Gentlemen Prefer... Brunettes. Liz Fielding
books beside her. ‘I write about the kind of old-fashioned cooking that takes time and love to produce. My readers cook for pleasure, Nick, and so do I, not for the instant gratification of fast food.’
‘I can see why your television show is so popular, Cassandra. Nostalgia is really big right now.’
‘Don’t you sometimes long for a taste of rice pudding the way your mother made it? With butter and sultanas and freshly grated nutmeg?’
‘No, I always preferred fresh picked strawberries. And if the strawberries were stolen...’
He wasn’t talking about puddings any more. ‘That’s nostalgia too,’ Cassie interrupted, just a touch crossly. ‘And what about the dreams you’re selling?’ She indicated the floors above her, the glass tower of Jefferson Sports headquarters, glistening in the summer sunshine, dominating the town. ‘Buy this great new tennis racquet, or these expensive golf clubs, and you too can be the world champion? Where’s the reality in that?’
Beth choked. Neither of them noticed.
‘Not world champion.’ He lifted one corner of his mouth in the kind of smile that would have had most women gasping for more. ‘Club champion, maybe. But Jefferson Sports sells more than one kind of dream. We sell the great outdoors, too. Camping gear, fishing rods, hiking and sports equipment, in fact the complete antidote to over-indulgence in your kind of cooking.’
‘You’ll be needing a tent, won’t you, Cassie?’ Beth put in swiftly, before things got totally out of hand. ‘If you ask him nicely, I’m sure Nick will show you his entire range.’ She paused, a wicked little twinkle appearing in her eyes. ‘You never know, he might even offer to pitch it for you.’
‘Are you going camping’ he asked Cassie.
‘You bet she is,’ Beth said, answering for her. ‘In fact she’s going with three perfectly adorable young men.’
‘Boys,’ Cassie muttered, refusing to allow Beth to make something out of this stupid flirtation. ‘And I already have a tent.’
‘Three boys?’ He glanced at her ringless hand, not that it meant anything these days... ‘Yours?’ he asked.
‘My nephews. They want a taste of the big outdoors and since my sister and her husband are going away for a week I volunteered to take them.’
‘Just you and three boys? Beth could be right. You’ll need someone who knows what he’s doing to put up the tent.’
‘Will I? Is it that difficult?’
‘A nightmare if you don’t know what you’re doing.’
‘Do you warn your customers about that when you’re selling them one of your dream tents?’
‘We do advise them to have a practice run at home in the garden before they go trekking up the Amazon. Have you done that, Miss Cornwell?’
‘Trekked up the Amazon?’
‘Had a practice run—in the garden?’
‘Not yet.’
‘You should. This weather isn’t going to hold for ever. It might be pouring with rain, or blowing a force ten gale when you get to wherever you’re going.’
‘Are you volunteering to show me how it’s done, Mr Jefferson?’ She didn’t think so. He was doing it on automatic, Cassie decided. It wasn’t anything personal; he wasn’t in the least bit interested in her, he just couldn’t help himself.
‘Maybe. Why don’t we discuss it over lunch?’
Lunch? The man really was too much. Did he think she would swoon into his arms with gratitude?
‘Won’t you be too busy pursuing leggy blondes to worry about me and three small boys?’ she enquired, keeping the edge from her voice with difficulty as, determined to put an end to this nonsense, she turned to the flyleaf of the book.
‘Who said I pursued anyone?’
The implication being that they pursued him? Good grief. ‘Your sister’s name is Helen, I think you said?’ She refused to take any further part in this conversation.
‘That’s right.’ She signed the book, handed it to Beth to wrap and waited for him to go. He didn’t. ‘Don’t forget my book, Cassandra,’ he reminded her.
She’d assumed his offer to buy a book had been simply part of the game—in fact she’d been sure it was. But if he had more money than sense she wasn’t about to argue. She took a second book from the pile, opened it and for a moment considered the bare white space of the flyleaf.
Then she wrote, ‘For Nick Jefferson—a man to be taken with just a pinch of salt.’ Then she signed it and handed it to him.
NICK regarded the inscription for a moment before passing the book to Beth with his charge card without comment. A man had to pay for his pleasure, after all, and flirting with Cassandra Cornwell had certainly been different. Whether he could describe it entirely as a pleasure he couldn’t be sure. Except for that kiss. He hadn’t been kidding about the strawberries.
‘Now, where shall we have lunch?’ he asked Cassie. ‘I’m sure you know all the best places.’
Not as well as he did; she was certain of that. ‘I’m sorry, Nick, I already have a luncheon engagement.’ She offered him her hand without thinking...at least, she hoped she hadn’t been thinking. ‘I do hope your sister enjoys the book.’
‘And what about me?’ He was holding onto her hand again, the pad of his thumb pressed against the backs of her fingers in something close to a caress. Cassie retrieved it quickly. She was twenty-seven years old, well beyond the point in life where she was prepared to become just another entry in any man’s little black book.
‘You’ll never open your book again,’ she said briskly. ‘You’ll just stick it on a shelf somewhere, or maybe it won’t even get that far. Maybe you’ll just go back to your office and give it to your secretary.’
‘Not with that inscription, I won’t.’
‘You didn’t think it appropriate? I’m sorry, Nick. Would you like me to give you your money back?’
‘No.’ Then, as she reached for her bag, he added, ‘I can’t wait to read it more closely.’
‘Nonsense. You’ll hide it away in the bottom drawer of your desk and forget all about it. That would be such a waste when I can find a good home for it.’ She opened her purse and began to extract the money to refund the cost of the book.
Nick closed his hand over hers. ‘Put your money away. I promise I shall take your book home with me this evening and study it with the closest interest. Who knows? Maybe you’ll convert me and I’ll be tempted to cook something.’
‘Be careful you don’t make a complete strawberry fool of yourself, Nick,’ Beth warned him as she returned his card and handed him the books in a bag. ‘Give my best wishes to your mother and don’t wait for Helen’s next birthday before you drop in again. You do have to pass the door every day,’ she reminded him.
‘I won’t,he promised, his gaze ligering momentarily on Cassie. Then he stepped through the door and out into the huge airy atrium that rose through the centre of the building.
‘Whew!’ Cassie said, flopping back in her chair as the door swung shut behind him. And she shook her fingers, blowing on her nails as if scorched.
Beth laughed. ‘You’re a cool one, Cassie. I should think it’s a totally new experience for Nick to be turned down for anything, particularly lunch in some fancy restaurant. ’
‘Then I shall take comfort in the certainty that the experience will be a memorable one for