The Temptation Trap

‘From your tone it doesn’t seem likely!’ He paused. ‘Rosanna, all I’m asking is an evening spent together. My intentions are of the best. Or are you convinced my sole object is seduction?’

‘I hope I’m not so conceited,’ she retorted. ‘Why do you want to see me?’

‘I can tell something’s wrong. I want to know what it is.’

Rosanna sighed dispiritedly. ‘It’s nothing you can do anything about.’

‘Rosanna,’ said Ewen after a pause, ‘is it something to do with David?’

‘No. Nothing at all.’

‘I see. Or rather I don’t see.’ He paused. ‘Let’s discuss it over dinner. Though if you don’t want to talk about it I won’t press you. Afterwards I’ll deliver you to your door without even a peck on the cheek.’

Why not? she thought defiantly, avoiding her eyes in the mirror. She couldn’t stay home all the time. ‘Then thank you, I’ll come. It’s very kind of you.’

‘Not really. It’s the journalist in me, scenting a story.’

Ewen rang back later to confirm dinner at a favourite restaurant of his in Shepherd’s Bush, as long as they didn’t mind eating late. Rosanna, who hadn’t intended eating very much at all, assured him she didn’t mind a bit, but told him not to come for her. She would meet him at the restaurant around nine.

Which, she thought, running upstairs, gave her a couple of hours to make herself look as contemporary as possible. Her spirits high, Rosanna put on the sleeveless, low-cut black dress she kept for special occasions, added sheer black stockings, strappy black suede shoes, and took a long time over her face. She brushed her waving dark hair back as severely as possible, and secured it at the nape of her neck with a tortoiseshell clasp, then, with a touch of defiance, pinned the gold rose to the shoulder of her dress. The result, she thought, satisfied, was a far cry from young Rose Norman.

Ewen was waiting when she arrived at the restaurant. He wore a fawn linen suit and his face looked tired under the thick black hair, dark smudges of fatigue under his eyes. But when he caught sight of her the eyes lit up, and Rosanna’s heart gave a sudden, unsettling thump as he came towards her, hand outstretched.

‘Rosanna, you look ravishing!’ He seated her in a corner of the crowded bar, his eyes moving over her with unconcealed pleasure. ‘That’s the famous rose, of course, but otherwise thoroughly modern Rosanna,’ he said with a grin, and she smiled back wryly. He really was a clever devil.

‘Just so there’s no confusion,’ she said lightly, and agreed to champagne when he told her he was celebrating the racing start he’d made on his book.

‘How about you?’ he asked.

‘I’m very well,’ she assured him.

‘I can see that.’ The look in his eyes brought such heat to her face, Rosanna gave fervent, secret thanks for the naturally matt complexion which disguised it. ‘What shall we drink to?’ he asked, filling her glass.

‘Rose and Harry,’ she said promptly.

‘Amen to that.’ Ewen drank some of his wine, then turned his attention to the menu. ‘Let’s choose, then we’ll be free to discuss this problem of yours.’

Rosanna was sorry now she’d ever admitted to having a problem. But if she hadn’t, she reminded herself, she wouldn’t be here with Ewen now. Where she was dangerously happy to be. The entire occasion was bringing light to a week which had felt like a dark tunnel of disappointment and frustration.

‘Could we leave my problem until after dinner, please?’ she said ruefully. ‘I’d like to enjoy the meal first. Tell me about your novel instead.’

Ewen’s eyes narrowed searchingly, but he made no move to press her. ‘As I told you, I started the research for it as soon as I finished Savage Dawn, and I’d already mapped out the story between the two friends. Then I read about Harry’s meeting with Rose and the love theme just fell into place.’

‘I’ll look forward to reading it.’ She smiled a little. ‘Savage Dawn was brilliant, by the way. I couldn’t put it down.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘You mean you actually bought it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Rosanna, I would have given you a copy if I’d thought you were interested.’ His smile was wry. ‘I tend not to force my efforts on the unwilling.’

‘I didn’t like to ask.’

His eyes gleamed suddenly. ‘Afraid I might expect something in return?’

‘Certainly not,’ she said loftily. ‘Just afraid you were still angry because I wanted to write on the same subject.’

He shrugged. ‘I admit I wasn’t too pleased at the time. I thought you let me see you again because you liked my company, not just to wheedle Rose’s letters away from me. My ego took a beating.’

‘You came to see me for the same reason, where Harry was concerned.’

‘Not the second time, as you know perfectly well,’ he said, so quietly she barely heard him above the conversations going on around them. But the gleam in his eyes made his meaning unmistakable.

‘Let’s talk about something else,’ she said hastily, looking away. ‘Have you been watching the new Jane Austen serial?’

‘I haven’t watched anything since I started the book. While the muse is with me I work until I can’t see straight, then microwave something vaguely edible, go to bed and fall asleep listening to the radio.’

Rosanna frowned in disapproval. ‘That can’t be good for your health. Or your social life.’

He shrugged. ‘The latter’s non-existent when I’m writing.’

‘I find it hard to believe that,’ she retorted. ‘Your social life is so well documented I recognised you almost at once. You’ve been photographed often enough with various beautiful ladies, Ewen Fraser.’

He looked at her very squarely. ‘But rarely with the same one, Rosanna. Lately, anyway. Most of it was just publicity. My lifestyle tends to put paid to lasting relationships. When I was a full-time journalist it was the long hours and my habit of turning up late for evenings out, or sometimes not at all. Now it’s even worse. The most recent lady in my life gave up on me rather than play second fiddle to my computer.’

‘Was she right about that?’ asked Rosanna curiously.

‘In a way. She wanted marriage, I didn’t, so we split up. Marriage doesn’t appeal, I’m afraid.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘What are your views on the subject?’

‘Very dull and conventional.’ She smiled. ‘I’m the original old-fashioned girl. It’s always been marriage for David and me.’

‘Everyone to their own taste,’ he said lightly as the waiter approached. ‘Good, our meal is ready. I’m hungry.’

Ewen made no attempt to press Rosanna about her problem over the meal, which they ate in a secluded little booth at the back of the restaurant, sharing the same bench seat. Which, she thought, had its disadvantages. The meal was delicious, but sitting so close to Ewen made it very difficult to concentrate on the food. She’d expected to face him across a table. Instead they were enclosed in unexpected intimacy, cut off from the rest of the room by a concealing array of potted greenery. And every time his arm brushed hers, or his foot came into contact with her own under the table, she felt such a surge of electricity it was difficult not to show it.

When the coffee arrived after the meal Ewen moved closer, half turned towards her, the dark rings under his eyes less pronounced now. ‘Aren’t you going to praise me for my forbearance?’

‘For not asking what’s wrong?’ Rosanna nodded, smiling wryly. ‘Particularly as you’d probably rather be tapping away at your keyboard than trying to cheer me up.’

‘Are you mad? Of course I wouldn’t. What man would?’ he said with emphasis, then grinned. ‘And to be honest it was a change to eat a proper meal for once.’

‘You certainly look better for it,’ she said reprovingly. ‘You shouldn’t resort to a microwave all the time. It doesn’t take long to throw a cold meal together.’

‘You sound like my mother,’ he said resignedly, then smiled crookedly. ‘But you don’t look like her.’

‘You mean I look like Rose!’

‘Actually you don’t tonight. You look so alluring it’s very bad for me.’ He slid closer still and took her hand in his, looking into her eyes. ‘Strange as it may seem— no matter what you’ve read about me—it’s not my habit to socialise with women already spoken for, Rosanna Carey. Talking of which, have you heard from young Dr Kildare lately?’