LITMIR.BIZ

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doesn’t like me. Must be the husband dumping her has made her all weird.’

      ‘Her husband left her…?’

      Dan nodded. ‘Not too sure of the details, but presumably that’s what made her fall apart.’

      Santiago’s eyes lifted. ‘Are they divorced?’

      ‘Like I said, I don’t know the details. I had a colleague lined up for this weekend to keep her out of our hair, but he got mumps, of all things!’

      ‘That was inconsiderate of him,’ Santiago murmured sarcastically, thinking fast and hard—something he was well equipped to do.

      ‘I’m not saying he did it on purpose, but, hell-fire, Santiago, I’ve been planning this weekend for weeks, ever since I bought the ring.’

      ‘You are going to propose?’ He watched as Dan looked self-conscious and thought, I hope she’s not a total bitch. Being Lily’s friend was not the best of recommendations.

      ‘Six years is a very small age gap.’

      ‘Insignificant,’ Santiago agreed obediently, amused that it was something as minor as an age difference that bothered his young friend. ‘This alters things,’ he mused out loud.

      ‘It does?’ Dan sounded cautious.

      ‘Being a romantic—’

      ‘Since when?’

      ‘I will come and keep this…Lily…company.’

      Dan was so grateful that it took Santiago ten minutes to get rid of him.

      When Dan finally left, Santiago took the photograph he had slipped surreptitiously into his pocket and laid it on the desk. Hands pressed on the polished rosewood surface, he leaned forward, his eyes trained on the barely distinguishable features of the woman in the background. A quiver of movement tightened the contours of his impossibly symmetrical features. When admirers attributed that symmetry to generations of aristocratic inbreeding, Santiago could barely repress his amusement.

      Lily’s hair looked dark in the snapshot, but Santiago knew it was a medium brown, not a boring matt brown, but a fascinating intermingling of shades ranging from golden blonde to warm, rich russet.

      That heart-shaped little face—thinner than he recalled—those big, kittenish blue eyes, and soft, seductive mouth didn’t look as though they belonged to a woman who had the morals of an alley cat.

      She had made a fool of him.

      But, as Santiago had told himself many times over the last months, he had the consolation of knowing that he had had a lucky escape. Lucky me!

      He wasn’t married to this heartless little cheat—someone else was. Another man enjoyed the expertise of those soft lips. Someone else slept with his head cushioned on those soft, warm breasts at night. That man was entitled to touch pearly skin that smelt of roses and vanilla, and wake up with pale, smooth limbs wrapped around him.

      Another man was listening to her lies and believing them.

      Someone else, but not me.

      Oddly enough, thoughts of his lucky escape did not make Santiago feel like breaking into spontaneous song.

      Then he remembered Daniel’s words and realised that it was possible nobody was enjoying the carnal delights of her voluptuous body. Recalling what a sensual little thing she had been, he doubted this situation would last for long.

      He looked at his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists and rotated his head to ease the tension that had crept into his shoulders and neck. He was over the woman; it was the memory of his own criminal gullibility that plagued him, that stopped him fully enjoying what life had to offer. The obvious way to restore equilibrium was to face his problem. He needed what the psychologists called closure, and what he, in the privacy of his own thoughts, called seeing Lily get what she deserved.

      Now, thanks to Dan, he had the chance.

      Staring out of the window, seeing none of the panoramic view over the city, he mulled over what he had learnt and wondered how it could be used to his advantage. Apparently Lily was going through a rough patch. The protective instincts that sprang into life at the thought of her vulnerability didn’t survive more than a split second before good sense reasserted itself.

      He smiled grimly. Maybe it was Lily’s turn to reap some of what she had sown…? Or maybe her present breakdown was part of some elaborate scam, which, knowing her as he did, was entirely possible.

      Though he had nothing to prove, it would be good to confirm what he already knew: that he was over Lily.

      ‘You’ve been crying.’

      Lily, who had thought she was alone, jumped at the accusation and gave a surreptitious sniff before lifting her head. ‘No,’ she mumbled, pinning a determined smile on her blotchy face, ‘it’s this darned hay fever.’

      Her friend sighed. ‘You don’t get hay fever, Lily,’ she retorted, dropping her designer handbag on the floor and easing one shoe off with a sigh.

      Lily watched the second four-inch heel follow suit as Rachel shrank to a willowy five ten. Her cheeks began to ache as she continued to smile brightly to compensate for her blotchy appearance.

      She blew her nose defiantly. ‘Well, I do now,’ she insisted.

      Rachel lifted her artfully darkened brows and released a theatrical sigh, but didn’t press the point.

      ‘If you say so,’ she said, wincing as she rubbed first one aching foot and then the other against her slim calves. ‘Now, what shall we do tonight?’

      ‘I fancy an early night, actually.’

      ‘Early night! You’ve had early nights for the past week.’ She looked her friend up and down through narrowed eyes, mentally chucking the top Lily was wearing in the bin—no self-respecting charity shop would want it—and getting her into something, preferably low cut, in a pastel shade maybe…? A nice soft smoky blue would bring out the incredible shade of her eyes.

      ‘It’s definitely time you let your hair down, Lily. It’ll do us both good,’ she contended.

      Lily guiltily noted for the first time the lines of fatigue around the older woman’s eyes. ‘Bad day?’

      ‘Sometimes I wonder why I ever became an accountant,’ she admitted.

      ‘The six-figure salary…?’

      Rachel grinned. ‘I get that because I’m brilliant at what I do. And I won’t bother trying to explain to someone who can’t even add up with a calculator that numbers are sexy. Now, about tonight. Dan has this really sweet mate…single, solvent…admittedly he’s no Brad Pitt, but then—’

      ‘Beggars can’t be choosers…?’

      Rachel adopted an expression of mock gravity. ‘Well, I was going to say, Who is? But now you mention it women who don’t exfoliate regularly, Lily, have to be realistic.’ She turned her frowning scrutiny on the younger woman’s fair-skinned face. ‘Actually, considering your skin-care regime consists of splashing a bit of soap and water on your face, you have the most disgustingly gorgeous skin,’ she observed enviously. ‘A bit of decent foundation would totally disguise those freckles,’ she prophesied, frowning at the bridge of Lily’s small, tip-tilted nose. ‘Still, some men like freckles. Shall I ring Dan and—’

      Lily knew one man who had said he liked her freckles, though she suspected they, like everything else about her, would disgust him now.

      ‘No!’ Rachel’s eyebrows lifted and Lily added more moderately, ‘I appreciate what you’re trying to do, I really do, but, to be honest, a man is the last thing I need right now.’

      It was easy to figure out what she didn’t need—blind dates featured pretty high on this list. What she did need was a much more difficult proposition!

      ‘Need

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