A Fling to Steal Her Heart

‘As long as it doesn’t bore you, Izzy.’

‘I’m not about to dash away again. This is a permanent move. I’m determined to keep it that way.’

Raphael went back to stirring his sauce. ‘You ever feel it’s not working out please tell me.’

‘Why?’ The word shot out of her mouth.

Tipping his head back, he stared up at the ceiling.

And she waited, sensing if she uttered one word he’d not answer her.

Finally his head dropped forward, and he took a small mouthful of his merlot. ‘I like having you back in London.’

So? She liked being here. But was that what this was about? She waited, breath caught in her throat.

His words were measured as he continued. ‘I’ve lived here for two years, and when I say lived I mean I’ve come and gone, and not really noticed the place. It is four walls and shelter, comfortable in a less than desirable way. It’s a house, not a home.’

What did that have to do with her?

‘Since you arrived, it already feels different, more like the home I intended making it. My home. I think about coming back at the end of the day now, not just going somewhere to eat, shower, study and sleep.’ He stopped.

What to say to that? Her mouth had dried, and there didn’t seem to be any answers forthcoming to what Raphael had just said. Inside, that feeling of finally getting her life right expanded a wee bit more. They did fit well together, but how well? Were they becoming more than friends? Was that even wise given there’d been no attraction in the past? Could people suddenly want someone physically after spending most of their lives not noticing each other that way? ‘I’m glad you’re finally enjoying your home.’

Crass, Izzy, crass.

Totally. But she couldn’t tell him what she’d been thinking. For one, she hadn’t been here very long, and secondly, she had to haul on the brakes. She wasn’t reliable in relationships, and Raphael was vulnerable after how Cassie dumped him.

‘I’ve surprised you.’ Raphael was studying her.

What was that about? ‘A little.’ It would be a relief to tell him how she felt, but then there’d be a whole other can of worms to deal with. Best shut up. She began flicking through paint charts, the colours one big blur as thoughts of holding Raphael, of kissing him, being kissed back, rose and heated her before she could squash them back in place.

* * *

At five next morning, fifteen minutes before the alarm was due to go off, Raphael dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, then stared at his puffy face in the mirror as he shaved.

‘Don’t lose any sleep over where I’ll find a place to live,’ Izzy had said over their beef dinner. How prophetic.

She’d blighted his night with thoughts of what it might be like if she didn’t find a flat, and instead stayed on with him, moved down to the second floor and his bedroom. Of course none of that had been suggested, but he hadn’t been able to think of anything else as he’d watched her swing her small but shapely legs while she sat on the stool. The relief had been immense when he’d put dinner on the table and she’d had to shift. But then he’d been subjected to seeing her fork food through those full lips, and conjuring up thoughts of her mouth on his skin.

The razor slipped. He swore. Dabbed the blood away. ‘Concentrate, man.’ Hell, now she had him talking to himself like some brain-dead moron on P.

It was far easier to blame Isabella than take a long, serious look at himself. If he did that, he’d have to admit he was floundering here, and hell, he didn’t usually get into a quagmire over his own emotions when it came to women. Only Cassie had done that to him. Until now. Now Izzy was having a damned good go at tipping him upside down. At least she was on the good side of the barometer, not like the hellhole Cassie had shoved him into. But then it was not as though he was falling hard for Izzy like he had for Cassie. If anything he was getting there slowly, carefully, and with a whole heap of concerns to deal with.

Focusing entirely on removing the last of the growth on his face, he managed to quieten his thumping chest for a few minutes. No more nicks on his skin. Yet the moment he rinsed the shaver the thumping started up again. This strange sensation Izzy brought on threw him whenever he wasn’t totally engrossed in work or study or any other blasted thing that didn’t start with I. He couldn’t go on ignoring his feelings for her. Nor could he do a thing about it until he returned from Cardiff. Taking a mug of coffee up to her room and saying, ‘Oh, by the way, I think I might want to spend the rest of my life with you. Can’t talk now. Lots to sort out first. See you tomorrow night,’ wouldn’t win him any favours. Not that he had worked out how to approach this yet, only understood the time was coming when he’d not be able to stay uninvolved. All he knew was if Izzy laughed at him, he’d die inside.

Now his alarm woke him up. As in out of his stupor and into getting ready for the trip to Wales. Swiping the screen of his phone to shut the infernal noise off, he tossed it into his overnight bag along with his shaving gear, and got dressed in his latest swanky suit and tie. Bag zipped shut, he headed downstairs for a quick coffee and toast before hitting the road. He was early due to that lack of sleep, but hopefully that meant the roads would have less traffic to contend with.

‘Hey, coffee’s ready and waiting. I put it on when I heard you moving around up there.’ Izzy sat at the round table at the edge of the kitchen, a mug in one hand, and Chienne on her lap schmoozing against her other hand.

‘Morning.’ He hadn’t smelt a thing. Too distracted. Then, ‘Cheeky.’ He nodded at the cat. ‘You’ll do anything to get attention.’ He wouldn’t ogle Isabella in her sleeveless top with no bra underneath. Was that a pyjama top? Guess so, if the matching loose shorts Chienne was stretched across were an indicator. So she—Izzy, not Chienne—still wore shapeless PJs. Or had she reverted to them once Darren had left the scene? He’d seen enough on washing lines throughout their lives to know she’d never been one for matching bras and knickers, let alone fancy lingerie of any kind, but who knew what being in a relationship might’ve done for her? Turning away, his mind filled with an image of her in black sexy lingerie. And he swore.

‘Pardon?’

Did he say that out loud? Sloshing coffee into the mug waiting by the coffee machine, he drew a slow breath and looked over his shoulder. ‘Sorry. I spilled coffee, that’s all.’ Grabbing a cloth he made a show of wiping down the bench, which was coffee-free. If this was what not sleeping did to him, then how did Izzy manage day to day on the little she got?

‘I take it you didn’t sleep again? Perhaps you should stop drinking coffee.’

‘One step ahead of you.’ She waved her mug at him. ‘This is tea. Not that I’m giving up entirely on my caffeine fix.’

Then he noticed the paint charts once again spread over the table. Showed how much attention he’d been paying to Izzy and her PJs if he hadn’t seen those. ‘You are serious about getting the decorating under way, aren’t you?’

A rare worry flickered through her eyes. ‘Does that bother you?’

He shook his head. ‘Not at all. I should’ve known you’d get stuck into sorting my mess out.’ It was what she’d always done. Only difference was this was a large, hands-on job, not like making sure the rowdy guys in the room next door at university stopped banging on his door in the middle of the night when he was trying to study.

Her shoulders softened, and Chienne got another stroke. Lucky cat. ‘It’s okay. You’ll recognise the house when you return tomorrow night. I’ve got too much else on today.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ he retorted. ‘Can’t have you taking over completely.’ The coffee was blistering hot and he needed to be on the road. ‘I’ll put this in a travel mug. Got to go.’

>

‘Fine.’ Izzy sipped her tea. When her tongue did a lap of her lips the thumping started up in his chest again, only harder and faster.

Just as well he was going away.

* * *

Except as Raphael and his colleague, Jeremy, stood onstage receiving a hearty round of applause at the end of their talk on Sunday, he knew he wasn’t hanging around for the afternoon’s workshops. ‘I’m out of here,’ he muttered in an aside.

‘I’m not surprised. You’ve been miles away since you got here. Except during our talk,’ Jeremy added hastily.

‘It’s a miracle I managed to get through that without making stuff up.’ Though he had concentrated hard, determined Isabella wasn’t going to wreck everything about this weekend. He missed her. Had done from the moment he’d backed out onto the road in Richmond yesterday morning. It had taken strength not to text to see what she was up to. He just wanted to be with her, even when that twisted his gut and tightened muscles best ignored. Sure, he wouldn’t be able to do what he really wanted to—kiss those tantalising lips and hold that soft, curvy body against him—but he could give her cheek and laugh, and make her a mug of tea.

‘What’s playing on your mind?’ Jeremy asked as they stepped offstage.

‘Nothing to do with work,’ Raphael was quick to reassure his mentor.

‘I didn’t think so.’

Right. Now what? He hated lying to anyone, and particularly to this man who’d been nothing but kind and helpful to him from the day they met in the gynaecology department when he’d come on board as the newest specialist. ‘Just some personal stuff.’ Hopefully Jeremy would get the hint and drop the subject. Not that he’d ever done that if he really felt it important to get to the bottom of something. The man could be a hound when he put his mind to it.