‘I’ll be ready,’ she said, her curtness of tone matching his. How quickly he could change his mood, she thought. He’d obviously liked Milo just now, and been interested in the little boy. But now it was back to business.
They were standing so close that one tiny movement would have brought them together. And, despite everything, every pore in Cryssie’s body exuded a longing, a crushing desire, for him to hold her so tightly that breathing would be difficult—which it was at that moment!
Frantic with foreboding at the way her life seemed to be heading—an emotional path, running down hill—she implored silently, Please go now, Jed! Please!
With a sudden strong movement he opened the door to let himself out into the night, and with barely a nod of his head he walked away down the path.
She watched him go before quietly shutting the door and switching off all the lights, then made her way slowly up the stairs.
But sleep wouldn’t come that night, and she lay there, inert and confused. Confused at the realisation that Jeremy Hunter had reawakened her feminine desires in a way that terrified her. She did not want this—she did not need it! Not after all her good intentions! But her life was becoming horribly linked with Jeremy Hunter, and she felt trapped between their financial needs and her emotional dilemma.
Silently, in the darkness, the tears began to flow. Hot, wretched tears she’d not known for three years. Because she knew that the first man to kiss her for so long had done so in sheer frustration at her stubbornness. It had been nothing more than that. It was not desire, or lust, even—but white hot frustration that had driven Jeremy Hunter to momentarily overpower her. It was unthinkable that any woman should try to thwart the great man’s ambitions!
Rolling away in the taxi, Jed found his emotions churning. Over recent years he had developed a secure and satisfying shell around himself which he was determined that nothing and nobody would ever break. He was safe, impervious, emotionally water-tight.
Yet ever since Ms Crystal Rowe had crossed his path he had been in danger of falling off the emotional safety net…She had an annoying habit of getting to him! He wouldn’t easily forget the look on her face—a look of pure devastation—when he’d given her the news about his hotel plans.
He’d spent that evening alone at the pub, going over and over everything they had both said yesterday and much more importantly—remembering their unexpected clinch! What could he have been thinking of? He cursed under his breath, remembering his lack of restraint, but acknowledged that he had been gripped by something unstoppable. The fire in her eyes as she’d accused him of low behaviour towards Hydebound had lit a fire in him—a fire which had turned frustration into a boiling passion, however fleeting. He dwelt again on those few moments, and his lip curled slightly at the memory. Because he knew she had shared that passion. It had been all too recognisable! He had felt her melt into him unashamedly, just long enough for him to be acutely aware of it. And, however much she tried to portray herself as self-sufficient, determined, aloof, she was no disinterested female. That day the blood in her veins had run as hot and uncontrolled as his own!
CHAPTER SEVEN
ON THE following Sunday morning, Cryssie followed Jed along the heavily carpeted hallway of an imposing block of flats until they reached a door at the end. Going inside, he went immediately over to the huge bay window and pulled the expensive drapes back, to allow the wintry midday light to fill the corners of the room.
Cryssie tried not to let him see the expression on her face as she looked around. It was an obviously male abode, unfussy but opulent, furnished with a couple of sofas and a deep armchair, two or three low tables, and a massive flatscreen TV in the corner. A large gilt-framed mirror over the fireplace reflected the series of London prints on the wall opposite, and one or two valuable ornaments graced the ornate mantelpiece.
Jed threw his laptop onto the chair, and turned to Cryssie. ‘This is my pad—my bolthole when I’m in London,’ he explained briefly. ‘It’s a useful tool, and much more comfortable than booking in to dreary hotels all the time.’
‘A useful tool’ was hardly what Cryssie would have called it! ‘It’s very…nice,’ she said, rather lamely. ‘Obviously conveniently situated.’
‘Oh, it’s served its purpose over the few years since I bought it,’ he said ‘It’s good for entertaining business associates from time to time.’ He glanced at her. ‘We’ll go next door to Renaldo’s for something to eat in a minute, but do you want to see around the place?’ he asked. ‘I know you women are interested in such things.’ He went across the room. ‘This is the bedroom—with small dressing room attached—and here’s the bathroom, plus one airing cupboard, and over here, the kitchen.’ He smiled down at her. ‘I’ve only ever prepared coffee and toast here—oh, and a couple of omelettes, if I remember rightly.’ He paused. ‘When I entertain, the chef at Renaldo’s, the bistro next door, usually does the honours. Sends everything up—no problem. Much less fuss all round.’