Pregnancy of Revenge(20)

Finally by midday she realised she was behaving like a besotted idiot. She needed milk, and, grabbing her bag and keys, she took the lift to the ground floor. The doorman told her where the nearest convenience store was and she stepped out into the spring sunshine, telling herself if Jake did call he would probably leave his number and she could call him back, no problem.

The store was a lot further than the doorman had made it sound, and it was an hour later when Charlie, a carrier bag in one hand, her head bent in gloom, trudged back into her apartment building.

'Buon giorno, cara. ‘The deep, melodious voice was music to her ears, and her head shot up. 'I see the wanderer has returned."

Jake was waiting in the foyer. He strolled towards her and stared down at her from his great height, a slow smile curving across his handsome face. 'Charlotte.'

As he said her name Charlie's heart beat a frenzied tattoo in her chest and she blushed, as the memory of last night seemed all too real. He was here, inches away from her; she could reach out and touch him.

'Let me help you with that.' He took the carrier from her hand, and smiled wryly when he saw the expression on her face. His dark head bent and he brushed his lips lightly against her cheek. 'I called to see if you would like to have lunch with me.' His deep accented drawl and the promise in the dark eyes that met hers made her ache for so much more.

'Jake. You're here.' She finally found her voice. 'I thought you were going to ring.'

He straightened up, and the eyes that held hers were suddenly dark and unfathomable. 'I hope I have not called at an inconvenient moment, interrupted anything.'

'No, not at all,' she hastened to reassure him, her eyes sliding lovingly over him, taking in the casual cream trousers and the open-necked, slightly darker polo shirt that revealed the perfect musculature of his chest. She swallowed hard and said, 'Come on up. I only have to put the milk in the fridge and then I'm yours.'

'You're sure about that?' Jake demanded, if you're involved with someone else, say so now, Charlotte.'

She shook her head. 'Of course not.' She could sense the sudden tension in him, and wondered at its cause. 'Whatever gave you that idea?'

'Maybe because you are staying in another man's apartment.'

She laughed in relief. 'Oh, Dave is just a very old friend.'

'Then I trust he stays that way, and I can assume I am your current lover exclusively. I do not believe in sharing, and, I trust, neither do you,' he drawled with silken emphasis. 'Or did I get that wrong?'

'No—yes.' He was staring down at her with dark, almost angry eyes and Charlie was hopelessly confused. 'I mean, of course you are.'

My God! Jake actually sounded jealous, she realised, although he had no reason to be. She was about to tell him so, and explain Dave was her boss at International Rapid Rescue, but she didn't get the chance.

'Good.' Looping an arm around her waist, he ushered her into the lift. 'Third floor, correct?'

Mildly affronted by his abrupt manner, she asked, 'I thought you had to work today?' She was not a complete pushover, even if she had given Jake that impression.

'A certain lady left me wide awake and aching, so I worked for what was left of the night.'

She smiled up at him, feeling the tension in the arm that held her leaving him. 'Gosh, unable to sleep? That's funny, I slept like a log.' Her stomach twisted in knots at the thought of Jake aching for her.

'Witch,' he chuckled, and at that moment they reached her floor.

Inexplicably, Charlie felt nervous showing Jake into the apartment. Taking the carrier from his hand, she said, 'Make yourself at home while I put this away,' and dashed for the kitchen before she did something foolish like grabbing him. She didn't want to appear too desperate.

Jake's dark gaze roamed around what was a basic studio apartment. The place was tiny, and it was obviously used for one thing only: the bed.

A tiny living area contained a sofa that faced a television and music centre, and in between a sheepskin rug covered most of the wood floor. An open staircase led up to a gallery that held a large bed and nothing much else except a door that obviously had to lead to the bathroom. The space beneath the stairs housed a desk and computer and a row of bookcases, and that was it.

It confirmed all his worst suspicions: this was a love nest, or a bachelor pad at best. He cursed the crazy impulse that had made him come looking for Charlotte. It was not like him at all. But after a sleepless night, when visions of her exquisite body had tormented him, and he had sat for a few hours at the computer but had not been able to even occupy his mind with work, his curiosity had got the better of him— and, if he was honest, so had his libido. And he had determined to see her again. Big mistake.

He strode across to the window and the view did nothing to improve his mood: the back of a warehouse. Then he noticed the silver photo frame on the window-sill. He picked it up, his dark eyes narrowing on the picture it contained. A tall, burly, fair-haired man, with a slim dark woman at his side and three children kneeling at their feet. Surely Charlotte's last lover could not be a married man?