LITMIR.BIZ

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I couldn’t resist or leave behind with no regrets.’

      ‘Anything or anyone?’

      Niall’s only response was a slight inclination of his dark head, but a worrying gleam in those silvery eyes made her decide that it would be much safer to move the talk back on to the original topic.

      ‘And do you think you’ll want Richards’ Rockets?’

      As she had hoped, the question brought Owen back into the conversation and she was able to withdraw, sit back and watch as once more the two men became absorbed in their discussion.

      The problem was that she didn’t experience the relief she had hoped for. Only moments before she had wanted Niall Forrester to turn his attention elsewhere and leave her in peace, but now that he had, perversely, she felt irritated by the ease with which he seemed able to dismiss her from his thoughts. The chocolate torte which the waiter had brought her, together with another bottle of wine, now seemed much too rich for her taste, and she laid her spoon down, painfully aware of the fact that there was really nothing wrong with the sweet, only with her mood.

      She couldn’t stop her gaze from lingering on the man opposite, on the sculpted planes of his face, shadowed softly in the flickering candlelight, on the jet darkness of his hair, the unexpected softness of his mouth. Her eyes followed every gesture of his hands as he ate, talked, poured the wine. Those pale grey eyes of his were turned away from her now, but in her mind she could see them in all the changeable moods that, even after such a short acquaintance, she could recognise—the cold, steely glitter that could turn so swiftly to the warm glow of polished silver, or darken with something she couldn’t—or didn’t dare—put a name to.

      ‘Is there something wrong with your food?’

      ‘What?’

      Niall’s voice had been soft and low, but even so the sound of it jolted Saffron from the sensual trance that had held her. It was as if the gentle warmth of the candleflames had spread throughout the room, growing in intensity, heating the blood in her veins so that she felt as if she was adrift on a golden, glowing tide, the sight and sounds of the other diners fading to a blur on the edges of her consciousness, every nerve, every sense centring on Niall Forrester, like a compass needle drawn irresistibly to the North.

      ‘I’ll send it back if it’s not right——’

      Oh, no—no, it’s fine.’

      I’ll send it back, she noted resentfully. Niall Forrester had well and truly taken over the evening.

      ‘It’s just—that I haven’t as much appetite as I thought.’

      For food only, a rogue part of her mind commented. Other appetites were not so easily appeased. In fact, with those silvery eyes on her once more, the way he was leaning towards her bringing him so close that she caught the scent of some musky cologne he wore, she felt as if every inch of her skin was newly sensitised, and a previously unknown sensation was uncoiling in the pit of her stomach, as if some sensuous snake-like creature had been sleeping heavily but was now starting to awake…

      ‘Eyes too big for my stomach!’ she managed on a shaky laugh.

      ‘Then perhaps we should think about leaving.’

      Was she being unduly sensitive? Saffron wondered. Or was it just his physical position, the concentration of his attention on her, that seemed to make that ‘we’ exclude Owen, who, having tackled a large portion of his favourite Black Forest gateau, was now draining the last of his wine?

      ‘Yes,’ he said on a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Better be going. Waiter!’

      ‘Let me——’ Once more Niall took charge, catching

      the waiter’s eye with an ease that made the other man’s waving hand look gauche and unsophisticated. In fact, it was rather over the top, even for Owen, Saffron reflected, her attention caught suddenly.

      ‘Most gracious of you——’

      It was the first couple of words, with the hint of slurring, that alerted her, making her turn a concerned frown on him, to see his flushed face and overbright eyes. Her fears were confirmed as Owen got to his feet unsteadily, swaying and clutching at the table for support.

      ‘Owen—you’re drunk!’

      ‘Not at all!’ He gave a foolish grin. ‘Just a bit mellow.’

      ‘But you’re not fit to drive!’ She thought despairingly of the long journey home, the lack of buses, the prohibitive cost of a taxi.

      ‘Perhaps I could help?’

      Did this man have ears like a bat? Her conversation with Owen had been conducted in a furious whisper, while he was occupied with the waiter and his credit card, but he was still very much aware of what was happening.

      ‘I have my car here—I could take you both home.’

      ‘But—didn’t you——?’

      Anticipating her question, Niall shook his dark head. ‘I’m well under the limit—you’ll be perfectly safe.’

      And, looking into those clear grey eyes Saffron knew that he spoke the absolute truth. He had been decidedly abstemious, she recalled. If only Owen had been equally restrained!

      ‘I can drive!’ Owen protested.

      ‘I don’t think so!’ Niall’s voice was warm with humour, and he moved swiftly to support the other man as he lurched clumsily away from the table. ‘Come on, mate—this way——’

      Owen was more intoxicated than Saffron had first realised, and in the first flurry of activity involved in getting him out of the restaurant, across the courtyard and into Niall’s car—the same sleek, grey vehicle that she had seen in the factory car park—she had little time to think of anything beyond a strong sense of gratitude for Niall’s calm, helpful presence.

      She doubted that she would have been able to cope without him, without his physical strength to support Owen’s unsteady progress, the amused but firm tact with which he distracted the other man from his determination to drive home, and the final intuitive sensitivity he showed in personally supervising Owen’s delivery into the care of his disapproving mother, enabling Saffron to remain in the car and out of sight. She was well aware of just what Mrs Richards would think if she knew of her presence.

      ‘At last!‘ Niall exclaimed, sliding back into the driving-seat and pushing both hands through his hair with a sigh of relief. ‘I thought we’d never get rid of him.’

      ‘Thanks for seeing him to the door for me. If Ma Richards had realised I was with him she’d have blamed me for the state he’s in.’

      ‘She wouldn’t believe him capable of getting that way by himself?’ Niall slanted a quizzical glance in her direction as he turned the key in the ignition, bringing the powerful engine to swift, purring life.

      ‘Her precious Owen?’ Saffron assumed an expression of exaggerated horror. ‘Not on your life! He can do no wrong—except for the fact that he’s seeing me. Mrs Richards has never really liked me—she doesn’t think I’m quite good enough for her only child. As a matter of fact,’ she added, impelled by scrupulous honesty, ‘he’s never really been quite so silly before.’

      ‘No?’ Niall sounded unconvinced and dismissively uninterested. ‘Where to now? Where do you liveSaffron?’

      But Saffron’s sudden silence was not because she hadn’t heard his question. Instead she had been struck by something in his tone, something distinctly cagey and with a dark note that made her nerves twist in sudden apprehension. As the sleek car pulled away from the kerb she heard again in her thoughts that expressive, ‘At last!’ and found herself looking back at the evening with fresh eyes, seeing belatedly how Niall had kept Owen’s attention, picturing him chatting easily, summoning the waiter, ordering wine—refilling the other man’s glass…

      Suddenly she was sitting upright

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