Jack nodded. ‘We had something very special, Kate.’
‘I don’t deny it,’ she agreed soberly. ‘But the past tense says it all. We’re different people now, older and hopefully wiser. Enough to know we can’t go back.’
He looked sceptical. ‘You came back here to live. You knew you risked running into me again.’
She shook her head. ‘No risk to me, Jack. I thought you were married, remember, and father of several children for all I knew.’
‘And now you know I’m neither?’
Kate thought about it. ‘I suppose the odd dinner would be pleasant. But nothing more than that, Jack. Relationships are altogether too much work.’
He nodded in grim agreement. ‘I gave up on them the day my divorce came through.’
‘So what do you do for—’ She paused. ‘Feminine solace?’
‘You mean sex?’ he said bluntly. ‘I steer clear locally. But I spend regular time in London these days. I’ve got a flat near my offices there.’
‘You mean you pay for your pleasures?’ she said, equally blunt.
He looked affronted. ‘Hell, no. I’ve never needed to. Besides, I have strong objections to sharing in that context. I just want your company over dinner, Kate,’ he added. ‘No strings.’
‘No feminine solace involved?’ she said lightly.
‘Just the pleasure of your company would give me that, Kate.’
She looked at him thoughtfully. He’d asked to see her again, just as she’d wanted. If she was going to turn him down flat, now was the time to do it. Instead she found herself nodding in agreement. ‘Why not?’
‘Good,’ said Jack briskly, and stood up. ‘I’ll call for you tomorrow. Seven-thirty?’
‘Make it eight.’ Kate went to the door with him. ‘It was good to see your father again.’
‘Dad thinks you’ve matured into a very beautiful woman.’
‘How sweet of him! I like your dog, by the way.’
‘I’ll bring Bran to visit one day.’
‘Please do. I thought your father looked great, Jack.’
He nodded. ‘I hope I look half as good at his age.’
‘The resemblance is so strong you’re bound to.’ Kate smiled up at him, and Jack bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
‘See you tomorrow. Thanks for the tea.’
Jack Logan drove home in triumphant mood. So Kate was willing to settle for friendship
. He could wait until she was ready for more. He’d felt her stiffen slightly as he kissed her cheek, as though she’d been afraid he meant to do more than that, so the wait was unlikely to be long. She could say what she liked about relationships, but the chemistry between them still existed, alive and kicking, even after all these years apart.
His mouth tightened. The long parting would never have happened if he hadn’t been such an idiot about Dawn. He should have questioned his paternity, or just offered to pay child support. But when Kate Durant preferred a London career to marriage with Jack Logan it wasn’t only his heart that suffered. So he took what Dawn offered to massage his ego, and then paid for the privilege in the way he knew would hurt Kate most. It was years later before he realised how hard his marriage must have hit her when he heard that she was living with some banker in a pricey Dockside loft. But that was in the past. Now the banker was long gone, and so was the successor she wouldn’t talk about. Jack Logan had developed patience over the years,and Katherine Durant was a woman worth waiting for.
Alone in her sitting room, Kate sat staring into space, sure she’d made a big mistake. Jack had finally asked to see her again and, instead of turning him down flat, she’d heard herself agreeing—just as she’d done the first time. But she had to eat. And it was only dinner, no bed and breakfast involved. Surely they could be friends again. Not that there was any‘again’ about it. They’d never been just friends.
That first night in the cinema they’d sat together without even holding hands, yet by the time he’d stopped the car on the way home she’d been desperate for his kisses and anything else Jack Logan had to offer. She’d never been keen on the physical side of relationships up to that point, and frustrated, angryboyfriends had never stayed the course very long. With Jack it was so different she’d felt as though she’d die if he didn’t take her to bed. And when he did she thought she’d died anyway, and gone to heaven. She smiled wistfully at the memory. Because they’d both lived at home with relatives the opportunities to repeat the experience had not been plentiful. But when either Tom Logan or the Suttons went out for the evening they’d dived into Jack’s bed or hers the moment they were alone together.
That particular form of high-octane rapture happened only once apparently. She had never experienced it again.
When Jack Logan came for her, formal-suited and prompt at eight the following evening, Kate was ready in clinging wool crêpe the colour of vintage cognac. Long-sleeved and starkly plain, the dress relied on superb fit and a vertiginous neckline for its impact. And Jack’s face told Kate that the dress, by no means new,was still worth every penny of the outrageous price she’d once paid for it.