‘Mr Blair. What a pleasant surprise.’ She, too, could be insultingly polite. ‘How are you?’
‘Extremely well, thank you. And you?’
Jane instinctively hid her broken hand behind her back. ‘Oh, absolutely spiffing! Never been better!’
There was a small silence. Jane could hear him breathing and unconsciously regulated her own so that he wouldn’t know that her heart and lungs felt as if she were running a marathon.
‘I’m calling to ask whether you’d like to have dinner with me at the Lakepoint Hotel tomorrow evening? I have a business proposition I’d like to put to you, one that could be of considerable financial benefit to us both...’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘AH, YES, madam, Mr Blair is already at the table—please follow me.’
Jane nervously smoothed her palms down the sideseams of her dress as she trailed the maitre d’ across the room. The Lakepoint Hotel restaurant was justifiably famous for its elegance, and she had resigned herself to wearing the black dress again. In her former life she would never have dreamed of wearing a dress twice in a row in public, and she knew that Ryan Blair, with his ruthless eye for detail, would recognise the gown and draw the obvious, humiliating conclusion.
However, when she had approached Collette for a second loan of her shoes, the other woman had thrown open her bulging wardrobe as well, and Jane had been unable to resist the opportunity to thumb her nose at her enemy by selecting something that would bolster her bravado.
Now she was beginning to have second thoughts about her boldness. The dark green beaded synthetic minidress might be the current height of fashion but it wasn’t Jane’s style at all; it was too trendy, too attention-grabbing, too...young. Although the sleeveless scoop neckline of the bodice was relatively modest, the stretchy fabric hugged her full-bodied curves and revealed more of her long legs than she had displayed since she was a teenager.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have let Collette persuade her to leave her hair loose and do her make-up, but the other woman had been very persuasive when she realised that Jane was meeting the man with whom she’d had her highly-publicised fight. Collette’s condescending pity had turned to admiration when she had realised that it was Jane who’d done the hitting, rather than the other way around, but she had been highly sceptical when Jane had insisted that the new meeting was strictly for business reasons.
The maitre d’ rounded a bank of ferns and Jane spied a familiar dark head at a table in the centre of the room. Oh, God! Every cell in her body registered its usual instant antagonism and the apprehension that had trickled down her spine now became a raging torrent. She must have been mad to come here, to believe that Ryan Blair’s tantalising hint of an end to his vendetta meant anything but trouble. Why bother to offer her a helping hand when he knew he had her on the ropes? By accepting his invitation wasn’t she revealing herself as desperate enough to clutch at any straw?
Her pride balled in her throat and briefly she entertained the idea of turning tail, but then the dark head swivelled and she felt the laser-bum of his vivid blue stare. Trapped, her defiance blazed back into being. Oh, hell, who was she trying to kid? She was desperate enough to clutch at straws.
Fighting down her nervousness as they approached the table, Jane’s fingers curled reflexively into her palms and she winced, glancing down at her left hand. Another weakness she had to hide. She had taken off the bandage and tape and tried to use make-up to conceal the mottled bruising, but the purple and yellow ripening on her skin had been too vivid and she had been forced to borrow yet another item of clothing from Collette—a pair of short black satin gloves, frilled at the wrist.
A couple of hours out of its strapping wouldn’t affect the healing of her bones, she had told herself, not if she was careful to avoid putting any undue pressure on the outside of her hand. She didn’t want to be accused of playing on Ryan Blair’s sympathies—if he had any— any more than she desired to see him gloat over the backfiring o
f her grand gesture of contempt.
There was no evidence that her blow had had any lasting effect on him, she noted sourly as he rose to greet her. His sculptured mouth and hard jaw were unmarred by any blemish, a testimony to his apparently unassailable physical superiority.
She noticed with a small sting of satisfaction that his blue eyes had dilated at the sight of her dress. He appeared momentarily transfixed by the beads, which were sparkling brilliantly under the light from the chandelier immediately overhead. The knowledge that she had managed to surprise him was a fillip to her battle-scarred spirits. Score one for Collette! Jane allowed herself a tiny smile of triumph as she inclined her head in a dignified greeting and sank down into the padded velvet chair drawn out by the mâitre d’.
‘Dressing the part?’ he murmured, a quizzical light entering the intense blue gaze as it returned to her face.
She tensed, sensing an insult in the cryptic, barely audible remark. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said haughtily.
He sat down, smiling at her in a way that made her skin prickle all over.
‘You’re looking delightfully...bold and adventurous this evening,’ he rephrased smoothly, signalling for drinks without taking his eyes off her wary expression.
Her thick black eyebrows lowered. ‘Thank you,’ she grated, the polite words simmering with resentment.
‘My pleasure...Jane,’ he responded, with a hard glimmer of amusement which goaded her into forgetting that she had vowed to be cool and conciliatory, no matter what the provocation.
‘You’re looking rather exquisite yourself, Ryan,’ she bit back with insulting sweetness.
Unfortunately, the flattery was no more than truth. In a white linen jacket that emphasised the breadth of his shoulders, a dark blue silk shirt and black trousers, he looked the epitome of male elegance, and his blunt, handsome features, alive with the aggressive energy which infused his personality, had an impact that even Jane was unable to deny.
He knew it, too, damn him! The man oozed self-confidence as he settled back in his chair, looking even more amused at her ungracious response to his remark.
‘Quite a mutual admiration society, aren’t we?’ he drawled. ‘What would you like to drink? I’m going to have a vodka martini, with a twist.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse anything alcoholic—she was going to need a completely clear head to deal with this devious swine—but his innocent question acquired the insidious flavour of a challenge as it filtered through her suspicious mind.
‘I’ll have the same,’ she told the hovering wine waiter coolly.