Jake almost choked on the last of his coffee. ‘Now, wait here,’ he spluttered. ‘That’s not quite true.’
‘Which part is not quite true?’ she asked tartly.
‘I’ve only had two cars in the last few years. A navy Mazda and the yellow Ferrari I’m driving today.’
‘Surprising. OK, so what’s the girlfriend count during that time?’
He looked a bit sheepish. ‘I don’t have that many fingers and toes. But what about you, Miss Tough Cookie? Or shouldn’t I ask?’
No way could she let him find out there hadn’t been anyone since him. His ego would probably explode. And his predatory nature would go into full pursuit mode.
‘You can ask, but I’m not into the kiss-and-tell scene,’ she tossed off. ‘Let’s just say I’m a big girl now and I run my own race.’
‘Even when your father was alive?’
‘After my not-so-successful rendezvous with you, I learned to be more sneaky.’
‘You’d have to be with a father like yours around,’ came his rueful remark. ‘So! Did your dad like this Alex of yours? Or didn’t he know about him?’
‘He adored Alex.’ Too late, Angelina wished she hadn’t started that silly subterfuge.
‘An Italian, is he?’ Jake said drily.
‘Half. Now, no more questions about Alex, please. Aah, Dorothy’s back,’ she said, spying the lady herself walking along the path towards them, accompanied by a portly, grey-haired man in his fifties. ‘She seems to have brought the real-estate agent with her.’ Fortunately, not one Angelina knew personally.
But when Dorothy swept in with the news she had secured the property and that she was here to get the owner’s signature on some papers, a panic-stricken Angelina jumped to her feet and offered to find Arnold for them.
‘But why don’t you want them to know about Alex?’ Arnold said when she cornered him in the barrel room of the winery five minutes later.
‘The man with the woman who’s buying your place is Alex’s father,’ Angelina explained reluctantly. ‘All right?’
Arnold’s eyes rounded. ‘Heaven be praised! Just as well Antonio isn’t here, or there’d be hell to pay. But he’s not here, Angelina, so why keep the boy a secret?’
‘Only for a little while, Arnold. I will tell Jake. But in my own good time. OK?’
‘Has this Jake turned into a decent kind of chap?’
Decent. Now, decent was a subjective word.
‘He’s a lawyer,’ she said.
‘Nothing wrong with lawyers. At least he’s got a job. Things could be worse.’
Angelina nodded. ‘You’re so right. Things could be worse.’
But not much.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘YOU don’t look too pleased,’ Dorothy said within seconds of leaving the Ambrosia Estate. ‘Did the lovely Angelina surprise you this time by saying no?’
Jake’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. ‘Things didn’t go exactly according to plan. But I haven’t given up yet.’
‘Good.’
Jake’s eyes slanted over towards Dorothy. ‘You mean my old flame has your tick of approval?’
‘She’s a big improvement on your last few girlfriends,’ Dorothy said in her usual droll fashion. ‘And she’d be very convenient, considering where I’ll be living soon. I’ll have no worries about seeing you regularly if you start going out with a local girl.’
‘I have to get her to drop some guy named Alex first.’
‘You’ve never had any trouble getting your girlfriends to drop their old boyfriends before.’
‘This one sounds formidable. A poor little rich boy. Very good-looking. Lives in Sydney. Too bad I didn’t find out his last name. I could have had him investigated. From the sound of things, they don’t get together all that often. He’s probably two-timing her with some city chick. Guys like that are never faithful.’
‘You’d know.’
‘Dorothy Landsdale, I’ll have you know I’ve always been faithful to my girlfriends!’
‘Oh, I don’t doubt it. They don’t last long enough for you to do the dirty on them. Every few weeks it’s out with the old and in with the new.’
Jake didn’t like the flavour of this conversation. Dorothy was making him sound as if he was some kind of serial sleazebag where women were concerned. Angelina had inferred the same thing.
‘I can well understand Angelina not jumping at the chance of being next in line,’ Dorothy went on before Jake could defend himself. ‘She might like a bit more security in her relationships. And a possible future.’
‘I’ll have you know she’s no more interested in marriage and having a family than I am. She told me so. She’s a career girl.’
‘What? Oh, I find that hard to believe. That girl has marriage and motherhood written all over her.’
‘You’re just saying that because she’s Italian.’
‘Not at all. I’ve known enough career women in my life to recognise one when I meet her. If Angelina Mastroianni is a career woman, then I’m…I’m Marilyn Monroe!’
Jake laughed. ‘In that case, perhaps I should be relieved that she said no to me.’
‘Perhaps you should.’
But he wasn’t relieved. He was annoyed. And frustrated. And jealous as hell of this Alex bloke.
Angelina belonged to him. She’d always belonged to him.
The sudden primitiveness—and possessiveness—of his thoughts stunned Jake. This wasn’t him. This was some other man, some caveman who believed that his taking a female’s virginity gave him the rights to her body forever.
Logic told Jake this was crazy thinking. But logic wasn’t worth a damn beside the passion and determination that was firing Jake’s belly at this moment. She was going to be his again. That Alex guy was going to be history, no matter what it took!
Angelina watched the yellow car till it disappeared from view, then she turned and walked with slow steps back down the path to the restaurant.
Wilomena—who had no doubt been waiting with bated breath to collar her alone—pounced immediately. A tall, rake-thin brunette, the restaurant’s head waitress had sharp eyes to go with her sharp features.
‘All right, fess up, Angelina? Who was that gorgeous hunk in the yellow Ferrari?’
‘Just a guy I used to know. No one special.’
‘Just a guy you used to know,’ Wilomena repeated with rolling eyes. ‘Did you hear that, Kevin?’ she called out to the chef, who was the only other staff member left in the restaurant at this hour. The rest of the evening’s waitresses wouldn’t arrive till five-thirty, which was almost an hour away. ‘He was just a guy she used to know. No one special.’
Kevin popped his bald head round the doorway that connected the body of the restaurant with the kitchen. In his late thirties, Kevin was English and single and a simply brilliant chef. He’d been on a working holiday around Australia a few years ago, filled in for their chef, who’d been taken ill, and never left. Since his arrival the restaurant’s reputation had gone from good to great.
‘Amazing how much he looked like Alex, isn’t it?’ Kevin said with a straight