yellow lines.
‘I’m due a ticket,’ he said, nodding in the direction of a purposefully approaching traffic warden. ‘If you get in without argument we can be away before she gets here. We need to talk.’
Regan vacillated momentarily before giving in to the undeniably stronger urge and sliding into the front passenger seat. Liam closed the door and went round to get behind the wheel, firing the ignition with a flick of a lean brown wrist and heading out into the traffic stream with scant regard for the outraged hoots of those forced to give way.
‘Needs must when the devil drives,’ he remarked, looking anything but penitent. ‘That’s a very disappointed lady we’ve left back there.’
‘It’s a very reluctant lady you have in here,’ Regan returned coolly, mustering her reserves. ‘If it hadn’t been for the warden—’
‘I know. You’d have given me my marching orders. Not that I’d have accepted them. You were coming with me whether you liked it or not.’
She gave him a swift glance, taking in the set of his jaw, the glint in his eyes—feeling her stomach muscles start to curl again. ‘Is that a fact?’ was all she could come up with.
‘Sure is.’ His lips stretched in a brief smile. ‘Like I said, we need to talk.’
‘We said all there was to say the other night,’ she retorted.
‘Not nearly! We’ve seven years to fill in for starters.’
Regan kept her tone level with an effort. ‘I’ve no intention of rehashing the past. I’d be grateful if you’d drop me off along here. I’ve a train to catch.’
‘What’s the hurry?’ he asked. ‘You’ve no one waiting for you to get home.’
Her heart jerked. ‘That’s hardly the point.’
‘I think it is. I don’t have anyone waiting for me either, so why don’t we go and find somewhere quiet and peaceful where we can relax over a drink? Soft only, in my case,’ he added as she made to speak. ‘I never touch alcohol when I’m driving.’
‘Very responsible of you,’ she commented with a caustic edge she couldn’t quite eradicate. ‘A model citizen at last!’
It was Liam’s turn to slant a glance, eyes narrowed a little. ‘I wouldn’t go as far as that, but we all learn as we go along. You’ve changed a great deal yourself. In some ways, at any rate.’
‘I’ve changed, period,’ she said flatly. ‘I’ll be thirty in a couple of months. That makes me a mature woman.’
‘Age has damn all to do with it!’ he scoffed. ‘It’s in the mind not the body. If you consider yourself mature, you’ll stop playing the reluctant maiden and join me in that drink.’
Short of leaping from the car, did she have a choice? Regan asked herself. Sarah was used to her being late home after battling through the rush hour, and would have given Jamie his tea as usual. Providing she got there in time to have half an hour or so with him before he went to bed, he would be fine.
Only this had to be it so far as Liam was concerned. One drink, then goodbye.
He took her to a backstreet inn she wouldn’t have known existed, driving into the rear yard with the authority of entitlement.
‘My watering hole for many a long year,’ he said in reply to her unspoken question. ‘The landlord granted me parking rights on the strength of it. They serve pretty good bar meals if you’re feeling hungry.’
‘Just a drink,’ Regan reiterated, already beginning to regret having agreed to even that much. He would have accepted the refusal if she’d made it firm enough: he would have had to accept it.
Broad shoulders lifted in tolerant acknowledgment. ‘Whatever you say.’
There were only three other people in the small, un-spoiled Victorian-period bar at present. Liam seated her in one of the cushioned, high-backed alcoves before going to rap on the polished mahogany counter in order to attract attention from whoever was supposed to be serving.
The big bluff man who appeared offered a casual greeting. Regan could hear the sound of voices, underlaid by music, coming from some unseen source.
‘The taproom’s through the other side,’ Liam explained when he brought their drinks over. ‘It gets pretty busy in there. Hardly hear yourselves think, much less talk.’
He seated himself opposite, still too close for comfort with only the wrought-iron table between them, his foot touching one of hers. Regan controlled the impulse to draw sharply away, settling for a slower movement instead. Even so, she could tell from the glimmer of amusement in the grey eyes that he was only too well aware of her response to the contact.
‘Nice place,’ she said in an effort to sound natural. ‘There can’t be all that many left unmodernised.’
‘One of the blights of today’s cultural trends,’ Liam agreed. ‘Which dispenses with the small talk. We have more vital subjects to discuss.’
Green eyes held grey for several, heart-thudding moments. ‘Such as what?’ Regan managed with creditable calm.
‘Such as where we go from here, having found one another again.’
The thudding increased to a sudden crescendo, diminishing again as she reviewed the situation. ‘You mean now?’ she asked with deliberation. ‘A quick visit to your flat, perhaps, for old times’ sake?’
‘Stop playing the cynic,’ he retorted. ‘That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it. Not,’ he tagged on with a glint, ‘that it would have been such a quick visit.’
Regan could imagine. His lovemaking had never been a hurried affair. Her inner thighs went into sudden spasm at the very thought. It was all she could do to conceal the emotions coursing through her.
‘Self-confidence you never lacked,’ she said acidly. ‘There was a time when it might have impressed me, but not any more.’
‘You prefer wimps these days?’ he queried. ‘Men you can manipulate?’
‘There’s such a thing as moderation,’ she flashed. ‘Not that you’re likely to understand what I’m talking about. It was always your needs that came first with you!’ She flushed as one dark brow rose in ironical comment. ‘Out of bed, at any rate.’
‘Thanks for the qualification,’ he said. ‘I’d hate to be labelled a selfish lover.’
‘Oh, I doubt if you ever give less than full satisfaction in that department!’ This time she was unable to keep the bitterness entirely at bay. She took a swallow of the gin and tonic he had ordered for her, coughing as the spirit caught the back of her throat, her eyes watering.
‘Try taking it a little more slowly,’ advised Liam with dry inflection. ‘Or not at all, if you’re only using it as a prop. I didn’t bring you here to trade insults,’ he went on when she made no answer. ‘I’ve a genuine interest.’ He studied her across the table, taking in the fine boning of her face, the heavily fringed green eyes and full, mobile mouth, his expression
