your family?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
There was one of them all together, very similar in style to the one he had on his computer screen at work—but he noticed immediately that Fran wasn’t in it. ‘Where were you?’he asked.
‘Behind the camera. Which is where I prefer to be.’
‘You’re worried about posing for a photograph?’ Without giving her the chance to answer, he pulled his mobile phone from his pocket, flicked it into camera mode and took a snap of her. He looked at the screen critically. ‘It’s perfectly OK. You don’t take a bad photograph.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t have a phobia about having my picture taken, Gio. I just prefer being behind the lens, not in front of it.’
On the outside, looking in? Or was he reading too much into it? He changed tack. ‘Is that what you thought about doing when you were a kid? Being a photographer?’
‘No, I’m not that arty.’ She shrugged. ‘I take reasonable snaps, but I’m not under any illusions that I’m the next David Bailey.’
‘So what did you want to do, when you were at school?’
‘Can’t remember.’
Her back was to him so he couldn’t read her expression. He had the feeling that she was fibbing, but he didn’t want to push her too hard, so he let it go. Instead, he picked up the group photograph and settled back against the sofa to study it more carefully. ‘You’ve met my family. They’re going to grill me about yours—and if I say I don’t know, they’ll smell a rat. Come and tell me about them,’ he invited.
‘There’s not that much to tell.’ She brought the coffee over and handed him a mug. ‘Obviously that’s my mum and dad—Dad’s head of the local middle school and Mum’s a geography teacher at the local high school.’
Again, he noticed, she’d given him the least information she could get away with. ‘Honestly, getting details out of you is like pulling teeth! I ought to take lessons from Nonna. What are their names?’ Gio prompted.
‘Carol and Warren.’
They looked pleasant enough. Physically, they were nothing like Fran; they were both tall, and, although Warren’s hair was graying, he’d clearly been fair, as had Carol. Her siblings were tall and fair, too. So he could see why Fran, being little and dark-haired, felt the differences so keenly.
‘Did you take this in your parents’ back garden?’
‘Yes.’
It was incredibly neat and tidy; clearly someone in the family loved gardening and took pride in the flowers. Something Fran had had in common with them? But he couldn’t think of a way to ask without risking her clamming up on him.
‘Tell me about the others,’ he invited.
She put her mug on the floor, then pointed to the younger woman in the photograph. ‘This is Suzy—she’s the baby of the family. She’s training to be a dentist.’
Again, the bare minimum of detail. What was Suzy like as a person? If anyone had asked him to describe Marcie, the baby in their family, he would’ve said she was little and funny and noisy and arty—she worked in a gallery and, although she could barely draw a straight line with a ruler, she had a real eye for colour and detail, and the pieces she bought for herself were already worth at least three times what she’d paid for them.
‘Does she get more information out of you than anyone else?’ he asked.
She frowned. ‘How?’
‘By pulling…’ He stopped. ‘Never mind.’ It was a poor joke, and he didn’t want to annoy her so that she clammed up again. ‘What about the twins?’ he asked. They were definitely identical; he couldn’t tell them apart.
‘This is Ted and this is Dominic.’ She pointed them out in turn. ‘Ted’s a forensic scientist and Dominic’s doing a PhD in history—he’ll probably go on to teach at uni because he runs a few tutorials and lectures already.’
Again, very little detail. But one thing he had noted: her family were all academic, with three teachers and two scientists among them, and he already knew Fran felt bad about the fact she’d failed her exams. No wonder she felt so out of place—but he’d just bet her family appreciated her other qualities: the way she was unflappable, dealt with things coolly and calmly and was so neat and organised.
And he told her so.
She scoffed. ‘There’s really nothing to being organised.’
‘There is, when you’re trying to juggle six things at once.’
She looked at him. ‘Gio Mazetti, are you trying to tell me you haven’t sorted out your sisters’ birthday presents yet?’
How the hell had she guessed that? He hadn’t even discussed it with her. ‘I’ll get there—’ he paused ‘—unless, that is, you’re offering help? Because they’re at a difficult age.’
She laughed back. ‘Rubbish. There’s nothing difficult about twenty-seven, twenty-five or twenty-three.’
‘Oh, yes, there is. I have no idea what’s trendy and what’s completely unfashionable.’
‘And you think I do?’
He smiled. ‘You have a better idea than I have, anyway. Come shopping with me?’
She gave him a searching look, as if trying to work out if his offer was for real; then clearly she decided to take it at face value, because she said, ‘Sure, I’ll help you find something.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’ He finished his drink. ‘Nice coffee, by the way.’
‘Thank you.’
‘In cupping terms, I’d say this has a perfect body.’ Just like her. Soft and curvy and incredibly sexy. ‘I haven’t told you about the cupping, have I?’
Cupping.
Little shivers of desire went all the way down her spine. The way he’d held her on his lap this afternoon, with his hands at her waist—if they’d been alone, how easily his hands could have slid up her ribcage to cup her breasts.
Her mouth went dry. ‘Cupping.’
His eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘It’s the coffee world’s equivalent of wine tasting.’
Fran could actually feel the colour flooding into her face. Oh, lord. How embarrassing could she get?
Gio’s voice deepened slightly. ‘Though there is another definition.’The amusement in his gaze was replaced by sheer heat. ‘Fran, if I embarrassed you this afternoon when I pulled you on to my lap like that, I’m sorry.’
She wasn’t.
He moistened his lower lip. ‘My family is…tactile.’
Yes. And she really wanted him to touch her, right here and now. She could see in his face that he was going to touch her. And when he reached out and stroked her cheek, she couldn’t help herself. She turned her face into his palm and pressed a kiss into it. ‘It’s OK.’
‘No, it’s not.’ She could actually feel his hands trembling. ‘Because right now I really need to…’ In one swift movement, he’d pulled her on to his lap. Except this time she was sitting facing him. He leaned forward and caught her lower lip between his. Nibbled gently until she opened her mouth and slid her arms round his neck, leaning closer. His hands were pressed flat against the curve of her waist. And then his fingers dipped under the hem of her shirt. She quivered as his fingertips brushed her skin, moving slowly upwards. And then somehow he’d unsnapped her bra, pushed the material aside and was cupping her breasts.
And it was even better than she’d imagined, a few moments before.
When