LITMIR.BIZ

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trying to think how a woman of the world would respond. She shrugged lightly. ‘Regret is such a wasted emotion, I always think.’

      ‘So you’re not tempted to leave?’

      ‘I’m very tempted,’ she answered honestly. ‘But running away at this stage isn’t going to help.’

      ‘And is it working?’ he asked obscurely.

      ‘What?’

      ‘This saturation therapy you told me about the day you came to the house. Enforced proximity. Is it ridding us of our mutual obsession, do you think?’

      She couldn’t help the small smile which curved her lips. ‘I can’t tell. But give me time, Dominic, give me time! The more I get to know you, the easier it will be, I’m sure.’

      ‘I do hope your confidence isn’t misplaced,’ he warned her silkily.

      Her eyes were velvety black in their intensity as she refused to let him outstare her. So did she! ‘In the meantime, I think you’d better stay out of my way until dinnertime.’

      And then she swept off without giving him a backward glance, carrying her basket of flowers over one arm, wondering if she had dreamt up the sound of his low, mocking laughter.

      

      

      Back at the house, it was a relief to have something to occupy her mind, and Romy slipped into automatic pilot.

      No regrets, she had as good as told him, and as she went from room to room she told herself that she wouldn’t even think about how shockingly they had behaved back there in broad daylight.

      In practice, of course, it was not that simple, and she found her mind going round and round in circles which began and ended with Dominic Dashwood.

      She hadn’t lied to him. Because, rightly or wrongly, she had adored being able to touch him like that, without inhibition. Had loved feeling him powerless and vulnerable beneath her questing fingers.

      So did that mean that she merely felt justified in paying him back in kind? Or that she had finally grown up and was starting to feel at ease with her own sexuality?

      Or were her worst dreams going to come true? Romy chewed distractedly on her lip. What if she found herself on the same downward spiral of casual sex which had characterised her mother’s life?

      But sex didn’t seem to interest her, Romy, unless it involved Dominic—so what did that tell her?

      That she was crazy, that was what!

      Forcing herself to concentrate on the task in hand, Romy found vases and grouped all the different blooms she had picked into dramatic, colour coordinated arrangements. She also made miniature posies for each guest’s place at the table. Afterwards she carefully left them in the pantry, which was cool and dark, in order to keep them as fresh as possible before dinner.

      With the help of Ellen, she hunted out all Dominic’s finest glass and china and set the dining table as elaborately as possible. Next, she brought out the prettily decorated place-names which she had written out last night, and then checked that the bathrooms had soap and fresh towels, and left chocolates and mineral water in each bedroom.

      The smell of freshly picked strawberries greeted her in the kitchen where Gilly, the caterer, was decorating the top of a fluffy white pavlova.

      ‘How’s it all going?’ asked Romy, peering into a bowl of whipped cream and resisting the urge to take a blob for herself.

      ‘Fine,’ smiled Gilly. ‘The watercress soup is chilling and I’m just about to make the pastry for the salmon en croûte. After that I’m going to decorate the chocolate roulade.’

      Romy almost drooled. ‘Sounds wonderful! Well, as you seem to have everything under control, I’m going to go upstairs to get dressed.’

      She took more care than usual getting ready for dinner. She normally prided herself on her rush-and-go ability to shower and sling on something to wear in under twelve minutes. Romy liked a natural look.

      But tonight was different.

      Tonight, she made a feature of her eyes with a coppery shadow which glittered on the lids like bronze frost. Next she dramatically outlined them with kohl pencil, then used far more than her usual lick of mascara. A slick of vampish red lipstick completed the look.

      The result was both gratifying and disturbing.

      For once she looked her age—and even if she hadn’t done then the bronze satin sheath of her evening dress very definitely emphasised the fact that, physically at least, she was now a fully fledged woman, and not the young girl she had been when she had first met Dominic.

      Was she imagining things, or had her breasts suddenly become heavier and more curved overnight? she wondered. Had she somehow gained an extra few pounds without trying? Because surely something must be responsible for the way the silken fabric clung like a caress to her breasts and hips and bottom like that?

      Even her blonde hair, which tonight she had actually bothered to take a hairdrier to, looked paler and fuller—framing her heart-shaped face with feathery little fronds.

      And she had to stifle a small gasp as she stood at last in front of the full-length mirror. Imagine that she could look like that! Her dark eyes glittered as blackly as jet and her mouth was a wide and sultry scarlet slash.

      Did she just want to hold her own against a woman as beautiful as Triss Alexander? she wondered. Or was she deliberately trying to make Dominic desire her even more? And if so—then why?

      Brushing aside these uncomfortable questions, Romy slid her feet into the bronze high-heeled shoes which matched her gown.

      She made her way down the impressive sweep of the oak-banistered staircase, her heart jumping into her mouth when she saw just who was waiting at the bottom.

      Of course, she had seen him formally dressed before; he had looked absolutely wonderful in an elegant grey morning suit at her wedding. She remembered feeling guiltily aware of that fact even as she was saying her vows.

      But tonight he was wearing black—a black dinner jacket and trousers and a black bow-tie knotted around his neck. The colour seemed to draw attention to his height and to the impressive breadth of his shoulders, while the beautifully cut trousers outlined the muscular thrust of his thighs. The contrast of a fine white shirt only added to his buccaneer-like appeal, and Romy felt her knees grow weak.

      OK, he looks like a dream, she admitted to herself as she tried not to trip down the last few steps. But so what? Those perfect looks conceal a man who may desire you but who will never respect you. Never in a million years.

      He chose just that moment to look up.

      Caught in the cross-fire of that luminous grey stare, Romy realised that he was studying her just as closely, and that a pulse was beating hypnotically at the base of his neck, and she immediately found herself wishing that she hadn’t gone to so much trouble with her appearance.

      ‘You look quite—exquisite,’ he said eventually.

      ‘Thank you.’ Feeling ridiculously nervous, Romy sucked in a deep breath and began looking distractedly around the hall. ‘Where is everyone?’

      ‘Having drinks. The Baileys junior aren’t coming, I’m afraid.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘She’s feeling tired, and because she’s seven months pregnant they’ve decided to play safe and stay at home.’

      ‘I’ll have to alter the table,’ said Romy quickly.

      ‘Plenty of time to do that,’ he told her. ‘I’ve already spoken to Ellen. Come and have a drink first and meet everyone.’

      ‘O-OK’ Romy cringed inwardly at the way her voice trembled. Why was she suddenly feeling shot with nerves? She had had last-minute cancellations a million times before without

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