Aunt Caroline's eyebrows rocketed in disbelief when the phone rang at five past eleven.

"If that's the repair man, you can well tell him to stick his spare part up his ass! The cheek of that man, he promised faithfully he'd be around this afternoon, if he thinks he can phone up now and––"

"Hello?" Having pounced on the phone, Stephanie pressed it tightly to her ear. The next moment, an idiotic grin spread across her face as she heard the voice she'd been waiting to hear. "Not your man," she mouthed at Aunt Caroline.

He's my man, my man, mine…

“Still haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” Hunter’s voice low and intimate, sent ripples of pleasure cascading over her shoulders.

“Me neither,” Stephanie whispered back.

“How about dinner tomorrow night? I thought we might give Olive Garden a whirl.”

Stephanie was overwhelmed. She counted herself lucky if some guy bought her a packet of smoky beef bacon crisps to go with her half of lager. Olive Garden, in Greensboro, had a stunning reputation and five Michelin stars. Hunter must really like her.

A lot.

“Sounds fine,” she said casually, as if men whisked her off to Michelin-starred restaurants practically on a daily basis.

“I’ll pick you up at eight. Same place as before.”

“Okay. Bye.” Stephanie wondered if he was keeping his voice low because he was phoning from home, and determinedly didn’t feel guilty. It wasn’t her fault he was trapped in a miserable relationship.

“Who was that?” Aunt Caroline said when she hung up.

“Oh just Robbie Williams. He’s been ringing and ringing for ages, pestering me to go out with him. Poor thing, he can’t get a girlfriend to save his life. So I said I’d see him tomorrow night.”

“That is such a kind thing to do.” Aunt Caroline exclaimed. “Giving up your precious spare time to keep some ugly pop star company. Where’s he going to take you?”

“Bless his heart, he hasn’t got any cash to spare. Probably McDonald’s,” Stephanie said.

“You know, you really are a wonderful person.” Aunt Caroline shook her head in admiration. “That Robbie Williams, he’s lucky to have you.”

“I know.” Stephanie beamed modestly at her. “I’m a saint.”

~~~~

Emma couldn’t remember when she’d last had such a relaxed and completely enjoyable evening. Stretched across the sofa with her bare feet resting comfortably on James’ lap and a mug of coffee made by James in her hands, “I should be in bed right now. You’re turning into a bad influence already.” she said.

“I’m the bad influence?” he shot her a look of disbelief.

“You’re the one who made me sing Unchained Melody downstairs. You forced me to join in with Moon River. I thought this was going to be a nice quiet day, with little kids playing Mario Kart.’’

“Oh well, that’s my Uncle Albert for you,” Emma said. “Anyone the least bit genteel is banned from the premises. If they even try to creep up the drive he has shot on sight.”

“Your uncle is so hilarious.” James grinned.

Emma slurped her black coffee and wiggled her bottom into a more comfortable position on the sofa. Uncle Albert had greeted James like a long-lost son, declaring to the room at large that James had been the best by far of all his niece’s old university friends and the only one he’d ever really liked.

“And you actually told Emma that at the time?” James joining in like a trooper he was, had clapped his freckled hand to his forehead in mock horror. “God, no wonder she dumped nothing puts a girl or a guy more than knowing her parents think he’s great.”

Next to them, Emma had rolled her eyes and said, “That’s not true.”

And it wasn’t, she’d thought as Uncle Albert had launched into a rousing chorus of “Emma, Emma, give me your answer.” It was a ridiculous idea. 

Wasn’t it?

“Go on, then,” James prompted, dragging her back to the present.

“Tell me about this ex-boyfriend of yours. If he was a bastard, how come you date him?”

“Ah, well, he did that sneaky man-thing,” Emma riposted. “He forgot to mention the fact that he was really a bastard. When we first met, Patrick gave a good impression of being pretty much perfect. And I fell for it.”

“Oh, don’t tell me, you thought you’d found your ten.” James was looking insufferably smug.

“Go on, smirk all you like.” Emma was seriously beginning to regret the burst of honesty years earlier that had compelled her to admit the whole truth to James. “But yes, if you want to put it like that. I did think I’d found my ten. Patrick was funny and charming ouch!”

James pinching her big toe, protested, “I’m funny and charming.”

“And he was very good-looking ouch, ouch,” squealed Emma as he grabbed her big toe.

“That’s the face-ist remark. “You’re a face-ist.” James shook his head sorrowfully at her. “Ugly people have feelings too.”

“I know, I know it’s shallow and I’m ashamed of myself, but I’m just being honest. And you aren’t ugly,” Emma told him.

“Anyway, as far as Patrick was  concerned, I thought he was perfect. And as it turned out, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Oh, please, please,” she begged, wriggling like an eel as he began to tickle her feet mercilessly, “stop it, I’ve been punished enough, I promise, I’ll never be face-ist again!”

“So, you have learned your lesson?”

“Yes, yes!”

"Actually, no, you haven't." James tut-tutted. "I saw you this afternoon, remember? Flirting with that guy outside the restaurant. And you can't tell he was ugly."

Emma looked innocent. "Wasn't he? I hadn't noticed."

"Come on, tell me all about him."

Reluctantly she did. And braced herself for his reaction.

James, predictably, roared with laughter. "Oh, this is priceless. Emma Campbell, this is your life! Don't you see, you're setting yourself up all over again?"

"I'm not setting myself up," Emma said crossly. "I'm just not, okay? There's absolutely nothing going on between me and Patrick Schneider."

"Sweetheart, pull the other one."

Don't tempt me, thought Emma.

"But there isn't."

He wagged a finger at her. "I was watching you, remember."

"And did I throw myself at him?"

"You looked as if you wanted to."

Oh God, thought Emma, horrified. I didn't, did I?

"These lady-killer types are all the same," James went on. It's a law of nature. They can have any woman they want, so they do. As soon as they make a conquest, they lose interest and move on to the next one. It's a thrill-of-the chase thing. Fun for them." he concluded sympathetically, "but not very relaxing for you,waking up each morning and wondering if today's the day you're going to be given the old heave-ho."

"And I actually said you could stay here." Emma wailed, giving his knees a swipe. "I offered you a bed out of the sheer goodness of my heart and this is the kind of abuse I have to put up with!"

"Not abuse. Sensible advice. You're free to do whatever you want," James said easily. "I'm just reminding you what'll happen when it all goes wrong."

Having planted an affectionate kiss on her cheek, James had disappeared out of the front door and been out for the count within seconds. Emma, lying in her own bed gazing up at the beamed ceiling, heard his car engine turn on and drove through the deserted road.

But this wasn't the reason she couldn't get to sleep. James' remarks were rattling around her brain like beans in a jar.

Basically, Emma admitted because he hadn't told her anything she hadn't already figured out for herself.

High risk men, men like James Douglas only ended up making you miserable.

Better not to get involved.