Kiss Me Forever/Love Me Forever. Rosemary Laurey

      “Really?” That thought alone made him want to join the fray. “What about professional detachment and ethics?”

      “We’re talking about Sebastian Caughleigh.” Larry chuckled. Christopher wasn’t amused. “There’s something about Americans,” Larry went on. “They’ve got so much energy. All bounce and bubbles. She’d be a nice toss in the sack. I rather envy Sebastian, but don’t tell Janet.”

      Christopher wanted to force Larry’s bulbous nose into his Scotch until he bubbled. He wanted to pin him against the chimney and bash his face into the rough-cut stone. He wanted to wipe the complacency off his shiny face. But that sort of behavior raised eyebrows in the stockbroker belt, so he drew in his breath and his fury. His fist closed. Tight. He felt cold and wet on his cuff and realized he’d snapped the stem of his glass.

      “You run a cleaning business?” Dixie asked, catching a comment in the conversation.

      Sally nodded. “Want an estimate?”

      “As soon as you can.”

      “How about Monday morning?”

      Dixie couldn’t wait. Today had shown the ineffectiveness of one woman, one mop to clean the grime of years. Sally had a cleaning business. Dixie definitely needed it.

      “Let’s try the goodies,” Emma suggested and Dixie followed her to the buffet. A plate of vegetables and a bowl of hummus caught Dixie’s eye. She dipped a square of pita bread into the creamy paste. Delicious! She took a second piece, reached into the bowl, and brushed another hand, a pale hand with long, manicured nails buffed to milky whiteness. She knew those fingers. Her hand froze but her eyes gazed up at a leather eye patch.

      He smiled and her stomach slipped halfway to her knees. His eyes shone and her stomach went the rest of the way. Heart racing, she straightened, left the bread in the dish and held out her hand. “Hello, this is a surprise.”

      “That’s a village for you. Always meeting the same people.”

      “Is that a disadvantage?”

      His full lips quivered at the corners. “Not this time.”

      “This time you can enjoy the evening. You don’t have to rescue me from James.”

      “Not from James,” he replied and glanced over at Sebastian, who was still talking road widening. “You came with Caughleigh?”

      “Yes, I did.”

      “You could always leave with me and set the village talking.”

      “Better not add any more to the gossip mill. I never realized how fascinating Americans are until I came here.”

      “There’s not been much to talk about since your aunts died.”

      “Great-aunts.”

      They’d wandered from the table to the fireplace. Dixie leaned back against the stone but Christopher grabbed her upper arm. “Careful,” he warned.

      Dixie barely heard him, between goose bumps from the cool touch of his hand and shock at the pile of broken glass she’d almost impaled her elbow on. “What ratbrain left that there?”

      “Guilty,” he replied. “I hoped to hide the destruction. It could get me blacklisted from the dinner party circuit.”

      “I won’ tell.” She couldn’t help it. Eyes like his had to be smiled at. And his mouth—that didn’t bear thinking about. He was a man she’d met in a pub, for goodness sake. She knew nothing about him. She wasn’t going to fantasize about him. She’d be sensible. “Did you drop it?”

      “What?”

      “The glass you tried to conceal.”

      “Just squeezed it too tight.”

      That was crazy. Dixie took both his hands in hers and turned them over. “You didn’t even cut yourself and that glass broke in a dozen pieces.”

      “I’m Superman,” he said, stepping closer and closing her hands inside his cool grasp.

      Dixie looked up at smooth, pale skin and parted lips and a smile that sent her stomach south.

      “There you are. I thought you’d disappeared on me.”

      Dixie jumped at Sebastian’s voice and dropped Christopher’s hands. She heard a sharp hiss that wasn’t Sebastian’s.

      “Three minutes longer, she would have,” Christopher said.

      Chapter Three

      “I don’t think Miss LePage will fall for your conjuring tricks.” Sebastian sneered nastily enough for a melodrama villain.

      Christopher leaned a cashmere-covered elbow on the chimney, just missing the heap of broken glass, straightened his neck, relaxed his shoulders—and smiled. “Come now, Caughleigh. What makes you so sure you know what Dixie falls for?”

      “I’m not falling for this, that’s certain,” Dixie muttered. At least, she’d meant it to be a mutter. They both seemed to hear. Christopher positively grinned. Sebastian clenched his fists. He was as unamused as Queen Victoria.

      He tapped her arm. “Maybe we should be going. The reservation’s at eight.”

      What reservation?

      “Tomorrow, then?” Christopher said. “Take care of her, Caughleigh. Or I’ll have your blood!”

      Somehow, she didn’t think he was joking. This was positively Neanderthal. Better get out of here before the pair of them came to blows. “Tomorrow. But not too early.”

      “Perhaps afternoon? I’d call first if I could.”

      “I’ll be there all day.”

      Sebastian had chosen an elegant country restaurant with oak paneling, pitched ceilings and mullioned windows. Another time, and in different company, the atmosphere, the starched linen on the tables and beeswax candles in the silver candlesticks might have charmed, instead Dixie felt shanghaied.

      “Do you bring all your clients here?” The devil made her ask that.

      He looked up from his sweetbreads in sherry. “No.” In the silence that followed, his fork scraped his plate three times.

      Two waiters appeared with their main courses. Dixie tried to concentrate on the chartreuse of vegetables in front of her and ignore the steak Diane sizzling inches from her elbow. She should be gracious and enjoy the meal but couldn’t squelch the suspicion that she was paying even though Sebastian might sign the check.

      Their knees banged again, just as the waiter slid the steaming meat onto a warmed plate. “Aren’t you concerned about Mad Cow disease?” she asked.

      Sebastian’s hand froze, poised over his knife. “They only use Charolais beef, imported from France.” Yes, she was paying for it. “More champagne?”

      At his signal, a waiter refilled her glass before she could refuse. “You’re not having any?” Sebastian had covered his glass.

      “I’m driving.” He expected her to finish the bottle? Gran warned her about men like him. She refused his suggestion of dessert wine with her flan and liqueur with her coffee.

      As they crossed the parking lot, his palm warmed the small of her back. His fingers slid over the silk and up to her neck. She’d had enough. More than enough. “Thanks for dinner and the evening out. I did enjoy meeting so many new people.”

      “The evening isn’t over. How about coming back for coffee?”

      Coffee? “No, thanks. It’s late. I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

      He had one last try as they pulled up at Emily’s gate. “I can’t change your mind?” His sweaty hand cupped her knee.

      She opened the