‘And you designed it all? Planned it?’
He sounded amazed and she was annoyed with herself at how pleased she felt. It didn’t matter if he approved of her or not—at least it shouldn’t. She nodded, adding, ‘I enjoyed it, it was fun. My grandmother left me some money—Cass and I both—and I used mine for this place. My own home, and the business too of course. I always had that in the back of my mind and it seemed like the right time, a once-in-a-lifetime chance.’
‘A lady who knows her own mind and what she wants in life.’
It was said quietly and evenly, almost without expression, but as Robyn looked into the eyes which resembled silver ice under a blue winter sky she felt there was criticism under the surface. And as always she met the challenge head-on. ‘You disapprove of that?’ she asked directly. ‘Going for what you want?’
‘Should I?’ he returned with coolly lifted eyebrows.
It was no answer but hot and sticky as she was, after a hectic day when she hadn’t even had time to renew her make-up or check her hair, Robyn was in no state to press the matter. For the time being at least. But she hadn’t liked that little remark.
Clay looked as cool and well-groomed as if he had recently stepped out of the shower into fresh clothes—which he might well have done for all she knew. Robyn conceded temporary defeat and smiled brightly. ‘Help yourself to a drink, the cocktail cabinet is cunningly disguised in that little cupboard,’ she said lightly, pointing to the bottom of the pine dresser which sat with the table and chairs. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘Take all the time you need.’ And then he smiled.
Robyn stood transfixed, hypnotised. She’d forgotten that smile. How could she have forgotten that smile? It had always had the power to transform the devastatingly hard handsomeness into something much more lethal, softening the chiselled features as it did and bringing a warm silkiness to the piercing eyes.
He had smiled at her like that the first time Guy had brought him to the house to meet Cass; it had been that very moment, at the age of twelve, she had fallen hopelessly in love w
ith him…
But that was the past. She dragged in a secret breath and schooled her face into a careful smile, turning away as she said, ‘Turn the TV on if you like.’
She almost went headlong down the stairs, and it was at that point she warned herself not to dredge up any more memories from the past. Clay Lincoln in the present was more than enough to cope with and she needed all her wits about her.
She ran a shallow bath and stripped off her clothes quickly. She was out of the water again in a couple of minutes, padding out onto the landing in her long towelling robe and then standing in front of the long fitted cupboard that served as her wardrobe for valuable minutes as she mentally discarded one outfit after another, working herself into a real tizzy in the process.
‘Oh, get a grip, girl.’ She shut her eyes tightly as she breathed out the admonition but her head was whirling. Somehow Clay was back in her life and it terrified her.
No, no it didn’t. Her eyes snapped open and the inner voice was savage. He was nothing to her so how could he have any effect on her, she told herself fiercely. She would have dinner with him because there was nothing else she could do in the circumstances, but once tonight was over then that would be that. By his own admission he was planing to be away some time and in the intervening period she would make it crystal clear to Cass exactly why she never wanted to see Clay Lincoln again. It would be both painful and humiliating to reveal the past and her part in what had been a disastrous episode, but she should have told her sister years ago. She saw that now.
Robyn reached inside the wardrobe and took the first dress she came to off the hanger. She wasn’t going to worry about how she looked either. No titivating.
The dress was a plain one in dark brown wool and she’d never particularly liked it. She stared at it for a moment in her hands, bit her lip at her own inconsistency, and then replaced it quickly before selecting an olive-green cashmere dress that was gathered at the neck and fell to just below her knees. It had cost her an arm and a leg at the beginning of the winter a few months ago, but it fitted like a dream and turned her size twelve into a size eight by some magic all of its own. She’d managed to find some strappy shoes of exactly the same colour and now she pulled those out, dressing quickly and frowning at herself when her hands shook as she fixed big gold hoops in her ears in the bathroom.
What was the matter with her for goodness’ sake? She was twenty-eight years old. A competent business woman in charge of her own life and career. She was not—repeat not, she emphasised firmly—a starry-eyed, naïve schoolgirl any more.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror and wide dark eyes stared back at her. Hair up or down? More sophisticated up, more sexy down. It went up, with a few curling tendrils to soften the style, and after applying a touch of green eyeshadow to her eyelids and thickening her already thick lashes a little more with black mascara she was nearly ready. Deep red lipstick completed her hasty toilet, a long deep breath steadied her racing nerves and, after dabbing a little of the Givenchy perfume one of her friends had bought her for Christmas on her wrists, she shut the bathroom cabinet where she kept her make-up and opened the door. She was going to present an image as cool and remote as anything Clay projected tonight, even if it killed her.
He thought she was a shrewd, tough businesswoman who’d had men galore and had an eye to the main chance. Fine. Better that than him finding out the truth—that she hadn’t dated in months and was that singularly incongruous anomaly, a twenty-eight-year-old virgin. Wouldn’t he just love that!
The last thought raised her head and brought her eyes narrowing. Clay was the enemy. As long as she remembered that, everything would be all right.
She closed the door behind her and began to climb the stairs…
CHAPTER FOUR
‘TOPEKA’S? Have you booked a table?’
As Clay’s Aston Martin drew up outside the restaurant and nightclub half of London would give their eye teeth to enter, Robyn spoke without thinking. Anyone who was anyone was seen at Topeka’s. It was the in place, the buzz of the metropolis, and there was nothing so sordid as prices on the menus. If one could afford to be seen in Topeka’s one could afford to pick up the tab, and as the clientele read like an excerpt from Who’s Who there was never a problem.
‘There’ll be a table.’ The words hadn’t left his lips before the doorman was at the car, all ingratiating smiles, saying, ‘So nice to see you again, Mr Lincoln,’ as he ushered them inside.
Robyn saw Clay slip him the keys to the car along with a folded twenty-pound note, and her eyes widened. It was common knowledge just a few privileged customers had their own parking spots in the basement of the building; she might have known Clay would be one of them. Was he showing off? Trying to impress her? Emphasising he could afford to buy Brett PR a thousand times over?
She cast a sidelong glance at him from under her eyelashes, and as she did so the head waiter emerged like a genie out of a lamp at their side. Again he was all teeth and bows and, although the exalted interior seemed full to Robyn, within moments they were seated at a table for two at the edge of the dance floor. A prestigious spot of course, she thought waspily.
She tried not to stare but it was hard. There were at least three celebrities within spitting distance—not that anything so coarse could possibly occur in Topeka’s, Robyn thought wryly—and several more scattered round the room in which diamonds and Diors mingled with Guccis and Armanis in a blatant display of unlimited wealth. Never mind that some of the women present were on their third face-lift and dressed in clothes more suited to someone half their age, which they had starved their bodies to fit by the look of them—all that mattered was that they were here, now, where they could see and be seen.