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‘And my flat’s very small.’
‘Stop apologising. It doesn’t matter how big your home is—only how big your welcome is.’
It was her turn to laugh. ‘Why is it I can hear Nonna’s voice saying that?’
‘Probably because it’s one of her favourite phrases,’ he admitted.
Fran’s ground-floor studio flat was very neat and tidy, as he’d expected. The sofa obviously converted to a bed; there was enough room for a few shelves stacked with books and scattered with framed photographs, a small TV and a micro stereo, and a tiny kitchen in one corner with a bistro table and two chairs next to it. There was a small dragon tree in a white pot on the table.
‘It’s very nice,’ he said.
‘But it’s still very small,’ she said ruefully. ‘It was either sharing a house or renting a studio flat.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘And I wanted my own space. So I chose this.’
Fran didn’t like sharing her space? Given the way she’d fitted in so well with the Mazettis this afternoon, that surprised him. Or maybe not—like him, she was part of a large family where having your own space was a luxury. This would be a bolthole for her. Just like his flat was, for him.
He walked over to the window. ‘Nice gardens.’
She nodded. ‘I’m really lucky that I’m this side of the building and not on the street side. The gardens are communal so the landlord deals with it all—the nearest I have to a garden of my own is my dracena.’
He noticed that she used the Latin name—so, was Fran a gardener at heart? Did she have a secret yearning for a house with a garden of her own?
But if he asked her she’d simply deflect the question. He’d already noticed she was very good at that; she rarely gave anything away about herself. He knew next to nothing about her family, other than that she had twin brothers and a sister and they were all academic.
‘Go and sit down.’ She motioned towards the sofa. ‘I’ll make the coffee.’
He sat down and watched her as she switched the kettle on and began shaking grounds into a cafétière. Every moment was efficient, economical. Beautiful to watch. But what shocked him was how much he wanted to go and stand behind her, slide his arms round her waist, hold her close and bury his face in the curve of her neck.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up believing their relationship was for real instead of a fiction to keep his family happy.
To stop himself thinking about touching her, he twisted round to look at the shelves behind the sofa. There were several framed photographs propped against the books. ‘These are your family?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
There was one of them all together, very similar in style to the one he had on his computer screen at work—but he noticed immediately that Fran wasn’t in it. ‘Where were you?’he asked.
‘Behind the camera. Which is where I prefer to be.’
‘You’re worried about posing for a photograph?’ Without giving her the chance to answer, he pulled his mobile phone from his pocket, flicked it into camera mode and took a snap of her. He looked at the screen critically. ‘It’s perfectly OK. You don’t take a bad photograph.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t have a phobia about having my picture taken, Gio. I just prefer being behind the lens, not in front of it.’
On the outside, looking in? Or was he reading too much into it? He changed tack. ‘Is that what you thought about doing when you were a kid? Being a photographer?’
‘No, I’m not that arty.’ She shrugged. ‘I take reasonable snaps, but I’m not under any illusions that I’m the next David Bailey.’
‘So what did you want to do, when you were at school?’
‘Can’t remember.’
Her back was to him so he couldn’t read her expression. He had the feeling that she was fibbing, but he didn’t want to push her too hard, so he let it go. Instead, he picked up the group photograph and settled back against the sofa to study it more carefully. ‘You’ve met my family. They’re going to grill me about yours—and if I say I don’t know, they’ll smell a rat. Come and tell me about them,’ he invited.
‘There’s not that much to tell.’ She brought the coffee over and handed him a mug. ‘Obviously that’s my mum and dad—Dad’s head of the local middle school and Mum’s a geography teacher at the local high school.’
Again, he noticed, she’d given him the least information she could get away with. ‘Honestly, getting details out of you is like pulling teeth! I ought to take lessons from Nonna. What are their names?’ Gio prompted.
‘Carol and Warren.’
They looked pleasant enough. Physically, they were nothing like Fran; they were both tall, and, although Warren’s hair was graying, he’d clearly been fair, as had Carol. Her siblings were tall and fair, too. So he could see why Fran, being little and dark-haired, felt the differences so keenly.
‘Did you take this in your parents’ back garden?’
‘Yes.’
It was incredibly neat and tidy; clearly someone in the family loved gardening and took pride in the flowers. Something Fran had had in common with them? But he couldn’t think of a way to ask without risking her clamming up on him.
‘Tell me about the others,’ he invited.
She put her mug on the floor, then pointed to the younger woman in the photograph. ‘This is Suzy—she’s the baby of the family. She’s training to be a dentist.’
Again, the bare minimum of detail. What was Suzy like as a person? If anyone had asked him to describe Marcie, the baby in their family, he would’ve said she was little and funny and noisy and arty—she worked in a gallery and, although she could barely draw a straight line with a ruler, she had a real eye for colour and detail, and the pieces she bought for herself were already worth at least three times what she’d paid for them.
‘Does she get more information out of you than anyone else?’ he asked.
She frowned. ‘How?’
‘By pulling…’ He stopped. ‘Never mind.’ It was a poor joke, and he didn’t want to annoy her so that she clammed up again. ‘What about the twins?’ he asked. They were definitely identical; he couldn’t tell them apart.
‘This is Ted and this is Dominic.’ She pointed them out in turn. ‘Ted’s a forensic scientist and Dominic’s doing a PhD in history—he’ll probably go on to teach at uni because he runs a few tutorials and lectures already.’
Again, very little detail. But one thing he had noted: her family were all academic, with three teachers and two scientists among them, and he already knew Fran felt bad about the fact she’d failed her exams. No wonder she felt so out of place—but he’d just bet her family appreciated her other qualities: the way she was unflappable, dealt with things coolly and calmly and was so neat and organised.
And he told her so.
She scoffed. ‘There’s really nothing to being organised.’
‘There is, when you’re trying to juggle six things at once.’
She looked at him. ‘Gio Mazetti, are you trying to tell me you haven’t sorted out your sisters’ birthday presents yet?’
How the hell had she guessed that? He hadn’t even discussed it with her. ‘I’ll get there—’ he paused ‘—unless, that is, you’re offering help? Because they’re at a difficult age.’
She laughed back. ‘Rubbish. There’s nothing difficult about twenty-seven, twenty-five or twenty-three.’
‘Oh, yes, there is. I have no idea what’s trendy and what’s completely unfashionable.’
‘And you think I do?’
He smiled. ‘You have a better idea than I have, anyway. Come shopping with me?’
She gave him a searching look, as if trying to work out if his offer was for real; then clearly she decided to take it at face value, because she said, ‘Sure, I’ll help you find something.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’ He finished his drink. ‘Nice coffee, by the way.’
‘Thank you.’
‘In cupping terms, I’d say this has a perfect body.’ Just like her. Soft and curvy and incredibly sexy. ‘I haven’t told you about the cupping, have I?’
Cupping.
Little shivers of desire went all the way down her spine. The way he’d held her on his lap this afternoon, with his hands at her waist—if they’d been alone, how easily his hands could have slid up her ribcage to cup her breasts.
Her mouth went dry. ‘Cupping.’
His eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘It’s the coffee world’s equivalent of wine tasting.’
Fran could actually feel the colour flooding into her face. Oh, lord. How embarrassing could she get?
Gio’s voice deepened slightly. ‘Though there is another definition.’The amusement in his gaze was replaced by sheer heat. ‘Fran, if I embarrassed you this afternoon when I pulled you on to my lap like that, I’m sorry.’
She wasn’t.
He moistened his lower lip. ‘My family is…tactile.’
Yes. And she really wanted him to touch her, right here and now. She could see in his face that he was going to touch her. And when he reached out and stroked her cheek, she couldn’t help herself. She turned her face into his palm and pressed a kiss into it. ‘It’s OK.’
‘No, it’s not.’ She could actually feel his hands trembling. ‘Because right now I really need to…’ In one swift movement, he’d pulled her on to his lap. Except this time she was sitting facing him. He leaned forward and caught her lower lip between his. Nibbled gently until she opened her mouth and slid her arms round his neck, leaning closer. His hands were pressed flat against the curve of her waist. And then his fingers dipped under the hem of her shirt. She quivered as his fingertips brushed her skin, moving slowly upwards. And then somehow he’d unsnapped her bra, pushed the material aside and was cupping her breasts.
And it was even better than she’d imagined, a few moments before.
When he broke the kiss to trace the curve of her neck with his mouth, she made a little noise of pleasure.
And Gio stopped.
Stared at her, shock blanching his face.
‘I…Fran. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be doing this.’
Before she could protest that it was OK, that she was there all the way with him, he restored order to her clothes and gently moved her off his lap.
‘This wasn’t…Fran, I don’t do relationships. And I respect you too much to sleep with you and push you out of my life.’
Respect. What was it about her that made men want to respect her, be her friend, instead of seducing her? Most of the time it didn’t bother her.
Right now, it did.
Especially because it would be all too obvious how aroused she was.
The only thing she could salvage from this was pride. So she made the effort to sound like the cool, efficient office manager she was supposed to be. This girlfriend business was just for show and what had just happened between them was—well, they’d both been under pressure. ‘No worries. We’ll just pretend it never happened.’
‘Thank you.’ He stood up. ‘I, um—see you tomorrow.’
She nodded. ‘And bring your credit card.’
‘Credit card?’
‘Your sisters’ birthday presents. We’re going shopping in my lunch hour.’
And the minute he left, she was going to take a very, very cold shower. Get her brain and her body back to normal.
Shopping? More like a military operation, Gio thought when Fran marched him into the third shop in Oxford Street. ‘What did you do—scope things out on the net first?’
She gave him a sidelong look. ‘Don’t tell me you’d rather spend hours wandering around, not really sure what you want or where to find it?’
‘Well, no,’ he admitted. ‘But I don’t understand how you knew the perfect presents to get for my sisters when you’ve only just met them.’
‘It’s called looking at people. Noticing things,’ Fran said. ‘Jude likes really understated jewellery. Very classic, very pretty. Her wedding ring’s white gold and her watch is chrome, so yellow gold earrings wouldn’t really be her style. The white gold ones with pink sapphires are more the kind of thing she’d like.’
Hmm. Fran didn’t wear jewellery. Didn’t have pierced ears. Would she…?
No. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about jewellery and Francesca Marsden. The fact he’d love to see her wearing nothing but a string of pearls and a sexy smile.
Kissing her yesterday had been a big mistake. Because he wanted to do it all over again. And this time not stop touching her until they were both naked.
And sated.
As if oblivious to what was going through his head, Fran continued, ‘Marcie, on the other hand, loves jewellery that makes a statement. She wears silver bangles set with big chunky stones. That triangular pendant set with a turquoise is the sort of thing she’d choose.’
‘And Bella?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t you listen to anyone unless it’s about work?’
Ouch. That was definitely below the belt.
‘Angela told us in the Chinese restaurant that Bella’s a handbag fiend. Here.’ She looked quickly through the display, picked out an evening bag and handed it to Gio. ‘She goes out a lot in the evening, so a bag that’s big enough to take her phone, credit card, keys and a coin purse is perfect. And this particular designer does seriously cute bags.’
‘That little Scottie dog on the front looks just like her new puppy. She probably showed you the latest pictures yesterday.’ Gio shook his head in amazement. ‘See, this is why I needed you with me. You understand girl stuff. I’d never have thought of this.’
‘Don’t flannel me. You normally text them at the last minute and ask them for a list of ideas and exactly where to buy them, don’t you?’ she asked.
Was he that predictable? Or was she just really, really good at reading people? But he loved the way she teased him. ‘It means they get what they really want. But this year, I wanted it to be different. So I told them all I was going to get them a surprise.’
‘And if I’d refused to come and help you?’
‘Then I’d have given them vouchers for a pamper day at their favourite spa,’ he admitted. ‘But I prefer giving presents to unwrap. Ones that people really like.’
‘So all you have to do is notice the details.’
