style="font-size:15px;"> ‘I broke it.’
‘Obviously.’ She echoed his own sardonic tone of moments before. ‘Any fool can see that—but how did it happen?’
A grin curled the corners of his mouth, mocking her indignation.
‘In the army—on a training exercise.’
The smile grew, became devastating in its megawatt brilliance.
‘I had to climb a rope that I believed had been fastened securely—it hadn’t, and I fell—hard. Result—one broken nose and a badly bruised ego. Needless to say, I never trust myself to anything without double-checking now.’
‘You were in the army? When? For how long?’
‘A couple of years. I went in straight from school. My father felt I needed the discipline, and at the time I would have done anything to get away from home. It didn’t last long, though,’ he added drily. ‘Let’s say that the army and I didn’t exactly—suit one another.’
Catherine could well believe it. Even from the little she had seen of Evan she had gained an impression of someone who was too much his own man to submit willingly to the sort of unquestioning routine that was part of army life.
‘And I suppose that’s where you learned about security techniques—I understand that a lot of ex-army men go into that sort of job.’
‘The ones who don’t become night-watchmen or bodyguards.’
He was deliberately probing now; she knew that from the laser-like intensity with which those changeable eyes were fixed on her face. He was echoing her own comment earlier, wanting to push her into explaining.
‘We’d better get this coffee through to the lounge before it gets cold,’ she said, carefully ignoring his pushing. ‘Dad will be sending out a search-party for me.’
‘Is he always this over-protective?’
The question came deceptively casually, with Evan’s head turned away as he picked up the tray, but it was enough to stop her dead in her tracks, halfway towards the door.
‘What do you mean, “over-protective”?’ Her voice was pitched too high and she struggled to lower it a degree or two. ‘He’s just a normal, caring parent—’
‘Sure…’ Evan’s tone poured scorn on her indignation. ‘Look, honey, I don’t normally jump to conclusions about people, but you two don’t exactly have a run of the mill sort of relationship.’
‘I don’t know what you mean—’
‘No? Then let me tell you about this afternoon. I’ve been working with your father for days, and for some time it’s been obvious that his mind isn’t exactly on his job. Then today I called in at his office to discuss some things I needed to talk over with him. He made it plain that I’d have to make it quick—that he couldn’t be late home—and it wasn’t long before I realised that he wasn’t paying me any attention at all. In fact, his thoughts were miles away. In the end he just gave up pretending to listen and suggested that we continued our discussion at his home.’
‘So what’s wrong with that? Dad often brings work home if it’s late.’
‘It was barely five o’clock. His secretary hadn’t even finished work for the day, but Lloyd Davies, the boss of the whole outfit, says he has to go home—he’s worried about his daughter.’
The disturbing note in Evan’s voice scraped over Catherine’s exposed nerves, worsening their already raw sensitivity, and she found it impossible to meet that probing, searching gaze, concentrating instead on smoothing and folding a crumpled teatowel that lay on the draining-board, arranging it with over-meticulous care.
‘Naturally, I assumed from his concern that his daughter was a young girl—school-age at most, maybe even younger—so you can imagine my surprise when I find she’s not a child but a fully grown woman of twenty-six, someone well old enough—’
‘My father and I are very close,’ Catherine broke in on him, unable to face the prospect of the inevitable questions that she knew were coming. ‘It’s probably because the age-gap between us is so small.’
‘It’s more than that.’
‘Are you implying—?’
‘I’m implying nothing—just curious.’
‘Look, my mother left when I was barely five, and Dad and I have been together ever since. Naturally, we’re very close—very dependent—though I don’t suppose you’d understand that.’
‘And just what is that supposed to mean?’ The very quietness of Evan’s words was ominous, sending a shiver of apprehension down Catherine’s spine.
‘Well, you said you’d joined the army to get away from home. Just because you and your parents—or at least your father—didn’t get on it doesn’t mean you can judge my relationship with Dad by the same standards.’
That was definitely below the belt, she admitted privately, but refused to let herself feel guilty. After all, he had only himself to blame—he had started this line of questioning.
‘And now, if you don’t mind, I think we’ve delayed long enough. I’d like to drink my coffee before it’s completely stone-cold—even if you wouldn’t.’
And, not giving him a chance to say any more, she turned on her heel and marched off down the hall, not daring to look back to see the effect her words had had on him.
She had left him with no option but to follow, but she was pretty certain that Evan Lindsay was not the sort of man to let things rest. And from the expression on his face as he set the tray down on the coffee-table in the lounge she was worryingly aware of the fact that, far from appeasing his curiosity, she had in fact only stirred it further.
Privately she cursed her own nervousness, the tension that had driven her to overreact, responding to his questions in a way that had fuelled his interest, fanning it from a slowly smouldering ember to a brightly burning flame that would not easily be extinguished. Her stomach twisted itself into tight, painful knots of apprehension, anticipating with a terrible sense of inevitability the interrogation that she was sure must come.
She didn’t have to wait long. She had barely had time to pour the coffee and hand a cup to Evan, serving him, as their guest, first, as courtesy demanded, before the moment she had dreaded arrived.
Leaning back in his chair with a deceptively convincing display of relaxed ease, he sipped at his drink, his expression thoughtful, then he turned those turquoise eyes on her face once more, the look in them alerting her to what was to come.
‘It’s been a beautiful week hasn’t it?’ he asked easily, and, taken completely by surprise because she had been expecting something else entirely, Catherine could only manage an inarticulate murmur that might have been agreement.
Her father, however, apparently oblivious to the dark, swirling undercurrents she sensed, nodded enthusiastically.
‘Summer’s finally here, it seems—and not before time. Last month was so wet and miserable—hardly flaming
