met Ben’s cynical eyes as Ivan moved discreetly away, and extended a hand towards the man she despised, dreading the touch, the clasp of those slim, strong fingers on hers, the warmth of his skin.
‘Mr Dexter.’ The almost painful clasp of his hand pushed whatever inanity she might have followed up with right back in her throat. His skin was cool, yet it burned her. She couldn’t pull her hand away quickly enough.
‘Miss Harvey.’ Formal. Yet beneath the veneer something about his voice, something sensuous, like dark chocolate covered in rough velvet, sent her nerve endings skittering to life. How well she remembered that voice, the things he had said…the wickedly seductive things…the lies, all lies…
He turned away, his mouth indented, as if he were mocking her, saying something to Edward now, casually accepting the flute of champagne Ivan handed him and strolling towards the painting on display. So he wasn’t about to acknowledge the fact that they knew each other, that they’d made wild, tempestuous love during that long-ago summer when the world, for her, had been touched by magic.
Well, why would he? She hadn’t explained that they knew each other when Edward had introduced them because, heaven knew, she was deeply, abidingly ashamed of her younger, stupidly gullible self. And he’d probably forgotten her entirely. Just one in a long line of silly, disposable females who’d been only too eager to lie on their backs for him!
The deal had been done over the canapés and champagne. Caroline didn’t know how the boy who’d been brought up by his widowed mother in a near-derelict cottage could have come by that amount of spare cash. Well, however he’d come by it, she figured the means would have been unsavoury. But she wasn’t going to waste mental energy trying to work it out.
Edward was giving them supper in the exclusive restaurant currently in favour. Caroline faced Ben over the elegantly appointed table, watching him covertly beneath the dark sweep of her lashes.
Twelve years had changed him; his shoulders were broader beneath the expensive tailoring, his honed body more powerful, his ruggedly handsome face less expressive than it had been at nineteen years of age, his tough jaw darkly shadowed and his sensual mouth touched with a recognisable line of determination.
She shivered slightly and forced her attention to the sole in white-wine sauce she’d ordered. She hadn’t wanted to come, had even, for a moment, thought of crying off, pleading the onset of a migraine as an excuse to cut and run.
But the moment had passed. She wouldn’t let Dexter turn her into a coward.
Edward had ordered champagne. He never drank anything else. Hers, untouched, had gone flat. The relaxed conversation between the two men ranged over subjects as diverse as politics and the theatre. She was barely listening, just wishing the evening would end.
‘And how did you become attached to the prestigious Weinberg Galleries, Miss Harvey. Or may I call you Caroline?’
The hateful drawl pricked her violently back into full awareness. The question could have been interpreted as an insult, implying amazement that any respected firm would employ her!
‘Through the usual route, Mr Dexter.’ Her eyes clashed with his. If there’d been a hidden slur behind his words then he’d better realise she was up to any challenge. ‘A postgraduate course in the history of art, alongside another in museum studies.’ She laid her cutlery down, not bothering to hide the fact that she’d barely touched her fish. ‘Fortuitously, Edward was looking for an assistant. I happened to fill the bill.’
‘A dedicated career woman? Never married, Caroline?’
She caught the dark glitter of his eyes. He had never called her Caroline, saying that he’d have needed a mouthful of plums before he could have pronounced it properly. He’d called her Caro. Softly, sweetly, oh, so seductively.
Her heart thudded painfully. Oh, to have the ability to erase memories at will! She made her voice cool, disdainful, ‘No, I’ve yet to meet the man who could satisfy my exacting standards. And you, Mr Dexter—are you married?’
She saw his mouth tighten. She’d touched a nerve. Just feet away, she felt rather than saw Edward frown. One was not supposed to descend to personal levels with clients!
Tough. Dexter had started it.
‘The married state has never appealed. I’m not into voluntary entrapment.’ Urbanely said. The prick of annoyance obviously forgotten, his slow smile was unsettling.
No, you prefer to change your women as often as you change your socks. The words were on the tip of her tongue but she swallowed them. Spit them out and she’d be fired on the spot.
Taking advantage of the waiter’s arrival to clear their plates, she excused herself and headed for the rest room. Of course he recognised her, she’d seen it in his eyes. She hadn’t changed much. She had fined down a little, had acquired a veneer of sophistication, had cut her hair to shoulder length and had coiled it into a smooth knot on top of her head.
So she must have had something memorable about her, she thought wryly. Or did he remember the faces of all the women he had bedded and had discarded over the years?
It wasn’t important, she told herself as she held her wrists under the cold tap to cool down. A few more minutes of his miserable company and she would never see him again. Then she took her mobile from her slim leather bag and called the cab firm she always used.
Moments later, she slid back into her seat. Edward handed her the dessert menu but she closed it and laid it down on the table. ‘I’ll pass,’ she told him. ‘And leave you two to enjoy the rest of your meal. I’ve a hectic day tomorrow.’ No problem there, Edward knew what her workload was like, especially when there was an invitation-only viewing on the horizon.
She got fluidly to her feet, putting on a polite, social smile. ‘So nice to have met you, Mr Dexter.’
Both men had risen. Ben Dexter said smoothly, bland self-assurance in his dark, honeyed voice, ‘Humour me, Miss Harvey. My driver’s due to pick me up in ten minutes. I’ll drop you off. We’ll have coffee while we wait.’
Once she would have tied knots in herself for him. Now she took great satisfaction in telling him sweetly, ‘How kind. But my usual minicab driver is probably already parked outside. Enjoy your coffee.’
And allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction before she swept out.
She had no idea why he’d offered to drive her home. She certainly couldn’t accuse him of having gentlemanly instincts! And he could hardly have wanted to reminisce over old times. Whatever, she had very politely pushed his offer back down his throat.
It was high time Ben Dexter learned he couldn’t always get what he wanted.
CHAPTER TWO
THE alarm clock was a welcome intrusion. Caroline rolled over, silenced it, and slid her feet out of bed. She’d had a lousy night.
Dreams or, more specifically, nightmares of Ben Dexter weren’t conducive to restful sleep. Especially when they featured such graphic images as his sweat-slicked olive skin against the white femininity of hers, his mouth exploring every inch of her body with hungry, all-male dominance. And his voice, that honeyed, sexy voice of his, telling her he loved her. Lies, every word of it…
She made a rough,
