His Cousin's Wife. Lynsey Stevens

she wasn’t—Shea swallowed quickly, cutting off the entry into that small part inside her that she suspected would begin to tremble with excitement, would threaten to race madly, wildly away. No. She had to keep herself under firm control and not allow the fascination of the old Alex Finlay to tempt her.

      ‘Thank you,’ she replied tritely, and continued when she realised her voice sounded almost steady. ‘Let’s just say the years seem to have been kind to both of us.’

      Alex made no comment on that but Shea noticed his hands clenched on the steering wheel for a moment before he reached out to switch on the ignition. He put the Jag into gear and pulled out of the parking lot, the scrunching of the gravel beneath the wide tyres easily drowning out the low purr of the engine.

      ‘So, what are you doing these days?’ he asked as they turned onto the bitumen roadway. ‘My father told me you own your own business.’

      ‘Yes.’ The monosyllable sounded harsh and she took a quick, steadying breath. She had to be cool. Aloof. He meant nothing to her anymore. ‘Yes, I have my own fashion boutique.’

      They were being so very civilised. Shea barely suppressed a bitter laugh. Good manners were reflected in polite conversation. They’d both been well taught.

      ‘I design and make my own range of clothing,’ she added with continued decorum.

      ‘I can’t say I’m surprised. You always were interested in that sort of thing.’

      No! a voice inside her threw at him angrily. Don’t talk about always. Don’t dare talk about that. He, of all people, had no right to do that.

      She clutched at her slipping composure and fixed her gaze on the dark outlines of the trees beyond the road, not really seeing their shadowy shapes. But the murkiness of night seemed synonymous with what had happened back then.

      Silence extended between them again and Alex sighed. Shea was unable to prevent herself from looking at him then and, for fleeting seconds before his attention returned to the road, his eyes met and held hers in the semi-dark cocoon of the car’s cabin.

      ‘How’s your business going? Are you doing well?’ he asked and she had to consciously drag her concentration back to the theme of their conversation.

      ‘Quite well,’ she replied, suppressing the urge to tell him she had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams, that her business last year had trebled, that this year she’d extended her premises and, with the new children’s range under way, she’d definitely need to relocate her factory into larger space.

      ‘Where’s your shop?’ Alex was asking.

      ‘Where the old café used to be, up from the pub on the corner. The shop next door recently became vacant so I extended and combined the two.’ Her voice died away.

      ‘Have you been there long?’

      ‘About eight years. I started out on a small scale working from home, then tried the markets. Luckily it’s gone ahead from there.’

      Why was she telling him all this when she had no desire whatsoever to inform or impress him?

      ‘Are you still working for the Rosten Group?’ After a moment’s pause her question seemed to escape of its own volition and Alex hesitated, too, before replying.

      ‘In absentia. I do some freelance work for the company now and then. But I’ve taken a break from the full time rat race,’ he finished and a heavy silence fell between them until he swung the car into the driveway of Shea’s house.

      She barely suppressed a sigh of relief that she could at last escape. ‘Thank you for bringing me home,’ she began but Alex was already out of the car and striding around to open the passenger side door for her. She climbed out and repeated her thanks.

      ‘No worries,’ he replied lightly.

      ‘Well, I’ll say goodnight.’ Shea started walking towards the front door only to pause when she realised Alex had joined her. She gazed inquiringly at him and in the glow from the outside light Norah had left on for her, she saw him grimace slightly.

      ‘I told you I wanted to see Norah,’ he said, and Shea stood her ground.

      ‘It’s late. Norah’s most probably in bed,’ she began, and Alex held his wristwatch to the light.

      ‘Norah in bed at this hour? I seem to remember she never used to go to bed before midnight:

      He was right, but Shea wasn’t inclined to tell him so. ‘Wouldn’t it be better if you came back in the morning?’

      ‘Better for whom?’ he asked softly. ‘For Norah? Or for you?’

      ‘I—’ Shea swallowed. ‘I really don’t know what you mean,’ she got out, and Alex continued to hold her gaze.

      ‘I think you do, Shea. Something tells me you aren’t that pleased to see me.’

      ‘Should I be?’ The words slipped out before she could draw them back and she made herself continue to the foot of the stairs. ‘Eleven years is a long time. People change,’ she said as she retreated.

      ‘They do that.’ The edge to his voice made her step falter. ‘But it doesn’t necessarily take eleven years,’ he added flatly.

      Shea stopped then, her hand going to the railing to steady herself, and she heard him sigh.

      ‘Look, Shea, we used to be friends. Can’t we simply try to be that again?’

      His deep voice struck more raw and tender chords. ‘Can’t we try to be friends?’ Didn’t he realise each word was a sabre thrust opening old wounds that had taken years to heal?

      ‘Friends?’ Shea bit off a sharp incredulous laugh as she turned back to face him.

      ‘Would that be so difficult?’ His eyes burned into hers across the few feet separating them and then he ran a strong hand through his fair hair.

      And Shea’s eyes were drawn to the movement, to the line of his forearm, the long sensitive fingers enmeshed in thick strands of hair. Almost mesmerised, she watched as he then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, drawing the material tautly across his thighs, and she felt her stomach lurch in that old familiar way.

      For all those long years that section of her emotions had lain dormant. No man since had stirred her in that purely physical way. Not even Jamie.

      No! Not again! She wouldn’t allow him, or any other man, to have such a hold on her again. Physically or emotionally.

      Yet her blood raced through her veins, her traitorous senses paying no heed.

      ‘I’d have thought we could both act like rational adults after all these years,’ Alex was saying.

      Rational adults? Shea clutched at her composure and her chin rose. Did he really think their ages had anything to do with it? If they were seventy she’d still feel the same. It was called betrayal.

      ‘Look, Shea—’ Alex stopped and sighed. ‘OK, let’s leave it that you’re not overjoyed by my return. Although why—’ He made an irritated movement with his hand. ‘No matter. The fact remains that I am here and I plan to stay here for some time.’

      Shea’s heart twisted painfully. Well, she told herself brutally, if she’d been subconsciously harbouring any illusions about this being a flying visit home he had just nipped them in the bud. She’d simply have to get used to having him turn up now and then. She’d have to steel herself. And her heart. Especially her heart. Because she knew if she let him get close to her and he ran true to form, she’d never survive it all the second time around.

      ‘We’re pretty much family,’ he continued with a shrug. ‘We’ll have to see each other occasionally.’

      ‘I’m sure we can manage to keep those occasions to a minimum,’ she said with an evenness she was proud of. ‘You’ll be working, I take it, and so will I. If we’re careful