Sweet Temptation (34 page)

I blinked.
When
not
if
we got married, I corrected myself.

Or had I actually been right the first time?

The truth was, I was finding it harder and harder to imagine our wedding day now. The thought of us standing there in front of our families and friends, exchanging rings, looking lovingly into one another’s eyes . . . I just couldn’t picture it any more. We hadn’t talked about getting married for weeks. I’d felt too sad to look at the wedding brochures or bring up the subject since he’d postponed it again, and over that time, during that silence, something had changed inside me. It was as if my soft centre was hardening, as if I was withdrawing from him, putting up barriers in my mind. Whenever Charlie clambered on top of me demanding sex at night, I always let him, but I lay there blanking him out, imagining I was somewhere else instead of trying to please him or – God forbid – enjoy myself. I’d just lie still and switch off from him, let him get on with it, however rough he was, however hard he ground into me, knowing that it would be over soon and I could go to sleep. That wasn’t right, either, was it? Where was the romance in that?

I was starting to have doubts. Scary doubts. Doubts I didn’t want to examine too closely for fear I’d have to do something in response to them.

I sighed again as it started drizzling, a freezing-cold, saturating wetness, and pulled my coat tighter around me. I’d been dead proud of Lauren for turning down sleazy Joe the other night – and dead impressed too. Even though she was living on her own, that was still better than putting up with a bloke’s arrogance and rudeness, in her eyes. No thanks, she’d said. You’re not good enough for me, actually.

I didn’t think I could ever have the strength to make a stand like that, to tell someone I didn’t think they were good enough for me. Deep down I wasn’t sure that I was good enough myself.

I rounded the corner, saw the bus waiting and had to make a run for it. Then I switched my worries off and deliberately thought about other stuff all morning.

One o’clock this stupid date was, and I’d been nervous about it all day, not able to concentrate properly through my treatments. By the time I was on my way to the restaurant, I was such a bag of nerves I wasn’t sure I’d be able to eat, let alone get through a whole lunchtime talking to this poor shy client of Lauren’s. Why did I agree to this again? I asked myself, trying to summon up some energy and enthusiasm as I dragged myself through a heavy downpour to Temple Street. It was a relief to get into the restaurant and out of the rain, at least. And oh, it smelled wonderful in there – of garlic and tomatoes and herbs. Mmmmmm . . .

I licked my lips, suddenly feeling ravenous, and hoped there would be something on the menu that wasn’t too outrageously calorific.
Tomato sauces rather than cream ones
, Alison intoned inside my head.
Salad, not garlic bread – but watch out for the dressings!
It would be really annoying to wreck my diet for this date when I didn’t even want to be there in the first place.

‘Hi, I’m meeting a Mr Baines at one o’clock,’ I told the waitress at the door. ‘But . . .’ I lowered my voice, feeling embarrassed. ‘But I don’t actually know what he looks like. It’s . . . um . . . a business meeting.’

The fib slipped out of me before I could think straight – I didn’t want her to think I was on a blind date. Unfortunately I looked more like a drowned rat than a businesswoman, but if she didn’t believe me, she was too polite to show it.

‘Mr Baines is already here, I think,’ she said, running a finger down the list of bookings. ‘Ah yes. He’s on table eight. Let me take your coat, and I’ll show you through.’

She led me into the restaurant and I blinked in surprise. Because there, sitting in the corner, smiling up at me as we approached, was Matt. My ex-client Matt, who, coincidentally, I’d seen the other night at Lauren’s.

Then it dawned on me. Oh my goodness.
He
was the poor, shy client?

I sat down opposite him, unable to speak.

‘Hello,’ he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. ‘I hope you don’t mind having lunch with me. Lauren suggested it, and she’s a very hard woman to argue with.’

‘Lauren
suggested
it?’ I echoed, confused. ‘But I thought . . . I thought you were meant to be meeting somebody else for a date, and . . .’ My voice trailed away to nothing. It was a set-up, I realized. My heart started thumping. ‘Matt – what’s going on? Is this some kind of a joke?’

‘No!’ He looked horrified at the question, and then the words spilled out of him in a tangled confession. ‘Jess – I’ve always really liked you. Not just because of your fantastic back rubs at the spa, but because you’re such a lovely person. You’re kind and funny and friendly, and . . .’ He looked awkward and spun a gold ring round one of his fingers before finishing the sentence in a low voice. ‘And you’re beautiful, too.’

I stared at him, speechless with shock. ‘But . . .’ I started.

‘I was really gutted when I found out you’d left the spa,’ he went on. ‘Really disappointed. The woman I spoke to wouldn’t tell me where you’d gone, and I could have kicked myself that . . . that I’d never had the guts to ask you out for a drink.’

‘Listen, Matt—’ I tried again, but there was no stopping him.

‘And then, when I saw you again at the Love Hearts do last week, I couldn’t believe my luck,’ he said, smiling. ‘I realized just how much I’d missed you. Missed our chats, missed having you in my life. I know it sounds daft. I know this is probably freaking you out, but it’s true, Jess. And . . .’ He dipped his head as if embarrassed. ‘And maybe I had one glass of wine too many, but later that night, when I was talking to Lauren, she was asking how we knew each other, and I confessed that . . . that I’ve always been in love with you. Sorry,’ he said with a little cough. ‘But I just had to say that.’

My face flamed at this unexpected speech. My heart was galloping now, so fast I could barely think. Because, if I was honest with myself, if I was truly, truly swear-on-the-holy-Bible honest, I’d always had a soft spot for him, too. I was always pleased to see his name booked in, looked forward to chatting with him about this and that. But all this talk of
love
. . .

‘Matt, I’m engaged,’ I said bluntly, showing him the ring on my finger. ‘I . . . I’m already with someone.’

His eyes were steady on mine. Such lovely kind eyes. Grey with tiny streaks of blue. ‘I know,’ he said gently. ‘But Lauren thought . . .’ He stopped.

I leaned forward, feeling uneasy. ‘What did Lauren think?’ I asked, unsure that I really wanted to know the answer.

‘Lauren thought that maybe . . .’ He hesitated. ‘Look, shall we get a glass of wine? Or water? You’ve not even looked at the menu yet.’

It was my turn to hesitate then. Part of me felt obliged to stand up and walk out, proclaiming my loyalty to Charlie. Sorry – already taken. Going to get married next year, you know. Faithful and loyal wife-to-be right here. Mustn’t start getting into this sort of conversation with another man!

But I stalled. The problem was, I didn’t feel quite so loyal to Charlie these days.

‘Sorry,’ he said again, before I could think of the right words. ‘Me and my big gob, eh, what am I like? I’ve made a complete arse of myself now. Sorry, Jess. I didn’t mean to embarrass you or make you feel uncomfortable. Can we just have lunch together? I promise I’ll stop declaring my love to you. In fact, let’s just pretend that this never happened, can we? For the sake of my dignity?’

‘Matt . . .’ I began, but I was still finding it hard to know what to say. My brain was in turmoil, thoughts whirling, a shivery feeling prickling my skin. ‘I
am
with someone else,’ I said slowly, trying to make sense of my conflicting emotions. ‘But lately I’ve been having doubts about whether . . .’

I hung my head. I just couldn’t say it, I felt such a traitor to Charlie.

‘Doubts about whether . . .’ he prompted gently.

My face felt hot as I remembered all the times Charlie had made me cry, made me feel ugly and fat. All the times he’d forced himself into me, as if I was a piece of meat with no say in the matter. And something swelled inside me then, a feeling of rage – at myself for being so weak as to put up with such treatment, but also at Charlie, for dishing it out again and again and again.

I cleared my throat. ‘He isn’t very nice to me,’ I said, my voice shaking as I looked at the tablecloth. ‘And . . . and I’m wondering if maybe . . . I should leave him.’

Whoa. Had I just said that? I felt awful for a second, chewed up with fear at the thought of Charlie’s face if I ever dared say the words to him. He would probably hit me. He’d hurt me. Maybe he would try to stop me going. I swallowed. ‘I mean . . .’

Matt put his hand on mine. ‘You don’t have to tell me,’ he said, his eyes anxious. ‘Not if it’s upsetting you. I don’t want to make things difficult for you, Jess.’

‘Are you ready to order?’ the waitress asked chirpily at that moment, hovering with her notepad and pen.

‘Could we have a few minutes, please?’ Matt asked. ‘Do you want a drink, Jess?’

‘Just water for me, please,’ I said. I needed to keep a clear head if I was going to survive this lunch, that was for sure. I buried my head in the menu and pretended to study the list of dishes, but my mind was still spinning so much I could barely distinguish the words.

The waitress went away and an awkward silence stretched between us.

‘Jess, let me just say this one last thing, and then we can talk about other stuff,’ Matt said, reaching over and taking my hand again.

I lowered the menu and looked at him over it, feeling frightened and excited and overwhelmed all at the same time.

‘I don’t know how you feel about me, and if you’re not interested in me in that way, then of course that’s absolutely fine – I’ll back off,’ he said, his eyes steadily holding mine the whole time. ‘But I just want you to know that if anything ever developed between us – a relationship, I mean – I would do everything I could to make you happy. Because you don’t seem very happy to me right now. And that makes me feel sad. You’re a lovely, lovely person, Jess, and you deserve to be treated like a princess. You deserve someone who’ll love you and appreciate you and make you feel special. And that’s what I would do.’

He was looking at me so earnestly that I could hardly bear the intensity of his gaze.

‘Thank you,’ I murmured, dropping my eyes.

‘I just want you to know that,’ he said and then cleared his throat and opened up his menu. ‘So . . . what do you fancy, then? I’ve heard the spaghetti with shellfish is good . . .’

Chapter Twenty

Mistletoe and Wine

Maddie

He tried to kiss me. I wouldn’t have minded, but it was during ‘You’re Beautiful’ by James Blunt, which is one of my least favourite songs ever recorded. Actually, no, that came out wrong. It wasn’t just the
song
that was badly judged, it was the kiss itself.

We’d been having a great laugh on the dance floor all evening, Mike and I, strutting our stuff to Groovejet and S’Express and Abba, and, oh, just anything. I think I even did some terrible hand-jiving to ‘Rock Lobster’ at one point, much to my shame the next day.

I wasn’t myself, that’s my excuse. It was as if everything that had happened recently – Mum going, and work taking off, and Paul and I not getting on so well – kind of erupted in a big mess inside my brain, and I just went slightly mad for a few hours. I don’t think the sexy knickers helped either, in hindsight.

Whatever the cause, I was acting as if I were twenty-one again, young and wild and . . . yes, a bit debauched, I suppose. The mulled wine was flowing, I’d thrown caution to the wind and scoffed several sausage rolls, and . . . well, in a nutshell, I was just going for it.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not making excuses for myself. I’m not proud of what happened at all. The opening notes to ‘You’re Beautiful’ came on and I pulled a face, all set to walk off the dance floor. ‘I bloody hate this song,’ I moaned.

‘It’s one of my favourites,’ said Mike. That should have sent me running there and then, but my brain was fogged by mulled wine. ‘Have you listened to the words?’

‘Mike, I work for a radio station, I’ve heard it about a thousand times more than any sane person would wish to,’ I told him, rolling my eyes.

He took my hand. ‘Dance with me,’ he said. ‘Dance with me, Maddie. Because I think
you’re
beautiful.’

That was the point when I should have said:

a) I’m married

b) We’re both pissed

c) This song is complete shite and I wouldn’t be seen dead dancing to it

d) That is the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard

e) All of the above.

But for some reason, I said none of those things. For some reason I said, ‘Okay.’ In fact, I may even have told him that he was a little bit beautiful too.

(I know. I’m so embarrassed.)

The long and short of it was that we danced. We danced to James sodding Blunt and he tried to kiss me. James Blunt didn’t try to kiss me, obviously, he wasn’t even in the room. Mike tried to kiss me. And this was the point where I should have:

a) Removed his hands from my body

b) Removed his lips from my face

c) Removed myself from Studio One and fled home, glass slippers and all

d) All of the above.

The problem was, part of me wanted to kiss him right back. Part of me wanted some romance and excitement, the thrill of a flirtatious kiss with a man I’d come to like and trust. Part of me was glad I had my sexy new knickers on and that my tongue might get to see a bit of action for a change.

But a split-second after his lips touched mine, I heard Mum’s shocked voice ringing as clear as a bell around my head.
Madeleine Lawson, what ARE you doing?