She opened her mouth again. He laid a single long finger against it, silencing her. He felt her lips tremble beneath his touch.
‘Dinner,’ he said, holding her gaze with his—a troubled gaze that told him of her wariness, her mixed emotions. ‘Just dinner, Celeste. Simple, pleasant, undemanding. You can get to know me a little more, and I you. And if we agree that, yes, we enjoy each other’s company—after all...’ the slightest tug pulled at his mouth ‘...we share a fondness for astronomy and geology, and who knows how many other ologies, hmm?—then, and only then, we can decide whether we would like to enjoy more of each other’s company. There—is that really so very onerous?’
He dropped his hand. This time she did not open her mouth to speak. She just looked at him, an almost helpless look on her face now, as if she had finally run out of ways to gainsay him.
He took a breath. ‘One evening of your life, Celeste. That’s all.’ He held her eyes, then veiled his own with a dipping of his long black lashes. He turned away, reached for the handle of the car door. ‘Eight o’clock, Celeste,’ he reminded her.
Then he lowered himself into the rear passenger seat and pulled the door shut. A moment later the car had moved off into the road, leaving Celeste behind, standing motionless on the pavement.
But with a heart-rate that felt as if she’d just sprinted five hundred metres.
Slowly, very slowly, she raised the tips of her fingers to her lips. It seemed to her they could still feel Rafael Sanguardo’s cool touch...
CHAPTER FIVE
THE CAR CAME at eight. Celeste could see it from her living room window, pulled over by the kerb. She stared down at it. Was she mad to be doing this?
She knew she was. Mad even to think of doing what she was going to do. Have dinner with Rafael Sanguardo.
But it’s only dinner! And I need to do this! I need to use it to tell him that what he wants isn’t going to happen! It just isn’t!
She picked up her evening bag, headed downstairs to the waiting car. Tension pulled at her as she walked out onto the pavement. Deliberately she had chosen a dove-grey dress with a high neckline and a modest knee-length hem. Her make-up was subdued and her hair was in a neat French pleat.
All the way to the restaurant she strove for calm composure. Tonight she would tell Rafael Sanguardo that his efforts were in vain—that there could be nothing between them.
The restaurant—a double-fronted white stucco house in Knightsbridge—was not one she knew. She was shown into the dining salon and instantly her eyes went to the man who dominated her thoughts...her senses. As she was shown to his table, Rafael got to his feet.
‘You came,’ he said.
His voice was warm. His gaze warmer. It did things to her that it shouldn’t. That she must not allow.
She looked very slightly taken aback at his greeting. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’
He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Would it have been so surprising? Given your reluctance?’
She said nothing, only took her place as the chair was drawn out for her. She settled into her seat, accepting the napkin unfurled for her and the pouring of water for her. A pair of menus was discreetly placed on the table, and then they were left alone.
The restaurant was almost full, she could see that instantly, although the tables were skilfully arranged such that none was too close to another and each seemed to have a circle of privacy around it, helped by the copious greenery that adorned the room. The decor was late Victorian, with a lot of dark red.
Rafael saw her looking around. ‘A little florid, I agree,’ he murmured. ‘But the food is outstanding, and I don’t think this restaurant features on the fashionista circuit.’