The Baronet's Wedding Engagement Page 6

  His expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened. “I could say that, yes,” he said slowly, and something warm and dark rolled through the air, making Flora’s cheeks burn.

  “Or,” she hurried on, unwilling to let him see that he had flustered her, “you could say that I’ve got such a sweet personality that it blinds you to my wardrobe.”

  “Hmm. Not sure that ‘sweet’ describes you. I could say opposites attract,” Max offered, getting into the spirit of things.

  “That’s true.” Flora pretended to be struck by the thought. “That’s the only way anyone could possibly believe that we were compatible when I’m fun and passionate, and you’re grouchy and buttoned up.”

  “I am not buttoned up!”

  “Come on, Max. When was the last time you let yourself go?”

  There was a pause. “Why don’t I let myself go now?” said Max.

  He came over to take the mustard from Flora’s suddenly nerveless hand, put it on the worktop, and backed her gently against the fridge.

  “We could practise for the Crown Princess.”

  “Practise what?” Flora managed with difficulty.

  She could step away easily – she knew that – but her lungs seemed to have forgotten how to work, tangling up her breath. Was she supposed to be breathing in or breathing out? The lack of oxygen was doing weird things to her brain, weakening her knees and her will, making it hard to be sensible and push him away with a laugh, making her blood thud and thump with anticipation instead.

  Because Max was standing very close, close enough for her to see the flecks in his green eyes, every crease fanning out at their corners, to see the faint hint of stubble along his jaw, and smell his clean, male scent.

  “Looking compatible,” Max explained. “Hmm,” he added, registering her height as if for the first time. “I’m not used to looking a woman in the eyes at this point.”

  He could only be two or three inches taller than she was, and it put their eyes almost on the same level.

  Flora’s heart was slamming uncomfortably against her ribs, and she moistened her lips. “Is that a problem?”

  “Far from it,” said Max. “It’s very ... convenient. And of course it makes it easier to see what you’re thinking.”

  With a heroic effort, Flora kept her eyes steady on his, but his mouth snagged tantalizingly at the edges of her vision. She would just have to lean forward an inch, maybe two, to press her lips against his and see whether they were as cool and firm as they looked. His mouth was perfectly positioned for a kiss; in fact, so close that it would be rude not to, really. She felt as if she were standing on the top of a precipitous slope, unsure whether she wanted to launch herself off for the sheer thrill of it or step back to safety, and her heart was pounding with a mixture of terror and temptation.

  “And what am I thinking?” she asked bravely.

  “You’re thinking that I won’t be able to let go. You’re trying to decide whether you want me to let go or not.”

  It wasn’t Max’s self-control she was worried about; it was her own, but he was uncannily close and, afraid he would read even more in her eyes, she let her gaze slide away from his. And the only place to look was that mouth, so cool, so inviting, so tantalizingly close.

  Flora swallowed hard. “Perhaps.”

  “Well, let’s try it, shall we?”

  “Might as well,” she said huskily. “Since we’re here.”

  His mouth curved, creasing one cheek, and heat bloomed deep inside Flora as he lifted a hand to brush his thumb along the line of her jaw. Every nerve ending in her skin seared and prickled in response. The pulse booming in her ears made it hard to think, and when he slid his hand around to the nape of her neck, she gave in and closed her eyes.

  Impossible then to tell whether he tugged her towards him or she leant in to him, but their lips touched with a bright shock of recognition that pushed Flora over the edge into a dark, delicious slide of sheer sensation: the warmth of his fingers, the solid strength of his body, the faint lingering taste of coffee. The kiss was gently explorative at first, but their lips fitted together so well that the pleasure bloomed into heat, and that in turn spiralled insistently into a fiercer need to discover more, to press closer, to taste deeper.

  Flora’s hair tickled the back of Max’s hand as it curved at the nape of her neck. The clean, summery scent that was particularly hers filled his head. Her skin was as warm as he had imagined it, and she was soft and pliant, melting into him so that they seemed to fit each other perfectly, like two pieces of a jigsaw you hadn’t considered together suddenly clicking into place.

  He had intended a light-hearted kiss, just to show Flora that he wasn’t as buttoned up as she thought, but no sooner did her lips open under his than the slow simmer between them rose to the boil and surged between them and he was lost. There was nothing but her warm, responsive body, the softness of her skin, the sweetness of her mouth, the low purr of pleasure in her throat. Light-headed, hard with need, Max pressed closer, one hand still cupping her head, the other skimming her curves, frantically searching for a way under the garish top so that he could explore the lush warmth beneath.

  Bella chose that moment to utter a sharp, disapproving bark and shove her head between them. Max so nearly pushed her firmly away with his leg, but she had reminded him where he was, curse her, and though his heart thundered still, his mind cleared enough for him to realize just where this was going unless one of them was sensible. And, as always, it looked as if it was going to have to be him.

  Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand, and let his mouth trail apologetically along Flora’s jaw to kiss the frantically beating pulse below her ear, nearly losing his resolve when she tipped her head back with a shudder of desire.

  “We’re embarrassing Bella,” he murmured against her neck, his voice tattered with frustration, and felt Flora remember where she was too. She stiffened as he levered himself away from her with an effort and her eyes when she opened them were a dark, dazed blue.

  Her hand went to her throat. “Good timing, Bella,” she said, and Max was ridiculously glad that her voice was no steadier than his had been.

  “I think we should be able to convince the Crown Princess, don’t you?” he said.

  Chapter Six

  Flora’s knees were so weak that she was glad of the fridge at her back as Max stepped away, looking infuriatingly cool. How could he kiss her like that and then look so calm? She’d had to practically unpeel herself from him, to stop the hands that were busily dragging his shirt from his trousers in a frantic search to reach his skin, to feel the sleek strength of his back beneath her palms, while Max, Max was sounding a little ragged perhaps but seemed amused while she was still reeling with stunned disbelief at how utterly she had lost control.

  If it had been simple pleasure in touch and feel, that would have been one thing, but it had felt more complicated than that: the pleasure, yes, but a sense of coming home, too, the thrill of the unknown, the throb of hunger for more and more. Flora wanted to stamp her feet at the unfairness of it.

  Take it lightly, she told herself fiercely, as she struggled to compose her expression. Pleading for him to kiss her again would be so uncool. “I suppose we could carry it off,” she conceded.

  “So you’ll do it?”

  With a huge effort, Flora levered herself upright and retrieved the mustard. “Only if you’ll pretend to be absolutely besotted with me,” she said.

  Max’s eyes dropped to her mouth. Flora didn’t know what it looked like, but it certainly felt as if it were swollen and throbbing. “I think I can manage that,” he said.

  There was a sizzling pause. Flora stiffened her knees and turned back to open the fridge once more, which at least gave her the chance to cool her hot face.

  “I think it’s time we were serious,” she said when she had found the Worcestershire sauce and judged that the treacherous tide of colour had ebbed from her face. “Are we really going to do this? To pretend t
o be a couple just for the sake of a seating plan?”

  “Not for a seating plan,” said Max. “For Hope.”

  “We’d have to tell her the truth,” Flora said. “I don’t want to lie to my friends. Hope needs to know that we’re just pretending.”

  “That’s fair enough. I don’t want to lie to her either, or to Holly and Ben, come to that. And if they know the truth, then Stella will have to know too. They shouldn’t have secrets from their own mother.”

  “Okay. So we tell Hope, Holly, Ben and Stella – and Ally,” Flora remembered. “If Hope knows, then Ally has to know too.”

  “Why don’t we tell Jennifer Harmon too and make sure the whole of the Three Bells knows? It’s not going to be much of a pretence.”

  “There’s no need to be sarcastic,” Flora said with dignity. “Ally is a good friend. And anyway, I might as well tell her, because she’d see through any pretence in a second.”

  “Very well.” Max was suddenly all business. “So, we’re agreed. We’ll go to San Michele and the wedding as a couple to save Hope from any more grief from the Crown Princess?”

  Flora took a deep breath and told herself not to think about how it had felt to kiss him. “All right,” she said. “We’ll do it for Hope.”

  After the long plod through November and the first week of December, suddenly Christmas was looming. Lights were strung across the high street in Ayesborough and the shops played a relentless soundtrack of Christmas music. Flora’s whimsical Yule logs and beautifully decorated Christmas cakes were in high demand from local cafés, and her days passed in a frenzy of pastry making for the mince pies that were flying off the shelves as fast as she could make them.

  She was glad to be busy. It meant there was no time to think about that kiss and she fell into bed every night too tired to dream.

  Which was just as well.

  To Flora’s annoyance, Max treated her exactly as he had done before. In other words, he was grouchy, sardonic or austerely aloof. It should have been easy to forget how warm his mouth had felt against hers, how hungrily those capable hands had explored her. It should have been easy to wipe out the memory of that spiralling pleasure, to dismiss the kiss as a joke or a test or completely meaningless the way Max had so obviously done.

  But it wasn’t.

  Every time Max walked into the kitchen, Flora’s pulse spiked, and her stomach tipped and her heart did that silly somersault. It was ridiculous.

  Max had rung Hope that night to tell her what they had agreed, and Hope called Flora the moment he had put the phone down.

  “Flora, I’m so grateful to you,” she had said, “but are you sure about it? Max says it’s just a pretence.”

  The question hung in the air. Outside, the wind was blowing around the cottage chimney. The fire was lit, the curtains drawn and Sweetie was installed on her lap. Having made himself comfortable, he was refusing to move, and if Flora shifted at all, he would dig his claws into her thighs in punishment.

  “Of course it is,” said Flora firmly. She had almost been able to convince herself that the kiss was already halfway to being forgotten. “Honestly, Hope, it’s no big deal. We’re both going to be in San Michele anyway, so we thought we’d save you some hassle that’s all.”

  “Well, I can’t tell you what a relief it is to be able to tell Anna that it’s all sorted. I know how silly it all sounds, but it was turning into a nightmare.” Hope paused. “So, you and Max ...? I never thought of you together before, but as soon as Max said it, it made perfect sense.”

  “Hope, it’s just pretend,” Flora reminded her.

  “Oh, yes, sure,” said Hope airily. Too airily. It was almost as if she hadn’t believed Flora. “I’m really excited about February now that I know you’re coming with Max and the kids.”

  “I can’t wait,” she told Hope, as she scratched Sweetie warily under his chin – he could lash out at any moment, as she knew to her cost – and listened to the wind buffeting the windows. “I’ve forgotten what blue skies and sunshine look like.”

  Hope laughed. “You’ll get plenty of that when you get to San Michele,” she promised.

  She had sounded so happy that Flora was reassured. It might be a mad plan, but she and Max were doing the right thing.

  She had forgotten, though, how many other people were involved once you started to lie. Max had certainly been quick to tell Stella about the plan. Much to Flora’s surprise, Stella had been all for it.

  “It’s good for Max to get the idea of having someone else in his life,” she confided to Flora when she dropped Holly and Ben off one Thursday. “I do worry about him rattling around in this old house on his own.”

  You should have stayed married to him in that case, Flora wanted to say, but she wisely kept her mouth shut and determinedly rolled out pastry instead. Looking at Stella’s perfect features, at the pansy eyes and glossy hair and delicate figure, it was depressing to realize just how easy it must have been for Max to wipe Flora’s kiss out of his mind. How could kissing her have meant anything to him when he must remember kissing Stella every time he saw his beautiful ex-wife? Flora had provoked him, he had risen to the challenge, and that was all there was to it.

  She was pretty sure that Stella was only being so positive about the whole business because she knew that Flora was absolutely no threat.

  Stella had accepted a cup of tea (‘no milk for me, thanks’) while Holly and Ben devoured a lemon drizzle cake Flora had made especially for them.

  “You make brilliant cakes,” said Ben loyally, chasing the last crumb around his plate. “We’re having a cake stall at school to raise money for charity. Can you make some for me to take?”

  “Ben! Darling! I’ve already said I’ll buy you some cakes for the stall.”

  “But Flora’s cakes are better,” Ben protested.

  “I don’t mind,” Flora put in quickly when Stella’s delicate brows drew together in displeasure. “I’d be happy to make you some cakes, Ben.”

  “Cool.” Ben went back to his computer game, evidently considering that no more needed to be said.

  “Just like his father!” Stella managed a silvery laugh. “Thank you so much, Flora. You must let me know how much the ingredients cost.”

  “It’s not a problem, really,” said Flora uncomfortably. She liked Ben, who was indeed shaping up to be as taciturn as Max, but who ate everything she made with frank appreciation. He looked straight at you and said what he thought if you asked him but otherwise took little part in a conversation.

  “It’s a good idea, Mummy.” Unusually, Holly spoke up in support of her brother. “Everyone will want to buy a cake if they know Flora made it because she’s a proper cook so the stall will make more money. And if they know she’s made it for Ben, they won’t be surprised when they hear that Flora’s going out with Daddy.”

  “Pretending to go out with him,” Flora said quickly.

  “Will you come to my dance event, Flora?” Holly went on without bothering to acknowledge fine distinctions. “I’m going to be doing a solo,” she added proudly. “I’m a dragonfly.”

  “Wow, I can’t miss that,” said Flora, although she sensed that Stella wasn’t entirely pleased.

  It was strange being involved in village activities again. Flora had spent the previous two Christmases with her grandfather, but he hadn’t been well enough to go out. They had even missed the midnight service on Christmas Eve that had always been such a big part of Christmas when she was growing up. Before that, she had been in London most Christmases, caught up in the frantic rush of a restaurant kitchen and the buzz of the city in festive mood, but always managing a quick dash down to Combe St Philip to see her grandparents when she could.

  Now London seemed a long way away. It belonged to a different world to the village pantomime in the parish hall, to the carollers on the doorstep, and the primary school’s nativity play. Holly and Ben went to a private school on the other side of Ayesborough. Ben announced proudly that Flora’s cak
es had made a record amount of money for their charity, and when Flora turned up at Holly’s dance event, she found herself besieged by requests for cakes for special occasions. One woman was desperate for Flora to make a golden wedding cake for her parents the following September.

  “I’m not sure ...” It was a shock to Flora to realize that she might not be in the village then. She might be back in London, running her own restaurant. Her dream might have come true at last. Why was it so hard to imagine?

  “Oh, please do say you will! Your cakes are so exquisite. They’re like works of art. It would mean the world to my parents.”

  Over the woman’s shoulder, she could see Max talking to Stella and an urbane-looking man who was presumably Stella’s husband, Marcus. Max had a hand on Ben’s shoulder and Holly was jumping up and down with excitement, still dressed in her gauzy green dragonfly costume. Flora’s chest tightened. The five of them made a family. A modern family, perhaps, but a family nonetheless.

  A family she would never be part of, no matter how many cakes she made for Ben.

  She turned back to the woman who was pleading with her to reconsider, and telling her all about the big family party they had planned for her parents. “We’ll all be there, including the great-grandchildren.”

  What would it be like to be part of such a big family? Flora wondered. She might not belong to one, but she could at least contribute. She dug in her bag for a business card and handed it over. “Call me in the new year,” she said, relenting. “I’ll make something special for your parents.”

  At least she had made someone happy, she thought as she let herself into the cottage later that evening. Sweetie was stalking behind the door, meowing imperiously as he made his displeasure at her late arrival known. Flora fed him with abject apologies and he allowed himself to be placated, jumping onto her lap afterwards and kneading her thighs with sharp claws before turning in circles several times and curling up at last.

  Flora stroked his soft fur, glad of his warmth, and the sense of another beating heart in the empty cottage. Looking across at her grandfather’s chair, she remembered him sitting there, remembered the twinkle in his eyes, the way his moustache had tickled her when he kissed her goodnight. The band around her chest tightened unbearably as she thought about Max and his children, all the other families gathering together at Christmas.