The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights: 6 Book Romance Collection. Zara Stoneley
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ones like walking on an empty beach and finding him by the sea. He’d hurt her. She’d been falling in love with him and he hadn’t bothered to say goodbye.
Her heart swelled, filling up her chest and tightening her throat. She wasn’t over that will-we-won’t-we thing they’d had. Why couldn’t the attraction she felt for Alex in the here and now be the same shallow variety that made Jago fans the world over sigh wistfully and move right along to the next thing on their real-life agenda?
Maybe a fling with Alex would be mind-blowingly amazing. She’d love to know.
Okay, so in the Plumtree world there’d been a distinct lack of Prince Charmings. She couldn’t have Alex forever, but more than anything she didn’t want to go through life wondering what if? It was time to stop hanging on to the fact that once upon a time they’d been friends and let him be her fantasy man.
Alex unknotted his bow tie and sank onto a squashy sofa.
“Let’s order room service.”
She didn’t need to think about it. The empty space in her stomach reminded her of the hole in the middle of a donut.
“Oh yes puh-leeese. I’m ravenous.”
He passed her the menu and she pretended to think about it, but she knew exactly what she wanted. Needed, even.
“I’ll have a cheeseburger with fries and ketchup and those little green things. What d’you call them?”
“Pickles?” Alex prompted.
“No, not pickles. Whatd’youmacallits? Like the London skyscraper? She snapped the menu closed. “Gherkins!”
“Really?” He sent her a questioning look.
“Yes, really.” She bit her bottom lip.
“You hate pic … gherkins. You always used to pick them out and leave them.”
“Well tonight I want gherkins.”
“Gherkins it is!” There was a big, super-sexy grin on Alex’s face. A flame of deep heat uncurled inside her. She wished she could put it down to dodgy pregnancy hormones. His smile and her fizz all but killed off her hunger pangs.
There were three big comfy sofas in the room. She could have had one all to herself. Instead, she plonked herself next to Alex. Their eyes locked and held in almost telepathic stillness.
Alex coughed. He got up, walked to the polished wood desk and switched on the lamp. The light cast shadows through the fine petals of three giant hydrangea blooms arranged in a glass vase. The flowers with their green leaves were three times the size of the ones that grew in her cottage garden in Cornwall. Alex, distancing himself, triggered a pang of uncertainty that shivered through Maggie.
“I don’t eat burgers much – normally.” She started to babble. “Hardly ever – actually. I can’t even remember when I last had one. But tonight, for some reason …” She twisted a wave of hair around one finger. “I think I’ll die if I don’t get a burger.”
“With gherkins.” Alex lifted the phone. “Get me the emergency services.” His lovely deep voice rumbled theatrically into the receiver. “We need a burger and we need it fast.”
He dialed room service for real and placed the order. “Oh, and don’t forget the gherkins,” he reminded the person on the other end of the line. There was a pause. “Sorry … pickles. It’s a matter of life and death.”
Maggie curled up on the plush gold sofa island. Emptiness that wasn’t hunger struck her. Her baby plan lacked a vital ingredient. Someone to share stuff. The highs. The lows. By default, Alex had taken on the role. He’d been there when she did the pregnancy test. He’d held her when she was sick. He’d made fun of her craving. It felt good. Too good.
He had hired the adjoining room to his suite for her. A communicating door linked the two. A knot of jealously clenched her gut. With other women – the ones that were lovers not friends – a second bedroom would not be necessary. She tortured herself a little wondering how many nights of passion he’d spent in hotel suites like this one.
A practically mute, robotic waiter arrived. He went quick-smart into the separate dining room and placed a bowl of delicate cream roses in the center of the solid mahogany dining table. Polished to such a shine, Maggie caught him admiring his reflection in the wood as he set down the burgers, which sat grandly under silver domes waiting for them to tuck in. She stopped worrying about being out of her comfort zone. Sitting opposite Alex on a posh dining chair she gazed across the expanse of shiny wood. “I think we’ve just invented the most upmarket burger joint in Manhattan.”
She lifted the silver dome and realized that she didn’t fancy the pickled green things after all. She picked them out of her roll.
“I thought your life wouldn’t be worth living if you didn’t get whatd’youmacallits.”
“I changed my mind.” Her voice wobbled ruefully.
“You always were a bit contrary.” His dark hair had fallen across his eyes. He tossed his head, supremely masculine.
“Alex?” she blurted. What she was about to say was totally contrary, but there was more in the air between them than the celebrity crush factor. “Can I get an upgrade?”
Alex glanced around the room with a puzzled expression. “I don’t think so, Maggie. This is the best suite they’ve got.”
She held back a giggle. “Not the room. Us.” She looked down at her red nails. Resisting the urge to pick at the color, she looked up again. This wasn’t about what-might-have-been. He could leave his barriers intact, hide behind Jago if he liked. “I want to upgrade from friends to fling.”
Alex stiffened as if his spine had turned to solid steel. His eyes glinted, the blue irises practically turning storm grey in the half-light. “That’s out of the question.”
He pushed his plate away and stood up, made a move to walk off, changed direction, jerkily ploughed a hand into his thick hair. He frowned, his dark brows knitted. “Not every woman I’m photographed with finds her way into my bed.” He shot her a scornful look. “Believe it or not, the playboy image isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be.”
He rounded the table, pulled out the chair next to her and sat on it. “Look.” His voice softened to a husky murmur. Something she couldn’t read flickered on his face. “We should stick to friends. A fling would be a bad idea.”
A ve-ry bad idea. That was the point. She didn’t say so. Clearly, she was a lousy seductress. Mortified, she forced out a syrupy false giggle. “What was I thinking?” She rolled her eyes. “Me having a fling with TV’s Hot Vampire Guy? I need my head examining.”
“Hot? Vampire? Guy?” Alex fired her a condescending look. “Really?”
She bit her lip and nodded, squashed. So much for sizzling attraction. What was wrong with wanting a walk-away-with-no-regrets-when-it’s-over fling? She could do utterly emotionless. She couldn’t undo the fact that she’d been deluded. The chemistry had been one-way after all. Hey, the guy was a great actor.
After an awkwardly silent dinner, back in the softly lit sitting room, Alex paced. He had a copy of Hamlet in his hand and his nose buried in it, going over his lines. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Maggie, curled up on a sofa flicking through a magazine she patently wasn’t reading. No longer a vision in red, she was still sexier than sexy, even in the goofy leggings and I Heart NY tee.
He’d said the wrong thing, handled it badly. He’d made her feel unattractive when the opposite was true. She was complicated. She was a mother-to-be and every time he thought about it the hot blood flowing in his veins turned to cold porridge. Beneath that monochrome image of hers she was vulnerable. And he was getting too involved – pregnancy tests, sickness, cravings. He was out of his depth.
On automatic he retreated behind his own stony mask.