Chasing Summer: Date with Destiny / Marooned with the Maverick / A Summer Wedding at Willowmere. Abigail Gordon

angry exasperation welled up inside Salome, but she bit her tongue till they were beside the white Ferrari in the shadows of the tree-lined driveway, then she turned to set steely eyes upon her escort.

      ‘Let’s get one thing straight, Mike,’ she said curtly. ‘I’m going to dinner with you tonight because you were quite kind to me today, and because I thought this was your way of apologising for your narrow-minded dislike of me all these years. But I don’t want you to get the idea this is going to become a habit, just because I’m moving into the penthouse next to yours. Also, let me assure you that when I go out with a man on a platonic date I don’t need to buy contraceptives!’ She glared at him in what she imagined was dignified reproach.

      His head tipped slightly to one side, his expression one of mild pity. ‘Poor Salome...I can see that your recent divorce has destroyed your sense of humour.’

      ‘Really?’ Her tone was very prickly.

      ‘Yes, really.’ He put down her case next to the Ferrari, and slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘I wasn’t suggesting a thing. I was having a joke, merely following on from your mother’s quip, that was all.’

      There was a weary note to his voice that made her feel guilty. Looking at the situation more objectively she realised she had over-reacted abominably. ‘I see...I—I’m sorry, then,’ she said, then added defensively, ‘But I was worried that you might be having after-dinner expectations.’

      ‘“Expectations”? What kind of “expectations”?’

      ‘Sexual expectations!’ Good grief! Why did she have to blush when she said that? Thank the lord the light was dim here.

      ‘Ahh...’

      A dark, predatory light gleamed momentarily in his eyes, bringing immediate panic. ‘I won’t sleep with you, Mike Angellini!’ Salome burst out, and was relieved that her words sounded firm. Not as rattled and shaky as she was feeling.

      His laugh was low and drily amused. ‘I don’t recall asking you to. Anyway, I told you once before, Salome, sleeping with you is not high on my list of priorities. Look, we’ll have to get a move on,’ he said, deftly changing the subject. ‘Our booking was for eight-fifteen, and the restaurant I’m taking you to is back at McMahon’s Point. Have you got a key for this boot, and I’ll put your case in?’

      Salome stared speechlessly up at him for a moment, her mind in total confusion. She should have been pleased to be on the end of such a blunt rejection, but she wasn’t. She felt annoyed.

      ‘Your key?’ Mike repeated, his voice betraying a growing impatience. ‘You have to follow me in your car, remember?’

      Salome snapped out of her startled bemusement with a degree of fluster. She had difficulty finding her key, and when she handed it over she was astonished to see her hands were trembling. Mike gave both her hands, then her face, a sharp look, but took the key and deposited her case in the boot.

      ‘Keep close,’ he advised as he handed back the keys. ‘I wouldn’t want to lose you in the traffic.’

      ‘Yes...yes, I will,’ she assured him, her voice not at all steady.

      Again his eyes raked hers. ‘Truce still intact?’ he asked with a wary little smile.

      ‘I suppose so,’ she choked out.

      ‘Mm.’ His frown showed he didn’t quite believe her, but then he shrugged and strode off towards where his bronze Jaguar was parked at the kerb. Almost against her will, Salome’s eyes followed him, lingering on the breadth of his shoulders, the feral grace of his stride, the way his glossy black waves gleamed lustrously under a streetlight. Her stomach fluttered as a thought struck. Was it possible that Ralph’s accusation had finally come true—that she did indeed now want this man to want her? Was that why she’d been jealous when he’d paid attention to her mother, then angry when he’d told her he wasn’t interested in her in that way?

      No, she decided, frowning and shaking her head. No...that wasn’t possible. That didn’t make sense. I won’t accept that, she argued with herself. Basically, we dislike each other. It’s just female vanity, that’s all. No woman likes a man to say outright that he doesn’t want her. Yes, that sounded right. I’ll put it down to a case of female pique.

      A shiver ran through Salome as a puff of wind blew down the driveway, rustling the leaves at her feet.

      ‘You like standing out there in the cold, do you?’ Mike called to her over the bonnet of his car.

      Salome looked up and pulled a face at him. ‘Hardly.’

      ‘Look...’ His voice was gaining a frustrated edge. ‘I realise you don’t really want to go out with me, but you can’t very well trundle back inside now, can you? And you have to eat somewhere, so come on, get that sexy bod of yours into your white charger and move it! And remember, if you’re too slow I’ll lose you.’

      Throwing her a challenging look, he ducked into the car.

      Her green eyes blazed angrily Mike’s way, but he was already behind the wheel, the Jaguar growling into life. Taking up the challenge, Salome followed suit, jumping into the Ferrari and firing the engine with a furious flick of her wrist. When the Jaguar shot away from the kerb with a squeal of tyres, she was hot on its tail.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      THERE were several sticky moments on the way to the restaurant when a lesser driver could easily have lost the Jaguar in front. But Salome didn’t. She stuck to its gleaming bumper-bar like glue, letting neither amber traffic lights nor changes of lane faze her. In an odd sort of way, it was the most exhilarating experience she had had in months, even if more inspired by temper than a natural love of speed and danger.

      She was normally a very safe and careful driver. Tonight, though, she seemed driven by inner demons, and, by the time she screeched the Ferrari to a halt beside Mike’s Jaguar in the restaurant’s car park, her own engine was as hot and bothered as the car’s.

      What on earth was possessing her tonight? she thought dazedly as she slumped over the wheel, her heart pounding madly.

      Any agonising over this score had to be postponed, however, for at that moment her door was wrenched open, making her sit bolt upright. Mike leaned across her and angrily switched off the still throbbing motor, his black eyes blazing. ‘Good God, woman, do you always drive like that?’ he snarled.

      Salome bristled to her own defence. ‘You said not to lose you,’ she pointed out, ‘and you didn’t exactly dawdle yourself.’

      The exasperated man gripping the car door with white-knuckled intensity wasn’t to be denied. ‘Maybe so, but I didn’t mean for you to drive the whole damned way barely five centimetres from my back bumper-bar. Hell, you scared the living daylights out of me every time I changed lanes or went around a corner! I was too bloody petrified to slow down in case I finished up with you in my passenger seat!’

      ‘You needn’t have worried.’ Her tone was now unruffled and very, very droll. ‘Ralph sent me to an advanced driving school before he gave me this car, his motto being that all expensive and beautiful things should only be put into the hands of people who know what to do with them.’

      Salome retrieved the keys from the ignition and slipped them into her handbag, then glanced up to find Mike still glaring down at her, his eyes more disapproving than ever. What had she said now to annoy him?

      ‘Excuse me,’ she sighed, swinging her knees around in order to climb out of the low-slung car. He took a step back, at the same time holding out his hand to help her. There seemed no option but to accept it.

      His grip was firm, hauling her upwards in a single smooth motion which brought her within inches of his lean length, her hand squashed in his between them. She blinked