Best of Virgins Bundle

by Cathy Williams

  ‘Did she?’ Abby moistened her own lips with the tip of her tongue, her gaze not quite meeting his now.

  ‘She did,’ he confirmed with a pointed sigh. ‘Something, as Dorothy happens to be one of my favourite people, I wasn’t too pleased about. Even if—as I pointed out to her—I was just returning the compliment.’ The steadiness of his gaze told her he was referring to the source who’d given her his address.

  It was impossible to mistake his displeasure for anything else. The grey eyes were glittering, his earlier mocking humour gone without trace, his restless anger tangible in spite of the fact he still lounged back in the armchair.

  ‘Dorothy is one of my favourite people, too,’ she assured him quietly.

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ he rasped. ‘But she hasn’t just told you that you have a big mouth!’

  No, and she couldn’t imagine Dorothy having said that to Max, either. ‘Dorothy is far too sweet to talk to anyone like that,’ she argued.

  Max shrugged. ‘Ordinarily I would have said so too, but she told me to put it down to her age.’

  Abby remembered that as the phrase her godmother had used the evening before, when discussing Jenny Jones, so perhaps Dorothy had said it after all. Abby’s mother, Dorothy’s best friend, had gone through the menopause several years ago, and she seemed to remember there had been something of a personality shift then, so maybe that was what Dorothy was referring to when she talked of her age being responsible for her uncharacteristic outspokenness.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry if it was anything I said that caused Dorothy to talk to you in that way.’ Abby sighed. ‘But, after what you said last night, I needed some answers to some questions, and in the circumstances Dorothy seemed the obvious choice to give them to me.’ Even if, as far as Abby was concerned, those answers had been less than satisfactory.

  ‘How about I take you out and we discuss this further over lunch?’

  Abby stared at Max now, too stunned by the suggestion to hide her surprise. ‘You’re inviting me out to lunch?’ She looked at him suspiciously.

  His mouth twitched as he easily read her disbelief. ‘That would seem to be what I just did, yes,’ he confirmed mockingly.

  Her stare turned to a frown. Why on earth would Max Harding, of all people, be inviting her out to lunch? It was—

  ‘You think too much, Abby,’ he told her irritably, and he stood up. ‘Grab a jacket and let’s go.’

  Did she want to go out to lunch with Max Harding? The answer to that was a definite yes!

  And it had absolutely nothing to do with continuing her efforts to persuade him to appear on her show, on the basis that any dialogue between them was better than none, and everything to do with the fluttering sensation in her chest and her complete physical awareness of him.

  He took some car keys out of the pocket of his ragged denims. ‘Yes or no, Abby?’

  A part of her so badly wanted to say no—if only to see the look on his face when she did. But the rest of her wanted to say yes—even if she did know it was a mistake to be attracted to this man.

  ‘I’ll take your silence as a no,’ he rasped impatiently as he turned to leave.

  ‘Yes!’ Abby burst out forcefully.

  Max came to a halt, slowly turning to face her, his expression unreadable. ‘Yes, I can take that as a no? Or, yes, you’ll have lunch with me?’ His offhand tone implied he was no longer bothered either way.

  Which he probably wasn’t, Abby accepted ruefully. He had made the gesture—for whatever reason—and the rest was up to her. It was a sure fact that if she said no now he would never repeat the invitation.

  ‘Yes, I’ll come to lunch.’ She plucked her jacket from the back of the chair, where she had thrown it earlier, deftly slipping her arms into the sleeves. ‘After all, a free lunch is a free lunch!’ she added with casual dismissal. No need to look too eager!

  Max eyed her mockingly. ‘Didn’t you know, Abby? There’s no such thing as a free lunch.’

  Maybe there wasn’t, but she couldn’t for the life of her imagine what price he might consider extracting for buying her lunch; after all, he had told her on several occasions that she wasn’t his type. And even if she was, that price might be a little high!

  He sighed, indicating his impatience with her delay. ‘Would you just get your act in gear? I get tetchy when I’m hungry,’ he added ruefully.

  Abby slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder. ‘How can you tell?’ she taunted as she passed him on her way to the door.

  ‘Oh, ha-ha,’ he muttered. ‘You’ll see—I’ll be a veritable pussycat once I’ve eaten.’

  A lion or a tiger, maybe. Or at least one of the man—woman?—eating kind!

  But, talking of cats…

  ‘Just a minute.’ She beat a hasty retreat back into the apartment, going through to the kitchen to check that Monty had enough water while she was out.

  When she returned to the lounge she discovered that Monty had left his hiding place and was now graciously allowing Max to get down on his haunches and stroke his silky white fur.

  ‘My cat Monty.’ She introduced him wryly. Her traitorous cat Monty. Really, couldn’t Monty recognise an enemy when he saw one?

  Max looked up at her. ‘This isn’t just a cat, Abby, he’s a Persian. Rather a magnificent example of his breed, too,’ he added admiringly.

  ‘Oh, don’t you start!’ She raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Monty already has an elevated enough opinion of himself as it is.’

  ‘Quite right too,’ Max straightened. ‘Are you finally ready to go?’

  ‘Well, I could always do a little dusting, and the bedroom probably needs tidying…Yes, I’m ready to go now!’ she taunted lightly, and he shot her a scathing look.

  She was even more pleased she had accepted his invitation when she realised he was driving to her favourite restaurant. She loved Italian food, and Luigi’s served some of the finest in London. The busy restaurant also had the advantage of being close to the studio where she now worked. Not that it mattered today; she wasn’t going back in to work until Monday.

  ‘I asked Dorothy where you like to eat,’ Max told her as he saw her pleased expression. Which meant he had intended inviting her out to lunch all the time…

  Interesting.

  Although the fact that Dorothy knew Max meant to invite her out to lunch probably meant that her mother now knew about it too.

  The two women—Dorothy and Abby’s mother Elizabeth—spoke on the telephone at least a couple of times a week, and Abby was sure that Dorothy would consider Abby being invited out to lunch by Max Harding as more than enough reason for one of those lengthy calls. Max probably had no idea, but, knowing the two women as well as she did, Abby had no doubt that by the time the telephone conversation came to an end Dorothy and Elizabeth would have chosen the colour of the bridesmaids’ dresses and decided on names for their children.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Max prompted after parking the silver Mercedes and coming round to open her door for her.

  She gave a dismissive shake of her head. ‘You had to be there!’

  His mouth twisted derisively. ‘Maybe I would have been if I’d known it was going to be so much fun!’

  No, he wouldn’t. One thing she could say with absolute certainty about Max Harding—without any fear of contradiction on his part—was that he certainly wasn’t the type of man you took home to meet your mother!

  As far as Abby was aware, apart from that very early marriage, at thirty-nine years old he had never been involved in a relationship that even approached that level of seriousness.

  She wondered why that was. There was no doubting his good looks, or his sensual attraction, and he was certainly wealthy enough, so Abby was sure that his reluctance about commitment couldn’t have come from the females he’d dated. Maybe—

  ‘What are you thinking about now?’ Max enquired, his hand lightly on her elbow as they crossed the car park to the restaurant.

  Abby gave him a look fro
m beneath lowered lashes. ‘The truth?’

  ‘I find that preferable.’

  She drew in a deep breath. ‘I was wondering if perhaps you had homosexual tendencies.’

  ‘You were wondering—!’ Max broke off incredulously. ‘By all means be blunt, why don’t you?’ He gave a dazed shake of his head.

  ‘Well, you did ask.’

  ‘I know I did. And the answer is no. A definite no,’ he added impatiently.

  Abby gave an unconcerned shrug. ‘It was just a thought.’

  Max swung open the restaurant door for her to enter. ‘Well, in future I suggest you keep those sort of thoughts to yourself!’

  ‘You asked,’ she protested. ‘Besides, you said I wasn’t your type, so I—’

  ‘Jumped to a conclusion a dozen steps ahead rather than one!’ He shook his head. ‘And I wasn’t referring to the whole of the female sex, anyway.’

  ‘Just me?’

  He gave her a considering look, that sweeping gaze taking in the whole of her appearance from her silky dark hair to her booted feet. ‘I think it might be best if I were to reserve judgement on my previous statement,’ he finally answered huskily.

  ‘You sound like a lawyer,’ Abby mocked.

  ‘I shall be “taking the fifth” in a moment,’ he assured her sardonically.

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t think that applies over here.’

  ‘Then maybe it should,’ Max said with feeling.

  Exactly what had he meant by that remark? Abby wondered with a fluttering sensation in her chest. Could he—?

  ‘Abby!’ Luigi himself was acting as maître d’ today, smiling his pleasure as he moved to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘Such an honour to have you with us today,’ he beamed. ‘For obvious reasons I couldn’t see your show myself last night.’ He looked pointedly around the crowded restaurant, which was even more frenetic in the evenings. ‘But my wife tells me it was very romantic.’ He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

  Abby laughed, making no comment on the show herself; as far as she was concerned the jury was still out on whether or not it had actually been a success. ‘Luigi, this is Max Harding.’ She changed the subject by introducing the two men.

  ‘But of course.’ Luigi clearly recognized him. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Harding.’

  ‘Max, please,’ he responded smoothly. ‘I telephoned earlier and booked a table,’ he told the corpulent Italian.

  ‘I had no idea Abby was to be your dining companion.’ The restaurant owner smiled, removing a ‘Reserved’ sign from a table in the middle of the room and taking them to a window table instead.

  ‘You eat here quite often, I gather?’ Max murmured dryly, obviously having noticed the move.

  ‘Often enough,’ she agreed, nodding to several people in the restaurant whom she knew—quite a lot of them from the studio down the street.

  Max had been so sure that he could persuade her to have lunch with him today that he had booked a table? That sort of confidence, and the fact that she was here and proving it justified, made her feel more than a little annoyed. Was she that easy to read? Or just that easy?

  ‘Dorothy warned me I’d need to book a table if we weren’t to be disappointed when we got here,’ Max put in quietly, perhaps noticing her rapidly rising indignation.

  Seated opposite him, totally aware of him and anticipating one of Luigi’s delicious pasta dishes for lunch rather than the crackers and cheese she had intended having at home, Abby decided she couldn’t be bothered to argue.

  ‘A glass of your house red, please,’ she told Luigi in answer to his question concerning drinks. ‘It’s very good,’ she assured Max as he looked at her enquiringly.

  ‘Make that two glasses of house red—thanks,’ he told the other man, before turning his attention back to Abby. ‘So how does it feel to be a celebrity?’

  She grimaced, fiddling with the small vase of fresh flowers in the middle of the table. ‘If I ever become one I’ll be sure to let you know!’

  Max reached out and put one of his much larger hands over both of hers. ‘Take a look around you, Abby,’ he advised softly.

  She did, her eyes widening as she saw that a lot of the other diners were now sending surreptitious glances in their direction. One or two of those people were actually smiling at her approvingly.

  She gave a rueful shrug as she turned back to Max. ‘They’re probably all wondering who the woman is having lunch with Max Harding!’

  He gave a shake of his head. ‘I’m yesterday’s news, Abby. It’s you they’re looking at,’ he assured her.

  Another slightly self-conscious look around the room confirmed that he was right—that she was the one people were nodding and smiling at.

  She had come in for her fair share of recognition from being on breakfast television for over a year, but nothing like this. Then she had usually been recognised and stopped in the supermarket buying her week’s supply of chocolate—or, even worse, in the chemist as she was buying essential but embarrassing female toiletries.

  But most of that recognition had been from middle-aged or elderly females; the wave of awareness she could feel in the restaurant now was coming from both males and females—of all ages. Recognition and smiling approval, she realized. Most of those friendly gazes seemed to be smiling indulgently at the hold Max still had on her hands.

  She hastily removed her hands from his. ‘They’ll have the two of us married to each other by tomorrow morning!’ she explained with fiery red cheeks.

  ‘Possibly,’ Max acknowledged lightly, sitting back with apparent unconcern. ‘Need any more confirmation that your show was a success?’

  ‘Lots!’ She grimaced. ‘Especially as the whole thing seems to be a case of “not what I know but who I know” getting me the job in the first place,’ she recalled heavily.

  It might also help to explain Gary Holmes’s obvious contempt for her from the start—he had known of her relationship to Paul Dillman’s wife. Although Max certainly hadn’t been aware of that connection until she had told him…Oh, well, perhaps Gary Holmes was just rude and cutting to any young upstart he considered had been foisted on him. Whatever—he certainly didn’t like her.

  ‘Well, well, well, Abby. Out for a celebration lunch? Or is it one of commiseration?’ The last word dripped with scorn.

  Perhaps it was thinking about him, or maybe he was just becoming her nemesis, but Abby could only look up in open-mouthed dismay as Gary Holmes himself materialised beside their table. In fact, she was so surprised she couldn’t even speak.

  In the event, it was Max who answered the other man. ‘A celebration, of course, Gary,’ he assured him challengingly as he stood up.

  To say Gary looked stunned at the identity of her dining companion was putting it mildly. The older man’s face was suffused with heated colour. What followed was the draining of all that colour, leaving him white and drawn.

  Max, in contrast, looked arrogantly assured at he stared down at the other, shorter and more slenderly built man.

  Gary swallowed convulsively as he tried to return that hard gaze. ‘Max,’ he muttered unnecessarily.

  Max gave a humourless smile, his eyes glittering icily. ‘At least neither of us is hypocritical enough to say it’s good to see you again.’

  Because it obviously wasn’t, Abby saw.

  The one and only time Gary Holmes’s name had come up in conversation between herself and Max had been that first day, when Abby had managed to get herself admitted into Max’s apartment. She remembered that Max had gone very quiet afterwards, brushing off her question and changing the subject when she had asked him for an explanation. But now, seeing the two men together, she knew her instinct that day had been correct. These two men heartily disliked each other.

  She wondered why.

  But Gary was recovering rapidly now, his initial shock fading to be replaced by his usual sneering smile as he turned back to look at Abby. ‘Can I take it from the two of you being here together
that you have succeeded in persuading Max to come on your show after all?’ he taunted.

  ‘You can take it any way you like, Gary,’ Max answered harshly. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind? You’ve interrupted our meal for quite long enough.’ He gave the other man a pointedly dismissive look.

  ‘Not at all.’ Gary was obviously fully recovered now. ‘I’ll look forward to working with you again,’ he added challengingly, before shooting Abby once last dismissive glance and swaggering his way out of the restaurant.

  Abby looked curiously up at Max as he still stood beside the table.

  Again. Gary had said he looked forward to working with Max again.

  When had the two men worked together in the past? Whenever it was, it clearly hadn’t been a friendly relationship!

  She moistened dry lips. ‘Max—’

  ‘Don’t ask!’ he rasped, his expression harsh and remote as he resumed his seat.

  But she wanted to know—needed to know before she worked with Gary again. She was sure that the other man wouldn’t let this chance meeting pass without further comment. Which, in her ignorance, she would have no chance of combating.

  But Max’s frostily closed expression certainly didn’t invite further questions on the subject!

  In fact, Gary’s uninvited appearance had put a complete dampener on their meal together. Neither of them—to Luigi’s obvious disgust—did more than pick at the homemade pasta, and both of them refused dessert or coffee.

  Max asked tersely for the bill before driving her home in stony silence.

  All of which brought Abby to the decision that the first thing she would do on Monday morning was set about finding out the history of the obvious antagonism between Max Harding and Gary Holmes.

  She had a feeling it was a history worth knowing.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘I’M SORRY.’

  Abby, half in the car, half out on the pavement, paused to turn and look at Max. ‘Sorry for what?’

  After starting out so promisingly, she had just suffered through the most awful lunch of her life; there had better only be one thing he was sorry for!

  His expression darkened. ‘Damn it!’ His hands tightened briefly on the steering wheel before he turned to push the car door open beside him and stepped forcefully onto the road—instantly having to hold up a hand of apology to the driver of an oncoming car, who had to veer further out into the road to avoid hitting him. Max strode round the car to stand on the pavement next to the watching Abby. ‘I’m sorry I was such a lousy lunch companion,’ he muttered.