‘So,’ he said. ‘These plans …’
Shelley leaned across and kissed him on the lips. She pulled back, waiting for his reaction. The silence was broken only by the ticking of a clock on the mantelpiece.
‘There was one thing I wasn’t sure of about you,’ Aidan said.
‘What’s that?’
‘I didn’t know if you’d be prepared to take risks,’ he said. ‘Sometimes an editor needs to take a chance, I was worried you might be too safe. That you might be too …’
He paused.
‘Too stiff?’ she suggested.
‘Maybe,’ he said with a smile.
‘And what do you think now?’ she asked.
He placed his hand behind her head and leant forwards. His lips met hers, his mouth hardly open. Gradually, gingerly, the kiss became harder, more urgent.
Shelley pushed back with her mouth, forcing his lips apart and darting her tongue around his. She forced him back against the arm of the sofa, then lifted her leg off the floor so she was straddling him.
She broke the kiss and looked down into his eyes. His hair was ruffled, and she felt his cock pressing against her.
‘I’ve always been willing to take a risk,’ she said, slowly unfastening the top button of his shirt. ‘But only when the reward is something worthwhile.’
‘One minute, Mr O’Connor!’
Other than the general hubbub of twenty thousand people swarming across the Somerset countryside, silence filled the air in the trailer.
Rose hugged her. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m so relieved. I thought I’d lost a friend.’
‘Yes, thanks, Shelley,’ Will echoed. The others nodded and murmured in agreement.
‘Okay, Shelley,’ Abigail said. ‘Fair enough. I’m sorry you had to go through that.’
Shelley suddenly felt lighter than air. She hadn’t realised up till now just what a terrible weight the guilt had been. She’d hated having this secret from her friends.
‘You’re very welcome to use our story in your magazine, as long as you change the names,’ Cliff said. Cheryl nodded.
‘Yes, mine too,’ Abigail said.
‘Thanks,’ Shelley said. ‘You will be paid of course.’
‘Great, count me in,’ Larry said enthusiastically.
‘And me,’ Rose and Will added together.
Shelley looked at Cian. ‘And you Cian? Are you in?’
Cian looked back at her impassively. Shelley knew his sense of betrayal must have been great indeed. They had made a connection during the course. That evening at the pub had been a breakthrough for him. To find it had been built on a lie must have been hard to accept.
‘Gotta go,’ he said and rushed out of the door. The others followed, wanting to get a good position. Shelley didn’t move. She sat miserably, wondering if she’d lost something special. Rose paused at the door.
‘Come on, Shell, you don’t want to miss this.’
Shelley forced a smile and said. ‘No. I wouldn’t miss this for anything.’
‘Oh, and I’m really pleased about Aidan,’ Rose added, and they hurried across towards the stage. ‘I’m so glad he’s not your brother.’
‘Me too,’ Shelley said.
A huge cheer went up, presumably as Cian made his entrance across the stage. Shelley and Rose elbowed their way into the VIP enclosure, just as he was looping his guitar strap over his head and the drummer laid down the thumping beat to the first song. As the bass player and keyboard player came on and joined in, the crowd surged and Shelley found the others. Larry put his arm around Rose and landed a kiss on her lips.
So that was why they were both so coy.
Cian grabbed the microphone, and turned back to his band, waving his other hand.
‘Quiet, you lot!’
In a diminishing cacophony, the drummer and bassist ground to a halt. The crowd went silent.
‘Good evening Glastonbury!’ The spectators roared back. ‘I’ve been away for a little while. But The Cossacks have returned. Thanks for your patience.’ A surge went through the crowd again. ‘This song is called “Adverse Camber” and tonight it’s dedicated to a very special lady. I have one thing to say to her.’
Cian reached into his back pocket and pulled out a plectrum, then lifted it over his head. Everyone watched, transfixed, and Shelley’s breath was frozen in her throat.
‘I’m in, Shelley Carter,’ Cian said quietly into the mic. ‘I’m in.’
Shelley’s gut clenched as he brought down his arm, thrashing the first chord.
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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First published by HarperCollins Publishers 2008
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