Marriage By Deception. Sara Craven
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course,’ she said. ‘Why else would I do it?’
‘That’s what I’m wondering.’ His gaze rested thoughtfully on her face. ‘I notice you don’t wear a lot of make-up yourself. I was half expecting purple hair and layers of false eyelashes.’
‘I look very different when I’m working. I hope you’re not disappointed,’ she added lightly.
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘On the contrary…’
There was a silence which lengthened—simmered between them. Ros felt it touch her, like a hand stroking her bare flesh. Enclosing her like a golden web. A dangerous web that needed to be snapped before she was entangled beyond recall. A possibility she recognised for the first time, and which scared her.
She said, rather too brightly, ‘Now it’s your turn. What do you do to earn a crust?’
He moved one of the knives in his place-setting. ‘Nothing nearly as exotic as you,’ he said. ‘I work with accounts. For a multinational organisation.’
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘You sound surprised.’
‘I am.’ And oddly disappointed too, she realised.
‘Why is that?’
‘Because you’re not like my—any of the accountants I’ve ever known,’ she corrected herself hastily.
‘Perhaps I should take that as a compliment,’ he murmured, the turquoise eyes studying her. ‘Have you known many?’
The dark-suited high-flier from the city firm to whom she submitted her annual income and expenditure records, she thought. And, of course, Colin, with whom she’d been going out for the past two years. And about whom she didn’t want to think too closely just now.
‘A couple.’ She shrugged. ‘In my work, you meet a lot of people.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ He paused. ‘But you’ve given me a whole new insight into accountancy and its needs. Maybe I should come to you for one of those make-overs.’
‘Perhaps you should.’ Involuntarily, she glanced at his hair. It was only a momentary thing, but he saw.
He said softly, lifting a hand to smooth the raw edges into submission, ‘I did it for a bet.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Ros stiffened, flushing slightly. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s really none of my business.’
‘If that was true,’ he said, ‘you’d be at home now, microwaving yesterday’s casserole. Instead of tasting this wonderful linguine,’ he added as their first course arrived.
Yesterday’s casserole would certainly have been the safer option, she thought ruefully, as she picked up her fork.
‘So, what I have to ask myself is—why are you here, Janie? What’s the plan?’
She nearly choked on her first mouthful. ‘I don’t know what you mean. Like the others, I answered your ad…’
‘That’s precisely what I don’t understand. Why someone like you—someone who’s attractive and clearly intelligent—should feel she has to resort to a lonely hearts column. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.’
‘It does if you spend a lot of your time in isolation,’ she said.
‘But your working day involves you with the public. And men go into department stores all the time.’
A stupid slip, Ros thought, biting her lip. She would have to be more careful.
She shrugged. ‘Yes, but generally they come to beauty counters to buy gifts for the women already in their lives,’ she returned coolly. ‘And when the store closes, like them, I go home.’
‘You live alone?’
‘No, with my sister—who has her own life.’ She put down her fork. ‘And I could ask you the same thing. You’re employed by a big company, and a lot of people meet their future partners at work, so why “Lonely in London”?’ She paused. ‘Especially when you seem to have such low expectations of the result.’
‘I’m sorry if I gave that impression.’ He frowned slightly. ‘Actually, I didn’t know what to expect. You being a case in point,’ he added with deliberation. ‘Your letter was—misleading.’
Her heart skipped a beat. She tried a laugh. ‘Because I don’t have purple hair?’
‘That’s only part of it. On paper, you sounded confident—even slightly reckless. But in reality I’d say you were quite shy. So how does that equate with being a super saleswoman?’
‘That’s a persona I leave behind with the make-up,’ she said. ‘Anyway, selling a product is rather different to selling oneself.’
‘You didn’t think it was necessary tonight?’ Sam forked up some linguine. ‘After all, you claimed in your letter to be “Looking for Love”, yet I don’t get that impression at all. You appear very self-contained.’
Ros kept her eyes fixed on her plate. How did I think I would ever get away with this? she wondered.
She said, ‘Perhaps I think it’s a little early to throw caution to the winds.’
‘So why take the risk in the first place?’
‘Maybe I should ask you the same thing. You were the one who placed the ad.’
‘I’ve been working abroad for a while,’ he said. ‘And when you come back you find the waters have closed over. Former friends have moved on. Your mates are in relationships, and three’s very definitely a crowd. Girls you were seeing are married—or planning to be.’ His mouth tightened. ‘In fact, everything’s—changed.’
Ah, Ros thought, with a sudden pang of sympathy. I get it. He’s been jilted. So, I did the right thing by coming here tonight.
‘I understand,’ she said more gently. ‘But do you still think a personal ad is the right route to take?’
‘I can’t answer that yet.’ His smile was twisted. ‘Let’s say the results so far have been mixed.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ The turquoise eyes met hers with total directness, then descended without haste to her parted lips, and lower still to the curve of her breasts under the clinging black fabric. ‘Because tonight makes up for a great deal.’
She felt her skin warm, her whole body bloom under his lingering regard. Felt her heart thud, as if in sudden recognition—but of what?
And she heard herself say, in a voice which seemed to belong to someone much younger and infinitely more vulnerable, ‘You were right about the linguine. It’s terrific.’
In fact, the whole meal was truly memorable, progressing in a leisurely way through the succulent lobster, the crisp salad and cool fragrant wine, to the subtle froth of zabaglione.
Ros was glad to abandon herself to wholehearted enjoyment of the food, with the conversation mainly, and thankfully, restricted to its appreciation.
Much safer than the overly personal turn it had taken earlier, she told herself uneasily.
She’d expected to find tonight’s situation relatively simple to deal with. For a few hours she’d planned to be someone else. Only she hadn’t put enough effort into learning her part. Because Sam Alexander didn’t seem convinced by her performance. He was altogether far too perceptive for his own good—or hers.
And she was looking forward to the time, fast approaching now, when she could thank him nicely for her meal and leave, knowing she would never have to see him again.
And it had nothing to do with his awful hair, or the nerdy glasses, or his frankly contradictory taste