Suddenly Katy felt sick and she closed her eyes to blot out the images.

She didn’t want sex with Freddie at all.

Alex frowned and was about to say something when their mother called him over.

‘Back in a minute.’ He touched Katy gently on the cheek, exchanged a meaningful glance with Libby and strolled across the lawn, lithe and athletic and totally confident.

‘He’s bloody good-looking. How come we’re both blonde and he managed to have such dark hair? It’s really spectacular with those blue eyes.’ Libby watched him charm a group of her father’s clients. ‘He’s everything a man should be. Sexy, strong, clever. The funny thing is, if he weren’t his son I’m sure Dad wouldn’t approve of him. He’s just a little bit bad and dangerous, isn’t he? And we all know what Dad thinks of dangerous men.’

Katy sucked in a breath.

She’d only ever met one dangerous man.

There was a tense silence. ‘You still think about him, don’t you?’ Libby looked at her, her blue gaze penetrating. ‘It’s been eleven years since he broke your heart but you still think about him.’

Katy didn’t even have to ask whom she meant. ‘I—I don’t…’

The sick feeling grew worse and her heart started to beat faster.

‘Don’t lie to me, Katy.’ Libby’s voice was soft. ‘It all seems such a long time ago now, doesn’t it? Our eighteenth birthday party. Do you remember that summer?’

Katy stood still, her features frozen. Of course she remembered it. She remembered every single minute.

Libby’s voice was soft and dreamy. ‘I envied you so much. I would have done anything to have been you.’

‘Stop it, Lib.’ Katy closed her eyes and then opened them again quickly. Closing them just made the images worse.

‘How was it that Dad used to describe him?’ Libby tipped her head on one side. ‘Brilliant, but dangerous. I’ll never forget the first time he came to our house for one of Dad’s social evenings. We were sixteen, remember? Everyone else was in a black tie and Jago Rodriguez turned up on a motorbike dressed in black leather with absolutely no respect for English social customs.’

‘That’s because he’s Spanish,’ Katy muttered, wondering why Libby was choosing this particular moment to tackle a subject that she’d studiously avoided for years.

‘That probably was half the problem,’ Libby agreed. ‘He wasn’t British and he didn’t have the right pedigree. I thought Mum was going to have a heart attack. I loved the fact that he didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of him. You would have thought that being the son of our housekeeper might have made him feel awkward but he had absolutely no hang-ups about who he was or where he came from.’

‘That’s because Mrs Rodriguez was such a great mother,’ Katy said, not wanting to remember those times. ‘Spaniards are renowned for having close families and she gave him pride and a belief in himself. And then Dad gave him his big break in the City—’