Free Sweet Surrender (The Dysarts) by Catherine George Page A

operations director of their new UK branch after his successful research into a mania-controlling drug.
    â€˜So I wasn’t far out about a miracle cure,’ said Kate, impressed.
    â€˜It’s not a cure,’ he said quickly. ‘But if my brainchild merely improves life in certain cases I’ll feel I’ve done something worthwhile.’
    â€˜I’ll drink to that.’ She raised her glass to him.
    â€˜By the way,’ said Alasdair casually, ‘the man I met at your place—what does he do for a living?’
    â€˜Jack? He’s a builder.’
    Alasdair looked taken aback. ‘Oh, right. What does he build?’
    â€˜Houses.’
    Alasdair grinned. ‘He builds houses and his name is Jack?’
    Kate laughed. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
    The lighter mood prevailed as they did justice to the meal, and for the first time since they’d met again they began to talk with the ease of old. As the evening progressed Kate thought they might almost have been the two students from the past. This time, however, there was one great difference. Alasdair was making it clear he found her desirable, and, though the less cerebral side of her liked that—and Kate had to admit she found him more physically attractive than ever—she was no longer desperately in love with him. Which made things a great deal more comfortable all round, she thought with satisfaction.
    â€˜So where did you go the other night?’ asked Alasdair, over the coffee they’d elected to drink at the table rather than fight for a place back in the bar.
    â€˜To Bristol for a meal and a trip to the cinema.’
    He frowned. ‘But it snowed like the devil. It must have been tricky driving back.’
    â€˜We made it across the Severn Bridge safely enough in Toby’s four-wheel drive. And as usual Adam was lurking when we arrived, to make sure little sister got home in one piece.’ Kate wagged an admonishing finger. ‘So don’t you start, Alasdair. One brother’s more than enough.’
    The grey eyes lit with an unholy gleam. ‘Believe me, Katharine Dysart, the last thing I feel towards you is brotherly.’
    â€˜You did once.’
    â€˜Ah, yes. But, as you’ve taken pains to point out to me so often, you’ve grown up since then.’ He smiled. ‘You were a clever, skinny little kid in the old days, all eyes and hair. You’re a woman now, Kate, and a good-looking one at that. But, just as it was back then, half your appeal for me is the brain behind those gold cat’s eyes of yours.’
    â€˜Cat’s eyes!’
    â€˜A sexy Persian cat,’ he assured her, and stood up to hold her chair for her.
    The precarious rapport between them held on the journey back right up to the point when Alasdair startled his passenger by turning in to a layby a couple of miles short of Friars Wood. They were out in the country on a minor road with no streetlights, no other houses in view, and at this time of night no traffic passing by—a factor which won Alasdair a look of dark suspicion from Kate.
    â€˜Why have we stopped?’ she demanded.
    He undid his seatbelt, then reached over and undid hers. ‘Don’t be naive,’ he said, and kissed her.
    Kate’s immediate reaction was a sense of disbelief. This was Alasdair, she had to remind herself. This reallywas happening. And, instead of pulling away, she decided she might as well savour the sensation as Alasdair’s lips parted hers. If only out of curiosity. She made no protest even when he pulled her as close as it was possible to manage in the confines of the car, but when his mouth seduced hers with a sudden savagery unexpected heat shot through her, and she gasped as his hands pushed her jacket aside to caress her breasts through the thin sweater.
    Despite the leap in her blood Kate’s principal sensation was heady elation at the knowledge that Alasdair wanted