An Innocent Affair

‘How about what a lovely wedding it was?’

‘I don’t like weddings, but, as such occasions go, this wasn’t too bad. Tell me, how did you manage to keep the affair secret? I thought when the likes of Sam Rourke married, the press from every continent would be camped on the doorstep.’

‘Sam’s very good at laying false trails,’ she said, smiling affectionately when she thought of her new brother-in-law. Sam was an actor of international repute, and millions of women would shed a tear, or several, when they learned he’d married. ‘Also, the invitations weren’t sent out until Wednesday, and they listed the groom as “Patrick S. Rourke,” which happens to be his other name. I’m surprised a busy man like you could drop everything and come at such short notice.’

‘I had nothing else planned. I got back from Saudi yesterday. It was good of your parents to invite me.’ He didn’t add he’d had every intention of putting in the briefest of appearances.

‘You weathered the recession, then?’ Alex Matheson’s firm built distinctive handmade cars. The unapologetically nostalgic lines of the sports cars were instantly recognisable and they were much sought after.

‘Happily, yes.’ He could afford to be confident; there was a five-year waiting list for each of the three models they produced. ‘And how long are you home for, Hope?’

It could be the quiet, firm responses of the couple in the church had softened his brain. Better for them both if she was off to some exotic fashion shoot before they responded to this attraction. Whichever way you looked at it, Hope Lacey was too young for him, Alex reflected.

He’d half expected to be disillusioned when he spoke to her. If he was honest, he’d wanted to be. A healthy dose of reality had seemed the perfect cure for the fascination that had hit him the instant she’d walked into the church. Far from curing him, he found the reality attractive; she was surprisingly natural and mature. Warm, funny— He pulled himself up short. The list could get tiresomely long.

‘I’m at home for the next month.’

Fate wasn’t going to do him any favours! Alex noted the small, smug smile that curved her beautiful lips. Well, she had every right to be confident about her ability to bewitch a man, he silently conceded.

‘Resting?’ One winged dark brow rose teasingly.

‘Well, it’s always a temptation to do everything you’re offered, but you reach the point when you realise there isn’t much point burning out just to bank every available dollar. I’m a bit more discriminating these days.’

‘You can afford to be.’

Hope didn’t dispute this. Modelling had made her financially secure. ‘I’ve been lucky and I work hard. This film might be a new start for me.’ It was a month since she’d finished the round of TV and radio chat shows to promote the film. She was excited and apprehensive about the American premiere soon.

‘You play opposite Sam Rourke?’

Hope nodded. ‘I introduced Lindy to him, so if anything goes wrong in Eden they’ll blame me, no doubt. Come on, let’s get some champagne before it’s all gone.’ She touched his arm lightly and he followed her into the kitchen.

‘Hope, dear, there you are.’ Beth Lacey, her hands deep in a sink of soapy water, smiled at her daughter. ‘Hello, Alex. I hope you’re having a good time?’

‘I’m being well looked after.’

‘Do you mind washing a few glasses for me, Hope? We had a major breakage. I should really remind Lindy she ought to be getting changed.’

‘Sure, off you go, Mum.’

Hope tied an incongruous striped apron over her bridesmaid dress. ‘The spare bubbly’s in the dairy,’ she told Alex. ‘Third door along,’ she added, inclining her head towards the passageway behind him. She immersed her hands in the water and gave a sigh. ‘Why is it your nose always itches when you haven’t got a spare hand?’ she complained.

‘Let me,’ he offered. Before Hope realised what he was about to do Alex leant over and rubbed the tip of her straight nose, which fell somewhere in between the cute and aquiline categories. ‘Better?’

Hope gave a hoarse grunt of assent. I’m staring so hard I’m probably cross-eyed, she decided ruefully. He smells awfully good…she appreciatively breathed in the spicy, faintly lemony scent of his cologne mingled with the musky, masculine odour of his warm body. If she could distil what this man did to her quivering stomach muscles, she’d be a very rich alchemist. Yes, alchemy had the right ring to it. There was certainly something mystically marvellous about the way she was feeling. Come clean, Hope, she reprimanded herself. Earthy and raw was much closer to the truth!

His hand dropped away, but not completely. His thumb ran slowly across the cushiony softness of her slightly parted lips. ‘You’re no plastic clone.’

This peculiar comment enabled Hope to pull free from the strangely hypnotic haze that made her loath to withdraw from the light contact.

‘Is that your idea of a compliment?’ His hand still hadn’t fallen away completely; now the palm of his hand rested ever so lightly against the curve of her jaw. ‘Because if so…’

‘You know what I mean—the sort of blond bimbo-types that they churn out, all teeth and silicone.’

Hope gave a shout of laughter. ‘That’s a bad case of stereotypes you’ve got there. There’s room at the top for variety and individuality. In fact, I think both are essential.’ She flicked soapsuds at him.

Her action seemed to startle him. Perhaps Alex Matheson wasn’t the sort of man people laughed at or teased? He met the humour shining in her blue eyes and his immense shoulders visibly relaxed.

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know much about acting or modelling.’

‘You just know what you like?’ she suggested, tongue firmly in her cheek.

‘And what I don’t like. To tell you the honest truth, the idea of silicone…bits gives me the creeps,’ he confessed. This sent Hope into a fresh spate of giggles.

‘You’re so…so quaint,’ she gasped, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

Alex paused in the act of mopping the soapy suds from his sleek hair and gaped at her. ‘Quaint?’ he repeated in a strange tone.

‘In the nicest possible way,’ she assured him kindly.

‘I’m relieved.’

‘Actually, for models, too much up top can be a nuisance,’ she confided. ‘Clothes hang better on an androgynous frame.’

‘You’re not androgynous.’ His eyes dwelt fleetingly on the ample proof of this statement.

‘I’m not the waif type,’ she agreed. ‘I’m meant to be the athletic, wholesome, sexy type,’ she explained, very matter-of-factly.

‘And are you?’

‘I play a mean game of tennis,’ she replied selectively.

Her caution brought a grin to his face, making him appear younger and less severe. He really ought to grin more often, she decided appreciatively. ‘Perhaps we could play some time?’

Hope could field sexual innuendo with the best of them, but to her amazement she felt the colour creep inexorably up her neck until her face was aflame.

‘I expect you like to win?’

Alex withdrew his fascinated gaze from her crimson cheeks with difficulty. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ Her veneer of sophistication was much thinner than he’d imagined.

‘I don’t possess the killer instinct.’

‘You think I do?’

Hope placed the last glass on the draining board and shook the moisture off her hands. ‘If I say yes, you’ll accuse me of stereotyping you as the hard-nosed businessman—ruthless and incapable of compassion.’ As she spoke it struck her forcibly how very easily he could be slotted into that category. It wasn’t just that he was physically formidable; the stamp of authority went gene-deep in him. He was a man accustomed to making what he wanted to happen occur.

He saw the flicker of uncertainty cross her face. ‘I draw the line at homicide.’

‘That’s a comfort.’