Love and Liability (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 2) (19 page)

“And we all know what usually happens on the third date,” Jamie said darkly.

“I hope so,” Holly said, and gave him a cheeky smile. “Now tell me, what am I meant to do with this wedge of pecorino?”

The two of them were clearing up when they heard the scrape of a key in the lock. “Kate,” Holly murmured as she exchanged glances with Jamie. “She’s been gone most of the day.”

“Ooh, something smells good,” Kate breathed as she followed her nose into the kitchen, “just like an Italian trattoria—” She broke off as she saw Jamie. “Oh,” she murmured, and blushed. “Hello.”

Jamie flashed a smile. “Hi. You must be Kate.”

His charm, Holly noted with a trace of irritation, was switched on full throttle for Kate.

“She’s my flatmate,” Holly explained. “Which reminds me — Kate, would you mind leaving for a few hours tonight? I hate to ask, but I’m making dinner for Alex.”

Annoyance crossed Kate’s face. “Blimey, I only just got in! I live here too, you know.”

“I know,” Holly agreed, contrite. “I’m sorry. I’ll take you to lunch next week,” she promised. “Any place you like.”

“And I,” Jamie added as he untied the apron from around his waist, “would love to take you to dinner, Kate. Do you happen to be free tonight?” he asked, his eyes alight with amusement.

Kate swept a hand seductively through her auburn hair — for all the world, Holly thought in disgust, as if she were auditioning for a shampoo commercial.

“I might be,” Kate purred. “What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at—” he glanced at Holly “—six-thirty?”

“Perfect. I’ll look forward to it.” So saying, Kate gave Jamie a long, sultry look and floated off to her room.

“There,” Jamie told Holly under his breath, “problem sorted. Now you’ll have a clear field with Alex tonight.”

“Very selfless of you, I’m sure.”

Jamie shrugged. “At least Kate’ll be out of your hair.”

“And in yours,” Holly said shortly. “Running her hands through it, no doubt.”

“Hope so.” And with that, he gathered up his things, gave her a peck on the cheek, and left.

Chapter 27

“Red,” Alex pronounced that evening as he held up two bottles of wine in the doorway for Holly’s inspection, “or white?”

“Alex!” Holly exclaimed, and swung the door wider.

“No, sorry, I’m not on the wine list. Although,” he added roguishly, “that might be arranged.”

Holly laughed and considered the bottles he held up. “Red, then. Come in.”

Alex flashed her that devastating smile of his, the one that made his eyes crinkle and her legs go wobbly, and handed over a bottle of Barolo. He wore jeans and a black polo shirt. Holly met his gaze as she took the wine, and she blushed.

She suddenly felt awkward and very, very nervous.

“I don’t know much about choosing wines,” she admitted as she closed the door and preceded Alex into the kitchen. “We’re having pasta with pomodoro sauce, so red works, doesn’t it?”

“It’s perfect,” Alex said, and added, “like you.” He winced. “Sorry, that was cheesy, wasn’t it?”

Holly laughed again, and relaxed. “A bit.”

He sniffed the air appreciatively. “What else are you cooking in here? It smells fantastic.”

“Roasted olives and cherry tomatoes,” she said with pride as she guided him out of the kitchen and into the lounge, “along with a glass of that nice Barolo you brought. Is it chilled?”

He looked at her, affronted. “Of course it’s chilled! What sort of a cretin do you take me for?”

“A hungry one, I hope,” Holly answered as she returned to the kitchen.

“Shall I open the wine?” Alex asked.

“No, I’ve got it,” Holly called out from the kitchen as she began to wrestle with the corkscrew.

As he waited Alex examined the bookshelf. “I see you like to read,” he observed as he studied the shelves. They were crowded with romance novels sporting lurid covers, most of them featuring women with heaving bosoms or shirtless men.

“Those are Kate’s. Mine are in my room.”

He smiled as Holly returned with a tray of roasted olives, slightly charred but fragrant with rosemary and thyme and garlic, and two glasses of Barolo.

Alex popped an olive in his mouth. “Holly, this is amazing,” he said, and meant it. “I’m impressed.”

“You mean you’re shocked,” she chided him as she set the tray down. “Admit it — you didn’t think I could cook, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” he agreed. “I was expecting burnt bangers and instant mash.” He paused. “Which would’ve been fine, of course, as long as you had some brown sauce to drown it all in.”

“Well, you won’t need it. You’ll see.”

Holly had cooked the pasta
al dente
, as Jamie had instructed, and dressed the salad with vinaigrette just before they sat down to eat.

“So tell me,” Alex said as he poured them each a glass of wine, “when can I expect to read your homeless article?”

“Soon, in the next issue. I’m really excited,” she admitted. She passed him a small bowl of freshly grated pecorino for his pasta. “It’s my first feature assignment for the magazine, and my first byline. So it’s kind of a big deal.”

“It’s very much a big deal. Congratulations.” He lifted his glass and touched it to hers. “To you, Ms James.” His dark eyes were serious. “You deserve a chance to shine. And I have no doubt that you will.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, and smiled. “And you’ll be the best MP Chipping Barnet’s ever had. What’ll your platform be?”

“Well, like you, I think homelessness is the most serious problem facing us today. I intend to campaign to halt the alarming trend in vanishing social support systems — such as the loss of so many homeless shelters.”

“That’s great! Have you targeted any place in particular?”

He nodded. “Homelessness is as much an issue in Chipping Barnet as anywhere. I want to see the shelter reopened.”

Holly jumped up and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Alex, that’s fantastic! That’s incredible. That’s…my bread!” she wailed. “It’s burning. I nearly forgot.”

She grabbed a potholder and opened the oven door to take out the loaf Jamie had brought, neatly wrapped in foil. “It’s okay,” she said with relief as she unwrapped it. “It’s not burnt, only a little…crunchy.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Alex said, and lifted his glass again. As Holly returned with the bread he added, “But not to the degree I did the last time we had dinner together.”

“Oh, that.” Holly shrugged as she resumed her seat. “It wasn’t your fault, you know. It was Jamie’s. Butter?”

“Thanks.” He took the butter and frowned. “I’m sorry, but how was my stupid behaviour the other night Jamie’s fault?”

Oops
, Holly thought,
shouldn’t have gone there
. “Well,” she hedged, “if he hadn’t sent those whisky shots out to the table, you wouldn’t have got drunk, would you?”

Alex regarded her quizzically, and his frown deepened. “Are you suggesting that he sent them out on purpose, and kept them coming, to get me sozzled? Why would he do that?”

“Well, I’m sure he didn’t. Do it on purpose, I mean.”

“Now that I think about it,” Alex mused, “I think perhaps he did. Do it on purpose.” He laid his napkin aside. “He wanted me drunk so I wouldn’t — couldn’t — make a pass at you.”

“He was being protective, that’s all. It’s annoying, but I can’t seem to stop him.”

Alex made a show of lifting the tablecloth with a flourish and peered underneath. “Jamie? Jamie, are you down there, you sneaky little sod? Listen — I promise to behave. I swear on my life that Holly’s knickers are completely safe.”

As he straightened Holly met his eyes. “I hope they’re not,” she murmured, and blushed. “Completely safe, that is.”

And before she could say anything more, they both stood up and she was in Alex’s arms and they were kissing, and all of her — and Jamie’s — work — the pasta with pomodoro sauce, the bread, the fresh-grated pecorino — was completely forgotten.

Somehow, between deep, desperate kisses and maddened clawing at one another’s clothes, they landed on the sofa. “Umm,” Holly breathed, “you taste like rosemary…and kind of garlicky, too. But in a good way,” she quickly added.

He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stop and pop a breath mint?”

“I’m quite sure,” she murmured, and parted her lips beneath his.

Alex’s tongue sought hers, and he began to undo her lacy top, button by agonizing button. “You know,” he finally managed to say as he dragged his mouth briefly away from hers, “there’s a lot to be said for zippers.”

Holly giggled. “Sorry.”

As Alex pushed her shirt open and lowered his mouth to the sensitive peak of her nipple, all thoughts of zippers and buttons fled. The relentless heat of his lips on her breasts turned her insides to liquid.

“I think I should give you fair warning,” he murmured, “that your knickers are now in serious danger.”

She felt his hardness pressing against her thigh and groaned. “Oh, hurry, Alex — I want you inside me, now.”

And as he undid his jeans and began kissing his way slowly down her stomach, Alex became vaguely aware of a sound somewhere behind him.
Probably nothing
, he thought as he smiled and drew Holly’s knickers slowly down her thighs—

“Oh, crikey! I’m so sorry!” Kate gasped.

Alex tumbled off the sofa, narrowly avoiding permanent damage to his knackers along the way from the upturned, spike-heeled shoe lying on the floor beneath him.

“Shit!” he gasped as he tossed the shoe aside. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Kate!” Holly sat up and tried to hold the gaping edges of her shirt together. “What are you doing here? I thought you were having dinner with Jamie.”

“I was. We did.” She pouted. “But Jamie said he had to get up early. He took me home right after dinner and gave me a bloody peck on the cheek.” She paused. “Sorry, but I thought you two would have…er, moved on, by now.”

“We would have,” Holly snapped as she struggled to do up her buttons, “if someone hadn’t interrupted us!”

“It’s okay,” Alex muttered, red-faced, as he turned his back on Kate and zipped his jeans. “I’ve got to go, anyway. Work tomorrow.”

“Don’t go yet, Alex,” Holly pleaded, stricken. “We haven’t even had dessert!”

He leaned down and kissed Holly on the cheek. “Sorry, but I’ll have to take a rain check. Your dinner was excellent, by the way. But I really should be going. I have a full caseload this week. I’ll call you,” he murmured. “I promise.”

So saying, Alex gathered up his mobile phone and keys, gave Holly a self-conscious, apologetic smile, and fled.

“Well, thanks for that!” Holly snapped as she flung herself off the sofa and stalked into the kitchen. “Talk about a mood-spoiler!”

“I didn’t expect to find the two of you on the sofa, going at it like a pair of oversexed teenagers, did I?” Kate returned sharply. “Maybe you should get your own place.”

“Or maybe
you
should!” Holly flung open the fridge door and withdrew the bowl of raspberries and container of whipped cream and slapped them on the table. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” she added, and grabbed a spoon and a bowl. Moodily — she should have been sharing this with Alex right now, après-sex — she dished out berries and a large dollop of cream and sat down to eat.

The raspberries burst against her tongue, their tart sweetness perfectly complemented by the Vin Santo-sweetened whipped cream. It was simple but brilliant. Jamie was a genius cook.

“Can I have a bit of that?” Kate asked tentatively.

Holly scowled. “What? You just had dinner!”

“Yes,” she admitted as she took down a bowl, “but you know how it is on a first date. I ate like an anorexic bird — salad, hold the dressing, no bread basket, please — so Jamie wouldn’t know that I normally hoover up food. Besides, you practically had an orgasm when you ate those berries.”

“I wouldn’t have to seek sexual pleasure in berries,” Holly pointed out acidly, “if Alex and I hadn’t been interrupted.”

“Sorry.” Kate took a long, lingering bite of berries and whipped cream. “Umm,” she sighed, “that man is amazing. Gorgeous, sexy, talented—”

“Yes, he is, isn’t he?” Holly agreed, dreamily.

“I wasn’t talking about Alex,” Kate said, and licked her spoon. “I meant Jamie. That man can really cook.”

Kate stood up and put her dish and spoon in the sink. She drifted off to her room and shut the door, leaving Holly sitting alone at the table, disconsolately licking the last remnants of whipped cream from her spoon.

Zoe spent Sunday afternoon with Sharon. She’d got paid a bit of money for the interview, so they loaded up on junk food and went to Hyde Park, and listened to the orators rant at Speakers’ Corner; afterwards, they shared lunch — a tube of Pringles, wine gums, Dairy Milk and Mars bars — and ate sitting side by side on the banks of the Serpentine.

“This is brilliant,” Zoe said, licking chocolate from her fingers.

“Yeah, it is, innit?” Sharon agreed. “Tell me, what did you think of Will?” she asked as she lit up a cigarette. “He’s fit, eh? I wouldn’t mind sharing a sleeping bag with ’im every night,” she added with a dirty laugh.

“No comment.” Zoe blushed. “Without Will there to look out for her, Holly James wouldn’t last ten minutes on the street. But Will…he gets it, you know?”

Sharon slanted a glance at her. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do, I guess. He’s all right.” Uncomfortable sharing her complicated — and still private — feelings for Will, Zoe changed the subject. “Holly’s nice and all; she tries, but she’s just…clueless.”

“Don’t change the subject. You’re fond of him, aren’t you?” Sharon smirked. “You
like
Will.”

Zoe opened her mouth to protest, then shrugged. “Yeah, I do, a bit.” She smacked Sharon smartly on the arm. “But keep it to yourself.”

As they made their way back along the Edgware Road, Zoe was lost in thoughts of Will. She’d never met anyone quite like him before. Unlike her dad, he talked to her as if she mattered; he listened to what she had to say.

He didn’t treat her like a kid, or an unwelcome intrusion on his time.

When they reached the corner, Zoe nearly ran into Sharon. A low-slung black car idled at the stoplight across the way.