Page 33 of Consequences of Their Wedding Charade
Of course, as he had told himself over the past couple of weeks, she had been absolutely right. Parting company, when he thought about it, was key to making sure their friendship remained intact and that was the main thing. A bit of a dalliance, however much he had craved it at the time, would never be worth the risk of her getting hurt. Not that there had been the slightest chance of that because she had been very casual and very upbeat when she had turned him down. The last few hours they had spent together before heading back to London had been proof positive that theirs had been no more for her than an enjoyable and brief fling. Which worked for him too. Didn’t it?
Every scrap of common sense he had deployed when he’d thought about the situation should have been enough for him to sally forth to pastures new without a backward glance, but unfortunately the opposite seemed to be the case. Was it because he connected with her on a level that went way beyond the physical? Was the bedrock of their friendship the thing that was making it so difficult for him to shut the door on that very brief interlude? However many bracing internal debates he had.
To further complicate everything, William had read something somewhere and that was proving a thorny and unforeseen problem.
‘Where did you hear that?’ Curtis had asked two days ago when his godfather had casually mentioned that it was nice that the skiing holiday had resulted in the unexpected—in him and Jess ‘becoming an item.’
It had taken half an hour of painstaking interrogation to discover that he had featured with Jess in the gossip pages of a weekly women’s magazine of the type usually found lying on glass tables in hairdressing salons.
The picture was innocent enough, Curtis had discovered when he sprinted to the nearest newsagent to see what the fuss was all about. The text accompanying the picture, on the other hand, suggested all sorts of things that had given him an almighty headache. In a few short sentences, it implied that the most eligible bachelor in London had finally met his match and found the woman of his dreams. Would marriage follow...? it asked. It appeared that a ‘little birdie’ and ‘good friend’had spilled the beans.
Curtis had no doubt as to the identity of the good friend and little birdie.
Caitlin had finally exited his life in a blaze of glory by making as much trouble for him as she could. Under normal circumstances, this would have amounted to no more than some awkward conversations with his friends but, against all odds, his godfather had read that article and now...
A headache.
‘What were you doing with a women’s glossy?’ Curtis had been unable to stop himself from asking.
‘Everybody needs some light relief, my boy!’ William had answered testily. ‘Happened to see it in a prominent place at the newsagents so got hold of it. Good to know what’s happening out there with you young people! And good job I did! Don’t suppose I would have heard a sausage about anything otherwise. Jess certainly didn’t say a peep when she came round yesterday! Course, far be it from me to start interfering...asking questions...not my style at all.’ And then he had added darkly, ‘Nice you two have finally seen sense and decided to make a go of it, Curtis, but I’m warning you... Jess isn’t one of those floozies you like to go out with, so I don’t want you doing your usual.’
If not a catastrophe, then certainly a nuisance because, whilst he didn’t care what other people thought of him, hedidcare what his godfather thought of him and so he had spent the past day toying with the realisation that he would have to talk to Jess and explain the situation before William decided to start asking her awkward questions about the relationship that never was.
So, sitting here now, unable to focus, Jess’s name popping up on his cell phone felt propitious. For the first time since he’d got back to London his senses were on full alert and he feltalive.
He’d tried to contact her, left a couple of voicemails because she’d failed to pick up her phone and in return had received a brief text from her, claiming that she’d been frantically busy at work—telling him to have a good week.
So now...
Yes, he felt alive, senses zingingas he heard her voice. He pushed himself back and relaxed into his massive bespoke leather chair and stuck his feet on his desk, crossing them at the ankles.
‘Jess!’ For a few seconds, Curtis contemplated the satisfying notion that she might have been calling to tell him that she’d had second thoughts about continuing what they had started two and a half weeks ago.
Hard on the heels of that came the more realistic scenario, which was that William had had a chat with her, maybe shared his pleasure that she was now dating his godson, told her what a relief it was after all thosefloozies.
He abruptly swung his feet off the desk and sat up.
‘How are you? Haven’t heard from you in a while.’
‘I’ve been busy.’ At the other end of the line, Jess felt her breathing slow. Just hearing his voice, so deep and lazy and utterly sexy, caused a racing of her pulse and the faintness of pure excitement, and then she glanced at the stick in front of her and sobered up fast.
Her mind went blank for a few seconds and she surfaced to hear him saying something about his godfather.
‘He’s fine,’ she interrupted. ‘Curtis, I need to have a chat with you.’
‘Isn’t that what we’re doing now?’
‘I mean aface-to-facechat.’
Curtis smiled. William was fine. There had been no difficult conversation where she had had to try and figure out how, having firmly shut the door on their brief one-night stand, they were suddenly newsworthy and involved in a love-fest with wedding bells just round the corner.
But then why was she calling? Not just calling, but he knew her well and she was...tense.
Since when had Jess ever been tense with him? If she wasn’t herself, then it was because she didn’t know how to say what she wanted to say, and what else could that be other than the pleasing thought that she regretted her hasty rejection of his proposition that they continue what they’d started?
He’d spent the past couple of weeks with her inconveniently lodged in his head, and if it had been the same for her then it stood to reason that she had reached the very same conclusion he had.
‘I could be with you in a couple of hours,’ he said, promptly discarding the prospect of three more hours of work as he moved to rescue the grey cashmere jumper which he had tossed on the leather sofa by the window, along with his coat.
