‘So you had a happy childhood?’ she asked curiously, drawn by the affection in his deep voice as he’d spoken about his family.
‘The best.’ They had just drawn up at some traffic lights and again the blue gaze raked her face. ‘Hence the nicely rounded, well-adjusted individual you see in front of you,’ he said quietly.
The lights changed in the next instant but, as the car purred on, the content of his last words stayed with Cory. Had he been hinting that she wasn’t those things or was she being over-sensitive here? she asked herself silently, her mouth unconsciously tightening. If it was the former then he’d got a right cheek because she was fine, just fine. But it could be the latter…
She risked another sideways glance through her eyelashes. It probably wasn’t the moment to notice the way his dark hair curled ever so slightly into the base of his neck. It wasn’t short and it wasn’t long but it suited him perfectly. She wondered how it would feel if she sifted her fingers through the soft strands. And then she caught the errant thought quickly and looked straight ahead before he caught her observing him.
She was going loopy here. What on earth was she doing fantasising about this man? In fact, how come she was with him in the first place? She wanted her head examined!
By the time they reached the pub, which was close to Hampstead Heath, Cory just wanted out of the car. She couldn’t ever remember being so aware of every little movement or action by another human being. Nick, on the other hand, appeared perfectly relaxed and at ease, chatting about this and that and keeping the conversation strictly impersonal now.
Once inside the pub, which was all brass and copper and leaded windows, he led her straight through and out into the small, flower-bedecked garden at the rear. ‘This is our table.’ He pointed to a table for two set next to a lattice of climbing roses which were scenting the air with their rich sweetness.
‘How do you know?’ The pub had been packed inside and out here the few tables there were were full.
Nick reached out and removed a reserved sign from the table. ‘Trust me,’ he said, smiling. ‘I know the owner.’
‘Not another university friend?’
‘Boyhood friend this time. John and I grew up together.’
‘And he always keeps this table for you?’
‘If I ring up and request it, yes. Which I did first thing this morning.’ He pulled out a sun-warmed seat and she sank down, the perfume of the flowers and the caress of the sun on her skin blissful.
‘They do a great Brunello here,’ Nick said, still standing. ‘Do you like red wine?’
‘Love it.’
‘I’ll get a bottle. I shall limit myself to one glass as I’m driving but I guarantee once you taste it, you’ll be unable to resist another. Shall I order two roast dinners while I’m at it?’
Cory nodded. This was nice, too nice.
So was the wine when it came. The intense chocolate and nutty aroma was a ripe explosion of taste in the mouth, and she closed her eyes and just breathed in the aroma made all the more potent by the hot air. ‘This is gorgeous,’ she murmured, taking another long sip.
‘Don’t tell me I’ve found the way to your heart?’ Nick had sat down opposite her, his eyes slightly closed against the sun and his long legs stretched out in front of him.
Forget about the roast dinner, Cory thought wryly. He looked good enough to eat. She raised an eyebrow. ‘With one glass of wine?’ she said severely. ‘I think not.’
‘The bottle’s there, feel free.’
She smiled. ‘I’ve always believed in moderation in all things.’
‘All things?’ The blue eyes were wicked.
‘All things,’ she insisted firmly, refusing to acknowledge the innuendo.
‘Then it’s as I thought,’ Nick said with obvious complacency. ‘Your education in certain areas has been sadly neglected and I look upon it as my duty to set things right. What you need to do from this point, Cory, is to look upon me as your teacher and guide into the ways of the flesh. OK?’ And he took a long, satisfying drink of wine.
She laughed. Well, there was nothing else she could do really, because she couldn’t take him seriously. In spite of the bolt of lightning that had shot through her.
‘I’m more than up to the task,’ he assured her softly, putting down the glass and taking one of her hands in his. He turned her fingers over so that the soft, vulnerable underside of her wrist was exposed, stroking it with first one finger and then—shockingly—as he raised her hand to his mouth, his warm lips.
‘Don’t!’ She snatched her hand away, almost knocking the wine over. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘Why not?’ He sat back in his chair, his eyes on hers. ‘It’s nothing.’ His smile was lazy.
It was nothing and yet it suggested everything—all the forbidden delights of her dream were in those warm, knowing lips. She knew exactly what he was trying to do and she was determined not to acknowledge her own desire and need. She shrugged. ‘I don’t play those sort of games,’ she said shortly.
There wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his lips when he said, ‘Who’s playing games?’
CHAPTER FOUR
CORY could have kissed the little barmaid who arrived at the table with their food just after Nick had spoken. In the ensuing activity the moment for her to respond to him came and went, and she made sure she tucked into her meal without further ado. The Sunday roast with all the trimmings was delicious, as was the hazelnut and cherry pie which followed, all washed down with another large glass of wine by Cory and sparkling mineral water for Nick.
Nick’s friend brought their coffee, pulling up a chair from a table which had been vacated when Nick invited him to join them for a glass of wine. ‘Here.’ Nick poured the last of the wine into his empty glass and passed it to John. ‘Cory insists she’s had enough.’
‘Potent stuff, isn’t it?’ John was a slight blond man and he grinned at Cory as he spoke. ‘My favourite ever since Nick introduced me to it years ago. Bit expensive for the pub trade but I always make sure a bottle’s in for when this guy turns up.’ He punched Nick lightly on the shoulder. ‘I can only stay a minute or two, though. Lucinda—the wife,’ he added in an aside to Cory, ‘will be on the warpath if she catches me slacking.’
‘Are you man or mouse?’ Nick put in.
‘Where Lucinda’s concerned? Definitely rodent.’
He was only halfway through the glass and in the middle of relating an incident from their childhood—about the time when he and Nick had been caught scrumping from a farmer’s orchard—when the said Lucinda appeared. Big, buxom and definitely Italian, she bustled over to their table, throwing her arms round Nick and then scolding him for staying away for too long, before she clipped her husband round the ear. ‘You creep out here without telling me and then you drink the last of Nick’s wine,’ she remonstrated in a heavy accent. ‘You are the impossible man. You see what I have to put up with?’ she appealed to Nick. ‘And who is your beautiful lady?’ she added, turning a beaming smile on a bemused Cory.
‘Cory James meet Lucinda Robinson,’ Nick said, laughter in his voice. ‘And her bark’s worse than her bite.’
‘Says who?’ said John, rubbing his ear. ‘She used to do that when she was a little thing the size of Cory but I could keep her in her place then. She packs a fair