‘What are you going to tell your parents?’ he asked whilst she fumbled for her house keys.

‘I have no idea,’ she muttered, sighing her frustration when she dropped the darn things. ‘Maybe I’ll say I won the Lotto,’ she said as she bent to pick them up.

But Mike swooped up the keys just before her, their faces staying level for a long moment, his dark eyes boring into hers.

‘You should tell them the truth.’

His penetrating gaze kept hers prisoner as they both rose to their feet, her keys still in his hands.

‘You have to be kidding,’ she said. ‘My mother would have a pink fit.’

Actually, Natalie wasn’t too sure about that. Her mother had probably reached the stage where she’d be happy with the role of mother of the bride under any circumstances. She was always bemoaning the fact that her daughter could find rich husbands for other girls but not herself.

‘My father wouldn’t like it, either,’ she added.

‘I’m sure both your parents would be supportive, once you explained the situation. They’re going to benefit substantially, after all.’

‘There’s more to life than money,’ she snapped.

‘Only when you have it,’ he countered just as sharply, making her wonder what hardships he’d once encountered in his life.

‘With your parents in on everything,’ Mike argued, ‘our marriage would be even more convincing. We could have proper family photos taken to show Helsinger.’

Natalie winced. ‘But that would mean a proper wedding dress.’

‘You were always going to have that.’

‘Was I?’

‘Absolutely. And a proper honeymoon wardrobe.’

His eyes ran down her black trousers, right down to her black pumps, then back up again, his expression disapproving. No, worse than disapproving, Natalie conceded. Closer to disgusted.

‘You have a great figure, Natalie. Why do you hide it?’

She stiffened. ‘I don’t hide it.’

‘Yeah, you do. And I think I know why. You’re scared.’

‘Scared of what?’

‘Of some man wanting you and using you again.’

‘My! A pop psychologist as well as a fashion expert and a computer genius!’ she scoffed, even whilst she knew he was dead right.

He stared at her with hard, unfathomable eyes, making her long to know what he was thinking. Probably that she was a total bitch.

But that was all right. She wanted him to think that, didn’t she? Because right at this moment she was afraid of him, afraid of what he could make her feel and want, afraid of what might happen if she abandoned her defences and started dressing as she had once dressed for Brandon.

‘Could I have my keys, please?’ she asked with prim politeness.

He stared at her some more before finally dropping them into the palm of her outstretched hand. Then, before she could stop him, he reached out and picked up a long strand of hair that had come loose earlier.