Читать книгу The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights: 6 Book Romance Collection - Jane Linfoot, Zara Stoneley - Страница 16

“I’m a cheap date, huh?”

They were sitting in a wharf diner. Reflected light glowed on the dark water. Headlamps from planes landing at the airport punctuated the night sky.

Ketchup, mustard, and a napkin dispenser sat neatly at the ready on the formica table.

“You’re not a date. You’re … just Maggie.”

“I’m not sure how to take that.” Her eyes were full of challenge.

“Take it as a compliment.”

He’d kissed her because he wanted to. He shouldn’t have. He thought he could find something he’d lost, recapture a feeling he couldn’t name. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

“Right. Okay. I’ll do that.” She lifted the laminated menu card.

“Were you expecting a swish restaurant?” He watched her face for a reaction. He’d been working on it, but it was impossible to forget that they’d very nearly been lovers. Their failed night together had left him wondering what if? He’d overstepped the mark. That kiss had smashed his no-action plan to smithereens.

“Well, yes, I suppose I was.” She paused. “Only because of who you are now. Actually, I like this place. It’s very ‘old Alex’.” She smiled. Kissing her on the beach had fired up a chain reaction of attraction and temptation, flickering in his heart like the frames of an old celluloid cine film.

“Whatever that means? There isn’t an ‘old’ me, or a ‘new’ me.” They only existed in her head, two versions of the same person. “Not unlike yourself.”

“Meaning?” Her greeny-brown eyes glimmered.

“The new Maggie’s very stylish.” Alex was treading on eggshells. “The old Maggie wore more color.”

“I went off color,” she said sharply. “Neutral colors suit my work. They give me a professional look. I blend into the background and all my fashion focus goes on my clients.”

“I get that it’s all about Brand Magenta, the only color is in the name. Surely you can relax on the dress code in your downtime?”

“I could; I just choose not to.” Actually she had eased up a little, he realized. She’d put on a graphite t-shirt with an asymmetric neckline and a swirly butterfly print etched on it in a lighter shade of grey. “I stopped liking myself in color.”

“I like you in color.”

He lifted his hand to his chin. He’d been clean-shaven for the photo shoot earlier. Now his skin was rough with a day’s growth of stubble. He wanted to reach out to her, only he didn’t know how. Something about her was closed off, a guardedness she’d let go of at the beach. Was this image thing more about hiding than looking professional?

“Hannah recommended this place,” he said, changing the subject. His fingers brushed her soft hands as he took the plastic menu from her and put it back in its holder. “Her uncle owns it. It’s a breakfast joint. But it happens to have a spectacular view. She said if I asked nicely …” He lowered his voice to a whisper. And paid handsomely. “…Uncle Marvin would open up and cook lobster.”

Maggie’s eyes sparkled with surprise. “Just for us?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is lobster à la Uncle Marvin any good?” There was a cheeky glow in her not-exactly-green-not-exactly-brown-eyed gaze.

“Apparently so. Let’s find out.” Not being on a date felt quite good. No reading between the lines. No expectations. Just Maggie. With her freckles. And her lips. And that sparkle in her eyes.

Over the last two days her curves had been infinitely distracting. A necklace with a bright amber stone dangled in the dip of her top, tempting his gaze into the out-of-bounds zone. He’d resigned himself to not doing inappropriate stuff like thinking about the color of her underwear. He needed to work on the “just friends” thing, although kissing her at the beach had been a knock-out detour.

Not in the habit of having to resist temptation, trying not to want to seduce her had turned things upside down, inside out, and every which way but straightforward. What’s more, he was interested in her. Too interested. He didn’t need to know why she was using a sperm bank to have a baby, but he wanted to understand.

The waitress came and stood at Maggie’s shoulder, notebook in hand and pen poised. Alex looked up. He recognized her gawp. He’d seen that look on so many faces. He knew what was coming next.

“It is you, isn’t it?”

Just a second, I’ll check. He shot an apologetic glance at Maggie. She smiled back. Her eyes twinkled. “Yes, it is,” he told the waitress.

“I knew it!” On the verge of an incomprehensible prattle, the woman physically wobbled, as if standing on the edge of a cliff. He’d been here before – numerous times. “I said to Marvin, it’s him. It’s got to be. It’s that vampire guy – Jago,” she trilled, delighted. “Some of the customers said you were in town, taking press photos, or something, so I knew it could only be you.” She drew breath. Alex waited for her rush of enthusiasm to die. “Marvin’s not a fan of Mercy of the Vampires. He’s clueless. But as soon as he said Hannah sent you and that he was opening up specially, I put two and two together and sure enough …” She stared at Maggie, apparently displeased that she wasn’t another celebrity. “Where’s your brother? Is Jarvis not with you tonight?”

We’re not joined at the hip. Maggie must have read his mind. She was stifling a giggle. He opened his mouth to reply but the waitress was not to be interrupted. “So, what do you say? Can I get an autograph?”

This had happened on countless occasions and he knew exactly what to expect. “Where would you like it?”

The waitress pouted flirtatiously and looked down at her cleavage. Oh dear. These moments used to amuse him – not any more. He was jaded from too many tussles with girls and marker pens. Fortunately, she opted to hand him her notepad. “To Lynette,” she dictated. “Two e’s, two t’s.”

He scribbled his name as legibly as he could, and risked adding an x, although experience had taught him that Lynette might be inclined to ask for it in kind. The marker-pen-ladies of this world weren’t backwards in coming forwards.

Thankfully, no kiss was required. Lynette brought Alex a beer and an orange juice for Maggie. Marvin cooked the lobster, and for the rest of the evening they were left in peace.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” He pushed his paper plate away. It wasn’t easy eating lobster with plastic cutlery. “Flying back to London?”

“Going on a whale-watch,” Maggie was still doing battle with the lobster. “Why? D’you want to come with me?”

“I’d love to.” There was a siren call in the invitation. He’d said yes without thinking. He’d been planning to hole himself up at the hotel and work on Hamlet. The lines wouldn’t learn themselves. And he needed to work on his received pronunciation. The critics would be baying for his blood when he took on the iconic role in London next month. They’d shoot him down in flames if he murdered Hamlet with a mid-Atlantic twang. The last thing he needed was to spend a day at sea, but he couldn’t remember when he’d actually taken a day off and done something different, just for the hell of it. His diary had been crammed with agent meetings, promo and rehearsals for months. Doubt flickered on her face. “Was that the wrong answer?”

Since he’d be in London for a while, and since she’d like to be friends again, he was trying to be chivalrous. Only their latent electricity was definitely still there, and bad as that was it was the main reason he’d said yes please to the whale-watch.

She narrowed her eyes and scrunched her freckled nose. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Not until Friday, then I have to be in New York for a movie premiere.” He looked at his watch to check what day it said. Sometimes living out of a suitcase, doing PR, he forgot. “It’s only Wednesday.”

“Flipping Nora. Your plans make mine sound like watching paint dry.”

“Come to New York with me.” He locked eyes with her. Confusion clouded her features. “You can be my date.” Her eyebrows shot up. “My not-a-date?” The idea had popped into his head out of nowhere. It was good getting to know her again. It would be a chance to make it up to her for treating her so shabbily in the past. He could do this “friends” thing. He could.

He’d have to keep his libido on lockdown.

“That’s impossible. I’m flying home on Friday.” She looked away, staring transfixed at the streaks of light on the water around the harbor.

“Change your plans. I’ll do you a deal – your whale-watch for my movie premiere.” He paused and threw in, “And a makeover when we get back to the UK.”

“How does that work?” She turned back to him. A mischievous smile had replaced the puzzled look on her face.

“Easy. We change your flights and you come to New York for the weekend.”

“In return for you coming with me to watch whales?” She folded her arms across her chest, unselfconsciously tightening her cleavage.

“Correct. Plus a re-style. I need you to fix my image.”

“I can’t drop everything and go to New York.”

“What’s to drop? Have you got plans for the weekend?”

“Sleep.” Under any other circumstances, he’d have assumed she meant with someone.

“That’s a lame excuse. Postpone it. You can sleep next week. Besides, you’re my free single friend and I need a plus one for the red carpet.”

“What happened? Did somebody stand you up?” She tilted her chin challengingly.

He overlooked the dig. His gaze dipped unintentionally to the distracting amber pendant.

“I have a cameo in this movie. Along with Nick and Ella Swift. I don’t need a date. But I’d like it if you came along. It’ll be like tonight. Just friends.” Her hand rested on the table. He closed his fingers over hers. “I’ve only just found you again. I’m not ready to let you go.” A shiver ran down his spine.

She laughed off his comment. “I’d stick out like a sore thumb on the red carpet.”

“Rubbish. You’ll be superb.” He turned her hand over in his and traced a figure of eight on the palm. “Besides,” he continued, “With you around, Nick won’t be able to strangle me with the garlic.”

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Say you’ll think about it. I’ve got to go to a charity event at the Empire State Building on Saturday night. It’s very glam. You’ll love it.”

Maggie’s eyes shone. She pulled him to his feet. “Come on.” Her sexy smile worked on him like a spell, and he began to wonder, not for the first time, if he’d actually be able to keep to the just-friends bargain. “I want to dance.” She dragged him across the empty diner to an old jukebox in a corner. He stifled a groan, knowing he’d set himself a heck of a challenge.

He peered at the song titles. “There are some seriously old 45s in there.”

“All 45s are seriously old. Got a quarter?”

Alex dug in his pocket and handed her a coin. He watched the concentration on her face as she chose a record and posted his quarter in the slot. The music started slow, his arms closed around her and he pulled her close, looked down into her upturned face and placed a feather-light kiss on her forehead. She smiled and spun out of his hold as the tempo picked up, dancing and singing along like she used to do when they were students.

When the music stopped he planted himself between her and the jukebox, refusing to let her avoid his gaze.

“It’s just a weekend. Come to New York.”

“I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “It’s a bit spur of the moment.”

Not used to having to work too hard to get a yes out of someone, and equally unused to hearing no, he wasn’t about to give up.

“Spur of the moment’s what you do. Spontaneity’s your specialty. Or – it used to be before you decided to try for a donor baby at twenty-nine …”

That was the wrong thing to say. Momentarily she froze.

“Look, I’d like to come, but I can’t.” A shimmer of awareness zapped between them. Bad timing. “I’d love to go to New York with you. It sounds fantastic. But I have to focus on the future. I’m going home to find out if I’m pregnant.”

“One. Week. End.” He said the words slowly as if that would mesmerize her into saying yes. “When the baby comes you’ll have someone else to think about for the next eighteen years.”

“A baby’s a lifetime commitment, not a life sentence.”

“Sure.” He applauded her positivity, her determination to make her dreams happen. “That’s why, this one time, it’s not going to hurt to live for the moment.”

His father acted like a wife and kids were a prison he had to escape from. Doesn’t Count On Location was Drake Wells’ mantra. His conquests might have been disposable, but each new rumor, every tabloid photo, put Cassandra through hell. Alex had mostly blocked it out. Trying to figure out Drake was a waste of effort. Alex sometimes wondered if he’d resented being their non-biological dad so badly that he’d deliberately tortured their mother with his endless affairs. Maggie’s baby plan forced him to remember things he’d rather forget. It got under his skin.

Drake moved out when Nick and Alex were six. The night he left was one of Alex’s clearest childhood memories. He and Nick had been watching TV when it all kicked off – the shouting and Cassandra’s choking sobs. He’d turned the volume way up. It didn’t block out the door slamming, the rev of a car’s engine, and the angry screech of wheels on gravel as Drake drove away. Afterwards, his mother, white as a ghost, came in and switched off the television. She’d read them a story – The Little Engine That Could – and put them to bed. The empty silence after their father had gone seemed louder than any of the noise that preceded his leaving.

He could have stuck around stoically in the wings of their life, but he chose not to; with the exception of fleeting visits to their boarding school when they were teens, occasions that were more about Drake being seen than about connecting with his sons. He might have won acting awards, but he wouldn’t get one for playing the dutiful father.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go back to the hotel and do this pregnancy test. What’ll it take? Five minutes?”

Maggie looked unconvinced. “About that.”

“At least you’ll know where you stand. If it’s a yes, you can come to New York and party.”

“And if it’s a no?”

“Then we can really party! I’ll take you to a high-style cocktail lounge and buy you the most expensive cocktail on the menu. No gummy bears allowed.” Her brows knitted. “To commiserate, naturally.”