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Except that satisfied was probably as inappropriate a description for her as ‘care’ had been for him. She felt far from satisfied—more angry with herself and with him. And mixed up, too—because, yes, she still wanted Drew as much as he clearly wanted her. She had known that from the moment they had seen one another on the beach. Only this time he was not being held back by some old-fashioned sense of what was right. He had told her that, too, and with heartbreaking honesty.
So why hadn’t he just pounced while she had been lying naked in the bath, getting turned on to an exquisite pitch by the things he was saying to her? It had been the perfect opportunity and he must have seen how vulnerable she was. He must have.
She found herself wondering what would have happened if he had pounced. Would she have been able to resist him? She rubbed absently at her hair with the towel. Of course she would! She would be able to do anything she pleased, just as long as she had conviction!
She looked at the luminous face of the clock-radio and yawned. It wasn’t as late as it seemed but she felt almost boneless with fatigue. She would try to sleep for a while and when he called to take her down to dinner she would politely tell him no. Yes, she would.
She padded over to the bed and pulled back the coverlet, slipping between the deliciously crisp, clean sheets, topped with a soft drift of blankets. Her mind was buzzing so much that she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. But she closed her eyes anyway, and in her dreams she was still wearing Drew’s ring, and it felt good, and the next thing she knew was the shattering shrill of the telephone, right by her ear.
She picked it up, disorientated and disappointed—aware that she still hadn’t got to the best bit of the dream, though she wasn’t quite sure what the best bit was. ‘Hello?’ she said groggily. ‘Who’s this?’
‘This is your alarm call, kitten.’
She yawned; it was the rich velvet voice from her dream. Still half-asleep, she said, ‘Mmm!’
‘Mmm, what?’
‘Mmm, what time is it?’
‘It’s nine o’clock.’
‘What, in the morning?’
‘No, Shelley. Still the evening. And the night is young.’
She looked down at the clock for confirmation and then to the window facing her bed. She hadn’t bothered to draw the curtains and the evening sky was an inky-dark backdrop, studded with the pale points of stars.
‘Hungry?’ he questioned.
‘Starving,’ she admitted.
‘And you’re going to have dinner with me?’
‘Isn’t it too late to have dinner?’
‘We’re not quite that provincial down here,’ he commented drily.
‘What happens if I say no?’
‘I don’t know,’ he mused. ‘Consider the alternative.’
‘Peace, you mean?’
‘I don’t think so, Shelley. The reality would be a table set for one, with everyone in the dining room wondering why such a beautiful woman was eating alone.’
The beautiful woman comment pleased her far more than it had any right to. ‘But earlier you told me that I looked awful.’
‘Well, you did. But I’m sure you wash up well,’ he answered blandly.
‘I could always have a tray sent up to my room.’
‘Oh, come on—you’d spend the whole evening regretting it. Your heart just isn’t in it, Shelley. Admit it!’
She wanted to tell him that he knew nothing about the contents of her heart, but she felt too sleepy and warm and comfortable to be able to compose something clever enough to dazzle him. And what would be the point of making a less than clever remark that he could easily obliterate with his caustic tongue?
And he was right. Her heart wasn’t in it. She was only human. The luxurious life she had shared with Marco was now over. She had one night at the Westward and one night only—there would be plenty of meals on trays in front of the television in future!
This would be the most fabulous opportunity to demonstrate her new-found sense of purpose—and to show Drew that loose ends would be tied only if she wanted them to be tied! That she was grown-up enough to resist him. Hadn’t she worked in one of the busiest art galleries in Milan, and resisted gorgeous men by the scoreful? ‘I’ll meet you downstairs,’ she told him briskly. ‘Give me half an hour.’
‘I’ll be waiting,’ he said softly, and put the phone down.
She dressed, if not to kill, then certainly to maim. He had seen her at her very worst—now let him see the woman whom the exacting Marco Nero had been proud to escort to some of the most glitzy social functions in Italy!
First, her make-up. She set it all out on the dressing table like an actress dressing for a part.
