She could tell him to go, or ask him to stay. There was always tomorrow, the day after that. And he was a patient man.
The tussle between politeness and impoliteness warred, and there was really no contest. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
He studied her in silence for a few seconds. ‘Thanks.’
In the kitchen she set the coffee-maker up, then extracted two cups and saucers, added a bowl of sugar, and took cream from the refrigerator.
Anneke was conscious of him as he leant one hip against the servery. His tall frame made the kitchen seem smaller, and she became aware of every move she made. Only sheer habit prevented the spoon clattering onto the saucer, and she was extremely careful with the glass carafe as she poured hot coffee.
Sebastian collected both cups and set them down on the dining room table, then he pulled out a chair and folded his length into it.
She crossed to the table and sat opposite him. Conversational skills were something she’d rarely lacked. Yet at this precise moment she had trouble summoning one topic to mind.
‘How’s the book going?’
An amused gleam momentarily lit his eyes before he successfully hid it by letting his eyelids droop fractionally. The inevitable question an author had to field from time to time. ‘My answer would only seem a paradox.’
The dry response made it easy for her to resort to humour. ‘You’ve hit a bad patch?’
He winced mentally. ‘You could say I’ve dug myself into a hole and I can’t see a way out.’
‘Why not back up and avoid the hole altogether?’
Good point. ‘I need to think about it a while.’
‘So sharing coffee and conversation is really an excuse not to stare at a blank screen and curse beneath your breath?’
‘Perhaps I couldn’t resist your charming company.’
Icily polite. Furiously angry. Indignant, voluble, even sarcastic. At no stage could she recall being charming. Maybe it was time to try.
‘Tell me why you write.’
‘Curiosity, or genuine interest?’
‘A bit of both,’ she answered honestly.
‘An obsessive need to create a story.’ A statement which usually brought a non-committal response, indicating uninterest or lack of comprehension.
Anneke looked at him carefully. Glimpsed the fine lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, the faint furrow creasing his forehead, as if he’d frowned in concentration too often in the past few hours.
‘And the how of it?’
His mouth quirked. ‘Matching the image in my head with words that allow the reader to capture my vision.’
An art form that wasn’t always easy, requiring dedication and discipline, she perceived. There could be no doubt Sebastian Lanier possessed both qualities.
He waited for the inevitable comments relating to fame and fortune, the media circus he went to great pains to avoid. But none were forthcoming.
Inane questions weren’t her practice. ‘It must be a fascinating process.’ Her eyes glinted with humour. ‘And not without a degree of frustration when the words don’t flow as you need them to.’
His smile held a warmth that made her stomach curl. And the eyes were dark, gleaming and steady. Assessing, analytical, almost as if he had calculated every move, every angle, and was waiting to see which one she would choose.
It gave her an uncanny feeling.
‘Mind if I pour more coffee?’
His voice was husky and held a tinge of humour, almost as if he’d read her mind.
‘Of course not. Help yourself.’
He indicated her cup. ‘Want me to refill yours?’
It was strong, really strong. If she drank another, she’d be awake half the night. ‘No, thanks. I’ll have water instead.’
He crossed to the servery, helped himself from the coffee-maker, then reached into a nearby cupboard, extracted a glass and filled it with water. All with the ease of a man who was familiar with her aunt’s kitchen.
She could almost imagine their easy friendship, and experienced a pang of envy.
He should get out of here. The computer beckoned, and he’d just had a fleeting but inspired flash as to how he could circumvent the current plot hole.
However, the coffee was good, really good. And Anneke’s current mood intrigued him.
He placed the glass down onto the table in front of her, then slid into his chair.
‘Your turn.’
Her eyes widened, the light, clear green darkening fractionally as comprehension hit.
Fascinating…eyes a man could drown in, and he discovered he wanted to, very much. Thread a hand through her silky hair and hold fast her head while he shaped her mouth with his own. Anchor her against him so she felt his need while he heightened her own. The slow erotic glide of hands, lips, until neither was enough and the barrier of clothes proved too much.
‘You live in Sydney, and work in a legal office,’ Sebastian prompted, banking down libidinous images.
‘No longer work in one specific legal office,’ Anneke corrected drily.
‘Resigned?’
‘Walked out.’
His eyes held a humorous gleam. ‘Problems with the boss?’
She looked at him in measured silence. ‘You could say that.’ A statement she didn’t intend to clarify.
At that moment the phone rang, its double peal insistent, and her eyes flared momentarily with apprehension.
Another nuisance call?
Sebastian unbent his lengthy frame and pushed in his chair. ‘I’ll let you get that.’ He drained the remains of his coffee and carried the cup and saucer to the servery. Then he lifted a hand in silent salute and let himself out of the back door.
Anneke crossed to the phone, removed the receiver, and experienced relief when she discovered the caller was one of her aunt’s friends.
A relief which proved short-lived when the phone rang again minutes later.
She tossed up whether to answer it or not, for she couldn’t discount the possibility it might be a legitimate call. Indecision warred for a few seconds, then she took a deep breath and unhooked the receiver.
Her heart sank. No answer, only heavy breathing. She resisted the temptation to crash the receiver down on its cradle. ‘Damn you,’ she said fiercely. ‘Try this again, and I’ll contact the police and have them put a trace on the line.’
There was the faint click of a receiver being replaced, then the hollow sound of a cut connection.
‘Problems?’
Anneke whirled at the sound of that deep, faintly accented voice, and saw Sebastian, tray in hand, standing just inside the kitchen door.
Her heart was thumping in her chest, and her eyes, she knew, were stark and wide. Control kicked in, and she forced her voice into even tones.
‘You heard.’ There was no point in pretending he hadn’t.
With ease, he crossed the room and deposited the tray on the servery. ‘You didn’t answer the question.’
Why fabricate? ‘Someone seems to be having fun at my expense.’
He leant a hip against the cabinet and