Good at Games Read online

  Also by Jill Mansell

  An Offer You Can’t Refuse

  Miranda’s Big Mistake

  Millie’s Fling

  Perfect Timing

  Rumor Has It

  Take a Chance on Me

  Staying at Daisy’s

  To the Moon and Back

  Nadia Knows Best

  A Walk in the Park

  Thinking of You

  Don’t Want to Miss a Thing

  The Unexpected Consequences of Love

  Making Your Mind Up

  Falling for You

  Copyright © 2000, 2016 by Jill Mansell

  Cover and internal design © 2016 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover illustration by Lisa Mallet

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Landmark, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

  www.sourcebooks.com

  Originally published in 2000 in Great Britain by Headline Publishing Group. This edition issued based on the paperback edition published in 2014 in Great Britain by Headline Review, an imprint of Headline Publishing Group.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Mansell, Jill.

  Good at games / Jill Mansell.

  pages ; cm

  (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Domestic fiction. I. Title.

  PR6063.A395G66 2016

  823’.914--dc23

  2015022862

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  To Cino

  With love

  Chapter 1

  Suzy fell in love with Harry Fitzallan the moment she showed him her husband’s sperm sample.

  The sample didn’t really belong to her husband, of course. Chiefly because she wasn’t married.

  It wasn’t a sperm sample either—it was a McDonald’s cup containing the dregs of her strawberry milkshake. But when your brother’s just been stopped for speeding and he really, really doesn’t want to lose his license—well, sometimes you just have to improvise, do the best you can with what you’ve got.

  Oh, and if she was being honest, it wasn’t actually love at first sight either. Still, it was undeniably a healthy attack of lust.

  * * *

  “Oh, terrific, this is all I need.” Rory Curtis, who never swore, let out a low groan as the police car moved smoothly in front of him, flashing its you’ve-been-caught sign, the driver indicating with a leisurely wave that Rory might like to pull over onto the hard shoulder.

  “Bastard!” Unlike her elder brother, Suzy Curtis was partial to a bit of profanity. “Honestly, what is it with these people? Why can’t they do something useful, like catch burglars? When are they going to stop harassing innocent motorists who—”

  “This is bad news.” Brusquely, Rory interrupted her tirade. “I’ve got points already. There goes my license.” He exhaled heavily. “How can I do my job without a car?”

  He was a worrier and a workaholic. Suzy, who wasn’t, could feel his agitation as he braked and pulled over. She fiddled with the milkshake cup in her lap, quite tempted to take her own frustration out on it and crush it in her fist like an empty Coke can. Except if she tried this, she’d only get milkshake drips all over her navy agnès b. skirt.

  Rory slowed to a reluctant halt behind the police car, and they watched the policeman climb out.

  Suzy gasped, instantly diverted and whistling in astonishment because the sight of him was so unexpected. “Blimey, I’d have his babies any day.”

  “You could start right now.” Rory’s jaw was tense, his tone resigned. “It might distract him from booking me.”

  There was no getting away from it; this police officer was absolutely gorgeous. Suzy, clocking every delicious detail from the bright blue eyes that crinkled at the corners to a body that was, quite frankly, excellent in every respect, had to make a conscious effort to close her mouth. After all, there’s nothing remotely attractive about a girl who drools.

  Her fingers curled helplessly around the milkshake cup. Next to her in the driver’s seat, Rory’s breathing quickened, and a vein on his temple began to throb. As the policeman strolled toward them, Suzy fleetingly imagined having his babies. She glanced thoughtfully down at the cup in her hand and removed the straw.

  “That’s it, I’m booked,” fretted Rory, massaging his aching forehead.

  “Shhh, let me just give something a try.” Suzy patted his arm, threw open the passenger door, burst out onto the grass shoulder, gazed at the most beautiful policeman she’d ever seen in her life…

  …and burst into a torrent of tears.

  He looked taken aback. “Oh, now—”

  “Please, Officer, please. I know we were going a tiny bit fast, but—”

  “A tiny bit fast? Ninety-seven miles per hour, according to our radar.”

  “But every second counts, and this is our last t-t-try,” Suzy sobbed. “Six years of agony, four lots of IVF, and we just can
’t afford any more tries. Officer, I’m begging you…” Trembling, she held up the brightly colored milkshake cup advertising the latest Disney movie. “We have thirty minutes to get to the hospital. The doctors are all there, standing by. I’ve had all the injections… This is my very last chance to have a baby, and if you don’t let us go this minute”—she clutched the cup to her heaving bosom—“they’re all going to die!”

  Suzy blinked, her lips bravely pressed together, unconcealed anguish in her eyes. Well, that was that. Couldn’t say she hadn’t given it her best shot. Heavens, he was gorgeous.

  Calm down now, she reminded herself. Whatever happens, I absolutely must not flirt with him.

  “You mean…” Perplexed, he pointed at the cup, then at Rory in the driver’s seat. “He…into a milkshake cup?”

  Suzy prayed he wouldn’t ask her to take the lid off. Strawberry, bit of a giveaway.

  “Well, it has to be put into something.” It came out as an indignant wail. “What would you use, a wineglass?” She bit her lip and brushed the tears from her eyes. “Oh, look, I’m sorry, forgive me; it’s all been such a terrible strain. They have a room set aside at the hospital, for the men to…but my husband can’t… Um, it’s all so impersonal, you see… He prefers to do it at home. Go on, take a look if you don’t believe me!” Going for broke, Suzy took a step toward him, eagerly offering him the cup. “But please, whatever you do, don’t drop it. Those are my babies in there.”

  As he hesitated, the passenger door of the patrol car swung open, and the second officer hauled himself out. He was fattish, fiftyish and wheezy, with a face the color of a baboon’s bottom.

  Hmmm, no danger of inadvertent flirtation there.

  “Problem?”

  “Oh, please, please let us go,” begged Suzy, her face crumbling once more—but not unattractively so. “Don’t you understand? Every second counts!”

  The good-looking one glanced over his shoulder at his colleague. Then turning back to Suzy, he nodded at the car.

  “Better get a move on, then. No time to lose.”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, Officer!” Suzy was so overjoyed she almost threw aside her milkshake cup and flung her arms around him. Instead, she confined herself to imagining how it would feel to fling her arms around him. All that scratchy blue serge against her warm naked body—heavens, there was definitely something about a man in uniform. “You don’t know what this means to me!”

  “Good luck.” He gave her a regretful smile, as if—under other circumstances, of course—he wouldn’t have minded discovering for himself how her warm naked body might have felt clasped masterfully to his blue serge chest.

  “You’re not even giving them a ticket?” The ugly one looked disappointed.

  Ignoring him, Suzy said, “You must tell me your name.”

  “Fitzallan.”

  “I meant your first name.”

  “Oh.” He smiled, blushing fractionally. “Harry.”

  Rory was holding the passenger door open for her. Feeling as if they were Bonnie and Clyde about to make a nifty getaway, Suzy slid into the car and buzzed down the window.

  “If we have a boy, we’ll name him after you,” she yelled, waving to him as they sped away.

  * * *

  A fortnight later, on the last day of July, Suzy piled the employees of Curtis and Co. into the bar of the Avon Gorge Hotel to celebrate a record-breaking month of business. She had even managed to persuade Rory to take a couple of hours off from working himself into an early grave and have a couple of hard-earned drinks instead.

  The rest of them had more than a couple. Suzy, who had exceeded her sales target by 300 percent, launched happily into the tequila. Martin Lord, her fellow agent, matched her drink for drink. When Donna—their hugely efficient Gothic secretary—spotted a noisy crowd from Slade and Matthews, a rival agency in Clifton, Martin soon had them engaged in a raucous game of Truth or Dare.

  “Dare!” roared their opponents when Martin refused to strip down to his socks. “One lap around the terrace with Suzy on your back, singing ‘My Way’ and whipping you with a leather belt.”

  “Dare?” Martin grinned. “That’s been my fantasy for years.”

  “Don’t you dare drop her,” Rory warned as Suzy, joining in, hitched up her skirt and leaped onto Martin’s back. “She’s my star saleswoman.”

  “Not to mention a brilliant singer.” Leaning forward, Suzy lovingly ruffled her brother’s dark hair. “Donna, I need a bit of help getting started. Give me a C minor.”

  Donna, patting the pockets of her long black dress, said, “Haven’t got one.”

  “Never mind, I’ll have a Marlboro instead.” Precariously, Suzy tilted sideways, grabbed a half-empty wine bottle from the table, and whisked a lit cigarette from Martin’s fingers. “All I need now is a pair of spurs. Hi ho, Silver, off we go, watch out for those tables…”

  Everyone was cheering madly, but it was a dare too far for Martin, who had drunk seven tequila slammers on an empty stomach. He swayed, ricocheted off the edge of one of the tables, and lost his balance before Suzy even had a chance to burst into song. Which was just as well, probably, since her singing voice was woefully off-key.

  “Aaargh!” As she toppled backward, she dimly wondered if her bottom was up to the task of cushioning the blow. She felt herself falling in slow motion. Her arms reached only fresh air. Behind her, a chair clattered to the ground, and a pair of strong arms, appearing out of nowhere, caught her as she fell.

  Amazed, Suzy gazed at the unfamiliar hands clasped firmly around her waist. Someone with reflexes like greased lightning had rescued her from a truly horrible fate, and she couldn’t even see his face. Furthermore, her thighs were still wrapped around Martin’s waist.

  Which was embarrassing, and not what you’d call elegant.

  Slowly, Suzy disentangled her legs. By a stroke of luck, she had managed to hold on to both the cigarette and the bottle of Pouilly-Fumé. To steady her nerves, she took a deep drag on one and a glug of the other. Thankfully, in the right order.

  Then she turned around to see who had hurtled so magnificently to her rescue.

  For a moment she didn’t recognize him, so strongly associated was he in her mind with scratchy blue serge. Then Suzy saw the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, and every detail of their last meeting came flooding back: Hatless this time, his dark hair was curlier than she had realized. The eyes were as blue as ever. And now that he was wearing a pale yellow polo shirt and fitted jeans, she was able to appreciate the finer points of his body, which was fat-free, well-toned, and clearly up to the task of lifting sizable weights when the occasion arose.

  Well, sizable-ish. Nothing wrong with being 130 pounds.

  “I really hate to say this,” said Suzy, “but it looks like I’ve been caught out.”

  “Does really,” Harry Fitzallan agreed, his expression sorrowful. “Smoking, drinking, piggy-back racing, not to mention your husband over there, watching you gallop around on another man’s back.”

  The tequilas she had so recklessly downed earlier were making Suzy’s head spin. She said, “Actually, he’s not my husband. He’s my brother.”

  “In that case, I really hope that wasn’t his sperm sample you were in such a hurry to get yourself inseminated with.”

  “What can I say? I told a big lie.” Suzy tried hard to look suitably ashamed. “It was strawberry milkshake.”

  “And there was me, thinking I was being such a nice guy.” Harry gave her a rueful look. “Doing the decent thing and all that. I kept thinking about you, you know. Afterward. Hoping it would work out for you and your husband…”

  “But when I do have a baby,” she told him earnestly, “I absolutely promise to name him after you.”

  He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You can’t even remember my name.”

  Suzy, who could,
waved her arm and declared, “I shall call him Constable.”

  It came out as Conshtable.

  Harry smiled. “You’re drunk.”

  “I know, I know.” She nodded vigorously, entranced all over again by the astonishing blueness of his eyes. “But as Winston Churchill once said, ‘When I wake up in the morning, you’ll still be beautiful.’”

  “He almost said it. Well, he almost said something vaguely like that.”

  “So what happens now? Are you going to arrest me?”

  “What for? Being drunk in charge of a Marlboro?”

  He watched her try to flick the inch and a half of ash into an ashtray and miss. Suzy shook her head and tossed back her long tawny hair, narrowly avoiding setting fire to it.

  “Come on, you know what I’m talking about. Perspiring—no, no, conspiring to pervert the course of justice…that’s what I did, wasn’t it?” Oh, it was so easy to repent your sins when you knew you weren’t going to be punished! “Oh, Officer, how can I ever make it up to you?”

  Harry grinned. “Let me just check something out first. Are you married?”

  “Me, Officer? Crikey, no.” Swaying a bit, Suzy located her almost-empty glass on the table and solemnly held it up. “Totally single, that’s me, Officer. As single as this tequila.”

  “In that case,” said Harry, “you could always come out to dinner with me tomorrow night.”

  Yes, yes, yes!

  Triumphantly knocking back the last few lukewarm drops of her drink—clunk—Suzy congratulated herself on an excellent result. It was like selling a fabulous house within hours of it going on the market. But this is even better, she thought happily. A date within a matter of minutes. Damn, I’m good.

  Uh-oh. Lifting the empty glass up to the light, she realized that her mouth was no longer leaving prints around the rim. And if her lipstick had worn off, that meant her face had more than likely gone shiny too. Not to mention her hair being in need of a damn good brushing.

  Basically, it was time for her midevening tidy up.

  “You know what I hate?” Harry’s head was tilted to one side, his tone conversational. “I hate it when I ask a beautiful girl out to dinner and she doesn’t say anything. Just stares at her glass. So do I take that as a no?”