by Jill Mansell
Then Jack had to come along and spoil it all.
Exhausted after a couple of energetic tangos with Patrick, she was perching on the edge of a table giving her feet a rest when she saw Jack heading towards her.
'What?' said Tilly, because he was checking his watch. 'Is it time to go?' Her heart sank. It was only midnight. They didn't have to leave yet, surely.
'Not unless you want to. Why?' He tilted his head. 'Are you hating every minute?'
'No.' She could smell his aftershave.
'Good. Actually, I was thinking it was time we had a dance.' He paused, watching her reaction. 'Sorry. It's just that people might think it a bit odd if we don't.' Another pause. 'So how about it? Shall we do it now, get it out of the way?'
'OK.' He was right. Reluctantly, she slid down from the table.
'It's not the gallows,' said Jack. 'Don't worry, I'll behave myself. Perfect gentleman tonight, just like I promised.' Grinning, he drew her to him as the music restarted. One warm hand rested on her bare shoulder, the other just touched the base of her spine. Then he swung her skillfully out on to the dance floor. The next moment the hand on her spine was all over her bottom and he was pawing like a wild animal at her skirt.
'What are you doing?' Horrified, Tilly slapped his arm and wrenched herself free.
'Sorry, your dress was caught up at the back. I was trying to pull the hem down before everyone saw your knickers.'
For heaven's sake, as if dancing with Jack Lucas wasn't palpitation inducing enough. Now she'd given a couple of hundred people a free flash of her panties.
Oh well, too late now to worry about it. And at least they'd been her best ones.
'Thanks.' Exhaling, she allowed him to resume physical contact. Right, just relax, move in time with the music, and keep on moving in time with the music until it ends. Then that's it, job done. And how long would it take, anyway? Three or four minutes, she could manage that. If the going got tough she could break it down, get through one minute at a time, maybe even do it in seconds…
OK, one… two… three…
'Are you counting?'
'What? Oh, sorry.' Tilly ducked her head, tinglingly aware of the fact that most of the front of her body was touching most of the front of his. The third button of his white evening shirt was exactly level with the neckline of her shell-pink strapless evening dress. His aftershave smelled better than ever; if she completely lost control of herself and reached up on tiptoe, she could lick his neck… OK, stop that, start counting again, but this time keep it in your head.
'Having fun?' said Jack.
She nodded; he had absolutely no idea how dancing with him was making her feel. 'Everyone's really friendly.'
'They're a good crowd.'
Forcing herself to look into his eyes, because avoiding them was starting to look odd, Tilly said, 'Dorothy was saying nice things about you.'
'Could be because I'm a nice person. Every now and again,' Jack amended with a brief smile. 'When I want to be.'
That smile. At such close quarters it was even more devastat ing. He was making it hard to concentrate. Tilly closed her eyes for a second and thought about Amy and Marianne and whatever the other one's name had been… Lisa, that was it. Because that was the thing about Jack: He bestowed his smiles indiscriminately and left a trail of havoc in his wake. He wasn't remotely interested in any kind of meaningful relationship either. All he cared about was sex. Remember that. And keep right on remembering it…
'What are you thinking?' His voice broke into her feverish, tangled thoughts.
'Nothing.'
He grinned. 'That means I don't want to know.'
Tilly shrugged and hoped her palms weren't growing damp. She could feel his hips against hers and if that wasn't disconcerting she didn't know what was. And she couldn't believe she was wondering if, while he'd been tugging her hooked-up dress over her bottom, he'd happened to notice how silky and nice her gorgeous new pink and cream knickers from La Senza had felt.
'OK, you can stop now,' murmured Jack.
For a second she thought he meant she could stop wondering if he'd appreciated her knickers. Then she realized the music had ended and she was still swaying from side to side. Collecting herself, Tilly said hastily, 'I thought they'd launch straight into the next song. I was just… you know, keeping the momentum going.'
'You want to stay for another dance?' As he moved his hands to her waist, the music started up again.
Now that they were out here on the dance floor it made sense. 'Well…'
'We've done our duty, haven't we?' Jack released his hold on her, disappointing all her nerve endings at once. 'Why don't we go and get another drink instead?'
Jack had promised to treat her like a lady and behave like a perfect gentleman but Tilly hadn't actually expected him to do it. All the way back to Roxborough in the back of the taxi, she'd been mentally bracing herself, waiting for him to make a move. At the very least, surely, he'd suggest going back to his place for coffee.
But he hadn't. Instead, he'd directed the taxi driver to Beech House and now here they were, outside it.
'Right,' said Jack. 'Well, got you back safely. Thanks for coming along tonight. It was good.'
'Yes, it was.' Tilly realized this was it; he wasn't even intending to lean across the seat and plant a polite good-bye kiss on her cheek.
Right. So here they were outside her home and here she was, un kissed, unpropositioned and, frankly, starting to feel just the teeniest bit unattractive.
But he still wasn't moving, so what else could she do but climb out of the car?
'Bye.' Jack nodded.
'Bye.'
Did he find her ugly?
Chapter 19
TILLY HAD GOT HER dates muddled; when Max had been booking the tickets for the RSC she had thought the ball in Cheltenham was being held on the Friday evening. Happily, by the time she'd realized her mistake��the ball was on Thursday—it had been too late for him to book another seat.
Max still thought she'd done it on purpose.
After school on Friday afternoon, Lou grumbled, 'I don't know why Dad thinks seeing people prancing around on a stage is going to make me like Shakespeare. I bet I'll still think he's boring.'
Tilly was struggling to tame Lou's wild red curls with serum before making an attempt at a French braid. 'You never know, you might love it.'
'You want to go in my place?'
'That's so generous. But then you'd miss out.'
'We could check the website again; you never know, lots of people might have had to cancel and now there's some tickets left.'
'You are so sweet to think of that.' Tilly gave one of her curls a tweak. 'Luckily, I thought of it first and I have my great excuse all ready for you. One of us has to stay at home and look after Betty.'
'Bloody hell,' complained Max, just home from a meeting with a client in Bristol. 'You'd think I was threatening you with a night in a torture chamber having your ribs cracked without anesthetic.'
'And if I try to fall asleep in the theatre he'll poke me awake.' Lou pulled a face and patted her lap as Betty trotted into the living room at Max's heels. 'Come up here, Betty. How would you like to go to the theatre with Dad tonight?'
Betty bounded on to her lap and licked her face.
'That means yes! Yay, good girl, Betty! You can have my ticket.'
'I'm living with a bunch of ingrates. Right, I'm off for a shower. We'll leave at six.' Shrugging off his jacket, Max said, 'By the way, Jack rang me earlier. You left your pashmina on the floor of the taxi last night. He's got it.'
'Oh brilliant.' Tilly exhaled with relief. 'I thought I'd lost it.'
'He said he can drop it back next time he's passing, or you can call in and pick it up.'
'So what are you going to be doing this evening while we're gone?' said Lou.
'Nice long bath. Chinese takeaway. Three episodes of Ugly Betty. Not you,' Tilly exclaimed as Betty, sitting up straighter on Lou's lap, shot her a
wounded look. 'You're not ugly, sweetheart. You're beautiful. And a Marks and Spencer cappuccino walnut whip.'
'Lucky thing,' Lou sighed.
Tilly said smugly, 'I know. Not an unfunny Shakespearean comedy couplet in sight.'
'Any more sarcasm from your fair lip,' said Max, 'and I shall eat your walnut whip.'
Lou twisted round and gazed mutely up at Tilly.
Tilly gave her shoulder a sympathetic pat. 'See? Still not funny.'
They left just after six to drive up to Stratford. Having double checked her walnut whip was still sitting safely in the fridge, Tilly took Betty for a long run through the woods. When they got home Betty collapsed into her basket and Tilly ran herself a bath. By eight o'clock, she was dressed again in her post-bath grey velour tracksuit.
'Betty? Coming in the car?' She jangled her keys enticingly, but all Betty did was slowly open one eye then close it again. 'Fine, suit yourself. I won't be long.'
On her way to the only Chinese takeaway in Roxborough, it occurred to Tilly that she could pick up her pashmina en route, seeing as she would practically be passing Jack's house. On the minus side, she was wearing her comfy TV-watching velour tracksuit and no makeup. On the plus side, at least he'd know she hadn't tarted herself up for the occasion. That's if he was even at home. Let's face it, this was Friday evening; the chances were he'd be out anyway.
Except he didn't seem to be. When she drew up outside the gates, his car was parked on the drive and there were plenty of lights on. The alternative scenario, of course, was that he had company.
Tilly hesitated then switched off the ignition and climbed out of the car. All she was doing was knocking on the door and asking for her pashmina back. How long would she be there on the doorstep? Thirty seconds, tops. Whoever was inside the house with Jack would assume he was dispatching an unwanted Jehovah's Witness.
'Hey, you. Quick, come in.' Jack opened the door wider, stood to one side. He was wearing a blue sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up and a pair of drastically faded jeans.
Tilly hesitated. 'I just came to collect—'
'I know, I know, but my sauce will stick if I don't get back to it. Bit of a crucial moment.'
Tilly followed him through to the kitchen. There was no earthly reason to be impressed just because a man was cooking an actual proper meal rather than poking holes in cellophane, but somehow she couldn't help herself.
And it did smell fantastic. Even if he was probably only doing it in order to show off to some woman.
Who might even be here.
'Do you have company?'
'Hmm?' Jack was busy adjusting the flame on the gas ring and stirring the contents of the Le Creuset pan. 'Oh, no, all on my own. Hang on, let me just add something…'
A teaspoon of confectioner's sugar, a glug of port, and a splash of lemon juice later, he tasted and gave a nod of satisfaction.
'I didn't know you were into all this.' Tilly mentally compared him with Jean-Christophe Novelli; God, imagine if he were to adopt a sexy French accent, think of the chaos that could cause.
'I can't cook many things,' Jack admitted, 'but I do a pretty good Bolognese sauce. It's my signature dish.' He paused. 'Actually, it's more or less my only dish.'
'That just means you've had lots of practice at it.' She was longing to try the sauce, see how it tasted, but that wasn't why she was here. 'Thanks for picking up my pashmina, by the way. I thought it was gone forever.'
'You'd dropped it on the floor of the taxi. I only spotted it as I was getting out.' Jack turned to look at her. 'How much of a hurry are you in?'
'For what?'
'The pashmina. Thing is, there were a couple of marks on it from where it had been on the floor. I think you'd had your shoes on it. So I just put it in the wash.' He indicated the half-open door to the utility room, through which Tilly could see a washing machine merrily churning away.
'Oh no.'
'What?'
'My pashmina is one hundred per cent cashmere! It cost two hundred pounds from Harvey Nichols and it's dry clean only!'
Jack had stopped stirring the sauce. 'Shit. Really?'
Yee-ha, got him.
Tilly put him out of his misery. 'No. Polyester, loves washing machines, six pounds fifty, Camden Market.'
The relief was visible on his face. 'That's where I always buy my pashminas too.'
Tilly grinned. 'I really got you.'
'Déjà vu.' Reaching into a drawer, Jack pulled out a corkscrew. 'Managed to get myself into some major trouble once with a white lacy top thing and a load of filthy old rugby uniform.'
'I wouldn't have had you down as the white lacy top type.'
He took a bottle of red wine from the rack, expertly opened it and glugged a good couple of glassfuls into the pan. 'I thought Rose was going to explode when she saw what I'd done. It was the first time she'd worn it.' Dryly, he said, 'And the last. There was me, thinking I was being helpful. Until it came out of the machine.'
Tilly winced. 'Grey.'
'Grey and ruined,' Jack agreed.
She looked worriedly through to the utility room. 'Um… what's in there with my pashmina?'
'Don't worry, I learned my lesson the hard way. White wash, wool cycle. Can you pass me the pepper mill?'
She handed it over, watched him put the finishing touches to the sauce he still hadn't asked her to taste. 'How long before the washing machine finishes?'
'Thirty, thirty-five minutes.'
'OK,' said Tilly. 'Well, why don't I go and order my takeaway? Then when I've got it, I'll pop back here and pick up the pashmina on my way home?'
'Is that your plan for the evening?' Jack shrugged. 'You could stay here with me and try my signature dish instead.'
Had he done it on purpose? Was this why he hadn't offered her a taste before now? Because the fact that he hadn't meant she now really really wanted to know what his pasta sauce was like.
Plus it smelled fantastic.
'I was going to have Chinese.'
'But I've made loads. And hasn't Max taken Lou to Stratford? You'd be all on your own.'
Amy and Lisa and Marianne would have said yes by now.
'I wouldn't be on my own. I'd have Betty. She's waiting for me to get back with the prawn crackers.'
'But she can't tell the time.'
'I don't want to leave her on her own for too long.'
'A couple of hours wouldn't hurt.' Jack's eyes glittered with amusement. 'You could give her a ring if you like, yip-yip. Let her know, woof, where you are.'
'Don't make fun of me.'
He broke into a smile. 'I actually thought that was a really sweet thing to do.'
Tilly wasn't sure if she liked the sound of sweet. Was that a good thing to be?
'And if you go home to Betty, I'll be the one left here on my own.' Jack gave her a soulful look. 'Just me and a big vat of Bolognese sauce.'
Which smelled fantastic.
Anyone else would have said yes by now, wouldn't they?
'You know you can trust me,' said Jack. 'I proved that last night.'
'OK, OK. I'll stay for a bit.' Tilly put down the keys she'd been clutching; she had to know what that sauce tasted like.
'Great.' He sounded genuinely pleased.
'But I'm definitely going to be home by ten.'
Chapter 20
YOU KNEW YOU'D REALLY made it when Jay Leno made jokes about you on his show. That was when it hit you that you were an actual household name.
OK, laughing stock.
As jokes went, it hadn't even been particularly funny. Some sly patter about a rumor that Kaye McKenna was going to be starring as Cruella de Vil in the remake of 101 Dalmatians… cue squealing car tires… oh, sorry, that's one hundred Dalmatians… more squealing car tires… whoops, ninety-nine…
The studio audience had found that hilarious. They'd practically fallen off their chairs. The drummer had gone ba-boom chinnggg and Jay had done his impression of a smug nodding bulldog before moving on to th
e next victim whose reputation he was about to skewer on a stick.
'Wake up, love. Is this the place?'
