What had she expected, for goodness’ sake? That he would make declarations of undying love for her this morning? Assure her he couldn’t live without her and invite her to come along with him to New York when he left later this morning?
Damn it, this was real life—not some fairy story. And they were adults, not romantic children!
They had both had a good time, but that was all it had been.
‘I’m going back to New York later on today,’ he told her dismissively. ‘But I’ll give you a call, okay?’ he added—knowing he had no intention of doing any such thing.
He should never have become personally involved with an employee in the first place, so he certainly didn’t intend to arrange to see Hebe Johnson on a social level again.
For one thing, he knew that if he met up with Hebe again, away from the gallery, then they would end up in bed together again too. Even now, looking at the soft pout of her mouth, that quicksilver hair, the willowy curves of her body in the silky blouse and fitted black trousers, he felt the stirring of desire for her—an ache he was absolutely determined to do nothing about.
She was definitely being given the brush-off, Hebe realised painfully. She wasn’t so naïve that she didn’t know that when a man said I’ll call you after spending the night, without so much as asking for your telephone number, it meant that he had no intention of ever contacting you again!
Of course Nick was slightly different, in that he could, if he wanted, get her telephone number from Personnel at the Cavendish Gallery. She just didn’t think, from his dismissive attitude this morning, that he was ever going to want to.
The excitement of having dinner with him last night, and the hours they had spent making love, and now being summararily dismissed this morning had ultimately to be the most humiliating experience of her entire life.
She couldn’t get out of here fast enough!
She looked as if she were going to make a mad dash out of here without so much as a goodbye, Nick realised. Well, that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He frowned unwittingly, acknowledging that he didn’t enjoy being on the receiving end of a casual dismissal. He was always the one to bid farewell, not the other way round.
He stood up, smiling slightly as he crossed the kitchen to put his arms about Hebe’s waist and pull her into the hardness of his body. ‘Goodbye, Hebe!’ he murmured, his arousal undeniable.
She looked up at him, five or six inches shorter than his own six feet two inches in height, her eyes golden globes of uncertainty.
Hell, she had beautiful eyes, Nick thought with an inward groan. Beautiful everything, if his memory didn’t deceive him. And he knew that it didn’t.
Maybe they could meet again after all—
No! Don’t be an idiot, Nick, he rebuked himself impatiently. Much better to just leave it like this.
Leave it, and hope that with time they would both forget last night had ever happened…
He certainly intended doing exactly that!
SIX weeks later Hebe was still waiting for the promised telephone call from Nick Cavendish.
She had been a fool ever to expect that he would phone, of course, and several conversations with Kate over the last few weeks had confirmed that Nick Cavendish did not get seriously involved with any of the women he went out with. The number of women he had been involved with since the end of his marriage, also according to Kate, had been legion, and none of them, Kate had told her wistfully—as if she’d guessed Hebe’s interest was more than casual—had ever been employees of the Cavendish Galleries.
Or if they had they very quickly hadn’t been, Hebe had decided.
In fact, she had lived most of the last six weeks half expecting to be told her employment at the Cavendish Gallery had been terminated. Of course it wasn’t as easy as that to get rid of people nowadays, but she didn’t doubt that if he wanted her out of here, Nick Cavendish would find a way.
The fact that he was—at last!—due back at the London gallery next week, in time for the opening of an exhibition they were giving was not conducive to helping Hebe concentrate on her work.
In fact, she felt decidedly clumsy today, and had been dropping things most of the morning, not seeming to be coordinated at all. Of course she knew the reason for her steadily increasing nervousness. Nick’s arrival next week was approaching with a speed that made her head spin.
Maybe she should have called in sick for a few days. She was certainly feeling more than a little green round the edges, and hadn’t even been able to eat at all today. Her anxiety at the prospect of seeing Nick again seemed to be increasing daily.
Although why she should be the one to feel so nervously on edge was beyond her. After all, Nick Cavendish had been the one to invite her out, not the other way round. And she hadn’t invited herself back to his apartment either. In fact—
‘Hebe?’ rasped an all too familiar voice after six weeks’ silence close to her ear.
She spun round sharply, at the same time dropping the name cards she had been preparing for next week’s exhibition.
‘Sorry!’ she muttered, and she bent to pick them up with shaking fingers, taking the few seconds to bring some composure back to her demeanour.
Nick wasn’t expected until next week!
‘What are you doing here?’ she prompted slowly as she straightened, eyes deeply golden in the paleness of her face.
He returned her gaze mockingly. ‘It may have escaped your memory, Hebe, but I happen to own this gallery and have an apartment on the top floor of the building; I can come here any time I damn well please!’
Well…yes…But if she had had prior notice of his earlier than expected arrival she might not have overreacted in the way she just had. As it was, she felt completely wrong-footed.
She had made her mind up, during Nick’s six weeks of silence, that she was going to be cool and composed when he did come back and would make no reference, if he didn’t, to the fact that they had spent the night together in his apartment on the top floor of the building…
‘Let’s go up to my office,’ Nick added with barely concealed impatience. ‘I want to talk to you.’
He looked just the same, she acknowledged achingly. His olive skin was just as healthily tanned, his blue eyes as sharply intelligent, and his dark hair, though looking as if it had been trimmed slightly, was still long enough to rest silkily on broad shoulders. Dressed formally in a dark grey suit and snowy white shirt, with a silver-grey silk tie knotted neatly at his throat, he looked like a man who was firmly in control.
He looked exactly what he was, in fact—the confident multimillionaire owner of three prestigious art galleries.
Looking at him now, Hebe wondered how she could ever have thought he was seriously interested in her!
‘Hebe!’
