‘Sure, honey. I’ll see if I can hunt down a glass for you.’ Cindy turned and walked out, whistling.
Gabby shook her head when she made out the tune: ‘Love is in the Air’. Seems her PA was a romantic. Luckily Gabby had both feet on the ground. The rose was a sweet gesture, one she was touched by. But if life had taught her anything about relationships so far, it was that gestures, like promises, were easily made. It was actions that counted.
Still, it deserved a thank you, at least, so she drew out her phone.
‘Owen Cooper.’
She was used to hearing his voice, so why did it send a sharp thrill through her now? ‘Thank you for the rose.’ Subconsciously her fingers caressed the petals. ‘You don’t have to romance me, Cooper, though I do appreciate the thought.’
‘That wasn’t me romancing you, Sanderson. It was me giving you a rose.’ It sounded daft, but she could hear his smile. ‘Was it still okay? I meant to put it in water, but I didn’t have time.’
‘It’s perfect. Cindy’s getting some water for it now.’ The background noise told her he was in his car. ‘Where are you on your way to?’
‘Got a meeting in Birmingham.’
‘Ouch. Haven’t you trained Hilda not to schedule meetings that take you down the M6 on a Friday?’
‘Train Hilda? I’d have more luck training a grizzly bear.’
Gabby’s lips twitched at the image. Owen with a whip in his hand. Maybe wearing some leather trousers. No shirt, just beads of sweat sliding down those beautiful pecs. Picking up a folder from her desk, she started to fan herself. ‘Are you going to be okay for tonight? You can cancel if you don’t think—’
‘We have a date, Gabby. I’m not cancelling.’
‘Right.’ A smile burst across her face. She hadn’t realised how much she’d wanted to see him, until she’d thought she might not.
‘Got to go now. My meeting is at eight thirty.’
‘Eight thirty?’ Gabby frowned. ‘Wow, what time did you have to leave home this morning?’
‘Six. A small price to pay to make sure I’m back for our date. See you later, Gabby. And if you’re wondering how to make a tired salesman happy, wear something red. And make sure it can be easily peeled off.’
As he ended the call her eyes skimmed over the rose, and then to the little Christmas tree he’d given her. What to make of a man who was sweet and sentimental one minute, hot and sexy the next? What time must he have dropped the rose off this morning? And the office wasn’t even on his way to the motorway.
‘Will this do?’ Cindy reached over her shoulder to place a tall glass of water onto the desk. Whatever she saw on Gabby’s face made her eyes narrow. ‘Well, well, that’s an expression I never thought I’d see. You’ve gone all dreamy eyed.’
Immediately Gabby schooled her features. ‘You’re imagining things.’ Carefully she placed the red rose into the glass. ‘That’s perfect, thank you.’
Perfect wasn’t her though, she worried as she stared at it. She needed flawed, like she was. A man who got out of bed twenty minutes earlier than he had to, just to deliver a flower to a woman, was a man secure in his own skin. A man who found relationships easy, despite his protest to the contrary. How could he understand a woman riddled with insecurities? Understand why she found this so hard?
He rang on her bell five minutes after he’d said he would. Of course she’d been ready for the last fifteen minutes.
‘Hey.’ His eyes ran up and down the black jeans and fitted red top she’d chosen to wear. ‘That’s a sight to lift the soul of a man who’s spent two hours stuck in roadworks.’
He looked carelessly gorgeous in faded jeans, pink shirt and an expensive grey jacket, but he also looked tired.
‘Tough day?’
He smiled and bent to kiss her. ‘It’s about to get a whole lot better. What do you fancy? Italian, Indian, something starting with a letter other than I?’
‘Actually, I thought we could keep to the I theme, and I’d cook.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re going to cook for me?’
‘I figured you’d have had enough driving for today.’
He swooped down and hugged her, lifting her off her feet. ‘Jeeze woman, you sure know the way to a man’s heart.’ Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t … too late, she stiffened in his arms. With a sigh he let her slip back to the floor. ‘It’s just a saying, Gabby.’
‘I know.’ And now she felt stupid. Why couldn’t she be as chilled about all this as he was?
He tilted her chin, drawing her eyes to his. ‘Relax. We’re enjoying ourselves. Don’t overthink this.’
Damn him for being able to read her so well. And damn her mother for making her such a basket case. ‘Do you want me to cook for you, or not?’
He didn’t take offence at her snotty reply. Of course he didn’t. ‘There’s the Gabriela Sanderson I know and … like.’ He grinned down at her. ‘Yes, I want you to cook for me. While you’re at it, you can take off my shoes, furnish me with slippers and sit me by the fire with a whisky.’
She shoved at him. ‘You can sit at the breakfast bar and chop.’
A few minutes later they were working harmoniously in her kitchen. It didn’t usually feel this small, she thought as she glanced over at the hulking male sitting on one of her shiny red stools, a look of charming concentration on his face as he diligently chopped some peppers.
Oh God. Had she just used the word charming in connection with him? It was all this domesticity. It was making her soft. ‘How’s your dad?’
‘Good, thanks. If he behaves himself he can go home tomorrow.’
‘Surely he shouldn’t be on his own? Not after hip surgery.’
Owen grunted. ‘If you talk to him, he’ll tell you he can manage perfectly well. But no, I’m dragging him kicking and screaming back to mine for a few days until he’s strong enough on his crutches.’
She paused, drawing in a breath. ‘A few days sounds optimistic. If you need to duck out of the holiday, just say. I’d rather know.’ She could handle being let down. She’d had enough practice at it. What she hated was being dangled on a string, left foolishly hoping when the person who’d made the promise had no intention of keeping it.
Of course I’m coming home for your birthday, Gabby, I wouldn’t miss it.
You watch, I’ll be home in time for Christmas.
As the childhood memories swirled through her, choppy and turbulent, she reached for her knife and began to chop the chicken.
Owen glanced up to find Gabby hacking at the chicken breast, her face like thunder.
‘Gabby?’
She snapped her head up, then seemed to shake herself. ‘Sorry. I was miles away.’
‘In a place where chickens are evil monsters and need taking down?’ He nodded towards the pulverized pieces on the chopping board.
She gave him a ghost of a smile, though her eyes appeared still locked in the past.
‘Where did you go?’ he asked softly.
‘Just bad memories.’
‘I admire frugality with words, but you could spare a few more on this occasion.’
She heaved out a sigh. ‘I was remembering all the times my mother made a promise, and didn’t keep it.’
‘And you think I’ll do the same?’
‘Perhaps not intentionally.’ She turned her back on him, sliding the massacred chicken into a frying pan, before facing him once more. ‘I’m done with getting my hopes up and then finding them crushed. If you think you won’t be able to go on holiday, please just say.’
He couldn’t resist. ‘You’ve just admitted you’re hoping I’ll go.’
She rolled her big brown eyes at him. ‘I wouldn’t have invited you otherwise.’
He rose from the stool and slipped his arms around her waist. ‘I was under the impression I’d invited myself, but now I know you’ve officially invited me, there’s no way I’m not going.’
‘You can’t say that.’ Emotions he couldn’t pu
t a finger on – worry, fear, compassion? – flickered across her face. ‘Not with how your dad is at the moment.’
‘Okay, you’re right. But believe me when I tell you I’ll do everything humanly possible to make sure I’m on that plane with you on Christmas Eve. Dad’s spending Christmas with my sister this year.’
‘Alice? The one who lives in France?’
He smiled, stupidly pleased she’d remembered. ‘Yes. The doctor says as long as we arrange for help either end, there’s no reason he won’t be able to fly out as planned.’ Hell, if he needed to, he’d put his dad on the plane himself. Travel over with him. Anything to have a Christmas he could look forward to again. ‘Now, about this meal you’re supposed to be cooking me.’ He glanced over to the collection of haphazardly sliced onions and peppers he’d been slaving over. ‘Seems to me I’ve done most of the hard work.’
She snorted. ‘Typical man. Contributes one tiny thing and thinks he’s some sort of God.’
‘Hey, there’s nothing tiny about me.’
‘Give me strength,’ she muttered, though her eyes were laughing. ‘Go and pour yourself a drink. And while you’re at it, get me one, too. I’m going to need it if I have to put up with you all evening.’
He smirked as he uncorked the wine bottle and started to pour. ‘All evening? Does that mean you won’t kick me out after midnight?’
Her back was to him as she shuffled the chicken around in the pan but when she glanced over her shoulder her eyes smouldered. ‘You’re not getting kicked out, but you will have to work for your supper.’
He stilled as desire blazed through him. Then swore as he realised he’d managed to miss the glass and pour most of the wine over the worktop.
They ate at the breakfast bar. Gabby hit the dimmer switch and, to his surprise, fished out a few tea lights.
‘Are you romancing me now, Ms Sanderson?’
She focused on lighting the candles. ‘I’m helping to reduce my electricity bill.’
He grinned, knowing he’d caught her out. ‘You’re not as hard-nosed as you want me to think. You like dating me. You like being in a relationship. Being my girlfriend.’
Her eyes darted to his and her lips twitched briefly. ‘I like eating in my own home, and without the glare of bright light.’
As he knew pushing her was counterproductive he took his time assembling a fajita before trying a different tack. ‘Tell me a bit about your life growing up. I want to understand what makes a gorgeous woman so afraid of romance. Of falling in love.’
She frowned over at him. ‘I’m not afraid. It just isn’t something I yearn for.’
Okay then. Carefully he placed the fajita he’d been about to bite into back on his plate. ‘You don’t want to fall in love?’
‘I don’t want to become dependent on someone else for my happiness.’ Her eyes dropped to her glass, and she twirled the stem round and round with her fingers. ‘You asked about my life growing up. There were good times, times when Mum was around and she took me to all the places kids want to go; the zoo, the beach. And some of the places I wasn’t particularly bothered about. Like the charity shop I worked in with her one summer when I was about twelve. Shifting through bags of smelly donated clothes wasn’t exactly fun, but even then I was content because Mum was with me. If she wanted to spend the summer volunteering at a local charity shop, or a kids centre, then I wanted to do that, too.’
His summers had been filled with holidays, he reflected, and going out with his mates. Knowing his mum would be there when he got home, because that’s what she’d been, a homemaker, fitting occasional work around him and Alice. God, he’d been blessed. ‘And when your mum wasn’t around?’
‘I went to boarding school. She’d send me postcards from wherever she was in the world.’ A fierce expression entered her eyes as she glanced over at him. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Owen.’
‘Like what?’
‘With all that cloying sympathy. I was happy at boarding school. I had a great bunch of friends there and life was simple. We had routines. I knew what time tea was, when it was time to go to bed. There were no nasty surprises.’
He started to understand her obsession with things being tidy and organised. ‘I’m guessing life during your holidays was harder to manage. You had to rely on your mum.’ At her look of surprise, he laughed. ‘You’re not that complicated to work out.’ Before she could take offence, he grabbed her hand. ‘Hey, I mean that in a positive way. There’s nothing twisted or devious about you. You’re honest and straightforward.’
Her eyes softened. ‘Neat save.’
‘I thought so.’ Because he could, and because he knew it would unbalance her, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Her eyes widened and she tried to draw her hand away, but he clung onto it. He needed her to feel how much he wanted her, cared for her, while she answered his next question. ‘You mentioned the good times. Now tell me the bad times. The stuff that made you sad as a child.’
Chapter Eleven
Gabby couldn’t believe Owen had kissed her hand. What century were they in? And why were her insides fluttering? It was true, she didn’t need romance, yet it appeared that she liked it.
But now he wanted her to tell him all the crap parts of her childhood. The bits she carefully, and meticulously, kept locked away. He wanted her to bring back memories that hurt, made her angry. All while he stared at her with compassion, her hand clasped in his strong grip.
‘I don’t like talking about it.’ She tugged at her hand, but he held firm. ‘I don’t see what good it serves.’
‘Humour me. I want to understand the woman I’m dating.’
‘You just told me I’m not complicated.’
He groaned. ‘Why did I have to fall for a smart woman?’ Fall for? Oh God, surely he’d said that glibly. Hadn’t he? While she became all tangled and panicked, he blithely carried on. ‘If I had to make a guess, I’d say you spent most of your childhood being let down by your mum.’
His perception shouldn’t surprise her. For all his laid-back, casual nature, Owen was sales director for a reason. He listened, asking the right questions, and the difficult questions. All to help him understand who he was dealing with.
Feeling unsteady, she sipped at her wine with her free hand, trying to find her control, her calm. At his nod of encouragement, she put down the glass. ‘It wasn’t that she did it deliberately. That she didn’t want to come home when she said she would. More that last minute issues always dragged her away.’
‘Give me some examples.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yes.’
She huffed, making her resentment quite clear. ‘For future reference, the way to thank me for making you a meal isn’t to grill me on subjects I don’t want to discuss.’
His eyes flared. ‘You’ll know when I’m thanking you, trust me. But for now, stick to answering the question.’ His hand tightened over hers. ‘Please.’
There he went again, unsettling her. Leaving her hot and bothered, aroused, yet also so annoyed she wanted to shove at him. ‘Fine. My mother missed several Christmases. I always knew when she wasn’t going to make it back in time because the welfare officer would seek me out the day before we broke up. Sometimes I had to stay behind for a few days until she turned up, but usually I went to my grandparents, or my aunts to wait for her.’ She forced down the ball of emotion threatening to choke her. She’d done getting upset over this crap. ‘I remember at least three Christmases when she didn’t make it home at all.’
‘Christ, Gabby.’ Owen looked as if he’d taken a hit to the stomach. ‘What could possibly be more important than seeing her only child at Christmas?’
‘Helping children who’d lost their home, their parents.’ She looked Owen straight in the eye. ‘How was I supposed to be angry when there were kids out there who needed her more than I did? I was warm, clean. I had a house to live in, relatives to take care of me. Thanks to earthquakes and hurricanes, the kids my mother was
helping had lost everything.’
‘Charity begins at home,’ he said softly. ‘I admire the hell out of her career choice, but that’s what it was. A job. You were her daughter. Family should always come first. Always.’
She smiled sadly. ‘I could have done with some of that reassurance back then. I’d get so cross, so hurt that she wasn’t there as she’d promised, and then feel so guilty for being selfish. Wanting her with me when she was helping kids a lot worse off than I was.’
His fingers wrapped around hers, giving them a gentle squeeze. ‘It wasn’t selfish to want to see your mum. It was selfish of her not to put you first. She must have known how upset you’d be, yet she chose to let you down.’
He’d said it to console her, yet the truth of it stung. What did it say about her, that her mother had chosen the happiness of other kids over her own?
Pulling her hand away, she stood up sharply. ‘Have you finished?’
Disappointment etched across his face and he sighed. ‘With the food, yes. Best fajita I’ve had in ages.’
‘Do you eat them a lot?’
‘Haven’t had one in ages.’
She rolled her eyes and reached for his plate, but his hand reached out to stop her, raising it once again to his lips. ‘I’m sorry your mum let you down, Gabby.’
Her throat locked up. ‘So am I.’
‘But not everyone will.’ Earnest blue eyes pressed into hers. ‘You need to learn to trust again.’
Easy to say, yet when you’d lived a childhood bouncing from promise to promise, hope to hope, only to be left crushingly disappointed, trust was hard to give. ‘That’s one way of seeing it. The other is not to entrust my happiness to someone else.’
He exhaled a curse, dropping her hand and sliding off the stool before coming to stand in front of her. ‘That road leads to a sad, lonely existence, Gabby.’
‘Does it? Because I’ve been perfectly happy these last few years.’
His thumb smoothed across her cheek. ‘Happier than you are now?’
And bam, there it was again. The difficult question. ‘I’m very happy in my new job, in my new house,’ she evaded.
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