Instant Fire

‘What a dreadful thing to do!’ But the laughter in her voice softened the words.

‘Wasn’t it?’ Their hands touched as he reached to unclip her seatbelt and they looked up at the same moment. For a long second Jo thought the world must have stopped spinning. ‘I want to kiss you, Jo Grant.’ His voice grated over a million tiny nerve-endings and she swallowed. Her pulse was hammering in her ears and she could hardly breathe. Girls weren’t supposed to kiss men they had just met. They certainly weren’t supposed to admit they wanted to.

Jo fought the inclination to meet him halfway and lifted one brow. ‘And do you always get what you want, Clayton Thackeray?’

‘Always,’ he assured her.

Flustered by the unwavering certainty in his eyes, she made an effort at a laugh. ‘Really, Mr Thackeray, I thought the form was that you wine and dine a girl before you make a pass,’ she said, attempting to hide her bewildering, unexpected hunger for this man, bury it under a flippancy she was far from feeling.

Clay Thackeray stared at her for a moment, then he released the seatbelt, making her jump, breaking the spell. ‘You’re right, of course. And this is only lunch. I’ll have to give some thought to the question of dinner.’

Before she could gather her wits he was opening the car door for her. His hand under her arm seemed to burn through the sleeve of her jacket and neither of them spoke as he led her inside the restaurant. Clay caught the eye of the waiter and they were shown straight to their table in the corner, overlooking the river.

Jo kept her eyes firmly on the view from the window, anything but face the man opposite. She spent her working life with men and they rarely managed to find her at a loss for a word. But right now she couldn’t think of a thing to say. At least nothing that made any sense.

No such problem tormented Clay. ‘Let me see if I can read your thoughts again,’ he suggested. Jo’s grey eyes widened. The disturbing thoughts racing unbidden through her mind were not the kind she wanted him to read. ‘Duck?’ he said softly, a suspicion of laughter in his voice.

‘Is that an instruction or an observation?’ she asked, making a supreme effort to keep the atmosphere light.

‘An observation,’ he replied, drily, pointing to the birds on the riverbank. ‘You seem to be fascinated by them; I thought perhaps you were deciding which one you wanted for lunch.’ He offered her the menu. ‘Or perhaps you’d rather run an eye over this?’

Jo buried her face in the menu and by the time the waiter returned to take their order had regained something of her natural composure.

‘Something to drink?’

‘A pineapple juice topped up with soda, please.’

Clay relayed this request to the waiter and added a mineral water for himself.

‘You said you have just come back from Canada?’ Jo asked, leading the conversation into neutral territory. ‘What were you doing there?’

‘Working. My mother was a French Canadian. When she died I realised how little I knew about her or where she came from. I wanted to find out.’

‘And now you’re having a holiday?’

He hesitated for a moment before he said, ‘Not exactly. But I’m looking up old friends. When the receptionist at Redmonds said Joe was working here it was close enough to home to take a chance on finding him at the site.’

‘Home?’ She tried to ignore the treacherous rise in her pulse-rate at the thought of him living near by.

‘I bought a cottage on the river at Camley when I was over at Christmas.’

He was staying, and she was ridiculously, stupidly pleased. ‘I love Camley. It’s so unspoilt.’ She was babbling, but he seemed not to notice.

‘Yes. It’s the reason I bought the place.’ He pulled a face. ‘Stupid, really. My offices are in London; a service flat would be a lot less bother. But I couldn’t resist the cottage. It’s old and it needs a lot of work, but I suppose that was part of its charm. The builder has finished putting the structure to rights and it’s habitable, but I’m just camping there at the moment.’

‘So you’re not going back to Canada?’

‘Not permanently. At least for the foreseeable future.’ He regarded her with steady amusement. ‘Are you pleased?’ he asked.

The arrival of the waiter saved her from the embarrassment of a reply and she regarded the poached salmon he placed before her with a sudden loathing for its pinkness … the same colour that she was only too aware was staining her cheeks.

‘Hollandaise?’ Forced to look up, she discovered that he wasn’t laughing at her as she had suspected. His smile was unexpectedly warm. ‘I am,’ he said. ‘Very pleased.’

She swallowed and took the dish he offered. ‘Did you work with Dad for long?’ she asked, the catch in her voice barely noticeable.

‘He was my first project manager. I came to Redmonds from university and was put to work under him. I was very fortunate. You must miss him.’

‘Yes, I miss him. I wanted him to …’ Her voice trailed away. That was too private a need to be shared. Not something to be spoken aloud.

Sensitive to the fact that he had strayed into dangerous territory, he changed the subject, describing his life in Canada, the country. On safer ground, Jo at last began to relax.

When coffee arrived he sat back in his chair and regarded her seriously. ‘So what are your career plans, Joanna? Surely you don’t intend to stay on site?’

‘I was the first woman that Redmonds employed as a site engineer,’ she said, with a certain pride. ‘I plan to be the first woman they appoint as a project manager.’

If he was surprised he hid it well enough, but his next question suggested that he had some understanding of the problems involved. ‘Does that leave you any room for a personal life?’

‘Not much,’ she admitted.

‘But what about marriage? Raising a family?’

‘Men manage to have both.’ She was no stranger to this argument. Her sister had tried so many times to persuade her to take up a more conventional career that she had once offered to make a tape recording and play it at least once a day to save her the bother. But Heather had long since stopped trying to change her and confined her efforts these days to improving her wardrobe.

‘True, and probably not very fair. But men don’t get pregnant. Climbing up and down ladders might get to be a bit of a problem, don’t you think?’

Since Jo had no intention of getting pregnant in the foreseeable future, she ignored the question and glanced at her watch. ‘It’s late. I should get back.’

Clay regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, but didn’t pursue the subject. Instead he summoned the waiter and asked for the bill. ‘Now, about dinner. Where shall I pick you up?

Surprise that he should want to see her again made her laugh a little uncertainly. ‘There’s no need, Clay, really. It was very kind of you to take me out to lunch, but—’

‘I didn’t bring you here to be kind.’ He leaned forward. ‘I still want to kiss you, Jo Grant. You were the one who stipulated being wined and dined first. Of course, perhaps you’ve changed your mind.’ His eyes glinted wickedly. ‘In which case I’ll be happy to oblige right now.’

‘I didn’t …’ Joanna bit back the denial and stood up. It was a ridiculous conversation and she had no intention of prolonging it. Clay rose and she smiled, graciously, she hoped. ‘Please don’t let me rush you.’ She offered Clay her hand and he shook it solemnly. ‘Thank you for lunch. I won’t trouble you for a lift. I can get a taxi back to work.’ She moved swiftly across the dining-room, making for the pay-phone in Reception, where she searched furiously in her bag.

‘Can I offer you some change?’ He was leaning against the wall, watching her.

‘No, thank you,’ Jo said coldly. Then, as she realised that she had none, she changed her mind. ‘Yes,’ she snapped.

‘It’ll be at least ten minutes before one comes,’ Clay said, gently, offering her a handful of silver coins. ‘Why don’t you want me to take you?’

She refused to meet his eye. Selecting a ten-pence coin, Jo fiercely punched in the number of the local taxi service listed by the phone.

‘Don’t you want me to kiss you?’ he asked, seriously. ‘I rather thought you did.’

The phone was ringing in her ear. ‘Keble Taxis, how can I help you?’

‘I should like a taxi to collect me from the George as quickly as possible, please,’ Jo said, studiously ignoring the man at her side.