other by tall polished wooden panels which imposed an immediate intimacy on the diners.
At the end of the room was a tiny raised platform, occupied tonight by a pretty red-haired girl playing popular classics on the harp.
As they were conducted to their table, Ros allowed herself a swift, sideways glance to complete her physical picture of her companion.
Broad-shouldered, she noted, lean-hipped, and long-legged. Attributes that disaster of a suit couldn’t hide. He moved confidently, too, like a man at home in his surroundings and his situation. That early diffidence seemed to have dissipated.
She’d come here tonight with the sole intention of letting him down lightly, yet now she seemed to be the one on the defensive, and she didn’t understand it.
As they were seated the waiter placed their drinks tenderly on the table, and laid the red rose beside Ros’s setting with the merest flick of an eyebrow.
To her annoyance, she realised she was blushing again.
She rushed into speech to cover her embarrassment. ‘This is lovely,’ she said, looking round her. ‘Do you come here often?’ She paused, wrinkling her nose in dismay. ‘God, I can’t believe I just said that.’
‘It’s a fair question.’ His grin was appreciative. ‘And the answer is—only on special occasions.’
Ros raised her eyebrows, trying to ignore the glint in the turquoise eyes. ‘I imagine you’ve had a great many of them lately.’
His look was quizzical. ‘In what way?’
‘Answers to your advertisement, of course.’ She carefully examined a fleck on her nail. ‘My—friend said you’d get sacks of mail.’
‘There’s been a fair response,’ he said, after a pause. ‘But not that many with the elements I’m looking for.’
‘So,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t I slip through the net?’
‘Your letter intrigued me,’ he said softly. He sat back in his chair. ‘I’ve never actually met a “beauty executive” before. What exactly does it involve?’
Ros swallowed. ‘I—demonstrate the latest products,’ she said. ‘And work on stands at beauty shows. And I do cosmetic promotions in stores—offering free make-overs. That kind of thing.’
‘It sounds fascinating,’ Sam said, after a pause. He reached across the table and took her hand. Startled, she felt the warmth of his breath as he bent his head and inhaled the fragrance on her skin. ‘Is this the latest scent?’
‘Not—not really.’ Hurriedly, she snatched back her hand. ‘This one’s been out for a while. It’s Organza by Givenchy.’
‘It’s lovely,’ he told her quietly. ‘And it suits you.’ He paused. ‘Tell me, do you find your work fulfilling?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Why else would I do it?’
‘That’s what I’m wondering.’ His gaze rested thoughtfully on her face. ‘I notice you don’t wear a lot of make-up yourself. I was half expecting purple hair and layers of false eyelashes.’
‘I look very different when I’m working. I hope you’re not disappointed,’ she added lightly.
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘On the contrary…’
There was a silence which lengthened—simmered between them. Ros felt it touch her, like a hand stroking her bare flesh. Enclosing her like a golden web. A dangerous web that needed to be snapped before she was entangled beyond recall. A possibility she recognised for the first time, and which scared her.
She said, rather too brightly, ‘Now it’s your turn. What do you do to earn a crust?’
He moved one of the knives in his place-setting. ‘Nothing nearly as exotic as you,’ he said. ‘I work with accounts. For a multinational organisation.’
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘You sound surprised.’
‘I am.’ And oddly disappointed too, she realised.
‘Why is that?’
‘Because you’re not like my—any of the accountants I’ve ever known,’ she corrected herself hastily.
‘Perhaps I should take that as a compliment,’ he murmured, the turquoise eyes studying her. ‘Have you known many?’
The dark-suited high-flier from the city firm to whom she submitted her annual income and expenditure records, she thought. And, of course, Colin, with whom she’d been going out for the past two years. And about whom she didn’t want to think too closely just now.
‘A couple.’ She shrugged. ‘In my work, you meet a lot of people.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ He paused. ‘But you’ve given me a whole new insight into accountancy and its needs. Maybe I should come to you for one of those make-overs.’
‘Perhaps you should.’ Involuntarily, she glanced at his hair. It was only a momentary thing, but he saw.
He said softly, lifting a hand to smooth the raw edges into submission, ‘I did it for a bet.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Ros stiffened, flushing slightly. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s really none of my business.’
‘If that was true,’ he said, ‘you’d be at home now, microwaving yesterday’s casserole. Instead of tasting this wonderful linguine,’ he added as their first course arrived.
Yesterday’s casserole would certainly have been the safer option, she thought ruefully, as she picked up her fork.
‘So, what I have to ask myself is—why are you here, Janie? What’s the plan?’
She nearly choked on her first mouthful. ‘I don’t know what you mean. Like the others, I answered your ad…’
‘That’s precisely what I don’t understand. Why someone like you—someone who’s attractive and clearly intelligent—should feel she has to resort to a lonely hearts column. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.’
‘It does if you spend a lot of your time in isolation,’ she said.
‘But your working day involves you with the public. And men go into department stores all the time.’
A stupid slip, Ros thought, biting her lip. She would have to be more careful.
She shrugged. ‘Yes, but generally they come to beauty counters to buy gifts for the women already in their lives,’ she returned coolly. ‘And when the store closes, like them, I go home.’
‘You live alone?’
‘No, with my sister—who has her own life.’ She put down her fork. ‘And I could ask you the same thing. You’re employed by a big company, and a lot of people meet their future partners at work, so why
