Читать книгу Rags To Riches: At Home With The Boss - Кэтти Уильямс, Elizabeth Lane, Cathy Williams - Страница 11

SARAH looked at her reflection in the mirror and frowned. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were glowing. She looked excited. Guilt shot through her, because this was just what she didn’t want. She didn’t want to find herself giddy with anticipation because Raoul was on his way over.

For the past four weeks she had kept her manner brisk and impersonal. She had pretended not to notice those occasional sidelong glances of his, when his fabulous dark eyes would rest speculatively on her face. She had taken extra care to downplay what she wore. Anyone would have been forgiven for thinking that the only components of her wardrobe were faded jeans, tee shirts, shapeless jumpers and trainers. Now that the weather was getting warmer, and spring was edging tentatively into summer, the jumpers had been set aside, but the jeans, the tee shirts and the trainers were still fully in evidence.

Sarah was determined to make sure that her relationship with Raoul remained detached and uninvolved. She knew that she couldn’t afford to forget what had happened in the past.

She had thrown herself into the task of helping him get to know his son, and she had to admit that it was no longer the uphill struggle it had initially been. Oliver was gradually opening up and losing some of his restraint, and Raoul, in turn, was slowly learning how to relate to a child. Like a teacher struggling with troublesome pupils and finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, she could now cautiously tell herself that her role of mediator had been successful.

And that accounted for the glow in her eyes and her flushed cheeks.

Oliver was actually looking forward to seeing Raoul. In fact, he was dressed and ready to go.

She clattered down the stairs as the doorbell buzzed and smiled at the sight of Oliver in the sitting room, kneeling on the chair by the bay window, eyes peeled for Raoul’s arrival. He had been treated to several rides in Raoul’s sports car, and had gravely told her that he would buy her one just as soon as he had saved enough money. He had two pounds, and considered himself well on the way.

‘Am I dressed correctly for a day out at a theme park, Miss?’ Raoul laughed at her exasperated expression.

‘You know I hate it when you call me that.’

‘Of course you don’t! It makes you feel special. And besides … I enjoy watching the way you blush when I say it.’

On cue, Sarah felt her cheeks pinken.

‘You shouldn’t say stuff like that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because … because … it’s not appropriate …’

And because it threatened her. She had been walking on thin ice for the past four weeks as he dug deeper and deeper under her defences with his easy charm, his wit, his willingness to tackle head-on a situation that must have rocked his world. She desperately wanted her one-dimensional memory of him back, because it was so much easier to deal with him as the man who had ruined her life.

‘Now you really are beginning to sound like a schoolteacher,’ Raoul said softly. ‘Should I expect to be punished any time soon?’

‘Stop it!’

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and laughed, throwing his head back, keeping his velvety black eyes on her face.

Sarah glared at him. This couldn’t continue. Raoul didn’t know what he was doing to her, but she was mentally and emotionally exhausted. She would talk to Raoul today. Begin the process of sorting out visiting arrangements. She couldn’t foresee any problem with Raoul now taking Oliver out for the day without her having to be there as chaperone.

In other words it was time to acknowledge that her brief stint at usefulness was over and Raoul had been right. It had been essential for them to present a united front to Oliver so that his confidence in Raoul could be built. Would it come as a shock for him to accept Raoul as his father? Certainly it would be a lot easier now than it would have been a month ago, when Raoul had been an intimidating stranger bearing expensive gifts who had landed in their midst from nowhere.

The gifts had all been stowed away and Raoul had not repeated his mistake—although he warned her he would definitely be christening the new house he had bought for them with something spectacular in the back garden.

When Sarah considered the speed with which her life had changed in a matter of a month, her head spun.

Raoul back on the scene. Oliver slowly beginning to bond with his father. A house which she and Oliver had seen only two weeks previously immediately purchased by Raoul on the spot, with enough money thrown at the deal to ensure that it closed with record speed.

‘You like it. Why hang around?’

He had shrugged with such casual dismissal of the cost that Sarah had stared at him, open-mouthed. That had been the point when she had thought that the attainment of wealth was the most important thing to Raoul, and instinctively she had shied away from what that implied about his character. Very quickly, however, she had realised that the only thing wealth represented to him was freedom. Money gave him the ability to do as he liked without reference to anyone else. It was the opposite of the way he had grown up.

In fact, and only by accident, she had recently discovered that he gave large sums of his vast fortune to charity—including the very same charity which had originally brought them together all those years ago. She had been in his penthouse with Oliver, waiting for him while he finished a conference call in his office. Oliver had been wandering around, gaping at the high-tech television and then experimenting with the chrome and black leather stools at the granite-topped kitchen counter, swivelling round and round with childish enjoyment, and there on the table by the massive window that overlooked a private park had been a letter of gratitude, thanking Raoul for his contributions over the years.

Sarah had not mentioned a word of what she had inadvertently seen, but she had filed it away in her head, where it jostled for space with all the other bits and pieces she was unconsciously gathering about him. In every way he was the most complex man she would ever meet. He was driven, ambitious, and ferociously single-minded. But the way in which he had applied himself to the task of getting to know his son showed compassion, patience, and an ability to roll with the punches.

There was no question that he used women, and yet there was nothing manipulative about him. He had big Keep Out signs all around him, and yet she couldn’t help feeling that she had seen something of the boy who had become the man—even though when he talked about his past it was only through necessity, and in a voice that was utterly devoid of emotion.

Five years on and Raoul Sinclair still fascinated her. Although that was something that Sarah barely recognised. She just knew that she was becoming dangerously addicted to his visits, which were frequent, even though she kept telling him that she didn’t want to disrupt his work schedule.

She felt as though she was seeing him through the eyes of an adult as opposed to the romantic young girl she had once been, and she wondered what life would be like when their relationship became normalised. When he popped over on a Wednesday evening and took Oliver out, leaving her behind, or when he had Oliver for a weekend and she had her much espoused free time to do as she liked.

She immediately told herself that it would be brilliant. She would be able to build some kind of life for herself! She no longer had the excuse of lack of money, lack of time and lack of opportunity.

Raoul had insisted on opening a bank account for her, and when she had tried to assert her independence he had turned her determination on its head by quietly telling her that it was the very least he could do, bearing in mind that she had been a single mother for all those years when he had been rapidly building his fortune. Had he been more aggressive she would have taken refuge in an argument. But, brilliant judge of character that he was, he had known the most efficient way to get exactly what he wanted.

Sarah sighed and tried not to think. Aside from the disturbing melee of her own feelings, there was the very simple reality that they would be moving soon, and Oliver would need to be told who Raoul really was.

Today they were going to a theme park. Oliver had never been to a theme park. Nor had Raoul. She had only learned this after a great deal of questioning, during which she had been determined to prise from him what he had longed for as a kid but never had. She had asked him in the crisp voice she made sure to use in order to reinforce that their relationship was entirely impersonal, and he had adopted the slightly sardonic, lazy drawl which he always used when referring to his past. But then he had said, in a voice that contained a certain amount of surprise—maybe because the memory had come from nowhere—that he had missed the big annual treat of the year when he had been nine years old and his age group were taken to a theme park. It had been a celebration of sorts, to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the place, but he had been laid up with flu and had spent the entire weekend cooped up in the sick quarters.

There and then Sarah had decided that a visit to the theme park was essential.

Lagging behind as Raoul and Oliver walked towards the car, Sarah mentally took in the picture they made. Raoul literally towered over his son, who had to walk at a smart pace to keep up with him. From behind, she noted the similarity of their hair colour and the trace of olive in Oliver’s skin tone that would burnish and darken over time—just as Raoul’s had. Oliver was proudly carrying his backpack, which was a new purchase, and wearing his jeans, also a new purchase.

Her eyes drifted across to Raoul and she felt suddenly dizzy, because he just continued to take her breath away. Without fear of being observed watching him, she feasted on the length of his muscular legs, the low-slung faded black jeans, the white shirt, sleeves slightly pushed up even though it was still quite cool. However good she was at being adult and detached when she was in his company, she still knew that her indifference was a long way from being secure.

Raoul popped the boot of his car and Sarah glanced in and said, surprised, ‘What’s all that?’

Raoul gazed down at her upturned face and shot her a crooked half-smile.

‘What does it look like?’

‘You’ve made a picnic?’

‘I haven’t made a picnic. My caterer has. I’ve been assured that there’s an ample selection.’

The past few weeks had been a massive learning curve for Raoul. Having never seen himself in the role of father, he had found himself having to adapt in all sorts of ways that were alien to him. Defined through his staggering ability to work, he had had to sideline hours in front of his computer or at the office in favour of the soul-destroying task of trying to edge responses out of his son. Accustomed to having every word he spoke treated with respect, and every order he gave obeyed to the letter, he had had to dig deep and find levels of patience that were foreign to him—because small children frequently disobeyed orders and often lacked focus. Ferociously against ever asking anyone for help, he had found himself in the uncustomary position of having to take guidance from Sarah, so that his path to a relationship with Oliver was eased. He had had to learn how to jettison his very natural inclination to command. But it had all paid enormous dividends because Oliver was gradually warming to him.

And alongside that he’d been witness to a new side of Sarah, so wildly different from the impressionable young girl she had been years ago. There was a core of strength in her now that intrigued him.

‘I’m impressed, Raoul,’ Sarah murmured, staring down at the wicker basket and the requisite plaid rug, and the cooler which was full of ice-cold drinks.

She imagined that when he decided on a certain course of action he gave one hundred percent of his energy to it. His course of action, in this instance, was winning over the son he’d never known he had, and he had approached the task in hand with gusto. This elaborate picnic was evidence of that. All kids loved a picnic. She loved a picnic.

He slammed shut the boot on Sarah’s dismayed realisation that in the process of charming Oliver Raoul had inadvertently been doing exactly the same with her.

‘Of course I would have been more impressed if you’d prepared it all yourself …’ Her voice sounded forced.

‘Never satisfied …’ But he was grinning in a way that made her skin warm. ‘You’re a tough taskmaster.’

‘You don’t need a caterer to prepare food for you. I know that you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind for next time,’ Raoul murmured.

‘Next time? There won’t be a next time,’ she told him in a fast rush. ‘Don’t forget that all of this is … you know … part and parcel of your learning curve.’

‘Theme park—tick. Picnic—tick. Homecooked food eaten at the kitchen table—tick. Fast food restaurant—tick. When did you get so regimented?’

‘I’m not regimented. I’m practical. And isn’t it time we left? Oliver’s already in the car. Have I told you how excited he was about today? He could hardly get to sleep last night!’

‘I found sleeping pretty difficult myself.’

Sarah’s eyes widened, and she sucked in a shaky breath as he braced himself against the car, circling her so that she had to half sit on the bonnet.

‘What are you doing?’ she squeaked.

‘I’m tired of trying to kid myself that I don’t want you, Sarah.’

‘You don’t want me. I don’t want you. I know we’ve been getting along, but it’s all because of Oliver—because … because … Don’t look at me like that!’ But her body was betraying her protest. ‘This isn’t part of the plan. You like plans. Have you forgotten?’

‘Which just goes to show what a changed man I’m becoming.’

‘You haven’t changed, Raoul.’ She flattened her hand against his chest to push him back, but just touching him weakened her defences. ‘I told you—we’ve been there. We’re not good for one another. We just need to be … to be friends …’

‘Okay.’ He straightened, and his voice was mild, but there was a glitter in his eyes that made her pulses race. ‘If you’re sure about that …’

He let his hand slide over her shoulder in a caressing, assured move that made her stomach flip and her breath catch in her throat. Then he backed off, and she was gulping in oxygen like a drowning person breaking the surface of the water.

Her heart was beating madly as she slipped into the passenger seat and turned to make sure that Oliver was strapped into his car seat. Over the years, her memories of Raoul had taken on a static form. Faced once again with the living, breathing, charismatic, dynamic and unbearably sexy Raoul, who could make her laugh and make her want to grind her teeth together in frustration in the next breath, had undermined all her defences.

Had he intuited this? Was that why he had made that move? With the confidence of a predator knowing that it was just a matter of time?

The theme park was already packed by the time they got there. Oliver’s excitement had been a slow burn, but his first sight of some of the rides, the chaos of the crowds, and the roar of the machines flying through the air with people dangling from them like rag dolls took his breath away.

‘Does this live up to expectations?’ Sarah asked Raoul halfway through, as he and Oliver descended from one of the child and parent rides. She was determined to keep her head and be as normal as possible. She wouldn’t get in a flap.

It had warmed up, and his polo shirt exposed strong, muscled arms. She watched them flex and harden as he stooped to lift Oliver in one easy movement.

‘Are you asking whether I’ve managed to discover my inner child yet? Nope,’ he told her before she could say anything. ‘I’m not one of those losers who gets wrapped up in that sort of thing.’

But, hell, he’d been doing quite a lot that was out of character for him. A picnic? Since when had he ever been the sort of guy who was interested in picnics? It was even more disquieting to realise that he had done it for her.

‘Well, you should be.’ Sarah saw a golden opportunity to strike out for independence and remind him that she had a life outside his many visits—that he couldn’t just re-enter her life and take what he happened to want because it suited him.

Or maybe, she decided uneasily, it was to remind herself that she shouldn’t be up for grabs, that she had a life outside his many visits. Although where exactly that life was she wasn’t quite sure. The teaching assistant job which she had been due to start was now off the cards as they would be moving from the area, and she was caught in a limbo of not really knowing when she should start looking for something else. Should she wait until they had settled in their new house before she began registering with agencies?

With nothing on the agenda, it had been easy to slip into a comfortable pattern of just Oliver and Raoul. Really, it wasn’t healthy.

‘I mean,’ she continued, as they began walking towards the next bank of rides. ‘I don’t think it’s so much about getting in touch with your inner child. I think it’s more about just being able to relax and have fun. I know you’ve been around us a lot, but that’s not going to last for ever, and when you resume your hectic work schedule … Well, I can’t imagine that you won’t be stressed out. Having fun and taking time out can’t be shoved into a few weeks before normal life resumes …’

‘Why are you trying to engage me in an argument?’

‘I’m just saying that there’s nothing loser-like about someone who knows how to have a good time. In fact, I think it’s a great quality in a guy. I’d go so far as to say that the kind of guy I would be interested in dating would be someone who really knew how to let his hair down and enjoy himself …’

When she tried to imagine this fictitious person, the image of Raoul annoyingly superimposed itself in her mind.

Raoul frowned and cast her a quelling look from under his lashes. He’d thought the subject of this so-called single life she envisaged leading had taken a back seat. He’d concluded that the matter had been shelved because she had seen the obvious—which was that there would be no single life for her while they were trying to sort out things with Oliver. It was disconcerting to think that she might have been biding her time, filling her head with thoughts of climbing back on the dating bandwagon when she was still attracted to him. He had felt it.

‘Oliver’s looking tired. I think we should have something to eat now,’ he said coolly, turning abruptly in the direction of where the car had been parked.

‘In fact,’ Sarah continued, because this seemed as good a time as any to start talking about where they went from here, ‘I think we need to have a little chat later.’

They had eased themselves out of the crowds now, and Raoul gently deposited Oliver on the ground. He had managed to win a stuffed toy at one of the stalls, and its furry head poked out from the top of his backpack. Insistent on having ‘just one more ride’, his attention was easily diverted at the promise of the chocolate cake which Raoul told him was waiting in the wicker basket.

‘There’s a lot to discuss now that the house has been bought. We have to talk about arrangements. I want to get my life in order and really start living it.’

‘“Really start living it”?’ Raoul’s voice had become several shades cooler, and he kept it low because even though Oliver had yanked the stuffed panda out of his backpack and was currently engaged in conversation with it, he was fully aware that careless words could be picked up.

‘Well, you have to admit that we’ve both been in a kind of hiatus over the past few weeks, and I suppose that might have led you to assume … well, the past few weeks have been peculiar …’ Sarah took a deep breath. ‘I bet you haven’t had this much time off work since you started!’ She gave a bright laugh at his juncture, although Raoul didn’t seem amused. ‘It’s time for us both to come back down to reality …’

They were at the car, and Raoul began hauling stuff out of the boot. Having parked away from the main car park, they found themselves in a private enclosed spot, with shady overhanging trees that seemed designed to indulge prospective picnickers.

His mood had nosedived, although he was at pains not to let Oliver have any inkling of that. He unpacked a quantity of food sufficient to feed a small army, and stuck the chilled wine in the ice bucket which had thoughtfully been provided.

Oblivious of the atmosphere, Oliver attacked the picnic with enthusiasm, and awkward silences were papered over with his chatter as he relived every experience of every ride and tried his best to elicit promises of a return visit.

So she wanted to get back to the land of the living? Why shouldn’t she? She was still young, and already she was changing as the worry eased off her shoulders. When he had bumped into her again she had been cleaning floors, and the stress of her situation had shown plainly on her face. Now the contours were returning to her body, and her features had lost the gaunt look that had originally caught him off guard. Why wouldn’t she want to have some kind of fun? Go to clubs? Lead the life most young people her age were leading and which she had had to sidestep because of the responsibility of having to look after a child?

In every single detail it was a situation that should have suited him perfectly. He had left her once with the best of all possible intentions, and he had never deviated from his resolution to steer clear of the murky waters of matrimony. He was not one of those people who had ever thought that despite coming from no family background to speak of, despite a childhood rife with disillusionment and disappointment, he could somehow turn the tide and become a fully paid up member of the happy-ever-after crew. He had always sworn that the one thing he had taken from his experiences would be his freedom, and although he now had one other person to consider, he certainly wasn’t going to go the whole hog and do anything that he would regret. If you only lived life for yourself, no one else had the power to disappoint. It was a credo in which he fully believed.

Okay, so he was still attracted to her. Yes, he hadn’t had so many cold showers late at night in his life before. And, sure, she was attracted to him—whether she wanted to believe it of herself or not. But that surely wasn’t enough to justify the rising tide of outrage at the thought of her getting out there.

Above all else he was practical, and taking this sizzling sexual attraction one step further would just add further complications to an already complicated situation. In fact he should be urging her to get out there and live a little. He should be heartily agreeing that the very thing they need to do now was plot a clear line forward and get on with it.

Within the next few days he anticipated that Oliver would be told by them, jointly, that he was his father. At that point the domestic bubble which they had built around themselves for a very essential purpose would no longer be required. She was one hundred percent right on that score. Gradually Oliver would come to accept the mundane business of joint custody. It wasn’t ideal, but what in life ever really was?

Except he was finding it hard to accept any of those things.

There was a distinct chill in the air as the picnic was cleared away, and on the drive back Oliver, exhausted, fell into a soft sleep. To curtail any opportunity for Sarah to embark on another lengthy exposé of what she intended to do with her free time, Raoul switched on the radio, and the drive was completed in utter silence save for the background noise of middle-of-the-road music.

Twenty minutes from home, Sarah began chatting nervously. Anything to break the silence that was stretching like a piece of tautly pulled elastic between them.

The day which had commenced so wonderfully had ended on a sour note, and the blame for that rested firmly on her shoulders. But the realisation that she had been sliding inexorably back to a very dangerous place—one which she had stupidly occupied five years ago—had made her see the urgency of making sure that her barriers were up and functioning. She would never have believed it possible that time with Raoul could lower her defences to such an extent, but then he had always had a way of stealing into her heart and soul and just somehow taking over.

There were some things that she wanted to do to the house as soon as contracts had been exchanged. She wanted to do something lovely and fairly colourful to the walls. So she heard herself chattering inanely about paints and wallpaper while Oliver continued to doze in the back and Raoul continued to stare fixedly at the road ahead, only answering when it would have been ridiculously rude not to.

‘Okay,’ Sarah said finally, bored by the sound of her own voice droning on about a subject in which he clearly had next to no interest. ‘I’m sorry if you think I wrecked the day out.’

‘Have I said anything of the sort?’

‘You don’t have to. It’s enough for you to sit there in silence and leave me to do all the talking.’

‘You were talking about paint colours and wallpapers. I can’t even pretend to manufacture an interest in that. I’ve already told you that I’ll get someone in to do it all. Paint. Wallpaper. Furniture. Hell, I’ll even commission someone to buy the art to hang on the walls!’

‘Then it wouldn’t be a home, would it? I mean, Raoul, have you ever really looked around your apartment?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You have the best of everything that money can buy and it still doesn’t feel like a home. It’s like something you’d see in a magazine! The kitchen looks as though it’s never been used, and the sofas look as though they’ve never been sat on. The rugs look as though nothing’s ever been spilled on them. And all that abstract art! I bet you didn’t choose a single painting yourself!’

Anger returned her to territory with which she was familiar. The hard, chiselled profile he offered her was expressionless, which made her even angrier. How could she not get to him when he got to her so easily? It wasn’t fair!

‘I don’t like abstract art,’ she told him nastily. ‘In fact I hate it. I like boring, old-fashioned paintings. I like seeing stuff that I can recognise. I like flowers and scenery. I don’t enjoying looking at angry lines splashed on a canvas. I can’t think of anything worse than some stranger buying art for me because it’s going to appreciate. And, furthermore, I don’t like leather sofas either. They’re cold in winter and hot and sticky in summer. I like warm colours, and soft, squashy chairs you can sink into with a book.’

‘I’m getting the picture.’ Raoul’s mouth was compressed. ‘You don’t want help when it comes to interior design and you hate my apartment.’

Not given to being unkind, Sarah felt a wave of shame and embarrassment wash over her. She would never normally have dreamt of criticising anyone on their choice of décor for their home. Everyone’s taste was different, after all. But the strain of having Raoul around, of enjoying his company and getting a tantalising glimpse of what life could have been had he only wanted and loved her, was finally coming home to roost. For all his moods and failings, and despite his arrogance, his perverse stubbornness and his infuriating ability to be blinkered when it suited him, he was still one hell of a guy—and this time round she was seeing so many more sides to him, having so many more opportunities to tumble straight back into love.

‘And we still have to talk,’ she said eventually, but contented herself with staring through the window.

If she had hoped to spark a response from him then she had been sorely mistaken, she thought sourly. Because he just didn’t care one way or another what opinions she had about him, his apartment, or any other area of his life.

‘Yes. We do.’

In an unprecedented move Raoul had done a complete U-turn. Thinking about her with some other man—pointlessly projecting, in other words—had been a real turnoff, and even more annoying had been the fact that he just hadn’t been able to get his thoughts in order. Cool logic had for once been at odds with an irritating, restless unease which he had found difficult to deal with.

But her little bout of anger and her petulant criticisms had clarified things in his head, strangely enough.

Sarah wasn’t like all the other women he knew, and it went beyond the fact that she had had his child.

It had always been easy for him to slot the other women who had come and gone like ships passing in the night into neat, tidy boxes. They’d filled a very clearly defined role and there were no blurry areas to deal with.

Yes, Sarah had re-entered his life, with a hand grenade in the form of a child, but only now was he accepting that her role in his life was riddled with blurry areas. He didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because she represented a stage in his life before he had made it big and could do whatever he liked. Or maybe it was just because she was so damned open, honest and vibrant that she demanded him to engage far more than he was naturally inclined to. She didn’t tiptoe around him, and she didn’t make any attempts to edit her personality to please him. The women he had dated in the past had all swooned at their first sight of his apartment, with its rampant displays of wealth. He got the impression that the woman sulking in the seat next to him could have written a book on everything she hated about where he lived, and not only that would gladly have given it to him as a present.

The whole situation between them, in fact, demanded a level of engagement that went way beyond the sort of interaction he was accustomed to having with other women. Picnics? Home cooked meals? Board games? Way beyond.

He pulled up outside her house, where for once there was a parking space available. Oliver was rousing slowly from sleep, rubbing his eyes and curling into Sarah’s arms. Taking the key from her, Raoul unlocked the front door and hesitatingly kissed his son’s dark, curly mop of hair. In return he received a sleepy smile.

‘He’s exhausted,’ Sarah muttered. ‘All that excitement and then the picnic … he’s not accustomed to eating so late. I’ll just give him a quick bath and then I think he’ll be ready for bed.’

She drew in a deep, steadying breath and firmly trod on the temptation to regret the fact that she had lashed out at him, ruined the atmosphere between them, injected a note of jarring disharmony that made her miserable.

‘Why don’t you pour yourself something to drink?’ she continued, with more command in her voice that she felt. ‘And when I come down, like I said, we’ll discuss … arrangements.’

She was dishevelled. They had both shared the rides with Oliver, but she had done a few of the really big ones on her own. Someone had had to stay with Oliver, and Raoul had generously offered to babysit, seeing it as a handy excuse to get out of what, frankly, had looked like a terrifying experience. He might have felt sorely deprived as a boy at missing out on all those big rides, but as an adult he could think of nothing worse.

Her hair was tousled and her cheeks were pink, and he noticed the top two buttons of her checked shirt had come undone—although she hadn’t yet noticed that.

‘Good idea,’ he murmured blandly, with a shuttered expression that left her feverishly trying to analyse what he was thinking.

Raoul noted the hectic colour that had seeped into her cheeks, and the way her arms tightened nervously around a very drowsy Oliver. Arrangements certainly needed to be made, he thought. Though possibly not quite along the lines she anticipated.

She wanted to deal with the formalities, and there was no doubt that certain things had to be discussed, but he was running with a different agenda.

At long last he had lost that unsettling, disconcerting feeling that had climbed into the pit of his stomach and refused to budge. He liked having an explanation for everything and he had his explanation now. Sarah was still in his head because she was unfinished business. There were loose ends to their relationship, and he looked forward to tying all those loose ends up and moving on.

He smiled at her slowly, in a way that sent a tingle of maddening sensation running from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head.

‘I’ll pour you a drink too,’ he said, his dark eyes arrowing onto her wary face, taking in the fine bone structure, the wide eyes, the full, eminently kissable mouth. ‘And then we can … as you say … begin to talk about moving forward …’