One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents (83 page)

Georgina seemed absorbed in whatever Jack was now saying, but then, how different the situation was between her and Angelo. They probably lived together. Like normal people in love. That frantic coupling would not be part of their lifestyle. They could afford to enjoy each other's company without thinking of the absences looming on the horizon. Theirs would be a normal, happy life instead of periods spent apart, wishing the empty moments gone yet dreading the cruel passage of time.

Eventually, Francesca simply stood up and waited for Jack to follow suit. Georgina, she noticed, was swaying ever so slightly and her eyes were bright, too bright. She leaned in to Angelo and, as if taking a cue, Jack put his arm over Francesca's shoulder and gave her a brief squeeze.

‘Looks like dinner might be off the cards,' Angelo said and Georgina stood on tiptoe and curled her hands around his neck. He gently untangled them but still supported her as they all left the bar, now busy with people.

Francesca didn't know if either was listening when she politely said goodbye, repeating all the usual platitudes about either she or Jack being in touch with them and, of course, do call if they had any problems.

She certainly wasn't listening to Jack as he waxed lyrical in the back of the taxi on the virtues of the delicate blonde. Seeing Angelo and Georgina had been just what she needed, a slap in the face and a long overdue end to all the nonsense she had been harbouring in her mind about unrequited love and a man pining for her.

She had been employed to do a job and she would do it well. Angelo Falcone might want to see her fail, but she wasn't going to let that happen and she wasn't going to let him affect her. The last thing she needed was for him to look down on her with pity and contempt from the splendid heights of his own domestic contentment.

The taxi dropped her off first. They lived within blocks of one another and, in fact, had, at points, debated the wisdom of sharing a house, but had both backed away from the idea. She didn't want the dubious pleasure of having to live with Jack's convoluted personal life and he, she suspected, did not want to run the risk of having her lecture him on his sloppy habits. So he continued to pay the rent on his property and she continued to pay her small mortgage, even though they saw one another daily.

The first thing Francesca did was to get rid of her suit, which she hung back up in her wardrobe, and have a shower. Then she slipped into some old jeans and an even older tee shirt and went into the kitchen to make herself something to eat. Years in the modelling world had made her very careful in her own eating habits and the fact that she dealt with food every day had made her very quick when it came to preparing anything for herself.

She was sitting down in front of a mushroom omelette and French bread when the doorbell rang.

This, she thought with irritation, was exactly when a butler would have been useful.
Jeeves, just tell Jack that I'm busy and, no, I won't be going with him to the pub for a quick drink.

Instead, she padded across to the front door and opened it just enough of a crack to signal to Jack that she wasn't going out.

It wasn't Jack.

‘Angelo! What are you doing here?' The chain on the door remained in place and she looked at him warily.

‘Have I come at a bad time?'

‘Inconvenient. I'm having my dinner.'

‘I thought I might catch you both to apologise on behalf of my fiancée.' He leaned against the door so that if she decided to close it she would find herself engaging in an undignified struggle.

‘Jack's not here,' Francesca told him reluctantly. ‘And if you lean any harder on this door you're going to break it.'

‘That's the problem these days. Impossible to find solid craftsmanship anywhere. Are you going to let me in?'

‘We've already discussed the food for your wedding.'

‘I told you, I would like to apologise for Georgina. Humour me my good manners.'

No need to come in to apologise
, she wanted to tell him.
You can do that quite easily from outside.
But he was her employer, at least for the time being. More importantly, he was someone who could ruin her if he so chose. And she was a professional. With a sigh, Francesca pulled the chain back and watched as he strolled into her house and looked around him with unconcealed curiosity.

It was a small, old semi-detached house but it had been refurbished to a very high standard. Gone were the dingy carpets. Instead, wooden floors had been laid throughout and the wallpaper had been replaced with various shades of paint, ranging from buff in the hallway to burgundy in the small dining room. The curtains were light and pooled on the ground and, in a burst of creative energy shortly after she had bought the house, Francesca had had installed a stained glass window which formed a dramatic partition between the dining room and the kitchen.

‘Nice,' Angelo commented, taking it all in before allowing his eyes to rest on a now casually clad Francesca. ‘Did you do it all yourself or did your boyfriend help?'

‘You came to apologise, I believe?'

‘It's something I do far better over a cup of coffee, or something stronger if you have it.'

Francesca sighed. ‘You'd better come into the kitchen. I was in the middle of my dinner.'

‘Smells good.'

‘Angelo…' She paused and turned around to look at him. ‘We had our chit-chat three days ago. And we had our serious talk about the menus today. So please spare me the polite conversation.' He obviously hadn't had time to completely change but the formal shirt had been replaced by a rugby style sweatshirt. He looked devastating. Too devastating for someone whose will-power had a tendency to flag whenever he was around. She could almost fill her nostrils with his clean, manly scent when she breathed in.

‘Stop acting like a child, Francesca. There's nothing wrong with being polite. You seem to forget that I didn't purposefully seek you out.'

Francesca didn't reply. She stalked into the kitchen, looked at the mushroom omelette with distaste and made herself eat some of it while she waited for the kettle to boil.

When he sat opposite her, she resisted the temptation to tuck her knees to one side in case she touched him. Crazy! They had touched each other with hunger three years ago and yet now she couldn't bear to think of herself reacting to any inadvertent physical contact.

‘I confess I was curious to meet your boyfriend. He wasn't what I was expecting.'

Francesca shrugged and pushed her plate to one side. ‘What you were or weren't expecting is none of my business.' She made him his coffee, only belatedly realising that she had remembered how he took it. Strong, black, one sugar, just a level teaspoon. ‘There's no need for you to apologise about your fiancée. It's easy to get a bit light-headed if you drink wine at that hour of the evening, before there's any food in your stomach. Was she pleased with what Jack and I had in mind for the meal? I hope so because last-minute changes are very difficult to accommodate.'

Angelo watched as she busied herself, tidying away things from the kitchen counter, dumping dirty dishes in the sink, doing anything to avoid looking at him. Talking about anything but what he wanted to talk about—her partner. Jack was no ex-model, but they looked good together, as though they belonged, and that had got to him. It enraged him that this woman could still affect him after all these absent years and after the way she had walked away from their relationship.

He had dropped Georgina off, returned to his flat, semi-changed, and decided that he was old enough and experienced enough not to allow his emotions to burst through their restraints. Somehow, though, he had found himself back at his car, had found himself punching in that address on the business card into the Satellite Navigation finder in his car, driving to her house.

‘After years mixing with the glamorous people in the modelling world, I was a little surprised to find that your lover is…so…shall we say unapologetically lacking in polish?'

Francesca opened her mouth to refute the assumption that Jack was her lover, and shut it.

‘Maybe I find it refreshing to be with someone who isn't impressed by what people do for a living or how much money they earn.'

‘Are you implying that I was?'

‘I'm not implying anything.' But he was. Would he really have given her the time of day if she had been a checkout girl in a supermarket? And wasn't it telling that he had ended up with a woman whose pedigree would be a credit to him?

‘How long have you known him?'

‘A while.'

‘A while being…?'

‘Being none of your business, Angelo. In fact, my life is none of your business. I can't take away the fact that we were once an item, but that was then and this is now.' She was leaning against the sink, arms folded, every muscle tense.

‘Which doesn't mean that I don't still have your interests at heart.' He liked the sound of that. Liked the way it made him rise above the pettiness of jealousy into the higher realms of magnanimity.

Francesca snorted with open disbelief. ‘And how do you work that one out, Angelo? How have you gone from wanting to settle old scores to caring about my personal welfare?'

‘I admit when I first saw you it brought a lot of old feelings out into the open. I am only human, after all,' Angelo drawled. ‘But since then I've realised that I owe it to you to be honest and I honestly cannot see what you find stimulating about him.'

‘And that's why you came? Because you're big-hearted and you just wanted to express concern about my choice of partner?' She looked at him resentfully, not liking the way he had come into her house and taken it over. ‘I love Jack,' she said truthfully. ‘We work together and we get along well.' She shrugged. ‘It doesn't bother me that he's
unapologetically lacking in polish
, as you put it. Actually, I think it's pretty superficial to judge someone on their appearance. It's what's underneath that counts. But I don't suppose you would agree with that.' She knew that this was a pointless conversation. She knew that she should be as polite but as distant as she could be with him, remind herself that he was a man due to be married to a woman he was in love with. But seeing him after all this time out of the blue had turned her world upside down and she could feel herself hurtling towards an argument, any argument.

‘Because I'm such a superficial person?' He shot her a tight, cold smile. ‘I don't remember you accusing me of that particular trait three years ago.'

‘You went out with a model,' Francesca retorted. ‘That says it all.'

‘In other words, you consider yourself to have been superficial and shallow then. Is that it?'

‘I was glamorous and you went for the glamour.'

‘And your boyfriend didn't? Look in the mirror, Francesca. You might no longer dress in skimpy designer outfits and strut down catwalks, but you've still got the same face and the same body. You might think that packing in the modelling job and going down the sensible career route has suddenly turned you into Ms Averagely Good-Looking whose mind turns men's heads, but let me assure you that the way you look is still going to be what ropes them in.' He allowed the insult time to ferment before going on. ‘And, once you've roped them in, who knows how long the attraction will last? You cannot have failed to notice that your lover was paying more attention than was strictly polite to my fiancée…'

So that was what this visit was about, she thought. He hadn't come to apologise about Georgina's slightly tipsy introduction to them, nor had he come in the role of big-hearted Mr Kind who wanted to save her from her incompatibility with Jack. He had come because he had noticed Jack's flirting. It hadn't been obvious, but then Angelo was a man who noticed the most subtle of nuances.

‘That's not true!' Francesca said quickly. ‘He's just very friendly, very outgoing, very charming.'

‘So outgoing and charming that he barely looked at you once during the entire time we were sitting at that table?' He laughed as though she had taken leave of her senses.

‘We weren't on a date. Of course he wasn't going to sit and stare at me with big infatuated eyes!' She could feel patches of bright colour on her cheeks. ‘We were there to do a job and, since we'll probably be dealing mostly with your fiancée, of course he's going to try and form a bond, make sure that they can communicate!' Who was she kidding? Underneath all the perfectly courteous chit-chat, Jack had pulled the ladies' man out of the drawer. She had detected it in the modulation of his voice and the husky note of his laughter which, she now reflected, there had been far too much of. Georgina hadn't cracked any thigh-slapping jokes and her coy remarks certainly hadn't deserved the level of amusement they had received.

‘You have no idea how difficult it is catering for someone when there's a personality clash,' she forged ahead valiantly.

‘And how much easier when your lover can charm and flirt his way into his client's affections, hmm? Is this a double act you two have perfected? I imagine it works a treat with the golden oldies too.'