Jill Mansell - Sheer Mischief

Jealousy, pure and simple, surged within her as she tried to imagine whom Guy was so eager to impress. And how tempting it was to choose less-than-perfect blooms, the ones whose petals were beginning to loosen so that within a day or two they would drop off But pride compelled her to select the finest, just-flowering buds instead, flawless shell-pink tinged with apricot. If whoever-it-was took the trouble to look after them, they would last a good fortnight.

Bitchily, Janey wondered if Guy’s interest in whoever-it-was would exceed the life of the exquisite roses.

It was sheer pride too, that sent her up to the flat to brush her hair and change into a clean olive-green shirt and white jeans before setting off with the delivery. If the girl — presumably yet another svelte model — was going to be there when she arrived at Trezale House, Janey didn’t want to feel any more inferior by comparison than she already did. Knowing that you had a crush on someone was bad enough. Having to face his infinitely more glamorous size-eight girlfriends was downright intimidating.

Stop it, thought Janey wearily, rubbing off the lipstick she had just applied and staring at the little pot of bronze eyeshadow which had somehow found its way into her hand. Now she was being really stupid, she told herself, flinging the eyeshadow back into the drawer of her dressing table and gazing at her reflection in the mirror. As if a bit of make-up was going to help.

Guy opened the front door as she was lifting the flowers out of the van. It would have suited Janey to hand them over to him then and there but all he did was step aside, enabling her to carry the bouquet into the house.

There didn’t appear to be anyone else at home, certainly no stunning, semi-naked brunette draped across the kitchen table. In an effort to sound normal, Janey said casually, ‘No Maxine?’

‘No Maxine, no kids.’ He shrugged and smiled. ‘She’s taken them to some birthday party in Truro. They won’t be back for hours.’

‘And there ‘I was, thinking the roses were for her.’ Janey placed them on the table, suddenly remembering that she hadn’t seen Guy since the day he had come to the shop with the invitation to the charity ball. Praying he wouldn’t mention it, realizing to her despair that her cheeks were hot, she turned her attention to the ribbons on the bouquet, fiddling with the curly bits and tweaking them into shape.

‘Actually’ — Guy’s voice came from behind her — ‘they’re for you. And why did you make up that story about Paula having flu, by the way? Was the prospect of spending an entire evening in my company really that awful, or is there another explanation? And don’t expect me to count to ten whilst you think of one,’ he continued, his tone even, ‘because you’ve had eight weeks already.’

This time Janey blushed with a vengeance. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t know what to say either.

‘Look,’ she said finally, and with at least semi-truthfulness, ‘I just thought you’d enjoy yourself more if you took somebody else.’

‘Janey, if I had thought I would have enjoyed myself more with somebody else, I would have asked them to be my partner in the first place.’ His tone registered both amusement and impatience. ‘And you aren’t admiring your flowers. You’re supposed to say "How lovely, you shouldn’t have".’

‘Well, you know what I mean.’ Aware that she was gabbling, she took a step back. ‘There were those photos in the paper of you and Valentina, and that’s the kind of partner people expect you to turn up with. They’d wonder what on earth you were doing--’

‘They might even think I was coming to my senses at last.’ Guy, a million times more nervous than he was letting on, said quietly, ‘Janey, did you hear what I said just now?’

‘Of course I heard you.’ Flustered, hopelessly confused, Janey shook her head. ‘I just don’t know why you’re saying it. You phoned me up and ordered these flowers. You can’t give them back to me ...’

‘Why on earth not?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ve paid for them. I gave you my Access card number over the phone.’

‘But this is stupid.’

‘No it isn’t, it’s sensible.’ Guy started to smile. ‘It got you here, didn’t it?’

She bit her lip. ‘I still don’t understand.’

‘You could try saying thank you,’ he suggested, his eyes glittering with amusement. ‘It’s how people generally express their appreciation when they’ve been given two dozen ruinously expensive pink roses.’

Janey gave up. ‘In that case, thank you. They’re beautiful. How-very-kind-you-really-shouldn’t-have. And they weren’t that expensive,’ she added with a faint answering smile. ‘I thought they were very reasonable.’

It was now or never, Guy decided. He took a deep breath.

‘Another way of expressing your appreciation when you’ve been given two dozen very reasonably priced pink roses,’ he said slowly, ‘is with a kiss.’

Janey stared at him. Was this some kind of hideous practical joke? Was Maxine hiding behind the Welsh dresser, camcorder at the ready? Was Jeremy Beadle lurking inside the fridge?

Finally, she said, ‘You want me to kiss the roses?’

But the expression on Guy’s face was quite serious. No longer smiling, there was almost an air of apprehension about him. Janey, suddenly light-headed, felt her heart begin to race. Her stomach did a loop and disappeared.

‘It’s up to you,’ said Guy, ‘but I’d prefer it if you kissed me.’

As if in a dream, inwardly amazed that her legs were still capable of carrying her, she stepped forward and with infinite caution brushed her lips against his tanned cheek.

‘OK?’ she said stupidly, when it was done.

But Guy, half smiling down at her, shook his head. ‘Terrible,’ he murmured. ‘Very poor attempt. I’m sure you can do better than that.’

He put his arms around her. Janey, no longer in any condition to protest, closed her eyes as his mouth found hers. Caution abandoned, this time the receiver, she gave herself up to him. This time the kiss seemed to go on for ever.

‘Big improvement,’ said Guy at last, speaking the words into her hair and not releasing his hold on her.

Janey, glad to be held - she needed all the support she could get - took a deep, steadying breath.

He smiled. ‘All right?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Raising her brown eyes to his face, she said shakily, ‘Is this a joke? Because if it is, I think I shall have to kill you.’

‘You could always set Maxine on to me. That would be a fate far worse than death.’ Guy, overjoyed by the success of his plan, broke into a broad grin. ‘Except it isn’t a joke, so you don’t need to. My God, Janey, do you have any idea what you’ve put me through, these past months?’

Bewildered, still unable to take in the fact that this was happening to her, she said, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘So you bloody well should be.’ He kissed her again, breathing in the faint scent of her perfume. ‘You don’t give away any clues; I didn’t know whether you found me even remotely attractive; you wrecked my sex life …’

‘What are you talking about?’ Janey demanded, trembling all over and clutching the front of his shirt. Able to feel the warmth of his skin through the cotton, she suppressed an incredible urge to start undoing buttons.

‘You were involved with that terrible husband of yours so I couldn’t have you,’ Guy complained. ‘And I didn’t want anyone else. It’s been sheer torture.’ He rolled his eyes in mock reproach. ‘You aren’t exactly forgettable just now either; everywhere I go, I’m haunted by that damn charity poster. I was seriously beginning to regret using that photograph, I can tell you.