hands, she reflected unwillingly, a tremor of awareness causing an unwanted shiver to slide down her spine. Once, those hands had been as familiar to her as her own, and when they were together they had seldom been far from hers. If they weren’t holding hands, he had had his arm about her shoulders, and she had revelled in the possessive pressure he had displayed. She had wanted him to touch her; she had wanted to touch him just as urgently, and when they were alone——
She caught herself up short, swallowing a hasty mouthful of her coffee and almost scalding her mouth in the process. But allowing her thoughts to drift in that direction was not only wrong, but futile, and she made a determined effort to rekindle the sense of resentment his cool, disparaging comments had aroused in her. Only so long as she could maintain some feeling of anger towards him could she hope to sustain her detachment. She had not realised how fatally easy it would be to delude herself about their relationship, or that, even knowing who he was, she might still want him. Time had changed a lot of things, it was true, and the idealistic young girl she had been when she’d boarded the plane for the United States was gone forever. But because she was older, and more experienced in the ways of the world, she was also more tolerant of human frailty. Not least her own. She was realising that those years had also blunted the edge of her conviction.
Dangerously so, she acknowledged now, giving Matthew another covert glance. She would never have believed she could still be attracted to him. But he had been her first love, after all, and didn’t they say that you never forgot your first love?
He lifted his eyes from his plate then, and caught her looking at him. And she had to steel herself to meet the cool challenge in his gaze. She wondered if he suspected what she was thinking. Once, he had been able to interpret her every expression, but that was before she had learned the art of dissimulation. Nevertheless, his gaze was disturbingly intent, and it took all her powers of resistance to withstand the desire to look away.
‘Don’t,’ he said after a moment, putting down his knife and fork and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, picking up the cup beside his plate, he emptied its contents and set it down. ‘Drink your coffee, Olivia. It’s time to go.’
‘Is it?’ Perversely, Olivia was disposed to linger. It was crazy, she knew, but there was one sure way of retaining the animosity between them, and that was by provoking his anger, too. ‘I was just thinking I might have some breakfast, after all.’ She gave the buffet shelves a provocative appraisal. ‘A hot Danish, perhaps. That’s what I usually have at home.’
Matthew’s mouth tightened. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait for you in the car. Don’t hurry. I’ll buy a paper, and catch up on the morning news.’
Olivia stared at him. ‘You’d do that, wouldn’t you?’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘After I’ve sat and watched you wolf down the most revolting mess of fried food I’ve ever seen!’
Matthew’s lips twitched. ‘You’re talking about the great British breakfast,’ he told her sardonically. ‘We’re not all health freaks.’
Olivia wanted to tell him that the amount of cholesterol he had swallowed that morning would go a fair way to clogging his arteries, but she refused to let him gain the upper hand. And besides, it had to be said, he didn’t look as if he suffered any ill effects. On the contrary, he looked disgustingly healthy, and observing his tanned skin she wondered exactly what kind of occupation he had chosen.
‘Well, anyway,’ she said, back-tracking, ‘we’re not in any great hurry, are we?’
‘You may not be,’ remarked Matthew, but he remained in his seat, and Olivia moistened her dry lips.
‘Does that mean you are?’
‘I do have responsibilities,’ conceded Matthew evenly. ‘Oh, go on. Get yourself a Danish, if that’s what you want. I must admit, if you were feeling sick earlier, food is probably what you need.’
Olivia looked across at him. ‘Will you get it for me? I—er—I don’t have any change.’
Matthew gave her an old-fashioned look, but he got to his feet and walked back to the buffet, flexing his shoulders as he did so. He was wearing jeans with his jerkin, and a pair of worn leather boots, like the ones he used to wear when they were together. She watched him as he exchanged a smiling comment with the girl on the pay-till, and she felt a stabbing sense of envy. He should be smiling at her, not at some stranger, she thought painfully. He had such a nice smile, and when he was relaxed the years just fell away.
‘There you are,’ he said, setting the plate containing the apricot Danish pastry down in front of her. ‘Hot, as you ordered, but probably nowhere near as delicious as you’re used to.’
Olivia looked up at him, as he made no move to drop into the seat opposite. ‘Don’t be like that,’ she said, unconsciously using all her charm to persuade him to stay. ‘You’re not really going, are you?’
Matthew’s eyes darkened perceptibly. ‘Liv——’
‘That’s the first time you’ve called me that!’ she exclaimed, digging her fork into the Danish, and lifting a sugary morsel to her lips. Her tongue came out to accept the delicate mouthful, and in Matthew’s eyes she saw a reflection of the torment she was feeling.
‘I’m married, Olivia,’ he said in a strangled voice, and although the news was no real surprise to her it still had the power to constrict her throat.
‘So—what?’ she managed, swallowing the fragment of pastry with a valiant effort. ‘I only want to talk to you.’
Matthew hesitated, but after a moment he subsided into his seat again, and only the heaviness with which he did so revealed his reluctance to accede to her request. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Talk. I’m listening.’
Olivia dragged her eyes away from his, and made an issue of detaching a slice of apricot from its sticky base. ‘It’s not that easy,’ she said, knowing she should have let him go. Playing games with Matthew Ryan was quite simply playing with fire. She knew the dangers. She knew the risks. And yet, she couldn’t seem to help herself.
‘I guess—I guess I just want us to be friends,’ she said, at last, lifting her eyes from her plate. ‘As you said, ten years is an awfully long time.’
‘No way!’ Matthew lay back in his chair, and regarded her with barely disguised hostility. ‘I said I was prepared to forget the past, and I am. But that doesn’t mean I want us to be friends.’
‘But isn’t that a contradiction in terms?’ Olivia sighed. ‘How can you say you’re prepared to forget something, and then use that something as a reason for rejecting any contact between us?’
‘I’m not interested in discussing it.’ Matthew ran an impatient hand through his hair. ‘Now, do you mind getting on with that, if you really want it?’
‘But—we’re different people,’ protested Olivia, putting down her fork and unconsciously leaning towards him. ‘You’re—married, as you say. And I’m—involved—with somebody. We don’t know anything about one another really. And—and I’d like to know about you. I would. Purely objectively, of course. Wouldn’t that be more—civilised?’
‘Civilised!’ Matthew almost choked on the word, and a wave of colour invaded his face. ‘What was ever civilised about our relationship? You don’t know the meaning of the word. You used me, Olivia. You let me think you cared about me
