Relative Ethics. Caroline Anderson

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       CHAPTER TWO

      BRONWEN lifted her eyes and looked around the crowded conference room. There was no sign of Jane—typical! And there was that man again, propping up the wall with indolent grace: tall, well-built, a lock of his heavy gold-blond hair falling over his eyes so that he had to keep thrusting it back with his fingers.

      Every time Bronwen looked up he was there, watching her with those startling blue eyes like a Mediterranean dawn, with a sultry promise of heat.

      She shifted uncomfortably on her chair and cursed Jane for her absence. Where was she? He was watching her again.

      She made a deliberate attempt to ignore him. It lasted perhaps fifteen seconds, and then her eyes were drawn back to his, tangling helplessly in that clear, bright gaze that seemed to dip into her soul. A slow, sensuous smile touched the corner of his mouth, and she blushed and looked away, more determined than ever to ignore him. Just a conference Lothario, she decided, and scoured the room for her colleague.

      ‘Hi!’ Jane came up behind her, and struggled inelegantly over the back of the seat, dropping into it with a plop. ‘Just in time. Phew! What a scorcher. Have I missed anything?’

      Bron smiled and shook her head. They haven’t started. What kept you?’

      Jane rolled her eyes and grinned wickedly. ‘I met this man—stunning. We’re meeting him in the bar before supper tonight. He’s here with a friend, too—said so long as you weren’t related to Count Dracula you’d be welcome to join us. I accepted for you—OK?’

      Bron laughed. ‘Do I get a choice?’

      ‘Absolutely not. That’s him over there——’ She gave a little wave, and Bron looked across the room in time to see the man with the blue eyes smile and raise an eyebrow at her. ‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’

      Bron’s heart thumped heavily with disappointment. So Jane had snapped him up—the story of her life! God knows, she was used to it. ‘What?’

      ‘I said don’t you just love the way his hair curls over his ears? And those melting brown eyes——’

      ‘Brown eyes?’

      ‘Mmm, like toffee. Gosh, I’m not sure I can wait for tonight.’

      Bron glanced across the room again, and saw the tall, fair man in conversation with another man, equally good-looking, but dark-haired, and as she looked he raised his hand and waved.

      Jane waggled her fingers at him, and grinned. ‘That must be his friend. What a pair they make!’

      ‘Mmm. Wolves always hunt in packs. I wouldn’t care to trust either of them,’ Bron muttered, but her eyes kept creeping back to him, and then flicking away when she was caught.

      In the end she resolutely turned her back, but she could feel his eyes boring holes in her skull, and missed every second word of the lecture.

      When it was over they went up to their rooms and showered and changed. As she was berating herself for her indecision, Jane tapped on the door and let herself in.

      ‘Wear the blue silk,’ she said decisively, and lifted it out of the wardrobe.

      Bron threw her a withering look. ‘I have no intention of getting myself raped. God only knows why I brought that thing. I shall wear the peach cotton dress—or the navy one with the sailor collar——’

      ‘Wear the blue silk,’ Jane repeated.

      In answer Bron hung it up in the wardrobe and lifted out a soft peach-flowered cotton tea-dress, delicately pretty and absolutely demure. Jane made a sound of disgust, and Bronwen ignored her and finished her light make-up.

      By the time they went down, Jane had admitted defeat and conceded that Bron did indeed look very attractive in the tea-dress.

      ‘Probably worse. You look so damned feminine that even a dyed-in-the-wool misogynist would fall for you!’

      Bron laughed. ‘There’s hope for the average doctor, then!’

      As they reached the bottom of the sweeping stairs, the two men detached themselves from the bar and came across to meet them.

      ‘Bron, I want you to meet Michael Grant. Michael, this is Bronwen Jones. I’m sorry, I don’t know your friend’s name——’

      ‘Oliver—Oliver Henderson. Pleased to meet you—at last.’

      As their hands touched, a shiver of awareness surged between them, and Bron stiffened, and then with a smile Oliver engulfed her hand with his long, slender fingers and held it firmly. Eyes locked, they stood frozen, tingling with awareness, until a hand waved between their faces snapped them out of the trance.

      Bron gave a breathless little laugh. ‘Hello, Oliver.’

      Oliver’s eyes danced with amusement, and he released her hand reluctantly. ‘Hi,’ he said softly. ‘You’re looking lovely. Shall we go and get a drink?’

      They gravitated to the bar, and, while Michael and Oliver organised the drinks, she had an opportunity to observe him.

      He was tall—a touch over six feet, she judged, although from five feet five it was hard to be specific—and that lovely hair like burnished gold brushed his collar at the back, thick and unruly. She clenched her hands, just in case she gave in to her urges and ran across the bar to thread her fingers through its softness.

      Heavens, he was just a man, like any one of the dozens she saw every day at work—no, not quite like them, her body denied. No one else had ever—ever—made her feel so warm and womanly and wanted with just a simple compliment.

      They returned with the drinks, and Oliver squeezed in beside her, brushing her knee with the hard length of his thigh. She tried to shift away, but there was nowhere to go and the movement only exaggerated the contact.

      He laid his arm along the back of the banquette seat and grinned at her.

      ‘Cosy, isn’t it? Do you mind? We could go somewhere quieter, if you like.’

      Bronwen СКАЧАТЬ