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CARTER
WHITWORTH
Accepting
the glass of sherry Carter had poured for her, she sat
down on the sofa., eyeing him warily when he sat beside
her instead of returning to his chair. ‘You’ve certainly
changed,’ he said with an admiring grin.
‘So have
you,’ Lauren answered cautiously.
He draped
his arm casually across the back of the sofa behind her
shoulders. ‘We didn’t get along very well, as I remember.’
He mused.
‘Now, we
didn’t,’ Lauren flicked a self-conscious glance toward
Carol, who was observing her son’s little flirtation, her
eyes cool and inscrutable, her expression regally aloof.
‘Why
didn’t we get along?’ Carter persisted.
‘I, er,
don’t reacall.’
‘I do.’
He smiled. ‘I was insufferably rude and thoroughly rotten
to you.’
Lauren
stared in amazement at his frank, rueful expression, her
prejudice against him beginning to dissolve. ‘Yes, you
were.’
‘And you—
He
grinned ‘—behaved like an outrageous brat at dinner.’
Lauren’s
eyes brightened with an answering smile as she slowly
nodded her head, ‘Yes, I did.’
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