about work for a while. Alex’s visit had taken her by surprise last night, though to be fair she’d had plenty of time to tidy up before he arrived if she’d wanted. But tonight she would pull out all the stops. From the expression on Alex’s face at the sight of her in a skirt, he obviously liked the girly look, so she’d keep to it tonight.
When she got back Sarah climbed the steps to her platform and slid back the doors on the wardrobe—which was so compact she’d sent a lot of her clothes to charity shops before moving in. She pushed aside the little black number and brought out the dress bought for her leaving party at the flat before moving from London.
Girly was the word for it, she thought with a grin later, as she zipped up the thin poppy-red voile. Slender straps held up the low-cut top, and the fluted skirt stopped just short of her knees. Sarah gave an excited little laugh as she looked at her reflection. Harry and his cronies wouldn’t have recognised her. When the doorbell finally rang she went down the steps, carrying her shoes, feeling like Cinderella ready for the ball.
‘I’m here,’ said Alex.
Sarah buzzed him in, left her door ajar, then slid her feet into her shoes and stood in the middle of the room, waiting for him. He gave a perfunctory knock and came in, to stand very still just inside the door, looking pretty much perfect to Sarah in a linen jacket and khaki jeans which hugged his muscular thighs. They gazed at each other in silence, then, without taking his eyes away from her, Alex reached behind him to close the door.
‘You look good enough to eat,’ he said, in a tone which did damage to her pulse-rate.
‘Thank you.’
‘Would it endanger our embryo friendship if I kissed you?’
‘You can if you’re careful,’ she said, offering her cheek.
‘Sorry. Can’t do careful,’ he said, and kissed her mouth, taking so much time over it Sarah’s heart was pounding by the time he raised his head. ‘You know, I’m not so sure about this friend thing after all,’ he said huskily, his eyes glittering.
She heaved in an unsteady breath, trying to damp down the heat his expert, hungry mouth had sent surging through her entire body. ‘You don’t want that any more?’
‘Yes, of course I do. But I have a problem.’
‘What?’
‘The way you look tonight, any normal guy would want to be more than just your friend, Sarah. But don’t worry,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll stick to the rules.’
‘What rules?’
‘Yours: friendship with the enemy, but no sleeping with him.’
She eyed him quizzically. ‘Is that what you want?’
He smiled wryly. ‘Of course I do. I’d be lying if I said otherwise.’
‘You’re honest!’
‘Always the best policy, Sarah. But don’t let it worry you. Just good friends will do for now.’ He touched a caressing finger to her bottom lip. ‘So repair the damage, and let’s take off to see what Stephen has to offer.’
Outside in the courtyard Sarah looked round for the Cherokee, her eyes wide as Alex led her to the classic beauty parked near the front gate.
‘Wow,’ she exclaimed. ‘A Jensen Interceptor, no less. I do so hope my neighbours are watching. I got some teasing about the yellow Ferrari the other night, then Oliver collected me in his Daimler, and now you turn up with this baby.’
‘My pride and joy, and used solely for special occasions,’ said Alex, handing her in.
‘I’m honoured. Though I would have been equally happy with the Jeep.’
‘I know.’ He slanted a smile at her. ‘That’s part of what makes the occasion special.’
It was Sarah’s third meal in as many days at the Pheasant Inn, but eating alone with Alex raised the experience to a new level. His kiss earlier had altered things between them, to the point where just his mention of sleeping with the enemy was enough to revive sexual tension, which simmered below the surface while they studied menus and sipped the champagne he’d insisted on ordering.
‘But the celebration was yesterday,’ said Sarah, her colour rising as he looked into her eyes.
‘This is to celebrate something far more important than mere business,’ he said, toasting her. ‘To friendship—among other things.’
‘What other things?’ she asked, raising her glass in response.
‘Future pleasures.’ He gave her the crooked smile that had once irritated her and now had a totally different effect. ‘So, what would you like to eat?’
‘I know it’s a strange choice with champagne—I didn’t dare ask for it at lunch yesterday or Oliver would have had a stroke—but I fancy fish and chips.’
‘You can have whatever you want,’ Alex said, as the waitress arrived to take their order. ‘I’ll have the same.’
The simple, perfectly cooked food tasted wonderful, though Sarah had an idea that eating it in Alex’s company had a lot to do with it. The small arrangement of flowers on the table had a single fat candle at its centre, with a flame which gave his eyes a more pronounced gleam than usual as they talked shop with the ease of old friends rather than recent enemies. Sarah’s barn conversions were the main topic for a while, then she listened, fascinated, as Alex told her about the Merrick Group’s acquisition of a manor house its owner no longer had the money to maintain.
‘How sad,’ said Sarah with compassion. ‘To someone brought up to that kind of world it must be a bitter blow to leave it.’
‘This particular owner grew up in a cottage much like the ones you’ve just developed. Ronnie Higgins, aka Rick Harmon, lead singer and guitarist of the Rampage, bought the house at the height of the group’s success, but soon got too immersed in the good life to write new songs. The result was inevitable. Their records plummeted down the charts and the rainy day Rick never saved for arrived all too soon. He was forced to sell the fast cars, put the house up for sale and auction the contents.’
‘Poor man. What will you do with it?’
‘Convert it—with great sympathy—into luxury apartments. We’ve sold most of them in advance already.’ Alex smiled. ‘Would you like to live in something like that, Sarah?’
‘No way.’ She looked up with a smile as Stephen Hicks arrived to ask how they had enjoyed the meal.
‘First class, as usual, Chef,’ Alex assured him. ‘The lady loves your fish and chips.’
Stephen rolled his eyes. ‘Marvellous! I honed my craft in Paris and London, and all people want is my fish and chips.’
‘I’ll try whatever you recommend next time,’ Sarah promised.
‘You can tell us what to order when I book,’ Alex assured his friend. ‘What’s for pudding?’
Sarah demurred, but gave in when Alex coaxed her to share a dish of sorbet made from blood oranges and pomegranates. She was actually dipping her spoon into their dish before the full intimacy of the process dawned on her. When his eyes held hers as he licked his spoon she felt a tide of red sweep up her face, and she swallowed another spoonful of icy perfection to tone it down.
‘I think,’ said Alex with constraint, ‘that this was a mistake.’
‘You want it all yourself?’
‘No. But sharing it with you is giving me impure thoughts. Don’t worry. I won’t act on them.’
‘Good.’ Sarah laid her spoon down and sat back.
‘You haven’t eaten much!’
‘I pigged on the fish and chips. I’d like some coffee instead, please.’
His