Ruthless Reunion. Elizabeth Power
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you are?’
The neat hair that had once felt like tumbling silk beneath his hands gleamed darkly as she nodded. Alex swallowed to ease the pressure that seemed to be restricting his windpipe.
He wanted to tell her. Prove it to her. Take that hunted look out of her eyes by forcing her to remember, because he was beginning to shake off all doubts that this was any performance. And, curse it though he had just now, maybe—just maybe—her loss of memory might work in his favour. He felt unscrupulous, yet decidedly excited by the prospect as he responded, ‘To echo your own words: why would I lie?’
Sanchia frowned. Why would he? He was a barrister. Honourable. Respected.
And ruthless.
That other juror’s words sent a little shiver down her spine.
‘You’re going to have to trust me,’ he suggested softly.
‘Just like that?’
‘Just like that.’
‘I can’t.’ It was like a small hopeless plea in the darkness.
‘No.’ He moved closer to her, his cool, clear gaze penetrating hers, plumbing the depths of her fear and anxiety with merciless precision. ‘No,’ he repeated, as though coming to some hard decision. ‘I don’t believe you could. But all I’m asking is that you allow me to see you again—starting with this evening. I’ll take you out to dinner. That way you won’t even have to worry about being alone with me.’ And that would be for the best all round, he decided wryly, for himself, as well as Sanchia. Because he didn’t know how he was managing to stand there without reaching for her, pulling her against him, feeling her softness melting against him as he plundered that sweet, moist mouth…
‘I can’t,’ she said quickly, aware of the hint of sarcasm clothing his last remark. Nor did she particularly regret having to say it. Because, much as she wanted to recapture her missing memories, she was afraid of unlocking doors her mind clearly wanted to keep sealed. Which was as ridiculous, she thought, as fearing any kind of involvement with Alex Sabre. But nevertheless she did. ‘Not tonight. I’ve arranged to meet someone tonight.’
‘Then you’ll just have to ring him and tell him you can’t make it,’ he replied, causing her hackles to rise. She hated being bossed about. He was also wrong in his assumption that she was seeing another man, but she held back from telling him that. It was none of his business anyway. Before she could say anything, he tagged on, as though he were speaking to a rather stubborn child, ‘Isn’t this more important?’
Which, of course, it was, she thought, having already decided to telephone her friend to postpone their cinema trip.
‘That’s settled, then,’ he said, and it seemed it was.
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