Harlequin KISS August 2014 Bundle

by Amy Andrews, Aimee Carson, Avril Tremayne

  ‘Of course it’s easiest to leave the love out altogether. That’s what I do now.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  She tapped her chest lightly, over her heart. ‘No room in here.’

  ‘You’re not that type of person.’

  ‘Well, I do have to work hard at it,’ she conceded.

  ‘What? Why?’ God, he was repeating himself!

  ‘Because my natural inclination is to care too much about people. I have to take precautions to guard against that.’

  ‘What? Why?’ Nope—he was not doing another repeat! ‘I mean, what are you scared of?’

  ‘Pain,’ she said simply. ‘Because it hurts. To care deeply. It hurts.’

  Leo wanted to tell her the whole argument was ridiculous, but the words wouldn’t come. What did he know? He was living proof that sex was usually loveless, no matter how much you wished otherwise.

  At least Sunshine could actually touch a person without having a panic attack, so she was way ahead of him. For sure Gary and Ben wouldn’t have let Sunshine have those mini-meltdowns and sat there like blockheads, handing her restaurant napkins. How was he supposed to find what Caleb had when he couldn’t put his arms around a tearful woman? Did he even deserve to, stunted as he was?

  ‘But we were talking about embalming,’ Sunshine said, and she was twinkling again. ‘Which is much more interesting. A very technical and responsible job. And it does make you think, doesn’t it?’

  Leo, reeling from the various changes in conversation he’d been subjected to for the past few minutes—shoes, pumpkins, napkins, sex, love, embalming, napkins—could only repeat stupidly, ‘Think...?’

  ‘Well, cremation or burial? It’s something we all need to plan for. If you’re interested—as you should be, if you ride a motorbike—I’m sure Ben would be happy to—’

  ‘Er, no—that’s fine, thanks.’ Leo got to his feet with alacrity. ‘I’ll send over that drink.’

  * * *

  Halfway through the night, Leo poked his head out of the kitchen. Ostensibly to gauge how the place was humming along, but really—he was honest enough to admit it—to check out Sunshine’s date.

  And Ben the embalmer was handsome enough to give Alexander Skarsgard a run for his money. Like a freaking Viking!

  They’d ordered the roast leg of lamb—a sharing dish that came with crispy roast potatoes, crusty bread rolls and assorted side dishes and condiments. Enough food to feed the entire cast of The Hobbit, including the trolls.

  Twice more Leo peered out at them. Both times Ben was laughing and Sunshine was about to shove a laden fork in her mouth. Leo was starting to think Sunshine could single-handedly have eating classified as a championship sport.

  Since he thought dining with a woman who actually ate would make a nice change, he didn’t know why the sight of Sunshine chomping up a storm with Ben was so annoying.

  But it was. Very, very annoying.

  Another laugh floated through the restaurant and into his straining ears.

  Right! He ripped off his apron. He was going to find out what the hell was so funny.

  He washed his hands, changed into a clean chef’s jacket and headed out.

  Sunshine looked up, startled. ‘Leo! This is a surprise.’

  She quickly performed introductions as one of the waiting staff rushed to find a spare chair for Leo, who was examining the almost demolished lamb leg.

  Leo raised his eyebrows. ‘Didn’t like it, huh?’ he said, settling into the quickly produced chair.

  Sunshine groaned. ‘Not funny. I’ll have to start dieting tomorrow.’

  ‘That will be a one-day wonder,’ Ben said, and winked at Sunshine.

  Winked! Who the hell winked at people?

  Sunshine laughed. ‘Or you could kiss me instead, Ben, because—interestingly—kissing burns six and half calories per minute. As long as it’s passionate.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I guess passion supersizes the metabolic effect.’

  Ben, in the process of sipping his wine, choked. ‘Where do you get all these facts?’

  ‘The internet.’

  Ben grinned. ‘Better brush up on your arithmetic, Sunny, because if I kiss you for, say, fifteen minutes—and any longer is just asking for chapped lips—it’s going to net you a hundred calories max. Basically, we’ll burn off two thirds of a bread roll.’

  ‘Are you talking yourself out of a kiss?’ Sunshine asked.

  She was doing the eyelash-bat thing, and Leo decided it made her look like a vacuous twit. He only just stopped himself from telling her so.

  Ben smiled at Sunshine. A very intimate smile, by Leo’s reckoning. ‘You know I’m up for it,’ he said. ‘But we’re going to have to make it a marathon and buy a truckload of lip balm if you keep that up.’ He nodded at her fingers, which were hovering over the food.

  Sunshine snatched up a small piece of crispy potato and popped it into her mouth. ‘It’s a vegetable,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t count.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a vegetable!’ Ben laughed. ‘And you’re a nut, Sunshine.’

  Sunshine smiled serenely. ‘If that’s the analogy we’re going with, you’re a piece of meat.’

  Ben gave her a faux mournful look. ‘Oh, I know I’m just a piece of meat to you. We all are.’

  A phone trilled.

  ‘Mine,’ Ben said, reaching into his shirt pocket. He checked the caller ID. ‘Sorry, I have to take this.’

  ‘All?’ Leo asked as Ben left the table.

  Sunshine laughed. ‘Just a “poor me” thing with my exes. They get a bit club-like.’

  ‘What? There’s like a legion of them?’

  Another laugh. ‘Not quite.’

  Leo leant forward, fixed her with a steady gaze. ‘Are you sleeping with both of them? Gary and Ben?’

  She stopped laughing. ‘And you’re interested because...?’

  ‘Just wondering where everyone fits in relation to that guff about sex and love you were spouting earlier and the whole pieces of meat thing.’

  ‘It’s not guff.’

  ‘Total guff.’

  She considered him for a moment. ‘Well—I’ve never been in love, but I have had sex. And I’ll bet you’ve had enough sex to write Fifty Shades of Leo—but no wife. No steady girlfriend, even, right? No...love...perhaps?’

  He felt his jaw clamp. God, he’d love to show her fifty shades of Leo. She wouldn’t be looking at him in that curious bird way at the end. ‘That’s not the point,’ he ground out.

  ‘That’s exactly the point. What’s wrong, Leo? Not enough room in there?’ She leant over and tapped her fingers on his chest, right over his heart. Into his heart, it felt like. ‘I don’t think you should be lecturing me just because I have sex without love the same as you do.’

  ‘You’re supposed to want them both.’

  She tossed her head. ‘Well, I don’t. I won’t. Ever. And glowering at me isn’t going to change that.’

  ‘I’m not glowering. I don’t glower.’

  ‘Oh, you so do. It’s kind of cute.’

  ‘I’m not cute.’

  ‘Sure you are—in that I’m-a-typical-male-hypocrite kind of way.’

  ‘I’m not a hypocrite either.’

  ‘Go and get yourself nicely monogamised and I’ll believe you.’

  ‘Monogamised isn’t a real word.’

  That twitch at the side of her mouth.

  Leo felt his
temper surge. ‘And I am monogamous.’

  ‘Yeah—but one-after-the-other monogamy doesn’t count if there’s a hundred in the pipeline.’

  He wanted to haul her out of her chair and... And what?

  And nothing, that was what. Nothing.

  ‘Ben’s coming back so I’ll leave you to it,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some dessert coming out for you.’

  She bit her bottom lip. ‘Oh, dear—I really will need to start a diet tomorrow.’

  Leo got to his feet. ‘Just get Ben to kiss you twice.’

  Sunshine grabbed his hand to keep him where he was.

  His fingers curled around hers before he could stop them—and then his fingers stiffened. He pulled his hand free, flexed his fingers.

  Sunshine’s eyes flickered from his hand to his face. There was doubt in her eyes. And concern. And a tenderness that enraged him. He didn’t need it. Didn’t need Sunshine-bloody-Smart messing with his head or his goddamned hand.

  ‘Why are you upset with me, Leo?’ she asked softly.

  He was unbearably conscious of the scent of her. Jonquils. A woman who’d just stuffed herself silly with meat shouldn’t smell like flowers, so why did she?

  ‘I’m not upset with you,’ he said flatly. Liar. ‘I’ll email you a map for Monday.’

  He strode back to the kitchen, furious with himself because he was upset with her.

  But that was the ‘what’ of the equation. What he couldn’t work out was the ‘why’.

  What? Why?

  Oh, for God’s sake!

  THREE

  TO: Jonathan Jones

  FROM: Sunshine Smart

  SUBJECT: Wedding of the century

  Quick update, darling...

  Invitations are underway—wording attached. We’re going with smart/cocktail as the dress code, although obviously I will be wearing a long dress as befits my bridesmaid status.

  Off to check the venue in the morning. It shows every indication of being divine.

  Next we’ll be working on the menu, but having now eaten at two of Leo’s establishments I have no doubt it will be magnificent.

  I wish I could meet a chef. Well, obviously I HAVE met one now, but I mean one with jumpable bones!

  Sunny xxx

  PS—Leo rides a motorbike! And, no, I still haven’t done it, but soon.

  TO: Caleb Quartermaine

  FROM: Leo Quartermaine

  SUBJECT: Coming along

  Sunshine has the invitations under control and I’m attaching the save-the-date we’ve decided on. If I don’t hear from you in the next day or so I’ll go ahead and get this out as per the War and Peace-sized invitation list.

  Meeting Sunshine at South in the morning. And if she raises any concerns you’ll have to arrange bail for me because I’ll kill her.

  I’m growing my hair—hope you’re happy. And I am apparently having a pair of shoes custom-made for me. Was that your idea? Because I WILL get you back.

  LQ

  ‘Wow,’ Sunshine said out loud.

  South had to have the best position of any restaurant in the whole world.

  Well, all right, she hadn’t been everywhere in the whole world, and she was sure there must be oodles of well-situated restaurants all over the planet—in fact she would look up ‘most scenic restaurants in the world’—but it was spectacular.

  The restaurant was perched on the edge of the cliff. But in some mind-blowing engineering feat the entrance to it was positioned actually over the cliff and doubled as a small viewing platform. The floor was transparent, so looking down you could see a landscape of trees curving steeply to the beach. Looking directly forward, you could see the deep blue of the ocean; looking to the side and backwards gave you a view into the restaurant. No tables and chairs in there yet, but the space was sharp and clean, with a seemingly endless use of glass to take advantage of the view.

  She breathed in the ultra-fresh air. It was windy, and her hair was flying everywhere, but she didn’t care. This venue was perfectly...perfect for a wedding celebration.

  Perfectly perfect. That had been Leo’s description of the private room at Q Brasserie. He’d been annoyed with himself over the way he’d described it, which had made her want to hug him, because it was just not something to be annoyed about.

  Not that he was the cuddly teddy-bear type you could pat and jolly out of the sullens. He was impatient and standoffish and most of the time just plain monosyllabic cranky. There was no reason at all to feel that he needed to be hugged more often.

  And yet...she wanted to put her arms around him right now.

  Wanted to be close to him, held by him. Comforting. Comforted.

  Dangerous, debilitating thought.

  It had to be the proximity of the ocean messing with her head. For which she should have prepared herself before her arrival. Instead here she was, not knowing when or how hard the jolt would hit her—only knowing that it would.

  So she would force it—get it done, dealt with, before she saw Leo. She didn’t want to slip up in front of him again.

  She took a breath in. Out. Looked out and down, focusing her thoughts... And even though she was expecting it to hit, the pain tore her heart. The memory of Moonbeam was so vivid she gasped.

  Moonbeam had believed she belonged to the ocean—and Sunshine had always felt invaded, overrun, by the truth of that when she was near the coast, even when she was far above the water, like now.

  One of her most poignant memories was of their last time at the beach. Darkness, rain, and Moonbeam exulting as she raced naked into the waves. ‘This is where I’m me!’ Moon had yelled, and Sunshine, laughing but alarmed as she tried to coax her out of the freezing, dangerous, roiling surf, had called her a crazy Poseidon-worshipping hippie.

  Three days later Moonbeam was dead.

  Sunshine touched her sun and moon charms. She longed so keenly for her sister just then she couldn’t move, could barely breathe. The loneliness, the hunger to be so close to someone that you were like two sides of the same coin, was like a knife wound. But not a sharp wound; it was a festering wound that wouldn’t close, wouldn’t heal.

  ‘Sunshine?’

  She took a moment, forcing the depression to the back of her consciousness with a shake of her head as she’d trained herself to do in public. Defences securely in place, she turned, smiling, to face Leo, who was standing at the doors leading into the restaurant.

  ‘Hi, Leo,’ she said.

  Leo pushed the heavy doors further open, inviting her to enter. She started to lean up to kiss him as she crossed the threshold, but he jerked away before she could connect and she stumbled. He grabbed her elbow. Released it the nanosecond she regained her balance.

  Ah, okay! She got it. He didn’t want her to kiss him.

  In fact...thinking back over their few meetings...she would go so far as to say he didn’t want her to touch him in any way, ever.

  And she’d just been daydreaming about putting her arms around him. Way to give the man a heart attack!

  Was it just her, or did he have a problem touching all women? And if it was a problem with women generally, how did the man manage to have sex with a human?

  Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he had a blow-up doll.

  Maybe it wasn’t just women.

  Maybe he had a problem touching men and women. Maybe he had a problem touching pets. And blow-up dolls.

  Maybe he had an obsessive-compulsive disorder, hand-washing thing going on.

  Hmm. She’d read something that might help in that case—about systematic desensitisation...or was it exposure therapy...?

  In Leo’s case it would mean touching him often, to get him to see that nothing diabolical woul
d happen to him just because of a bit of skin contact.

  She could do that.

  It would be a public service, almost.

  A favour to a man who was going to be family—well, kind of family.

  What was more, it would be fun.

  ‘Oh, dear. I’m sorry, Leo. I took you by surprise, didn’t I?’ She bit her lip. ‘I should have learned by now not to launch myself at people when they aren’t ready! I once ended up in an embarrassing half-kiss, half-handshake, nose-bumping, chokehold situation. Has that ever happened to you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, just to make sure it never does I’ll give you an indicator before I kiss you in future—say...puckering up my lips like a trout, so you’ll know it’s coming.’ She stopped and thought about that. ‘Actually, I wonder why they call it a trout pout when women overdo the lip-filler? Trout don’t seem to have excessively large lips to me.’

  He was looking at her lips now.

  ‘Not that my own lips are artificially inflated, if that’s what you’re wondering,’ she assured him, moving further into the restaurant. ‘They’re just naturally troutish. If trout really do have thick lips, that is. I definitely need to have another look at a photo of a trout.’

  Leo’s gaze had moved on to her hair. In fact he was looking at it with a moroseness that bordered on the psychotic.

  What the hell was going on in his head?

  ‘Is something wrong with my hair?’ she asked, and flicked a hand at it. ‘Do I look like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket? Because it’s windy out there.’ She reached into her bag—an orange leather tote—and pulled out an elastic band. Bundling the tousled mess of it into a bunch at the back of her head, she tucked the ends under and roughly contained it. ‘There—fixed,’ she said. ‘I need a haircut, but I’m not sure how to style it for the wedding so it has to wait. I have a great hairdresser—actually, I used to date him.’

  ‘Another one?’

  ‘Another...? Oh, you mean someone else I used to date? Well, yes. Anyway, Iain—that’s my hairdresser—says he needs to see the dress first. Some people might say that’s a little neurotic, but he’s a genius so I’m not arguing. And, of course, if I did argue it would be a pot-kettle-black thing, because I’m just as neurotic. I can’t design your shoes, for example, until I know what you’re wearing.’