How thorough. Knowing she was being uncharacteristically bitchy, Rachel cleared her throat. ‘I take mine black.’
‘Really?’ He stared at her as he passed her a mug.
She’d surprised him. Good. She had the feeling women didn’t surprise Zac Lawson too often. He had the confident aura of a man who had the world in general pretty much taped.
When she cut them both a piece of cake and her slice was as large as his, she knew she’d surprised him for the second time in as many minutes. She answered the raised eyebrow with a shrug. ‘Fast metabolism.’
One corner of his slightly stern and very sexy mouth twisted. ‘I bet the other girls love you when they’re chomping on lettuce and you’re tucking into the full McCoy and still looking like a model, fast metabolism or not.’
Looking like a model? Was he being sarcastic? She stared at him. He had the sort of face it was impossible to read. Coolly, she said, ‘Hardly.’
‘They don’t mind?’
He was definitely being deliberately obtuse. ‘I meant I hardly look like a model,’ she said even more coolly, taking a bite of cake and hoping he’d take the hint and leave well alone.
He settled back in the comfy armchair that faced the sofa where she sat, arms stretched out along the back of the seat and one leg crossed over the other knee. It was a very masculine pose. He was a very masculine man. The tawny eyes moved over her face. She could feel them even though she was concentrating on the plate on her lap.
‘You look perfect model material to me,’ he said mildly.
Was he teasing her or flirting or what? Whatever, she so wasn’t doing this. Regretting that she’d let him see he’d got to her and wishing she’d just let it go in the first place, Rachel forced a smile. ‘Well, I haven’t been spotted by a talent scout to date and I’m perfectly happy with the day job.’ Even to herself she sounded overly facetious. A little desperately now, she added, ‘What is it you do, by the way?’
He didn’t comment on the clumsy change of conversation. Demolishing half his slice of cake with one bite, he chewed and swallowed at leisure before he said, ‘I work in the family glass-making business back home in Canada. Have done since uni.’
Unexpected. In spite of herself, Rachel was intrigued. ‘Really? That’s a very old industry, isn’t it?’ She’d had him down as a modern whizz-kid, all bells and whistles and something mega in the city.
‘It goes back some,’ he agreed lazily, finishing his cake before he continued, ‘The Canadian side of the family have had their own business for over a century and it’s been handed down through the generations. Most glass-making firms, like other old industries, have been taken over by large manufacturing groups. We’re one of the few family businesses still going, which is the main reason my father moved us to Canada when I was a youth. He’d had a falling out with his father—my grandfather—when he was a young man and left Canada for England. My grandfather had his first heart attack when I was sixteen and my grandmother begged my father to return. There was a kind of a reconciliation and, as my father was their only child, he agreed to return permanently and take over.’
Intrigued, she said, ‘What was the falling out about?’ before blushing violently as she realised how nosy that sounded. ‘I’m sorry,’ she added hastily before he could speak. ‘It’s none of my business. You really don’t have to answer that.’
‘No problem. My father met my mother when she was holidaying in Canada and it was one of those rare instant for-ever things. My grandfather thought my father ought to marry the daughter of some friends of theirs, apparently the two sets of parents had planned it for years. The girl was willing, my father wasn’t. He’d already made his feelings plain before he met my mother, but my grandfather wasn’t used to being thwarted. He’s an irascible old man when he gets the bit between the teeth, as he often does.’
‘He’s still alive?’
‘Very much so. Three heart attacks to date, mainly, so my grandmother insists, because of his temper. Anyway, there were harsh words on both sides and my father followed my mother to England and married her. It was twenty-five years before my grandfather and father spoke again. The Lawson males are a stubborn lot, it’s in the genes.’ He smiled.
She didn’t doubt it. There was something in the square jaw that told her Zac was no different from the rest of them.
It was cosy in the small sitting room, which was still dimly lit. Rain was lashing at the window and the flickering flames from the gas fire cast the hard male face into moving planes and angles. Rachel shivered, though not from cold. There was something infinitely…unsettling about Jennie’s Canadian cousin. Undoubtedly he was very sure of himself, he exuded an arrogance that set her teeth on edge, but it was more than that—quite what, she didn’t know.
‘So you’re over here on business for a while?’ she said when the silence became uncomfortable. On her part at least. Zac appeared perfectly relaxed as he finished his coffee.
‘Uh-huh.’ He smiled, the tawny eyes glittering in the dim light. ‘That cake’s pretty good.’
She took the broad hint and cut him another hefty slice. As she did so his mobile phone rang and he glanced at it before saying, ‘Do you mind if I answer this?’
‘Of course not.’ At least it would delay having to make conversation for a while. As she rose to give him some privacy, he said quickly, ‘No, please stay,’ before speaking into the phone, ‘Hi, Sarah. How are things going there?’
The girlfriend? She muttered something about things to see to in the kitchen and made her escape. Of course, he could be married. He wasn’t wearing a ring but lots of men didn’t.
They were having shepherd’s pie for dinner, which Jennie had prepared the night before, it being her turn on kitchen duty that week, and there was ample for four. Glancing at the clock, Rachel put the pie in the oven and sliced some fresh carrots and broccoli, trying not to strain her ears to catch what was being said in the sitting room. She heard him laugh, a warm, rich sound, and paused for a moment before reaching for the pot of double cream in the fridge and tipping it into a bowl. Once the electric mixer was going, it drowned out any sound from the sitting room, and when the cream peaked she put the finishing touches to the raspberry trifle Jennie had designated for dessert. As she did so, Zac appeared in the doorway.
‘You needn’t have left,’ he said quietly. ‘It was only my secretary reporting on things at the office.’
His secretary? Things had sounded mighty cosy; perhaps he mixed business and pleasure? ‘I needed to see to the dinner,’ she said as she gave herself a mental slap. What business was it of hers if Zac was sleeping with his secretary? Giles had been sleeping with his too but the irony there was that she was his wife—a little fact he’d omitted to mention when he’d met her. And when he’d proposed. She’d only found out he was married when his wife had turned up on her doorstep one evening, having learnt of their relationship through a friend of a friend of a friend.
She didn’t know if it made it better or worse that she wasn’t the only woman he’d fooled about with since his marriage eight years before, but she had believed his wife absolutely when she’d told her the cold facts. She was just amazed Melanie had stuck with him so long. Giles’s wife had been nice, the sort of woman she could have been friends with in different circumstances. Much too nice for a rat like Giles.
‘You OK?’ Zac shifted in the doorway.
Too late she realised her always too-expressive face had given her away. ‘Fine,’ she said with a careless shrug, hoping he’d take himself back to the sitting room. ‘I’ll come and join you in a minute,’ she added pointedly, turning to the dirty breakfast dishes in the sink and filling the washing-up bowl with hot, soapy water. ‘The others should be back soon.’
To