Valentine Vendetta

Anger came back like a gritty balm to rub over his skin. He held onto it with an odd sense of relief. ‘It might even things up between us,’ he grated. ‘You seem to kno

w a hell of a lot about me—while I know practically nothing about you.’

She supposed that he did have a point. And what harm could it do? After all, they were going to have to talk about something. ‘Well, Sholto became quite famous in Dublin. It’s a small city and the entertainment industry is correspondingly small. He hated going to the shops because lots of fifteen-year-old girls would come rushing up to him waving their autograph books. And occasionally some even more intimate items of clothing.’ She shrugged awkwardly.

‘So…?’ He looked at her unapologetically. ‘What happened? Why did you split up? Did your hours clash? Or did you just find that you were incompatible?’

Fran nearly hurled the pineapple she was holding, at his head. And yet, why did she never talk about it? Because she felt ashamed? Wasn’t it more shameful to keep it all bottled up inside her like some dark, guilty secret—especially when she felt she didn’t have anything to be guilty about….

‘You’re a very nosy man!’ she complained.

‘No, just interested.’ His voice was a velvet snare. ‘Go on, Fran, you know you’re dying to tell me.’

Fran shot him a frustrated look. What a persuasive individual he could be! Was this how he had got Rosie into bed? And how best to describe her ex-husband without sounding like a Grade I bitch?

‘Sholto was a big fish in a little pond,’ she told him. ‘Who happened to be amazingly good-looking and could charm the birds off the trees. Which he did. Frequently. The human variety, I mean.’ She glared at him, just daring him to ask her any more. ‘There! Does that tell you everything you wanted to know about the reasons for my divorce, Sam?’

It certainly made the picture a little clearer. She had married a philanderer, and the betrayal must have been even worse because he strongly suspected she had been a virgin when they married. Was that why she had so blindly gone along with everything which Rosie had told her, he wondered?

‘I guess it does,’ he said thoughtfully.

Fran felt curiously exposed. ‘And what about you?’ she questioned, more ferociously than she had intended.

‘Me?’ he asked blandly. ‘What do you want to know about me?’

‘Having quizzed me all about mine, how about telling me something about your love life?’

He savoured the moment in the over-held look they shared. But now, he reasoned, was not the moment to tell her about Megan. ‘I thought you knew everything there was to know on the subject,’ he said smoothly, picking up a huge box of Belgian chocolates. ‘Shall we buy some of these, too?’

She swallowed down her indignation. She certainly wasn’t going to beg him to tell her! ‘Yes, let’s!’ she agreed, looking at the size of the box he had chosen with undisguised greed. ‘I’m a bit of a chocoholic, on the quiet!’

Which, presumably, was why she had that refreshingly shapely body, thought Sam as he followed her towards the cheese counter—though, of course, he wouldn’t dream of telling her that. Women were notoriously touchy about being told that they had healthy curves!

With all the shopping bought and loaded into the Range Rover, they headed back to the house and Fran had a distinct holiday feeling. Invigorated. Uplifted. Almost relaxed.

She shouldn’t be feeling like this, she reminded herself. She was supposed to be here on sufferance—not enjoying herself!

‘Now what?’ asked Sam, as they carried the last few carrier bags into the big, warm kitchen.

‘Now you unpack the shopping,’ she told him sweetly. ‘So that I can see where everything goes.’

The rest of the day was spent as congenially as it was possible to spend time with a man who essentially hated your guts, Fran decided. And there was a strange irony in her being able to give him step-by-step instructions on how to make beef bourgignon, and him almost meekly following them while she made his mother’s birthday cake!

Fuelled by cups of tea and the occasional biscuit, the only interruptions they had were several frantic phone calls from one of his more talented but neurotic authors, whose new book was about to go up for auction. They worked side by side in the kitchen until nearly eight o’clock that evening, by which time the room was filled with the most wonderful smells imaginable.

‘That’s it!’ Fran wiped the back of her hand over her forehead, leaving a splodge of flour behind. ‘We can’t do any more until tomorrow.’

‘Right.’ He was itching to brush the flour away, but he held back. Her proximity all afternoon had been spell-binding, and his body was in such a high state of desire that he didn’t feel safe going anywhere near her. Something to douse this unbearable sense of need was what was called for. ‘I think I’ll take a shower now and then maybe ring out for some Chinese food? That’s if you eat takeaways,’ he looked at her, a question in his eyes. ‘Or maybe you’d prefer to cook something yourself.’

‘Or maybe not!’ said Fran with a grimace. ‘Actually, I love Chinese.’

‘Yeah.’ He couldn’t stop himself. He reached his hand forward. ‘There.’ A fingertip brushed against her cheek and came away caked in flour. ‘You’ve covered yourself in cake-mix.’

The feather-light touch felt like something much more sensual than the simple removal of flour. Fran saw the darkening of his eyes, felt the prickle of her body in response to it—and the danger which hummed in the air around them. She licked her lips. ‘Do you…. uh…just have the one shower?’

‘No,’ he said huskily, silently cursing the architect who had recommended the second bathroom. Though what was he expecting—that she would take all her clothes off and offer to share with him? Oh, yes please, he thought longingly. ‘My room has an en suite. Feel free to use the one on the ground floor.’

‘Thanks.’ Fran maintained her composed smile until she was standing safely beneath the punishing jets of the shower, praying that the force of the water beating against her skin would rid her of some of her demons. Demons which took the shape of Sam as phantom-lover—and this in spite of everything she knew about him!