by Sara Craven
For reasons best known to himself—reasons he couldn't fathom—she seemed determined to hang in there. She wanted to make the marriage work somehow—even at a distance. And he had to respect her decision, and her needs, even if he disagreed profoundly with them.
The last time they'd talked on the telephone she'd sounded more hopeful—even chirpy. He wasn't going to be the one to bring that defeated note back into her voice.
What he hadn't allowed for was Olivia's stubborn determination to have Jeremy herself.
Indeed, he found it well-nigh incredible that someone as basically worthless as Jeremy should have two women desperate to spend their lives with him.
Either he has hidden qualities I know nothing about or he's one hell of a stud, he thought cynically.
Or was it simply that Jeremy was Olivia's first love, and she'd elevated him on to some kind of pedestal?
Whatever, it was clear that all was not perfect in the Garden of Eden, so he'd see what a little concentrated temptation could do. Find out if he could lead Olivia astray. Beguile her into falling in love a little.
He'd be doing her a favour, after all, because he couldn't see any future for her with Jeremy, even if Maria gave up the struggle and divorced him.
And he wouldn't do any lasting damage, he told himself defensively as he stripped off his clothes.
All the same, a persistent image of her—the vulnerable slant of her neck and shoulders as she'd sat in front of that damned computer—kept coming into his mind. Haunting him, he realised without pleasure.
And as he turned the shower jet on full he knew it would be a long time before he felt clean again.
Fool. Raving idiot Crazy woman, Olivia apostrophised herself as she carefully applied a coating of mascara to her lashes.
She still couldn't believe she was actually doing this— dressing to go out to dinner with Declan Malone. It must have been shock, she decided, as she replaced the mascara wand in its tube. Because she'd never really thought he'd agree to stop hassling her about Jeremy. Nor could she fathom why he'd given up so easily.
Yes, she'd located a missing file, but that could hardly account for such an extravagant show of gratitude. Particularly when, only a few hours ago, he'd given the impression he wanted to wring her neck.
Ah, well, she shrugged. Mine not to reason why. And it's a meal, after all.
It was also better than sitting around hoping Jeremy would call, but she wasn't going to think about that now.
She stood back, examining herself in the mirror, adjusting the fit of her black dress over her hips. It was one of her favourites, sleeveless and square-necked, cut straight and slim to mid-calf, and fastened all the way down the front by large mother-of-pearl buttons. Over it she was wearing a grey linen hip-length jacket.
Fashionably drab, she thought critically, adding a soft pink lustre to her lips.
Declan's brisk knock at the door was punctual to the second.
For a moment she was tempted not to answer. To hide in the kitchen till he'd gone. But common sense told her that he'd only go and get a key from Sasha, and she'd no wish to suffer the humiliation of being discovered cringing in a corner.
So, she pinned on a resolute smile and threw open the door. 'Good evening.'
'Good evening yourself.' Declan handed her the flowers he was carrying—twelve pink roses, wrapped in Cellophane and decorated with trailing ribbons. 'A small peace offering,' he murmured. To ensure the armistice holds.'
'Oh.' To her annoyance, Olivia realised she was blushing. She ducked her head swiftly, inhaling the sweet, subtle fragrance. 'Thank you. I—I'll put them in water.'
'The florist said to fill the sink and give them a good soaking.' He came in, closing the door behind him. 'Arrange them later.'
He seemed very relaxed, and completely at home, she thought with slight vexation, as she dashed to the kitchen.
He was no taller than Jeremy, and certainly not as heavily built, yet his presence diminished the room, somehow—overpowered it.
He was wearing dark grey pants and a pale blue shirt, open at the neck, the sleeves turned casually back over his forearms, and he carried a thin tweed jacket slung over one shoulder. Under the overhead light, his dark hair gleamed like living silk.
Olivia took in these details with one swift look as she came back, and felt something clench painfully inside her.
'I thought we'd go to an Italian place I know,' Declan said, ushering her up the outside steps. 'Do you like Italian food? Because if not…'
'No, I love it,' she assured him.
He lifted a hand, and a cruising cab glided respectfully to a halt beside them.
'Heavens,' Olivia said. 'Is life always as easy as that for you?'
'No.' Declan opened the taxi door for her to get in. 'I had to ask you three times to have dinner—remember?
She sat down as far into the corner as she could get, smoothing her skirt decorously over her knees as he took his place beside her.
She said, 'I didn't think you meant it.'
'You saved my life today. Was I supposed to take it for granted?'
'I didn't do that much,' she said awkwardly. The technician would have done as well.'
'When he showed up,' he agreed. 'But you were in place, and you stepped in.'
He paused. 'And I gave you a hard time too. It was particularly dumb of me not to have backed up the disk, and I didn't like being reminded of my own stupidity. I'm sorry.'
'Gratitude one minute—apologies another.' Olivia shook her head in mock wonder. 'What next, I ask myself?'
He said slowly, 'I'd say—whatever we both happen to want.'
The words seemed to hang in the air between them. Startled, Olivia risked a swift sideways glance, but he was leaning back in his own corner, his face in shadow so that she couldn't see his expression.
But he seemed to be implying that a greater intimacy might be forged between them, and that was ridiculous. Impossible.
When he spoke again, his voice was casually friendly again, so maybe she was being over-imaginative. 'The guy who owns this restaurant is from Venice. Have you ever been there?'
'Once. A schoolfriend and I went for a weekend city break. Our parents arranged it as a reward for passing our A levels.' She laughed. 'That was a long time ago.'
'Maybe it's time you paid another visit.'
'Yes, I should.' It would make a wonderful place for a honeymoon, she thought, with sudden dreaminess.
'But a rather more romantic one, perhaps,' he added silk, as if he'd picked up what she was thinking.
Olivia bit her lip. Memo to self: Stop being so transparent, she muttered silently. You're dealing with an expert on mind-probing here.
The restaurant was tucked away in a side-street It consisted of several inter-connected rooms with tiled floors, lamplit tables covered in crisp white linen and lots of green plants in wall brackets. The proprietor's wife greeted them with smiling warmth, before conducting them to a secluded table for two.
There were a number of people already seated, and Olivia was uncomfortably aware of a stir of interest as they passed and Declan was recognised.
She could tell by the reactions of the women that their stares and whispered comments weren't purely on the grounds of his celebrity status, but because he was a dynamically attractive man. Sexual charisma by the cartload.
She felt conscious, as she registered the curious looks that came her way too, that she was wearing a department store dress and jacket rather than a designer outfit.
I don't fit the image at all, she thought with a mental shrug. But, after all, it's only for one evening. It's not as if I'll be seeing him again… And paused right there as something dangerously like a flicker of regret came and went in her head.
She was glad to sit down and bury her rather flushed face in the menu.
'Any particular likes or dislikes?' Declan smiled at her.
'Not really.' Her nose was twitching at the aroma of garlic, wine and herbs hangin
g evocatively in the air. 'I've just realised I'm starving,' she confessed.
'You mean you're not on some diet which cuts out all that makes life worth living?' Declan raised his brows in mock astonishment. 'My God, this promises to be a night to remember. Shall we go for it?
'Why not?' She returned his grin with a touch of uncertainty. The temptation to relax—go with the flow—was almost overwhelming. Almost. Yet a warning voice was whispering in her ear, Take care.
They made their choice, and a bottle of ice-cold Frascati was brought to the table together with some mineral water.
'So,' Declan said when the waiter had withdrawn, 'what shall we drink to?
'Happiness?' Olivia suggested with a hint of challenge.
'Happiness,' he echoed mockingly. 'Whatever form it takes,' he added, touching his glass to hers.
Olivia wasn't sure that was what she'd meant at all, but decided not to contest the point. At least, not on an empty stomach, she thought, as the crisp wine caressed her throat.
'And are you happy?' he asked. 'In London, I mean?' he went on, as Olivia gave him a sharp look.
'I expect I'll get used to it in time. Although I haven't really seen much of it yet.'
'People who live here rarely do,' he said. 'They seem to stick very much to their own communities.'
Olivia shook her head. 'That won't do for me. I want to go everywhere—Buckingham Palace, Madame Tussaud's, the Zoo, the Tower—' She broke off, grimacing. 'I suppose that's very uncool.'
'And incredibly refreshing.' There was an odd note in his voice, and he was frowning slightly. He paused. 'Tell me, how do you come to know so much about computers?'
'That was my job in Bristol. I did on-site training in offices—one to one and in groups. You have to come up with the answers pretty quickly in that situation.'
'I see.' His frown deepened. 'And now you find yourself temping?'
'Yes.' Olivia lifted her chin. 'Is there something wrong with that?'
'You tell me.' He passed her the dish of black olives which had been placed on the table with a basket of bread. 'It seems to me you gave up a hell of a lot to come here.'
'Clearly I thought it was worth it' She gave him a level look.
'Indeed.' There seemed to be a sardonic twist to his mouth, or was it just a trick of the light? She couldn't be sure. 'I hope you continue to think so.'
'What does that mean?' She stiffened.
'I mean when you've finished all your sightseeing, and the novelty's worn off, and you have to settle down to being just another commuter.' He drank some of his wine. 'And I think the evening might go better if you stopped looking for ulterior motives in my every utterance,' he added drily.
'Does that mean there aren't any?' Olivia raised her brows.
'Certainly not,' he drawled, and laughed out loud at the suddenly arrested expression on her face. 'For one thing, I've been commissioned to make sure you continue to work for us. I gather you have doubts. I'm supposed to charm them away.'
'I can't think why you should want to.'
'Because you're sweet-tempered, decorative, and a pleasure to have about the place,' Declan said promptly, startling an unwilling laugh from her in turn. 'You also seem to know Scriptec inside out, which makes you almost unique and definitely irreplaceable.' He paused. 'I might lose another file tomorrow.'
Olivia shook her head. 'I don't think so. And you have the Hogarth technician to fall back on.'
'Ah,' he said softly, the silvery eyes glinting at her. 'But I'd much prefer to fall back on you.'
'And there are software programs coming out all the time which locate missing stuff on the hard drive,' Olivia went on, trying to ignore the fact that she was blushing again. 'FailSafe is supposed to be good. I suggest you consider it.' She paused. 'So much less trouble than a human being.'
'I'm really beginning to think so. However, I tend to leave the technical details to other people,' he said, with a touch of dryness. 'I've learned basic skills, but I'm not a lover of machines.'
'But you work in a high-tech media,' Olivia objected.
'Because I'm obliged to. Left to myself, I'd probably be stuck in my garret, using a quill pen.'
'Some garret.' She smiled reluctantly as their first course arrived.
They'd chosen bruschetta—toasted wedges of garlic bread, some thick with pat£, others with a delicious mix of tomatoes, olives and olive oil.
'Wow,' Olivia said as she took the first bite. This packs quite a punch.'
'Don't worry,' Declan said soothingly. 'Garlic's fine as long as you both have some. I mention it for future reference only,' he added swiftly as her brows snapped together. 'Maybe you'll come here with Jeremy.'
'I thought we'd agreed not to mention him.'
'A slip of the tongue.' His voice was smooth. 'Forgive me, and let's concentrate on our food.'
That was easily done. They finished off the Frascati with the black linguine and scallops which followed, and drank Chianti with their main course of venison, served with a sharp cherry sauce.
They talked over the meal, avoiding vexed topics, Declan keeping her amused with stories of the famous and the infamous that he'd encountered during his journalistic career, and encouraging her to talk about herself too—asking her about her family, her childhood, all her early hopes and dreams.
And Olivia, forgetting that he was one of television's most skilled interrogators, responded happily.
They had fruit and cheese for dessert, ending with tiny cups of strong espresso coffee and Strega.
By the time they'd finished, Olivia had the feeling that the buttons of her dress were straining uncomfortably. She sat back with a sigh of pure repletion.
'That was so wonderful.'
'I'm glad you enjoyed it.' The amused note in his voice made her wonder if her enthusiasm had been as totally unchic as her sightseeing programme. 'But has it softened your heart towards Academy Productions?'
'I—don't know.' She felt oddly flattened. 'I told the agency I'd consider it, but I don't think it's—my kind of environment.'
Declan lifted his glass, studying the colour of the Strega. 'If it's any incentive,' he said, 'you wouldn't be working exclusively for me.'
'Oh, but it's not that,' she said hurriedly. 'Besides, we have a truce—don't we?'
'So we do,' he said softly. 'I was almost forgetting. But a truce often means a temporary cessation of hostilities. I'd prefer a lasting peace. What do you think?'
She felt totally at a loss. She looked down, tracing the rim of her saucer with a forefinger.
'Yes.' She swallowed. 'If that's what you want.'
'Yes,' he said, 'Believe me, I want that—very much.'
She had the curious sensation that she was enclosed in some private world with him, held in thrall by the lamplight. His words were like fingers gently brushing her skin, making her shiver inwardly. Turning her mouth dry.
And if she looked up, met the intentness of his silvery gaze across the table, she knew she would be lost for ever.
In a voice she barely recognised as her own, she said, 'We seem to be the last people here. Maybe we should leave.'
'I don't think Gianna will throw us into the street quite yet Would you like some more coffee? Another Strega?'
'No, thank you.' She sounded like her maiden aunt But the last thing she needed in the world was any more alcohol.
That was it, of course, she thought She'd had too much wine. That was why she was thinking nonsense. The only reason.
She tried a small laugh. 'I may be working tomorrow— somewhere. I really should go home.'
'Just as you wish,' Declan said, and signalled for the bill.
In the taxi, she sat huddled defensively in her corner, trying to make herself invisible, remembering what had happened with Jeremy. Dreading history repeating itself.
But Declan showed no sign of wishing to leap on her. On the contrary, he seemed totally lost in his thoughts, she thought, stealing a glance at his profile.
> 'Well, thank you again,' she said, too brightly, as the cab dropped them both at Lancey Terrace.
'I enjoyed it too, Olivia.' He paused. 'Friends?'
The breath seemed to catch in her throat Because it occurred to her with the suddenness of a bolt of lightning that she didn't want to be friends with Declan at all. She wanted…
She closed her mind against the appalling—the unutterable idea that had come to her. Banished it Exorcised it for ever.
She said huskily, 'Well—not enemies, anyway.'
Then I'll make do with that.' He held out his hand. 'Let's say goodnight as convention demands.'
Because she had no choice, and good manners demanded it, she put her hand in his. And felt him pull her gently forward. She should have resisted. But instead she allowed him to draw her close. So near, indeed, that the points of her breasts were grazing his chest.
There was no doubt about his intention, she realised dazedly. She looked up at him, pleadingly, her lips parting to say no, and felt his mouth cover hers, warmly, sensuously, lingeringly. Was aware of her body blooming—melt-ing in sudden sharp delight which only ended when he lifted his head and stepped back.
'God bless convention,' he murmured. 'Sleep tight, Olivia.'
Hand pressed to her burning lips, heart drumming unevenly against her ribs, she watched him walk away down the street And could only be thankful he would never have the least idea how desperately she wanted to call him back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The alarm shrilled and Olivia turned wearily over, punching it into silence. She lay back on her pillow, arms folded behind her head, and stared up at the ceiling.
'What a mess,' she said aloud 'What an unholy, boiling mess.'
How long could it be before Jeremy knew that she'd not only been out to dinner with another man, but stood in a London street and allowed him to kiss her? And not a peck on the cheek either, she thought dismally. But the real thing.
Declan was probably telling him now, over the cereal and croissants. Always supposing he hadn't woken him the night before with the glad tidings. She suppressed a groan.
