by Sarah Morgan
‘Oliver, you were a lovely best man.’ Bryony approached, her eyes shining with happiness as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. ‘Why are you looking so serious?’
His eyes slid round the room again. ‘Bry, your friend, Helen…’
Bryony’s smile faded. ‘What about her?’
‘I saw her in the church. She didn’t look good. And now she’s vanished.’
Bryony looked worried. ‘I honestly didn’t expect her to come,’ she confessed, glancing around the room with an anxious expression on her face. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw her. I assumed it meant that she was holding up all right.’
‘She wasn’t holding up all right,’ Oliver said flatly. ‘She looked a mess.’
‘That’s why I want you to keep an eye on her for me. She was so devastated by what happened—’ Bryony broke off and shook her head. ‘I just hate the thought of her being on her own in my cottage.’
‘So what happened?’
Bryony bit her lip. ‘I can’t tell you.’
Oliver’s jaw tightened. ‘For crying out loud, Bry!’
Bryony sighed, obviously battling with her conscience. ‘Well, I don’t think she wants people to know. It was one of the reasons she came up here—to get away from the gossip and speculation. I can’t tell you details but she’s had a bad time. She’s wounded—and you’re good with everything wounded. When we were children you were always the one who dragged injured animals home. And you usually managed to heal them. You lost your two front teeth fighting with that boy who bullied me at school. Keep an eye on her, Oliver. I don’t like the idea of her being on her own.’
‘Neither do I.’ Oliver’s blue eyes glittered slightly. ‘And you’ve let her have your damn cottage, which is in the middle of nowhere.’
‘Well, what could I do?’ Bryony looked at him helplessly, torn between worry and the desire to defend her decision. ‘She had nowhere else to go, Olly.’
Why? Oliver wondered grimly. Why didn’t she have anywhere else to go?
‘I’ll keep an eye on her,’ he said finally, leaning forward to kiss his sister’s cheek. ‘You enjoy your honeymoon.’
Bryony chewed her lip. ‘She’s lovely, Oliver. Really gentle and kind. She didn’t deserve—’ She broke off and Oliver gritted his teeth.
‘Didn’t deserve what? Honestly, Bry, I could strangle you sometimes.’
‘Keep your hands off my wife,’ Jack said mildly, strolling up and sliding an arm around Bryony’s shoulders. ‘Is he bullying you?’
‘No,’ Bryony said softly, ignoring her husband, ‘we’re talking about Helen. Oliver’s going to keep an eye on her.’
‘Well, the sooner he starts, the better,’ Jack said. ‘I saw her vanishing to the ladies’ hours ago. Just before your speech. Nearly dived for the toilet myself, in fact—didn’t know what you might say.’
‘The thing about living in a small community is that everyone already knows all your secrets. It ruins all the surprises.’ Oliver grinned and strolled off, leaving the two of them together. There was no sign of Helen anywhere and in the end he gave a little shrug and pushed open the door of the ladies’ cloakroom with his usual casual self-assurance.
Perhaps she was still in there.
Helen heard the door to the ladies’ open and froze. Then she reminded herself that whoever it was just wanted to renew her make-up and return to the reception as soon as possible.
She sat silent, locked in the privacy of one of the cubicles, waiting to hear the door close again, leaving her in peace.
‘Helen?’
The distinctly masculine voice startled her and she stared at the door in horror.
Oh, God, someone had come looking for her!
That was the last thing she wanted. She didn’t want to have to face anyone or make small talk.
She didn’t want to have to pretend that everything in her life was OK.
‘Helen, I know you’re in there and if you don’t open this door in the next ten seconds I’m going to bust it open so you’d better stand back.’
Helen closed her eyes.
It was the best man. She recognised his voice. The one with the laughing blue eyes and the broad shoulders. The one who’d told a series of anecdotes that had had the entire room in fits of laughter.
‘Helen? Please—I know you’re hurting but I want you to open this door and talk to me.’
The gentleness in his voice was too much and she felt tears threaten.
No! She wasn’t going to cry!
And she certainly didn’t want sympathy. Sympathy would be the final straw.
‘Please, go away.’ Her voice sounded stiff and frozen and for a moment she thought he probably hadn’t heard her, then she heard a soft masculine curse.
‘Not until you come out.’
‘I just want to be on my own.’
‘Well, that’s tough,’ he muttered, rattling the door vigorously, ‘because I feel like company.’
She heard a thump and another curse and then the door flew open and crashed against the cubicle wall.
Helen jumped in shock and the best man leaned broad shoulders against the door frame and gave her a smile of smug satisfaction.
‘Hi, there. I’m Oliver.’
She looked at the door and back at him, a smile touching her lips despite her misery. ‘Not Rambo?’
He grinned and rubbed his shoulder ruefully. ‘Fortunately these doors aren’t very robust otherwise you’d be giving me a lift to hospital now. It always looks so easy in the movies.’
She breathed in and out slowly, unable to believe that he was standing in the doorway of the cubicle. ‘This is the ladies’ toilet.’
He didn’t shift. ‘Then the sooner you come out of there, the less likely I am to be arrested.’
She stared at him bleakly, her face pinched and pale. ‘Look, it’s sweet of you to bother but I’m fine, honestly…’
‘Sure you are.’ He smiled a smile that undoubtedly had women falling for him in droves. ‘Which is why you chose to lock yourself in the toilet for the entire reception. The food was bad, but not that bad.’
She chewed her lip. ‘I can’t believe anyone missed me.’
‘Well, I did.’ His voice was a lazy drawl. ‘And I may never forgive you for missing my speech. I was funny. I would have made you laugh.’
Despite her misery, she had to smile. ‘You did make me laugh. I heard you from the corridor.’
He nodded and then lifted a hand, sliding it over her cheek and tilting her face towards him. ‘He isn’t worth it, you know.’ His tone was soft and his eyes were speculative. ‘Whatever he did to you, you had a lucky escape. And now you can slap my face and tell me to mind my own business.’
His hand was warm and strong and instead of slapping him she felt a strange desire to throw herself on that broad chest and sob her heart out. But then his words registered and her features froze.
‘I suppose everyone is gossiping.’
‘No.’ He shook his head and lifted a hand in a gesture of denial. ‘In fact, Bryony refused to tell me anything. But it’s pretty obvious to me that it was the wedding that was causing you major problems. My guess is you were planning one of your own.’
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Are you psychic?’
‘No.’ His tone was gentle. ‘I’m a doctor. And I could see that the ceremony was agony for you. Am I right?’
Her eyes filled and she gritted her teeth. ‘I really don’t want to talk about it.’ Her voice was thick with tears and she gave an impatient sigh that was almost a sob. ‘I know I’m being pathetic but I can’t seem to help it and I’d rather do it in private.’
‘You’re not being pathetic. On the contrary, I think you’re being very brave.’
‘Brave?’
She was falling apart in front of him and he thought she was being brave?
‘Very.’ He shrugged. ‘Coming to Bryony’s wedding when you didn’t really want to.’
‘I did want to. I
love Bryony, it’s just that…’ Helen fumbled for a tissue and blew her nose. ‘Sorry—I’m going to be OK. I just need some time on my own.’
‘That’s the last thing you need.’ He glanced at the door and gave a rueful smile. ‘We should get out of here. Sooner or later someone else is going to join us in here and then I think it could get a little bit embarrassing.’
‘You go—I’ll be fine.’
‘I’m not going anywhere without you.’
‘I don’t want to go out there. I’ll bump into someone I know,’ she said desperately. ‘I don’t want anyone asking.’
‘I’m a great bodyguard,’ he assured her, flexing his muscles in an exaggerated pose. ‘If anyone approaches you, I’ll knock them down. No questions asked.’
Helen found herself laughing. ‘What are you? Mr Good Guy?’
‘Dr Good Guy, actually,’ Oliver said smoothly, grabbing her hand and dragging her towards the door. ‘Come on.’
‘I can’t go out looking like this.’ She gestured to her face, which she knew must look pale and awful. ‘I ought to put on some make-up.’
‘Why?’ He frowned down at her. ‘You look beautiful just as you are.’
She stared at him, a lump forming in her throat.
She wasn’t beautiful. If she was beautiful David wouldn’t have—
‘You don’t think you’re beautiful?’ His eyes narrowed speculatively. ‘The bastard really did do a good job on you, didn’t he? Well, we’ll deal with that later but for now we only have two choices. We can go home and I’ll make you chicken soup or we can go out there and you can dance with me until your feet are sore.’
‘Chicken soup?’
He gave a careless shrug. ‘It’s my mother’s answer to life’s problems. You’d be amazed how often it works.’
‘Oh.’ She rummaged for another tissue and blew her nose. ‘You can’t go home. You’re the best man.’
‘Which means you’ve decided on the dancing.’ His mouth curved into a sexy smile. ‘Good choice. I’m an amazing dancer. And it gives me an excuse to take this damned jacket off. It’s the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever worn!’
Helen looked at him helplessly, wondering why he was bothering with her.
‘Look, you’re being very kind but I really don’t think—’
‘Good idea—don’t think. It’s a vastly overrated pastime.’ He grabbed her hand and dragged her across the carpeted floor towards the door.
‘Wait.’ She dug her heels in. ‘Please, can you at least let me put some make-up on?’
‘No point. You’ll only sweat it off on the dance floor.’ He pulled open the door just as a group of women approached the toilets. ‘Evening, ladies.’ He smiled at them warmly, as if exiting from the ladies’ toilets was an everyday occurrence for him, and they simply smiled back.
‘Hi, Oliver.’
He proceeded to kiss a string of women as they passed and Helen looked at him in amazement.
‘Do you kiss everyone?’
‘If I think I can get away with it.’ He let the door swing behind her. ‘It’s my sister’s wedding and this is a small town. We all pretty much know each other.’
Helen digested that. It was such a contrast from London, which always seemed to be full of people leading their own lives in parallel.
‘It must be weird,’ she said, ‘knowing everyone’s business and everyone knowing yours.’
Oliver cast her a searching look. ‘Actually, it’s pretty good,’ he said softly. ‘Only yesterday I went to see an old man who fell out of bed the night before. The reason I know he fell out of bed was because Pam, who lives next door, happened to notice that he didn’t put the bin outside. For the last twenty years he’s always put the bin outside on a Friday.’
‘And she called you because of that?’ Helen looked at him in astonishment and he nodded.
‘Yes, but only after she’d let herself in and found him lying there.’
‘She had a key?’
‘Of course.’ His shrug suggested that it was normal practice. ‘Around here everyone keeps an eye on everyone.’
‘That’s a nice story,’ Helen said quietly, her own problems momentarily forgotten. ‘Where I live in London no one has a clue who lives next to them and certainly wouldn’t be trusted with a key.’
And then suddenly she realised that she didn’t live in London any more.
She didn’t really live anywhere.
She didn’t have a home. And she didn’t have a job.
For a brief moment her heart lurched with panic and then she felt Oliver’s hand close over hers, warm and strong.
‘And that, my dear Helen,’ he drawled cheerfully, ‘is precisely why I don’t live in London. Welcome to the Lake District, home of snow, rain and neighbours who know what you ate for your dinner!’
Helen laughed and the panic slowly receded. Somehow, with Oliver holding her hand firmly in his, she could pretend that everything was all right. That she’d be able to get through this and come out the other side.
He dragged her straight onto the dance floor, still holding her hand tightly in his. She glanced around her self-consciously but no one seemed to be looking at her.
Which was good, but it still didn’t mean she felt like dancing.
Her whole body felt battered and limp. How could she possibly dance?
Surely dancing was an expression of happiness and there wasn’t anything good inside her that she wanted to say.
The couples around them were dancing independently to the pounding music, but Oliver slid a warm hand around her back and pulled her firmly against him, forcing her to follow his lead, as if he knew that on her own she was incapable of movement.
‘You move your arm, you move your leg…’ He twirled her around, holding her firmly and smiled down at her. ‘See? Easy.’
Actually, it felt strange. Being held by Oliver felt strange. Unfamiliar.
She felt the solid muscle of his chest, felt the strength of the arms that held her and breathed in the subtle smell of aftershave mixed with sexy man.
Sexy man?
Helen bit her lip, shocked that she was noticing how sexy Oliver was when she’d been engaged to someone else until two weeks before.
Surely she shouldn’t be noticing?
But it was impossible not to notice Oliver Hunter. He was powerfully built, very good-looking and so self-confident that almost every woman in the room was casting wishful glances in his direction.
And he was so different to David. For a start David had been the same height as her and quite slight in build. Oliver was taller and broader and more solid. She knew that Bryony and both her brothers were in the mountain rescue team and she found it easy to imagine Oliver in that role. He was the rugged outdoor type, his dark hair cropped short, his hard jaw showing the beginnings of stubble. And he looked totally out of place in formal dress. On his way to the dance floor he’d discarded his jacket and rolled his sleeves up, revealing strong forearms covered in dark hairs. She had the feeling that he’d much rather be in jeans.
He looked tough and capable and very, very male.
‘What?’ He gave her a lazy smile, his blue eyes trapping hers. ‘You’re giving me funny looks. Should I be flattered or offended?’
She blushed. ‘I’ve just realised I’m probably hogging the only available male in the room.’
His smile faded and he pulled her closer and swung her in time to the music. ‘I’m not available. I’m with you.’
His words made her heart miss a beat and her first thought was one of guilt.
She shouldn’t be responding to another man.
And then she remembered that she no longer had any reason not to respond. She could flirt with anyone she liked. Except that it had been so long since she’d flirted with a man that she’d forgotten how to do it.
Her cheeks grew pink under his steady gaze. ‘You’re unbelievably kind.’ Her voice sounded croaky and she wondered if he could hear her above the music.
‘But I don’t want you to spend the evening being kind to me and miss out on the opportunity to meet someone exciting.’
‘I’ve met someone exciting.’
His expression was serious and she gave a little laugh. ‘Then you’d better be getting back to her.’
Oliver laughed, too. ‘Glad to see that your sense of humour is returning.’
‘Returning?’ She lifted an eyebrow. ‘How do you know I have a sense of humour to return?’
His gaze slid over her face in slow motion. ‘Because you have smile lines around your eyes. Dead give-away.’
Helen’s smile faded and she felt her tummy tumble. Those compelling eyes locked with hers and tension hummed between them.
Sexual tension. It felt dangerous and deliciously unfamiliar.
As if aware of her thoughts, he stroked a warm hand down her back. ‘Just relax and have fun, Helen. Stop thinking. It’s a dangerous pastime.’
She stopped moving, trapped by the expression in his lazy blue eyes and by the feel of his strong hands on her body as he coaxed her closer still.
Close enough to feel the warmth and strength of his body against hers.
Close enough to feel the evidence of his arousal.
Desire curled low in her pelvis and she gave a little gasp and leaned her forehead against his chest, shocked by the power of her own response. Confused. Suddenly the dominant emotion she was feeling wasn’t pain.
Her fingers tightened on his shirt and she felt the steady thud of his heart through the thin fabric, felt the strength of his body against hers as he held her.
And then she caught a glimpse of Bryony across the dance floor.
The bride.
And reality came rushing back.
She wasn’t free to flirt with Oliver Hunter, however sexy he was. She was carrying too much baggage.
‘I’m really sorry but I have to go.’ She dragged herself out of his arms, cast a last look at Bryony and then fled across the dance floor.
CHAPTER TWO
OLIVER swore fluently and followed her, grabbing his jacket and car keys on the way out of the manor house.
Outside, snow lay thickly on the ground and it was easy enough to spot her footprints forming a pattern that led away from the house.