Instant Fire. Liz Fielding

her into the cramped kitchen and watched as she clipped the stems and stood them in deep water to drink.

      She turned to him. ‘These are lovely, Clay. Thank you.’

      ‘So are you, Joanna. No one would ever mistake you for a boy tonight.’ He took a step towards her then turned away, raking long fingers through his hair. ‘I think we had better go.’ For the briefest moment it had seemed as if he was going to kiss her, and the thought quickened her blood, sending it crazily through her veins. Instead he opened the door and she followed him down the stairs to the waiting taxi.

      ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

      ‘A little place I know by the river.’ This deprecating description hardly did justice to the elegant restaurant overlooking the Thames and she told him so.

      ‘I thought you would like to come here.’ He seemed oddly distracted.

      ‘It’s beautiful.’

      He turned and looked down at her. ‘Yes. It is.’ He lifted his hand to her cheek, his fingertips lingering against the smooth perfection of her skin. ‘Quite beautiful.’

      ‘May I show you to your table, sir?’

      Clay dragged himself back from wherever his thoughts had taken him and he tucked his arm under Joanna’s. They made a striking couple as they walked across the restaurant and several heads turned to follow their progress. Joanna was usually forced to disguise her height when walking with a man, never wearing high heels and, if not exactly slumping, at least keeping what her father had laughingly described as a very relaxed posture. Now, beside the strong figure of Clay Thackeray, the top of her head just reaching his ear, she stretched to her full height, human enough to enjoy the knowledge that she was envied by at least half the women present. Probably more.

      Afterwards she couldn’t have described anything they had eaten or much of what they had talked about, although she thought he had told her something about a consultancy that he had begun in Canada and his plans for expansion into Britain. All she could remember was Clay’s face in the candlelight, his hand reaching for hers across the table, the words, ‘Let’s go home.’

      In the back of the car she curled against him as if she had known him for years. His arm drew her close and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to rest her head on his shoulder. She didn’t think about where they were going. She didn’t care, as long as he held her.

      The car eventually stopped and she lifted her head. ‘Where are we?’ she asked.

      ‘You are home, fair lady. Where did you expect to be?’

      Glad of the darkness to hide her blushes, she allowed him to help her from the car.

      ‘I’ll see you to your door.’

      She turned to him at the top of the stairs. ‘Would you like a coffee?’

      ‘I think I’m going to have enough trouble sleeping, Jo.’ His arm was around her waist and she didn’t ever want him to let go of her. As if reading her mind, he pulled her closer. ‘But, before I go, I believe you promised me a kiss.’

      She lowered her eyes, suddenly shy. ‘Now?’ she asked.

      ‘Now,’ he affirmed, and his lips touched hers for the briefest moment, the time it took her heart to beat. He drew back the space of an inch, no more. ‘Joanna?’ His voice was a question and an answer. Then his mouth descended upon hers and her willing response answered any question he cared to ask.

      When at last he released her she could hardly support herself, and he held her in the circle of his arms and stood for a moment with her head upon his shoulder.

      ‘I must go.’

      ‘Must you?’

      ‘Don’t make it any harder.’ He kissed the top of her head and she looked up, but he seemed to be far away, no longer with her. She fumbled in her bag for her key and he took it from her and opened the door.

      ‘Can I see you tomorrow?’

      She hesitated for a moment, but then he smiled and on a catch of breath she nodded. ‘Yes.’

      He raised his hand briefly. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven.’ Then he was gone without a backward glance and for the first time in her life she felt the pain of being torn in two. Her other half had walked down the stairs in the palm of Clay Thackeray’s hand.

      Joanna wondered briefly, as she stood under a reviving shower, exactly what she had thought about before the appearance of Clay Thackeray. Since his appearance a week earlier he had filled her waking hours completely, and a good few of her sleeping ones.

      A ring at the door put a stop to these thoughts and she grabbed a towelling wrap and went to answer it.

      ‘Clay!’

      ‘I’m a little early,’ he apologised.

      ‘Just a little,’ she agreed, laughter dancing in her eyes. ‘I thought we were meeting at seven p.m., not seven a.m.’

      ‘I had this sudden yearning to know what you looked like first thing in the morning.’ His eyes drifted down the deep V of her wrap and she grabbed self-consciously at it and tightened the belt, feeling at something of a disadvantage alongside the immaculate dark blue pin-striped suit and stark white shirt.

      ‘Well?’

      ‘Exactly as I imagined. No make-up, bare feet, hair damp from the shower …’ she lifted her hand self-consciously, but he anticipated the move and caught her fingers ‘… and quite beautiful.’ He stepped through the door and closed it firmly behind him.

      She laughed a little nervously and stepped back in the face of such assured advances. ‘Compliments so early in the morning deserve some reward. Would you like some breakfast?’

      One stride brought him to her side. He slid an arm around her waist and drew her close. ‘That, sweet Joanna, rather depends upon the menu.’

      Jo’s breathing was a little ragged. ‘Eggs?’ she heard herself say. He made no response. ‘I might have some bacon.’ His eyes never left hers. ‘Toast?’ she offered, desperately. ‘I haven’t much time. I have to get to …’ He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers and she no longer cared about the time.

      ‘You, Jo. Don’t you know that I want you for breakfast?’

      He pulled the knot of her wrap and she made no move to stop him. Last night she knew that with very little persuasion she would have fallen into bed with him. He had known that too. It had been far too easy to fall in love with him. In the long, wakeful hours of the night she had determined that this evening she would put on some emotional armour along with her make-up. But, almost as if he had anticipated this, he had outmanoeuvred her, taking her by surprise with this early-morning raid. No make-up. No armour. No clothes. The harsh ring of the doorbell made her jump and he straightened, a crooked smile twisting his mouth.

      ‘Saved by the bell, Jo.’ For a moment he held the edges of her robe, then he pulled it close around her and retied the knot before standing aside for her to open the door.

      ‘Sorry, Miss Grant. Another of those recorded delivery letters for you to sign. You’d better pay up!’ She smiled automatically at the postman’s bantering humour and signed the form. This time she didn’t bother to open the letter, but threw it on the hall table.

      ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ Clay asked. ‘It looks urgent.’

      ‘I know what it says. It’s from someone who wants to buy some shares I own. I’ve already told them I won’t sell.’

      ‘Oh? Maybe they’ve increased their offer.’

      She frowned. ‘Do you think so? I wonder why they want them?’ Her eyes lingered for a moment on the envelope. ‘Perhaps I ought to find out—’

      ‘Forget them! They’re not important.’ She lifted her eyes to his and all