'You must tell me what you've been doing with yourself.' His hand slid down to her arm. 'You've obviously lost weight—you were always slender, but now you're almost gaunt.'
'It's the fashion,' she muttered, angry with herself for her total inability to remain immune to the man's sensual charm. Hadn't she learnt her lesson in their ill-fated marriage? She was there for a purpose—a chance to save her son's life—and she would do whatever she had to, but no way was she falling under Justin's spell again. Once was more than enough.
'Whatever.' He shrugged dismissively. 'You still look good and I'm not pressed for time tonight; give me five minutes to shower and change and I'll take you out to dinner.'
'Out to dinner' was not what she had in mind—a crowded restaurant would not help her plan at all. 'There's no need to take me out,' she demurred. 'You must have had a long day. Why not show me the kitchen and I'll rustle up an omelette or something?'
Justin stood up. 'What a very obliging woman you have turned out to be, Zoe.' A sardonic gleam of amusement flashed down at her and, clasping her hand, he pulled her to her feet. 'You still wear your wedding- ring,' he noted abruptly, turning her left hand over in his.
Zoe glanced up at him, her sapphire eyes catching his, and she trembled at the flash of some undefined emotion in their dark depths and tried to pull away. His grasp tightened for a moment as if he would detain her, his gaze oddly intent on her lovely face, then suddenly she was free.
'I wouldn't dream of allowing you to mar your soft hands with anything so mundane as cooking,' he drawled. 'My housekeeper will have prepared something. Help yourself to another drink. I won't be a moment.'
She watched his departure with mixed feelings. Her plan was going well. But why was Justin being so obliging? She had fully expected to have to battle her way into his company. Instead he had almost immediately invited her to dinner. Strange!
Uneasily she crossed to the drinks cabinet and helped herself to a small cognac. She needed it. . . She sipped the fiery liquid, her confidence slowly rising. No! Not so strange, she told herself firmly. After all, they were both mature, sophisticated adults. Well, Justin certainly was, she amended wryly, making her way back to the sofa and sitting down. She wasn't half so sure about herself. . .
She smoothed the skirt of her dress over her thighs with a trembling hand. What could be more natural than two adults sharing a dinner? And if it led to something more then that was perfectly acceptable, she told herself staunchly. She wasn't a child, and she had slept with Justin countless times. . .
She drained the glass and placed it on a nearby table. The hair on the back of her neck prickled and she looked up as the man occupying her thoughts walked in, a bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other.
'Quite like old times—my wife waiting for me.' His dark eyes roamed leisurely over her reclining figure with a blatant sensual insolence that made her feel as if he had stripped her naked.
She fought down the slow flush spreading through her body at his scrutiny, her confidence dipping alarminglyand a feeling of helplessness overtaking her as she stared at him. He had obviously showered and changed. Huge and casually dressed in a soft blue shirt and jeans, with a black lambs wool sweater draped elegantly over his broad shoulders, his black hair damp and curling on his brow, he looked years younger and his likeness to Val was heartbreaking.
She swallowed nervously, looking away. Why was it that of all the men in the world Justin was the only one to make her heart race and her nerves quiver? It wasn't fair. Bitterness rose like gall in her throat; she should hate him that he was so vibrantly male, so alive, and her precious child. . .
No, she must not think negative thoughts, she reprimanded herself, and glanced back at Justin. He was watching her, waiting. . . His dark, steady gaze was so like Val's that she was hit by an overwhelming sense of guilt.
He placed the glasses on the table and finally his deep voice broke the long silence. 'A toast, I thought—to celebrate.' He deftly opened the champagne; the cork popped and bounced off the ceiling, the foaming liquid spurted from the bottle, but quickly the two glasses were filled, and he lowered his long body down beside her on the sofa. 'We can be friends! Isn't that right?' he questioned silkily.
She shied away nervously; there was something about him that she couldn't put a finger on. And his smile, as he handed her a glass of champagne, didn't quite reach his eyes.
'A toast. To old friends, hmm?'
The words were polite, even banal. Justin appeared relaxed, affable, but beneath his sophisticated exterior she had an odd premonition that something dark and dangerous lurked. Her fingers brushed his as she tookthe glass, an electric sensation shooting up her arm. She flinched.
'Careful, Zoe,' he prompted, his free hand closing over her wrist. 'Allow me.' In an intimate gesture he urged her hand holding the glass to her mouth while he lifted his own glass. His dark eyes caught and held hers. 'To a civilised friendship, my dear.'
She tensed. His face, only inches from hers, was playing havoc with her veneer of sophisticated control, and she was sure that he must be able to sense it. So, with a calm she was far from feeling, she placed her small hand on his arm, her expression beguiling. 'To a long and civilised friendship,' she responded sweetly, and took a healthy sip of the champagne.
There was nothing civilised about the murderous rage leaping in her companion's eyes, but, luckily for Zoe, she never saw it. By the time she was brave enough to face him again he had finished his drink, his large frame sprawled back on the sofa, a lazy smile in his brown eyes.
'So tell me, what have you been doing with yourself the last few years? You don't have much of a tan for a Californian.'
'Oh, I don't live in California!' she exclaimed, glad to get on to a neutral topic. 'I have a house in Maine, in a lovely little fishing village. Actually,
the area is rather like England '
'Could be why it's known as New England,' he interrupted with a mocking grin.
Her answering smile was completely spontaneous, and for the next few hours she felt as if she had stepped back in time. Over a delicious if simple dinner of a typically English dish—hotpot—he was a charming, witty host.
'Not your nouvelle cuisine,' he said wryly as he carried a tray with a coffee-pot and two cups into the living- room, where Zoe was already relaxing once again on the sofa. 'But ideal for a cold March day.'
The coffee finished, Zoe, sipping a glass of cognac, allowed her eyes to roam over Justin. He was lounging back beside her, his long legs stretched out before him; she noted the stretched denim over his muscular thighs and—whether it was the wine or the food or simply because she was feeling relaxed for the first time in weeks she wasn't sure—a sharp tug of sexual awareness lanced painfully through her.
'You never did tell me why you changed careers,' she blurted, taking another drink of her cognac—anything to get her mind away from the slight friction of his thigh against her own, the overt sensuality of the man. Forgetting for the moment that she was supposed to be seducing him, she suddenly realised that he had skillfully discovered all about her home and career, and a couple of times she had almost slipped up and mentioned Val. But he had revealed very little about himself.