‘Venice?’ echoed Tom, and threw him a curious look. ‘When you flew over to buy that painting?’
‘That’s right,’ said Guy succinctly, and drained his glass.
‘But I thought you never mixed business and pleasure?’
‘I don’t,’ came Guy’s smooth retort. ‘Not usually.’
Sabrina saw Tom raise his eyebrows in surprise.
‘And what were you doing in Venice, Sabrina?’ asked Jenna.
‘I was there on holiday.’
‘On your own?’
Sabrina saw Guy frown at the question, and something in the quality of the brief, hard look he sent her gave her the courage to be truthful. Just for once she allowed herself to focus on the pleasure of their lovemaking, instead of the guilt, and a dreamy smile curved her mouth. ‘That’s right,’ she said softly. ‘It’s the most wonderful place to explore on your own—you never know what you might find there.’
Guy’s eyes were arrowed in her direction, their dark glitter telling her that he shared the erotic memory.
‘So where exactly do you live?’ persisted Jenna.
‘In Salisbury.’
‘Really? Are you on an awayday, or something?’
‘Er, not exactly…’
‘Sabrina’s going to be…’ Guy paused, as if seeking an elusive word. ‘Staying…with me for a while.’
‘Staying here?’ Jenna’s mouth fell open as if he had just confessed to murder. ‘You mean she’s going to be living here?’
‘Sure.’ He shrugged, and gave a lazy smile. ‘Why not?’
Sabrina couldn’t miss the swift look of amazement that crossed Trudi’s face before she narrowed her eyes, then slowly stood up and nudged Tom with her bare foot. ‘Good heavens,’ she said faintly. ‘Right. Time we were going, I think. Thank goodness Jenna is driving, and not me! Come on, Jen!’
Sabrina drew a deep breath and raised her head, her gaze drawn to the unfathomable grey of Guy’s eyes, knowing that she needed to get out of there. Because if Jenna did belong to Guy, then she couldn’t bear to endure a tender farewell scene between the two of them.
‘Could you show me where I’ll be sleeping, please, Guy?’
‘Would that be the main bedroom, Guy?’ Jenna smiled spikily. ‘Or the junk room you call the spare?’
There was a brief, frozen silence and then Guy stood up, his mouth tightening with an unmistakable look of irritation.
‘If that was intended to embarrass Sabrina, Jenna, then you’ve succeeded with honours,’ he said shortly. ‘This way, Sabrina.’
There was a rather stunned silence as the two of them left the room. He picked up her suitcases, a thoughtful glint in his eyes as he observed her set expression.
Neither of them said a word until he threw open a door right at the end of the corridor to reveal a small room cluttered with a desk, a filing cabinet, an exercise bike and, hardly visible beneath a heap of skiing clothes, a narrow, single bed.
Sabrina turned to face him. ‘You weren’t expecting me,’ she observed, and tried to keep the disappointment from her voice as she took in the general chaos.
He gave a half-apologetic shrug. He was letting her have the room, for heaven’s sake—was she expecting red-carpet treatment into the bargain? ‘I was snowed under when you rang last week, and I just didn’t get around to asking my cleaning lady to sort the place out. Let me go and see the others out, and then I’ll come and help you tidy up.’
‘I can do it myself!’
‘You don’t know where to store things,’ he said evenly, and walked out of the room before she had a chance to reply.
Unable to do anything until he came back, Sabrina went and stood over by the window, gazing out at the darkening sky, at the city lights which were just beginning to flicker on. She thought of how her life had changed, and was changing still, in ways she had never imagined would happen to a girl like her. And there wasn’t, she realised, a single thing she could do to stop it. So, was that fate, or destiny?
She was still standing there when he returned, and as he walked into the confined space she suddenly became stupidly aware of the fact that he had now done up the top two buttons of his jeans.
And that they were alone.
‘What did your friends say?’ she asked him.
Guy’s mouth twisted. ‘Let’s just say that they wanted to know more than I was prepared to tell them.’
She dreaded having to ask, but she needed to know. ‘And is Jenna your…your…girlfriend?’
He stared at her in disbelief. ‘You really think I’d invite another woman to stay with me, without telling her, if she was?’
‘I don’t know, do I? That’s exactly why I’m asking!’
The challenging look was replaced by one of faint irritation. ‘I tend to go for a little more communication in my relationships than that,’ he said coldly.
‘So you don’t have one at the moment?’
‘One what, princess?’ he mocked.
Suddenly she was aware that they were in a bedroom, and that the space between them yawned like a great, gaping chasm. It was the antithesis of the eager way they had fallen into each other’s arms back in Venice…No. She wasn’t going to put herself through that kind of torture.
‘Relationship,’ she said doggedly.
God, but she was persistent! ‘No, Sabrina,’ he said deliberately. ‘I do not have a relationship at the moment.’
She realised then that there was something else she needed to know, something which she really ought to have established before she’d come here.
‘And won’t I…’ she lifted her face to his ‘…cramp your style?’
He looked down at her, momentarily disorientated by that fierce little look of pride. He frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
Her heart was in her mouth as she said it, but she managed to keep her voice steady. ‘Well, if you haven’t got a relationship, then presumably you’re in the market for one—’
‘Why, is that an offer?’ he questioned silkily, but the surge of blood to his loins made him wish he could take the question back again.
‘It most certainly is not!’
‘Pity. Actually, I’m not “in the market” for a relationship, as you so delightfully put it.’
Was that a note of warning colouring his tone? A polite but efficient way of telling her not to start concocting any little fantasies of her own?
‘You might meet someone else,’ Sabrina rushed on. ‘And prospective girlfriends might be put off by the presence of another woman. Particularly one with whom…whom…’
‘With whom I’ve already had a relationship?’ he challenged coolly.
She felt oddly defiant. ‘Do you really think that what we had could be called a relationship, Guy?’
‘Well, how would you like to describe it?’ he mused.
As the most wonderful night of her life, that was how she would describe it, but tell Guy that and she would see his gorgeous face freeze with fastidious horror. Men judged events differently. A little light passion. No, scrub that. Very heavy passion.
‘Things just got out of hand,’ she said, trying not to think about the way he’d smiled