Читать книгу Borrowed Bachelor - Barbara Hannay - Страница 9

‘YOU’RE Rick Lawson!’ Maddy exclaimed.

He grinned briefly and rolled his eyes. ‘Well done,’ he chuckled. ‘I thought I introduced myself last Monday.’

‘No. I mean you’re the Rick Lawson. The foreign correspondent!’

How could she not have recognised him? On her father’s recommendation, Maddy had watched Rick’s programs from around the world with increasing fascination. She’d been impressed by his ability to make complicated and often disastrous situations in foreign parts of the world seem clear and vitally important to viewers watching from the comfort of their lounge rooms.

But, meeting him in a totally different context—in her own little flower shop—she hadn’t made the connection. As soon as he’d mentioned terms like stories and photographers, his identity had been so glaringly obvious, she felt foolish. ‘Wow! You did all that wonderful work for famine relief last year!’ she exclaimed.

‘And landed my partner in hospital this year,’ he replied softly.

‘But you said she’s going to get better.’

‘Sam will walk again. But there’ll probably be a limp. We won’t be able to do the dangerous kind of work we’re used to doing together.’

Rick reached over and topped up her glass and promptly changed the subject. ‘The people like you whose business involves weddings—the caterers, florists, photographers…Do you all form some kind of a cooperative? Recommend each other? That sort of thing?’

‘Oh—um—are you planning a wedding?’ Maddy stammered, still grappling with the startling realisation that, rather than harbouring a criminal, she was entertaining a celebrity.

‘No, not at all. But I thought maybe Sam should think about that line of work—some kind of functions photographer. Videos perhaps.’

‘Oh. I see,’ Maddy said quietly.

And she saw a lot more. It suddenly made complete sense why the taciturn Rick Lawson, who’d shunned her all week, had suddenly turned up on her doorstep. He was no more interested in ‘good neighbourly relations’ now than he had been on Monday.

That winning smile he’d beamed on her mere minutes ago had been a weapon—a weapon he frequently used in front of the camera. He could switch it on whenever he needed to win the hearts of viewers worldwide. And tonight he’d turned it on for her, because he wanted to appease his guilty conscience by finding a suitable career alternative for his partner. He was simply sussing her out as a possible link for Sam’s future employment.

And why she should be so utterly disappointed by that thought puzzled Maddy totally.

Rick stood up. ‘Why don’t you have the last of this wine while I wash the dishes?’

Startled, Maddy jumped to her feet. She hadn’t expected Rick Lawson to belong to the dish-washing variety of male. She’d hardly met a man who had. At home, her father had always had more important things to do than household chores and her brothers had helped him on the farm, leaving the kitchen to her mother and herself. More recently, while her fiancè had enjoyed her cooking on many occasions, she knew Byron would have had a blue fit if she’d so much as waved a tea towel at him.

‘You don’t need to wash up,’ she told Rick. ‘There are only a couple of plates and a pot.’

But he ignored her protests, gathered up the plates and headed for the kitchen. ‘I insist.’

Maddy followed him, clutching her wineglass. She leant against a cupboard and watched with interest as Rick flicked on the hot-water tap and squeezed some detergent into the sink. She had to admit that her interest was fuelled by more than simple curiosity about a man tackling a household chore. The muscles flexing in Rick’s shoulders and arms as he moved, the way detergent bubbles clung to the light hair on his strong forearms and the neat way his jeans outlined his behind were all points worthy of inspection.

She set down her drink, reached for a tea towel and furiously scrubbed at a plate. There was no point in wasting time contemplating Rick Lawson’s physique when the only interest he’d shown in her was as an employment agency for his girlfriend.

‘Do you have a pot-scrubber?’ he asked as he frowned at the baked-on dregs of beans sticking to the bottom of the saucepan.

‘Sure,’ Maddy mumbled, feeling ridiculously flustered and frantic. It was so weird to be sharing a domestic chore with a virtual stranger. ‘Under the sink. I’ll get it for you.’

He stepped slightly to one side so that she could rummage around in the cupboard. How could the scouring gear have vanished? It was always in a little plastic bucket at the front of the cupboard. On her haunches, she stuck her head deeper into the rather untidy jumble of cleaning gear.

At last she saw the scourer right at the back of the cupboard. As she reached for it, her phone chose to ring and Maddy automatically straightened. Her head hit the drainpipe. ‘Ouch!’ she wailed as she staggered backwards and fell against Rick’s legs.

‘Whoa,’ he chuckled, and his wet, soapy hands grasped her shoulders. ‘Are you OK?’

Maddy nodded and he helped her up while the phone continued its insistent ringing. ‘I should get that,’ she muttered. But she was too late. As she headed across the kitchen, her answering machine cut in and her caller’s voice was broadcast through the small flat.

‘Hello, Madeline. Surprise, surprise. It’s Byron.’

Maddy froze mid-step. Her heart thumped frantically and her chest tightened as if her childhood asthma had returned. She wanted to run to the phone and snatch it up, but her feet wouldn’t carry her quickly. She staggered across the kitchen as if she were fighting her way through dense forest. Byron? What on earth did he want?

She didn’t want to know.

But his message continued, his voice sounding a little thinner than she remembered. ‘I understand Cynthia has told you our news, Maddy. About our engagement. We’d really love you to do all the flowers for our wedding. Please give us a call. Same number. Bye.’

How long she stood there, staring at the answering machine, her hands clasped as if in prayer while her heart galloped a chaotic route around her rib cage, she couldn’t tell.

A discreet cough disturbed her wretched thoughts. Rick stood beside her.

‘You’re finished?’ she whispered.

‘I could well ask you the same question,’ he replied. ‘You look as if you’ve been totally finished—done in, done over. I take it that wasn’t good news?’

‘No.’ She tried to smile but somehow the muscles around her mouth wouldn’t cooperate. ‘It was—I mean—it—it’s just another job.’

‘Of course it isn’t just another job,’ he said, his voice all deep and gravelly. ‘You’re a really shocking shade of pale. You look like you’ve just had a close encounter with a vampire.’

She stared at him for a long moment. ‘In a way I have,’ she whispered, the aftershock of Byron’s bombshell still sending sickening waves shooting through her.

He guided her towards the sofa. ‘You need to sit down.’

Maddy slumped onto the sofa and Rick sat beside her, watching her carefully. ‘You don’t have to tell me about the vampire if you don’t want to,’ he said. ‘You should probably save it for your boyfriend. What time does he get back?’

‘Oh—um—not till late,’ she mumbled. She managed a weak smile. ‘Don’t worry about me, Rick. I know you don’t want to get embroiled in my personal problems.’

Rick eyed her shrewdly. ‘There’s no such animal, is there?’

‘What?’

‘This boyfriend. I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but there’s absolutely no evidence of a bloke in this flat. If he does exist, he must be the neatest fellow who ever walked this planet—and be very clever at slipping in and out of this place when no one’s around. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in a week.’

Maddy plucked at a loose thread in the fabric on her sofa. There was absolutely no point in trying to cover up any longer. ‘No,’ she sighed. ‘There’s no new boyfriend.’ Then she hastily added, ‘At the moment.’

‘You just wanted to shut up that woman in the shop the other day,’ Rick conceded. ‘She was one nasty piece of work.’

Maddy could have kissed Rick. It felt so good to realise he understood. He had read Cynthia like a book. ‘It was all I could think of on the spur of the moment,’ she admitted.

With lazy nonchalance, Rick settled himself lower on the sofa. ‘This Byron fellow who rang tonight is your ex-fiancè. Right?’

Maddy nodded. ‘He—well, he called our engagement off just six weeks ago. And now—he’s engaged again!’ As a fresh wave of anger surfaced, Maddy clenched her fists. ‘And he has the gall to ring up and ask me to do the flowers for his—for crying out loud—his new wedding! But the worst thing is, he’s marrying Cynthia Graham!’

Rick’s eyes widened and Maddy couldn’t help noticing that up close, and when he wasn’t scowling, they were very nice eyes—grey with unusual little flecks of vivid blue. ‘The woman in the shop?’

She nodded.

‘So you know the bride quite well?’

Bride? The word brought sudden, stinging tears to her eyes. Six weeks ago she had been dreaming of being a bride. They hadn’t quite set a date. Byron hadn’t wanted to commit himself to a definite time frame. There were so many things to consider, he’d said. But still she’d been dreaming of an elegant white gown and a happy country-style wedding at home on her parents’ farm.

‘Yes.’ Maddy hugged her folded arms across her chest and drew in an angry breath, which emerged seconds later as a long, frustrated sigh. ‘Since the eighth grade when I arrived at boarding school. I really don’t know why I hadn’t already expected this. Cynthia has always wanted everything I ever wanted.’ She outlined for Rick a potted history of Cynthia’s competitive endeavours over the past decade.

Rick slanted her a sardonic half-smile. ‘She sounds like a real honey.’

His sarcasm was like balm to her smarting wounds. ‘Oh, she’s a sweetie,’ Maddy agreed. ‘The only area where she couldn’t compete with me was music.’ Maddy couldn’t resist a tiny grin. ‘I’m no singing star, but Cynthia didn’t have a musical bone in her body. At university she auditioned for our college choir—after I was accepted, of course. But the conductor told her she should confine her vocal talents to the bathroom, but to ensure that it had been soundproofed first.’

Rick grinned back at her. ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Just keep thinking nice warm and fuzzy thoughts about the two of them and then you’ll be able to pull it off.’

Maddy raised startled eyes to his. ‘Pull what off?’

‘Why, providing the flowers for their wedding, of course.’

Maddy shrank away from him as if he’d been going to strike her. ‘What? You’ve got to be joking! There’s no way I would even dream of going near that wedding. I don’t even want to organise for anyone else to do it!’

Rick grunted his disapproval and slid lower on the sofa, stretching his long legs before him. ‘That’s a pity.’

Maddy jumped up, angrily tossing her curls. ‘A pity?’ she cried. ‘What would you know about this? Have you any idea what’s involved in organising all the flowers for someone’s wedding?’

‘Tell me.’

She threw her arms wide open to try to convey the enormity of the task. ‘First of all I’d have to have them both—possibly a bridesmaid or two or even Cynthia’s mother as well—here at my flat for a consultation. Normally people come to the shop, but Byron knows I always bring special friends in here and make a little social occasion of it, so that’s what he’d expect. And while I showed them albums of examples and discussed all the different bouquet choices they would be billing and cooing all over each other! Then there’d be endless phone calls and—and decorating the church and the reception venue on the day!’ Maddy shuddered. ‘No one would expect me to do all that. Not for them!’

‘Obviously Byron does.’

His casual reply infuriated her. She clenched her fists. How could she expect this stranger to understand or care about her finer feelings?

‘But I don’t owe Byron anything!’

Rick’s puzzled gaze rested on her and Maddy felt the colour rise and fall in her cheeks. ‘No, you don’t owe him anything,’ he reassured her. ‘This Byron fellow is obviously a first-class fool. But you look like you’ve got plenty of spunk. I’m sure you can hold your own in love and war, Maddy.’

‘I wouldn’t be so certain,’ she answered softly.

‘Come on. You’re not going to let one whimper from your ex-fiancè send you crumpling in a heap like paper thrown on a fire.’ Rick raked a hand through his hair. ‘I kind of understand how you feel. In my line of work, I’ve seen plenty of defeated people. I’ve watched people fight and struggle for basic rights, only to be rejected once too often. That’s when they give up.’

‘Can you blame them?’

‘Not really,’ Rick admitted. ‘But that’s what’s so good about my work. Because it’s at that point that sometimes, by exposing the injustice, my film crew and I have been able to make a difference.’

Maddy had to admire Rick’s zeal. She could tell he genuinely cared about his work. But she didn’t see how her little problem was quite in the same league.

‘You’d be playing right into Byron and Cynthia’s hands if you let them know they’ve hurt you,’ he told her. ‘From what you’ve said, I think this Graham woman would enjoy knowing you were suffering.’

Maddy sat down again and met his grey gaze. She swallowed at the impact it had on her at this close distance. ‘Cynthia would certainly love it!’ she agreed.

She saw his serious expression brighten. ‘Then rise above her!’ he cried, thumping the sofa with a clenched fist. ‘Show her you don’t care. Don’t let either of them see that you’re hurting at all. I promise you, it will feel like a victory.’

Maddy narrowed her eyes as she considered his advice. ‘I don’t know.’ Her voice was low and uncertain.

Rick’s clenched hand reached out to trace her cheek with his knuckle. Maddy was surprised by his sudden show of tenderness. It must have startled him too. Abruptly, he rose to his feet. ‘Think about it. It’s up to you, of course, but my advice would be to take the wind out of their sails. Show them you don’t give a damn. Certainly don’t lose any sleep over them. They sound like they deserve each other.’

‘I will think about it,’ she said, standing beside him and following him to her door. ‘Thanks, Rick.’

‘Thank you for the dinner.’

‘Perhaps—another time—I could cook you a proper meal. I rather like cooking.’

‘Part of the little home-maker package?’ Rick asked.

‘I guess so,’ she said, then smiled. ‘Just look what Byron’s missing out on.’

He drew up his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. ‘His loss. Just don’t let him gloat, by acting like a victim.’

He let himself out of her flat quickly.

Maddy thought about Rick’s advice all night long. ‘Don’t lose any sleep over them’, he’d said. Well, that was impossible. Not just because she was upset about Byron and Cynthia. Rick upset her, too. He was such a disturbing mixture. Tonight he’d shown her little glimpses of a new-age, sensitive male and yet all week he’d behaved like a primitive Neanderthal caveman, offering her no more than a frown and a grunt.

If she took away his good looks, all that was left was a stubborn, impossible male—who occasionally, out of the blue, seemed unexpectedly concerned and considerate. The last point Rick had made certainly rang true. In response to Cynthia and Byron, she was behaving like a victim.

Somewhere around three a.m. it finally started to make sense. It was time she took control of her life again. And, yes, she would make a start by doing the flowers for Byron Black’s wedding! The Black wedding! She could almost dredge up a giggle. It sounded so macabre. As a few more wicked ideas began to blossom, she almost looked forward to the task. But, she thought as she drifted off to sleep at last, she would need a little help from the man upstairs.

‘They’re coming next Wednesday at five-thirty p.m.,’ Maddy announced to Rick towards the end of the following week. ‘Oh, and I’ve brought you some chicken cacciatore.’

Once again she was standing outside his flat and he was staring back at her, looking grim and a touch confused. ‘Run that by me again, please.’

‘Sorry,’ Maddy apologised, realising she was gabbling. ‘Let me start over. Number one, how’s Sam?’

He folded his arms across his wide chest. ‘Coming along better than expected.’

‘Wow, that’s great! I should think hardly anyone gets to exceed a doctor’s expectations!’

‘Yeah, I guess that’s so.’ Rick’s scowl softened and, like the sun peeping over the horizon, his face brightened. Maddy found herself staring at him. How amazingly good it felt inside to see his slow, sexy smile.

She proffered a covered dish wrapped in a gingham tea towel. ‘Second thing, I made a chicken casserole for my brother Andy and saved some for you.’

‘That’s very kind of you.’ He accepted the dish, his frown back in place.

Maddy’s empty hands dropped onto her hips. ‘But the big news is…that Byron and Cynthia have made an appointment to consult about the flowers.’

Rick’s eyes gleamed. ‘Good. So you’re taking them on.’

‘I am.’ Maddy straightened her shoulders; she was still trying to convince herself that she could pull this off. ‘And I feel quite ready for their visit. Or at least I will when I’ve finished my preparations.’

‘I wouldn’t go to too much trouble if I were you. From what you’ve told me, they don’t deserve any extra trimmings.’

‘No, but I do,’ Maddy replied with careful emphasis.

‘Pardon?’

‘The preparations are for me. I need to bolster my morale so I can face them both and keep my chin up,’ she explained.

He was curious now. She could tell, because he was forgetting to frown at her.

‘So what did you have in mind?’

Maddy smiled. ‘I need to do some reconnaissance.’

Rick shook his head as he lounged against the door-jamb. ‘You’ve totally lost me again.’

‘I need your help. Actually, I need to inspect your flat.’

‘Like hell you do.’ His scowl deepened.

‘I’m sorry, but it’s important. It’s necessary research. I need to see how a man lives,’ Maddy told him cheerfully.

Rick looked so startled, Maddy thought he was going to drop the casserole dish.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She was getting tired of hovering in the hallway. Rick Lawson certainly didn’t go out of his way to be hospitable. ‘When Byron and Cynthia come. When they arrive at my place, I have to pretend that I have a—new lover. You know, a live-in lover. Remember? I told Cynthia in the shop that day that he was moving in.’

‘So you’re going to keep this subterfuge going as a morale booster, are you?’ Rick drawled.

Maddy hesitated. If Rick was going to be negative or cynical about her plans, she would get nowhere. ‘Well, yes. I couldn’t bear to have Cynthia catch me out. And Byron and Cynthia will get the picture that I’m not jealous much more clearly if I have my own gorgeous hunk of live-in masculinity, won’t they?’

‘I—I guess so.’ Rick stared at her and she could have sworn his jaw thrust forward slightly. ‘So, where exactly does my flat fit into all of this?’

‘Oh, Rick, please let me in and then I’ll explain. After all, you bounced into my flat unannounced the other night and all’s fair in love and war.’

He stood frowning for a little longer before he finally shrugged and stepped back, gesturing for her to enter. ‘I can’t promise you’ll be impressed.’

‘I’m not expecting to be impressed,’ said Maddy, beaming triumphantly as she followed Rick into his lounge room. ‘I have two brothers and their rooms have always looked like war zones. But I wasn’t sure if they were typical of the male species.’

Halfway across his lounge room, Rick paused. ‘So you’ve never been in another man’s apartment?’

Her confidence faltered. ‘N-no. Not alone with a man who lives—alone.”

‘There must have been boyfriends?’

‘At uni I lived in a residential college—so did most of the guys I dated. I occasionally saw their rooms, but it’s not quite the same.’

‘What about Dracula? What’s his name again?’

‘Byron.’ She shot him a drop-dead look. ‘He lives with his mother. And she still does everything for him.’

One of Rick’s eyebrows rose and he smiled at her. ‘One might almost feel sympathy for Cynthia.’

Maddy allowed herself a small chuckle. ‘Yes. She might be in for one or two surprises.’

‘Perhaps you had a lucky escape.’

‘Perhaps…’

By the time Maddy had journeyed through Rick’s flat and reached his kitchen, it was her turn to be surprised. His flat was amazingly neat. Neat wasn’t really the word for it. It was spartan. ‘Your—your flat is virtually empty!’ she cried in dismay.

‘Welcome to masculine perfection,’ he said with a laugh.

She rolled her eyes.

‘Well,’ he went on defensively, ‘these are only temporary digs. This isn’t my home, you know. Not that I really have a home anymore.’ He paused and frowned. ‘I’m never settled in one place for long. I couldn’t get a furnished apartment close to the hospital for just a few weeks and I didn’t want to waste money getting a whole lot of unnecessary furniture.’ Setting the casserole dish down on a kitchen bench, he turned to her. ‘So, Ms Delancy, what exactly did you want to know about male habitats?’

Maddy chewed her soft lower lip. She’d been afraid Rick would make fun of her scheme and it seemed her fears were warranted. Still, she was committed to this appointment with Byron and Cynthia now, and so she had to press on. ‘Well, you said yourself the other night that there was no sign of a man in my flat, so I want to plant evidence of a man’s existence about the place. I guess if you can’t—or won’t—help me I can make it up myself—a football sweater draped over a chair, joggers under the sofa, shaving gear in the bathroom.’

‘Bathroom?’ His forehead wrinkled in surprise. ‘Do you need to go into that much detail?’

‘Definitely. I’m sure Cynthia is the type to investigate the bathroom cabinet while she visits—just so she can check out every intimate detail. If she had time she would probably snoop around the bedroom too.’

‘What might she hope to find there?’

To her annoyance, Maddy felt her cheeks burn. ‘I was actually thinking of pyjamas.’ She looked at him shyly. ‘You don’t happen to have a spare pair, do you?’

‘To leave poking out from under your pillow?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Sorry,’ Rick grinned. ‘I never use them. Can’t help you there at all.’

‘Oh…’ Maddy made a show of examining her nails while she tried to banish thoughts of Rick between the sheets and without pyjamas.

‘I’m starting to get the picture.’ He looked around his bare kitchen. ‘Would you like some coffee? Or perhaps a beer?’

‘Coffee would be lovely.’

He switched on his electric kettle before grabbing a teaspoon to lever the lid off a tin of instant coffee. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing fancy here.’

‘Instant’s fine,’ she told him. With something of a start, she realised that anything was fine when Rick was being friendly and cooperative like this. Just watching him fill mugs with steaming water filled her with warm, bubbling happiness.

Rick held a mug in each hand and indicated the lounge room with his shoulder. ‘Take a seat in there and I’ll see if I can come up with any helpful hints.’

There was still only the one dilapidated director’s chair in the room and Rick sat cross-legged on the rather unattractive carpet.

Feeling like a rather hesitant Goldilocks, Maddy tried the chair. ‘I’ll sit on the carpet, too,’ she offered. ‘I feel a bit elevated up here.’

It was only after she’d lowered herself to the floor that Maddy remembered she was wearing a very short skirt. She manoeuvred herself into the most demure position possible with her knees tightly together and her legs tucked to one side. With one hand, she tugged at her tartan skirt to hold it in place, while with the other she accepted the coffee. ‘So, have you any bright ideas?’

For several long seconds Rick seemed to be having trouble coming up with an answer. ‘Er, um golf clubs.’

‘Golf clubs? You want me to park some golf clubs in a corner somewhere?’

‘They’d impress Byron, wouldn’t they?’

‘Probably, if they were really good quality, but I don’t know where I’d get them from.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘You play golf?’

Rick shook his head. ‘No, I’ve never had time to pick up the skills. As far as I’m concerned golf is a good walk interrupted. But I have a couple of friends who are mad keen golfers. I’m sure one of them will help out.’

‘That would be great. Thanks. Any other suggestions?’

Rick smiled and his grey eyes twinkled. ‘Well, there’s one obvious give-away.’

‘Yes?’

‘The toilet seat has to be up.’

Maddy laughed. ‘Of course! Goodness, I should have thought of that after living with two brothers for seventeen years.’

‘Some masculine magazines scattered—if you can bear to clutter that stunning flat of yours.’

Maddy took a sip of her coffee. It was very strong. ‘Yes, magazines are a good idea. What sort do you think would be best?’

Rick leaned back against the ugly yellow wall, raised one knee and rested his elbow on it. ‘It could be anything from a mag about game fishing to an almanac of British vintage motorcycles. I guess it rather depends on this lover of yours.’ His level gaze held hers. ‘So tell me, Maddy, what is your idea of the ultimate lover?’

Maddy felt herself blushing again. When she’d headed for Rick’s flat, she’d never intended to end up discussing her ideas about men. ‘I—I don’t know,’ she stammered. ‘He’s perfect of course. The kind of guy any girl would swoon over.’

Rick’s eyes held hers for an uncomfortably long time. ‘Go on,’ he said at last. ‘Describe him.’

‘Well—um—he’s athletic, likes to keep fit,’ she began self-consciously.

Rick nodded, his grey eyes barely concealing amusement. She decided to put him in his place. He was wearing the same faded tracksuit he’d worn when she’d brought him the irises. She ran a deliberate eye over his clothes. ‘Of course, he dresses well.’

Rick’s eyes still held hers, his expression challenging.

‘He earns a decent salary,’ she continued. ‘He isn’t afraid to do some of the cooking. And he’s fun to be with—as well as thoughtful and romantic.’

‘Not a problem,’ Rick drawled with a confident grin. ‘Sounds like your average Australian bloke.’ He drained his coffee and then his eyes narrowed. ‘Just so I’m clear on this, can you define the female’s view—correction, your view—of “romantic”?’

Maddy clutched her mug to her chest. Surely this discussion was becoming more in-depth than was necessary? Once upon a time, she would have had no trouble answering that question, but now she was less sure. When Byron had produced surprise tickets to the ballet, she’d thought it was a romantic gesture until she’d discovered they were cast-offs from his mother. Most girls found gifts of flowers romantic, but her business thrived on that. It wouldn’t work for her.

At that very moment she was feeling absurdly romantic, sitting on Rick’s mouldy carpet and sipping his bitter coffee. ‘I—I guess it depends on the man,’ she said hurriedly, her mind searching desperately for a feasible answer. ‘He does whatever suits his temperament. It could be anything—maybe writing poetry or love songs or—or a dinner by candelight on a secluded balcony.’ She put the mug down beside her on the carpet and folded her hands in her lap. She kept her eyes lowered. ‘I guess it’s only limited by his imagination.’ Then she forced a light laugh and looked at Rick again. ‘Or in this case, unfortunately, by my imagination.’

Then she wished she could take back her words. Just talking to Rick Lawson about her imagination seemed to unleash ridiculous, teasing fantasies. And there was no way she could afford to blush again.

Rick considered her words for several moments. ‘Imagination can be dangerous, Maddy.’

She was stunned. Was he reading her mind? The unwanted blushes arrived with relentless punctuality.

His eyes were fixed on hers so intently, she wondered if he was angry with her. ‘So let me get this straight,’ he drawled after some time. ‘Love poetry and candlelit dinners on—what was it—secluded balconies?’

Maddy gulped. ‘It doesn’t have to be poetry…’

Rick’s smile teased her. ‘What else did you have on your list? Songs? Not too many blokes sound romantic when they try to sing.’ He scratched his head and frowned as if this whole issue was intensely serious and very puzzling. ‘I understand why the balconies need to be secluded,’ he said with a suggestive wink. ‘And I know poetic guys have always had a lot going for them. But I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned muscles, brawn…bedroom eyes…They’re not a turn-on for you, Maddy?’

‘I—I don’t remember saying that,’ she stammered. ‘But gorgeous guys are not always…romantic. Romantic men are…are thoughtful.’ She felt distinctly hot and bothered having this conversation with this particular man. Superbly built, but decidedly offhand and brusque, he broke all the silly definitions of romance she’d just outlined and yet still managed to make her heart flutter quite ridiculously.

‘So this Byron fellow of yours—he did all these romantic things for you? Wrote you poetry and wined and dined you in secluded little corners?’

Maddy quickly sipped her coffee. It had cooled and tasted terrible, but at least it helped her to cover her confusion. When she thought about her time as Byron’s fiancèe, she couldn’t remember any little romantic gestures. He’d taken her to restaurants certainly, but usually as part of ‘the gang’. He’d spent nights at her apartment…

Rick was waiting for an answer. ‘I don’t think Byron’s romantic technique is any of your business,’ she told him huffily. ‘We need to stick to practicalities.’ Her voice was slow and unsteady. ‘So, would you mind if I borrowed your shaving gear for an hour or so next Wednesday? It would be good to have some male deodorant, too.’

Rick ran his hand slowly over his chin and his eyes held a teasing glint as he considered the matter. ‘I guess I could release such essential equipment for a very short time.’

Maddy smiled. ‘Thanks, Rick. You don’t happen to have a football jersey, do you?’

‘Sorry, no. But I do have a very ancient rowing one, if that’s any use to you.’

‘Rowing? Yes, please. That’s sure to impress Cynthia.’

‘Would you like a photo? Thanks to Sam, I have a few on hand. I could autograph it: “To my darling Maddy”.’

‘Oh, er, I don’t know.’ His darling Maddy? Why did those simple words send her heart into overdrive? She knew he was joking, playing along with her game of pretence, but hearing Rick say those words made her heart beat so violently, she was afraid he would hear its drumming. How could she let one little throwaway line send her into such turmoil?

‘It would clinch the authenticity angle,’ he added.

‘I—I guess so.’

Rick’s fingers raked through his hair. ‘It’s no skin off my nose. I don’t care what you do with it afterwards. You could burn it as soon as you’re finished with it.’

Maddy plucked a loose strand of carpet. She must remember that accepting his photo was all part of the game. It meant nothing!

She hadn’t realised how long she was taking to answer him and was shocked when he jumped to his feet suddenly. ‘No, my pic wouldn’t be a good idea,’ he growled.

‘Oh?’ Maddy tried to hide her disappointment. Once she’d got over the initial shock, she had really warmed to the notion.

‘You wouldn’t want this to get too complicated and if Byron recognised me, well, things could get kind of awkward.’

Somehow Maddy doubted that Byron watched documentaries about famine in Third World countries or military coups in far-flung trouble spots. When she thought about it, he was a pretty shallow, narrow-minded sort of fellow. She was beginning to wonder exactly why she’d once found him so thrilling. On the other hand, she reflected with a pang of regret, she could appreciate that Rick Lawson would not want his public image entangled in her private affairs any more than was absolutely necessary. And, she reminded herself with a stab of dismay, he had his own girlfriend lying in hospital, so he certainly wouldn’t want to become mixed up with somebody else.

‘We’ll drop the photo idea, then,’ she said. ‘I’ll rack my brains to come up with a couple more details, but I think we’ve got the basics established for a pretty convincing deception.’ Impulsively, she stood on tiptoes. Then froze. She’d been about to drop a reassuring kiss on Rick’s cheek, just as she might have kissed her brothers, but at the last minute it didn’t seem such a good idea.

Something warned her that kissing Rick Lawson—even a light kiss on the cheek—would be nothing like kissing a brother. She stepped away quickly. ‘Thanks a lot for your promise to help, Rick.’

His gaze touched hers, then withdrew. ‘My pleasure,’ he grunted.

So that was how it was going to be, Maddy thought as she headed back down the stairs. Rick was back to scowling and grunting again. But she mustn’t let it bother her. Surely any amount of scowling would be worthwhile if Byron and Cynthia were taken in by her little subterfuge?