Rich As Sin. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ Samantha’s being a witness to her humiliation. There would be no useful contacts from this dinner party, not if Melissa had anything to do with it, Samantha thought ruefully. But at the same time she felt a small sense of satisfaction that whatever was going on here, the man—Matt? Matthew?—was apparently quite capable of holding his own.

      ‘I—if you’ll excuse me,’ she murmured, deciding not to push her luck. It was one thing to be an unwilling witness; it was quite another to become a participant in their quarrel.

      Melissa took a deep breath. ‘Where are you going?’

      Samantha moistened her lips. ‘I’m leaving.’

      ‘Like hell you are!’ Melissa shot Matthew a crippling glare. ‘People haven’t even started eating yet. It’ll be hours before the tables can be cleared. Go to the bathroom, or somewhere. Mr Putnam and I only need a few moments’ privacy.’

      ‘No.’ Samantha thrust the last of her belongings into the boxes, and fastened the safety clips. Right now, she didn’t particularly care if she smashed all her dishes. She just wanted to get out of there, for more reasons than she cared to consider. ‘I—your—that is, the prince knows I only—prepare the food. I don’t clean up afterwards.’

      ‘Why not?’ Melissa’s undoubtedly striking features were less than appealing at this moment. ‘You’re just a waitress, aren’t you? That’s what you’re doing here.’

      ‘No,’ said Samantha again, snatching up her jacket, and grabbing hold of two of the cold-boxes. ‘I just—deliver the food, that’s all.’ It was easier than trying to explain. ‘And now, as I say, I must be going. It—it’s getting late, and I’ve got a long way to drive.’

      Melissa looked as if she would have liked to try and stop her by force, but, instead, she contented herself with a sarcastic sneer. ‘Well, you can tell your employer we weren’t very impressed with the service,’ she declared spitefully. ‘Oh, and mention the caviare, won’t you? You have heard of caviare, I assume?’

      Samantha gritted her teeth, intensely aware of the man standing listening to the proceedings, with a faintly mocking expression on his dark face. ‘I’ll remember,’ she said tightly, bumping the boxes against the cupboards as she struggled to the door. Just a few more yards, she thought, wondering how she could turn the handle without wasting time putting her boxes down, and then the man intervened.

      ‘Allow me,’ he said, reaching past her to pull open the door, and she gave him a grateful smile. ‘Drive carefully,’ he added, as she hurriedly ascended the steps, but any response she might have made died on her lips. As she glanced behind her, Melissa came to grasp his arm, and drag him back into the kitchen. Samantha’s last glimpse was of the two of them standing very close together, and of Melissa’s scarlet-tipped fingers spread against his chest.

       CHAPTER THREE

      THE HONEY POT was hectic, and Samantha was busy microwaving dozens of the individual earthenware dishes of her home-made lasagne when she saw him.

      It was odd, that sudden awareness, but she noticed him the moment he entered the café. Afterwards, she told herself it was the stir his leather-clad appearance caused among the bank clerks, shop assistants, and other office workers, who made up the bulk of the lunchtime crowd. But, whatever it was, she knew an unfamiliar sense of panic, as he threaded his way between the tables.

      Debbie Donaldson, her assistant, whose job it was to serve the customers and clear the tables, intercepted him before he could reach the refrigerated cabinets, where delicious plates of sandwiches and salads were on display.

      ‘A table for one?’ she enquired, her wide blue eyes assessing, taking in his dark attractive features and leanly muscled frame.

      ‘What?’ His eyes had been on Samantha, who was hurriedly preparing another of the pre-cooked pasta dishes for the microwave, and trying to pretend she hadn’t seen him. ‘Oh—–’ He expelled his breath on an impatient sigh, and glanced briefly round the small restaurant. ‘Yes. Why not?’ His gaze narrowed to enclose only Debbie. ‘Can you fit me in?’

      ‘I’m sure I can.’

      Debbie’s lips parted to reveal a provocative tongue, and Samantha, unwillingly aware of how impressionable the eighteen-year-old was, felt a surge of raw frustration. What was he doing here? she wondered, stifling a curse as she burned her thumb on a hot dish. He was a long way from Eyton Gate and Belgravia. How on earth had he found her? And who the hell was he anyway?

      A surreptitious glance across the room informed her that Debbie had seated him at a small table in the bow window. It was one of the only two tables left vacant in the café, and was usually reserved for Mr Harris, the manager of the local building society. But Debbie wasn’t looking her way, so Samantha couldn’t signal that that table was unavailable. Debbie’s attention was firmly fixed on her customer—as was the attention of most of the females present.

      Not that she could blame them, Samantha admitted ruefully, trying to concentrate on what she was doing. He was clean-shaven this morning, and the hooded eyes and stark uncompromising features possessed a potent sensuality. Two sausages, one cannelloni, and two egg and cress sandwiches, she recited silently, struggling to remember the orders. But his presence disturbed her, reminding her as it did of that evening two nights ago, when he had invaded Prince Georgio’s kitchen.

      She had tried to put the memory of that evening out of her mind. She didn’t want to think about her emotions at that time. She had told herself it was natural not to want to dwell on the scare he had given her. But the truth was, her fears had been superseded by the way he had made her feel when he’d disarmed her.

      Disarmed her in more ways than one, she thought drily, trying to make light of it. And who would want to remember the things Melissa Mainwaring had said to her? No, the whole evening had been a disaster. She was actually having second thoughts about continuing that particular side of the business.

      ‘He says he wants to speak to you.’

      Debbie’s vaguely resentful voice rang in her ear, and Samantha stopped spreading the egg and cress mixture on the bread and looked at her assistant.

      ‘Who?’ she asked, keeping her back firmly to the tables, and Debbie gave her a disbelieving look.

      ‘Who do you think?’ she exclaimed. ‘The joker sitting over there by the window. The one doing an imitation of Mel Gibson.’

      Samantha blinked, really confused this time. ‘Mel Gibson?’ she echoed.

      ‘Mad Max?’ suggested Debbie shortly, in the tone of one explaining table manners to a five-year-old. ‘And don’t pretend you didn’t see him come in. You and half the female population of Northfleet!’

      Samantha expelled her breath, and laid one slice of bread over the other. ‘Well—what does he want?’ she asked, praying he hadn’t told Debbie of their earlier encounter. But the younger girl only shrugged.

      ‘I don’t know. He just said he wanted to speak to you. Do you know him? Is he a friend of Paul’s?’

      ‘Hardly.’ The word was out before Samantha could prevent it, but she covered herself by adding swiftly, ‘I ask you: does he look like a friend of Paul’s?’

      Debbie СКАЧАТЬ