Forbidden Surrender

‘I was only joking, Dominic,’ Marie was instantly contrite. ‘I’m sure Sara already has a boy-friend in America.’

Dominic looked at Sara with sharp eyes. ‘Do you?’ he demanded abruptly.

She thought of Barry and then dismissed him. ‘Not in America, no,’ she replied slowly. ‘But I have a—friend here. His name is Eddie.’ And she hoped Eddie would forgive her for using him in this way. But she needed some form of defence, was afraid to let Dominic know just how deeply she had become interested in him.

‘You work fast,’ he snapped. ‘After all, you’ve only been here a little under two weeks.’

She gave him a brittle smile. ‘Sometimes it takes only a glance to feel you know someone, like them.’

‘Love them?’ he prompted tautly.

She gave what she hoped was a light laugh. ‘It’s a little too soon to tell.’

‘You’ll have to invite Eddie over one evening,’ her father suggested. ‘I’d like to meet him.’

Sara shrugged. ‘Maybe the night of the party.’

‘Then we must have the party very soon,’ Marie said eagerly. ‘How about Saturday?’

‘That’s a little too soon for me,’ Sara refused laughingly. ‘Maybe next week, hmm?’

‘All right,’ her sister accepted reluctantly, looking at her wristwatch. ‘I think we should be leaving now.’

At once the nervousness returned to Sara. She didn’t want to meet Dominic’s mother, to know about his family, his home life. Somehow that would bring her even closer to him, make it all the harder for her to accept his marriage to her sister.

She travelled with her father in his car, Marie and Dominic in the Rolls. At least she had been given this respite, time to collect together the poise and control she had been taught during her career, something that seemed to have deserted her the last few days, along with her carefree nature.

‘Relax,’ her father seemed to sense her tension. ‘I can assure you that Diane is a most gracious hostess.’

‘I’m sure she is. It’s just—well—–’

His hand moved to clasp hers. ‘You’ll be fine, Marie and I will see to that.’

Diane Thorne’s house was just what Sara had expected, a detached house set in its own grounds, a butler to show them in and take their wraps, a maid to show them into the gracious lounge where a dozen or so people were already chatting around the room in groups of twos and threes.

The entrance of Marie and herself caused just as much of a sensation as she had known it would. It had been this attention that she had been dreading, and when she felt her father’s arm go protectively about her waist she leant gratefully back against him.

‘Come and meet my mother,’ Dominic murmured against her earlobe.

Sara turned with a start, quickly moving out of the arc of his arm. ‘I didn’t realise—I thought you were my father!’ she accused.

‘I told him I would take care of you—Marie has taken him to get a drink. Now come and meet my mother,’ he repeated firmly.

She nodded, licking her lips nervously; Dominic’s touch had completely unnerved her.

Dominic put a guiding hand under her elbow. ‘I’m sorry about earlier,’ he said huskily. ‘It was—a stupid thing to do.’

‘I’m sorry?’ She shook her head, determinedly not looking at him, knowing that people were watching them as they moved across the room. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

His hand tightened. ‘I was almost tempted to kiss you and not Marie,’ he revealed gruffly. ‘It was an utterly stupid move on my part. Who is Eddie?’ he demanded tautly.

She shrugged. ‘A friend—I told you.’

Dominic turned her to face him, his expression fierce. ‘How much of a friend?’ he wanted to know.

‘Really, Dominic!’ her tone was deliberately taunting. ‘My friendship with Eddie is none of your business.’

His eyes turned almost black, his gaze compelling. ‘You know damn well it is! Sara—–’

‘Dominic!’ A small woman with grey-black hair appeared at his side, a beautiful woman, her make-up and figure impeccable for her age, which must have been at least fifty. Looking at her closely, Sara could see certain resemblances to Dominic, the same deep blue eyes, the same determined chin, so she guessed this to be his mother, which meant she was well over fifty. The woman turned to Sara, a warm smile to her lips. ‘You must be Sara,’ she held out her hand.