This time Angelo sat up.
‘And you are…what? Acting the outraged maiden doesn’t impress me, Francesca. Have you conveniently forgotten that you have a boyfriend tucked away in the background?’
‘Jack…Jack…’
‘…wouldn’t mind?’ he inserted sarcastically. ‘Isn’t jealous? Believes in a strict policy of sharing, even when it comes to his women?’
Francesca sagged and walked across to the window, where she perched on the ledge and looked at him. It was very obvious where he was heading with his little argument. The ‘pot calling the kettle black’ argument. She had let herself go along with the fiction that she and Jack were involved because she wanted protection from herself. Now, to admit the truth would also be to explain the lie.
‘You don’t understand. And, anyway, we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you and your seedy morals.’
‘And yours are more noble?’ Angelo laughed dryly. ‘I wish you would explain how. I would be very interested to find out and if you can persuade me with your argument then I would advise you to drop the catering and go in for a career in law instead. There is always scope for a good barrister who can think creatively on his feet.’
‘I hate you, Angelo Falcone.’
‘No. You don’t. If you hated me, you would never have climbed into bed with me. Especially considering you have a boyfriend. I know you well enough to know that much.’
‘I don’t…have a boyfriend.’
‘Could you repeat that?’
‘You heard me. I don’t have a boyfriend. Jack and I aren’t lovers and never have been.’
Angelo slung his legs over the side of the bed and looked at her thoughtfully as he scooped up the clothes from the floor.
‘How interesting,’ he drawled, walking towards her. ‘Now, why would you lead me to believe that you were involved with someone else? Did you want to prove to me that you had moved on with your life?’
‘Of course not! Would you mind getting dressed?’
‘I’ll do better than that. I shall go and have a shower and then, when I return, we can talk…’ He strolled towards the door, pausing to say over his shoulder, ‘Unless, of course, you want to keep me company in the shower?’
A cold shower. He needed it. Having tasted her, he realised that he wanted more. He emerged fifteen minutes later, fully dressed, to find her no longer in the bedroom but standing by the front door.
‘If you think I am leaving, then you can think again,’ he said, heading straight to the sitting room. ‘Now that we have finally broken the ice, there is so much talking to do. Including,’ he added softly, ‘why you lied to me about Jack.’
Francesca reluctantly followed him to find that he had taken up position on the sofa, where he was reclining like lord and master, hands behind his head and his feet hooked over the low arm, giving him an eagle-eye view of her as she sat on the chair facing him.
The table lamp was still switched on and, for all the resentment seething through her, resentment at him for showing up and turning her world upside down and anger at herself for making love to him, she still found her eyes riveted by the startling reality of his physical presence.
He dominated the room. Just as he had dominated the kitchen. The whole house. Nothing new about that. He had always done that, captured the attention of everyone when he walked into a room. She used to tease him about it, feigning petulance because shouldn’t she, as the model, be the one to rivet everyone? But she had enjoyed the feeling, loving the knowledge that, however many women followed his every move, he was hers.
Now, she just felt as though he was depriving her of oxygen.
‘Well?’ he prompted. ‘Why did you lie to me?’
‘Does it matter?’ She looked at him with impotent hostility. ‘I didn’t lie when I told you that I loved him,’ she said grudgingly. ‘We just aren’t involved with one another romantically and, actually, it wasn’t my idea. It was Jack’s.’
‘Because…?’
‘Because he thought that you might try and make a pass at me for old times’ sake.’ There was at least an element of truth there and it absolved her from any more in depth confessions, which was a blessing.