‘Through the usual route, Mr Dexter.’ Her eyes clashed with his. If there’d been a hidden slur behind his words then he’d better realise she was up to any challenge. ‘A postgraduate course in the history of art, alongside another in museum studies.’ She laid her cutlery down, not bothering to hide the fact that she’d barely touched her fish. ‘Fortuitously, Edward was looking for an assistant. I happened to fill the bill.’
‘A dedicated career woman? Never married, Caroline?’
She caught the dark glitter of his eyes. He had never called her Caroline, saying that he’d have needed a mouthful of plums before he could have pronounced it properly. He’d called her Caro. Softly, sweetly, oh, so seductively.
Her heart thudded painfully. Oh, to have the ability to erase memories at will! She made her voice cool, disdainful, ‘No, I’ve yet to meet the man who could satisfy my exacting standards. And you, Mr Dexter—are you married?’
She saw his mouth tighten. She’d touched a nerve. Just feet away, she felt rather than saw Edward frown. One was not supposed to descend to personal levels with clients!
Tough. Dexter had started it.
‘The married state has never appealed. I’m not into voluntary entrapment.’ Urbanely said. The prick of annoyance obviously forgotten, his slow smile was unsettling.
No, you prefer to change your women as often as you change your socks. The words were on the tip of her tongue but she swallowed them. Spit them out and she’d be fired on the spot.
Taking advantage of the waiter’s arrival to clear their plates, she excused herself and headed for the rest room. Of course he recognised her, she’d seen it in his eyes. She hadn’t changed much. She had fined down a little, had acquired a veneer of sophistication, had cut her hair to shoulder length and had coiled it into a smooth knot on top of her head.
So she must have had something memorable about her, she thought wryly. Or did he remember the faces of all the women he had bedded and had discarded over the years?
It wasn’t important, she told herself as she held her wrists under the cold tap to cool down. A few more minutes of his miserable company and she would never see him again. Then she took her mobile from her slim leather bag and called the cab firm she always used.
Moments later, she slid back into her seat. Edward handed her the dessert menu but she closed it and laid it down on the table. ‘I’ll pass,’ she told him. ‘And leave you two to enjoy the rest of your meal. I’ve a hectic day tomorrow.’ No problem there, Edward knew what her workload was like, especially when there was an invitation-only viewing on the horizon.
She got fluidly to her feet, putting on a polite, social smile. ‘So nice to have met you, Mr Dexter.’
Both men had risen. Ben Dexter said smoothly, bland self-assurance in his dark, honeyed voice, ‘Humour me, Miss Harvey. My driver’s due to pick me up in ten minutes. I’ll drop you off. We’ll have coffee while we wait.’
Once she would have tied knots in herself for him. Now she took great satisfaction in telling him sweetly, ‘How kind. But my usual minicab driver is probably already parked outside. Enjoy your coffee.’
And allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction before she swept out.
She had no idea why he’d offered to drive her home. She certainly couldn’t accuse him of having gentlemanly instincts! And he could hardly have wanted to reminisce over old times. Whatever, she had very politely pushed his offer back down his throat.
It was high time Ben Dexter learned he couldn’t always get what he wanted.
CHAPTER TWO
THE alarm clock was a welcome intrusion. Caroline rolled over, silenced it, and slid her feet out of bed. She’d had a lousy night.
Dreams or, more specifically, nightmares of Ben Dexter weren’t conducive to restful sleep. Especially when they featured such graphic images as his sweat-slicked olive skin against the white femininity of hers, his mouth exploring every inch of her body with hungry, all-male dominance. And his voice, that honeyed, sexy voice of his, telling her he loved her. Lies, every word of it…
She made a rough, self-denigrating sound at the back of her throat, headed for her small bathroom and took a shower. She wouldn’t think about him again. She would not. No need. He’d bought the painting that had brought him briefly back into her life and today it would be crated and dispatched. End of story.
The morning was just pleasantly hectic, leaving no room for brooding over those erotic dreams and she made time to accept Michael’s invitation to lunch. The new, much publicised restaurant lived up to expectations as far as the food went but the service was slow.
‘I don’t know about you, but I’d better be getting back,’ she declined when he suggested coffee to round off the meal. She was on the point of rising but he reached out and clasped her wrist.
‘We’re already late, a few more minutes won’t make much difference. Besides, there’s something I want to say to you.’
From the look in his eyes, the softening of his mouth, she knew what it was. And she didn’t want to hear it. She wasn’t ready.
His hand slid down to capture her fingers. ‘You must know I’m attracted to you,’ he said quickly. ‘We already have a good relationship and I want to take it further. I don’t know what you think about me, and I won’t put you on the spot by asking, but you’re all I admire in a woman. I’m pretty sure we could build something good and lasting together. You might not think so right now, but will you give it a try?’
Carefully, she slid her fingers away from his. What to say? Only yesterday she’d caught herself listening to the ticking of her biological clock again, knowing her pleasant working relationship with her employer’s son was on the point of developing into something deeper, balancing the prospect of a lonely old age against the warm, emotional security of having a husband and family.
Yesterday she would have been comfortable with what he’d just said, agreed to go with the flow, find out if they would make a compatible couple.
So why the hesitation? What had changed?