Chasing Summer. Abigail Gordon

her best feature, though, without mascara, the long pale lashes were inclined to be insipid. She almost cringed to think how she’d used to make them up, with thick black eye-liner and buckets of mascara. At the moment, however, enhanced by smoky green eye-shadow, grey eyeliner and mascara, her eyes looked exotic and mysterious.

      ‘The eyes of a temptress’, Ralph used to say, then smile at her.

      Those eyes clouded over and she no longer saw her reflection. A wretchedness was clutching at her heart, a bitter taste coming to her mouth. What kind of cruel game had Ralph been playing with her?

      ‘Mr Angellini doesn’t stand a chance.’

      ‘What?’ She turned around, her face blank, her mind still distracted.

      A coughing sound in the open doorway had both women looking around. Wayne was standing there, dressed casually in a navy tracksuit, a lazy grin on his large pleasant face. Salome had only met him a couple of times before, but, while she thought her mother was making the same old mistake in letting the man move in with her, she had to admit he was Molly’s best bet yet. Around forty, and in the building trade, he had an air of solid decency about him that her mother’s other boyfriends had lacked.

      ‘There’s a chap at the door looking for you, Salome,’ he drawled. ‘And a Jag at the kerb. Better shake a leg or he might do a flit. He doesn’t look like the sort of bloke who’d have to hang around waiting for birds too often. Don’t you be long either, Doll,’ he directed at Molly, and, without a second glance at Salome, ambled off back down the hall towards the living-room.

      His physically ignoring Salome made him go up in her estimation a thousand-fold. You never knew, she thought ruefully. Maybe Molly had cracked it at last.

      She smiled at her mother, who was lifting her eyebrows up and down in mock fun. ‘A Jaguar, no less,’ she teased. ‘Glad to see my daughter hasn’t dropped her standards.’

      ‘Now, Molly, I’ve already told you, I—’

      ‘Yes, yes, I know; he’s just a friend. I won’t keep on about it. But you will look after yourself, won’t you, in that empty old penthouse?’

      Her gentle tone choked Salome up. ‘Of course,’ she managed to get out.

      ‘And forget silly old Ralph,’ came the firm advice.

      ‘I’ll try, Molly. I’ll try.’

      Mike had apparently been content to wait for her on the front doorstep, but when he saw her coming down the hall, carrying the heavy suitcase, he stepped inside into the light of the foyer to help.

      Molly literally caught her breath and ground to a halt, staring at Mike as though he were Tom Cruise in the flesh. Salome could understand her mother’s reaction, even if she didn’t approve. Her own heart had jolted when she’d seen him.

      There was no doubt that black did something for Mike Angellini that no other colour did. Not that he was in his dinner-suit. The black woollen suit he was wearing was far less formal—in fact so incredibly modern that Salome was rather taken aback. She had always imagined him to be a very conventional dresser.

      But apparently she was wrong. For there was nothing conventional in the loose, front-pleated trousers and the equally loose, cardigan-style jacket. Certainly nothing conventional in his decision to matching both of these with a chest-hugging white polo-necked sweater, either. He looked rakish and dangerous and devastatingly sexy.

      Salome’s green eyes remained outwardly calm as they flicked over the tall, smiling figure moving towards her, but her heart was missing the odd beat, and forming in her mind was the awful suspicion that any immunity she’d once had to this man’s attractiveness might be on the wane.

      ‘You’ve decided to move into the penthouse?’ he asked her as he took the suitcase out of her hands.

      Salome looked up into eyes that betrayed definite satisfaction at this thought, and an ominous apprehension joined her suspicion. ‘Yes, yes, I—I am,’ she stammered most uncharacteristically.

      ‘Great.’

      He glanced over her shoulder and gave Molly the full benefit of a dazzling smile. ‘If you tell me this lovely lady is your mother,’ he drawled, ‘then I won’t believe it. She’s much too young.’

      Salome found herself flashing him a caustic look before she could stop herself, but Molly blushed prettily. ‘I had Salome when I was very young,’ she said sweetly.

      ‘You must have.’

      Salome stiffened, a tightness coming to her chest. She was hating this exchange, hating it so much that she was shocked at herself. Surely she couldn’t be jealous—could she?

      ‘People often mistake Salome for my sister, not my daughter,’ Molly was saying coyly.

      ‘I can imagine,’ was the suave reply.

      Angry green eyes snapped to Mike, but he was busy smiling at her mother. Her glare landed on his stunningly handsome face, his sensual mouth, his dancing black eyes, and quite suddenly her fingers itched to slap him.

      A gasp of shock brought both her mother and Mike staring at her.

      ‘Something wrong, dear?’ Molly asked, blue eyes concerned.

      ‘No, no, I—er—I just realised I forgot my credit cards. I can’t live without them.’ And she fled back down the hall, racing into the privacy of her room.

      The reflection of herself standing just inside the door, clutching her handbag to her chest as if it were a life-line, stared back at her from the dressing-table mirror. She looked most peculiar, she thought, her normally pale complexion flushed, her green eyes brilliant and wide, her lips slightly parted.

      Salome walked numbly over, and stared into the mirror. Whatever had happened to her out there? Slowly, she put the handbag down on the dressing-table, a deep frown coming to her brow. Was it jealousy? Anger? Or simply a burst of exasperation over the possibility that, if Mike kept up the false flattery, her mother would be imagining herself in love with him next?

      Yes, she decided with a flood of relief. That sounded spot on. Molly’s predilection for younger men had been a trial all Salome’s life. Not that she seriously believed Mike would be interested in her mother. Men like him went for the younger, more glamorous type.

      Which reminded her... It would be wise to be on her guard with Mike tonight. All of a sudden he was exuding the sort of charm Italian men were renowned for, and which she’d seen him use on women other than herself. Now that their hostility towards each other had been put on hold, it was on the cards that he might fancy a spot of seduction for supper.

      A bitter smile passed over her lips. Silly man. There were better bets than her in that regard. Much better. Still...it didn’t do any harm to watch herself. Mike was an exceptionally attractive and sexy man, and it was hard not to respond, even if that response was fleeting and superficial.

      It suddenly occurred to her that she had left him out there with Molly alone, and she scuttled out of her bedroom, walking quickly back down the hall, her handbag under her arm.

      ‘Found!’ she announced with a hurried smile. ‘Just as well, or the entire bill would have been on you tonight, Mike.’

      Those black eyes locked on to hers, amusement in their depths. ‘My dear Salome,’ he drawled lazily. ‘When I take a woman out to dinner I always pay.’

      Salome had to drag her eyes away from the magnetism of his, her heart thudding against her ribs. ‘I’ll come back and get more of my things tomorrow, Molly,’ she said far too breathlessly. Really, this sudden susceptibility of hers to Mike’s male charisma was beginning to annoy her. ‘Perhaps we should be going?’ she suggested, lifting cool eyes. Thank the lord, she thought with sardonic relief, that I’ve learnt not to show my emotions in my face.

      Nevertheless, Mike slanted her a thoughtful look before smiling at her mother. ‘Nice meeting you, Molly. You and