but an air of cold remoteness had descended on their relationship which never thawed. Adultery had destroyed his parents’ marriage, plus his own respect for his mother. It was the ultimate betrayal, in his opinion, and Jordan wanted no part of it!
He decided then and there to ask Erica to marry him this very night. Make the commitment official, after which he would sweep her off to bed. That should set his equilibrium to right!
‘By all means call me Mr Vine-Hall, if you’re more comfortable with that,’ Jordan resumed, his tone crisp. ‘I wouldn’t like you to think I was trying to come on to a married woman.’
Bonnie swallowed. Had she been thinking that? Admittedly, she’d been flustered by his suddenly being nice to her, but she hadn’t really stopped to find a reason for it. Her brain seemed to have been scrambled by his smile along with her body.
She steeled herself and looked over at him. He was no longer smiling, but when their eyes met an electric charge seemed to sizzle across the space between them, making her stomach tighten and her breasts prickle alarmingly, Intuition told her that he would come on to her if she weren’t a married woman.
Tell him you’re not married, whispered an insidious little voice. Tell him you’re a widow.
She clenched her jaw underneath the force of the temptation, shuddering inside as she remembered where her carnal weaknesses had led her last time—to hell and back. No way could she risk such treatment again. No way. Let him continue to think she was married. It was the only wise course of action.
‘Of course I don’t think that, Jordan,’ she said, amazing herself at the cool tone she’d found in her desperation. ‘I can recognise a gentleman when I see one. Now, there’s a place at Bateau Bay which I’d like to show you. The lady who owns it is sure to be home and doesn’t mind if I drop in at any time.’
His returning smile was rather wry, she thought, but infinitely preferable to his earlier, disturbingly sensual offering. ‘I’m totally at your disposal,’ he said.
Bonnie managed to keep a straight face, despite her decidedly x-rated thoughts. God, she was wicked. Wicked and weak. She’d been afraid this would happen to her one day. No, not afraid—terrified! She’d always known it was still there, deadly and dormant, despite those last months of marriage having seemingly frozen every desire for sex she had ever had.
OK, so it had taken an exceptional man to melt her ice, but still... that ice had proven to be a disconcertingly thin layer. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her mind skittering from one erotic image to another, couldn’t stop her body flooding with a sexual awareness that was both appalling yet insidiously exciting.
Hating herself, she carefully put on her right-hand indicator and headed north.
Jordan didn’t like the first place she showed him. Too large, he said. Or the second. Too small. Or the third. Too noisy. The fourth seemed to find some favour, though he would not be drawn into over-effusiveness. By this time it was half-past one and when he suggested that they stop somewhere for a bite to eat Bonnie reluctantly agreed. Already, time spent with the man had increased her awareness of his physical attractions. Added to that was an admiration of the man himself, and what he did for a living.
He was a barrister. Not an ordinary barrister, either. A queen’s counsel. It was no wonder he was impressive, not only in his looks but his general bearing. Never had Bonnie seen a man carry himself with such superb aplomb. Or was the word panache?
Whatever, there was no doubt he was the most self-contained, self-possessed man she had ever come across, not to mention the most attractive. The prospect of just the two of them having an intimate little lunch together was daunting indeed. But she could hardly object. Besides, she was starving herself.
They ended up at a café in a small shopping square in Erina which had umbrellaed tables outside in the sun and a delightful little menu. Bonnie chose a vegetable pie with a side-salad and coffee, Jordan opting for the same, but with chips and a bread roll included.
‘Have you been selling real estate long?’ was his first question after they’d given their orders.
‘Two years,’ she admitted, reminding herself to be careful not to accidentally reveal her widow status. Continuing with the ruse was more difficult than she’d realised. A couple of times already she’d almost unconsciously given the game away.
‘You’re good,’ he said. ‘Refreshingly honest and not pushy. I’ll bet you’ve been very successful.’
‘I have been of late. I even won a pewter mug for best salesperson last month.’
‘Ahh...’
His ‘ahh’ sparked her curiosity. ‘What do you mean by “ahh”?’
‘Nothing, really. Do you work at the weekend?’
‘Almost always.’
That eyebrow lifted again. It was a habit of his, she realised, the gesture carrying a range of expressions from merely curious to cynical to drily amused to downright sarcastic. She could well imagine him using it to good effect in court to undermine a witness’s testimony, or as a clever personal aside with the jury. She could see him now, setting those jet-black eyes of his on some highly susceptible woman juror, lifting that eyebrow and immediately creating an intimate little bond between them.
‘What about this weekend?’ he asked. ‘Will you be working this weekend?’
‘Yes.’
His frown confused her a little. What was it he wanted to do this weekend? Surely he wasn’t going to ask her out, not when he thought her a married woman?
Such a prospect should have shocked her. Instead, she found it unnervingly exciting.
‘Right,’ he said curtly ‘In that case I’d like to bring my fiancée up this Saturday, once we’ve narrowed the choices down to a couple of places.’
Bonnie felt the breath leave her lungs in a whoosh. A fianceé... He had a fiancée.
Well, of course he has, you stupid idiot! Either that or a wife. What did you expect? Men like Jordan Vine-Hall don’t go round unsnapped up unless they’re perennial playboys or gay.
Bonnie suspected she looked as dismayed as she felt. Which was crazy. She should be grateful, since it put him firmly beyond her reach. God, get it together, girl, she told herself firmly. ‘What time would you like me to be available?’ she asked, avoiding his eyes and struggling to keep her voice steady.
When he didn’t answer, she glanced up, only to find him staring at her with narrowed eyes.
‘Doesn’t your husband find it annoying to have you work every weekend?’ he asked sharply.
Bonnie decided there was no point in continuing with this fiasco, which was beginning to be a strain. Besides, what would happen if someone back at the office let the cat out of the bag? She would look a fool.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said simply. ‘I didn’t realise you didn’t know. I’m a widow. My husband died three years ago.’
Jordan felt as if someone had just punched him in the stomach. A widow. She was a widow!
Goddammit, he thought savagely.
