The Millionaire's Inexperienced Love-Slave. Miranda Lee

glanced worriedly back at her table where she’d left her handbag, along with several shopping bags.

      ‘Why don’t you get your things and join me for lunch?’ he suggested.

      She stared back at him for a long moment. ‘I’m sorry. I…I don’t think I can do that.’

      ‘Why not?’

      Her eyes grew agitated, as did her hands, their wringing action bringing his attention to her wedding and engagement rings.

      The realisation that she was married disappointed Adrian more than anything had in a long time.

      ‘Because your husband wouldn’t like it?’ he said, nodding towards her left hand.

      Mentioning her husband seemed to agitate her more.

      ‘I…I don’t have a husband any more,’ she blurted out. ‘I’m a widow.’

      Adrian found it hard to hide his satisfaction at this news.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and tried to sound sincere.

      ‘He was killed in an accident. I…I identified his body. I…Oh, God, I…I have to sit down.’

      She slumped into the chair opposite him, her pale skin having gone a pasty grey colour.

      Adrian hastened to pour her a glass of chilled water from the carafe on the table. She gulped it down, after which she shook her head again.

      ‘You must think me mad. It’s just that you…you look so much like him.’

      ‘Like who?’ he said just before the penny dropped.

      ‘Ray.’

      ‘Your dead husband.’

      ‘Yes. The resemblance is uncanny. You…you could be twins.’

      ‘I see,’ Adrian said. ‘So that’s why you wanted to know if I was adopted.’

      ‘It…it seemed the only solution.’

      ‘They say everyone has a double, you know.’

      ‘Yes, yes, so I’ve heard. That must be the case here. But it was still a shock.’

      ‘I can imagine.’

      ‘Actually, now that I see you up close, your features are not exactly the same as Ray’s. Some things are a bit different. I’m just not sure what…’ Her head tipped to one side as she studied his face.

      ‘How long ago was your husband killed?’ he asked, thinking it had to be recent.

      ‘Five years.’

      Adrian frowned. Five years! And she was grieving still. She must have loved him a lot. Still, it was high time she moved on. She was still young, and very lovely. Very, very lovely, he thought with a familiar prickling in his loins.

      ‘Ray was killed in a train derailment in the Blue Mountains,’ she explained sadly. ‘Several people died that day.’

      ‘I remember that. It was very tragic. And preventable, if I recall rightly.’

      ‘Yes. The train was going too fast for the conditions of the track.’

      ‘I’m very sorry for your loss. Did you and your husband have any children?’ She looked old enough to have had children. In her late twenties, or maybe thirty.

      ‘What? No,’ she said a bit brusquely. ‘No, we didn’t. Look, I…I think I’d better get back to my own table. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for the water.’

      Adrian extended his right hand over the table towards her before she could escape.

      ‘My name is Adrian Palmer,’ he introduced himself. ‘I’m an only child, son of Dr Arthur Palmer, general practitioner, now deceased, and Mrs May Palmer, one-time nurse, long retired. I’m thirty-six years old, unmarried and a successful architect. I designed this building.’

      She stared at his outstretched hand, then up at his face. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

      ‘So that I won’t be a stranger. That is why you refused to have lunch with me, isn’t it?’

      CHAPTER THREE

      SHARNI didn’t know what to say. Because her refusal to have lunch with Adrian had nothing to do with his being a stranger.

      ‘Oh, I see,’ he said knowingly, his hand dropping back to the table. ‘It’s because I remind you too much of your husband.’

      ‘Yes,’ she choked out. And it wasn’t just his looks. She still could not forget the way he’d swept his hair back from his forehead. Not to mention the way he walked, with long, loose-limbed strides.

      Just like Ray.

      ‘Is that such a bad thing?’ he asked gently.

      ‘Well, no, I guess not…’

      ‘Now that you’re over the shock of our physical similarities, I’m sure you can see lots of differences.’

      His voice was certainly different. Ray had had a rather strong Australian accent. This man—this Adrian Palmer—spoke with a voice that betrayed a private-school education. Not plumy, but cultured and refined.

      He also had a confident air about him that Ray had never possessed. Her husband had been a quiet, shy man whose emotional neediness had appealed to Sharni’s nurturing nature.

      It was ironic, however, that his double was an architect, the profession Ray had always aspired to but which he’d never felt he had the ability to enter. Instead, he’d become a draughtsman.

      ‘Please don’t say no,’ his double said, and smiled a smile that was totally unlike Ray. It was a seductive smile, showing dazzlingly white teeth and an almost irresistible charm.

      Sharni was surprised to find herself wavering. Maybe because, suddenly, he didn’t remind her of Ray at all.

      ‘It’s only lunch,’ he added, blue eyes twinkling up at her.

      Ray’s eyes had rarely twinkled, she recalled. They’d been quiet pools whilst this man’s resembled a sparkling sea.

      ‘All right,’ she agreed before she could think better of it.

      He was up out of his chair in a flash, getting her things before she could hardly draw breath.

      ‘Been clothes shopping, have we?’ he said breezily as he placed her carrier bags on the spare chair next to her.

      ‘What? Oh, yes. I…I still have some more to do this afternoon.’

      ‘Right.’

      When he sat back down, he swept his hair back with his hand again, leaving Sharni speechless once more.

      He smiled at her across the table. ‘You’d better introduce yourself.’

      ‘What?’ she said blankly.

      ‘Your name. Or do you want to remain a mystery woman?’

      Sharni gave herself a mental shake. ‘There’s not much mystery about me,’ she said with a small laugh. ‘It’s Sharni. Sharni Johnson.’

      ‘Sharni,’ he repeated. ‘That’s a most unusual name. But it suits you. Ah, here’s the waiter for our order. Do you know what you want, Sharni, or would you like to take a risk and let me order for you? It’s not too much of a risk, as I’ve eaten here several times before, haven’t I, Roland?’

      ‘Indeed, you have, Mr Palmer,’ Roland answered.

      ‘Very well,’ she said, thinking to herself that Adrian Palmer’s confidence bordered on arrogance.

      ‘You like seafood?’ he asked as he studied the menu.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘What