British Bachelors: Perfect and Available: Mr

Darcy started to tell Allegra about a shoot she’d been on the day before. She knew Dickie and Stella and a host of other people at Glitz, and she was so friendly that it was impossible to dislike her, in spite of the way she kept flirting with Max, little touches on his arm, his shoulder, his hair. Every now and then her hand would disappear under the table and Allegra didn’t want to think about what she was touching down there.

Allegra kept her attention firmly focused on Darcy’s face, which was easier than being stupidly conscious of Max sitting next to Darcy and not looking nearly as out of place as he should have done. More and more, Allegra was convinced that she was sickening for something. She didn’t feel herself at all. She was glad when the drinks arrived, but she drank hers a little too quickly and, before she knew what had happened, Darcy was beckoning for another one.

‘You’re one behind us,’ she said gaily.

FOUR (#ulink_6dbb6e26-de3f-5379-8f84-285b9450aa81)

So Allegra had another and then she and Darcy agreed to have another. Why had she been so uptight earlier? She was having a great time now, exchanging disastrous date stories with Darcy while Max sat back, folded his arms and watched them indulgently.

‘Like you’ve never had a disastrous date,’ Allegra accused him, enunciating carefully so as not to slur her words.

‘What about this one?’ said Max.

‘We’re talking about real dates,’ she said indignantly.

Darcy nodded along. ‘When your heart sinks five minutes in and you spend the rest of the evening trying to think of an excuse to leave early.’

‘Or, worse, when you really like someone and you realise they’re just not that into you,’ said Allegra glumly.

A funny look swept across Max’s face. ‘I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,’ he said.

Darcy had already moved on. ‘I blame my father,’ she said. ‘He’s spoilt me for other men. None of my boyfriends has ever been able to live up to him.’

‘You’re lucky to have a father,’ Allegra said wistfully.

Her birth certificate just showed her mother’s name. Flick refused to talk about Allegra’s father. ‘He was a mistake,’ was all she would ever say and turn the subject.

When she was a little girl, Allegra had dreamed that her father would turn up one day and claim his daughter. She could never decide if she’d rather he was a movie star or the prince of some obscure European principality. Usually she opted for the latter; she thought she would make a good princess.

But no father ever came for her.

Thinking about fathers always made Allegra feel unloved and unwanted. If she wasn’t careful, she’d start blubbing, so she smiled instead and lifted her glass. ‘Oh,’ she said, peering owlishly into it when she discovered it was empty, ‘let’s have another round.’

‘I think you’ve had enough,’ said Max, signalling for the bill instead. ‘It’s time to go home.’

‘I don’t want to go home. I want another martini.’

Max ignored her and put a surprisingly strong hand under her elbow to lift her, still protesting, to her feet. ‘Can I get you a taxi, Darcy?’

‘You’re sweet,’ Darcy said, ‘but I might stay for a while.’ She waved at someone behind them, and Allegra turned to follow her gaze. ‘I’m just going to say hello to Chris.’

‘Omigod, you know Chris O’Donnell? Allegra squeaked, but Max had already said a brisk goodbye and was propelling her towards the exit while she gawked over her shoulder in a really uncool way.

‘What are you doing?’ she complained. ‘I was this close to meeting Chris O’Donnell.’

‘You’re completely sozzled,’ said Max, pushing her through the doors. ‘You wouldn’t even remember him tomorrow.’

‘I so would,’ she said sulkily, and then reeled when the cold hit her. It was September still but there was an unmistakable snap of autumn in the air. If it hadn’t been for his firm grip on her arm, she might have keeled right over.

Max looked down at her shoes—they were adorable peep-toes in a dusty pink suede with vertiginous heels—but he didn’t look impressed. ‘We’d better get a taxi,’ he sighed.

Allegra’s head was spinning alarmingly and she blinked in a vain attempt to focus. ‘You’ll never get a taxi round here,’ she said but Max just propped her against a wall while he put his fingers in his mouth and whistled for a taxi. Annoyingly, one screeched to a halt straight away.

Having taken up position by the wall, it was harder than Allegra had anticipated to get over to the taxi. In the end Max had to manoeuvre her inside, where she collapsed over the seat in an undignified sprawl. She managed to struggle upright in a brave attempt to recover her dignity, but then she couldn’t find her seat belt.

Her fumbling was interrupted by Max, muttering under his breath, who reached across her to locate the belt and clip it into place. His head was bent as he fiddled with the clip, and Allegra’s spinning head jarred to a halt with the horrifyingly clear urge to touch his hair.

Clenching her fists into her skirt to stop her hands lifting of their own accord, she sucked in a breath and pressed her spine away from him into the seat, desperate to put as much space between them as she could.

‘I think it all went well tonight,’ she said. The idea was to sound cool and formal, to show Max that she wasn’t nearly as sloshed as he seemed to think, but perfectly capable of carrying on a rational conversation. Unfortunately her voice came out wheezy, as if she had missed out on her share of oxygen.

Allegra cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Darcy’s lovely, isn’t she?’

Yes, she was. Max had to agree. Darcy was a fantasy come to life, in fact. She was gorgeous and sexy and friendly and sweet-natured. So why hadn’t he been able to relax and enjoy himself?

Max scowled at the back of the taxi driver’s head as he fastened his own seat belt. Beside him, Allegra was still burbling on about what a great evening it had been, and how nice Darcy was. She obviously hadn’t spent the entire evening being distracted.

Darcy was very touchy-feely, that was for sure. Max had been aware of her fingers trailing up and down his arm and over his thigh, but how could he enjoy it when Allegra was sitting opposite, scribbling notes in her book as if he were some kind of experiment she was observing?

It was mad. He, Max Warriner, had Darcy King right beside him, Darcy King flirting with him, and he couldn’t concentrate. He was too aware of Allegra, eyeing him critically, her mouth pursed consideringly while she watched Darcy paw him. It obviously didn’t bother her in the least.

It wasn’t even as if there was any comparison between the two women. Darcy was lush, flirty, sex personified, while Allegra was slender, too thin really. So why did he keep remembering how it had felt when she hugged him? She’d been so soft and so warm, and her fragrance had enveloped him, and every bit of blood had drained from his head.

‘And you were brilliant too,’ said Allegra indistinctly. Her head kept lolling forward and Max had a sudden and very weird compulsion to unclip her seat belt again and ease her down so that she could lie with her head in his lap and sleep all the way home.

The taxi turned a corner and Allegra leant right over towards him before the car straightened and he caught the tantalising scent of her hair before she was thrown upright again. ‘I feel a bit strange,’ she said in a small voice.

‘You’ll be fine when you’ve had something to eat,’ said Max bracingly, and she made a face.

‘Ugh...I couldn’t face eating anything.’

‘Of course you could. We’ll pick up a pizza on the way home.’

‘Pizza? Are you mad?’ Allegra demanded, roused out of her dopey state. ‘Do you know how many calories there are in every slice?’

‘You’ve just been guzzling cocktails,’ he pointed out. ‘A bit of pizza isn’t going to make much difference after that. Besides, you’re skinny enough. You could do with putting on a bit of weight, if you ask me.’

Allegra just looked at him pityingly. ‘You’ve never worked in women’s fashion, have you?’

‘And I dare say I never will,’ said Max without the slightest regret.

‘Oh, I don’t know. Now you’ve worn a flowery shirt, who knows what will happen?’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ he said glumly.

There was a silence, not uncomfortable. Lost in thought, Allegra was looking out of the window at the imposing façades along Piccadilly. It was long past the rush hour, but the traffic was still inching through the lights. They could do with a decent traffic pattern analysis, Max thought, doing his best to keep his mind off the tempting line of Allegra’s throat or the coltishly sprawled legs revealed by the short flirty skirt he had been trying not to notice all evening. It was a pale mint-green, made of some kind of floaty, gauzy stuff, and she wore it with a camisole and a pale cardigan that just begged to be stroked. Darcy had cooed over its softness when she reached over and ran her hand down Allegra’s sleeve, exclaiming the way women did over each other’s clothes. Max had watched, his throat dry, and he’d fought the weird compulsion to push Darcy aside and stroke Allegra himself.

It was all very unsettling. He’d never given any thought to what she was wearing before—other than to boggle at the shoes she wore sometimes—so why was he suddenly acutely aware of the way her skirt shifted over her thighs when she sat down, or how some silky fabric lay against her skin?