Jessica Hart - British Bachelors - Perfect and Available

‘Just be normal,’ he said repressively. ‘If you can.’

They were to meet Bob and his wife at Arturo’s, a quiet and classic restaurant no longer at the forefront of fashion but still famous for its food. When they got there, Max paid off the taxi and ran a finger under his collar. He’d wanted to wear a plain white shirt but Allegra had bullied him into putting on the mulberry-coloured shirt Dickie had picked out for him, with a plain tie in a darker hue.

‘Bob’s going to wonder what the hell I’m doing in a red shirt,’ he grumbled as he eased the collar away from his throat.

‘Stop fiddling, you look great,’ said Allegra. She stepped up and made his senses reel by straightening his tie and patting it into place. ‘Really,’ she told him, ‘you look good. You just need to relax.’

‘Relax, right,’ said Max, taking refuge in sarcasm. ‘I’m just going for the most important interview of my career so far, which means lying through my teeth to my new boss. What’s there to feel tense about?’

‘We don’t have to lie if you don’t want to. Why not just tell Bob the truth about Emma?’

For a moment Max was tempted. Wouldn’t chucking in the towel be easier than spending the evening trying to convince Bob Laskovski that it was remotely credible that a girl like Allegra would choose to be with him? She was so clearly out of his league.

When she had opened the bathroom door and smiled at him, it had been like a punch to his heart. ‘Do I look sufficiently sensible?’ she had asked while he was still struggling for breath, while he was trying to wrench his eyes off the way her dress clung enticingly to her slender body.

True, her arms and shoulders were covered but that sheer black stuff was somehow even more tantalising than bare skin would have been. It seemed to beckon him forward to peer closer, hinting at the creamy skin half hidden beneath the gauzy film of black. Between the sheer arms and shoulders and the tight-fitting dress, Max felt as if there were great neon arrows angled at her throat, at her breasts, at the curve of her hips: Look here! Look here!

The dress stopped above her knees—Look here!—revealing those killer legs of hers—And here!—ending in absurd shoes that were studded with mock jewels. Her earrings swung and glittered in the light and her hair, twisted up and back more neatly than usual, gleamed.

Once the oxygen had rushed back to his head, Max had been able to think of lots of words to describe Allegra right then: sexy, erotic, dazzling, gorgeous... Had he already mentioned sexy? But sensible? Suitable? Max didn’t think so.

Now she was adjusting his tie and standing so close her perfume was coiling into his mind, and lust fisted in his belly. For a wild moment the need to touch her was so strong all Max could think about was grabbing her, pushing her up against a wall and putting his hands on her, touching her, feeling her, taking her.

Horrified by the urge, he took a step back. What was happening to him? He didn’t do wild. He was sensible, steady, an engineer, not some macho type acting out his caveman fantasies.

Max shook his head slightly to clear it. This whole article business was getting to him, that was all. The sooner he got to Shofrar, the better. That was what he wanted, not to rip his little sister’s friend’s clothes off. And for Shofrar he needed Bob Laskovski’s approval. Was he really going to risk blowing the project manager role he’d coveted for so long just because he was distracted by Allegra’s perfume?

‘No,’ he said. His voice was a little hoarse, but firm. ‘I want to stick with what we agreed.’

‘Okay.’ Allegra smiled at him and tucked her hand through his arm. ‘In that case, let’s go and get you that job, tiger.’

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