Abigail Gordon - Chasing Summer - Date with Destiny / Marooned with the Maverick / A Summer Wedding at Willowmere

‘I’m sorry,’ she blinked vapidly. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

He withdrew his arm from hers and gave her a sharp look. ‘Don’t take me for a fool, Salome,’ he warned darkly. ‘I know when a woman has devious thoughts ticking over in her brain. And I know when she’s trying to hide something.’

She gave a light laugh, but underneath she was genuinely worried. Mike was an astute and intelligent man. And a dedicated womaniser, if the gossip she had heard about him was correct. Had she unwittingly given something away a moment ago? She hoped not, but, if she had, the best thing was to try to confuse the enemy immediately.

‘Surely you aren’t imagining I’m planning to replace Ralph with you, are you, Mike?’ she teased, green eyes mocking.

His black gaze narrowed. ‘Hardly.’

‘Then stop glowering at me. You’re quite safe. All I was thinking earlier was how strange it was that you should be the first man I’d go out with after my divorce.’

Too late, she realised that even this was an admission.

His left eyebrow lifted. ‘I find it hard to believe I’m your first male escort since Ralph.’

She silently thanked his distrust of her. ‘Well...’ She let her voice trail away tellingly, but her heart was in her mouth. ‘One doesn’t always go out ...’ She considered it the lesser of two evils if he thought she’d had a lover or two. Better than his jumping to the conclusion that he alone had captured her sexual interest in fourteen months.

Mike’s mouth tightened at this revelation, his gaze hardening to the cynical expression she had known and hated from her nights at Angellini’s. It was depressing that any ground she had made in changing his opinion of her had probably been lost, but it couldn’t be helped. Perhaps it was just as well, anyway, since he was to be a neighbour, that he be kept at a distance. Doubtless, after tonight, he wouldn’t be rushing to ask her out again.

‘I suppose I should have known better,’ he drawled, ‘than to think a woman like you would do without—er—shall we say male “companionship”, for want of a better word?’

Salome buried any hurt beneath a wall of bitter sarcasm. ‘My, my, you do have a high opinion of me, don’t you? One wonders what you’re doing here with me at all. Or were you thinking of sacrificing yourself later tonight to appease my—er—”loneliness”, for want of a better word?’

A muscle in his jaw clenched, then released to make way for a black smile. ‘My neighbourly offers of friendship don’t usually extend quite that far.’

‘Oh, dear, I’m crushed.’

‘Of course, I wouldn’t like to see a lady suffer. If the worst came to the worst, I suppose I could always lie back and think of Australia.’

‘Don’t you mean England?’ she countered tartly.

‘Poetic licence. Look, do you think we could cut this charming repartee short till I can get some food into my mouth? I haven’t eaten for hours and I’m in dire need.’

‘By all means,’ she tossed back. ‘I happen to be hungry too, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.’

He chuckled. ‘Come on, then. I know when I’ve gone as far as I can go. Dinner it is!’ And he took her arm.

Salome was quite happy to be stampeded across the car park in blissful silence. She had felt her blood-pressure rising dramatically beneath her increasingly tart replies. Though not from temper. The cause was far more perturbing.

Mike’s retort about lying back had projected a vivid and erotic mental image into her imagination, sending the blood roaring through her veins. Even now her mind’s eye held a tantalising vision of him, naked and supine on her bed. He wasn’t alone either. She was there, making the most amazingly abandoned love to him.

Shock rippled deep inside Salome. It was incredible! Impossible! This couldn’t be her thinking things like that! It wasn’t as though making love had ever brought her any physical pleasure. Why should she be craving it with this man all of a sudden?

Yet, as her eyes slid sidewards to flick surreptitiously over him, she was consumed by urges so wanton and so primitive that she had to bite her lips to stop herself from groaning out loud. Currents seemed to be racing down her limbs into her fingertips and toes. A clamminess was spreading over her skin. Her mouth felt dry, her lips needing moisture.

As for her breasts...Salome was bitterly regretting her decision not to wear a bra. As it was, she was fiercely conscious of the movement of her breasts as she walked, the way her nipples were rubbing to painful hardness against her clothing.

‘I know this place doesn’t look much,’ Mike remarked as they approached the windowless façde of the restaurant, ‘but it improves once inside.’

Salome dragged her mind out of its dungeon of horrors to really look at the building for the first time. It was a solid square two-storeyed structure, painted an unprepossessing dark brown, with ‘MARTINE’S’ in gilt letters over a heavy-looking wooden door.

Mike moved ahead slightly up the front steps, the door yielding reluctantly to his push. He held it open and waved her inside. Salome stepped into the dimly lit, air-conditioned interior, her whole insides twisted as tight as a coiled spring. The door closed behind her, giving her an entombed feeling. She glanced around nervously as Mike drew to her side.

He was right about the restaurant. The interior was quiet and dark and intimate, with a small black and white tiled lobby, a classy-looking bar on their left, a flight of stairs straight ahead, and offices, Salome guessed, behind the closed door to her right. An attractive dark-haired woman in her late thirties and a smart black dress floated down the stairs, smiling at Mike as she approached. ‘Mr Angellini,’ she murmured with a gracious nod. ‘Your usual table has been reserved for you.’

Salome’s agitation was momentarily distracted when she followed the woman to the top of the stairs and realised why Mike had chosen this particular place to eat. Clearly, it wasn’t far from their block of units, since the wide windows on the upper floor displayed the same splendid view Salome had seen from her penthouse balcony that afternoon. Except that now it was night-time, with Darling Harbour, the city and the bridge ablaze with lights, their glittering reflections dancing in the black waters that lapped the foreshores.

Salome hesitated only briefly to admire the view before continuing her trek between the tables at the woman’s heels. Her eyes automatically noted and assessed the quality cream tablecloths and napkins, the comfortable cane-backed chairs, the silver candlesticks and the assorted potted palms placed discreetly for extra privacy. A place of class, without being ostentatious.

They were shown to the most private table of all, tucked away in a dimly lit corner, but still with an unimpeded view, a reserved-for-Angellini card propped up against the silver candlestick. Recalling the woman’s words that this was Mike’s usual table sent an ironic little smile to Salome’s lips. This was not his usual sort of date, though, was it?

Salome no longer had the slightest worry about Mike making a pass at her tonight. She knew he wouldn’t. Beneath his drily amused tolerance and neighbourly goodwill, he still despised her morals. It was all rather a sick joke, the way she kept wanting him, despite everything. He would probably laugh, if he knew.

Once they were seated, their hostess handed out the menus, lit the single candle, then asked if they would like a pre-dinner drink. Mike glanced questioningly over at Salome, but all she could think of was how brilliantly his eyes gleamed by candle-light and how sensuous his mouth looked in shadow. ‘Salome?’ he prompted.