crew had descended upon him.
And going to lunch with him that first time had definitely been a mistake, in hindsight, she also conceded.
Because he’d done nothing at all to cement her playboy image of him—the opposite if anything. He’d told her about his particular passion—for rocks, as it happened. He was a geologist, he told her, and, be they iron ore, gold, silver, tin or diamond-bearing rocks, he found them exceedingly fascinating. He’d also told her he was never happier than when he was prospecting, living in a tent somewhere.
Prepared for a sophisticated, seductive onslaught of some kind, she had relaxed unwittingly. Three hours later, she’d been unable to believe the time had passed so swiftly, or been so interesting.
And Nick Hunter had watched the slight confusion that came to her expression with a little glint of something she couldn’t identify at the time in his dark eyes.
Because he was aware that beneath her TV persona there lurked a different Skye Belmont; he had divined it at their first encounter when her beautiful sky-blue eyes had been distinctly cool. And, although he couldn’t put his finger on it, it had been enough to intrigue him. In what way could she be different underneath from all the other bright, worldly girls who littered his path? And if so—why?
Had Skye been privy to his thoughts at the time, she would have known that he also knew exactly how to reel her in… It was something she was later to throw up at him.
He’d ended the lunch on a friendly, casual note, made no reference to their meeting again and left her with an oddly intimate handshake. She hadn’t heard from him again for two months.
For the first week of those two months she’d been strangely insulated from just about everything, work included. Because she couldn’t get over how much she’d enjoyed Nick Hunter’s company, how ordinary it had been—yet not ordinary at all. He’d been witty, serious, he’d got her to talk about her opinions on books, films, politics, and had responded in kind. It had been like having lunch with a very good friend.
At the same time, though, there’d been this sudden awareness of him flowing through her. Not, at first, in a particularly sensual way but little things—such as how she liked that he was lean and rangy, she liked his hands and the way he smiled, his voice. It had only occurred to her after they’d parted that just once his dark eyes had rested on her in a way that was particularly adult.
It had been in the moment of confusion when she’d realized they’d spent three whole hours together. And that drifting gaze had, almost objectively, she thought later, seen through her clothes but, more, read her soul.
This discovery had caused her to shiver slightly for a reason she couldn’t explain, but the more she thought about it, the more she saw it as a danger sign—and the more everything about Nick Hunter started to plague her. Then the weeks had passed and her feeling of friendship, already eroded, had hardened into something she despised herself for but couldn’t help—sheer pique.
So the fact that he caught her completely unprepared two months after their lunch, and not as the result of him getting in touch with her, didn’t help her much.
She tried, as she lay on her bed, to resist being transported back in time to that meeting but it was useless…
‘Going my way, lady?’
The voice was the voice of her rather bitter dreams but it brought her up short in the act of stepping into a lift in a smart city hotel, on her way to a cocktail party to celebrate the release of a new wine.
She turned slowly with her heart suddenly pounding, and Nick Hunter was standing behind her, all the lean length of him clad in black: black open-necked shirt, black trousers and with his straight dark hair flopping on his forehead.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said unoriginally, although she wasn’t unhappy with the lack of enthusiasm in her voice.
‘Mmm,’ he murmured, letting his gaze drift over her in that disturbing way he had, ‘and a very beautiful-looking you, Ms Belmont. But cool. Distinctly cool…’
The word seemed to dangle in the air between them as she looked down at herself in some confusion.
She wore a short, bias-cut dress with a vee neck in a floating silk georgette over a taffeta slip. The cap sleeves were unlined, the colour was a beautiful Prussian blue with a shadowy dusky pink pattern on it and she wore silver high-heeled sandals. Her long, slender legs were bare and her fair hair was in its natural curly bob to her shoulders. She wore a minimum of make-up and her lips were painted a dusky pink. All she carried was a tiny blue purse.
‘Should I be any different?’ she asked, having used the moment to banish the confusion and starch her soul against this man, as their gazes caught and held again.
He smiled, as if with inner amusement that she might not be adult enough to be privy to, and said, ‘I thought we were friends? We certainly seemed to be the last time we met.’
Skye blinked, conscious immediately of the trap she’d fallen into, and for a moment her expression defied description.
This time Nick Hunter laughed softly. But at the same time he possessed himself of her hand. ‘Look, I’ve been overseas. For quite a bit longer than I’d originally planned, I’m afraid. Would it be too much to hope that we’re going to the same cocktail party?’
Skye opened her mouth, shut it then said, ‘I’m going to the launch of this new wine. I don’t know about you.’
He laughed again and ushered her into the lift. ‘I am now.’
She stared at him. ‘Do you mean…?’
‘Precisely,’ he drawled. ‘I intend to come to the wine party with you.’
‘But if you haven’t got an invitation—and what about the one you were invited to anyway?’
‘I never seem to have any trouble getting into parties whether I’m invited or not,’ he commented gravely. ‘And the one I was going to will be deadly dull in comparison—’
‘So why…?’
‘Because you won’t be there,’ he finished softly.
Skye blushed and he watched the colour surge beneath her smooth skin, which had the effect of making her feel hotter than ever.
But as she cast around in her mind for a suitable rejoinder he grimaced, kissed her knuckles lightly and said, ‘Shall we be friends again?’
He was right. He was more than welcome at the cocktail party; the producers of the new wine were even old friends of his, and they lamented loudly that they hadn’t known he was in the country otherwise they’d have sent him an invitation.
And Skye watched, somewhat bemused, because Nick Hunter in action at a party was a sight to behold. Everyone seemed to know him and be delighted to see him. Including some very attractive women who hung on his every word.
But, after about an hour, he came back to Skye’s side and said for her ears alone, ‘I’ve had rather a good idea. Shall we go?’
She moistened her lips. ‘Where?’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘I
