Valtieri's Bride & A Bride Worth Waiting For: Valtieri's BrideA Bride Worth Waiting For

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘I’m just going to have a cup of tea—stay,’ she said. ‘We could talk about this chess thing.’

  He shook his head. ‘Another time,’ he said. ‘I could do with a bath myself, and a reasonably early night. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  When I’ve had time to let all this sink in, and get over the feel of my son’s hand in mine.

  He looked down at her, standing so close that if he reached out he could reel her in against his chest and kiss her soft, full mouth until she whimpered. He backed away. No. Not yet. It was far, far too soon.

  Thanking her again for the meal, he said goodnight, let himself out and drove slowly home, lost in thought.

  * * *

  ‘D’you think he’ll really teach me to play chess?’

  Annie smoothed her son’s hair back off his brow and hugged him. ‘I don’t know. He said so, but he’s busy.’

  ‘Daddy said he’d teach me, but he died.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. I know he would much rather have been here with us teaching you to play chess, but we don’t always get what we want, and sometimes it’s very hard.’

  ‘I miss him,’ Stephen mumbled, and Annie sighed.

  ‘I know. I miss him, too.’

  ‘Michael’s nice.’

  She tweaked his nose. ‘Only because he said he’d teach you chess,’ she said with a slightly breathless laugh, and tried not to think about Michael. She was thinking about him altogether too much as it was.

  ‘What happened to his face?’

  She hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. I think he’s probably had an accident. It’s not the sort of thing you can ask.’

  Stephen wrinkled his nose. ‘It makes him look kind of funny. His mouth’s a bit crooked.’

  Like his sense of humour, she nearly said, but that was odd, because surely she didn’t know anything about his sense of humour. Not really, not after so short a time. She was just imagining it, filling in the blanks, which was something she really had to stop doing, because she was getting more and more drawn to him, and it was crazy.

  She’d done this with Etienne, and look where that had got her? Perhaps it was the way he had of focusing on her that Etienne had had, making her feel special. Important. The centre of his world.

  But he wasn’t Etienne, and she wasn’t the girl she’d been nine years ago.

  ‘Time to put your light out and go to sleep,’ she said, kissing her son’s cheek and snuggling the quilt around his skinny little shoulders. ‘I’ll see you in the morning. Night-night.’

  ‘Sleep tight,’ he mumbled back, dropping off already, and as she reached the door, he added, ‘Ask him about the chess tomorrow.’

  ‘OK. Now go to sleep. Love you.’

  She went back downstairs, wondering if it was such a good idea getting Michael involved in Stephen’s life. Mainly, she realised, because it meant involving him in hers, and hers, frankly, was involved enough!

  It didn’t stop him being the last thing she thought about as she fell asleep, though—and the first thing she thought about in the morning…

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HE FELT as if he’d been hit by a truck.

  Carefully, gingerly, he rolled over and flexed his shoulders. Ouch. Not good.

  He tried to sit up, and bit back a groan of pain and frustration.

  That darned kitchen was out to get him—either that or the tension of the past few days had screwed him up. Both, probably. He tried again, fighting off the wave of nausea as he padded barefoot to the kitchen, fumbled pills out of the packet and propped his forehead against the front of the fridge while he waited for the glass to fill from the iced water dispenser.

  The icy draught slid down his throat, reviving him as he swallowed the pills that hopefully would head this thing off before it turned into a full-blown migraine.

  If he got lucky.

  He opened his mouth, waggled his jaw experimentally and gave up. Damn. He needed to see Pete and get this mess sorted out.

  The clock said eight-thirty. Annie would be in the tearoom—expecting him? He slumped at the kitchen table and knotted his fists together, then forced himself to relax. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with this headache if he didn’t let the tension go.

  He sat back, rolled his shoulders and winced.

  Maybe let the pills work.

  Back to bed for a while—and try not to think about Annie.

  It didn’t work. He lay there, thinking about her quicksilver smile and the sparkle in her eyes, the freckles that dusted her nose and how good those soft, full lips would feel under his.

  At least, under the areas of them that still had sensation.

  ‘Oh, hell—’

  He threw off the bedclothes, ignoring the screaming in his head, turned on the shower good and hot and propped himself up under the pounding spray. Half an hour later he was more relaxed, his head had eased with the tension in his shoulders and he felt halfway to being human again.

  Now all he had to do was go over to the Ancient House and pretend to be doing something useful there. If nothing else, he ought to set a time for Stephen’s chess lessons. The last thing he was going to do was let his son down, and no mere headache was going to get in the way.

  Although only a total masochist would describe this demon in his skull as a mere headache. He phoned the osteopath before he left the house, got himself on the waiting list for an urgent appointment, and then he set off for the village. Perhaps he’d feel more human after a huge mug of Annie’s coffee.

  Or just her smile…

  * * *

  ‘You look rough.’

  The cock-eyed grin he shot her did that thing to her insides again. ‘Well, cheers. I feel much better for knowing that.’

  ‘Heavy night?’ she asked, and one brow climbed up towards his hairline.

  ‘Are you always this sympathetic?’

  ‘You think you deserve it, with a hangover?’ she teased, but he shook his head and winced.

  ‘No hangover,’ he muttered, and she looked at him more closely and felt a pang of guilt. A little frown pleated her brow.

  ‘Michael, are you OK?’

  ‘I’ve been better but I’ll live. Don’t worry, I won’t keel over on the premises and compromise your reputation.’

  She felt a bigger pang of guilt, and then a flutter of panic. Her reputation? ‘It wasn’t—you didn’t get ill after the quiche, did you?’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘It’s nothing to do with the quiche. You haven’t poisoned me, you’re safe. I get headaches. It’s nothing.’

  She frowned again. ‘It doesn’t look like nothing. Sit down before you fall down. What can I get you?’

  ‘A quiet corner away from your piranhas,’ he said with a slow smile, and she gave a little huff of laughter.

  ‘I’ll tell them you said that.’

  ‘Please don’t bother. A large filter coffee would be lovely. And we need to talk about this bill—’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. I’ve told you about that.’

  He sighed and gave her a thoughtful look. ‘Is this anything to do with why you struggle to make ends meet?’ he murmured. ‘Just how many freeloaders do you have, Annie?’

  She felt herself colouring. ‘I don’t like to think of them as freeloaders—’

  ‘So, several, then?’

  ‘They’re friends.’

  ‘All of them?’ he said softly, and she felt her defences crumble.

  Her breath eased out on a sigh, and she shrugged. ‘OK. You’ve got me. I’m soft. But it’s my choice—’

  ‘Of course it is. You’d mother the whole world, given half a chance, wouldn’t you? Mother Teresa and Mrs Beeton rolled into one.’

 
She turned away, unwilling to discuss this with him. He sounded altogether too damn right. And if he didn’t want her mothering him, fine. She wouldn’t. She was all done mothering people anyway. She’d looked after Liz until she died, then she’d looked after Roger and the girls and Stephen—and all the time the tearoom had demanded attention—was still demanding attention. Half the people that came in were lame ducks.

  He was right. Sickeningly. She mothered everybody. Well, not any more. She was Stephen’s mother, and that was it. The rest of them were off her list. Starting with him. He, of all of them, could afford it.

  She turned back with his coffee in her hand and met his eyes defiantly. ‘That’ll be one pound fifty,’ she said, thrusting it at him, and his eyes crinkled with a smile.

  ‘Better,’ he murmured, and taking the coffee from her hand, he dropped the change into her palm and headed for the little table at the back, the one she’d have to lose if she got access to the garden.

  It wouldn’t be much of a loss, she thought. Nobody liked sitting there; it was too much in the way for people going to the loo. But Michael sat himself down at it, turning his back to the window and watching her thoughtfully over his cup, and she realised for the first time that it had a clear view of her working in the kitchen area and he was taking full advantage of it.

  Hmph. Perhaps she should get rid of that table. Right now. Immediately.

  She turned back to the mess, quickly emptying and reloading the dishwasher and setting it off again in an attempt to tame the chaos. It had been hell first thing, a coach party en route to the coast pausing for an early coffee hard on the heels of the breakfast crowd. She hadn’t had a minute to draw breath, and if she didn’t get ahead while she had the chance—

  ‘Hiya!’

  She gave an inward groan. Grace and Jackie. Just what she needed.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, dredging up a smile.

  ‘Well, don’t look so pleased to see us. What’s the matter, no Michael today?’

  ‘He’s here—over there, by the back window,’ she pointed out. ‘Leave him alone, he’s got a headache.’

  ‘Oh, poor baby,’ Grace murmured, and immediately headed over to him. ‘Hi. How’s the head?’

  ‘Improving.’

  ‘Want some company? You’re welcome to join us.’

  His grin was fleeting. ‘I’m OK. I’m off in a minute, anyway,’ he told her, and Annie felt a stupid sense of loss. Crazy. She was letting herself get far too involved with this man—

  ‘So, it’s just us, kiddo,’ Grace said, coming back to the counter and grinning at Jackie and Annie. ‘What shall we have, Jack? Something messy and complicated, like a bacon sandwich and a latte?’

  ‘Or you could just have a scone and filter coffee and keep out of my hair until I’ve got the place straight,’ she found herself saying.

  Their jaws all but dropped. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Just busy. Don’t worry. I’ll do you a bacon sandwich—’

  ‘No—no. Don’t. A scone’s fine. I’ll have cheese.’

  ‘I’ll have fruit. And filter coffee’s fine. No rush. Thanks.’

  They scuttled over to the big window table at the front and slid on to the chairs, watching her warily, and she gave an inward sigh and took their coffees over. Lattes, as usual, to assuage her guilt.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  She looked at Jackie and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I feel—unsettled. I just had words with Michael.’

  ‘Words?’

  And of course these were the last people she could tell, since they, largely, were the subject of the argument.

  ‘I was sticking my nose in,’ he explained, approaching so silently she hadn’t heard him. ‘Annie, I’m sorry, you’re right, it’s none of my business. I’ll see you later. I’ve just had a call from the osteopath. I’m going to get my head fixed. Maybe I’ll get my diplomacy back as a side effect, you never know.’

  ‘Want to get me some?’ she suggested, sending him a silent apology with her eyes, and he smiled slowly and leant over and dropped a kiss on her cheek.

  Just like that. Out of nowhere.

  ‘You’ll do. I’ll see you later,’ he murmured, and went out, leaving Jackie and Grace open-mouthed and her legs on the point of collapsing.

  Jackie shut her mouth, opened it again and whispered, ‘Wow.’

  Grace just shook her head and sighed lustily. ‘I smell romance in the air.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Annie said briskly, scooting back into the kitchen and wondering just exactly how high her colour was. ‘Two scones coming up.’ And no doubt a whole heap of personal and highly intrusive questions!

  * * *

  ‘Better?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Much. I think it was wrestling with the kitchen. I’m OK now, but I could do with a quiet few days. I might devote myself to planning. Had any more thoughts about down here?’

  She sighed and shook her head. ‘Sorry, no. I haven’t had time—and anyway, I can’t afford to do anything to it—’

  ‘I thought we’d dealt with that.’

  She met his eyes squarely. ‘Now who’s mothering?’

  A glimmer of appreciation flared briefly in those gorgeous blue depths. ‘It is my property. I’m entitled to improve it if I want to. And I do.’

  ‘And I still don’t know why.’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe because I’m a perfectionist and I don’t like to see things not working as they should.’

  ‘Such as?’ she retorted, starting to bristle again.

  He shrugged again. ‘The store room?’

  OK. She had to give him that. The store was woefully inadequate.

  ‘And the kitchen area. It really isn’t very well organised. You could have much more storage here—’

  ‘I can’t afford it,’ she said again, patiently, as if she were talking to an idiot.

  It wasn’t lost on him. He grinned and shook his head.

  ‘We have dealt with this,’ he repeated, just as patiently, and stood his ground, arms folded, looking solid and immoveable and for all the world like a battle-scarred warrior who’d ended up in her tearoom by mistake.

  She wasn’t going to win.

  She chucked the tea towel she was torturing into the bag in the corner and he arched a brow quizzically.

  ‘Throwing in the towel?’ he murmured, and she shot him a saccharine smile.

  ‘Very clever. I haven’t got time to argue.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, his smile widening, and she ground her teeth.

  ‘So much for the return of your diplomacy,’ she bit out, and he chuckled. Damn him, he actually laughed at her! A couple entered the tearoom behind him, and grabbing her order pad like a lifeline, she muttered, ‘Excuse me,’ squeezed past him and tried very hard to ignore the tingle running through her from that fleeting encounter with his lean, hard body.

  Impossible. Heat zinged through her, and she couldn’t have been more aware of him if he’d been wired up to the National Grid. The wretched man was going to be the death of her!

  She wrote down their order and went back behind the counter, shooting him a wary look. ‘You still here?’

  ‘I was hoping for a pot of tea, a scone and a few minutes of your time. If that’s possible.’

  He looked patient, long-suffering and perhaps a little disappointed in her. She bit her lip, took a deep breath and dredged up a smile. ‘I’m sorry. I’m behaving like a child. I don’t even know what we’re fighting about.’

  ‘You’re just not used to people doing anything but taking,’ he said quietly. ‘Well, I’ve got news for you, Annie. I don’t want to take anything from you—nothing at all.’

>   And he turned on his heel and walked out.

  * * *

  Good Lord! He’d been on the point of telling her just how much he wanted to give her. Starting with his soul!

  Idiot. He opened the door to the flat, walked slowly and heavily upstairs and sat down in the wreckage of the kitchen. Well, at least it was clear now. He propped himself against the wall and studied it dispiritedly.

  Why the hell were they fighting? They hadn’t fought before—not for a moment! They’d teased and laughed and flirted—

  And he hadn’t been her landlord, and he’d been playing a totally different person, a charming womaniser who’d set about disarming her from the first meeting.

  Now they were both different, he because he was actually being himself, and she because she was older, wiser, laden with responsibility and rushed off her feet. And he kept hounding her to make changes when she’d had so many she probably never wanted to change anything ever again!

  ‘Fool,’ he muttered, crossing his arms on his knees and resting his aching head on them. He ought to go home to bed, but he couldn’t leave it like this—

  ‘Michael?’

  He lifted his head and studied her thoughtfully. ‘Hi. Have you escaped?’

  She laughed, a soft, rueful little ripple of sound that brought a lump to his throat.

  ‘For a moment. Jude’s minding the shop.’ She came and sat down beside him on the dusty floor, avoiding his eyes. ‘Look, I’m really sorry. I don’t know what’s going on. Can we start today again?’

  He reached out a hand, and after a moment’s hesitation she put hers in it.

  ‘Truce?’ she murmured, and he smiled at her, tugged her gently towards him and dropped a kiss on her startled lips.

  ‘Oh!’ she said, her soft voice breathless, and then she smiled, looking suddenly young and innocent and twenty-one again, and his gut clenched.

  ‘I take it that’s a yes?’ she said, and he smiled.

  ‘That’s a yes,’ he said, his voice gruff, and pulling her back again, he kissed her once more, then let her go quickly, before he could do anything else stupid to screw this up. He got to his feet, held out his hand and helped her up, then dropped her hand fast before he got too darned used to holding it.