Poised, composed, but now he knew it was all just an act. A very good one, to be sure, but it was no more than an ice glaze that hid a totally vulnerable core.
Beneath that apparent self-assurance her heart would be pounding, her mouth dry, her knees weak. He knew because that was the way he was feeling…
‘What time would suit you best-morning or evening?’ she prompted.
‘The evening,’ he said, without having to think about it. The evening offered all kinds of possibilities. A chat could become a drink, could become dinner, and after that anything was possible. ‘Seven?’ he suggested.
‘Six-thirty would be better.’ She waited, he had no choice but to nod. ‘I’ll slot half an hour into my diary.’
Not what he’d had in mind at all. But it was a start.
Her mouth lifted in a wry smile. ‘Just listen to us, Max. Being so-o-o polite to each other. Who would have believed it possible?’
He forced a grin in response. ‘Better make the most of it, Lou-it can’t possibly last.’
‘No.’ For a moment they just looked at one another. ‘But then who would want it to?’ And he knew without doubt that she would call him on that kiss and when she did he’d better be ready to deliver everything she wanted.
The very thought almost fried his brains.
‘You do realise that this job is going to take chunks out of any pretence at a personal life?’ he said, making an effort to change the subject, but failing dismally.
‘Is that why you can’t keep a girl, Max?’ she asked.
There was a time when that kind of remark would have brought him to the boil, hearing only the words, the implied criticism. Now all he heard was genuine concern.
‘Relationships need time, hard work. You have to work at them if you want them to last.’
‘No one has ever been that important to you?’
‘Apparently not.’ Then, because talking about his failures held no appeal, ‘What happened to the Honourable James the gossip columnists had you all but down the aisle with a year or so back?’
‘That was nearly three years ago.’
She reached for her hair again. Looked away. No…Look at me…
‘As always,’ she said, ‘they mistook a light-hearted flirtation for something more important.’
About to suggest that it had looked a lot more than a lighthearted flirtation, he took pity on her. Whatever had gone wrong it was clearly still too raw to talk about and he was torn between a need to hit James Cadogan, and to wrap his arms around her and make it go away.
Since neither of the above was anything like a good idea, he settled for, ‘There’s a lot to be said for light- hearted flirtation when everyone knows the score.’
‘My sentiments exactly, but then PR isn’t exactly a nine-to-five job, either,’ she said. ‘In fact this is the only evening I’ve got free for the rest of the week.’
‘Then it’s a good thing I made an effort this afternoon.’ And because he didn’t want to remind her of all the times he hadn’t made an effort, let her down, he raised his glass and said, ‘A toast? To Bella Lucia. The future.’
By way of reply she lifted her glass, clinked it against his, said, ‘Salute, Max!’
Before he could reply, Martin tapped on the open office door. ‘Your food is ready, Miss Valentine.’
‘Thank you, Martin.’ She made to move, then, when he didn’t follow, ‘Max? Risotto won’t keep.’
But food was the last thing on his mind. She hadn’t responded to his toast to the future of Bella Lucia, but had replied with the Italian equivalent of ‘cheers’.
Louise was exhausted. Her feet ached; her head was pounding from music so loud she couldn’t hear herself think. She’d spent the week not only orchestrating media involvement in the HOTfood launch, but clearing her desk of all the niggling little jobs that had to be done, leaving her free to concentrate on Bella Lucia. Free to fly to Meridia with Max after the weekend.
Max.
Their working supper had ended as soon as they’d eaten. She’d made the excuse of an early start. He’d found her a taxi but it had taken all her powers of reasoning to dissuade him from escorting her home. By then she’d been desperate to get away from him, to clear her head, afraid that if he saw her to her door she’d drag him inside, tear his clothes off, tear her clothes off.
Distance didn’t help.
Not even the coldest of showers could shift the memory of that kiss from her head. It was as if the lid had been lifted on desires she’d kept damped down for years and she’d got to the point where she was almost afraid to close her eyes, risk sleep, because when she slept she had no way of keeping them under control.
At least the week was over. Having spent what seemed like an endless evening at the HOTfood launch party the last thing she needed was to arrive home in the early hours of Saturday morning to find Cal Jameson camped out on her doorstep.
‘All the hotels full?’ she asked, irritably, as she fitted her key in the lock. Stupid question. Since his brother was now married to her half-sister, Cal apparently considered himself family. And family were put on earth to provide free food and accommodation whenever you were in town. Which, since Cal was in the travel business, was often.
Which was what you got when you took advantage of the innocent. She should never have fallen on his neck in gratitude when he’d obeyed her sister’s orders and turned up at Christmas, blond, wide-shouldered and to die for in a perfectly cut dinner jacket, thus saving her from the embarrassment of arriving at the family party without a date.
Max always had some stunning eye-candy in tow and it was a matter of honour that she should match him, point-for-point, with the desirability of escort. Cal had delivered on appearance and that was all she’d asked for. She’d been away so much last year, had had so many other things on her mind, that she’d left it too late to round up a gallant willing to brave the Valentine family en masse.
When she’d seen that Max was on his own she’d felt a momentary pang of regret, but then he’d started flirting with Maddie, while she…She sighed. No use regretting what couldn’t be changed.
‘I left a message on your machine to say I had a stopover,’ Cal said as he followed her upstairs like an eager puppy, totally oblivious to her lack of enthusiasm.
Maybe, she thought, she should send him over to Max, since he was so hot on the subject of family.
‘When?’ she asked.
‘Just before I left Dubai. Don’t ask me what time it was. I’ve crossed so many time zones in the last twenty- four hours I don’t know what day it is.’
She didn’t bother to enlighten him, but opened the door to her apartment, dropped the keys on the table, kicked off her shoes and tossed her coat over a chair. The red light on her answering machine was flashing, giving credence to his story. She ignored it.
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference what time you called. I haven’t been home since six-thirty-’
‘Jeez, Lou, what kind of bloke do you think I am?’ She found the energy to raise an eyebrow. ‘No, honestly,’ he protested, ‘it was earlier than that. You might have had a hot date or something.’
‘It was the or something,’ she assured him. ‘When I said six-thirty, Cal, I meant six-thirty this morning.’
‘You went to work dressed like that?’
He didn’t wait for her denial, but whistled appreciatively at the clinging ankle-length dress she was wearing, chosen solely because it didn’t wrinkle, even when it had spent all day rolled up in the bag she used to carry the essentials when she had to change on the job.
‘You’re welcome to stay,’ she said, because he was family, sort of, ‘but whatever you want, I’m afraid you’re going to have to fend for yourself. I’m going to bed.’
‘I’ll take that,’ he said, grinning broadly.
She finally cracked and laughed.
‘No, really,’ he assured her. ‘I’m happy to share. I can see you’re too tired to make up the spare bed.’
‘In your dreams, Cal.’
‘I’ve brought you a comfort package from Jodie,’ he said, fishing out a padded envelope from his backpack.
‘Jodie? How is she?’ She missed her sister so much. Would phone her in the morning. ‘And Heath?’
‘Good.’ Then, ‘Double chocolate Tim Tams?’ he said, waving the package temptingly in her direction.
