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her time savouring the delicate texture of the prawns in a superb sauce many a chef would kill to reproduce.

      ‘Now that you’ve had some food, perhaps you’d like a glass of wine?’

      And have it go straight to her head? ‘Half a glass,’ she qualified, and determined to sip it slowly during the main course.

      ‘I hear you’ve taken on a very challenging brief,’ she said.

      Sloane pressed the napkin to the edge of his mouth, then discarded it down onto the damask-covered table. ‘News travels fast.’

      As did anything attached to Sloane Wilson-Willoughby. In or out of the courtroom.

      He part-filled her glass with wine, then set it back in the ice bucket, dismissing the wine steward who appeared with apologetic deference.

      Their main course arrived, and Suzanne admired the superbly presented fish and artistically displayed vegetable portions. It seemed almost a sacrilege to disturb the arrangement, and she forked delicate mouthfuls with enjoyment.

      ‘Am I to understand Georgia meets with your approval as a prospective stepmother?’

      Sloane viewed her with studied ease. She looked more relaxed, and her cheeks bore a slight colour. ‘Georgia is a charming woman. I’m sure she and my father will be very happy together.’

      The deceptive mildness of his tone brought forth a musing smile. ‘I would have to say the same about Trenton.’

      Sloane lifted his glass and took a sip of wine, then regarded her thoughtfully over the rim. ‘The question remains... What do you want to do about us?’

      Her stomach executed a painful backflip. ‘What do you mean, what do I want to do about us?’

      The waiter arrived to remove their plates, then delivered a platter of fresh fruit, added a bowl of freshly whipped cream, and withdrew.

      ‘Unless you’ve told Georgia differently, our respective parents believe we’re living in pre-nuptial bliss,’ Sloane relayed with deliberate patience. ‘Do we spend the weekend pretending we’re still together? Or do you want to spoil their day by telling them we’re living apart?’

      She didn’t want to think about together. It merely heightened memories she longed to forget. Fat chance, a tiny voice taunted.

      Fine clothes did little to tame a body honed to the height of physical fitness, or lessen his brooding sensuality. Too many nights she’d lain awake remembering just how it felt to be held in those arms, kissed in places she’d never thought to grant a licence to, and taught to scale unbelievable heights with a man who knew every path, every journey.

      ‘Your choice, Suzanne.’

      She looked at him and glimpsed the implacability beneath the charming facade, the velvet-encased steel.

      As a barrister in a court of law he was skilled with the command of words and their delivery. She’d seen him in action, and been enthralled. Mesmerised. And had known, even then, that she’d have reason to quake if ever he became her enemy.

      A game of pretence, and she wondered why she was even considering it. Yet would it be so bad?

      There wasn’t much choice if she didn’t want to spoil her mother’s happiness. The truth was something she intended to keep to herself.

      ‘I imagine it isn’t possible to fly in and out of Bedarra on the same day?’

      ‘No.’

      It was a slim hope, given the distance and the time of the wedding. ‘There are no strings you can pull?’

      ‘Afraid to spend time with me, Suzanne?’ Sloane queried smoothly.

      ‘I’d prefer to keep it to a minimum,’ she said with innate honesty. ‘And you didn’t answer the question.’

      ‘What strings would you have me pull?’

      ‘It would be more suitable to arrive on Bedarra Saturday morning, and return Sunday.’

      ‘And disappoint Trenton and Georgia?’ He lifted his glass and took an appreciative swallow of excellent vintage wine. ‘Did it occur to you that perhaps Georgia might need your help and moral support before the wedding?’

      It made sense, Suzanne conceded. ‘Surely we could return on Sunday?’

      ‘I think not.’

      ‘Why?’

      He set the glass down onto the table with the utmost care. ‘Because I won’t be returning until Monday.’

      She looked at him with a feeling of helpless anger. ‘You’re deliberately making this as difficult as possible, aren’t you?’

      ‘Trenton has organised to leave Sydney on Friday and return on Monday. I see no reason to disrupt those arrangements.’

      A tiny shiver feathered its way down her spine.

      Three days. Well, four if you wanted to be precise. Could she go through with it?

      ‘Do you want to renege, Suzanne?’

      The silkily voiced query strengthened her resolve, and her eyes speared his. ‘No.’

      ‘Can I interest you in the dessert trolley?’

      The waiter’s appearance was timely, and Suzanne turned her attention to the collection of delicious confections presented, and selected an utterly sinful slice of chocolate cake decorated with fresh cream and strawberries.

      ‘Decadent,’ she commented for the waiter’s benefit. ‘I’ll need to run an extra kilometre and do twenty more sit-ups in the morning to combat the extra kilo-joules.’

      Even when she’d lived with Sloane, she’d preferred the suburban footpaths and fresh air to the professional gym housed in his apartment.

      ‘I can think of something infinitely more enjoyable by way of exercise.’

      ‘Sex?’ Was it the wine that had made her suddenly brave? With ladylike delicacy, she indicated his selection of crème caramel ‘You should live a little, walk on the wild side.’

      ‘Wild, Suzanne?’ His voice was pure silk with the honeyed intonation he used to great effect in the courtroom.

      Knowing she would probably lose didn’t prevent her from enjoying a verbal sparring. ‘Figuratively speaking.’

      ‘Perhaps you’d care to elaborate?’

      Her eyes were wide, luminous, and tinged with wicked humour. ‘Do the unexpected.’

      Very few women sought to challenge him on any level, and none had in quite the same manner this petite, independent blonde employed. ‘Define unexpected.’

      Her head tilted to one side. ‘Be less—conventional.’

      ‘You think I should play more?’ The subtle emphasis was intended, and he watched the slight flicker of her lashes, the faint pink that coloured her cheeks. Glimpsed the way her throat moved as she swallowed. And felt a sense of satisfaction. With innate skill, he honed the blade and pierced her vulnerable heart. ‘I have a vivid memory of just how well we played together.’

      So did she, damn him. Very carefully she replaced her spoon on the plate. ‘Perhaps you’d care to tell me what arrangements you’ve made for Friday morning.’

      ‘I’ve instructed the pilot we’ll be leaving at eight.’

      ‘I’ll meet you at the airport.’

      ‘Isn’t that carrying independence a little too far?’

      ‘Why should you drive to the North Shore, only to have to double back again?’ Suzanne countered.

      Something shifted in his eyes, then it was successfully masked. ‘It isn’t a problem.’

      Of

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