It certainly has a buzz, she thought, as she reluctantly dragged her body from a bath which was filled right up to the top with scented bubbles.
She dressed with more care than usual. She wanted to appear all things. Demure, yet sexy. Casual, yet smart. To look as though she hadn’t gone to any trouble, yet as though she’d stepped out from one of the pages of her own magazine! You ask too much of yourself, Catherine, she told herself sternly.
She decided on an ankle-length dress of cream linen, stark and simple, yet deliciously cut. Understated, stylish, and not designed to appear vampish. Not in the least.
Her black hair she caught up in a topknot, to show long jade earrings dangling down her neck, and at just gone seven she went down to the foyer with a fast-beating heart.
He wasn’t there.
The fast beat became a slam of disappointment, and her mind worked through a tragic little scenario.
What if he had stood her up?
Well, more fool her for her impetuosity!
Catherine walked across the marbled space and went to gaze at the fish tank. The exotic striped fish swam in leisurely fashion around the illuminated waters, and she watched their graceful tails undulating like a breeze on a cornfield. How uncomplicated life as a fish must be, she thought.
‘Catherine?’
She turned around, startled and yet not startled to hear the rich Irish brogue which broke into her thoughts, and there stood Finn Delaney—looking the same and yet not the same. Some impossibly beautiful and yet impossibly remote stranger. Which, let’s face it, she reminded herself, was exactly what he was.
He was dressed similarly to the shot she had seen on the website, only the suit was darker. Navy. Which somehow emphasised the blue of his eyes. And with
a silk tie, blue as well—almost an Aegean blue. The tie had been impatiently pulled away from the collar of his shirt so that it was slightly askew—and that was the only thing which detracted from the formal look he was wearing.
Even his hair had been cut. Not short—certainly not short—but the dark, wayward black locks had been tidied up.
Gone was the fisherman in the clinging, faded denim and the gauze-thin shirt. And gone too was the careless smile. Instead his luscious lips were curved into something which was mid-way between welcoming and wary.
‘Well, hi,’ he murmured.
Oh, hell—if ever she’d wished she could magic herself away from a situation it was now. What the hell had possessed her to come? To ring him? To arrange to meet him when clearly he was regretting ever having handed her his wretched business card in the first place?
‘Hi,’ she said back, trying very hard not to let the rich Irish brogue melt over her.
He gave a little shake of his shoulders as he heard the faint reprimand in her voice. ‘Sorry I’m late—I was tied up. You know how frantic Friday afternoons can be before the weekend—and the traffic was a nightmare.’
He was trotting out age-old excuses like an unfaithful husband! ‘I should have given you my mobile number—then you could have cancelled.’ She raised her eyebrows, giving him the opt-out clause. ‘You still could.’
Finn relaxed, and not just because by offering to retreat she had made herself that little bit more desirable. No, the renewed sight of her had a lot to do with it. He had been regretting asking her to call by, but mainly because he hadn’t imagined that she would. Not this soon.
Yet seeing her again reminded her of the heart-stopping effect she seemed to have on him. With an ache he remembered her in that stretchy green swimsuit, which had clung like honey to the lush curves of her breasts and hips. He remembered the heated cool of her flesh as the droplets of sea-water had dried on contact with his own. And the dark hair which had been plastered to her face, sticking to its perfect oval, like glue.
Yet tonight, in the spacious foyer of the up-market hotel, she couldn’t have looked more different. She looked cool and untouchable and—perversely—all the more touchable just for that.
Her hair was caught back in some stark and sleek style which drew attention to the pure lines of her features. The small, straight nose. The heart-shaped bow of a mouth which provoked him with its subtle gleam. High cheekbones which cast dark, mysterious shadows over the faintly tanned skin, and of course the enormous green eyes—fathomless as the sea itself.
‘What? Turn you away when you’ve travelled so far?’ he teased her mockingly.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘From London, you mean, Finn? It’s not exactly at the far end of the globe.’
‘Is that so?’ he smiled. ‘Well, thanks for the geography lesson!’
His voice was so low and so rich and so beguiling that she thought he would instantly get a career in voice-overs if he ever needed money quickly. Though, judging by the information on the website, he wasn’t exactly short of cash.
Reluctantly, she found herself smiling back. ‘You’re welcome.’
Finn’s blue eyes gleamed. ‘Do I take that to mean you don’t want Finn Delaney’s tour of Dublin’s fair city?’