Made him feel a little guilty? Her mouth twisted icily. Well, he would soon forget her again. He always did. It would probably be years before she heard from him once more.
She dropped the card on the kitchen table and walked through to the bathroom to take a quick shower, then went to her bedroom, in her short black towelling robe, to put on a black bra and panties, then a matching, filmy black slip. Clicking through the clothes in her wardrobe, she finally picked out a simple black tunic dress, sleeveless, with a scoop neckline, and a hem just above the knee. If Matt Hearne should turn out to have expectations she had no intention of fulfilling it would help if she looked a trifle austere.
With her blonde hair swept up into a French pleat behind her head, tied there with a large black bow set with a diamanté clasp, her face smoothly made up, lips pale pink, lids brushed with green shadow which had a faint glitter to it, her reflection was elegant and cool.
Automatically she added a touch of her favourite French perfume on pulse points—at her wrists, behind her ears, in the hollow of her throat—then started violently as her front doorbell rang and spilled a little perfume on her dress and the carpet.
Groaning, she stoppered the bottle and put it back on the dressing table.
That’s all I need—to smell like a brothel! she thought, brushing her dress and waving her arms about to disperse the strong smell of perfume.
Why did he have to be early? She wasn’t ready to cope with him yet; she needed more time.
Why am I so nervous? she wondered, staring into the mirror and seeing a darkness, an anxiety in her eyes.
She had had so many business dinners and lunches with men, in the past, both alone and with Don. Why was it different this time? Pull yourself together! she told her reflection. He’s just another man. Nothing is different. You can deal with Matt Hearne.
He rang the doorbell again. Bianca dragged a cool mask over her face, took a deep breath, turned and picked up her purse and a warm cashmere wrap, because although it had been a warm spring day it was chillier now, and went to open the door.
She found him leaning casually against the wall outside, long and lean and elegant in tailor-made evening clothes, which made him look even taller, slimmer, his waist clipped by the smooth-fitting waistcoat, those very long legs smoothly encased in dark trousers, a white carnation in his buttonhole.
Bianca’s breath caught in her throat. Why did he have to be so attractive?
‘I was beginning to suspect you’d forgotten I was coming,’ he drawled, those cynical blue eyes flickering all over her, making a strange, hot pulse start to beat inside her body.
What is the matter with me? she angrily asked herself. She must stop behaving like a schoolgirl finding herself alone with a man for the first time in her life.
‘Sorry,’ she said tersely. ‘You’re early. I wasn’t quite ready.’
‘Are you ready now?’ he queried, one brow lifting in teasing query, and she thought, No! I need more time. Go away; come back later. Maybe then I’ll have got myself under control.
But she couldn’t say that because it would betray a weakness and in this fight between them she must never let him imagine he could win. She had to stay in command, give the impression she was invulnerable, he wouldn’t get anywhere with her.
It worried her that she was already having to struggle to keep her cool. Why did this man get under her skin, bother her so much? She had never felt this sort of reaction to anyone else. Oh, she had found men attractive, from time to time, but had always stayed calm, in control, had never felt this disturbing awareness before.
‘Do you want me to come in and wait while you finish getting ready?’ he offered.
‘No!’ she said, far too quickly, and saw amusement glint in his eyes. Crossly pulling the red cashmere wrap around her throat with hands that weren’t quite steady, she said, ‘I’m quite ready now, shall we go?’
She closed her front door; Matt Hearne stood back to allow her to go down the stairs first. In the communal hallway of the apartment block they met one of her neighbours, a young man in jeans and a vivid striped sweater, who gave her a smile, nodding.
‘Hi, Bee.’
‘Hello, Gary,’ she said coldly, stalking past. A medical student at a London teaching hospital, he was the only son of wealthy parents who had spoilt him.
One night soon after he’d arrived he had come back drunk and tried to push his way into her flat. They had had quite a tussle until she managed to thrust him out and lock her door. He had banged for ten minutes before giving up and going downstairs. He had a studio flat at the back of the ground floor where he played heavy metal rock, far too loud, infuriating the other tenants, who would have had him evicted if the whole house had not been owned by one of Gary’s doting aunts.
To do him credit, Gary had come up next day with a bunch of flowers and an apology, but Bianca had kept him at a distance ever since. She did not want a repeat performance of his attempt to get into her flat.
Matt Hearne gave her an amused look, asking softly, ‘An admirer?’
‘A nuisance,’ was all she said, going out of the building.
A sleek white sports car was parked outside the gate, under the street lamp. Bianca eyed it appreciatively, slowing to stop beside it. ‘Is that yours?’
He shot her a sideways glance. ‘Do you like it?’
‘Love it,’ she said, wishing she owned it. It must cost a fortune, which would be right out of her reach. ‘It looks very fast. What can it do?’
‘A hundred and fifty, if I put my foot down.’
‘Please don’t, tonight,’ she said.
He walked round to open the passenger door and held it open while she got into the car, eyeing her long legs with sensual appraisal. Bianca wished she had not worn such a short dress. Sitting down in the low-slung vehicle instantly made her skirt rise. Hurriedly, she smoothed her skirt down to her knees again while Matt Hearne watched, his mouth twitching with mocking enjoyment.
He shut the door at last and came round to get behind the wheel, his lean body gracefully adjusting to the driver’s seat. His long legs almost touched hers, his left arm brushed her elbow, and she hurriedly jerked away. She was intensely conscious of being close to him in a very small space, of the light fragrance of whatever aftershave he was wearing, of his slow, calm breathing, his hands lightly resting on the wheel, the possibility of contact, of touching him.
Her mouth was suddenly dry. She stared at his hands—powerful, elegant, a sprinkle of dark hair on the backs of them, his long fingers shifting to start the car with a roar like a lion.
The silence was making her ears beat with hot blood. As he drove off, fast, she swallowed and asked, ‘Where are we going?’
‘My favourite restaurant, Les Sylphides…it only opened this year but the cooking is marvellous. French provincial, with new twists. I hope you like French food?’
‘I do,’ she said. ‘We often eat it. I’m surprised I’ve never heard of this place. I thought I knew every good restaurant in town.’
‘This
