The Best Man for the Job (11 page)

If he and Celia had sex again, whether once, twice or a hundred times, when that side to their relationship burned out—as it inevitably would when he felt he needed to move on—it would make things unbearably awkward between them. Decisions they’d have to make would be clouded by things that were totally unrelated.

So they’d both be far better off ignoring the chemistry and concentrating on what was important here, namely the child.

Thank God she’d turned down his offer of his house next door. Heaven only knew what he’d been thinking when he’d suggested that. He might have been just throwing things out there but if she’d actually taken him up on the offer she’d have been living a mere stone’s throw away instead of five miles, and his resolve to disregard the attraction that arced between them would have sorely been put to the test. Simply being in her vicinity did that as it was. A half-hour hospital appointment had been bad enough. Twenty-four-seven might just about do him in.

At least there was no reason to see her for a while, he thought, abandoning the Sunday papers for a moment, and reaching for his phone, which had just begun to ring. He’d use the time to shore up his defences and build up an immunity to her, so that when he next came across her he’d be rock solid, utterly immutable and ruthlessly focused.

Unlike now.

Feeling as dizzy and winded as if someone had thumped him in the jaw and then followed up with a punch to the gut, Marcus scowled and glared at the name on the screen.

For a split second he was tempted to ignore the call, let it go to voicemail and get back to her once those barriers were in place and he was immune. But that smacked of weakness and he had
some
pride, so he braced himself and hit the button. How disturbing could a phone call be anyway?

‘Celia,’ he said, pleased and relieved to note that he sounded cool and casual and not at all bothered by the fact that she’d rung.

‘Hi,’ she said, and, even though he could just about ignore the wave of heat that swept through him at the sound of her voice, there wasn’t anything he could do about the goosebumps breaking out all over his skin.

He set his jaw, shifted his chair so he was sitting in a shaft of lovely warm sunlight and told himself that the sooner he made a start on building those defences, the better. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine, fine. You?’

Exhibiting worrying displays of a complete loss of control, but nothing he couldn’t handle. ‘Couldn’t be better.’

‘I’m so glad.’

She sounded glad. She sounded all warm and soft and seductive and he wondered what she was doing at half past ten o’clock on a Sunday morning. Where she was. What she was wearing... ‘So what can I do to—I mean, for, you?’ he said, his voice just as warm and soft and seductive, which
so
wasn’t the plan.

‘I’m ringing to see if you’d like to come over for supper some time.’

Mentally giving himself a slap and pulling himself together, he echoed, ‘Supper?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I’ve been thinking,’ she said, and he thought that it was a good thing that at least one of them was. ‘You’re the father of my child and it occurred to me that if we’re going to do this together, it would make sense to discuss values. Opinions we might have about parenthood. And other stuff.’

What other stuff? Sex other stuff? His head swam for a second and his pulse spiked and then he calmed down because, no, not sex other stuff, clearly. He was the only one having trouble with that at the moment. ‘I see.’

‘I also thought that it would be a good idea to get to know each other a bit better and learn to communicate without the sarcasm. Food seemed like a good idea. So what do you think?’

Marcus thought that was a fine idea. Maybe in a few months’ time, say around January, when he’d have had the chance to build up those defences.

‘Makes sense,’ he said, carefully vague.

‘Great,’ she said brightly. ‘So what about tonight?’

Marcus nearly dropped the phone. ‘Tonight?’

‘If you’re available.’

He was. He was available a lot of nights these days. Not that that was the point. ‘What’s the hurry?’ he said, trying to maintain the cool and calm tone he’d been foolishly quick to congratulate himself on only a couple of minutes ago. ‘We have months.’

‘I know. But it’s going to fly by and I’m busy every night for the next week or so. So, are you free?’

Breaking out in a sweat, he shifted his chair out of the sunlight. ‘No,’ he said abruptly. ‘And I won’t be for a while.’

There was a moment’s silence and he inwardly cursed because he could have turned her down a little more tactfully.

‘Oh,’ she said flatly. ‘Right. Well. When you do have a moment free in your busy schedule let me know.’

Despite the flatness of her tone, he could hear the disappointment in her words, and as guilt swept through him his conscience suddenly started prodding at him. All she was suggesting was supper. Surely he could manage that. He always had before. Where was this idea that Celia somehow posed a threat to him coming from anyway? It was ridiculous.
He
was ridiculous.

‘Wait,’ he said, hearing a rustling sound and guessing she was about to hang up.

The rustling stopped. ‘What?’

He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. ‘Look, let me see what I can do.’

‘Really?’

He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and reminded himself that it was only supper. ‘Really,’ he said. ‘What I had planned shouldn’t be too difficult to get out of.’ Which was true seeing as the only thing he had in his schedule was a night in front of the TV with his laptop.

‘Won’t she mind?’

At the hint of waspishness in her voice, Marcus found himself opening his eyes and smiling faintly. ‘She won’t mind at all.’

‘One of these days you’re going to come up against someone who does.’

As the memory of his ex flashed into his head he shuddered, his smile vanishing. ‘Not in my plans.’ He sat back and idly flicked through one of the colour supplements. ‘And anyway, what was that you were saying about learning to communicate without the sarcasm?’

There was another pause. ‘Fair enough,’ she muttered eventually. ‘Sorry. Old habit.’

‘If it’s too tricky to resist, I’m more than happy to join in. I might even find myself having to make some kind of comment about the fact that you’re willing to sacrifice a night’s work for supper with me.’

She huffed, all contrition gone. ‘You’ve made your point, Marcus.’

‘Have I?’

‘For the moment.’

‘Until the next time you forget.’

‘Until then,’ she conceded after a moment.

‘So, shall we say seven?’ he said, thinking that that gave him enough time to throw up at least a few barriers.

‘Sounds perfect,’ she said.

‘Although maybe it would be better if you came over here.’

‘Why?’

‘You don’t cook and I’ve seen the state of your fridge.’

She hummed. ‘Another point well made.’

‘See you later, Celia.’

‘I’m looking forward to it.’

As they hung up and the prospect of having Celia in his house, a mere floor away from his bed, sank in Marcus thought that she might be looking forward to tonight, but he wasn’t. At all.

ELEVEN

‘Something smells
good,’ said Celia, inhaling deeply as she stepped into Marcus’ house just past seven and thinking that she wasn’t just talking about the delicious aroma wafting from the kitchen.

Not that how heavenly he smelled or how gorgeous he looked was of any interest, of course. No. Tonight was purely about finding out what made him tick. Revealing a bit about how she ticked. Laying the foundations for a solid, long-term,
platonic
relationship. If she focused on that, she should be all right and wouldn’t make any more mistakes about which things smelled or looked good.

‘Roast beef,’ he said, standing back as she brushed past him, his breath hissing softly through his teeth.

‘With everything else?’ she asked, wondering about that hiss and what it meant. If it meant what she thought it meant then he was finding the attraction that still sizzled between them as disruptive as she was. And if that
was
the case, then she could only hope that he’d come to the same conclusion as she had and had decided to ignore it, because if he had other ideas, such as wanting to explore it, then who knew what might happen? Her willpower was strong, but would it be strong enough to resist him if he suddenly grabbed her right now and kissed her?

‘Naturally.’

She glanced at his mouth and her own watered. At the sound of supper, obviously, not at the thought of kissing him. ‘Great,’ she said with a bit of a strained smile.

‘Go through to the kitchen. You know the way.’

Technically she did, so she walked down the hall and made for the kitchen. Metaphorically, however, she was floundering, not really knowing quite in which direction to head.

What on earth was wrong with her? She never normally had this much trouble with her self-control. She’d read about the brain sometimes going AWOL during pregnancy but it hadn’t occurred that it would ever happen to her. The possibility that it had was unsettling. And it meant she had to be extra specially careful when she was around him.

He indicated that she should sit down, so she did. She ran her gaze over the table, laid for two—no candles, thank goodness—and then she turned it to the chef, who was busying himself with supper.

After switching the oven off, Marcus opened it, took the meat out and stuck a cloche over it, and then deftly dealt with a saucepan that was bubbling over.

His back view really was magnificent, she thought idly, her mouth watering at the aroma as she put her handbag on the chair next to hers and slowly let her gaze drift over him. In a purely objective fashion, of course, because objective appreciation of her host was allowed. It was good manners, in fact. Practically an obligation.

Whatever it was, she ogled the broad shoulders that tapered down to a slim waist that she envied now that her own was thickening, great bottom and long muscled legs, and let out a soft sigh of admiration.

Why was getting it on with him a bad idea again...?

‘Drink?’ he asked, turning around and making her jump. She went bright red, as if she’d been caught doing—and thinking—something she shouldn’t have been. Which she had.

Wishing she could down a double gin and tonic for the sake of her nerves, Celia asked him for a tonic and to hold the gin, and once she’d quenched her suddenly rampant thirst decided it might be wise to do a little less of the ogling and a little more of the small talk.

‘When did you become such a good cook?’ she asked, putting her glass down and watching him lift a lid and peer into a cloud of steam.

‘When I realised it was either that or starve. Then I discovered I liked it. I find it relaxing.’

‘The ability to feed is a much sought-after quality in a man, I’d have thought.’ In any man she ever ended up with, that was for certain, if he didn’t want to go hungry.

‘Not sure it’s my most sought-after quality,’ he said, shooting her a lethal grin over his shoulder.

Celia went warm, and half-heartedly tried to convince herself that it was merely down to the heat the oven was throwing out. ‘No, well, I imagine not.’

He turned, leaned against the counter and shot her a quizzical look. ‘Do you really not cook at all?’

‘Toast and eggs I can do. Beyond that, not a lot. I usually grab something from the canteen at work and eat at my desk.’

‘Even now?’

His gaze slid down her body, stopping at her abdomen, and she blushed. The oven again, undoubtedly. ‘Even now.’

‘It’s really not that hard.’

She thought of her spotless kitchen and the devastation she would likely bring with a set of beaters or a food processor, and shuddered. ‘I’ll take your word for it.

‘You should try it.’

Celia muttered sceptically beneath her breath and decided to move from her non-existent skills to his very much in-existence ones. ‘Do you cook for your dates?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘I guess you’ll have to pull out all the stops for the one you blew out this evening.’

He grinned and she ignored the jealousy stabbing at her chest. ‘Four courses at the very least.’

‘Hmm.’

‘If there really had been a date.’

Her heart skipped a beat and just like that the jealousy vanished. Which would have worried her had she had the time or the inclination to analyse it, which she didn’t. She was too giddy with relief. Disproportionately giddy, actually, which was something else that probably needed analysis. ‘There wasn’t?’

‘Nope.’

She stared at him as she computed this. ‘So why let me think there was?’

His grin deepened and a wicked glint appeared in his eyes. ‘I couldn’t resist. You’re so determined to think the worst of me.’

She frowned and slowly rotated her tumbler between fingers. ‘I don’t think the worst of you at all.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘No?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Wow, when did
that
happen?’

‘I think it’s been happening gradually. And then, of course, I heard about the drought.’

Now it was Marcus’ turn to frown. ‘The what?’ he said, his smile fading.

‘Your six-month period of abstinence.’

‘How the hell did you hear about that?’

‘Dan.’

His mouth twisted. ‘Of course.’

‘No wonder you were so desperate when I basically ordered you to ravish me amongst the runner beans.’

His dark eyes glittered and she shivered at the desire suddenly flaring in their depths. ‘That had nothing to do with the drought and everything to do with you.’

She swallowed and sought a way to stop her body responding. ‘I imagine you’ve been making up for lost time.’

‘Why would you imagine that?’

‘I’ve seen the photos.’

‘Photos of what?’

‘You and countless women.’

‘Where?’

‘In the press.’

‘Right.’

He fell silent and she bristled with indignation. ‘Is that all you have to say?’

‘In these photos were me and these women naked and horizontal?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Well, then.’

Well, then, what? Maybe she’d got the wrong end of the stick from the photos but that didn’t mean Marcus hadn’t been shagging his way round London like a thirsty man looking for a drink. After all, he hadn’t been naked and horizontal with her, had he? Yet they’d still managed to have a pretty great time.

‘I hope you’re not going to say that I’m the only person you’ve had sex with in the last nine months,’ she said, aiming for withering incredulity but, what with the unfathomable feeling of hope bubbling through her, failing dismally.

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’

‘Really?’

‘I’ve hardly been out recently, let alone swinging from the chandeliers.’

She sat back and stared at him. ‘So why
did
you tell me you were busy tonight?’

His eyes were on hers. Steady, dark and intense. ‘Because you
are
the only person I’ve had sex with in the last nine months,’ he said, ‘and I’m finding wanting a repeat of it increasingly on my mind.’

‘Oh,’ she said faintly.

‘Quite.’

‘That’s the last thing either of us needs.’

‘I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t still think it.’

As did she. All the time, if she was being brutally honest. But they’d just have to live with that. They weren’t animals. They were rational, sensible people who knew what was good for them, and what wasn’t. Still... ‘Maybe we should keep off the subject of sex tonight.’ It wasn’t as if they didn’t have plenty of other things to talk about. It should be a doddle.

‘Good idea.’

Her stomach growled and his mouth hitched up into a small smile. ‘And eat.’

‘Even better.’

* * *

Keeping off the subject of sex was fine. Keeping from thinking about it was an entirely different matter. Ever since Celia had walked through the door Marcus had been aware of every move she made, no matter how tiny. All his senses felt heightened and it seemed to him that his body was trying to tune itself into hers or something. Whatever was going on it was odd. Frustrating. Deeply disturbing.

It didn’t help that she kept groaning in ecstasy at the food he’d cooked. Every time she did, all he could think of was his bed upstairs and her on it. That was, when he wasn’t mentally sweeping aside everything on the table and feasting on her down here instead.

As his body tightened uncomfortably Marcus thought that whatever Celia hoped to achieve by tonight, they wouldn’t be doing it again, because this wasn’t just ‘supper’, this was torture.

‘This is delicious,’ she said with a wide, warm smile that only strengthened his resolve to keep his distance once the nightmare of this evening was over.

‘Thank you. Like I said, it’s not hard.’

She put her fork down and took a sip of tonic water. ‘So what have you been up to since I saw you last?’

‘Work.’ Driving himself insane.

‘Is that all?’ She arched an eyebrow and grinned. ‘Careful, Marcus, you might turn into me.’

‘To compensate I also spent a couple of days climbing in the Peak District.’ In the hope that the physical exertion might result in mental exhaustion, and he’d be able to go five minutes without thinking about her. Not that it had worked.

Her eyes widened. ‘I heard Dan took it up a while ago, but I didn’t know you climbed too.’

‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’

‘And that’s what tonight’s all about.’

It was, and he could do a lot worse than focusing on that rather than the way her hair shone and her eyes sparkled. Because conversation was easy enough, wasn’t it? And with any luck it would make the time fly. ‘What about you?’

She shrugged and gave him a self-deprecating grin. ‘Work, mainly.’

He returned the grin. ‘Goes without saying.’

‘But I also had supper with Dan and Zoe last night.’

‘How was their trip?’

‘It sounded fantastic.’

‘Did you tell them about the pregnancy?’

She nodded. ‘I did.’

‘How did Dan take it?’

‘Oh, fine,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘Eventually.’

Marcus went still, the hand holding his fork freezing midway to his mouth. ‘Eventually?’

‘For a moment I think he wanted to punch your lights out, but, realising it’s not really any of his business, he got over it quickly enough.’

He frowned and put down the fork. Hmm. He should have guessed that while Dan would be fine with him dating Celia, he might not be so fine about the fact that his best mate had knocked up his sister.

But as that was a conversation he wasn’t particularly looking forward to and didn’t need to worry about tonight he put it from his mind. ‘Do your parents know yet?’

‘I rang them today.’

‘And what did they say?’ he asked, and braced himself for the news that her father, like son, had taken it badly and was bearing down on him even as they sat there.

‘My mother was beside herself with excitement, and offered her full support and help.’

‘And your father?’

Celia’s smile turned wry. ‘Ah, yes, well, after declaring himself delighted you’d taken him up on his suggestion, he said something about one out of three being a start. Not exactly being a new man, though, he wasn’t quite so forthcoming with an offer of support and help. But he seemed pleased enough.’

‘One out of three?’

‘The baby. Marriage and a proper home being the other two.’

‘Do they mind about you not being married?’ he asked, thinking it best to avoid the subject of homes if he didn’t want to have to discuss and retract the offer he’d made her in a moment of giddy recklessness.

‘Surprisingly not,’ she said, and then paused as if a thought had crossed her mind. ‘Although I imagine that neither of them have much faith in the institution after what they went through so maybe it’s not all that surprising.’

‘They’ve never remarried, have they?’

Celia shook her head. ‘No. I think my mother’s too scarred by the experience and my father’s having too much fun leching after twenty-five-year-olds.’

‘Did the divorce scar you?’

She started as if startled by the question. ‘Me? Oh. Well. Not really. I mean, I was fourteen when they finally split and it was pretty horrendous but things had been awful for years. Dad had been having affairs practically since the ink was dry on the marriage certificate although I don’t think Mum found out until a few years later. But I’ve nothing against marriage as a concept, and I’d quite like to do it one day. Although with things the way they are,’ she said, indicating her abdomen with a wave of her hand, ‘I can’t see myself doing anything about that for a while.’

‘No,’ he muttered, a stab of guilt prodding him in the stomach as he collected up the plates and cleared the table.

‘So what’s put you off marriage?’

Marcus picked up a dish in the middle of which sat a chocolate tart, then sat down and used the business of cutting it into slices and sliding one onto the side plate she was holding up to think about just how open he wanted to be. The answer to which was, not a lot. ‘What makes you think I’m against marriage?’ he hedged.

She put her plate down and grinned. ‘The look of horror that you had when I brought it up.’

‘Right.’