That mouth was still the same, Jake thought, remembering its warmth, its innocence, remembering how unprepared he had been for the piercing sweetness that just for a moment had held them in its grip.
Now here she was again, sitting there and watching him with a wary expression in the big brown eyes. Not recognise her?
Jake smiled. ‘Not a chance,’ he said.
Oh dear. That wasn’t what she had wanted to hear at all. Almost reluctantly, Cassie met the dark-blue gaze and felt her skin prickle at the amusement she read there. It was obvious that Jake remembered the gawky teenager she had been all too well. Those kisses might have been shattering for her, but for him they must have been just part of her gaucheness and lack of sophistication.
She lifted her chin. ‘It’s a long time ago,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think you’d remember me.’
Jake met her eyes blandly. ‘You’d be surprised what I remember,’ he said, and the memory of the Allantide Ball was suddenly shimmering between them. He didn’t have to say anything. Cassie just knew that he was remembering her hopeless attempts to flirt, and her clumsy, mortifyingly eager response to his kiss, and a tide of heat seemed to sweep up from her toes.
She jerked her eyes away. ‘So,’ she began, but all at once her voice was so high and thin that she had to clear her throat and start again. ‘So…’ Oh God, now she sounded positively gravelly! ‘What took you back to Portrevick?’ She managed to find something approaching a normal pitch at last. As far as she knew, Jake had left the village that awful day he had kissed her on his motorbike and had never been back.
Jake’s expression sobered. ‘Sir Ian’s death,’ he said.
‘Oh yes, I was so sorry when I heard about that,’ said Cassie, latching on to what she hoped would be a safe subject. ‘He was such a lovely man,’ she remembered sadly. ‘Mum and Dad went back for the funeral, but one of our clients was getting married that day so I was on duty.’
The door opened at that point and Jake’s PA came in with a tray of coffee which she set on the table between them. She poured two cups and made a discreet exit. Why could she never be that quiet and efficient? Cassie wondered, admiring the other woman’s style.
Jake passed one of the cups to her, and she accepted it gingerly. It was made of the finest porcelain, and she couldn’t help comparing it to the chipped mugs she and Joss used to drink endless cups of tea in the office.
‘I had to go and see Sir Ian’s solicitor on Friday,’ Jake said, pushing the milk jug towards her. ‘I stayed in the pub at Portrevick, and your name was mentioned in connection with weddings. One of your old friends-Tina?-said that you were in the business.’
‘Did she?’ Cassie made a mental note to ring Tina the moment she left and demand to know why she hadn’t told her that Jake Trevelyan had reappeared. It wasn’t as if Tina didn’t know all about that devastating kiss at the Allantide Ball, although Cassie had never told anyone about the second one.
Jake raised his eyes a little at her tone, and she hastened to make amends. Perhaps she had sounded rather vengeful, there. ‘I mean, yes, that’s right,’ she said, helping herself to milk but managing to slop most of it into the saucer.
Now the cup was going to drip all over everything. With an inward sigh, Cassie hunted around in her bag for a tissue to mop up the mess. ‘I am.’
That sounded a bit too bald, didn’t it? You’re supposed to be selling yourself here, Cassie reminded herself, but she was distracted by the need to dispose of the sodden tissue now. She couldn’t just leave it in the saucer. It looked disgusting, and so unprofessional.
‘In the wedding business, that is,’ she added, losing track of where she had begun. Helplessly, she looked around for a bin, but of course there was nothing so prosaic in Jake’s office.
It was immaculate, she noticed for the first time. Everything was squeaky clean, and the desk was clear except for a telephone and a very small, very expensive-looking computer. Ten years ago, Jake would only have been in an office like this to pinch the electronic equipment, she thought, wondering how on earth the rebel Jake, with his battered leathers and his bike, had made it to this exclusive, perfectly controlled space.
She could see Jake eyeing the tissue askance. Obviously any kind of mess offended him now, which was a shame, given that she was banking her entire future on being able to work closely with him and his fiancée for the next few months. Cassie belonged to the creative school of organising, the one that miraculously produced order out of chaos at the very last minute, although no one, least of all her, ever knew quite how it happened.
Unable to think of anything else do with it, Cassie quickly shoved the tissue back into her bag, where it would no doubt fester with all the other crumbs, chocolate wrappers, pen lids and blunt emery-boards that she never got round to clearing out. She would have to remember to be careful next time she put her hand in there.
Jake’s expression was faintly disgusted, but he offered her the plate of biscuits. Cassie eyed them longingly. She was starving, but she knew better than to take one. The next thing, there would be biscuit crumbs everywhere, and her professional image had taken enough of a battering as it was this afternoon.
‘No thank you,’ she said politely, deciding to skip the coffee as well. At this rate she would just spill it all over herself and, worse, Jake’s pristine leather sofa.
Leaning forward, Jake added milk to his own coffee without spilling so much as a drop. He stirred it briskly, tapped the spoon on the side of the cup, set it in the saucer and looked up at Cassie. The dark-blue eyes were very direct, and in spite of her determination to stay cool Cassie’s pulse gave an alarming jolt.
‘Well, shall we get down to business?’ he suggested.
‘Good idea.’ Delighted to leave the past and all its embarrassing associations behind, Cassie leapt into action.
This was it. Her whole career-well, her job, Cassie amended to herself. She didn’t have a career so much as a haphazard series of unrelated jobs. Anyway, everything depended on how she sold herself now.
Reaching for her briefcase, she unzipped it with a flourish, dug out a brochure and handed it to Jake. ‘This will give you some idea of what we do,’ she said in her best professional voice. It was odd that his fiancée wasn’t here. Joss always aimed her pitch at the bride-to-be; she would just have to make the best of it, Cassie supposed.
‘Of course, we offer a bespoke service, so we really start with what you want.’ She hesitated. ‘We usually discuss what you’d like with both members of the couple,’ she added delicately. ‘Will your fiancée be joining us?’
Jake had been flicking through the brochure, but at that he glanced up. ‘Fiancée?’
‘The bride generally has a good idea about what kind of wedding she wants,’ Cassie explained. ‘In our experience, grooms tend to be less concerned with the nitty-gritty of the organisation.’
‘I think there may be some misunderstanding,’ said Jake, frowning. ‘I’m not engaged.’
Cassie’s face fell ludicrously. ‘Not…? You’re not getting married?’ she said, hoping against hope that she had misheard.
‘No.’
Then how was she to hold on to her job? Cassie wondered wildly. ‘So you don’t need help planning a wedding?’ she asked, just to make sure, and Jake let the brochure drop onto the table with a slap of finality.