by Helen Brooks
He took a swallow of his wine before saying, ‘You could set two places in the dining room if you like.’
‘We’re not eating in here?’ The dining room table was enormous for two, besides which the informality of the kitchen was less conducive to a romantic teête-à-teête, surrounded as they were by gleaming pans and kitchen utensils.
‘Is that what you’d prefer?’ And, as she nodded, he said, ‘So be it. Cutlery and everything else you’ll need is in the cupboard to your left.’
They ate the first course almost immediately and it was truly delicious. Nick seemed determined to be the perfect host, making her laugh with one amusing story after another and displaying none of the intuitive and disconcerting probing which had so bothered her during the afternoon.
He wouldn’t let her help with the main course, so Cory sat sipping her wine as she watched him cook the pork strips until they were brown all over, at which point he added the garlic, ginger, spring onions, pineapple chunks and other ingredients.
He was perfectly relaxed and at ease in the kitchen, adding the oyster sauce to the stir-fry with one hand and dealing with the noodles and prawn crackers with the other, whilst talking of inconsequential things. Cory could only marvel at him. She wasn’t too bad a cook when she put her mind to it, but she didn’t particularly like an audience and certainly couldn’t have coped with Nick watching her.
Cory ate the ginger and pork stir-fry in a delicious haze of well-being, only protesting very slightly when Nick refilled her empty glass. ‘This food is so good,’ she said, wrapping a noodle round her fork and transferring it to her mouth. ‘I can’t make my meals taste like this.’
He smiled lazily. ‘The secret is in using fresh ingredients, like the root ginger and garlic. I never buy my herbs and spices in packets.’
Cory gave a hiccup of a laugh and then put down her glass of wine which she had just picked up. She suddenly realised she’d had quite enough. It was deceptively potent stuff.
‘What’s funny?’ he asked softly.
She tried very hard to pull herself together. ‘Just that I never imagined we’d be discussing the pros and cons of herbs and spices,’ she said in a voice which was shaky with the amusement she was trying to quell. ‘You didn’t strike me as that sort of man when I met you, that’s all.’
‘What sort of man did you think I was then?’ he asked lightly.
Cory considered her answer, forgetting she wasn’t going to drink any more wine and taking several sips as she surveyed him through dreamy eyes. ‘A he-man type,’ she stated.
‘And they don’t cook?’
‘I don’t know.’ Wrapped in contentment and lulled into a false sense of security she forgot to be careful. ‘They might do. You do, so other men might, I suppose.’
‘What about William?’ Nick asked softly. ‘Didn’t he spoil you by at least cooking breakfast now and again?’
‘I never had breakfast with William. I’ve never had breakfast with anyone.’ She finished the last of the wine, holding out her glass for a refill as she spoke out the thought in her head without thinking about what she was revealing. ‘I suppose you have to sleep with someone to wake up to breakfast with them.’
There was the merest of pauses before Nick said, ‘It helps.’
There was a quality to his voice which brought Cory back to earth more effectively than a bucketful of cold water.
Much later she realised that at that point she could still have saved the situation if she hadn’t lost her head. She could have made some light innuendo which suggested that bed wasn’t the only place people made love or deflected the assumption she had heard in his voice in some other way. Then maybe—maybe—she might have fooled him.
As it was, she stared at him with wide horrified eyes, the effects of the wine completely burnt up in the mortification she was feeling. She set the wineglass down on the table. ‘Not that I haven’t had lots of offers though,’ she blurted out before realising that made everything ten times worse.
Jumping to her feet she took the coward’s way out. ‘Can I use the bathroom?’
‘Sure.’ Nick was magnificently unconcerned but it didn’t help. ‘First door on your right outside the kitchen.’
Cory fled.
She stood in the bathroom for a good few seconds feeling utterly wretched before her surroundings registered through the maelstrom. Then she glanced about her in awe. The white tiled walls and floor were offset with midnight-blue granite surfaces and illuminated recesses which stored white bath-linen and toiletries, and the massive raised bath, shower cubicle, pedestal basin, toilet and bidet were white with elegant silver fittings. Two exquisitely worked granite sculptures of storks stood either side of the shower cubicle, a mosaic of white and blue taking up almost one wall over the bath.
The stark use of white and blue, the voyeuristic ceiling which consisted totally of glass and the carefully positioned lighting made this a bathroom where modesty would go out of the window. Cory walked gingerly across to the basin, fiddling about for a few moments before she realised it had a thermostat mixer and sensor which was activated when the occupant held their hands beneath it.
But of course it would, she told herself cantankerously. What else? She wouldn’t be surprised if you only had to wish for the bath to fill up and it happened.
She glanced up at the ceiling again when she had dried her hands on the big fluffy towel and then her eyes moved to the huge bath which would easily take two people, if not a whole rugby team. This room had been designed for other activities than merely getting clean. She put her hands to her hot cheeks. Which made what she’d revealed to Nick doubly humiliating. He wouldn’t have any concept of how she felt.
She stayed in the bathroom for as long as she dared but eventually she squared her shoulders and lifted her head. She would have to go and face him and get it over with. She breathed very deeply. But definitely no more wine. No more wine, no more leading conversations, no more of anything!
He was sitting where she’d left him, but now their plates had been cleared away and dessert dishes and spoons were on the table. ‘Hi.’ His smile was easy and unhurried as she joined him. ‘Vanilla parfait with chocolate rum truffle or apricot whisky mousse?’
Cory forgot to be embarrassed as she stared at the two rich concoctions in front of her. ‘You made these?’ she asked in amazement.
‘Almost.’ His eyes drifted over her face. ‘But my local gourmet store helped a little.’
Her smiled was strained. She didn’t want to eat dessert with him in this gleaming super-technological kitchen. She wanted to go home and lick her wounds.
As soon as she had finished her portion of vanilla parfait with chocolate rum truffle, Cory slipped off her seat. ‘I must go home and do that work,’ she said quietly. ‘Thanks for a lovely day. I’ll hail a cab from the end of the street.’
‘Don’t be silly, I’m coming with you.’
‘There’s no need.’
He inhaled deeply and audibly, and let his breath out. ‘I’m coming with you,’ he repeated steadily, rising to his feet.
His tone was exactly what one would use with a difficult and annoying child, and it caught her on the raw. She stared at him and piercingly intent blue eyes stared back. He seemed very big and very dark and Cory couldn’t help looking at his mouth as he stopped speaking. It was a sexy, cynical and purposeful mouth. She swallowed. ‘As you like,’ she said casually, shrugging as she turned away.
The next moment she was turned around again by a firm hand on her shoulder. ‘I do like,’ he said with silky control. He put his mouth to hers, stroking her sealed lips as one hand held her in the small of her back and the other brushed her hair away from her face.
When her lips opened slightly beneath his he plunged immediately into the undefended territory, his hand leaving her face to thread deftly into her hair, supporting her head. The kiss deepened with a sensuality that started her senses reeling.
‘You’re delicious, you know
that, don’t you,’ he murmured, a sound—almost like a groan—coming from deep in his throat. ‘Specially tasting of rum truffle.’
The hand that had been tangled in her hair had shifted to fit her face into the curve of his neck and now he stood cradling her close, so close she could feel every inch of his arousal. Cory stood absolutely still. She was having trouble with her breathing and her heart was pounding. The overpowering passion which ignited every time this man touched her had taken her unawares again, and now all her doubts and fears came back in a rush to reproach her.
Act nonchalant, she told herself silently. Finish this with a modicum of self-respect. If nothing else, let him remember you as the one who got away.
She straightened, pulling away and smoothing her hair with a light laugh before she said, ‘Red wine, white wine and now rum truffle. You’re a bad influence.’
‘I hope so.’ The unreserved warmth in his eyes brought colour into her cheeks, especially as the feel of his body was still imprinted against her. ‘But we’ve a long way to go yet.’
Cory looked at him guardedly but made no reply. The only place she was going was home, and then from this night on she’d make sure she refused any invitations from Nick Morgan. If he asked her to see him again, that was. She ignored the chasm that her stomach had fallen into at the thought of never seeing him again, and said brightly, ‘Shall we find a taxi now?’
‘Let’s.’ It was dry.
They didn’t say much on the way to Cory’s flat, but the air in the back of the taxi was electric with tension. At least, Cory felt so. Nick, on the other hand, sat with his arm round her, the hand resting on her shoulder playing idly with a lock of her hair and his legs stretched out lazily in front of him.
His kisses didn’t mean anything. The refrain went over and over in her head as she tried to convince herself. Not a thing. To a man like Nick, kissing a woman was little more than a social habit.
Why had he stopped kissing her? The thought which had assailed her as they had left his flat kept jabbing at her. Because it hadn’t been her who had stopped initially. It should have been, she acknowledged miserably, but it hadn’t. Was it because of what she’d unwittingly revealed? Had it put him off? Did he feel he couldn’t be bothered with someone as inexperienced as her? Or perhaps, like her friends at university, he thought she was too intense, too emotional—slightly…odd?
She continued to go round and round in circles until the car drew up outside the house and then, to her surprise, she had a feeling of very real panic at the thought of not seeing him again. Which was ridiculous, utterly and absolutely. Nevertheless it was there.
‘I’ll see you to your door,’ Nick said, and this time she didn’t object. He told the taxi driver to wait and then escorted her across the pavement, following her inside the house after she had opened the front door.
When they were finally standing outside her own door, she looked up at him. How had he managed to become such a part of her life in two days? It was scary. So, so scary.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he said roughly.
‘Like what?’ she asked, genuinely hurt by the thread of anger.
‘Like you expect me to treat you badly, manhandle you, hurt you.’
She supposed she did expect him to hurt her if she got involved with him, but not in the physical sense he was talking about.
‘Hell, Cory.’ He was suddenly furious and it showed. ‘Give me a break, won’t you. I don’t know how this William guy behaved but I’m not him. OK? It might be stating the obvious but I need to say it.’
‘I know you’re not him,’ she said shakily.
‘Do you? I don’t think you do, not yet.’ And then he echoed her earlier thought when he said, ‘It’s been two days and yet it feels like much, much longer. Do you feel that?’
She wanted to make some clever, witty comment and then send him on his way, or even just shake her head. She nodded instead.
‘Do you see the age gap as a problem?’
‘What?’ It had been the last thing she’d expected him to say.
‘I’m ten years older than you. Does that bother you?’ he asked softly.
She didn’t know what to say. Something was happening here and she seemed to have no control over it. She shook her head because she couldn’t have spoken to save her life.
‘You’re going to tell me we inhabit different worlds, aren’t you?’ he went on.
She hadn’t been but now he’d mentioned it it was absolutely true.
‘And you’re right,’ he said quietly. ‘For the last thirteen years I’ve worked like a dog and loved every minute, and any woman I’ve got involved with has known the score. At first I was so cut up about Joanna it was easier to keep relationships from developing into anything but physical ones. There are plenty of career women out there who aren’t looking to settle down until way on in their timescale of things, and they suited me as I did them. Fun, friendship, someone warm in bed but no emotional commitment. Then, as time went on, I found I was becoming autonomous because I liked it that way, not because of any lingering loyalty to Joanna. The freedom of being self-determining and independent was heady.’
She stared at him, her eyes wide. Was he being brutally honest at last? Was he going to say that any relationship with him would be purely physical and only last as long as he wanted it to? His other women had obviously been happy with that.
And then he disabused her of that idea. ‘You might be a career woman but you aren’t like them, are you.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘You think differently.’
This was all because of what she had inadvertently told him before dessert. That she was a virgin. A twenty-five-year-old virgin. Was this his way of telling her he wasn’t going to see her again because she wasn’t like the other women, wasn’t what he wanted?
Her chin rose a notch. ‘Nick,’ she began, but he put a finger to her lips.
‘We come from different ends of the pole, Cory, but you know as well as I do that there’s a spark there. It’s there when I touch you and it’s there when I don’t. And I like that. It makes me feel alive,’ he added wryly. ‘I didn’t realise till I met you that I was growing stale. So, how about we see each other once in a while, take it nice and easy and see how things go? Sure there’ll be hurdles, but we’ll take them one at a time and see what happens. What do you say?’
Every single brain cell was telling her to say no. It was the sensible, the safe thing to do. She had been this way once before with William and it had ended in disaster. This would too. She knew it at heart. Nick would grow bored with her; it was inevitable with a man like him. No was the only answer to give.
But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t tell him to walk away from her. Not yet.
Cory was unaware of the play of emotions across her face, but when he pulled her to him she realised he’d guessed something of what she was feeling. ‘So, do we start doing the dreaded ‘‘d’’ word?’ he asked drily.
She looked into the blue eyes. From somewhere she found the strength to be as cool and laid-back as him. ‘I guess we’d better give it a shot for a while,’ she said airily. ‘If only to stop you growing stale.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘OH, DARLING, that’s absolutely wonderful. I’m so pleased. Haven’t I said you need another boyfriend, if only to spite William?’
Cory smiled at her aunt. For someone who had lived most of her adult life in the crazy and often promiscuous world of fashion, Joan could be terribly ingenuous. ‘For one thing, Nick’s not my boyfriend,’ she said gently, not wanting to disappoint the older woman. ‘We’re just going to date sometimes, that’s all. And, considering I haven’t seen William for three years, I doubt very much if anything I do would affect him in the slightest. He didn’t care when we were together as he proved only too well. He’d hardly take any interest now.’
‘What do you mean, he’s not your boyfriend?’ said Joan, ignoring the rest. ‘You said Nick wants to see you. It’s not one
of these modern open sort of things, is it? Where he can do what he likes and so can you?’
‘Not exactly.’ To be truthful, she wasn’t sure what it was, but she couldn’t very well say that.
‘I’d like to meet him,’ stated Joan definitely.
Cory’s nerves jangled. Joan had only met William once and it had been such an unmitigated disaster that they hadn’t repeated it. ‘I’ve only seen him twice myself,’ she objected. ‘I can hardly ask him round for an inspection by you.’
‘Not an inspection.’ Joan fixed her with a look that said she wasn’t about to be deflected. ‘Just to dinner.’
‘Not yet,’ Cory said firmly. Maybe not at all. She was due to go out to the theatre with him in the middle of the week and she was preparing herself already for the possibility that things might have changed between them. The weekend they had just shared had been…good—she wouldn’t allow herself a more enthusiastic summing up—but they might meet again and there would be nothing there. For him at least. And that would be fine, it would. She was expecting nothing from this relationship that wasn’t really a relationship at all. She was ordinary, for crying out loud.
She had spent most of the day in the house of a family who hadn’t a clue about personal hygiene or the most elementary social graces, trying to ascertain if the children were neglected out of intent or simply because their young parents didn’t have a clue.
She had returned home exhausted and stinking of the smell peculiar to the Massey family—a mixture of cat’s urine, dirt, cooking smells and body odour—which permeated every nook and cranny and ingrained itself into clothes, hair and nails. After washing her hair and having a long, hot bath she had gone round to her aunt’s house for dinner as she did every Monday, only to find that the odour seemed to have lodged itself somewhere between the end of her nose and her brain.
She could just imagine Nick’s reaction if he had seen her earlier. She almost laughed to herself. Nick, with his incredible flat, cars, designer clothes and immaculate appearance. No, they were miles, tens of thousands of miles apart. It was never going to come to anything. He was like a bright shooting star and she was like a damp squib.