The Yuletide Engagement & A Yuletide Seduction (21 page)

The same man she had been hiding her real self away from for the past three years.

And that man was Gabriel Vaughan himself!

“D
ON'T
look so worried, Jane,” he taunted now. “Those murderous feelings were only directed towards my wife; I actually abhor violence!”

So did she. Oh, God, so did she. But, nevertheless, she was no stranger to it…

“It's said there's a very fine line between love and hate,” she said dully.

And she knew that too. She had been so in love with Paul when she'd married him, but at the end of four years she had hated him. For what he had done to her family. And for what he had taken from her.

But she also knew, no matter how difficult to live with, how selfish Jennifer had been, that Gabe had loved his wife. That he had loved her enough to seek out the people he felt were involved in her death…

“Shouldn't we finish cooking this meal?” Gabe suddenly suggested with bright efficiency, placing the frying-pan back on top of the Aga.

Jane continued to look at him dazedly for several long seconds. She had no interest in cooking the meal, let alone eating it, not after what had been said. Or the way Gabe had kissed her minutes ago… She wasn't even sure she could eat after that!

“Come on, Jane,” Gabe said briskly. “The food will do us both good.” He turned away again, as if what he
had just said settled the matter; they would eat dinner together.

Because he was a man used to giving orders. And having them carried out.

But Jane didn't finish cooking the spaghetti for either of those reasons. Quite simply, when she cooked, created, she could forget all that was going on around her. And, after thinking of her marriage to Paul, it was very necessary that she do that at this moment.

“Excellent!” Gabe pronounced with satisfaction a short time later, having almost finished eating the spaghetti bolognese on his plate. The two of them were seated at the huge oak dining table, their glasses replenished with the red wine, the remaining food still steaming hot on their plates. “Maybe the two of us should go into business together,” he added in a challengingly soft voice.

Jane gave him a sharp look, knowing by the teasing glitter in his eyes that he was looking for a reaction from her. “I don't think so,” she came back dismissively. “Somehow I don't see you working for anyone!”

Dark brows rose. “I was thinking more along the lines of a partnership,” he drawled.

She gave an acknowledging inclination of her head—she was well aware of exactly what he had meant! “And I was thinking more along the lines of the clients I work for!”

Gabe laughed softly, forking up some more of his food. “Why a personal chef, Jane, as opposed to the restaurant Felicity suggested the other evening?” he asked interestedly. “Surely a restaurant would mean more customers, more—”

“Overheads,” she finished for him. “More people
working for me. Just more complications altogether,” she shrugged dismissively.

Although she had to admit that, at the time she'd begun her business it hadn't been for those reasons that she had chosen to go alone. There had been no money to invest in such a risky venture as opening up her own restaurant. Three years ago she had been left with only one commodity she could use—herself. And her talent at cooking had seemed by far the best course for her to take! Even then it had been a painful year of indecision before that option had occurred to her.

“And you're a person that likes to avoid complications, aren't you?” Gabe said shrewdly.

She returned his narrow-eyed gaze unblinkingly. “With only myself to rely on, I felt I stood a better chance of success.” She deliberately didn't answer his question.

“But what about now?” Gabe continued conversationally. “You've already effectively built up your clientele; it wouldn't take too much to—”

“Not everyone is as ambitious as you are, Gabe,” she cut in firmly. “Three years ago I didn't even have my business—”

“What happened three years ago?” he interrupted softly. “Just curiosity, Jane,” he assured her as she gave him a startled look. “Maybe I phrased the question badly,” he conceded ruefully as she still didn't answer. “Perhaps I should have asked what it was you did
before
three years ago?”

Until the age of eighteen she had been at school. And at eighteen, instead of going to university, she had chosen to go to France, where she had taken an advanced cookery course. At twenty, a few months after her return
home, she had met Paul and they'd become engaged. At twenty-one she was married. And at twenty-five she was widowed. The details of those four years as Paul's wife she preferred not to think about!

And she intended telling Gabriel Vaughan none of those things, wished now that she hadn't mentioned “three years ago” at all. Because it was exactly that length of time since his wife had died…

“I kept busy.” She was deliberately non-committal, studiously avoiding that searching aqua-blue gaze. “But I had always wanted to run my own business.” Instead of living in someone else's shadow, always having to tell them how wonderful they were, how successful, how— How
deceitful
!

“And now you have it,” Gabe acknowledged lightly. “Is it as much fun as you thought it would be?”

Fun? She hadn't ever expected it to be “fun”. She had wanted independence, freedom, hadn't looked for anything else. And her business had certainly given her those things; she answered to no one!

“There's more to life than success, Jane,” Gabe added at her lack of reply.

“Such as?” she challenged scornfully; he wasn't exactly unsuccessful himself, so how could he be a judge of that?

He shrugged. “Love,” he suggested huskily.

Jane gave a derisive laugh. “I don't see how you can possibly say that when you obviously had a love/hate relationship with your own wife!”

His mouth tightened. “Jennifer did not make me happy,” he conceded. “But I thought I'd found the perfect woman,” he rasped, his thoughts all inwards now. “And then she just evaporated, disappeared before my eyes.”
He looked across at Jane with pained eyes. “I haven't been able to look at another woman since without seeing her image imprinted there. At least,” he added gruffly, “I hadn't. Until six days ago.”

“What happened—? Oh, no, Gabe,” she dismissed scathingly as she realised he was talking of his initial meeting with her. “Does this chat-up line usually work?” she added disgustedly.

“It isn't a chat-up line,” he told her steadily. “You know that. And so do I,” he added evenly, keeping his gaze fixed on hers.

It was that steady gaze that made her realise he meant every word he was saying!

“You're being ridiculous, Gabe,” she bit out agitatedly. “You can't be attracted to me!”

He tilted his head thoughtfully to one side. “That's a very interesting way of putting it.”

Again she realised her mistake too late; it was an “interesting way of putting it”. And she knew exactly why she had said it that way. But the last thing she wanted was for Gabe to know that reason!

“I'm just not your type,” she said impatiently.

Those dark brows rose again. “Do I have a type?” he drawled in amusement.

Jane sighed. “Of course you do,” she snapped irritably. “You've always been attracted to tall, elegant blondes. You married a tall, elegant blonde! Whereas I—” She broke off, having realised by the widening of his eyes that she had once again said too much.

She just couldn't seem to help it where this man was concerned. She simply wasn't any good at playing the sophisticated games that people like Gabe—and Paul—liked to play. It was one of the reasons Paul had become
so bored with her; he had been sure that the doting daughter and equally doting fiancée were an act, had been furious after their marriage to learn that that was exactly what she was. Her shyness annoyed him, her total love irritated him, and as for the doting daughter—!

It had become a marriage made in hell, her shyness turning to coldness as a way of protecting herself from Paul's taunts; her total love had deteriorated to pity that he obviously wasn't able to feel such emotion himself. And the “doting daughter” had kept all her pain and misery to herself, in an effort to spare her parents the heartache of knowing she had made a terrible mistake in marrying Paul!

“You're a short brunette,” Gabe conceded dryly. “Which makes a mockery of the tall blonde.” His eyes narrowed. “How did you know my wife was blonde? I'm sure I didn't mention it…”

There was an underlying edge of steel to his tone that hadn't been there before, and Jane realised that a lot depended on her next answer. “Celia Barnaby insisted on talking to me about you the other evening,” she told him truthfully, relieved to see some of the tension ease out of his stiffly held shoulders. And it was the truth—except Celia hadn't told her his wife was a blonde either! But if what he had told her about Celia was true, then he was never likely to find that out from the other woman, was he? “I believe the implication was that, being tall and blonde herself, she was worthy of your interest,” Jane added mockingly.

He shrugged, relaxed once more. “I seem to have lost my appetite for tall blondes,” he returned dryly.

Then it was a pity her hair wasn't its natural honey-blonde; it would have nullified her attraction on one
count, at least! But if her hair had still been blonde Gabe would probably have instantly recognised her, anyway. And that would never do!

“Celia assures me that blondes have more fun,” Jane derided, having no intention of explaining to him the circumstances under which the other woman had made that remark! She was still unnerved herself at the other woman's realisation of her real hair colour…

“If you like that sort of fun.” Gabe's mouth twisted scornfully. “I don't. How old are you, Jane?” He abruptly changed the subject.

She blinked, seeming to have averted one catastrophe—but unsure whether or not she was heading for another one! “Twenty-eight,” she supplied with a frown.

He nodded, as if it was about what he had already guessed. “And I'm thirty-nine.”

She shook her head. “I don't see—”

“Because I hadn't finished,” he told her with mild rebuke. “I'm thirty-nine years old, was married, and now I'm not. I'm a wealthy man, can do what I like, when I like—pretty much as you can, I imagine,” he acknowledged ruefully. “The difference being,” he continued as she would have spoken, “that for me it isn't enough. When my wife died three years ago— Strange that your life seems to have changed around that time too…?” he added thoughtfully.

Jane held her breath as she waited for him to continue. If he did. Oh, please, God, don't let him pursue that subject!

He shrugged, as if it was something he would go back to another time; right now he was talking about something completely different. “When Jennifer died all
my illusions died along with her,” he continued harshly. “And that illusion of perfection disappeared too.”

Not surprising, in the circumstances! He must have really loved Jennifer to have ever thought she was perfect! But then, hadn't Jane made the same mistake about Paul…? Love, it appeared, made fools of them all!

“Or so it seemed,” Gabe added softly, looking pointedly at Jane.

He didn't seem the type of man who fell victim to infatuations, and yet the way he was looking at her…! Maybe she had formed completely the wrong impression of this man, because at this moment that was exactly how he was behaving!

“I can assure you, I'm far from perfect,” she told him firmly, standing up to clear away her plate, the food only half eaten, but the evening over as far as she was concerned. “I wish you luck in your search for this perfection, Gabe,” she added dismissively. “But count me out. I don't meet the criteria, and, even more important, I happen to like my life exactly the way it is.” Her eyes flashed a warning.

Because she did like her life the way it was. She was her own boss, both privately and professionally, could pick and choose now what she would and wouldn't do. And she had deliberately planned for it to be that way. And it was how she intended it to stay.

Gabe clearly saw that warning in her eyes, standing up too. “Don't you ever long for anything different, Jane? Marriage? Children?” he persisted.

Jane felt the pain only briefly, bringing a shutter down over her emotions, her gaze impenetrable as she looked at him coldly. “Like you, Gabe, I've tried the former,” she bit out between stiff lips. “And I also know it isn't
necessary for the latter,” she added flatly. “And no, I don't long for either of those things.” Not again. Not ever again. She belonged to herself, would never be owned by anyone ever again.

Gabe looked at her through narrowed lids. “You've been married?”

Once again this man had provoked her into saying too much. Far, far too much. She seemed to head him off from one direction, only to find he was going in another one that was just as intrusive.

“Hasn't everyone?” she dismissed with deliberate carelessness. “With the divorce rate as high as it is, surely it's inevitable!” she added scathingly.

That aqua-blue gaze remained narrowed on her thoughtfully. And Jane hadn't missed that glance he had briefly given her left hand. But he would find no tell-tale signs of a ring having been worn there, no indentation, no paler skin from a summer tan; her ring had been consigned to a river long ago. Along with all the painful memories that went with it.

“You're divorced?” Gabe probed softly now.

Oh, no, he wasn't going to get any more information out of her that way!

“My father told me you should try everything once,” she answered mockingly. “And if you don't like it the first time then don't repeat the experience!” Once again she didn't actually answer his question, and she knew by the rueful expression on his face that he was well aware of the fact, that it was yet another subject he would store away for the moment to be returned to on another occasion.