Ending the call, Martyn chose plain vanilla ice cream but Honor said, ‘I’ll pass. I’ve kind of lost my sweet tooth, working amongst Robina’s cakes all day.’
‘One thing that woman does well is make cakes.’
‘If she heard you say so, she’d be beating down your door to deliver lemon drizzle or rocky road.’
‘Then please don’t tell her. I can run off most things I eat but have never dared let myself get addicted to Robina’s cakes. And they’re positively dangerous if they arrive attached to Robina.’
No trace of Martyn Mayfair the Model remained. He was completely his Eastingdean self, now, leaning into the crook of the wall, his hair drying and tousled as if he’d just come in from walking in the rain. She felt comfortable with this Martyn. The kind of comfortable that had a lasting feel to it. A comfortable she might never tire of . . . uh-oh.
There was this feeling. As if he was reaching his hand into her chest and stroking her heart. And her heart liked it.
She sat straighter, her breathing quickening like an animal sensing approaching danger.
And the danger was from within herself. A self that already knew that falling for Martyn . . . wow. Way to improve her emotional stability! She’d have to be a special kind of swivel-eyed loon to make a fool of herself over a pin-up.
Just like Robina.
Chapter Seventeen
She’d come to England to get away from the storms in her life, not to brew up new ones. ‘She says she really loves you,’ she reminded him.
His gaze sharpened, as if he were trying to read her thoughts. ‘I thought we’d covered this — she’s just infatuated, which is uncomfortable for us both. Anyway, there’s no chance—’ he paused, deliberately, — ‘no chancethat I’ll return her feelings.’
‘But I feel bad for her—’
‘Why?’ He pulled himself up from his slouch and planted his elbows on the wobbly little table, bringing his face close, eyes intense.
She halted, unwilling to formulate an explanation. One would be:You know what? I’m looking for obstacles to put between me and something that’s going to hurt because I was just zapped by this enormous bolt of desire.For you. And it was scary.Instead, she said, ‘She doesn’t believe it’s infatuation. She thinks it’s genuine, hopeless love.’
‘It’s not, but why should you feel bad for her? You’ve only known her a few days.’
She paused. ‘Do you have to know someone a long time before you get to care?’
He thought about it. ‘I suppose not. Not in my experience.’
His smile went crooked and the hand around her heart began to squeeze. What was hanging from the edges of his words? She tried to think about Stef. Stef, who’d once been her best friend and protector and, for many years, had been her husband.
You’re fighting mad with Stef, Sensible Honor reminded her.Falling for some guy — even if it’s a hunky male model with a cute English accent and buns of steel — is stupid. Did your commonsense crumble with every click of the camera? Didyou get a CRUSH for gosh sakes? Like some pitiful teenager? Don’t embarrass yourself.You’ve just taken a pounding and if you hand your heart on a plate to Martyn, with his uncompromising only-single-will-do lifestyle, it’ll end up as hamburger meat.
The waitress arrived with a tall glass filled with scoops of ice cream as white as snowballs and Martyn released her from his gaze as he picked up a long spoon from the saucer and took a mouthful. ‘Mm. Good.’
Honor seized the opportunity to redirect the conversation. ‘What’s the nuddy?’
He almost choked, covering his mouth with his napkin while his eyes sparkled. ‘The nuddy?’
Her stomach crept with embarrassment. She must’ve said something idiotic. ‘What? Lily said it. She asked if you’d been sunbathing in the nuddy.’
He swallowed and cleared his throat with a swig of water. ‘The nude. She was asking if I’d sunbathed nude.’
‘Oh!’ Her face fired up as hot as the day Martyn had first found her, getting sunstroke, and she made herself busy studying the coffee column of the menu.
He turned back to his ice cream. Just when she felt her temperature returning to normal, he drawled, ‘I do sunbathe in the nude.’
Involuntarily, her eyes flew to his.
‘But not on the beach,’ he added.
Her voice strangled, but she had to ask. ‘So . . . where?’
