wait here for passing virgins,” he said, “then I sell them on for unimaginable profit.”
“Oh dear. Sorry to let you down on the virgin front. You must have thought your luck was in when a woman in a white dress turned up on your doorstep?” she replied, shaking off the image of Rob and his swinging cutlass. Leah had been nipping at the wine all the time she cooked, and accidentally seemed to have polished off most of a bottle of red on her own. Oops, she thought. This was turning out to be an unexpectedly boozy Christmas Day after all.
“Nah, it happens all the time. I’m forever fighting women off,” he said. “Gets quite exhausting after a while.”
That, thought Leah, she could definitely believe. This was not a man who would ever go short of offers. From man, woman or beast. He was impossibly good-looking. Italian family, she’d managed to learn. Lived in Chicago. White slaver. That was the sum total of her knowledge about him. Assuming you didn’t include the way his lips tasted or having a fair estimate of his penis size, that is.
“No. Really. Go on. Tell me something about yourself. I mean, I’ve already poured my heart out to you, and you’ve seen me starkers. It’s only fair.”
He had seen her ‘starkers’, he acknowledged. At least when he hadn’t been squinting to try and avoid it. And now, thanks to that casual comment, he was imagining her starkers again, wearing just the tinsel in her hair.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said, shaking away the image, “but I’m not an artist. Or even a white slaver. I’m just a businessman. Family firm. Corporate suits. Meetings all day. Boring to the max.”
“I bet it’s not boring at all. I can’t imagine you doing something boring,” she said. “I bet you buy and sell something really interesting, like, reindeers. Right?”
“You guessed it,” he said, smiling. “I’m a reindeer wholesaler. And by this time of year, I’ve had enough, so I run away to the wilds of Scotland to escape it all. And do a bit of stock-taking while I’m here.”
Something about the way he said it rang true to Leah. Not the reindeer bit, obviously, she thought, but the escape. The running away. Even the stock-taking. She’d known this man for less than 48 hours and she already realised he was strong; dependable; in charge. Of himself and probably of others. At certain moments already, of her and her newly emerging nymphomaniac. But despite all of that, he also needed to escape. To hide.
What could be bad enough to make a man like this feel the need to hide? Would she ever find out? Too serious, she thought, reaching for yet more wine. Way too serious, and none of her business. They’d been thrown together by a set of freaky circumstances and he’d been kind enough to let her stay, and even to share some saliva with her. She should repay him by keeping her nose – and all of her other body parts – out of his business.
“Well, I understand that,” she replied. “I’m a fugitive myself. I ran away into the wilds of Scotland too, away from my own wedding, shortly after seeing Doug disappear up Becky’s frock. Okay, I was aiming for London and I ended up—”
“Here, with me. Which is no sane person’s idea of an escape,” he said, his tone suddenly quiet and serious, his face cast down in the shimmering firelight. There was a sadness in this man, making guest appearances when Leah least expected it. She felt her own pain well up in response; scrunched up her eyes so she wouldn’t cry. What a pair of losers.
It was Christmas, she told herself. And nobody should be allowed to be sad at Christmas — no matter how good the reasons. It is, after all, the season to be jolly.
“Yep. I ended up here, with you, Mr Cavelli. Where I’ve had to endure sexual harassment, and been forced into becoming your chief cook and bottle washer. Talking of which, are you ready for your next course, sir?”
“Yes. Into the kitchen, woman,” he said, noticing the way she’d picked up on his mood, and tried to deflect it. Moving his mental course…what? His usual default setting of morose solitude? Around this time of year it seemed to be the only mood he was capable of. God, he was becoming a pain in the ass, he decided. He was even sick of himself.
Yet with Leah around, he felt different. The anxiety felt diffused by the easy positivity and flirty charm that seemed to be her default setting. He knew she must be in pain; knew she must be grieving for her lost future, no matter how much she mocked herself and her circumstances. Nobody could walk away from that kind of experience unharmed. And this Doug guy must be a total idiot. Who could have a woman like Leah waiting for him and still want more?
Not love…but chemistry. Burning, sparkling, blazing chemistry that threatened to set them both on fire. She was way too vulnerable for that right now, even if she didn’t think she was. And as for him - he always would be too vulnerable. After Meredith, there was nothing left to give. His body, yes. But more? The sort of more a woman like Leah deserved? No. That part of him just didn’t exist any more. And that’s what his Mom and his brother could never get. He wasn’t choosing to be alone, any more than he’d chosen to have dark hair, or an aptitude for numbers.
It was part of who he was now. Who he was destined to be. There was nothing anyone could do about that – not his mother, not his brother. Not himself. Not even Leah.
His dark thoughts were scattered as Leah bustled back in from the kitchen, holding a hot plate with the edge of a cloth. The red tinsel had glued itself to the side of her cheek, skin flushed with the heat of the kitchen.
“It’s only a steak,” she said, sounding nervous and happy and excited all at the same time. “I found it in the freezer. Just a little sauce to go with it, peppercorns; some nutmeg, cream and—”
“Brandy,” he added as he took his first bite. “Because we’ve not had enough booze so far today, right? Leah, it’s delicious.”
And it was. Simple, luscious and full of flavour. He knew this wasn’t a well-stocked gourmet kitchen, despite her claims. Leah had taken the absolute basics and conjured up something wonderful. The woman had talent. And passion – he could tell that from the way she hovered, waiting for his reaction. This was something she loved doing. He wondered, even though it was none of his business, what she’d do with all that passion now, if she couldn’t go back to the bistro she’d mentioned.
He looked up and smiled. Leah felt her heart do a little flip for no good reason. She was always cheered when people enjoyed her cooking, and when the satisfied customer came with the face of a Renaissance god, the body of an athlete and the tongue of a sinner. Well, she thought, that was what you called a good tip. She’d quite like to heat him up with some brandy and cream and serve him as pudding.
She sat down to eat, realising how much she’d miss that first-bite reaction. How much she’d miss the bistro. Scouring the farmers’ markets for the freshest produce. Creating new dishes; giving them silly names and chalking them up on the specials board. She’s miss the hustle and bustle of restaurant life. The staff she worked with; their regulars, the blokes who ran the bar over the road, the homeless guys she saved leftovers for. She’d miss all of it, so much. It had been her reality for years – nice, fun, safe – and now it was all gone.
Now, though, she reminded herself, was not a time for moping. Reality sucked, and therefore it could wait. If she crashed now, he’d go with her – and they’d spend the
