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Mrs. Lockhart accepted a cup of tea from her son and frowned at Fran. ‘Aren’t you the girl who arranged for a lot of Sam’s ex-girlfriends to come and embarrass him at some dance or other?’
Maddy snorted with laughter, Merry merely raised her eyebrows while Fran flushed a bright and unbecoming red. Only Sam looked unabashed.
‘It wasn’t Fran’s idea—’
She didn’t want him leaping to her defence like that, particularly not when she didn’t deserve it. ‘But I allowed it to happen,’ she said stiltedly. ‘It was a joke that Rosie wanted to play on Sam—’
‘Is this the same Rosie who was always writing you those letters?’ quizzed Mrs. Lockhart.
Fran stared at Sam. ‘What letters?’
He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I never discuss past affairs in detail. I already told you that, Fran.’
‘I brought him up to be a gentleman!’ said Mrs. Lockhart proudly. ‘Just like his dear father!’
Fran stood up, feeling more confused by the second. She didn’t need Mrs. Lockhart to tell her what she already knew. And her instincts told her that Sam was trustworthy, dependable and true. She knew that something didn’t add up, but what? Had Rosie told her the whole story? Or just been selective in the telling of it? ‘I’ll go and make some more tea,’ she said, glad to be able to escape from the curious eyes.
‘Then you can show us to our bedrooms and we can go and unpack,’ said Maddy, giving her brother an innocent smile. ‘Are you and Fran sharing, Sam?’
‘Just the cooking,’ he said lightly.
In a way, it was easier having a house full of guests than being on her own with him, Fran decided. There were no loaded silences, no tense feelings as the bedrooms seemed to scream out their close proximity.
Sam came into the walk-in larder just as she was putting the finishing touches to the birthday cake. She had chosen to ice it there because it was cooler and out of the way. She didn’t want to get underneath Sam’s feet while he was cooking, and, to be perfectly honest, she found him too distracting to have around the kitchen!
He leaned over her shoulder to look as she piped a last curl of hair with the icing nozzle.
‘Heck!’ he breathed admiringly. ‘That’s absolutely brilliant!’
‘I can only see the mistakes,’ she said gloomily.
‘Like what?’
‘Well, the hair should be a bit more russet than orange, don’t you think? But that’s the best mix of colour I can manage.’
‘You’re a bit of a perfectionist, aren’t you?’ he teased.
‘I…’ She looked up at him with reluctant pleasure. He was smiling, and so was she, and their eyes had locked in such a shining moment that if it had been anyone else, in any other circumstances, then she might have actively considered the unthinkable. That she found another man attractive enough to want to make love with him. Something she would have recoiled from, straight after her divorce. ‘Yes, I am,’ she agreed evenly. ‘And speaking of which—did you put the potatoes in the oven to bake?’
As a defuser of desire it was more effective than a cold shower, thought Sam, as he clenched his jaw, and nodded. Oh, not the question itself, but the way in which she asked it. The world seemed to be turning in on itself as, for the first time in his life, Sam was discovering that his inbuilt sex appeal which over the years had caused him more trouble than not, was simply not working. And ironically, that made his hunger all the sharper.
‘Yes,’ he retorted. ‘And before you ask—the casserole is bubbling, the vegetables are prepared. The appetizer is ready and I’ve just taken the dessert out of the refrigerator! Anything else you’d like to know?’
‘That’s very good, Sam,’ she said demurely. ‘How about the cheese? That needs to sit at room temperature, too—’
‘It is!’ he snarled.
Fran gave him a thoughtful look. Had everything in his charmed life always gone exactly the way he wanted it, she wondered? ‘Do you think your sister likes me?’ she asked suddenly.
‘Which one?’
‘Maddy, of course—’
‘Why?’
Fran shrugged. ‘Well, she keeps making comments which are designed to embarrass me.’
‘You’ve only blushed once!’
