Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Guilty
Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE phone was ringing as Laura opened the door, and her heart sank. She had been anticipating kicking off her shoes, helping herself to a well-deserved drink, and running a nice deep bath in which to enjoy it. But all these pleasant prospects had to be put on hold while she answered the call. And as she could think of no reason why anyone should be calling her at this time of the evening, she was necessarily reticent.

After all, it was only twenty minutes since she had left the school, after a particularly arduous session with the parents of her fourteen-year-old students, and she had hoped to indulge herself for what was left of the evening. Mrs Forrest, who came in two days a week to keep the house in order, had, as she often did, left something simmering in the oven, and, although it was probably overcooked by now, the smell emanating from the kitchen was still very appetising. But someone, another parent perhaps, or a colleague—though that was less likely—or even her superior in the English department, had decreed otherwise, and she mentally squared her shoulders before going into the living-room and picking up the phone.

‘Yes,’ she said evenly, her low attractive voice no less sympathetic in spite of her feelings. ‘Laura Fox speaking.’

‘Mum?’ Her daughter’s voice instantly dispelled any trace of resignation in her attitude. ‘Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours!’

‘Julie!’ Laura’s initial sense of relief at hearing her daughter’s voice was quickly followed by concern. After all—she glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist—it was almost ten o’clock. ‘Is something wrong? Where are you? I thought you said you were going to New York this week.’

‘I was.’ But her daughter didn’t sound concerned, and Laura sank down on to the arm of the sofa and tucked one foot behind the other. Experience had taught her that her daughter’s telephone calls—though infrequent—tended to be long, and Laura prepared herself for protracted explanations. ‘I told Harry I couldn’t go.’

‘I see.’

Laura didn’t. Not really. But it seemed a suitable reply. If Julie wanted to tell her why she should have chosen to turn down a proposedly lucrative opportunity to work in the United States she would do so. Laura knew her daughter well enough to know that asking too many questions could illicit an aggressive response. Ever since she was sixteen, and old enough to make her own decisions, Julie had resisted any efforts on her mother’s part to try and offer her advice. Her favourite retort, if Laura had attempted to counsel her, was that Laura was in no position to criticise her plans, when she had made such a mess of her own life. And, although the barb was hardly justified, Laura was too sensitive about her own mistakes to carry the argument.

Now, however, her daughter was speaking again, and Laura forced herself to concentrate on what she was saying. Now was not the time to indulge in rueful recollection, and there was no denying that Julie had made a success of her career.

‘So,’ her daughter exclaimed impatiently, ‘aren’t you going to ask me why I’ve been trying to get in touch with you? Don’t you want to know why I turned down Harry’s offer?’

Laura stifled a sigh. ‘Well—of course,’ she said, looking longingly towards the sherry decanter residing on the bureau, just too far away to reach. ‘But I assumed you were about to tell me.’ A twinge of anxiety gripped her. ‘What’s happened? You’re not ill, are you?’

‘No.’ Julie sounded scornful. ‘I’ve never felt better. Is that the only reason you can think of why I should want to stay in London?’

Laura lifted her shoulders wearily. Her neck was aching from looking up at people, and her spine felt numb. It had been a long day, and she wasn’t really in the mood to play twenty questions.

‘Have you left the agency?’ she asked carefully, conscious that Julie could throw a tantrum at the least provocation, and unwilling to arouse her daughter’s anger. ‘Have you found a better job?’

‘You could say that.’ Evidently she had made the right response, and Julie’s tone was considerably warmer. ‘But I haven’t left the agency. Not yet, anyway.’

‘Oh.’ Laura endeavoured to absorb the subtler connotations of this statement. ‘So—it must be a man.’

There had been a lot of men during Julie’s five-year sojourn in the capital, but this was the first time Laura had known her daughter give up a modelling contract for one of them.

‘You got it.’ Julie was apparently too eager to deliver her news to waste any more time playing games. ‘It is a man. The man! I’m going to marry him, Mum. At least, I am if I have anything to do with it.’

Laura’s lips parted. ‘You’re getting married!’ She had never expected this. Julie had always maintained that marriage was not for her. Not after her mother’s unhappy experience.

‘Well, not yet,’ Julie conceded swiftly. ‘He hasn’t asked me. But he will. I’ll make sure of that. Only—well—he wants to meet you. And I wondered if we could come up for the weekend.’

‘He wants to meet me?’ Laura was surprised, and Julie didn’t sound as if the proposition met with her approval either.

‘Yes,’ she said shortly. ‘Silly, isn’t it? But—well—I might as well tell you. He’s not English. He’s Italian. An Italian count, would you believe? Although he doesn’t use the title these days. In any case, he’s not an impoverished member of the Italian aristocracy. His family owns factories and things in Northern Italy, and he’s very wealthy. What else?’ Julie uttered an excited little laugh. ‘I wouldn’t be considering marrying him otherwise. No matter how sexy he is!’

Laura was stunned. ‘But—Julie…’ She licked her lips, as she endeavoured to find the right words to voice her feelings. ‘I mean—why does he want to meet me? And—coming here. This is just a tiny cottage, Julie. Why, I only have two bedrooms!’

‘So?’ Julie sounded belligerent now. ‘We’ll only need one.’

‘No.’ Laura knew she was in danger of being accused of being prudish, but she couldn’t help it. ‘That is—if—if you come here, you and I will share my room.’

‘Oh, all right.’ Julie made a sound of impatience. ‘I don’t suppose Jake would want to sleep with me there anyway. After all, it’s his idea that he introduce himself to you. That’s apparently how they do things in his part of the world. Only I explained I didn’t have a father.’

Julie’s scornful words scraped a nerve, but Laura suppressed the urge to defend herself. It was an old argument, and Julie knew as well as her mother that she had had a father, just like anyone else. The fact that her parents had never been married was what she was referring to, a situation she had always blamed her mother for. She had maintained that Laura should have known that the man she had allowed to get her pregnant already had a wife, and no amount of justification on her mother’s part could persuade her otherwise. Even though she knew Laura had been only sixteen at the time, while Keith Macfarlane had been considerably older, she had always stuck to the belief that Laura should have been more suspicious of a man who worked in Newcastle and spent most of his weekends in Edinburgh.

But Laura hadn’t been like her daughter at that age. The only child of elderly parents, she had been both immature and naïve. A man like Keith Macfarlane, whom she had met at a party at a friend’s house, had seemed both worldly-wise and sophisticated, and she had been flattered that someone so confident and assured should have found her so attractive. Besides, she had enjoyed a certain amount of kudos by having him pick her up from the sixth-form college, and for someone who hitherto had lived a fairly humdrum existence it had been exciting.

Of course, with hindsight, Laura could see how stupid she had been. She should have known that a man who liked women as much as Keith did was unlikely to have reached his thirtieth birthday without getting involved with someone else. But she had been young and reckless—and she had paid the price.

Looking back, she suspected Keith had never intended to get so heavily involved. Like her, he’d evidently enjoyed having a partner who was not in his own age-group, and at sixteen, Laura supposed, she had been quite attractive. She had always been tall, and in her teens she had carried more weight than she did now. In consequence, she had looked older, and probably more experienced, too, she acknowledged ruefully. So much so that Keith had expected her to know how to take care of herself, and it had come as quite a shock to him to discover she was still a virgin.

That was when their relationship had foundered. Keith had seen the dangers, and drawn back from them. Three weeks later he’d told her he had been transferred to Manchester, and she’d never heard from him again.

Tom Dalton, the father of Laura’s best friend, at whose house she had first met Keith, eventually admitted the truth. He had worked with Keith, and he knew why he spent his weekends in Edinburgh. Laura wished he had seen fit to tell her sooner, but by then it was too late. Laura was pregnant, and for a while it seemed as if her whole life was ruined.

Naturally, she had dreaded telling her parents. Mr and Mrs Fox had never approved of her generation, and she was quite prepared for them to demand she get rid of the baby. But in that instance she was wrong. Instead of making it even harder for her, her father had suggested a simple solution. She should have the baby, and then go back to school. There was no point in wasting her education, and if she was going to have a child to support then she ought to ensure that she had a career to do it. And that was what she had done, leaving the baby with her mother during the day, while she’d studied for her A levels, and subsequently gained a place at the university.

It had not been an easy life, Laura recalled without rancour. Julie had not been an ‘easy’ baby, and when her parents had died in a car accident during her first year of teaching it had been hard. Coping with the pupils at an inner-city comprehensive during the day, and still finding the energy to cope with a fractious five-year-old at night. But Laura had managed, somehow, although at times she was so tired that she’d wondered how she was going to go on.

Of course, much later, when Julie discovered the circumstances of her own birth, other complications had arisen. As a young girl, Julie had always resented the fact that she only had one parent, and as she grew older that resentment manifested itself in rows and tantrums that often escalated out of all proportion.

But Julie had one consolation. Her features, which as a child had been fairly ordinary, blossomed in her teens into real beauty. Not for Julie the horrors of puppy-fat and acne. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, her height unmarred by extra inches. Her hair, which she had inherited from her mother, was several shades darker than Laura’s, a rich, burnished copper that flowed freely about her shoulders. She became the most popular girl in her class, and, although Laura worried that she might make the same mistakes she had made, Julie was much shrewder than she had ever been.

Laura hated to admit it, but when Julie left school before she was eighteen, and took herself off to London to work, she was almost relieved. The effort of sharing an apartment with someone who was totally self-absorbed and totally selfish had been quite a strain, and for months after Julie had gone Laura revelled in her new-found freedom.

And then, not wholly unexpectedly, Julie became famous. The secretarial job she had taken had been in a photographic agency, and not unnaturally someone had noticed how photogenic Julie was. Within months, her face began appearing on the covers of catalogues and magazines, and all the bitterness of the past was buried beneath the mask of her new sophistication.

Of course, Laura had been delighted for her. The guilt she had always felt at being the unwitting cause of Julie’s illegitimacy was in some part relieved by her daughter’s success, and it meant she could stop worrying about her finances, and buy herself the cottage in Northumberland she had always wanted. These days she lived in a small village about fifteen miles from the city, and only commuted to Newcastle to work.

Now, pushing the memories away, and ignoring her daughter’s bitterness, Laura addressed herself to the present situation. ‘Do I take it you plan to come up here tomorrow evening?’ she asked, mentally assessing the contents of the freezer and finding them wanting. If Julie and this man, whoever he was, were coming to stay, she would have to do some shopping tomorrow lunchtime.

‘If that won’t put you out,’ Julie agreed offhandedly, and Laura hoped she hadn’t offended her by reminding her of the differences in their current lifestyles. Julie now owned a luxurious apartment in Knightsbridge, and her visits to Burnfoot were few and far between.

‘Well, of course you won’t be putting me out,’ Laura assured her quickly, not wanting to get the weekend off to an uncertain start. ‘Um—so who is this man? What’s his name? Other than Jake, that is?’

‘I’ve told you!’ exclaimed Julie irritably. ‘He’s an Italian businessman. His family name is Lombardi. Jake’s the eldest son.’

‘I see.’ So—Jake Lombardi, then, thought Laura nervously. Would that be short for Giovanni? Would Julie be living in Italy, after they were married?

‘Anyway, you’ll be able to meet him for yourself tomorrow,’ declared Julie at last. ‘We’ll probably drive up in his Lamborghini. Personally I’d prefer to fly, but Jake says he wants to see something of the countryside. He’s interested in history—old buildings; that sort of thing.’

‘Is he?’

Laura was surprised. What little she had learned about her daughter’s previous boyfriends had not led her to believe that Julie would be attracted to a man who cared about anything other than material possessions. But perhaps she was maturing after all, Laura thought hopefully. Was it too much to wish that Julie had learned there was more to life than the accumulation of wealth?

‘So—we’ll see you some time after five,’ Julie finished swiftly. ‘I can’t stop now, Mum. We’re on our way to a party. ‘Bye!’

‘G’bye.’

Laura made the automatic response, and she was still holding the phone when the line went dead. Shaking her head, she replaced the receiver, and then sat looking at the instrument for a few blank moments, before getting up to pour herself the long-awaited glass of sherry.

Then, after taking a few experimental sips of the wine, she pulled herself together and walked through to the tiny kitchen at the back of the cottage. As she had expected, the casserole Mrs Forrest had left for her was a trifle overcooked. But, although the vegetables were soggy, the chicken was still edible, and, putting it down on the pine table, she went to get herself a plate. But all her actions were instinctive, and she had the sense of doing things at arm’s length. The prospect of Julie’s actually getting married, of settling down at last, had left her feeling somewhat off guard, and she knew it would take some getting used to.

Nevertheless, she was not displeased at the news. On the contrary, she hoped her daughter would find real happiness. And maybe Julie would learn to forgive her mother’s mistakes, now that she loved someone herself. Or at least try to understand the ideals of an impressionable girl.

Friday was always a busy day for Laura. She had no free periods, and she usually spent her lunch-hour doing some of the paperwork that being assistant head of the English department demanded. It meant she could spend Saturday relaxing, before tackling the preparation she did on Sundays.

Consequently, when she went out to the car park to get into her small Ford, Mark Leith, her opposite number in the maths department, raised surprised eyebrows at this evident break with routine.

‘Got a date?’ he enquired, slamming the boot of his car, and tucking the box he had taken from it under his arm. ‘Don’t tell me you’re two-timing me!’

Laura pulled a face at him. She and Mark had an on-off relationship that never progressed beyond the occasional date for dinner or the theatre. It was Laura’s decision that their friendship should never become anything more than that, and Mark, who was in his early forties, and still lived with his mother, seemed to accept the situation. Laura guessed he preferred bachelorhood really, but now and then he attempted to assert his authority.

‘I’m going shopping,’ she replied now, opening the door of the car, and folding herself behind the wheel. ‘Julie’s coming for the weekend, and bringing a friend.’

‘I see.’ Mark walked across the tarmac to stand beside her window, and, suppressing a quite unwarranted sense of impatience, Laura wound it down. ‘A girlfriend?’

‘What?’

Laura wasn’t really paying attention, and Mark’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘The friend,’ he reminded her pointedly. ‘Is it a girlfriend?’

‘Oh…’ Laura put the key into the ignition, and looked up at him resignedly. ‘No. No, as a matter of fact, it’s a boyfriend. Well, a man, I suppose. She rang me last night, after I got home.’

‘Really?’ Mark arched his sandy brows again, and Laura felt her irritation return. ‘Bit sudden, isn’t it?’

Laura sighed, gripping the wheel with both hands. It was nothing to do with him really, and she found she resented his assumption that he could make remarks of that sort. It was probably her own fault, she thought wearily. Although she hadn’t encouraged Mark’s advances, she supposed she had let him think he had some influence in her life.

Now she forced a polite smile, and shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘Oh—you know what young people are like!’ she exclaimed dismissively. ‘They don’t need weeks to plan a trip. They just do it.’

‘It’s a bit hard on you though, isn’t it?’ Mark persisted, his chin jutting indignantly. ‘I mean—you might have had other plans.’

Laura nearly said, ‘Who? Me?’ but she didn’t think Mark would appreciate the irony. His sense of humour tended towards the unsubtle, and any effort on Laura’s part to parody her own position would only meet with reproval. In consequence, she only shook her head, and leaned forward to start the engine.

‘I was going to suggest we might try and get tickets for that revue at the Playhouse,’ Mark added, as if to justify his aggravation. ‘I’ve heard it’s jolly good, and it finishes on Saturday.’

Laura squashed her own resentment, and managed a warmer expression. ‘Oh, well,’ she said, ‘we’ll have to catch it some other time. And now I really must go, or I won’t have time to get everything I want.’

Mark’s mouth compressed. ‘You could still—–’

‘No, I couldn’t,’ declared Laura firmly, and put the car into gear. ‘I’ll see you later.’

He was still standing looking after the car as Laura turned out of the car park, and lifted her hand in a reluctant farewell. Really, she thought, concentrating on the traffic on the West Road, there were times when Mark could be such a pain. Surely he could understand that as Julie paid so few visits to her mother Laura couldn’t possibly desert her to go to the theatre with him? Besides, it wasn’t as if Julie were making a convenience of her this time. She was bringing her future husband to meet her, and, even if it was more his suggestion than hers, it might presage a new closeness in her relationship with her daughter.

But Mark and Julie had never seen eye to eye. From the beginning, he had found her spoilt, and headstrong, and on the rare occasions when they had all been together Julie had gone out of her way to be objectionable to him. So far as she was concerned, Mark was a stuffed shirt, and her comments about his bachelor lifestyle wouldn’t bear repeating.

The supermarket was heaving with people doing their weekend shopping, and Laura, who generally supplied her needs from the small store in Burnfoot, gritted her teeth as yet another mother with toddlers blocked her passage. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, trying to edge along the aisle, and was rewarded with a smear of ice lolly all along the sleeve of her anorak.

‘Oh—sorry!’ exclaimed a smiling matron, drawing her child’s hand away, and examining the lolly for damage. ‘These aisles are so narrow, aren’t they?’

Laura glanced at the sticky red confection adorning her sleeve, and then gave a resigned shrug. There was no point in getting angry. ‘Yes, very narrow,’ she agreed, and, unable to prevent herself from smiling at the cheeky toddler, she moved on.

It was after one by the time she had loaded her purchases into her car, and striking half-past as she turned into the school car park. One or two stragglers were still sauntering across the playground, and they gave her a knowing look, before turning to whisper to their friends. Laura could almost hear the comments about her being late as well, and she tried not to look too flustered as she strode towards the school buildings.

The afternoon seemed endless. Now that the time for Julie’s arrival was approaching, Laura could feel herself getting tense, and it didn’t help when her class of fourth-years started acting up. Usually she had no trouble with her pupils, and she had gained a reputation for being tough, but fair. However, today she found it difficult to keep order, and it wasn’t until she apprehended how hoarse she was getting that she realised she had had to shout to make herself heard.

But at last three-thirty arrived, and after dismissing the fourth-years Laura packed what exercise books she could into her briefcase, and tucked the rest under her arm. By her reckoning, she had at least two hours left to prepare herself for Julie’s arrival, and the way she was feeling she was going to need every minute of it. She didn’t know why she let Julie tie her up in knots like this, but she always did, and Laura intended to have a bath and wash her hair, so that she could have confidence in her appearance, if nothing else.

Burnfoot was situated in some of the most beautiful country in Northumberland. A small community of some one thousand souls, it was surrounded by the rolling fields and hills of the border country, with the crumbling remains of Hadrian’s Wall providing a natural barrier to the north. It was farming country, with tumbling streams and shady forests, and long, straight roads, unfolding towards the old Roman forts of Chesters and Housesteads.

Laura had always loved it. Even though she had been born and brought up in Newcastle, this was the area where she felt most at home, and when the opportunity to buy the cottage had presented itself she had jumped at the chance. She knew Julie had thought she was mad; a single woman, on her own, going to live in some ‘God-forsaken spot’ as she’d put it; but Laura had never had cause to regret her decision. The cottage had been in a poor state of repair when she’d got it, it was true, and it had taken years to get it as she wanted. But that was all behind her now. It was still small, and the ceilings were still too low, but she had had central heating installed, and on a cold winter’s evening she could light the fire in the living-room, and toast her toes.

She was perfectly content, she thought, except on these occasions when Julie invaded her life, and then she was forced to see the cottage’s shortcomings. Julie was adept at pointing out its disadvantages, and never once had she admired the garden Laura had worked so painstakingly to tame, or complimented her mother on providing a home that was both attractive, and full of character.

Laura had decided to prepare fish for dinner. It was a Friday, and she couldn’t be sure that as an Italian, and no doubt a Roman Catholic, Julie’s boyfriend would be prepared to eat meat. She had bought some plaice, and she intended to cook it in a white wine sauce. She had decided not to provide a starter, and instead she had bought a strawberry shortcake to supplement the cheese and crackers that she herself preferred. She knew Julie had a sweet tooth, and, although she was generally on some diet or another, she could be relied upon to be tempted by the dessert. It also meant she could prepare everything in advance, and leave the fish on a low heat while she took her bath.

Before she could attend to her own needs, however, there was the bed in the spare room to make up, and fresh towels to put out. She drew a pretty, chintzy cover on to the duvet, and then surveyed the room critically, trying to see it through a stranger’s eyes. She couldn’t imagine what a man, who evidently came from a wealthy background, would think of this tiny bedroom, with its accent on feminine tastes. The carpet was cream, the walls were a delicate shade of pink, and the curtains matched the cover on the duvet. Laura herself had made the pleated skirt that swagged the small dressing-table, and even she had to duck her head to look out of the window.

Oh, well, she thought after opening the window and inhaling the cool air of an April evening, at least the view from the window was worth looking at, even if the spring was dragging its heels in this part of the world.

The bathroom was modern anyway, she reflected some time later, soaking in a warm, scented tub. Until she had been able to afford the renovations to the plumbing system, she had had to make do with rather primitive conditions, which was probably one of the reasons why Julie had only visited the cottage once before the new bathroom was installed. But now, although again everything had had to be scaled down to fit its surroundings, the tub was satisfyingly deep, and there was even a shower above it. Of course, it wasn’t a proper shower cubicle, such as Julie had in her bathroom in London. But Laura didn’t mind. She was usually the only one who used it, and she realised with a pang that, apart from Julie, this would be the first time she had had anyone to stay at the cottage.

She wondered what her daughter had told…Jake…about her mother. How had she described her, for instance? As a middle-aged frump, she supposed. She knew Julie thought she didn’t make the best of herself, and her daughter was always saying that Laura ought to pay more attention to her appearance. Julie said she was a woman of thirty-eight, going on fifty, and in her opinion Laura ought to shorten her skirts and take advantage of the fact that she had nice legs.

But Laura was so accustomed to living alone and pleasing herself that she seldom considered what might or might not be flattering when she bought clothes. She was happiest in jeans and sloppy shirts or sweaters, pottering about the garden at the cottage, or taking Mrs Forrest’s Labrador for long walks through the countryside. She would have had a dog herself, except she didn’t think it was fair, as she was out all day. But when she retired…

She smiled, soaping her arms, and enjoying the sensation of the creamy compound against her skin. It was silly to think of retirement yet. She was only thirty-eight. But the truth was, she saw no evidence for change in her life, and she had to think of the future. She might get married, of course, but apart from Mark she could think of no one who might want to marry her. In any case, it was not an option she considered seriously. Having remained single all these years, she was probably too set in her ways to adapt to anyone else’s, she decided ruefully. Besides, she could think of nothing a man could offer her that she didn’t already have.

Washing her hair, however, she had to acknowledge that it did need cutting. The trouble was, most days she just coiled it into its usual knot at her nape, and by the time she thought of it again she was back at the cottage. In any case, it was essentially straight, and it was probably easiest to handle in its present condition. She was not the type to go for fancy cuts or perms. At least she didn’t have many grey hairs, she thought gratefully. Her hair was still that nondescript shade between honey-blonde and chestnut, and if it was also thick, and shining, she scarcely appreciated it.

She heard the car as she was drying her hair. She had been sitting on the stool, in front of the mirror in her bedroom, trying to make an objective assessment of her appearance, and when she heard the powerful engine in the lane outside she knew a moment’s panic. Obviously, she had spent longer over her toilet than she had intended, and now she met her own reflected gaze with some trepidation. For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t even dressed, she thought frantically. And the door downstairs was locked.

There was nothing for it. She would have to go down in her dressing-gown, she decided, shedding the towel she had worn sarong-wise around her body and snatching up her towelling bathrobe. If she hurried, she might be able to unlock the door and escape upstairs again without anyone seeing her. Julie would not be pleased if she met the man her daughter was going to marry in such a state of disarray. Although her hair was dry and silky, it was simply not suitable for a woman of her age. She looked like an ageing hippy, she thought frustratedly. If only she had paid more attention to the time.

Not stopping to put on her slippers, she started down the narrow staircase, and then stopped, aghast, when the handle of the front door was tried and rattled impatiently. It was immediately below her, the cottage having only a minuscule hallway, from which the stairs mounted on the outer wall. A second door led into the living area, which Laura had enlarged by having the wall demolished between what had been the parlour and dining-room, and there was no way she could unlock the door now without being seen.

Taking a deep breath, she gave in to the inevitable. She couldn’t ask them to wait while she put on some clothes. That would be foolish. Besides, if this man was going to become her son-in-law, the sooner he saw her as she really was, the better.

But, even as she was making this decision, the flap of the letterbox was lifted, and Julie called, ‘Mum! Mum, are you there? Open the door, can’t you? It’s raining.’

‘Oh! Is it?’

Without more ado, Laura hurried down the last few stairs, and hastily turned the key. The door was propelled inward almost before she had time to step out of the way, and Julie appeared in the open doorway, looking decidedly out of humour.

‘What were you—–? Oh, Mum!’ Julie stared at her with accusing eyes. ‘You’re not even dressed!’

‘I was taking a bath,’ replied Laura levelly, trying to maintain her composure. ‘Besides,’ she lifted her shoulders defensively, ‘you’re early.’

‘It is after six,’ retorted Julie, pushing her way through to the living-room. ‘God, what a drive! The traffic was appalling!’

Laura’s lips parted, and she stared after her daughter with some confusion. What did she mean? Surely she hadn’t driven herself up to Northumberland. Julie did have a Metro, she knew that, for getting about town, but the engine she had heard hadn’t sounded anything like Julie’s Metro. It had been low and unobtrusive, that was true, but there had been no doubting the latent power behind its restrained compulsion.

Shaking her head, she moved to the open doorway, and peered out into the rain. And, as she did so, a tall figure loomed out of the gloom, with suitcases in both hands, and Julie’s Louis Vuitton vanity case tucked under one arm. He was easily six feet in height—tall for an Italian, thought Laura inconsequently—with broad shoulders encased in a soft black leather jerkin. He was also very dark; dark-skinned, dark-haired, and dark-eyed, with the kind of hard masculine features that were harsh, yet compelling. He wasn’t handsome in the accepted sense of the word, but he was very attractive, and Laura knew at once why Julie had decided that he was the one.

CHAPTER TWO

THEN, realising that by hovering in the doorway she was forcing him to stand in the rain, Laura made a gesture of apology, and got out of his way. He stepped into the tiny hall with evident relief, immediately dwarfing it by his presence, and Laura backed up the stairs to give him some space.

‘Hi,’ he said easily, and his deep, husky tones brushed her nerves like black velvet. With apparent indifference to her hair, or her state of undress, he put down the suitcases, and allowed the vanity case to drop on top of them ‘You must be Julie’s mother,’ he added, straightening. ‘How do you do? I’m Jake Lombardi.’

He spoke English without a trace of an accent, and Laura thought how awful it was that she couldn’t even greet him in his own language. ‘Laura Fox,’ she responded, coming down the stairs again to take the hand he held out to her. And as the damp heat of his palm closed about hers, she had the ridiculous feeling that nothing was ever going to be the same again. ‘Um—welcome to Burnfoot.’

‘Thanks.’

He smiled, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners, and shaded by thick lashes. For all he had shown no obvious reaction to her appearance, she had the feeling that no aspect of her attire had missed his notice, and in spite of herself, a wave of colour swept up from her neck to her face.

She wasn’t used to dealing with younger men, she thought impatiently, chiding herself for her lack of composure. And particularly not a man who displayed his masculinity so blatantly. Against her will, her eyes had strayed down over the buttons of an olive-green silk shirt, to where the buckle of a black leather belt rode low across the flat muscles of his stomach. The belt secured close-fitting black denims that clung to the strong muscles of his thighs like a second skin. The fact that Laura also noticed how they moulded his sex with equal cohesion was something she instantly rejected. For God’s sake, she thought, horrified that she should even consider such a thing. What was the matter with her?

‘Are you going to close that door and come in?’

Julie’s peevish complaint from the living-room came as a welcome intervention, but when Laura would have stepped round Jake to attend to it, he moved aside, and allowed his own weight to propel the door into its frame.

‘It’s closed,’ he said, still looking at Laura, and, with the panicky feeling that he had known exactly what she was thinking a few moments ago, she turned towards the stairs.

‘I won’t be a minute,’ she said, not looking to see if he was watching her, and, without giving Julie time to lodge a protest, she ran up the stairs to her room.

Her mirror confirmed her worst fears. Her face was scarlet, and, even to her own eyes, she looked as guilty as she felt. But guilty of what? she wondered. It wasn’t as if she had done anything wrong. Heavens, she was no femme fatale, and she was a fool if she thought he had been flattered by her attention. On the contrary, he had probably found her unwary appraisal amusing, or pitiful, or both. Right now he was probably regaling Julie with the news that her mother had been lusting after his body. Oh, God, it was embarrassing! What must he be thinking of her?

However, right now she couldn’t afford to let that get to her. She was probably exaggerating the whole incident anyway, and the best way to put the matter behind her was to go down and behave as if nothing had happened. Then, if Jake Lombardi had been discussing her with Julie, it would look as if he had been imagining things, and not her.

Earlier, she had laid out the dress she had intended to wear on the bed, but now, looking at it with new eyes, she saw it was far too formal for this evening. Made of fine cream wool, it had a soft cowled collar, and long fitted sleeves, and, bearing in mind Julie’s remarks about not making the best of herself, Laura had bought it at Christmas, to silence her daughter’s criticisms. In the event, however, Julie had not come home at Christmas, and the dress had hung in the wardrobe ever since, a constant reminder of her extravagance.

Now, she picked it up, and thrust it back on to its hanger. The last thing she wanted was for Julie to think she was dressing up to impress her fiancé, she thought grimly. Or for him to think the same, she added, pulling out a pair of green cords, and a purple Aran sweater, that had seen better days. Whatever Julie thought, she was almost forty, and she refused to behave like a woman twenty years younger.

Her hair gave her no trouble, and she coiled it into its usual knot without difficulty. And, as the colour receded from her face, she began to feel more optimistic. She had allowed the fact that she had answered the door in her bathrobe and nothing else to upset her equilibrium, and now she had had time to gather herself she could see how silly she had been. It had probably amused Jake Lombardi that she had been caught out. And why not? He was no doubt used to much more sophisticated surroundings, and more sophisticated women, she acknowledged drily.

She leant towards the mirror to examine her face. Should she put on some make-up? she wondered, running her fingers over her smooth skin. She had intended to, but, now that she had been seen without it, was there much point? She didn’t wear much anyway, and she was lucky enough to have eyelashes that were several shades darker than her tawny hair. Golden eyes, the colour of honey, looked back at her warily, and she allowed a small smile to touch the corners of her mouth. Compared to her daughter, she was very small change indeed, she thought ruefully. So why try and pretend otherwise?

The hardest part was going downstairs again. She entered the living-room cautiously, steeling herself to meet knowing smiles and shared humour, but it didn’t happen. Although Julie was stretched out in front of the fire her mother had lit when she’d come home, Jake wasn’t in the room, and Laura’s expression mirrored her surprise.

‘He’s gone to lock up the car,’ remarked Julie carelessly, extending the empty glass she was holding towards her mother. In a fine suede waistcoat over a bronze silk blouse, and form-fitting black ski-pants, she was as sleek and indolent as a cat—and her attitude said she knew it. ‘Get me another Scotch, will you? I’m badly in need of sustenance.’

Laura caught her lower lip between her teeth, but she took the glass obediently enough, and poured a measure of malt whisky over the ice that still rested in the bottom. Then, handing it back to her daughter, she said carefully, ‘Is this wise? Drinking spirits so early in the evening?’

‘What else is there to do in this God-forsaken place?’ countered Julie cynically, raising the glass to her lips, and swallowing at least half its contents at one go. She lowered the glass again, and regarded her mother through half-closed lids. ‘So—what do you think of Jake? Pretty dishy, isn’t he? And he tastes just as good as he looks.’

Laura couldn’t help the frisson of distaste that crossed her face at her daughter’s words, and Julie gave her an impatient look before hauling herself up in the chair. ‘I hope you’re not going to spend the whole weekend looking at me with that holier-than-thou expression!’ she exclaimed, using the toe of one of her knee-length boots to remove the other. Then she held out the remaining boot to her mother. ‘Jake is tasty. Even you must be able to see that. Even if your criterion for what might—or might not—be sexy is based on that wimp Mark Leith!’

‘Mark is not a wimp,’ began Laura indignantly, and then, realising she was defending herself, she broke off. ‘I—gather you didn’t enjoy the journey here. I believe Friday evenings are always busy.’

‘Hmm.’ Free of her boots, Julie moved her stockinged feet nearer the fire. ‘You could say that.’ She shrugged. ‘I hate driving in the rain. It’s so boring!’

‘Even with Jake?’ enquired Laura drily, unable to resist the parry, and Julie gave her a dour look from beneath curling black lashes.

‘You still haven’t told me what you think of him,’ she retorted, returning to the offensive. And Laura wished she had kept her sarcasm to herself.

‘I’m hardly in a position to voice an opinion,’ she replied guardedly, escaping into the kitchen. To her relief, the fish was simmering nicely, and the strawberry shortcake had defrosted on the window ledge. At least checking the food and setting out the plates and cutlery distracted her from the more troubling aspects of her thoughts, and it was only when Julie came to prop herself against the door that Laura fumbled with a glass, and almost dropped it.

‘Would you like to know how we met?’ Julie asked now, making no effort to assist her mother with the preparations, and, deciding it was probably the lesser of two evils, Laura nodded. ‘It was in Rome actually,’ Julie went on. ‘D’you remember? I told you I was going there about six weeks ago, to shoot the Yasmina lay-out. Well, Jake’s father—Count Domenico, would you believe?—sits on the boards of various governing bodies, and this ball had been organised to benefit some children’s charity or other. Harry got an invitation, of course, so we all went. It promised to be good fun, and it was.’ Her lips twisted reminiscently. ‘Oh—Jake wouldn’t have been there if his mother hadn’t raked him in to charm all the women, so that they’d get their husbands to contribute more generously than they might have done. But he was; and we met; and the rest is history, as they say.’

Laura managed a smile. ‘I see.’

‘Yes.’ Julie studied the liquid residing in the bottom of the glass she was cradling in her hands. ‘Events like that are not really his thing, you see.’ She looked up again, and her eyes glittered as they met her mother’s wary glance. ‘I intend to change all that, naturally.’

‘You do?’

Laura didn’t know how else to answer her, but then the sound of the front door closing made any further response unnecessary. Julie turned back into the living-room to speak to the man who had just come in, and Laura bent to lift the casserole out of the oven.

She knew she would have to join them shortly, of course. Although she generally ate at the pine table in the kitchen, the room was scarcely big enough for two people, let alone three, which meant she would have to pull out the gatelegged table at one end of the living-room.

However, before she had summoned up the courage to leave the comparative security of the kitchen, Jake himself appeared in the doorway. He had shed his leather jerkin, somewhere between entering the house and coming to disrupt her fragile composure, and as he raised one hand to support himself against the lintel Laura was not unaware of the sleek muscles beneath the fine silk of his shirt.

‘I’ve left the car parked behind yours beside the house,’ he said, and she noticed how the drops of rain sparkled on his hair. He wore his hair longer than the men she was used to, and where it was wet it was inclined to curl. Otherwise, it was mostly straight, and just brushed his collar at the back. ‘Is that OK?’ he added softly, and Laura realised rather flusteredly that she hadn’t answered him.

‘What…? Oh—oh, yes,’ she said hastily, taking a tablecloth out of a drawer, and starting towards him. Then, realising he was blocking the doorway, she halted again, and waving the cloth at him, murmured, ‘If you’ll excuse me…’

Jake frowned, but he didn’t move out of her way. ‘Can’t we eat in here?’ he suggested, looking about him with some appreciation. ‘This is cosy.’ He nodded at the begonias on the window ledge. ‘Did you cultivate those?’

‘Cultivate? Oh…’ Laura glanced behind her, and then nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I enjoy gardening. You wouldn’t notice today, of course. I think the rain has even beaten down the daffodils.’

‘The rain!’ Jake grimaced. ‘Oh, yes, it is certainly raining. It reminds me of home.’

‘Home?’ Laura frowned. ‘But I thought—–’

‘You thought that the sun always shines in Italy?’ he asked, grinning. ‘Oh, no. Like the fog in London, it is somewhat overrated.’

Laura felt herself smiling in return, but then, realising she was wasting time, and the meal was almost ready, she caught her lower lip between her teeth.

‘Um—do you really think we could eat in here?’ she ventured, not at all sure how Julie would respond to such a suggestion, and then her daughter appeared behind Jake. Sliding possessive arms around him from behind, she reached up to rest her chin on his shoulder, before arching a curious brow at her mother.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Your mother was going to serve the meal she had prepared in the other room,’ Jake interposed swiftly. ‘I thought we should eat in here. I always enjoyed eating in the kitchen, when I lived at home.’

‘Yes, but how big was the kitchen you used to eat in?’ countered Julie, turning her head deliberately, and allowing her tongue to brush the lobe of his ear. ‘Not like this rabbit hutch, I’m sure. I bet there were acres and acres of marble tiles, and dressers simply groaning under the weight of copper pans.’

‘I don’t think it matters how big the room is,’ Jake retorted, displaying a depth of coolness she had clearly not expected. He moved so that Julie had either to move with him, which would have been clumsy, or let him go. She chose the latter, and stood looking at him with sulky eyes. ‘It’s the room where the cooking is done. That’s what’s important. The smell of good food isn’t enhanced by wasted space.’

‘How gallant!’

Julie grimaced, but Laura had the feeling that Jake’s reaction had surprised her daughter. Evidently, he was not going to prove as easy to manipulate as Julie had expected, and, although she was probably nursing her grievances, she had decided to reassess her options before making any reckless moves.

‘Well—if you’re sure,’ Laura murmured now, half wishing Jake had not chosen to champion her. She had no desire to be the cause of any rift between them, and, in all honesty, she would have preferred to keep the kitchen as her sanctuary. But it was too late now, and, ignoring Julie’s still mutinous expression, she shook out the tablecloth.

‘D’you want a drink?’ asked Julie, after a few moments, apparently deciding that sulking was getting her nowhere, and to Laura’s relief Jake accepted the olive branch.

‘Sounds good,’ he said, and when Julie backed into the living-room he followed.

Breathing a somewhat relieved sigh, Laura quickly laid the table with the silver and glassware she had prepared earlier. Then, after rescuing the plates from the warming drawer, she set the casserole dish containing the fish on a cork mat in the middle of the table. The attractive terracotta-coloured casserole looked good amid the cream plates, with their narrow gold edging, and the crystal wine glasses that had been her gift to herself last Christmas.

She had bought some wine, and, although if Mark came for a meal she had him uncork the bottle, this evening she tackled the job herself. It wasn’t as if she was helpless, she thought irritably, removing a tiny speck of cork from the rim. It was only that Julie tended to intimidate her. And that was her own fault, too.

In the event, the meal was a success. The fish tasted as delicious as Laura had hoped, and, whatever Jake and her daughter had said to one another in the living-room, the atmosphere between them was definitely lighter. Evidently, Julie had been appeased, and, although Jake still didn’t respond to her frequent attempts to touch him, he didn’t reject them either. Instead, he spoke equally to both women, encouraging Julie to talk about her recent trip to Scandinavia, and showing an apparently genuine interest in Laura’s teaching.

Although Laura was sure he was only being polite, so far as she was concerned, she was not averse to talking about her job, and only when Julie gave a rather pronounced yawn did she realise she had been lecturing. But it was so rare that she spoke to anyone at any length outside the teaching profession, and Jake’s intelligent observations had inspired her to share her opinions.

When they eventually left the table, Julie asked if she could have a bath. ‘I feel grubby,’ she said, deliberately stretching her arms above her head, so that the perfect lines of her slim figure could be seen to advantage. She wore her hair short these days, and with its smooth curve cupping her head like a burnished cap, and her small breasts thrusting freely against the bronze silk, she was both provocative and beautiful. She cast a mocking smile in Jake’s direction. ‘But you won’t be able to come and wash my back, darling,’ she added lightly. ‘Mum doesn’t approve of that sort of thing, do you, Mum?’

Laura didn’t know how to answer her, but as it happened she didn’t have to. ‘I’ll be too busy helping your mother with the washing-up, anyway,’ Jake returned, causing Laura no small spasm of trepidation. ‘Go ahead. Take your bath, cara. We don’t mind—do we, Laura?’

Laura turned to stare at him then, telling herself it was his attempt to link them together that disturbed her, and not her reaction to her name on his lips. But Jake wasn’t aware of her scrutiny. He was looking at Julie, and for once her daughter seemed nonplussed. Laura guessed she, too, was trying to gauge exactly what Jake was implying by his remarks, and her response revealed her uncertainty.

‘I—well, of course, I’ll help to clear up first—–’ she began but she got no further.

‘It’s not necessary for either of you to help me. Really,’ Laura retorted, her face reddening as she spoke. ‘Honestly. I can manage. Please. I’d rather.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ declared Jake, apparently indifferent to her embarrassment. ‘You’ve been at work all day, while we’ve only had a rather leisurely drive from London. In addition to which, you prepared this very appetising meal, which we’ve all enjoyed. I suggest you go and relax, while we deal with the clearing up.’

Laura looked at Julie now, and she could tell that her daughter didn’t like this turn of events at all. It was so unexpected, for one thing, and, for another, Julie wasn’t used to being treated like a servant in her own home. It did not augur well for the remainder of the weekend, and Laura decided she wasn’t prepared to play pig-in-the-middle any longer.

‘No,’ she said clearly, gathering up the coffee-cups and saucers, and bundling them on to the drainer. ‘Really, Mr—er—I insist. You’re my guests. I invited you here, and I wouldn’t dream of allowing you to do my job.’ She couldn’t quite meet his gaze as she spoke, so she looked at Julie instead. ‘Go along,’ she continued. ‘Have your bath. The water’s nice and hot, and there’s plenty of it.’

‘Are you sure?’

Julie hesitated, looking doubtfully from Jake to her mother and back again, but Laura was adamant. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Heavens, there are only a few plates to wash, when all’s said and done. Hurry up. I’m sure your—er—friend would much prefer your company to mine.’

Julie frowned. It was obvious what she wanted to do, but Jake’s attitude had confused her. Still, her own basic belief, that she was not being selfish by allowing her mother to have her own way, won out, and, giving them both a grateful smile, she departed. Seconds later, Laura heard the sound of her daughter’s footsteps on the stairs, and, breathing a sigh of relief, she moved towards the sink.

‘You’re wrong, you know.’

She had almost forgotten Jake was still there, but now his quiet words caused her to glance round at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said—you’re wrong,’ he responded. He had got up from the table when she had, and now he was leaning against the base unit behind her, his arms folded across his chest, his long legs crossed at the ankle.

‘About Julie?’ Laura turned her back on him again, and proceeded to fill the sink with soapy water. ‘Possibly.’

‘You spoil her,’ he went on. ‘She’s perfectly capable of washing a few dishes.’

‘Maybe.’ Laura didn’t like his assumption that he could discuss Julie with her, as if she were some racalcitrant child. ‘But—I choose to do them myself.’

‘No.’ Jake came to stand beside her as he spoke, and now she was forced to meet his dark gaze. ‘No, you don’t choose to do them yourself. You take the line of least resistance. Which just happens to coincide with what Julie wants to do, no?’

Laura took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think it’s any of your business, Mr—er—Lombardi—–’

‘Jake will do,’ he put in briefly. ‘And so long as Julie and I are together, I consider it is my business.’

Laura gasped. His arrogance was amazing, but at least it served to keep her own unwilling awareness of him at bay. ‘You don’t understand,’ she declared, depositing the newly washed glasses on the drainer. ‘Julie and I don’t see one another very often—–’

‘And whose fault is that?’

‘It’s nobody’s fault.’ But Laura couldn’t help wondering if he knew exactly how infrequently Julie made the journey north. Recently, Laura had had to travel to London if she wanted to see her daughter, and as she could only do so during school holidays, and they often coincided with Julie’s working trips abroad, these occasions were getting fewer.

‘So—you are quite happy with the situation, hmm?’ he enquired, picking up a tea-towel, and beginning to dry a glass.

‘Yes.’

Laura’s response was taut, and she hoped that that would be an end of it. It was bad enough being obliged to entertain him while Julie went to take her bath. A conversation of this kind tended to increase their familiarity with one another, and she would have preferred to keep their relationship on much more formal terms.

She finished the dishes in silence, but she was very much aware of him moving about the small kitchen, and the distinctive scent of his skin drifted irresistibly to her nostrils. It was a combination of the soap he used, some subtle aftershave, and the warmth of his body, and Laura had the feeling it was not something she would easily forget. It was so essentially masculine, and she resented the knowledge that he could influence her without any volition on her part.

As she was putting the dishes away, he spoke again, and as before his words commanded her attention. ‘I guess you’re angry with me now, aren’t you?’ he said, stepping into her path, as she was about to put the plates into the cupboard. It caused her to stop abruptly, to prevent herself from cannoning into him, and she pressed the plates against her chest, like some primitive form of self-protection.

‘I—don’t know what you mean,’ she protested, and although it was scarcely true she thought it sounded convincing enough.

‘Don’t you?’ Jake looked down at her, and, despite the fact that she had always considered herself a tall woman, he was still at least half a foot taller. ‘I think you know very well. You resented my remarks about your daughter. You don’t consider I have any right to criticise the way she treats you.’

Laura took a deep breath. ‘All right,’ she said, deciding there was no point in lying to him. It wasn’t as if she wanted them to be friends, after all. If Julie married him, the greater the distance there was between them the better. ‘I don’t think anyone who doesn’t have a child of their own can make any real assessment on how a parent ought, or ought not, to behave.’

‘Ah.’ Jake inclined his head, and Laura was intensely conscious of how she must appear to him. The Aran sweater was not flattering, and she was sure her face must be shining like a beacon. ‘But I do have a daughter. Not as old as yours,’ he conceded, after a moment. ‘She’s only eight years old. But a handful, none the less.’

Laura swallowed. ‘You—have a daughter?’

He could apparently tell what she was thinking, for his lean lips parted. ‘But no wife,’ he assured her gently. ‘Isabella—that was her name—she died when our daughter was only a few months old.’

‘Oh.’ Laura’s tongue appeared to moisten her lips. ‘I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’

‘How could you?’ Jake responded. ‘Until tonight, we had never even met.’

‘No.’

But Laura was embarrassed nevertheless. Julie should have told her, she thought impatiently. If she knew. But, of course, she must. She had the feeling it was not something Jake would try to hide.

She half stepped forward, eager to get past him now, and put the plates away, so that she could escape to the living-room. The kitchen was too small, too confining, and that awful panicky feeling she had felt in the hall earlier was attacking her nerves again. He was too close; too familiar. He might not be aware of it, but she most definitely was.

But Jake moved as she did, probably with the same thought in mind, she guessed later, and unfortunately he chose the same direction as Laura, so that they collided.

The shock jarred her, but her first instincts were to protect the plates. She clutched them to her, instead of trying to save herself, and it was left to Jake to prevent her, and her burden, from ending up on the floor. Almost instinctively, his hands grasped the yielding flesh of her upper arms, and for a brief moment she was forced to lean against him.

Afterwards, she realised that the incident couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds. It was one of those accidents that in retrospect seemed totally avoidable. Only it hadn’t happened that way. Almost as if she was moving in slow motion, Laura was compelled into Jake’s arms, and for a short, but disruptive period she was close against his lean frame.

And, during those nerve-racking seconds, when the world seemed to falter around her, her body came alive to every nerve and emotion she possessed. Her skin felt raw; sensitised; as if someone had peeled away the top layer, and left her weak and open to attack. She had never experienced such a shattering explosion of feeling, and her mind reeled beneath its implications.

She jerked away from him, of course, more violently than she should have done, and one of the plates went flying. But it wasn’t the sound of the china splintering on the tiles that first made her face burn, and then robbed it of all colour. It was the fact that the ball of Jake’s hand brushed her breast as she rebounded, and in the sudden narrowing of his eyes she saw a reflection of her own awareness.

CHAPTER THREE

LAURA slept badly, and it wasn’t just the unfamiliar experience of sharing her bed with her daughter. She was hot and restless, and although she longed for it to be morning, she was not looking forward to the day ahead.

Of course, it didn’t help that Julie had appropriated at least two-thirds of the space, and every time Laura moved she was in fear of waking her. Indeed, there were times during the night when Laura half wished she had not been so adamant about the sleeping arrangements. If Julie had been sharing Jake’s bed, she would not have been so conscious of him, occupying the room on the other side of the dividing wall.

As it was, her senses persistently taunted her with that awareness, and images of Jake’s dark, muscled body, relaxed against the cream poplin sheets, were a constant aggravation. It was pathetic, she thought, disgusted by her thoughts. Apart from anything else, he was Julie’s boyfriend, her property—if a man like Jake Lombardi could ever be regarded as any woman’s possession. Somehow she sensed he was unlikely to let that happen. Nevertheless, whatever label she put on it, he was the man her daughter intended to marry, and any attraction she felt towards him was both loathsome and pitiful. For heaven’s sake, she chided herself, he was probably ten years younger than she was, and, even if Julie hadn’t been involved, he simply wasn’t the type of man she attracted.

She was just a middle-aged school-teacher, who had wasted any chance of happiness she might have had by getting herself pregnant, when she should have been old enough to know better. And since then, she had never felt the need for a serious relationship. Over the years, there had been one or two men who had attempted to push a casual association into something more, but Laura had always repelled invaders. Only Mark had stayed the course, and that was primarily because he made no demands on her. She had actually begun to believe that, whatever sexual urges she had once possessed, they were now extinct, and it was disturbing, to say the least, to consider that she might have been wrong.

And what was she basing this conclusion on? she asked herself contemptuously. It wasn’t as if anything momentous had happened to shatter her illusions. How stupid she was to read anything into Jake’s almost knocking her over, and preventing it. It was what anyone would have done in the same circumstances, man or woman, and she was fooling herself if she thought his brief awareness of her had been sexual.

But he had grabbed her, she argued doggedly. He had propelled her into his arms. It didn’t matter that on his part it had been a purely impersonal reaction. She could still feel the grip of his fingers, and the taut corded muscles of his legs…

God! She turned on to her back and gazed blindly up at the ceiling. How old was she? Thirty-eight? She was reacting like a sixteen-year-old. But then, she thought bitterly, her sexual development had been arrested around that age, so what else could she expect?

She was glad Julie had known nothing about it. By the time her daughter came down from her bath, clean, and sweetly smelling of rosebuds, her slender form wrapped in a revealing silk kimono, Laura had swept the floor, and restored the kitchen—and herself—to comparative order. That disruptive moment with Jake might never have been, and she was able to excuse herself on the pretext of being tired, without revealing any of the turmoil that was churning inside her. She left them sharing the sofa in the living-room, where Jake had been sitting since she had insisted on clearing up the broken china herself.

She got up at six o’clock. She had been wide awake since five, and only the knowledge that she would have no excuse for being up any earlier had prevented her from going downstairs as soon as it was light. But six o’clock seemed reasonably acceptable, and as the others hadn’t come to bed until some time after midnight Laura doubted she would disturb anyone.

Drawing the blind in the kitchen, she saw it was a much brighter morning. The sun was sparkling like diamonds on the wet grass, and the birds were setting up a noisy chatter in the trees that formed a barrier between her garden and the lane that led to Grainger’s farm.

The cottage was the second of two that stood at the end of the village, the other being occupied by an elderly widow and her daughter. Laura knew that people thought she was a widow, too, and she had never bothered to correct them. In a place as small as Burnfoot, it was better not to be too non-conformist, and, while being a one-parent family was no novelty these days, people might look differently on someone of Laura’s generation.

After putting the kettle on to boil, she opened the back door and stepped out into the garden. It was fresh, but not chilly, and she pushed her hands into the pockets of her dressing-gown and inhaled the clean air. The bulbs she had planted the previous autumn were beginning to flower, and the bell-shaped heads of purple hyacinths and crimson tulips were thrusting their way between the clumps of wild daffodils. The garden was starting to regain the colour it had lost over the winter months, and Laura guessed that sooner or later she would have to clear the dead leaves, and dispose of the weeds.

It was a prospect she generally looked forward to, but this morning it was hard to summon any enthusiasm for anything. She felt depressed, and out of tune with herself, and, hearing one of Ted Grainger’s heifers bellowing in the top field, she thought the animal epitomised her own sense of frustration. But frustration about what? she asked herself crossly. What did she have to be frustrated about?

The kettle was beginning to boil. She could hear it. It was a comforting sound, and, abandoning her introspection, she turned back towards the house. And that was when she saw him, standing indolently in the open doorway, watching her.

He was dressed—that was the first thing she noticed about him. He was wearing the same black jeans he had been wearing the night before, but he wasn’t wearing a shirt this morning; just a V-necked cream cashmere sweater, that revealed the brown skin of his throat, and a faint trace of dark body hair in the inverted apex of the triangle. Unlike herself, she was sure, he looked relaxed and rested, although his eyes were faintly shadowed, as if he hadn’t slept long enough.

And why not? she thought irritably. She had still been awake when Julie had come to bed, even if she had pretended otherwise, and by her reckoning he could not have had more than five hours. Hardly enough for someone who had driven almost three hundred miles the day before, in heavy traffic, with goodness knew what hangover from the night before that.

Laura was immediately conscious of her own state of undress, and of the fact that she hadn’t even brushed her hair since she’d come downstairs. It was still a tumbled mass about her shoulders, with knotted strands of nut-brown silk sticking out in all directions.

Laura’s hand went automatically to her hair, and then, as if realising it was too late to do anything about it now, she clutched the neckline of her robe, and walked towards him. Pasting a polite smile on her face, she strove to hide the resentment she felt at his unwarranted intrusion, and, reaching the step, she said lightly, ‘Good morning. You’re an early riser.’

‘So are you,’ Jake countered, moving aside to let her into the house. ‘Couldn’t you sleep?’

Laura went to take the tea caddy out of the cupboard, and dropped three bags into the pot before answering him. The steady infusion of the water sent up a revitalising aroma from the leaves, and Laura breathed deeply, as she considered how to reply.

‘I—er—I’m always up fairly early,’ she said at last, putting the lid on the teapot, and having no further reason to avoid his gaze. ‘Um—would you like a cup of tea? Or would you rather have coffee? I can easily make a pot, if that’s what you’d prefer.’

‘Whatever you’re having,’ he said, closing the back door, and leaning back against it. ‘I’m—what do you say?—easy.’

Laura’s lips twitched. ‘Milk, or lemon?’

‘You choose,’ he essayed flatly. ‘Tea is tea, whatever way you drink it.’

‘I doubt if the connoisseurs would agree with you,’ declared Laura, setting out three cups and saucers. ‘Tea used to be regarded as quite a ritual. It still is, in other parts of the world. China, for instance.’

‘Really?’

He didn’t sound as if it interested him greatly, and she guessed her line in small talk was not what he was used to. He evidently enjoyed the kind of sexual innuendo Julie employed to such effect. But Laura wasn’t experienced in innuendo, sexual or otherwise, and, aware of how she had monopolised the conversation at dinner the previous evening, she knew she had to guard against being boring.

Then, remembering her hair, she started towards the door. That was something that couldn’t wait any longer, and she paused, uncertainly, when he asked, ‘Where are you going?’

‘I—won’t be a minute,’ she answered, loath to admit exactly where she was headed. ‘Um—help yourself; and Julie, too, if you want.’

‘I’ll wait,’ he said, leaving the door, to pull out a chair from the table, and straddle it with his long legs. ‘OK.’

Laura hesitated a little bemusedly, and then nodded. ‘Of—of course.’

Brushing her hair entailed going upstairs again, and as she stood at the bathroom mirror, tugging the bristles through the tangled strands, she felt a helpless sense of inevitability. The last thing she had expected was that she would have to face another one-to-one encounter with Jake so soon. Her assessment of the day ahead had already gone badly awry, and she hoped the rest of the weekend was not going to prove as traumatic.

There were men’s toiletries on the glass shelf above the handbasin, she saw, with an unwelcome twinge of trepidation. No doubt they were responsible for the spicy smell of cologne that lingered in the atmosphere, the unfamiliar scents of sandalwood and cedar. There was a razor, too. Not some sophisticated electrical gadget, as she would have expected, but a common-or-garden sword-edge, with throwaway blades. The man was a contradiction, she thought, frowning, hardly aware that she was running her fingers over a dark green bottle of aftershaving lotion. He was rich, and sophisticated; he wore handmade shirts, and Armani jackets, and he drove a Lamborghini. All aspects of the lifestyle to which he was accustomed. And yet, he had seemed genuinely pleased with the simple meal she had served the night before, and he had dried the dishes afterwards, as if it was a perfectly natural thing for him to do.

She realised suddenly that she was wasting time. It was at least five minutes since she had come upstairs, and, apart from anything else, the tea would be getting cold.

The hairpins she usually used to keep her hair in place were in the bedroom, and although she wouldn’t have minded waking Julie, it was going to take too much time. Instead, she found the elastic headband in the pocket of her dressing-gown that she sometimes used when she was pottering about the garden, and, sliding it up over her forehead, she decided that would have to do.

Going downstairs again was harder, but she steeled herself to behave naturally. After all, so far as Jake was concerned, she was just Julie’s mother: a little eccentric, perhaps, and obviously nervous with strangers.

He was still sitting where she had left him, but he got politely to his feet when she came into the room. However, Laura gestured for him to remain seated, and he sank back on to the chair, stretching the tight jeans across his thighs.

Laura knew her eyes shouldn’t have been drawn to that particular area of his abdomen, but somehow she couldn’t help it. He was disturbingly physical, and her stomach quivered alarmingly as she endeavoured to pour the tea.

‘W—would you like to take Julie’s up?’ she ventured, the spout hovering over the third cup, but when she reluctantly glanced round at her visitor Jake shook his head.

‘I doubt if she’d appreciate being woken at this hour, do you?’ he remarked, his dark eyes intent and wary. ‘When she’s not working, she considers anything short of double figures the middle of the night. But you must know that yourself.’

Not as well as you, I’m sure, Laura was tempted to retort, but she restrained herself. After all, it was really nothing to do with her how they chose to live their lives, and just because she was finding the situation a strain was no reason to blame Jake.

However, he seemed to sense her ambivalence, for as she set a cup of the strong beverage in front of him he said quietly, ‘What’s wrong?’ and the anxieties of the last fifteen minutes coalesced.

‘I—beg your pardon?’

‘You don’t have to be so formal, you know,’ he told her, making no attempt to touch his tea. ‘I asked what was wrong. Do you resent my getting up so early? Would you rather I had stayed in bed?’

Yes. Yes! The simple answer sang in Laura’s ears, but she couldn’t say it. Not out loud. Besides, she wasn’t even sure she meant it. It might be reassuring to pretend she would rather avoid talking to him, and quite another to consider the reality of doing so. The truth fell somewhere in between, and she was too conscientious to deny it.

‘I—I—don’t mind,’ she said at last, not altogether truthfully. ‘Um—would you like some sugar? I—know men usually do.’

‘And how would you know that?’ enquired Jake, still holding her gaze, and she knew a sudden spurt of indignation.

‘Why shouldn’t I? Just because I’m not married, doesn’t mean I haven’t had any experience where men are concerned,’ she retorted, resenting his implication, and then could have bitten out her tongue at the recklessness of her words. She had no idea whether Julie had told him of the circumstances of her birth. And if she hadn’t…

But Jake was speaking again. ‘I know about that,’ he countered mildly. ‘You had Julie while you were still in high school. And I didn’t imagine that was an immaculate conception.’

Laura flushed then, his cool, faintly mocking tone reminding her of how inexperienced she was when it came to his kind of verbal sparring. But she refused to let him think he had disconcerted her, and, squaring her shoulders, she added crisply, ‘I am almost forty, you know. Why do young people always think sex wasn’t invented until they came along?’

‘Is that what they think?’ Jake arched one dark brow, and, wishing she had never started this, Laura nodded.

‘You tell me,’ she responded tautly. ‘It’s your generation I’m talking about.’

‘My generation?’ Jake pressed his left hand against his chest, his expression mirroring his amusement. ‘Dio, how old you think I am?’

‘It doesn’t matter how old you are,’ declared Laura, trying to steady the cup of tea in her hand. ‘All I’m saying is, you shouldn’t jump to what you think are obvious conclusions.’

‘Did I do that?’

‘Yes.’ Laura drew a trembling breath. ‘And I wish you’d stop answering everything I say with a question of your own. We—we hardly know one another, and I—I don’t want to fall out with you.’

‘Fall out with me?’ Jake adopted a puzzled expression. ‘What is that?’

‘Argue with you—quarrel with you—oh, I’m sure you know exactly what it means,’ declared Laura crossly. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to do it.’

‘Do what?’

‘Have an argument with you,’ repeated Laura shortly. ‘And there you go again. Making fun of me.’

‘Was I doing that?’ Jake grimaced. ‘Oh, damn, that’s another question.’

He was teasing her. Laura knew it. And, although she knew she ought to be able to take it all in good part, she couldn’t. He disturbed her too much. She returned her attention to her tea, hoping he would do the same, but she didn’t sit down with him. At least when she was standing, she felt she had some chance of parity, albeit in a physical sense only. And perhaps, after he had drunk his tea, he would go for a walk, she speculated. He surely didn’t intend to hang about the house until Julie chose to put in an appearance.

‘So,’ he remarked, after a few silent moments, ‘you live here alone, is that right?’

‘Well, I don’t have a live-in lover,’ replied Laura tersely, and then, catching the humour in his eyes, she struggled to compose herself. ‘I—yes, I live alone,’ she conceded, putting her empty cup down on the drainer. ‘But I don’t mind, if that’s what you’re getting at. After dealing with noisy teenagers all day, it’s quite a relief to come back here.’

‘I can believe it.’ Jake wasn’t teasing now. He had folded his arms along the back of the chair, and was regarding her with a steady appraisal. ‘And it’s very peaceful around here, isn’t it?’

‘Mmm.’ Laura endeavoured to relax. ‘That’s what I love about it. The peace and quiet. I’d hate to live in the city again.’

Jake frowned. ‘You lived in London?’

‘No. Newcastle.’ Somehow, she didn’t mind his questions now. ‘I moved here just after—Julie went to London.’

‘Ah.’ Jake nodded.

‘I work in the city, of course,’ Laura added. ‘It’s only about fifteen miles away.’

‘Newcastle.’

‘Yes.’

Jake absorbed this. Then, quite obliquely, he said, ‘You’d like Valle di Lupo. It’s very peaceful there, too. If slightly less civilised.’

Laura hesitated. She was loath to appear too curious after the accusation she had made towards him, but she had to ask, ‘What is—Valle di Lupo?’

Jake smiled, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as his lean features assumed a disturbing sensuality. ‘My home,’ he said simply. ‘Or rather—my family’s. It’s in the wilds of Toscana—Tuscany. A few miles north of Firenze.’

‘Florence,’ ventured Laura softly, and Jake inclined his head.

‘As you say—Florence,’ he agreed. ‘Have you been to Italy?’

‘Oh, no.’ Laura shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. Apart from a school skiing trip to Austria, I haven’t travelled much at all. Not outside England, anyway.’

‘A pity.’ Jake pulled a wry face. ‘I think you would like it.’

‘Oh—I’m sure I would.’ Laura hoped she didn’t sound too eager. ‘Um—is that—is that where your—daughter lives?’ She moistened her lips. ‘At Valle di Lupo?’

‘Sometimes.’ Jake was thoughtful. ‘When she’s not at school. And when I’m not able to take care of her.’

Laura was interested in spite of herself. ‘You—don’t live at Valle di Lupo?’

Jake smiled again. ‘Who’s asking questions now?’

Laura’s face flamed. ‘I’m sorry—–’

‘Don’t be. I don’t mind.’ Jake shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide!’

Laura pressed her lips together, and glanced awkwardly about her. ‘I—er—I think I’d better go and get dressed,’ she murmured, and then caught her breath again, when Jake propelled himself up from the chair, and swung it round, so that it fitted back under the table.

‘I thought you wanted to know where I lived?’ he protested. ‘Or were you just being polite?’

Laura caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I—just wondered, that’s all,’ she improvised, smoothing her damp palms down the skirt of her dressing-gown. ‘It’s really none of my business—–’

‘I have an apartment in Rome, and another on the coast near Viareggio,’ he told her softly. ‘But my real home is at Valle di Lupo. That is where I was born.’

‘Oh.’

It all sounded very extravagant to Laura. Two apartments, and a family home. It was the kind of lifestyle she had only read about in glossy magazines, or seen portrayed in American soap operas. It was quite amazing to meet someone who actually lived like that. It seemed a long way from Burnfoot, and the modest appointments of this cottage.

‘You don’t approve?’ he suggested now, and Laura was guiltily aware that she had been frowning.

‘Oh—no,’ she murmured. ‘I mean—it all sounds very beautiful. Your home, that is. I’m sure Julie is longing to see it.’

‘Are you?’

Jake rested his hands on the back of the chair, and Laura’s eyes were drawn to their narrow elegance. It reminded her of how they had felt the night before, and how strongly they had supported her weight…

But he was waiting for her answer, and, lifting her shoulders, she said quickly, ‘Of course.’ A sudden thought occurred to her, and she felt the colour invade her cheeks once again. ‘Unless—unless she’s already—–’

‘No.’

Jake was adamant about that, and Laura’s eyes widened. ‘No?’

‘Julie isn’t interested in the provincial life,’ Jake informed her carelessly. ‘She doesn’t care for fields, and trees, and rolling vineyards. Only in what they produce.’

Laura swallowed. ‘That’s a little harsh—–’

‘Is it?’ Jake’s eyes were enigmatic. ‘How do you know I don’t feel the same?’

She didn’t, of course. And on the evidence she had so far, she had little reason to believe otherwise. And yet…

‘I—really think I must go and get dressed,’ she insisted, moving towards the door. ‘Er—if you’d like another cup of tea, help yourself. I—won’t be long.’

She made her escape before he could say anything else. And, as she went up the stairs again, she realised she was trembling. For heaven’s sake, she thought impatiently, what was wrong with her? It wasn’t the first time she had had a conversation with a strange man, and certainly he had given her no reason to feel this consuming sense of vulnerability in his presence. It wasn’t as if he’d made a pass at her or anything. He’d been a perfect gentleman, and she was behaving like a silly spinster. For God’s sake, she told herself, locking the bathroom door and taking a good look at herself in the mirror, she was too old and too jaded to be attractive to a man like him. Even if Julie had not been on the scene, there were probably dozens of women like her, waiting to take her place. She was just a middle-aged housewife, with a pathetic lust for something she had never had.

CHAPTER FOUR

SO MUCH for her efforts to move quietly earlier, Laura reflected half an hour later, having made as much noise as possible as she’d got dressed. Even though she had slammed drawers, rattled hangers, and dropped a make-up bottle on to the dressing-table, Julie hadn’t stirred. She was curled languorously in the middle of the bed, and nothing her mother could do would wake her.

Of course, she could always take her by the shoulders, and shake her daughter awake, Laura considered grimly. After all, Jake was Julie’s guest, not hers, and she should be the one to entertain him. But that particular alternative was not appealing. The girl was probably tired, and it wasn’t fair to deny her the chance to catch up on her sleep.

The reasons why Julie might be tired were less easy to contemplate. Even though she had denied them the chance to sleep together at the cottage, Laura had no doubt that Jake had slept at Julie’s apartment in London. And although her experience of sexual relationships was fairly negligible, she had a more than adequate imagination.

The brush she had been using on her hair slipped out of her sweaty fingers, and landed on the carpet, and she glanced round, half apprehensively, at the bed. But Julie slumbered on, undisturbed by her mother’s vapid fantasies, and, clenching her teeth, Laura wound the silky mass around her hand, and secured it on top of her head with a half dozen hairpins.

She was a fool, she told herself irritably. This simply wasn’t the time to have a mid-life crisis, and the sooner she pulled herself together, and started acting her age, the better.

She went downstairs a few minutes later, slim and workmanlike, in an unfussy cotton shirt, and her oldest jeans. As soon as breakfast was over, she was going to make a start on the garden, and, if Jake Lombardi didn’t like it, it was just too bad. Maybe he would have more luck in waking Julie than she had had. He was unlikely to want to spend the rest of the morning on his own, but it really wasn’t her problem.

However, when she entered the kitchen, she found Jake wasn’t there. The teacups had been washed and dried and left on the drainer, but there was no sign of her visitor. He had either retired to his room—and she certainly hadn’t heard him come upstairs—or he had gone out. The latter seemed the most likely, but she couldn’t help remembering that he had had no breakfast.

Still, it was only half-past seven, she discovered, looking at her watch. She wondered what time he usually had breakfast. Later than this, she was sure. But she wondered where he had gone all the same.

Conversely, now that she was on her own, she found she didn’t know what to do. It was too early for gardening. If Mrs Langthorne, next door, saw her in the garden at this hour, she would wonder what was going on. After all, she wasn’t a professional gardener, just a rather enthusiastic amateur. And enthusiastic amateurs didn’t start digging up weeds at half-past seven!

She sighed, feeling definitely peevish. This was Jake’s fault, she thought, needing someone to blame. If he hadn’t come down so early, she would probably still be in her dressing-gown, having another cup of tea, and trying to do the previous day’s crossword in the newspaper. That was what she usually did on Saturday mornings. But today, her whole schedule had been thrown off-key.

She was making a desultory inspection of the fridge, when the back door opened, and Jake came in. And with him came the delicious scent of newly baked bread.

‘Miss me?’ he asked incorrigibly, depositing a carrier-bag on the table, from which spilled plain and sweet rolls, scones, and a crisp French stick. ‘I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got a selection.’

Laura stared, first at the table, then at him. ‘But—where—–?’

‘The bakery,’ declared Jake, pulling a chair out from the table, and flinging himself into it.

Laura’s brows drew together. ‘The—village bakery?’

‘Where else?’

‘But—Mr Harris doesn’t open until nine o’clock!’

‘No?’ Jake gave her a quizzical look. ‘Well, I didn’t steal them, if that’s what you’re implying.’

‘Of course, I’m not implying that, but…’

Laura was lost for words, and, taking pity on her, Jake leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. ‘He was just getting his delivery,’ he explained, with a disarming grin. ‘And I—persuaded him to let me be his first customer. He didn’t mind. I mentioned your name, and he was happy to oblige.’

Laura shook her head. ‘But—I hardly know the man.’

‘No. He said that, too.’ Jake’s eyes were warm with humour. ‘You should patronise the local shops. They depend on your custom.’

‘I do.’ Laura was indignant. ‘Well, the general stores anyway. I usually get my bread there.’

‘Pre-packed, no doubt,’ remarked Jake drily, and she bridled.

‘It’s good enough for me,’ she retorted shortly, ignoring the mouth-watering smell of the warm rolls. ‘I don’t find food a particular fetish. I eat to live, that’s all. Not the other way about. As you probably noticed last night.’

Jake’s features sobered. ‘Now what is that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing.’ Laura refused to say anything else she might regret later, but Jake was on his feet again, and his height and the width of his shoulders dwarfed her slender frame.

‘Come on,’ he said, and, although his tone was pleasant, his expression was less so. ‘What about last night? What am I supposed to have noticed? I said the meal was good, didn’t I? What else was I supposed to say?’

‘Nothing,’ said Laura again, half turning away from him, and fiddling with the teapot on the drainer. ‘I shouldn’t have said what I did. It—it was just a defensive reaction, that’s all.’

‘And why do you feel the need to be defensive with me?’ demanded Jake, evidently unprepared to give up so easily, and Laura sighed.

‘I don’t know—–’

‘Don’t you?’ Now it was her turn to look at him with unwary eyes.

‘I beg your—–?’

‘Don’t,’ he said harshly. ‘Don’t say that again! Ever since I got up this morning, you’ve been on edge with me. Everything I say, you take exception to—–’

‘That’s not true!’

Laura was indignant, but Jake simply ignored her. ‘You don’t like me,’ he went on. ‘Well, OK, I can live with that, I guess. If I have to. But what I want to know is why. What did I do to make you turn against me?’

‘I didn’t. I don’t—–Oh, this is silly.’ Laura pressed her lips together for a moment, to steady herself, and then continued evenly, ‘I—don’t dislike you, Mr Lombardi—–’

‘Jake!’

‘Jake, then.’ She paused a moment, after saying his name, trying to restore some sense of normality. ‘I don’t know you well enough to make any kind of assessment—–’

‘Grazie!’

‘—and Julie cares about you. That’s what matters.’

‘Scusi, but I am not talking about Julie,’ retorted Jake, and when she would have turned her back on him completely, his hand came out and took hold of her wrist. ‘Don’t walk out on me again.’

She was glad he hadn’t touched her arm. The lean fingers coiling about her wrist were unknowingly hard, and the flesh above her elbow still ached from the night before. Even so, she couldn’t prevent the spasm of pain that crossed her face, when he pulled her round to face him, and his eyes narrowed consideringly between his thick lashes.

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