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She began to chat inconsequentially about a fashion show she’d attended, an exhibition opening soon at the National Gallery, a play she’d seen, long past its shelf-life.
It was all light-hearted stuff, faintly spiced with malice, and at any other time Cat would have sat back and enjoyed the performance. But not now. As the time relentlessly approached the hour she was on tenterhooks, in case Liam grew tired of waiting for her.
And when her mother finally put down her glass, and reached a leisurely hand for her bag, Cat could have shouted aloud in relief.
‘So why don’t you come to the Savoy on Tuesday morning?’ Vanessa suggested as they walked to the door. ‘We can go and look at the flats the agents have found for me, and then have lunch at Vanni’s.’
Cat had been working a lot of extra hours lately. Andrew was not likely to object to her having some time off, she thought.
‘Fine,’ she agreed. ‘Shall we say around ten?’
‘Well, certainly not before,’ Vanessa said with a touch of acerbity, then paused. ‘I suppose cabs are the usual nightmare round here? Perhaps your driver would take me on to the hotel after he’s dropped you at your assignation,’ she added innocently.
Nice try, Ma, thought Cat. ‘I think he’d find it easier to go via the Savoy,’ she returned evenly, catching a glimpse of chagrin in her mother’s eyes. ‘Otherwise, no problem.’
Except that it meant she was going to be later than ever, she realised, as, with Vanessa duly delivered, the car threaded its way back through the evening traffic in the West End.
The flat was quiet when she let herself in, but she could see a narrow ribbon of light under the sitting room door. So he had waited after all, she thought, her heart leaping.
She was rehearsing her apology as she opened the door and went in, then paused, the words dying on her lips.
Liam was lying back in the corner of the sofa, one arm thrown along the top of the cushions, eyes closed, his breathing soft and regular, so fast asleep that he didn’t stir as she shut the door behind her, or even when she said his name. Twice.
His jacket was on the floor, along with his tie, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. He looked comfortable and extremely peaceful, she decided as she took her case through to the bedroom. But it wasn’t the reception she’d expected by any means.
When she returned, he still hadn’t stirred. Cat stood watching him for a moment, then kicked off her shoes and curled up beside him, resting her cheek against his chest, breathing the unique male scent of him.
He murmured something indistinguishable and his arm encircled her shoulders, drawing her nearer. She responded instantly, nestling closer and sliding her hand inside his shirt, relishing the warm, smooth texture of his skin under her palm and the deep, steady beat of his heart.
She would let him go on sleeping for a little while, she thought, and then she would kiss him awake, so that their time together could begin. But for the moment she felt curiously, almost luxuriously content. And even a little drowsy herself.
Which was ridiculous, of course, she told herself firmly, and closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the first thing she saw was the bedroom window, with sunlight seeping through the curtains. The next was her blue dress, draped over a chair.
And the third was Liam, beside her in the bed, propped up on one elbow as he watched her.
He said, ‘Good morning,’ and there was amusement in his voice. ‘I was jet-lagged. What’s your excuse?’
Cat shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. What happened?’
‘I woke up on the sofa, around two a. m., and found you in my arms, dead to the world. So I carried you in here, and put you to bed.’
She stared at him. ‘You took my dress off—and I slept through it? How did you manage that?’
His faint smile became a wicked grin. ‘Years of practice, darling,’ he drawled, and moved with the speed of light to grab the pillow from her hand before she could hit him with it.
‘Actually, I think you’d have slept through the Last Trumpet,’ he went on, drawing her into his arms. ‘Whereas I was unusually restless, having seen those lacy scraps under your dress. But I didn’t trust myself to dispose of them as well.’
Cat smiled against his shoulder. ‘I’m glad they weren’t completely wasted.’ She pressed her lips to his skin and began to move down his body, feathering a trail of soft, beguiling kisses. ‘Maybe we could still make use of them.’
Liam halted her with a groan of regret. ‘Darling, we can’t. Have you seen the time? I have early meetings.’
‘Hell.’ Cat gave her watch a despairing glance. ‘I should be out of here too. Oh, I can’t bear it.’
Liam bent his head, kissing her mouth with rueful hunger. ‘Would it break any rules if we met again tonight?’ he murmured. ‘I promise to stay awake this time.’
‘I’d love to,’ Cat whispered back. ‘But only if you also promise to stay all night.’
‘Agreed.’ He kissed her again. ‘But on one condition. That you bring an alarm clock.’
Cat lay watching him search for his clothes, nerving herself. At last she said, ‘Talking of rules…’
‘Mmm?’ He was buttoning his shirt, but he shot her a lightning glance.
‘I don’t really need a car and a chauffeur to get me here,’ she said. ‘I can make it on my own.’
‘He’ll be here for you shortly,’ he said. ‘But it can be the last time, if that’s what you want.’
‘Please.’ She paused. ‘Also, I got held up last night, and there was no way to warn you. So—maybe—it would be sensible to exchange mobile phone numbers—for emergencies.’
Liam looked at her, brows raised. ‘I thought that was exactly what you didn’t want?’
She hunched a shoulder. ‘We’re both busy people, and—things happen. I don’t want any misunderstandings either. Numbers only,’ she added hastily. ‘No other details, of course.’
‘Naturally.’ There was a note of irony in his voice. ‘And emergencies only. Then let’s do it.’
Cat was thoughtful when he’d gone. It had hardly been an eager concession on his part. It seemed that he’d really bought into the idea of separate lives.
But then, so have I, she reminded herself. I didn’t ask what had caused his jet-lag. He didn’t ask why I was late. And that’s a kind of trust—isn’t it?
How will I ever know? she thought. And sighed.
She had just come out of a meeting, and was returning to her desk via the coffee machine, when her mobile phone rang.
She looked at the screen with a kind of stunned disbelief as she answered.
‘Liam—has something happened?’ She swallowed. ‘Can’t you make it this evening after all?’
‘Nothing like that. I just needed to hear your voice.’
She realised she was smiling absurdly, her face warming. She tried to sound severe. ‘That’s hardly an emergency.’
‘You have your definition,’ he said softly. ‘I have mine. And I want you to know I’m counting the hours until tonight.’
‘Me too.’ Her voice was husky, shaking a little.
After they’d disconnected, she sat staring at the little electronic miracle in her hand. My lifeline, she thought, to him. And he’d called her.
‘You’re very cheerful this morning,’ Megs commented on her way past. ‘You must be on a promise.’
Cat returned a dutiful smile as she slipped her phone back into her bag.
How wrong can you be? she thought, dragging herself back down to earth with painful effort. There were no promises—no commitment. Just this one tenuous and strictly temporary link.
So I’ll have to make the most of it, she told herself soberly. For as long as it lasts.
CHAPTER NINE
‘REALLY, darling,’ said Vanessa. ‘You’re being no help at all.’
Cat, still lost in the blissful euphoria of the previous night, gave a slight start, and hurriedly reminded herself why she was there.
‘What’s the matter?’ Vanessa went on, giving her a shrewd look. ‘Doing a little nest-building on your own account?’
Cat bit her lip. ‘Please don’t be absurd. I have somewhere to live, if you remember.’
‘A bachelor girl’s pad,’ her mother said with a sniff. ‘I hoped you might be broadening your horizons.’
‘My horizons are just fine, thanks. Regarding what we’ve seen so far…’ She paused as the waiter brought their desserts. ‘I liked the little house in Chelsea best. And Holland Park wasn’t bad either.’
‘Bad vibes, sweetie.’ Vanessa shook her head. ‘I don’t think the previous tenants were very happy.’
‘Anyway,’ Cat went on, ‘shouldn’t you be asking Gil what he thinks rather than me?’
Vanessa shrugged. ‘He’ll go along with whatever I decide. And you seem very concerned for his feelings all of a sudden,’ she added. ‘You’re not becoming fixated on him, I hope, because it wouldn’t do you much good.’
‘Not at all,’ Cat said crisply. ‘I just find it odd you haven’t consulted him.’
‘Well, don’t worry about it, darling. Gil and I understand each other very well, believe me.’ Her mother paused. ‘And you’re right; it will have to be Chelsea. Such a pretty garden, and the right atmosphere, too.’ She sighed contentedly. ‘That’s so important for me, particularly now.’
Cat observed her with narrowed eyes. ‘Why now?’ she enquired. ‘And also, why the rush? Mother—what are you up to?’
Vanessa spread her hands. ‘Darling—I’ve always needed absolute peace when I’m studying a part. You know that.’
‘Is that why the house in Beverly Hills was always teeming with people?’ Cat asked drily.
‘But I was filming then.’ Vanessa’s eyes were limpid. ‘Live theatre is entirely different.’
Cat put down her dessert fork and sat forward. ‘You’re—going into a play?’ she said slowly. ‘When did you decide this?’
Vanessa inspected a minute fleck on her nail. ‘When adorable Oliver Ingham offered me the role of Anne Hathaway in his new production,’ she said lightly. ‘I went up to Scotland at the weekend to discuss it with him and agree terms. Nevil Beverley wrote the script, and, believe me, sweetie, it’s to die for.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ Cat said grimly. ‘And death could well be involved.’ She paused. ‘You do know, I suppose, that my father’s playing opposite you as Will Shakespeare?’
‘Well, they were bound to mention it,’ said Vanessa. ‘And I think if Oliver can cure him of some of those tiresome mannerisms he might be quite good.’ She smiled reminiscently. ‘In fact, it could be quite like old times.’
‘Oh, God,’ Cat said weakly. She looked her mother in the eye. ‘Are you completely crazy—going into a production with David and his girlfriend? It’ll be a nightmare. You must see that. Why, you don’t even speak.’
‘Well, neither did Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway for most of the time, so the story already calls for a certain amount of tension.’ Vanessa purred. ‘I feel it could be quite a challenge—for all of us, especially the little American. Such a change from pantyhose commercials.’
She put her napkin on the table and rose. ‘Now, order us both some coffee, darling, while I go to the powder room.’
And she departed, amid a flurry of excited whispers from neighbouring tables, leaving a troubled Cat staring after her.
Whether she liked it or not, there were clearly stormy times ahead, she thought as she signalled to the waiter.
There was no chance, of course, that her father would pull out of the production. He would regard that as a serious defeat in the ongoing post-marital war with his ex-wife. No, he would do it if it killed him.
And the press, of course, would have a field day. David Adamson and Vanessa Carlton starring together in the West End for the first time since their very public divorce. There would be vultures gathering from all directions, awaiting the latest furore. Plenty of rats in the arras to cover the inevitable spats during rehearsal. She could see the headlines now.
But David and Vanessa were actors, she told herself with an inward shrug. They thrived on publicity, whatever form it took.
Her main concern would be to avoid getting caught in the power struggle between them. Which meant extending her policy of non-involvement somehow.
And that reminded her of another, quite different problem. Because this property hunt had turned out to be seriously bad news, she told herself grimly. Galling as it might be, Vanessa had not been far out in her comment about nest-building.
Cat reluctantly admitted to herself that she’d been viewing the flats and houses on offer totally through her own eyes, having all kinds of illicit daydreams about moving into them with Liam. In her mind, she’d filled each space with furniture that they’d chosen together. Picked the room where they would spend every night in each other’s arms. Imagined how their life might be together.
And there was no point in that kind of thinking, she chastised herself vehemently. Because it was not only stupid, but dangerous. And also totally out of character.
I must have been led astray by last night, she thought wryly.
Which turned out to be the stuff that dreams are made on. And the breath caught in her throat as she remembered…
She’d arrived to find Liam already waiting for her, his hunger and impatience undisguised and unashamed as she walked straight into his arms, her lips parting under his, her body already on fire for him.
There had not even been time to draw breath, let alone undress. He had drawn her down with him onto the heavy rug in front of the fire, freeing himself from his clothing and tearing her underwear aside before taking her with stark, passionate urgency.
It had been harsh, glorious, and over much too soon, her body driven to climax with a fierce absorption that had matched his own.
Afterwards they had lain together, shaken by the power of their mutual consummation, caught between laughter and tears. And later Liam had taken her to the bedroom, where he’d removed her clothes, slowly and gently, between kisses, and made love to her again with exquisite, almost languid restraint, tempting her, leading her on with the promise of release, until a voice she’d hardly recognised as her own had whimpered in pleading for the long withheld fulfilment, all remaining inhibitions lost.
Sheer exhaustion had impelled them to sleep at last, but at dawn Cat had been woken once more by his hands on her body, turning to him warmly, eagerly, offering herself to his caresses and all that would follow, her senses already anticipating the peak of rapture.
It had been the most wonderful night of her life, she thought, her body shivering in swift delight, but it had done nothing to ease the inevitable morning parting from him.
She had not expected, she realised with bewilderment, to need him so much, in so many ways that transcended simple desire. Against her will, her feelings were becoming more complex—and more disturbing. And that was where the real peril lay.
Because she had no idea what Liam felt in return, if anything. Oh, he enjoyed her. There was no doubting that. He seemed to derive the same incredible pleasure from her body as he gave.
But he seemed to accept completely the strict limitations that she’d imposed on their relationship, and gave no hint that he wanted more than the fevered delight of physical union with her.
And it was these limitations that she was beginning to find so irksome. Because each time she saw him she found more and more that she wanted to share other things with him as well. She wanted to tell him about her job, and ask about how he spent his working day.
She’d been aware from the first of the dynamic, restless energy he concealed under his laid-back manner. Only when he was asleep was it ever wholly subdued. He looked younger then, too, and Cat thought she sometimes detected a trace of vulnerability. But that might be wishful thinking. Another vain attempt to figure him out.
His life was clearly hectic. He was either flying off somewhere, or going from meeting to meeting. Money was clearly not a problem either, she told herself wryly. He wore expensive clothes, and he still refused point-blank to let her contribute towards the running expenses of the flat they were sharing.
