All Male. Kay Thorpe
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good for you. The first woman I’ve met capable of taking advice!’
Light though it was, the taunt made her bristle inwardly but she controlled it, summoning a smile of her own. ‘Maybe you just don’t meet the right types.’
Lee laughed, drawing another conjecturing glance from the other table. ‘Maybe you’re right. So we start over from scratch, do we?’
‘If you like.’
The grey eyes took on new depths. ‘Yes, I do like—although I’ll miss our spats.’
‘What makes you think there won’t be any more?’ she asked blandly. ‘I might form the same opinion I had to start with.’
‘I’ll have to make sure you don’t’
The arrival of the dessert trolley was a timely interruption, from Kerry’s point of view at least. Playing this kind of game with a man of Lee Hartford’s ilk might be a dangerous pastime, but it certainly gave life a little spice, she acknowledged, plumping for the succulent black forest gateau. She hadn’t felt as alive in ages!
With no job to go back to, and animosity put on a back burner for now, she was in no particular hurry for the meal to be over. Nor, apparently, was Lee himself, although she had heard his secretary remind him of a four o’clock appointment when they were leaving.
It was gone two already, she noted, catching a glimpse of his watch as he drained the last of his Perrier. The time had gone faster than she would have credited. In many respects he had proved himself an entertaining and stimulating companion. Too bad he was such a louse otherwise, she thought a little wistfully, viewing the firm features.
He looked up suddenly, catching her at it. Kerry felt the warmth under her skin, and knew from the quizzical lift of his eyebrow that her colour had risen. ‘A cat may look at a king,’ she parried, forcing a flippant note.
‘Smart creatures, cats,’ he observed. ‘Would you like coffee?’
She shook her head. ‘No, thanks. You must be wanting to get back to the office.’
‘There’s nothing immediately pressing,’ he returned. ‘I’ll drive you home first.’
Green eyes revealed swift dissension. ‘That really isn’t necessary. I can take the tube.’
‘Why do that when I have the car round the corner? Battersea, isn’t it?’
‘How did you know?’ she asked in surprise.
‘I rang Helen Carrington at Profiles that first day and asked for details. One can’t be too careful when it comes to taking strangers into one’s home.’ Her expression brought a quirk to the corners of his mouth. ‘Not my only motivation, I have to admit.’
Kerry kept her tone steady. ‘What else did Helen tell you?’
‘That you were one of Profile’s most reliable people: intelligent, industrious and thoroughly trustworthy.’
‘I never realised I was such a paragon,’ she said drily. ‘Maybe I should ask for more money.’
‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’ Lee took the pen held out by the waiter, who had just arrived with the bill, signed without bothering to check it, exchanged a few friendly words with the man then got to his feet to come round and take Kerry’s wrap from the back of her chair, slipping it about her shoulders as she rose.
‘No arguments,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m driving you home.’
Playing up to his masculine assertion was all part and parcel of the plan, Kerry reminded herself, swallowing a tart response. It had to be better than the tube, anyway. She summoned a bland note. ‘You’re the boss!’
His laugh was low, his breath stirring her hair and his hands lingering where they touched. ‘Is that a fact?’
As he had said, his car was just around the corner. Only people with the luck of the devil could come up with a handy parking space in this area, thought Kerry, sliding into the soft leather passenger seat. They were out of time, too, she noted from the meter, but he didn’t even have a ticket.
‘I’m not always so fortunate,’ Lee acknowledged when she mentioned the matter. ‘I’ve been clamped on more than one occasion.’
‘Then why not use taxis?’ she queried.
The shrug was good-humoured. ‘I hate being driven.’
‘Better that, surely, than having to pay exorbitant sums to the clamping company—to say nothing of the waiting around?’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’
‘But you’ll still continue taking the risk.’ It was a statement this time, not a question, her tone expressing her opinion.
He gave her a sideways glance as he started the engine, his eyes taunting. ‘What’s life without a little risk?’
Safe, it was on the tip of her tongue to answer, except that it sounded so dull, so unimaginative. She was taking a risk herself in leading him on the way she planned, if it came to that. Who was to say how he might react to the kind of put-down she had in mind for him?
She was jumping the gun a little, she reflected at that point. One luncheon hardly established an ongoing interest. She stole a glance at his clean-edged profile, registering the sensuality in the fuller line of his lower lip and the strength of purpose in the jut of his jaw. Crisply styled, his hair was layered thickly into his nape, arousing in her a sudden urge to reach out and touch.
She was going to need constant reminders of the reason she was doing this, came the wry acknowledgement. His physical attraction was too obtrusive to be set wholly aside.
With the sun shining and the sky blue, Battersea looked more prepossessing than usual. Lee went straight to the right street without asking directions, suggesting that he’d probably looked it up on the map after discovering her address.
‘Thanks for the lunch, and for the ride,’ Kerry proffered as he drew up. ‘I expected neither.’
‘A small return for services rendered.’ There was a brief pause before he added lightly, ‘I wouldn’t say no to a coffee to round things off.’
Kerry hesitated, torn between two fires. Common courtesy made a flat refusal difficult, but she was reluctant to be alone with him right now.
‘Just coffee,’ he added on an ironic note, watching her face. ‘I never jump on a woman who doesn’t want to be jumped on.’
‘In that case,’ she heard herself saying without having come to a conscious decision, ‘by all means come up for coffee.’
Redecorated earlier in the year by Jane and herself in pastel colours, and with their own personal choice of fabrics at the windows and objets d’art around the place, the first-floor flat looked ten times better than when she had lived there with Sarah, but it still bore little comparison with what Lee was accustomed to.
The majority of the furniture came with the place. Apart from adding a scattering of colourful cushions and a throw-over cover to the sofa, there was no disguising the general mediocrity.
Whatever Lee might think of it, he gave no indication. He seemed to fill the small living room with his presence.
‘Have a seat while I make the coffee,’ Kerry invited, dropping her wrap on a chair along with her bag. ‘It will have to be instant, I’m afraid. We’re right out of ground.’
‘Instant’s fine,’ he said easily.
Instead of sitting down and waiting, he followed her to the tiny kitchen, lounging in the doorway while she put on the kettle and set out a tray.
She could see him on the periphery of her vision, his hands thrust into trouser pockets—pulling the material taut across his thighs in a way that tensed every nerve in her body.
Her