“I thought about going to see my bank manager,” Rosie was now saying, having exhausted the topic of all the things that would be required for her to launch her own catering business. She suspected that she was boring him to death, because he wasn’t saying a word. She felt that any minute now he would surreptitiously glance at his watch. Lord knew, he probably had things to do on a Friday evening. He wasn’t a man who enjoyed staying in and chilling on his own.
What had his Friday evenings been like with Amanda? Her curiosity on the subject of his marriage was so huge that she knew she dare not allow it to get a foothold. She needed to keep her distance.
“But I don’t think there would be any point,” she persevered into the silence. “I don’t think I’m the most credit-worthy person in the world.” Looking down, Rosie realised that she had barely touched the food on her plate and she now made a few half-hearted attempts to eat a bit more. Her nerves were all over the place. She was so conscious of him sitting in the chair opposite her that she had to stop herself from choking on the food. She had removed the scarf and draped it over the back of the chair and she realised that the shadow of her cleavage was on show. Very quickly, she straightened up and pushed the plate slightly to one side.
“Plus I would need money for a car. Not that it wouldn’t be nice having a car,” she said wistfully. “Driving lessons were the one thing my dad set aside money for. He paid it direct into an account which he couldn’t touch because he knew how tempted he would be on a bad day to take it all out. He used to tell me that there was nothing like being behind the wheel of a car.”
“You should have told me about your father,” Angelo said abruptly.
Rosie wondered whether it would have made any difference. He would still have disappeared with her best friend. That thought grounded her. “That’s not relevant now,” she said with a cool shrug of her shoulders. She refused coffee and told him that it was time she was heading back to the house.
“What I think you will find relevant,” she said, meeting his inscrutable green eyes without flinching, “Is the decision I’ve reached.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Having tried to work out how I could afford to move to the cottage and come up against a brick wall, Angelo, you win. I won’t move. I can’t afford to. I can’t throw money I don’t have after a dream and there’s no need really now anyway. I don’t have to run away. So, I’m happy to sell the cottage to you, and I don’t really care how much you give me for it. I realise it shouldn’t have been mine anyway. You can buy it and develop the land into whatever you want and it’ll be as though we’d never met each other again.”
CHAPTER FIVE
HE HAD GOT precisely what he wanted. From the very first second he had learnt that the cottage had been willed to her, Angelo had been determined to make sure that he got it back, one way or another. His preferred route would have been to haul her through the courts and watch as a legacy to which she had no right crumbled and fell apart in front of her greedy little eyes. But the will had been watertight, so he had tried to buy her out. In return, she had dug her heels in.
His one goal, his only goal, had been to remove the cottage from her, get her out of his life.
When, he wondered uneasily, had that changed? When had he discovered that she was on his mind and not all of his thoughts were charged with anger and frustration?
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Rosie pressed, annoyed now that she had been the only one talking for the past ten minutes. The bill came and went and they got up to leave, amid a flurry of exuberant gratitude from the proprietor that they had chosen to patronise his little restaurant. Even without trying, Angelo was managing to elicit the sort of fawning behaviour to which he was accustomed. When the owner expressed the wish that they come again to sample different dishes, she fought the temptation to tell him that that wouldn’t be happening any time soon.
“I’ll talk when we’re back at your house,” Angelo informed her. Frustrating though it was to admit it, he was having a hard time relinquishing the idea that she would disappear from his life as fast as she had re-entered it. He knew that he could throw a derisory amount of money at her for the cottage and she would accept it. She might be a gold-digger who had flogged the presents he had given her but she was also smart.
So, now that he could get rid of her, and everything sensible, logical and cool-headed was telling him that that was the right road to go down, why was he restlessly dissatisfied with the promised outcome?
Sex.
The word lodged in his brain, an instant answer to the questions that had popped up like nasty insects released from Pandora’s Box. There was no need to look further to find the reason behind his recent distracted behaviour.
In the aftermath of their relationship, he had never quite managed to stifle the fact that he still wanted her. He had wanted her the second he had seen her in that bar. He had carried on wanting her the whole time they were together, which had been nothing short of a miracle, because longevity had never featured in any of his previous relationships. His purpose was to work, to achieve the security only wealth could bring as far as he was concerned, and women, pleasant distractions that they were, always made short-lived appearances in his frenetically busy and high-pressured life. Before Rosie his relationships had been of the hit-and-run variety and he had liked it that way.
But she had come along and, he could now admit to himself, he had never stopped wanting her even though he had ended up married to Amanda through circumstances that hardly bore thinking about.
Angelo understood the power of sex. He had felt it when he had seen Rosie again. He just hadn’t admitted its hold. Their relationship had ended in chaos. He hadn’t had time to grow tired of her. Naturally, that would have happened inevitably, but at the time of her departure he had still found her insanely attractive.
Mentally piecing together the puzzle, he was pleased to have found the solution to his restlessness and to the unsavoury fact that he couldn’t envisage her disappearing from his life just yet.
If he hadn’t seen an answering flame in her eyes, if she hadn’t made that pass at him which had been proof positive that he still affected her the way she still affected him, then maybe he wouldn’t have objected to getting rid of her. Maybe he would be listening to her ramble on about selling the cottage without getting that sickening twist in his gut.
The prospect of having his life back to a place where he wasn’t having to deal with annoying thoughts about her was blessed relief and he allowed himself to relax from behind the wheel of his car.
Revenge, he decided, was not to be found watching her fail in her quest to kick-start her life. Revenge, such as it was, could easily be achieved by seducing her back between the sheets and then dumping her when he had got his fill. With everything that had gone on between them, he confidently predicted that it would be a remarkably transient situation.
How long could good sex block out the fact that he didn’t like her? How long before his body caught up to his brain? A week or two? And then he would be able to wash his hands of her for ever. His unfinished business would draw to its conclusion and he would be able to walk away without a backward glance. A bonus would be to have her plead with him to stay but, even if her pride got in her way and there was no such bonus, sleeping with her would be a job well done because it would obliterate the demons inside him.
He allowed himself a half-smile in the darkness of the car and he was still smiling when he pulled up in front of her house.
Forget about the running away from a stalker situation, Angelo felt that he would have wanted to run away if he had been stuck living in a dump such as the one he was now looking at. He wondered how often she had cursed herself over the years for not having played her cards right, for not having used all that money to do something sensible. He had no idea where it had gone
and could not care less, but it certainly hadn’t gone towards a deposit on a house.
“There’s no need for you to come in.” Rosie began unbuckling her seat belt, half-turning to glance at him over her shoulder. “You’ve already done enough and I can’t begin to thank you.” Buckle undone, she paused and sat very still, gazing down at her lap before turning to him. He was staring at her, his eyes silver in the shadowy light. She felt a tingle run through her. Time to wrap up the thank-you speech before her body went into overdrive and she did something stupid again—like try to kiss him one last time before they parted company for good. The thought of being that weak terrified her.
“Now that you’ve taken care of Ian, I can’t believe how light I feel, as though a great big weight’s been taken off my shoulders.”
“Was that loser the only reason you wanted the cottage?” Angelo inserted mildly, because he was sick of being thanked for something he had taken a perverse delight in doing. Besides, without this unexpected situation, would he be here now? Ian might be a creepy stalker but he was also a pivotal player in Angelo’s move forward. Because of him, Rosie had found herself in a vulnerable place and he, Angelo, had been the one to rescue her from it. Instantly the dynamics of their relationship had been subtly altered.
“Well...” Rosie looked at him, sprawled against the car door so that he could have the best possible vantage point as he lazily stared at her. “Of course, I know you thought it was all wrong that Mandy did what she did. Left me something you considered yours, and maybe she was...”
“We’re not debating the rights or wrongs about what Amanda did.”
“No. In that case, if I’m being perfectly honest, I guess it would have been nice to get out of London. I’ve been here a while and it’s very hectic.”
“And unrewarding too, I should imagine.”
“How do you mean?” Rosie asked tentatively. It was disconcerting being here, talking to him without bitterness and anger underlying every word, but he had dealt with the threat of Ian and he had done so in a pretty conclusive manner, in a way no one else would have been able to—probably not even the police if they had cared to get involved.
Angelo shrugged, as though the answer was self-evident, but he would be kind enough to point it out. “Renting a place like this, throwing money down the drain—or maybe I should say straight into the hands of a landlord who probably gets by doing the minimum. Working all the hours God made in an averagely paid job which you can’t chuck in because you need the experience. I guess it must be daunting staring your future in the face and maybe wondering whether this is as good as it gets.”
Rosie had not considered her prospects in such stark terms. “That’s not exactly fair,” she protested weakly.
“But, of course, you’ll have the money from the cottage to invest in something.”
“I guess so.”
“Although, in fairness, I suppose the competition in London must be stiff when it comes to the catering business. In fact, I have an excellent personal chef, as you know, who also has his own catering business as a sideline. I gather his most valuable clients, though, are the people who use him on a regular basis. Like me. Go on the Internet, key in ‘caterers in London’ and apparently you’re instantly besieged with results.” He sat forward, surprising her, and his arm brushed past her to open her car door before she could let loose a protest. “I’ll walk you in. And please don’t tell me that there’s no need.”
She was very much aware of him behind her as she unlocked the front door, standing so close that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“Well, now that everything’s been decided, shall I get Mr Foreman to contact you about the sale of the cottage? I’m not sure what happens next. Do estate agents have to get involved or can we just handle the whole thing ourselves?” Somehow he had managed to enter the house and she pushed the door slightly, leaving it ajar, a pointed hint that he was literally seeing her into the house and not hanging around for an extended social visit. He shut it firmly with his hand and stood back.
“I think after all I’ve been through, I deserve a cup of coffee,” he murmured.
Rosie dithered but eventually acquiesced. Somehow having coffee with him here, in her house, sitting in her cramped kitchen, felt a lot more intimate than a cappuccino in a restaurant surrounded by noisy people and obsequious waiting staff.
“Have you thought how you would launch yourself into the catering business?” Once in the kitchen, Angelo pursued the topic with tenacity. If she took the money and ran, it would be the last he would ever see of her. There would be no reason for him to involve himself in her life and, having reached the conclusion that the only way he could terminate her reach into his everyday life, the only way he could get her out of his system once and for all, would be to sleep with her, he intended to steer her in the right direction.
“I only thought about it in connection with the cottage,” Rosie confessed. She wished he wouldn’t dwell on the venture, which seemed laden with possible pitfalls, but on the other hand wasn’t it good to have someone point out those pitfalls? No one ever built a successful business with their head in the clouds, and Angelo was nothing if not the epitome of the successful businessman. Having rescued her from Ian, he was probably feeling charitable towards her, basking in the glow of a good deed done. It wouldn’t last, but while the streak was in evidence wouldn’t it be a good idea to pick his brains? She might know a great deal about cooking, but when it came to finance she was hopeless.
She made him a cup of coffee and, when she would have slid it across the table to him, she saw that he was standing up, heading towards the lounge.
“The lumpy sofa is slightly less uncomfortable than the rock-hard kitchen chairs,” he said by way of explanation. “In case you hadn’t noticed, a man of my size isn’t built for chairs that small.”
Rosie, who had noticed all too well, didn’t comment. She followed him into the lounge where he proceeded to make himself at home on the sofa, tossing aside the bright cushions which she had bought specifically to camouflage the dreary brown covering, and dragging a coffee table next to him on which he indicated that she should deposit the cup.
“You were going to give me your business plan?” he encouraged. “You’ll need one. Whatever you get from the sale of the cottage won’t cover launching a new career and buying a house.”
Rosie frowned. She had dropped into the chair furthest away from him, a rigid, hard-backed chair which obviously belonged to a dining table but had been surplus to requirements, hence had found its way into the house where it had been plonked in the lounge to fill space. It was uncomfortable, to be avoided at all costs, but where else was she to sit when he had monopolised the sofa?
“What do you mean?” She felt and sounded like a fool.
“The cottage is charming and it’s in a lovely location, but it’s small, and there’s a limit to what you would be able to get for it. There’s always a financial glass ceiling for a place like that. It also shares access to my house and most people would find that unacceptable. Also, until this situation with the boundary lines is sorted out, it can’t be sold.”
“Right.” That hadn’t occurred to her.
“I have no idea how long it will take to sort that little matter out. It could be days or weeks or months.”
“I suppose it was too good to be true.” Rosie sighed. “I bet you’re really happy about all of this,” she continued without any rancour. “Funny thing is, I felt at home there, even though I shouldn’t have. It was as if I’d met the old Amanda, the one I knew before...everything.” She cleared her throat and fidgeted on the chair. “One good thing is that Ian will no longer be around. I can get on with my life. I don’t have to keep looking over my shoulder. There’s no point doing a business plan. If and when the cottage ever gets sold, then maybe I’ll think about it again. If not, the
n that’s okay.”
“You look uncomfortable on that chair.” Angelo made a space for her on the sofa and patted it.
“I’m fine here.” Did he feel sorry for her, the way the victor feels sorry for the person they’ve just vanquished?
She watched him warily as he continued to look at her, his head tilted to one side. When he stood up and strolled towards her she practically leapt out of the chair in dismay. He leant over her, hands clasping the arms of the chair on either side. She pressed herself back as far as she could go. What was he doing? He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and, as her eyes skittered away from his face, they were drawn to his sinewy forearms, sprinkled with dark hair.
Fascinated, she stared at the way the whorls of hair curled round the dull matt silver of his watch strap. In her mind’s eye, she could remember him removing that watch, his eyes pinned to her face as he stripped in front of her. He had always been magnificently self-confident when it came to his body. More than that: he had liked her looking at him. He had once told her that there was no greater turn-on for him. She blinked but the image refused to go away because he was still looming over her.
“What are you doing?” She cleared her throat.
“Slight change of topic here.”
“I beg your pardon?” Thoroughly confused, she raised her eyes to his and her lips parted. It was as though her whole body was being held in a state of suspension. She could barely breathe.
“Let’s drop the subject of the cottage and whether or not it’ll be sold. There’s really only so much that can be said on the matter and then we’re just going round in circles, repeating ourselves. No, what I’d really like to talk to you about, what’s been on my mind for the past few days, is what happened the other night.”
“The other night?” Rosie parroted faintly.
Angelo straightened and strolled towards the window in a leisurely manner. The old-fashioned bay window, its paint peeling, overlooked the road and was the only attractive feature in the room. He leant against it and shoved his hands in his pockets. Rosie’s eyes dipped to the way the fine, expensive fabric was pulled taut over his pelvis and she looked away quickly.
A Deal with Di Capua Page 8
