LITMIR.BIZ

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her and looked around. Yet she hadn’t exactly welcomed him into her home, had she? Why, Xandros had barely been here apart from a few bouts of snatched passion en route to somewhere else. He had certainly never eaten a meal here or spent the night with her in her—admittedly—rather small bed. But it wasn’t small—it was a normal, double bed. It was just that anything was going to seem minute when compared with what he was used to.

      Putting the kettle on to make a cup of coffee, she stared out of the window where the first hint of green buds were softening the sharp edges of the branches. Springtime often brought with it clarity—shining a light after the long darkness of winter—and maybe it was time for her to face facts.

      She was falling ever deeper for Xandros, but currently their relationship was all on his terms. She was worried about it ending and yet how could anything so one-sided possibly be sustained?

      Surely Xandros got fed-up with everyone always acceding to his whims. An appetite would inevitably become jaded if it was always indulged. Didn’t you need a proper contrast in life to enjoy it to the max?

      Plan something, he had said.

      Rebecca’s mouth curved into a sudden, spontaneous smile. She most certainly would! Only she wouldn’t dream of billing it to him. He would get a taster of life, Rebecca-style! A little home-cooking and a flavour of the ordinary.

      She decided to make him a home-made chicken pie—a favourite choice from her childhood and something he’d be unlikely ever to get in one of the fancy restaurants he frequented. Going down the road to her local wine merchant, she bought a mid-price bottle of red which the wine-merchant said was a real find. Next, she set to giving her apartment the kind of spring-cleaning which it hadn’t seen in longer than she cared to remember.

      How satisfying it was to drag out pieces of furniture and to polish and wipe and shine in all the dusty corners. It was liberating—and Rebecca felt as if she were cleaning out all the dark corners of her own mind as she scrubbed and polished.

      Xandros hadn’t rung, but she wasn’t going to get into a flap about it. She wasn’t going to be needy and dependent when he was obviously busy. He had said the tenth, and that was what she was planning for.

      She washed the linen on the bed—hanging it out on her tiny washing line in between April showers so that it smelt all clean and fresh. But as she ironed it and sniffed it with the enthusiasm of someone appearing in a soap-powder commercial she felt a faint cloud of apprehension skitter into her mind. Just because she was planning to entertain Xandros on her territory, didn’t mean she had to transform herself into some kind of hausfrau, did it?

      And besides, Xandros still hadn’t phoned—and once she registered the long gap since they’d spoken she began to fret about it, even though she tried to tell herself not to.

      She did that dreadful thing of haunting the telephone—while gazing in dismay at the vases of fresh flowers she’d bought down at the market. What if they’d wilted by the time he turned up? What if all the dust particles she’d cleared away somehow regrouped on every lovingly buffed piece of furniture?

      It was that thought which drew her up short and made her realise that, although she was planning to give Xandros a little taste of her life, she was still behaving like a starving dog who was content to be thrown an occasional scrap from its master’s table.

      Why was she waiting for him to call her? She knew his number. She shared his bed—why shouldn’t she call him to confirm the arrangements?

      Yet despite all the reasoning in the world her hands were still trembling as she dialled his number and her heart was pounding with nerves. How stupid was that? This was a person with whom she had…

      There was a sudden click on the line and then an automated voice telling her that her call was being transferred, then more ringing—with the instruction to leave a message. She had nothing prepared. Nothing to say but a stumbled, ‘Oh, hello, Xandros, it’s me. Rebecca. I was just …’

      Just what? Just wondering what time to put the chicken pie in the oven? Very enticing.

      ‘I was just calling to say hi,’ she continued firmly. ‘And perhaps you could give me a ring when you’re free?’ Now she sounded like a dental receptionist asking him to confirm that he was about to keep his appointment.

      Then she noticed that there was another number listed for him, and when she tried that, a woman’s voice answered.

      Rebecca’s heart pounded painfully in her chest. Who the hell are you? ‘Is … is Xandros there, please?’

      ‘Not at the moment, I’m afraid,’ came the woman’s cool, transatlantic drawl. ‘May I ask who’s calling?’

      I’m his girlfriend, she wanted to shout. ‘Could you just tell him that Rebecca called?’

      ‘Sure.’

      Her phone shrilled into life an hour later and a distracted-sounding Xandros spoke. ‘You rang?’

      She wanted to ask who the woman had been. She wanted to ask why he never rang when he said he would. Instead, she said in a way which would afterwards make her cringe, ‘Did I disturb you?’

      There was a pause. ‘I was in a meeting.’ One of those meetings with a developer who seemed to think that cutting corners was a necessary part of construction. It had gone on for much too long, and it still wasn’t resolved. ‘What can I do for you, Rebecca?’

      Was she imagining the indifference in his voice? Was this why she had always waited for him to ring before? Some instinct protecting her from this haughty coolness which seemed curiously at odds with the hot passion he displayed in bed. He was a man who always liked to be in control by telephoning her; she was taking a little of the control back.

      But the reason she was doing this was because she wanted things to move out of the rut they seemed stuck in. To become once more the sparky and animated woman she used to be. ‘I just wanted to check that you’re still arriving on Friday.’

      Narrowing his eyes, Xandros glanced down at the diary lying open on his desk. ‘That’s right. Though if this deal isn’t tied up, I may have to take a later flight.’ His voice softened by a fraction as he allowed himself an enticing reminder of just how beautifully she always welcomed him. ‘Why don’t I call you when I land and you can come straight round and say hello, agape? Tell you what, why don’t I warn the hotel—and you can be right there waiting for me?’

      Warn the hotel? The husky timbre of his voice left her in no doubt as to how he would like her to greet him. Probably wearing a tight, satin bra and a pair of skimpy panties. She thought of the chicken pie she had laboured over. The apartment which was so clean, it looked as if she were about to start marketing it. And the little vase of lily of the valley which she had rather self-consciously placed next to her bed, which she planned to make up with clean and freshly ironed linen.

      ‘I’d much rather you came to me actually, Xandros.’

      There was another pause. ‘To you?’

      ‘Yes. I’m cooking you dinner here. At my apartment. Just for a change.’

      In New York, Xandros frowned and stifled a sigh. He didn’t want her cooking for him. He wanted her where he always had her—on tap and readily available. Quietly, he began to drum two fingers against the gleaming oak of his desk. ‘What is the point of wasting precious time cooking when there are so many more enjoyable ways of spending it?’ he questioned reasonably.

      But Rebecca was determined—she could feel her resolve bubbling to the surface. She was no longer going to be just a compliant sex-object—available whenever and wherever. From now on they were going to be on a more equal footing—because that was how relationships moved forward.

      ‘Because I want to,’ she said stubbornly.

      Oh, do you? ‘Then who am I to object?’ questioned Xandros, with silky carelessness.

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