Marriage By Deception. Sara Craven

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      Her heart skipped a beat. She tried a laugh. ‘Because I don’t have purple hair?’

      ‘That’s only part of it. On paper, you sounded confident—even slightly reckless. But in reality I’d say you were quite shy. So how does that equate with being a super saleswoman?’

      ‘That’s a persona I leave behind with the make-up,’ she said. ‘Anyway, selling a product is rather different to selling oneself.’

      ‘You didn’t think it was necessary tonight?’ Sam forked up some linguine. ‘After all, you claimed in your letter to be “Looking for Love”, yet I don’t get that impression at all. You appear very self-contained.’

      Ros kept her eyes fixed on her plate. How did I think I would ever get away with this? she wondered.

      She said, ‘Perhaps I think it’s a little early to throw caution to the winds.’

      ‘So why take the risk in the first place?’

      ‘Maybe I should ask you the same thing. You were the one who placed the ad.’

      ‘I’ve been working abroad for a while,’ he said. ‘And when you come back you find the waters have closed over. Former friends have moved on. Your mates are in relationships, and three’s very definitely a crowd. Girls you were seeing are married—or planning to be.’ His mouth tightened. ‘In fact, everything’s—changed.’

      Ah, Ros thought, with a sudden pang of sympathy. I get it. He’s been jilted. So, I did the right thing by coming here tonight.

      ‘I understand,’ she said more gently. ‘But do you still think a personal ad is the right route to take?’

      ‘I can’t answer that yet.’ His smile was twisted. ‘Let’s say the results so far have been mixed.’

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘Don’t be.’ The turquoise eyes met hers with total directness, then descended without haste to her parted lips, and lower still to the curve of her breasts under the clinging black fabric. ‘Because tonight makes up for a great deal.’

      She felt her skin warm, her whole body bloom under his lingering regard. Felt her heart thud, as if in sudden recognition—but of what?

      And she heard herself say, in a voice which seemed to belong to someone much younger and infinitely more vulnerable, ‘You were right about the linguine. It’s terrific.’

      In fact, the whole meal was truly memorable, progressing in a leisurely way through the succulent lobster, the crisp salad and cool fragrant wine, to the subtle froth of zabaglione.

      Ros was glad to abandon herself to wholehearted enjoyment of the food, with the conversation mainly, and thankfully, restricted to its appreciation.

      Much safer than the overly personal turn it had taken earlier, she told herself uneasily.

      She’d expected to find tonight’s situation relatively simple to deal with. For a few hours she’d planned to be someone else. Only she hadn’t put enough effort into learning her part. Because Sam Alexander didn’t seem convinced by her performance. He was altogether far too perceptive for his own good—or hers.

      And she was looking forward to the time, fast approaching now, when she could thank him nicely for her meal and leave, knowing she would never have to see him again.

      And it had nothing to do with his awful hair, or the nerdy glasses, or his frankly contradictory taste in clothes. In fact, it was strange how little all those things, so unacceptable at first, had come to matter as the evening wore on.

      And, in spite of them all, she still couldn’t figure him for a man who would have to look too hard for a woman. Not when there was a note in his voice and a look in those extraordinary blue-green eyes that made her whole body shiver, half in dread, half in excitement.

      But I don’t want to be made to feel like that, she thought. Not by a complete stranger, anyway. Someone I’m not even sure I can trust…

      ‘Would you like a brandy with your coffee?’ Sam was asking. ‘Or a liqueur, maybe?’

      ‘Nothing, thanks.’ Ros glanced at her watch. ‘I really should be going home.’

      ‘Already?’ There was faint mockery in his tone as he checked the time for himself. ‘Scared you’re going to turn into a pumpkin?’

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘But it’s getting late, and we both have to work tomorrow.’

      And, more importantly, something was warning her to get out while the going was good, she realised.

      ‘You’re quite right, of course,’ he said slowly. His glance was speculative. ‘Yet we both have so much more to learn about each other. You don’t know my favourite colour. I haven’t asked you about your favourite film. All that sort of stuff.’

      ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We seemed to skip that part.’

      ‘We could always order some more coffee,’ he suggested quietly. ‘Fill in some of the gaps.’

      She forced a smile. ‘I don’t think so. I really do have to run.’

      ‘I’m sorry you feel that.’ He was silent for a moment. Then, ‘So, where are you based at the moment, Janie? Which store?’

      She swallowed, as another pit opened unexpectedly in front of her. ‘No—particular one,’ she said huskily. ‘I’m helping launch a new lipstick range—so I’m travelling round quite a bit.’ She forced a smile. ‘Variety being the spice of life.’

      ‘That’s what they say, of course.’ He leaned back in his chair, his face in shadow away from the candlelight. His voice was quiet, almost reflective. It engaged her, locking her disturbingly into the unexpected intimacy of the exchange.

      ‘But I’m not sure I agree,’ he went on. ‘I’d like to think that I could stop—running. Stop searching. That just one person—provided she was the right one—could give my life all the savour it needs.’

      There was a tingling silence. Her throat seemed to close, and deep inside she was trembling, her whole body invaded by a languorous weakness. She wasn’t used to this blatantly physical reaction, and she didn’t like it. Didn’t need it.

      Let this be a lesson to me never to interfere again in other people’s concerns, she thought, swallowing, as she called herself mentally to order. And now let me extricate myself from this entire situation with charming finality. And, hopefully, no hard feelings.

      She gave a light laugh. ‘Well, I hope you find her soon.’ She pushed her chair back and rose, reaching for her bag. ‘And thank you for a—a very pleasant evening.’

      ‘I’m the one who’s grateful. You’ve given me a lot to think about,’ he returned courteously, as he got to his feet in turn. ‘It’s all been—most intriguing. Goodnight, Janie.’

      ‘Goodbye.’ She smiled determinedly, hoping he’d take the point. Politeness demanded that she offer her hand, too.

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