‘GO AND see what’s keeping that girl, Ryan,’ Bill said when ten to eight came round and Laura still hadn’t made an appearance downstairs.
Ryan had spent a sociable twenty minutes in the elegantly furnished living room, talking to Laura’s cousin and his pretty blonde wife and sampling some of Bill’s top-quality scotch. Laura’s grandmother hadn’t joined them for drinks but she would be at dinner, he’d been told. His earlier irritation had dissipated somewhat with Laura’s absence. But it seemed his respite was at an end.
‘She’s probably still having trouble with her hair,’ he said, repeating the excuse he’d made for her not accompanying him downstairs at seven thirty.
‘Yes, well, Cynthia said dinner would be served precisely at eight,’ Bill said ruefully. ‘And when Cynthia says eight, she means eight.’
Ryan knew Laura wouldn’t want to offend her aunt or anyone else in the family. This weekend was supposedly about impressing them.
‘I’ll go get her,’ he said, and headed for the double doors which led out into the main hallway. He was just approaching the bottom of the staircase when Laura appeared at the top.
He couldn’t help it—he stared. And then he swore, a crude four-letter word which echoed what he would have liked to do to her in no uncertain terms. Fortunately, he hadn’t said it loud enough for her to hear.
‘You’d better get yourself down here,’ he managed between gritted teeth. ‘The natives are getting restless.’
And so am I, by God, he thought agitatedly as he watched her sashay down the stairs.
No one would have recognised her as the drearily dressed creature that showed up at his office every Friday. He’d thought she looked pretty good today when he’d picked her up. But this was something else.
She was shockingly gorgeous in that low-cut red dress and those incredible shoes. He didn’t know where to look at first, his eyes raking over her impressive cleavage before dropping to her shapely legs which were on show as she moved slowly down the stairs. He’d always thought her legs were good. But in those shoes, they looked unbelievable. Not wanting to ogle her like some lecher, he lifted his eyes back up to her face. No peace there, however. Made up, and with her expertly waved hair moving slinkily around her bare neck, she looked like one of the sultry screen-sirens of the forties and fifties. Ava Gardner, with a bit of Lauren Bacall thrown in.
There had been times in Ryan’s life when he’d regretted things he’d done. He supposed everyone had regrets. But right at this moment he really regretted telling Laura that he’d sleep on the floor tonight.
‘I think I made a mistake telling you to buy a red dress,’ he bit out when she finally made it to the bottom of the stairs.
She seemed taken aback. ‘You don’t like it?’
He laughed a dry laugh. ‘You know damned well that I like it. You look absolutely stunning.’
‘Thank you,’ Laura said, thrilling to his compliment. ‘You look pretty good yourself.’
‘In this old thing?’ he returned, smiling a crooked smile.
It wasn’t the first time Laura had seen him in a suit and tie. But usually his suit was business black, the shirt white and his tie a conventional grey or blue. Tonight he was wearing a single-breasted one-button charcoal-grey suit combined with a silk shirt in a burgundy colour and a striped tie in burgundy and silver. He looked every inch an irresistible man of the world.
She wondered momentarily just how many lovers he’d had. Hundreds, no doubt. Whereas she’d had the grand sum of two.
But she was going to crank up that number to three tonight, or die trying. Not of humiliation, she hoped.
Surely he would not reject her? She’d seen the hunger in his eyes just now. All she had to do was convince him that she wasn’t the fragile emotional flower that he thought she was.
‘Ryan,’ she said abruptly when he stopped at the lounge and reached for the knob.
‘What?’ he returned a tad impatiently.
Laura cleared the lump which had suddenly filled her throat. ‘I … er … don’t want you to sleep on the floor tonight,’ she blurted out, trying not to blush but failing miserably.
Ryan’s eyes narrowed as they ran over her once more. ‘I see,’ he said, and she wondered what it was that he saw.
‘So it was just an act up in the room just now?’ he went on.
Laura winced. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, and blushed some more.
‘There’s no need to feel embarrassed. I’m flattered that you want me enough to bother playing games, since that’s clearly not your style. Frankly, however, I’d much rather you were straightforward with me. I despise deception and hypocrisy and holier-than-thou attitudes towards sex. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to get laid, Laura. As long as you don’t make a big deal out of it.’ He looked at her, banked heat in his eyes. ‘Are you sure this is definitely something you want to do? Think about it over dinner and we’ll speak later on. Okay?’
Clearly, he didn’t expect an answer. Opening the door, he cupped her elbow and ushered her into the lounge.
Dinner was a triumph and a trial. Everyone thought she looked fantastic, and said so, even Aunt Cynthia. The food was surprisingly good, the wine superb and the conversation lively. If Laura didn’t say all that much, no one seemed to notice. Once everyone had stopped complimenting her on her appearance, the attention had naturally swung to Ryan who was a much more interesting subject. Shane bombarded him with questions about his soccer career. So did Bill. Jane seemed content to just sit and smile at the happy couple across the table.
Laura could not have felt less content. Or less hungry—for food, that was.
She could not stop thinking about what Ryan had said. What if, because of her so-called sensitivity, he ultimately rejected her again? What if he did indeed sleep on the floor and leave her to lie in that big bed all alone, all night long? How could she bear it? She could hardly bear sitting here at this table, listening to everyone talking absolute rubbish and making each course last much longer than it should. Didn’t they know that she wanted the meal over and done with in record time? She had to know one way or another what was going to happen. Not knowing was killing her.
By ten, dessert had finally been cleared away and they all moved back into the front lounge, where Cynthia served up coffee in ridiculously small gilt-rimmed cups that she no doubt thought elegant. Laura supposed they were. She didn’t want coffee at first, until she remembered that coffee kept you awake. After that, she had her cup refilled three times from the large silver coffee-pot which they were told had once belonged to a French Count and which Cynthia had bought online. When Gran declared she was tired and wanted to go to bed, she asked Laura to take her. Naturally, she couldn’t refuse. As she rose from the sofa, Bill also stood up, suggesting the men retire to the billiard room whilst the women cleared up. In the past, Laura would have made some cutting remark over this chauvinistic attitude, but decided to bite her tongue this time. She did, however, glance
