Page 15 of Resisting Mr Black

“I told you about myself in the meeting...” I begin, but he chuckles, a low, deep laugh that makes the hairs on my arms stand to attention. His eyes crinkle at thecorners and his face lights up with a smile, very different to the Art from seconds earlier.

“You told me how long you’d worked here for and that you’re the wedding planner. That’s not going to cut it, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, so I’m not a party planner anymore then,” I snap back sarcastically.

There’s a spark in his brown eyes. “I only said that to piss you off.”

I knew he’d enjoyed winding me up. “Why?”

“Because you’re even sexier when you’re angry.”

I press my lips together and silently thank the Lord when we’re interrupted by Olly bringing out the coffees because I have no idea how to respond to that.

I take a sip of coffee and wince. It’s far too strong and hot but I don’t care because it’s giving me something to do and think about other than him.

He waits for Olly to disappear then puts his hands behind his head and lounges back in the chair studying the gardens. “So, how old are you?”

“Twenty-eight,” I reply before I can stop myself.

“You look younger.”

I roll my eyes and place the coffee cup down on the saucer with a clink. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“It’s not a line. What about boyfriends?”

I frown. “What about them?”

“Have you had many?”

“Not really, just one serious relationship.” I silently reprimand myself for giving him what he wants. It’s like an override switch has flipped in my brain and my mouth has lost control.

“What happened?”

I smooth a hand across the green cotton on my thigh and notice his eyes flick to the movement. “We split up three years ago.”

“What happened?” he presses.

I fiddle with the hem of my dress. There’s no way I’m telling him that my ex was a lying cheating abusive arsehole who made my life hell for three out of the four yearswe were together. “It just didn’t work out,” I reply, hoping he doesn’t push it any further.

“What about whatshisname behind the bar?

I glance over my shoulder, perplexed. “Olly? What about him?”

“Have you two fucked?” Tension appears in his voice and his eyes burn into me as he watches my body language.

I draw my head back slightly. His directness and scrutinising gaze are proving too much, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Erm… no.”

“He wants to, though.” The tension remains in his voice as he nods briskly, as if confirming the thought to himself. “What about your parents?”

“What about them?”

“Tell me about them.”

“My dad died when I was ten. Mum remarried.”

He rests his glorious forearms on the iron armrests of the chair and looks at me for a long moment. “Do you have any brothers and sisters?”

“No,” I sigh, growing tired of his interrogation tactic. “And I don’t really know what my family has got to do with you.”

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