Irresistible Temptation. Sara Craven
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personal problems.
She emerged feeling more relaxed then she’d done all day. Now all that remained was to find somewhere to eat. Probably not easy, she realised, surveying the still crowded pavements. Maybe she’d have to settle for a take-away.
She’d intended to head for one of the bistros she’d checked out earlier, but instead found herself wandering up Kensington Park Road.
The lit window of a restaurant drew her across the street, but one look was enough to convince her that it was not only full to bursting point with beautiful people, but, more significantly, out of her price range.
She was just moving on when she saw a diner seated at a table for two in the window itself turn, hand raised, to summon a waiter.
She recognised him with stomach-churning immediacy. Declan Malone, she thought, stiffening, her hackles on full alert. But not with the morning’s exotic redhead, she noticed at once. His evening’s companion was a willowy blonde decorously clad in a dark trouser suit. For the moment anyway. Presumably the peach towel outfit came later.
‘Poor girl,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Does she realise she’s simply feeding the ego of a serial womaniser?’
Clearly she didn’t, because she was devouring Declan Malone with her eyes, to the complete detriment of the food on her plate. And he was looking at her and smiling in a way that had been totally lacking in his dealings with Olivia.
In fact, Olivia acknowledged without pleasure, she would hardly have recognised him.
A taxi drew up, and three girls got out, all stick-thin, and talking and giggling at the tops of their voices.
As the new arrivals pranced past her into the restaurant, shrieking their hellos and air-kissing everyone within reach, Olivia started, as if she’d been woken abruptly from some spell.
What the hell am I doing? she demanded silently. Hanging round here with my nose pressed against the glass like the Little Match Girl? Do I want him to look up and see me?
Hastily, she turned away, retracing her steps towards the Gate.
She realised with sudden bleakness that her appetite had totally deserted her. And, more disturbingly, that she had never felt quite so cold, or so lonely in her life before.
Claudia Lang was not a particularly conceited girl, but she was sufficiently keyed in to know when her dinner partner’s attention was wandering, and human enough to be piqued by it.
She reached across the table and put a scarlet-tipped hand on Declan’s sleeve.
‘Is something wrong?’
Startled, Declan wrenched his frowning gaze back from the window.
‘No—I’m sorry. I—thought I saw someone outside. Someone I knew.’
Claudia directed a sceptical glance over her shoulder at the darkness beyond the window. ‘Then you must have X-ray vision,’ she commented lightly. ‘Do you want to go and check?’
‘Of course not.’ The frown faded, and the smile he sent her was charming and repentant. ‘I’m probably wrong, and anyway, it’s really—not important.’ He paused, then added with cold emphasis, ‘Not important at all.’
And wondered why he’d needed to say that.
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