by Kate Hardy
She rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t have a phobia about having my picture taken, Gio. I just prefer being behind the lens, not in front of it.’
On the outside, looking in? Or was he reading too much into it? He changed tack. ‘Is that what you thought about doing when you were a kid? Being a photographer?’
‘No, I’m not that arty.’ She shrugged. ‘I take reasonable snaps, but I’m not under any illusions that I’m the next David Bailey.’
‘So what did you want to do, when you were at school?’
‘Can’t remember.’
Her back was to him so he couldn’t read her expression. He had the feeling that she was fibbing, but he didn’t want to push her too hard, so he let it go. Instead, he picked up the group photograph and settled back against the sofa to study it more carefully. ‘You’ve met my family. They’re going to grill me about yours—and if I say I don’t know, they’ll smell a rat. Come and tell me about them,’ he invited.
‘There’s not that much to tell.’ She brought the coffee over and handed him a mug. ‘Obviously that’s my mum and dad—Dad’s head of the local middle school and Mum’s a geography teacher at the local high school.’
Again, he noticed, she’d given him the least information she could get away with. ‘Honestly, getting details out of you is like pulling teeth! I ought to take lessons from Nonna. What are their names?’ Gio prompted.
‘Carol and Warren.’
They looked pleasant enough. Physically, they were nothing like Fran; they were both tall, and, although Warren’s hair was graying, he’d clearly been fair, as had Carol. Her siblings were tall and fair, too. So he could see why Fran, being little and dark-haired, felt the differences so keenly.
‘Did you take this in your parents’ back garden?’
‘Yes.’
It was incredibly neat and tidy; clearly someone in the family loved gardening and took pride in the flowers. Something Fran had had in common with them? But he couldn’t think of a way to ask without risking her clamming up on him.
‘Tell me about the others,’ he invited.
She put her mug on the floor, then pointed to the younger woman in the photograph. ‘This is Suzy—she’s the baby of the family. She’s training to be a dentist.’
Again, the bare minimum of detail. What was Suzy like as a person? If anyone had asked him to describe Marcie, the baby in their family, he would’ve said she was little and funny and noisy and arty—she worked in a gallery and, although she could barely draw a straight line with a ruler, she had a real eye for colour and detail, and the pieces she bought for herself were already worth at least three times what she’d paid for them.
‘Does she get more information out of you than anyone else?’ he asked.
She frowned. ‘How?’
‘By pulling…’ He stopped. ‘Never mind.’ It was a poor joke, and he didn’t want to annoy her so that she clammed up again. ‘What about the twins?’ he asked. They were definitely identical; he couldn’t tell them apart.
‘This is Ted and this is Dominic.’ She pointed them out in turn. ‘Ted’s a forensic scientist and Dominic’s doing a PhD in history—he’ll probably go on to teach at uni because he runs a few tutorials and lectures already.’
Again, very little detail. But one thing he had noted: her family were all academic, with three teachers and two scientists among them, and he already knew Fran felt bad about the fact she’d failed her exams. No wonder she felt so out of place—but he’d just bet her family appreciated her other qualities: the way she was unflappable, dealt with things coolly and calmly and was so neat and organised.
And he told her so.
She scoffed. ‘There’s really nothing to being organised.’
‘There is, when you’re trying to juggle six things at once.’
She looked at him. ‘Gio Mazetti, are you trying to tell me you haven’t sorted out your sisters’ birthday presents yet?’
How the hell had she guessed that? He hadn’t even discussed it with her. ‘I’ll get there—’ he paused ‘—unless, that is, you’re offering help? Because they’re at a difficult age.’
She laughed back. ‘Rubbish. There’s nothing difficult about twenty-seven, twenty-five or twenty-three.’
‘Oh, yes, there is. I have no idea what’s trendy and what’s completely unfashionable.’
‘And you think I do?’
He smiled. ‘You have a better idea than I have, anyway. Come shopping with me?’
She gave him a searching look, as if trying to work out if his offer was for real; then clearly she decided to take it at face value, because she said, ‘Sure, I’ll help you find something.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’ He finished his drink. ‘Nice coffee, by the way.’
‘Thank you.’
‘In cupping terms, I’d say this has a perfect body.’ Just like her. Soft and curvy and incredibly sexy. ‘I haven’t told you about the cupping, have I?’
Cupping.
Little shivers of desire went all the way down her spine. The way he’d held her on his lap this afternoon, with his hands at her waist—if they’d been alone, how easily his hands could have slid up her ribcage to cup her breasts.
Her mouth went dry. ‘Cupping.’
His eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘It’s the coffee world’s equivalent of wine tasting.’
Fran could actually feel the colour flooding into her face. Oh, lord. How embarrassing could she get?
Gio’s voice deepened slightly. ‘Though there is another definition.’ The amusement in his gaze was replaced by sheer heat. ‘Fran, if I embarrassed you this afternoon when I pulled you on to my lap like that, I’m sorry.’
She wasn’t.
He moistened his lower lip. ‘My family is…tactile.’
Yes. And she really wanted him to touch her, right here and now. She could see in his face that he was going to touch her. And when he reached out and stroked her cheek, she couldn’t help herself. She turned her face into his palm and pressed a kiss into it. ‘It’s OK.’
‘No, it’s not.’ She could actually feel his hands trembling. ‘Because right now I really need to…’ In one swift movement, he’d pulled her on to his lap. Except this time she was sitting facing him. He leaned forward and caught her lower lip between his. Nibbled gently until she opened her mouth and slid her arms round his neck, leaning closer. His hands were pressed flat against the curve of her waist. And then his fingers dipped under the hem of her shirt. She quivered as his fingertips brushed her skin, moving slowly upwards. And then somehow he’d unsnapped her bra, pushed the material aside and was cupping her breasts.
And it was even better than she’d imagined, a few moments before.
When he broke the kiss to trace the curve of her neck with his mouth, she made a little noise of pleasure.
And Gio stopped.
Stared at her, shock blanching his face.
‘I…Fran. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be doing this.’
Before she could protest that it was OK, that she was there all the way with him, he restored order to her clothes and gently moved her off his lap.
‘This wasn’t…Fran, I don’t do relationships. And I respect you too much to sleep with you and push you out of my life.’
Respect. What was it about her that made men want to respect her, be her friend, instead of seducing her? Most of the time it didn’t bother her.
Right now, it did.
Especially because it would be all too obvious how aroused she was.
The only thing she could salvage from this was pride. So she made the effort to sound like the cool, efficient office manager she was supposed to be. This girlfriend business was just for show and what had just happened between them was—well, they’d both been under pressure. ‘No worries. We’ll just pretend it never happened.’
‘Thank you.’ He stood up. ‘I, um—see you tomorrow.’
She nodded. ‘And bring your credit card.’
‘Credit
card?’
‘Your sisters’ birthday presents. We’re going shopping in my lunch hour.’
And the minute he left, she was going to take a very, very cold shower. Get her brain and her body back to normal.
Shopping? More like a military operation, Gio thought when Fran marched him into the third shop in Oxford Street. ‘What did you do—scope things out on the net first?’
She gave him a sidelong look. ‘Don’t tell me you’d rather spend hours wandering around, not really sure what you want or where to find it?’
‘Well, no,’ he admitted. ‘But I don’t understand how you knew the perfect presents to get for my sisters when you’ve only just met them.’
‘It’s called looking at people. Noticing things,’ Fran said. ‘Jude likes really understated jewellery. Very classic, very pretty. Her wedding ring’s white gold and her watch is chrome, so yellow gold earrings wouldn’t really be her style. The white gold ones with pink sapphires are more the kind of thing she’d like.’
Hmm. Fran didn’t wear jewellery. Didn’t have pierced ears. Would she…?
No. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about jewellery and Francesca Marsden. The fact he’d love to see her wearing nothing but a string of pearls and a sexy smile.
Kissing her yesterday had been a big mistake. Because he wanted to do it all over again. And this time not stop touching her until they were both naked.
And sated.
As if oblivious to what was going through his head, Fran continued, ‘Marcie, on the other hand, loves jewellery that makes a statement. She wears silver bangles set with big chunky stones. That triangular pendant set with a turquoise is the sort of thing she’d choose.’
‘And Bella?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t you listen to anyone unless it’s about work?’
Ouch. That was definitely below the belt.
‘Angela told us in the Chinese restaurant that Bella’s a handbag fiend. Here.’ She looked quickly through the display, picked out an evening bag and handed it to Gio. ‘She goes out a lot in the evening, so a bag that’s big enough to take her phone, credit card, keys and a coin purse is perfect. And this particular designer does seriously cute bags.’
‘That little Scottie dog on the front looks just like her new puppy. She probably showed you the latest pictures yesterday.’ Gio shook his head in amazement. ‘See, this is why I needed you with me. You understand girl stuff. I’d never have thought of this.’
‘Don’t flannel me. You normally text them at the last minute and ask them for a list of ideas and exactly where to buy them, don’t you?’ she asked.
Was he that predictable? Or was she just really, really good at reading people? But he loved the way she teased him. ‘It means they get what they really want. But this year, I wanted it to be different. So I told them all I was going to get them a surprise.’
‘And if I’d refused to come and help you?’
‘Then I’d have given them vouchers for a pamper day at their favourite spa,’ he admitted. ‘But I prefer giving presents to unwrap. Ones that people really like.’
‘So all you have to do is notice the details.’
‘I do notice details,’ he protested as he paid for the bag. ‘And because we did all the shopping in about three minutes flat, we have time for lunch.’
Though what he wanted for lunch definitely wasn’t on the menu.
She pantomimed horror. ‘Tut, tut. Should we not be heading to a branch of Giovanni’s?’
‘The nearest one’s at Charlotte Street. Which means I’d feel forced to go back to the office—and aren’t you joining my family’s campaign to make me take more time off?’
She laughed, but let him lead her into a nearby café.
‘I meant it about noticing details,’ Gio said when he brought their tray to their table.
‘Such as?’
‘You, for example.’ The way her mouth was so full and lush and sexy when she’d just been kissed. Not that he was stupid enough to say that out loud. ‘Your eyes are the most beautiful colour—the same as the sky at about ten o’clock on an August evening.’
‘Flannel.’ She looked away.
‘Fran?’ He reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘I apologise for embarrassing you.’
‘I’m not embarrassed.’
The bright pink of her cheeks said otherwise. ‘I’ll take it away from the personal, then,’ he said softly ‘The only jewellery you wear is a watch, and it’s precisely eight minutes fast—which I’d guess is the amount of time it would take to sort out a voiceover studio between slots.’
‘Well deduced, Holmes.’
‘Why, thank you, Watson,’ he teased back.
But he managed to keep the conversation light and impersonal, and didn’t try to persuade her to take a longer lunch break when she said it was time to go back to work.
On Wednesday morning, just as Gio was about to leave his flat, his mobile phone rang.
He checked the display before answering: the Holborn branch. ‘Hi, Amy. What’s up?’
‘You know I was having problems with the steam wand the other day, and you sorted it out? It’s gone funny again. I’m trying to get it to work, but could you pop in on your way to Charlotte Street?’
‘Yeah, sure. I’ll get Sal to open up here. Be with you in a few minutes.’
By the time he’d got to Holborn, the steam wand was working perfectly again.
‘I feel really guilty, dragging you out here over nothing,’ Amy said. ‘But as you’re here, I was wondering if we could have a chat about something? There’s a writers’ group who’d like to meet here on Wednesday evenings and they asked me if we could open late. I know we don’t normally do evenings, but I’ve got a business plan. It’ll only take me ten minutes to talk you through…’
More like half an hour, but Gio knew the Charlotte Street branch was safe in Sally’s hands—not to mention Fran being in the office if there was a problem elsewhere.
He didn’t think anything of it until he was walking down Charlotte Street and noticed something odd about the exterior of the café.
Red balloons tied to the door, he saw as he got nearer.
Balloons that said ‘Happy Birthday’.
And when he walked into the café, spread across the back of the bar was a huge banner that said ‘Happy 29th birthday, Gio’, surrounded by balloons.
Before he had the chance to take it in, his mother, father and grandmother stepped out of the office, together with Fran. Fran counted them in, and they started singing ‘Happy Birthday to You’ to him, along with Ian and Sally.
Even the customers joined in.
He’d barely registered that today was his birthday—the post hadn’t arrived before he left, and he never really bothered making a fuss over the day anyway.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said. ‘Balloons?’
‘There are twenty-nine—one for every year of your age,’ Fran told him with a grin. ‘Count them, if you like. Now sit down and I’ll make you a coffee.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘When did you do all this?’ Then the penny dropped. ‘That call this morning from Amy—you set it up, didn’t you?’
She nodded. ‘I needed you out of the way until we’d put up the balloons and banner. But she was going to talk to you about the writing-group thing anyway.’
‘You know about that?’ At her raised eyebrow, he sighed. ‘You did the business plan, didn’t you?’
‘It was a joint effort with Amy, but, yes,’ she admitted.
She made an espresso, then heated the milk. And Gio watched, open-mouthed, as Fran made him a latte and free-poured a perfect rosetta on the top. ‘Happy birthday, honey,’ she said with a smile.
He stared at the mug, and then at her. ‘You made me a rosetta.’
‘Mmm. I should’ve made it a cake and a candle, really. But that would mean using a needle and cocoa, and I thought you might like this a little bit more.’ Her eyes glittered with mischief. ‘Not to m
ention a little wager we had—which had a deadline of this Friday, I believe.’
He groaned. ‘Oh, no. You’ve been practising, haven’t you?’
‘Yup.’
‘Which means you win the chocolates.’
She spread her hands. ‘Don’t blame me. You’re the one who set high stakes. Which were, and I quote, “I’ll take you to Fortnum’s and buy you the biggest box of chocolates of your choice.”’
He noticed Sally was beaming, and leaned against the counter. ‘You’ve been giving her coaching, Sal, haven’t you?’
‘For a half-share in those chocolates? You bet I have!’ The barista chuckled. ‘Though, I admit, my pupil worked pretty hard.’
‘It’s cheating. Absolute cheating,’ Gio said.
‘Ah, no. You merely gave me a time limit. You didn’t say that I couldn’t get anyone else to help me,’ Fran reminded him.
‘I don’t know what to say.’ He gestured at the balloons and the banner. ‘I really wasn’t expecting this.’
Her smile broadened. ‘Well, I haven’t quite finished yet. In fact, I’m expecting a delivery—’ Gio heard the door click open ‘—about right now.’
CHAPTER NINE
GIO frowned as he saw Ingrid in the doorway. From the look of the baskets on the counter, they’d already had their cake delivery for the day. Why on earth would their baker need to come back a second time?
The answer lay in the large white box she was carrying. ‘One special delivery, Fran,’ she said, and put the cake between Fran and Gio.
‘Thanks, Ingrid.’ Fran removed the lid and opened the box to reveal a birthday cake, in the shape of a cup of coffee, covered in what looked like pure chocolate. ‘Happy birthday Gio’ was written on it in white icing, and there was a rosetta piped underneath his name.
There were no candles; instead, there were tiny indoor sparklers along the top of the cake. And Gio had to swallow the lump in his throat when Fran lit them.
She’d arranged all this—just for him.
