WARM WINTER KISSES a feel good Christmas romance novel (13 page)

Chapter 15

Back up in my bedroom, changing out of my sodden clothes, I tried to make sense of Martin’s words.

It was ridiculous to think that Rocco felt anything for me, other than the usual feelings a boss has for an employee. Ridiculous yet strangely exhilarating, a kernel of hope sitting in my tummy. My own feelings for Rocco had grown with each passing day, but I’d been trying hard to suppress those insistent yearnings. The man was taken, for goodness sake! Remembering Martin’s knowing expression as I’d gabbled on about my boss and at my newfound contentment at being at Whitefriars, it seemed I’d done a pretty bad job at hiding my true feelings.

And as for Rocco, he’d acted out of character even for him. If he’d been annoyed to find me and Martin aboard the boat, wanting the place for himself, he could have just said so and dispatched us back to the house. But there’d been more to it than that. The black swell of emotion that followed him as he climbed onto the boat suggested his fury had a more personal edge. Could Martin have been right? Was Rocco jealous at finding me alone with Martin?

It was a couple of hours later when I heard Rocco return, the commotion downstairs a welcome distraction from the one buzzing around my head. He came blustering through the kitchen door, throwing his keys down on the worktop, flinging open cupboards and rattling pans noisily. My breath caught in my throat as I listened from upstairs to his movements. Rocco, I’d come to realise, was incapable of doing anything quietly, or perhaps it was just his unsubtle attempt at making his presence very much felt.

I left him to stew, literally, because a little while later tantalising smells were wafting their way through the house and beckoning me downstairs.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked, when my nose could stand it no longer and curiosity got the better of me. In the kitchen, Rocco was standing at the stove with his back to me. Without seeing his face, I could tell by the set of his frame, the tension making the sinews of his neck and shoulders rigid, that his earlier mood hadn’t lifted.

He muttered something beneath his breath without turning round to look at me.

‘What?’ I’d had enough of his bad manners for one day. He could at least give me the courtesy of an audible answer.

‘Wilting spinach.’ He said it loudly and slowly, turning to look at me now, from under dark, long lashes, his eyes cold.

I gulped, feeling chastised. At that moment, I could imagine exactly how that helpless vegetable was feeling. Just one glance from Rocco was enough to make my stomach stir and my legs go wobbly. The poor spinach didn’t stand a chance.

‘Sorry about earlier. I didn’t think you’d mind me being on the boat, you did say . . .’ I faltered. Why was I apologising?

‘Forget it. I’d had a bad day. I wasn’t expecting to find you and your boyfriend there, that’s all.’ He shook the pan vigorously.

If I’d been hoping for an apology, I was beginning to realise I wouldn’t be getting one.

‘He’s not my boyfriend by the way,’ I explained. ‘We used to be together, but we split just before I came to work for you. He came to tell me he’s met someone else. They’re getting married.’ Saying the news aloud was remarkably easy and I realised just how happy I was for Martin.

‘Blimey, that was quick,’ said Rocco turning his head to look at me. ‘And you’re okay about that?’ I could see the steam escaping from his tautened body like a pressure cooker, as he worked.

‘Yes,’ I said brightly, ‘fine, actually. Martin and I were friends first and foremost and that never really changed. It took me a while to work out that the other side of our relationship had fizzled out a long time ago.’

Thinking about it though, the fact that we hadn’t had sex in over six months should have been a pretty big clue that something wasn’t quite right.

I wandered over to the stove.

‘Mmmm, that smells good.’ A rich buttery aroma reached my nostrils and my anger at Rocco’s earlier behaviour was now forgotten. ‘So what’s made it such a bad day for you?’ I asked, helping myself to a grape from a bowl on the side.

Rocco shrugged my question away.

‘Oh you know; the usual stuff. Supplier issues, stroppy staff, London traffic. Took me an hour to do a ten minute journey this afternoon.’ He shook his head in frustration, paused, turned and looked me in the eye. ‘And I had my own bit of startling news today
—
a letter, hand-delivered.’

‘Really?’ I said, intrigued by his words and tone. ‘Who from?’

‘My mum.’ Rocco said the words in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he were telling me he’d just received a gas bill, and his face gave nothing away about his true emotions.

‘Oh God.’ My hand flew to my chest. ‘That must have been a surprise. What did she say?’

‘She wants to meet up. Says we should put the past behind us and start again.’ He laughed lightly. ‘As if it were that easy!’

‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it? I mean you will, won’t you? Meet up with her?’

‘Maybe. I’ll see.’ He bent down and peered through the glass door of the oven to inspect something or other. ‘There’s too much going on at the moment but after Christmas, who knows?’

I nodded, surprised at Rocco’s change of heart. When we’d last spoken about his mum, the morning we’d gone mushroom picking, he’d been adamant that he never wanted to see her again. What had brought about this thaw?

‘You hungry?’ he asked, changing the subject.

‘Aren’t I always?’ I smiled. ‘I think it must be something to do with the country air. Or maybe just being around all this food.’ I pulled out a stool from beneath the worktop and parked my bum. ‘I’m not looking forward to getting on the scales. I dread to think how much weight I’ve put on since I’ve been here.’

He smiled, his eyes growing warm, as he filled a pan with water and placed it on the hob.

‘Eggs Florentine, then? Fancy some?’

Sometimes I wished I knew how to hold back, show a little decorum, do a Pandora, but my self-restraint at the best of times wasn’t good and when you have a handsome hunk offering you eggs, sunny side up, then what’s a girl to do?

‘Sounds delish. Let me set the table.’

A few moments later, Rocco plonked two brimming plates onto the pretty floral tablecloth.

‘Would you like a drink with that, a glass of wine, maybe?’

There was nothing I would have liked more, but remembering the trouble I’d landed myself in on the last occasion I’d shared a drink with Rocco, I decided that now was the time to exercise what little self-control I had.

‘I’d better not. I’ll just have a glass of water, thank you.’ I cleared my throat. ‘I wanted to apologise for something else actually.’

Rocco put down his knife and fork, resting his forearms on the table and looked at me intently.

‘You’re beginning to make a habit of this. What for this time?’

‘The other night. For getting, well, you know, a little bit tipsy. Really, I don’t know what came over me. And my behaviour. It wasn’t very professional of me. You’d be well within your rights to sack me, I know that. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?’

Rocco turned his head to one side, narrowing his eyes.

‘On Friday, when you left, you said you needed to talk to me. Was it about my position here with you?’

‘Oh that. No, nothing like that. You’ve been a huge help to me, Beth. There’s so much going on at the moment that I’m not sure I could have kept on top of it without you. Knowing you’re dealing with all the admin, and sorting out my schedule gives me some peace of mind. I loathe all that stuff. That reminds me, this week we need to go through the proofs and decide on the photos for the book.’

‘Fine,’ I said, sighing inwardly with relief. My position was safe for a little while longer, at least. I put my knife through the perfectly poached egg, watching the yolk spread across my plate. A culinary work of art. ‘So what was it you wanted to talk about?’

He shook his head.

‘It’s not important.’ His gaze left my face. ‘Oh,’ he said, clearly wanting to change the subject, ‘the book awards on Tuesday evening at the Penhaligon Hotel. I meant to say, you’ll need to come with me.’

‘But I thought Pandora was going with you.’

‘She can’t make it now. She’s got a job on in the Maldives, or was it in the Caribbean?’ He turned his chin upwards, contemplating. ‘Somewhere hot, at least. But anyway, she won’t be back until the weekend, so you’ll have to come instead.’

A frisson of excitement rippled through my body, quickly followed by an overwhelming sense of dread. Why was it whenever I was invited out somewhere my first thought was, ‘Oh my God, what on earth will I wear?’ I knew it would be a glitzy do. It was the biggest book event of the year and everyone who was anyone in the publishing industry would be attending. After the gala dinner, Rocco would be presenting the award for best non-fiction book. I reached for my diary which was on the corner of the kitchen table.

‘That’s fine,’ I said, scribbling out Pandora’s name and putting in mine, in red ink. ‘I’ll double check the arrangements.’

‘Good,’ he smiled, moving his empty plate to one side. ‘I’ll be in town on Tuesday anyway. I need to be in the restaurant in the morning, but I’ll meet up with you at the Penhaligon at about six thirty p.m. It’s probably worth booking us in overnight. It’ll be a late night.’

‘Sure thing.’ I smiled broadly, snapping the diary shut. That meant I’d have time to go back to my flat and find something suitable to wear.

Rocco was smiling at me now, his eyes creasing at the corners, warmth radiating from his face. He pushed back his chair.

‘Come here,’ he said, opening his arms to beckon me forward.

My heart stopped. Was this the moment I’d been longing and waiting for?

‘Go like that.’ He pulled his lips back, showing off a full set of the most dazzling white teeth.

I did the same.

‘A rogue piece of spinach,’ he said putting a finger into my mouth and hooking out the offending green splodge. ‘That’s it, all gone,’ he said, waving it in the air before running his hands under the cold water tap.

I felt my cheeks go pink.

‘Thanks,’ I mumbled, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole, feeling, not for the first time in Rocco’s company, like the gauchest girl in the world.

Chapter 16

The next day, I was back at my little flat, and the air of coldness and neglect it had acquired in my absence assaulted my senses as soon as I opened the door. I picked up the heap of mail from the doormat and flicked on the answerphone to listen to my messages. Of course, everything was familiar but I couldn’t quite recognise the girl who’d lived here not so long ago. It was only a matter of months, but in that short amount of time she’d changed into someone else.

I looked around me and sighed. I couldn’t imagine coming back here to live, picking up the pieces in London, but I supposed I would have to get used to the idea, and soon. I couldn’t see my job with Rocco lasting much beyond Christmas.

I filled a jug with some water and tended to the gasping pot plants. Maybe I should re-decorate the whole flat, I thought, looking at the tired paintwork and the shabby furniture which consisted mainly of hand-me downs from various friends and relations. A facelift, removing all traces of my existence with Martin, would help me move on, I decided with not a whole lot of enthusiasm.

Whatever, it was a far cry from the warm comfort of Whitefriars. One thing was for sure; my stint working for Rocco had spoilt me, showing me a lifestyle I’d adjusted to all too easily.

In the bedroom, I rifled through my small but crammed wardrobe, pulling out anything that looked vaguely suitable for the big night ahead. Once the collage of velvet, satin, leather and suede was piled high on the bed, I had to do a judicious bit of sifting. It came down to a choice between some satin trousers and a gold crop top, which were both very glitzy and had seen some heavy duty action in the clubs of London, but verged perhaps on the tarty, or a little black dress, an old favourite hauled out to face all sorts of occasions. There was no competition; it would have to be the black dress.

Some black patent, teeteringly high strappy shoes would inject the required touch of glamour and a diamante pendant in the centre of the sweetheart neckline would brighten up my face and décolletage. Sorted.

Judging by Rocco’s reaction when I met up with him later that evening in the hotel bar, I guessed I’d made the right choice. His eyes were all warm appraisal.

‘You look gorgeous,’ he said, leaning in to kiss me, his hands on my arms, which caused me a small shiver of delight.

‘Thank you.’ Rocco placed a proprietary hand in the small of my back and ushered me to a table. He beckoned a waiter.

‘What would you like to drink?’

‘Just an orange juice for me, please.’ If I’d learnt anything these last few weeks it was that I needed to keep a clear head. The prospect of being in close proximity to Rocco for the entire evening, on a kind of date
—
although I knew it was far removed from a proper one, was still terminally anxiety-inducing. I’d humiliated myself once
—
or was that twice or more
—
in my boss’s company. I was determined not to do it again.

‘Are you sure?’ Rocco pressed. ‘I could always order a bottle of pink champagne, if you’d like. I know it’s your favourite.’ I ignored the glint in his eye.

He was on good form tonight and looked even more devastatingly attractive than usual in a plum damson velvet suit, a white pin tucked shirt and a black bow tie. The overall effect was of a dark chocolate cherry liqueur ready to be popped whole into my mouth and devoured greedily.

I shook my head to rid myself of the delicious thought and picked up an olive instead, relishing its bitterness.

Over dinner I was thankful for being able to focus my attention on the elderly gentleman to my left, who was an attentive and charming companion.

‘Is this your first time here, my dear?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I nodded, relieved to be able to turn my back on the total gloriousness of Rocco for a moment. ‘I’m here with my boss,’ I explained with a cursory sweep of my head in the direction of His Gloriousness.

‘Ah yes, I’ve read all about him. He’s something of a celebrity I hear, in more ways than one.’ He peered around my back, chuckling, to have a look at Rocco, who at that moment was being handbagged by a pretty young thing in PR sitting on the other side of him. She was all teeth, tits and fluttering eyelashes and was using every inch of her womanly wiles in an unsubtle attempt to beguile him. Her heavily made-up eyes had given me the once over already, obviously sussing me out as being no competition whatsoever. Rocco smiled, clearly amused and faintly bored. Oh what it was to be so admired.

‘You okay?’ he asked me later, after we’d finished our main meal. We’d barely spoken all night, so his hand reaching beneath the table to squeeze my stockinged leg nearly sent me sky-rocketing through the roof.

‘Fine, thanks,’ I said, trying to ignore the internal meltdown his touch had invoked. ‘Have you heard from Pandora?’ I asked, none-too-subtly. Your girlfriend, remember, being the subtext.

‘No, but then I wouldn’t expect to. She has plenty of distractions to keep her busy at the moment. No doubt I’ll hear from her when she needs something; that’s her usual way.’ He gave me a wry smile, but I couldn’t help but feel affronted on Pandora’s behalf. His attitude towards her was cavalier to say the least.

‘Only another three hours to go, I reckon.’ He glanced at his watch, rolling his eyes. ‘Why don’t you have a proper drink?’ He leaned over and touched my cheek. ‘I fancy some champagne, don’t you? We have a whole lot of prize-giving to sit through yet.’

‘Go on then.’ What little resolve I had shot out of the door at his touch. I would have to overlook his somewhat questionable personality traits for the evening. After all, what he did in his private life was really no concern of mine. Endlessly fascinating maybe, but really not my problem. I was simply there to do a job.

Besides, Miss PR was having far too much fun for my liking and I wanted some of the action, although in a purely professional and business-like capacity you understand, and with none of the blatant flirtation.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of speeches and acceptances, people wandering up to the front and back again, clutching their awards. Sipping my champagne, I was content to soak up the genial atmosphere, happy to be in Rocco’s company. When he went up to present his award, one of the final ones, it was a close run thing between me and Miss Tits-and-Teeth to see who cheered the loudest for the hugely handsome hunk in his velvet suit.

When he came back to the table Rocco winked at me before loosening his bow tie and abandoning it casually on the table. I sometimes wondered if all his actions were stage-managed to provoke the most devastating effect possible on the opposite sex, but I sensed it was something that came entirely naturally to him.

‘Fancy a nightcap in the bar?’ Miss TT was obviously struggling as much as I. She leaned across the table, giving Rocco an eyeful of her magnificent bosom.

‘Thanks, but no,’ he said, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture. ‘I’m done in. I think I probably need to call it a night.’ His hand travelled to my leg again and I felt the swell of desire stir in my tummy. I wished he wouldn’t do that. I wasn’t certain what signal he was sending out, if he was sending one at all. Maybe it was just one of those friendly, affectionate gestures a boss gives his employee. But the effect on my whole being was a long way removed from friendly and affectionate.

‘Shame,’ she said, looking crestfallen. ‘Listen; let me give you my card.’ She scrabbled around in her handbag. ‘Anytime you’re in town just give me a call. We could meet for a drink.’

She leant over to place her card between his fingers, her eyes lingering over his face, her full pink lips hovering over his mouth, her cleavage exposed to maximum effect.

‘Please,’ she said, pressing her lips firmly onto his.

He extricated himself from her embrace, laughing.

‘Good meeting you.’ He turned his back on Miss TT, who took the hint and left, turning round on her way out to wink at Rocco. He placed his hand on my arm. His shirt sleeves were rolled up displaying his firm, tanned arms. His hands, I noticed, bore a myriad of scars, no doubt acquired during his years working in kitchens.

‘Are you ready to make a move? I think I need to get out of here.’

I nodded, smiling, and feeling for some reason like a lamb to the proverbial.

‘Aren’t you going to take this with you?’ I picked up the card Miss TT had gone to such trouble to leave behind.

‘Beth!’ he said, his tone mocking. ‘What sort of a guy do you take me for?’ He picked up the card and tore it in half and then half again, discarding the pieces on a plate. ‘You know, don’t you,’ he said, tipping up my chin with a finger and gazing into my eyes, ‘my heart’s already spoken for.’