The Bitter Price Of Love. AMANDA BROWNING

       CHAPTER ONE

      IT WAS late. The party, which had been going on for hours, was slowly winding down. Finding herself temporarily alone, Reba Wyeth set down her half-empty glass and moved towards the patio door which gave access to the roof-garden of this penthouse apartment. Outside the air was cooler, free of the smoke which irritated her eyes. Down below, and as far as the eye could see, the city sparkled. New York. A faint smile curved her lips. The city was at her feet in more ways than one, so shouldn’t she feel happier? She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms. There was too much on her mind. Too much anxiety and concern. Everything was taking so long, and time was running out.

      ‘So there you are!’ a slightly scolding voice declared, and she turned, smiling at the man who came to join her.

      Eliot Thorson III was universally considered to be quite a catch. He was in his late twenties, tall, tanned, with golden hair and blue eyes. Not only had he inherited a well-known chain of hotels, but he had an apartment in Manhattan and three others in LA, Paris and Rome. He also owned a string of polo ponies and an enormous yacht. Despite all of this, Reba had long ago decided he was a thoroughly nice man, whose only defect was that he was generous to a fault. She fought a constant battle to stop him showering her with anything she had shown the slightest interest in.

      He also, to the dismay of her soft heart, thought he was in love with her. She didn’t feel the same, and hadn’t encouraged him in any way to think she might reciprocate. She could, of course, stop seeing him, but it seemed a drastic action, because he was a good friend and she enjoyed his company. She just hoped he would come to see, as she had, that it was an infatuation which would pass in time.

      ‘It was so stuffy in there, I needed to get some fresh air,’ she explained, and shivered again. It might be summer, but it could still be chilly in the small hours.

      ‘You’ll get more than fresh air; you’ll catch cold,’ Eliot pronounced, slipping off his dinner-jacket and placing it about her shoulders. ‘There, feel better?’ he asked, and when she nodded, he pulled her against him, holding her gently.

      Reba didn’t protest. She had never felt threatened or overwhelmed by Eliot. She liked him. Liked him a lot. ‘Always the perfect gentleman,’ she teased lightly.

      ‘I’m glad you noticed,’ Eliot observed wryly, then, after a long, companionable silence, added, ‘When are you going to marry me, Reba?’

      ‘Marry you?’ Reba exclaimed, taken aback. This was a totally new development, and one she, rather naively, hadn’t expected. She should have done; even though she thought it was infatuation, he didn’t.

      A fact he underlined now. ‘Don’t sound so surprised. You know I love you, don’t you?’

      She hated hurting people, and struggled to frame a careful reply. ‘Yes, but are you sure, Eliot? You know, men fall in love with models all the time,’ she said gently, hoping he would see reason.

      Eliot shook his head. ‘This isn’t like that. I love you, Reba. I want to take care of you and make you happy. Please say you’ll marry me.’

      Reba eased herself free, so that she could look into his serious face. ‘Oh, Eliot, I care for you very much, but I don’t love you,’ she pointed out unhappily.

      The admission didn’t dent his confidence one bit. ‘You will, if you let yourself.’

      She had to laugh, albeit nervously. ‘You’re impossible! You can’t know that!’