No More Lonely Nights

'Isn't it?' he drawled, but something in his voice made her doubly self-conscious. She didn't dare look at him again.

When they had drunk their excellent coffee, they went for a stroll along the river under the willows. The afternoon was hot, and there were lots of other people out, some walking, others rowing a boat on the water with the ducks scattering around them, squawking and demanding bread.

They sat down on the grass under a shady tree and talked for a while, but Sian tried not to catch his eye or let the conversation touch on anything personal or intimate. She kept their talk firmly centred on books, films, television, current affairs, and skimmed over the surface even then. She did not want to get too close to him or let him get too close.

Perhaps she had known on sight, or perhaps the realisation had grown on her gradually—but she was now quite convinced that this man could hurt her, and she wasn't going to let that happen.

They went back to the pub and chatted to Danny for a while, then said goodbye and drove back into London. Sian firmly intended to say goodbye to Cass in the car. She did not want him in her flat; partly because that would be like letting him into her life, the really private core of her life. She might see him in the rooms when he wasn't there, just as when she leaned back in the car and closed her eyes she still saw his dark, lean face glimmering on the inside of her lids.

He could easily become an obsession. Sian didn't want that. When they drew up outside the building, she hurriedly began to gabble a thank you, her hand on the door-handle.

'Wonderful meal, lovely place to spend a Sunday, thank you very much and I hope Annette's father gets over his heart attack and everything is OK.' She took a deep breath. 'Well, thank you, goodbye.'

She didn't dare look at him. She swung her legs out and quickly slammed the car door behind her, almost running across the pavement. She heard his voice behind her and ran faster, until the sound was too far away to hear. She didn't stop running until she was inside her flat with the door firmly closed; then she leaned on the door, breathing hard and torn between relief and a funny seeping feeling of depression.

She would never see him again. She was glad about that. She never wanted to see him again; she could do very well without a man in her life at the moment. Men were too much trouble: they wanted too much of you, they demanded more than just your attention now and then, they resented everything else in your life if it came between you and them. Louis had been violent about it!

It must be their mothers, Sian decided, straightening with a sigh. Mothers encouraged their sons to think the world revolved around them.

The doorbell rang loudly and she jumped about six feet in the air, staring at the door with round eyes and an open mouth.

The bell rang again, even more loudly. Sian reluctantly opened the door and Cass stood there.

'Look—' she began aggressively, then stopped as he held out her handbag.

'You were in such a hurry that you left this in the car.'

She groaned. 'Oh, thanks. Sorry.'

'So why?' he asked, ominously advancing.

'Why what?' Sian tried to block his way without being too obvious about it.

'Why the hurry?' He sauntered round her, as if unaware that she was trying to keep him out, and she didn't like to be rude or ask him to go. Flustered, she looked up at him and then wished she hadn't, because his grey eyes were amused, and looking up reminded her how tall he was and how much she was attracted to him.

'Oh,' she said, confused. 'The hurry? Yes, well, I have a lot to do.'

His dark brows rose in incredulous arches. 'At this hour?'

'I start work again tomorrow, after my holiday,' she said huskily, her throat hot.

His expression changed, darkened. 'You weren't planning on writing any more stories about me and Annette, I hope? I thought we had an agreement about that.'

Sian blinked; nothing had been further from her mind than Annette or the office, yet under his stare she became guilty, her colour rising.

'You were!' Cass concluded, black-browed, eyes glittering. 'I must have been crazy to think I could trust a reporter! You've been playing some devious little game, have you? Lulling my suspicions, getting me to talk about myself. I was stupid enough to fall for it, too! God knows what I've been telling you.'

As he bit out the angry sentences he advanced on her and Sian backed away, her dazed eyes wide with alarm. She was too stunned to argue or deny it, she just shook her head helplessly, like a fool, until she found herself in the sitting-room; tripping over the leg of a chair she didn't see until too late.

She gave a muffled cry and instinctively clutched at the nearest stable object, which turned out to be Cass, who promptly caught her before she fell headlong, but looked at her with such rage that she wished she had grabbed at something else.

'I've a good mind to…' he began thickly, staring down at her, then his eyes moved downwards to fix on her startled, parted lips.

He was silent, staring. Sian breathed roughly, trembling, watching him and hanging on to him with both hands because she was still off balance, and if he let go of her she would tumble to the floor. She tried to say something, but not a sound came out before Cass slowly lowered his head towards her.

Sian's thoughts were a battleground. Common sense told her to stop him, push him away, before this went any further, but the irrational, emotional side of her had other ideas, had been having them ever since she met William Cassidy. She had been attracted from that first look, and she was dying to know how it felt to kiss him, to be kissed.

Curiosity killed the cat. She closed her eyes and her mouth parted to meet his. In the warm, smothering darkness of the kiss she forgot everything else for a while; her head spun and her body seemed boneless. How was it possible to stand on your own two feet and stay upright when your flesh was melting and on fire? She clung to him weakly and felt his hands moving: sliding and stroking along her back, holding her closer, caressing her, a sensual, intimate exploration which echoed what she wanted, what she was doing to him—touching his neck, his back, his powerful chest.