Mr. (Not Quite) Perfect (10 page)

Which might even be true. Not the realisation, which in reality hadn’t crossed his mind at the time, but that he was still missing Emma at some level.

Now that he thought about it, Max thought it probably was true. It would explain the muddle inside him, wouldn’t it? Max
hated
feeling like this, as if he were churning around in some massive washing machine, not knowing which way was up. Not knowing what he thought or what he felt. He hadn’t felt himself since Emma had wafted off in search of passion.

‘I sent Emma a text, just like you suggested,’ he told Allegra almost accusingly, and she sat up straighter.

‘Did she reply?’

‘While I was on my way to Darcy’s. So I was thinking about her before I got there.’

That
was
true, although he hadn’t really been thinking about Emma in a yearning way, more in a how-odd-I-don’t-really-feel-anything-when-I-see-your-name-now kind of way. Until a week or so ago, Max would have said that all he wanted was to hear from Emma and try to get back to normal again, but when he’d read her text he hadn’t felt the rush of relief and hope that he’d expected.

At least Allegra was looking sympathetic now. ‘I can see that would throw you a bit,’ she said fairly. ‘What did Emma say?’

‘Nothing really. Just that she was fine and how was I?’

‘Oh, that’s very encouraging!’ Allegra beamed at him and he looked back suspiciously.

‘It is?’

‘Definitely. If Emma didn’t want to stay in contact, she wouldn’t have replied at all. As it is, she not only responded, she asked you a question back.’

‘So?’

‘So she’s opening a dialogue,’ Allegra said with heavy patience. ‘She’s asked how you are, which means you reply and tell her, and say something else, then she gets the chance to react to that... Before you know where you are, you’re having a conversation, and then it’s only a matter of time before you decide you should meet.’

She sat back, satisfied with her scenario. ‘It’s a really good sign, Max,’ she assured him. ‘I bet Emma’s bored with her passionate guy already and was thrilled to hear from you.’

Max couldn’t see it.
Thrilled
. There was an Allegra word for you. Emma wasn’t the kind of woman who was
thrilled
about things. It was one of the things he had always liked about her. Emma didn’t make a big fuss about anything. She was moderation, balance, calm—unlike some people he could mention.

He looked at Allegra, who was curled up in the armchair, bright-eyed and a little tousled at the end of the evening, apparently unaware that her dress was rucked up, exposing a mouth-watering length of leg. When he thought about Allegra, he didn’t think moderation. He thought extravagance. Allegra dealt in extremes. She
adored
things or she
loathed
them. She was wildly excited at the prospect of something or dreading it. She was madly in love or broken-hearted. It was exhausting trying to keep up with the way her emotions swung around. Emma had never left his head reeling.

Of course, Emma was the one who had thrown up her nice, safe life for a passionate affair, so what did he know?

Max hunched his shoulders morosely. Women. Just when you thought you understood them, they turned around and kicked your legs out from beneath you, leaving you floundering.

Look at Allegra, who had just been Libby’s mildly annoying friend. He’d known exactly where he was with her. True, there had been that odd little moment a few years ago but, apart from that, it had been an easy relationship. Nothing about her seemed easy now. He couldn’t look at her without noticing her skin or the silkiness of her hair. Without thinking about her legs or her mouth or the tantalising hollow of her throat.

Without blurting out that she looked beautiful.

Max didn’t know exactly what Allegra had done to change, but she had done
something
.

Now she was fiddling with her hair, smoothing it behind her ear, grooming herself like a cat. ‘So have you replied to her?’ she asked.

‘What?’ Mesmerised by her fingers, Max had forgotten what she was talking about.

Allegra looked at him. ‘Have you replied to Emma?’ she repeated slowly, and Max felt a dull colour burning along his cheekbones.

‘Oh. No, not yet.’

‘You’re playing it cool?’

Max was damned if he knew.

What if Allegra was right? What if Emma really was waiting to hear from him? If they could miraculously make everything right, get married as planned, and go out to Shofrar? He ought to feel happy at the idea...oughtn’t he? But all he really felt was confused.

He met Allegra’s expectant gaze. Playing it cool sounded a lot better than not having a clue what was going on.

‘Something like that,’ he said.

* * *

‘Allegra!’ Max banged his fist on the bathroom door. ‘What in God’s name are you doing in there?’

‘Nearly ready,’ Allegra called back. Carefully, she smoothed her lipstick into place and blotted her mouth. She wouldn’t for the world admit it to Max, but she was nervous about the evening ahead. This dinner with Bob Laskovski and his wife was so important to him. She didn’t want to let him down.

Max had been in a funny mood for the last few days. Allegra had decided that hearing from Emma had thrown him more than he understood. He was in denial, but it was obvious that he really wanted Emma back. Why else would he resist Darcy?

It had been easier to go out and leave him to be morose on his own, and when William got in touch after dinner at Flick’s she had agreed to meet him for a drink after all. The whole relationship detox thing would never have worked anyway, Allegra decided. She should at least give him a chance.

William was good company, good-looking, and she enjoyed herself, and she wouldn’t let herself think that looking at William’s patrician mouth didn’t make her stomach hurt the way it did when she looked at Max’s.

Because there was no point in thinking about Max that way.

Allegra couldn’t even explain what kind of way that was, but it was something to do with a trembly sensation just below her skin, with a thudding in her veins that started whenever Max came into the room. It was something to do with the way every sense seemed on full alert when he was near.

Being so aware of him the whole time made her uncomfortable. It was crazy. It was inappropriate. It didn’t make sense.

It was just the assignment, she tried to reassure herself. It was just spending so much time with him. It wasn’t
real
. A temporary madness, that was all. Max would go to Shofrar and she would go back to normal.

She couldn’t wait.

Max had been very clear. He wasn’t interested in a quick fling. He was looking for someone who could be part of his life, someone who would share his interests and not mind being dragged around the world. It wasn’t Darcy, and it sure as hell wasn’t her either, Allegra knew. She was the last kind of girl Max would ever want to get involved with...and the feeling was mutual, she hurried to remind herself whenever that thought seemed too depressing. It wasn’t as if she wanted to leave London. She had a career here.

She might not be changing the world or writing ground-breaking articles, but she was doing what she wanted to do...wasn’t she? Allegra’s mind flickered to illustration then away. Drawing cartoon animals wasn’t a serious job. She could do better for herself, as Flick was constantly telling her.

Besides, the article about Max was going to be her big break. She had already written the first half and it was pretty good, even if she did say so herself. Perhaps she was spending rather too much time sketching Max while she thought, but it was inevitable that she should be thinking about him. Right now, that was her job, that was all.

‘
Allegra
! We’re going to be late!’ Max had just raised his fist to rap the bathroom door again when Allegra pulled it open. She smiled brightly at him, gratified by the way his jaw slackened.

‘What do you think?’ She pirouetted in the doorway. She was in the most demure outfit she could find, a killer LBD with a sheer décolletage and sleeves. Even Max couldn’t object to a black dress, Allegra had reasoned, but she’d been unable to resist pimping up the plainness with glittery earrings and bling-studded stilettos. There was only so much plain dressing a girl could do, and she was counting on the fact that Max and his boss were men and therefore unlikely to even look at her shoes.

‘Do I look sufficiently sensible?’ she asked, and Max, who had evidently forgotten that his fist was still raised, lowered it slowly.

‘Sensible isn’t quite the word I was thinking of,’ he said, sounding strained.

Allegra was disappointed. ‘I’ve put my hair up and everything,’ she protested. Her hair was so slippery it had taken ages to do, too.

‘You look very nice,’ Max said gruffly. ‘Now, come on. The taxi’s waiting. We need to get a move on.’ His gaze travelled down her legs and ended at her shoes. ‘Can you make it to the taxi?’

‘Of course I can,’ said Allegra, unsure whether to be pleased or miffed that he had noticed her shoes after all.

Her hair was precariously fixed, to say the least, so Allegra settled back into the seat and pulled her seat belt on with care. She loved London taxis, loved their bulbous shape and the yellow light on top. She loved the smell of the seats, the clicking of the engine, the straps that stopped you sliding around on your seat when they turned a corner. Sitting in a taxi as it drove past the iconic London sights made Allegra feel as if she was at the centre of things, part of a great vibrant city. It gave her a thrill every time.

Every time except that night.

That night, the streets were a blur. Allegra couldn’t concentrate on London. She was too aware of Max sitting beside her. He was sensibly strapped in too, and he wasn’t touching her. He wasn’t even close, but that didn’t stop her whole side tingling as if the seat belt had vanished and she had slid across the seat to land against him.

She swallowed hard. This was so
silly
. She shouldn’t have to make an effort to sound normal with Max.

‘So,’ she said brightly, ‘what’s the plan?’

‘Plan?’

‘We ought to get our stories straight about how we met at least.’

Max frowned. ‘Bob’s not going to be interested in that kind of thing.’

‘His wife might be.’

It was obvious Max hadn’t thought of that. ‘Better stick to the truth,’ he decided, and Allegra’s brows rose.

‘Won’t that rather defeat the object of the exercise?’

‘I don’t mean about the pretence,’ he said irritably. ‘Just that I know you through my sister, that kind of thing.’

It all sounded a bit thin to Allegra, but Max clearly didn’t think his boss was going to interrogate them in any detail. She just hoped that he was right.

‘I don’t think you’ll have to do much but smile and look as if we might conceivably be planning to get married,’ Max said.

‘How besotted do you want me to be?’ she asked provocatively. It was easier needling him than noticing how the street lights threw the planes of his face into relief, how the passing headlights kept catching the corner of his mouth. ‘I could be madly in love or just sweetly adoring.’

‘Just be normal,’ he said repressively. ‘If you can.’

They were to meet Bob and his wife at Arturo’s, a quiet and classic restaurant no longer at the forefront of fashion but still famous for its food. When they got there, Max paid off the taxi and ran a finger under his collar. He’d wanted to wear a plain white shirt but Allegra had bullied him into putting on the mulberry-coloured shirt Dickie had picked out for him, with a plain tie in a darker hue.

‘Bob’s going to wonder what the hell I’m doing in a red shirt,’ he grumbled as he eased the collar away from his throat.

‘Stop fiddling, you look great,’ said Allegra. She stepped up and made his senses reel by straightening his tie and patting it into place. ‘Really,’ she told him, ‘you look good. You just need to relax.’

‘Relax, right,’ said Max, taking refuge in sarcasm. ‘I’m just going for the most important interview of my career so far, which means lying through my teeth to my new boss. What’s there to feel tense about?’

‘We don’t have to lie if you don’t want to. Why not just tell Bob the truth about Emma?’

For a moment Max was tempted. Wouldn’t chucking in the towel be easier than spending the evening trying to convince Bob Laskovski that it was remotely credible that a girl like Allegra would choose to be with him? She was so clearly out of his league.

When she had opened the bathroom door and smiled at him, it had been like a punch to his heart. ‘Do I look sufficiently sensible?’ she had asked while he was still struggling for breath, while he was trying to wrench his eyes off the way her dress clung enticingly to her slender body.

True, her arms and shoulders were covered but that sheer black stuff was somehow even more tantalising than bare skin would have been. It seemed to beckon him forward to peer closer, hinting at the creamy skin half hidden beneath the gauzy film of black. Between the sheer arms and shoulders and the tight-fitting dress, Max felt as if there were great neon arrows angled at her throat, at her breasts, at the curve of her hips:
Look here! Look here!

The dress stopped above her knees—
Look here!
—revealing those killer legs of hers—
And here!
—ending in absurd shoes that were studded with mock jewels. Her earrings swung and glittered in the light and her hair, twisted up and back more neatly than usual, gleamed.

Once the oxygen had rushed back to his head, Max had been able to think of lots of words to describe Allegra right then: sexy, erotic, dazzling, gorgeous... Had he already mentioned sexy? But
sensible? Suitable?
Max didn’t think so.

Now she was adjusting his tie and standing so close her perfume was coiling into his mind, and lust fisted in his belly. For a wild moment the need to touch her was so strong all Max could think about was grabbing her, pushing her up against a wall and putting his hands on her, touching her, feeling her, taking her.