LITMIR.BIZ

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to seeing us.’

      He was already pulling casual jeans and shirts from the dressing chest, tossing them, man-like, any old how over the back of a chair. ‘We both need some breathing space and at least we won’t fight in front of an audience. So pack our gear after you’ve showered, would you? I’ll make breakfast.’

      Hauling herself out of bed, Olivia felt as if her heart had been dumped about six inches beneath her feet, hating the edge she’d detected in his voice.

      Not that she didn’t want to visit his parents; she had taken to them immediately, relieved by their warm welcome because she’d been worried that they might think a widow, from a very ordinary background, was no great catch for their brilliant only son.

      And she’d only met them twice before. The first time when Nathan had whisked her to Bedfordshire to announce their almost immediate wedding plans to his commendably phlegmatic parents and the second time at the marriage ceremony itself. So it made perfect sense that, after a week back in England, Nathan would want to visit them. Despite his nomadic life-style he and his parents were very close. She might have envied him that, had not Angela and Edward welcomed her as part of the family.

      But she couldn’t help feeling that she and Nathan should have taken the opportunity this weekend to talk over the events of last night, get them in perspective and then, and only then, put them behind them.

      But, strangely, Nathan seemed intent on sweeping it all under the carpet, forgetting everything, at least for the moment. Why? He was the most direct person she had ever encountered. Was it because he couldn’t bring himself to even think about the accusations Hugh had made in case he found himself believing them?

      Her eyes were clouded, her whole body tense as she towelled herself dry after her shower and walked through to the bedroom to dress and pack. Then the appetising aromas of grilling bacon and fresh, strong coffee wafted up the stairs, making her nose twitch.

      It had always astounded her that a man as wealthy as Nathan Monroe, a man who could press buttons and have servants coming out of the woodwork to attend to his every need if he so wished, should know his way around a kitchen like a veteran.

      Relaxing a little, she pulled on a pair of soft, well-worn white jeans, topping them with a pansy-purple T-shirt that reflected the colour of her eyes, and told herself she couldn’t spend the entire weekend worrying about his motives.

      Besides, Rye House was quite wonderful. Set in acres of rolling, wooded countryside, it had been in the Monroe family since the year dot. She would, she vowed, enjoy the weekend.

      And so she did. As they were changing for dinner that evening in the luxurious guest suite, decorated in shades of soft old rose and misty grey, the perfect foil for the handsome antiques that had been handed down from generation to generation, Nathan asked, ‘Glad we came?’ He was standing at the foot of the four-poster bed, watching her mirror-image as she brushed her long black hair. Her answering smile was warm and genuine.

      ‘Very.’ She put her brush down, wondering if he had any idea how sensational he looked; his soft dark hair falling over his brow, his hands casually thrust into the pockets of the black trousers that clipped his long legs and sexily narrow hips, the stark white shirt making his tan fantastic.

      She lowered her eyes. Now was not the time to entertain lustful thoughts about her husband! There was dinner to get through and—

      God, would she ever get used to the way he made her feel? She hoped not! Getting her mind back on track, she asked, ‘Where were you all afternoon? I missed you.’

      He and Edward, his father, had disappeared directly after lunch while she and his mother had been clearing up, because Hilda, their daily, didn’t work at weekends. And she had missed him, fretted over whether he was deliberately avoiding her, giving himself a slice of the space he’d said they both needed.

      ‘Sorry about that.’ She caught his cool glance in the mirror. ‘The old man’s building a kit-car in the empty stables. I told him he was in his second childhood, but when he showed me what he was doing I was hooked. A Cobra replica body married to the Rover V8 engine. It’s going to be really something when it’s finished.’

      ‘Toys for the boys!’ She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. ‘Why do men never grow up?’

      She was trying to make a joke of it, lighten the atmosphere, nudge them towards the old, wonderful closeness, but he simply shrugged, walking slowly over the polished oak boards to stand behind her.

      ‘I can think of a few grown-up things I’d like to do right now.’ His voice was heavy as his eyes made a slow and sultry assessment of her mirror-image, stripping away the soft, garnet-coloured silk of her discreetly styled, sleeveless dress.

      ‘You are unforgivably beautiful,’ he said rawly. ‘I can’t look at you without wanting to take you to bed. But you know me.’ His mouth curved without humour. ‘I like to get my priorities right. Is it too much to hope that you spent the afternoon mentally composing your letter of resignation?’

      ‘I’m afraid it is,’ she answered tightly, meeting his cool eyes in the mirror, refusing to let him stare her down. ‘I won’t be forced into a snap decision.’ Max had always tried to do that to her, tried to make her fall in with his plans, using the threat of violence if she didn’t. But she had stood her ground then, and would do so now. ‘We need to have a proper discussion. All we’ve done so far is snipe at each other.’

      ‘I see.’ He sounded almost bored and turned, strolling to one of the mullioned windows to look out. ‘So what’s to discuss?’

      Ohvia bit her lip, tension making her shiver. Because her love for him was so deep it would be too easy to give in, do exactly what he wanted, but she had to stay calm, in control—she had learned that much when she’d been married to Max If she showed any weakness he would pounce, bend her so easily to his will.

      ‘What I want, for starters,’ she said collectedly. ‘But there’s no time to go into all of that right now. Your mother’s invited some friends to meet us—well, me, I suppose.’ She searched her brain for names. ‘Ruth and Lester Spencer. We’ll be expected to show our faces any time now.’

      He moved away from the window, taking his elegantly cut dinner jacket from the wardrobe where she’d hung it earlier. ‘Then we’d better change the subject, hadn’t we?’ He was coolly dismissive. ‘So tell me, what did you and Ma find to do with yourselves?’ he tossed at her, settling the jacket snugly over his shoulders.

      ‘Plenty.’ She applied her make-up hurriedly, her hands shaking. She was still deeply affected by the undercurrent of antagonism. ‘I helped her prepare the salads for the meal this evening, then she made some lemonade and we carried it out to the rose garden and simply sat and nattered.’

      ‘What about? Were you bored out of your socks?’ He was sharing the mirror, talking like a polite stranger, tying his bow-tie with expert fingers. ‘Once she starts on the subject of her charity work she sends everyone to sleep. But don’t tell her I told you so; the poor love would be shattered.’

      ‘We mostly talked about you.’ She capped her lipstick, her voice deliberately matching the coolness of his. ‘But don’t worry, I managed not to yawn.’

      She watched his eyes glitter at her and wasn’t going to tell him that the conversation had revealed how ignorant his doting parents were of his true desires and needs, and said instead, ‘I wonder if you appreciate how lucky you are? Oh, not all this—’ She gestured vaguely around the room at the lovely antique furnishings, the porcelain bowls of garden flowers set on almost every available polished surface. ‘But the feeling of love and warmth that comes entirely from your parents. They obviously dote on each other and on you. Which is nice, because it rubs off on me, too. They have the happy knack of making me feel I’m at last part of a family.’

      She had already told him that her parents had split up when she was five, that the modest terraced house had been sold after the divorce, she and her mother moving to a one-bedroom flat. But he had more or less accused her

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