LITMIR.BIZ

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mostly, I’d been wanting to kiss you ever since we met.’ He paused. ‘Don’t tell me you weren’t aware of it.’

      She’d seen the attentive interest in his eyes in that first instant when he looked up and saw her coming down the stairs. She couldn’t refute that. She looked away from him. ‘If you mean that I should have expected to have to pay for my dinner—’

      ‘I’d stop there if I were you!’ His voice sent a small shiver of fright down her spine. She forced herself to meet his gaze again, defiance in her eyes, but she couldn’t find any more words.

      His eyes were very dark, and even in this light she could see the angry spark in them. ‘Don’t push me too far, Briar,’ he warned.

      ‘Are you threatening me?’ She faced him, her chin squared.

      He looked down at her and suddenly laughed again. ‘No.’ He lifted a hand and flicked at her cheek with his finger. ‘I’m telling you to watch those thorns of yours, my sweet rose.’

      She jerked her head away from the tiny stinging touch. ‘I’m not yours, and I’m not sweet!’

      He was smiling at her, enjoying this. ‘I’d noticed. But I’m sure you could be if you put your mind to it. Think about it.’ And he swung on his heel and went back round the car.

      With his hand on the door-handle, he said, ‘Go into the house.’

      She was standing where he had left her, and she turned and walked quickly up the path, not looking round as she fumbled with the lock and let herself in. As she closed the door she heard the sound of his car moving away.

      * * *

      To her annoyance she did think about it—about him, anyway—quite a lot over the next few days. Trying to put him out of her mind simply didn’t work. Her brain insisted on going over and over things he’d said, and her body kept reacting to memories of the way he’d held her and kissed her and woken that unexpected response.

      Her father had wanted to know, over breakfast the following morning, how her evening had been.

      ‘Very nice, thank you,’ was all the reply she was prepared to give him.

      But after a few minutes he’d said, as though unable to contain himself, ‘Well, will you be seeing him again?’

      ‘I don’t think so.’ Briar kept her voice casual.

      ‘You didn’t offend him, did you?’

      ‘No.’ She might have, she supposed, with her assessment of his character, but he’d shown no sign of being mortally wounded. If anything, he’d found it amusing. ‘I thought you said he wasn’t all that important. Why are you so anxious?’

      ‘I’m not anxious,’ her father asserted. ‘But at your age you ought to be thinking about...things. It wouldn’t do you any harm to encourage him.’

      Laura said, ‘But if Briar doesn’t like him, Xavier—’

      ‘What’s wrong with him?’ her husband demanded. ‘Kynan Roth is a very good catch for a girl.’

      Laura said, ‘Briar is a very good catch, herself. Any man would be lucky to have her.’

      ‘Thank you, Laura.’ Briar smiled at her. ‘But I’m not actually thinking of marriage—and neither, I’m sure, is Kynan. I doubt if he’s the marrying kind.’

      Laura said confidently, ‘Every man is the marrying kind. They need it more than we do.’

      Xavier bent a surprised stare on his wife. ‘What gave you that idea?’

      ‘I read it somewhere. Men marry more quickly after they lose a partner, and are happier when they’re married. Women are happier single. Statistically speaking,’ Laura added hastily, ducking her head.

      ‘I don’t believe it,’ Xavier said bluntly.

      Laura cast her stepdaughter a lightning-fast glance, then turned an innocent gaze to her husband. ‘Well, that’s what it said.’

      ‘I’m certainly happy being single,’ Briar declared.

      ‘Are you saying you don’t want to marry?’ her father asked, a hint of outrage in his voice.

      ‘Not yet. Maybe never. But if the right man came along...’

      ‘How do you know Kynan Roth isn’t the right man for you?’

      ‘He does seem very eligible,’ Laura murmured. ‘Handsome, too. And thoughtful. Not many men will phone their hostess to thank her for a party, and even fewer send flowers...’

      ‘Do you want to marry me off, too?’ Briar asked her.

      ‘No, of course not! I love having you here, I don’t know what I’d do without you. But we don’t want to selfishly keep you at home.’

      ‘You’re not a bit selfish. And you don’t really need my help.’

      Laura looked doubtful, and Xavier gave a snort that made his daughter throw him a quick glance, but he didn’t seem to notice.

      ‘Anyway,’ Briar said, ‘Kynan isn’t likely to suggest seeing me again.’

      He’d probably go off and find someone who was less prickly. And good luck to him.

      * * *

      So she was startled when one day she looked up from serving a customer in the boutique and saw an unmistakable dark head bent over a rack of silk scarves in a corner.

      When she had wrapped the customer’s purchase and the woman had left the shop, Kynan turned and smiled at her. ‘So this is where you are,’ he said.

      Did that mean his visit was coincidence? She hadn’t told him the name of the shop or exactly where it was. She said, safely, ‘Yes. Can I help you?’

      He surveyed her silently for a moment, as though debating what to say. Then he smiled again. ‘Sure. I want to buy someone a present.’

      ‘A woman?’ There were racks of men’s ties and unisex scarves, but he was in the section containing more obviously feminine wear, and she came out from behind the counter to stand on the other side of the circular display rack.

      ‘Yes, a woman.’

      ‘Do you know what colours she likes? What kind of clothes she feels comfortable in? Casual or dressy? And is she dark or fair or—?’

      ‘Dark,’ he said. ‘Dark-haired, fair-skinned. Brown eyes. She reads Vogue and shops at Saks. Her favourite oufit is a sort of rusty red suit and a blouse with lots of green in it. And she’s just bought herself a red dress.’

      He knew a lot about her, Briar thought. She wondered how long he’d known this woman—and how intimately.

      Not that it was any concern of hers, of course. As two more people entered the shop, she turned her attention to the scarves, pushing aside a couple of tie-dyed ones and another in blue and green stripes. ‘Perhaps this?’ she suggested, pulling out a big silk square printed with autumn leaves. ‘Or this?’ The pattern was abstract, a daring combination of green, orange and red splashed with black.

      ‘Mmm,’ he said, fingering the second one. ‘I think she’d like that.’ He took it from her and spread it between his hands, finally nodding. ‘I’ll take it.’

      So ‘she’ was no conservative dresser, Briar deduced. ‘Would you like it gift-wrapped? And I can give you a card, if you like.’

      ‘Thank you.’ He slid a hand into his breast pocket and took out a brown leather wallet. ‘How much?’

      He hadn’t looked at the price tags. The scarf wasn’t a cheap one, but he put down a fifty-dollar note on the counter without comment.

      Another customer approached, holding two packets of tights. Cutting off a piece of gift-wrap, Briar

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