she admitted silently. The flowers were a lovely gesture and probably Blaine’s motives had been entirely honourable. Probably.
She hadn’t been aware she was frowning until Blaine said mildly, ‘You do not like flowers, Maisie?’
The delicious Italian accent—and OK, Maisie grudgingly acknowledged, it was sexy too—gave her name a peculiar little twist and she didn’t like what it did to her nerve-endings. ‘Yes, of course I like flowers,’ she said evenly.
‘You think these are not right for Jackie’s mother?’
‘I didn’t say that. No, they’re fine. I’m sure she will love them.’
‘Good.’ He settled further in his seat. ‘Most women adore being given flowers, I’ve found.’
And you’d certainly know. She glanced at him and saw the beautiful eyes were laughing at her. Arrogant, irritating man. Maisie turned her head and stared across Jackie out of the window for the remainder of the short journey.
CHAPTER TWO
ONCE at the large semi-detached house where Jackie’s parents lived, Maisie found herself relaxing a little. Jackie’s mother had oohed and ahhed over the bouquet and Roberto, Jackie’s father, hadn’t seemed too put out at the obvious attempt to win his wife over. Or, if he was, he wasn’t making an issue of it.
Jackie’s numerous siblings, all of whom were married and a couple of whom had children of their own, were dotted about the garden in chairs and sun-loungers and the general atmosphere was easy.
‘You didn’t really need me here,’ Maisie murmured to Jackie after Roberto had given both women a glass of wine and ushered them to a swing-seat close to the barbecue, which was glowing nicely. ‘There are plenty of people to act as referees between your dad and Blaine.’
Jackie giggled. ‘It might come to that. But anyway, I wanted you to have a nice lazy afternoon with people who think you’re lovely. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’
‘You remembered that Jeff’s getting home today,’ Maisie said flatly.
It wasn’t a question but Jackie nodded anyway. ‘The git,’ she said, just as flatly.
They watched a couple of sausages turn to cinders and Roberto’s attempt to moderate his language in front of the children as a steak went the same way. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been to a barbecue at your mum and dad’s when your dad hasn’t cremated the food,’ Maisie said after a moment or two when Jackie’s mother bustled up and extracted the shrunken black morsels with a pair of tongs. She did it deftly but she’d had lots of practise.
‘I know.’ Jackie grinned, finishing the last of the wine in her glass and smacking her lips. ‘I just hope Blaine doesn’t offer to help. I bet he controls a barbecue beautifully. Fancy another glass?’ she added, rising to her feet.
‘Lovely.’ Maisie proffered her own half-full glass. ‘Just top it up, would you.’
She watched Jackie walk across to the long table at the side of the patio where all the drink was gradually beginning to sizzle, but when her friend got waylaid by one of her sisters Maisie leant back against the upholstered back of the swing-seat and shut her eyes. This was very pleasant, she admitted to herself, letting the seat move gently to and fro beneath its canopy of bright red linen. There was a small breeze in the garden and, shaded as she was from the blazing heat of the June sun, she felt comfortably warm rather than sticky. And it had been so sweet of Jackie to think of her, to be concerned.
The gorgeously fruity rich red wine she’d consumed thus far had already left her feeling mellow, a result of skipping breakfast in an effort to fast forward the diet, she thought ruefully. She would have to be careful to eat something before she drank any more; Roberto’s wine was always delicious but extremely potent and she didn’t want to get tipsy. She didn’t trust herself at the moment, that she wouldn’t get maudlin and burst into tears, and she’d rather die than do that in front of anyone.
As Jackie sat down beside her, Maisie didn’t open her eyes as she said, ‘Thanks for this, Jackie.’
‘I am not Jackie.’
Maisie opened her eyes and sat up so abruptly she was in danger of knocking the glass of wine Blaine was holding out to her all over him. As it was, only a drop fell on to the pale blue shirt. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Maisie stared at the stain as though it covered a vast expanse.
‘It is nothing.’ He smiled at her as he handed her the wine. ‘Jackie is tied up for the moment so I thought I would keep you company.’
Maisie stared at him. He had her wine, so had Jackie asked him to come and talk to her? Probably. If only to keep Blaine out of her father’s hair. Not that Roberto had much hair. Unlike his brother who had plenty, on his body as well as his head. She tore her eyes away from the drift of black at the top of his shirt where a couple of buttons were undone and tried to ignore how his trousers had pulled tight over muscled thighs. She had to make conversation—fast. She couldn’t let him suspect even for a moment that she was bothered by him. ‘When—’ her voice had emerged as a squeak and she took a swallow of wine before she tried again ‘—when are you flying home?’ she said, as though she didn’t already know.
‘Tomorrow evening.’
She nodded. ‘I suppose you’re in a hurry to get back and see your father?’ she said, before she realised it probably wasn’t the most tactful thing in the world to say.
If Blaine objected to being reminded of how ill his father was he gave no sign of it, however, merely inclining his head and saying quietly, ‘It was at my mother’s wish I came to England to see my brother, but I did not like leaving her at such a difficult time. She has some distance to travel to the hospital each day, and I worry her mind may not always be on her driving.’
Maisie nodded again. Even arrogant irritating pigs were allowed to worry about their mothers, she supposed. ‘Couldn’t your mother get a cab or maybe have friends drive her?’
‘Yes on both counts.’ He took a deep swallow from his own glass before he added, his voice wry, ‘But my mother has a mind of her own. She does not always listen to reason.’
Neither did his father, if what Jackie had said was true. Blaine certainly had an interesting mix of genes in that very male body of his. ‘Jackie said your mother’s American.’
‘Very American.’ It was rueful. ‘And my father is very Italian. It made for a stimulating childhood if nothing else. They fight like cat and dog but think the world of each other, nonetheless. I understand Roberto’s mother was very different. She was his childhood sweetheart and theirs was a peaceful, tranquil existence. He loved her very much, I know this.’
Did he mind that his father had loved his half-brother’s mother so much? He didn’t appear to. Maisie took refuge in being a third party. ‘And your mother doesn’t mind that?’
‘Of course not. Luisa had died before they met, long before they met, when Roberto was in his last year of school, in fact.’
That might be the case, but she didn’t think she’d like to know that a previous relationship had been so altogether perfect. Not that there were going to be any more relationships or men for her. Not serious ones anyway. Maybe the odd date when she felt better, a no-strings
