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‘I’m sure she did,’ Angie countered. ‘I’ll remember that next time I enter one.’
He sucked in a startled breath, his blue eyes darkening. Are you trying to pick a fight with me for some reason, Angie?’
Yes, came the totally unexpected but brutally honest thought. For if I don’t, I just might throw myself at your feet and tell you that I still love you— have done all these years!
Angie turned away before he could see the stricken look on her face. Oh, God. It couldn’t be true. It shouldn’t be true. But it was...
She whirled back, a plastic smile on her face. Her head was spinning and she had no idea what she was going to do now. Her idea from a moment before, of a crazy seduction, suddenly seemed even more appropriate—maybe even essential.
For the first time in her life Angie wanted Lance to be as heartless a womaniser as he’d always been painted. For she didn’t have much time. There was no doubt that he would return to Melbourne in a day or two. She would never have another chance. Maybe all she had was tonight.
‘That was bitchy of me, wasn’t it?’ she said, trying to bring a seductively soothing quality to her smile. ‘I was only teasing. Here’s your drink. Bud asked me to bring it up to you.’ She handed it over, then perched on the edge of the bed, hitching her dress up over her knees as she saucily crossed her legs.
‘So what happened to make your wife leave you?’ she asked, still smiling. ‘Have you been a naughty boy again, Lance?’ One part of her wanted him to say he’d been a very naughty boy. Another part wanted him to deny adultery, to claim he’d done his best to make his marriage work but found it couldn’t because he’d never really loved his wife. He’d really been in love with someone else, you see. A girl named Angie.
He stared at her legs while he swallowed a deep gulp of the drink, grimaced, then placed the glass down on the nearby dressing-table. Still saying nothing, he picked up a comb and started combing his hair in the dressing-table mirror—his lovely, thick, wet dark blond hair. Angie watched it fall into perfect place, hating every single obedient lock, wanting to clasp great clumps of it with cruel hands while she pulled his mouth down on to hers.
A deep shudder ran through her. She had never thought herself capable of such feelings, of such a savage passion. It made her afraid of what she might do afterwards, if she went to bed with Lance and it was as incredible as she expected that it might be.
Suddenly she became aware that he was staring at her in the mirror. Not at her legs, this time, but deep into her eyes. ‘Why do you want to know about my marriage?’ he asked.
Her shrug was marvellously indifferent. ‘I’m just curious, that’s all. Bud always said it wouldn’t last.’
His eyebrows shot up as he turned around. ‘Is that so? And did he say why?’
‘I dare say he thought the man voted Superstud of the Year wasn’t good husband material.’
Lance went awfully still before shaking his head slowly and sighing. ‘Dear old Bud,’ came his dry remark. ‘And I thought he was my friend.’
Angie bristled at the implied criticism of her brother. ‘Bud is your friend,’ she snapped. ‘His saying that didn’t make it so, Lance. If your marriage failed, look to yourself.’
‘Oh, I do, Angie. Indeed I do. I made a big mistake marrying Helen.’
‘I hope you’re not blaming her now.’
‘I blame no one but myself.’
‘So you’re definitely getting a divorce, are you?’ Angie asked, hating herself for wanting to know so desperately. What difference could it possibly make to her, or her life? Lance was only up here for a night or two, then he would go back to Melbourne and his own world of high-fliers and other women like Helen. ‘There’s no chance of a reconciliation?’ she added, in what she hoped was a carefree fashion.
‘None,’ he grated out, sweeping the whisky glass up for another gulp, followed by another pained grimace. ‘Hell, Angie, what did Bud put in this? It’s strong enough to kill a brown dog.’
‘Don’t blame Bud. I made it. I thought you looked like you needed relaxing.’
