might just need it because the vibes coming off the man beside her and even Winsome seemed strained.
It was beginning to look like Connor hadn’t been too pleased after all with the invitation his grandmother had issued. She had the sudden horrible thought that maybe he hadn’t even known she was coming until she’d arrived.
A different waiter appeared and stood poised with pen over notepad as he took Winsome’s order and then turned to her. ‘Your preference for the meal, madam?’
Kelsie looked back at the menu in her hand. ‘The broiled lobster and potato and chive whirls, thank you. And the Christmas pudding.’ He nodded and lifted a brow at Connor. ‘Sir?’
Kelsie glanced to her left out the window and counted to ten, told herself to relax, breathe, as Connor gave his order, and almost envied the freedom of the tumbling stream that ran along beside the railway line. It looked freezing outside and every now and then they passed another house with a decorated Christmas tree in their window. The cold outside would almost be preferable to the stifling atmosphere inside.
Connor had ordered, the silence lengthened, and his leg seemed to be sending off waves of heat from beside hers, until finally she turned to his grandmother with a forced smile. ‘The countryside is lovely.’
Connor was at a loss. Damn his grandmother’s meddling. He felt unexpectedly blown away by the pulsing awareness he could feel just sitting next to Kelsie and that awareness was consuming him.
But as he watched her struggle for conversation, despite his own turmoil he could feel himself soften as she tried to carry the conversation by herself. She’d always been more of an enthusiastic listener. He’d probably bored her silly over the years. He should lighten up and help her out, if only for Gran.
‘So tell us about Venice.’
He said it at the same time as she turned to him and blurted out, ‘I’m so sorry I hurt you, Connor.’
Good grief. He hadn’t expected her to go straight for the jugular. He felt his face heat, something it hadn’t done for years, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. He resisted the urge to turn his head and see if anyone else had heard.
All the frustration and anger he’d damped down at the station an hour ago rose again. The last place he needed it was right here in front of everyone, and now she’d apologised he’d have to be all amenable and say that it was fine.
Well, it wasn’t! She’d gutted him. But he didn’t want to say that either, so he wasn’t going there, and hopefully, with a hint, she would just drop it.
‘Perhaps we could leave that for a less public place.’
He heard the sting in the words as soon as they were out, and regretted it. The sudden blankness of her expression almost hid her shock—but he knew it was there. A part of him even mourned the Kelsie who would have shown every emotion, but this new woman was made of sterner stuff, it seemed, and for the first time he wondered if she would give as good as she got if he really let go.
But she said, ‘Of course,’ and he watched her long fingers play with her scarf, his senses ignoring his cold logic of disliking her, and marvelled that the material was the exact colour of her eyes.
Then she smiled with apparently unruffled composure at his grandmother. ‘Venice was gorgeous with the decorations and fairy lights, wasn’t it? Where did you stay?’
They carried on the conversation without him.
CONNOR WISHED NOW he had sat opposite Kelsie so he could see her face because while her profile, he had to admit, was achingly familiar, he wanted expressions and he wasn’t getting any.
Not that he deserved what He wanted after such a harsh come-back to her apology. Not at all like him to speak before he thought and be unkind. He couldn’t remember that last time he’d let his mouth get away from him. Consideration was in his life blood.
He was known for his unflustered take on the most emotive issues and that was why he did so well with infertility issues. Someone had to offer a clear mind. And keep it that way.
His grandmother was expounding on the virtues of the Hotel Cipriani, across the Grand Canal from the Doge’s Palace, and he listened with half an ear as his libido poked him and suggested that even if he didn’t want to talk about it maybe it would be a good idea to work out just why Ms Summers had left him high and dry all those years ago.
It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed his mind once or twice since he’d last seen her.
The one time he’d tracked her down, after a mutual acquaintance had mentioned her on one of his visits back to Australia, he’d phoned and spoken to a fellow named Steve, her fiancé apparently, and that had been that.
He glanced at her bare fingers and wondered dryly who’d run away this time? Him… or her again?
Maybe she was one of those serial bride-to-bes who made a habit of leaving at the last moment.
He remembered a movie his grandmother had made him watch and steeled himself towards Kelsie again. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of the past or in response to the definite attraction he could feel pounding between them, but he was finding it hard to concentrate on anything else except the woman sitting so close to him.
He didn’t like that either.
‘So you spent the whole time on your own?’ The voice was his but the tone belonged to a different person. Not what he’d intended and he saw his grandmother lift her brows in reproof.
Kelsie coped admirably. ‘I joined tour groups and made friends at the hotel.’ She raised her own finely arched brows at him. ‘I’m a good mixer.’
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