Gentlemen Prefer... Brunettes. Liz Fielding

such a long time that she had fooled herself into believing that it would never happen again...

      Whichever it was, she told herself firmly, she was too old to be taken in by such an obvious pass. He was just doing it to impress Beth. Except that Beth was nowhere to be seen. Whatever. He was impressing the hell out of her and that would never do. ‘Strawberries?’ she repeated, thoughtfully. ‘What variety of strawberries?’

      If she had hoped to crush him with this put-down, she was doomed to disappointment. His eyes crinkled into a slow, wide and infinitely seductive smile. ‘The small sweet ones that are bright red all the way through,’ he murmured. ‘The kind that when you squash one between your fingers it dribbles dark red juice into your mouth.’

      ‘Oh.’ The image evoked was so sensuous, so real that Cassie sincerely wished she hadn’t asked. But at least he had surrendered her hand, finally.

      Her reprieve was short-lived, however, since he used the hand to hitch an inch or two of expensive lightweight suiting over his knee and prop himself on the edge of the table at which she was sitting. Then he leaned across her to pick up one of her glossy new cookery books.

      She steeled herself against the warm man-scent of freshly laundered linen, soap and an elusive trace of the kind of cologne they didn’t sell in the local supermarket. Nick Jefferson, on the other hand, began idly flipping through the pages as if nothing had happened. Seriously tempted to take it from him and hit him with it, she restrained herself. It would undoubtedly be wisest to follow his example and pretend that nothing had.

      Easier said than done. Her lips were singing from his delicate touch and she found herself wondering what it would be like to have Nick Jefferson hold her face between those long, sensitive fingers and kiss her seriously. Then she wondered if she was going quite mad.

      ‘I’m sure Helen will love this,’ he said, making her jump.

      ‘Helen?’

      ‘My sister,’ he told her.

      ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Again that knowing smile as if he had sensed the ridiculous flash of jealousy at the mention of another woman’s name. Lord, but the man was arrogant. And she was an idiot.

      ‘Well, far be it from me to discourage you from buying a copy of my book, but I’m rather inclined to agree with Beth. It’s hardly the kind of present a girl expects for her birthday.’

      ‘Well, this is just a little extra. Helen loves to cook—she collects new cookery books the way some women collect jewels. She’s a great fan of yours—which is why I came in when I saw the poster. Now I’ve met you, I can understand why.’

      Cassie ignored the smooth compliment. She strongly doubted that he had ever heard of her and she was positive that he was not the kind of man to waste time discussing cookery with his sister.

      ‘I think I’d rather buy my own cookery books and have someone give me jewels for my birthday,’ she said feelingly.

      ‘Don’t worry, Cassandra, I’ll find her some exciting surprise to go with it. I’m not that cheap.’

      No. She’d never thought he would be cheap. On the contrary, she was certain that he was a man who would be overwhelmingly generous with the little treasures that money could buy. But something warned her that he would be as mean as Scrooge with anything as important as emotional commitment.

      ‘Would you like me to sign it for her?’ she asked, holding out her hand to take the book, but he was apparently in no great hurry, turning the book towards her so that she could see the picture he had been looking at.

      ‘Sussex Pond Pudding?’ he queried, eyebrows raised just a fraction. ‘Is that for real?’

      Cassie was not convinced by his apparent interest in recipes, certain that he had further dalliance on his mind. But she was determined not to be drawn into further flirtation with a man who obviously thought he was irresistible—who quite probably was irresistible to anyone looking for a meaningless flirtation. But that was not her. However, she had to clear her throat before she could attain sufficient briskness to answer him.

      ‘Have you never tried it? It’s a traditional English pudding,’ she explained, as if lecturing a class of fourteen-year-olds at the local comprehensive. ‘The pond is a lemon and butter sauce that forms a moat around the pudding when it’s turned out of its basin. It’s loaded with calories, of course—but it is quite delicious. Maybe,’ she added, ‘if the surprise is exciting enough, your sister will make it for you.’

      ‘Maybe she will,’ he acknowledged, continuing to flip through the book. ‘And what about fluffs and fools and flummeries?’ he enquired, stopping at a page near the end of the book. ‘Are they stuffed with calories too?’

      She shrugged. ‘They’re certainly stuffed with cream.’

      He closed the book with a little snap and turned it over. ‘Maybe you should print a health warning on the cover.’ He raised the book slightly as once more his smile deepened the creases around his mouth, sending tiny crinkled fans out from the corners of his eyes.

      ‘They’re also full of good fresh fruit. Have you never heard the expression that a little of what you fancy does you good, Nick?’

      ‘Certainly. It’s a philosophy I subscribe to most heartily. But not necessarily in regard to food. Besides, I thought it was all low-fat, no-added-sugar that did you good these days?’

      Cassie discounted the smile. There was no denying that the man was gorgeous, but he was just a little too aware of the fact. Besides, she wasn’t a tall, willowy blonde so he was presumably just using her to practise on until something more to his taste came along.

      ‘Frankly, I’d rather go without. And no one is suggesting you eat them every day. You can have too much of a good thing, particularly flummery,’ she said pointedly.

      ‘Is that a particularly rich dish?’ he asked, a touch dangerously.

      Coming from him it was; the glint of mischief in his eyes betrayed him. She was quite certain he was aware that the word had another meaning, one that he would be far more familiar with...nonsense, humbug, empty trifling.

      Beth, who had dealt with her customer, returned in time to witness the sudden flush of bright pink spots that had appeared on Cassie’s cheeks. ‘If you think flummery is rich, my friend, you should try Cassie’s toad-in-the-hole,’ she interjected hurriedly.

      ‘Should I?’ Nick asked, continuing to look straight down into Cassie’s eyes. ‘If I catch the toad will you cook it for me?

      ‘Buy yourself a copy of the book, Nick,’ Beth advised him. ‘It will be an investment. One day you’ll run out of women to charm and then you’ll have to learn to cook for yourself.’

      ‘I’ve never charmed a woman for her talents in the kitchen, Beth,’ he said, without taking his gaze from Cassie. ‘This town is full of good restaurants.’ He hadn’t missed the hectic colour that had seared her cheekbones, confirming that despite her very cool manner he was making some kind of impression on Miss Cassandra Cornwell. Quite what kind of impression he wasn’t sure, which was unusual enough m itself to interest him. ‘But I’ll buy one if Cassie will inscribe it for me.’

      ‘Of course she will,’ Beth said, suddenly businesslike. ‘What would you like her to write?’

      ‘Oh, I’ll leave that to Cassie. I’m sure she’ll think of something appropriate,’ he said, offering her the book.

      ‘How about, “To Nick Jefferson, the most accomplished—?” ’

      ‘The most accomplished cook in town,’ Nick completed, cutting Beth off before she could say something completely outrageous.

      ‘But you can’t cook,’ Cassie reminded him, with excessive politeness. Nick had a feeling that she would have preferred to throw one of her cookery books at him. A whole pile of books, perhaps. He rather thought he would like to see her try.

      ‘Won’t