CHAPTER FIVE

      BYRON ENJOYED THE shock on her face, almost as much as he’d enjoyed her loosening up over the course of the meal.

      Now, suddenly, she was looking very worried.

      ‘Is there a problem with your coming with me?’ he asked. ‘Would your husband object?’

      ‘What?’ Her eyes flew to her left hand where she twisted the gold band on her left finger for a second or two before looking up again. ‘No. Martin won’t object,’ she said with a somewhat sad sigh. ‘He can’t. He...he died some time ago.’

      Shock—and something else—had Byron sitting up straight in his chair. So she was a widow. Not unhappily married, or divorced. Just a lady with a sad past and likely way too much emotional baggage.

      Byron knew he should steer well clear. He didn’t need to deviate from the path he’d set himself. Which was finding the right girl to marry. Clearly, Cleo wasn’t that girl.

      But despite all that he was finding her perversely attractive. Even more than he had back at his office. As she’d let down her defences, he’d seen more evidence that she found him as attractive as he found her. The way her eyes had sparkled at him every now and then. Quite lovely eyes, they were. The loveliest feature she had. Though her mouth was very kissable too. You just didn’t focus on it without lipstick. He couldn’t really see her figure underneath that ghastly pant suit, but she wasn’t overweight. He suspected there was a nice curvy shape under there somewhere. Byron liked curves.

      It was a truly weird situation, one fraught with danger. He should not be thinking about having sex with her. A wise man did not mix business with pleasure. But he was thinking just that. Oh, yes, he definitely was.

      ‘How long ago?’ he asked, hiding his lustful thoughts behind a quiet voice.

      ‘Just over three years.’

      A long time for her to be without a man. And it was obvious by the way she’d presented herself today that she hadn’t been out there, dating again. Cleo had the look of a woman still in mourning, a woman who’d forgotten what it was like to be a woman.

      Until today, that was...

      Byron sensed that something had changed for Cleo today. His male ego suggested it was he who’d changed her. He knew he was attractive to women, having been blessed with the kind of face and body women fancied. Even when girls didn’t know he was filthy rich, they came onto him. Byron didn’t think Cleo was interested in his money. He doubted she was seriously interested in him at all. Otherwise, she’d jump at the chance of being alone with him.

      No. If he wanted this woman—and he did, by God!—he would have to seduce her. She wasn’t about to make it easy for him.

      The prospect both challenged and aroused Byron. How long had it been since he’d actually had to seduce a woman? Five years? Ten? Twenty? In truth, he’d never had to.

      His flesh stirred further at how satisfying it was going to be, once he succeeded. Satisfying for her as well as him. He was a good lover. And a confident one. She wouldn’t regret going to bed with him.

      ‘You’re very young to be a widow, Cleo,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, how did your husband die?’

      ‘Cancer. A very malignant melanoma, which wouldn’t quit, no matter what the doctors threw at it. Martin fought it with every ounce of his being. But it was too strong for him in the end,’ she finished up, her eyes moistening at the memory.

      A momentary guilt threatened to derail Byron’s lust. But she couldn’t grieve for her husband for ever, no matter how much she’d loved him or how tragic his demise. Life moved on. She had to move on. And he was just the man to help her do so.

      Byron’s conscience decided magnanimously that his taking Cleo to bed would be the best thing for her. She needed someone to bring her back to life, and he was just the man to do it!

      ‘That’s very sad, Cleo,’ he said gently. ‘Cancer is the very devil, isn’t it? My mother had breast cancer a few years ago, but thankfully she survived.’

      ‘Then she’s very lucky.’

      ‘Indeed. She’s going to turn sixty next weekend. She’s having a big bash of a party,’ he went on, reminding himself that he would have to attend. She was sure to have lined up a prospective daughter-in-law or two for him to look over, Byron having been foolish enough to confide in his mother recently that he really did want to get married and give her grandchildren.

      ‘Perhaps you’d like to come with me?’ he said impulsively, despite knowing the invitation was both presumptuous and premature.

      Cleo stared at him as though he’d just asked her to accompany him to the moon.

      ‘You want me to go to your mother’s birthday party with you?’ she asked him incredulously.

      ‘Yes. Why not?’ He wasn’t about to back-pedal. Byron never back-pedalled.

      ‘I think why is more like the right question,’ she countered brusquely.

      ‘Do I need a reason?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Because I like you and find your company stimulating.’

      Her smile was wry. ‘Now what’s the real reason?’

      He could hardly tell her that it had been an impulse invitation, one driven by his darker side. But now that he’d made it, he could see that it actually had potential in a more practical sense.

      ‘You’ve forced it out of me,’ he said, smiling back just as wryly. ‘The thing is, my dearest mother is keen for me to settle down and have a family, so there’s bound to be a few potential brides for my perusal at this event. Since I would prefer to pick my own future wife, I need protection from her matchmaking. If I show up with a woman of my own choice on my arm, I might have a chance of actually enjoying myself.’

      * * *

      Cleo couldn’t help it. She laughed.

      ‘As much as I would like to help you out,’ she said, still chuckling inside, ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to say no.’

      ‘Why?’ he asked, sounding most put out. Clearly, not many women said no to Byron.

      Cleo listed all the reasons in her head.

      Because I don’t have a thing to wear to such an occasion.

      Because I would be like a fish out of water in your mother’s social circle.

      Because