He arched a brow, but she ignored it and tore the Cellophane and put the packet down on the cushions between them, reaching for one at the same time as him. Their fingers clashed, and she withdrew her hand.
‘After you,’ she said, ‘since you’re clearly going to die if you don’t eat soon,’ and his mouth curved into a slight, fleeting smile and he picked one up deliberately and bit it in half.
She looked away. He was teasing her, tormenting her, but her fingers were still tingling from the brush of his hand.
How could she feel like this still? Always, all the time, year after year without anything but hope to feed it?
Except he’d given her hope. They’d had an affair, and last year, they’d so nearly started it up again. So very, very nearly—
‘Good biscuits.’
‘They are. That’s why I was saving them. Don’t eat them all, you won’t want your dinner.’
‘Unlikely.’
She snorted, and put the rest away in the tin and put the lid on, and he just leant back and stretched out his long, rangy body and sighed.
He looked so good there, as if the sofa was made for him, as if it was his body that had moulded it to the saggy, comfortable shape it now was—except he’d only ever been on it once before, and she really, really didn’t want to think about that time.
‘How’s the coffee?’ she asked to distract herself, and he glanced down into the mug and shrugged.
‘It’s coffee. It’s not great. Why don’t we go and buy a coffee maker?’
‘Now?’
He chuckled wearily. ‘No, not now. Tomorrow? I don’t know if I can cope for two weeks without proper coffee.’
‘This is proper coffee. You’re just a coffee snob.’
‘No, I just know what I like.’
‘And you couldn’t possibly compromise to spare my feelings?’
He turned his head and gave her a mocking smile. ‘Now, you know that’s ridiculous.’
Oh, goodness, she couldn’t do this! That smile cut right through her defences and left her so vulnerable to him, but there was no way he was going to know that. So she laughed and hit him lightly with a cushion, then hugged it to her chest and pulled her knees up, propping her feet on the edge of the sofa and changing the subject back to the safer one of his attacker.
‘I wonder when they’ll find her. She makes me nervous.’
His lips kinked in that lopsided smile that was so familiar to her and made her heart lurch once again. ‘It’s not a Bond movie, Anita. She’s just an angry woman who’s probably now very scared.’
She nodded. ‘Probably. What on earth did she want from you?’
He shrugged. ‘Money? They were in business, she cheated him for years, he found out and told her to go quietly and broke up the partnership, and then she decided to go after what she thought was her half. So he produced all the evidence to show she’d cheated him and she gave in, but instead of gaining money, she’s ended up with a legal bill, and she blames me.’
Anita laughed in astonishment. ‘Why? She didn’t seriously expect to win?’
‘Apparently.’
‘She’s deluded, then. Either that or she hasn’t heard of your reputation. She should have just gone quietly.’
‘Of course, but she was distraught. Much more so than I would have expected, and she was so insistent on talking to me. It wasn’t normal behaviour. Maybe if I’d listened I wouldn’t be in this mess now.’
He looked slightly bemused, as if he was still trying to work it out, and she reached out a hand and rested it on his shoulder. Silly of her to touch him, so risky and not really necessary, but she needed to feel his warmth, just to reassure herself that he was still alive, that this woman’s actions hadn’t actually caused his death after all.
But then he turned his head and their eyes locked. His pupils flared, darkening his already dark eyes to midnight, and it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Heat scorched through her, a heat born of want and need and a deep and unbearable longing to just lean over and rest her head on his shoulder and hold him close.
For an age they said nothing, and then she pulled her hand away and got up.
‘I’ll get the food in from the car and cook the dinner,’ she said, her voice jerky and tight, and pulling her boots back on, she went out to the car and stood for a moment sucking in the cool air and getting herself back under control.
How could she still love him, still want him, like this? Five years she’d had to get over him, and she’d thought she was doing OK, but tonight she felt as if she hadn’t made any progress at all. And now they were supposed to be stuck together alone here for two weeks, and keep their hands to themselves?
They’d never do it.
He was on the phone when she went back inside with the shopping, talking to his mother.
She could tell it was her, just by the tone of his voice and the patient, slightly indulgent expression on his face.
‘I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, Anita’s looking after me. Of course I’ll be nice to her. I know she’s a nice girl.’ He glanced across at her and winked, and then his mother said something else and he looked hastily away. ‘Don’t be silly. Of course not.’
Of course not what? Of course not, any chance of them getting back together? It would make his mother a very happy woman. Hers also. Her, too, come to that, happiest of all of them, but it was a fruitless waste of energy thinking about it any more, so she dumped the shopping down on the worktop and started to put it away.
If only she could tune out the sound of his voice, instead of catching every word as if she was eavesdropping! Not that she could help it.
She left the shopping and went into the bathroom, giving it a quick clean. Hopefully by the time she’d finished, he would have got off the phone and she wouldn’t be forced to endure the warm murmur of his voice and that soft chuckle which melted her bones.
By the time the taps and mirror were gleaming and they could have eaten off the fittings, she decided the bathroom was probably clean enough. She went back into the kitchen, but he was still on the phone. To Luca, this time, she thought.
There was medical stuff—details of his treatment, a report on what hurt, what tingled, what ached—definitely Luca. And he was lying, as well. She took the phone from him.
‘Luca? Hi. This is mostly lies. He hurts, he looks awful, he’s dizzy—Gio, no, you can’t have the phone back.’ She stepped further away, listening to Luca’s advice for feeding him things to replace the iron while Gio protested from the confines of the sofa.
‘Will do.’
‘And don’t let him walk on that foot yet.’
‘OK. I’ll do my best.’ She swatted his hand away. ‘He wants you back.’
‘Anita, before you go, I know this is difficult for you,’ Luca said softly. ‘We’re really grateful to you for being there for him. You just take care, OK? Don’t let yourself get hurt, and if it all gets too much, call, and one of us will come.’
She swallowed hard. ‘I’m fine. Here he is.’
She handed the phone back and retreated to the kitchen, wishing she’d bought raw ingredients instead of a ready-made meal. It might have given her something to do for the next hour or so, instead of turning on the oven, putting the pan of lasagne into it and then twiddling her thumbs for half an hour.
She closed the oven