Marooned With The Millionaire. Nina Milne
not once has he asked for a picnic, and not once has he asked us to create a meal for him and a lady—so we decided to make this special.’
Marcus opened his mouth to explain that this was a strictly business lunch and then closed it again. Gloria had gone to a great deal of trouble and, however low on charm he was, he wouldn’t hurt her feelings.
‘It’s fabulous, Gloria. Thank you—and please thank everyone in the kitchens as well.’
‘Of course.’ Gloria arranged a centrepiece posy of freshly picked flowers—a glorious burst of red, orange and yellow blooms—and smiled with satisfaction. ‘Enjoy.’
‘Please add my thanks as well,’ April said, and her voice was full of appreciation but underlaid with a tinge of panic he recognised all too well.
‘You’re very welcome. Enjoy.’ A beaming smile, a nod, and Gloria was gone.
Swallowing the urge to call her back—after all that would be cowardly in the extreme—Marcus looked at April, then at the picnic, and then back at April.
‘Um...’
Forget charm—even the art of conversation had deserted him, and a miasma of awkwardness descended. It seemed clear that April had been thrown a curve ball too—her cool self-containment looked more than a little fragmented.
And then, to his surprise, she gave a small chuckle—a sound that seemed to surprise her as much as it did him.
‘Your face!’ she said. ‘You looked absolutely horrified. Though I have to admit you covered it beautifully.’
He couldn’t help it; her smile transformed her face, lightened it in a way he couldn’t fully explain, and the sight caused his own lips to upturn. ‘I really am sorry. I didn’t want to make you feel awkward. It didn’t cross my mind Gloria would think this was a date.’
‘Because you don’t ever date?’
‘I really don’t.’
Not his thing. The closeness, the questions, the intimacy of a date was not to his liking. Every so often there was a woman—he didn’t embrace celibacy—but if pushed to describe his relationships the adjectives that came to mind were ‘brief’, ‘clean’ and ‘functional’. ‘Relationship’ was too deep a word—they were more like understandings, interludes, soon over and forgotten, conducted discreetly and anonymously, outside of Lycander.
‘I can’t really see the point.’
Her eyebrows arched. ‘Most people would disagree. It’s a chance to get to know someone, work out if you’re compatible...’
‘I don’t need to have dinner with someone to work out compatibility.’
Pink tinged her cheeks and suddenly awareness swept in on the summer breeze, heightening his senses, illuminating the green of the leaves, the glitter of the cutlery in the sunshine, and urging him to step forward and show her exactly how well matched he knew they would be.
She hauled in an audible breath. ‘I wasn’t talking about physical compatibility. I meant...overall compatibility—whether you actually like the other person, have something in common with them.’
‘Nope—still not relevant.’
‘So you are only interested in the physical side of things?’
‘Yes.’
‘At least you’re honest.’
Was it his imagination or did she actually look intrigued rather than critical or outraged? Belatedly his radar kicked in. April was a reporter—of course she was intrigued. She was probably converting his words into some sort of headline right now. Lycander’s Lothario says, ‘Let’s get physical!’
Note to whatever brain cells he had left: this woman is an adversary.
‘Yes.’ He gestured to the table. ‘Anyway, we seem to be off track. Now we’ve established that this isn’t a date I think we should get started.’
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