of the day in a state of nervous anticipation. She would obviously have to compromise, but how much...?
She was ready early, too early. Luckily her holiday wardrobe was limited so by the time she took a last look in the mirror she had only changed outfit three times. Then she was almost late when, halfway to the main hotel building, she realised she’d forgotten her shoes. By the time she finally entered the main hotel building carrying a pair of pretty sparkly sandals, she felt hot and breathless.
Her eyes went to the clock on the wall: still early. Why does it matter if you’re late? she asked herself as she dusted the sand off her feet and slipped on the sandals. What she would have given to have had a pair of confidence-boosting killer heels with her. Chasing round after a two-year-old meant that heels were things of the past for Lily and, as she’d been coming on this holiday alone, it hadn’t occurred to her to pack anything other than beach footwear.
‘Miss Gray.’
Lily straightened up to face the girl who had emerged from behind Reception.
‘Mr Warrender said to tell you he will be outside at six-thirty.’
In case I couldn’t read. ‘Thank you.’
‘Can I get you a cocktail?’
‘Yes,’ Lily said, feeling in desperate need of some Dutch courage for the unknown road that lay ahead.
She was outside waiting when he drew up in an open-topped, luxury four-wheel drive. Sitting in the driver’s seat, his short hair ruffled by the wind, he looked casual and elegant in an open-necked white shirt and pale biscuit linen trousers; a matching jacket lay folded on the back seat.
A hotel doorman hurried over to open the door for her. The high step into the vehicle meant she was glad of his helping hand.
As she got in beside him the nervous tension he had picked up on from a distance was more pronounced. Not the first thing he noticed about her, of course. He felt heat slither through his body leaving a molten trail that pooled hotly in his groin before he looked away.
‘Sorry if you were expecting a limo—’
‘I wasn’t,’ she said in a voice that lacked all intonation. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Someone recommended a place close by, but apparently the roads this side of the island require a four-wheel drive so—’ He left the sentence incomplete and looked at her hard for longer than was polite. She didn’t turn her head but she could feel his stare.
She was taken aback when he said, almost accusingly, ‘You smell of something...flowers...?’
She raised her arm to her face and held the inner aspect of her wrist to her nose, only getting the faintest suggestion of rose. He must have an ultra-sensitive nose or maybe he just hated the light citrusy perfume. Her slender shoulders lifted. ‘My soap.’ It was one she had used since she was a little girl.
She had used it that night and left the scent on the pillow, Ben thought.
As she struggled with her seat belt he turned his head, his hungry glance taking in the tumble of her glorious burnished loose hair swept over one shoulder. She was wearing a green dress that exposed her beautiful collarbones, shoulders and the delicate curve of her upper spine. As she leaned a little more forward adjusting her seat belt, her silky hair slithered around her face, revealing her neck. He turned his head sharply. When he began to fantasise about the back of a woman’s neck it was time to—to what exactly? He shook himself. He was here to negotiate custody terms, not sex.
It was not going to be easy and Ben knew he could not afford to blur the lines or allow himself to be distracted. It was basic logic in the art of negotiation.
‘Sorry I’m early.’ He glanced in the rear-view mirror and pulled out between the palms.
‘You weren’t. I got the note and the message.’
The tetchy note raised a lopsided grin. ‘I don’t like to be kept waiting.’
‘Now there’s a surprise.’
‘I suggest you hang on.’
She ignored the comment but a couple of minutes later decided to put safety above pride and grabbed hold of the handrail.
‘I’m told there won’t be enough room outside the place to park,’ Ben explained as he pulled the car up a short while later within sight of a magically pretty harbour. ‘Can your heels cope with the cobbles?’
Struggling not to react as she felt his eyes on her legs, Lily brushed her hand up and down the skirt of the green halter-necked dress she wore before she uncrossed her ankles.
‘I’m not wearing heels. I’ll be fine,’ she said, thinking, This was such a bad idea. ‘I wasn’t expecting dinner or—’
‘Neutral territory seemed like a good idea,’ he returned smoothly. ‘And we have to eat. Relax, it’s not a date.’
‘I never thought it was.’ She jumped down unaided before he made it around to her side. He held out a hand to help her regain her balance after her foot caught in a pothole. The road was littered with them. That was what had made the journey so bumpy—the last half-mile had been on a dirt track.
Lily conspicuously avoided his hand and eased her spine straight. She felt as though she had been riding a bucking bronco, but on the plus side negotiating the road with its hair-pin bends and the occasional oncoming vehicle on the wrong side of the road had meant he wasn’t inclined to make conversation. All that had changed: now she faced an evening of careful negotiation, of compromise.
She couldn’t afford to relax her guard for an instant, Lily reminded herself as she lifted her chin. She would not be bullied; this was going to be on her terms.
As they began to walk down the hill there was a loud blast of laughter from the harbour area. Lily turned her head in response to the sound. In the moonlight her delicate cut-glass profile made Ben catch his breath as, slim and graceful, she stepped ahead.
He lengthened his stride and, conscious of his presence beside her, Lily lost the fight against the compulsion to look up at him. In the darkness his face was all angles and planes. She looked away quickly, afraid that he’d see the shameful ache of hunger she felt when she looked at him.
‘Careful, this bit is steep.’ He caught her elbow, seeing her eyes widen revealingly at the contact that sent an electric thrill through his body too. ‘So how was it?’
‘What?’
‘Your massage.’
With no warning an image scrolled through her head, hands strong and brown, clever long fingers kneading her flesh, and she almost stumbled. It would have taken more than a massage to iron out the knots in her neck and shoulders.
‘Very relaxing,’ she lied.
The cobbled surface became more even as they entered the harbour. The transition from the empty road, fringed by rain forest, to the lively little harbour, strung with coloured lanterns and lined with
