Maureen Child - Office Scandals

She had looked at the ugly red line that began high on his thigh and ended a few inches above his knee and asked, ‘Does it hurt?’ adding huskily when he shook his head, ‘Can I touch …?’

‘Touch?’

Roman had taken an involuntary step back. He had always taken his body, the perfect symmetry of his strong limbs and his naturally athletic physique, for granted, but all that had changed overnight. His body had betrayed him and become the enemy and though not a vain man he accepted that others would be repelled by his scars. For him they were a constant reminder not to take anything for granted—ever.

‘Why would you want to? Morbid curiosity?’

Her astonishment had been too spontaneous to be feigned. ‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘I am normally considered to be above average in the brains department.’

Her slow wicked smile had made the lust in his belly grip hard. ‘I’m not that interested in your brains.’

Her blouse, unbuttoned to the waist, had billowed out as she’d pulled herself up onto her knees. He had been unable to take his eyes off her, the tantalising shadows of her nipples through the lace of the bra that matched her pants, as with sinuous grace she had risen from the bed and come to stand beside him. Barefooted she had come up to his shoulder. ‘Are you hiding any more of those?’

He had been unprepared and shocked when she had reached out again and touched him, lightly running a finger down the raised scar tissue.

He had caught her wrist, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into his voice as he’d asked, ‘Isn’t that enough?’

‘No.’ Tilting her head to look at him, she’d pulled her hand from his grip. ‘Not nearly enough. I want to touch all of you,’ she’d whispered. ‘I don’t want to miss any place out.’

Roman felt lust clutch hard and low in his belly and was dragged back to the here and now. A faint growl worked its way upwards from his chest before he managed to push the images away.

‘We could always walk together.’ Of all the things they could do together, walking was not high on his list, but he was not about to let her escape.

‘Actually I’m in a bit of a hurry.’

He felt his exasperation climb. Dismay was not a response Roman was accustomed to from attractive young women, and he suspected the novelty value would wear off quickly.

‘And you think I can’t keep up?’ He might not be taking the lead on any climbs, but his limp only manifested itself now when he was extremely fatigued.

‘No, of course …’ She took a deep breath and sighed. ‘Fine.’ Said with all the enthusiasm of someone who had just agreed to give up her place on the last lifeboat.

Roman was torn between amusement and annoyance at the grudging concession. His annoyance would have been a lot greater had he not known that she was as aware of the chemistry spark between them as he was, but for some reason she was reluctant to acknowledge it …

He was confident that whatever the reason for fighting the attraction she would lose the battle, and he relished the prospect of seeing the confident bold woman he knew was there under her diffident, fresh-faced exterior.

‘A pleasant stroll down a leafy village road on a sunny day—what could be nicer?’ murmured Roman as he fell in beside her, matching his stride to hers.

‘The inn is fourteenth-century.’

‘Is the tour commentary optional?’

She slid him a sideways look of dislike. He had no manners at all but a great profile. Her glance drifted lower. Actually he had a great everything. ‘I thought you might be interested. My mistake.’

‘I’m fine with the charming company and the leisurely stroll,’ he murmured, adding drily, ‘Very leisurely stroll.’

Izzy compressed her lips, and, to squash any suspicion he might have that she wanted to prolong this walk, lengthened her stride. It was a struggle, despite his comments to the contrary, to believe that his mangled leg did not give him pain, but he showed no sign of difficulty in matching her pace.

As they continued down the steep, winding village street a silence developed … not of the comfortable variety. In the end and despite the risk of drawing another of his rude comments, Izzy cleared her throat. She had to do something to drown out the silent tension.

‘It was a lovely service … Rachel looked beautiful, didn’t she?’

Roman, who thought one bride in a meringue dress looked much like any other, gave a non-committal grunt. The main event had not been what he was watching, or thinking about. ‘Her father is Michael’s brother?’

Izzy, happy to discuss this safe subject, nodded. ‘Yes, they moved to Cumbria about twenty years ago. They bought neighbouring farms and married sisters.’ Both brothers still retained the Irish accent that Izzy found so attractive.

‘So the bride is your cousin?’

‘No … well, sort of, I suppose. Michelle isn’t my mother—I’m not a real Fitzgerald.’ Not something she normally said, actually not something she ever said except to herself, but he made her nervous and she babbled when she was nervous. He made her a lot of other things but Izzy didn’t want to go there.

Roman registered that this was an odd thing to say, but as his interest in the Fitzgerald family and how she fitted into it was at best minimal he did not react to the information. Instead he suddenly stopped in his tracks. While it had been entertaining to a point he was tired of this fencing.

‘How long are you going to carry on pretending we are strangers?’

Izzy took another few steps before she slowed and turned to face him, her face flaming. His elevated brow and his dark eyes mocked her.

‘I didn’t even know your name until five minutes ago. We are strangers.’

‘Strangers who have had sex,’ Roman retorted, his impatience wearing paper thin. Her innocent wide-eyed routine was beginning to irritate him. ‘Was the child yours?’ He had a vague recollection of dark curls and a pink dress, so presumably a girl, but he had been concentrating on the woman holding her and the way her already beautiful face had been transformed when she had smiled at the kid.

He’d said yours not mine . So maybe he hadn’t guessed that Lily was his daughter. Feeling her panic subside from red alert to amber and fighting the lingering urge to run, Izzy veiled her eyes with her silky lashes as she fought to regain her composure.

‘Yes, she is.’

‘Are you married?’

Izzy was too startled to respond to his abrupt question. ‘I beg your pardon.’

‘I’d prefer you answered my question.’

There didn’t seem much point lying. ‘No, I’m not married,’ she admitted.

He tipped his head, some of the tension in his expression fading as his eyes continued to sweep her face. ‘And you’re not with anyone?’

Izzy framed a cold smile in response to his continued abrupt questioning style. She was suddenly conscious of being very hot. The silk chiffon dress clung uncomfortably to her skin and beneath it her bra chafed her nipples.

‘Is this you making small talk or is there a reason for this interrogation?’ It was hard to tell if he knew how rude he was being.

‘You didn’t answer my question.’

She gave a small smile. ‘You noticed.’

He clenched his teeth in a white smile that left his spectacular eyes cold. ‘I can do small talk. I can even tell you you’re the most beautiful woman here today.’

Izzy was desensitised to insults after being the focus of gossip for so long, but compliments always threw her off balance, even one delivered in such an oddly dispassionate way. Or maybe it was the person doing the delivering.

She moved her head sharply to one side, causing the loose tendrils of her hair to move over her face, partly to hide the juvenile blush she felt burning. She looked at him through her lashes and achieved a negligent shrug that managed to deliver a level of indifference she was a million miles from feeling.