'Oh, Simon. Hello.'
'Pet?' He sounded faintly wary.
'Look, darling . . . ' in her nervous anxiety, she was b a b b l i n g ' ... I'm sorry—I was wrong—I see it now. You were quite right. Of course I'll marry you.'
CHAPTER FOUR
Then when Simon did not reply at once, Petra went on hesitantly, 'That is, if you still want to marry me—after yesterday, I mean.'
'But of course I do, darling. You took my breath away for a minute, that's all. It's absolutely marvellous—and you'll make a wonderful Easter bride.'
'Easter!' That superstitious dread seized hold of her again. 'B—but need we wait till then? If we get a special licence we can be married by Christmas.'
'Oh, well, hang on, Pet.' Simon's indulgent laugh came down the line. 'Don't let's go to the other extreme. We don't want some hole in the corner register-office affair, do we? Mother would never forgive us.'
'No, but if I want to get married at—'
There was a very faint sound behind her, and, swinging round, she all but dropped the receiver as she saw Jared propped in the doorway, unashamedly drinking in every word.
'What do you want?'
'Pet?' From down the phone she heard the disembodied voice. 'What did you say?'
'Oh, I—I was just shouting at Sam.' She gave Jared a glare, which should h a v e felled him where he stood, then deliberately turned her back.
'You still sound rather odd.' Simon's voice made her jump guiltily. 'Are you all right?'
'Yes, yes, I'm fine,' as her fingers tapped a restless tattoo on the coffee-table.
'Good. Look, we'll go up to Plymouth, have a celebration lunch, choose your ring.'
'That'll be lovely, darling,' she muttered, horribly aware of a pair of sardonic eyes trained on her nape.
'Great. Give me half an hour and I'll be with you.'
Behind her she heard Jared straighten up and come walking towards her on cat's feet. He wasn't going to snatch the phone, was he? Her fingers tightened on the receiver, she said hastily,
'I'll be ready, darling,' and jammed it down. 'Now,' she swung round and almost collided with Jared, just inches away, 'what do you want?'
'My car keys. I must have dropped them in the kitchen last night.' But he spoke almost absently.
'I'll look for them. Excuse me.'
He had been blocking the way. Now he moved just enough for her to pass—not enough, though, to avoid brushing past him, their hips and thighs touching through their clothes, and the soft friction sent peculiar little hot and cold sensations down her legs.
'There they are, in the corner.' She stooped down, glad to hide the bright colour which had flooded her face, then snatched them up and held them out, without looking at him. 'They must have dropped out of your sheepskin pocket.'
'Thanks.' He took them but, instead of going, stood swinging them between his thumb and forefinger. 'I want to get at my gear. I need a shave, for one thing.'
He rubbed his fingers across his chin, so that they rasped against the dark growth of beard.
'Unless, of course, you prefer me with designer stubble, Petra?'
'Jared.' She forced herself to meet his gaze squarely, and said in a clipped voice, 'I don't prefer you any way, and I just wish you'd accept that.'
'If you say so.' He paused fractionally. 'If that's what you want to believe.'
'Yes, I do. Really. Definitely. Absolutely.' She rapped the words out like staccato gunfire. All the same, though, when he took a couple of steps towards her--her bravado evaporated instantly, and she edged round the table. But then he stopped.