about him. She was too busy changing the sub­ject to something equally impersonal, but when she moved as if to sit in a chair instead of next to him on the sofa to watch the movie, he'd had enough.

His hand snaked out and grabbed her. "You're supposed to cuddle next to me, remember?"

Her mouth, which had been mobile for the past twenty minutes, clamped shut.

"It is part of the special night you planned for me."

Instead of arguing like he expected, would even have welcomed, because it would have given him a chance to clear the air, she nodded jerkily.

He pulled her onto the sofa with him, before push­ing the volume button on the remote control. Old movie music filled the room as he tugged her into a reclining position beside him. He couldn't help himself, but he wondered why she didn't fight i

t. She wasn't happy with him.

Despite her false front of bright chatter, he had no problem discerning that truth.

She gasped as they made body contact and he set­tled one arm around her waist. He looked down to find her eyes wide and her bow lips parted in surprise.

"This is called cuddling." He curled her against him as close as they could get with their clothes on.

At the feel of her warm soft body, he forgot his intention to force a confrontation and simply took what was on offer.

Maybe she didn't mind the fact that he wasn't plan­ning on a happily ever after with her. Maybe he'd mistaken her anger.

He squeezed her waist. "Lay your head on my shoulder and relax."

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