God, she made him mad.
That disapproving little chin of hers would no doubt go up when he arrived, just as it had the morning he’d left. Not that she’d come down to see him off, but he’d seen her, making sure he left from her balcony window.
And that was fine with him. He’d told himself all along not to touch her and nothing good came from not following sound advice.
Finally sick of trying to convince himself that the wine was drinkable, Dare dumped his glass on a nearby table.
‘Ah, Dare, I think that’s part of the exhibition,’ Lucy said.
Dare glanced back at the tall white column and noticed the small card halfway down the side.
‘Now it’s also useful,’ he said. ‘Are you ready to leave?’
Lucy curled into his side. ‘Whenever you are, lover.’
Yeah, Carly Evans should definitely be here right now taking notes.
He thought about the ruby necklace in her handbag. She’d said no one important had given it to her but the poor shmuck must have been at some point.
But why was he back to thinking about her?
She was history and the lovely Lucy was not.
He smiled at Lucy and fitted his arm around her slender waist, guiding her through the throng of fancy-dressed art lovers. Or art haters, if they liked this showing.
Or was that him being judgmental again?
Him? Judgmental?
After living with a father like his Dare knew things were rarely as they seemed, which was why he was such a good analyst. He usually reserved his judgment until all the facts were in.
‘Dare? Dare?’
Dare glanced down at Lucy. ‘What?’
She gave a small laugh. ‘Nothing...you just stopped. I wondered if you wanted something.’
‘An exorcist?’
‘Sorry?’ Her laugh this time was tinged with nerves. She drew her blood-red fingernails down the lapel of his jacket. ‘I don’t know any of those offhand.’
What had Carly’s fingernails been like? He hadn’t paid any attention to that detail, too busy taking in other parts of her. The graceful arc of her neck, the gentle swell of her small breasts, those long, long legs.
He looked at Lucy. ‘It was a joke.’
‘Oh!’ she murmured. ‘You’re in a strange mood tonight.’
‘Tell me about it.’
He sidestepped a cluster of yuppies and finally spotted the main door.
Thank God for small mercies.
Short. Her fingernails had been short. He remembered the way they’d felt when she’d stroked the nape of his neck and then—he swore softly.
Lucy looked at him as if he’d suddenly morphed into an alien being.
Making a decision, he directed her outside, surprising Mark in the process, who scrambled to open the passenger door for him. Dare waved him off and placed Lucy inside. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be with one woman while he was still thinking about another.
‘A change of plans,’ he said apologetically. ‘I’ll have Mark drop you home—or somewhere else, if you prefer.’
Lucy bestowed him with a benevolent smile. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Whose name?’
‘The woman you’ve been thinking about all night.’
Dare hacked out a laugh. ‘It’s just work.’
Lucy all but rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve known you for three years now and work has never put a frown on your face before.’
‘I’ve had bad days,’ he defended. How could she know him that well when he struggled to remember her surname?
She shook her head. ‘You thrive on bad days. This is something else.’ She shrugged. ‘A woman was my first guess.’
Dare grunted. It pained him to admit that she was right. ‘I’ll call you,’ he said instead.
She sighed and leaned back against the upholstery. ‘I won’t hold my breath.’
Dare tapped the roof of the car and Mark shot away from the kerb, leaving Dare to either catch a cab or walk home.
He glanced at the sky and turned towards the river. It couldn’t be that far to Eaton Square on foot.
An hour later and Dare was reconsidering his decision. His feet hurt and his hair was plastered to his head from the rain that had come out of nowhere. Grimacing, he gave up the ghost and ducked into a small café that was still open.