But Izzy, at that moment turning and spotting him, smiled and waved and made her way over. Looking dazzling in an iridescent petrol-blue dress he hadn’t seen before and with her hair piled up in a glossy, disorganised topknot, she gave him a quick kiss.
‘Sam, I love this place! I’ve just bumped into Robbie Williams . . . !’
‘As long as you didn’t sing to him,’ replied Sam evenly. If it meant furthering her career, Izzy wouldn’t think twice about pulling such a stunt. Glancing over her shoulder, he said, ‘So where’s Mr Universe?’
‘Who?’
‘The white-shoed wonder. You didn’t bring him along, or has he collapsed under the weight of his jewellery?’
Izzy smiled and leaned against the bar. ‘Ah, maybe he’s here. Maybe I’m just playing it cool like they tell you to in all the magazines.’
‘You mean he isn’t here,’ said Sam with some relief. ‘Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.’
‘I don’t want a drink.’ She shook her head at the approaching barman, paused for a second, then said slowly, ‘I want to dance. With you.’
It was like dancing with a cyberman. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Sam in her ear. ‘I can’t do this. I just don’t dance with my customers.’
‘I can see why,’ Izzy replied, disappointed by the temporary setback. She was doing her best, the slow, sensual music was - God knows - doing
its
best, but Sam remained as unrelaxed as it was possible for a cyberman to be. ‘And I’m not even a real customer,’ she chided, ‘so I shouldn’t count.’
‘I know, I know. But people are watching.’ Sam wondered if Izzy had any idea how uncomfortable she was making him feel. Furthermore, how was it possible that she was able to dance with such apparent decorum - their bodies were barely touching, for heaven’s sake - while at the same time managing to give him the distinct impression that this was more of a seduction than a dance?
‘Your reputation will be in tatters,’ she murmured, moving fractionally closer so that he could breathe in her scent. ‘You know what women assume about men who can’t dance.’
‘I can dance,’ replied Sam through gritted teeth. ‘I just can’t do it here.’
‘Oh.’ Izzy smiled. ‘So, where exactly
can
you do it?’
‘What?’
‘Go on, prove it.’
Something was definitely going on. There was a deceptive innocence about her eyes, yet at the same time she looked as if she was bursting with the most marvellous secret. As the music ended, Sam reached for her hand and led her off the dance floor, resolutely ignoring the looks of intrigue he was receiving from regular customers.
When they reached his office on the first floor he steered Izzy inside and closed the door firmly behind him.
‘Right.What’s this all about?’
‘Alfieee,’ sang Izzy under her breath. But, encouraged by the fact that he still hadn’t let go of her arm, she said, ‘I just want to know if you really can dance.’
‘Very funny.’
‘Gosh, Sam.’ She fluttered long eyelashes. ‘You’re awfully attractive when you’re angry.’
‘Izzy, the club is packed, Ewan McGregor will be arriving shortly and the Press are milling around outside like meerkats on heat. I have better things to
do
than stand here and—’
‘Why don’t you shut up,’ said Izzy fondly, ‘and give me a kiss?’
Chapter 16
Two minutes later she took an unsteady step backwards and slowly exhaled.
‘Gosh, Izzy. You’re awfully attractive when you’re ruffled,’ mimicked Sam.
She shook her head, putting up a hand to smooth her hair. ‘I didn’t expect you to . . . well, do that.’
‘You asked.’ He shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. ‘You got.’
‘Oh I got, all right.’ Izzy wondered whether a repeat performance might be on the cards. ‘I’m just surprised.’
‘Because you wanted to shock me and you didn’t? Really, Izzy, I’m not that naïve . . . and you aren’t that subtle, if you don’t mind me saying so, although I still don’t understand why you should have changed your mind about me. A couple of weeks ago,’ he reminded her pointedly, ‘you didn’t think I was such a great idea.’
Having planned on being the seducer, Izzy was now caught on the hop. She certainly hadn’t expected Sam to be this masterful, so totally in control. ‘A couple of weeks ago,’ she murmured, colouring slightly at the lie she was about to tell, ‘you were still living in Gina’s house. I didn’t think it would be kind to her, if anything should . . . happen . . . between us. She’s feeling lonely enough as it is.’
‘Really,’ drawled Sam. ‘How incredibly thoughtful of you.’
Izzy shrugged and maintained a modest silence.
‘And there I was,’ he continued softly, ‘thinking it might have had something to do with the fact that Gina had actually asked you not to get involved with me while we were both living under her roof.’
She burst out laughing. ‘You cheat! What have you been doing, crossing off the days on the calendar and laying bets with yourself on how long it would be before I hurled myself shamelessly into your arms like the brazen hussy I am?’
‘Laying bets with my entire staff, actually.’ He managed to keep a straight face, but Izzy’s ability to laugh at herself was one of the things he found most irresistible about her. Far too many women, desperate to make a good impression, lost their sense of humour completely whenever they themselves were the butt of the joke.
Izzy, however, was still smiling, quite unabashed. ‘And did you win?’
As he drew her towards him once more, breathing in the scent of Diorella and feeling her body quiver helplessly beneath his touch, Sam recognised that her state of arousal was equal to his own. ‘I think,’ he murmured in her ear, ‘I’m just about to find out.’
The shrill of the phone on his desk moments later provided a rude interruption. Izzy, who was practically sitting on it at the time, jumped a mile.
‘That’ll be Wendy, ringing from the front desk to let me know that Ewan McGregor’s arrived,’ said Sam with some reluctance.
Izzy pulled a face. ‘Tell him he’s just lost himself a fan.’ But when Sam picked up the receiver and began to listen, she knew at once that something was wrong. ‘Tell her I’m not here,’ he said tersely, and Izzy’s heart sank. Then, eventually, he snapped, ‘OK, OK, I’m coming down,’ and slammed down the phone.
‘Shit,’ said Sam with feeling.
‘Seconded,’ she murmured, bracing herself for the worst. ‘Who is it?’
Glancing at his watch, then back at Izzy’s disappointed face, he heaved a sigh and said, ‘Her name’s Vivienne Bresnick; I met her just over a year ago in New York and we had one of those on-off relationships . . . it was doomed to failure from the start, but Vivienne is one of those women who are hard to shake off. She wouldn’t give up. She wasn’t the reason I left New York,’ he said evenly, ‘but she was certainly an added incentive.’
‘So, you aren’t madly in love with her?’ Izzy brightened at the thought that all was not lost.
‘I am not,’ he replied, his tone firm and a glimmer of amusement lifting the corners of his mouth. ‘But she’s turned up here in the middle of the night and she isn’t likely to leave quietly on the next flight back to the States.’ Running an affectionate finger along the curve of her cheek, he added with a regretful smile, ‘I’m sorry about this.’
Talk about
coitus interruptus
, thought Izzy. Apart from anything else, she had shaved her legs for nothing. ‘Not half as sorry,’ she said ruefully, ‘as I am.’
Having laid a private bet with herself that Vivienne Bresnick would be tall, tanned and dangerously blonde, Izzy would have recognised her immediately, even if she hadn’t been surrounded by suitcases - matching Louis Vuitton suitcases at that.
‘Sam!’ exclaimed Vivienne, tossing back her practically waist-length hair and flying into his arms the moment he reached the bottom of the staircase. ‘I know I should have phoned, but I wanted to be a surprise!’
‘There but for the grace of Vivienne go I,’ muttered Izzy under her breath as she slipped, unnoticed, along the dimly lit oak-panelled hallway and out of the club. Maybe she’d stop off at the Chinese on the way home and pick up pork su mai and prawns with pineapple as a treat for Katerina.
But when she let herself into the house forty minutes later, her daughter wasn’t there.
How was it possible to be this happy? wondered Katerina, still unable to believe that such a state - and such an all-engulfing state of
rightness
- could truly exist. As they turned into the road which would lead them back to Kingsley Grove, however, some of the pleasure began to dissipate. She leaned closer into the curve of Andrew’s arm around her waist, praying that the evening could stretch on into infinity . . .
‘I wish there could be more,’ said Andrew, seemingly able to read her thoughts.
In reply, Katerina squeezed his arm. ‘I don’t care, this is enough. At least we have each other.’
‘But I
want
more.’ Gazing moodily at the rooftops of the opulent Georgian terrace silhouetted against an orange-tinted sky, he considered the irony of so many houses and nowhere to go - nowhere to spend an entire night with Kat.
Now, drawing her slowly into the shadows and leaning back against a high stone wall, he kissed her and said, ‘It’s not fair on you.’ Then, as she opened her mouth to protest, he covered it with his fingers. ‘It isn’t fair on either of us, but particularly you. This isn’t how a beautiful seventeen-year-old girl should be spending her evenings.’
‘You don’t know what my evenings used to be like. All I ever did was study.You wouldn’t believe how
important
I thought it was! I just didn’t realise there were other things in life that could be more important . . .’
‘And you don’t realise how important you are to me,’ murmured Andrew, ‘but this still isn’t what you deserve. I’m too old for you, I’m going through a divorce and I’m trapped in a hopeless relationship with a woman who—’
‘But that isn’t your fault,’ Katerina interrupted, before he could mention the baby. She hated to even think of it; in her fantasies Marcy broke down in tears, confessed that Andrew was not, after all, the father, and promptly emigrated to New Zealand.
‘What difference does it make?’ Andrew frowned into the darkness. ‘I’m screwed, financially. All I want to do is whisk you away to an hotel and at the moment I can’t even afford to do that.’
Katerina was privately relieved. Despite everything she felt for Andrew, her conscience still troubled her; as long as they weren’t sleeping together, she was able to tell herself that she wasn’t doing anything
too
terribly wrong.
And although she knew she was being silly, she was also afraid of taking that final step. Being with Andrew . . . kissing him, spending hours in his arms and acknowledging their mutual desire . . . was one thing, but actually
doing
it was quite another, and an altogether more alarming prospect. She wouldn’t know what to do. She could get it all embarrassingly wrong and Andrew might lose interest in her. The idea was too terrifying even to contemplate.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she repeated, smoothing Andrew’s hair away from his forehead and watching his frown lines magically disappear. If only she could solve their other problems as easily.
‘I love you,’ said Andrew, and she shivered. How could those small words make her
shiver
like this?
‘I know,’ she said simply, moving back into his arms and resolutely refusing to think of Gina, Marcy . . . the unborn child . . . ‘I love you, too.’
‘But I
love
you,’ repeated Vivienne, frustrated beyond belief by Sam’s uncompromising attitude. Flinging herself down on to the sofa and tossing back her hair, she deliberately didn’t bother to adjust the rising hem of her skirt. She was wearing a pale grey jersey top which emphasised the unEnglishness of her tan; only faint shadows beneath her spectacular eyes betrayed the fact that she had gone far too long without sleep. ‘And there’s no need to look at your watch, either,’ she said in despairing tones. ‘Jeez, Sam, you sure know how to make a girl feel welcome.’