He had the most amazing voice, Ianthe thought as a flare of heat exploded inside her breast. Hearing it was like bathing in a warm bath scented with her favourite perfume. In fact, it was one of the most delicious sensory experiences she’d ever had…perfect for seduction.
The all too tempting idea escaped her characteristic self-restraint like wild horses chasing a dream, and for a while Ianthe succumbed to it with undeniable relish. But cold reality quickly surfaced. She hadn’t agreed to have dinner with Lysander in the hope that he might seduce her. She’d heard all about the pitfalls of holiday romances even if she’d personally never experienced one, and a man as dynamically attractive and charismatic as him had probably had his share and regarded them as fleeting pleasures that he would quickly forget. For all Ianthe knew, he might even be married.
This new thought filled her with horror. As charming and compelling as he was, she would no more consider having an affair with a married man than she would walk down her conservative suburban high street naked! That was one opportunity that she would definitely not be taking!
‘What will you have to eat?’ he asked, breaking into her thoughts afresh with that sensual, provocative cadence of his voice.
Taking the menu he offered, and glancing only briefly down at its lacquered pages, Ianthe cast her gaze almost immediately back to his.
‘Please don’t think me presumptuous, but…’ How could she put an undeniably indelicate question delicately? His relaxed contemplation of her face did not waver at her words, but seemed to become more disturbingly concentrated. Little implosions of panic and awareness were like landmines dotted along her vertebrae. She swallowed. ‘You asked me if I had a husband or a boyfriend. Well…do you mind if I ask you the same quest—?’
‘My wife died.’
His voice was as bleak and foreboding as a deep, dark well—the kind that she would not dare to look down in case there was something menacing and dangerous lurking in there. He did not bother to hide his complete distaste for her nervously executed question. The hue of his disturbing eyes suddenly resembled impervious blue marble, and it appeared as if the Lysander that Ianthe had sensed herself succumbing to with such surprising vehemence had suddenly vanished—in his place was a cold, forbidding stranger. A horrible shiver licked slowly down her spine.
‘Now that that is clear, and you know that I am not trying to involve you in some kind of illicit love affair, perhaps you would care to think about what you would like to eat, Ianthe?’
Her throat dried so hard that she gazed longingly at the carafe of water on the table between them, almost willing it to levitate and come to her rescue.
‘I didn’t mean to offend you in any way, Lysander.’
A disconcerting dimple appeared at the side of his tanned cheek and confused her altogether. ‘Of course you did not. Now the matter is at an end. Forget about it and we can concentrate on enjoying our evening together.’
Ianthe wanted desperately to know what had happened to his wife. How had she died and how long ago? It was clear he must have loved her deeply, going by the jagged rip of pain she had momentarily glimpsed in his eyes before that distinctly frosty barrier had slammed into place to guard against unwelcome speculation.
It was clear, Ianthe thought, that those areas were taboo: topics that she didn’t dare raise again unless she wanted to incur his deep disapproval and maybe even wrath.
Forcing herself to scan the menu again, she was taken aback when he softly pronounced her name.
‘I did not mean to upset you.’
‘I’m not upset.’
Shaking off her uneasiness with a forced smile, Ianthe found herself unable to glance away as quickly as she’d intended, so that she wouldn’t expose her sudden unhappiness. It wouldn’t have worked in any case. Lysander’s reaction was like quicksilver.
‘Do not lie to me, Ianthe. You are the kind of girl who wears her heart in her eyes, and I am not blind.’
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