by Anne Mather
CHAPTER FOUR
S O MUCH for having a drink—Diet Coke, of course—and getting out of there before things got personal, thought Oliver wryly. Why the hell had he turned up at the garden centre at ten-thirty? Why hadn’t he just come to the pub at lunchtime as they’d arranged?
He knew why, of course. The reason was sitting opposite him. Grace Lovell, whose warm beauty and curvaceous body had haunted his dreams.
She was just as beautiful as he’d imagined. Those dark-fringed green eyes and glorious hair were only accentuated by the sweater she was wearing. He would like to see her hair loose, he thought, a red-gold stream of silk across a pillow. His pillow, he acknowledged, with a twist of irony. Were he and Tom destined to want the same women?
But, no. He banished that thought before it had time to develop. He was attracted to Grace Lovell, yes, but he had no intention of acting on it. It was obvious, as Sophie had contended, that she and his brother were an item. If he’d had any doubts on that score, they’d been dispelled when he’d found them together at Tom’s house.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said suddenly, and Oliver realised she was apologising for his brother.
‘I’m sorry, too,’ he said politely. There was no reason to fall out with her just because Tom was a fool. He glanced about him. ‘Is this where you and Tom usually have lunch?’
And that was just one step better than, Do you come here often? he thought with an inward groan. He wasn’t surprised when she gave him an old-fashioned look.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I usually have a sandwich in the coffee shop.’ She paused. ‘I suppose you go out for lunch with clients all the time.’
‘No way.’ Oliver was stung by her casual assumption that he spent his days entertaining customers. He glanced towards the door Tom had exited by, saw there was no sign of his brother and heaved a sigh. ‘Sure, there are times when I’m forced to offer hospitality to clients. But I don’t spend all my time sucking up to them.’
She looked at him through her lashes and he wondered if she realised how provocative that was. ‘I can’t imagine you sucking up to anyone,’ she told him, slightly breathlessly, and he felt himself harden at the realisation that she was flirting with him.
And he could imagine himself sucking up to her, he thought impatiently. Or rather, sucking her, he amended, his eyes flickering over the round breasts outlined by the tight sweater. He could almost imagine what she’d taste like, her nipples hard and swollen against his tongue. Her skin would be soft and, because she was hot, maybe a little salty. Though she couldn’t be as hot as he was, he thought, adjusting his tight trousers with a surreptitious hand.
‘You’re not like Tom at all,’ she murmured suddenly. ‘He’s younger than you, isn’t he?’ She met his wary gaze. ‘Maybe that’s why he feels the need to compete.’
‘Does he? Compete, I mean?’ Oliver was interested to know where this was going. Had Tom left her here to soften him up? He wouldn’t put it past him. He’d do anything, use any situation, to get his own way.
‘I think so.’ But her eyes dropped away and she picked uninterestedly at her salad to avoid looking at him again. The tip of a pink tongue appeared to moisten her upper lip. ‘But he can’t, and he knows it. You’re the successful one and he envies you.’
‘Really?’ Oliver was sardonic. ‘I suppose that was why he seduced my wife and encouraged her to get a divorce.’
‘Maybe.’ A faint hint of colour touched her cheeks. ‘If she was capable of being seduced, perhaps the marriage wasn’t working anyway,’ she ventured reasonably. ‘The way I hear it, you were never around when she needed you.’
‘Sophie is a needy person,’ said Oliver drily, not much caring what she made of that. He knew what he meant and it wasn’t flattering. But he had no intention of sharing that with Tom’s latest squeeze.
Grace looked up then. ‘And you’re not?’
‘I’m not what?’ Oliver stared at her.
‘A needy person,’ she answered huskily, and he wondered suddenly what else she’d heard about him.
‘If this is some roundabout way of telling me that you know I have a drink problem, then say so,’ he exclaimed harshly. ‘I’m not ashamed to admit it. When my marriage broke up, I went to pieces for a while.’
Grace’s face was red now. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ she said, but he noticed she didn’t deny being aware of what had happened. How could she not? he thought bitterly. It must have been hot gossip, not just in Tayford, but in San Luis as well.
‘Yeah, right.’ He lifted his shoulders and then let them fall dismissively. It had happened too long ago for him to feel embarrassed about it now. He considered his words before he spoke, and then said drily, ‘I dare say you agree with Sophie. You evidently know Tom very well.’
Grace frowned. ‘I don’t know about Sophie, but of course I know Tom. He was kind enough to offer me this job without asking for any qualifications at all.’
‘Good for Tom.’ Oliver was sardonic. ‘He’s obviously a much more attractive character than me.’
‘You don’t mean that.’ Grace flashed him a defensive look. ‘You’re a very attractive man and you know it. I think so, anyway.’
Oliver was taken aback at first. But then he realised what was going on. ‘I guess this is the real reason Tom brought you along,’ he said, deciding his first estimate had been correct. ‘Has he gone to the men’s room to give you time to use your powers of persuasion to make me change my mind?’
‘No!’ Grace looked horrified and Oliver thought she was either a very good actress or she genuinely meant it. ‘If you must know,’ she retorted tersely, ‘he wanted you to believe we were together. So you’d accept the fact that he’s not interested in your ex-wife.’
‘Oh, I know he’s not interested in Sophie,’ replied Oliver evenly, pushing his plate aside and regarding her with a sceptical gaze.
Grace absorbed this, looking slightly puzzled. ‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘So I got that wrong.’ She waited a beat and then she went on carefully, ‘And I can understand you feeling bitter. You and Sophie had been married for a long time.’
Oliver felt irritated suddenly. He didn’t want her sympathy. Once again, he had the suspicion that her words were a deliberate attempt to gain ground. ‘I’m not bitter,’ he said, and he realised it was true. He wasn’t. ‘Like you say, there were probably faults on both sides.’
Grace hesitated. ‘You—didn’t have any children?’
‘No.’ Oliver’s lips thinned. ‘I guess that’s another strike against me.’
‘Didn’t you want a family?’
Oliver snorted. ‘I think that’s my business, don’t you?’
Grace bent her head, the sweater’s loose neckline slipping off one creamy shoulder. ‘I’d like a family,’ she said, her voice low and disruptively intimate. ‘Being an only child is no fun, believe me.’
Once again, Oliver was disturbed by the images her words created. He could imagine her having a baby, her slim frame swollen with the child she was bearing. Tom’s child, he told himself, determinedly banishing any other alternative that presented itself. Though whether his brother would make a good father was anyone’s guess.
‘I’m sure you’ll get what you want,’ he said now, glancing towards the exit again, wondering where the hell his brother had gone. He wouldn’t put it past him to walk out. But if he did, he was forfeiting the chance to pursue his demands.
‘Do you think you’ll marry again?’
Grace seemed determined to get him to talk about himself and Oliver looked at her levelly. ‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ he said, not caring how unfeeling that sounded. ‘I’m thinking of following my brother’s example. Why buy a book yourself when you can join a library?’
‘You won’t do that.’ Her face showed none of the outrage he’d expected. ‘As I told you before, you’re not like Tom.’
‘I could be. You don’t know me.’
‘No.’ She acknowledged that. �
��But if you were, you wouldn’t have accused me of coming on to you. Not that I was coming on to you,’ she added hastily. ‘But if I had been, you’d have taken me up on it.’
Oliver couldn’t help being intrigued by her candour. ‘You’re saying I should have behaved like Tom and attempted to seduce his girlfriend?’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not quite as predictable as that.’
Her green eyes narrowed. ‘Why not?’ He had the feeling she was fighting the urge to find out. But then, as if she couldn’t help herself, ‘Don’t you find me attractive?’
Oliver stifled the retort that sprang to his lips. He had no intention of giving Tom that satisfaction. And then, to his relief, he saw his brother coming back to their table and any response was mute.
‘Coffee?’ he said, as if that were the only thought in his head, and Tom grunted an acknowledgement as he dropped back into his seat.
‘Why not?’ he said, giving Grace an inquiring look. ‘We’re in no hurry, are we, babe?’
‘You may not be,’ she retorted, surprising both men as she got to her feet and gathered up her bag and jacket. Avoiding Oliver’s eyes, she added crisply, ‘It was nice to talk to you, Mr Ferreira. Tom, I’ll see you back at the office, okay?’
Mr Ferreira?
Oliver was still digesting this when Tom stumbled to his feet to offer a protest, causing him to wonder exactly where his brother had been during his prolonged absence. Not in the men’s room, Oliver would bet.
‘You can’t do that,’ Tom exclaimed in a low impassioned voice as Oliver reluctantly vacated his chair also. ‘You don’t have any transport.’
‘I can get a taxi,’ Grace declared, heading for the door, and Oliver was forced to accept that he couldn’t follow her example when Tom slumped back into his seat.
In the event, Grace walked back to the garden centre. It was easier than hanging about the foyer of the pub waiting for a lift, running the risk of the brothers deciding to abandon the lunch and joining her. Right at this moment she’d have been happy if she never had to see either of them again, and that was stupid. Worse, it was pathetic. She’d never made such a fool of herself before and she just wanted to find somewhere safe so she could lick her wounds in private.
She gave an inward groan at the memory of her blunder. Had she really asked Oliver if he found her attractive? God, how pitiful was that? It had been painfully obvious what he thought of her and attractive didn’t begin to cover it.
As for Tom, she cringed again at the way he had behaved. Oliver must have thought he was lunching with a pair of morons and her presence had been integral to that impression.
It was over a mile back to the garden centre and by the time she got there, Grace’s ankles were aching. She hadn’t expected to walk far in the high-heeled boots and they were definitely not meant for hiking along country roads whose surface was uneven to say the least. In addition to which, she had attempted to conceal herself in the hedge every time a car had passed going in the same direction, desperate to avoid any further humiliation.
Gina eyed her speculatively when she limped into the office fifteen minutes later, but evidently her expression deterred even the cocky teenager from making any comment. Instead, Grace was allowed to make her way to her desk in silence where she indulged herself by taking off the offending boots and cooling her burning soles against the carpet tiles. Bliss, she thought ruefully. If only all her troubles could be cured as easily.
It infuriated her that Tom apparently already knew his brother was assured that he and Sophie were no longer together. If that was so, why on earth had he insisted that she join them for lunch?
She knew, of course. One way or another, Tom was giving the impression that she was interested in him. And she wasn’t. She never had been. Oh, when she’d first got to know him, she’d liked him well enough. He’d been fun to be with and she’d thought he was like his father, a bluff, genial man who liked nothing so much as to get his hands into the rich, loamy soil he’d created.
But Tom wasn’t like George Ferreira. The garden centre was just a means to an end. He wanted to be as successful as his brother and, as he didn’t have the brains to follow him to university, he’d used a tenuous interest in gardening to persuade his father to leave the centre to him.
Of course, she hadn’t known that when he offered her this job. She’d been really grateful for the opportunity it had given her to get out of teaching. She still was. But gratitude was all it was. Not some latent desire to take Sophie’s place. Until she’d met Oliver Ferreira, she’d believed she didn’t want another man in her life.
Her lips tightened as she brought the web site she was designing up on the computer screen. Hold that thought, she mused grimly, studying the graphics she’d designed for the banner headline of the site without enthusiasm. Her experience with men, little though it was, had not been particularly successful. Why did she think Oliver Ferreira was any different from the other guys she’d dated? Being beautiful, she’d discovered, without any false modesty, seemed to create more problems than it solved.
And she could just imagine how Tom would react if he discovered she’d been flirting with his brother. He’d be sure to think the worst, sure to get the wrong idea. But, she reminded herself severely, that wasn’t going to be a problem. Oliver had made it painfully clear that he considered her—and her behaviour—an embarrassment.
She’d just managed to assure herself that she wasn’t going to worry about it when Tom came stamping into the office. As it was almost an hour since she’d left them at The Crown, Grace hoped the rest of the meeting had been more successful than before she’d left. But one look at her employer’s face was enough to disabuse her of that wish, and his, ‘Come into my office, Grace,’ was issued without any apparent consideration for the work she was doing.
Even Gina looked sympathetic when Grace was forced to ease her aching feet back into her boots and leave her computer. She limped across the office, trying to suppress her own feelings of resentment. But, dammit, she hadn’t wanted to have lunch with him and his brother in the first place.
‘Shut the door.’
Tom’s tone was brusque, but Grace only pushed the door part way, refusing to obey his orders slavishly. Besides, if he was going to fire her, she wanted Bill and Gina to hear it. She didn’t know much about unfair dismissals, but the term ‘sexual harassment’ seemed fairly apt.
Tom had flung himself into the chair behind his desk and was now regarding her mulishly. ‘Why the hell did you run out on me like that?’ he demanded, without any preamble. ‘What did he say to you? If he insulted you, I’ll break his bloody neck!’
Yeah, right.
Grace thought it would take someone far bigger and far stronger to break Oliver Ferreira’s neck, but she kept her thoughts to herself. ‘No,’ she said, standing in front of the desk instead of sitting down. ‘He was very—nice, actually. Very polite.’
‘So this pillar of politeness said nothing to offend your sensibilities?’
‘No.’
‘So do you mind telling me why you charged out of the Crown as if Old Nick himself was at your heels?’
‘I didn’t.’ But she knew she had, and she was going to need a far better excuse than that she’d wanted to get back to work to satisfy him. She moistened her lips to give herself time to marshal an argument. ‘Um—I just felt in the way,’ she offered at last. ‘You’d been gone—it seemed like for ever, and we—that is, Oliver and I, had nothing to say to one another.’
Tom looked sceptical. ‘You must have talked about something.’
‘Well, we did. To begin with, anyway.’ Then she realised how she could get out of this. ‘But where were you, for heaven’s sake? And don’t pretend you spent the whole twenty minutes in the loo!’
Now it was Tom’s turn to look discomfited. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said defensively. ‘I admit it. I went into the bar.’ He pulled a face. ‘Why wouldn’t I? That bastard was enjoying my humiliation.’
‘I don’t th
ink that’s entirely true.’ Grace couldn’t let him get away with slandering his brother. ‘I told you it was unreasonable to expect Oliver to bail you out. You’ve barely spoken to him in over four years.’
‘And your point is?’
‘You know what my point is, Tom.’ Respecting his privacy, she leaned back against the door until it closed with a definite click. ‘You got yourself into this mess. Now, you’ve got to get yourself out of it. Talk to Sophie again. Ask her if she’ll give you more time.’
‘You know what she said last night. I told you,’ retorted Tom dourly. ‘While you were out, enjoying yourself.’
Grace wouldn’t have called a meal in a fast-food restaurant and a mediocre film enjoying herself, exactly, but she didn’t contradict him. ‘Well, two weeks is a start,’ she said brightly. ‘And surely after living together for so long, she still has some affection for you.’
‘Sophie only has affection for herself.’ Tom was vehement. ‘She doesn’t care who she hurts as long as she gets what she wants. She wants Oliver back again, I know that. I pity him if he takes her up on it.’
CHAPTER FIVE
O LIVER asked the waiter for the cheque, wondering why the evening had not been as enjoyable as he had hoped.
All the ingredients for a successful evening were there: an intimate restaurant, whose soft lighting and blues quartet playing all his favourite jazz had created the right atmosphere; good wine and good food, prepared by one of the country’s top chefs; but, not least, the companionship of a woman he had known and liked for the past six months, and whom, until recently, he had seriously been considering making a permanent part of his life.
Not that marriage had been in his plans. He believed he and Miranda understood one another, and their relationship had always been based on friendship and compatibility as well as sex. She was a company lawyer, who had trained in London and was now working in Newcastle. Like him, she was a divorcée, and after meeting at a cocktail party his partner, Andy Faulkner, had hosted, they’d discovered they had other interests in common.