his mouth unsmiling.
‘Hello, Hudson.’ It was all she could manage.
‘On holiday?’ She remembered this about him—the refusal to waste words on polite chit-chat—but apart from that the man standing in front of her could have been a stranger. Certainly in the past he had never looked at her the way he was looking at her now—his eyes narrowed and as cold as ice and his handsome face devoid of expression.
‘No, I’m...I’m working.’ Her voice was shaking but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. “This—This is my boss, Keith Gallaway,‘ she added quickly as Keith stood up slowly, his hand outstretched but his face straight. ‘Keith—Hudson de Sance.’
‘I’ve heard of you; you’re one of the best photographers money can buy.’ On the face of it the words shouldn’t have been insulting, but somehow Hudson made them so.
“Thank you.‘ Neither man smiled as they shook hands. ’I’ve heard of you too,‘ Keith said levelly. ‘If ever I need a tough lawyer to get me out of a spot I’ll call you.’ Again it wasn’t complimentary, and Marianne’s heart rose up into her mouth.
‘You couldn’t afford me.’ Hudson’s voice was pure steel.
‘I might surprise you.’
‘Very little surprises me, Mr Gallaway.’ This time the icy voice was wrapped in silk. ‘Isn’t that so, Annie?’
Annie. His pet name for her. She stared at him for a moment without speaking, her huge green eyes with their soft flecks of gold dark with bewilderment. She didn’t want to feel like this—vulnerable, exposed, frightened. He was out of her life now—he had no hold over her any more. The past was behind her.
‘Although this little lady is the exception that proves the rule.’ Hudson turned from her pale face to Keith, and now he smiled, but it was shark-like—threatening. ‘I’m sure you’ve found Marianne to be full of surprises?’ he asked smoothly.
Keith was out of his depth now and it showed. ‘Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at—’
‘No, I’m sure you don’t.’ Again the hard grey gaze moved back to Marianne, lingering for a moment on the pale gold of her hair—its riot of silky curls restrained into a high ponytail secured with black velvet ribbon—before it moved to capture her gaze. ‘But Annie does,’ he added mockingly, his voice dry and with a dark undertone that made her flush hotly before she dropped her eyes.
And then he moved on, walking swiftly past them after a terse nod at Keith and through into the hotel’s more formal dining room, where Marianne saw a tall, elegant redhead detach herself from a group of people waiting at the plate-glass doors. They exchanged a few brief words before Hudson took her arm, the party continuing out of sight through the doors and into the lush reception area.
For a moment she felt as though she was going to faint, the nausea and darkness sweeping over her in a giant wave before she forced it back by sheer will-power. Control. She had to have control.
‘What on earth was all that about?’ Keith sounded as stunned as she felt, and as her eyes turned to him she saw he was looking at her as though he had never seen her before. ‘You’ve never mentioned you know Hudson de Sance, Marianne. The man’s a walking legend in the States—more so since he took on the syndicate and won in that mega trial a couple of years back,’ he said bemusedly.
‘I used to know him.’ Keith was waiting for an answer and she heard her voice replying out of the dark vacuum her mind seemed to have fallen into. ‘But it was a long time ago.’ Two years, three months and four days, to be precise. She could even tell him the exact hours and minutes if she glanced at her watch.
‘I didn’t know you’d lived in the States.’ Keith sounded hurt, even petulant now. ‘I didn’t know you’d even visited America.’
‘I haven’t.’ She took a deep breath and prayed for the buzzing in her ears to fade. ‘Although he’s American his father’s family are still mostly in France, and my mother was French. He was visiting his grandparents some years ago when I was visiting relations in France, and we met at a party. That’s all.’ She tried for a smile but couldn’t get her tremulous mouth to obey. ‘We dated for a while,’ she finished with an effort at casualness.
‘You dated for a while?’ Keith asked shrilly. ‘You and de Sance dated?’
If she had said she’d dated Napoleon he couldn’t have sounded more amazed. ‘Yes, we dated for a while, and then it finished. End of story,’ she said tightly, meeting his eyes defiantly.
‘Marianne...’ He paused, and then said, speaking to himself more than her, ‘It clearly wasn’t Hudson who finished it.’
‘What makes you say that?’ she asked noncommittally, wanting the conversation to end but not knowing how to bring it to a conclusion.
‘His face when he saw you.’ Keith looked straight at her now, shaking his head slowly. ‘It looked much the same as when you saw him earlier. It was him you saw, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was cool and dismissive, and she shrugged as she said, ‘Can we leave it now, Keith? It’s...it’s history, as they say, and I really don’t want to discuss it further.’
‘Perhaps Hudson de Sance isn’t saying that,’ Keith said wryly. ‘And I’d say there’s plenty that man wants to discuss.’
‘I haven’t seen him in two years.’ Her voice was too sharp and she moderated it as she continued, ‘So I would say that speaks for itself. Whatever... whatever we shared is over.’
‘Hmm.’ The waiter arriving with their first course finished the conversation, but as Marianne forced each mouthful past the tight constriction in her throat the screen of her mind was replaying every frame of the last few minutes with Hudson.
He had looked wonderful. Terrifying but wonderful, she thought, trembling. At six feet four he had always towered over other men, his clothes unable to disguise the muscled strength of his big shoulders and chest, and with his jet-black hair and dark grey eyes his hardplaned, handsome face was devastatingly attractive. But she had never thought of it as cruel and cold—until to-day. Today it had been harsh and ruthless—menacing—and for the first time she could fully appreciate the fierce, merciless streak which proved so formidable in the courtroom.
He had a reputation for going straight for the jugular when he felt he was right, and he couldn’t be bought—two qualities which caused even the nastiest of criminals to tremble when they heard he was after their blood. But with her he had been tender, gentle and wonderfully sexy...
‘Marianne?’ She came out of the raw, pain-filled reverie to the realisation that Keith had been speaking and she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. ‘Where on earth are you?’ he asked, his voice testy.
‘Oh, sorry,’ she said quickly, hoping he would be mollified.
‘No, I am sorry,’ he said tightly, his brown eyes narrowed. ‘You aren’t over him, are you? A blind man could see that.’
It wasn’t really a question, but she responded as though it had been. ‘Over him? Hudson de Sance? Don’t be so silly; I told you, I haven’t seen him in two years. Anyway, there’s nothing to be over—’ She stopped abruptly. She was protesting
