One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents

by Susan Stephens

  ‘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 relati
onship 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…?’

  ‘That we once had an affair? I doubt she would mind. Thankfully, she’s not the jealous type.’

  ‘I would be,’ Francesca muttered.

  ‘Then you and your boyfriend must have had quite a row after his flirtatious behaviour this evening.’

  ‘I told you, Jack wasn’t flirting.’

  ‘Then you’re not very clever at reading body language.’

  Not very clever at reading body language? She was reading her body language now and she didn’t like what it was saying. Every fibre of her was pulsing, reacting to him. Her breasts felt tender and her nipples were pushing painfully against her bra. He could still do this to her even though she could feel his three-year-old anger simmering just beneath the surface.

  ‘And you weren’t jealous, Angelo? I don’t believe that! Even if you tell me that you don’t believe in love and romance, you forget that I know you! You used to question every male model I had to do a shoot with!’

  ‘Fortunately since then I’ve learnt to use my head when it comes to women,’ Angelo grated. He opened his mouth to say something but she would never know because just then the doorbell rang. Literally saved by the bell.

  She darted towards the door, breathing unevenly, and opened it to find that her saviour was Jack.

  ‘He’s here!’ she hissed under her breath, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and tugging him closer to her.

  ‘And he’s getting under your skin. Interesting.’

  ‘This is no time to joke, Jack. Just…just put your arms around me and do a convincing act of being my boyfriend, would you?’

  With his arms around her, she felt safe from the coal-black eyes burning a hole behind her and, by the time she had unwrapped herself from the embrace, she was more or less back in control.

  Angelo had finally taken the hint she had been giving him ever since he’d first stepped through her door earlier on and was ready to leave. He nodded briefly at Jack and then looked coolly at Francesca, who was presenting a united front with Jack pressed next to her.

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Of course.’ She smiled but her jaw ached. It was a relief when he closed the door quietly behind him and her tense muscles could sag.

  ‘You’re going to have to deal with him from now on, Jack.’ She headed towards the kitchen, knowing that he would follow and that he would also sense her mood and get her a cup of coffee while she sat at the table and tried to recover from feeling as though she had been mown down by a steamroller.

  ‘Do you want to jack the job in?’ He handed her a cup of coffee and sat at the opposite end of the table.

  Weird, she thought, that he would be the one caretaking her now, when it had always been the other way around. Time certainly changed everything. His bad old days had gone. She felt as though hers were now about to begin and a wave of resentment flooded through her at the thought that Angelo could step back into her life and manage to turn it upside down.

  ‘And sacrifice my pride? Let us both down?’ She laughed shortly. ‘I don’t think so.’ Then, on a sigh, ‘But he’s playing with me, Jack. Let’s behave like adults and civilised adults can discuss the past without getting emotional. And he enjoys watching me when I react. He never used to be like that, like a cat toying with a mouse. He said he doesn’t intend to use his influence to our disadvantage and I believe him, but he’s happy to watch my discomfort every time I’m around him.’

  ‘And you’re uncomfortable because…? Why don’t you just tell him the truth?’

  ‘No.’ Why not? Because she didn’t want to watch the scales drop from his eyes. He might hate her for walking out on him, but if he saw her in all her honest glory
he would be contemptuous and she didn’t want that. Her pride again, but then who didn’t have an abundance of that particular vice? ‘No, the answer is for you to deal with him. There’s no reason for him to call in a hurry, anyway. He doesn’t have the excuse of wanting to go through menus or anything like that and he’s not going to interrupt his work schedule to make pointless contact with us just because he likes watching me squirm in his presence.’

  ‘Then you don’t have anything to worry about.’ He dragged a chair over with one foot and settled into a more comfortable position. ‘So you can sit there and listen about me. You haven’t even asked why I turned up here when I should have been down at the pub…’

  His convoluted story of an enraged husband—‘Never suspected a thing,’—a child in the background—‘I’ll never trust a blonde again,’—and a pleading woman—‘I told her from the start that I was all about the Fun,’—more or less managed to take her mind off the problem preying on it like a lethal virus with a mission to destroy. But as soon as Jack had left, walking back to his place after a couple of beers, she was thinking again about Angelo, replaying everything he had said to her.

  She couldn’t believe that after all this time, and after all the changes she had made in her life, she could still find herself hurtling back into the past with such a lack of self-control. Back there, in the sitting room, when he had been standing in front of her deliberately baiting her with memories of when they were lovers, she had felt her body melting. Yes, he had been goading her on. Yes, he had liked seeing her rigid with discomfort. Yes, yes, yes! But she had still responded, against her will, against all rhyme and reason, and it had been written all over her face. No wonder he had been so insolently dismissive of her so-called relationship with Jack.

  The intervening week gave her plenty of time to brood over the unfolding scenario. In fact, it became a close companion as she went through the books, paid a visit to their bank manager, dealt with the steady flow of clients and their demands. Daily stress had now linked hands with simmering panic and, between the two, they were giving her a number of reasons to lose sleep.