Bride On Demand. Kay Thorpe

going to rap on the polished mahogany counter in order to attract attention from whoever was supposed to be serving.

      The big bluff man who appeared offered a casual greeting. Regan could hear the sound of voices, underlaid by music, coming from some unseen source.

      ‘The taproom’s through the other side,’ Liam explained when he brought their drinks over. ‘It gets pretty busy in there. Hardly hear yourselves think, much less talk.’

      He seated himself opposite, still too close for comfort with only the wrought-iron table between them, his foot touching one of hers. Regan controlled the impulse to draw sharply away, settling for a slower movement instead. Even so, she could tell from the glimmer of amusement in the grey eyes that he was only too well aware of her response to the contact.

      ‘Nice place,’ she said in an effort to sound natural. ‘There can’t be all that many left unmodernised.’

      ‘One of the blights of today’s cultural trends,’ Liam agreed. ‘Which dispenses with the small talk. We have more vital subjects to discuss.’

      Green eyes held grey for several, heart-thudding moments. ‘Such as what?’ Regan managed with creditable calm.

      ‘Such as where we go from here, having found one another again.’

      The thudding increased to a sudden crescendo, diminishing again as she reviewed the situation. ‘You mean now?’ she asked with deliberation. ‘A quick visit to your flat, perhaps, for old times’ sake?’

      ‘Stop playing the cynic,’ he retorted. ‘That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it. Not,’ he tagged on with a glint, ‘that it would have been such a quick visit.’

      Regan could imagine. His lovemaking had never been a hurried affair. Her inner thighs went into sudden spasm at the very thought. It was all she could do to conceal the emotions coursing through her.

      ‘Self-confidence you never lacked,’ she said acidly. ‘There was a time when it might have impressed me, but not any more.’

      ‘You prefer wimps these days?’ he queried. ‘Men you can manipulate?’

      ‘There’s such a thing as moderation,’ she flashed. ‘Not that you’re likely to understand what I’m talking about. It was always your needs that came first with you!’ She flushed as one dark brow rose in ironical comment. ‘Out of bed, at any rate.’

      ‘Thanks for the qualification,’ he said. ‘I’d hate to be labelled a selfish lover.’

      ‘Oh, I doubt if you ever give less than full satisfaction in that department!’ This time she was unable to keep the bitterness entirely at bay. She took a swallow of the gin and tonic he had ordered for her, coughing as the spirit caught the back of her throat, her eyes watering.

      ‘Try taking it a little more slowly,’ advised Liam with dry inflection. ‘Or not at all, if you’re only using it as a prop. I didn’t bring you here to trade insults,’ he went on when she made no answer. ‘I’ve a genuine interest.’ He studied her across the table, taking in the fine boning of her face, the heavily fringed green eyes and full, mobile mouth, his expression causing her heart to start hammering again. ‘Who wouldn’t have?’ he added softly.

      Get out now! urged a small voice in her inner ear, but her limbs refused to obey instructions to move. She gazed back at him wordlessly, devouring the lean masculine features, the thick dark hair her fingers itched, as of old, to tangle with. He was, and always had been, a man most women would find enthralling by very virtue of the fact that he was so utterly male in a world where the demarcation lines were no longer as manifest as once they’d been. Such a thing as moderation, she had said a moment or two ago, but it didn’t mean a great deal at this precise moment.

      ‘Are you still in the same flat?’ she heard herself asking.

      He shook his head. ‘I’ve moved on a piece since then.’

      ‘But you’re still with Chantry’s?’

      ‘That’s right.’

      ‘Well up the tree by now, I imagine.’

      ‘Some way to go yet.’ His lips slanted. ‘We’re back to the small talk.’

      ‘No, we’re not,’ she countered. ‘As you said, we’ve seven years to fill in.’

      ‘Not all from my side, though. Apart from you working for Longmans, and living in conditions that could be bettered, I know nothing about your life.’

      He wasn’t going to know either, she thought, stirring herself to action with an ostentatious glance at her watch. ‘There’s nothing really worth telling. In any case, it’s time I got on my way.’

      ‘You’ll be right in the thick of it if you leave now,’ Liam pointed out. ‘Let things quieten down a bit, then I’ll drive you home.’

      ‘No!’ The refusal came out too tersely, drawing a sudden line between the dark brows; Regan made haste to amend the impression. ‘It’s too far out of your way.’

      ‘How would you know that when you don’t know where I live these days?’ he asked reasonably. ‘Anyway, I don’t have anything else on the agenda.’

      ‘Not for want of opportunity, I’m sure.’

      The sarcasm drew a shrug. ‘Depends on the kind of opportunity we’re talking about. I take life rather more gently these days. Which brings us back to where we left off,’ he added before she could make any further comment. ‘You don’t mean to tell me nothing of any note at all occurred in seven years!’

      Regan kept her tone carefully bland. ‘I’ve had my moments.’

      ‘And that’s as far as you’re prepared to go.’ The dark head inclined. ‘Far be it from me to pressure you. Why don’t we eat while we’re waiting? Save bothering later on.’

      The temptation to extend the occasion was there, she had to admit. She rallied her forces to resist it. ‘I already told you I’m not hungry, but don’t let me stop you. I can still take the train.’

      ‘And I already told you I’d drive you home.’ Liam sounded just a mite intolerant. ‘Relax, will you? There’s no ulterior motive.’

      ‘It didn’t occur to me that there was,’ she denied.

      ‘Yes, it did. You think I might try something on. Well, rest easy on that score. I haven’t reached the desperation stage as yet.’ He searched her face again, eyes penetrating her defences. ‘About you, I’m not so sure. You look decidedly unfulfilled.’

      ‘As a psychologist, you make a good milkman,’ she responded cuttingly. ‘I don’t need a man to fulfil me!’

      ‘So you admit there isn’t one in your life at present?’

      ‘I admit nothing.’ Regan was fast becoming unravelled. ‘You can probe till you’re blue in the face for all the good it will do you! My private life is…private!’

      ‘Temper,’ he chided, the glint in his eyes not wholly of amusement. ‘You’re losing your grip.’

      She quelled the retort rising to her lips, aware of other eyes on the pair of them. ‘A momentary lapse. The traffic isn’t going to ease up for another couple of hours so I’ll pass on the lift. There are times when it’s quicker by train.’

      ‘Except that there’s no terminal within easy walking distance of this place.’ Liam wasn’t giving an inch. ‘If you really must leave now, I’ll take you regardless of the traffic. At least you’ll be sitting down in comfort, not strap-hanging.’

      She had to grant him that much. Getting a seat on a train at this time of day was a rare thing indeed. Only last week she’d found herself crushed next to a man who had taken advantage of their closeness to start running a hand along her leg—until she had changed his mind with a well-aimed heel in the unprotected top of his