Valentine Vendetta

‘Sam,’ Fran repeated obediently. It felt so right to say his name. Too right. Like having one long lean leg mere inches away from hers felt right, too.

Not since Sholto had she been so tuned in to a man’s presence. Only this seemed all wrong. This wasn’t just a knockout individual with searing blue eyes and a body which had been constructed in the dream-factory. This was the man who had robbed her best friend of her innocence.

So why did she find herself wanting to curl up like a kitten in his lap, instead of lashing out at him with her claws?

‘I’ll be out of the country all week,’ he told her. ‘I’ll ring you when I get back and we’ll arrange a meet in London to discuss details and budget, that kind of thing. Okay with you?’

‘Sure,’ she nodded, and was just reaching over to unlock the car door when he suddenly leaned over and caught hold of her left hand and turned it over to study it closely.

‘No marks, I see,’ he observed, tracing her bare ring finger with the pad of his thumb.

All she could feel was the rough warmth of his skin and the shock of the unexpected contact made every sane thought trickle out of her mind. ‘I b-beg your pardon?’

‘Marks. From your wedding ring.’

‘Who told you I was married? Cormack?’

The blaze from his eyes was like a searchlight. ‘Yeah. Who else? You don’t wear the fact tattooed on your forehead, that’s for sure!’

Fran shifted awkwardly on her seat. ‘Well, that’s past tense. I’m divorced now.’

‘So I understand. There’s a lot of it around,’ he drawled. ‘But even so…’ He let his thumb trickle slowly around the base of her finger in a gesture which to Fran seemed both highly suggestive and highly erotic and she shivered despite the warmth of the car. ‘Wedding rings always leave their mark—one way or the other.’

This was getting too close for comfort. Fran tore her hand away from his and pushed open the car door, her breath coming hot and thick in her throat. ‘I’ll see you when you get back from Europe,’ she croaked.

CHAPTER THREE

FRAN rang the doorbell and moments later a blurry-eyed Rosie peered out from behind the safety chain.

‘Wassa time?’ she mumbled.

Fran frowned and stared at her friend in horror and amazement. ‘Five o’clock. Rosie, have you been drinking?’

Rosie swallowed back a hiccup and then beamed. ‘I jus’…jus’ ha’ a small one. I was nervous, see. Knowing that you were meeting Sam.’ Her eyes focussed at last. ‘Did you? Meet him?’

‘I did.’

‘And?’

Fran shivered. It had been a long and boring journey back on the train which had stopped at about a hundred stations between Eversford and London. She was cold and she was tired and frankly, not at all sure that she was doing the right thing in trying to teach Rosie’s ex-lover a lesson. From her brief meeting with him, he had not seemed the ideal candidate to have the wool pulled over his eyes. She was going to have to be very careful….

‘Rosie, do we have to have this conversation on the doorstep?’

‘Oh! Sorry! Come in!’ Rosie unhooked the chain and Fran followed her into the flat which seemed to have had nothing done to it in the way of housework since she had been there the day before yesterday. She wrinkled her nose. How stale it smelt.

Rosie turned to her eagerly. ‘So! Did you get the job?’

Again, Fran felt the oddest shiver of apprehension. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘Oh, joy of joys!’ gurgled Rosie. ‘Well done! Let’s go and have a drink to celebrate!’

‘Haven’t you had enough?’

Rosie looked at her sharply. ‘Maybe I have,’ she shrugged. ‘But that doesn’t stop you, does it?’

‘No, I’m fine. I had tea on the train. I just want to take the weight off my feet.’

Fran waited until they were both settled in the sitting room where dirty cups and glasses littered the coffee table, before she said anything.