‘’Fraid so,’ she fibbed. ‘I have a plane to catch.’
‘What time?’
‘Five o’clock.’
He glanced at the wristwatch he had had neither the time nor the inclination to remove last night. ‘It’s only ten now.’
And?
‘You’ll have some breakfast first?’ He turned onto his side and gave a slow smile. ‘I make great eggs!’
He made great love, too. But she was damned if she was going to go through his thanks-very-much-for-the-memory routine. Dispatched with eggs and a shower, and perhaps another bout of uninhibited sex if she was lucky. Catherine Walker might have behaved recklessly last night, but at least she still had her pride.
And no way was she going to hang around like an abandoned puppy, desperate for affection!
‘I’ll skip,’ she said casually, and slid her bare legs over the mattress. ‘I never eat breakfast.’
‘You should,’ he reprimanded.
Perhaps she should. Like perhaps she should have thought twice about allowing herself to get into a situation like this.
‘Coffee will be fine. Mind if I use the shower?’
‘Of course not.’
How bizarre to be asking his permission for something like that when she had allowed him the total freedom of her body during that long and blissful night.
Had she just been feeling love-starved and rejected? she wondered as she stood beneath the ste
aming jets of water in his typically masculine bathroom. And how often did he entertain women in such a spontaneous and intimate way?
It was a one-off for her, sure—but maybe she was just one of a long line of willing women who were so easily turned on by his captivating blend of Irish charm and drop-dead sexuality.
Catherine repressed a shudder as she dried herself. She didn’t want to know.
She came out of the bathroom looking as cool and as aloof as a mannequin, and Finn blinked. To look at her now you would never have believed that she could be such a little wildcat in bed. He felt another tug of desire and despaired.
Catherine picked up her bag and went over to where he was standing by the window, watching her with an unreadable expression. She wondered how many hearts he had broken in his time. Scores, undoubtedly—but hers would not be among them. She would extricate herself as gracefully and as graciously as possible.
‘What about coffee?’ He frowned.
She shook her head. She would not cling. Last night had just happened; she must put it down to experience. And at least, she thought wryly, at least it had got Peter well and truly out of her system. ‘I’ll get some back at my hotel.’ She gave him what she hoped was a cool, calm smile. ‘Thanks for a great evening, Finn.’ She raised herself up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘A great night, I should say,’ she added, braving it out.
‘The pleasure was all mine,’ he murmured.
Ruthlessly, she eradicated any trace of awkwardness or vulnerability from her voice, but it wasn’t easy—not when confronted by the glittering blue eyes which reminded her of things which were making her pulses race. Even now. ‘Bye, then.’
Once again her coolness intrigued him, particularly in view of what had happened—she was behaving as though she had just been introduced to him at a formal drinks party! Maybe she was trying to slow the pace down, and in view of the speed with which things had happened wasn’t that the best thing to do under the circumstances? So why did he want to drag her straight back to bed?
He was just about to suggest running her back to her hotel when the telephone began to ring. He gave a small click of irritation.
‘Answer it,’ she urged, as this evidence of a life of which she knew nothing drove reality home. She was eager now to make her escape, to put it all down to a wonderful never-to-be-repeated experience.
‘Don’t worry, it’s on the Ansaphone—’
It was also echoing out over the flat, and after his drawled and lilting message came the sound of a female voice. ‘Finn, it’s Aisling—where the hell were you last night?’
He leaned over and clicked off the machine, but by then Catherine was by the door, her features closed and shuttered.