and sweatshirt, a damp towel hugging his neck, and trainers. He looked disturbingly male, all bunched muscle, and the faint sheen of sweat leaving patches of damp on a tee shirt that clung to wide shoulders, a broad chest.
Nicos took in the briefcase, the business suit, the stiletto heels, and slanted an eyebrow.
‘An early start?’
‘Yes,’ Katrina agreed evenly. She could put in some time on the computer before her secretary arrived and the day began in earnest.
He used the edge of the towel to blot moisture beading his forehead. ‘Don’t wait dinner. I’ll be late.’
‘So will I,’ she responded without thought, and stepped towards the internal door leading to the garage.
What on earth had prompted her to say that, when she hadn’t planned a thing? She could ring Siobhan and suggest they eat out, she contemplated as she fired the engine and eased her car towards the gates. Maybe take in an art gallery, or a foreign movie.
The day progressed with only a few minor irritations. She contacted Harry, and arranged to meet him in her lunch-hour at the townhouses where, in typical Harry-style, he overrode her suggestions with the air of one who knows best.
‘Muted green carpet, a mix of pale apricot, peach and shades of cream for the paintwork and soft furnishings, darling.’ He caught her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, then drew a wide arc with one arm. ‘It will be truly magnifica.’
‘Not blue?’ she teased, and caught his pained expression. ‘Okay,’ she capitulated with a warm smile. ‘Suppose you tell me what colour scheme you’ve devised for the adjoining townhouse?’
Harry waxed lyrical, as only Harry could, and she wrangled a little, because he expected it, and they achieved a compromise with which each was quietly pleased.
She had a good eye for a bargain, a knack for being able to envisage the finished product, and the two adjoining townhouses numbered her third property purchase in the past year. Each one had been completely redecorated by Harry’s team of contractors, and sold for a handsome profit. As she cut him a percentage of that profit, he had more than the usual interest in each project.
‘I’m looking at something in Surrey Hills.’ It was an older suburb, parts of which were becoming trendy among the ‘double income, no kids’ set.
Harry’s eyes sharpened. ‘A terrace house?’
‘Three, actually.’
‘Solid structure?’ He fired off a number of questions, then requested the address. ‘I’ll go check them out, and get back to you.’
He would, she knew, make them a priority, and as she drove back into the city she wondered if his vision would match her own.
Three terrace houses might be a bit ambitious, but they were in a block of six, situated in a prime position, and formed part of a deceased estate which the family wanted sold.
The afternoon was busy. She left the office late, and went directly to meet Siobhan at the small, trendy restaurant a friend had recommended. New owners, a fresh decor and an appealing menu provided an excellent meal.
The film Katrina chose was a slick Spanish comedy with English subtitles, containing wry, often black humour, and afterwards they shared coffee.
Her mother was great company, with an infectious wit, and very much her daughter’s friend, for they shared an equality that dispensed with any generation gap.
‘Are you coping okay?’ Siobhan queried gently as she reached forward and caught hold of Katrina’s hands, the touch warm, brief.
‘Now, there’s an ambiguous question.’ She managed a smile. ‘Care to define it?’
‘Living with Nicos.’
The term held connotations Katrina didn’t want to think about. ‘Separate rooms, separate lives.’
A succinct summary that didn’t come close to describing the electric tension apparent. It was a latent force, a constant reminder of what they’d once shared, and she rode an emotional see-saw trying to deal with it.
Siobhan wisely kept her own counsel. She knew her daughter well. Enough not to pursue a sensitive subject. ‘More coffee, darling?’
Katrina shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’ She spared her watch a glance and saw that it was close to midnight. ‘I really should get—’ she faltered on the verge of saying home. ‘Back.’
Nicos’s Mercedes was in the garage when she drove in, and lights glowed in the house.
He appeared from the direction of the study as she entered the lobby. He’d discarded his jacket and tie, had loosened the two top shirt buttons, and had rolled up his sleeve cuffs.
‘Interesting evening?’
She could prevaricate and almost did, except something in those dark eyes warned against defiance. ‘Dinner and a movie with Siobhan,’ she elucidated. ‘We lingered over coffee.’ If he could question her whereabouts, she could query his. ‘Yours?’
‘Dinner with a client.’
‘Who won?’ It was a facetious query, and one that brought a faint, humorous twist to the edge of his mouth.
‘I achieved a narrow winning margin.’
Of course. Nicos didn’t play to lose. ‘Congratulations.’
He inclined his head. ‘A business colleague has issued a dinner invitation for tomorrow evening.’
‘How nice for you.’
‘Naturally I expect you to accompany me.’
Naturally. ‘What if I choose not to?’
‘I thought we’d agreed to present a united front?’
‘In that case, you won’t object accompanying me to the ballet next Monday evening?’ Katrina countered with a sweet smile. Nicos enjoyed the arts, but that did not include classical dance.
His gaze narrowed. ‘You have tickets?’
‘Of course.’ A visiting Russian troupe had ensured a bookings sell-out, and she’d intended to invite a friend. Now she hastily revised her plans to include Nicos.
Her smile broadened. ‘It’s called negotiation. A term you’re very familiar with.’
‘Done.’
‘In that case,’ she said sweetly. ‘I’ll say goodnight.’ Without a further word she turned and ascended the stairs.
KATRINA dressed with care, choosing an elegant, fitted gown in cream ecru. The intricate small crystal and pearl beading made the top a work of art, extending to the hipline, where
