Love Without Lies
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Lee Wilkinson
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CHAPTER ONE
THE physiotherapy room at Mayfair’s exclusive Grizedale Clinic was quiet and peaceful, the only sound the muted background roar of London’s traffic. A deep-pile carpet covered the floor, a vase of crimson roses scented the air and a black leather couch was spread with a spotless sheet ready for its next occupant.
At the open window muslin curtains lifted in the slight breeze, allowing light to enter but keeping the lingering summer-in-the-city heat at bay.
Wearing a silky, charcoal-grey suit and an ivory blouse, her long, naturally blonde hair taken up in a coil, Madeleine was sitting at the desk, updating her previous patient’s file, when there was a tap, and the door opened.
Neat in her blue uniform, dark curls secured in the nape of her neck by a gilt clip, Eve came in with some notes.
Eve Collins, along with her brother Noel, had been Madeleine’s friend since their nursery-school days.
It had been Eve who had mentioned this post at the clinic. ‘If you’re interested, Maddy, the woman who usually fills it has taken maternity leave, which means it will only be temporary.
‘But I promise you the surroundings are pleasant, and the money’s good, so this might be just what you need to tide you over until you’ve built up a clientele of patients…
‘That is, if you don’t mind working four evenings a week throughout the summer months…’
‘I don’t mind at all,’ Madeleine had said gratefully, ‘and I’d be glad of both the money and the experience.’
‘I’ll mention your name to Mrs Bond, who deals with personnel.’
On being offered the post, Madeleine had started work immediately. It meant she could no longer see her mother in the evenings, but she had reorganised her daytime routine to fit in visits to the nursing home between her private patients.
Smiling at her friend, Eve put the notes she was carrying on the desk and, her blue eyes gleaming with excitement, hurried into speech. ‘Your last patient for tonight is a new one, a Rafe Lombard…’
Then dropping her voice to a whisper, ‘And boy, is he gorgeous! A real hunk, with all the charm of a young Sasha Distel! Tall, dark and handsome may be an overworked phrase, but there’s no other way to describe him.’
Madeleine sighed and raised her eyes to heaven. ‘The last time you told me someone was gorgeous he turned out to have pimples and dandruff.’
‘Scoff if you must, but this time you’ll have to admit I’m not exaggerating. All the female staff are in a tizzy, married and single alike.
‘When he smiled at Thelma, who you must admit is a bit of a man-hater, she went weak at the knees and dropped all the papers she was carrying.’
‘Well, you’d better send this gorgeous hunk in,’ Madeleine said drily. ‘Otherwise I won’t have time to take a look at him.’
A moment or so later the latch clicked, and, pushing aside the notes she had just scanned through, Madeleine glanced up.
The man who entered the room carried with him an air of power, of self-reliance and quiet authority.
As she looked at this ruggedly handsome, perfect stranger, everything stopped—her breathing, her heart, the blood in her veins…even the world ceased to spin on its axis.
It was as if she’d always known him. As if she had just been marking time, waiting for him to appear. Waiting for him to fill the void she had been only too aware of, even while she was married to Colin.
Rather than rushing into speech, as many of her patients did, he stood quite still, his forest-green eyes fixed on her face.
Dragging air into her lungs, she struggled to pull herself together. Though it seemed an eternity, it could only have been a few seconds before she succeeded in regaining at least some outward semblance of composure.
His effect on her had been pure and immediate and total, and she knew instinctively that she must stay cool and aloof, or be lost.
For perhaps the first time she understood fully why every tutor on the physiotherapy courses—apart from Colin—had found it necessary to warn their pupils not to allow themselves to get emotionally involved with any of their patients.
And, when it came to the crunch, how useless that warning was.
Drawing another deep, steadying breath, she rose to her feet and, daring her knees to tremble, advanced to meet him, holding out her hand. ‘Mr Lombard, I’m Madeleine Knight…’
He took her hand in a firm grip and smiled, he looked deep into her eyes and nearly stopped her heart for a second time.
Her breathing impeded, her throat desert dry, she began, ‘I understand you’ve suffered a possible whiplash injury. When did it happen?’
‘Earlier this evening.’
His voice, low-pitched and slightly husky, shivered along her nerve ends.
Those clear green eyes lingering on her face, he added, ‘Since then I’ve had some discomfort. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about, but I was advised to see a physiotherapist just in case there was any muscle damage.’
In spite of all her efforts her voice wasn’t quite steady as she asked, ‘How did it happen?’
‘I was taking my racing car round a private circuit when the steering went.’ Drily, he added, ‘Straw bales can seem remarkably solid at speed.’
He was still watching her and that steady appraisal threw her far more than any of her previous male patients’ attempts at flirtation.
‘If you could strip to the waist and get up on the couch so I can check it out, please?’ She tried to sound cool and professional, in control.
While Madeleine kept her eyes fixed firmly on his notes he took off his jacket and shirt and draped them over a chair, before hitching himself up to sit on the couch.
Only when he was settled did she look up.
His back was straight and muscular, the line of his spine elegant, as the broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist and narrow hips. His clear, tanned skin carried the glow of health and gleamed like oiled silk, making her want to touch it.
Even the back of his well-shaped head was attractive and sexy, the short dark hair curling a little into the nape of his neck.
Taking a deep breath, she went over to him and, concentrating fiercely on her professional task, with firm but gentle hands began her examination.
Though he must have been well aware of his effect on women, he made no suggestive remarks, nor did he try to chat her up. Instead he sat quietly, obediently raising his arms and flexing his muscles when asked to.
As soon as she had finished the examination, she said briskly, ‘Right, Mr Lombard…’ and moved away to a safer distance.
As he swung his feet to the floor she confirmed, ‘Though there’s some obvious stiffness in the neck and shoulder muscles, luckily there’s no evidence of any real damage. In a few days, if all goes well, you should be back to normal.’
‘That’s great.’ He smiled at her, his smile a white slash across his tanned face.
She watched as his lean cheeks creased, and a fan of fine laughter lines appeared at the corners of those fascinating almond-shaped eyes. Eyes that tilted up at the outer corners. Eyes that would have made even the most ordinary face appear extraordinary. And his face was far from ordinary…
Dragging her gaze away with an effort, and trying to ignore the way his smile had sent her pulses racing madly, she went on, ‘Rest is all it needs until after the weekend. Then I suggest you have a further check just to be on the safe side.’
Looking directly into the clear aquamarine eyes of this cool, fascinating woman, who seemed totally unaware of her own beauty, he asked, ‘So when shall I see you again?’
His intent gaze and the question, phrased as it was, shook her rigid.
But seeing him again, even in a professional capacity, would be far too dangerous. It would be courting disaster.
The clinic’s policy was that a strict protocol should be observed between staff and clients, and, faced with soaring costs at the nursing home, she couldn’t afford to lose this job.
‘Perhaps you’d like to come in again on Monday or Tuesday morning?’
He shook his head. ‘Evening would suit me better.’
Biting her bottom lip, she made a pretence of studying her appointments before she suggested evenly, ‘In that case, suppose you make it Monday evening at the same time?’
Mrs Deering, the plump, middle-aged and happily married part-timer who worked weekends and Monday evenings, could hopefully help him without any threat to her peace of mind or her position.
‘That suits me fine.’
‘Then I’ll say goodnight, Mr Lombard.’
‘Au revoir, Miss Knight. Many thanks.’ He strode to the door and made his way out.
Some element of vitality went with him, and she was left feeling, life goes that way.
With a hollow emptiness in the pit of her stomach she sank down at her desk and, with the image of his dark, attractive face filling her mind, started to update his notes.
The notes finished, she was sitting there gazing into space when the door opened and Eve came back in. ‘I wondered if you were still here… Almost everyone else has gone.’
With nothing to look forward to but a solitary supper, there had been no incentive for Madeleine to hurry home.
‘So what did you think of Rafe Lombard?’
‘He was every bit as gorgeous as you said,’ Madeleine answered as lightly as possible.
Eve looked gratified. ‘And there’s more…’
‘More?’
‘According to Joanne, who always seems to know these things, he inherited Charn Industries from Christopher Charn, his godfather…Which must make him a multimillionaire, and a prime catch.
‘Though so far apparently he’s managed to elude the hook and stay a bachelor. Which is a challenge in itself. A challenge I wouldn’t mind taking up if I got half a chance. After all, a multimillionaire must be worth the risk of getting fired.
‘Ah, well,’ Eve sighed as she continued, ‘I suppose I mustn’t let myself dream. He’s hardly likely to be interested in the likes of me. With those kinds of looks and that amount of charisma, Rafe Lombard must have women queuing up to throw themselves at his feet.’
No doubt Eve was right, Madeleine sighed, and pushed all thoughts of Rafe Lombard firmly to the back of her mind.
‘Finished with these?’ At the other girl’s nod, Eve gathered up the notes and headed for the door. ‘Well, I’m off. I’ve a date with Dave. See you Tuesday. Don’t spend all weekend at the nursing home. Try to get out a bit.’
‘I’ll try.’
Since her mother had suffered severe head injuries in the gas explosion that had wrecked their rented house, she had spent most of her free time by the sick woman’s bedside.
Sitting hour after hour with the corpse-like figure, talking or reading to her, not knowing how much, if anything, her mother understood, had taken a heavy toll on Madeleine.
As had the death of Madeleine’s husband, Colin, in the same tragic accident. An accident she could only blame herself for.
As the weeks turned into months, finding she was no longer any fun, most of her friends had drifted away, and only Eve and Noel had stuck by her wholeheartedly.
Eve, in her usual cheerful, down-to-earth way, had provided an emotional crutch, while Noel had been there for her in a practical capacity.
First he had helped her find somewhere to live, then he had taken her out, chivvied her to eat and done his utmost to raise her spirits while she tried to pick up the pieces of her shattered life.
As a shoulder to cry on, Noel was the first to admit that he was useless. But when she had needed someone to make her laugh, to forget for a short time at least that she needed a shoulder to cry on, he had been ideal.
When he’d gone to work abroad, troubleshooting for an oil company, she had missed him. Missed his unstinting support, his irreverent tongue, his spiky sense of humour and laid-back attitude.
Missed having a man in her life.
Since she had been on her own several men had tried to get on more than friendly terms with her. But, well aware that, in the circumstances, the odds were stacked against any new relationship succeeding, she had steered clear.
After being alone so long it was time to move on, she knew, yet no one had attracted her enough to act as the catalyst to make her want to take the chance.
Until today. And that attraction, fierce though it was, was futile.
Becoming aware that time was slipping past, she closed the window and collected her shoulder-bag before letting herself out through a side-door and heading for the main gates.
On rainy days she caught the bus back to her Knightsbridge flat, but during the dry, settled spell of weather that had lasted for almost a week now, she had enjoyed walking home.
Tonight, however, having reached the imposing gates and turned west along Grizedale Street, she felt oddly weary and dispirited, in no mood for the thirty-minute walk.
She had just drawn level with a midnight-blue limousine that was parked by the kerb, when its rear door opened and a tall, dark-haired figure climbed out.
Dazzled by the low evening sun, she took a moment to realise that the man blocking her way was Rafe Lombard.
Surprise stopped her in her tracks, and as she shielded her eyes to look up at him he said easily, ‘I thought if I hung around a while I might catch you. Have dinner with me?’
He was tall, dwarfing her with his height. If they were standing closer her head would rest on his broad chest.
Confused by the thought, she found herself stammering, ‘N-no, thank you.’
‘Perhaps it was stupid to spring it on you like this, but now I’ve admitted I’m an idiot,’ he laughed, ‘won’t you reconsider and go out with me?’
With a flash of humour, she said, ‘What? Go out with a self-confessed idiot?’
He gave her an appreciative grin. ‘Think of the entertainment value.’
She shook her head. ‘I can bear to give it up.’
‘Surely not!’ he mocked gently.
‘Afraid so.’
‘Go on. I promise I don’t bite.’
Madeleine lowered her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t.’ Putting his head on one side, he asked, ‘Why not?’
His face was so full of charm that it took her breath away and turned her very bones to water.
Her voice sounding impeded, she said, ‘It’s against the clinic’s policy for staff and clients to get familiar or meet on a social basis.’
He grimaced at the prim phrasing. ‘If we do get familiar I promise not to breathe a word to a soul.’
‘I’m not dressed for eating out.’
‘You look absolutely fine to me.’ He grinned.
Before she could make any further protest, she found herself drawn towards the car and urged into the back seat.
He slid in beside her, and she went hot all over when his muscular thigh pressed against hers as he reached to fasten first her seat belt and then his own.
Sensing that heated confusion, and warning himself not to rush things, he moved away to leave a little space between them.
With a silent sigh of relief, she glanced at him.
He met her gaze directly. The sun slanting in showed that her long-lashed aquamarine eyes had in their depths a sprinkle of gold dust, and her flawless skin a peach-like down.
His fingers itched to stroke it.
Controlling the urge, he asked lightly, ‘Anywhere in particular you’d like to go?’
Wits scattered, knowing she shouldn’t be here at all, she shook her head. ‘No, I—’
Touching a button, he instructed the chauffeur, ‘Just drive around for a while, Michael.’
As the limousine pulled smoothly away from the kerb, feeling rather as though she’d been hijacked, Madeleine began weakly, ‘What made you…?’
‘Chance my arm?’ Rafe suggested when she hesitated. ‘Sheer determination. If I’d been sure of seeing you again, I might not have rushed things. But when I made a few tactful enquiries I discovered that you wouldn’t be here Monday evening…
‘Which could have meant one of two things: either I was just another patient you didn’t mind if you never saw again…or else someone you could be interested in and felt, because of the clinic’s policy, you should steer clear of. I rather hoped it was the latter…’
Trying to control the surge of excitement that ran through her, she bit her lip.
Though his phrasing had been reasonably cautious, there was an air of confidence about him that suggested he felt fairly sure it was the latter.
And the way she had allowed herself to be shepherded into the car without protest must have reinforced that assumption.
‘It opens up such possibilities…’ He smiled at her. ‘And I’m only too pleased you’re free to explore those possibilities…’
The sexual chemistry between them was like an electrical force she could sense through every pore in her skin.
But recalling what Eve had said about women throwing themselves at his feet, and disinclined to let him believe that she might be one of them, she tried to appear cool and unmoved.
Judging by his face, her strategy hadn’t worked.
In an effort to take the wind out of his sails she looked him in the eye and asked, ‘What makes you so sure I’m free?’
Apparently unruffled, he answered, ‘Well, for one thing, you’re not wearing a ring—’
‘That’s nothing to go by these days.’
‘True. That’s why I waylaid your colleague.’
‘Which colleague?’
‘The pretty, dark-haired girl who first took my details. I happened to see her leaving the clinic and spoke to her. Eve, isn’t it? I gather she’s a good friend of yours.’
Without a blush, he added, ‘I managed to coax quite a bit of information out of her.’
An edge to her voice, Madeleine asked, ‘What kind of information?’
‘I needed to know if you were married or in a steady relationship. When I asked her, she told me you’d lost your husband and been alone for quite a while now. I couldn’t imagine a beautiful woman like you being on your own, but she seemed fairly sure there was no man in your life at the moment.’
When Madeleine merely looked at him, he added, ‘Which means you have no commitments, no one waiting at home for you?’
‘No.’ As though he was willing her, she found herself unable to lie.
‘Then I’d like to think that having dinner with me is marginally more appealing than eating alone?’ he said quizzically.
When she made no immediate response, he urged, ‘Please say it is, for the sake of my fragile ego.’
She smiled in spite of herself, a smile that brought her beauty to life and set those tiny gold flecks in her eyes dancing.
As he stared, entranced, she said a shade tartly, ‘I have the distinct feeling that your ego is robust enough,’ then, throwing caution to the winds, added, ‘But yes, it is. Marginally.’
He laughed. ‘A woman with spirit, I see… So where would you like to go?’
His mouth was beautiful, she thought, at once controlled and sensitive, the lower lip a little fuller than the upper. It was a mouth that tied knots in her stomach.
Somehow she managed, ‘I really don’t mind. Anywhere you choose.’
That was the first hurdle cleared, Rafe thought triumphantly as he instructed the chauffeur, ‘The Xanadu, please, Michael.’
Knowing he shouldn’t touch her—yet—but desperate to do so, he took her hand and, his thumb stroking across her palm, went on softly, ‘I think you’ll agree that it’s the perfect setting for a romantic evening.’
She shivered.
Things were moving fast. Too fast.
Knowing she needed to apply the brakes, she withdrew her hand and, gathering herself, stared resolutely out of the car window.
But she was still breathing unevenly when they drove through tall ornamental gates and drew up outside the celebrated Mayfair restaurant.
Once a private house, the Xanadu was built in the style of a Spanish hacienda, and stood in its own discreetly floodlit gardens. Mature trees and shrubs provided a pleasant backdrop to smooth green lawns, and flowering shrubs climbed the stuccoed walls.
When the middle-aged chauffeur got out to open the door, Rafe told him, ‘Don’t bother hanging around, Michael. Get off home to the wife.’
His look grateful, the man said, ‘Thank you, sir. Goodnight sir, madam…’
Rafe opened the thick smoked-glass door with an easy courtesy that she soon came to know was part of his nature.
Inside the foyer, his jacket was whisked away and they were greeted by the proprietor. ‘Good evening, Mr Lombard…madam… How nice to see you. Your usual table?’
His usual table… Did he make a habit of bringing his women here? Madeleine wondered.
‘Please, Henri.’
The maître d’ appeared to show them through a series of archways to a secluded corner table in the stylish, white-walled restaurant.
Long windows looking onto the gardens were open wide, letting in warm evening air fragrant with the scent of roses and honeysuckle. A few bright stars were appearing, and a thin, silvery disc of moon floated in the blue sky.
As he’d said, it was the perfect setting for a romantic evening.
Watching her glance round, and instantly on her wavelength, he queried, ‘Yes?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed with a smile.
While they sipped an aperitif she tried to concentrate on the menu, but, try as she might, she couldn’t prevent herself looking at him, and whenever he wasn’t watching her her eyes were drawn to his face.
He wasn’t merely good-looking. With a cleft chin, a mouth that was at once ascetic and sensual, a strong nose, high cheekbones, brilliant, thickly lashed green eyes and dark, curved brows, he was intriguing, riveting.
But it was more than his looks. Much more. There was something about the man himself. Something she couldn’t quite put a name to, but something that fulfilled a need in her. It felt right to be with him, as if she had always known him, as if they belonged together.
While they ate an excellent meal he kept the conversation light and general, moving from topic to topic, finding out what interested her, seeking her opinion on the subjects that did.
In spite of her awareness of him, the heated attraction that lay just beneath the surface, she found herself responding with an ease that, when she thought about it later, surprised her.
It wasn’t until they reached the coffee stage that he deliberately moved into more dangerous territory.
Needing to know, and recalling the levelness of her gaze even when she was flustered, he went for the direct approach. ‘Tell me about your husband.’
Every nerve in her body tightening, she said, ‘There’s not much to tell.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Colin. Colin Formby.’
‘You kept your maiden name?’ he queried.
‘Yes. It was what my family wanted,’ she said quietly, taking a sip of her drink.
He raised an eyebrow quizzically. ‘You were an only child?’
‘Yes,’ Madeleine answered.
Rafe paused, leaning back in his chair. ‘What field was your husband in?’
‘Physiotherapy.’
‘When did the pair of you meet?’
‘At university.’ Madeleine lowered her gaze, focusing on anything but Rafe’s probing gaze.
‘You were students together?’
‘No. I was in my final year. Colin was a tutor.’ Rafe was intrigued. ‘So he was older than you?’
‘Eighteen years.’
‘A big gap.’
‘Yes,’ she said shortly. Madeleine had always thought that the age gap, big as it was, wouldn’t have mattered if she had truly loved him.
Rafe could sense her growing discomfort, but having got this far, he decided to press on. ‘How long were the two of you married?’
‘Six months.’
‘Not long.’
‘No,’ Madeleine almost whispered.
Rafe paused, knowing his questions were difficult for her.
‘How did he die?’
‘He was killed in an explosion.’
Quelling the urge to ask any further questions, Rafe commented, ‘Tough.’
Madeleine raised her eyes to his. ‘Yes, it was.’
There was sadness there and some other emotion Rafe couldn’t put a name to. But it wasn’t the utter desolation, the inconsolable grief, of someone who had lost all they held dear. Of that he was sure.
He breathed an inward sigh of relief. The absence of a man in her life had made him fear that she was still in love with her dead husband, but the vibes he was picking up convinced him he was wrong.
Which must make his chances of succeeding, a great deal easier, he thought.
Refilling her coffee-cup, he changed the subject smoothly.
‘What does Madeleine Knight do in her spare time? Are you a secret television addict?’
Relaxing again, she laughed and shook her head. ‘No, I much prefer a book.’
‘Ah, a woman after my own heart! Have you read Matthew Colt’s Funny Business…?’
‘Oh, yes… I loved the part where Joe tries to steal his ex-wife’s poodle…’
For a little while they talked about the book, laughing over the bits that had amused them the most, before Madeleine remarked, ‘I read somewhere that it’s going to be turned into a play.’
‘So I understand. Should be worth seeing… Do you like the theatre?’
‘Love it.’
‘Have you had a chance to see the new West End play everyone’s talking about?’
‘Beloved Impresario?’ She shook her head and, unwilling to admit she couldn’t really afford to go to the theatre these days, said, ‘I imagine tickets are like gold dust.’
‘I’m sure I could get hold of a couple, if you’d like to see it?’ he asked casually.
Her heart starting to hammer against her ribs, she bit back the urge to accept. She was being foolish in the extreme just having dinner with him. No doubt all he wanted was a brief fling.
But while many women might have jumped at the chance, that kind of thing wasn’t her style.
Plus, it could cost her her job.
Her expression tight, controlled, she refused with formal politeness. ‘I don’t think so, thank you.’
He was having none of it. Green eyes looked into aquamarine. ‘You mean you don’t want to see it? Or you don’t want to see it with me?’
Feeling as though she’d been set down in the middle of a minefield, she found herself wishing the evening were over. Wishing she could escape.
And he knew it.
Lifting her chin, she answered as steadily as possible, ‘I don’t have much spare time, so I don’t want to commit myself.’
He had known from the start that getting anywhere with this woman wouldn’t be easy. Now he realized that it was going to be a great deal harder than he had anticipated.
But he had wanted her on sight, wanted her with a passionate hunger that had surprised and shaken him. And no matter what it took, he vowed, he intended to have her.
But it would be a mistake to come on too strong.
With a graceful movement of his hand he conceded defeat and, his expression bland, steered the conversation into less perilous channels.
Feeling relieved, she followed his lead.
Watching her, he noted that relief and wondered why she was so wary, so reluctant to get involved.
Still, the night was young. There was time to change her mood.
His charming nature soon set her at her ease once more, and by the time they finally rose to leave she could have stayed there all night.
And he knew that too.
Watching her face, soft and dreamy now, he felt a strange tenderness mingling with satisfaction as he escorted her outside.
Moonlit air caressed her skin like velvet, and the stars were so close she felt she only had to stretch out a hand to pluck one from the sky.
The taxi Rafe had ordered was waiting for them, and his hand a warm weight in the middle of her spine, he ushered her towards it.
When they were settled in the back, he said, ‘I understand from Miss Collins that you live in Knightsbridge. Where exactly?’
She gave him the address of her flat and, sliding open the glass panel, he relayed it to the driver.
As they reached the gates and joined the late-night stream of traffic, he looked deep into her eyes. His look was so intent and searching it made her heart beat faster and her breath grow short.
While she stared back at him as though mesmerised, he took her heart-shaped face between his palms and, bending his dark head, touched his mouth to hers.
His kiss, light and fleeting though it was, seemed to melt every bone in her body and filled her with an almost uncontrollable longing.
Drawing back, he said quizzically, ‘There now, that’s what you’ve been fearing all night, but it didn’t hurt a bit, did it?’ When she just looked at him with big, dazed eyes, he said, ‘So shall I do it again?’
Somehow she found her voice and lied jerkily, ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
‘OK,’ he said, and kissed her again. This time there was nothing light or fleeting about it.
When, without conscious volition, her lips parted beneath the light pressure of his, he deepened the kiss until her head was reeling and her very soul had lost its way.
He could feel her trembling and, sensing that she was his for the taking, he suggested softly, ‘My apartment is quite close to here. Will you come up for a nightcap?’
Somehow she found her voice and objected huskily, ‘It’s late. I should get to bed.’
‘Exactly what I had in mind…’ he murmured. She didn’t dare look at him.
‘With so much chemistry between us…’ He let the sentence tail off.
But then he didn’t need to say any more. Sex with him would be good, she knew that instinctively. Better than good. Mind-blowing.
Heat running through her, she said, ‘I’ve never gone in for one-night stands,’ and was uncomfortably aware that she sounded stuffy and old-fashioned.
Raising a dark brow, he asked, ‘Who said anything about a one-night stand? I have the distinct feeling that having you in my arms for a million and one nights wouldn’t be enough.’
Struggling to close her mind to the seduction in his voice and words, she looked down at her lap. For once in her life she was sorely tempted to do what Eve was always telling her to do, and live a little.
But the guilt that had been her albatross now became her saviour, reminding her that she couldn’t afford—either financially or emotionally—to get involved with this man.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she said, ‘I don’t want to go to bed with you. I’d like to go home, please.’
