Gentlemen Prefer...Brunettes

by Fielding, Liz

  ‘Save what you can’t eat for Veronica. She’s going to need it,’ Cassie declared. And when he laughed she leaned forward, picked up the pack of defrosting peas and flung it at him.

  He fielded it without difficulty and placed it on the countertop. ‘I’ll pay you for your time,’ he offered, quite deliberately turning the screw a little tighter. There was something about the way she sparked when she was angry that promised real fireworks if she ever lost control. And he loved fireworks.

  ‘You couldn’t afford me,’ she declared. ‘And even if you could I wouldn’t take your money.’

  ‘Who said anything about money? We’ll talk terms over supper.’ The doorbell sounded again, more impatiently this time. ‘I’d better get that.’

  ‘Get it and go,’ Cassie shouted after him, but Nick was already thudding up the stairs to the front door and she wasn’t under any illusion that he would do as she said.

  She had his word that he never gave up until he got what he wanted. And he wanted her. Her help, she corrected herself. Her help. That was all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MAYBE that was the answer. If she ensured his seduction feast was a success then he would be too busy with Veronica to bother her again. And if he wasn’t around she wouldn’t have to keep battling with the disturbing feelings that he had brought bubbling to the surface. Feelings that she knew were much better kept, like secrets, safely buried where they could do no harm.

  Very well. If that was what it took. But she wasn’t going to let him think she was a pushover. It would take more than one little grovel and a pretty please to win her co-operation. After all, he had said he’d pay for her help and she had the feeling that she would be able to name her price. So what would it be? Not money. Money wouldn’t hurt; he had too much of it. And she wanted him to hurt. But cosying up on the sofa wasn’t doing anything for her thinking process.

  Taking advantage of his absence, she swung herself round and lowered her undamaged foot to the floor. At least if she was sitting at the table she would have a chair all to herself, preferably with three feet of solid pine between them. Using the arm of the sofa, she hauled herself upright and very gingerly lowered her other toe to the floor. Her ankle complained. Loudly.

  She really needed a stick, but since she didn’t have one the furniture would have to do. She leaned across towards her desk, grasped the corner and took a small hop.

  Pain scythed through her ankle as her body jarred against the floor, bringing an expletive surging to her lips. She bit them as the sweat beaded her forehead, refusing to utter a sound, no matter how much it hurt. But for a moment she didn’t think she could make another move.

  Yet the alternative was to have Nick find her swaying between the sofa and the desk. To have him help her back to the sofa. Mop her brow. Loosen her shirt, take her pulse again. The thought was so enticing, so real that she could almost feel those long fingers against her skin. Too enticing, too real. It was definitely time to move.

  She swallowed hard. One hop to the edge of the countertop. One hop along it. Then the space across to the table—an empty space with nothing to cling onto. Concentrating on the goal of the chair, she took one little hop and, struggling for balance, she hung there with no support but her one good ankle.

  Then she made the mistake of looking up.

  Nick, having paid the delivery boy, was taking his time about returning to the kitchen, using the time to decide how he was going to persuade Cassie to help him. Because he hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that winning was everything. He wasn’t fooling himself either; to win he needed her help. In retrospect, however, he realised that it had been a mistake to offer to pay her.

  It was fun to see her rise to his teasing, but he didn’t want her mad, he wanted her co-operative. There must be something she wanted, something that he could do for her. She was going to need a driver if she was going to take her nephews away. And someone to erect the tent, organise the camp. He couldn’t do it, of course. He was far too busy. But one of the young men who worked for him could be spared for a day. It would, after all, be an act of kindness… ‘What on earth—?’

  Cassie, standing on one foot in the middle of the kitchen floor, was swaying dangerously. He dropped the carrier bag the delivery boy had given him and raced across the kitchen, catching her as she pitched forward into his arms.

  She seemed incredibly small as he gathered her against him. Small and shapely, with a real old-fashioned waist that nipped in as if inviting an arm to slide about it. An invitation that he was happy to accept. She was the kind of woman built to sit on a man’s lap and lie against his chest with her head tucked beneath his chin.

  Maybe that was why he held onto her for longer than was strictly necessary to stop her from falling. Why he found himself scooping her up against his chest.

  Why kissing her suddenly seemed like a thoroughly good idea.

  ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ Nick, trying to ignore a dozen signals flashing at him from every corner of his own body and quite a few of hers, heard himself growling at the woman.

  Kissing Cassie might seem like a good idea and usually he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. He hadn’t thought twice about it in the bookshop. After all, you only lived once and he hadn’t had his face slapped…yet. But this time something stopped him. Some in-built sense of self-preservation warned him that Cassie didn’t play those games. And he didn’t play any other kind.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded, when she didn’t answer him. ‘Aren’t you content with one twisted ankle? Are you going for the full set?’

  ‘What’s the matter, Nick?’ Cassie responded, with equal vigour. ‘Are you concerned that if I do any more damage I won’t be fit to help you lay on the seduction feast?’

  Anger would do as well as any other emotion to disguise the warm surge of desire that had swept over her as she had lain against Nick Jefferson’s chest. The need simply to let go and have him hold her, kiss her, make love to her. Was she going out of her mind? Hadn’t she learned her lesson? He might not be Jonathan’s equal in the bastard stakes, but he would still use her and walk away and not look back.

  It had been a long time since she had felt those kind of longings, yet the feelings had rushed back, clear and bright and urgent, as if it were the very first time. And how like her to choose the wrong man. Again.

  Not that it mattered. She’d obviously misread the situation. No man who kissed girls as easily as Nick Jefferson would have missed out on that opportunity. Not with her positively panting to be kissed.

  ‘Could you put me down, please, Nick? No, not on the sofa—’ But he wasn’t listening. He crossed to the sofa and put her down on the soft cushions with a speed that suggested he couldn’t wait to rid himself of an unwelcome burden. Dem, thoroughly fed up with being disturbed yet again, leapt to his paws, hackles raised, back arched, hissing furiously.

  Nick looked down at him. Then he folded his long body until his face was level with that of the cat and Cassie drew in a sharp breath. ‘What’s bothering you, puss?’ he demanded. For a moment Dem’s golden eyes sparked venom but when Nick didn’t back off the cat abruptly sat down and began to lick furiously at his back.

  Cassie let out the breath she had been holding. ‘You’ve embarrassed him,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not surprised. He has appalling manners.’

  ‘He’s a male; what do you expect?’

  For a moment Nick remained perfectly still, a tiny frown creasing the broad space between his brows. Then he stood up. ‘Stay there, Cassie,’ he said, his hand briefly touching her shoulder. ‘I’ll find some plates and be right back.’

  Cassie considered telling him to forget it. Just to go away and leave her and Dem in peace. But since it would clearly be a total waste of breath she said, ‘They’re in the cupboard at the end…’ But he’d already found them. Cassie turned to Dem and let out a rather shaky breath, gently smoothing her hand over the cat’s sleek coat. Dem gave her finger a
quick sympathetic lick with his rough tongue and carried on washing. ‘You’ll find the forks…’ But he’d found them too and was busy opening the cartons of food.

  ‘Shall I bring it all over or will you trust me to do this for you?’ Nick asked, turning to her.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Duck. Do you want everything in your pancakes?’

  ‘Why not?’ She waited while he prepared a couple of pancakes and brought them over to her. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had a take-away,’ she said.

  He eased himself onto the sofa alongside her. ‘I don’t suppose it would do much for your reputation being seen dashing into fast-food joints. I don’t suppose it’s even close to your exalted standards…’

  ‘On the contrary, it’s delicious. Where did it come from?’

  ‘The Lotus Flower.’

  ‘The Lotus?’ No wonder it tasted good. The Lotus Flower had more stars, medals, recommendations in good food guides than any other restaurant, Chinese or any other nationality, in the county. ‘I didn’t know they did take-away food.’

  Nick shrugged. The owner owed me a favour. I found his daughter a tennis coach.’ He caught her eye. ‘She’s eleven years old, Cassie, in case you were wondering… and a first-rate tennis player.’

  ‘It’s none of my business how old she is.’ Then she said, ‘Maybe you should ask him to find you a cooking coach.’

  ‘Why should I, when I’ve got you? More wine?’ The phone began to ring. ‘Shall I get that?’ Before she could answer he had reached across and picked up the telephone. ‘Melchester 690016.’ He trotted out her number as casually as his own, Cassie fumed. ‘Well, she’s lying down right now; is it urgent?’ Cassie practically threw herself at him to get the phone, but he lifted it out of her reach and, not bothering to cover the receiver, said, ‘It’s someone called Matt. Do you want to speak to him? Or shall I ask him to call back in the morning?’

  ‘Give me that telephone,’ she whispered fiercely. He surrendered it with a grin, silently mouthing, ‘Only joking,’ as he did so. She glowered back. ‘Matt? What can I do for you?’

  Her brother-in-law chuckled. ‘Tell me if I’m disturbing something here, Cassie, and I’ll call back when you aren’t so, er, busy.’

  ‘I’m not in the least bit busy,’ she declared, glaring at Nick. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing new. I just wanted to warn you that Lauren is still trying to wriggle out of this trip to Portugal.’ His voice lost all trace of laughter. ‘I think she’d use any excuse—’

  ‘Then don’t give her one.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. She’s using you. She keeps saying that you won’t be able to cope with the boys…that I shouldn’t have insisted on you going to Morgan’s Landing…you know, the same old stuff…’

  ‘You’ve had another row?’

  ‘You could say that. Anyone would think I enjoy working fourteen hours a day.’

  ‘Maybe it’s easier than coming home these days?’

  ‘I have to earn a living.’

  ‘You do a lot more than that. But when you’ve made your first million and you’re living in luxury will it be worth a broken marriage and seeing the boys once a week?’ There was silence from the other end of the phone. ‘You’re going to have to sort out your priorities, you know. You can’t go on like this. Lauren won’t put up with it.’

  ‘She was the one who wanted the big new house, a car of her own, private schools for the kids…’

  ‘Not at the expense of your marriage. Talk to her, Matt. Tell her how you feel.’ He was silent. ‘Try and remember what it was like before you started giving Lauren things instead of yourself,’ she urged. ‘I scarcely qualify as an agony aunt and my own marriage was too short to provide much of an example—’ not one that anyone would want to emulate, anyway ‘—but I do know that it has to be worked at.’

  ‘Have you told her that?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter who makes the first move. Just so long as someone does.’

  ‘You should have got married again, Cass; you know all the answers.’ Oh, sure. ‘What about the guy who answered the phone? Any chance?’

  ‘None whatever. I’ll expect the boys first thing on Friday morning,’ she continued, briskly changing the subject. ‘Actually, you’d better make some excuse to bring them yourself.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I had a bit of an accident. Nothing much. But if Lauren sees me hobbling…’

  ‘Hobbling? Oh, God, this is going to be a disaster, I know it.’

  ‘It’s just a twisted ankle,’ she declared. ‘Nothing to worry about. But well…you said it. Best not to give Lauren any excuse.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Try and stop me.’

  ‘Thanks, Cass. You’re a brick.’

  ‘You’re the builder, so I guess you should know.’

  ‘Your brother?’ Nick enquired as he took the receiver from Cassie and replaced it on the hook. He was looking at her curiously and she knew he’d picked up on the fact that she had been married, noted that she wasn’t wearing a ring. She’d seen that speculative look before, on the face of men who were trying to decide whether she was a merry widow or a gay divorcée—and trying to work out how long it would take to get her into bed.

  ‘Brother-in-law,’ she said quickly before he could ask.

  ‘And father of the three young hunks you’re taking camping?’ Nick saw a look of something like panic cross her face. She expected him to ask about her husband and she didn’t want to talk about it. He wondered why. ‘I got the drift of why you volunteered, but just how do you think you’re going to manage?’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ she assured him.

  ‘How?’ he persisted.

  ‘I’ll think of something.’

  ‘There’s no need to strain your brain, Cassie, I’ve already come up with a solution.’

  ‘Have you? Why should you worry about my problems? ’ He shrugged. ‘Well?’ Nick took his time about finishing his pancake. Then he licked his fingers, took a sip of wine. ‘Nick!’

  ‘Someone has to. Here’s the deal. I’ll provide you with a driver and someone to set up camp for you, make sure you’ve got everything you need. And he’ll come and bring you home whenever you want.’

  ‘And why will you do that?’

  ‘Guilty conscience, perhaps?’ he suggested, nodding towards her ankle. ‘There are several junior execs at Jefferson Sports just dying to prove their initiative. They’ll just jump at the chance to help you out.’

  ‘Really? Jump, you say?’ Her brows contracted in an ironic little frown. ‘Are you certain of that? It sounds as if they’ll be pushed to me, which begs the question, what will you get out of this, Nick?’ As if she didn’t know. ‘I just don’t buy the guilty conscience bit.’

  ‘No?’ He grinned, not the least bit ashamed. ‘Then what about your help with a little cooking?’

  He looked far too pleased with himself for Cassie’s liking. He thought she was going to fall over herself to accept his offer, but she’d done all the falling she was going to do for one night.

  ‘Let’s get this straight, Nick. You want me to cook a seduction feast for you and in return you’ll provide me with someone to take me to Wales and set up camp?’

  ‘It seems a fair exchange to me.’

  ‘But you have a vested interest. Frankly, I think I’d rather pay someone to do it.’

  ‘Some stranger? Out in the wilds? With you hobbling about on a stick and three small boys to take care of?’

  Put like that it did sound less than ideal, but she wasn’t to be bought quite that easily. ‘Your man would be a stranger, too,’ she pointed out.

  ‘A vouched-for, vetted and terribly keen stranger. And absolutely guaranteed to know one end of a tent from the other.’

  Cassie found herself wavering. She hated conspiring with the wretched man in such blatant deceit, but she wasn’t kidding herself about the fact that she did need help. And if, by cooking d
inner for Veronica, she could prove to herself and Nick Jefferson that she didn’t care one jot for the way he behaved, well, that had to be a good thing, didn’t it?

  And presumably Veronica, once seduced, would keep him fully occupied. It never occurred to her that he might fail.

  Nick smiled as he saw her determination begin to crumble. ‘Well, do we have a deal?’ He offered up his wine glass.

  She touched it with her own. ‘It’s a deal,’ she agreed.

  ‘Good. Now tell me about this husband of yours. Did he jump or was he pushed?’

  Cassie gasped. Was that his technique? Lull a girl into a false sense of security and then—wham. He was waiting for an answer. Well, he could have one. She gave him a shove that took him by surprise and sent him flying off the sofa so that the wine shot over his face and ran down his neck.

  ‘Does that answer your question?’ she demanded.

  ‘I guess so,as he tugged out the tail of his T-shirt to dry his face.

  ‘Good. Now go home, Nick,’ Cassie said irritably. ‘You’ve worn out your welcome.’

  Nick picked her up at six the following evening and drove her to a small village just outside the city. Cassie was determined to be utterly professional about this evening, but she couldn’t help but be impressed by his home. Beth had said it was lovely and she hadn’t exaggerated.

  It was a low, ground-hugging, thatched cottage, genuinely oak-beamed and white-washed, which had started out as a row of smaller cottages but had, at some time, been converted into one big house that meandered unevenly alongside a quiet country lane. But if the outside was all olde-worlde charm, the inside was not.

  ‘Goodness,’ Cassie said as she stood in the kitchen doorway. ‘This is…unexpected.’

  ‘I know. It doesn’t quite go with the house does it?’

  ‘You said it. Who perpetrated this crime?’ she said, remembering too late the glamorous decorator.

  ‘An interior designer I knew.’

  Cassie gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘A tall, blonde designer?’ she enquired.

  Nick shrugged. ‘She needed somewhere to try out a few ideas. This place was a bit of a mess when I bought it and since I didn’t have any time for decorating I left her to get on with it.’