My jaw tightened. I frowned up at him.
He raised an eyebrow. “Not so fast, Becky Jordan.”
What more did he want from me? I was drowning in my own embarrassment. Wasn’t that enough?
“I owe you an apology, too. A big one.”
He looked me in the eyes, and my belly did a nervy flip. I remembered those eyes, that look. I’d been smitten, absolutely smitten. Suddenly emotional, I didn’t trust myself to speak. But I didn’t trust him either. So I watched and waited.
“I should’ve said this years ago, but . . .” He shrugged. “Look, I was young and stupid. Shot my mouth off. Nothing I said was true. You know that, right?”
He reached out and took my hand. “I never meant to hurt you.”
Maybe not now, but back then . . . I tried to reclaim my hand, but his grip tightened. He gathered it in to his chest (gosh, quite muscular), and my pulse stuttered like a startled rabbit.
“So . . . is that okay?” he asked.
I hesitated. I’d carried that Dog Breath taunt with me a long time.
Then I noticed his expression, all anxious-young-boy. Come on. Was I or was I not wearing big-girl panties?
“Apology accepted.”
“Excellent.” The anxious young boy disappeared. “Let’s go, then.” Charlie The Confident linked an arm through mine and started walking.
“Hang on—what?”
“I’m going to buy you coffee.”
“I—I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? It’s just coffee.”
“I know, but—”
He gave my arm a squeeze. “But nothing. Let’s start over. Be nice to each other. Catch up.”
Hell, this hadn’t been in my Apology Plan. It wasn’t even in my Life Plan.
“Charlie, you don’t have to do this.”
“I know. But I want to. And I think you do, too.”
The man was incorrigible. Not unlike a steamroller. I shot him a sidelong glance and he grinned back at me, every bit the dark attractive rogue.
Oh, what harm could it do?
I relented. “Fine. How about Julio’s?” I indicated the café as we drew level. “Their coffee’s pretty good.”
“I have a better idea.” He turned, guiding me across the street. “Let’s go in my car. I’ll drop you back afterwards.”
I started to argue, then he bleep-bleeped the alarm and I realised which car he was referring to. A powerful-looking sports car—low, sleek and black, with a back seat even a midget would feel cramped in. Then I read ‘Carrera’ on the rear.
My mind scrambled. Since forever, it had been a dream of mine to ride in a Porsche. This was on my bucket list. I had no lectures or appointments coming up, nothing that couldn’t be done later. A shiver of anticipation shimmied up my spine.
“Okay,” I said, keeping my voice casual.
Work could wait an hour.
* * *
He revved the engine and shot me a flirtatious grin. “Buckle up.”
It was just like old times. Well, not quite. I’d grown boobs and he’d grown facial hair. But there was still a spark, and I was fairly confident he wouldn’t call me Dog Breath today.
“Nice car,” I said, caressing the leather upholstery.
“She’ll do.”
Understatement of the century. What I’d have given to have a car like this. I’d never let Jim near it, of course; not without shoving him through a decontamination unit first.
Cool at first, the leather quickly warmed, moulding readily to my shape. I inhaled. Real leather. Porsche leather.
“It seems such a waste having a Porsche in the middle of London,” I said.
“True, but once I’d seen her there was no going back.” He changed gear, whipped into the next lane. “I try and do all my site visits by car.”
“Site visits?”
“I’m a landscape architect. Sunny days I watch other people work. Rainy days I stay inside and doodle.”
“Sounds more like play than work,” I said, looking at him with fresh eyes, because the Charlie I knew wouldn’t have downplayed his role in anything, much less his career. But this Porsche hadn’t just dropped from the sky, and his family weren’t moneyed.
Maybe he really had changed.
The thought was unsettling. Had I been wrong to hate him all these years?
But Dani hated him, too.
Maybe we were both wrong.
What was that all about, anyway? Why did she dislike him so intensely? Was it sister loyalty gone mad, or something about her?
Even as I thought it, I knew the answer. She’d always lived life in the ‘something about her’ lane. Chances were nothing had changed.
Only one way to find out. “Have you caught up with Dani recently?”
Charlie glanced sharply my way, then concentrated on the road. For a moment he didn’t answer. The silence prickled my skin.
“We’ve bumped into each other a few times.”
As in gentle bumper-to-bumper whoopsie? Or something more head-on, fatalities-involved-ish?
“Why do you ask?” He fiddled with the car stereo, not meeting my eye.
Was he hiding something?
Fine. If he was going to give me nothing, I’d give him nothing back. I wouldn’t mention shattered wine glasses or hurt expressions or strong reactions to his name.
“No reason. I just wondered.”
He threw me a wry smile. “What with London being so small and all.”
“Something like that.”
We lapsed back into silence. I gave up thinking about Dani—she was entitled to her feelings—and watched the scenery instead. It took me a while to register we were on the M23, heading south.
“Charlie, I thought we were going for coffee.”
“We are.”
“And how far away, exactly, is this café?”
He winked, smiled. “Oh, a few miles. Don’t worry, it won’t take long in this baby.” He patted the dashboard.
“But I have to be at work in . . .”—I looked at my watch—“. . . thirty minutes.”
“Really?”
“Are you kidnapping me?” I asked, only half-joking.
“What? No! You wanted coffee. I’m just making sure you get the best.”
“Okay, Buster. Give it to me straight. Where exactly are we going? Because if you’re taking me further than the local coffeehouse—which,” I added, spotting the exit to Crawley, “looks fairly likely—the least you can do is tell me. Some of us have work commitments.”
“It’ll spoil the surprise if I tell you,” he stalled. Then, seeing the look on my face, “All right, all right. It wouldn’t be much fun if I had to drag you there kicking and screaming.”
“Indeed.”
I waited.
“Can you take some time off work?” he asked, eyes on the road. “Say, most of the day?”
I gaped at him. Where on earth was he taking me?
“Most of the day?” I spluttered. “Are you crazy?”
“A little.” He shrugged. “Want me to turn back?”
I compressed my lips, said nothing, and watched him.
He glanced at me, his laughter lines deepening, and kept driving. “Come on, Becky. It’s a lovely day out there. You know you want to.”
I hesitated. Friday. I didn’t have any lectures today. And he was right: it was a stunning morning. What if I called in sick, just this once? I probably could take today off without the world coming to a halt. I’d be able to catch up over the weekend.
Maybe this was exactly the distraction I needed to get over Matt. Time spent with another guy. Nothing romantic, obviously—we’d been there done that years ago, with disastrous results—but I quite liked the idea of a few hours with Charlie. No strings. No expectations. Just time out with a friend. And his Porsche, of course.
On the other hand, did I want to waste any time at all on a man who apparently thought I could, and would, drop everything for him at a moment’s no
tice? What arrogance!
He gave me a winning smile. “I really can’t think of anyone I’d rather take the day off with.”
Arrogance—or charm?
“Live a little, Becky. You’ll enjoy it.”
And butter probably didn’t melt, either . . .
“Fine. Okay. Yes, I could take a few hours off.” I paused, and narrowed my eyes at him. “Thanks for asking.”
He acknowledged the jibe with a wry twist of mouth.
“But I need to make a phone call first.”
He pulled into a lay-by and I rang Sal. “Hi. Listen, I . . . I’ve got a migraine. Spotty vision, screaming head, the works. Could you reschedule my meetings for me?”
I organised it all with Sal, but when she asked about the traffic noise I pleaded bad reception and hastily hung up. I grimaced at Charlie.
He chuckled and headed back onto the motorway. “Good girl. Right. Coffee, here we come.”
“If I get a migraine out of this,” I said, “I will hold you totally responsible.”
Chapter Sixteen
We entered the village and slowed to a crawl.
I read the sign. “Bosham.”
“Pronounced Bozz’m.”
Bathed in glorious sunshine, the village was picture-perfect postcard material. Charming cottages, beautiful gardens, the odd thatched roof, and the rusts and yellows of autumn added a golden glow to it all.
“It’s lovely!”
He smiled. “It gets better.”
We reached the end of the lane and I gasped. Before us lay a large expanse of estuary, swampy and windswept, its saltmarsh-and-pebble bed partially exposed.
“Amazing,” I breathed.
Charlie pulled over and parked next to a centuries-old stone wall. “The tide’s coming in. Perfect.”
We continued on foot, exploring the waterfront, the cobbled high street, the quaint little shops.
“This place is stunning,” I said. “I didn’t even know it existed.”
“Bosham’s been around a very long time. You know the legend about King Canute commanding the waves to retreat?”
“Mm-hmm?” Only vaguely—not that I was about to admit it.
“That happened right here, in Bosham.”
“Really? Wow! And did they?”
“Did who? What?”
“The waves. Did they retreat?”
He chuckled. “No. The King got his feet wet and discovered Nature didn’t take orders, even from a king. Still doesn’t. See?”
He pointed out a battered, weather-beaten sign. ‘This road floods each tide.’
I stared at the sign, then him. “No way.”
“If we stay a few hours you’ll see it.” He tugged my hand. “Come on. Let’s find a coffee.” He glanced at his watch. “And brunch?”
On cue, my stomach grumbled. “Good idea.”
We headed towards the cluster of waterfront cafés. Ultra-aware of his hand clasping mine, I tried unobtrusively to extract it. But Charlie had other ideas. He squeezed my hand.
“What’s the hurry? Slow down.” He stopped and turned me bodily to face him. Brushed a strand of hair off my face. “Enjoy the day.”
His gaze, intense and frankly appraising, left me in no doubt what he meant.
Butterflies fluttered in my throat. I swallowed. Coffee I could handle, but Charlie with that look in his eyes . . .
He tugged me closer.
“Charlie, I—” I pulled back. “Okay, what’s the deal here? Are you terminally ill or something?”
His grip loosened. He frowned. “Sorry?”
“Are you dying? Just tell me, Charlie. I can take it.”
His lips twitched. “Do I look that bad?”
“No! It’s just . . .” Crap. Me and my big mouth. I plunged on. “I don’t get it. You haven’t made contact all these years, so why now? Are you taking some new-age course or something? Purging the past?”
He laughed. “Does there have to be an ulterior motive?”
Wasn’t there always with men?
“Maybe I just thought it would be nice to see you again,” he said. “Which it is.” Somehow the space between us disappeared. “Very.”
He did that intense-gaze thing again. I decided I’d better spoil the moment before things got out of hand.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” I twisted out of his arms and bolted for the cafés. “Come on.”
I glanced back to make sure he was following and caught myself ogling. God. After all these years he still looked good enough to eat.
But looks weren’t everything. I turned away, sucked in some air, and kept walking. Fantasy Becky could stop right there. No day-dreaming allowed. I wouldn’t think so much as one little thought about those eyes, that hair, the whole package. I’d cast him as the villain for too long to suddenly throw him into any other role.
* * *
The shadows lengthened, and Charlie checked his watch. “Fancy a drink before we head back?”
“Sure. Why not?”
We drove inland a few miles and stopped at the Highwayman’s Rest, a thatch-roofed, whitewashed affair with ancient wagon-wheels propped against one wall. Charlie ordered drinks while I chose a booth near the fire.
He handed me my drink and sat opposite, kissed his beer against my cider. “Cheers.”
“Cheers. Today’s been fantastic, Charlie. Thanks so much.”
“The pleasure’s all mine. And thanks to you, too.”
“For . . . ?”
“For letting yourself be led astray.”
I arched a brow at him. “I’ve never bunked off work before.”
I thought about it, grinned. “Then again, I’ve never been offered a trip in a Porsche before, either.”
Charlie gave an exaggerated sigh. “That Porsche. It’s nothing but trouble. Ladies will do anything for a ride with me.”
“Is that right?”
His eyes creased at the corners. The double entendre hung between us. I thought of the Porsche, thought of him, and suddenly had an image of us parked up in it. I blushed, ducked my head. Now he had me spread-eagled on the bonnet, skirt rucked up to my waist . . .
What?!
No he did not. My blush strengthened. He had me sipping cider and making polite conversation in a well-lit, family-friendly pub, and his ‘ride’ comment certainly hadn’t warranted a car bonnet fantasy.
Disturbed and embarrassed, I engrossed myself in the fire, but my skin prickled with the imprint of his gaze. The flames leapt and danced like lovers. The silence lengthened. Schoolgirl awkward, I studied my cider, twirled the glass in my hand, then took a fortifying swig before finally looking up.
He threw me an easy smile.
I smiled back. See? No need for nerves. Charlie knew perfectly well we were just pals. My mind was in the gutter, but that was my issue, not his.
His gaze slipped from my eyes to my mouth.
My blush returned tenfold. Okay, that hadn’t been a pal look.
His gaze continued on down and my nipples, traitorous little attention-seekers, hardened in quick response. I folded my arms over the evidence. Too late; he’d noticed. His eyebrow quirked suggestively. Was it just me or was that log fire burning hotter than ever?
He crooked an arm along the back of his bench. His eyes, at once teasing and challenging, roamed back up from my chest until our gazes locked.
I swallowed. This whole distraction thing had worked perfectly until now—but precisely how much distraction did I want?
Come on, less of the Miss Priss! Didn’t I want as much distraction as I could get? How else would I ever get over Matt and on with my career?
Charlie bought another round of drinks, refusing to let me pay. We chatted about our careers, hobbies, lives. A waitress threw more logs on the fire. We swapped memories from our teens. No mention of dog breath. Patrons finished their drinks and moved on. Others arrived and ordered meals.
“So, Becky-all-grown-up, is there anyone special in your lif
e?”
I choked on my cider. Cleared my throat. Started to speak, reconsidered, then finally settled for, “No. You?”
“Not now.”
I raised my brow at him. Not now as in ‘no longer in a relationship’? Or not now as in ‘not while I’m talking to you’? Not that it was any of my business. “You’re . . . ?”
“Separated.” His hand cut through the air. “Well and truly. Soon to be divorced.”
“Ah.”
“I’m better off without her. The Estepona villa, though?” He grinned. “That’s a loss.”
“I bet.”
He shrugged. “There’ll be other villas.”
I had to laugh. He played the arrogant ass so well, but if there was one thing today had shown me it was that Charlie had definitely improved with age.
“Hollingworth!” A voice boomed. “I’ll be darned. What a coincidence.”
I looked towards the voice and froze. Felt my face blanch. Dani’s boss? What was he doing here?
If he saw me here with Charlie and it got back to Dani . . . well, it could go either way. It might be yay me for taking her advice—or boo me for hanging out with the guy who’d provoked her glass-smashing frenzy.
I wasn’t a betting woman.
But it was too late to make myself scarce. Here he came, straight for our table. I pasted a smile on my face.
Charlie stood. “Fred. Great to see you, man.”
They did that male camaraderie back-clapping thing, then Charlie stepped back. “Fred, I want you to meet Becky. Becky, Fred.”
“Becky?” Fred’s mouth dropped open. “Hi.”
I found my voice. “Hi, Fred. Fancy meeting you here.” It could only happen to me.
“Oh. You know each other?” Charlie grinned, gave him another back-clap. “Small world, eh?”
“It sure is.” He looked from me to Charlie and back again. Blinked. Scratched his chin.
I felt like I’d taken a head shot with a stun-gun.
“Becky and I went to school together,” said Charlie, answering Fred’s unspoken question. He gestured for Fred to sit in the bench he’d vacated then squashed himself next to me.
“Really?” Fred’s eyes locked on Charlie’s arm, hooked over the seat behind me.
A Heat of the Moment Thing Page 13