Falling for Mr Wrong (11 page)

“12 July, you?”

“Cancer?” She leaned back into her seat. “As a Cancerian, you’re looking to belong.”

His heart stilled and kept his face in neutral. “Sounds like dribble.”

She raised her hands defensively. “I find star signs interesting. Want to know about me?” She did not want for him to answer. “My birthday is 7 April and I’m an Aries.”

“What does that mean?” He found himself asking.

“I’m headstrong and often act first and think later.”

“Suits you.” He could not hide the smile tugging at his lips.

“Don’t laugh at me.” She gave his arm a playful punch.

“My turn,” he said. “What’s your favourite colour?”

“Easy, green. You?”

“Blue.”

“Soccer or football?”

“Soccer
is
football.” He rolled his eyes.

A pfft sound, which he ignored, rang out from her lips. “I forgot, you’re English. Football or rugby?”

“Both. You?”

“Neither.”

He stole a quick look at her. “I thought Australians like football.” Weren’t all Australians sport-mad?

Shaking her head. “Not this one. So who’s your favourite soccer team?”

“Football. Chelsea.”

“And your favourite food?”

“Italian? You?”

A frown marred her forehead. “I thought you’d prefer something more traditional like a roast or fish and chips.”

His fingers clutched the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening.

“Nate?”

He pushed away the memory of his first taste of roast meat at seventeen. After surviving on Marmite sandwiches for years, he owed his foster parents so much. Education. Love. Nutritious food.

“What’s wrong with Italian?” He snapped at her.

“Nothing, I love it. I just expected an Englishman to like typically English foods.”

“You read too many Enid Blyton books as a child.”

“You’ve got snappiness down to an art.” She threw at him. “If you can’t say anything nice, then don’t say anything at all.”

Silence so tight hung between them before she broke it. “In case you care, my favourite dinner is my mum’s lamb roast.”

Of course
. He bristled with a tad of jealousy. Unfair and unreasonable to feel like that, sure. But he didn’t care. “How many brothers?”

“Three. You?”

“Bea.”

“What about parents?”

“I’ve already told you all you need to know.” He cracked his knuckles before returning to strangle the steering wheel. “Next question?”

“Shouldn’t I know more about your family?”

“No.” He kept his eyes fastened on the road as though navigating hair-pin turns rather than a modern four lane highway.

“We’re supposed to be engaged so don’t block me out.”

“Subject is closed.” His lips pursed together.

“Just so you know, I wouldn’t get engaged to someone who doesn’t share their feelings.” She paused. “No wonder Bea wants you to relax.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Anything else?”

“No,” she said smugly. “Let’s work out how you proposed?”

His jaw unclenched, happy to be off his family and onto something work related enquired, “how would you have liked me to propose to you?”

“Don’t answer a question with a question.”

He threw her a frustrated look. “Tilly, if we dated, I would know this. Help me out.”

“You’re right.” She leaned back in her seat pretending to admire her nails. “Since this is all make-believe, I’d like something really romantic.”

He snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”

Tilly’s knees came up, her feet resting on the seat before she wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging them. “You’d take me away somewhere special. A cottage for two. When we arrived, there were hundreds of tea lights lit everywhere creating a cosy mood. Roses. Chocolates. And you cooked me dinner.”

“I make dinner?” His brow lifted.

She grinned. “Of course. I love when a bloke can cook.”

A smile touched his lips. “And what would I have cooked?”

“Whatever you do best?” She fluttered her eye-lashes at him.

“How about an antipasto platter, gnocchi with burnt butter and sage finished with a crème brule?”

“Yum. You can make that?” Her eyes widened in astonishment. “You might have to do a trial run, just so I know how good the gnocchi really is.” She bit her lip to stop from laughing. “In case the press ask, I can tell them how good it
really
is.”

He chuckled.

Tilly liked the deep sound of the way he laughed. It allowed her to indulge in the fantasy that all of this was real. That she was on holidays with her lover. Her heart sighed. Despite the chemistry between them, Tilly knew it was only because of circumstances that he was interested in her. What would happen when they got to Jerusalem and he realised she was not joining him in London?

“Oh, and you should know, I’d never get married in some look-at-me-spectacular.” She shuddered at the idea of a media invasion ruining her special day.

He snorted. “You want to elope?”

She shook her head. “A church wedding and then something casual after. I love the idea of having everyone at my parent’s place, in the garden. Children running around, people chatting, laughter.”

The roll of his eyes made a vein pulsate in her forehead. How dare he ridicule her wedding fantasy! Throwing him an icy stare, she said, “it’s what I’d like. If
you
want to get married and have it splashed across the papers, go ahead,” her hand waved in the air, “but I will never do that.” Her weight slumped back in her seat.

“I’ll keep it in mind even though we won’t be getting that far.” His gaze remained on the traffic.

His smug reply made her clench her teeth. “I thought this was part of the getting to know me?”

He ignored her, stating with a firm nod of his head. “I need to get you a ring.”

What?
Her head spun around to stare at him. “A ring? No. I don’t want one.”

He shook his head. “After all that romance you like? Forget it, you’re getting one.”

Pfft
. “Will it be a precious family heirloom?”

“No.” His angry tone startled her.

Flustered, she fiddled with her watchband.

“We’ll get one in Jerusalem.” The bossy nature continued.

“Can I wear it on a chain around my neck?”

“You’re not proud to wear my, I mean, your fiancé’s ring?”

“No. I’m scared about losing it.”

“Just wear it, Tilly.” His exasperated tone made her feel like a reprimanded five year old.

His lips pursed together as he drove, the quiet hush of the air conditioner the only sound.

Biting her lip, Tilly leaned over and turned the radio on. Flicking through a number of stations till she found one playing jazz music.

Her neck muscles taut and wired, relaxed slightly as she stared out the window watching their ascent into the ancient city.

“It’s beautiful,” she sighed.

Nate grunted as he veered the car towards the city.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Tilly gasped as she leaned over to fiddle with the GPS.

“Leave it,” Nate hissed. “I’ve already set it.”

She gave him a frustrated stare. “But you don’t know where my aunty lives.”

“I’ve already organised our accommodation.” He mentioned the most exclusive, famous hotel in Jerusalem.

Her heart sank at the lavishness of his choice. Definitely out of her league. “We can’t stay there.”

“Of course we can,” he tossed at her, unable to believe she would not want to stay there.

She slumped into her seat. “I can’t afford it,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Tilly!” The aggravation in his voice caused her to swing around and face him. Although his concentration remained fully focussed on the traffic, she took in his jaw, which clenched and unclenched at regular intervals.

He braked and stopped, caught in a line of traffic. “You will be safe there.” He paused, his eyes flicked towards her then back at the road. “You know what those reporters are like. You can’t stay
anywhere
.”

Delivering an emphasis on the word ‘anywhere’ Tilly’s skin prickled in recognition of his astuteness.

She leaned back. Wrong. She would take her aunty’s next tour to Galilee where there were plenty of places she could live anonymously away from Nate and away from the press. The thought of lying to Nate had her tummy in knots, but her gut told her to stay in Israel. The steep history not only fascinated her but drew her in. Spellbound, she now understood why her aunty had felt such an affinity for a land so far from home and why she did not want to return to the town of her birth. Here was where history happened. She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them. “As much as I want to say no, you’re right.” Another lie.

He exhaled loudly. “I wanted to return to London immediately but
you
insisted on coming here.”

“Since we’re now engaged,” her fingers drew quotation marks in the air, “you should know that my family have traditional values.” She paused while continually fiddling with the pretty silver ring she bought at a local market in London. “My father is the local minister and as you know, Aunty Maude conducts Christian spiritual tours.”

He muttered something incomprehensible under this breath, as the car crawled along with the traffic.

“Did you just ask if I was a virgin?”

His pupils widened. “Did I say that aloud? Sorry.”

“Why do you want to know?” She tried not to grin at his obvious discomfort.

“I-um…” He seemed to be lost for words, which amused her more than it should have. Her parents would certainly not have approved.

“Were you expecting us to have sex and you’re now worried that I’m a

virgin?” She swallowed a giggle seeing his skin pale.

“Tilly!” he said so loudly, hoping to shut her up.

She ignored it and continued. “If we have sex, we’ll need to get married. My

family will insist.”

His face whitened more and she bit her lip so she would not laugh out loud at his obvious unease. His blanched face matched his clenched knuckles holding onto the steering wheel as they waited in traffic. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

She kept up the pretence for a little longer than she should have as a payback for the comments he had made after their devastating kisses.

The traffic meant they crawled to their final destination and at the hotel, Nate virtually leapt from his seat to get out of the car. He tossed the keys to a porter and grabbed their bags before making his way into the luxurious lobby.

He checked in within record time and was reluctant to meet her gaze.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Fine, let’s go.” He strode towards the lifts before stabbing the up arrow button.

Tilly whistled through her teeth. “The bathroom is twice the size of my bedroom at home. This is amazing. Look at the toiletry samples.” She lifted the lid to sniff. “Mmmmm, the Dead Sea in a bottle.”

She stopped, realising she was talking to herself. Walking out of the bathroom she found him engrossed, reading his emails on his mobile phone.

“I’m naked and covered in mud,” she called out.

His head spun round, his eyes wide and emails forgotten.

“Gotcha. Just kidding.” She smirked.

“Amusing,” he replied with a dry tone. Tilly caught the deflated look that crossed his face before returning attention to his phone.

“Thanks for organising the suite, it’s gorgeous. The views of the Old City are breathtaking. I love the monuments of historical and religious significance for three religions standing side-by-side.”

“What about the Porters’ place?” He did not look up from his phone.

“It was beautiful but too perfect.”

He looked up. “What do you mean?”

“All the furniture was in creams and whites. It was a devil’s job keeping the children from jumping on them.”

“They were naughty?” His brows crinkled together.

“No. More like a cry for attention. You know how children are.”

He shoved the mobile in his pocket and took a step towards her. “The Porters didn’t spend time with the children?”

“Yes, but they were busy. Sebastian had a lot of functions to attend.” She looked at him, “Why are you interested in the children?”

“I’m not,” he said too quickly before looking out the window.

Liar!
“You don’t like them?” she asked.

“Sebastian comes across as a smug, sanctimonious tosser. His wife seems okay.”

She tilted her head to the side, “Gee, tell it like it is.”

He rested his bottom on the arm of the sofa, facing her. “He left you to fend off the press.”

She shook her head.

A dark shadow crossed his face. “Don’t defend him.”

Her heart sank at his defence of her. She hated Sebastian. There had been no affair. Not only had
he
been the culprit but
he’d
sacked her and
he’d
thrown her out of the security of the Porter home. She would not have been placed in the terrifying situation of having two beefy reporters accost her in the London hostel. Her breath quickened as she remembered the fear of having two men intimidate her. Was it any wonder that she had been desperate to trust someone, anyone? And Elizabeth Preston had been as venomous as the others.

And now Nate was giving her the opportunity of standing up to the press, yet she still did not trust them. How could she? Every reporter had an agenda and none of them cared about her. She hated them with every fibre of her being. She was not going to bother defending herself – what was the use? There was no hope. Her shoulders straightened. She could still be strong and independent in Galilee.

“Tilly?”

Her gaze caught his dark eyes fixed on her. “No, I’m not defending him.”

“He should have made sure you were safe.”

“He’s a snake,” she said with a toss of her hair. “I’m going to take a bath.”

“Sure. What time did you tell your aunt we’d be there?”

She stretched her arms above her head. “Seven.”

“I’m going to work on the Executive level.”

Something about his evasive manner and the way his gaze did not meet hers had her eyes narrowing. “Why not here?”

“I’ve got calls to make, I don’t want to disturb you.” He collected his things.