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Erin had the queasy sense he was way out of her league, occupying a far, far different world to hers. “Is Peter Ramsey a business whiz, too?” she asked.
“Very much so on the international scene,” came the heart-sinking reply. “All high-tech stuff. I’m not up with that but he’s always in the social pages, being photographed with other celebrities. Every time he changes women it’s big news.”
Erin’s stomach did a dive, too. “You mean…he’s a playboy.”
The macho BMW sports car popped back into her mind. Had he been the driver?
Her aunt shrugged. “Well, he’s still playing the field. Hasn’t married anyone yet. Probably doesn’t give much time to his relationships. Always on the go. And let’s face it, a man in his position can get any woman he wants when he wants.”
Yes. He probably could.
The excitement that had been fizzing through Erin’s bloodstream completely flattened out. The possibility of Peter Ramsey being her prince was looking dim if not downright dead.
Yet he had certainly played knight to the rescue in the park and she had felt a strong connection with him. On the other hand, their shared empathy for Mr Harper’s situation could have accounted for that feeling, plus, of course, her instinctive response to his very dynamic sexual appeal.
“Why do you think he’s involved himself with this?” Erin asked, wanting more input from her aunt.
Sarah shrugged. “Why was he in the park? Maybe the two are connected.”
“What do you mean?”
“There must have been a trigger for his action.” She paused to think through what had happened. “Maybe he overheard Mr Harper yelling out that he’d been ripped off by his wife. That could have hit a sore spot with Peter Ramsey.”
“Do you know that some woman has just ripped him off?”
“No.” Sarah leaned back in her chair, a cynical little smile tugging at her mouth. “But it has to be always on the cards with that much wealth on the table. Remember what happened with his sister.”
Erin shook her head. “I don’t know anything about his sister.”
Sarah looked surprised. “The story ran in the media for weeks. It was huge.”
“When?”
“Oh—” she waved her hand as though trying to grasp the time element “—must be almost three years ago.”
Erin thought back. “I was travelling through Asia then.”
“Always off somewhere,” Sarah remarked with a sigh of exasperation at her niece’s footloose life. “You should stay home more often, Erin.”
The cynical thought instantly slid through her mind—What home? Her mother had remarried and made a home with her second husband—no room for her daughter. Her father…fat chance of being welcomed for more than an hour or two in his household! The house she’d bought at Byron Bay was her writing base but it was always lonely there, not what a home should mean.
Out loud she said, “So what about Peter Ramsey’s sister?”
“Big scandal!” her aunt answered with relish. “Charlotte Ramsey was about to marry one guy and just before the wedding he refused to sign the prenuptial agreement her father had drawn up. She turned around on the spot and married the British billionaire, Damien Wynter, instead. Her former fiancé proceeded to sue for ownership of the apartment they’d shared—hers, of course—in a de facto relationship. He got it, too. Didn’t go to court. She signed off on it. The point is…”
“He was in it for a slice of the Ramsey billions.”
Sarah tapped the desk with her finger to emphasise the train of reasoning in her mind. “He was going to rip her off.”
“And she didn’t have that problem with Damien Wynter,” Erin concluded. “Which is rather sad when you think about it, finding out you’re only being married for your money. I wonder if Charlotte Ramsey is happy with her British billionaire.”
“Erin, you might write happy endings for your stories, but there’s no way you can guarantee them in true life,” her aunt said dryly.
“True. But for whatever reason, Peter Ramsey seems intent on underwriting a happier ending for Thomas and his father.” She raised an appealing eyebrow. “Mind if I stick around to see how Mrs Harper takes that news?”
It drew a curious look. “Why so interested?”
“The power of a name,” Erin tossed off casually. “I just want to see it in action.”
“She doesn’t pick him up until five o’clock.”
“That’s okay. I’ll go for a walk in the meantime.”
“Mmm…” Sarah pondered the request. “It might be wise to have a sit-in witness.”
“Absolutely,” Erin pressed, hopping off the desk and waving a goodbye before her aunt had second thoughts. “See you later.”
She didn’t walk far. Her feet automatically took her back to the bench-seat Peter Ramsey had occupied in the park. She sat precisely where he had sat, her mind running hot with thoughts about him. He hadn’t acted like a playboy. He had seemed serious and caring. Though she had to admit the serious caring had been directed at a father and his son, both of whom were apparently being short-changed by a woman.
Maybe his attitude towards women fell into an entirely different category. What experiences had shaped the man who had stepped in to make a difference—a positive difference—to a man and boy he didn’t even know? Erin knew she was too intrigued to turn her back on learning more of Peter Ramsey. She’d promised to report back to him on Thomas’s mother and she would make the call.
If she had imagined a personal interest in herself, he wouldn’t set up a further meeting with her. But if she hadn’t imagined it…if he did want another face-to-face encounter…a surge of strong resolution tossed caution—or wisdom—aside.
She wanted to be with him.
How many times in her life had she felt like this about a man?
None!
Seize the day, she fiercely told herself.
If she got the chance to seize it.
CHAPTER THREE
“PETER RAMSEY.”
His voice held a clipped self-assurance, demanding an efficient reply.
Erin took a deep breath to calm her jiggling heart. Speak to the man. Reach out to him, she told herself. You have this one chance!
“Hi! It’s Erin Lavelle.” The words spilled out in a breathy rush. Oh great! she thought. He’s probably hearing the pant of a gold-digger who hopes she’s onto a good thing with this call.
“You do have a very distinctive voice,” he said, and it sounded as though he was smiling through the words.
Smiling with pleasure!
A wild, wonderful hope danced through her mind. “You asked me to call,” she reminded him.
“It’s come later than I expected. I thought you weren’t going to contact me. I’m glad you have.”
It was pleasure. Warm pleasure. A smile burst across Erin’s face. “Mrs Harper didn’t come until five o’clock. She’s only just left.”
“Ah!” The sound of satisfaction. “There must be a lot to tell me and I do want to know all of it. Would you join me for dinner, Erin? I’ve been with Dave Harper most of the afternoon, getting his side of the story to a good lawyer. I need to hear your impressions of his wife.”
“Dinner…” she repeated dazedly. The invitation had come so fast her head was spinning.
“Regardless of what people might have told you about me since our meeting in the park, I promise I’m not the big bad wolf, and you don’t have to fear my gobbling you up on the spot,” he assured her with dry mockery.
“Right!” she said, though the idea of being gobbled up by Peter Ramsey had actually sent her pulse-rate zooming. “Where and when?” she asked, trying to sound efficient and not too eager.
“Whatever suits you, Erin.”
Which lobbed the ball straight into her court.
Was it a test of how much she would try to screw out of him?
What did he expect her to choose?
Best to go for her own comfort zone, she swiftly decided, given she was in an absolute tizz about meeting him again. The intimidation of a ritzy restaurant would only make her more nervy.
“Are you okay with a downmarket place?” she asked, wondering if he preferred the privileges that went with being recognised in trendy surroundings.
“No problem,” he assured her.
So he didn’t need ego-stroking.
“Do you like Thai food?”
“Fine with me.”
He was being very accommodating.
Glowing happily, Erin gave directions. “Along Oxford Street, between the end of Hyde Park and Taylor Square, there’s a little restaurant called Titanic Thai. I could meet you there at seven-thirty.”
“Should I book a table?”
“No. I’ll drop in and ask them to keep me one.”
“You live nearby?”
“More or less,” she answered vaguely, not wanting to divulge too much about herself at this point. “I’ll see you there then?”
“Seven-thirty, Oxford Street, a Thai restaurant called Titanic but it’s only little,” he said in a tone of amusement.
“That’s it,” she confirmed and rang off, feeling pleased with herself for not only seizing the chance he’d held out, but for taking command of proceedings, as well.
Her feet wanted to skip all the way to the bus stop.
Got her!
Peter’s hand clenched in exhilarating triumph.
Then he laughed at himself for being so absurdly excited over another meeting with a woman whose life was so remote from his, they’d probably have nothing to talk about apart from Dave Harper’s miserable situation.
Nevertheless, that bit of reality did not dim his desire to experience all there was to know of Erin Lavelle. He’d been in the mood to embrace the wildly improbable ever since she’d smiled at him at the pedestrian crossing, and tonight was another step in the same vein. Knowing who he was, she could have taken him for an expensive dinner at a top class restaurant. He wouldn’t have cared if she had, but he was delighted with her choice. It was in keeping with this whole encounter—totally off-the-wall.
“Titanic Thai, here I come!” he said out loud, grinning to himself as he bounded up the stairs to the master bedroom of his Bondi Beach apartment. Shower, shave, change of clothes, get to Taylor Square, scout the restaurant…tonight he was going to get the princess with the magic rainbow smile and the heart of gold!
Erin knew that the most sensible course was to play it cool with Peter Ramsey, not look as if she expected anything from him, turn up in jeans and pretend she wasn’t madly wishing he found her too desirable to pass up. Their lives were too different to envisage any serious relationship between them.
On the other hand, she’d never been so captivated by a man. Even if it could only be a mad fling with him…
Temptation wove its own more exciting path around common sense and was in full swing by the time she reached the Hyde Park apartment hotel where she invariably stayed while in Sydney. It was in easy walking distance of the Thai restaurant where she had frequently dined.
As she showered, washed and blow-dried her hair into a silky black mane that rippled over her shoulders, her mind moved into a totally reckless whirl of wanting to make something happen between her and Peter Ramsey. Her hands reached into the clothes cupboard and pulled out the lemon, lime and green dress. It was a gorgeous dress. She loved the colours and the colours loved her. It was also a wicked little dress. In fact, her London editor, Richard Long, who regularly tried to move their relationship into a sexual one, had described it as a bed-me dress.
It was halter-necked, virtually backless, had to be worn braless, the low V-neckline in front showing a seductive hint of cleavage. A wide tan leather belt drew attention to the curvy lines of her figure, and the soft fabric flowed into a frothy skirt that was deliciously feminine. Teamed with strappy tan leather sandals and no jewellery, it wasn’t too, too dressy, Erin decided.
And so what if it did stir the pot tonight!
Peter Ramsey had appeared like magic in her life.
Why not use a bit of female witchery to keep him in it, at least for long enough to explore the feelings he’d aroused?
She was thirty years old and had virtually perfected the role of an onlooker of life, a passer-by who’d never felt truly wanted enough by anyone to become enmeshed in a deep involvement. A lasting attachment to Peter Ramsey was not really within the bounds of reason, but a brief one…a fiercely compelling conviction surged through her…that was worth going for, given that no other man had ever made such a deep impact on her.
Peter glanced at his watch as the waitress uncorked the bottle of chardonnay he’d bought from the liquor-mart next door and proceeded to pour him a glass of wine. Seven twenty-five. Only a few more minutes to wait if Erin was punctual. No reason for her not to be, he reasoned. Her choice of restaurant was very much a drop in place.
The front half of it was divided into a kitchen along one wall with a bench-seat along the wall facing it for takeaway customers to wait for their orders to be cooked. The back section had just two rows of five tables each side. He’d been led to the third one behind the kitchen, which provided privacy from the more transient customers.
The table had a laminated surface for easy cleaning. Paper serviettes were available from a dispenser. Pepper and salt and various sauces were contained in a holder. A corked bottle of water stood by two drinking glasses. If customers wanted to drink wine with their meal, it was a case of bring your own—information Peter had received when he’d arrived earlier. An ice bucket could be provided and was, the waitress leaving the bottle in it after she finished serving him.
He sipped the chardonnay—a fine Margaret River wine that he hoped would be to Erin’s taste. He wanted to please her, wanted her to be pleased with him. This meeting place virtually shouted that to her mind, any romance between them was out of the question. No doubt, the Ramsey name had intimidated her into thinking that. A smile of happy anticipation spread across his face. He relished the challenge of overriding that barrier with a full-on charm offensive.
Except it wasn’t needed.
That realisation hit him the moment Erin walked into his line of vision. There was nothing casual about her appearance. It was a full-on female offensive.
Desire to take what she was offering instantly kicked in. Erin Lavelle was an outstandingly gorgeous babe, long silky black hair swinging free, lush breasts free, too, playing peekaboo from a very sexy bodice. The dress she was wearing was a knockout—a stunning combination of colours that brought out the green in her eyes, and was styled to stir the juices of any red-blooded male.
Yes reverberated around in Peter’s brain.
But it was tinged with disappointment—the challenge had just been snuffed out.
And laced with cynicism—was this a reaction to his name and all it stood for? Had rainbow girl decided to take a crack at the pot of gold?
Mistake!
