writing poetry or love songs or—or a dinner by candelight on a secluded balcony.’ She put the mug down beside her on the carpet and folded her hands in her lap. She kept her eyes lowered. ‘I guess it’s only limited by his imagination.’ Then she forced a light laugh and looked at Rick again. ‘Or in this case, unfortunately, by my imagination.’
Then she wished she could take back her words. Just talking to Rick Lawson about her imagination seemed to unleash ridiculous, teasing fantasies. And there was no way she could afford to blush again.
Rick considered her words for several moments. ‘Imagination can be dangerous, Maddy.’
She was stunned. Was he reading her mind? The unwanted blushes arrived with relentless punctuality.
His eyes were fixed on hers so intently, she wondered if he was angry with her. ‘So let me get this straight,’ he drawled after some time. ‘Love poetry and candlelit dinners on—what was it—secluded balconies?’
Maddy gulped. ‘It doesn’t have to be poetry…’
Rick’s smile teased her. ‘What else did you have on your list? Songs? Not too many blokes sound romantic when they try to sing.’ He scratched his head and frowned as if this whole issue was intensely serious and very puzzling. ‘I understand why the balconies need to be secluded,’ he said with a suggestive wink. ‘And I know poetic guys have always had a lot going for them. But I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned muscles, brawn…bedroom eyes…They’re not a turn-on for you, Maddy?’
‘I—I don’t remember saying that,’ she stammered. ‘But gorgeous guys are not always…romantic. Romantic men are…are thoughtful.’ She felt distinctly hot and bothered having this conversation with this particular man. Superbly built, but decidedly offhand and brusque, he broke all the silly definitions of romance she’d just outlined and yet still managed to make her heart flutter quite ridiculously.
‘So this Byron fellow of yours—he did all these romantic things for you? Wrote you poetry and wined and dined you in secluded little corners?’
Maddy quickly sipped her coffee. It had cooled and tasted terrible, but at least it helped her to cover her confusion. When she thought about her time as Byron’s fiancèe, she couldn’t remember any little romantic gestures. He’d taken her to restaurants certainly, but usually as part of ‘the gang’. He’d spent nights at her apartment…
Rick was waiting for an answer. ‘I don’t think Byron’s romantic technique is any of your business,’ she told him huffily. ‘We need to stick to practicalities.’ Her voice was slow and unsteady. ‘So, would you mind if I borrowed your shaving gear for an hour or so next Wednesday? It would be good to have some male deodorant, too.’
Rick ran his hand slowly over his chin and his eyes held a teasing glint as he considered the matter. ‘I guess I could release such essential equipment for a very short time.’
Maddy smiled. ‘Thanks, Rick. You don’t happen to have a football jersey, do you?’
‘Sorry, no. But I do have a very ancient rowing one, if that’s any use to you.’
‘Rowing? Yes, please. That’s sure to impress Cynthia.’
‘Would you like a photo? Thanks to Sam, I have a few on hand. I could autograph it: “To my darling Maddy”.’
‘Oh, er, I don’t know.’ His darling Maddy? Why did those simple words send her heart into overdrive? She knew he was joking, playing along with her game of pretence, but hearing Rick say those words made her heart beat so violently, she was afraid he would hear its drumming. How could she let one little throwaway line send her into such turmoil?
‘It would clinch the authenticity angle,’ he added.
‘I—I guess so.’
Rick’s fingers raked through his hair. ‘It’s no skin off my nose. I don’t care what you do with it afterwards. You could burn it as soon as you’re finished with it.’
Maddy plucked a loose strand of carpet. She must remember that accepting his photo was all part of the game. It meant nothing!
She hadn’t realised how long she was taking to answer him and was shocked when he jumped to his feet suddenly. ‘No, my pic wouldn’t be a good idea,’ he growled.
‘Oh?’ Maddy tried to hide her disappointment. Once she’d got over the initial shock, she had really warmed to the notion.
‘You wouldn’t want this to get too complicated and if Byron recognised me, well, things could get kind of awkward.’
Somehow Maddy doubted that Byron watched documentaries about famine in Third World countries or military coups in far-flung trouble spots. When she thought about it, he was a pretty shallow, narrow-minded sort of fellow. She was beginning to wonder exactly why she’d once found him so thrilling. On the other hand, she reflected with a pang of regret, she could appreciate that Rick Lawson would not want his public image entangled in her private affairs any more than was absolutely necessary. And, she reminded herself with a stab of dismay, he had his own girlfriend lying in hospital, so he certainly wouldn’t want to become mixed up with somebody else.
‘We’ll drop the photo idea, then,’ she said. ‘I’ll rack my brains to come up with a couple more details, but I think we’ve got the basics established for a pretty convincing deception.’ Impulsively, she stood on tiptoes. Then froze. She’d been about to drop a reassuring kiss on Rick’s cheek, just as she might have kissed her brothers, but at the last minute it didn’t seem such a good idea.
Something warned her that kissing Rick Lawson—even a light kiss on the cheek—would be nothing like kissing a brother. She stepped away quickly. ‘Thanks a lot for your promise to help, Rick.’
His gaze touched hers, then withdrew. ‘My pleasure,’ he grunted.
So that was how it was going to be, Maddy thought as she headed back down the stairs. Rick was back to scowling and grunting again. But she mustn’t let it bother her. Surely any amount of scowling would be worthwhile if Byron and Cynthia were taken in by her little subterfuge?
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