by Jane Linfoot
Not before he’d had his fun.
No point delaying what had to be done. No point at all. He dragged her closer to his face, brought his mouth crashing down onto hers.
Wham-bam!
Not a shred of resistance! He slid straight through the strawberries-and-cream of lip gloss, and plunged to the sweetest, raspberry and vanilla depths. And, morning stars, she was not only letting him in, she was kissing him back! Kissing him back, kissing him big, kissing him bravely and hard and hungrily.
Desperately hungrily.
He hadn’t bargained for being belted practically into orbit, nor for being left hanging in some crazy airless free-fall, that progressed into a glorious, gyroscopic tumble. He had no idea how long he’d been kissing her, only that he never wanted it to end. Then a frenzied fist hammering on his head yanked him halfway back to earth.
‘Brando! What the … ’ Shea’s shriek hauled him the rest of the way back to reality. ‘I said put me down, not eat my face!’
Remembering his manners now, he obligingly tilted her gently towards the floor, and set her down as neatly as his wobbling legs and gigantic erection would allow.
Wobbling legs? Since when had his legs ever wobbled?
Shea staggered backwards, and sent him a searing glare as she rearranged her sweater. The way she pulled at the hem to cover that flash of bare skin was delicious, and thunderously arousing every time, but sending his erection to places it shouldn’t go. Dragging his belt higher, he attempted to stall the escape bid. No way should he be hanging round Shea Summers, and those luscious boobs of hers, in low slung jeans. She needed the nipple shields more than ever now, he noted with satisfaction.
So she hadn’t been totally unappreciative. Was she still reeling, like he was? For a second he had a mind to pick her straight back up again, carry her to his bed, and ravish her properly, but one more blast from her blow-torch glare, made him put that thought on hold.
‘What?’ He made one short inscrutable exclamation.
He might as well get in first here, if Miss Not-so-frosty-after-all was going to turn arctic on him, although now he looked closely, she seemed to be more volcanic than polar. He adjusted his jeans again – erection still barely contained – and flashed her an inscrutable boyish grin.
‘You can’t pull the ‘indignant of Edgerton’ stunt on me – you enjoyed that as much as I did, and you know it. You only need to look at the state of your n … ’
Her formidable shout stamped on his words.
‘Stop it Brando! That’s enough!’
Great, he’d got her riled. Miss Buttoned-up-tightly was unravelling. One more nudging push to get his own back for how far she’d pushed him. ‘Do you know how sexy you look when you’re annoyed? I still think you should go with the nipple shield idea – if we’re going to have film crews around regularly that is.’ He could practically feel the steam coming off her, and he bit his lip to keep his laughter in check as he watched her flush scarlet, then threw in a placatory after-thought. ‘Still, it’s up to you, obviously.’
He’d leave it there. In the unlikely event that she turned the tables, and retaliated by talking about erections of another sort, he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. Another twitch at his belt failed to ease the constriction. An avaricious, grasping opportunist she might be, but boy, she was hot!
‘Yes, thank you, it is up to me!’ Her snapped hiss zipped across the hall, and razored him like a sharpened penny.
‘And you’re sure you don’t want me to whisk you to bed as part of this morning’s country house experience?’ His offer was on the table, and he was beyond ready for action. Knowing he was in for a straight rebuff, but he couldn’t resist throwing that in, if only to luxuriate in the scowl she fast bowled him.
He grinned, broadly. ‘I’ll take that as a no, then, shall I?’
When she didn’t bother to reply he watched her collect herself, sniff, shuffle, pull her sweater down again. Jeez, he loved how the fabric hugged her curves, leaving nothing to the imagination. He’d definitely have to lay off the boob quips. He’d hate her to stop pulling her sweater down like that.
She raised her head, looked him straight in the eye, and dished out a chilling smile that somehow managed to both dazzle and freeze him at the same time. ‘So what about the organising?’
An admirably fast recovery, he noted, coupled with a change of subject. Wise move. The only problem was he had no idea what she was talking about.
‘Organising?’ He screwed his face up, trying hard not to think about the oral explosion they’d just shared, or the fact that his erection was in immediate danger of going into orbit, and tried instead to concentrate on whatever she was alluding to. He didn’t get there.
He cocked her a questioning eyebrow.
‘Well from what I saw on TV, or rather, from what Bryony told me, I got the impression that Edgerton was in complete chaos, and that I was going to be able to help sort it out. Organising? Streamlining? System implementation? You know, the stuff I do?’
His spirits sank. Bryony told me … Why did that phrase always have an ominous ring? ‘I’m afraid Bryony is too damn good at misappropriating the truth as everyone else knows it, in pursuit of her own ends.’ He shook his head, apologetically. ‘The thing is, the TV crew did mess things up for dramatic effect when they were here before, but putting things to rights again was part of the deal too. Most of the rooms in the house are in perfect order under their dust sheets – admittedly they’re full of profoundly depressing antiques, which I’d personally shudder to spend ten minutes with, let alone a lifetime, but that’s heritage for you. And as you’ve probably seen, Mrs McCaul keeps the rest of Edgerton in pretty good shape, with a generously large staff, and mostly there’s no-one here to tidy up after anyway. Organising just isn’t an issue.’
He watched her smile fade, and an expression of quiet desperation creep across her face.
Crikey.
How could anyone look that put out just because they’d been told there wasn’t any work to be done? This was not the way to go. He needed to keep her calm, relaxed and amenable, so he could push on with his bed-the-husband-hunter plans ASAP. Jeez, he didn’t have all year, he needed to think on his feet!
‘I thought we’d leave work for today, if that’s okay with you? But now I come to think of it, I’m sure my office would benefit from a spot of streamlining, so we can get onto that tomorrow.’ There. He was winging it, but it was sounding good! Bryony wasn’t the only one who could play around with the truth. ‘As for today, I thought I could show you around a bit, take you to lunch, we could go for a walk around the Estate?’
He paused for her reaction. Somehow he’d expected her to look more enthusiastic.
‘I was really hoping to get my teeth into something straight away.’
His vision blurred momentarily, at the fleeting thought of what he’d like her to get her teeth into. He racked his brain wildly, trying to think of an implementation task that centred around a king-sized bed, and failed.
‘Come on, it’s obviously important that we get to know each other, given that’s what we’re both here for. I’m not going to be staying forever, you know!’ He gave a rueful grimace at the thought that by rights he should have been back in London last night, and another at the realisation that he was having to push this audacious gold-digger so hard to make her begin her prospecting.
But after the taste of her he’d just had, he knew he wouldn’t be going anywhere without tasting more.
* * *
‘Another boy’s toy!’
Shea rolled her eyes as the sleek sports car scrunched towards her on the gravel. It wasn’t just the car she was reacting to. She was accustomed to wealthy men and their expensive cars, but something in Brando’s childish exuberance as he sat behind the wheel made her sigh hard and shake her head in despair.
He threw open the door for her, and she climbed in, aware of him scrutinising her legs, inch by inch, from her dizzy heels to her jean-cl
ad thighs, as she slid into the car.
‘Snug fit!’ She wriggled down into her seat, and raised her eyebrows as she pulled on her seat belt. She shot him a smile. ‘Or would you rather call it cosy?’
Cosy. That was his word. Cosy, in his sitting room last night.
Cosy, how she’d felt in his arms this morning.
She shuddered at the recollection, and shuddered again at how treacherous it made her feel. The heat of his body as he had gripped her tightly to his chest had been sweet agony. She’d spent a lot of last night reliving the moments when he’d carried her into the house as she’d arrived, longing, in the those wakeful, early hours, for an action replay. Thankfully by morning she’d beaten that misplaced desire back into line again, but the moment he swept her into the air for a second time, she was ashamed to admit she hadn’t fought him. She’d simply given in to the dizzy thrill. That was even before that kiss.
‘Everything okay?’ His husky question dragged her back to reality with a shiver that zithered through her, and ended between her legs.
‘Just so long as you keep to your side.’ She shifted in her seat, kicked her lust into line, and flipped a placatory smile in his direction.
‘As if I’d do anything else.’ His reply was way more indignant than it should have been, given the small matter of that furnace of a snog.
Her heart was still skittering, still refusing to pump normally, and her insides seemed to have dematerialised. She knew that kiss was wrong.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
And she shouldn’t let it happen again. Couldn’t let it happen again.
Wouldn’t let it happen again.
‘Are you shaking?’ He looked at her with lazy amusement. ‘Don’t worry! There’s no danger of me diving on top of you given the space restrictions. The worst I might do is put a hand on your knee, and even that would be difficult.’
As she closed the door, the full impact of his scent hit her, and she fought a sudden urge to grab him. Where the heck had that come from, and what’s more, how was she going to deal with it? She floundered for something to comment on other then the impracticality of the car.
‘A lot of my clients have expensive cars, but I’ve never accepted a ride in one before.’ Maybe I shouldn’t have now. The engine was roaring like a jet plane, and Brando accelerated with such force, her head was thrown back against the head-rest.
‘Sorry about that! I haven’t driven this baby for a while.’ He turned and flashed her a sheepish grin, raising his voice to be heard over the engine noise. ‘The sheer power always takes me by surprise, but it’s a great way to blast away the tension.’
At least he was slightly less fanciable when spinning the wheels like an idiot, so long as she kept her eyes away from his hard muscular thighs. And his beautiful, tanned fingers tapping on the steering wheel. And the lump of his Adam’s apple in the column of his neck. And … dragging her eyes away, she forced out a reply. ‘Obviously. Though the scenery is just a blur when you’re doing triple the speed limit.’
‘You scared?’
One heart stopping flash of a grin from him she could have done without there.
‘Nope.’ She wasn’t sure if it was his gritty strength or his air of über-cool, but somehow she felt safe. A lot safer than when he’d grabbed her.
‘It’s Edgerton. The damned place stresses me like nothing else.’ His face contorted in a bitter grimace. He dragged his fingers through his hair, rubbed the stubble shadow on his jaw, shook his head distractedly and closed his tanned fingers around the wheel again. ‘Give me twenty miles and I’ll be better.’
She tried to concentrate on something other than how beautiful he looked.
‘Everyone has their own problems. Money and wealth are no guarantee of a happy life. I see that on a daily basis with the people I work for. Anything I can do to help?’ She felt she had to ask, even though she doubted she could do anything to help a guy this twitchy.
‘You could kiss me again … ’ His voice was low and he turned his face towards her for a moment. The broad, pushing-it, cheeky grin she anticipated wasn’t there. What was left of her stomach plummeted as she met his serious, stone-grey gaze. Oh lordy.
‘Nice try, but you can forget that!’ She tried for a forceful, angry, no-nonsense snap, but it came out shakily. She hoped he hadn’t clocked that tremor.
‘Always worth asking, I guess.’ He came right back with a flashy smile that held for a second, before it fell away. ‘It did work – the kiss, I mean. It melted the stress right away – for a while at least.’
Nice to know. Not.
Strange how he’d chosen the word melt, seeing as he’d given her a complete melt down in the process. So typical of men like him. She’d seen it over and over, the way the rich guys kept women on hand to help them de-stress but nothing more. So, Brando was no different. There was no reason why he should be. It was only to be expected, and she wasn’t here to judge. But neither was she here to share kisses with him. Alarm bells were clanging loud and clear in her subconscious, but they were only reminding her what she already knew. Women like her didn’t mess with guys like Brando.
And she would do well to remember that.
‘I’m not some kind of stress-buster.’ That came out far more indignantly than she’d meant it to. No need to give him any clue to her thinking. ‘What about all your gymnastics? It was you I saw throwing yourself at the trees in the park wasn’t it? Doesn’t that calm you down?’
She heard him explode into a guffaw of laughter.
‘That’s not gymnastics, it’s free running. Also known as parkour, though if you don’t know where Oxford is, you’re forgiven for not knowing about parkour.’
She shot him a dirty look in retaliation for that jibe, and for everything else he was doing to her without even knowing, but he carried on regardless.
‘It’s all about freedom, about running through the environment, reacting to whatever comes, making instinctive moves. It’s about breaking the laws of gravity, ultimate fitness, adrenalin, endorphins, and it’s best done in cities – there just isn’t enough concrete round here to make it work. That’s why I end up running at trees.’
‘So what you’re saying is that it doesn’t de-stress you? Not even after all that exercise?’
‘It should, but it doesn’t always work. Not here.’
She gave a disparaging grunt. Anything that looked so vigorous had to do something, surely.
‘You don’t sound very impressed.’ His swift sideways look demanded an elaboration.
‘It’s not about being impressed. It just seems an odd thing for a playboy to do.’
‘Who says I’m a playboy?’ It was his turn to sound indignant now.
‘It’s blindingly obvious that you’re a playboy!’ She turned on him, lashing out because he’d shaken her up when he kissed her, but more so because she’d shaken herself up remembering she should have nothing to do with him. Attack was her only way to slap him back into line.
‘You’re a one hundred percent playboy! Through and through! And what’s more, you’re totally predictable. You only have to look at your house, your car, even that kiss, for chrissakes. All bog-standard, predictable choices for a playboy.’
She was lying about the kiss of course. The thought of it made her insides whirl, and her head go dizzy. She’d never experienced anything like that in her life before. That kiss had been anything but predictable, which was why she needed to mention it now. She needed to drag it into the open, parade it, hang it out in public, and mark it as worthless. Somehow lumping it, burying it, along with this whole rant helped to rubbish it, helped to show him she was dismissing it. This way he’d know it meant nothing to her, nothing at all… Even though it did.
‘Okay, I hold my hands up.’ He was sounding conciliatory now, patronising even. ‘I’ve got a big house and a flash car. As for the kiss, whatever you believe, I don’t go around snogging the face off every woman who crosses my path. And I hold up my hands to wild
and bad. Okay, I get my kicks from no-ties sex, yes I get with lots of women who like the same, no I never remember their names, even though they invariably tell me. But I’d hardly claim to be a playboy.’
She took a moment to get her head round the information spill. And another to batter down a ridiculous pang of jealousy for the women who made it to his bed. On the bigger scale, she sensed she was gaining ground here, and she wasn’t about to back down when she was about to win the argument.
‘Okay. So how long do your relationships last? On average?’
She watched his jaw drop. Saw him pick it up again. Wondered if she’d pushed too far.
‘It depends. I’d say, on average, what … ’ He hesitated. ‘My relationships, if you choose to call them that, usually last anything between twenty minutes and five hours, give or take a few seconds. Five hours is usually the tops.’
He flashed her a triumphant smile.
She felt her own jaw drop. She considered if he was winding her up, and decided that he wasn’t. What the heck was there to say to that? She struggled to think of an appropriate reply.
‘Thank you for answering that, I appreciate your honesty Brando.’
‘If you knew me better you’d know the truth is something I value highly Shea, something I demand of myself and others.’ He cut in harshly.
‘I guess that makes you an honest playboy then!’
She was suddenly aware that she needed to move this conversation on quickly. The last thing she wanted was to have him ask her the question in return. If he was demanding truth, she couldn’t bear to have to tell him her relationships lasted no time at all, because she didn’t have any. She’d backed herself up this blind-alley, and now she needed to get out of it fast.
‘Perhaps you need to think about a more sensible car, Brando, then maybe a more sensible lifestyle would follow!’ She cringed at how judgemental that sounded. No idea where that had come from, but she could already see steam coming from his ears, so as a diversionary tactic it had worked a treat.
‘You sound just like Bryony!’ His loud complaint had the vaguest touch of a whine about it.