Wearing The De Angelis Ring. Cathy Williams

      And suddenly a thought rippled through her that made her breathing quicken.

      When the front door closed...what happened next?

      It was something that she would have to broach, and she licked her lips nervously because the mere thought of this big, domineering man touching her sent her whole nervous system into instant meltdown.

      He surely wouldn’t expect them to sleep together! Not when this was a farce—a marriage of convenience...a union in which there would be no love lost!

      Her breathing steadied.

      Panic over.

      He might be arrogant and ruthless, but he wasn’t an idiot—and besides, she knew the sort of women he dated because she had seen pictures in some of the trashy magazines she had flicked through while she was getting her hair done.

      Tall, blonde women who wore the minimum of clothing and whose full-time occupation appeared to be personal grooming.

      ‘You said that we need to discuss the mechanics of this...this arrangement...?’

      ‘Shall we do that over dinner—?’

      ‘Why? We might as well hash it out now.’

      He stood up, blatantly ignoring her interruption. ‘I wouldn’t like to kick off our joyous life together on the wrong note,’ he drawled, strolling towards the door, which her parents had tactfully shut behind him on their way out.

      ‘What do you mean?’ Alexa followed him, disgruntled.

      ‘I mean your mother has had a doubtless delicious meal prepared for us. What kind of guest would I be if I disregarded her invitation?’

      ‘The kind that’s marrying me thanks to parental pressure?’ Alexa muttered sourly.

      He shot her a brief look of appreciation.

      ‘Besides,’ she continued, skin tingling from that momentary look, ‘you don’t strike me as the sort of man who gives a hoot what other people think of him.’

      She swept past him, breathing in his clean, woody scent and determinedly ignoring its impact on her senses.

      ‘I find that I’m willing to make an exception for my in-laws-to-be...’

      ‘Why are you taking this so calmly?’

      It was the first thing Alexa said as they sat down at the table in the informal dining room. The blue room was still big enough to fit a ten-seater table, but places had been set for them opposite each another at one end. As always, it was a full arrangement, with dinner plates, side plates and separate silver cutlery for every course to be served—in this case salad, soup, main course and dessert.

      Alexa could not have felt less hungry, and she looked with uninterest as salads were brought in and placed in front of them.

      He, she noted, had no problem with his appetite.

      ‘How else do you imagine I should react?’ Theo looked at her, and across the width of the table she felt his overwhelming presence all the more acutely.

      There was something intimate about eating together, and she could barely concentrate on her salad as the flutter of nerves threatened to overpower her common sense.

      She put that down to her healthy dislike of the man.

      ‘Do you imagine that this is a situation I enjoy being in?’ he enquired coolly. ‘My father dropped this bombshell and I find I’ve had next to no option but to take the hit.’

      ‘I never thought I’d end up in a marriage with someone who would walk up the aisle only thanks to having to take a hit from a bombshell he couldn’t dodge,’ Alexa said bitterly—and that was the stark truth.

      She had never followed the pattern of her friends, who had believed in sleeping around. She had never assumed that marriage was something to be taken lightly because it could be unpicked without too much difficulty if the going got rough. Her own parents had had a long and extremely happy marriage. Her mother, Irish by heritage, had been a gap-year student when she had met Carlo, and theirs had been a case of love at first sight. Which made it doubly upsetting that her father had seen fit to put her in this position. He had taken advantage of a situation and she was going to have to pay the price.

      ‘I don’t think that way of thinking will pay dividends in this particular situation...’ Theo pushed his salad plate to one side and sprawled back in the chair to look at her coolly. ‘We’ve both been put in an unfortunate position and now we have to deal with it.’

      ‘And you’re not angry...?’

      ‘Like I said, there’s no point in wasting energy on emotions that won’t get either of us anywhere. We’re going to present the perfect picture of a couple in love. Naturally there will have to be an engagement and a public announcement. Doubtless there will be cameras. You will smile and gaze adoringly up at me.’

      ‘And what will you be doing while I’m smiling and gazing adoringly?’

      ‘Controlling the situation.’

      ‘And this so-called engagement is supposed to last...how long?’

      ‘It’ll be brief,’ Theo asserted with the sweeping assurance of someone who had given the details a great deal of thought. ‘We can’t wait to tie the knot.’

      ‘And how is this supposed to make any kind of sense?’ Alexa demanded. She lapsed into silence as their salad plates were removed, to be replaced with soup. ‘Have you suddenly had a transformation and gone from being a womaniser to a one-woman man who’s desperate to get married?’

      ‘And that,’ Theo said in a hard voice, ‘is just the sort of approach I am warning you to avoid.’ Then he smiled—a slow, lazy smile that made the breath hitch in her throat. ‘I never imagined that you were a spitting cat...’ he mused. ‘Do you think that’s the reason your parents think you’ll end up on the shelf...?’

       CHAPTER TWO

      ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE you just said that.’

      Never had a meal seemed so interminably long. Interrupted by the arrival of their main course—a fish casserole—Alexa could only glare at him with simmering resentment. No one had ever riled her to this extent. His air of superior cool got on her nerves and made her rantings seem childish and petty.

      ‘You have no right to say stuff like that! You don’t know me!’

      Theo dug into his food. She might not be his type, but there was a certain arresting quality to her face. Anger suited her, and he was startled at this reaction—because temper tantrums were things he had always actively discouraged.

      Her dig about his womanising had annoyed him, and as far as he was concerned what was good for the goose was likewise good for the gander. If she wanted to throw accusations at him, then her shoulders should be broad enough to take it when he threw a few home truths back at her in return.

      Not his style, admittedly, but then again since when had he ever been placed in a situation like this? On every single level she was just the sort of woman he would never naturally be drawn to. Physically, she was nothing like the tall, leggy supermodels he dated and, appearances aside, he liked his women to be obliging and accommodating. His work life was intense enough without having to do battle with a woman.

      ‘Aren’t you going to eat?’ he asked. ‘It’s excellent. Maybe I’ll get the name of your mother’s chef... Do you think she would object if I poached him?’

      ‘Elena isn’t a chef,’ Alexa muttered. ‘She’s the housekeeper we’ve had for centuries. And, yes, I think my mother would object if you decided to poach her. For your information, I have never considered myself as on the shelf. I’m not one of those women who thinks that the be-all and end-all of life is to get