She felt him stiffen. When he spoke again his voice held a muffled snarl of temper. 'That's over now, you know that? You're hot dating him again. We're getting remarried, the press would have a field day if you were seen with another man.'
He couldn't speak too loudly because he Was afraid the chauffeur would hear him. Lindsay gave him a sweet smile. 'Aston's an old friend.' The car had stopped, she opened the door and quickly fled before she got any reaction from Daniel.
Of course, Chris was waiting for her, buzzing with questions. She regarded him wryly. 'Oh, well, you might as well know—we're getting married again.'
His jaw dropped. 'You and Daniel Randall…'
'Me and Daniel Randall,' she nodded. 'Happy now? Can I do some work?'
'When?' Chris demanded, and she looked at her piled desk.
'Now might be a good time before I get buried alive in paper.'
'No,' he said, impatiently. 'When are you getting married again?' Then he laughed and said: 'You knew what I meant.'
'In a fortnight,' Lindsay told him. 'We just spent an hour planning it—that gives his damned sister time to buy a new hat, let's hope it hides her face.' Daniel's sister had never liked Lindsay. Meriel was a feline, self-important woman with too much money, too much time on her hands and too little to do with either.
Chris stared at her, wide awake for once. 'I didn't know you were still seeing him,' he said slowly. 'I thought it was Aston…'
Lindsay shrugged and couldn't think of an answer for that. Chris ran a hand through his glowing,-honey-blond hair, frowning.
'I hope you'll be happy,' he said in a dubious way, looking distinctly worried, then he wandered away and Lindsay sat looking at nothing. So did she, wasn't that what everyone wanted? To be happy? Marriage to Daniel Randall didn't seem a likely prospect for finding happiness, though. Heartache, perhaps, she had had enough of that last time, he was good at that.
She got home late that evening and had to rush to shower and change before Aston arrived. She was just brushing a little rouge along her cheekbones when the doorbell went. She ran to open it, smiling, but it wasn't Aston, it was a girl in a T-shirt and jeans who grinned at her and handed her the enormous cellophane-wrapped bouquet she was holding.
'Mrs Randall?'
'Yes.' Lindsay said. 'Thank you.'
They were beautiful. She walked slowly into the kitchen cradling them, deep red velvety roses with long stems, frilly white carnations, yellow gladioli. Lindsay stripped off the cellophane and began to put them in vases. The doorbell went again and this time it was Aston. He looked at the rose she held, smiling.
'For me?' he asked, his mouth crooked.
She laughed, walking back into the kitchen. He stood at her shoulder, staring at the flowers, watching her finish the arrangement.
'Randall?' His voice was quiet, it held no particular intonation.
She nodded without looking round, nerving herself to tell him she was remarrying Daniel, but before she could say anything, Aston's hands gripped her shoulders, he moved closer, his mouth moving against her neck.
'He's chasing you again, isn't he, Lindsay?' She felt the pressure of his lips, heard him breathing quickly. 'Don't let him too hear you, have you forgotten what he did to you last time? It was a year before you could bear a man near you, you were a human iceberg.' His hands slid down her arms and round her waist, she felt them warm and firm below her breasts. 'I've waited too long,' he said unsteadily, and she was disturbed by the note in his voice. 'I should have turned a blow-torch cm you long ago.'
'Aston—' she began, but he was spinning her round to face him and as she looked up into the rugged, humorous face she saw a new expression, one she had never seen before; a fierce excitement, a passion, that silenced her in shock.
His arms went round her, pulled her close in a convulsive, demanding movement, and he kissed her hungrily, with desire, with pleading, and the sheer naked need in that kiss sent her spinning off balance, everything female in her responded to Aston's unhidden need of her. He pressed her even closer, a hand gripping her back, and his mouth was warm and sensuous. He had never kissed her like this before, and she yielded to him without being able to think.
It was always dangerous to think you knew someone, she thought; had she been so wrong about Aston? Her heart was going inside her like a steam-hammer, crashing wildly, she couldn't breathe. Aston was turning her body to soft, yielding wax in his caressing hands.
He lifted his head, breathing raggedly. Lindsay opened her eyes, dazed by the light, and he said in a husky voice: 'I love you.'
She burst into tears.
CHAPTER NINE
'Darling!' Aston sounded horrified. He tipped up her face and gently wiped her eyes with a hankie, murmuring soothingly: 'What is it? Lindsay darling, don't, I didn't mean to frighten you—don't cry, love.'
She couldn't stop the tears, they poured out of her like Niagara Falls, she rubbed her hand across her wet face and Aston said; 'You're smudging your mascara, you look like a panda,' which made her giggle hysterically and then hiccup, crying and laughing together.
Aston urged her into the sitting-room, pushed her down on the couch. 'What you need is a drink,' he said. 'I need one myself,' he added in a self-mocking voice. 'A stiff whisky, that's what I need. I seem to have rubber legs.' He went over to pour the drinks, saying with his back to her: 'That was some kiss.' He sounded selfconscious; he was not given to such violent emotion, he was a calm man who liked his life to be under control. Lindsay had never expected him to break out like that, she had thought she had him worked out to the last detail, she had been wrong, and she was dreading the next few moments. How was she going to tell him about Daniel now?