‘So you aren’t.’ He smiled sexily.
‘But I ought to be,’ she said hastily, ‘especially after being at Cass’s all day, so I’m sorry but—’
‘I don’t intend to take no for an answer, Robyn.’
For a moment she thought she must have heard wrongly, but when she saw the sudden steely glint in the silver eyes her voice rose an octave or two as she said, ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Like I said, I’m only back for a couple of days and there’s a little job I’d like to talk to you about.’
‘Oh, it’s business.’ The relief in her voice was transparent. ‘You should have said. Will tomorrow do?’ she suggested hopefully.
He smiled coolly, the narrowed gaze cold. ‘Afraid not.’
‘Oh.’ She was disconcerted. And then, as she looked at him more closely and noticed the lines of tiredness around his mouth and eyes, she said quietly, ‘When did you get back?’
‘We touched down a couple of hours ago.’
‘You must be exhausted, and you say you’re leaving again tomorrow?’ Whatever he’d come back for it must be important; perhaps that was what he was dealing with tomorrow.
He nodded, watching her closely. ‘I thought we could combine our little talk with a meal somewhere,’ he suggested evenly, ‘before I go home and crash out for a few hours. What do you say?’
Another meal with Clay Lincoln? Another date that wasn’t a date at all? Robyn’s mind was racing. He’d virtually promised her there would be no contact once their business arrangement was set up. And then the more reasonable part of her mind cut in with, But he has got some sort of job in mind for me, and with his sort of contacts and influence I should at least listen to what it is. My business is still in the fledgling stage; I couldn’t afford to let any opportunity pass me by.
But the thought of having to dress up and psyche herself up for another evening like the last one, with Clay holding all the cards as he lorded it in his own privileged world, did not appeal. Robyn made a split-second decision and said flatly, trying to keep all expression out of her voice, ‘You’re tired and you’re hungry but, if you need to talk to me today, why not here? I can cook us something and then once we’ve had a chat you can go home and sleep and I can start work. I really do have masses to do.’
There was no visible change in his face or his body as he continued to look at her, but somehow, after a second or two, Robyn felt as though something had shifted, lightened. And then he said very formally, ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble.’ She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea though, and so she added evenly, for extra emphasis, ‘It will save us both time, won’t it? I’m sure you’re as busy as I am.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Then, thank you, I accept.’
He had to drive down the street a little way for a parking space, and as the car drew away and disappeared Robyn leant back in her seat for a moment and let out her breath in a big whoosh. Was she being stupid? Should she just have refused to consider this job he knew about and have sent him on his way? But knowing Clay he wouldn’t have gone anyway. She bit her lip hard.
The last two weeks had been a constant battle against letting him into her head every waking moment. The night hours she could do nothing about and he’d invaded her dreams relentlessly, and in ways that had made her go hot with embarrassment in the morning.
And now he was here, in the flesh. The last words caught at her senses and a flicker of something hot curled down her spine and into her lower stomach before she straightened, squaring her shoulders. Enough, enough of that, she warned herself grimly.
Nothing had changed. Nothing. Clay was still the same man who had rejected her so cruelly all those years ago, and she forgot that at her peril. He was ruthless and cold and cynical, a man without weakness who needed no one and lived his life totally on his own terms. He had been like that all those years ago under the skin although she hadn’t realised it until Cass’s wedding day, and he was more so now.
He had parked the Aston Martin and was walking up the street towards her as she glanced in her mirror, and her heart started pounding with the force of a sledgehammer. He looked big, very big, the designer shirt and trousers he was wearing emphasising the muscled strength in his powerful, lean body as well as the aura of unlimited wealth. He was hard and handsome, an animal-like quality in each smooth stride, and sexy. Wildly, undeniably sexy. Oh, help…
She leant across and wound up the passenger window quickly, emerging from the car onto the pavement just before he reached her. It was only then that it dawned on her that the old jeans and sleeveless skinny top she had pulled on that morning had seen better days, and that the top
in particular was a trifle too figure-hugging. It hadn’t mattered at Cass’s, but now…
As the silver eyes drifted across her breasts she could actually feel her nipples harden in response and she immediately turned to fumble with the lock of the car, babbling as she did so, ‘I can do spaghetti Bolognese, or pork chops if you’d prefer? Or an omelette? That’s about the limit of the choice I’m afraid.’
‘Spaghetti Bolognese sounds great to me.’
It might sound great but she just hoped it tasted that way. Clay Lincoln was used to the best of everything and she was an adequate cook, no more. It was Cass who excelled in that department. But she couldn’t go far wrong with spaghetti Bolognese—hopefully.
After locking the car she led the way into the house and up the stairs, aware she was trailing sand and wondering how big her bottom looked in the close-fitting jeans.
‘Look, I really do need to have a quick bath.’ Once on the top floor she turned to face him again. ‘Would you like a glass of wine while you wait, or perhaps a long, cold drink? There’s beer, or lemonade or something?’ she added over her shoulder.
She had walked over to the windows leading onto the balcony on the last words, and now she opened them to let the warm summer breeze flow in as Clay said behind her, ‘A beer sounds even better than the spaghetti Bolognese but I’m afraid I’m American in my preference for them cold straight from the fridge. I’ve never been able to understand the English desire for luke-warm beer,’ he added with an apologetic grin that sent her hormones racing.
‘Most people like them cold,’ Robyn said quickly. ‘I think it’s only the older generation like my father who think it’s sacrilege to chill beer.’