Page 107 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

‘I am not a charity case. I happen to love my job, and if money mattered to me I wouldn’t have gone into it to begin with.’

Actually, she had more fallen into it than chosen it, after a holiday job before she started uni had gone so well that she had been offered a full-time post.

‘I know you consider I’m a failure, and you can’t understand someone who doesn’t care about money andthings. I didn’t have a five-year plan, and as for fulfilling my potential—what makes you think this isn’t my potential?’

The horror of what she had just said hit her with the force of a sledgehammer.

His expression was thoughtful as he looked at her, which made Clemmie think she had just exposed her soul, or at least her inadequacies, to him.

‘When did I say any of those things?’ he asked eventually, not reacting with the anger she had anticipated to her outburst.

She gave a guilty little grimace. ‘Never,’ she admitted gruffly.

‘I never had a five-year plan either—that would be too limiting. Plans equate with tunnel vision; they blind you to the opportunities that fall your way and they stifle ingenuity. That’s not to say I would opt for chaos, but routine and consistency are the enemy of innovation.’

‘Well, no one would ever accuse you of being consistent. You change the rules depending on your mood.’

‘And there is the secret of my success.’ He elevated a satirical brow. ‘Are you readynow? If it helps, you have totally put me in my place.’ He executed an elegant mock bow. ‘I am humble.’

She gave a snort of amused disbelief. ‘Sure you are.’

Some of the tension in the air between them seemed to have dissolved, and she felt more comfortable. The tingly stuff was still there, but in the background.

‘Yes, and I am a supermodel,’ she retorted, adopting a catwalk pose and pouting.

His smile faded. Her action had lengthened the sliver of flesh to a section of creamy perfection, and lifted her small breasts under their layers in a way that could make a man who was not him think about peeling them away to reveal what was underneath.

Sleek.

From the ether the word came into his head again as he struggled to straitjacket the hormonal surge of his imagination.

He said the most lust-dampening thing he could think of.

‘You do know that your fridge is growing things that might be a jungle by the time you get back?’

‘It’s a salad tray—it’s meant to be green,’ she retorted. ‘And what were you doing in our fridge anyhow?’

‘I was looking for some water.’

‘We don’t do designer water—but we do have a tap.’

‘I’ll pass.’

He stood waiting impatiently for her to join him, carrying the extra bag she had apparently forgotten.

This time they got fifty feet down the road before she stopped.

‘Did I lock the door...? I’ll have to check.’

By the time she got to the car—it hadn’t been hard to locate the only long, low, luxury car on the block—Joaquin was already loading her bags into the boot.

Clemmie threw her handbag on the back seat and straightened up, one hand still on the passenger door handle of the soft-topped car.

‘I had locked it. I should text Mum and tell her when we’ll be arriving. She didn’t have a clue you were coming, you know.’

He dismissed the criticism with a quick sideways glance and a shake of his head. ‘My presence need not impact your mother’s break. I am quite capable of looking after myself.’

‘So you’ll be having beans on toast next door while we enjoy something delicious Mum knocked up? Are you angling for an invite, Joaquin? Actually,’ she continued, not giving him an opportunity to respond, ‘I wouldn’t mind you being there on Saturday. That is the big reveal of Mum’s new boyfriend and I have to be on my best behaviour. She thinks he’s a saint.’

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