Because he was too good a companion, as she'd discovered today. She could talk to him more easily than anyone she'd ever met She loved his humour, and the swift, caustic remarks which gave it an edge. She'd liked the good-natured way he'd responded to the autograph-hunters.
Working with him hadn't helped either, she brooded. The atmosphere in the office was high-powered-electric. She was interested and involved-determined to match the intellectual demands he made of her. Caught up in his effortless dynamism.
And that was where it should have stopped. Out of working hours, she should have stayed totally aloof. Fought the disloyal yearnings which tormented her. And which had so nearly brought her to ruin.
But not again. Never again, she told herself with steely determination.
The cabbie's bored, 'In your own time, darling,' alerted her to the fact that she was back at Lancey Terrace.
She wouldn't wait for Jeremy to find somewhere, she thought, as she let herself into the basement and switched on the light She would find herself another place to live- as far from Declan as possible. Some of the girls at Academy were in flat-shares, and vacancies were always cropping up. Maybe she could move into one of them. Live the life of a single girl, instead of depending on Jeremy for her happiness.
And maybe he'd want her more if she wasn't quite so readily available.
As for Declan, he knew she was alone and vulnerable for the rest of the weekend, so that had to change. She needed to absent herself completely in case he came prowling again, because, shamefully, she didn't know how immune she was to his particular brand of temptation.
I'll get an early train and go home for the day, she told herself with determination, reaching for her mobile phone to call her parents.
And if she never saw Declan again outside working hours then surely she'd be safe-wouldn't she?
Declan slammed the front door behind him, and tossed his keys on to the hall table. He stood for a moment, eyes closed, a hand raking almost savagely through his dark hair as he tried to come to terms with what he'd done.
When he'd arrived at Claudia's flat a couple of hours earlier, his suspicions that he was the trophy guest had been confirmed. The dinner had been superb-she was a gifted and imaginative cook-and the wines well-chosen. The conversation had been relaxed and enjoyable, and when the coffee and Armagnac had been drunk the rest of the party, well-primed, had made excuses and left them alone together.
The setting had been perfect. Claudia had left him, his glass refilled, on the enormous sofa in her lamplit drawing room while she said goodnight to her other guests. When she'd rejoined him, she'd released her hair from the loose knot she'd worn all evening, and brushed it loose on her shoulders. In addition, she'd discreetly freshened her scent, renewed her lipstick, and undone an extra button on her black velvet shirt, affording him a tantalising glimpse of the creamy curves of her breasts.
The message had been covert, but unmistakable. And also imperative, he conceded wryly. She'd meant him to make love to her, and that had been his intention too. His sole reason for being there, in fact.
But he didn't want her. That was the ghastly, incontrovertible truth which had assaulted him. She was a lovely girl, with a sparkling personality and a delectable body, yet he'd felt-neuter. Even if she'd stripped naked, and he'd been able to tell she was considering it, her fingers casually toying with the next button on her shirt, it would have made no difference.
His body might have responded, he acknowledged ruefully. But it would have been no more than a conditioned reflex, his mind and emotions totally disengaged.
And she didn't deserve to be used. She was worth far more than that.
He had felt her puzzlement as she'd chatted, softly and huskily, watching him from under her lashes. Wondering why he didn't move closer-touch her-kiss her.
The shock in her face when he'd got abruptly to his feet, apologising, offering the lame excuse of an early-morning meeting, would haunt him, he thought grimly. Then pride, thankfully, had come to her rescue, and she'd covered well, smiling, agreeing that it was getting late, and that she had a full day coming up too.
He'd got out of the flat somehow, sparing her the insult of the casual goodnight kiss which would only have added to her deserved sense of injury.
When he'd accepted her invitation he'd known what the score was. The bargain had been made-and then, too late, he'd reneged on it.
He knew without pleasure or conceit that Claudia would be shattered-humiliated by his behaviour. What he'd done was unforgivable, and he could never excuse or explain it either to her or to himself.
What the hell's wrong with me? he demanded explosively. Am I going crazy?
He'd felt on edge, restless all day. He'd decided first thing that he'd get out of London, and had phoned some old friends who lived near Maidenhead, inviting himself to lunch. But even a relaxed day at Charles and Tess's comfortable cluttered house, and the pleasure of playing with his young godson hadn't worked its usual miracle.
'It's time you got married and had kids of your own,' Tess had chided as he'd sat at the kitchen table, turning the business section of the Sunday Times into a paper hat for the baby tucked into the crook of his arm. 'Are you seeing anyone?'
'Now and then.' He'd pulled a laughing face at her.
'And is it serious?' She'd been in bulldog mode, refusing to let go.
'Maybe,' he'd returned lightly. 'I'll keep you posted.'
'I won't hold my breath.'
As he'd driven home he'd reflected that she was probably right, and that Claudia, maybe, could be the one after all. Perhaps he was a fool to wait any longer. To hope for the sudden stunning realisation that here was the woman he'd been waiting for all his life, and that he would want no other.
In these uncertain times it could be that a level of physical attraction coupled with the same interests was a safer basis for a lasting relationship.
And then he'd thought of his parents. Seen in his mind's eye his mother's shy, mischievous smile when her husband looked at her in a particular way, even after all their years together, and he had known he'd settle for nothing less.
But was that why he'd behaved like the biggest bastard in the Western world and left Claudia hurt and bewildered?
God only knows, he thought wearily. Because I don't.
He was still racked by the same feelings of uncertainty and self-disgust when he arrived, later than usual, at work the next day.
As he walked into the office, Olivia swung round from her desk and looked at him. She was pale, her eyes wide and serious, her hair dragged unbecomingly back from her face and confined at the nape of her neck by a tortoiseshell clip.
And he knew in a sudden blinding moment of self-revelation why he hadn't stayed with Claudia last night Realised he wanted to walk across the room and pull her hair loose, lifting the soft silky strands to his lips, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder and breathing the delicate fresh scent of her skin.
And that he would want to do that for the rest of his life. Because there was no one else in the world who could fill his heart and make him complete.
The shock of it seemed to drive all the breath out of his lungs, and he found himself suddenly leaning against the frame of the door because he was shaking inside, and terrified that his legs wouldn't support him.
'Are you all right?' She was getting to her feet. If she came across the room to him he'd be lost.
'Hangover,' he lied, in a voice he barely recognised. 'Hold my calls for a bit, would you?'
The men's room was deserted. He filled the basin with cold water, splashing it across his wrists and onto his face.
When, eventually, he raised his head and looked at himself in the mirror, his face was haggard, his mouth harsh and set.
I laid the bait, he thought with anguish. I set the trap- and now I'm caught in it myself. And she doesn't give a damn about me. She's still caught up with that worthless piece of trash.
And-somehow-I have to live with that. If I can.
CHAPTER TEN
When Declan did not return to the office, Olivia realised he'd gone straight into his scheduled meeting.
He must have been on one hell of a bender, because he'd looked really ill, she thought with a pang, although, admittedly, his condition didn't deserve that much sympathy.
He'd looked at her as if he didn't recognise her. Almost as if he'd forgotten she'd taken Kim's place.
She wondered if it was the aftermath of her birthday which had prompted Him to drink too much. If he might have regretted his attempt at seduction and been angered by her rejection of his advances.
But she couldn't really believe that. He wouldn't take it that seriously, she told herself. He'd just shrug it off with one of his crooked grins. Phone another lady on the list.