Ruthless Reunion. Elizabeth Power

other juror’s words sent a little shiver down her spine.

      ‘You’re going to have to trust me,’ he suggested softly.

      ‘Just like that?’

      ‘Just like that.’

      ‘I can’t.’ It was like a small hopeless plea in the darkness.

      ‘No.’ He moved closer to her, his cool, clear gaze penetrating hers, plumbing the depths of her fear and anxiety with merciless precision. ‘No,’ he repeated, as though coming to some hard decision. ‘I don’t believe you could. But all I’m asking is that you allow me to see you again—starting with this evening. I’ll take you out to dinner. That way you won’t even have to worry about being alone with me.’ And that would be for the best all round, he decided wryly, for himself, as well as Sanchia. Because he didn’t know how he was managing to stand there without reaching for her, pulling her against him, feeling her softness melting against him as he plundered that sweet, moist mouth…

      ‘I can’t,’ she said quickly, aware of the hint of sarcasm clothing his last remark. Nor did she particularly regret having to say it. Because, much as she wanted to recapture her missing memories, she was afraid of unlocking doors her mind clearly wanted to keep sealed. Which was as ridiculous, she thought, as fearing any kind of involvement with Alex Sabre. But nevertheless she did. ‘Not tonight. I’ve arranged to meet someone tonight.’

      ‘Then you’ll just have to ring him and tell him you can’t make it,’ he replied, causing her hackles to rise. She hated being bossed about. He was also wrong in his assumption that she was seeing another man, but she held back from telling him that. It was none of his business anyway. Before she could say anything, he tagged on, as though he were speaking to a rather stubborn child, ‘Isn’t this more important?’

      Which, of course, it was, she thought, having already decided to telephone her friend to postpone their cinema trip.

      ‘That’s settled, then,’ he said, and it seemed it was.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘WOW! No wonder you decided to call off an evening with me in favour of a night out with him!’

      Jilly’s enthusasm brought Sanchia over to the window, to see Alex Sabre, in casual jacket and dark trousers, just locking his car. It was a shiny black BMW, long and sleek, a statement of his wealth and position.

      ‘He says he can help me,’ Sanchia murmured, reiterating what she had told her friend and neighbour earlier, when she had reluctantly postponed their night out at the cinema. ‘But I don’t know.’

      A blonde and bubbly thirty-year-old divorcee, Jilly Boston knew about Sanchia’s amnesia. Sanchia had taken the older woman into her confidence quite soon after moving into the small garden flat, when she’d realised what a kind and helpful neighbour Jilly was—always willing to take her photographic deliveries in for her and feed the fish. Now, though, steeling herself to meet Alex Sabre again, she couldn’t explain the doubts and fears that were nagging away at the perimeters of her subconscious.

      ‘He says we knew each other—only briefly, by the sound of it—but he’s a link with the part of my life that’s missing, and I do want to know what I was doing then. Only…’

      ‘Only what?’ Jilly prompted gently.

      ‘I don’t know why, but I’m afraid.’

      ‘Just because that psychiatrist said that there must be something so traumatic lurking there behind all that grey matter that you’ve blanked it out, it doesn’t mean there is. Perhaps it’s completely the opposite, and things were so mundane at that period of your life that there’s nothing really significant to remember.’ Jilly grimaced. ‘I should know. Most of my life is like that.’ The self-deprecating quip made Sanchia smile. ‘But if a man like that offered to help me, I’d lie down at his feet, plead total incapability, and tell him to take all the time he needed.’

      Which was so far from the truth that Sanchia burst out laughing.

      The nerves that had been eating away at her insides for the past hour, however, had her stomach muscles tightening up seconds later as the doorbell pealed.

      ‘He’s here! I’ll make myself scarce,’ Jilly announced, grabbing the nail lacquer remover she had popped in to borrow. ‘And don’t worry.’ This with a comforting little smile. ‘You’ve already assured me he’s a respected barrister. And from the look of him I’d say you were in extremely good hands.’

      ‘Were you having your flatmate look me over?’ Alex enquired dryly five minutes later, putting the car into motion as Sanchia secured her seatbelt.

      So he had noticed Jilly’s interest, she realised, sinking back against the plush grey leather, guessing that there wasn’t much that would escape him.

      ‘Jilly isn’t my flatmate,’ she responded edgily. ‘She’s my neighbour.’

      ‘And a good friend?’

      ‘Yes. And she wasn’t looking you over,’ she supplied, rather less truthfully, wishing Jilly hadn’t been so obvious in her appreciation of those dark good looks and the compelling authority of this man sitting beside her. ‘She was just a little surprised, that’s all. I don’t normally go out with men like you.’ What a stupid thing to say, she chided herself, feeling gauche.

      ‘Oh?’ He flicked the indicator switch to signal his intention to turn right at the end of the road. ‘What type do you normally go out with?’

      Was she imagining it, or was there a sudden abrasive edge to his voice?

      Certainly her type wasn’t big and commanding and powerful, and he was all of those things, she decided. In fact, over the past couple of years she hadn’t really gone out with any men, except perhaps for a blind date someone else had arranged without telling her, and to which she had only reluctantly agreed because it had been in the safe company of friends.

      ‘Not prominent barristers,’ was all she offered.

      His eyes made a cursory survey of her simple cream top and tailored trousers, sending a small ripple of awareness right down through her body.

      ‘And how do I differ from all the other men you’ve known?’

      Was he kidding?

      ‘You move in different circles, for a start.’

      ‘How do you know what circles I move in?’

      Sanchia pursed her lips. She didn’t, did she? ‘You’re also very, very clever.’

      ‘And does that unnerve you?’

      Was it that apparent? she wondered despairingly, but said, ‘No,’ rather firmly, just in case it was. ‘It just warns me to be careful, that’s all.’

      He smiled lazily, a smile that displayed the sheer power of his steel-edged magnetism. ‘Why? Because I might uncover things about you that you might not want revealed?’

      A little shudder played across her nerves. ‘That’s your job,’ she reminded him, glancing out of the window.

      ‘Only in court,’ he said, and then, with a sudden softening in his tone, ‘And even then I can be gentle when I need to be.’

      But at other times he would be merciless. She didn’t need memory to assure her of that.

      Nevertheless, a leap of the reckless excitement she had experienced that morning sent her blood accelerating through her veins as her mind processed the scenarios to which his gentleness might extend.

      ‘Do you know of anything in my past,’ she asked, suddenly dry-mouthed, ‘that I would rather wasn’t revealed?’

      ‘Like you robbed banks for a pastime? Or were caught up in some exotic web of intrigue, with any number of double agents after you?’

      ‘I’m