forward for a better look when somewhere near at hand a man suddenly spoke, breaking into her consciousness.
‘I really don’t advise that.’ His voice was low pitched and cool, with a note of amusement in its depths.
Cat turned sharply, shaken by the realisation that she had unsuspected company, her brows snapping into a frown at having her peace suddenly disturbed.
No wonder she hadn’t noticed him. Although he was only a few yards away, he was standing half hidden in the shade of a weeping willow, one shoulder propped negligently against its slender trunk.
As he moved forward, pushing aside the trailing branches, Cat saw that he was tall and lean-hipped. A faded red polo shirt set off powerful shoulders, and his long legs were encased in shabby cream denims.
His face and forearms were tanned, and his thick dark hair curled slightly, yet he wasn’t handsome in any conventional sense. His high-bridged nose was too thin, and the lids that shaded his grey-green eyes were too heavy for that. But his mouth was well defined and humorous, with a faintly sensual curve to its lower lip.
Absorbing this, Cat felt jolted by a sudden stab of recognition. Which was ludicrous, she thought, dry-mouthed. Because she’d never seen this man before in her life.
If I had, she told herself, drawing a deep, unsteady breath, I’d remember it. My God, but I would.
She realised that he was studying her in turn, his own brows drawn together in faint bewilderment, as if he too was trying to place her in some context.
She was aware of the slow, strained thud of her own heartbeat. The sunlit silence seemed to enclose them, locking them together into a golden web. The deep breath she drew sounded like a sigh.
Then, somewhere close at hand, a bird sounded a note, long and piercingly sweet.
Breaking the strange spell that had trapped her and bringing her sharply back to reality. She stiffened—instantly and defensively.
‘Do you usually hand out unwanted advice to complete strangers?’ She kept her tone curt.
‘You’re pretty near the edge, and the mud is treacherous where you’re standing.’ He shrugged, apparently unfazed by her abruptness. ‘I wouldn’t like you to slip and fall on your back—or worse.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But I’m quite capable of looking after myself. You really don’t need to be concerned.’
He’d halted a few feet away, hands on hips. ‘It’s pure self-interest, I promise you.’ His expression was deadpan. ‘If you fell in, I’d feel obliged to rescue you, and that water is freezing and full of weeds. Besides,’ he added, subjecting her ivory slip dress and the filmy turquoise and ivory jacket she wore over it to another lingering appraisal, ‘this wedding gear of yours clearly cost someone an arm and a leg. It would be a pity to spoil it.’
Cat’s mouth tightened. ‘Actually, I pay for my own clothes.’ She frowned. ‘And how do you know I’m at a wedding, anyway?’
He said drily, ‘Well, you’re clearly not dressed for a stroll in the countryside. Besides, I saw cars arriving earlier, done up with flowers and ribbons, plus girl in crinoline with veil looking furious. The usual stuff.’
He paused. ‘So what role are you playing in all this? Matron of honour?’
‘You’re not as observant as you think.’ She held up bare hands in a challenge she immediately regretted. ‘I’m not married.’
‘That doesn’t necessarily follow,’ he returned. ‘Wedding rings might not be politically correct this month.’
She hesitated. ‘I’m simply the bride’s cousin. Just another guest.’ She made a business of looking at her watch. ‘And I really should be getting back now.’
‘Why the sudden haste to go?’ His tone was lazy but his eyes were intent. She could feel them examining her, with all the intimacy of a touch, and felt her throat tighten in mingled alarm and excitement.
‘You wandered down here as if you had all the time in the world,’ he went on.
‘Because,’ Cat said tautly. ‘Things are quite tricky enough back there without me causing offence by staging a disappearing act.’
‘Although you’d like to.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘So, what’s the problem? Got a secret yen for the groom?’
‘God—no!’ The denial was startled out of her.
‘Well, that came from the heart.’ His mouth slanted into a wry grin. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
Now was the moment to tell him politely it was none of his business and go, thought Cat. Leave immediately, with no looking back.
So how was it she heard herself answering? ‘He plays rugby all winter, cricket all summer, has too much money and a roving eye. Plus he drinks far more than he should, and is already overweight.’
He whistled appreciatively. ‘You paint with words. No wonder the bride was looking so cross. Couldn’t you have done her a favour and produced a just impediment?’
‘I don’t think she’d have thanked me,’ Cat said drily. ‘Even if he has been leering down her best friend’s cleavage all through the reception.’
His brows rose. ‘Have they cut the cake yet? If not, I’d watch what she does with the knife.’
Cat realised her mouth was twitching, and tried to control it. ‘It’s not funny. And I really don’t know why I’ve told you all this, anyway,’ she added frankly.
‘Because you needed someone to talk to,’ he said. ‘And I happened to be here.’
‘Well, it’s very disloyal of me,’ she said. ‘And indiscreet. So, it would be kind of you to—put the whole thing out of your mind.’
‘All duly forgotten,’ he said. ‘Except, of course, for meeting you,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘You can’t really expect me to relegate that to some mental dustbin. That’s too much to ask.’
‘But we haven’t met,’ she said. ‘Not really.’ Oh, God, if he’d only stop looking at her like that. She could feel a languid warmth invading her that had nothing to do with the heat of the day. And instinct told her that it spelled danger—a complication that she didn’t need.
‘It’s just been a chance encounter,’ she continued hastily. ‘And it’s over now, anyway. I—I’m sure you have things to do.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well…’ Cat gave his shirt and jeans a dubious look. ‘You do work here, don’t you?’
‘Among other places,’ he nodded.
‘Then someone’s paying for your time,’ she said. ‘And they might not be too pleased to find you…’ She hesitated, searching for the right word.
‘Loitering?’ he supplied, his eyes glinting mockingly. ‘With intent?’
She
