“You’re not with your latest tart.”
“I’m all alone and blushing that you’d even think that I date tarts.” He peeked into the kitchen to see that Sugar’s bowl still had some biscuits in it, and noted that quite a few more dog biscuits were scattered across his pristine kitchen floor. Al’s bowl, on the end of the bench out of the reach of Sugar, was empty. The water bowl was full.
“Just remember Trevor, honey.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a prime example of what happens with indiscretions.”
“I think I can handle my own indiscretions.” Vastly amused, and ignoring the dog biscuits on the kitchen floor, he started up the staircase.
“Are you coming over for dinner tonight?”
“Depends on whether Trevor rings me.”
“Going by that boy’s record, it’ll be any minute. He’ll run like a rabbit from the wolf, that wolf being Melissa’s father.”
His mother spoke the truth and Marty found himself nodding.
“Anyway,” she said. “If you could see your way clear to dropping in tomorrow, at least.”
“It’s Sunday. I might want to sleep in.”
“Sunday lunch. That gives you long enough.”
“Mum, you wouldn’t be trying to find out from me first-hand what the story is from Trevor, would you?”
“What am I, a gossip? I just want you to come over. All right?”
“Sure.” He laughed.
“Be here.”
After assuring her that he would be there, he had just barely clicked off the phone when it rang again. Flipping it open, he almost laughed when Trevor’s number appeared.
Sitting on the side of his bed, he toed off his shoes. “Hey. Deep shit. I’m impressed at how deep.” He spied Al eyeing him from behind the curtain and waited for him to come prancing across.
“Marty.” Trevor sounded out of breath. “You have to meet me at the bar.”
“What were you thinking?”
“Marty, please. Just meet me at the bar!”
“Your mother giving you a hard time?” Chuckling, Marty flung his tie over the naked bust of Aphrodite that sat on his bedside table. The tie caught on her rather large nipples and hung crookedly.
Al came bounding across the room, tackled the tie in a flying leap and dagged it under the bed.
There was silence for a few seconds, and then clearly through the phone Marty heard a shrill voice calling Trevor’s name accompanied by a banging sound.
“I have to go.” Despair was evident in Trevor’s tone. “That’s Melissa. Marty, meet me at the bar.”
“Sure. What time?” Marry shrugged one arm out of the jacket and changed the phone to his other ear.
“Three o’clock.”
“Really? That’s only an hour away.”
“Just be there.”
“I’ll be there.” Grinning, Marty flipped the phone shut and tossed it onto the dressing table. Trevor would never learn, but this had to be the worst happening so far in his life.
He had to admit he couldn’t wait to hear the story from his friend. Who was the woman, where had he met her, and why the hell had he bedded her?
Flopping back on the bed, Marty gazed up at the ceiling. He could still see the fury in those bright green eyes and the way she held herself erect and proud, refusing to back down.
Yep, a woman thwarted was a dangerous thing. This was proof.
~*~
Crying into her popcorn wasn’t going to fix the problem.
Sitting in the dark movie theatre, Belle wiped her eyes for the fiftieth time at least and gave a little hiccup. Picking up a shaky handful of popcorn, she sighed as several pieces shivered free and disappeared out of sight in the darkness.
The film was violent, which was just what she’d wanted when she’d come here. It made her able to imagine that it was she on the screen exacting revenge on that bastard, Trevor.
Was it really only last week that he’d told her that her weight didn’t matter, that she was beautiful, and that he was falling for her? And what had she done in return? After only having been with him for three weeks, allowing him to wine and dine her, she’d fallen on her back and given him something she’d been saving for someone special.
Or at least she told herself she’d been saving it. The sad thing was, her virginity was something she’d kept all these years because she’d never attracted a man who wanted to make love to her, and those few who would gladly have bedded her, she wouldn’t have touched with a ten foot pole. Or a fifty foot pole for that matter. Never, in fact. She wasn’t that desperate and her skin crawled at just the thought of a couple of those men.
Mind you, apart from those few that she wouldn’t touch with any pole, just the thought of a handsome man seeing her naked...it made her insides quake.
Trevor had been so sweet, so attentive, and he’d made her head swim and her nether regions get all tight and tingly with his clever hands. He’d even sweet-talked her into making love in the dark, wanting nothing more than to keep her happy. He’d charmed his way into her big girl panties.
Well, no freakin’ wonder. He’d had no intention of marrying her, of being a steady boyfriend, of anything. The little gifts he’d brought her, the attention, well hell, he was amusing himself with the naïve town girl.
Feeling special, she’d come to the city to surprise him, had arrived to the news that he was getting married, and all her previous sweetness had evaporated like a snowball in Hell. From the ashes of the angelic girl she used to be was spawned a furious woman with one burning desire. That bastard was going to pay.
Sniffling dismally into her popcorn, she was nevertheless proud of the fact that she’d walked into the church and faced the prick, let the whole freakin’ world know what an arse he was, and saving his bride in the meantime from a lifetime with a cheating jerk.
No more. No more sweet girl. Sweet girls got walked on, trodden on, and no more was she taking it. No sir. From now on she was looking after number one, that being herself. No more men, no more sweet talk, no more shit.
Blowing her nose, she nodded. It was all about her now. All about Belle Broune. And those who didn’t like it could just go jump.
So what if she cried a little bit over that arsehole Trevor? Over what he did to her? It was cleansing, she assured herself. Healing. Yes, it was healing. That it was. Wiping away another tear, she tramped hard on the whole feeling-sorry-for-herself that wanted to come up and wail like a love-sick banshee. No more.
“No freakin’ more!”
“I beg your pardon?” a voice asked from behind her.
Oops, she’d obviously said her thoughts aloud. She slid further down in her seat. Focussing on the movie, she wished it was her on the screen, that kick-arse heroine who was beating the living hell out of the bad guys. She could substitute Trevor for one of them and beat the living hell out of him. Just beat him and beat him until he was a pool of blood and battered flesh.
Yeah.
Chewing on another handful of popcorn, she ignored the stray tear that rolled down her cheek.
Cheating bastard!
And this was getting her nowhere. An hour into the movie and she was still snivelling. That was the problem with sitting here on a Sunday morning watching a movie she didn’t even like and tormenting herself. It was time to pull up her big girl panties and get out. Wash her face in the bathroom before anyone else could see her and go for a nice, bracing walk, do some window shopping and go back to the huge house for lunch.
Taking a deep breath, she got up, ignored the annoyed murmured “About bloody time” from the man behind her and strode down the aisles.
The corridor outside was empty but she still had to get past the snack counter to go to the bathroom, so she kept her face down and hurried across, aware of the curious gaze of the spotty teenager behind the counter. Once in the bathroom she looked at her tear-stained, blotchy face and groaned. Splashing cold water liberally on her face, she took several de
ep breaths and willed herself to relax.
After several minutes, she splashed her face again, relieved that some of the blotchiness was fading.
Fresh air. Fresh air was what she needed to dry her face and cool it down. Straightening her shoulders, she swung the door open and walked out into the foyer. Relieved to find that all was quiet, she left the cinema and headed down the street.
The warmth outside was welcome after the artificial chill of the cinema and she relaxed as the morning sun touched her skin. Deliberately blanking her mind, she gazed into the shop windows, steadfastly ignoring the few couples walking slowly down the street, sipping their drinks and sharing kisses, holding hands, being all sickeningly lovey-dovey.
Ugh. No more men. No more lovey-dovey.
Pausing in front of a window, she studied her reflection in the mirror at the side. It wasn’t as though she was ugly. No one would throw up at the sight of her. A man, she decided with a decisive nod, would be damned lucky to have her. It was their loss. It was Trevor’s loss.
Keeping that thought in mind, she strode with more determination down the sidewalk. The time slipped past until finally she realised that she had to hail a taxi to get back to the house in time for lunch. The last thing she wanted was to give her hosts any idea that something was wrong. Yesterday she’d been fortunate enough to sneak in without anyone noticing and maintaining a calm demeanour to boot.
The conversation was all about Trevor and The Other Woman, but as soon as she entered the dining room her hosts switched topic. Yep, they were nice, attentive, and full of manners, but as soon as she left the room she lingered long enough to hear the topic switch back to Trevor. She’d liked to have lingered to eavesdrop more but the maid coming down the corridor put a stop to that, not to mention the tears welling up in her eyes.
It appeared that she’d caused quite the scandal. Well, that’d teach the cheating bastard to think he could screw around with her and walk away.
Literally.
Hailing a cab, she got in and sat down, watching the streets as they passed. Gradually the houses got bigger, the grounds more impressive, and then the taxi was sweeping through a gate and parking in front of an impressive mansion. As she got out, she noted that another car was parked in the small bay on the other side of the drive.
Visitors. Crap. Time to put on a happy face. In fact, she better check that she was presentable before she made her appearance in the dining room. She didn’t want to give her hosts any hint that she’d been snivelling into a bucket of popcorn in a cinema. Pathetic.
The maid came from the dining room as Belle walked down the hallway.
“Am I late?” Belle asked.
“Oh no. The family is still coming from their various places,” the maid replied. “They should all be in there in another few minutes.”
“Good. I’ll just go and freshen up, I won’t be long.”
Once upstairs, Belle washed her face, changed into a fresh frock, brushed her hair and applied a fresh layer of lipstick. Satisfied that she looked like nothing was amiss, she went back downstairs.
Really, the place was beautiful. Marble floors, curving banister, large rooms. Yet it retained a friendliness and the walls, while having valuable works of art on them, also had many family photos.
Cat toys were scattered around the furnishings. Little balls, toys, a basket here and there, all for several kittens who spent their time playing, eating and sleeping. Oh yes, and one old, beaten up tom cat who the previous night had stared at everyone balefully before curling up on one of the expensive sofas and going to sleep. Snoring loudly. And drooling a little because apparently his appointment with the vet to get his teeth fixed was on Tuesday.
Her hosts had adopted the cat and kittens. Belle would have thought a pedigree dog or cat would have been more appropriate for the setting, but the battered tom and the two kittens were quite clearly mixed breeds.
One kitten came careering around the corner dragging an expensive looking tie behind it, the second kitten bouncing off a wall as it followed. They scampered through another doorway. A maid followed hot on their furry heels, her expression harassed.
Yep, the tie must be expensive.
Amused, Belle crossed the hallway and walked into the dining room. Her hosts were already sitting and their visitor had his back to the doorway.
“Ah, Belle.” Mrs Lawson stood. “I’ve someone I want you to meet. My son, Martin. Marty, this is Belle Broune.”
The man stood and turned around with a smile on his face, and then he froze.
Belle looked at him, wondering why he seemed familiar and why he seemed dumbfounded to see her.
He was handsome, no doubt about it, but then she’d expected it from some of the photos she’d seen on the walls of him, from dribbling baby to the adult he was today. Brilliant blue eyes, a curious shade between light and dark, blonde hair cut to perfection with a thick lock falling rakishly over his brow and the ends brushing his collar, firm lips with a wicked tilt at the corners, a masculine jaw, and a body that was clearly muscular beneath the shirt that was lazily unbuttoned at the throat.
He was tall, muscular, and devastatingly handsome. An almost wicked handsomeness, in fact. And familiar…
Martin blinked. A small grin curved his lips. Those wicked lips with a wicked grin.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Moving away from the chair, he approached her and held out his hand. “My friends call me Marty.” His grip was firm, warm, his long fingers curling around her smaller hand and giving her a little tug forward. Bending his head slightly, he murmured only loud enough for her to hear, “And I do believe that you’re The Other Woman.”
She froze. Oh God, now she placed him.
He’d been in the church.
At Trevor’s wedding.
That she’d gatecrashed.
She looked up at him in barely concealed horror.
Suddenly seeming to realise what he’d said, he straightened and smiled politely, stepping back. “Pleased to meet you. Are you staying for long?”
For about five seconds and then she was running like a racer on fire. Commonsense prevailed as she became aware of Mrs Lawson watching her and Marty with slightly raised eyebrows.
She barely managed a polite smile. “Not long.”
“For the week,” Mrs Lawson said. “Do sit down, dear. Have something to eat.”
The thought of food right now was enough to choke her, but determined to maintain her serene façade, Belle walked around the table and took the chair that Marty gallantly held out for her. Not once did she meet his eyes but instead smiled vaguely in his direction.
Wondering if he was going to tell everything, she mentally steeled herself. Somehow she doubted it, the Lawsons were known for their good manners, though the youngest son had just tarnished his record by blatantly acknowledging that he’d seen her furious descent upon that cheating bastard Trevor at his own wedding.
Trevor had asked for it.
Feeling more sure of herself, she raised her gaze to find herself immediately ensnared in that brilliant blue gaze, the light of laughter making the blueness seem to dance in his handsome face.
Was he laughing at her? Was he finding her predicament amusing?
“You seem to know each other,” Mrs Lawson commented.
“Oh no.” Belle kept her gaze on Marty the whole time. “I’m sure I’d remember.”
“I’m sure I do,” he replied. “Or I would.”
Mrs Lawson’s eyebrows climbed higher.
Mr Lawson, God bless him, handed Belle a platter of cold cut meats. “Here you go, m’dear. There’s a nice little selection, do help yourself. Salad?”
“Please.” Breaking eye contact with the infuriating arse across the table, Belle took the platter and was pleased to note that her hands were steady. Her nerves might be rather shattered at facing one of the guests of the wedding she’d gatecrashed, but she could pretend with the best of them.
“Marty.” Mr Lawson
looked at his son. “Any plans for the day?”
“Just the usual.” Marty buttered a bread roll.
“Nothing, in other words.”
“Girding my loins, actually.”
For the woman he’d been sitting with the day before? Belle vaguely recalled someone sitting beside him in a scandalous red dress with her boobs practically falling out of the low-cut top.
“That meeting with Bronson is tomorrow, remember?” Marty slid a piece of ham onto the roll. “He’s a tough bugger.”
Mrs Lawson took a sip of orange juice. “Cindy did the research before she left. You did get it?”
“Yep. But let’s not talk shop.” Marty’s gaze cut to Belle. “So, Belle, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She waited to see if she’d been mistaken and he was going to spill the beans after all.
In fact, how did she know he hadn’t already told his parents about her? But no, he couldn’t have done or they’d surely have mentioned it to her by now. Or kicked her out. Cripes, Trevor was probably a friend of theirs, seeing as how Marty had been at the wedding.
She hadn’t thought about that. Great. Just great.
“You’re here for a week.” Marty smiled engagingly. “Any plans?”
No, I’ve already gatecrashed the wedding. “A little sight-seeing, maybe. I haven’t completely thought out my plans yet.”
“So what brought you here?”
As if he didn’t know. There he sat, the youngest son of her hosts, calmly eating a bread roll while his eyes danced with laughter. His strong white teeth bit through the crusty roll and firm, masculine lips closed over it while he chewed.
Keep calm. Keeping her attention on the bread roll she took from the basket, she cut it open and proceeded to slather it with butter. “Shopping. I haven’t been to the city in awhile, so I thought while I had some time off work I could visit the shops and have a look around. You know, the tourist thing.”
“How wonderful,” Mrs Lawson said. “Marty, maybe you could show her a few of the sights.”
Yeah, right. As if he would, after seeing of what she was capable.
“I’d love to,” Marty said.
Head snapping up, Belle stared at him. His face was pleasant, his eyes were wicked, and his parents had no idea what they were doing.
The Lawson Boys: Marty Page 2