Gentlemen Prefer... Brunettes

‘Just you and three boys? Beth could be right. You’ll need someone who knows what he’s doing to put up the tent.’

‘Will I? Is it that difficult?’

‘A nightmare if you don’t know what you’re doing.’

‘Do you warn your customers about that when you’re selling them one of your dream tents?’

‘We do advise them to have a practice run at home in the garden before they go trekking up the Amazon. Have you done that, Miss Cornwell?’

‘Trekked up the Amazon?’

‘Had a practice run—in the garden?’

‘Not yet.’

‘You should. This weather isn’t going to hold for ever. It might be pouring with rain, or blowing a force ten gale when you get to wherever you’re going.’

‘Are you volunteering to show me how it’s done, Mr Jefferson?’ She didn’t think so. He was doing it on automatic, Cassie decided. It wasn’t anything personal; he wasn’t in the least bit interested in her, he just couldn’t help himself.

‘Maybe. Why don’t we discuss it over lunch?’

Lunch? The man really was too much. Did he think she would swoon into his arms with gratitude?

‘Won’t you be too busy pursuing leggy blondes to worry about me and three small boys?’ she enquired, keeping the edge from her voice with difficulty as, determined to put an end to this nonsense, she turned to the flyleaf of the book.

‘Who said I pursued anyone?’

The implication being that they pursued him? Good grief. ‘Your sister’s name is Helen, I think you said?’ She refused to take any further part in this conversation.

‘That’s right.’ She signed the book, handed it to Beth to wrap and waited for him to go. He didn’t. ‘Don’t forget my book, Cassandra,’ he reminded her.

She’d assumed his offer to buy a book had been simply part of the game—in fact she’d been sure it was. But if he had more money than sense she wasn’t about to argue. She took a second book from the pile, opened it and for a moment considered the bare white space of the flyleaf.

Then she wrote, ‘For Nick Jefferson—a man to be taken with just a pinch of salt.’ Then she signed it and handed it to him.

CHAPTER TWO

NICK regarded the inscription for a moment before passing the book to Beth with his charge card without comment. A man had to pay for his pleasure, after all, and flirting with Cassandra Cornwell had certainly been different. Whether he could describe it entirely as a pleasure he couldn’t be sure. Except for that kiss. He hadn’t been kidding about the strawberries.

‘Now, where shall we have lunch?’ he asked Cassie. ‘I’m sure you know all the best places.’

Not as well as he did; she was certain of that. ‘I’m sorry, Nick, I already have a luncheon engagement.’ She offered him her hand without thinking...at least, she hoped she hadn’t been thinking. ‘I do hope your sister enjoys the book.’

‘And what about me?’ He was holding onto her hand again, the pad of his thumb pressed against the backs of her fingers in something close to a caress. Cassie retrieved it quickly. She was twenty-seven years old, well beyond the point in life where she was prepared to become just another entry in any man’s little black book.

‘You’ll never open your book again,’ she said briskly. ‘You’ll just stick it on a shelf somewhere, or maybe it won’t even get that far. Maybe you’ll just go back to your office and give it to your secretary.’

‘Not with that inscription, I won’t.’

‘You didn’t think it appropriate? I’m sorry, Nick. Would you like me to give you your money back?’

‘No.’ Then, as she reached for her bag, he added, ‘I can’t wait to read it more closely.’

‘Nonsense. You’ll hide it away in the bottom drawer of your desk and forget all about it. That would be such a waste when I can find a good home for it.’ She opened her purse and began to extract the money to refund the cost of the book.

Nick closed his hand over hers. ‘Put your money away. I promise I shall take your book home with me this evening and study it with the closest interest. Who knows? Maybe you’ll convert me and I’ll be tempted to cook something.’

‘Be careful you don’t make a complete strawberry fool of yourself, Nick,’ Beth warned him as she returned his card and handed him the books in a bag. ‘Give my best wishes to your mother and don’t wait for Helen’s next birthday before you drop in again. You do have to pass the door every day,’ she reminded him.

‘I won’t,he promised, his gaze ligering momentarily on Cassie. Then he stepped through the door and out into the huge airy atrium that rose through the centre of the building.

‘Whew!’ Cassie said, flopping back in her chair as the door swung shut behind him. And she shook her fingers, blowing on her nails as if scorched.

Beth laughed. ‘You’re a cool one, Cassie. I should think it’s a totally new experience for Nick to be turned down for anything, particularly lunch in some fancy restaurant. ’

‘Then I shall take comfort in the certainty that the experience will be a memorable one for him.’ She smiled slightly. ‘Which is more than can be said for the dish of the day—which is all I would have been if I’d said yes.’

‘I see your point. So who are you lunching with?’

‘You. My treat.’

‘You turned down Nick Jefferson for me? Lady, you need to get your priorities right.’

‘Just because the man makes me sizzle, Beth, doesn’t mean I have to leap onto the plate and hand him the mustard.’

‘He does make you sizzle, then?’

‘Only in the same way as your average movie star.’

‘Oh?’

‘You know. You go to the cinema and while the lights are down he’s all yours. Then you go home. Men are safer that way.’

‘Don’t you find safety a touch boring?’

‘Not at all. Besides, you heard the man. He has an incurable weakness for blondes.’

‘I know. Tall blondes at that. The cool Grace Kelly type. One has just taken up residence in the Jefferson Sports marketing department and I hear the guys are laying odds on how long it will take her to succumb to the Jefferson charm. But do you know something? For all the lovely blondes Nick’s chased and undoubtedly caught in the last few years, he’s never actually been tempted to marry one of them. Doesn’t that tell you something?’

‘That they’re smart?’

‘You’re not that cynical, Cassie.’

‘Oh, yes, I am.’ The onlooker saw more of the game and she’d been an onlooker for long enough to know that she’d made the right decision. But she was human enough to be interested in a little hot gossip. ‘He’s never even come close?’ she asked.

Beth shrugged. ‘He bought a lovely cottage just outside town a few years back and everyone got excited about that, assuming he was going to take the plunge.’

‘And?’

‘It turned out he was having fun with an interior decorator at the time. I suppose she just wanted something to practise on and he was inclined to indulge her. Once she’d finished with the cottage she moved on.’ She grinned. ‘Or maybe he moved her on.’

‘That sounds more likely. After all, why would he bother to marry anyone when he’s having such a good time?’

Beth frowned. ‘Nick isn’t like that.’

‘No?’ Cassie shook her head. ‘He’s a good-looking man, Beth, and maybe he’s as nice as you say, but I like a little more bottom to a man.’

‘Bottom? He has the cutest butt—’

‘Substance. Gravitas,’ Cassie interrupted quickly. ‘Nick Jefferson is a cuckoo. A very charming, very beguiling cuckoo, no doubt, and I can see the way your mind is working. But I’m a swan—so don’t even think about it.’

Beth’s forehead wrinkled up into a frown. ‘A swan?’

‘They mate for life.’ It was an excuse that had served her well enough until now, but her fingers strayed to lips still tingling from that unexpected kiss. Then she saw Beth looking at her with an expression that mingled sympathy with just a touch of exasperation, a look that said five years was long enough to mourn for anyone. ‘I know, I’ll probably end my days talking to my cat,’ she said, quickly, before Beth said it for her.

‘Possibly, but that’s no reason not to have a little fun with the cuckoos, or even the ducks, while you’re waiting for another swan to come along. I imagine swans do look for another mate if the first one... It’s not too late to call Nick back and tell him you’ve changed your mind about lunch—’ She began to move towards the door.

‘Stay right where you are, Beth Winslet. Nick Jefferson is not my kind of man.’

‘He’s every girl’s kind of man,’ Beth said with a grin.

‘Exactly. And he isn’t about to saddle himself with one when he can have the whole gallery, now is he? So, where am I going to take you for lunch?’

Beth continued to challenge her for another thirty seconds, then she threw up her hands, conceding defeat. ‘I should be treating you,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe the number of people you brought into the shop this morning.

‘And some of them even bought a book,’ Cassie said with a grin as she signed the books left on the table.

‘I know you hate these things. It was good of you to give up your morning.’

‘It was the least I could do. After all, catering for your wedding changed my life—’

‘Lunch with Nick Jefferson might well have done the same,’ Beth pointed out. ‘Have you ever considered the possibility that I might be your fairy godmother—?’

‘You’re not suggesting that Nick Jefferson is Prince Charming?’

‘Heaven forbid. I wouldn’t wish Prince Charming on any woman. Just consider... He lined up all the beauties in the land so that he could take his pick of them. And then he chose Cinderella by the size of her feet. How sad can you get?’

‘Well, when you put it like that...’

‘I do. I have to admit that you do have the daintiest little feet I’ve ever seen—but I have the feeling that Nick looks for a little more than that in a woman.’

‘Blonde hair, super-model looks?’ Cassie suggested.

‘Well, what do men know? As your fairy godmother my advice would have been to let him take you to lunch.’

‘I’d advise you to hang up your wand and quit while you’re ahead, Beth. Now, I’ve discovered this great little place down by the river. So, what do you say?’

‘Thank you?’

‘That’ll do nicely.’

Twenty floors above them in the Jefferson Tower, Nick Jefferson was facing a problem of his own. She was approaching him right now across the marble floor of the lobby. Tall, slender, with platinum hair that emphasised her glacial beauty, Veronica Grant was a distinctly superior female and since she’d been brought in as a consultant to work with the marketing department she’d had every man who worked at the headquarters of Jefferson Sports drooling over her every word, even the ones old enough and married enough to know better.

Not that she gave them any encouragement. Professional to her fingertips, she confined her conversation strictly to the job in hand. She appeared to be quite unaware of the testosterone rampaging in her wake as she walked through the building.

Appeared to be. Nick Jefferson was not entirely convinced about that. There wasn’t a woman yet born that oblivious of the ripples she caused as she walked across a room. Not when the ripples were of tidal-wave proportions. It had to be an act. Didn’t it?

The temptation to find out was almost irresistible. After all, his name headed the list of odds in the ‘Ice Queen Stakes’ that some clown had posted in the men’s room—hardly surprising in view of the fact that his family owned the business and that he was still, despite his thirty-three years, one of the few men on the list without at least one failed marriage behind him. A situation he was in no hurry to change. He’d seen the bitter aftermath of too many marriages that had ended on the rocks to be eager to rush into wedlock.

Not that his name seemed to impress Veronica Grant. She treated him with the same rather distant politeness that she bestowed on everyone else.

He wondered if she knew about the list. He’d ordered its removal the moment he’d seen it, well aware that the female thought-police of the typing pool would pounce on such political incorrectness with glee. But things like that had a way of getting around; which meant that simply asking her out to dinner the way he might any other new colleague was likely to be met with a certain amount of suspicion. He was well aware that more than one of his colleagues had made the mistake of being too eager. Her response had been a polite but definite ‘No, thank you’. No excuse. No face-saving suggestion that she was busy, or involved with someone else. Just a plain, unadorned ‘no’.

Was it just that she didn’t mix business with pleasure? he wondered. Or was she waiting for something better to come along? The heir apparent to the Jefferson Sports empire, for instance?

Veronica nodded as she fell in beside him at the lifts. ‘Hello, Nick.’ That was about as personal as her conversation got.

‘Veronica,’ he returned distractedly, stepping into the lift ahead of her, well aware that she would take instant offence at any suggestion of patronising deference to the weaker sex. Apparently she didn’t subscribe to the concept of a weaker sex and he was pretty sure that she could teach the typing pool a thing or two about PC behaviour.

‘What’s up, Nick? You look as if you’re about to report a slump in the sales figures.’

‘Do I?’ He didn’t allow his triumph at this small breakthrough to show, merely looked slightly puzzled. Then he said, ‘Oh, no. It’s my sister’s birthday next week. I’ve just bought her a cookery book—’

‘I saw Cassandra Cornwell had a signing.’

‘Yes, well, that’s the predictable gift. Now I’ve got to think of something special as a surprise.’

‘Send her a cheque.’

‘A cheque?’ That would certainly fulfil the surprise element. It surprised the hell out of him. ‘Isn’t that a bit... impersonal?’

‘But easy. And it saves time, postage and footwear. Believe me, it’s a great deal more enjoyable getting an impersonal cheque than being presented with something you’d be ashamed to put in the garbage.’

Her bluntness was refreshing, even if her assessment of his taste was less than flattering. But it was the longest conversation they’d had on any subject other than marketing in the three weeks since she’d moved into the office opposite his. Maybe he could string it out a little further, learn a little about her likes and dislikes.

‘It’s a tempting idea, but I don’t think it would go down too well with Helen. Kid sisters like to be spoiled a little, you know.’

‘Do they?’ She gave him a long, assessing glance from a pair of silvery blue eyes. ‘She can’t be that much of a kid.’

He shrugged. This was one hard female. Here he was, a warm, caring brother, worrying about a gift for his sister, and was this woman impressed? Would anything impress her? An uneasy feeling that it might be wiser to ignore the challenge on the men’s room wall abruptly hardened into determination to see just what it would take to soften her heart.

It wasn’t as if it would be a hardship, exactly. He considered the perfection of seemingly endless legs, the slender figure expensively clad in cool ice-blue linen that so exactly matched her character, the smooth platinum curve of hair. The contrast with the vivid, inviting warmth of Cassie Cornwell couldn’t have been more marked.

‘I suppose not,’ he conceded quickly, before his thoughts ran away with him. Dimpled little pouter pigeons were not his style. He’d always liked his women to have the lines of a well-bred greyhound. ‘Helen’s got four of her own.’

‘Four? Four children?’

If he’d suggested sex in the lift she couldn’t have been more shocked. ‘She started young,’ he explained. ‘And last time she had twins.’

‘In that case forget the cheque, just take her children off her hands for the weekend and give the poor woman a break.’

He laughed out loud. ‘Four girls? You’ve got to be joking.’

‘Have I?’ Veronica’s voice maintained its neutral tone, giving nothing away. ‘I’d have thought four girls would have been right up your street.’

Nick opened his mouth to protest at this calumny, but decided that might not be a wise move. The grapevine had obviously been busily filling her in on the details of his bachelor existence. So he grinned instead. ‘Not four girls between the ages of five and eight, Veronica.’ And he found his thoughts drifting to Cassandra Cornwell. She was taking her nephews camping. He was assailed with a sudden vision of her waking up early, stretching and then curling back into the warmth of her sleeping bag like a dormouse...

‘Well, I’m sure a man of your experience will think of some treat to take the poor woman’s mind off runny noses for a few minutes, Nick,’ Veronica said, breaking into his thoughts. ‘Some way to light up her day.’

He dragged himself back from the enticing thought of curling up with Cassie and gave his full attention to Veronica. Poor woman? It was the second time in as many minutes that she’d referred to his sister in that condescending manner. He’d like to see her try it to Helen’s face; she’d soon be put in her place.

Just because his sister thought her family was more important than running a company, that didn’t mean she couldn’t do both if she’d a mind to. Probably with one hand tied behind her back. Even surrounded by boxes of nappies and baby goo she had found time to train for and compete in the London Marathon. And turn in one of the fastest amateur times. Her role as wife and mother might be her first priority but she was still a Jefferson. However, Helen didn’t need him or anyone else to stand up for her, so he let it go.

‘I’m sure you’re right, Veronica,’ he said as the lift door opened. ‘I’ll think of something. Every woman has a weak spot.’ And he’d find hers, he promised himself, and sooner rather than later.

As for Helen, Veronica might have inadvertently offered a solution. Not a cheque—because despite all the advantages Veronica had outlined he knew better than to send his sister money. Helen would return it with a reminder that money was something you gave to charity; sisters deserved a little more time and thought. But then sisters were notoriously blind to their brothers’ good qualities, presumably because they’d lived with them through childhood and adolescence and had been the victim of all their worst ones.

That couldn’t be Veronica Grant’s problem, though. Not that he was entirely convinced by her arm’s length tactics. She might be a very clever woman but he wasn’t exactly stupid himself. He was number two at Jefferson Sports and when his uncle retired in a year or two he’d be number one. The Jefferson name and the money which went with it were a plum prize and he was well aware that he was a target for every matchmaking mama in Melchester.

If that was Veronica’s game she was doomed to disappointment. A little kiss chase was one thing but he had no intention of getting involved in anything heavier. He was simply out to prove a point, not change his life. He liked his life just the way it was.

But he hated to walk away from a challenge. It ran in the blood. His grandfather had been a track hero, his father had played rugby for his country and his uncle had been about to follow him when he was sidelined by injury. The three of them had put Jefferson Sports on the map and expected their offspring to follow in their mighty footsteps.

While his cousins had taken to the professional sports field with enthusiasm, adding glory to the family name, Nick had chosen instead to flex his muscles in the business world. After all, someone had to stay home and mind the store. He’d done his bit for the family honour with a rowing blue for his university, but he’d long outgrown such gladiatorial contests. Not that he was a slouch on the tennis court, or the piste, but sport, in his book, was for fun. He particularly enjoyed the indoor kind.

He was smiling as he dropped the bookstore carrier bag on his desk and reached for the telephone to call his brother-in-law. But as he waited for a connection his gaze fell on the bright bag and his smile turned into a frown.

Cassandra Cornwell was not his kind of woman. Short, with an armful of curves and an uncontrollable mop of dark hair, she was the very antithesis of the kind of woman he liked to be seen with. He couldn’t think why he had asked her to lunch. Or why he had been so irked when she had turned him down. Except that she reminded him of a little brown teddy bear he’d had as a child. Soft and warm...and cuddly. He suddenly realised that someone was speaking into his ear.

‘Oh, Graham, it’s Nick. I’ve just had a bright idea for Helen’s birthday. How would you two like to spend it in Paris? On me?’

‘Tell me about your nephews, Cassie,’ Beth invited as they settled themselves in the small, elegant dining room overlooking the river. ‘Why do you feel you have to take them out into the wild woods and introduce them to nature in the raw? Surely that’s their father’s job?’

‘Their father has something more important on his mind. And I don’t mind, really.’

‘Bravely spoken.’

‘No, it’ll be fun. They’re great kids. I took them with me to an ice-cream factory a few weeks back and we had a ball. I’m more worried about the boys’ parents than looking after their offspring...’ Cassie shrugged. ‘I’m pretty sure that my sister is having problems with her marriage. I know Lauren’s sick to the back teeth of being left alone with the boys while Matt’s been spending all the hours of the day and night working.’ ‘We all have to make sacrifices, Cassie. It’s tough out there.’

‘I know that. Lauren does too, I’m sure, but you know how it is. Tension starts to build up over something stupid and before you know it you’re nursing every grudge under the sun. I had lunch with them a few weeks back and frankly the place was like a powder keg on a dodgy fuse. Then, when Lauren found out that Matt had promised to take the boys away on a camping trip on the few days he was planning to take off this summer instead of spending the time with her on a proper family vacation... well...I had to do something...’

‘So you volunteered to take over the camping trip? Single-handed? Couldn’t you have bought the boys off with a trip to Disneyland Paris?’

‘Matt’s mother took them in the Easter holiday.’

‘So?’

‘Well, it would have looked a bit obvious.’

‘And this doesn’t?’

‘I managed to convince them that I was planning a series on cooking outdoors...practically begged them to let me do it...’ Cassie smiled ruefully. ‘You think I’m mad, don’t you?’

‘Actually, I think you’re a peach. Mad, but a peach. But are you sure you’re wise to go on your own?’

‘Do you mean without a man to take care of me?’ Cassie enquired dangerously.

‘Well, it’s always nice to have one handy. Even if it’s only to pitch the tent and fetch the water.’ Her eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘And any other little job that needs doing.’

‘Maybe I should have taken Nick up on his offer of lunch after all. Who knows where it might have led?’

Beth stopped scanning the menu long enough to laugh out loud. ‘Oh, I’m sure you do. Just because you’ve chosen a life of celibacy doesn’t mean that you’ve lost your memory.’ She frowned. ‘Or maybe it does.’

‘You’re not suggesting a double sleeping bag, are you, Beth?’ Cassie responded in mock horror.

‘I am, actually. But not just any double sleeping bag, you understand. I’m suggesting a top-of-the-range Jefferson Sports double duck-down sleeping bag.’

‘Have another glass of wine and say that.’

Cassie’s laughter turned the heads of several lunching businessmen. They were in no hurry to look away.

‘Just think how romantic it would be, Cass, zipped up together beneath the stars.’

Cassie was trying not to think about it She didn’t understand why it was so hard. ‘With three small boys playing gooseberry? I think I’d rather manage on my own, thanks. Unless, of course, you fancy a week of outdoor fun in the wilds of Wales? You’d be most welcome. ’