‘Don’t forget to tie your hair back,’ he had murmured as he had dropped her back at her hotel and bade her goodnight.
So she’d woven a ribbon into a tight French plait and was glad she had—because the wind from the open-top car would have left her hair completely knotted. A bit like her stomach.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked as she slid into the passenger seat beside him.
He turned the ignition key and gave a sm
all smile. How cool she looked. And how perfect—with the amber ribbon glowing against her black hair. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a grown woman tie a ribbon in her hair, and the result was a devastating combination of innocence and sensuality. ‘To Glendalough. Ever heard of it?’
She shook her head. The way he said the name made it sound like music.
‘Okay—here’s your little bit of tourist information. It’s a sixteenth-century Christian settlement about an hour outside Dublin—famous for its monastery. The name Glendalough comes from its setting—an idyllic valley in between two lakes.’
Idyllic.
Well, wasn’t this idyllic enough? she wondered, casting a glance at the dark profile as he looked into his driving mirror.
Dinner had been bliss—there was no other way to describe it—though she supposed that this should have come as no surprise. Finn Delaney had been amusing, provocative, contentious and teasing, in turn. And if she had been expecting him to quiz her about her life and her loves and her career, she had—for once—been widely off the mark. He seemed more interested in the general rather than the specific.
Maybe that was a lucky escape—for she doubted whether he would have been so hospitable if he had discovered that she was a journalist. People had so many preconceived ideas about meeting journalists—usually negative—which was the main reason why Catherine had fallen into the habit of never revealing that she was a member of a despised tribe! At least, not until she got to know someone better.
No, it had been more like having dinner with the brightest tutor at university. Except that no tutor she had ever met looked quite as delectable as Finn Delaney. He had argued politics and he had argued religion.
‘Both taboo,’ she had remarked with a smile as she’d sipped her wine, though that hadn’t stopped her from arguing back.
‘Says who?’
‘Says just about every book on social etiquette.’
‘Who cares about etiquette?’ he challenged, sizzling her with a provocative blue stare.
At which point she felt consumed by a feeling of desire so strong that it made her throat constrict with fear and guilt.
Surely it must be more than Finn himself that was having this effect on her? She’d met handsome, charming and successful men before—lots of them—but she couldn’t remember ever being enticed quite so effectively.
And what about Peter? taunted the suddenly confused voice in her head. Peter. The man you expected to spend the rest of your life with.
Was the vulnerability which followed a break-up making her more susceptible than usual? Catherine squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, but Finn didn’t appear to have noticed her self-consciousness.
Thank God.
Because he was looking at some squashy chocolate cake with a gleam of unfettered delight in the blue eyes.
‘Wouldn’t you just think that chocolate should carry a health warning?’ he sighed.
‘I thought it did—certainly if you eat too much of it!’ She averted her eyes from the washboard-flat stomach.
He licked a melting spoonful with an instinctive sensuality which was making Catherine’s stomach turn to mush.
‘So everything in moderation, then? Is that right?’ he observed softly, but the blue eyes were sparking with what looked like simple mischief.
‘That wasn’t what I said at all,’ remarked Catherine tartly—but even so she could barely get her fork through her summer pudding.
Some men made deliberate remarks which were overtly sexual and which somehow made you end up being completely turned off by them. Whereas Finn made remarks which seemed to all intents and pur poses completely innocent. So how come she didn’t believe a word of the moderation bit? She’d bet that in the bedroom he was the least moderate person on the planet.
And Peter seemed a very long way away. In fact, the world seemed to have telescoped down into one place—and that was this place, with this man, eating a delicious dinner which was completely wasted on her…
The road to Glendalough passed through some of the most spectacular countryside that Catherine had ever seen.