Before he could say anything she stood up and started to walk swiftly towards the exit.
Inside she was shaking with a mixture of pain and anger. How dared Suzi speak so insultingly to her? How dared she and Marcus flaunt their relationship whilst implying that she had no right to enjoy a similar degree of intimacy with Phil if she chose to do so? And, most of all, how dared fate hurt her in the way that it was doing? She could feel the sharp, searing, burning pain of her jealousy as though it were a living clawing incubus inside her.
Tonight, Marcus would be holding Suzi, kissing her, touching her, whilst she…
‘Polly.’
She froze as she felt the male hand grasping her arm and then relaxed as she realised it belonged to Phil. She had been so absorbed in her feelings that for a moment she’d actually thought that Marcus had come after her.
‘You can’t leave…not like this. I don’t know what on earth Suzi thought she was doing, speaking to you like that.’
‘Plainly she shares Mr Fraser’s belief that I’m an old has-been, a woman of a certain age, so desperate for a man that…’
To Polly’s consternation she discovered that she was perilously close to tears.
‘You’re no such thing,’ she could hear Phil reassuring her, his voice thickening as he protested, ‘Oh, my God, Polly, please don’t cry…If you do…Have you any idea how much I want to take you to bed right now?’
‘What for?’ she challenged him frantically. ‘So that you can count my wrinkles?’
‘Polly,’ she heard him groaning. ‘Look,’ he told her, ‘let’s go up to the suite. I’ll order us a room-service meal and…’
Polly closed her eyes, ashamed of how very, very much she was tempted to accept. She knew, of course, that what Phil had in mind, what was really on the menu, was not a meal but a night of passion, and she was very tempted to take him up on it. Not because she wanted him, not even because she felt she wanted sex; no, the reason she was so dangerously inclined to accept was seated in the restaurant—all six-foot-odd of far too handsome, hunky masculinity for his own good. And certainly for hers.
Marcus…That was why she was even considering accepting what Phil was offering her…Marcus…Oh, how she wanted, ached to prove him wrong, to show him that even if he did not want her, even if he did not believe she was attractive, desirable…loveable…another man quite obviously did. But then common sense and reality came to her rescue.
Over the years there had been numerous opportunities for her to accept the kind of offer Phil was making her right now, but she had never once felt remotely tempted. No matter how hurt she was feeling now, how angry Marcus had made her, she was going to remain true to her own beliefs and her own moral code, which meant not having sex with a man she didn’t love.
Putting her hand on Phil’s arm, Polly looked into his eyes and told him gently, ‘No, Phil. It’s very kind of you to offer, but…’ Against her will her glance was drawn back to the restaurant. She could see Marcus from where she was standing. He was sitting with his back to her, engrossed in his conversation with Suzi. Giving a faint sigh, Polly looked away.
‘I can see why you’re so enthusiastic about this hotel,’ she told Phil warmly.
‘When the deal goes through I shall be spending several months here in London—if you should change your mind…’
‘About dinner?’ Polly teased him, her mouth curving into a deep smile.
‘About anything,’ Phil responded firmly.
A little regretfully she shook her head.
‘I shan’t change my mind,’ she told him. ‘The maître d’ will be concerned that you didn’t finish your meal.’
‘Like you, I’ve lost my appetite,’ Phil said, adding with a shrug, ‘I can always have something sent up to the suite later. I’ve got some work to do up there. I’ll see you into a taxi first, though.’
A little to Polly’s irritation, when she returned to her own hotel she had the same problem getting into her room that she had had before. The girl on Reception—a different girl this time—summoned the porter to let her in with his pass key, explaining vaguely to Polly, ‘It does sometimes happen with these key cards. I’m very sorry.’
It wasn’t quite ten o’clock, but Polly felt so drained that all she wanted to do was to go to bed.
Stripping off her clothes, she hung her new dress carefully in the closet before relocking it, and then frowned as she realised that the other key had been removed from the other half of the wardrobe. Not that it mattered; she would not be needing to use it. Still, she was sure it had been there earlier. The maid must have removed it by accident when she had come in with the clean towels. Polly guessed.