Reckless Nights in Rome (30 page)

Never. Well,
apart from the time she fell off the barn roof when she was ten;
and the time she and her best friend, Bronte, made a valiant
attempt to down a bottle of neat vodka when they were fifteen; and
... well, never mind that. In recent years she’d been as good as
gold and hadn’t put a foot wrong.

She worked hard
and ran a successful business. Some mothers were simply not bloody
satisfied. It wasn’t as if she was out partying, or doing drugs, or
having wild monkey sex every night – or any night for that
matter.

‘I think you’ve
got the sequencing wrong, mother. Surely I need a man first?’

Rosie topped up
her coffee from the pot and took a sip.

‘Exactly! You
need to get out there and find him. He’s not going to stroll
through the door and sweep you off your feet. In your line of work
the men you meet are already taken.’

Which, Rosie
had to admit, was perfectly true. Running a wedding cake business
meant the men she met were the fiancé of the bride or the father of
the bride who footed the bill.

It cost her,
but she managed to keep the tone pleasant.

‘What do you
want me to do? Take out an ad in the paper? Join an internet dating
site? Or do you suggest I pop along to a sperm bank?’

‘Now you’re
just being silly, darling. No man is perfect. Compromise! It’s the
key to all things. Look at how I comprise each and every day with
your father?’

‘Poor sap,’
Rosie muttered under her breath.

‘I heard that.
We’ve been married for thirty-four years and I might not love him
all the time, but we’re crazy for each other.’

‘Crazy’s the
word all right. How is he anyway? And how’s life in Cyprus?’

Her mother gave
a heartfelt sigh at the change of subject.

‘He’s out
jogging and it’s hot. Rosie, promise me you’ll think about what
I’ve said? I worry that you’re missing out on something wonderful.
Look how happy Bronte is.’

Enough, Rosie
decided, was enough.

‘There’s only
one Nico Ferranti. I’ll give them your love. Got to run, the
timer’s about to go. Bye.’

She pressed the
red button and knew her mother wouldn’t be happy at being cut off,
but what was she supposed to do? The woman was driving her nuts. It
wasn’t as if eligible men were jostling to beat a path to her
door.

The trouble was
she’d trawled through the local male demographic years ago. Bronte
had found Nico when he’d bought Ludlow Hall, both of them struck
dumb by their amazing chemistry. Okay, Bronte might have loathed
Nico in the beginning, but it had all ended in happy ever
after.

And she wasn’t
jealous of her friend’s happiness. Not really. Well, maybe a
little. But she knew she’d never ever attain the dizzy heights of
marital bliss her friend had achieved.

Rosie knew this
for an absolute fact because she’d already met the man of her
dreams and had lost her heart to him on her tenth birthday.

The trouble was
she wasn’t the woman of his dreams, more like his biggest
nightmare.

Alexander
Ludlow saw her as a sister like Bronte, a friend, or worse as a
‘damned nuisance’
.

Two years ago,
she’d persuaded him to drive her home from a wedding party certain
her luck was in. She’d gone all out with her hair and a fabulous
red bustier to showcase her boobs. But he’d simply patted her on
the head goodnight and that was it. The mortification, the dashed
hopes, the bitter disappointment, the lack of hot, steamy sex,
still stung.

Not even Bronte
knew how much she pined after Alexander. And Bronte Ferranti knew
pretty much everything there was to know about Rosemary Gordon. It
was the one secret Rosie had kept from her friend and Rosie hugged
it and kept it close to her heart.

She also
squirreled treasured mementos in a locked wooden box under her
bed.

A part of her
wondered if her fixation with Alexander was healthy because
contained in that box were items with which a shrink would have a
field day.

In no
particular order, the purloined souvenirs included; Alexander’s
lucky cricket ball that went missing when he was sixteen and she’d
been nine. A pair of solid silver cuff links he’d been awarded for
rowing when he’d been eighteen and still bemoaned the loss of
today. Valentine cards she’d written every year since her twelfth
birthday and never sent. Newspaper clippings documenting him
receiving his degree along with many business successes and a tie
in pure silk by Armani.

The tie was her
most recent acquisition.

He’d left it
behind at a party at Bronte’s and she’d snuck it into her bag. The
decision to take it had been made on the spur of the moment and to
be honest the fact that she’d done such a thing both disturbed and
shamed her. Even now her cheeks heated in mortification. No one
must ever know she was a thief as well as madly in love with a man
she’d never ever have.

Christ, alarm
gripped her throat. Did that mean she was a stalker?

If Bronte ever
found out... Rosie shivered. How embarrassing would that be?

Not that she
let her undying, unrequited love for Alexander Ludlow get her down.
Nope. Most of the time she didn’t even think of him. Yeah right,
her conscience snorted.

Rosie knew Alexander
would never look at her in a romantic way and not just because she
didn’t come from the same background either.

Her late
grandfather had toiled down a coal pit in the north of England.
Although to be fair, the twelve year old Alexander had hung on to
her grandfather’s every word when he used to tell tall tales of his
life.

Their mothers
had been best friends and the families, in spite of the differences
or perhaps because of them, had been close. Anyway, her background
was nothing to be ashamed of, Rosie told herself.

Her father had
worked hard for over thirty-five years and fought his way to the
top in the oil industry. Due to the amount of travelling he and her
mother did, they’d sent Rosie to boarding school with Bronte.

Alexander
Ludlow found Rosie Gordon a
‘Total pain in the ass and a bad
influence on his sister.’
She knew that for an absolute fact
since he’d told her often enough.

The main issue
that would never be overcome was she simply wasn’t Alexander’s
type. He liked his women immaculate, tall, blonde and skinny.

Rosie’s black
hair with the riotous curls was like a bird’s nest on a good day.
She was five foot three and three quarter inches tall. She’d never
be skinny no matter how hard she tried, and God knew she’d
tried.

Alexander was
attracted to women with names like Lucinda, Tabitha or Imogen with
cut glass accents and a trust fund. The name Rosie didn’t roll off
the tongue in quite the same way. She’d gone to a good school but
she certainly didn’t have a trust fund.

Everything was
soft about his women; they’re hair, their skin, their voices. Women
who glided, who’d been taught deportment and ‘how to be a
lady.’

Rosie had been
taught how to climb trees, to scream like a banshee and not to cry
at the sting of skinned knees.

Her father was
big, broad and as strong as a bull, but gentle in his love for his
little family. While her mother might be petite with dark eyes, but
she had the roar and the heart of a lion. Her mother’s displeasure
made her big father cringe and her delight made him light up like a
Christmas tree. They loved each other deeply. It was the type of
love that Rosie wanted and would settle for nothing less.

However,
something Rosie simply could not get her head around was the
mystifying truth that Alexander still hadn’t found
the
one.
In fact, he hadn’t even come close, and why was that?

She frowned.
Now she’d come to think of it, he’d been in a dry spell for too
many months. He worked too hard. Maybe that was it; maybe he hadn’t
met a woman who could put up with the amount of travelling he did.
Business came first with Alexander and not many women were prepared
to put up with that sort of thing these days.

And what was
she doing thinking about him as if she had nothing better to
do?

Irritated with
herself for indulging in a useless daydream and with her mother for
causing it, Rosie prepared to clean up and leave on time for
once.

This was her
favourite part of the day.

Sweet Sensation
had moved from The Dower House of Ludlow Hall to the Tithe Barn
just outside of town. Josh, Nico’s architect, had done a fabulous
job of creating the perfect working, living space for the business
and for her. The sprawling open plan annex at the rear of the
property was a self contained unit with its own entrance and she
absolutely loved it.

She’d just
placed the cake topper in the cool room when the arrival of a black
glossy Range Rover in the car park had Rosie growl in her
throat.

Think of the
devil and it was sure to appear.

A tall man with
wide shoulders and immaculately cut hair the colour of ripe
chestnuts got out. Her heart, an organ that most of the time gave
her no trouble, did its usual little shimmy. Alexander Ludlow had a
haunting, brooding male beauty that attracted women like bees to
honey. For too many years she’d watched normally intelligent women
lose the power of speech when they saw him for the first time and
how their eyes went wide, their face flush and their breath
catch.

A vivid memory
of the first time he’d fallen in love flashed into her mind. How
those sea green eyes had gone all dark, hot and hungry when he’d
looked at Lucinda Menzies-Smith, a tall, leggy blonde with no boobs
and big blue vacant eyes.

Rosie had been
sixteen and it had nearly killed her. She’d managed to avoid him
until her late teens, knowing even then that her secret devotion to
him had the power to destroy.

And not much
had changed she admitted now. It was a total waste of a life and
the time had come for her to move on. A fresh start was just what
she needed. Time to grow-up, Rosie, and time to find out what the
future held. Nothing was going to happen here. Alexander wouldn’t
be struck by lightning and
see
her. That sort of thing
happened in romance novels, not in real life.

God knew she
couldn’t go on like this.

No other man
made her respond to him like Alexander did. No other man could
drive her crazy like Alexander did. No other man made her act out
the way he did either. But there was a big wide world out there,
surely there was someone in it, a man, who would want and need her
the way she needed to be needed?

Alexander
Ludlow mooned over no one and she’d put good money on it he never
gave Rosemary Margaret Gordon a second thought.

Since the
business had moved, he’d taken to casually dropping in two or three
times a week to shoot the breeze with the staff and to make sure
she was okay, along with pinching the odd muffin and drinking
her
coffee. In fact, he’d been using her space as his own
personal coffee shop, doing the big brother thing and sticking his
nose into
her
business for months.

Strolling
through the door as if he owned the place, he had the face of a
warrior, all plains and angles. A wide forehead with heavy brows
rose above deep set eyes of sea green which changed colour
according to his mood. The nose was long and straight. But it was
the wide mouth that always did it for her.

One day, Rosie
grimly promised herself, she was going to French kiss that
mouth.

By the bespoke
charcoal suit, white shirt and silk tie, he’d either come from The
Hall or was returning from a meeting. The black Italian leather
shoes, she had a thing for shoes, probably cost as much as her
monthly salary. Look at him, Mr GQ, all long and lean and
delectably gorgeous.

Seriously
annoyed with him and with herself for being so pitiful, Rosie
didn’t return Alexander’s quick grin.

Ignoring the
strange little jolt in her tummy, she painted a bored expression on
her face.

‘Hey, you,’
Alexander greeted her in a deep voice the tone friendly as he
strode through the reception area into the huge open plan
kitchen.

His eyes, a
sparkling green, met hers.

At her lack of
response, those slashing brows rose.

He moved into
her personal space and she got a wonderful whiff of a healthy male
in his prime and his cologne which did precarious things to her
hormones.

Rosie swallowed
a pathetic whimper.

Alexander’s
thumb and forefinger gently gripped her chin.

‘What’s with
the face?’

She slapped his
hand away, turning to the coffee pot to top up her mug and hide the
unexpected heat in her cheeks.

What was the
matter with her? He’d touched her loads of times and she hadn’t
reacted like this. Her throat appeared to have dried up.

Taking a sip of
coffee, she turned to study him over the rim of the mug.

He ran the tip
of his tongue over his top teeth, a sure sign he was irritated.

It was bad of
her to take her mood out on him. How was it his fault that she was
crazy about him?

‘My face is
fine. What do you want?’

Alexander took
a couple of steps back at her belligerent tone and held up his
hands in a peace gesture.

‘Whoa, I’m
going to turn around, leave, come back and we can start again.’

‘Stop being
stupid. What do you want?’

Those eyes went
dark now and as sharp as a blade.

‘Well, a coffee
would be nice if you can spare one.’ The voice was soft, the tone
cool.

A sliver of
aroused panic ran up her spine. This was ridiculous, and her pulse
was banging in her throat. Too much caffeine? She couldn’t do this.
She couldn’t sit and chat as if he was a normal person and she felt
nothing.