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They’re just renewals. Then we’ll call it a day and I’ll take you down to the Opera Bar for a drink.’ If he could get her to relax, she might open up to him a bit.

      She surprised him again by not saying no straight away.

      Curiouser and curiouser.

      But she didn’t say yes, either.

      ‘Look,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m not asking you out on a date. Just for a drink. Lots of work colleagues go for drinks on a Friday afternoon.’

      ‘I do know that,’ she said stiffly.

      ‘Then what’s your problem?’

      Again, she hesitated.

      ‘Look,’ he went on determinedly, ‘I do realise that you don’t like me much. No no, Laura, don’t bother to deny it; you’ve made your feelings quite obvious over the past two years. I have to confess that I haven’t exactly warmed to you, either. But even the most indifferent and insensitive male would notice that you’re not yourself today. As unlikely as it might seem, I find myself quite worried about you. Hence my invitation to take you for a drink. I thought you might relax over a glass of wine and tell me what’s up.’

      And why you gave me that odd look when you first came in, he added privately to himself.

      ‘Even if I tell you,’ she replied, her eyes unhappy, ‘There’s nothing you can do about it.’

      ‘Let me be the judge of that.’

      She laughed, but it was not a happy sound. ‘You’ll probably be annoyed with me.’

      ‘That’s a very intriguing thing to say. Now, I simply won’t take no for an answer. You are going to come for a drink with me—right now. And you’re going to tell me what this is all about!’

      CHAPTER TWO

      LAURA knew it was silly of her to feel flattered by his concern—and even sillier to agree to have a drink with him at the Opera Bar, of all places.

      The Opera Bar was the place to go for an after-work drink in Sydney’s CBD, conveniently located near the quay and with one of the best views in town—the Opera House on the right, Circular Quay on the left, the Harbour Bridge straight ahead, not to mention the harbour itself. Half the staff at Harvey, Michaels and Associates gathered there every Friday evening. Even non-social Laura occasionally went with them. She knew that it would cause a stir if she was seen drinking there in the company of Ryan Armstrong.

      Why, then, had she agreed?

      This was the question which tormented her during the short walk down to the quay.

      By the time they arrived at the bar—early enough not to be spotted by any of her work colleagues yet, thank heavens—Laura was no nearer a logical answer.

      Alison would have said that she was secretly attracted to him. There again, dear Alison was a hopeless romantic, addicted to those movies where the heroine hates the hero on sight but somehow falls madly in love with him before the credits go up at the end.

      Laura could never buy into that plot. When she didn’t like someone, she didn’t like them—end of story. She’d never liked Ryan Armstrong and certainly wasn’t secretly attracted to him.

      Okay, so he was good-looking, smart and, yes, highly successful. Ten years ago, she might have found him fascinating. These days, however, she was immune to handsome charmers who used women for their sexual satisfaction—sometimes for other rotten reasons—and gave them nothing in return but the dubious pleasure of their company. They shared nothing of themselves, either emotionally or financially. They were greedy selfish men who wanted their cake and wanted to eat it too. Laura had been involved with two such men in her life and had developed a sixth sense whenever she met a man of their ilk.

      Ryan Armstrong had set off warning bells in her head from the first moment they had met, which was why she made an extra effort every Friday to down-play her looks even more than had become her habit during the last few years.

      Not that she needed to worry about his making a play for her. It had been obvious from the start that he didn’t like her any more than she liked him. That was why she’d been surprised today by his suddenly being nice to her. He’d got under her guard a couple of times already and now here she was, about to have drinks with him.

      It was all very perverse.

      ‘Let’s sit outside,’ Ryan said, and steered her out to the alfresco area where the sun was still shining, providing enough warmth to counter the freshness of the harbour breeze.

      ‘What would you like to drink?’ Ryan asked as he pulled out a chair for her at an empty table right by the water’s edge.

      ‘Bourbon and coke,’ she replied, which made him raise his eyebrows. But he made no verbal comment before turning away and returning to the bar inside to order the drinks.

      Being left alone gave Laura even more time to think and to worry. Not about her virtue—no way could she ever be seduced by the likes of Ryan Armstrong—but about the confession which Ryan was seemingly intent on getting out of her.

      She still could not believe she’d been stupid enough to do what she’d done. And now it had backfired on her, big time. Not that she could have foretold that the doctors would be proved wrong and that her grandmother would come out of her coma and remember every single word that her granddaughter had said as she had sat by her bedside. Laura’s intentions at the time had all been good, but what did that matter now?

      A weary sigh escaped her lips. What was that old saying? ‘The road to hell was paved with good intentions.’

      The sight of Ryan walking towards their table with the drinks in his hands reminded her of why she’d chosen him to lie about to her grandmother. He really was the epitome of what her grandmother would think the perfect partner for her favourite granddaughter. First there was the matter of his looks. Gran had always said that she liked a man to look like a man, advising Laura to steer clear of pretty boys whom, she’d said, invariably had no backbone and, more importantly, no muscles to speak of.

      ‘And they usually go bald early,’ Gran had claimed with a perfectly straight face.

      Laura had never been overly impressed by her grandmother’s tendency to make superficial judgements when it came to the opposite sex. Though perhaps she should have listened, since the two men who’d broken her heart had both been pretty boys.

      Ryan certainly wasn’t a pretty boy. All his facial features were large and masculine. He had a broad forehead, an aquiline nose and a strong, square jaw which wasn’t softened at all by the dimple in the middle of his chin. His hair was dark brown and would have been thick, if he ever grew it past his military-style crew cut. He certainly wasn’t in danger of going prematurely bald, with no sign of a receding hairline.

      Gran also liked men with blue eyes, for some reason.

      Ryan’s eyes were blue, though they were so deep-set under his thick dark brows that they sometimes looked black from a distance. Up close, however, their blue was the colour of a bright summer sky—but not nearly as warm. His eyes carried a hardness which no doubt served him well when he was negotiating a deal.

      His body would have gained Gran’s tick of approval as well, being tall and broad-shouldered, with muscles in all the right places. Admittedly, Laura had never seen him dressed in anything but a business suit—the kind he was wearing today—but she had seen him jacket-less with his sleeves rolled up and there was no hiding the fact that the man was very fit, with a flat stomach and no flab anywhere.

      It was no wonder that she’d chosen him as her imaginary Mr Right, she realised as she watched Ryan walk towards her. He fitted the bill perfectly. Not only did he look like a man physically, but he was financially secure, charming when he wanted to be and, yes, old enough to be experienced in life.

      Gran always said that a girl should never marry a man around her own age.

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