A Little Christmas Charm Page 2

  ‘Oh.’ If anything, his expression tightened.

  ‘I’d been about to say, do you think us going out for a drink is a good idea?’

  He laughed softly; more disbelief than amusement. ‘Are you doubting my ability to come up with one, or the idea itself?’

  ‘I like the thought of having a drink with you.’ A hard thing to admit, but worth it to see the surprise on his face. ‘I just wonder if it’s a sensible move. We work together. We can’t afford for … emotions to upset that balance, further down the road.’

  His responding smile was utterly disarming. ‘It’s just a drink, Gabby.’

  The assertion was enough to make her hesitate. When was the last time she’d enjoyed some social time in male company? Heck, in any company. Since she’d moved to take this job, her life had been nothing but work. Even at weekends, she worked, either catching up on emails or sorting out the house. She could tell herself it was because she liked being busy, liked being organised, but the reality was, she was lonely.

  Making a rare snap decision, she ripped off a Post-it note, stuck it on the page she’d reached (she wasn’t ready to abandon all her careful principles) and shut the file. ‘Okay, let’s go before I change my mind.’

  They walked together to the car park, and it was only as she neared her car that she realised she didn’t have a clue where they were going. ‘Which pub? The one near here? Or somewhere on the way home? Though I don’t even know where you live.’

  Another laugh, this one more amused. ‘Are you asking?’

  She felt a flush creep across her face. Damn, she hated getting flustered. ‘I just wanted to clarify if there are any details to this plan of yours.’

  ‘You, me and a drinking venue.’ His smile was indulgent, his voice soft and seductive. ‘How detailed does it need to be?’

  Desire sizzled in the pit of her stomach. ‘Where would be useful.’ And she needed to set herself a time limit. His smile was too addictive, his voice too sexy. The promise in his eyes way too tempting.

  They reached her car; an Audi TT Roadster she’d blown a small fortune on last year. Practically, she knew it was a poor investment; the outlay, the insurance, the maintenance. But then she’d gone on a test drive, and practicality had been gleefully abandoned in favour of fun and sexy. It had disturbing parallels with her decision to take Owen up on his offer tonight.

  ‘We could leave the cars here,’ he suggested, glancing at the Audi. ‘Take a cab to the pub. Have a real drink.’

  Laughter caught in her throat. ‘Let me guess, then you come back to mine, or I to yours, so we can save money on the taxi back to work the following morning.’

  He grinned. ‘Damn, that’s a great idea. Wish I could take the credit, but I wasn’t thinking that far ahead.’

  ‘I guess that’s the difference between marketing and sales.’ Keep it light, she told herself, keep it work-related. ‘We drive to the pub, have one drink. Then we go home. Separately.’

  He held her door open as she slipped inside, then leant in. ‘I’ll compromise. You follow me to the pub, we’ll have a drink and then see how the mood takes us.’ Then, in typical Owen fashion, he grinned, and closed the car door before she had a chance to reply.

  Smiling to herself she scanned the car park, wondering which was his car. The flashy Mercedes fitted his looks, but was perhaps a bit old. The BMW was a typical reps’ car, but she didn’t think he’d be that obvious. The Porsche? No, he’d walked past that. The Mini? Somehow she couldn’t see Owen, several inches over six foot, cramming himself into something so small.

  She almost laughed out loud when she saw the car he finally climbed into. A deep blue Maserati – of course. Nothing said single man on the pull like a Maserati. The thought made her pause. Had she really allowed him to charm her into having a drink? It might sound innocuous, but a drink could so easily lead to dinner. Which could lead to … She inhaled sharply.

  One step at a time.

  The pub was exactly what she’d have chosen. Warm and inviting with red walls, a highly-polished dark wood bar, big open fire and a pleasant hum of conversation.

  He turned to her as they walked in, placing a hand at the small of her back to guide her through a small throng of people. ‘What are you having?’

  ‘A small red wine. Thanks.’ Automatically she dipped into her handbag to find her purse, but the action was halted when his hand clasped her wrist.

  ‘I get that you’re into equality, that you don’t expect the man to pay, that chivalry is probably a swear word to you but please, don’t shrivel my balls. Not on our first date. And not over a measly glass of wine.’ With a huff of acceptance, she put the purse back and he flashed her a grin. ‘You can buy them next time.’

  That he was already planning a second date – because let’s face it, that’s what this was – caused a dip in her belly, yet right alongside it came pinpricks of unease. She’d uprooted herself for this job. She couldn’t afford for things to get messy with one of the key people she needed to get along with.

  They settled in a quiet corner and he sat back on his chair, legs crossed at his ankles, a lazy smile on his face. He looked content. At ease with himself and the situation, while she was left feeling all … fluttery. Her pulse reacting to every movement he made, every glance from those incredible blue eyes.

  ‘So, Gabriela Sanderson.’ He ran a casual hand through his wavy blond hair. ‘You’re thirty years old, formerly a business graduate from Lancaster, now marketing director at Sweet Art. You like detail, order and hard work. You hate arrogance, aggression and sloppiness. You’re incredibly attractive but you don’t want people to judge you on that so at work you play it down; no make-up, no towering high heels, trousers not skirts. You’re frighteningly organised, careful, hence your worries about us, and though you put on a tough front, making new commercial trainees quake in their boots, they soon realise as long as they put the effort in, you’re actually a real softie.’ He took a swig of his beer. ‘How am I doing so far?’

  His observations, uncannily accurate, unnerved her. ‘I’m not soft,’ she muttered.

  He arched a blond brow. ‘Did you, or did you not, cover for young James when you found a mistake in the final proof for the sherbet lemon ad?’

  ‘He’d been working all through the night to make sure those ads got to the agency on time, thanks to the damn power stoppage …’ She trailed off when she saw him laughing. ‘Okay, so I appreciate hard work. Shoot me.’

  ‘Gabby, Gabby.’ He shook his head, eyes alive with amusement and something else. Something darker. ‘There are many things I’d like to do to you, but shooting isn’t up there with them.’ The husky tone sent a shiver down her spine. ‘On the personal front you like the colour red – why else would you buy a red Audi when it looks much better in blue? But it suits your dark Hispanic looks so I’m a huge fan of the red jacket, the red cashmere jumper.’ His eyes flickered downwards, skimming over her red shirt. ‘Anything red you wear.’ Before she could get too flustered, he changed tack. ‘You don’t talk about your parents, so I sense if they are still around you’re not close. Likewise, I’ve never heard you mention a sibling though you are good pals with the friends you made at Lancaster uni; the Lancaster Ladettes.’

  Her mouth hung open. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘During a break in the marketing strategy meeting I saw you grinning down at your phone. I asked what was up and you told me you were planning a reunion in Lancaster.’

  ‘That meeting was five months ago.’

  He shrugged. ‘I can appreciate detail, too, when I’m interested enough.’ His eyes caught and held hers. ‘In case there’s any doubt, I’m interested.’

  Oh, he was smooth. And she shouldn’t be so affected by smooth. She hadn’t been in the past. When she didn’t reply – couldn’t, because she didn’t know quite what to say to that – he shifted in his chair. ‘So that’s what I know about you. How about you tell me something I don’t know.’

 
Chapter Three

  Owen tried to read the emotions flitting across Gabby’s beautiful dark features. And failed miserably. There was a slight colour to her olive-skinned cheeks, which could be anything from anger to pleasure, or simply alcohol and the warmth of the room. He felt out on a limb. He’d told her he was interested, as if that hadn’t been clear enough already. He’d also admitted that his interest had been sparked months ago, not long after she’d joined the company. Yet he had no clue what she was thinking.

  ‘That’s a clever spin on the whole tell-me-a-bit-about-yourself line.’ She angled her head, appearing to study him. ‘Is it a tried and tested formula or am I the first recipient?’

  He blinked. Then blinked again as he attempted to get his head round what she was implying. ‘Sorry?’

  She laughed. ‘Come on, I’m not cross. In fact I think it’s rather clever. I was just wondering if it was part of your standard getting-to-know-you patter.’

  It was often said about him that it took a hell of a lot to make him angry, but if you ever did, stand well back. Well, he had a good mind to warn Gabby to move away right now. ‘What are you implying?’ he asked, attempting to keep the calm he was famed for.

  She frowned. ‘Hey, I’m not having a go.’

  ‘That’s not how it feels from where I’m sitting.’

  ‘Well, wow, I didn’t think you’d be that sensitive. It’s not like you don’t know you’re a serial flirt.’

  He knew he liked to flirt, but serial flirt? ‘You say that as if it’s a bad thing.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Look, forget I said anything. I’m not making any judgements.’

  Again, that wasn’t how it felt. ‘What office gossip have you been listening to?’

  ‘Gossip implies it isn’t true.’ He was pinned in place by a pair of deep brown eyes. ‘Are you going to tell me you don’t have all the women in the office lusting after you?’

  He felt a flush creep up his neck. ‘It’s hardly all of them.’ There was only one he wanted lusting after him, and so far she seemed … ambivalent. ‘Besides, I’ve made it a rule never to date anyone from work.’ Which begged the question, what was he doing here with Gabby?

  ‘I know.’ She sipped at her drink, her eyes not leaving his. ‘Just as I know you went out with two account managers in the first month I joined.’

  He squirmed on his chair. Truth was, both women, from two different agencies, had come on to him. Sure, he’d had a couple of enjoyable evenings, but that’s as far as he’d taken either of them. His interest had already been snared by Gabby.

  ‘I’m only saying this,’ she continued, eyes searching his, ‘because I’m wondering what, exactly, we’re doing? I admit to an attraction, but as neither of us appears to be relationship material, I’m worried about what will happen when we’ve scratched the itch.’

  He winced. ‘Jeez, is that all you think this is, an itch?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Owen chose his next words carefully. ‘As you said, I’ve not dated anyone from work before. I’ve also admitted to taking an interest in you practically from the day you joined. I’d planned on the attraction fading but it hasn’t. It’s grown, which probably explains why I haven’t dated anyone in the last five months.’ It had been a non-stop fun-fest of work, sorting out his morose dad, and doing up his dump of a house. ‘As for my apparent inability to have a proper relationship. That’s simply untrue.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I lived with a woman for four years.’ He’d only been twenty-three, but by God he’d fallen for Stella, hard. Older, and light years more sophisticated than he’d been, she’d invited him into her life, her home, her family – she had a young daughter – and, so he’d thought, her heart.

  Gabby’s eyes were wide with surprise. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Stella was eight years older than me. It worked at the beginning, but when she turned thirty-five, alarm bells went off in her biological clock. Having another child – she already had a daughter, Zoe – was all she could think of. I was twenty-seven and not ready for nappies yet.’ He’d been having too much fun with Zoe. Two when he’d first met her, six when he’d last tucked her into bed and said goodnight to her. Nearly nine when he’d last seen her, seven months ago, before Stella had started getting twitchy about wanting Zoe to bond with her new boyfriend, Simon.

  Suddenly Owen had to avert his eyes, embarrassed, as sorrow washed through him. It had taken years to ease the pain of losing Stella.

  He still hadn’t got over the loss of Zoe.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yeah. For a long time, so was I.’ He’d have given Stella what she wanted, if she’d been prepared to wait another year or two. The fact that she hadn’t, had told him everything he’d needed to know about how much she’d really loved him. Owen drained the rest of his beer. ‘But it happened nearly four years ago, and this conversation isn’t helping me find out more about you.’ He angled his head and studied the gorgeous woman sitting opposite. ‘You said neither of us were capable of a relationship. What’s the longest you’ve been out with a guy?’

  Gabby was still reeling from the knowledge that the laid-back flirt, who didn’t seem to take anything seriously, had actually been in a long-term relationship. And been hurt by it, judging by the haunted look in his eyes when he’d spoken.

  ‘Gabby?’

  ‘I’m not getting into a competition with you about relationships,’ she answered, hating that she sounded so defensive.

  He frowned. ‘It was only a question. You can tell me to butt out.’

  Drawing in a breath, she tried to relax her shoulders. ‘I’ve not been out with anyone I’ve wanted to stay with long-term.’

  ‘Present company accepted?’

  His grin was so unashamedly brash, laughter shot out of her. ‘You’re seriously asking me that on the first date?’

  He shrugged, though his eyes continued to smile. ‘I notice you didn’t deny it.’

  ‘I’m so flabbergasted at your audacity I can’t find the breath to tell you to stop being so stupid.’

  Far from being upset, he laughed softly. ‘Note to self, don’t push Gabby on her relationship history.’ He flicked a hand through his hair again, leaving it to fall back into the same casual, sexy, just got out of bed style. ‘What can I ask you about then, I wonder? How about siblings? Is that safe enough?’

  It was safer being annoyed with him, but how to keep to that when he grinned like he was now? ‘You were right about me not having a brother or sister.’

  ‘And your parents?’

  Her eyes dipped to her glass. ‘I never knew my father. My mother and I … aren’t close. She’s worked abroad for most of my life. I was a boarding school kid.’ Why had she said it like that? It made her sound fragile, sad even. And she wasn’t. It no longer bothered her that her mother had been too interested in saving other people’s children to look after her own.

  She jumped when a warm hand briefly clasped hers. ‘That sucks. I’m sorry.’

  ‘No need to be. I’ve managed perfectly fine without a father and I stopped needing my mother a long time ago. It’s better this way. She’s happy doing what she loves.’ Dropping in to see her daughter when the mood suited her. ‘And I’m happy not having to be a dutiful daughter.’ His eyes were watching her carefully so she made sure to look straight into them. ‘I mean that. I’m not some damaged soul in need of sympathy.’

  ‘I can see that.’ He nodded to her nearly empty glass. ‘Want another?’

  ‘It will need to be water.’

  He gave her a wry smile. ‘Told you we should have gone for the cab option. Guess that’s two waters coming up.’ A few minutes later he was back, pushing a bottle of water and an empty glass over to her. ‘Am I allowed to ask what your mum does that she loves so much?’

  ‘She works for Save the Children. I’m the product of a fling she had when she was helping out in Mexico following an earthquake.’ She made sure to keep her voice neutral
. Everything she’d told him was true; she was happy on her own. It was just that occasionally she wondered if the fault lay with her, rather than her mother. Was she simply unlovable? ‘What about you? Do you have siblings, parents?’

  Pain flashed across his face and he reached for his water, not bothering to pour it into the glass. ‘I have a sister, Alice, who lives in France. Mum died three years ago. Dad’s never been the same since.’

  It was her turn to touch his hand in sympathy. ‘That sucks, too.’

  ‘Yeah. It wasn’t a good time. I was still reeling from the break up with Stella, and suddenly shit gets a whole lot worse when Mum’s diagnosed with terminal cancer. Put my pathetic broken heart into perspective.’ His eyes looked bleak. ‘It’s a bastard disease. Everyone tells you to fight, so she did, but by God there were times I wish she hadn’t. Times I wished she’d not gone for the chemo option but just drifted quietly away.’

  She’d expected light and frothy, she realised, yet here they were, discussing relationships, death. Real emotions. ‘She wanted more time with you all.’

  He nodded. ‘She did. But it only bought her a few more months, and during that time she was sick as a dog.’

  ‘I guess, if the alternative is death …’ She trailed off, feeling useless. Truth was, she wasn’t sure she understood his pain, not fully. She’d not experienced the death of a loved one. Couldn’t even say she’d experienced love; not of a daughter to a parent, or a woman for a man. And she’d thought he was the shallow one. What did that make her?

  Suddenly he stretched out his long body and gave her an apologetic smile. ‘I promised you an evening better than reading brand strategy, yet here I am talking about death. I must be losing my touch.’

  And there it was. The reminder that he might not be shallow, but he was entirely comfortable with charming women, dating them for a short while, and moving on. That in itself didn’t worry her – she was hardly looking to be swept off her feet and settle down – but working with someone she’d been intimate with. Wasn’t that kind of yuk?