‘In my uniform?’ she clarified rather shakily. ‘Hardly provocative!’
‘We’ve already discussed the indecent length of your skirt,’ he retorted, and his mouth hardened. ‘And don’t you know that a lot of men are turned on by women in uniform?’
Lola wondered briefly if he was among them, but that was something she did not trust herself to ask him. ‘I’ve never seen any statistics to that effect,’ she responded drily. ‘And I really can’t do anything about men’s bizarre little fantasies—’
‘You think male fantasies are bizarre?’ he interrupted harshly.
‘Some of them—and particularly the ones about air stewardesses! I find them insulting to women in general!’ Lola snapped back. ‘Uniforms serve a useful purpose in making everyone look the same—and I fail to see how a blouse and skirt could in any way be described as provocative!’
His eyes began a slow, cool appraisal of what she was wearing. ‘You don’t think so?’ he murmured huskily.
‘No, I jolly well don’t!’ Deciding that she would not be intimidated by such a blatantly sexual look, Lola resisted the urge to pull the skirt down over her bottom.
‘Not even when the shirt is undone—only by two buttons, but nonetheless exposing most men’s fantasies come to life?’
Her gaze followed the direction of his eyes and she saw, to her horror, exactly what he meant. The two buttons she had released earlier in an effort to counteract the sweltering heat had made her whole blouse seem to gape open, revealing the lush and creamy swell of her cleavage.
Perhaps it was the excessive heat in the house, or just a reaction to being in such close proximity to Geraint, but her breasts seemed to have swollen to twice their normal size and were spilling out over the tiny lace bra which now felt uncomfortably tight.
Colour flooded hotly into Lola’s cheeks and she saw the grey glint of devilment in his eyes as he noted the blush.
‘See what I mean?’ he mocked.
‘Oh!’ she fumed furiously, and did the buttons back up with difficulty over her straining breasts. ‘You’re impossible!’
‘Put on weight recently, have you?’ he quizzed sardonically.
Lola met his mocking gaze and wondered just why she was being forced into feeling that she had to defend herself. She didn’t want him here! He was just too big and too vital and too sexy for his own good!
Logic told her to ask him to leave; curiosity prevented her from doing so. ‘Just what are you doing here?’ she demanded. ‘Come to apologise, have you?’
‘For what?’
‘For your rudeness in the restaurant last night!’ she told him tartly.
‘Or for my refreshing honesty? Depends how you look at it, surely? As for why I’m here—well, I wanted to see you, of course, Lola.’ His grey eyes glittered. ‘To talk to you.’
Lola shook her head. Her hair was still in its ‘flying’ style, with all the curls scraped back into a constricting bun, but by now most of them were threatening to escape. ‘I thought that we had said all there was to say last night!’
Now, why had she brought up last night? she asked herself crossly. For she had caused the enigmatic grey eyes to light up with that stormy potency which made her heart thunder. . .
‘Did you? I thought that talking had very little to do with what happened last night,’ he murmured.
‘As opposed to fighting, you mean?’ she retaliated unsteadily.
‘I was thinking more of the kiss which followed that fight,’ he said with a slow smile which, when combined with the memory of that kiss, had precisely the wrong effect on Lola.
The druggingly sweet, aching awareness of him returned, and with it her brain went to mush. And perhaps he was perceptive enough to realise it, for he moved closer. . .close enough for Lola to be able to see the faint, dark shadow around his chin which made him look so unashamedly masculine. . . and she found herself wondering whether or not he had shaved that morning.
‘Weren’t you?’ he prompted softly. ‘Remembering that kiss, too?’
’N-no, I wasn’t,’ she stumbled, furious with herself for feeling so powerless. ‘I’ve been doing my best to forget all about it, if you must know.’
He nodded. ‘Me too,’ he murmured. ‘But that’s the trouble with making something forbidden—it makes it so much more exciting, wouldn’t you agree, Lola?’
‘You mean that there is nothing quite so irresistible as temptation?’ she returned.
‘Not quite,’ he returned, with surprisingly gentle mockery. ‘I can think of something far more irresistible! But temptation comes a close second.’
Lola knew that she was in danger, a danger she was at a loss to define—even to herself. She heard herself clearing her throat like a nervous politician. ‘Geraint—’
‘I like the way you say my name,’ he told her softly. ‘With that quiet, almost sing-song little Cornish burr—’
‘I need to shower,’ she cut in rather desperately. ‘And to change. And I need to shop.’ She hoped that she sounded more authoritative than she felt.
‘Of course you do,’ he agreed, and Lola was horrified to discover her heart sinking with disappointment at his easy agreement. Did that mean he was going now?
What had she been hoping for? That he would haul her into his arms and tell her that she was perfect as she was and that the shower and the shopping could wait?
‘I need to shop too,’ he said. ‘So we’ll go together.’
Lola stared at him. ‘Geraint—’
‘Lola?’
‘I mean, there must be millions of girls—’
‘In the world?’ he queried with a wry smile, deliberately misunderstanding her.
‘Who would be falling over themselves to go out with you!’ she snapped back at him, and tossed her dark head like an excitable filly.
‘Yes,’ he answered quietly, and without conceit. ‘And?’
‘So why me?’
He gave her a cool smile. ‘You aren’t being very honest with yourself, are you, Lola? You are as fascinated by me as I am by you—and it’s no good opening those pretty lips to ask me for an explanation why, because I can’t give you one.’ He shrugged with an impatient little movement. ‘I dislike clichés, but for once, here, their use seems to be appropriate. Something happened when we saw one another across that crowded room, didn’t it? Something powerful—’
‘Something disturbing,’ Lola put in, almost absently giving voice to her confused thoughts.
He stilled, his whole stance suddenly alert and watchful. ‘So it disturbs you too, does it? This feeling? He gave a short laugh. ‘Because I don’t like it very much myself.’
‘You d-don’t?’ she echoed, aware of the heavy weight of disappointment which had settled like a heavy meal in her stomach.
‘Of course I don’t like it!’ he almost snarled. ‘Do you think it gave me pleasure to make an exhibition of myself in the centre of a restaurant in which I have dined happily and without incident for over ten years? Do you think I enjoyed kissing you in public like a seventeen-year-old who had just discovered sex for the first time?’
Lola’s eyes widened into sapphire saucers. ‘Then why don’t you just leave well alone?’