Separate Rooms. Diana Hamilton

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘IS THIS man bothering you?’

      The relaxed, vaguely transatlantic drawl cut Honey’s tirade off in her throat. She hadn’t wanted to come to this wretched party and Graham, as ever, was being a pain. But she’d imagined her voice had been pitched low enough not to carry, especially considering the volume of chatter. Registering the tide of scarlet that flooded Graham’s nicely put together features, she turned on one spiky heel to deliver a frosty comment and met speedwell-blue eyes in a tanned, fantastically masculine face and promptly forgot what she’d been going to say.

      ‘Well?’ One sable brow quirked upwards and Honey’s fingers tightened in a defensive reflex action as she clutched her unwanted glass of wine against her breast, feeling the cold shiver of the glass against the creamy flesh exposed above the scoopy neckline of her black silk dress.

      ‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ she got out, her dark brown eyes still spitting temper. ‘Graham’s a friend and—’

      ‘If you screech abuse to your friends, I would hate to think what you do to your enemies,’ the stranger inserted smoothly, his mouth curling. And Honey turned back to Graham. Screech? Had she really? But Graham had disappeared into the crowd and she felt her shoulders loosen with relief. Good. She could make her excuses to Sonia and slope away. And the smooth voice drawled amusedly, ‘Feeling better now? Fine. The poor wimp’s slunk off to drown his sorrows so why don’t we two crash out of this rabble and have a quiet drink in one of the bars downstairs?’

      The invitation was delivered in a take-it-or-leave-it tone that intrigued her, and she tilted her head on one side and back because he had to be well over six feet tall. Well over because she stood five six in her stockinged feet and tonight she was wearing four-inch heels. And no one, but no one, had ever called Graham Trent a wimp before. He was the town’s most eligible bachelor, his father one of the richest men in the area. He would be furious if he ever found out!

      ‘I don’t drink with strangers.’ She knew her eyes were full of laughter; she could feel it, and a little light amusement was a darn sight better than the heavy hassle Graham never failed to provide, and the wide rangy shoulders lifted just slightly beneath expensive grey suiting as the smooth dark voice confirmed,

      ‘But you think it might be marginally better than fighting with friends?’ He took her glass from suddenly unresisting fingers and put it on a wide window-ledge, those quite incredibly blue eyes smiling down into hers. ‘And if it makes you feel easier I’ll introduce myself. Ben Claremont, long-time buddy of Colin Watts. I’m a house guest with them for the next few weeks, which is why I couldn’t get out of this thrash tonight. And if we don’t make a run for it now Sonia’s going to grab us.’

      Watching his tall, lithe body move effortlessly through the crowd, making it patently clear that he wasn’t bothered whether she went with him or not, Honey swallowed a grin and began to follow. Well, why not?

      Besides, he had been right. Sonia the indefatigable would soon pounce on any guests who weren’t circulating, chattering and grinning to show they were having a whale of a time. And although Sonia had been a friend since schooldays Honey had never been able to understand why every year the Wattses hired the biggest function room in the town’s smartest hotel to throw an anniversary party. Everyone knew that the other three hundred and sixty-four days they were at each other’s throats!

      In any case, Ben Claremont’s take-it-or-leave-it attitude intrigued her, she had to admit. She had been fighting men off ever since she had turned seventeen and it was refreshingly different to come across one who was quite obviously not bowled over by a curvaceous body, wicked brown eyes and a mane of fiery red hair!

      She caught up with him at the head of the sweeping, thickly carpeted stairs and, apart from the way he dipped his glossy dark head in acknowledgement, he made no comment, merely matching his pace to hers as they descended the shallow staircase, the noise level receding to an opulent hush as he stood aside to allow her to precede him into the discreetly lit and elegantly furnished cocktail bar.

      ‘Make it two cognacs,’ Ben told a hovering waiter, then sat on the banquette next to Honey, his endless legs casually outstretched, his eyes frankly curious as he followed on, ‘What were you and your friend fighting about, Honey? He looked as if he wanted to strangle you.’

      She gave him a level stare. Did he know her name, or had he simply been using a meaningless endearment? The only way to find out was to ask.

      ‘How did you know my name?’

      ‘Simple, I asked.’ The brandy balloons arrived on a silver tray and he extracted a note from his pocket, idly gestured the waiter away, his eyes never leaving hers as he drawled out a string of particulars. ‘Honey Ballantyne, twenty-six years old, dealer in antiques, with a sizeable shareholding in BallanTrent Components. And the dog-housed boyfriend is Graham Trent whose father has a fifty per cent holding in the said company. Right?’ His long mouth twitched, registering the black snap of her eyes. ‘And before you blow a gasket, Sonia volunteered the information. All I did was ask who you were. She tells me she’s your best friend.’

      Oldest, but not best—Honey’s thoughts went off at a tangent. And trust her to give out her life history at the drop of an idle question. Sonia had always been a gossip, a stirrer, and the older she got, the worse she got. It came from having an empty life.

      The silent spurt of temper he had so obviously noted was now under control and she leaned back, her eyes narrowing as she observed the way he cradled his glass, warming the liquid with his capable, well shaped hands. He looked supremely relaxed and at home with himself and she was glad he hadn’t been trying to sweet-talk her, using a meaningless endearment. She was tired of empty flattery from men who only saw her as a sex object. So far, this man seemed different from the many others who had tried to get her into bed and when he repeated, ‘Why were you and Graham fighting?’ she was sure enough of his impartiality to offer defensively,

      ‘He started it. Going on and on about Sonia’s and Colin’s fifth wedding anniversary party and how we’d be ninety years old before we got around to celebrating our first. I will not be pressured that way.’ Temper surfaced again, had her reaching for her glass, swirling the contents round and round the bowl. And Ben deduced disinterestedly,

      ‘I take it you’re in no hurry to name the day. How long have you been engaged?’

      ‘We are not engaged. Never