Molly Matthews Meddles in Marriage (8 page)

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “I do really want to do this. I suppose it must seem strange, but the truth is I need your help in meeting some women outside of the industry. I’ve had my fill of models and actresses. They’re high maintenance with egos bigger than mine, and that’s saying something.”

She gave him a rueful smile and he fancied there was a speckle of forgiveness in those warm brown eyes.

“The last two women I’ve been out with have done real hatchet jobs on me in press. Kiss-and-tells. That’s the way it goes.” He shrugged. “I suppose I want to meet somebody I can really trust. Someone who wants to be with me for who I am, not someone who has an ulterior motive, who thinks I might be able to do wonders for their career.”

He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, his hands clasped together. His mop of glossy brown hair fell over his face and he looked up at her, casually brushing it away from his face.

“It’s not easy having a relationship in this business. I should know. My dad was a jobbing musician and my mum was a top model so I saw first-hand the effects it can have on a marriage. It didn’t help that they were both the most fiery people you could ever meet, but that’s beside the point.”

He laughed and their eyes locked together in a moment of mutual understanding.

“They were wildly in love, but my dad was away a lot of the time and when he was at home, they spent most of their time screaming at each other. I think my mum felt frustrated at being left behind. Her career was over and well, I think she found that really hard. Being stuck at home with only me for company.”

Molly dropped her head to one side, her expression softening.

“That must have been difficult. Did they manage to sort things out?”

“Nope. Not really. Mum died when I was fourteen. The drink got to her in the end. She’d had a problem for years. Dad never really got over it.”

“I’m sorry, that’s very sad.”

Rory shrugged ruefully, the faintest of smiles resting on his lips.

“I’m not after your sympathy, Molly. All I’m saying is I couldn’t cope with a marriage like that. All that drama. I’m looking for a bit of peace and quiet in my home life. It’s not something I’ve had any experience of. That’s why I’ve come to you, Molly. For your help. Left to my own devices, I’ll probably end up repeating the mistakes of my parents.” Already he was drinking far too much than was good for him.

“I see.”

He noticed the small pools of heat staining her cheeks. “So does our deal still stand?”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for.” He smiled. “I’m yours to do with me what you will.” He paused, his gaze resting on hers. “Let all your wonderful women at me.”

She shook her head, returning the smile.

“Good, although I’m hoping you won’t need to go through the entire list of women on my books. Let’s start with a couple of dates to begin with and then we can move forward from there.”

“Sounds good to me.” Rory stood and made for the door. “I promise to be your perfect client from now on. I’m going on all the dates you fix up for me. Any future networking events, put my name down. I’ll be there.” He turned to face her. “Listen, I should make a move. I’ve kept you far too long as it is. Do you want to share a cab home?”

“No, my car’s outside. Thanks for turning up, Rory. I appreciate it. I’ll give you a call in the next few days.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” His gaze swept the length of her body, soaking up every detail of her beautiful face, consigning them to his memory, so he’d be able to recall each and every one of them for later. He leaned across, leaving the faintest of kisses on her cheek. That sweet smell of vanilla taunted his nostrils again. It took all his resolve not to scoop her up in in his arms and shower her with a thousand more kisses.

Chapter Five

The front-door buzzer beeped intrusively, making Molly jump in her skin, causing her to knock her handbag off the arm of the chair in the process. Nerves had been getting the better of her all day. The memory of that supposedly innocuous kiss they’d shared had been running riot in her mind.

“Taxi for Miss Matthews,” came a distorted voice through the intercom. She scooped up the contents of her bag, stuffing them back in hurriedly, held her hands up in dismay at her reflection in the mirror and wondered how, as she dashed down the stairs, Rory was calling the shots once again.

She hadn’t seen him since their late-night heart-to-heart six weeks ago when he’d professed to being a new man. Admittedly, he’d had six dates since then, but Molly sensed she wasn’t any further forward in finding Rory’s perfect woman. She’d been trying to get him into the office for a review meeting, but Rory could be an elusive man when he wanted to be.

“Sorry, Molls,” he’d said down the phone, “I’m not being deliberately evasive, it’s just that work is manic at the moment. I’ve been in rehearsals for a new stage production we’re taking on tour soon and then I’ve been shooting the final scenes of that action film I told you about. There’s been a lot of other stuff on as well, publicity, interviews etc. that have taken up a lot of time too.”

Molly could only sigh at the other end of the phone. How could he manage to make manic sound so desperately glamorous? Her idea of manic was working twelve-hour days, the washing machine flooding the kitchen, the car breaking down and meeting her mum and her sister for dinner, all in the same week!

And she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it was that he’d started calling her Molls, but it was far too late to say anything about it now. The only other person to call her by that name was her dad and from Rory’s lips it sounded affectionate, caressing and way too familiar. Like molten molasses spreading through her veins.

“I’ll send a car and we can meet at my friend’s place in Soho. It’s very quiet and intimate, it’ll be the perfect place to chat. That okay with you?” he added as an afterthought.

The taxi pulled up in the bustling Soho street and her heart fluttered at the dawning realization of where she was.

She might have guessed that the friend’s quiet little place would turn out to be nothing of the sort, but instead the only three Michelin star restaurant in town belonging to the celebrated Marco Faro.

She gulped as she was whisked through the side entrance and ushered in past the cloakrooms, the noise and general hubbub of the restaurant making for a friendly welcome. She peered through the back curtain, her gaze scanning the entire room. Most of the tables were filled and the staff bustled around the room, attentive yet discreet, the overall ambience one of relaxed sophistication. She had to pinch herself to believe she was actually here. But if Rory thought they’d be having a cozy chat here, away from prying eyes, he was very much mistaken.

“This way please, Miss Matthews.” As if answering her unspoken question, a waiter directed her away from the main restaurant and into a small back room where Rory was already waiting.

“Molls, how lovely to see you! You look fabulous,” he said, giving her an appreciative once-over. He took both her hands in his and kissed her on either cheek, the highly charged intensity of their previous exchange missing from this friendly greeting. Much to Molly’s relief. “Dinner for two,” he said, indicating to the solitary table in the room. “What do you think?”

“Oh wow!” The words slipped out before she could remember she was aiming for cool and professional and totally in control this evening. They were all way beyond her reach now.

She stood in awe, turning slowly to take in every aspect of the beautifully decorated room. It was like a Moroccan Bedouin tent, with low-slung cushions in rich velvet and satin fabrics dotted around the room in hues of red and purples with matching drapes flowing in luxurious folds from the corners of the room. Gold lanterns delivered a soft ambient light and in the middle was the circular table adorned by a bronze embroidered cloth, a collection of small candles flickering in the center. It was in complete contrast to the sleek minimalism of the main restaurant.

“It’s stunning,” she said, truthfully. “But how…?” The words slipped away from her.

“I told you, Marco’s a good friend of mine. And when you mentioned you were a big fan of his, I thought what better place to bring you.”

A thrill of exhilaration ran through her body. The idea that Rory had arranged all of this for her was overwhelmingly exciting. And totally inappropriate. How could she be expected to do her job properly when he was landing these sorts of surprises on her?

An open bottle of wine stood on the table and Molly watched as Rory deftly filled two glasses before handing her one. He gestured for her to sit.

“You would never think this little oasis would be hiding at the back of this restaurant, would you? They use it for private functions, intimate dinners, that kind of thing. Apparently a dozen or so marriage proposals have been made here.”

“Really?” It came out as a squeak. “How romantic!” She remembered when Paul had proposed to her. Well, it hadn’t been so much a proposal as a casual statement of intent. There’d been no candlelit dinner or bending down on one knee. They’d been at the wedding of some friends and had just collapsed back into their seats after a drunken stumble through the conga when he’d turned to her and said, “I suppose we ought to think about doing this some time.” And that had been it. Feeling deflated and ridiculously excited in equal measure, she’d simply smiled and nodded her assent.

Now, all memories of Paul were quickly banished as she looked across at Rory, her body reacting treacherously, the small trickle of desire drip-feeding her system, growing stronger by the moment. In a gray silk suit and a pristine white shirt, the top button opened to reveal just the faintest glimpse of bronzed skin, he looked breathtakingly gorgeous. She had to drag her eyes away or else she could easily have sat there all night long, open-mouthed, simply gazing at his beauty.

Focus, she reprimanded herself. Proposals of marriage and Rory. No wonder she was distracted. She needed to concentrate on the job in hand. The trouble was concentrating and being with Rory seemed to be mutually exclusive activities.

She shifted in her seat, took a sip from her wine then delved into her bag, pulling out a folder. Turning to the relevant page, she addressed her client.

“Well, this is lovely. Thank you for bringing me here, it’s a proper treat, but I suppose we ought to get down to business,” she said with a smile. “You’ve been on six dates now with six different people. How do you feel it’s been going?”

He picked up his wine flute, leaned back in his chair and sipped from the glass. All the time his gaze was fixed upon her, his deliciously intense blue eyes glinting with mischievous intent, a lazy smile spread wide across his face. She knew him well enough by now to realize that he wasn’t about to make this easy.

“Good. It’s been going good.” He nodded, distracted, before he leaned forward in his chair and ran his hand down the sleeve of her dress, his fingers gently massaging the fabric. It was only the slightest of touches but it sent shivers down her spine. “You know, that color really suits you. It complements your skin tone and your hair. Lovely.” He gave a sigh of appreciation before sitting back, his gaze now roving all around her, as she felt the heat from his compliment make a steady progression from her chest up into her cheeks.

“Thank you.” She shifted in her seat to mask her discomfort. “Right, well I’ve had feedback from all of the women you met up with and, unsurprisingly”—she allowed herself the smallest of smiles—“they’ve all indicated that they would like to meet up with you again for a second date.”

“Hey.” He threw his hands up in the air, grinning broadly. “It’s good to know that I haven’t lost my touch.”

“Rory!” Her tone was much sharper than she’d intended. “Would you please take this seriously? What’s more surprising is when I look at your feedback forms, it seems you’ve indicated no desire to meet any of those dates again?”

“Er, no.”

Molly waited, tilting her head to one side, inviting more elaboration. But there was none. Just a big fat no. No explanation, no apology, no suggestions.

“All of those dates are lovely girls, beautiful, talented, funny. I know because I’ve spent time with them. I can understand you maybe not hitting it off with a couple of them, but to dismiss them all out of hand without even considering a second date seems strange to me.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Strange? Yep, I might have to give you that. To add to all my other dubious personality traits.”

She sighed audibly and may have even rolled her eyes, much to her shame. Only Rory could get her acting so unprofessionally. Only Rory could be so stubborn, could infuriate her to such extremes and could have her believing she really ought to give up this matchmaking lark and find something more satisfying to do. Like sheep-shearing or scrubbing floors or chopping trees.

She took a deep breath.

“Well, it would be helpful to know why you feel this way about these particular dates so that I can bear it in mind when arranging any future meetings for you. Let’s take Melissa, for example.”

“Melissa?” he asked, his expression blank.
Is he being deliberately awkward?
she wondered.

“Yes, Melissa. She was your first date. Tall girl with lovely long blonde hair.”

“Ahhh yes,” said Rory, pointing a finger in the air triumphantly as if he’d recalled a long-forgotten event from years ago, not a date from just the other week. “Lovely girl, but, um, a teensy bit dull.”

“Dull? Are you serious? She’s a research scientist, has traveled the world extensively and goes mountain climbing on the weekends. You could describe Melissa as any number of things, but dull isn’t one of them.”

“Hmmm, I suppose one person’s dull is another person’s interesting.”

“Okay,” she said, deciding not to rise to the bait. “What about Hannah? She was your second date. Short brown hair in a bob.” A brief description might help with Rory’s short-term memory problem.

He pulled a face.

“Lovely girl again, but that voice!” He shuddered exaggeratedly. “She just didn’t stop talking from the moment we met until the moment she left. And that annoying little laugh. Sorry, it drove me to distraction.”