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He wondered at the description – he hadn’t, in truth, put any thought into Bronte or the kind of partner who could make her happy, but the second Ashton had approached them Luca had sensed the ridiculousness of it. Anyone could see how ill-suited they were – how much more Bronte deserved.
“He’s – masculine,” she said.
“Well, he is, I suppose, a male,” Luca conceded, cutting the engine and turning towards her, frowning as he studied her face. “But you deserve someone different.”
Her lips parted. Soft, pale pink lips, centered in a pretty English face with her creamy pearlescent skin.
“You didn’t like him.”
“I spent the sum total of thirty seven seconds in his presence.” But he’d always been a man who relied on his instincts, and they’d fired to life at the sight of her ex-boyfriend. “But no, I didn’t particularly like what I saw.”
“Why not?”
“Because he made you cry.” The answer surprised Luca. It was the bald truth. Seeing and feeling Bronte’s reaction, her shaking, her whispered voice, had stirred some ancient, barbaric desire to protect her honour, to fight the other man, or to at least give him a good shove out of Bronte’s life. But that wasn’t Luca’s position here. He was doing her a favour, allowing Bronte to save face, and nothing more. She wouldn’t thank him for taking their pretend relationship further than that.
“We were together a long time, and the break up came out of nowhere,” she said slowly, as though trying to make sense of things herself. “I wondered how I’d feel, to s
ee him, and the truth is, I just feel sad.”
“Because you miss him?”
Her large, green eyes pinned him to the spot. “No, not exactly.” She turned away, pressing her fingers to the door of the car, opening it and stepping out before he could seek further clarification.
They walked side by side towards the front door of the pub.
“I always thought we’d get married.” She pushed the door inwards; he followed. It was an old pub with wooden floors and low ceilings. He had to duck his head in the entrance way. Bronte moved as though she’d been here before, turning a corner and leading them to the bar. “What will you have?”
“You first.”
She frowned, scanning the cocktail menu and selecting something fruity. He chose a mineral water for himself.
“You’re not going to drink?”
“I’m driving.”
“Right. Of course.” She nodded. “Then we should have just gone to the room.” Her cheeks flushed pink again at the very idea and Luca couldn’t help comparing her to the kind of women he usually dated. Bronte lacked any degree of sophistication. Everything she thought was clearly stamped across her features. It was refreshing. He’d never known a woman who could get so easily embarrassed, and over something as minor as sharing a room.
“The room is still part of the hotel,” he said, resisting an urge to tease her. “I thought you needed a complete break.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“You sound surprised?”
Her drink appeared and before she could pay for it he handed his Centurion card over. “Start a tab.” He gestured to a booth across the room. It was out of the way, private and dimly lit.
She nodded, walking towards it on those beautifully high heeled shoes, her bottom swaying as she moved so he found his gaze dropping lower before he could realise what the hell he was doing.
“So you thought you were to be married?”
She stirred the straw of her drink. “Yes.”
“Did he think that too?”
“We never actually talked about it. But we were together for four years, living together for almost three of those,” she said with a small shake of her head before sipping her drink. “I wouldn’t have wasted so much time with him if I didn’t believe he was as invested as me.”
“You consider the time wasted?”
“Yes.”
