Read Online Marriage by Deception by Sara Craven - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sara Craven
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ever been to Italy?’
‘Yes, I love it. I was there for nearly three months a year or so ago.’ She halted abruptly, realising she’d given too much away again.
‘Three months?’ His brows lifted. ‘None of the usual package tours for you, I see.’
‘I was there to work,’ she said. And it was true. She’d been researching her third novel, set at the time of the Renaissance and featuring an English mercenary who’d sold his sword to the Borgias until he lost his heart to the daughter of one of their enemies. Her trip had taken her all over the Romagna, and to Florence and Siena as well. The book had been fun to write, and had turned out well too, she thought, her lips curving slightly.
‘Some of the big foreign cosmetics companies have—training courses for their products,’ she added hastily, as she registered his questioning look.
‘Do they now?’ Sam drank some of his own wine. ‘I didn’t realise so much was involved.’ He frowned slightly. ‘You take your career very seriously.’
‘Of course,’ she said, and meant it. ‘Don’t you?’
‘I certainly used to.’ His eyes were meditative. ‘But I seem to have reached some kind of crossroads. And I don’t know for certain what my next move should be.’ He added, ‘I suppose you feel the same.’
‘What makes you say that?’
He leaned forward. ‘Isn’t it why we’re here together now?’ he challenged. ‘Because we know that everything’s changed and there’s no turning back?’ He sounded almost angry.
She tried to smile. ‘You make it sound—daunting.’
‘That’s because I’m not sure how I feel.’ His voice was blunt. ‘And, frankly, I’m not used to it.’
Ros bit her lip. ‘Perhaps we should go back to Plan A—where you’re “Lonely in London” again,’ she suggested.
‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s far too late for that, and we both know it.’
Her voice faltered slightly, ‘You said—you promised—that you’d let me decide—and that you’d accept my choice.’
‘Yes.’ The turquoise eyes held a glint. ‘Just don’t expect me to take no for an answer, that’s all.’
Bowls of creamy pasta were set in front of them, giant pepper mills wielded and dishes of grated parmesan offered.
She was glad of the respite, although nervousness had blunted the edge of her hunger by now.
I’m not a risk-taker by nature, she thought. How on earth am I going to get way with this?
‘Eat.’ Sam waved a fork at her when they’d been left alone again. His smile slanted. ‘You need to build your strength up.’
‘Please,’ she said, her throat constricting. ‘Don’t say things like that.’
‘Why not? Have you looked in the mirror lately? You have cheekbones like wings. A breath of wind would blow you away. And, oddly enough, I don’t want that to happen.’ He paused. ‘As for the rest of it, you can call the shots, Janie. I won’t push you into anything you don’t want—or aren’t ready for.’
‘Another promise?’ Her smile trembled as she picked up her fork.
‘No,’ he said, eyes and voice steady. ‘A guarantee. Now eat.’
In the end, she finished every scrap of pasta, and followed it with a generous helping of tiramisu.
‘That was wonderful,’ she admitted, leaning back in her chair as their plates were removed.
‘And the best part was when you finally stoppedchecking where the door was,’ Sam said drily, as he poured the last of the Orvieto into their glasses. ‘For the first hour I was waiting for you to do a runner at any moment.’
She blushed. ‘Was I that bad?’
‘You were never bad,’ he said. ‘Just strung out.’ He paused. ‘How’s the pulse-rate?’
‘Calm, I think,’ she said. ‘And steady. At the moment.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’d hate to think I wouldn’t merit a slight flutter—in the right circumstances.’ He paused. ‘Shall we have coffee?’
It was, she knew, a loaded question. The obvious response was, why don’t I make some
‘Yes, I love it. I was there for nearly three months a year or so ago.’ She halted abruptly, realising she’d given too much away again.
‘Three months?’ His brows lifted. ‘None of the usual package tours for you, I see.’
‘I was there to work,’ she said. And it was true. She’d been researching her third novel, set at the time of the Renaissance and featuring an English mercenary who’d sold his sword to the Borgias until he lost his heart to the daughter of one of their enemies. Her trip had taken her all over the Romagna, and to Florence and Siena as well. The book had been fun to write, and had turned out well too, she thought, her lips curving slightly.
‘Some of the big foreign cosmetics companies have—training courses for their products,’ she added hastily, as she registered his questioning look.
‘Do they now?’ Sam drank some of his own wine. ‘I didn’t realise so much was involved.’ He frowned slightly. ‘You take your career very seriously.’
‘Of course,’ she said, and meant it. ‘Don’t you?’
‘I certainly used to.’ His eyes were meditative. ‘But I seem to have reached some kind of crossroads. And I don’t know for certain what my next move should be.’ He added, ‘I suppose you feel the same.’
‘What makes you say that?’
He leaned forward. ‘Isn’t it why we’re here together now?’ he challenged. ‘Because we know that everything’s changed and there’s no turning back?’ He sounded almost angry.
She tried to smile. ‘You make it sound—daunting.’
‘That’s because I’m not sure how I feel.’ His voice was blunt. ‘And, frankly, I’m not used to it.’
Ros bit her lip. ‘Perhaps we should go back to Plan A—where you’re “Lonely in London” again,’ she suggested.
‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s far too late for that, and we both know it.’
Her voice faltered slightly, ‘You said—you promised—that you’d let me decide—and that you’d accept my choice.’
‘Yes.’ The turquoise eyes held a glint. ‘Just don’t expect me to take no for an answer, that’s all.’
Bowls of creamy pasta were set in front of them, giant pepper mills wielded and dishes of grated parmesan offered.
She was glad of the respite, although nervousness had blunted the edge of her hunger by now.
I’m not a risk-taker by nature, she thought. How on earth am I going to get way with this?
‘Eat.’ Sam waved a fork at her when they’d been left alone again. His smile slanted. ‘You need to build your strength up.’
‘Please,’ she said, her throat constricting. ‘Don’t say things like that.’
‘Why not? Have you looked in the mirror lately? You have cheekbones like wings. A breath of wind would blow you away. And, oddly enough, I don’t want that to happen.’ He paused. ‘As for the rest of it, you can call the shots, Janie. I won’t push you into anything you don’t want—or aren’t ready for.’
‘Another promise?’ Her smile trembled as she picked up her fork.
‘No,’ he said, eyes and voice steady. ‘A guarantee. Now eat.’
In the end, she finished every scrap of pasta, and followed it with a generous helping of tiramisu.
‘That was wonderful,’ she admitted, leaning back in her chair as their plates were removed.
‘And the best part was when you finally stoppedchecking where the door was,’ Sam said drily, as he poured the last of the Orvieto into their glasses. ‘For the first hour I was waiting for you to do a runner at any moment.’
She blushed. ‘Was I that bad?’
‘You were never bad,’ he said. ‘Just strung out.’ He paused. ‘How’s the pulse-rate?’
‘Calm, I think,’ she said. ‘And steady. At the moment.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’d hate to think I wouldn’t merit a slight flutter—in the right circumstances.’ He paused. ‘Shall we have coffee?’
It was, she knew, a loaded question. The obvious response was, why don’t I make some
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