Читать книгу The Marriage Miracle - Liz Fielding - Страница 9

SEBASTIAN shook his head. Not because finding his way out of her apartment was beyond him, but in total admiration of her insouciance.

Having been turned down for lunch, he’d gone out on a limb in his attempt to charm her but she still wasn’t having any of it.

‘You are a class act, Matty Lang.’

She had the grace to smile. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me. It wasn’t a compliment.’

Except, of course, it was and they both knew it. He admired that kind of cool. Her ability to remain completely unimpressed by humility from a man not given to such gestures. Or maybe she recognised the truth: that he wasn’t used to taking no for an answer.

‘You won’t object if I call a cab before you kick me out?’ he asked, raising the stakes a little as he took out his cellphone.

‘You came by cab?’

‘No. Why? Do you have something against them?’

She pulled her lips tight against her teeth, as if trying very hard not to smile, trying very hard not change her mind and ask him to stay.

‘Not at all,’ she replied, once she had the smile under control. ‘I just wondered why you didn’t use your car. When you’d gone through such agony to acquire it. Of course you’d have got a parking ticket, but even so…’

‘Actually, I walked…’ Damn! No…

‘Good for you. Why don’t you just walk back?’

The smile, he could see, was making a bid for freedom. She’d enjoyed his discomfort. Would probably split her sides if he made an absolute idiot of himself trying to avoid touchy words like ‘walk’ as if they were landmines. Well, two could play at that game…

‘I’d probably faint from lack of nourishment. But don’t worry, I’ll stand out in the street if you’d prefer.’

‘After you’ve gone to such trouble to provide me with lunch?’

An errant dimple appeared just above the right-hand corner of her mouth.

‘Would I be that unkind?’ she asked.

‘Apparently,’ he said. ‘If you were in the least bit grateful you’d have invited me to join you.’

She laid a hand against her heart and said, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Did you want to stay?’

‘Witch,’ he said, quite unable to stop himself from laughing. But then, that was why he was here. Because even when he’d been at a truly low point she’d made him smile.

‘That’s better.’

‘You prefer insults to charm?’

‘Of course. Charm is so…easy. Insults, on the other hand, have an astringent, refreshing quality. So much more honest. Sit down; make your call.’

Better, he thought, making himself at home on her sofa, scrolling through the numbers stored in his phone as if looking for a cab company, but taking his time about it.

‘So, is that the secret?’ he asked, as if more absorbed in the phone than in her answer. ‘I have to call you names if I want to spend a little time with you?’

‘You get to make one phone call,’ she told him. ‘Conversation is not included.’

Matty wasn’t fooled for a minute. Sebastian Wolseley wasn’t calling a cab, he was just going through the motions, spinning out the time, hoping she’d relent and ask him to stay.

Why?

What did he want from her?

Lunch, the sandwiches… He wouldn’t be pushing it so hard unless he wanted something.

‘I asked you to have dinner with me on Saturday,’ he went on, as if he hadn’t heard, ‘and you dismissed me in favour of chatting up a journalist.’

He pressed the call button, waited. Disconnected.

‘Engaged,’ he said in response to her unspoken question. Then, looking up suddenly and catching her staring at him, ‘I invite you for lunch at the most romantic restaurant in town and you say you’re too busy. And you’re not even going to invite me to stay and share your very brief lunch break, despite the fact that I provided the sandwiches.’

‘You said it,’ she replied. ‘I’m a witch. For my next trick, if you’re not out of here in thirty seconds, I turn you into a frog.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ He had the feeling she wasn’t fooled by his phone act, so this time he hit dial before he lifted the phone to his ear. This time it really was engaged… ‘Wouldn’t you have to kiss me to reverse the spell?’

Matty wished that didn’t sound so appealing. She was already finding it hard enough to stop herself from staring at his mouth. And now he’d put the idea into her head…

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ she said, abruptly changing the subject, desperate to drive the image from her mind. ‘You can stop pretending to call a cab.’

‘Pretending?’ he exclaimed, all shock, horror. She was not impressed.

‘Pretending. Since I’ve had nothing but interruptions all morning you might as well stay and eat one of those sandwiches. Then, when you’ve told me what you want, I’m kicking you out whether you have transport or not.’

‘What makes you think I want anything but your company?’

‘I can read minds, remember? I’ll fetch some plates. Would you like something to drink?’ she asked, manoeuvring her chair from behind the drawing board and heading for the kitchen.

‘Actually, you’ll find a bottle of perfectly chilled Sancerre on the kitchen table.’

‘Sancerre?’ She turned and gave him a stern look that suggested he was a piece of work.

He smiled back, acknowledging the fact, and said, ‘I’d offer to come and open it, but I’m far too comfortable.’

Oh, that was good. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning. ‘You had no intention of leaving, did you?’

‘No, but then we both know that you weren’t really going to kick me out.’

‘My mistake was in ever letting you in.’

‘Once you answered the doorbell you had no choice.’ Perhaps realising that being smug wasn’t in his best interests, he quickly added, ‘You could never bring yourself to be that rude.’

‘I could,’ she assured him, ‘but I wouldn’t have been. I can do an excellent impression of Fran’s Greek live-in cook/housekeeper/nanny when I don’t want to be disturbed.’ And he surely disturbed her. ‘All mangled English and incomprehension. It works a treat on unwanted callers.’

She found the corkscrew, opened the bottle and, grabbing a couple of plates, rejoined her uninvited guest.

‘You’ll find glasses in the sideboard,’ she said. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’ Then, as he unfolded himself from the sofa and opened the cupboard, ‘What flat?’

‘Flat?’ he asked, setting out the glasses and taking the wine from her.

‘Fran asked you if you’d settled into the flat.’

‘Oh, right. Guy offered me the use of his old place until I find something permanent.’

‘His old place?’ Guy didn’t have an ‘old place’. ‘Are you by any chance referring to his former home in a luxurious riverside penthouse?’