The Italian's Pregnant Mistress(11)

'I don't know what to say.' Francesca clasped her arms to her chest and  kept her head averted, talking to the door, although she could feel his  eyes boring into her. 'I know you're probably angry but, like I said,  Jack is a sociable animal. There would have been nothing intentional in  his behaviour towards your fiancée.'

'Would you like to look at me when you say that or is it easier to say when you're turned away?'

Francesca looked at him. 'He's a really nice guy, Angelo. I'm sorry if  you think he was flirting with Georgina, but he wouldn't.'

'Because he's so committed to you?'

'I know you want to hurt me, Angelo, but don't bring Jack into it. Don't  ruin what we've built up. Jack's worked hard for this and it hasn't  been easy for him.'

'What do you mean by that?'

Francesca could have kicked herself. He had detected something in her voice and he was all ears now.

'I mean that … that he's had to … sacrifice earning while he was doing his catering course … and … '

'Don't tell me that you didn't support him financially. With all that  cash you'd managed to tuck away over the years?' He looked at her with a  shuttered expression. Something wasn't making sense but, whatever  connection he was missing, he couldn't locate it. 'Trying to buy his  love, Francesca?'                       
       
           



       

'What do you mean?'

'You might be able to pull the purse-strings but if your man has a  wandering eye then he's always going to have a wandering eye. You might  think that you're calling the shots, but what's he up to when your  back's turned?'

Since she knew exactly what Jack was up to when her back was turned she  could afford to smile at that misconception. 'I know what he's up to.'  Chatting up women and having random affairs, because when it came to  relationships the slightest hint of commitment was enough to send him  hurtling off in the opposite direction. Her only advice to him was to  practise safe sex. Beyond that, he was on his own.

Angelo didn't like the answer. 'And you don't care?'

'He's not up to anything that I disapprove of.' Her voice was steadier  now that she was on safe ground and she was no longer trembling. But he  was still in her house and there was no way she could relax with him  sitting there, inches away from her. She glanced meaningfully at the  front door, just visible from where she was standing.

Angelo stood up and she licked her lips nervously. She was tall but she  had always felt physically dwarfed by him and it was even more apparent  here, in the small kitchen, with the atmosphere crackling between them.

'Very trusting. Very optimistic.'

'And what about you?' she flung at him. She threw her head back and  stared up into those black, fathomless eyes. 'If you noticed Jack  flirting with your fiancée you must have noticed that she wasn't exactly  pushing him away in horror!' Damned if he was going to stride into her  house and issue smug, patronising generalisations on the quality of her  love life as if she was a halfwit incapable of making the correct  choices. 'So what have you got to say to that?'





CHAPTER FOUR




'I'M SORRY. That was out of order.' Francesca backed out of the kitchen  and turned away, walking quickly towards the front door, anxious to get  him out of her house, even more anxious to curtail a dangerous  conversation that had her teetering between a recognition that she had  to be polite and a yearning to draw blood.

'Tricky, isn't it?' Angelo drawled, strolling towards her and then  propping himself up with one hand on the door, making sure that she  couldn't actually open it.

'What is?'

'Pretending.'

'Pretending what? I'm not pretending anything!' Her voice was laced with panic.

'Oh, yes, you are,' he chided softly. 'We both are. Pretending that the  past is over and done with and we no longer give a damn about what  happens in each other's lives … '

'I don't give a damn what happens in yours!' Francesca finally raised  her eyes and looked at him. She found herself mesmerised by his mouth.  She imagined it touching hers and she had to fight the convulsive  shudder that threatened to rip through her. 'You're the one who keeps  referring to our past! I'm just interested in getting on with this job  and doing it to the best of my ability!'

'Oh, really. And do you normally tremble like a leaf when you're in the  company of one of your male clients? Because you're trembling now.'

'I'm nervous!' Francesca cried. 'You make me nervous!' 61

'Why?'

'You know why! Because you're right. A few well-placed words could ruin  what Jack and I have built up!' A few well-placed words could do a hell  of a lot more damage than that, but there was no way she was going to  let him have any insights into her thoughts and fears. 'And what if I  give you my word that I will do nothing to endanger your livelihood?' He  realised that he didn't want her tiptoeing around him, scared to death  that he might carry out his casual threat. Not that he knew what he  wanted. He shook his head in exasperation. 'I have no intention of  ruining you, Francesca. I admire what you've done. It must have taken a  lot of guts to walk away from a safe income and take a chance on  something like catering. And you, who never knew how to boil an egg.' He  raised his eyebrows and smiled at her, the first genuine smile she had  seen on his face since fate had brought them back together.

Guarded though she remained, she felt herself relax. Just a little. Enough to return a ghost of a smile.

'I know.' When she lowered her eyes she saw his firm, sensual mouth.  Lower them a bit more and she bumped into the hard expanse of his chest.

He was right. It was tricky pretending, acting as though they were vague  acquaintances who just happened to have bumped into one another. A lot  of the friction between them could be eradicated if they could speak to  one another normally. She drew in a deep breath and looked at him.                       
       
           



       

'Would you like another coffee, Angelo? I apologise if I've been on  edge. It's been hard wondering whether you were going to pull the rug  from under our feet … '

Our feet. The coupling involved in that simple phrase cut him to the  quick. It was a reaction he kept to himself as he took hold of the olive  branch offered and accepted the coffee, obliging her by going into the  sitting room to wait while she made it.

The sitting room was as modern as the rest of the house. Comfortable,  with a deep sofa and two generously sized chairs, but there were no  concessions to the Victorian origins of the house. The rug was thick and  boldly inviting while the walls, bar two dramatic framed posters, were  free of clutter.

She walked in while he was inspecting the room and quietly placed the  coffee on the squat side table by the sofa, then she sat on one of the  chairs and watched him.

'I always imagined that you would be drawn to the little country house  with the white picket fence,' he said finally, looking at her over the  rim of his cup as he sipped.

'One day.' Francesca shrugged. 'Just not yet. London is the right place  to be when it comes to catering. Much bigger catchment area. I could  still do it in the country somewhere, but I doubt there would be enough  money in it to keep things going and I can't afford to try and turn a  hobby into a living.'

'So where did the money go, Francesca?'

'Houses in London aren't cheap and especially houses in a halfway decent location.'

'So all those earnings went into buying this place?'

'Mostly.' She lowered her eyes, knowing that he would have clocked into  the obvious discrepancy. She had been a successful model for quite a  while and the pay cheques had not been measly. 'And also there's the  purpose-built kitchen behind the house. If we wanted to do catering  seriously we couldn't just make do with my tiny kitchen. I had to have  that built and it wasn't cheap.'

'And what does the boyfriend contribute to this scenario? What was he doing before he went into cooking?'

It was a perfectly harmless question. Francesca tried not to read  criticism into it but she could feel her hackles rise and she swallowed  down the urge to launch into another defensive argument. There was no  mileage in arguing with Angelo. It just created a never-ending  atmosphere of thick tension in which it was impossible to function. Bad  enough sitting here with him, in the same room, knowing that only a few  metres of empty space separated them.

He was leading the way by behaving in an adult fashion with her and it  was her duty to follow his lead. She drew in a deep breath and skirted  around a potentially perilous question.

'He was doing this and that. You know. Well, actually, you probably  don't. I can't imagine you were ever someone who just did this and  that.'

'I admit I never saw the value of wasting time trying out a few  occupations for size before settling on the right one. Life is too short  for wrong turnings.' The only wrong turning he had ever made in his  life had involved the woman sitting across the room from him now. She  had the face of an angel and, for a moment in time, he had thought she  had the personality to match. She hadn't. She had wanted him, desired  him, tantalised him, but she had never seen a future in him. He had made  a huge error of judgement with her and he felt bitterly proud that he  could be sitting here, conducting a conversation with her for all the  world as though they had parted on good terms.