A Deal with Di Capua

“Tell me more about this John Law character.” Angelo flung aside the towel, strode to the shower and turned the water to cold, which he thought might lower the temperature raging inside him. He didn’t look at her as he emerged a minute later to resume the conversation.

“He and his wife, Jayne, were one of my first customers,” Rosie explained. “They live about half an hour away in one of the large new-build houses on that estate by the river.”

“What does the man do? Aside from making passes at you?”

Rosie’s brain sluggishly began to grasp what was going on and her eyes widened. “Are you...jealous?”

“Have you done anything for me to be jealous about?” Angelo’s face darkened as he stared at her. “Do you reciprocate when he’s touching you, as he stands in front of the chocolate mousse making helpful suggestions?”

“I’m not going to bother answering that question.” She began swinging out of the room and he reached out, caught her arm and pulled her back against him.

“What does he do?”

“Angelo, you’re over-reacting. He makes the odd remark and he leers a bit, but he’s never touched me, and if he did I would know how to take care of myself. And how can you suggest that I would ever do anything with someone else? Do you think I would be sleeping with you if...if...?” If there was the slightest chance that I could feel something, anything, for someone else? Do you think I wouldn’t run as fast as I could in the opposite direction from you if I could because I know you’re going to hurt me? If I hadn’t gone and fallen madly in love with you all over again?

“If what?”

“If nothing. Let me go, Angelo. I’m going to go downstairs to start doing some food. If you want to eat here, then fine, but if you’re going to start arguing with me over nothing then I would rather you left.”

It was the first argument they had, and Rosie knew that if she tolerated him trying to dictate to her then she would set the precedent. She was in his thrall sufficiently as it was, without becoming even more feeble and pathetic. He had no right to question her integrity and if he was jealous, which he surely wasn’t, then it didn’t spring from any tender loving feelings. It sprang from the fact that, whilst they were in this situation, he considered her his possession to be tossed aside as and when he chose, like a toy he could discard when he got sick of playing with it.

She took the stairs two at a time and wasn’t aware of him following her until she looked around to see him lounging indolently in the doorway. He had dressed in a pair of jeans and a faded T-shirt. He always carried a change of clothes with him when he came down from London and he always took them with him when he left. Her heart lurched but she looked at him coolly and with complete composure.

“So I believe you when you tell me that the man hasn’t laid a finger on you nor you on him,” Angelo gritted. Just the thought of anyone else touching her made his blood boil. He should have paid more attention to her job. He should have realised that she would be coming into contact with lots of different people, lots of rich people, and she was nothing if not susceptible to men with deep pockets, he grimly told himself. Furthermore, she was sex on legs, even with her hair half-wet as it was now and completely devoid of make-up. In the world of the rich and the beautiful, her natural, pure beauty stood out like a beacon in the darkness. Of course there would be lechers wanting to grope her over the minestrone soup. Hell, why had that never crossed his mind? He suddenly would have liked details of every man she had encountered at every party she had catered since she had moved to Cornwall. He raked his fingers through his dark hair and glowered.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Rosie stubbornly stuck her chin out and glowered back.

“You’re here in this place on your own without transport. It’s remote. So who wouldn’t be worried about anyone in a situation like that?”

“You’re worried about me?”

“I think you should get a car,” Angelo prevaricated. “And you never answered my question.”

“I’ve forgotten what the question was.”

“How do you get to and from these events?”

“Beth has a little runaround—she’s the girl who helps me now and again. So if we’re working on a job together we’ll always drive there in her car, and if she leaves before me in the evening then I call a taxi.”

“So you don’t accept lifts from any of those creeps who try to manhandle you?” He fought to get a grip but still found himself scowling darkly at her.

Rosie turned away and laughed lightly. She didn’t want to give house room to that warm feeling she got when she thought of him being jealous and possessive over her. “You know my background, Angelo. I wasn’t born yesterday. I know what men can be like. I value the jobs I get here, and there’s no way I would ever jeopardise any of that by accepting a lift from someone who might make a pass at me. One client who’s pregnant at the moment and not drinking has given me a lift twice, and that’s okay, but I know where to draw the line.”

“You should still get a car.”

“I’ll carry on saving.”

He wasn’t going to offer to buy one for her. No way. Been there, done that, when it came to buying things for her. He decided not to think of her travelling back in winter, when the days would get shorter and shorter. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even be with the woman when winter rolled round!

He continued to look at her in brooding silence as she began expertly preparing the vegetables.

“So who else do you meet at these things?” He had only arranged that one, initial catering job. It had mushroomed into lots of other catering jobs and he had no idea who those jobs were for.

“Lots of different people.” Rosie shrugged. “Do you want to help me with these vegetables?”

It didn’t occur to Angelo that chopping carrots and peeling potatoes fell into the category of domestic. He was too busy speculating on these mysterious and unknown people who now comprised her social life.

“What sort of people? You can’t be too careful.”

“I think I’m fine.”

“And yet you’re the same woman who mistakenly went on a date with a psychopath.”

“One mistake, Angelo. It’s not very fair of you to remind me of that.” Rosie began chopping some cloves of garlic very quickly.

“I’m making an obvious point.”

“Which is what? That I’m not equipped to take care of myself? That’s a far cry from the nasty gold-digger I’m supposed to be, isn’t it?”

Angelo flushed darkly. “Is it a problem for you that I’m expressing concern for your safety?”

Rosie laughed incredulously. “Angelo, this is a quiet, middle-class rural area in Cornwall. Not a war zone in the Middle East!”

Angelo didn’t like where this was going. He didn’t like his own biting curiosity. He didn’t care for the flare of jealousy he felt when he thought of her being ogled by strangers. It would be a relief when he was free of her once and for all. Despite the fact that he called the shots, he sometimes got the unnerving feeling that he really wasn’t in control at all and that was a feeling he didn’t like.

He curved his hand at the side of her neck and bent to kiss the slender column. Her hair smelled fresh and fruity and he gently raised some of the strands so that he could nibble her hairline until she squirmed with pleasure.

“You’re tickling!”

“I don’t like to think of anyone coming near you.”

“Not even the pregnant lady who gave me the lift?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I meet people. It’s a social job. Rich women who want dinner parties catered for tend to be married to rich men.”

“Rich old men?” Still kissing her neck, he wrapped his arms around her before slipping his hands under her top, moving slowly upwards until he was cupping her small, perfect breasts. With her back to him, he pressed his body against her so that she could feel the hardness of his erection.

“Ancient and wrinkled.” Rosie flattened herself against him and quivered when he circled her nipples with his fingers. In a heartbeat, she had forgotten all her negative thoughts about him and about what he was capable of doing to her. She widened her stance, and on cue he dipped his hand under the soft elastic of her jogging bottoms, wormed his fingers beneath her underwear and then idly began playing with her.

She groaned softly when his fingers found the pouting bud of her clitoris. She was wet and hot for him. How was it fair that he could do this to her? The one consoling thought was that she could also do the same to him. He was as rampant as she was, and as impatient for them to make love all over again, as though they hadn’t finished making love less than an hour ago.

He eased the jogging bottoms down and, before they could pool round her ankles, he turned her to face him.

In one easy movement, he lifted her up and set her gently down on the kitchen table. She lay flat, barely noticing the hard surface of the wood under her. When she bent her knees, her feet were half-on, half-off the edge of the kitchen table, and when he divested her of the jogging bottoms she was spread wide like a ripe peach waiting to be savoured.