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  ‘Instant,’ he said, handing her the cup and then sitting on one of the big, comfortable chairs by the fireplace. ‘There was a machine there, but…’

  ‘But you didn’t have a clue how to use it?’ She cupped the mug between her hands and watched him as he sat back, relaxed, in the chair.

  ‘I could have figured it out in time.’ He shot her a wicked grin that made her toes curl. ‘But life’s too short to waste any of it trying to come to grips with a complicated machine that just ends up making stuff you can get out of a jar.’

  ‘It tastes much better than the stuff you can get out of a jar.’ After their very civilised evening, Heather knew that she should really be getting rid of him. He had made a nice gesture; she had not been churlish and thrown it back at him, and now she could close the evening on a satisfactory note. But didn’t it make her feel alive, having him here? Looking at him? It was, in equal measure, exciting and disturbing.

  ‘That’s open to debate.’ But he laughed again. ‘Tell me about your work. Do you work freelance, or are you commissioned to a publisher?’

  Since this was nice, safe conversation, Heather felt herself relax as she began explaining to him what she did, telling him about some of the books she had illustrated, then finding that they were talking about art in general. Working freelance as she did, she had relatively little contact with members of the opposite sex, and for the past three years that had suited her. After Brian, she had retreated to lick her wounds, only meeting the occasional guy through some of the women she had befriended in the town, mums from the school where she gave art lessons to their kids once a week. She had accepted no dates, and indeed had made sure to give off all the right ‘hands off’ signals to anyone who had looked even mildly interested.

  It made a change to have male company. That, she told herself, was why she was now talking to Leo. She had allowed him in to prove to herself that she was capable of rising above her past. Also, it made sense for them to be, if not friends, then at least on speaking terms, because she would bump into him now and again, and the less awkwardness between them the better.

  She resolutely slammed the door on the little voice telling her that she was enjoying that weird, tingly, excited flutter inside her; that she was turned on by his charisma, mesmerised by the raw power of his sex appeal.

  Heather was not in the market for being turned on or mesmerised by anyone. In due course, she would emerge from the protective walls she had built around herself and would get back into the dating scene. If she wasn’t too old by then. And, when she did, she would be very careful about the type of men she went out with. In fact, she might get them to fill out a questionnaire before the first date—nothing too complicated, just a few sheets of questions so that she could make sure that only the right kind of guy got through the net.

  Since Leo was the complete opposite of the right kind of guy, she felt herself fully protected. Yes, she could appreciate all that alpha-male sex appeal; yes, she could admit that he was ferociously intelligent. But there was no way that she could ever physically be attracted to him, not when her head told her that it made no sense—and she was always careful to be guided by her head now.

  So why shouldn’t she enjoy talking to someone who seemed interested in her art? In fact, she even found herself showing him some of her past illustrations, ones she had done for a trilogy about a ballerina.

  ‘So you don’t just do the fairies,’ Leo murmured, impressed by what he saw, but not liking the way the evening was descending ever increasingly into friendly chit-chat. ‘Tell me something, do you make a living from this?’

  ‘Depends on what you call “a living”.’ Heather stashed her portfolio to the side of the sofa and sat back down. ‘Compared to what you probably earn, I don’t even begin to make a living, but then again I realised a long time ago that money’s way overrated.’

  ‘Yes?’ Leo’s ears pricked up. ‘Tell me about it.’ He stood up and began pacing the small room, pausing to look at pictures in frames, eventually settling on the sofa with her. Sitting on the opposite side of the room was not working for him. In a minute she would be gearing up to remind him of how tired she was before she sent him on his way.

  His frustration levels were growing by the second.

  ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ Heather said casually. ‘You just have to read about all those super-rich, super-privileged people who end up in rehab all the time. I mean, have you ever thought that you might end up in rehab one day?’

  Distracted from his intention to go beyond the harmless conversation about art and culture and steer them into edgier waters, Leo raised his eyebrows, amused.

  ‘I’ll admit, that that’s one thing I’ve never worried about.’

  ‘Why not?’ Heather looked at him thoughtfully. She could feel every nerve in her body on red alert. It wasn’t a massive sofa, and, now that he had plonked himself on it, it seemed to have shrunk to the size of a pin cushion. If she stretched her foot out just a tiny bit it would make contact with his thigh, so she was making very sure to huddle into herself. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and her arms were firmly clasped around them.

  ‘Why should I? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a loser. People end up in rehab when they’ve lost control of their lives.’

  ‘Or when they’re lonely, maybe. Then they take refuge in all sorts of things.’

  ‘But I’m not lonely, and the concept of taking refuge in anything is abhorrent to me. I have no time for people who waste their lives in drugs or alcohol. And how did we get onto this anyway?’

  ‘Because I said that money can buy a lot of things, but it doesn’t buy happiness.’ She looked at him and her breath caught in her throat. The sun had dipped, and the long shadows in the room accentuated the angles of his face, the beautiful, harsh set of his features. Their easy banter had lulled her into a false sense of security, she realised. She had silenced those nagging little voices at the back of her mind, but they had resurfaced with double their vigour, telling her that she could pretend to feel in control, but underneath the pretence was the reality that she was attracted to him. Staring at him like a dumbstruck teenager was just one of the things she wanted to do. The rest brought her out in a cold sweat.

  ‘I mean,’ she said, poised to redress the balance, ‘you’re rich, and yet can you honestly say that you’re completely happy?’

  Leo raked restless fingers through his dark hair and wondered how he had managed to get caught on the back foot. ‘Yes, I can, but I expect you’re going to tell me that actually I’m not.’

  ‘You can’t be completely satisfied with your relationship with Katherine and Daniel,’ Heather said flatly. She regretted her outburst the minute it left her lips, but it was too late, and she conceded that it might be the only way to fight the dawning realisation that she was attracted to the worst possible man for her.

  ‘I’m working on that,’ Leo grated. ‘And enough said on that subject.’

  ‘I think it’s time you went, Leo.’ Heather stood up and made a pretence of yawning. ‘I’m shattered. I’m not accustomed to drinking, and it’s made me feel really sleepy. Thank you for coming over and for bringing a meal for me, and I’m glad that we’ve managed to…get over our initial differences.’ She took up a defensive position by the door, standing to one side and watching in silence as Leo finally took the hint and stood up, although it had to be said that he didn’t look in a frantic rush to leave. His eyes tangled with hers and she looked away nervously.

  ‘I think we’ve done more than just get over our initial differences,’ he murmured, walking towards her.

  ‘Um…’ Heather felt the words dry up in her throat with each step closer to her that he took.

  ‘I think that we got over our initial differences some time earlier today, in fact. It might have been in the cinema, when you absent-mindedly helped yourself to some of my popcorn.’

  Heather flushed. His voice was low, sexy and coaxing, and there was a lazy, speculat
ive look in his eyes that made her feel hot and self-conscious—although she wasn’t sure why, because all he was talking about, for goodness’ sake, was a bag of popcorn!

  ‘I didn’t think you’d noticed,’ she mumbled, glancing away, because his eyes seemed to be boring holes in her. Hadn’t anyone ever told him that it was rude to stare? ‘I have a problem with popcorn. I always feel that I can do without it, but the minute the movie starts I realise I can’t.’

  She could feel his eyes still on her, making her even more horribly aware of her inadequate dress-code. Her shameless probing had not managed to elicit a huge amount about his love life, but she had managed to glean that he appreciated women who were slim and brainy. Slim, brainy women would not be caught dead in a pair of old jogging-bottoms and a tee shirt, even if they were comfortable. Slim, brainy women relaxed in designer jeans and super-expensive blouses with pearl buttons, maybe a silk scarf casually draped around their necks. She had met a fair few slim, brainy women in her time and they had all spoken with cut-glass accents and looked like beautiful, porcelain mannequins.

  She realised that she wanted to find out more about these women. Was there one on the scene now, waiting back in London for Leo to return from doing his paternal duties?

  She slammed the door shut on her curiosity and adopted a bright smile.

  ‘What time do you leave tomorrow?’ she asked. ‘Have you got any plans for Daniel? I know he really enjoyed today; I could tell. He’s not the most talkative child on the face of the earth, but you can always see when he’s in a good mood and he was in a very good mood, today. I’m very proud of you. You made a big effort after having missed his Sports Day and he appreciated it. Kids are like that. They don’t harbour grudges or have long memories…’ He was looking less and less impressed the longer her eulogy continued, until she finally faltered into an uncertain silence.

  ‘You’re very proud of me?’

  ‘Well, yes…’

  ‘I’m not ten years old, Heather. Obviously it’s heart warming to know that you’re proud of me, but…’ This time he did more than just allow his eyes to linger on her face, to travel the length of her small, voluptuous body. He reached out and placed his hand behind her neck. There was nothing passionate about the gesture. He remained where he was, leaning against the wall, feet lightly crossed at the ankles. With anyone else, it would have felt almost fraternal. With Leo, it felt as though he had stripped her of her clothes and ordered her to do an erotic dance. The wobbly legs which she had earlier put down to a glass too much of wine now felt like jelly, and every shameful, idiotic, indecent tug of attraction which she had managed to airbrush away surfaced with red-hot ferocity through her veins. She felt weak and dizzy from the force of it all, and she half-closed her eyes as she drew in her breath unevenly.

  Leo could feel reluctance mixed with desire in those few seconds as he detailed her reaction to his touch with an expert eye.

  She had thoroughly disapproved of him at their first meeting and hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to lecture. Now, he had succeeded in becoming the star pupil. Add to that the fact that she was probably very innocent in her experiences with men, cooped up as she was in the middle of nowhere, and he really wasn’t that surprised that she was now licking her lips nervously. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was trembling a little, like the fragile petal of a flower being blown by a very slight breeze.

  He brushed the pad of his thumb against the soft, sensitive skin of her neck and then tangled his fingers in her hair, which was as soft as silk.

  ‘But…’ He was finding it hard to remember what he was saying. He was finding it hard, in fact, to think coherently, which was a novelty for him and gave him a certain buzz. ‘There are far more satisfying ways you could use to reward my Brownie points.’ The hand which had been plunged into her glorious golden curls now moved to trace the contours of her neckline, which was pretty frustrating for him, because, whilst her closefitting tee shirt proudly advertised the bounty it shielded, the round neckline made damn sure that his wandering fingers couldn’t get anywhere near it.

  Heather stared at him, her lips parted. Her brain was having trouble keeping pace with the bizarre turn of events. In a series of rapid, thumbnail clips, she mentally went over the evening, starting with his unexpected arrival, Chinese food in hand, and travelling down the enjoyable few hours they had spent—him being ultra-nice and ultra-interested in everything she had to say while she watched him surreptitiously from under her lashes and told herself that everything was normal, that it made perfect sense to be friendly, because that was how good neighbours should be.

  She knew he was going to kiss her. For a few seconds, all rational thought went into free fall as he dipped her head back, and then his mouth was on hers, urgent, hungry, demanding, pressing her back against the wall.

  As the walls of her resistance such as there had been came tumbling down, Leo felt a surge of lust and triumph. Against his, her body was as soft as he had imagined. Her breasts were squashed against his chest, and with a groan he pushed his hands under the tee shirt, sliding them effortlessly out of her stretchy bra and then losing himself in their abundance.

  It was enough to galvanise Heather into horrified action. In the space of a few reckless minutes, she had succumbed to a need that was so powerful it overwhelmed all her ability to think rationally.

  The touch of his hands on her breasts was like an urgent wake-up call and she pushed him back, scrambling in her desperation to regain her composure.

  She was no match for him in the strength stakes, but she had the element of surprise on her side. The very last thing Leo had expected was to find himself repelled at the very height of his excitement.

  ‘Go. Now.’ She had awkwardly pulled the tee shirt back into some semblance of order, and her arms were folded protectively across her breasts. On any other occasion, his look of disbelief would have had her laughing.

  ‘Go? Now? If this is your version of playing hard to get, then it won’t work.’

  ‘I’m not playing hard to get. I’m asking you to leave. I shouldn’t have…’

  ‘Led me on?’

  ‘I did not lead you on!’

  ‘Don’t play the outraged virgin with me. I’ve seen the way you’ve stolen looks at me, the way you’ve reacted when I’ve been within touching distance of you!’

  Heather, guilty and appalled, stared at him mutely. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, unable to deny the charge, but likewise refusing to admit to it. ‘If you thought that I was leading you on, then you’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick. That’s the last thing I intended to do.’

  ‘What was your intention, in that case?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘Because I don’t hear you denying that what I felt here was a case of mutual attraction.’ Leo was half-stunned to hear himself demanding an explanation from her, demanding to know why she hadn’t immediately and without question fallen into bed with him. He hadn’t been mistaken about the way she felt about him, the attraction that sizzled below the surface of their amicable exchanges. He was never wrong about things like that. When it came to second guessing female vibes, he could have written a book on the subject.

  What he was inexperienced at was having to deal with a woman who felt the attraction and then came up short on the follow-through.

  ‘Not all of us treat sex as a casual indulgence,’ Heather told him shakily, backing away to escape the stranglehold of his powerful personality.

  ‘You have no idea how I treat sex.’

  ‘I can risk a guess—no strings, no commitments, something that hits the spot and then, when it stops hitting the spot, becomes disposable—like a Chinese takeaway, in other words. You’re not domestic because you don’t have to be, and I’ll damn sure bet you’re never even remotely domestic in the presence of a woman just in case she gets nesting ideas. Am I right?’

  ‘And maybe there’s a damn good reason for that,’ Leo heard himself say grittily. ‘Maybe I’
ve learnt a couple of things about the joys of commitment. Maybe I’ve learnt that it’s just not what it’s cracked up to be, and I’m the kind of guy who learns lessons very fast. Some might say at the speed of light.’

  He stared down at her and was as surprised at this admission as she appeared to be, judging from the wide-eyed look on her face. It was one of the rare moments when mention of his wife had been uttered on his lips, the last time being when she had died in the car crash in Australia, thereby catapulting his life into another lane. Even then, when the past had resurged into his present, he had conducted affairs with a businesslike approach, spurning all invitations from his mother to open up. On that swift and relentless rise to the top, Leo had discarded all possible weaknesses, and that included any maudlin tendencies to confide. Not that he had ever really had any. The sensitive role had been his brother’s domain.

  Maybe it was the silence that greeted his unexpected admission that encouraged him to continue. Or maybe it was the fact that she was reaching to play the moral trump-card again and he refused to allow himself to be boxed in.

  He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he said with cutting cynicism, ‘My ex-wife taught me some very valuable lessons, one of which was that life can get messy, complicated and downright ugly the minute a person makes the mistake of thinking that sex is better, more worthwhile, when a little love or infatuation is thrown into the mix.’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’

  ‘I’m trying to say that there’s no virtue in self-denial because the happy-ever-after scenario isn’t waiting just around the corner.’

  Heather couldn’t disagree with that. She couldn’t, however, see the only alternative as throwing herself into whatever passing attraction she might happen to feel for any man.

  ‘Well?’ Leo prompted harshly, angry with himself for sinking so low as to explain his motivations, and angry with her because he had expected her to launch into a diatribe about love, romance and all that other rubbish which seemed to propel couples up the aisle only to find themselves racing for the divorce courts three years later.