Valentine Vendetta

Mrs. Lockhart was laughing now. ‘I think it’s an exquisite irony that my free-spirited and artistic daughter, who has spent most of her adult life talking about financial inequality on the planet, should fall in love with a man I am reliably informed could pay off most of the national debt!’

‘So you’re…er…leaving soon?’ asked Sam.

‘Why, yes, darling, we are,’ said Maddy, determined to get her own back. ‘But just to be diplomatic, you could try wiping that great big grin off your face! Anyone would think you were glad to get rid of us!’

Fran rose hurriedly to her feet. ‘Er…more tea, anyone?’

‘I’d love some,’ Mrs. Lockhart said, smiling.

Fran escaped into the kitchen and put the kettle on, and wasn’t at all surprised when Sam came into the kitchen minutes later, with a very satisfied expression plastered to his face. He put his arms around her waist and then bent his head to kiss her softly on the lips.

‘Hello, beautiful,’ he smiled. ‘I didn’t get the chance to say that to you this morning, did I? In fact, I didn’t get the chance to say anything to you this morning! Shall we start all over again?’ And he kissed her again.

She allowed herself to sink into the kiss for precisely three seconds, then snatched her head away. ‘No, don’t,’ she whispered. ‘Someone might come in and see us.’

‘Well, we’re not exactly committing a major felony, are we?’ he teased. ‘We’re just two consenting adults doing and enjoying what comes naturally.’

Which was not the most romantic way in the world he could have described it, Fran thought rather disappointedly. ‘I just don’t want them to guess that we—’

‘I think we may be a little late for that, honey,’ he interrupted ruefully.

‘Why, have they actually said something?’

‘Nope.’

‘Well, neither did we, so—’

‘We didn’t need to say anything.’ He tilted her chin with a finger and looked down at her thoughtfully. ‘The chemistry between us was obvious enough, and you’d have to be lacking in any kind of intuition not to have noticed it crackling around the breakfast table like electricity—’

‘Which leaves them to draw only one conclusion!’ Fran groaned.

‘Which is?’

‘That we spent the night together!’

He mimicked her wide-eyed look of horror. ‘Oh, my goodness!’

‘Sam, I’m serious!’

‘And so am I, honey. So am I.’ The chin-tilting finger became a chin-stroking finger. ‘What we’ve done is nothing to be ashamed of, is it?’

‘But won’t your mother think—’

‘My mother has spent most of her life as an actress—there isn’t a lot she hasn’t seen or heard of, you know. I’m thirty-two and you’re what—’

‘Nearly twenty-seven,’ she answered, miserable that he didn’t know. And that he should ask her a question like that at a time like this.

‘Well, then. Of course nobody in their right mind would be shocked or surprised to learn that we’re two sexually active—’

‘Sam!’ snapped Fran, furious at the unromantic way he was describing what she had considered the most perfect night of her life. ‘Please don’t say any more!’

He frowned. Usually he was good with words—brilliant with words, even. He had to soothe neurotic authors daily and spent hours bargaining with steely contract managers at publishing houses on behalf of his clients.

So why was he coming out with crass lines that even the most insensitive person would reject under the circumstances? Last night they had made love and today they badly needed to talk. He gave her chin a last, lingering touch and decided that this could wait until everyone had gone. Until they had the house to themselves and weren’t hampered by the prospect of an audience bursting in whenever they were trying to have a private conversation!

‘I have to take them all to the station,’ he told her softly. ‘And then we’ll have the place to ourselves. How about that?’

Fran nodded.