Romance for Cynics. Nicola Marsh

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СКАЧАТЬ her palm. ‘So what’s the spin we put on our faux romance?’

      ‘We stick to the truth as much as possible,’ he said, looking way too comfortable for a guy about to perpetuate a big, fat lie, while she all but squirmed at the thought of being filmed for some hokey Valentine’s Day fundraiser. ‘We met six months ago through a mutual friend but haven’t started dating ’til recently.’

      ‘And the fact you’ve kept me hidden away while parading around town with your usual arm candy?’

      ‘You sound jealous.’ He smirked.

      ‘I’d have to care first,’ she said, shooting him a sickly sweet smile.

      ‘I’m a man who likes to keep his personal and professional lives separate, so that’s why we haven’t gone public yet. Those other women? Business.’

      ‘More like monkey business,’ she muttered, earning another wink for her trouble. ‘Tell me more about these functions we have to attend.’

      ‘We’re being briefed tomorrow apparently. All I know is we attend a picnic, an eighties-inspired disco and a roller-skating event, before the ball on Valentine’s Day.’

      Lucy pretended to stick two fingers down her throat and gag.

      He grimaced. ‘Yeah, sounds like a pain in the ass.’

      ‘The things we do for love, huh?’ She batted her eyelashes and he laughed, the lines crinkling the corners of his eyes adding depth to his face.

      ‘Want to know what I think?’ He leaned forward.

      ‘Do I have a choice?’

      ‘Keep doing that.’ He jabbed a finger in her direction. ‘If we can keep doing this trading quips thing when the cameras are around, they’ll think we’re a real couple for sure.’

      ‘True,’ she said, remembering the many times Gram and Pops would bicker over the smallest thing. Other couples she’d seen over the years too. That should’ve been her first indication something was wrong with her marriage: the fact that Adrian was far too civilised and they never fought. No relationship was that perfect. She knew that now.

      ‘Did I pass?’

      She blinked away memories better left suppressed. ‘What?’

      ‘Did I pass your test, the one you set by inviting me to dinner here?’

      ‘Test?’ she asked, looking as incredulous as possible.

      ‘Come on, Lucy. I knew from the minute you invited me here that you had something up your sleeve. You couldn’t wait to get me out of my comfort zone.’

      She nodded begrudgingly. ‘I like a guy who can adjust to his surroundings. Especially a stuck-up, wealthy guy, who I assumed wouldn’t know dahl from a dollar.’

      ‘Careful. I could’ve sworn you said you like me.’ He ignored her veiled insults and focused on the one thing she wished he wouldn’t. ‘Which is kinda nice, considering I really like you.’

      He was teasing, she knew that, but the small part of her that had been starved of male attention for too long lapped it up.

      ‘Good to see you practising for the cameras,’ she said, hoping to defuse some of the tension gripping her by gulping her mango lassi.

      Sadly, the cool fruity yoghurt did little for the heat racing through her body and making her yearn for things she shouldn’t. Like Cash. Naked.

      ‘Why do you do that?’ His hand snaked across the table to touch her wrist. ‘Pretend like there’s no way in hell I could find you remotely attractive.’

      ‘Because I know your type and I’m not it.’ She barked out a bitter laugh and gestured at her faded skinny jeans and thigh-length red cotton T. ‘Look at me. I wear khaki work shorts and singlets or denim and cotton.’ She pointed to her face. ‘No make-up.’ She tugged on the ends of her cropped hair. ‘Without a foil or highlight in sight.’

      His expression morphed from playful to sincere. ‘Did you stop to think that maybe that’s why I like you? That I don’t go for all that artifice when it matters? That appearances can be deceptive and I prefer to judge a person on what’s inside?’

      She could’ve applauded his valiant speech if not for one thing: if what she’d researched was true, he’d spent his entire life proving the opposite of everything he’d just said.

      ‘Let’s stick to the programme, okay?’ She signalled for the bill. ‘We both know this thing between us is fake. No need to label it as anything else.’

      Cash frowned, and looked set to belabour the point, but thankfully the waiter’s speedy arrival took care of that.

      Good. The last thing Lucy needed was Cash trying to convince her that he was deeper than her perception. A perception fast being challenged by this surprisingly sweet, sexy man.

      FIVE

      The next morning, Lucy met with the last person on the planet she’d want to spend time with.

      A stylist.

      She liked the way she looked. She liked wearing comfortable, versatile clothes. She liked maintaining a no-fuss haircut, even if she did look as if she’d just got out of bed and headed to work most days.

      But she liked the thought of saving Gram’s house more, and desperate times called for affirmative action: like updating her wardrobe, her hairstyle and her look.

      Not that she was doing this to impress Cash. She’d taken pride in her appearance once, had loved the expensive fashions she’d worn during her marriage, had adored her artistic hairdresser, had spent an inordinate amount on make-up.

      But no matter how prettied up she’d been, Adrian had cheated on her anyway and she’d shut away her inner fashion guru a long time ago.

      However, being filmed as part of Cash’s fundraiser changed the playing field. And after his impassioned speech last night about not judging on appearances, she felt guilty.

      Just because she didn’t go in for frippery any more didn’t mean he could neglect his public image, and she’d be doing him a disservice by rocking up to his fancy functions in ripped denim and pilled cotton.

      He’d been nothing but lovely last night and her subtle antagonism seemed to make him laugh all the harder.

      She had no intention of falling for his charm, which he was obviously used to laying on thick with the girls, but somewhere between the potato bondas and the Madras chicken curry she’d grown to respect him a tad.

      And she was starting to regret having done the one thing he said he didn’t do: judge on appearances.

      Because she had. Judged him. By the house he lived in, by the clothes he wore, by the company he kept.

      Despite her preconceptions, the Cash she’d enjoyed a delicious Indian meal with in that tatty diner? Unpretentious, easy-going and able to laugh at himself.

      She’d СКАЧАТЬ