She shook her head, colour darkening her cheeks. ‘There seems to have been some sort of mistake…’ She looked about her self-consciously.
‘No mistake, Juliet,’ he assured her smoothly, coming around the table to pull back the chair that was placed opposite his.
She frowned up at him, making no move to sit in the chair. ‘But I don’t want to have dinner with you,’ she blurted out bluntly.
‘Oh, I think you do, Juliet,’ he murmured derisively, that amusement still in his dark blue eyes.
She looked up at him indignantly. ‘I most certainly do not!’ she snapped. ‘What happened to your companion from lunch? Didn’t it work out?’ she scorned with obvious sarcasm. Really, this man was extremely arrogant to have assumed that she would be willing to have dinner with him, even going so far as to tell the maitre d’—obviously, because the other man had shown her to this table without hesitation!—that she would be joining him. Well, she had no intention of doing so!
The amusement gone from his eyes now, his gaze narrowed. ‘Sit down, Juliet,’ he told her softly, but nevertheless in a voice that brooked no further argument.
No doubt he was uncomfortable with the attention—albeit discreetly—that was being directed their way from the other diners in the room because of her obvious reluctance to join him at his table. Probably this had never happened to him before, Juliet realised disgustedly.
Her gaze was steady as she looked up at him, grey eyes cool and calm. ‘I told you, I don’t want to have dinner with you,’ she said evenly, her voice lowered.
Liam straightened, his expression grim now. ‘And if you remember I said that you do,’ he returned challengingly.
Her eyes widened now. He really was the most…! ‘Maybe this arrogant approach works with some women,’ she snapped indignantly, ‘but it certainly isn’t going to work with me! Now, if you’ll excuse me…?’ She looked at him pointedly as he stood firmly in the way of her walking away from the table.
‘Certainly.’ He stepped back. ‘But I was under the impression,’ he added softly as she turned away, ‘that you wanted to talk to me.’
Juliet turned back dazedly. ‘I can’t imagine how you ever gained that impression,’ she said incredulously. ‘Other than bluntly telling you I don’t care whether I ever set eyes on you again, I’ve done everything I could to show you that I’m not interested in whatever you have in mind. You really do have the most monumental arrogance, Mr…Liam!’ Her eyes flashed her anger as she glared up at him.
‘The name is Carlyle, Juliet,’ he told her softly. ‘Edward William Carlyle,’ he added pointedly. ‘Are you still of the opinion that you don’t care whether you ever set eyes on me again?’ He coolly returned her gaze, his brows raised mockingly.
JULIET didn’t have to be asked to sit down again; she almost fell into the waiting chair, all the time looking up at the man she now knew to be Edward Carlyle, the man she had come here to see.
He was Edward Carlyle. Edward William Carlyle, that middle name obviously where the Liam part came from. Good God, she still couldn’t believe it. He had been this close to her all day and she hadn’t even known it.
But he had known exactly who she was, she suddenly realised as she watched him resume his seat in the chair opposite her. And he had been playing some sort of cat-and-mouse game with her all day…
And he still was, she slowly acknowledged as he met her gaze coolly across the width of the table that stood between them. He looked perfectly relaxed as he rested the lean length of his body back in the chair.
Juliet drew in a slow, controlling breath. She had found Edward Carlyle at last or rather he had found her! She mustn’t let her feelings of resentment at his subterfuge override her need to speak with him. But she did feel resentful; there was no doubt about it. He had known all along exactly who she was, she was sure of that now, but he had chosen not to let her know who he was until he had been ready to do so. Which appeared to be now.
‘You’re right,’ she nodded, amazed at how calm she sounded considering that she still felt slightly dazed by the fact that she had already had at least two other opportunities today to speak to Edward Carlyle, and hadn’t even been aware of it. ‘I do want to speak to you. I—’
‘Shall we order dinner first?’ he suggested lightly as the waiter appeared at their table.
The last thing she felt like doing now was eating; in fact, she felt as if food might actually choke her. ‘I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet,’ she said awkwardly.
Liam—Edward Carlyle—gave her a considering look. ‘Would you like me to order for you?’ he offered distantly. ‘I can recommend the salmon and the pork.’
He should be able to—he owned the damned hotel! God! Ordinarily she would have told him what he could do—what any man could do!—with his arrogance in suggesting that he order her food for her, but there was nothing ordinary about this meeting, and quite frankly she didn’t feel up to choosing anything for herself. ‘Fine,’ she accepted abruptly, closing her unread menu before turning to stare sightlessly out of the window while he spoke to the waiter.
This wasn’t at all how she had envisaged meeting Edward Carlyle; she had thought it would be on a business footing, not the two of them sitting here in evening clothes about to eat a meal together. Especially when, until a few minutes ago, one of them had been at a complete disadvantage in not knowing exactly whom she was speaking to!
He didn’t look anything like William, his father having been dark-haired, with astute grey eyes and softer features than his son’s. She could be forgiven for not having made any connection between the two men. But that didn’t alter the fact that she was now sitting opposite Edward Carlyle at the meeting she had wanted for the last two months— and that she felt completely at a loss as to how to even begin the conversation they needed to have!
She drew in a ragged breath as she turned back to face him. ‘Mr Carlyle—’
‘The name is still Liam,’ he cut in firmly. ‘No one but my father ever called me Edward. And he was “Mr Carlyle",’ he added grimly.
The friction that had existed between the two men when William had been alive was still obvious in Liam’s voice. Juliet sat forward in her seat. ‘We need to talk, Mr…Liam,’ she amended at his frowning look. ‘But I don’t think these are exactly the right circumstances.’ She looked pointedly around them at the rapidly filling restaurant. A pianist and a violinist were now taking up their positions across the room.
‘No,’ he acknowledged abruptly as the music began to play softly in the background.
Juliet frowned across the table at him. She was looking at him with new eyes now that she knew he wasn’t just a man who had been trying to pick her up for a holiday fling. And she could see a toughness about his mouth and eyes, a power in the hard lines of his face; he didn’t look as if he was going to be an easy man to talk to in any circumstances!
‘We’ll have dinner, Juliet.’ he told her softly. ‘Then we can talk over coffee in one of the lounges.’
That still wasn’t ideal. This was a business affair, not something to be discussed in these luxurious surroundings over a cup of coffee!
‘Juliet,’ Liam continued firmly as he steadily met her gaze across the width of the table, ‘we do this on my terms or not at all.’
Her eyes flashed, deeply grey. He knew that he had the upper hand and was