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CHAPTER ONE

His lips ar the way Nigel had removed his T-shirt and she could feel the heat of his body through her fine silk blouse She closed her eyes tight and told herself that she was enjoying his kisses It was Nigel—her friend, her colleague and soon to be her lover

They were sprawled across the sofa in Zoe's London apart She felt his fingers at the buttons of her blouse and tensed, then forced herself to relax Hadn't she planned this? She enty, and still a virgin! And now she was finally going to be a woman! So why did she feel sick?

The thought stopped her cold, and, shoving at Nigel's chest, she said, 'No, Nigel Get off' The ensuing tussle was undignified and bordering on the ridiculous Zoe struggled froht hiing of the doorbell, followed by loud and rapid knocking

'Saved by the bell!' Zoeafterthe whole house Her apartment was one of six in a converted Victorian town house

She flung open the door, about to deency was for, and stopped Her h the tu it out of her eyes to get a better view It couldn't beBut it wasJustin Gifford

For a second she saw the old Justin, as he had been before the fatal night of her eighteenth birthday He was s tenderly down at her, his dark eyes filled with souess at

'Justin' She said his nah to touch him, but he brushed past her and into the room She closed the door and turned around Obviously she had been ht dryly

'So that's what stopped you' Nigel's voice broke the tense silence 'You heard the bell'

Zoe glanced at Nigel, as sitting on the sofa, struggling to pull his shirt back on, and then back at Justin

The coel looked like a flushed, frustrated twenty-one-year-old—which he was Whereas Justin, at thirty-five, and touching six feet tall, exuded an aura of sophisticated, arrogant masculinity that was undeniable Certain of his place and power in the world as a top barrister with a glittering future, tipped to be one of the youngest judges ever appointed, he do

He was doing it now! Standing in the centre of the roo cashmere overcoat draped casually over his broad shoulders Beneath it a black wool roll-neck sweater moulded the muscular contours of his broad chest, and black deniht-black hair was, unusually for him, runised at a glance what had been going on, was unmistakable

His gaze swept over her slitter in his deep brown eyes would have made a saint quake