The Italian's Pregnant Mistress(25)

'Nothing.' Francesca dragged her eyes back to him and forced herself to smile. 'I'm not very hungry.'

'So I notice. But I'm not buying that as an excuse. So tell me what's  wrong. Some catering job not going according to plan? Or are you  worrying about Jack again? He's a big boy. He can take care of himself.'  He had heard a great deal about Jack over the past few weeks,  entertaining stories of his various escapades, some of which left her  tearing her hair out in despair.

'I know that,' Francesca said, staring down at her plate and  contemplating the arrangement of chicken and sautéed potatoes there  which was making her feel slightly nauseous.

'So what then?'

She detected the hint of impatience in his voice and winced. Mood swings were not part of the deal.

'What if I told you that I was tired? That I just wasn't in the mood to  go back to your house tonight and make love? Or that yes, I wanted to go  back to your house, but to talk.'

'Talk about what?'

'Anything.' Francesca shrugged. 'What you've been up to. What I've been  up to. The weather. The crisis in the Health Service. Why it always  seems to rain on weekends. Anything.'

'We know what each other has been up to. The weather is autumnal. The  Health Service always seems to be in a mess, and it rains on weekends  because the English climate is unpredictable, diabolical and likes to  see people cancel their planned activities at the last minute. There,  covered.' He signalled for the bill and continued watching her while he  waited.

'So it is. I'm glad we got that out of the way. Now we can repair back to your place and do what we do best.'

'Long evenings spent chatting isn't what this is about, Francesca. I  thought you understood that.' He saw the way she flinched and was  tempted to exercise a bit more compassion, but he resisted. No point in  setting precedents that he would then find himself compelled to continue  fulfilling. He wasn't in the business of building a relationship with  her. He had been there, done that and had the tee shirt to show for his  efforts. Besides, he thought, they talked, didn't they? How much more  conversation was she looking for?

'I do understand, Angelo. I don't know what came over me.' Now she was  beginning to feel emotional, saying all sorts of stuff that she hadn't  intended. She certainly hadn't intended to launch into a tirade about  wanting to go back to his place and bond on some kind of spiritual,  platonic level. The opposite. She had been looking forward to seeing  him, to sleeping with him before she broke her news. She hadn't planned  on an emotional outburst which would leave him cold and withdrawn.                       
       
           



       

Angelo, expert as he was at second-guessing other people, recognised her  wobbly smile for what it was, a plaster covering up something else, and  for a fleeting second felt a chill of foreboding sweep through him  before he reminded himself that there couldn't possibly be anything  substantially wrong. He had seen her two days ago and they had spent an  amazing four hours together, a marathon and lazily indolent evening  during which they had not managed to struggle out of his much-used  king-sized bed. And, dammit, they had talked then, hadn't they? What  could have happened in the space of two days to have brought about this  sudden and unwelcome shift in atmosphere?

Had Jack been talking to her? He knew that they shared some kind of  bond, although the reasons behind it were beyond him, but that being the  case, maybe the man had put notions in her head, notions about the  wisdom of getting involved in a purely sexual relationship that wasn't  going anywhere. From what she had told him, Jack was the last person to  lecture anyone on the importance of building relationships but then  people who lived in glass houses were often the ones who threw the most  stones. And, like it or not, she paid heed to things the man said, which  was something he found irksome but was willing to put up with in view  of the fact that they were just friends. He did not feel inclined to be  quite so generous if the man had been putting ideas into her head. In  fact, he would have to mention something to her about Jack, maybe give  her a little talk on the importance of cutting apron strings.

He fulminated in silence as they stepped outside the restaurant, where  the swing towards autumn was felt in the chill in the air. Francesca was  making conversation, chatting about a television programme she had  watched the night before. Normally, he would have teased her by adopting  a viewpoint he knew would get under her skin and they would have a  heated debate, even if the topic only happened to be something trivial  that had taken place in one of those ridiculous reality shows she was  addicted to. By the time they finished discussing the subject her cheeks  would be flushed and her eyes dancing with pleasure at the sparring.

Not tonight.

He waited until there was a pause in the conversation, then inserted  silkily, 'You never told me, how is Jack? Is he between women at the  moment? Or is he still dancing around the one with the kid?'

Startled by the abrupt change of conversation and the tone of his voice,  Francesca glanced at Angelo's hard profile and felt her stomach flip  over. She so much wanted this evening to go well but had to concede that  she had ambushed her own good intentions from the start by antagonising  him with her foolish speculations about wanting to talk to him, wanting  to know whether he would ever see her without sex being the primary  objective. She linked her arm through his and attempted to smooth the  situation back to where she wanted it to be.

'I know you don't approve of Jack's lifestyle, Angelo, but he's happy  and I have to say most of his women do remain friends with him.'

'That's by the by,' Angelo dismissed. 'Isn't it about time he grew up  and stopped depending on you for advice? If you want my opinion, the  relationship you have with him is entirely unhealthy. How is he ever  going to have the strength to do anything on his own if he knows that  you'll always be there, picking up the pieces and dusting him down?' He  refrained from voicing his primary concern, which was that Jack might  have far too much influence over what she thought for her own good.

Francesca was bewildered. 'I'm not always around picking up the pieces,' she refuted hotly. 'Jack confides in me as a friend-'

'And offers advice to you as a friend as well, I assume? A little word  here, a little insinuation there? Has Jack been saying anything to you  that would make you dissatisfied with what we have? I can feel your  mood, Francesca. Has he been spinning you tales of what you should  expect out of this? Maybe steering you towards something like  commitment? Because, if that's the case, then I can tell you straight  away that it's not going to work. What we have is sex and there's no  point spoiling a perfectly good situation by entertaining thoughts that  it might lead anywhere.'

Francesca was winded by the onslaught and barely had time to recover  before he was continuing, voice hard. 'There's no mileage in thinking  that I will end up the fool that I was three years ago, because I  won't.' They had reached his place and she followed in a daze as he  slipped his hand into his trouser pocket to withdraw his keys so that he  could unlock his front door.

He flicked on the light in the hallway and, without looking at her,  strode into the kitchen so that he could pour himself a glass of  something stiff and strong.                       
       
           



       

'Oh, commitment is the furthest thing from my mind.' Francesca couldn't  stop a note of bitterness from entering her voice. 'Anyway, Jack would  never preach to anyone about commitment. He develops strong allergic  reactions just at the sound of the word.'

'So what's bugging you?'

Francesca recognised the disgruntlement in his voice and told herself  that she had no one to blame. It was her own damn fault. She had made a  conscious and adult decision to take what she could get while she could,  knowing full well that it was an ill-conceived decision, but allowing  her heart to rule supreme over her head. Every choice had a price and  the selfish ones carried the highest stakes. She wouldn't think about  that. Not just yet. She went up behind him and slipped her arms around  his waist, feeling some of the tension seep out of his body.

'Can't a girl have an off moment?' She rested her head on his shoulder  and then stood on tiptoe so that she could kiss the back of his neck.

Angelo laughed and turned around. He pulled her in to him and smiled.  'When she's in my company? How is it possible to have an off moment when  in the company of Angelo Falcone?'

And now his tension had completely evaporated, like rain on a hot  summer's day. The power of physical contact. At least as far as he was  concerned, it made a nonsense of words. He didn't want to hear hesitancy  or doubt in her voice. He wanted her to be upbeat, cheerful and in a  state of constant excitement. That had been the bargain.