Page 112 of In Love and Revenge

I shrug. ‘I’ve got three client houses to visit today. I’ll grab something in between.’

‘Whereabouts?’ He cracks the eggs into a bowl and whisks them with a fork.

‘One is in Notting Hill, so I guess I’ll be in that area at lunchtime.’

‘There’s a nice place I know there – you’ll like it.’

‘Oh sure, what’s it called?’ I ask, knowing full well I won’t be visiting any places for lunch that Rafael thinks are ‘nice’. Not if I want to have enough money to eat for the rest of the week.

‘Juniper and Jones. I’ll meet you there.’

‘What?’ I gape at him.

He inclines his head towards the cupboards near me. ‘Can you please pass the salt and pepper?’

I open a random door, a million questions bubbling on my tongue.

Tubes of crisps stare back at me, myriad flavours lined up like soldiers in varying colours. I whip my head back around.

He doesn’t like crisps.

Rafael’s eyes land briefly on the crisps. ‘Salt and pepper’s in that one,’ he says, pointing to the cupboard beside the one I’ve opened before he goes back to whisking like I didn’t just find the Aladdin’s cave of all things salty and delicious.

I fetch it and walk over to him.

‘You really want to meet me for lunch?’

His whisking never breaks pace. ‘Yes.’

‘But aren’t you busy at work?’

‘Swamped.’

I frown. ‘Having lunch doesn’t mean we’re ... you know ... anything other than a man and a woman having lunch together,’ I say, more to convince myself.

Rafael grinds some pepper into the bowl.

‘Does it?’ I press, waiting for him to agree with me.

‘Call it whatever you like,’ he replies easily.

I exhale in relief.

‘But we both know what it really is,’ he adds.

‘What?’ I stare at him.

He turns and gives me the full effect of the Rafael Fairfax heated look that’s guaranteed to melt panties.

‘It’s not a date,’ I say. ‘We’re not a couple. I stayed last night, but I’m going back to my place today. This is ...’ I wave my finger between the two of us. ‘This isn’t going to be a regular thing.’

He merely arches a brow like he knows he has all the power without even needing to speak.

‘It’s not,’ I protest.

He cooks my eggs as I stare at the side of his face. He’s so handsome and in control. It only makes me contemplate arguing with him more to see how far I can push him.

He plates the omelette up, and I hate to admit that it looks and smells incredible.