Читать книгу The Bridesmaid's Secret - Sophie Weston - Страница 7

WHEN Gil walked into the club, it was already buzzing. He shouldered his way past the queue and nodded to the bouncer on the door.

‘Good evening.’ His clipped English accent was very pronounced. ‘Paco is expecting me.’

‘Oh, yeah. Professor,’ said the bouncer, trying the word out as if it was the first time he had said it in his life. ‘He said to go on up. First landing, door marked Private.’

He held the heavy door open for him. Gil ran up the stairs.

Paco was in his office, sitting at an impressive desk, for all the world like a captain of industry. But when Gil rapped on the door and pushed it open, Paco leaped to his feet and rushed forward like the enthusiastic freshman he had once been.

‘Gil! Great to see you!’ Paco embraced him, then held him at arm’s length. ‘What’s with the suit? You look serious.’

‘And you look like a pirate,’ said Gil, taking in the tight black head scarf and a single earring. He was taken aback.

Paco grinned. ‘Image. Just like they used to tell us in college. Marketing is everything.’

They went way back, he and Gil. They had met in the days when they’d waited tables and had driven delivery trucks to pay their way through college. Paco had graduated from waiter via barman to nightclub owner and, these days, music entrepreneur.

Gil prowled round the room, inspecting huge signed photographs and a couple of framed disks.

‘You’ve certainly made your MBA pay for itself.’

‘You, too, from what I hear.’

Gil swung round neatly. ‘What do you hear?’ He rapped the words out.

Paco looked surprised at the tone. ‘Only what was in the old alumni newsletter. Your company develops cutting-edge research software. That’s what it said.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, I see. We’re talking industrial espionage. That’s what you’re doing in New York, isn’t it?’

Gil flung himself down in a chair. ‘Am I that transparent? I must have made it so damned easy—’ He broke off. His jaw was as tight as a vice.

Paco looked alarmed. ‘Hey, I’m just making social conversation here. What’s wrong?’

Gil looked at him for a frowning moment. Then, quite suddenly, he shrugged.

‘My famed judgement of people,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘It’s struck again.’

‘Ah,’ said Paco after the slightest pause.

‘Yes,’ said Gil, answering his unspoken comment. ‘I suppose you thought Rosemary Valieri had taught me all there was to know about duplicitous women? You were wrong.’ He sounded savage.

‘Oh, it’s a woman, is it? The English chick you were supposed to bring tonight?’

‘No.’ Gil dismissed Annis with a shake of the head. ‘My marketing director. The first non-specialist I brought in. She’s been with us since the start. I thought she was a friend.’

Paco looked at him with a good deal of sympathy. ‘Happens to all of us.’

‘We all thought she was a friend. She’s betrayed the whole team.’

‘Can you sort it?’

‘Yes,’ said Gil with cold fury. ‘I only have to divert my attention from important stuff. Work my butt off getting additional funding. Spend hours with corporate lawyers. Lie.’

Paco was amused. ‘That’s what makes business a fun world.’

‘I trusted her.’

‘Big mistake.’ Paco gave him a beer. ‘But we all do it. Don’t beat yourself up.’

‘She’s got some big investors moving in to take over the company. I only found out who today. And how they’re going to do it.’

‘Bad. But you’re sure you can handle it?’

‘Yes,’ said Gil. He showed his teeth. ‘Oh, yes.’

Paco was briefly sorry for the unknown marketing director. ‘If anyone can, you can. You were always the most focused guy in the class. Wish you luck, buddy.’ He took a swig of his own beer. ‘Now, what do you want to do? Stick around or go back to the hotel to wheel and deal?’

‘Wheeling and dealing is tomorrow. Tonight I want to release some major adrenaline.’

Paco was enthusiastic. ‘Right on. Have a meal, then boogie. The food’s Brazilian tonight. Chef does a mean feijouada.’

‘Great,’ said Gil, getting to his feet.

‘We got a great couple of DJs tonight. Real enthusiasts, know what I mean? We’ve got the PR crowd, too. Some of those kids can really move.’ He punched Gil lightly on the shoulder. ‘You want to channel aggression, you’re in the right place. Let’s party!’

They ate the spicy food, talking about old friends and new businesses. It was just like being back in college, Gil thought. The same jokes, the same heady sense they could do anything they wanted if they put their minds to it. All the time, the noise from the dance floor rose steadily.

Eventually Paco pushed back his chair. ‘Time I showed myself. Time you hit the floor. Let’s prowl.’

On the floor of the club Paco was different, Gil saw with amusement. The homely beer was gone. Instead he strolled around holding a glass of colourless liquid awash with chunks of lime and some anonymous leaves. Gil knew that the leaves were basil and the liquid was mineral water but it looked dangerous.

‘Mountebank,’ he said affectionately.

‘That’s what the punters expect,’ said Paco. He struck a fencer’s attack attitude.

They said in unison, ‘Renegade, you will die at the bite of good Corsican steel,’ and made a couple of imaginary passes in the air, ending with a high five. Paco looked momentarily startled.

Gil laughed. It seemed like the first time for weeks. He took off his jacket and tossed it behind the bar.

‘Enjoy,’ said Paco and went to talk to the barman.

Gil strolled round the floor. Paco was right, the dancing was good. The nightclub pulsed with Latin beat. Unbelievably rapid maracas warred with a rock base as physical as a hand closing round the heart. He danced with a dark woman, lithe as a jaguar; then a girl who looked as if she’d just come from the office; a glamorous redhead; a laughing Cuban girl who knew the steps so well she did not have to concentrate and even tried to talk to him a little; another office girl.

And then he saw her. She did not look Latin. She was blonde. Golden hair, luminous skin in the club’s hectic lighting. Not tall. Not at all one of the athletic semi-professionals that crowded the floor. But the way she moved—

Gil stopped dead. Something caught in his throat as he watched.

She was dancing alone, quite unselfconscious. Her concentration was total. She moved like a mettlesome horse, graceful yet powerful, and just on the edge of danger. She even stamped like a horse pawing the ground. Gil felt himself break out in a cold sweat.

She was unaware of anyone looking at her. She gave her whole body to the music. Her shoulder-length hair swung from shoulder to naked shoulder. But she did not have the overt sexuality of most of the dancers. Her dancing was spiky, even savage. Was she angry with someone? Maybe herself?

Gil took rapid stock. Paco should know. It was his club. If he was half as good a businessman as he had promised to be, he would know his clientele in depth. Gil eased round the dance floor to the bar where Paco was watching the floor.

‘Who is she?’ Gil said with an urgent undertone.

Paco did not have to ask. Gil could not take his eyes off her. Neither could plenty of other men. Which, in a lively New York club, was unheard of.

She was light as thistledown. Elusive as quicksilver. Fierce as fire. And oblivious to the hungry stares.

Gil was not oblivious. He saw the stares, recognised the hunger and it infuriated him. More than that, it filled him with a desire to shake the girl awake and make her see what she was doing. So much concentration, so much passion was dangerous. Why couldn’t she see that?

Paco looked across at the blonde and pursed his lips.

‘She comes with the fashion crowd. New. Been around since Christmas. Don’t know her name. Could be a dancer.’

Gil was still watching the vital figure. She was never still, not for a moment.

‘She looks like it.’ There was a husky note in his voice. The abandoned blonde was magnetic.

Paco raised his eyebrows. ‘Want me to ask around?’

Gil smiled. Paco could not quite keep the surprise out of his voice. Gil knew why. Paco knew him very well. He knew that Gil was not into instant lust.

And he wasn’t. Not even now, though his pulses were pounding. The girl, writhing and punching the air, was much more than a lust object. She looked difficult. And demanding. A conundrum and a challenge and—

Mine, thought Gil.

He felt exultant yet oddly calm.

‘I can find out about her,’ offered Paco.

Gil did not take his eyes off the dancer but he reached behind him along the bar and picked up a small bottle of water by touch.

‘I think it’s time I did that,’ he said amused, intent.

He did not even look at Paco before heading out onto the seething dance floor.

Bella was having a wonderful time. She always had a wonderful time. That’s what she was known for. The original party girl, ready for anything. She was always laughing. She made everyone else laugh, too. You knew you were going to have a great time when you went out in a group with Bella Carew. Under her lively magic, gloom and despondency turned into stardust.

Tonight the Japanese fashion editorial team, slowly unbuttoning to the Cuban beat, would have endorsed that enthusiastically. They let their long day of meetings dissolve in the rhythm. Seeing that they were happy, Bella allowed herself to relax. She let the stomping beat take over.

The music changed. One of the boys she had danced with before, caught her by the hand. Matching her steps to his, Bella went into a near perfect copy of the singer’s videoed routine. Her partner laughed in delight. She laughed back at him.

I am enjoying myself. That’s what I do best.

Except that these days it was getting harder and harder to enjoy herself. Oh, she could stay out late, dancing or talking with her friends. But eventually they wanted to go home. And when Bella got back to her rented loft apartment she was cold. The central heating system was American and efficient. But that had nothing to do with it. This was the cold of loneliness and it bit to the bone. And it was going to be worse tonight, with the prospect of that discussion with Annis tomorrow.

Still, no need to think about that yet. No need to think about that for hours. She slid both hands into her hair and swung it, letting her shoulders keep the rhythm as she turned her back to her partner, dancing round him provocatively.

Only to find that someone else responded to the provocation.

The first thing she was aware of was a warm hard hand on the bare skin of her midriff. Bella was so startled she almost missed her step. She looked back over her shoulder at the intruder, indignant.

‘Hi,’ he said.

Or she supposed that was what he said. It was too loud to hear him and nearly too dark to read his lips. But she could see them with odd vividness in the flickering shadows. Sculpted, sensually full and yet with a tension to them that spoke of deliberate control. A man of passions, then, but passions carefully mastered.

Bella could have laughed aloud at her fantasy. Especially as his mouth was almost all she could see of him.

In the strobe lighting though she could make out that he was tall and thin as a rake. She was aware of deep, intense eyes that seemed to burn into her. And there was a wicked rhythm to his dancing. Behind him, Bella saw her former partner fling up a hand in rueful farewell and move on to one of the other girls without missing a beat.

Which left her hard up against a body that seemed made of steel.

Pliant steel. She gasped, as he flung her away from him, brought her back. While she was still reeling, he clasped her to him in some routine that he was completely master of. Bella did not know it. Between surprise and lack of familiarity with the steps she floundered. For the first time in years she missed her footing several times.

The stranger bent forward, pushing her head back and said in her ear, ‘Let me lead.’

It went against the grain because Bella was an excellent dancer, but she did. At once, she seemed to know what he was going to do before he did it. The steel body moulded hers, signed to her what she was to do, and she responded. They were perfect together.

When the track ended, she turned to face him, out of breath and exhilarated.

‘Who are you?’ they said in unison.

He shook his head. ‘You first.’

He offered her the bottle of water. She drank deeply, then tipped some over her hot forehead. The water dripped down her cheekbones, her throat…She saw him watch a tear-drop slide between her breasts under her scoop-cut top.

He masked it at once but she saw the effect it had on him. It made up a little for being hijacked on the dance floor. She smiled brilliantly at him.

‘Tonight I’m Tina the Tango Dancer. You?’

‘Tonight?’

She shook her head, so that her hair swung wildly. ‘This is New York. You can’t expect me to give out my name to anyone who walks up and grabs me.’

He was amused. ‘But you look like a girl who likes to live on the edge.’

She winced. That was what everyone thought. Even her family thought Bella could cope with anything. Love them and leave them, that was Bella. Light-hearted. Adventurous. Never, ever, vulnerable.

And she wasn’t. She wasn’t.

That was why she was in this wonderful town alone, putting her life together and telling herself the loneliness would pass as long as she did not let anyone see it.

The disc jockey was talking, promoting his latest mix. Bella tuned it out.

She said airily, ‘There are edges and edges.’ She passed the bottle back to him. ‘You’re not telling me your name, I notice.’

‘Gil.’

‘Just Gil?’

In spite of his amusement, the dark eyes rested on her bare shoulders as if he was hungry. She saw it. A small curl of awareness thrilled through her.

But he answered coolly enough. ‘If you’re Tina the Tango Dancer, I’m just Gil.’

She liked the hunger. It made her feel alive. Just as the music and the strobe lights and the cold midnight streets outside made her feel alive. As she had forgotten how to feel when she was on her own.

‘Fine,’ she said, preparing to enjoy herself.

The jockey stopped talking. The unforgiving beat started again. At once Bella was moving: hips, shoulders, feet, all talking back to the music.

Gil, whoever he was, began to dance too. But he made it very clear he was not letting her go. Every time she spun and jumped, his hand was there to guide her back to his side.

Exciting, decided Bella.

She grew bolder, challenging him, trusting him not to let her go. His hands were like iron as she bent away from him, her hair brushing the floor. She straightened, laughing delightedly.

At the end of the set, she was hot and breathless. Gil looked down at her, his eyes glinting. He was not even breathing hard.

He must be very fit.

One of the Japanese visitors came up. Even without his tie, he was still impressively courteous. He made a little breathless bow.

‘You have been most kind. We thank you.’

Bella read the signs. ‘You’re ready to go?’

Mr Ito was regretful. But there was an early plane to catch.

‘No problem,’ said Bella, detaching herself from Gil and dismissing him from her mind. ‘I’ll get my coat.’

She was piqued that Gil did not try to stop her. After all that possessive machismo on the dance floor she would have expected him at least to ask for her phone number.

She would not have given it to him. Of course she would not. But he should have asked. But when she looked round the tall thin figure was nowhere to be seen.

She shrugged, trying to laugh it off.

In the cloakroom, Rosa, one of the other club regulars, was fluffing out her hair.

‘Who’s the hunk?’ she asked Bella in the mirror.

Bella shrugged again. ‘Who knows?’

‘Thought you were going for the big one there.’

‘Big one?’

‘Don’t be so prim and English! I thought you were going to let him have a date. For once.’

‘You know me. Easy come, easy go.’

‘You danced so well together.’

Bella gave her an ironic look. She knew quite well what Rosa was talking about. ‘It doesn’t always follow.’

Rosa laughed.

Bella retrieved her outdoor things. Her coat was a thick wool mix and ankle length. Her scarf was cashmere and her gloves were lined with mink. New York in February was not kind to bare flesh. She even slipped her strappy sandals into her bag and pulled on fur-lined boots.

Since she was in charge of tonight’s official entertainment, she had a limousine on stand-by. She fished her tiny phone out of her recovered shoulder bag and dialled the chauffeur.

‘Ready to go Arnie. Back to the hotel. Can you drop me off after? Great.’

Rosa was reapplying lip-gloss.

‘Going to see him again?

‘He didn’t ask.’

‘So?’ Rosa lowered the lip-gloss and met her eyes in the mirror. ‘What’s wrong with asking yourself? This is the twenty-first century you know.’

Bella flinched.

‘Yeah, so they say. But I’ve been there, done that and it didn’t work.’

‘Can’t have done it right,’ said Rosa with conviction.

Oh, I did it right. He just didn’t want me. He wanted my sister.

She said aloud, ‘Yes, that must be it.’ Her voice was colourless.

‘So why not go for the tall guy?’

Because I’m never doing that again, ever.

‘Maybe I will. But not tonight. I’ve got to get the honoured visitors home.’

Rosa accepted that. She was serious about her career too.

‘Shame.’ She put away her make-up and gave a last encouraging lift to her big hair. ‘See you Saturday?’

Saturday was the club’s big night. Bella had been a regular ever since she’d arrived in New York.

‘Count on it,’ she said, throwing off the glooms.

The guests were effusive in their thanks. She stood outside the gleaming modern hotel shaking hands and bowing until she thought her face would freeze. But eventually they went inside and she got thankfully back into the limo.

The driver was looking in his rear mirror.

‘Who’s the guy?’

‘What?’

He jerked his head. ‘Just got out of a yellow cab. He’s coming over.’

Bella turned to look. A cab pulled away. In its wake it left a figure, just out of the hotel’s neon, solitary in the deserted street.

He looks cold, Bella thought, then, involuntarily, He looks lonely. As lonely as me?

The man was tall as a tree, a black figure in the blue dark. His shoes were polished, though. She could see the reflection of the hotel’s starburst sign skimming across his toes as he moved. It made him look as if he was walking through water.

Like a ghost, or one of the ancient gods, temporarily lost on earth. It was oddly powerful. Bella shivered.

‘Don’t know him,’ she said positively.

But he came over, his heels clipping on the icy pavement. He bent down by her door.

Arnie did not lower the window. He shifted on the seat bracing himself unobtrusively. ‘Trouble?’ he asked.

Bella was realising that she did recognise the dark figure after all. It was the man who had not asked for her phone number.

‘Trouble? I don’t think so. He was at the club.’

Gil rapped on the window. Arnie looked across and flicked an experienced eye over him.

‘Well, he may be a nut but he’s not a bum. That’s a thousand-dollar coat. Want to talk to him?’

That dance had been exciting. It had made her feel alive. For those hectic minutes in his arms she had even forgotten the soul-killing loneliness.

‘Yes,’ said Bella.

She got out.

Arnie sat back watchfully. He did not turn off the engine.

Bella huddled her coat around her. She was a New York babe now, meeting sexy strangers with a watchful humour. She gathered her sophistication round her as tightly as the coat.

‘This isn’t coincidence, right?’ Bella said to the tall dark shadow.

Gil nodded. ‘Sorry.’ He didn’t sound it. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow.’

‘And that’s your excuse for following me?’

‘Reason. Not excuse.’

‘Word games,’ said Bella dismissively. She pulled her coat tighter. ‘There are laws on stalking you know.’ But she sounded more curious than threatening and she knew it.

For a moment he looked completely blank. Then he gave a great shout of laughter.

‘I didn’t think of that. God, this town is paranoid.’

‘It’s got nothing to do with this town. I’d say the same in London or Paris.’

‘If you think I’m a stalker, why did you get out of the car?’ he countered.

It was unanswerable. She stamped her feet, not entirely against the cold, though early morning ice was frosting the kerb. The hotel would send someone out to clear the ice soon, Bella knew.

She said, ‘I got out of the car because I didn’t want you to make a scene.’

He was unimpressed. ‘Why should you care if I make a fool of myself?’

‘I care if you make a fool of me. I’ve just delivered some influential people here. I don’t want them thinking I’m—’ She stopped, realising too late where it was taking her.

‘The sort of girl who gets out a car to talk to strangers at two in the morning,’ he supplied helpfully.

Bella glared.

He was all innocence. ‘What?’

She gave up. ‘All right. What do you want?’

‘To talk.’

‘We talked.’

‘No, we didn’t,’ he said calmly. ‘We exchanged pheromones. Very rewarding but now I’d like to go somewhere warm and talk.’

She thought of Rosa’s tolerant comments in the cloakroom. Did this man think that they’d danced together so well she would let him take her to bed?

She said furiously, ‘No way.’

He blinked. Then, infuriatingly, he gave her a reassuring smile. Reassuring! As if she, Bella Carew, sophisticate of three continents, needed reassurance. As if she couldn’t handle herself, no matter what a man chose to throw at her.

‘I didn’t say it had to be private. We can go to an all-night diner somewhere if you want.’

Bella looked up and down the upper east side boulevard with exaggerated irony.

‘Oh, sure. You see an all-night diner anywhere?’

‘Well, let’s go into the hotel. They must have a coffee shop.’

‘Oh, great. And my boss’s business contacts wander in and see me chatting to this evening’s pick up? No, thank you.’

She put a hand on the door handle.

He said urgently, ‘Don’t go.’

It stilled her. But only for a moment.

Not looking at him, she said, ‘You should have asked for my phone number like a normal person.’

He drove one gloved hand hard into the palm of the other. ‘I haven’t got time.’

Bella fumbled in her shoulder bag. The spiky heel of a sandal scratched her wrist. She ignored it and found a business card. Swinging round, she held it out to him.

‘Try that.’

He did not take it. He was looking at her very straightly, half impatient, half pleading.

‘I mean it. My day is solid with meetings and I have to fly out tomorrow to deal with a crisis at home. I only have tonight.’

It sounded melodramatic in the dark and freezing street. Somehow Bella did not think he was a melodramatic man under normal circumstances. Once again she had the impression of someone utterly alone.

It was a feeling she knew.

She thrust the business card into her coat pocket and said abruptly, ‘All right. Arnie will find us a diner. Get in.’

But in fact she gave the chauffeur directions to an all-night café in her own area of the Village. Close enough to run for home if she had to, she thought, defending her decision to herself.

Arnie grunted disapprovingly. But he had been on duty since the morning and he wanted to go home. Bella had persuaded him to a late, late coffee in the past and she knew his habits. Now they had unloaded their guests he would want his bed as much as she wanted not to be alone. He did not protest too hard, and dropped them at the little Italian café two blocks from her building.

Gil Whoever-he-was had the manners as well as the overcoat of a gentleman, Bella found. He held the door to the café open for her. There were a few diners, mostly drivers of delivery trucks in jeans snatching a break before getting back onto the empty early morning roads. Gil led the way past them, then stood until she had seated herself. She slid along the wooden bench against the wall but he did not crowd in beside her. He took a chair on the other side of the table and smiled at the heavy-eyed waitress who joined them.

‘What would you like?’ he asked Bella. ‘Breakfast?’

She shook her head, making a discovery. ‘You’re English.’

He smiled. ‘Don’t hold it against me. Coffee? Water?’

It sounded as if he did not realise that she was English too. That pleased her obscurely, and not just because she had been working on her mid-Atlantic accent.

‘Gallons of water. And herbal tea.’

‘Sure.’ The waitress knew her. She was in here often enough between her late night forays with out-of-town business contacts and her early morning runs when she gave up on sleeping. The waitress knew which herbal tea without asking. ‘You?’

He picked one of the coffee options at random, not taking his eyes off Bella.

When the waitress had gone he leaned forward.

‘OK, Tina the Tango Dancer. Cards on the table.’

For some reason, Bella’s stomach felt as if it was in a free-falling lift.

‘At last,’ she said loudly to disguise it.

‘When I saw you in the club, I thought, I know that girl.’

‘You don’t,’ she said positively. ‘I’d have remembered.’

He was impatient. ‘I know I don’t. So would I.’

‘You need a better chat-up line,’ Bella advised him.

He ignored that, frowning at the salt-cellar. ‘I’m not putting this well. Maybe what I meant was, I am going to know this girl.’

He looked up quickly. She did not look away quickly enough. There was a jolt like electricity to an exposed nerve.

‘An improvement,’ she said flippantly, recovering.

Not fast enough.

‘You felt it too,’ he said on a note of discovery.

‘No, I—’

‘Maybe not then. Later. When?’ She saw him reviewing their brief acquaintance. ‘Outside the hotel. Then. You knew then there was something about me you—recognised.’

Bella shook her head vehemently. She was trying to forget the little moment that had tripped her up when she had thought he was lonely, and in recognising that loneliness had been forced to acknowledge her own.

The waitress brought their drinks. He looked at his double latte as if he had never seen one before.

‘It’s coffee made with milk,’ she said kindly. ‘Not as strong as the stuff they put in cappuccino.’

‘Don’t change the subject. You knew, didn’t you?’

The lemon and ginger tea was too hot to drink. Bella refused to meet his eyes and pressed herself back against the wall.

She could not ever remember feeling so out of her depth. She was a seasoned flirt. She was also glamorous and sociable. Men had approached her in every conceivable way. Some had interested her, some hadn’t, but she had never felt so uncertain. Her head was whirling and her pulses were thundering as if this was somehow momentous.

As if she was afraid of something in herself. Something completely new.

She said, as much to herself as him, ‘All I knew was that you were a great dancer and I love to dance.’

He leaned forward. She could feel him willing her to look up. She could feel the intensity of his gaze on her bent head. It was as physical as if he had touched her.

She said loudly, ‘That’s all.’

There were a couple of shift workers sitting at a corner table, stocking up on breakfast before they went into work. Bella saw them look across curiously.

They must look completely out of place—Gil in his dark, expensive coat and handmade shoes, she with the remains of her party make-up and a cropped top under her winter-weight coat. Completely out of place but a matching couple among the truckers and shift workers. It was a long time since she had felt part of a couple.

As if he could read her mind, he smiled.

‘No,’ he said quite gently. ‘That’s not all. You know it. I know it. It’s bad timing but I know it. No point in lying about it.’

Bella looked at her fingernails. ‘I don’t believe in bad timing,’ she announced. ‘There’s only bad priorities.’

Gil looked amused. ‘You sound like my management consultant.’

Bella flinched. ‘My sister is a management consultant,’ she said after a moment.

‘And you’re telling me the consultant’s solution would be to change my flight?’

‘Maybe. If you’ve changed your priorities.’ She stopped herself abruptly. ‘Heck, what do I know? I’m not the brain box of the family.’

His eyes were not only intense, they were very shrewd.

‘So what are you in the family? The beauty?’

Bella gave a harsh little laugh. ‘You could say so. Much good it’s done me.’

His smile was a caress. ‘It’s pretty damned good for everyone else.’

‘Oh.’ The compliment took her aback. He had not seemed to be the sort of man to pay compliments. ‘Thank you.’

He lifted his cup of coffee, toasting her silently. ‘You’re gorgeous.’

This time it did not sound so much of a compliment. More a kind of assessment, like her mother taking stock of what she had in her store cupboard.

Bella said slowly, ‘You don’t sound pleased about it.’

He made an impatient movement. ‘Pleased? Hell, no. It’s just another added complication.’

Bella stared. ‘Complication of what, for heaven’s sake?’

‘You, me and the advanced class in pair-bonding,’ Gil answered literally

‘What?’

‘Well, we skipped stages two through five right there on the dance floor tonight.’

Bella sat bolt upright.

‘No, we didn’t. We didn’t skip one single stage,’ she said outraged. ‘Your chat-up technique definitely needs attention.’

‘No technique,’ he said, spreading his hands eloquently.

‘You can say that again,’ muttered Bella

‘Not when it’s important. This isn’t a game. And, anyway, I’m not a player,’ he added with a grimace. ‘Not usually.’

‘So what are you?’

He leaned forward, suddenly not laughing at all. ‘A man in a hurry.’

Bella met his eyes. She did not want to. But she could not withstand that silent insistence. She saw he meant it.

He took her gloved hand and held it between both of his, as if that would somehow make her understand.

‘I can’t tell you how awful the timing is. Not just the flight tomorrow—no, today. Everything. I can’t tell you how much I’ve got to clear up before I can even think about dating.’

Bella withdrew her hand. ‘You’re married,’ she said flatly.

That stopped him dead in his tracks. ‘What?’

She felt a mild triumph. He was so totally blank. He had not seen that coming. Even now he could not quite believe she had seen through him.

Suddenly Bella began to feel in control again. She almost forgave him his deception. She was still a sophisticate in three continents. Nobody need feel sorry for her.

‘Your wife doesn’t understand you?’ she suggested tolerantly. She had heard it before and, oddly, it was one of the things she could deal with, unlike the roller-coaster of uncertainty that Gil Whoever-he-was had put her on up to now. ‘The moment you saw me you knew I was the sort of girl who would appreciate how hard you have to work. Or how much you have to travel. Or the time you have to spend with clients.’

He was utterly silenced.

She raised a mocking eyebrow. ‘Is that one of the steps you think we skipped at Hombre?’

For the first time he looked at her as if she was a stranger.

‘Go out with a lot of married men, do you?’ he asked at last, slowly.

‘You don’t have to go out with them to get to know the spiel.’

His face was unfreezing again. The wide, full-lipped mouth was still eloquent even in the crude neon lighting of the diner. It gave him the brooding mystery of one of the Regency rake poets. And the air of a man who would say any damned thing he liked.

She was still startled when he said coolly, ‘Are you naturally cynical? Or has somebody hurt you?’

She jumped as if she had driven a splinter under her fingernail. He watched, interested.

‘Still in recovery, are you?’

Bella folded her lips into a thin line to stop them trembling. ‘None of your business.’

‘Don’t worry. You’ll get over it. We all do.’

Suddenly she didn’t want to talk to him any more. No matter how exciting he was on the dance floor, this was altogether too dangerous to her peace of mind.

She drained her cup and looked at her watch.

He sighed. ‘All right. I’m insensitive. Always was. But I’ll be sensitive later, when there’s time. Tonight—’

‘This morning,’ corrected Bella with a wide, false smile. ‘And late. I really need to get home.’

She stood up.

He said, ‘Stay. Just for five minutes.’

But she was not looking at him. Not at the wide dark eyes that could go from melting to mocking with such disconcerting speed. Not at the mobile, expressive mouth. Not at his un-gloved hands.

‘But we still don’t know anything about each other.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said drily. ‘You’ve taken a few layers of skin off me. How much more do you want?’

She eased out from behind the table and pulled her big shoulder bag in front of her.

‘You don’t know anything about me.’

‘I know as much as I want.’

She held out her hand to him to shake hands and say goodbye. He did not take it.

Instead he got up too and threw some notes down on the table without looking.

‘At least let me get you a cab.’

She shook her head. ‘Not necessary. I only live a couple of blocks. I can walk. If we see a cab, you’d do much better to take it yourself.’

The sensual mouth set in a stubborn line. ‘I’ll walk you.’

She shrugged, indifferent. They went out into the street.

‘You’re not the least bit worried, are you? You think you can handle me,’ he said in an odd voice.

Bella huddled her coat up round her ears. She was only too aware that, underneath it, she was wearing silken straps and a bare midriff.

‘You’re not going to jump on me in the middle of the street. It’s too cold.’

‘Cold is the ultimate passion killer?’

His breath turned to smoke in the icy air. She was conscious of a sudden flicker of that awareness again. Under her chilly flesh there was warmth and it was turning to him.

She said breathlessly, ‘Usually works, yes.’

She was striding out, almost running. To speed up her circulation, she assured herself. Not to get away from the disturbing feeling that if she let him put his arm round her he could keep her safe and warm for ever.

He kept pace with her without effort. She remembered how, in the club, she had had the sensation of extreme fitness. Now it was confirmed. He kept up a steady monologue.

‘I’m thirty-three. No wife. No dependants of any kind. I live in Cambridge—that’s Cambridge, England—but I travel a lot. I don’t like being tied down. And I only do one thing at a time.’

‘What do you do?’ Bella said, in spite of herself.

He seemed to hesitate. But it was so brief that she could not be sure.

‘Research,’ he said vaguely. ‘I’m a sort of boffin.’

She snorted derisively. ‘A boffin with a management consultant on the staff? What do you research into? How to make a million on the Internet?’

He looked annoyed. At least, she was not looking into his face but he felt annoyed. His long legs ate up the paving stones until she had to break into a trot to keep up with him.

‘You’ve got a good memory. I barely mentioned my management consultant.’

She was puffing. ‘I told you I knew something about you.’

‘You told me you knew as much as you wanted to.’ He sounded angry and suspicious. ‘Was that it? Man with a management consultant must be a good bet?’

Bella was furious. ‘What do you think I am, an industrial spy?’ she panted.

He stopped suddenly and swung round on her. ‘Well?’

She stopped too with relief. She had a stitch. Pride prevented her from putting a hand to it. But not all the pride in the world could stop her grateful in-draught of breath.

‘If you remember you were the one who came on to me,’ she pointed out when she could speak. ‘I’ve been trying to get rid of you half the evening.’

They were two doors from the brownstone where she had the top-floor apartment.

‘And now I’m home. So goodnight.’

She offered an ironic handshake. It did not turn out like that. He took her hand and pulled her towards him.

Bella felt her feet skid on the icy pavement. She fell forward into his arms.

In a second that seemed like a lifetime, she saw his eyes widen. Then narrow…focus on her mouth…grow dark with desire…

Bella found that it was not too cold for a kiss. A kiss so passionate that it seemed to light up the sky. A kiss so intimate that it set her blood humming, reminding her that under the coat she was nearly naked. A kiss so new that it left her shaken and silenced when he put her away from him.

It seemed to have shaken him too. He looked down at her, unsmiling.

Under his breath he said, ‘This is crazy.’

‘Yes,’ said Bella, stunned.

He looked at the stone steps to her front door.

‘Let me come up.’

She nearly did. So nearly. And not because she did not want to be alone in the cold blue morning.

But then she looked at that curly rakish mouth and got a grip.

‘Oh, you can’t risk me prising any more of your secrets out of you,’ she said nastily.

And ran away from him, her feet slipping every which way on the icy surface. Bella did not care. She had her key out as she ran up the steps. She did not know if he tried to follow her. But she closed the door and leaned against it with her heart hammering.

‘The sooner he gets on that damned flight of his the better,’ she muttered.

She ran all the way up the stairs to her flat as if he was watching her and it was a point of honour not to stop and look back.