Hidden Love

Colour flooded her cheeks. She hadn’t realised Kay Lennox had seen her with Danny, but she was the only one who could have passed on such information to Nick St Clare. Had she also passed on her message to him?

‘I can see he was.’ Nick’s eyes mocked her as he glanced at her, the rush-hour traffic holding most of his attention. ‘Don’t you know there are more private places for making love?’

Rachel flushed, with anger this time. ‘We weren’t making love, we were kissing! And it’s none of your business where I do it.’

‘It might be if I were the man you were kissing,’ he said softly.

His words robbed her of speech, as they were supposed to, she felt sure. She had pushed the memory of the light kiss he had given her last night to the back of her mind, but now the thrill just that fleeting touch of his lips had given her came flooding back.

‘Did your sister give you my message?’ she asked to cover her embarrassment.

Nick glanced at her. ‘That you couldn’t make dinner tonight?’

‘Yes,’ she nodded.

‘Yes, she gave it to me.’

Rachel frowned her consternation. ‘Then why are you here?’

‘To take you home. Your mother said you usually finish about this time—–’

‘When did you see my mother?’ she asked sharply.

‘About an hour ago.’

‘But—I—You—–’

Nick chuckled softly. ‘Did you want to say something, Rachel?’

‘Yes, I did!’ she snapped. ‘What are you doing here?’

He sighed. ‘I just told you—–’

‘You didn’t tell me anything,’ she flashed. ‘If your sister passed on my message that I couldn’t meet you tonight then why did you go to my home?’

‘To give you the flowers.’

‘What flowers?’ She was becoming really agitated now, and Nick’s annoying attitude did not help.

‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged. ‘I didn’t make a list of the different varieties.’

‘Nick!’

‘Hmm?’

‘Oh, I give up!’ She subsided into her seat. ‘You’re impossible!’ She contented herself with glaring at the perfection of his profile.

‘So I’ve often been told,’ he shrugged.

‘It’s true!’

‘Rachel,’ he was serious now, the teasing had left his eyes, his mouth was no longer smiling, ‘why did you call off our date?’

‘I—You—–’

‘I don’t remember you stuttering like this last night,’ he frowned.

‘When we spoke last night I had no idea you were Nicholas St Clare!’ She fidgeted with her tee-shirt, pulling it down over her denims.

‘But now you do.’

‘Yes, now I do!’

‘And you no longer want to go out with me?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

She had been hoping he wouldn’t ask that. ‘I—Well, because of who you are, I suppose. When I got home I saw you on the television—–’

‘A bit of a shock for you,’ he said dryly.

‘Yes. Congratulations on the win, by the way,’ she mumbled.

‘Thanks,’ he drawled. ‘But I usually like to win with women too.’

She could imagine he did; she had often seen photographs of him in the newspapers with beautiful women—which made his wanting to take her out all the more unbelievable.

‘I’m not in any competition,’ she told him firmly. ‘If I’d known who you were yesterday I would never have accepted.’

‘But having accepted, it isn’t polite to back out now.’

‘I’m not backing out—–’ she began.

‘You are.’

‘No, I—–’

‘Rachel,’ he spoke her name softly, but he instantly had her attention. ‘I’m taking you out to dinner.’

‘But—–’

‘No more arguments.’

‘Have you always been spoilt?’ she asked moodily.

‘No,’ he answered somewhat grimly. ‘Which is why I like my own way now.’