A Perfect Night. PENNY JORDANЧитать онлайн книгу.
still remember the plans that Louise had made for them as they were growing up, plans which involved the two of them practically running the world, or at least Louise running the world; with Katie’s devoted support. And Katie of course had willingly given her that support, that loyalty, that commitment, but now Louise had someone else in her life to give her those things…now Louise had the man that she, Katie, had loved and she, Katie…she, Katie had…nothing…
Outside in the square the church clock chimed the hour. Hastily Katie gathered her scattered thoughts. If she didn’t leave now she was going to be late for her appointment with the selling agent.
Reaching for her jacket she headed for the door.
Half an hour later when Katie drove into the visitor’s section of the apartment’s car park the only other person there was a young girl who was obviously quite patiently waiting for someone. Tall and slim, wearing jeans and a cropped white top she gave Katie a warm smile as she climbed out of her car. Instinctively Katie smiled back. The girl had long dark hair and widely spaced apart warm grey eyes. For some reason Katie felt that there was something familiar about her although she had no idea what because she was certain she had never seen her before.
‘Hi, I’m just waiting for my father,’ the girl told Katie. ‘I can see why he’s decided to buy one of the apartments, Mum will love the location. I don’t know where Dad is,’ she added, glancing at her watch. ‘He said to meet him at four-thirty. Has he telephoned you to say he’s going to be late for his viewing appointment?’
As she listened to her Katie realised that the girl must have mistaken her for the viewing agent, but before she could correct her mistake the girl continued, ‘I expect Dad’s already told you that he works for Aarlston-Becker. He’s head of their research department,’ she confided with touching daughterly pride. ‘I’m at a sixth form college in Manchester and we’ve got family in Haslewich so…
‘Oh, here he is now,’ she exclaimed as a large Mercedes swept round the curve of the gravel drive.
Behind it was the much smaller car driven by the estate agent which Katie recognised from her previous meeting with him, but she wasn’t paying either the agent or his car any attention, instead she was concentrating on the Mercedes—and its driver. Now she knew why the dark hair and grey eyes the young girl had seemed so familiar. The man now stepping out of his stationary car was none other than the man who had virtually tried to run her down on her first day at work.
It was plain from his expression that he had recognised her, too, but before Katie could challenge him over his behaviour the estate agent was hurrying to join them, announcing, ‘I do hope that neither of you mind but since you both want to view the properties at virtually the same time I thought we could combine the appointments.’
‘You’re buying one of the apartments?’
The words came out before Katie could silence them and she knew that her expression and tone of voice betrayed exactly what her feelings were.
The cold look she was thrown in disdainful response informed her that her dismay was more than matched by his reaction to the thought of having her as a neighbour, but since his daughter was flinging herself into his arms and hugging him lovingly and claiming his attention, Katie was relieved to recognise that he wasn’t going to be able to respond verbally to her impetuous and betraying comment.
‘Very well, if you’d like to come this way,’ the estate agent suggested.
‘You are interested in and are planning to purchase flat nine, Miss Crighton,’ he checked as he activated the main alarm system and lock to the entrance lobby to the apartments and waited to usher them inside before continuing, ‘And you are purchasing flat number ten, Mr Cooke, is that correct?’
Cooke…this man who looked nowhere near old enough to be the father of a teenage daughter was a Cooke, Katie reflected. Curiously she flicked a discreet look in his direction and then wished she hadn’t as she realised that he’d caught her studying him.
She looked away as quickly as she could, but not before she had recognised that he did indeed bear the very distinctive dark and sensual Cooke good looks—the rakish and very disturbing aura of maleness and danger they all seemed to have inherited in some measure or other from their long-ago gypsy ancestor.
‘In fact,’ the agent continued, as he led the way to the discreetly concealed lifts that serviced the house’s upper floors, ‘seeing as you are going to be close neighbours—yours are the only two apartments on the top floor—perhaps I should introduce you to one another.’
Turning to Katie and before either of them could stop him he announced, ‘Miss Katie Crighton…Mr Seb Cooke…’
She was a Crighton, so where exactly did she fit into the extensive family tree? Seb wondered curiously as he gave Katie a narrow-eyed contemplative look. He could see at close quarters she was far prettier than he had realised that day in the street.
Her eyes were veiled now as they mirrored her body language’s mute dislike of both the situation and him. Her hair, smoothly brushed instead of tousled by the breeze, hung in a thick soft wave down past her shoulders. The black dress she was wearing hinted at rather than revealed the femininity of her body.
It might not be revealing the lushly full curves of her breasts but he had a vivid memory of just how she and they had looked with the wind pressing the fabric of the top she had been wearing against their softness. In fact, unless his memory was playing tricks on him, she possessed a surprisingly voluptuous body for someone so slim.
Without realising how stern or disapproving it made him look Seb frowned. What on earth was he doing even registering the voluptuousness of an unknown young woman’s body, never mind remembering it? He may not have lived totally like a monk in the years since his divorce but the demands of his work coupled with his awareness of just what an appalling husband and father he had been ensured that he kept whatever relationships he had had to discreet liaisons with women who shared his beliefs that he was simply not good marriage material.
As she saw him frown, Katie immediately felt a return of her earlier dislike of him. Heightened by her lack of self-esteem, this fuelled her inner conviction that such a sensual, rawly male man, must surely find her lacking in the kind of feminine attributes that would appeal to him. Not that she would want to appeal to him. Not under any circumstances.
One look at him at close quarters had confirmed that he was most definitely not her type. Too aggressive, too arrogant and far, far too sexy. Oh yes, far, far too sexy, because, hidden away among all the other emotional burdens she was compelling herself to carry, Katie had what she considered to be a most uncool and unappealing secret and that was…
‘If you’re a Crighton, can I ask…Are you one of the twin Crightons?’
As Charlotte’s semi-shy but wholly warm voice broke into her thoughts, Katie focused bemusedly on her. Charlotte too, like her father, had heard all about the Crightons from Guy and Chrissie, but unlike her father she felt no self-consciousness about wanting to satisfy her curiosity about just where Katie fitted into the family jigsaw. For Charlotte, the most fascinating and interesting part of the Crighton family saga was the fact that they so regularly produced sets of twins.
‘Charlotte…’ Seb began warningly, but Katie shook her head. Unlike her father Charlotte was someone she had immediately felt at home with. She knew instinctively that the younger girl’s question was simply a natural expression of her justifiable curiosity and so it was easy for her to smile and nod her head, explaining easily, ‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact I am.’
‘Does your twin live in Haslewich too? Are you and she going to share the apartment?’ Charlotte pressed her.
Katie shook her head. ‘No.’ A small shadow crossed her face dulling her expression, a fact which Seb noticed but which Charlotte, too engrossed in waiting for her to answer and too youthfully immature to be aware of, did not.
‘No, Louise my twin is married and is presently living in Brussels with…Gareth, her husband…’
Now