Page 112 of Modern Romance December 2025 5-8

She lifted her chin and thought,You’re tough, Amy, so act like it.‘If I did need a shoulder, it wouldn’t be yours,’ she declared and immediately wished the rather childish addition unsaid. It did rather shake her off her firm footing on the high ground.

She took a deep breath and, channeling a calm she was a million miles from feeling, continued. ‘I am fulfilling my part of this deal and if it isn’t as painful for me as you obviously hoped, that’s tough! I am good at what I do.’ She planted the spray she was still holding on the work surface and suddenly sagged, gripping the copper surface for support, her voice losing a little of the angry venom as she finished with a waspish, ‘Sorry if that makes you unhappy, but it’s a fact.’ She swallowed. ‘It’s been a long day.’ Then wished she hadn’t added that because it sounded as if she was fishing for the sympathy vote.

‘Have you actually eaten anything while you’ve been producing miraculous food?’ he demanded, sounding less sympathetic and more annoyed.

Amy had decided the best way to deal with him was to maintain a snooty silence but her professional pride kicked in. ‘Miraculous?’

‘Well, even my grandfather didn’t complain. I think he actually said it wasquite nice,and that in itself translates as miraculous.’

‘Did you like it?’Oh, God, I sound so needy.

‘Yes, I did. Sit down before you fall down, Amy.’

‘I…’

A sound of hissing exasperation left his lips. Before she had any idea of his intention, he spanned her waist with his big hands and with a casual display of strength lifted her up onto the counter surface of the kitchen island, which should not have impressed her or made the heat unfurl in her belly.

It did both and she despised her weakness.

He was rifling through the contents of one of the fridges. ‘There’s nothing to eat,’ he complained.

Despite herself, Amy laughed. ‘I thought you liked the food.’

‘It’s not for me, it’s for you—but I’m a big guy; I need quantity, not pretty.’ She might be the exception, he admitted as his eyes travelled over her delicate features. She was a classic example of small but perfectly formed and just looking at her made him hungry. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, turning his attention back to the fridge as he pulled off a cover and sniffed the contents of a large bowl.

‘Oh, there were some chicken livers left over and I couldn’t waste them, so I made a bit of paté.’

‘A bit?’ He eyed the massive bowl as he planted it on the work surface. ‘Bread?’ He walked to the huge terracotta crock and lifted the lid, pulling out a loaf.

‘Yum, that treacle bread is just divine. Jamie has a gift, seriously, she does.’

‘Who is Jamie?’

‘The only female in the kitchen?’ she said, her sarcasm losing its force as the level of surreal in this scenario finally hit her.

‘Other than you.’

‘Yes, I suppose so, but I don’t count. I’m just your token blackmail victim.’

He turned his head as she swung her legs and yawned. He turned away quickly, but not before the image had set free a protective surge of emotion that he told himself was nine years out of date. He had wanted to protect her back then and she had thrown it back in his face.

Now, the person she needed protecting from was him.

‘Who told you that you don’t count?’

Amy couldn’t have put a time stamp on the moment she’d realised that she would never really count. Nobody had said it outright, but it had been obvious from what they hadn’t said that she would never live up to her parents’ memories of the child they had lost.

The harder she’d tried, it seemed the more she’d failed, and when their disappointment had started to feel like knife thrusts she had decided to stop trying—it was just too bloody painful.

It had been about that time when Leo had entered her life and, for the first time in her life, she had not felt second best.

‘Have I said something amusing?’

A look of confusion crossed her face as she dragged herself back to the present. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You laughed.’ If you could call the strangled sound that had left her lips a laugh.

‘Tickle,’ she said, touching her throat, not quite meeting his eyes as she produced a very unrealistic cough behind her hand.