AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I like food,” she said around bites of her second waffle. “Marco’s fond of telling me the restaurant will never make any money because I eat all the profits.”
“That’s not a very nice thing to say.”
No, it wasn’t, but she was used to laughing off digs about her weight. Spending most of her teenage years as the butt of fat jokes in high school had built up her defenses to the point that she’d come full circle to making excuses for how others felt about her abundant curves. Or maybe she was just used to making excuses for Marco. “He doesn’t mean anything by it. I’m not exactly svelte.”
Jack was studying her in a way that made her self-conscious. She tried to chew slower. “You shouldn’t listen to that tosser. You have a beautiful figure.”
There he went again. You taste good. You’re a gorgeous woman. You have a beautiful figure. And with the way his gaze branded her on every pass, she allowed herself a moment to enjoy the heady newness of feeling sinfully sexy. The nicest thing Marco had ever said was that her body felt ‘comfortable.’ Like she was a floor pillow.
Her body had heated at his compliment, but acknowledging it with aplomb wasn’t in her make-up. “Is a tosser the same as a wanker?”
“It is, but I find it has more of a ring to it.” He was still staring. “You’re very different from Cara.”
She gave a rather unladylike snort. “You’ve got that right. No one ever believes we’re sisters.”
He looked thoughtful. “You seem like a very tight family.”
“We’re Italian,” she said like that explained everything. It occurred to her that, courtesy of the rag mags, she knew everything and nothing about Jack Kilroy. “Do you have family across the pond?”
“Yeah, I have a sister. She’s about your age and like you, drives me batty.”
She rather enjoyed the thrill of how comfortable it felt to be teased after such a short acquaintance. “Prerogative of the younger sibling. We must annoy our elders. What does she do?”
“She works in pubs for the most part,” he said, his expression turning dark and disapproving in an instant. “Picking up glasses. I've tried to get her better jobs but she's not interested.”
The steel underlying his words reminded her of her father when he sported his disappointed hat. On Il Duce’s head, it was well worn and comfortable.
“Not everyone aspires to greatness. Maybe she’s happy with what she’s doing.” He stared at her like she had spoken Sanskrit.
“How could she be?”
“You mean, how could she be related to you and not have the Kilroy imperative to vanquish everything in her path?”
“You know what I mean. She’s smart but she doesn’t try. She floats.”
“And you hate floaters?”
“I love my sister.” The slight break in his voice punched her in the gut. He took a sip of coffee and waited a moment. “I wasn’t around much when she was growing up and I don’t think she got what she needed.” He shook his head like he had given it some thought but the conclusion refused to tally with his expectations. “We don’t really talk about the important stuff. I just worry about her.”
Her heart squeezed. “She might not show it but I’m sure she appreciates it. Not everyone is good at the touchy-feely stuff.”
He remained silent, his gaze on the plate-strewn coffee table, the air now heavy with his thoughts. With hers too. She longed to comfort him, to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead like she had last night when she tended to his medical needs. It was a role she fell into easily—Lili the caregiver, the comfort, the unstinting support.
Her fingers twitched; his phone chirped.
“That’s probably Cara now,” Jack said. He gave a couple of taps, then scrutinized the screen for a long moment. Finally, he jumped up, shaking his head like a dog coming out of water.
“Shit, shit, shit. This is not happening.”
“What’s going on?” she asked, worry spiking her pulse.
He paced the room, glowering at his phone. “I’ll tell you what’s bloody well going on. Somebody filmed us in that bar and now last night’s snog is today’s big news.”
Hell to the no. Someone had posted that kiss? A skitter did the rounds in her stomach and she braced for full-scale panic. One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Still relatively calm.
Three one-thousand, four. By now, dread that her parents and everyone she knew would see that kiss should have set in but oddly, the flutter wasn’t mutating into the flapping she expected.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same for the other party to the proceedings.
