'My, my, you are out of sorts this morning. Maybe you're not as capable of staying the night with a woman without love as you think. But as you say, that's your private business. You don't have to answer to me. The reason I rang is because I'm worried about Ebony.'
Everything inside Alan tightened. 'Ebony?'
'Truly, Alan, you are the limit! Are you trying to pretend now you don't know who Ebony is?'
'I wish I didn't,' he muttered under his breath.
Deirdre Carstairs sighed. 'You saw her last night, didn't you?'
A few ghastly seconds passed before Alan realised his mother was talking about the fashion show, not later. 'Not to talk to,' he hedged.
'Did you think she looked all right? She seemed very pale and thin on television.'
'Ebony has always been pale and thin.'
'Well, she looked extra pale and thin to me. You don't think she's getting that dieting disease, do you?'
'Anorexia? No, I'm sure she isn't. Black always makes women look slimmer, Mother, as you very well know. And the make-up she wore was that stark white look. Ebony's just fine.' More than fine, he added in vicious silence, thinking of those long slender thighs wrapped around him, and those firm white breasts with their long pink nipples arching up towards his mouth.
He shuddered.
'I'm still worried,' his mother persisted. 'It's been ages since she came to see me and I know why. It's because of you, Alan. You and your rudeness. I won't stand for it any more, I tell you. I'm going to invite her over for dinner and you're going to be there. Not only are you going to be there, but you're going to be nice to her.'
'Mother, if Ebony knows I'm going to be there, she won't come.'
'Then we won't tell her, will we? We'll let her think you'll be away on business that night.'
Yes, Alan thought. There would be a certain sadistic pleasure in having her sitting at the table next to him, forced to be polite, unable to deliver any of those cutting little barbs of hers.
A malicious smile tugged at his lips. It would be an excellent revenge for that pathetic lie of hers that she was going to marry Gary Stevenson. For one ghastly moment, he'd thought she meant it, till he'd realised it was just another of those taunting, goading things she liked to say. It was another of her ploys to worry him, to make him jealous, to make him explode into the violent passion that turned her on so. Playing such games was part of her dark side, the side she kept hidden from everyone else.
Yes, he would enjoy making her squirm in front of his mother, enjoy it immensely.
'You're right, Mother,' he said expansively. 'Our feud has gone on long enough, but I do think we will have to surprise Ebony with my presence, otherwise she will find some excuse not to come.'
'I realise that, but I do so hate being deceitful...'
'Come, now,' he soothed. 'Your intentions are the best.' Even if mine aren't.
Deirdre brightened immediately. 'Yes, yes, they are. And if it means you two will become friends again, then it will be worth it. I'm so glad you're going to be co-operative, Alan. I'll call and ask her for tomorrow night. Friday.'
'Let's hope she's free.'
She was, as it turned out. But once the invitation had been accepted and the plan was in place, Alan was besieged with doubts. It was a dangerous thing to do, deceiving Ebony. The witch had a way of turning the tables on him.
Still, he could not deny that he was looking forward to seeing her again so soon, to feasting his eyes upon her cool exotic beauty, to finding some way, perhaps, of tricking her into staying over. And then... who knew? Maybe he would be able to exploit that incredible sexual appetite of hers to make her do what he knew her prickly pride would never want her to do again: spend the night with him, in his bed, in his own home.
Ebony had some misgivings in the taxi on the way to the Carstairses' home. She wasn't sure what it was about the invitation from Mrs Carstairs that worried her, unless it was the way the woman had repeatedly assured her that Alan would not be there. Ebony understood why she kept making the as- surance. No way would Ebony have accepted otherwise. Now, more than ever, she was taking pains to avoid him.
In just under two weeks she would be on her way to Paris.
Perhaps her misgivings were due to the fact that she didn't want to be anywhere that even reminded her of Alan. Out of sight was out of mind, they said. And that was partially true. She would never forget Alan, but not seeing him was easier than encounters like the other night. They only served to enslave her senses with memories of what she could experience when in his arms. And while she fully understood that physical pleasure without love left a bitter taste in the mouth, one didn't seem to remember that till afterwards.