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Fran frowned. Something wasn’t right. ‘Just the two nights. Cormack, is something the matter?’
He was one of the most decisive men she had ever met and yet now his face seemed to be cast in an agony of uncertainty. ‘I hope not,’ he said obscurely.
And suddenly Fran was fed up with feeling as though a play was taking place, only none of the action seemed to involve her!
‘Cormack,’ she demanded. ‘Do you mind telling me exactly why you’re here? And please don’t say that you’re just passing, because this isn’t the kind of place that anyone passes.’ Let alone a man for whom fame was the natural consequence of his success as a Hollywood screenwriter.
‘I’m about to write a novel,’ he told her gruffly. ‘Sam has been on at me to do it for years. I can’t keep putting it off. I’ve decided to write it now and I want to discuss it with Sam first.’
There was something about the way he was stubbornly refusing to meet her eyes. Something about the uncomfortable set of his shoulders. For a fundamentally truthful man, it must have been very difficult for him to try and lie to protect his friend, thought Fran.
‘That may be so. But that isn’t why you’re here, is it?’ she questioned insistently.
Their eyes met.
‘No,’ he said at last.
‘I think we’d better go and sit down, don’t you?’
He followed her into the sitting room, shaking his head with the air of someone who had a heavy burden resting on his broad shoulders. ‘Triss told me not to come,’ he sighed heavily.
‘Well, you clearly ignored your wife’s advice,’ said Triss sternly. ‘And now you’re here you’d better start explaining.’
He narrowed his eyes at her, as if trying to read her mind. ‘How is Sam?’
If she hadn’t spent most of the night with Sam exploring her body both inside and out then she might have been able to answer the question without blushing as deeply as she could ever remember.
‘Oh, hell!’ snarled Cormack, before she had even had a chance to answer. ‘Hell!’
Fran stared at him in pink-cheeked confusion. ‘Cormack? What on earth is the matter?’
‘Time is,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m too late, I guess. You’ve already—’
She frowned as he bit his lip and seemed to change his mind about what he was going to say. ‘Already what?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Oh, I think it does—certainly to me. So what was it, Cormack? You know you’re going to have to tell me.’
He ground the words out with difficulty. ‘Have you…slept with him?’
She was too shocked to be offended by the question. ‘I think you’d better explain yourself,’ she said quietly.
He shook his head. ‘Just forget I ever asked.’
But something in the almost defeated slump of his shoulders both alarmed and unsettled her. And made her determined to get to the bottom of what was making Cormack look so uncharacteristically troubled. ‘I can’t do that. Not now. You know I can’t. You’ve opened up a can of worms, we can’t just close it again.’
‘Let’s wait for Sam.’
‘No, let’s not.’ She gazed at him steadily. ‘I’m waiting, Cormack.’
‘Yeah.’ He shrugged, and tried to play it down. ‘I was just a little bit worried about you, that’s all—’
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘You came all the way here from Ireland because you were worried about me—’
‘No. I had business in London as well.’
‘So would you mind letting me into the cause for your concern?’
