Italian Attraction. Lucy Gordon

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      ‘You frown an awful lot for such a young woman.’

      Maisie found the greeny-blue gaze was fixed hard on her face and she flushed. She would have given a month’s supply of chocolate to tell him to mind his own business. As it was he was Jackie’s uncle and this was supposed to be a nice friendly afternoon. She took a deep breath and then said sweetly, ‘I don’t, actually, not usually. It must be the company.’ And then smiled to insinuate she’d been joking when they both knew she hadn’t.

      Blaine shut his eyes, leaning back in the seat as he said lazily, ‘Are you always this prickly? No, don’t bother to answer that. It is me, is it not? You do not like me for some reason. I sensed this earlier.’

      Maisie did not know what to say and so she said nothing but her face turned a deeper shade of beetroot.

      ‘You are very different to how Jackie described you.’

      She stared at the handsome face. A loaded statement if ever there was one. She let a few moments tick by and, when she couldn’t stand it any more, she said, ‘How?’

      ‘How what?’ He opened his eyes.

      He knew what she was asking. ‘How am I different?’

      ‘How long have you got?’

      From across the garden Jackie waved gaily. It probably looked as though she and Blaine were having a nice tête-à-tête, Maisie thought grimly. How wrong could you be? ‘OK,’ she said flatly. ‘Let me put it another way. What exactly did Jackie say about me?’

      Blaine took a few sips of wine. ‘She said you were gentle, warm, kind and easily put upon. And pretty.’

      Jackie had made her sound like a cocker spaniel. She eyed Blaine warily. ‘And you don’t agree with that?’

      ‘I suppose one out of the five holds up.’

      She knew she shouldn’t be saying this; it was simply asking for trouble to give him more ammunition but she couldn’t resist knowing. ‘Which is?’

      ‘The last.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Sit still and I’ll get some food.’

      The last? The pretty bit. Maisie stared after the broad male back. Did he realise that right at the moment she would rather hear that than the rest? Not that she appreciated the inference that she was aggressive, cold and hard, of course, far from it, but when all was said and done …

      Blaine returned in a short while with two plates holding salad, savoury eggs, baked potatoes in their jackets, corn on the cob and several morsels of charcoal masquerading as steak and chicken. ‘This was actually the best there was,’ he said, when he saw Maisie glance at the plates.

      Loyalty to Roberto prevented her from speaking the truth, namely that she wasn’t surprised. ‘This is lovely.’ She really couldn’t tell which was the steak or the chicken. ‘I can’t bear my meat underdone.’

      Blaine moved a little piece of porous black substance with his fork. ‘Quite.’

      ‘I suppose you’re used to Italian cuisine,’ Maisie said a little tartly, trying to ignore that when he frowned the hard angles of his face were even more devastatingly attractive.

      Blaine put his plate at his feet and picked up his glass with the air of a man who had made a decision. Maisie suspected he wouldn’t pick it up again.

      ‘Is that a criticism?’ he asked softly. ‘Don’t you like Italian food?’

      She loved it actually, but she’d rather walk naked through the streets of London than admit it to him. She blanked her face and lied through her teeth. ‘I don’t remember tasting any apart from the odd pizza, and I don’t suppose that counts?’

      He didn’t exactly groan but his expression said it all. It was unfortunate that Jackie chose that moment to stroll over and, having noticed Blaine’s plate on the floor, mutter, ‘Dad’s not the best in the world at barbecues but he tries. Now something like carpaccio or risi e bisi and he’s in his element, isn’t he, Maisie? You always love it when Dad cooks, don’t you?’

      Maisie knew that Jackie was standing up for her father but she couldn’t have chosen a worse moment. She didn’t dare look at Blaine. There was a pause and then, as two of Jackie’s little nephews grabbed her and pulled her off, Blaine murmured, ‘Of course, when Jackie was describing you she left out the accomplished liar bit. But I’m impressed. You fooled me for a moment and that is not easy to do, believe me.’

      Maisie suddenly found she didn’t like this little game they were playing. She didn’t lie—not usually, anyway—and neither was she all the other things he’d got her down for. She turned to look him straight in the face and, as she did so, she noticed the sensual mouth was faintly stern and his eyes weren’t smiling any more. He hadn’t liked being fooled, that much was apparent. It gave her no sense of satisfaction, however. ‘I’mnot an accomplished liar,’ she said painfully. ‘I’m not what you think I am at all, actually. It’s just that I’m in the middle of something awful and …’ Her voice cracked and died.

      To her horror she found she couldn’t go on, not without bursting into tears anyway. She looked down at her plate and speared a piece of shrivelled black something or other and began to chew.

      ‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was very quiet, the accent adding a smoky softness that brought her eyes up to meet his gaze. It was then that she made the mistake of trying to swallow.

      The next few minutes got her safely past the awkward moment with Blaine but created a hundred more in the pandemonium which followed her choking. The meat had lodged so firmly in her windpipe that it took one of Jackie’s sisters, an experienced nurse, doing a Heimlich Manoeuvre to remove it. As Anna was built like a brick outhouse with arms as powerful as any wrestler’s, Maisie seriously wondered if her ribs were broken once she could breath again.

      She was escorted into the house by a concerned Jackie, who managed to do a very good impression of a mother hen with a wayward chick, and once she was in the privacy of Jackie’s parents’ yellow and turquoise bathroom—something Jackie had long since stopped apologising for—she stared at her face in the mirror. She looked as though she had gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, her eyes were swollen and bulging and the red blotches covering her face and neck were only matched in intensity by her bloodshot eyes.

      She sank down on the loo seat, gingerly feeling her ribs. They hurt. But not as much as her pride. She decided that as her eyes had been streaming for the last few minutes it was a good opportunity to have a surreptitious cry because no one would notice any difference.

      She felt a bit better afterwards, but not much. After washing her face, she removed the last of the black streaks from her cheeks which her mascara had left with some eye make-up removing pads from the bathroom cabinet. A scrubbed but distinctly the worse for wear reflection peered back at her from the mirror. A few minutes of splashing cold water on her heated skin took the worst of the colour away, however, and after liberally using the moisturising cream the cabinet yielded she rubbed her wet fringe dry and surveyed the result. Better. Not good, but better.

      ‘Maisie?’ Jackie’s voice sounded from outside the bathroom. ‘You OK in there?’

      ‘I’m fine.’ Maisie took a deep breath and opened the door. She had СКАЧАТЬ