One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents (84 page)

‘Don't be sordid,' Francesca said sharply. ‘If Jack's manner was out of place, then I apologise on his behalf. So we're quits. Two apologies that cancel each other out.' She pushed herself away from the counter and was heading for the kitchen door when his hand snapped out and caught her wrist.

The touch galvanized her body into immediate shameful response. She clenched her fist and it was all she could do to maintain a normal voice.

‘I'm not finished yet,' Angelo said smoothly. He could feel the slight tremble running through her body straight into his. It was shockingly energising, and very satisfying. Lover or no lover, he still got to her.

He had to shake himself with the reminder that he was a man engaged to be married. As quickly as he had grabbed her wrist, he now dropped it.

‘I don't know what to say.' Francesca clasped her arms to her chest and kept her head averted, talking to the door, although she could feel his eyes boring into her. ‘I know you're probably angry but, like I said, Jack is a sociable animal. There would have been nothing intentional in his behaviour towards your fiancée.'

‘Would you like to look at me when you say that or is it easier to say when you're turned away?'

Francesca looked at him. ‘He's a really nice guy, Angelo. I'm sorry if you think he was flirting with Georgina, but he wouldn't.'

‘Because he's so committed to you?'

‘I know you want to hurt me, Angelo, but don't bring Jack into it. Don't ruin what we've built up. Jack's worked hard for this and it hasn't been easy for him.'

‘What do you mean by that?'

Francesca could have kicked herself. He had detected something in her voice and he was all ears now.

‘I mean that…that he's had to…sacrifice earning while he was doing his catering course…and…'

‘Don't tell me that you didn't support him financially. With all that cash you'd managed to tuck away over the years?' He looked at her with a shuttered expression. Something wasn't making sense but, whatever connection he was missing, he couldn't locate it. ‘Trying to buy his love, Francesca?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You might be able to pull the purse-strings but if your man has a wandering eye then he's always going to have a wandering eye. You might think that you're calling the shots, but what's he up to when your back's turned?'

Since she knew exactly what Jack was up to when her back was turned she could afford to smile at that misconception. ‘I know what he's up to.' Chatting up women and having random affairs, because when it came to relationships the slightest hint of commitment was enough to send him hurtling off in the opposite direction. Her only advice to him was to practise safe sex. Beyond that, he was on his own.

Angelo didn't like the answer. ‘And you don't care?'

‘He's not up to anything that I disapprove of.' Her voice was steadier now that she was on safe ground and she was no longer trembling. But he was still in her house and there was no way she could relax with him sitting there, inches away from her. She glanced meaningfully at the front door, just visible from where she was standing.

Angelo stood up and she licked her lips nervously. She was tall but she had always felt physically dwarfed by him and it was even more apparent here, in the small kitchen, with the atmosphere crackling between them.

‘Very trusting. Very optimistic.'

‘And what about you?' she flung at him. She threw her head back and stared up into those black, fathomless eyes. ‘If you noticed Jack flirting with your fiancée you must have noticed that she wasn't exactly pushing him away in horror!' Damned if he was going to stride into her house and issue smug, patronising generalisations on the quality of her love life as if she was a halfwit incapable of making the correct choices. ‘So what have you got to say to that?'

‘I'
M SORRY
.
That was out of order.' Francesca backed out of the kitchen and turned away, walking quickly towards the front door, anxious to get him out of her house, even more anxious to curtail a dangerous conversation that had her teetering between a recognition that she had to be polite and a yearning to draw blood.

‘Tricky, isn't it?' Angelo drawled, strolling towards her and then propping himself up with one hand on the door, making sure that she couldn't actually open it.

‘What is?'

‘Pretending.'

‘Pretending what? I'm not pretending anything!' Her voice was laced with panic.

‘Oh, yes, you are,' he chided softly. ‘We both are. Pretending that the past is over and done with and we no longer give a damn about what happens in each other's lives…'

‘I
don't
give a damn what happens in yours!' Francesca finally raised her eyes and looked at him. She found herself mesmerised by his mouth. She imagined it touching hers and she had to fight the convulsive shudder that threatened to rip through her. ‘
You're
the one who keeps referring to our past! I'm just interested in getting on with this job and doing it to the best of my ability!'

‘Oh, really. And do you normally tremble like a leaf when you're in the company of one of your male clients? Because you're trembling now.'

‘I'm nervous!' Francesca cried. ‘You make me nervous!'

‘Why?'

‘You know why! Because you're right. A few well-placed words could ruin what Jack and I have built up!' A few well-placed words could do a hell of a lot more damage than that, but there was no way she was going to let him have any insights into her thoughts and fears. ‘And what if I give you my word that I will do nothing to endanger your livelihood?' He realised that he didn't want her tiptoeing around him, scared to death that he might carry out his casual threat. Not that he knew what he wanted. He shook his head in exasperation. ‘I have no intention of ruining you, Francesca. I admire what you've done. It must have taken a lot of guts to walk away from a safe income and take a chance on something like catering. And you, who never knew how to boil an egg.' He raised his eyebrows and smiled at her, the first genuine smile she had seen on his face since fate had brought them back together.

Guarded though she remained, she felt herself relax. Just a little. Enough to return a ghost of a smile.

‘I know.' When she lowered her eyes she saw his firm, sensual mouth. Lower them a bit more and she bumped into the hard expanse of his chest.

He was right. It was tricky pretending, acting as though they were vague acquaintances who just happened to have bumped into one another. A lot of the friction between them could be eradicated if they could speak to one another normally. She drew in a deep breath and looked at him.

‘Would you like another coffee, Angelo? I apologise if I've been on edge. It's been hard wondering whether you were going to pull the rug from under our feet…'

Our feet.
The coupling involved in that simple phrase cut him to the quick. It was a reaction he kept to himself as he took hold of the olive branch offered and accepted the coffee, obliging her by going into the sitting room to wait while she made it.

The sitting room was as modern as the rest of the house. Comfortable, with a deep sofa and two generously sized chairs, but there were no concessions to the Victorian origins of the house. The rug was thick and boldly inviting while the walls, bar two dramatic framed posters, were free of clutter.

She walked in while he was inspecting the room and quietly placed the coffee on the squat side table by the sofa, then she sat on one of the chairs and watched him.

‘I always imagined that you would be drawn to the little country house with the white picket fence,' he said finally, looking at her over the rim of his cup as he sipped.

‘One day.' Francesca shrugged. ‘Just not yet. London is the right place to be when it comes to catering. Much bigger catchment area. I could still do it in the country somewhere, but I doubt there would be enough money in it to keep things going and I can't afford to try and turn a hobby into a living.'

‘So where did the money go, Francesca?'

‘Houses in London aren't cheap and especially houses in a halfway decent location.'

‘So all those earnings went into buying this place?'

‘Mostly.' She lowered her eyes, knowing that he would have clocked into the obvious discrepancy. She
had
been a successful model for quite a while and the pay cheques had not been measly. ‘And also there's the purpose-built kitchen behind the house. If we wanted to do catering seriously we couldn't just make do with my tiny kitchen. I had to have that built and it wasn't cheap.'

‘And what does the boyfriend contribute to this scenario? What was he doing before he went into cooking?'

It was a perfectly harmless question. Francesca tried not to read criticism into it but she could feel her hackles rise and she swallowed down the urge to launch into another defensive argument. There was no mileage in arguing with Angelo. It just created a never-ending atmosphere of thick tension in which it was impossible to function. Bad enough sitting here with him, in the same room, knowing that only a few metres of empty space separated them.

He was leading the way by behaving in an adult fashion with her and it was her duty to follow his lead. She drew in a deep breath and skirted around a potentially perilous question.

‘He was doing this and that. You know. Well, actually, you probably don't. I can't imagine you were ever someone who just did this and that.'

‘I admit I never saw the value of wasting time trying out a few occupations for size before settling on the right one. Life is too short for wrong turnings.' The only wrong turning he had ever made in his life had involved the woman sitting across the room from him now. She had the face of an angel and, for a moment in time, he had thought she had the personality to match. She hadn't. She had wanted him, desired him, tantalised him, but she had never seen a future in him. He had made a huge error of judgement with her and he felt bitterly proud that he could be sitting here, conducting a conversation with her for all the world as though they had parted on good terms.

It was, he told himself, a mark of his self-control that he had managed to subdue the basic urge for revenge that had blinded him when he had unexpectedly set eyes on her a few days ago. Not only that, but he could engage in conversation about her lover. Of course, it helped that he had Georgina.

He realised guiltily that his fiancée hadn't crossed his mind once since entering the house.

‘Sometimes you need to take a few wrong turnings before you find the right one,' Francesca said, thinking of all the wrong turnings she had taken in her past.

‘Are you referring to us?' Angelo asked silkily and she flushed.

‘No, of course not!'

‘Then what? Your past? A time before you met me?'

‘No,' she said quickly. ‘You're right. I was referring to us. I mean, here you are now, engaged to be married. It's wonderful!' She gave a high, brittle laugh. ‘And Georgina is just right for you, Angelo.'

‘In what way?'

‘Well, she's beautiful and well-educated and…sophisticated…'

‘And you were none of those things?'

‘We're not talking about me.' The little lies she had told came back in a rush. The non-existent education, and her sophistication had been of the purely surface sort. A few scratches and under the glitter was the hard, ugly metal. Not that he had ever known that. ‘How did you meet her?' she asked, changing the subject.

‘At a party given by mutual friends.'

Francesca could picture the scene. A collection of glamorous, well-bred people, the elite of the elite. She could imagine Angelo's reaction when he saw the small blonde, the awakening of sudden, intense passion, the pursuit. She had lived it and loved it for a short while.

‘You must be very excited at the prospect of getting married.'

‘The time is right.' He shrugged and sipped some of the coffee. ‘There is no need to look so aghast, Francesca. Don't tell me that you still believe in love and romance?'

‘As a matter of fact, I do.'

‘And it's what you have found with your boyfriend? Love, romance and the promise of a fairytale ending?'

‘What's wrong with that?' Francesca lowered her eyes. It crossed her mind that the small deceit about her relationship with Jack, initiated for all the right reasons, might not have been such a great idea after all. She now had no choice but to go along for the ride.

Angelo felt a sharp, brief stab of jealousy and smiled coolly. ‘Nothing if you happen to have your head in the clouds. You're right. Georgina and I are well-matched. She is all that any man could want in a wife, a perfect foil for me, as a matter of fact.'

‘Meaning what?'

‘Meaning that she detests confrontations as much as I do. I find that an admirable trait in a woman. Makes for a very harmonious atmosphere.'

‘Makes for a doormat, if you ask me,' Francesca muttered under her breath, and he leaned forward, straining to hear.

‘I don't think I caught that.'

‘I just wondered whether a marriage in which there are absolutely no confrontations might be a little unchallenging for a man like you, Angelo.'

Same old indifference to his boundaries, he noted angrily. He opened his mouth to put her neatly in her place, but she had already taken up the threads of her observation.

‘I mean, isn't it going to get a little boring if you spend all your time in the company of someone who only knows how to agree with you? Face it, it's hardly as though you don't have a huge repertoire of very contentious ideas.' She laughed, ignoring the stunned displeasure on his face.

‘Are you telling me that I am making a mistake with my fiancée?' Angelo enquired coldly, and Francesca's laughter faded away.

‘No, of course not! I'm sure Georgina isn't as submissive as you pretend.'

‘And maybe I have learnt after my experiences with you that I prefer women who do not disrespect me.'

Francesca accepted the inflammatory criticism in mortified silence. Yes, she had broken off their relationship. He had wanted more of her—but he hadn't proposed, had he? He had saved that for the right woman.

‘Then lucky you. You found someone who fits the bill,' she replied blandly. She stood up. ‘I'm really tired, Angelo. It's been nice chatting to you.' She walked towards the door and waited in the doorway for him, both hands pressed behind her. ‘It's good that we can both be adults.' He was standing right in front of her now and she felt her mouth go dry.

‘Isn't it. You're trembling again, Francesca. Don't tell me that I still make you nervous, even though I've reassured you that I won't be making any efforts to discredit you. In fact, if your food lives up to its promise I'll be sure to recommend you to friends and clients.'

Was she trembling? ‘Thank you. We can always use all the help we can get and word of mouth is the best form of advertising in this business.' The words were coming out but her brain felt like cotton wool. All she could see was the even rise and fall of his broad chest.

Angelo reached out and feathered his finger along her arm. It was barely a touch but still enough to send her nervous system into immediate meltdown. She pressed herself harder against the doorframe to stop herself from sliding ignominiously to the ground.

‘Have you wondered, Francesca?' he asked softly.

‘Wondered? Wondered what?'

‘Wondered what it would be like to make love again…'

‘No, I have not! And that's…that's…
disgusting
! You're engaged to be married, Angelo! I realise that you might be cynical about love and romance but don't you have any loyalty
at all
?'

‘There's no need to get so morally outraged.' He smiled at her with lazy amusement. ‘I wasn't proposing that we rip our clothes off and have sex in your hallway.'

Francesca squeaked and Angelo raised his eyebrows. ‘You didn't think that, did you? As you said, that was then and this is now.'

‘I…I…' she spluttered.

‘I wouldn't cheat on my fiancée. Which isn't to say that my mind has not speculated on what we had. We
were
very good together in bed, after all…'

‘Your mind…your mind should behave itself, Angelo! And it's not right that we should be talking about this!'

‘I thought we had done away with the pretending game.'

‘It's time for you to go.'

‘Meaning that this conversation embarrasses you?'

‘Meaning that this conversation is inappropriate. What would Georgina say if she knew…knew…?'