With This Fling... by Kelly Hunter Page A

he rapidly excused himself and headed their way.
    About damn time.
    ‘He minds you,’ said Sarah. ‘He’s nervous.’
    ‘How can you tell?’ asked Charlotte.
    ‘Shoulders,’ said Sarah. ‘His carriage. The way he keeps glancing at you. He can’t read you. He doesn’t know what you want.’ Greyson’s ex glanced back at Charlotte. ‘That’s interesting.’
    ‘No, I’m pretty sure that’s just me,’ said Charlotte. ‘Hard for Greyson to know what I want when I hardly know myself. I really can’t blame him for that one.’
    ‘Blame who?’ said Greyson, reaching them.
    ‘You,’ said Charlotte and smothered a smile when his eyes narrowed upon her. ‘It’s okay though. I’ve decided not to. For now.’
    ‘Good of you,’ he murmured.
    Sarah was watching them closely. Sarah the psychiatrist who’d known how to read Greyson since childhood and who in the space of a three-minute conversation had already unearthed Charlotte’s greatest flaw. ‘Sarah and I havebeen getting acquainted.’ Charlotte bestowed on him a very level look.
    Greyson bestowed on the lovely Sarah a very level look. Sarah blushed and looked away.
    ‘I might go and see if Olivia needs any help with serving the food,’ said Sarah finally, after a long and awkward pause. ‘Nice meeting you, Charlotte. Grey.’ And then Sarah was gone.
    ‘Nice manners,’ murmured Charlotte.
    ‘What did she want?’
    ‘I guess she wanted to meet me. Get it over and done with.’
    ‘Don’t underestimate her, Charlotte.’ For a moment Greyson looked troubled. Concerned, and not for Sarah. ‘For all Sarah’s good points, she’s not without claws.’
    ‘Greyson. Sweet man.’ Did he really think he was telling her something she didn’t know? Charlotte smiled, really smiled at him and had the pleasure of seeing Greyson relax and smile back. ‘No woman is.’
    ‘So …’ he murmured. ‘You know what you’re doing, then.’
    ‘Hardly,’ she murmured. ‘Do you?’
    ‘Sometimes. Right now, for example, I’m about to introduce you to my father. He’s the one over there captaining the barbecue.’
    But Charlotte hung back. ‘Is he a Sarah fan too?’
    ‘He’s very fond of her, yes.’
    Great.
    ‘Relax. He’ll be fine,’ said Greyson as if reading her mind. ‘And so will you.’
    For an Associate Professor of Archaeology, with all the staidness the position implied, Charlotte Greenstone didn’t hold back when it came to playing the part of free-spirited bohemian. She could tell a story of old bones and bring to life the heat and the dust and the excitement along with it. She could open a person up and rifle around inside until she found something they could both discuss with passion and verve. She had manners, and a great deal of charm, some of which was polished, and some of it innate.
    Grey watched Charlotte bespell his father within minutes of her starting up a conversation with him about the vagaries of catapults versus castle walls. He watched her as she talked oysters with his father’s fishing buddy and recipes with his wife. He watched his mother’s friends tread carefully with her, wanting to find fault with her manners or her demeanour, and discovering to their consternation that they could not.
    His mother remained aloof, never mind Charlotte’s many attempts to initiate conversation and find common ground.
    Chillingly, publicly unimpressed.
    The meal came and went and the hours ground by. People began to make noises about leaving. Charlotte asked if there was anything she could do when it came to the clearing of tables or general tidying up. Grey frowned as Sarah immediately stepped in and began clearing and Olivia waved Charlotte away, telling her to sit and relax and continue telling tales.
    Telling tales.
    As if nothing she’d said so far could be trusted.
    Charlotte smiled politely. She didn’t so much as flinch as she settled back into playing the role of carefree companion and confident lover, and doing herself a