The Bridegroom's Dilemma. Lindsay Armstrong

through her clothes but, more, read her soul.

      This discovery had caused her to shiver slightly for a reason she couldn’t explain, but the more she thought about it, the more she saw it as a danger sign—and the more everything about Nick Hunter started to plague her. Then the weeks had passed and her feeling of friendship, already eroded, had hardened into something she despised herself for but couldn’t help—sheer pique.

      So the fact that he caught her completely unprepared two months after their lunch, and not as the result of him getting in touch with her, didn’t help her much.

      She tried, as she lay on her bed, to resist being transported back in time to that meeting but it was useless…

      ‘Going my way, lady?’

      The voice was the voice of her rather bitter dreams but it brought her up short in the act of stepping into a lift in a smart city hotel, on her way to a cocktail party to celebrate the release of a new wine.

      She turned slowly with her heart suddenly pounding, and Nick Hunter was standing behind her, all the lean length of him clad in black: black open-necked shirt, black trousers and with his straight dark hair flopping on his forehead.

      ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said unoriginally, although she wasn’t unhappy with the lack of enthusiasm in her voice.

      ‘Mmm,’ he murmured, letting his gaze drift over her in that disturbing way he had, ‘and a very beautiful-looking you, Ms Belmont. But cool. Distinctly cool…’

      The word seemed to dangle in the air between them as she looked down at herself in some confusion.

      She wore a short, bias-cut dress with a vee neck in a floating silk georgette over a taffeta slip. The cap sleeves were unlined, the colour was a beautiful Prussian blue with a shadowy dusky pink pattern on it and she wore silver high-heeled sandals. Her long, slender legs were bare and her fair hair was in its natural curly bob to her shoulders. She wore a minimum of make-up and her lips were painted a dusky pink. All she carried was a tiny blue purse.

      ‘Should I be any different?’ she asked, having used the moment to banish the confusion and starch her soul against this man, as their gazes caught and held again.

      He smiled, as if with inner amusement that she might not be adult enough to be privy to, and said, ‘I thought we were friends? We certainly seemed to be the last time we met.’

      Skye blinked, conscious immediately of the trap she’d fallen into, and for a moment her expression defied description.

      This time Nick Hunter laughed softly. But at the same time he possessed himself of her hand. ‘Look, I’ve been overseas. For quite a bit longer than I’d originally planned, I’m afraid. Would it be too much to hope that we’re going to the same cocktail party?’

      Skye opened her mouth, shut it then said, ‘I’m going to the launch of this new wine. I don’t know about you.’

      He laughed again and ushered her into the lift. ‘I am now.’

      She stared at him. ‘Do you mean…?’

      ‘Precisely,’ he drawled. ‘I intend to come to the wine party with you.’

      ‘But if you haven’t got an invitation—and what about the one you were invited to anyway?’

      ‘I never seem to have any trouble getting into parties whether I’m invited or not,’ he commented gravely. ‘And the one I was going to will be deadly dull in comparison—’

      ‘So why…?’

      ‘Because you won’t be there,’ he finished softly.

      Skye blushed and he watched the colour surge beneath her smooth skin, which had the effect of making her feel hotter than ever.

      But as she cast around in her mind for a suitable rejoinder he grimaced, kissed her knuckles lightly and said, ‘Shall we be friends again?’

      He was right. He was more than welcome at the cocktail party; the producers of the new wine were even old friends of his, and they lamented loudly that they hadn’t known he was in the country otherwise they’d have sent him an invitation.

      And Skye watched, somewhat bemused, because Nick Hunter in action at a party was a sight to behold. Everyone seemed to know him and be delighted to see him. Including some very attractive women who hung on his every word.

      But, after about an hour, he came back to Skye’s side and said for her ears alone, ‘I’ve had rather a good idea. Shall we go?’

      She moistened her lips. ‘Where?’

      He narrowed his eyes. ‘I wonder why I get the impression Skye Belmont has never lived a little dangerously?’

      ‘Believe me, I have,’ she countered. ‘Every time I go in front of a camera I might as well be white-water rafting down the Zambezi in crocodile-infested waters—that’s how nervous I get.’

      His lips quirked and his eyes glinted with amusement. ‘You don’t show it.’

      ‘Perhaps not. I feel it all the same. The funny thing is, as soon as the cameras are rolling, I lose it. But—’ she shrugged her slim shoulders ‘—I am cautious by nature. So, before I make any commitment, how dangerously are you asking me to live at the moment, Nick Hunter?’ Her own eyes were a cool, amused blue.

      His changed to reflect a glimmer of surprise but he was not to know that Skye had learnt a thing or two in the preceding hour. She had accurately perceived that he very quickly divested himself of women who could not hide their admiration of him.

      ‘All I had in mind was you doing something you’ve done for me before—cooking me dinner,’ he said. ‘Which was not dangerous at all, if you remember. And I happen to have a refrigerator stuffed with food—but you know how hopeless I am in the kitchen,’ he added helplessly.

      Skye’s lips twitched. ‘Ah. But I was paid for that.’

      ‘Then could you consider this?’ He glanced around. ‘Little bites of food on toothpicks always leave me the same way. Starving,’ he said simply.

      ‘You could go to a restaurant,’ she pointed out.

      ‘When I know the best cook in town? That would be sacrilege,’ he said softly. ‘But, I give you my word, I’ll deliver you home all safe and sound.’

      Skye hesitated but she couldn’t help laughing at his expression, which was an entirely false mixture of pleading and mournfulness. ‘OK.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know why I don’t always go out armed with an apron!’

      ‘This…’ he paused, looking somewhat put out ‘…happens to you often?’

      ‘Being lured to a man’s house under the guise of cooking him dinner? All the time.’

      ‘So I wasn’t being in the least original?’

      ‘Not one bit!’ she said blithely.

      ‘Bloody hell,’ he murmured. ‘I must be slipping. How often do you accept?’

      ‘Very seldom,’ she said seriously. ‘But you did boost my ratings the last time I cooked for you so I owe you one, Mr Hunter. Besides, I’d like to use you in my next cookbook.’

      He looked comically put out this time. ‘As in how, Ms Belmont?’

      ‘As in what your favourite foods are, particularly with an international flavour, including favourite little restaurants you might have around the world. You can tell me all about it while I cook.’ She watched him serenely.

      ‘So this is very definitely a quid pro quo?’

      ‘Definitely.’

      He shook his head. ‘You’re a hard woman, Skye. OK, I accept. Let’s go.’ Once more he took her hand and led her out.

      For the next three months she often cooked