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Isabel bristled. ‘What’s wrong with it like this?’

‘It’s far too severe. If you’re going to have it up, you need something a little softer, with some pieces hanging around your face. Here. Like this.’

Before she could step away, or object, he was by her side, his fingers tugging at her hair and touching her cheeks, her ears, her neck.

It was one thing to keep her cool whilst she was just thinking about him, quite another with his hands on her. His fingertips were like brands on her skin, leaving heated imprints in her flesh and sending quivery ripples down her spine.

‘Your hair seems quite straight,’ he was saying as he stroked several strands down in front her ears. ‘Do you have a curling wand?’

‘No,’ she choked out, knowing she should step back from him but totally unable to. She kept staring at the V of bare skin in his open-necked shirt and wondering what he would look like, naked.

‘I suggest you buy one, then. They’re cheap enough.’

Her eyes lifted to find he was studying not her hair so much, but her mouth. For one long, horribly exciting moment, Isabel thought he was going to kiss her. She sucked in sharply, her lips falling apart as a shot of excitement zinged through her veins. But he didn’t kiss her, and she realised with a degree of self-disgust that she’d just been hoping he would.

But what if he had? came the appalling thought. What if he had?

Just the thought of risking or ruining what she had with Luke made her feel sick.

‘I must go,’ she said, and bent to pick up her bag, the action forcing his hands to drop away from her face. By the time she’d straightened he’d stepped back a little. But she had to get out of there. And quickly.

‘If I don’t hear from you,’ she added brusquely, ‘then I will expect you to show up at my parents’ home at two precisely, a fortnight from today. Please don’t be late.’

‘I am never late for appointments,’ he returned.

‘Good. Till then, then?’

He nodded and she swept past him, her bag brushing against him as she did so. She didn’t apologise, or look down. She kept going, not drawing breath till she was in her car and on the road home.

Relief was her first emotion once his place was well out of sight. Then anger. At herself; at the Rafe Saint Vincents of this world; and at fate. Why couldn’t Les have recommended a photographer like himself, a happily married middle-aged conservative bloke with three kids and a paunch?

When a glance in the rear-vision mirror reminded her she had bits of hair all over the place, courtesy of her Lord and Master, she pulled over to the kerb and pulled the pins out of her French roll, shaking her head till her hair fell down around her face like a curtain.

‘Maybe you’d like me to wear it like this!’ she stormed as she accelerated away again. ‘Lucky for me it isn’t longer, or you’d be suggesting I do a Lady Godiva act at my wedding. I could be the first bride ever to be photographed in the nude!’

She ranted and raved about him for a while, then at the traffic when it took her nearly twice as long to get home as it had to drive into the city. She was feeling more than a little stressed by the time she turned into her parents’ street, her agitation temporarily giving way to surprise when she spotted Luke’s blue car parked outside the house. She slid her navy car in behind it, frowning at Luke who was still sitting behind the wheel. When she climbed out, so did he, throwing her an odd look at her hair as he did so.

She felt herself colouring with guilt, which really annoyed her. She’d done nothing to be guilty about.

‘Luke!’ she exclaimed, trying not to sound as flustered as she was feeling. ‘What on earth are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you. Why didn’t you call me?’

‘I tried your mobile phone a while back,’ he said. ‘But you didn’t answer.’

‘What? Oh, I must have left the blasted thing behind at the studio. I took it out to ring Mum and tell her how long I’d be.’

Isabel wanted to scream. How could she have been so stupid as to leave it behind? Now she’d have to go back for it. And she’d have to see that man again, before the wedding.

‘Oh, too bad,’ she muttered, slamming the car door. ‘It can stay there till tomorrow. I’m not going back now.’

She could feel Luke’s puzzled eyes on her and knew she wasn’t acting like her usual calm self. She shook her head and threw him a pained look. ‘You’ve no idea the dreadful day I’ve had. The photographer I booked for the wedding’s had an accident and he made an appointment for me to meet this other man who’s not really suitable at all. Brilliant, but one of those avant-garde types who wants to do everything in black and white. I pointed out that I wouldn’t have selected a wine-red gown for my maid of honour if I’d wanted all the shots done in black and white, but would he listen to me? No! He even told me how he wanted me to wear my hair. As if I don’t know what suits me best. I’ve never met such an insufferably opinionated man.’

Isabel knew she was babbling but she couldn’t seem to stop.

‘Still, what can you expect from someone who fancies himself an artiste. You know the type. Struts around like he’s God’s gift to women. And he wears this earring in the shape of a phantom’s head, of all things. What a show pony! Goodness knows what our photographs are going to turn out like, but it’s simply too late to get someone else decent. His name’s Rafe—did I tell you? Rafe Saint Vincent. It wouldn’t be his real name, of course. Just a career move. Nobody is born with a name like Rafe Saint Vincent. Talk about pretentious!’

Isabel finally ran out of steam, only to realise that Luke was not only staring at her as if she’d lost her mind, but that he wasn’t looking his usual self, either.

Always well-groomed, Luke was the sort of man who kept ‘tall, dark and handsome’ at number one on every woman’s most wanted list.

‘Luke!’ she exclaimed. ‘You look like you’ve slept in your clothes. And you haven’t even shaved. That’s not like you at all.’ Unlike other men she would not mention. ‘What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were going to stay in your father’s old fishing cabin up on Lake Macquarie for the whole weekend.’ And do some proper grieving, Isabel had hoped. The poor darling had to have been through hell this past fortnight since his parents’ tragic deaths. Yet he’d been so brave about it all. And so strong.

‘The cabin wasn’t there any more,’ he said. ‘It had been torn down a few years before.’

‘Oh, what a shame,’ she murmured. But it explained why he was looking so disconsolate. ‘So where did you stay last night? In a motel? Or a tent?’ she added, hoping to jolly him up with a dab of humour.

‘No.’ He didn’t crack even the smallest of smiles. ‘Dad had built a brand-new weekender on the same site. I stayed there.’

‘But…’ Isabel frowned. ‘How did you get in? You didn’t break in, did you?’

‘No. There was a girl staying there for the weekend and she let me in.’

Isabel was taken aback. ‘And she let you sleep the night?’

Luke sighed. ‘It’s a long story, Isabel. I think we’d better go inside and sit down while I tell it to you.’

She tried not to panic. ‘Luke, you’re worrying me.’

When he took her arm and propelled her over to the front gate, she pulled out of his grip and lanced him with alarmed eyes. ‘You’re not going ahead with the wedding, are you?’

Isabel waited in an agony of anxiety for him to speak.

‘No,’ he finally answered, his expression grim. ‘No, I’m not.’

CHAPTER THREE

ISABEL stared at him, aghast. ‘Oh, no. No, Luke, don’t do this to me!’ Bursting into tears, she buried her stricken face in her hands.

‘I’m so sorry, Isabel,’ Luke said softly as he tried to take her into his arms.

‘But why?’ she wailed, gripping the lapels of his suit jacket and shaking them.

His eyes held apology. ‘I’ve fallen in love.’

‘Fallen in love!’ she gasped. ‘In less than a day?’

‘No one is more surprised than me, I can tell you. But it’s true. I came back straight away to tell you, and to call our wedding off.’

‘But love’s no guarantee of happiness, Luke,’ she argued in desperation. ‘I thought we agreed on that. It traps and tricks you. It really is blind. This girl you’ve supposedly fallen in love with—how do you know she’ll be good for you? How do you know she won’t make you miserable? You can’t possibly know her real character, not this quickly. She could be playing a part for you, pretending to be something she’s not. She might be a really bad person. A gold-digger, perhaps. A…a criminal even!’

‘She’s not any of those things,’ he returned, looking shocked by her arguments. ‘She’s a good person. I just know it.’

Isabel shook her head. One day! One miserable day! How could he know anything for sure? ‘I would never have believed you could be so naïve,’ she pronounced angrily. ‘A man like you!’

‘I’m not naïve,’ he denied. ‘Which is why I’m not rushing into anything. But I can’t marry you, Isabel, feeling as I do about Celia. Surely you can see that.’

Isabel was not in the mood to see anything of the kind. She wanted to cry some more. And to scream. She’d been so close to having her dream come true. So darned close!

‘Maybe I do and maybe I don’t,’ she grumbled, letting his lapels go. ‘I’d still marry you. I haven’t much time for the highly overrated state of being in love.’

And she’d thought he felt the same way.

‘Maybe that’s because you’ve never really been in love,’ Luke said.

Isabel’s laugh was tinged with bitterness. ‘I’m an expert in the subject. But that’s all right. You’ll live and learn, Luke Freeman, and when you do, give me a call. Meanwhile, let’s go inside, as you said. I need a drink. Not tea or coffee. Something much stronger. Dad still has some of the malt whisky I gave him for his birthday. That should do the trick.’

Isabel let herself into the house, Luke following.

‘But you don’t drink Scotch,’ he pointed out with a frown in his voice.

‘Aah, but I do,’ she threw over her shoulder at him as she strode into her parents’ lounge room, heading straight for the drinks cabinet in the corner. ‘When the occasion calls for it,’ she added, pouring herself half a glassful. ‘Which is now. Today. This very second.’

She knocked back half of it, steadfastly refusing to shudder like some simpering female fool while it burnt a red-hot path down her throat. ‘Ahh,’ she said with a lip-smacking sigh of satisfaction once it reached its destination. ‘That hits the spot. You want one?’ she asked Luke, but he shook his head.

Swirling the amber liquid in her glass, she walked over and settled in one of her mother’s large comfy armchairs, her feet curled up under her. Hooking her hair behind her ear with her left hand, she lifted the whisky to her lips and took another deep swallow. She glanced over at Luke, who was still standing near the doorway, looking startled by her behaviour.

Isabel supposed she wasn’t living up to the image he obviously had of her. Up till today it had been easy to play the role of the super-serene, super-sensible fiancée who was never fazed or upset by anything he did. Because he’d never done anything to really upset her.

Clearly, he didn’t know what to make of her as her real self, instead of Lady Isabel, the unflappable.

But did he honestly think he could roll up and tell her their wedding was off at this late stage with no trouble at all? Did he imagine she wouldn’t be hurt by his obviously being unfaithful to her last night?

The realisation that she had been mentally unfaithful to him today tempered her inner fury somewhat, and brought some sympathy and understanding for Luke’s actions. Marriages made with the head and not the heart might have worked in the past, she appreciated. But in this modern day and age, with all the abounding sexual temptations, such a union was a disaster waiting to happen.

Still, she would be surprised if it was true love compelling Luke to do this. More likely that good deceiver lust!

‘I suppose she’s beautiful, this Celia,’ she said drily.

‘I think so.’ Luke finally sat down as well.

‘What does she do?’

‘She’s a physiotherapist.’

A physiotherapist. Not only beautiful but clever and educated as well.

Isabel hadn’t embraced tertiary studies after leaving high school. Her exam results hadn’t been good enough. Oh, she wasn’t dumb, just not focused on her school work. She’d been far too interested in boys at the time, much to her parents’ dismay.

She had managed a brief receptionist course at tech. That, combined with her looks, had meant she’d been rarely out of a job. Over the years she’d become a top receptionist, computer literate and very competent.

Yet she’d never really been interested in a career as such. She’d always wanted marriage and motherhood. It irked Isabel that this Celia, however innocently, had stolen the one man who might have given her both.

‘And what was she doing, staying in your father’s weekender? Did he rent it out?’

‘No. She’s his mistress’s daughter.’

‘His what?’ Isabel’s feet shot out from under her as she snapped forward on the chair.

‘Dad’s mistress’s daughter,’ Luke repeated drily.

Isabel gaped. ‘No! I don’t believe you. Not your dad. With a mistress? That’s impossible. He was one of the best husbands and fathers I’ve ever met. He was one of the reasons I wanted to marry you. Because I believed you’d be just as good a family man.’

‘As I said…it’s a long story.’

‘And a fascinating one, I’m sure,’ Isabel mused. ‘It seems the Freeman men have a dark side I don’t know about.’

‘Could be,’ Luke agreed ruefully.

‘I wish I’d known about it sooner,’ she muttered, and swigged back the last of the whisky in her glass.

Luke shot her a puzzled look. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Oh, nothing. Just a private joke. I have this perverse sense of humour sometimes. Come on, tell me all the naughty details.’

‘I hope you won’t be too shocked.’

She chuckled. ‘Oh, dear, that’s funny. Me, shocked? Trust me, darling. I can never be seriously shocked by anything sexual.’

Luke frowned at her. ‘Did I ever really know you, Isabel?’

‘Did I ever really know you?’ she countered saucily.

Their eyes met and they smiled together.

‘You’ll find someone else, Isabel,’ Luke said with total confidence.

‘I dare say I will. But not quite like you, darling. You were one in a million. Your Celia is one lucky girl. I hope you’ll be very happy together.’ Privately, she didn’t think they would be, but who knew? Maybe Luke was a better picker than herself when it came to falling in love. If he was really in love, that was.

‘Thanks, Isabel. That’s very generous of you. But we won’t be rushing to the altar. Which reminds me. I will, of course, be footing the bill for any expenses your parents have encountered with the wedding. I’ll send them a cheque which should cover everything, and with some left over. And I’ll be doing the right thing by you, too.’

She shook her head, then slipped the solitaire-diamond engagement ring off her finger. ‘No, Luke. I wasn’t marrying you for your money. I know you might have thought I was, but I wasn’t. I was just pleased you were successful and stable. I wanted that security for my children. And for myself.’

When she went to give him the ring, he refused to take it. ‘I don’t want that ring back, Isabel. It’s yours. I gave it to you. You keep it, or sell it if you want to.’

Isabel came close to crying again. He really was the nicest man. He’d have made a wonderful father.

She shrugged and slipped the ring onto her right hand. ‘If you insist,’ she said, using every bit of her will-power to keep it together. ‘But I won’t sell it. I’ll wear it. It’s a beautiful ring. Fortunate, though, that I didn’t find any wedding rings I liked yesterday, so at least we don’t have to return them.’

Isabel was still amazed by the fact that less than twenty-four hours ago Luke had been very happy with her. But, as they said in the classics, there was many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip.

She sighed, then stared regretfully into her now empty glass. ‘I’d better go get you your credit card while you’re here.’ And while she could still stand. That whisky was really working now.

‘That can wait,’ Luke said before she could get up. ‘I want to finish discussing the rest of my financial obligations first.’

She frowned. ‘What other financial obligations could you possibly have?’

‘I owe you, Isabel. More than a ring’s worth.’

‘No, you don’t, Luke. I never lived with you. I have no claim on you other than the expenses for the wedding.’

‘That’s not the way I see it. You gave up your job to become my wife. You expected to be going on your honeymoon in a fortnight’s time and possibly becoming a mother in the near future. Aside from that, married to me, you would never have had to worry about money for the rest of your life. I can’t help you with the honeymoon or the becoming a mother bit now, but I can give you the financial security for life that you deserve.’

‘Luke, truly, you don’t have to do this.’

‘Yes. I do. Now listen up.’

Isabel listened up, amazed when Luke insisted she have his town house in Turramurra, as well as a portfolio of blue-chip stocks and shares which would provide her with an independent income for life. It seemed his father had been a very rich man. And now so was Luke.

She thought about refusing, but then decided that would just be her pride talking. At least now she wouldn’t have to worry about having to live here under her parents’ roof till she found another job. Her mother was going to be very upset when she found out the wedding was off.

She smiled a wry smile at this wonderful man she had hoped to marry. ‘I always knew you were a winner. But I’d have preferred you as my husband rather than my sugar-daddy.’

‘You’ve no idea how sorry I am about all this, Isabel,’ Luke apologised again. ‘I wouldn’t have hurt you for the world. You’re a great girl. But the moment I saw Celia, I was a goner.’

Isabel’s mind flew straight to the moment she first saw Rafe Saint Vincent today. She hadn’t been a goner. But she might have been, if he’d come on to her. Thank heaven he hadn’t.

‘She must be something, this Celia.’

‘She’s very special.’

And very beautiful, no doubt, Isabel deduced, with a body made for sin and eyes which drew you and held you and corrupted you. Just as Rafe’s eyes had today.

He’d fancied her. Isabel hadn’t liked to admit it to herself before this, but she’d sensed his male interest at the time. She’d sensed it from the first second they’d looked at each other. She always sensed things like that.

You could go back for your phone after Luke leaves. You could tell Rafe the wedding’s off. You could…

No, no, she screamed at herself. Not again. Never again!

‘Okay, so tell me all,’ she demanded of Luke, desperately needing distraction from her escalatingly dangerous thoughts. ‘And don’t leave out anything…’

CHAPTER FOUR

RAFE noticed the phone she’d left behind almost immediately. He snatched it up from the coffee-table and was running out after her when he stopped and waited to see if she remembered and came back for it herself.

But she didn’t, and he just stood in the hallway and listened to her drive off.

It was crazy to want to see her again this side of the wedding. Crazy to force her to return.

She wasn’t the type to let him have his wicked way with her. She wasn’t the type to let any man have his wicked way with her without a band of gold on her finger.

Maybe not a virgin, but close. The way she’d frozen when he’d dared touch her hair. The way she’d bolted out of his place, probably in fear that he might do more.

And he’d wanted to. Oh, yes. Being that close to her—actually touching her—had turned him on something rotten. When her bag had hit him as she’d hurried out, he’d just managed not to visibly wince. Luckily, she hadn’t stopped and looked down at where her bag had hit him, or she’d have been in for one big fright!

That was another reason why he hadn’t run out into the street after her just now. Looking a fool was not his favourite occupation.

Hopefully, by the time Isabel realised she’d left her phone and turned round to come back, he’d have himself under control again.

And then what, Rafe? What is the point of this exercise? Is it some form of sexual masochism?

Even if you were the kind of man who seduced other men’s fiancées—which you’re not, usually—you haven’t one chance in Hades of defrosting this one.

So, if and when she does come back, have the damned phone handy near the front door, give it to the lady and send her on her merry way.

His decision made, Rafe dropped the metallic-blue cellphone on the hall table and headed upstairs for some breakfast. After that, he came back downstairs to his darkroom, where he set about developing the rolls of film he’d shot last night at Orsini’s summer fashion parade, and at the after-parade party, which had gone well into the wee small hours of the morning. The women’s magazines would be ringing first thing Monday morning, wanting to see the best of them.

Two hours later, Rafe was still in his darkroom, going through the motions, but his mind simply wasn’t on the job. The object of his distraction hadn’t come back, and he simply could not put her out of his head.

The truth was, she intrigued him. Not just sexually, but as a person. He wanted to know more about her.

In the end, Rafe stopped trying to put her out his mind. He abandoned his work, pulled the business card she’d left him out of his pocket, went back upstairs, picked up his phone and punched in the number she’d written down.

The line rang and rang at the other end, with Rafe about to hang up when someone finally picked up.

‘Hello there.’

Rafe frowned. It was a woman, but he wasn’t sure if it was Isabel. She sounded…odd. ‘Isabel?’

‘Yep? To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?’

Rafe couldn’t believe his ears. She was drunk!

‘It’s Rafe. Rafe Saint Vincent. The photographer.’

Dead silence. Though he could hear her breathing.

‘You left your mobile phone at my place.’

More silence.

‘I thought you might be worried about it.’

She actually laughed.

‘Isabel,’ he said with concern in his voice. ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘Mmm. You might say that.’

‘I am saying it.’

‘So what?’

Rafe was taken aback. This wasn’t the woman he’d met today. This was someone else. ‘You said you didn’t drink,’ he reminded her.

She laughed again. ‘I lied.’

His eyes widened with shock, then narrowed with worry. ‘Isabel, what’s wrong? What’s happened?’

‘I guess there’s no point in not telling you. You’ll have to know some time, anyway. The wedding’s off.’

He couldn’t have been more taken aback, both by the news and her manner. ‘Why?’ he asked.

‘Luke’s left me for someone else.’

Rafe experienced a small secret thrill at this news, but his overriding emotion was sympathy. He knew what it was like to be left for someone else, and he wouldn’t wish the experience on a dog.

‘I’m so sorry, Isabel,’ he said with genuine feeling. ‘You must be feeling rotten.’

‘I was, till I downed my third whisky. Now, I actually don’t feel too bad.’

He had to smile. That was exactly what he’d done the day Liz had left him. Hit the bottle. ‘You should never drink alone, you know,’ he warned softly.

‘Oh, I’m not drunk,’ she denied, even though her voice was slurring a little. ‘Just tipsy enough so that my pain is pleasantly anaesthetised. Why, you offering to drink with me, lover?’

Rafe’s smile widened. It seemed Isabel’s ice-princess act melted considerably under the influence of three glasses of Scotch.

‘I think you’ve had enough for one day.’

‘That’s not for you to say,’ she huffed.

‘Maybe not, but I’m still saying it.’

‘Did anyone ever tell you that you are the bossiest person alive?’

‘Yeah. My mother. She threw a party the day I left home.’

‘I can well imagine.’

‘But she loves me all the same.’

‘I doubt other people would be so generous.’

Her alcohol-induced sarcasm amused him. ‘Did anyone ever tell you you’re a snooty bitch?’ he countered.

He liked it when she laughed. Being drunk suited her. No more Miss Prissy. How he wished he was with her now.

There again, perhaps it was wise that he wasn’t. When and if he took her to bed, he didn’t want her drunk. Or on the rebound. He wanted her wanting him for himself, and no other reason.

‘I guess you won’t be needing my services now,’ he said.

‘As a photographer, you mean?’

Rafe sucked in sharply. What a provocative reply! Perhaps she didn’t disapprove of him as much as he’d thought she had.

Or perhaps it was just the drink talking.

‘Actually, I’d still like to photograph you,’ he said, truthfully enough.

‘Really? Why?’

‘Why? Well, firstly, you are one seriously beautiful woman, and I have a penchant for photographing beautiful women. Secondly, I just want to see you again. I want to take you out to dinner somewhere.’

‘You mean…like…on a date?’

‘Yes. Exactly like that.’

‘You don’t waste much time, do you? I’ve only been dumped for two hours. And you’ve only known about it for two minutes! What if I said I was too broken up over Luke to date anyone for a while?’

‘Then I’d respect that. But I’d ask you out again next week. And the week after that.’

‘I should have guessed you’d be the determined type,’ she muttered.

‘Being determined is not a vice, Isabel.’

‘That depends. So why is it you don’t already have a girlfriend? Or do you? Don’t lie to me, now. I hate men who lie to me,’ she added, slurring her words.

‘I’m between girlfriends at the moment.’

‘Oh? What happened to the last one?’

‘She went overseas to work. I wasn’t inclined to follow her.’

‘Why?’

‘My career is here, in Australia.’

‘Ahh. Priority number one.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means no, thank you very much, Rafe. I’ve been down that road far too many times to travel it again.’

‘Now I’m confused. What road are you referring to?’

‘Dating men who want only one thing from me. You do only want one thing from me, don’t you, Rafe?’

Rafe considered that a loaded question.

‘I wouldn’t say that, exactly.’ He liked talking to her, too. ‘But I have to confess that marriage and kiddies are not on my list of must-do things in my life.’

‘Well, they’re on mine, Rafe. And sooner, rather than later. But I appreciate your telling me the truth. That’s a big improvement on some of the other men I’ve become involved with in the past.’

His eyebrows shot up. It sounded as if there had been scads. Any idea that she might almost be a virgin went out of the window. It just showed you first impressions weren’t always right.

‘Did your fiancé lie to you?’

‘Luke? Oh, no…no, Luke was no liar.’

‘But he was obviously two-timing you,’ he pointed out.

‘No. He wasn’t. Look, it’s rather difficult to explain.’

‘Try.’

So she did, explaining the circumstances which had led up to Luke’s meeting Celia.

‘So he hasn’t been two-timing me,’ she finished up. ‘He only met Celia yesterday.’

‘Perhaps, but he didn’t tell you the truth about why he was going up to his dad’s fishing cabin on Lake Macquarie in the first place, did he?’

‘No, but I can understand why. He’d been thrown for a loop when the solicitor told him his Dad wanted to leave his weekender to some strange woman.’

‘You make a lot of excuses for him, don’t you? He was still unfaithful to you. And he hurt you, Isabel.’

‘He didn’t mean to. Look, I’m sorry I told you about it now. It’s really none of your business. Thank you for ringing and for making me feel a little better, but I think we should leave it right there, don’t you? As I said, we want different things in life. I wonder…could you possibly post my phone back to me?’

‘I’d rather drop it off to you.’

‘And I’d rather you didn’t.’

‘You’re afraid of me,’ he said, startled by this realisation.

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

Oh-oh. She was definitely sobering up. And returning to her former stroppy self.

‘Just tell me one thing.’

‘What?’

‘Did you love him?’

‘I was marrying him,’ she snapped. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think that’s a very evasive answer. For a person who demands the truth from others, you’re not too good at delivering it yourself.’

She sighed. ‘Very well. I liked and respected Luke, but, no, I did not love him. Satisfied?’

‘Not even remotely,’ Rafe said ruefully. ‘Did you think he loved you?’

‘No.’

‘What on earth kind of marriage was that going to be?’

‘One that lasted.’

‘Oh, yeah, right. It didn’t even get through the engagement. For pity’s sake, Isabel, what did you expect? Men want passion from their wives. And sex. At least in the beginning.’

‘You think I didn’t give Luke sex?’

‘Not the kind which his new dolly-bird obviously does.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. Look, I’m sorry I started this conversation. You simply don’t have the capacity to understand what Luke and I had together. How could you? You’re one of those men who lives for himself and himself alone. A woman is just a passing pleasure to you, a bit of R&R from your work. You don’t want a real relationship with one. As for children, you probably see them as inconveniences, little ankle-biters who’d get in the way of your lifestyle. Luke wasn’t like that. He wanted a family. Like me. He wanted for ever. Like me. We might not have been madly in love but we were good friends and extremely compatible, in bed as well as out. We could have had a happy marriage. I don’t believe he’s in love with this new dolly-bird, as you call her. He only met her yesterday. I think it’s just sex, the kind that obsesses you so much sometimes that you can’t think straight.’