No Holding Back

‘Don’t you think you’d better go easy?’ Saffron put in hastily, and was subjected to a look of such withering scorn that the protest died on her lips.

‘Lighten up, Saff! No one likes a killjoy.’

Owen’s retort was accompanied by a swift, expressive glance in Niall Forrester’s direction. It was a look of pure conspiracy, man to man, of banding together in the face of female constraint in a way that made her prickle with irritation.

‘But you’re driving me home.’

‘I’ll be fine——’

And her concern was dismissed, so that unless she persisted, creating a nasty little scene in front of the interestedly watchful Niall, she had no option but to remain uncomfortably silent.

Perhaps in the past she might have shrugged off Owen’s behaviour, possibly even telling herself that she might have over-reacted. But tonight she found that his rudeness had her boiling inside, anger searing through her like a red-hot tide so that she had to bite her lip hard in order not to tell him exactly what she thought of him. In fact, looking at his smiling self-absorbed face as he returned once more to his favourite subject of the proposed takeover, she was forced to wonder what she had ever seen in him.

Could she really have ever considered sleeping with this man? But hadn’t that been exactly what she had planned on doing—last night, at least? Barely twenty-four hours ago, she realised, surreptitiously consulting the slim gold watch on her wrist, she had been so sure about everything. Now, she no longer knew what she felt. It all seemed to have happened since Niall Forrester had come into her life.

‘I’m sorry——’ Niall’s sharp eyes had caught the tiny movement as she checked the time. ‘We’re boring you.’

‘Not at all.’ She hoped that her cool tones would communicate that nothing he could do would trouble her in the least. ‘I appreciate that you have plenty to talk to Owen about. After all, it’s his company that you’re going to buy.’

‘Possibly.’ The single word held a suggestion of doubt, a reminder that all was not yet certain. ‘If I decide I want it…’

Because she was already on edge, that, ‘If…I want it’ seemed to catch of Saffron’s raw nerves.

‘Is that really what life’s about—getting what you want?’

‘Isn’t it?’ He questioned coolly. ‘I think if you asked the majority of people they’d say that most of their days are spent dreaming of something they want—trying to obtain it. I’m not unusual in that—only in that perhaps I know more clearly than most what I do want, and that when I see what I want, I go for it. I make sure nothing stands in the way of my getting it.’

The way he looked straight into her eyes as he spoke, a curl at the corner of his mouth, made Saffron think uncomfortably of his words that morning. ‘You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for——’

‘And what if, when you’ve got your hands on whatever it is, it turns out not to be so desirable after all?’

His smile mocked her indignation, almost as if he knew the thoughts that were in her mind. ‘Oh, then I’d just turn and walk away.’

‘No backward glances?’

‘Looking back is just a waste of time. If you want to make any progress, the only way is forward.’

She wished he would look away from her, turn the silvery force of those pale eyes on someone else. They might have started out talking about Owen’s company and, ostensibly, to anyone not in the know, it might appear that they were still discussing just that, but Saffron was hypersensitive to the dangerous undercurrents in the atmosphere around her, uncomfortably aware of the other possible interpretation of Niall’s words.

‘And does that apply to emotional matters as well as business deals?’

She felt she didn’t need to ask the question, already anticipating what the answer would be.

‘So far I’ve never encountered anything that I couldn’t resist or leave behind with no regrets.’

‘Anything or anyone?’

Niall’s only response was a slight inclination of his dark head, but a worrying gleam in those silvery eyes made her decide that it would be much safer to move the talk back on to the original topic.

‘And do you think you’ll want Richards’ Rockets?’

As she had hoped, the question brought Owen back into the conversation and she was able to withdraw, sit back and watch as once more the two men became absorbed in their discussion.

The problem was that she didn’t experience the relief she had hoped for. Only moments before she had wanted Niall Forrester to turn his attention elsewhere and leave her in peace, but now that he had, perversely, she felt irritated by the ease with which he seemed able to dismiss her from his thoughts. The chocolate torte which the waiter had brought her, together with another bottle of wine, now seemed much too rich for her taste, and she laid her spoon down, painfully aware of the fact that there was really nothing wrong with the sweet, only with her mood.

She couldn’t stop her gaze from lingering on the man opposite, on the sculpted planes of his face, shadowed softly in the flickering candlelight, on the jet darkness of his hair, the unexpected softness of his mouth. Her eyes followed every gesture of his hands as he ate, talked, poured the wine. Those pale grey eyes of his were turned away from her now, but in her mind she could see them in all the changeable moods that, even after such a short acquaintance, she could recognise—the cold, steely glitter that could turn so swiftly to the warm glow of polished silver, or darken with something she couldn’t—or didn’t dare—put a name to.

‘Is there something wrong with your food?’

‘What?’

Niall’s voice had been soft and low, but even so the sound of it jolted Saffron from the sensual trance that had held her. It was as if the gentle warmth of the candleflames had spread throughout the room, growing in intensity, heating the blood in her veins so that she felt as if she was adrift on a golden, glowing tide, the sight and sounds of the other diners fading to a blur on the edges of her consciousness, every nerve, every sense centring on Niall Forrester, like a compass needle drawn irresistibly to the North.

‘I’ll send it back if it’s not right——’

Oh, no—no, it’s fine.’

I’ll send it back, she noted resentfully. Niall Forrester had well and truly taken over the evening.

‘It’s just—that I haven’t as much appetite as I thought.’

For food only, a rogue part of her mind commented. Other appetites were not so easily appeased. In fact, with those silvery eyes on her once more, the way he was leaning towards her bringing him so close that she caught the scent of some musky cologne he wore, she felt as if every inch of her skin was newly sensitised, and a previously unknown sensation was uncoiling in the pit of her stomach, as if some sensuous snake-like creature had been sleeping heavily but was now starting to awake…

‘Eyes too big for my stomach!’ she managed on a shaky laugh.

‘Then perhaps we should think about leaving.’

Was she being unduly sensitive? Saffron wondered. Or was it just his physical position, the concentration of his attention on her, that seemed to make that ‘we’ exclude Owen, who, having tackled a large portion of his favourite Black Forest gateau, was now draining the last of his wine?

‘Yes,’ he said on a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Better be going. Waiter!’

‘Let me——’ Once more Niall took charge, catching

the waiter’s eye with an ease that made the other man’s waving hand look gauche and unsophisticated. In fact, it was rather over the top, even for Owen, Saffron reflected, her attention caught suddenly.

‘Most gracious of you——’

It was the first couple of words, with the hint of slurring, that alerted her, making her turn a concerned frown on him, to see his flushed face and overbright eyes. Her fears were confirmed as Owen got to his feet unsteadily, swaying and clutching at the table for support.

‘Owen—you’re drunk!’

‘Not at all!’ He gave a foolish grin. ‘Just a bit mellow.’

‘But you’re not fit to drive!’ She thought despairingly of the long journey home, the lack of buses, the prohibitive cost of a taxi.

‘Perhaps I could help?’

Did this man have ears like a bat? Her conversation with Owen had been conducted in a furious whisper, while he was occupied with the waiter and his credit card, but he was still very much aware of what was happening.