‘Look, if we get engaged—after you get the job we can quietly break off the engagement and go back to being how we are now.’ And because they weren’t getting married she wouldn’t have to tell him the truth about herself—about the miscarriages. Everything would be just fine.

She could see the relief in his eyes. ‘Thank you, Bel. I really appreciate this.’ He took her hand, raised it to his mouth and kissed her palm before folding her fingers over where his lips had touched her skin. ‘Any time I can return the favour, do something for you, you know I will.’

‘Hey. That’s what friends are for,’ she said, striving for lightness despite the fact that the touch of his mouth had sent desire zinging through her veins.

Though his words made her heart ache. Yes, there was something Alex could do for her. But it wasn’t going to happen, so there was no point in even letting herself think about it. A real marriage and babies weren’t on his agenda.

Praise for rising star author Kate Hardy:

About BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S, winner of the Romance Novelists’ Association Romance prize 2008!

‘BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S is simply terrific! Sexy, funny, tender, passionate and romantic, this engrossing tale features a loveable heroine and a gorgeous Italian hero who will make you swoon! Kate Hardy is a writer readers can count on in order to deliver an entertaining page-turner which they will devour in a single sitting and BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S is certainly no exception!’

—www.cataromance.com

About ONE NIGHT, ONE BABY

‘Romantic fiction does not get any better than this! Fresh, funny, heartwarming and absolutely unputdownable, ONE NIGHT, ONE BABY is vintage Kate Hardy! Featuring a lovely heroine, a gorgeous hero, sizzling sexual tension, an adorable cast of secondary characters and steamy romance, ONE NIGHT, ONE BABY is the perfect book to curl up with on a cold winter night!’

—www.cataromance.com

Kate Hardy lives on the outskirts of Norwich with her husband, two small children, a dog—and too many books to count! She wrote her first book at age six, when her parents gave her a typewriter for her birthday. She had the first of a series of sexy romances published at twenty-five, and swapped a job in marketing communications for freelance health journalism when her son was born, so she could spend more time with him. She’s wanted to write for Harlequin Mills & Boon since she was twelve—and when she was pregnant with her daughter, her husband pointed out that writing Medical™ Romances would be the perfect way to combine her interest in health issues with her love of good stories. Now Kate has ventured into Modern Heat™ Romance, and HOTLY BEDDED, CONVENIENTLY WEDDED is her eighth novel for this series.

Kate is always delighted to hear from readers—do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com

Also by this author:

SOLD TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER

ONE NIGHT, ONE BABY

BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S

HOTLY BEDDED, CONVENIENTLY WEDDED

BY

KATE HARDY

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Chrissy and Rich—the best aunt and uncle in the world—with love

CHAPTER ONE

‘RUN that by me again.’ No way could Isobel have heard him correctly. She was used to Alex asking if he could sleep on her sofa while he was in London between digs or on a flying visit— his own flat in London was let out to tenants—but this request…

She must’ve been hearing things.

‘Will you marry me?’ Alex repeated.

Exactly what Isobel thought he’d said.

Was this some kind of joke?

Unlikely, because he looked serious. Besides, Alex didn’t make that kind of joke. She frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Have you gone temporarily insane, or something?’

‘No. I just need to get married. And I think you’d be the perfect wife.’

Oh, no, she wouldn’t. She’d already failed spectacularly with Gary. ‘You get women posting their knickers to you. You could get married to any woman you wanted.’

He laughed. ‘They don’t post their knickers to me, Bel. That’s a vicious rumour started by Saskia.’

Saskia was Alex’s baby sister and had been Isobel’s best friend since they were toddlers. Though Isobel wasn’t so sure the comment was just sibling teasing. ‘I know for a fact you get asked out by more women than most men even dream about.’

‘Women who fantasise about The Hunter—not about me.’

‘You’re one and the same, in their eyes.’ In hers, too: Alex had presented three series of a popular television archaeology programme, based on a series of articles he’d written for a leading Sunday newspaper, and when Isobel had curled up to watch the programmes she’d thought he came across just as he was in real life. Clever and extremely well read, but with a bit of flamboyance that had women dropping at his feet and the kind of easy charm that meant he made friends effortlessly and couldn’t go anywhere without half a dozen people hailing him by name. It had been like that even before he’d been catapulted to fame as ‘The Hunter’, an explorer who delved in ancient places and found treasure; but nowadays, with national television exposure, he was recognised by people he’d never even met.

‘Just let it slip to one of your gossip-column friends that you’re looking for a wife and there’ll be queues for miles,’ she suggested.

‘Gossip-column journos aren’t anybody’s friends except their own,’ he corrected. ‘And none of those women would be like you—sensible and settled.’

She coughed. ‘You’re digging yourself deeper into that hole, Alex.’ He wanted to marry her because she was sensible? Give her a break. That wasn’t why people got married.

Then again, marrying for love hadn’t exactly worked for her, had it? Her marriage hadn’t survived its final crisis.

‘Why do you need to get married anyway?’ she asked.

‘Because I need to get a job.’

‘This is beginning to feel like Alice Through the Looking Glass. The harder I try to understand this, the weirder it seems.’ She shook her head. ‘Apart from the fact that you don’t need to get married to get a job, why do you even need a job in the first place? You’re loaded.’

Alex waved a dismissive hand. ‘It’s got nothing to do with money.’

‘So what, then?’

‘It’s complicated,’ he hedged.

She leaned back against the sofa. ‘You’re not getting out of it that easily, Alex. Explain. Why do you need to get married?’

‘Because of this job. It’s perfect, Bel—Chief Archaeological Consultant for a firm that works with all the big property developers. When the developers plan to build on a site and discover remains of some structure they hadn’t even known existed, or we already know there are remains in the area that need to be conserved or recorded before any development work can start, I’d be in charge of a team of archaeologists who’d excavate the site.’

‘A desk job, you mean?’ She shook her head, scoffing. ‘No way. You’d last five minutes before you came down with a case of terminal boredom.’

‘It’s not a desk job. I’ll be doing the initial site visits and setting up the exploration, liaising with planning officers and talking people into giving us more time than they really want to for excavation work. Plus I’d be talking to the press, explaining the significance of the find.’

Put that way, it sounded just the sort of thing he’d enjoy doing. Alex would love the chance to be the first one in maybe hundreds of years to discover something. And the time pressure to excavate the site as thoroughly but as quickly as possible, so the builders could finish their job on schedule, would just add to the thrill for him. He thrived on being too busy.

‘I still don’t understand why you need a job. Aren’t you going to do the Hunter stuff any more?’

‘Of course I am.’ He shrugged. ‘But it’s only for a few weeks a year.’

She understood where he was coming from. Alex was a workaholic—it was the only way to explain how he managed to pack more into two days than the average person did in a working week—and he liked it that way. ‘In other words, not enough to keep you busy and out of mischief.’

He laughed. ‘Exactly. I could do more TV work, I suppose, but I’ve talked to my agent and I agree with him that overexposure would be a mistake. It’s better to keep the series the length it is and leave people wanting more, rather than them seeing my face and thinking, Oh, no, not him again, and switching off. So I need something else to keep me occupied.’

‘What about your articles?’

He shrugged. ‘As you say, a desk job would drive me crazy. I need something with a lot of variety.’

‘Lecturing, then? If you had tutorial groups as well, that’d give you the variety because your students would all be different.’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘I’ve had offers, but to be honest I don’t really want to teach.’

Isobel frowned. ‘What’s wrong with what you do now?’

‘Nothing. I love freelancing. But I’m thirty-five, Bel. I need to be realistic about the future. In ten or twenty years I’m not going to want to spend hours at a time on my knees in a trench in the pouring rain. So I want to make the right career move now, while all my options are still wide open.’

It was a fair point, although Isobel thought Alex had enough strength of personality to make his own opportunities. She had a feeling there was a bit more to it than what he was telling her, but she couldn’t work out what. A relationship that had gone wrong? Surely not, because Alex kept his relationships light and very casual and in all the years she’d known him she couldn’t remember a girlfriend lasting more than half a dozen dates.

Maybe she was asking the wrong questions.

‘I still don’t understand where the married bit comes in.’

‘Apparently, the guy who owns the company wants a married man for the job.’

She snorted. ‘No way. That’s discrimination. It’s against the law, Alex.’

‘They’re not going to be able to ask me outright about my marital status,’ he agreed. ‘But it seems the last two guys they hired lasted all of six weeks before they got an offer they couldn’t refuse for—I quote—a really glamorous dig abroad.’

They both laughed, knowing that real archaeology wasn’t glamorous in the slightest. The stuff Alex did on TV accounted for a tiny fraction of the hard graft behind the scenes, and certainly didn’t take account of being on your knees in a muddy trench for hour after hour, or the long gaps between finds.

‘So third time around they want someone settled,’ he continued. ‘The word is they’re looking for someone who’ll commit to the project for at least two years. And, you know as well as I do, a married man’s seen as more dependable than a single guy because he’s already made a commitment.’

She flinched. ‘Marriage doesn’t always mean commitment.’

He winced. ‘Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to rip open old wounds.’

‘I know you didn’t.’ Alex didn’t always think. Mainly because he did things at a hundred miles an hour and his head was stuffed full of the past—just like her own. Which was one of the reasons why she’d always got on so well with him.

He took her hand and squeezed it briefly. ‘But you know what I mean. My reputation’s going to count against me. The Hunter, a gypsy vagabond.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re hardly a vagabond, Alex.’ Even though he did have itchy feet and didn’t tend to stay long in one place.

‘But I’m part gypsy. My mother says I’m a throwback to her grandfather—’

‘Who met your great-grandmother when she accompanied your great-great-grandfather to a dig in Egypt in the nineteen twenties, and your great-grandfather fell in love with her,’ Isobel finished. She knew the story, and she’d always privately thought it really romantic.

Archaeology was in Alex’s blood. And so too was the gypsy heritage. Which was why ‘The Hunter’ was his perfect screen persona: dressed in jeans with a white shirt, and a battered Akubra hat worn at a rakish angle, Alex Richardson made women swoon. That and his dark curls, his hair worn slightly too long, his exotic olive skin, and those piercing light grey eyes, completely unexpected with the rest of his colouring.

‘Look, I’ve spent the last few years travelling the world. On digs or for the show, admittedly, but still travelling.’

‘Which shows commitment to your job,’ she pointed out.

‘It’s not enough.’ He shook his head in apparent frustration. ‘The series played me up as the sort who won’t obey orders—a maverick who’ll go his own way regardless.’

She couldn’t argue with that. Besides, that was exactly what Alex was like—not that there was any point in telling him.

‘So that’s why I need a wife. To prove I’m settled.’

‘I still think it’s a crazy reason to get married. And why ask me?’

‘I already told you. Because you’re settled.’

That stung, and she couldn’t help sniping, ‘You mean I’m staid and boring.’

He laughed. ‘No. Just I’ve known you for ever. You’re the girl next door.’

‘Strictly speaking, I haven’t lived next door to you since I was thirteen and you went to Oxford,’ she said dryly. ‘Which is the best part of seventeen years ago.’

‘You were still there when I came home for the holidays,’ he reminded her.

The girl next door. As familiar as wallpaper. Alex hadn’t noticed her as a woman.

At her continued silence, he sighed. ‘Look, I never planned to get married. Archaeology’s my life—just as the museum is yours. There isn’t room in my life for another relationship.’

She raised an eyebrow.

He winced. ‘Sorry, Bel. That came out wrong. Mouth in gear, brain not. What I mean is, if I’m going to get married, I want to marry someone I like a lot. Someone I’ve got a lot in common with. Someone I trust.’

It should’ve warmed her that he felt that way about her. Trusted her. Liked her a lot. Exactly the way she felt about him. But she couldn’t help asking, ‘What about love?’

He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘I don’t believe in it.’

She knew where he was coming from. She didn’t believe in love any more, either. She’d loved Gary, but it hadn’t been enough to make their marriage work. Though at the same time, marriage without love seemed…wrong, somehow. ‘All three of your sisters are married,’ she remarked. ‘And if they weren’t happy and in love with their husbands—’

‘I’d take their husbands apart,’ he admitted. ‘Very slowly. And remove their hearts with a rusty spoon.’

Although Alex rolled his Rs and his eyes, she wasn’t sure that he was being entirely dramatic.

‘But it’s different for the girls.’

Sexism? From Alex? Now that she hadn’t expected. ‘Since when did you turn into a chauvinist?’

He frowned. ‘I’m not. It’s got nothing to do with gender. Just that…’ he lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug ‘…I’m not like them.’

‘So this marriage business—you’re looking for someone you like, someone who shares your interests, and who’s not going to tie you down.’

‘I’m not planning to have a string of girlfriends or be unfaithful to my wife, if that’s what you’re asking.’

Alex dated a lot. Which meant he had a lot of sex. If he was giving that up…did that mean he was planning to have sex only with his wife?

With her?

Oh, Lord.

The last twelve years suddenly unravelled, back to when she’d been eighteen and Alex had kissed her. Just once. But what a ‘once’ it had been. He’d actually taken her breath away. For one mad moment she’d thought that Alex had noticed her—that instead of seeing her as just his little sister’s best friend, the girl he’d known for years, he’d seen her as a soul mate. Someone who shared his interests. Someone he was attracted to. And then she’d realised he was being kind. Showing her that just because her rat of a boyfriend had dumped her, it didn’t mean that she’d never be kissed again.

He’d even said as much. Said that she’d soon find someone else. Added that she had a whole world to conquer.

That kiss hadn’t meant the same thing to him as it had to her. And Isobel was pretty sure things hadn’t changed since then. Alex saw her as a friend—a close friend, but just as a friend.

So no way would this marriage work.

She couldn’t do it.

She’d already ended up in one loveless marriage, and she really couldn’t face starting another on the same basis. She dragged in a breath. ‘I’m sorry, Alex. I can’t marry you.’

CHAPTER TWO

ALEX schooled his features into neutral. ‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s wrong to get married without loving each other.’

He flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Of course I love you, Bel.’

‘But not in that way, Alex. And I’m not putting myself through that again.’

Alex stared at her. ‘Hang on. Are you telling me Gary didn’t love you? That he was unfaithful to you?’

She shook her head. ‘He didn’t break his marriage vows, no. Let’s just leave it that our marriage turned into a mess.’

She looked uncomfortable, and Alex knew Isobel wasn’t telling him the whole story—but he also knew not to push her. She’d talk to him when she was ready. She always had.

‘Though it didn’t take him very long to find someone else.’ Isobel dragged in a breath. ‘His new partner’s just had their first baby.’

That had clearly hurt her. He’d never asked Isobel why she’d split up with Gary—because it wasn’t any of his business and he didn’t want to rake open any painful wounds—but he’d always supposed that Gary had wanted a baby and she hadn’t been prepared to make any compromises with the career she loved.

So had his guess been completely wrong? Was Isobel the one who’d wanted children?

No, of course not. She adored Saskia’s daughter, Flora— her god-daughter and Alex’s niece—but Alex had always assumed that it went with the territory of being Saskia’s best friend. Isobel liked children, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to do her job—but she really, really loved what she did. A museum interpreter who worked with hands-on exhibits, dressing up as a Roman matron during school holidays or at weekends and giving cookery demonstrations and showing people what everyday life was like in Roman Britain, as well as working behind the scenes as a curator on the exhibitions that toured other museums.

So if it wasn’t the baby, maybe she was upset because the baby signalled that things were well and truly over between her and Gary. That they could never go back to how things were.

According to his sister, Isobel had rarely dated since her marriage ended two years ago, so maybe she was still in love with Gary. Alex had never thought Gary was good enough for her—for starters, the man had a feeble handshake and no imagination—but he also didn’t like seeing Isobel hurt and miserable. ‘Come here.’ He slid his arms round her and held her close. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘That it didn’t work out for you. That he let you down.’ He stroked her hair. ‘I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, but he was never good enough for you.’

‘But he didn’t ask me to marry him just because I’m staid and sensible.’

Alex pulled back slightly and looked her in the eye. ‘I asked you because I want this job and being a married man is going to give me the edge I need.’

‘Rubbish. You can talk your way into anything.’

‘Apart from getting you to marry me, you mean,’ he parried. ‘And you didn’t let me finish. Whatever I said about you being sensible—which you are—the main reason I asked you is because you’re my friend. I’ve known you for years and years. I enjoy your company and I trust you. And that’s a much, much stronger basis for a marriage than being “in love” with someone.’ Thinking of Dorinda, Alex curled his lip. She’d been his biggest mistake ever. And she’d taught him all about the misery of love. A lesson that meant he wasn’t going to repeat that mistake. ‘Being “in love” is just temporary. It’s hormonal. Whereas what we’ve got has a much more solid foundation and it’s not going to change.’

‘Isn’t it? Because that’s what worries me, Alex.’ She bit her lip. ‘I don’t want to lose your friendship when it all goes pear- shaped.’

He sighed. ‘Apart from the fact that it’s not going to go pear-shaped, things aren’t going to change between us.’

‘How do you know? Unless you’re talking about a marriage in name only—and as you said you weren’t planning to have a string of girlfriends, I have to assume you’re…’ Her voice tailed off and she actually blushed.

He’d never seen her colour like that before.

And even though he knew he wasn’t playing fair, he couldn’t resist teasing her. ‘Assume what, Bel?’

‘That getting married means having sex with each other.’ Her flush deepened.

Alex felt as if his skin were suddenly burning, too. Sex with Isobel. Right now, he was holding her. Loosely, admittedly, but he was still holding her. All he had to do was move forward a fraction, dip his head, and he could kiss her.

His mouth went dry.

He could remember the last time he’d kissed her, other than the usual peck on the cheeks that accompanied their welcoming hugs when they hadn’t seen each other for a while. The night she’d come round to their house, crying her eyes out because her boyfriend had dumped her for someone more glamorous and less studious, and he’d answered the door. Saskia had been out, so he’d taken Isobel into the summer house in their garden for a heart-to-heart. He’d told her that the boyfriend was an idiot and it didn’t matter because there was a whole world out there just waiting for her to conquer it.

And he’d kissed her.

Just once.

Before remembering that Isobel was eighteen to his twenty-three, much less worldly-wise, and he really shouldn’t be kissing her like that.

Now he wondered what would’ve happened if he’d kissed her a second time. Would they have ended up making love in the summer house? Would he have been the one to introduce her to the pleasures of love-making?

And what shocked him even more was that his body was reacting even now at the thought of it.

Making love with Isobel.

He became aware that she was speaking.

‘And besides, I’m not your type.’

‘I don’t have a type,’ Alex protested.

‘Yes, you do. You always go for tall, skinny brunettes with legs up to their armpits.’

‘You have dark hair.’ The colour of a chestnut that had just slipped out of its prickly case, it was soft and silky when he ran his fingers through it. ‘And you’re not short.’ She was curvy rather than skinny, though with three younger sisters he knew much better than to discuss a woman’s weight or body shape.

‘I’m five feet four. That makes me slightly shorter than the average woman.’

He smiled at her. ‘It also makes you two inches taller than the average Roman woman in the fourth century.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Trust you to know that.’

He laughed. ‘Actually, you were the one who told me. When you were researching your first talk about Roman women.’

She stared at him in obvious surprise. ‘You remember that?’

‘Course I do. We must have sat up half the night talking about it. Well, after I’d bored the pants off you with all those photographs of the dig I’d just come back from.’

‘I wasn’t bored.’

‘See? We have things in common. Lots of things. And we like each other. Getting married would work, Bel.’

The colour was back in her cheeks, even deeper this time. ‘Supposing we’re not, um, compatible?’

‘Compatible?’

‘In bed,’ she muttered. ‘What if I’m rubbish at sex?’

‘If that’s what Gary said, he clearly wasn’t doing it right— and his ego made him blame you.’

‘Mmm.’

‘Look at me, Bel,’ he said softly. She had huge brown eyes that had topaz glints when she laughed, and a perfect rosebud mouth. Why had he never really noticed that before? ‘I think we’d be…’ he paused as his heart gave an unexpected kick ‘…compatible.’

‘I can’t believe we’re even discussing this!’ She pulled back from him. ‘So why didn’t you ever get married, Alex?’

He let her go. ‘Because my job meant a lot of travelling— and that meant either living apart from my wife most of the time, or dragging her around the world with me. Neither option’s a fair one.’

‘And you never met anyone who made you want to stay in one place?’

Once, but that had been a long time ago. In the days when he’d still worn rose-coloured glasses. Before he’d discovered that Dorinda was a liar and a cheat and had played everyone for a fool, including him. Since then, he’d never quite been able to trust anyone. He’d held back in his relationships, unwilling to risk his heart again and have it ground beneath a stiletto heel. Keeping things light and fun had worked for him, until now. ‘I told you, I don’t believe in love. But I do believe in friendship. In honesty. And if you marry me, Bel, I’ll be a good husband to you.’ A much better one than Gary had been.

‘I can’t get married. Ask someone else.’

There wasn’t anyone else he’d trust enough to marry. He shrugged. ‘Look, forget I asked. Come on, I’m taking you out to dinner.’

‘Why?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘It’s not an ulterior motive. You’ve said no and I’m not going to bully you into saying yes. Bel, you’re putting me up for a few days, so taking you out for dinner to say thank you is the least I can do.’

‘Alex, you don’t need to do that. You know I never mind you staying here.’

He smiled. ‘I know. But I like having dinner out with you. I like talking history and arguing over interpretations and laughing too much and eating half your pudding—because I’m greedy and you’re always nice to me.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re impossible.’

‘Uh-huh.’ But to his relief she was smiling and relaxed with him again. ‘Is that Moroccan place we went to last time still open?’

‘I think so.’

‘Good. Let’s go.’

* * *

It always surprised Isobel slightly that Alex liked taking the tube rather than a taxi. Then again, on the tube people were careful not to catch anyone’s eye, so although he’d probably be recognised it was unlikely that someone would ask for an autograph or a photograph with him taken with the camera on their mobile phone. Besides, without the hat, people were more likely to think he was a guy who just happened to look like the archaeologist from the show, rather than being the man himself.

It was practically impossible to talk on the tube; there were just too many people squashed onto the train. During late spring and summer, rush hour seemed to last a lot longer; the office workers crushing onto the train were quickly replaced by tourists.

Isobel wasn’t sure whether it made her more relieved or uptight—or both at the same time. Relieved, because she didn’t have to make eye contact or conversation with Alex. And uptight, because it gave her time to think about what he’d said.

Getting married—to Alex.

Having sex—with Alex.

Oh, Lord.

She’d enjoyed her friendship with Alex. She always had.

And she’d married Gary because she’d loved him.

But a little bit of her had always wondered: what if Alex hadn’t had his string of glamorous girlfriends? What if he’d repeated that kiss when she was twenty-one? What if she’d ended up with Alex instead of Gary?

Panic skittered through her. She had to be insane even to be considering this. Marriage wouldn’t work. She’d had one serious relationship before Gary, so she was hardly experienced— whereas Alex had practically had a girlfriend at every dig, not to mention the ones in between. She’d never be able to live up to his expectations.

His words echoed in her head. I enjoy your company and I trust you. And that’s a much, much stronger basis for a marriage than being ‘in love’ with someone.

Was he right? Were friendship and trust a better basis for a marriage than love and desire? Should she have said yes?

A note appeared in front of her eyes. In Alex’s spiky, confident handwriting.

‘Stop brooding. “Dinner” means dinner.’

The last word was in capitals and underlined three times.

She faced him. Sorry, she mouthed.

He smiled, and it gave her a weird sensation—as if her heart had just done a somersault. Which was anatomically impossible and completely ridiculous. Especially as, at the age of thirty, she was way, way past the teenage heartthrob stage.

And then it was their stop.

The crowds of people swirling round them meant it was still impossible to talk. But she was aware that Alex was behind her on the escalator. So close she could have leaned back against him.

What would it be like to feel Alex’s arms round her?

What would it be like to feel his hands against her bare skin?

What would it be like to feel his mouth touching her body intimately?

‘OK?’ he asked when they were through the ticket barrier and standing outside on the street.

‘Fine.’

‘Liar.’ He caught her hand and squeezed it briefly.

The lightest contact…and it sent a shiver all the way through her. Woke nerve-endings she’d forgotten she had.

No.

It wasn’t possible for her to feel like this about Alex. And even thinking about it meant she was storing up trouble for herself. She’d loved Gary. Deeply. But it hadn’t stopped everything going wrong. So she had to keep some kind of distance between herself and Alex, not let her heart get involved.

Or her libido.

‘I’m not lying,’ she mumbled, but she didn’t look him in the eye until they got to the Moroccan restaurant.

Alex insisted on holding the door open for her. ‘I don’t care if it offends your feminist nature. It’s good manners and it’s how I was brought up,’ he informed her.

It was how she’d been brought up, too. ‘Thank you,’ she said, meaning it.

Stepping inside the restaurant was like stepping out of London and into a souk. The air smelled of cinnamon and cardamom, and the décor was as beautiful as she remembered it; the walls were painted shades of saffron and terracotta and deep red, there were rich silks everywhere, the wrought iron chairs were covered with bright silk cushions toning with the walls, and the silk hanging from the ceiling gave the place the effect of being in some rich prince’s tent. Tea-light candles flickered on the glass tabletops, and rose petals were scattered everywhere.

The waiter ushered them to the table and handed them each a menu.

‘Red wine OK with you?’ Alex asked, glancing down the menu.

‘Fine.’

‘Good. Meze to start, I think. Anything in particular you fancy?’

‘I’ll let you choose.’ Not that she wasn’t capable of choosing her own meal, but she knew how much Alex enjoyed it. And, as he’d said, his tastes were very similar to her own, so she knew she’d like whatever he chose.

‘What do you want for your main course?’

‘Chicken tagine. The one with preserved lemons.’

‘I think I’ll have the same. We’ll choose pudding later,’ Alex decided.

And after pudding…he’d go home with her.

And if she’d said yes to his proposal, he would have taken her to bed. Proved how compatible they were.

Her concentration went completely, and she was reduced to saying, ‘Mmm,’ and nodding in the right places as Alex talked to her about the dig he’d been on in Turkey before his return to London. And it was even worse when the meze arrived—a selection of dishes to share. Traditionally, Moroccan food was eaten with fingers and pitta bread was used to scoop up the dips, and every time she reached for one of the stuffed vine leaves or the aubergine and cumin dip or the felafel, her fingers brushed against Alex’s. In the past, it wouldn’t have bothered her, but tonight the lightest contact made her tingle. A sensual awareness that spread through every part of her body and made her wish that she’d been wearing a thick concealing sweater rather than a thin T-shirt that revealed her body’s reaction to his touch.

If Alex said one word about being able to see her nipples, she’d kill him.

She ate her chicken tagine in silence.

And then Alex sighed.

‘Would it really be so bad?’

‘What?’

‘Going to bed with me.’

She felt the colour shoot into her face. ‘Alex!’

‘You’ve been quiet ever since I suggested getting married.’

And having sex. ‘It’s just…I never thought about you in that way before.’ It wasn’t the strict truth, but she didn’t want him thinking that she’d been secretly lusting after him. Their friendship had been genuine.

‘Not ever? Not even when you were…I dunno… eighteen?’

When she was eighteen? The only time she remembered him kissing her on the mouth. ‘No.’ She looked curiously at him. Did he remember that, too? And was he saying that, all those years ago, he had seen her as more than just the girl next door? ‘Did you?’

‘Not when I was eighteen—of course not.’ He flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Bel, you were still a child when I was eighteen. And when you were eighteen and I was twenty- three, there was still a huge gap between us.’ He paused. ‘But now you’re thirty and I’m thirty-five. The gap’s not there any more.’

She knew she was going to regret asking, but she couldn’t help the question. ‘And?’

‘And…’ he paused ‘…I’m thinking about you in that way right now.’

There was a gleam in his eyes she’d never seen before. A purely masculine gleam that told her he was interested in her. As a woman, not as a friend.

Her breath hitched. ‘Oh.’

‘You’re thinking about it, too, aren’t you?’ he asked, his voice sounding husky.

‘Yes,’ she admitted, before she could stop herself.

‘Good,’ he said softly. ‘Hold on to that thought.’

It still seemed like some weird parallel universe. The idea of becoming Alex’s lover. Yesterday it would’ve been unthinkable. Today…the possibilities sent heat all the way down her spine.

She found it hard to concentrate when the waiter offered them the dessert menu, and eventually went for the safe option: bagrir, a light pancake served with honey and ice cream and nuts. Alex, just as she could have predicted, went for the selection of chocolate and cardamom ice cream.

‘Oh, yes. Best ever,’ Alex said when he tasted it. ‘Open your mouth.’

Oh, Lord. The pictures that put in her mind.

It must have shown in her expression, because she saw colour bloom along his cheekbones. ‘I meant, you have to try this. And it’s the cardamom one—I know you loathe chocolate ice cream.’

So he wanted her to lean forward and accept a morsel from his spoon? But her T-shirt was V-necked. Leaning across the table would give Alex a full-on view of her cleavage.

The thought made her nipples tighten even more.

‘Bel, it’s melting. Hurry up.’ He held the spoon out towards her.

She leaned across the table. Opened her mouth. Let him brush the cold, cold spoon against her lower lip before she ate the morsel of ice cream.

‘Good?’ he asked.

She had a feeling he didn’t mean just the ice cream.

‘Good,’ she whispered.

He smiled—a warm, sensual smile that made her catch her breath.

‘My turn,’ he said.

They’d done this so many times before—shared a pudding, tasted each other’s meals, filched buttered toast from each other’s plates or a swig from each other’s mug of coffee with an ease born of long familiarity.

But tonight it was different.

Tonight they were feeding each other like lovers.

And when he ate the proffered piece of her bagrir, she could see that he looked as distracted as she felt.

She had no idea how they got through the rest of their dessert, or the mint tea afterwards. Or when Alex had ordered a taxi, because one was waiting for them outside practically as soon as he’d paid the bill.

He didn’t say anything on the way back to her flat; he simply curled his fingers round her own—reassuring and yet incredibly exciting at the same time.

Holding hands with Alex was something she’d never really done. She was used to him giving her a friendly hug—almost a brotherly hug. But there was nothing remotely fraternal in the way he was holding her hand right at that moment. His touch was gentle—and yet firm enough so that she could feel the blood beating through his veins, in perfect time with her own.

When the taxi pulled up outside her building, Alex paid the driver and opened the car door for her. Isobel’s hands were shaking slightly and she fumbled the entry code for the security system; it took her three goes to press the right buttons in the right order. By the time she unlocked her front door, she was a nervous wreck.

Alex paused, leaning against the doorway. ‘Bel, let me reassure you that I’m planning to sleep on your sofa tonight. I’m not going to push you into anything you don’t want to do.’

That was what worried her most: what she wanted to do. The more she thought about sex with Alex, the more she was tempted to do it.

Except she didn’t want to risk ruining their friendship.

And she definitely didn’t want to tell him her deepest, darkest secret—the thing she’d only told Saskia after extracting a promise from her best friend that Saskia wouldn’t tell anyone else and wouldn’t ever talk about it again.

She couldn’t possibly marry Alex. Even though she was pretty sure he didn’t want children, what if he changed his mind? If anyone had asked her before today, she would’ve said straight out that Alex would never get married. And yet today he’d asked her to marry him. Tomorrow he might want to start a family. Something she wasn’t sure she could do.

Her worries must have shown on her face, because he said softly, ‘Have I ever let you down before?’

‘No.’

‘That’s not going to change.’

Maybe. But if she married him, she’d be letting him down. Taking a choice away without telling him. Which was morally wrong.

Even though she knew she was being a coward, she muttered, ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache. I need an early night.’

‘I’ll make sure I don’t disturb you. Do you want me to bring you a glass of water and some paracetamol?’

‘Thanks, but I’ll manage. I’d better sort the sofa bed out for you.’

‘I’ll do it.’ He reached out to stroke her cheek. ‘See you in the morning, Bel. Hope you get some sleep.’

CHAPTER THREE

TRUE to his word, Alex didn’t disturb her. And when Isobel got up the next morning he’d already put the sofa bed back to rights, tidied up and made coffee.

‘Morning. How’s your head?’

‘Better, thanks.’ The fib had blossomed into the truth, and she’d ended up taking paracetamol.

‘Here.’ He passed her a mug of coffee—hot, strong and milky, exactly the way she liked it. ‘Toast?’

‘Yes, please.’ She sat down at the little bistro table in the kitchen. This was the Alex she knew best. Her friend who knew her so well that he could practically read her mind. Though usually she was the one making toast and he was the one filching it from her plate.

‘So what are you doing today?’ he asked.

‘Roman kitchens,’ she said. ‘How about you?’

He joined her at the table after he’d switched on the toaster. ‘A bit of research.’

But nothing that really excited him, from the flatness of his tone. And he still seemed faintly subdued when she left for work.

Alex really needed a new challenge, she thought. Like the job he’d told her about yesterday; his eyes had been almost pure silver with excitement when he’d described it. But she still didn’t see how getting married would make any difference to whether he got the job. There was no reason for her to feel even slightly guilty about turning down his proposal. She’d done the right thing for both of them.

Though she couldn’t stop thinking about him all day. And when she walked in her front door that evening and smelled something gorgeous cooking, guilt bloomed. ‘Alex, I didn’t expect you to cook for me.’

‘No worries.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s as easy to cook for two as it is for one.’

She scoffed. ‘You mean, you were that bored.’

He handed her a glass of red wine. ‘Go away and let me have my mid-life crisis in peace.’

‘It’s my flat. I’m not going anywhere.’ But she sat down at the table. ‘What mid-life crisis? Alex, you’re thirty-five. That’s hardly middle-aged. And you don’t have a conventional desk job, so you can’t exactly take a six-month sabbatical and grow your hair and ride a motorbike round the world in search of adventure. That’s what you do for a day job, for goodness’ sake!’

‘I don’t have a motorbike.’

‘Don’t nit-pick. What I mean is, for you to do the opposite of what you normally do, you’d have to cut your hair short and get an office job and wear a suit and date the same person for more than three consecutive evenings. For most people, your life would be an adventure.’ She looked at him. ‘What mid-life crisis, anyway?’

He wrinkled his nose and turned away to pour himself a glass of wine. ‘Just forget I said anything.’

She shook her head. ‘You’ve been quiet for you, today. Something’s obviously bothering you. Come and sit down and talk to me.’

‘I’m busy cooking dinner.’

She sniffed. ‘Chicken casseroled in red wine, baked potatoes and salad?’

He smiled wryly. ‘All right. So most of the cooking’s already done. How did you know what I was cooking, anyway?’

‘Apart from the fact it’s your signature dish? Educated guess,’ she said dryly. ‘You just emptied that bottle into a clean glass.’

‘I could’ve been swigging straight from the bottle,’ he pointed out.

They both laughed, then he shrugged. ‘Anyway, I’ve been quiet because this is what happens when I have too much time on my hands. I start thinking—and that’s dangerous.’

‘Talk to me, Alex,’ she said softly. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘This is going to sound mad.’

‘Tell me anyway.’

He sighed and joined her at the table. ‘I’m thirty-five, Bel. My little sisters are all settled, married with a family. All the people I was at university with have settled down—some of them are on their second marriage, admittedly, but they’re settled. And although I love my life, I’m starting to wonder if what I’ve got is really enough for me any more. If it’s what I really want.’

‘So you’re saying you want to settle down and have children?’ Isobel asked carefully.

‘Yes. No. Maybe.’ He took a sip of wine. ‘I suppose what I’m saying is that I’m starting to think about what I do now. I’m doing something about my job, but what about the rest of my life? Do I want be one of these eternal bachelors who still behave as if they’re in their twenties when they’re pushing sixty?’

She smiled. ‘I can’t quite see you doing that, Alex.’ He’d still be immensely charming when he was almost sixty. He’d still turn heads. But he’d also have dignity and wouldn’t try to pretend he was still young.

‘But time goes by so fast, Bel. It seems like yesterday that Helen had the boys, and now they’re seven. Next thing I know, I’m going to be forty-five and I’ll be the spare man invited to dinner parties to make up the numbers, sitting next to the woman who’s just got divorced and either hates all men or is desperate for company.’

She frowned. ‘Alex, this isn’t like you. And this whole thing about looking to the future…oh, my God.’ A seriously nasty thought clicked into place. The reason why he suddenly wanted to settle down. ‘Is there something you’re not telling anybody?’

‘Such as?’

Well, if he wasn’t going to say it, she would. This needed to be out in the open. Right now. She swallowed hard. ‘You’re seriously ill?’

For a moment, there was an unreadable expression on his face, and Isobel felt panic ice its way down her spine. Please, no. Not this.

‘I’m fine. In perfect health,’ he told her. ‘But I did hear some bad news about a close friend while I was on my last dig.’

Someone else. Not Alex. Relief flooded through her, followed by a throb of guilt. Bad news was still bad news. ‘I hope your friend’s OK now.’

He shook his head. ‘He didn’t make it. It didn’t seem right, standing at Andy’s graveside only a couple of years after I’d been in that same church for his wedding. He’s the first one of my friends to die, and it’s made me realise how short life can be. How I shouldn’t take things for granted. And I got to thinking, maybe it’s time I did something about settling down.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘That’s one of the things I really liked about the specifications for this job. There’s enough travelling to stop me getting itchy feet, but not so much that I can’t have a family life as well. It’s the best of both worlds.’

A family life.

So he did want children.

Which meant, Isobel thought, that he needed to marry someone who could definitely have children—not someone who had a huge question mark hanging over her. After her miscarriages, the doctor had reassured her that the statistics were all on her side, that plenty of women went on to have healthy babies afterwards. Miscarriages were so common that the hospital wouldn’t even begin to look into the causes until a woman had had at least three.

But Gary hadn’t wanted to take the risk. He hadn’t wanted to stick around and wait.

And although Alex wasn’t like Gary—she knew he had the integrity to stand by her—he wanted a family. Something she might not be able to give him.

Telling him the truth was out of the question. If she did, she’d see pity in his face and she’d feel that she was no longer his equal. No way did she want that to happen.

But not telling him… If he was serious about settling down, if he’d meant that proposal and intended to ask her again, she’d have to refuse. It wouldn’t be fair to accept. If it did turn out that she couldn’t carry a baby to term, that she couldn’t have children…she didn’t want their relationship to go the same way as her marriage had. Down the tubes.

She pushed the thoughts away. This wasn’t about her. It was about him. ‘Hey, you’ll be a shoo-in for the job. And once you actually stay in one place for more than three seconds, you’ll find Ms Right,’ she said brightly.

She suppressed the wish that it could’ve been her.

They spent the rest of the evening talking shop, the way they always did. And Alex behaved the next morning as if everything was just fine, so she followed his lead and pretended he hadn’t opened his heart to her, the previous night.

She’d been at her desk for an hour when a courier arrived.

Odd. She wasn’t expecting a delivery. But when she opened the parcel, she discovered a box of seriously good chocolates. And there was a note in familiar spiky script: ‘Thanks for listening.’

Alex might be a whirlwind, but he never took anything for granted.

She flicked into her email program.

Thanks for the chocs. Unnecessary but very, very nice. Bel x

A few moments later, her monitor beeped. Mail from Alex.

Least I could do. Don’t eat them all at once.

Ha. As if she would. She smiled, and carried on with the report she was writing.

A few moments later, her monitor beeped again.

Doing anything tonight?

Nothing special. Why?

It was a while before he responded. And then:

Consider your evening annexed. Meet you from work. What time do you finish today?

Six. Do I need to change first?

If you’re dressed as Flavia, yes! Otherwise, fine as you are. Ciao. A x

Which told her absolutely nothing about what he had planned. Typical Alex.

But she was busy and it was easier to go along with him, so she didn’t push the issue.

He was waiting for her in the foyer at six, wearing a casual shirt and dark trousers and looking absolutely edible. For a moment, her heart actually skipped a beat.

But this wasn’t a date. This was just two friends meeting up while one of them was briefly in London. The fact that he was staying with her was by the by. They weren’t living together and it wasn’t that kind of relationship.

And that marriage proposal hadn’t been a real one. She really needed to get a grip.

‘Hi.’ His smile did seriously strange things to her insides, and she strove for cool.

‘Hi, yourself. Good day?’

‘Not bad.’ He slid a casual arm round her shoulders and ushered her down the steps. ‘How was yours?’

‘Fine.’ She was glad her voice wasn’t as shaky as she felt. This was crazy. She and Alex had always had a tactile relationship. So how come this didn’t feel like his usual hug?

‘Good. You hungry?’

She grinned. ‘Considering I’ve been eating chocolate all day…’

‘What, and you didn’t even save one for me?’

She laughed. ‘No. But I did share them in the office.’

‘Hmm. So was that a yes or no to food first?’

‘Food before what?’

‘Before…’ He took his arm from her shoulders, fished in his pocket for his wallet, then removed two tickets and handed them to her.

She felt her eyes widen. Two tickets to that evening’s performance of Much Ado about Nothing at the Globe. The best seats in the house. ‘These are like gold dust, Alex!’ And to get them at short notice he must’ve paid a fortune to one of the ticket agencies.

‘I wanted to see the play, and it’s more fun going with someone who actually enjoys it, too.’

‘At least let me pay for my own ticket.’

‘No. But you can buy me a drink in the interval, if you insist.’

‘I do insist.’

‘“My dear Lady Disdain,”’ he teased.

‘I did that play for A level,’ she reminded him.

‘I know.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I used to have to listen to you and Saskia murdering it in the summer house when I was home in the holidays.’

‘Murdering it?’ She cuffed his arm. ‘I’ll tell her that, next time I talk to her. And then you’ll be in trouble.’

‘No, I won’t. I’m her favourite brother.’

‘Her only brother,’ Isobel corrected.

‘Still her favourite,’ Alex said. ‘So. Food first or later?’

She glanced at her watch and at the time on the ticket. ‘Better make it later. Unless you want to grab something from a fast-food place?’

‘I’d rather wait and have something decent.’

‘Later it is, then.’

The tube was so crowded again that they didn’t get a chance to talk on the way over to Southwark. And the bar at the Globe was so crowded that they were forced to sit incredibly close together to have any chance of hearing each other speak.

Odd.

Alex was used to touching Isobel—giving her a hug hello and a kiss on the cheek when they said goodbye—but this was different. Now, he was aware of her in another way. Of the softness of her skin. Of the sweet scent of her perfume—a mixture of jasmine and vanilla and orange blossom. Of the shape of her mouth.

And it shocked him how much he suddenly wanted to kiss her.

‘Alex?’

‘Sorry. It’s a bit noisy in here. I can barely hear you.’ Acting on an impulse he knew was going to land him in trouble, but he was unable to resist, he scooped her onto his lap.

‘Alex!’

She was protesting—but she slid one arm round his neck to stop herself falling off his lap.

‘It’s easier to hear you if you talk straight into my ear,’ he said, his mouth millimetres from her own ear. ‘That way you don’t have to shout. And I don’t get backache from leaning down to you.’

She cuffed him with her free hand. ‘That’s below the belt.’

And maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. Because the whisper of her breath against his ear sent a peculiar sensation down his spine. A feeling he really didn’t want to acknowledge.

He took refuge in teasing. ‘I apologise… Shorty.’

‘Huh.’ She rolled her eyes.

He knew she wasn’t upset with him; this was the kind of banter they’d always indulged in. The kind of banter that was safe because their friendship was deep and it had been practically lifelong.

When she’d finished her glass of wine, he glanced at his watch. ‘We’d better find our seats.’

‘Sure.’ She slid off his lap, and Alex was shocked to discover he actually missed the warmth of her body against his.

The production was fantastic. And as soon as Benedick spoke his ‘dear Lady Disdain’ line, Alex glanced at Isobel— to see her glancing straight back at him. He curled his fingers round hers, acknowledging that he knew what she was remembering. To his pleasure, she didn’t pull away. But all the way through the play, when Beatrice and Benedick were fencing verbally, he found himself thinking of himself and Isobel.

‘I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange?’

His fingers involuntarily tightened for a moment round hers.

This was crazy.

Of course he wasn’t in love with Isobel. She was his friend.

But it didn’t alter the fact that he was holding her hand. Treating this like a date, when it wasn’t one at all.

He needed to regain his composure.

But for the life of him he couldn’t let her hand go.

At the end of the play, he released her hand so they could clap. And his arm was only round her on the way out of the theatre so he could protect her from the crowds.

At dinner afterwards, they chatted animatedly about the play until their meal arrived.

‘Next time we’ll have to take Saskia as well,’ he said. ‘And Mum—if she’s up to it.’

‘How is she?’ Isobel asked.

‘You know my mother. She almost never admits to feeling under the weather.’ He sighed. ‘This lupus thing… I worry about her.’

Isobel reached across the table and squeezed his hand. ‘She’ll be fine, Alex. Saskia was telling me about it—I know they haven’t found a cure for lupus, yet, but they can keep it under control with medication.’

‘But it’s going to take a while for them to find the right treatment to help her.’ Alex grimaced. ‘I’ve read up on it. I was in Turkey when Helen rang me and told me—and although I came home straight away, a snatched weekend here and there isn’t enough. I need to be around a bit more. Living in the same country as my family would be a start.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I’m not planning to move back in with my parents, because I’m used to doing things my own way and I’d drive them crazy, not fitting in with their routines—but I want to do my bit. It’s not fair to leave everything to the girls. I’m the oldest, and our parents are my responsibility.’

Isobel raised an eyebrow. ‘I think your parents would say they’re their own responsibility.’

‘Maybe.’ Alex frowned. ‘Mum’s putting a brave face on things but I know she hates it when I’m away so much, and she worries every time she turns on the news and hears of some kind of political unrest which might be somewhere near wherever I am at the time. It’s extra stress she doesn’t need.’

‘Alex, it’s not your fault she’s got lupus.’

‘No?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s stress-related.’

‘And my money’s on most of the stress being caused by her job. Saskia says she’s been feeling a lot better since she changed her hours and went part-time.’

‘Even so, it doesn’t help if she’s worried about me.’

‘She’ll be pleased about your new job, then,’ Isobel said.

‘Hey, I’m not quite arrogant enough to count my chickens— I know I’m in the running, but if they decide that my career to date makes me too much of a risk, that I’ll stay in the job for all of five minutes and then leave them in the lurch when I get a better offer…’ He shrugged. ‘Well, something else’ll turn up.’

She frowned. ‘Alex, do you actually have to be married to make them think you’re settled, or would being engaged be enough?’

He thought about it. ‘Engaged would probably be enough.’

* * *

Alex needed her. And of course she wanted to help him. He was too proud to ask her again, she knew, so there was only one thing she could do. ‘Alex. I want to help you. I really want you to get this job and be happy.’ She took a deep breath. If she got engaged to him, it wasn’t the same as being married, was it? It wasn’t the same as tying him down to someone who might not be able to give him what he wanted in life. ‘Look, if we get engaged—after you get the job we can quietly break off the engagement and go back to being how we are now.’ And because they weren’t getting married, she wouldn’t have to tell him the truth about herself—about the miscarriages. Everything would be just fine.

‘You’d get engaged to me?’

‘Until you get the job, yes. If it’d help.’

She could see the relief in his eyes. ‘Thank you, Bel. I really appreciate this.’ He took her hand, raised it to his mouth and kissed her palm before folding her fingers over where his lips had touched her skin. ‘Any time I can return the favour, do something for you, you know I will.’

‘Hey. That’s what friends are for,’ she said, striving for lightness despite the fact that the touch of his mouth had sent desire zinging through her veins.

Though his words made her heart ache. Yes, there was something Alex could do for her. But it wasn’t going to happen, so there was no point in even letting herself think about it. A real marriage and babies weren’t on his agenda. Besides, the fact that Gary had a baby now proved that the problem was with her, not him.

‘To you,’ Alex said, lifting his glass. ‘My lucky charm.’

‘What was that you were saying about not counting your chickens?’ she asked wryly.

‘With you by my side,’ Alex said, ‘I could conquer the world.’

Oh, help. He sounded serious. She reverted to some childhood teasing. ‘Alexander the Great, hmm?’

He laughed. ‘Hey. I’m not going to make you change your name to Roxana. Though if you really want to…’

‘No, thanks!’

‘And this is an engagement of convenience.’

‘Exactly. Until you get the job. Which you will.’ She raised her own glass. ‘To you.’

‘To us,’ he corrected. ‘And to teamwork.’

‘Teamwork,’ she echoed.

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