Falling for Mr. Mysterious

Jude’s hands fisted, itching to land a punch on the rat’s nose.

‘So that’s my sad little story.’ Emily’s lips tilted in a travesty of a smile. ‘But please don’t worry. I’m OK. Heartbreak’s not fatal. I’ll get over it.’

‘But you must stay here as long as you need to,’ Jude said. ‘Try not to take any notice of me. Just treat this place as your own.’

‘Well, if you’re sure … thanks.’

He raised his coffee mug in a salute, and managed to smile. ‘I’ll be off to the salt mines, but I might sneak back later to make some toast.’

‘Oh, I can make toast for you.’ Suddenly she was eager, as if to make amends. ‘What would you like on it? Marmalade? A slice of bacon?’

‘Ah—bacon would be great. Thank you.’

‘Actually,’ she said with a hopeful look, ‘I make a great bacon sandwich.’

‘Sounds terrific.’

As Jude retreated to his room, he told himself that keeping his distance from Emily was, truly, his wisest option. She needed privacy to get over her heartache, and he had plenty of reasons to keep to himself.

Reasons he preferred not to think about now. But the appointment at the hospital was looming towards him like headlights on a speeding freight train. Every time he thought about the tests and the possible outcome, he was flooded by a rush of anxiety.

Shaking those thoughts aside, he opened his work in progress, and he prayed that his muse would be friendly, letting him escape into a world of fantasy.

The words did not flow.

Not the right words, at any rate. Jude’s morning commenced poorly and came to a grinding halt when Emily, still in her nightdress, appeared at his door with a tray.

‘Breakfast,’ she said softly, as if she were afraid to interrupt a genius at work.

The tray held the promised bacon sandwich, which smelled amazing, as well as a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and another pot of coffee.

‘My ministering angel,’ he told her and she gave a self-conscious laugh.

‘Hardly.’

‘Well, in that get-up, you look like some kind of angel.’

She blushed and looked upset and Jude immediately wished he could take the words back. Too late, she was already whirling away and he found himself watching her retreating heels, flashing pink beneath the frilled hem of her nightdress.

He didn’t see her again for the rest of the day. Which was, he decided, a very good thing.

Naturally he was grateful that he’d been left in peace. Except … the afternoon’s writing fared as badly as the morning’s. Ideas wouldn’t come. Words evaded Jude and when he emerged from his room at the end of the day, he felt particularly irritable and sluggish. And mad with himself for wasting precious hours.

Usually, when he felt like this, he went for a long, brisk walk to shake out the cobwebs. This evening, however, he was distracted by enticing aromas wafting from the kitchen.

Following his nose, he discovered Emily wrapped in one of Alex’s gaudy aprons, and looking especially fetching with her bright hair pinned up in a loose knot from which fiery tendrils escaped.

‘That smells amazing.’

She turned to him and she was a bit pink and flushed, but much happier than she’d been when she’d left his office this morning. In fact, she sent him a bright-eyed smile. ‘It’s coq au vin. I hope you like it.’

‘I’m sure I’ll love it, but I don’t expect you to cook for me, Emily.’

‘I don’t mind. I like cooking, and it’s my way of repaying you for last night’s dinner.’ She shot him a quick enquiring glance. ‘Or were you planning to go out?’

It occurred to Jude that he should have called one of his mates and planned an evening out. Surely that was a wiser plan than spending another night at home with this far too attractive girl.

However, he found himself saying, ‘I don’t have any plans.’ And he helped himself to a glass of iced water from the fridge. ‘That dinner smells sensational.’

‘So speaks a self-confessed pushover when it comes to food.’

‘Sprung,’ he admitted with a rueful smile.

Emily smiled, too, and he thought he could stare at her smile for ever …

‘I’ve tried to keep quiet,’ she said. ‘Have you had a productive day?’

‘Not very.’

For a moment she looked worried, but then her eyes widened with unmistakable excitement. ‘I bought one of your novels this afternoon. It’s called Thorn in the Flesh and I’ve started reading it. It’s fabulous, Jude. Totally gripping. I’m hooked, and it’s exactly what I needed to stop me from dwelling … on … everything.’

‘I’m glad it hit the spot.’

To his surprise, she folded her arms and leant a shapely hip against a kitchen cupboard with the air of someone settling in for a discussion. ‘Morgan, the heroine, is really tough,’ she said. ‘Mentally tough. And I like the way she guards her heart.’ Emily rolled her eyes. ‘I should be more like her.’

Jude shrugged. ‘Perhaps you’re too hard on yourself. Fictional characters are always larger than life.’

‘That’s true, I guess.’

‘I could never live up to my hero’s standards.’

She nodded. ‘Raff’s a very cool customer, isn’t he?’

‘Of course.’

Of course … Jude thought. His heroes had always been very cool and very tough, ever since he’d first created them for the stories he told to his little sister, Charlotte. At the age of eight he’d been trying to drown out the nightly ordeal of their parents’ rowdy arguments.

These days, with new enemies, Jude wished it was as easy to escape from reality.

Emily had turned to the stove and was adjusting the flame beneath the fragrantly simmering pot. ‘Have you heard from Alex?’ she asked casually.

‘Not today.’

‘Do you miss him?’ She gave the pot a stir.

Finishing his iced water, Jude shrugged. ‘Not especially. He’ll only be away for three weeks or so.’

Then he saw the way Emily was watching him, her blue eyes soft and round with obvious sympathy, and he realised with a slam of dismay that she’d decided he was Alex’s lover.