Instead, she heard herself say primly, 'Thank you. I— I'd like that.'
'A slight exaggeration.' His grin widened. 'But—who knows? Maybe you'll come to mean it—one of these days.' He paused. 'Shall we say eight o'clock? I'll pick you up here.' His smile touched her startled eyes and parted lips. 'Until then,' he said, and walked away, leaving her staring after him.
As Declan let himself into his house Jeremy came out of the kitchen carrying a can of beer.
'Hi. Do you want one?'
Declan shook his head. 'I'm going out to dinner later.' He paused. 'I thought you were working tonight.'
Jeremy shrugged. 'I was supposed to be meeting a client, but it was cancelled, so I'm playing squash with Tom Bainbridge instead. I just came home to change.' He gave Declan a leering glance. 'So, who's the lucky lady tonight? One of your groupies?'
'On the contrary.' Declan felt a curl of distaste inside him. God, he thought, love must be a weird thing if it kept a sane girl like Maria wanting this oaf. And Olivia too.
'You mean she didn't fall on her back the moment you looked at her?' Jeremy gave a loud laugh. 'She must be unique.'
'Possibly.' Declan gave him a thin-lipped smile. 'Certainly deserving of my closest attention.'
'I get you.' Jeremy winked. 'No worries, old boy. I'll be the invisible man when I come back tonight'
'Thanks,' Declan said drily. 'But that might be a little premature.'
'Playing hard to get, is she?' Jeremy's face darkened slightly. 'They're the worst'
Ah, thought Declan, suddenly alert. So things aren't going to plan in the romance of the century. How interesting. Yet he was with her the other night. Sasha is sure of it.
Aloud, he said lightly, 'I'm taking things gently. She's— currently involved.'
'And you're going to create a diversion?' Jeremy laughed again. 'My God, you can be a bastard sometimes. She won't know what's happening to her.'
Declan gave him a tranquil smile. 'I'm counting on it,' he said 'Now I'm going up to shower.'
'Before you go—' Jeremy cleared his throat awkwardly. 'I want you to know that I'm seriously looking for a place of my own.'
Declan halted, one foot on the bottom stair. 'Any particular reason?' he asked, brows raised.
Jeremy did not meet his eyes. 'It's been good of you to have me here—but it's time I want. You want your privacy, and I—I need my independence.'
Declan nodded expressionlessly. 'What does Maria think?'
Jeremy looked more uncomfortable than ever. 'Well, I haven't really discussed it with her. I thought I'd see a few flats—narrow the choice a little first' He gave an unconvincing laugh. 'After all—you know women.'
'I've known some,' Declan agreed, thoughtfully. 'Well— good luck with the hunt.'
'And good luck with yours too, old boy.' Jeremy lifted his beer can in a parody of a toast, then went back into the kitchen.
Declan went up to his room, thinking furiously. He'd lay odds that Jeremy wasn't planning to set up house with his wife, he told himself grimly. So his decision to make a play for Olivia, to use himself as bait to lure her from Jeremy, hadn't been made a moment too soon.
He wasn't sure when the idea had first come to him. But there was no denying that Olivia had been a thorn in his flesh since she'd arrived on his doorstep, blurting out her plans to wreck Maria's marriage.
His immediate impulse had been to kick Jeremy out of his house into well-deserved oblivion and tell Maria everything, but more rational thought convinced him that he should not be the catalyst in the destruction of his cousin's relationship.
For reasons best known to himself—reasons he couldn't fathom—she seemed determined to hang in there. She wanted to make the marriage work somehow—even at a distance. And he had to respect her decision, and her needs, even if he disagreed profoundly with them.
The last time they'd talked on the telephone she'd sounded more hopeful—even chirpy. He wasn't going to be the one to bring that defeated note back into her voice.
What he hadn't allowed for was Olivia's stubborn determination to have Jeremy herself.
Indeed, he found it well-nigh incredible that someone as basically worthless as Jeremy should have two women desperate to spend their lives with him.
Either he has hidden qualities I know nothing about or he's one hell of a stud, he thought cynically.
Or was it simply that Jeremy was Olivia's first love, and she'd elevated him on to some kind of pedestal?
Whatever, it was clear that all was not perfect in the Garden of Eden, so he'd see what a little concentrated temptation could do. Find out if he could lead Olivia astray. Beguile her into falling in love a little.
He'd be doing her a favour, after all, because he couldn't see any future for her with Jeremy, even if Maria gave up the struggle and divorced him.
And he wouldn't do any lasting damage, he told himself defensively as he stripped off his clothes.
All the same, a persistent image of her—the vulnerable slant of her neck and shoulders as she'd sat in front of that damned computer—kept coming into his mind. Haunting him, he realised without pleasure.
And as he turned the shower jet on full he knew it would be a long time before he felt clean again.
Fool. Raving idiot Crazy woman, Olivia apostrophised herself as she carefully applied a coating of mascara to her lashes.
She still couldn't believe she was actually doing this— dressing to go out to dinner with Declan Malone. It must have been shock, she decided, as she replaced the mascara wand in its tube. Because she'd never really thought he'd agree to stop hassling her about Jeremy. Nor could she fathom why he'd given up so easily.
Yes, she'd located a missing file, but that could hardly account for such an extravagant show of gratitude. Particularly when, only a few hours ago, he'd given the impression he wanted to wring her neck.
Ah, well, she shrugged. Mine not to reason why. And it's a meal, after all.
It was also better than sitting around hoping Jeremy would call, but she wasn't going to think about that now.
She stood back, examining herself in the mirror, adjusting the fit of her black dress over her hips. It was one of her favourites, sleeveless and square-necked, cut straight and slim to mid-calf, and fastened all the way down the front by large mother-of-pearl buttons. Over it she was wearing a grey linen hip-length jacket.
Fashionably drab, she thought critically, adding a soft pink lustre to her lips.
Declan's brisk knock at the door was punctual to the second.
For a moment she was tempted not to answer. To hide in the kitchen till he'd gone. But common sense told her that he'd only go and get a key from Sasha, and she'd no wish to suffer the humiliation of being discovered cringing in a corner.
So, she pinned on a resolute smile and threw open the door. 'Good evening.'
'Good evening yourself.' Declan handed her the flowers he was carrying—twelve pink roses, wrapped in Cellophane and decorated with trailing ribbons. 'A small peace offering,' he murmured. To ensure the armistice holds.'
'Oh.' To her annoyance, Olivia realised she was blushing. She ducked her head swiftly, inhaling the sweet, subtle fragrance. 'Thank you. I—I'll put them in water.'
'The florist said to fill the sink and give them a good soaking.' He came in, closing the door behind him. 'Arrange them later.'
He seemed very relaxed, and completely at home, she thought with slight vexation, as she dashed to the kitchen.
He was no taller than Jeremy, and certainly not as heavily built, yet his presence diminished the room, somehow—overpowered it.
He was wearing dark grey pants and a pale blue shirt, open at the neck, the sleeves turned casually back over his forearms, and he carried a thin tweed jacket slung over one shoulder. Under the overhead light, his dark hair gleamed like living silk.
Olivia took in these details with one swift look as she came back, and felt something clench painfully inside her.
'I thought we'd go to an Italian place I know,' Declan said, ushering her up the outside steps. 'Do you like Italian food? Because if not…'
'No, I love it,' she assured him.
He lifted a hand, and a cruising cab glided respectfully to a halt beside them.
'Heavens,' Olivia said. 'Is life always as easy as that for you?'
'No.' Declan opened the taxi door for her to get in. 'I had to ask you three times to have dinner—remember?
She sat down as far into the corner as she could get, smoothing her skirt decorously over her knees as he took his place beside her.
She said, 'I didn't think you meant it.'
'You saved my life today. Was I supposed to take it for granted?'
'I didn't do that much,' she said awkwardly. The technician would have done as well.'
'When he showed up,' he agreed. 'But you were in place, and you stepped in.'
He paused. 'And I gave you a hard time too. It was particularly dumb of me not to have backed up the disk, and I didn't like being reminded of my own stupidity. I'm sorry.'
'Gratitude one minute—apologies another.' Olivia shook her head in mock wonder. 'What next, I ask myself?'
He said slowly, 'I'd say—whatever we both happen to want.'
The words seemed to hang in the air between them. Startled, Olivia risked a swift sideways glance, but he was leaning back in his own corner, his face in shadow so that she couldn't see his expression.
But he seemed to be implying that a greater intimacy might be forged between them, and that was ridiculous. Impossible.
When he spoke again, his voice was casually friendly again, so maybe she was being over-imaginative. 'The guy who owns this restaurant is from Venice. Have you ever been there?'
'Once. A schoolfriend and I went for a weekend city break. Our parents arranged it as a reward for passing our A levels.' She laughed. 'That was a long time ago.'
'Maybe it's time you paid another visit.'
'Yes, I should.' It would make a wonderful place for a honeymoon, she thought, with sudden dreaminess.
'But a rather more romantic one, perhaps,' he added silk, as if he'd picked up what she was thinking.
Olivia bit her lip. Memo to self: Stop being so transparent, she muttered silently. You're dealing with an expert on mind-probing here.
The restaurant was tucked away in a side-street It consisted of several inter-connected rooms with tiled floors, lamplit tables covered in crisp white linen and lots of green plants in wall brackets. The proprietor's wife greeted them with smiling warmth, before conducting them to a secluded table for two.
There were a number of people already seated, and Olivia was uncomfortably aware of a stir of interest as they passed and Declan was recognised.
She could tell by the reactions of the women that their stares and whispered comments weren't purely on the grounds of his celebrity status, but because he was a dynamically attractive man. Sexual charisma by the cartload.
She felt conscious, as she registered the curious looks that came her way too, that she was wearing a department store dress and jacket rather than a designer outfit.
I don't fit the image at all, she thought with a mental shrug. But, after all, it's only for one evening. It's not as if I'll be seeing him again… And paused right there as something dangerously like a flicker of regret came and went in her head.
She was glad to sit down and bury her rather flushed face in the menu.
'Any particular likes or dislikes?' Declan smiled at her.
'Not really.' Her nose was twitching at the aroma of garlic, wine and herbs hanging evocatively in the air. 'I've just realised I'm starving,' she confessed.
'You mean you're not on some diet which cuts out all that makes life worth living?' Declan raised his brows in mock astonishment. 'My God, this promises to be a night to remember. Shall we go for it?
'Why not?' She returned his grin with a touch of uncertainty. The temptation to relax—go with the flow—was almost overwhelming. Almost. Yet a warning voice was whispering in her ear, Take care.
They made their choice, and a bottle of ice-cold Frascati was brought to the table together with some mineral water.
'So,' Declan said when the waiter had withdrawn, 'what shall we drink to?
'Happiness?' Olivia suggested with a hint of challenge.
'Happiness,' he echoed mockingly. 'Whatever form it takes,' he added, touching his glass to hers.
Olivia wasn't sure that was what she'd meant at all, but decided not to contest the point. At least, not on an empty stomach, she thought, as the crisp wine caressed her throat.
'And are you happy?' he asked. 'In London, I mean?' he went on, as Olivia gave him a sharp look.
'I expect I'll get used to it in time. Although I haven't really seen much of it yet.'
'People who live here rarely do,' he said. 'They seem to stick very much to their own communities.'
Olivia shook her head. 'That won't do for me. I want to go everywhere—Buckingham Palace, Madame Tussaud's, the Zoo, the Tower—' She broke off, grimacing. 'I suppose that's very uncool.'
'And incredibly refreshing.' There was an odd note in his voice, and he was frowning slightly. He paused. 'Tell me, how do you come to know so much about computers?'
'That was my job in Bristol. I did on-site training in offices—one to one and in groups. You have to come up with the answers pretty quickly in that situation.'
'I see.' His frown deepened. 'And now you find yourself temping?'
'Yes.' Olivia lifted her chin. 'Is there something wrong with that?'
'You tell me.' He passed her the dish of black olives which had been placed on the table with a basket of bread. 'It seems to me you gave up a hell of a lot to come here.'
'Clearly I thought it was worth it' She gave him a level look.
'Indeed.' There seemed to be a sardonic twist to his mouth, or was it just a trick of the light? She couldn't be sure. 'I hope you continue to think so.'
'What does that mean?' She stiffened.
'I mean when you've finished all your sightseeing, and the novelty's worn off, and you have to settle down to being just another commuter.' He drank some of his wine. 'And I think the evening might go better if you stopped looking for ulterior motives in my every utterance,' he added drily.