The Real Romero(77)

                ‘You know what I’m talking about! Guess who I just had a visit from?’

                ‘Can’t think. No time for guessing games.’

                ‘Your mother!’

                Lucas sat up and digested this piece of information. ‘My mother...’ he said slowly.

                ‘Strangely,’ Milly all but shrieked down the end of the line, ‘she seems to be under the impression that we’re still an item!’

                ‘Where are you?’

                ‘Where do you think I am, Lucas?’

                ‘How would I know?’ he answered with silky smoothness. ‘It’s after seven on a Friday evening and you’re a single woman...’

                ‘I’m at home.’ How could he think that she would physically be able to go clubbing when she was in love with him? Or was he just judging her the way he judged himself? He would have no problem doing that. If he possessed a heart instead of a lump of cold where a heart should be...

                ‘I’m on my way.’

                Milly fought the temptation to get a little more dolled up than she was. Maybe swop the baggy jogging bottoms, which she knew he loathed, for something a little more attractive. He could take her as he found her, she decided. He could explain why his mother was still in the dark and then he could be on his way.

                She was as cool as a cucumber until the doorbell went half an hour later and there he was. All dark, tall and broodingly, sinfully gorgeous. Just the right side of dishevelled with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled to the elbows and his jacket slung over one shoulder. A sight for sore eyes and she just wanted to stand there and stare.

                ‘So...’ She pulled open the door and stepped away from him, not trusting herself. ‘Mind explaining...?’

                Lucas couldn’t peel his eyes away from her. She was wearing just the sort of outfit he had always teased that she needed to wean herself away from. It hid every delectable curve, and yet she was still so enticing, still so damned sexy.

                He’d missed her. It was as simple as that. He hadn’t been able to focus, had lost interest in deals that should have netted all of his undivided attention, could not even be bothered to rifle through his little black book for other women. And he had told his mother nothing because...

                ‘I need a drink. Something stronger than a cup of tea.’

                ‘You need a drink? This isn’t a social call, Lucas.’ Milly finally looked at him and her treacherous eyes skittered away. She clasped her arms around her body, hugging herself.

                ‘No. It’s not.’ He headed straight for the kitchen, directly to the cupboard where he knew she kept a practically full bottle of whisky, and he poured himself a hefty glass, keenly aware that she had padded in behind him. He imagined her arms were still folded and her full mouth would be pursed in a moue of frustration.

                She loved him. She had loved him. Did she still?

                ‘I intended to tell her...’

                ‘But somehow you didn’t manage to get round to it? Even though you speak to her every other day? That titbit just managed to get lost amidst the chit chat?’

                ‘No.’

                ‘Okay...’ She looked at him hesitantly, picking up vibes which, for once, he wasn’t bothering to hide. He had sat down at the kitchen table and was nursing his drink, not looking at her—again, a little weird, because it smacked of the sort of indecision not associated with him. She felt in need of a stiff drink as well but instead made do with a glass of juice from the fridge before sitting opposite him at the chrome-and-glass table.