He raised a shoulder in a shrug, unsure of what day she was speaking of. He’d hit it off with a group of Scandinavian travellers on the ferry from Split to Illya and had spent the majority of his fortnight on the unspoilt island in their company. Marin’s Bar, which was two steps from the beach, had been the only place to go, but with its excellent beer, good food and a juke box that had pumped out classic tracks, it had engendered an easy, relaxed atmosphere.
Jo and her friends, whose names he didn’t think he’d ever known, had always been on the periphery—there but in the background, rather like wallpaper.
‘They were touching us up,’ she reminded him.
‘Ah.’
Now he remembered. The Americans—college graduates taking time out before joining the corporate world—had drunk far too much of the local liquor and had started harassing Jo and her friends. He remembered there had been something nasty about it, well beyond the usual banter one might expect in such an environment. He’d taken exception to it and had personally thrown the men out, then he had insisted Jo and her friends join him and his friends at their table.
And now her face did soften. Not completely—her cheeks were still clenched—but enough that her lips regained their plumpness. They almost curled into a smile.
‘You stepped in to help us,’ she said. ‘Whether you were there as a lie or not, in that one aspect it doesn’t matter. You did a good thing. I’ll try to hold on to that whenever I feel like stabbing you. How does that sound?’
A bubble of laughter was propelled up his throat, startling him. He quickly recovered.
‘I think that sounds like an excellent start.’
She rocked her head forward. ‘Good.’
‘But just in case you ever do feel like stabbing me I’ll be sure to hide all the sharp objects.’
The plump lips finally formed into a smile and something dark flickered in her eyes, but was gone before he could analyse it.
‘It’s a deal. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe this is the perfect cue for me to go back to my apartment and carry on reading Fiona’s work.’
‘Will you be ready to start writing in the morning?’
‘That’s very unlikely—I’m only two-thirds through and I still need to familiarise myself with the research papers. What I can promise is that I will have this biography completed by the deadline even if I have to kill myself doing it.’
She stepped out of the door, giving him a full view of her round bottom, perfectly displayed in the smart navy blue skirt she wore. What kind of underwear lay beneath...?
He blinked away the inappropriate thought.
Her underwear was none of his business.
But there was no denying the gauche young girl he’d known before had gone; in her place was a confident and, yes, a sexy woman.
It had been a long time since he’d considered a woman sexy or pondered over her underwear.
There was nothing wrong with admitting she had an allure about her. Thoughts and actions were different things. The days when he would already have been plotting her seduction were long gone. The Theseus who had put pleasure above duty had been banished.
The next woman he shared a bed with would be his wife.
CHAPTER THREE
JO GAZED AT the picture Toby proudly held up. Apparently it was a drawing of the two of them. It resembled a pair of colourful ants, one of which had been given long purple hair as his red felt-tip pen had run out.
‘That’s amazing,’ she said, trying not to laugh, and inordinately proud of his attempt at a family portrait.
‘Uncle Jon says he’ll scab it for you.’
She stifled another giggle at his word for scan. At some point she knew she would have to tell him when he mangled words and mixed them up—like using alligator for escalator and Camilla for vanilla—but for the moment it was too cute. She’d start correcting him properly when he started school in five months’ time.
She was dreading it—her baby growing up. They’d only been apart for one night so far, and this was already the second time they’d spoken via video-link. Thank God for technology.
She wondered how parents had handled time away from their children before video conferencing had been invented. A voice on the end of a phone was no substitute to seeing their faces as they spoke. Not that she would count her own parents in that equation.
She remembered going on a week-long school trip when she’d been eleven and calling home after three days only to have her mother say, ‘Is there an emergency?’