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‘It was the way you waved.’
‘Oh, and how did I wave?’
‘Provocatively.’
She laughed huskily, making her dress shimmer. She suddenly felt wicked, wild and abandoned…all the things that Michael had failed to make her feel. ‘But I’m a provocative sort of woman,’ she said headily. ‘I like stirring things up. I’m irresponsible. I told you that this morning. Maybe now you’ll believe me.’ She peeped up at him through her sweeping false lashes and saw that he was looking satisfyingly stern.
‘I believe you’ve had a little more to drink than you’re used to. Fleet was probably topping up your glass when you weren’t looking.’
‘Of course he was! I’m not stupid, you know. And I’m not drunk, either!’ At first she had let Michael get away with it because she’d thought that alcohol might help shake off her stubbornly persistent inhibitions. When she had realised that it wasn’t working she had stopped going along with the game, and for the past couple of hours had merely toyed with her drinks.
‘I didn’t say you were,’ he said diplomatically. ‘Just that in your elevated mood you may be more vulnerable than you might think.’
Harriet’s glossy new image was supposed to make her invulnerable. Shallow, happy-go-lucky pleasure-seekers never got hurt…Look at Michael—he was annoyed with her but he wasn’t emotionally wounded by her rejection. Harriet repressed a flutter of panic by scintillating even more brilliantly.
‘If you mean I’m open to temptation, I hope so,’ she said with a hectic little laugh. ‘I like to make myself available to new experiences. It’s so boring to just do the same things over and over again, don’t you think?’
‘It depends what those things are,’ he murmured uncooperatively, the long, sensitive fingers that controlled her movements registering the rise in febrile tension in her slender body. ‘After your experience at New Year I would have thought you’d be well aware of the insidious effects of alcohol.’
She might have known he’d bring that wretched topic up. He seemed obsessed by it.
‘It’s only insidious if you don’t know it’s happening. You should stop worrying about what happened at New Year. Everyone knows it wasn’t the company’s fault. And nobody really got hurt, except for their dignity, did they?’
‘The fact that you need to ask makes the question debatable. There were a number of people in the same position as you that night. If you can’t even remember what happened to you, how can you judge the extent of your hurt?’
‘I meant lasting damage,’ she said dismissively. Several of her workmates had mentioned how maudlin she had been in her intoxicated state, but that seemed to have been the extent of her foolishness. Thank goodness she hadn’t broken down completely…not in public, anyway.
She remembered staggering into a dark, empty office, feeling wretched, there to wallow in self-pity, weeping herself into a fitful sleep that was menaced by jumbled hallucinations which, from her vague remembrance, seemed to involve an angel and a devil fighting for possession of her body and soul. Fortunately the angel must have won, because the darkness had rolled back in a burst of glory that had warmed the rest of her dreamless slumber. Somehow in the wee small hours she must have tottered out and got a taxi home and, since January the first was a holiday, she had gratefully spent the rest of the day in bed, recovering from what she had naively thought was a bout of food poisoning.
‘Damage doesn’t have to be physical to be lasting. Who knows what wounds may be hidden in the psyche?’
Harriet shrugged. The discussion was getting uncomfortably close to intense. Why did he persist in talking about an incident that everyone else was very happy to forget? ‘As long as they stay hidden, who cares? What people don’t know can’t hurt them.’
There was a grim set to his jaw. ‘That sort of philosophy has a nasty habit of backfiring.’
‘Oh, well, if you want to talk on deep, meaningful topics like philosophy, then I’ve definitely had too much to drink,’ she said, searching desperately for a diversion. ‘Why don’t you ask your “dear, sweet Lynne” to dance? She looks willing to be deep and meaningful, and she’s obviously as sober as a judge.’ Dressed in basic black, she looked like one too, thought Harriet nastily, although the beautiful legal eagle would no doubt take that as a compliment!
‘Because I’m dancing with you.’
She mistrusted the gallantry. ‘What kind of answer is that?’
‘What kind of question was it? If you want to know what kind of relationship Lynne and I have, why don’t you just ask?’
Her eyes jerked to his, sparkling defiantly. ‘And be accused of impertinence again?’ she charged.
‘I got the impression this morning that being impertinent was one of your new aims in life,’ he said shrewdly. ‘However, if you’re too shy to ask, I’ll tell you: a useful one. Lynne and I have been dating casually for the last few months…mostly a matter of attending public events together when our schedules permit. Neither of us has any claim on the other.’
Brilliant natural colour flared under the smooth application of her glamorous make-up as Harriet realised what he meant. ‘Why should
I care?’
‘Curiosity, perhaps?’
‘Curiosity killed the cat.’ And as soon as the stupid cliché was out of her mouth Harriet went white and closed her eyes, a horrified expression on her face.
‘What’s the matter?’ he murmured deeply, bowing his head so that it almost touched hers.
Harriet shook her head, her hair flaring around her slender neck, releasing a cloud of heavily sensual perfume that made his nostrils flare. The fingers of his right hand shifted, interweaving through hers and folding down over her knuckles in a strong, reassuring grip. ‘What is it, Harriet?’
