Playing by the Rules

by Imelda Evans

  He tilted his head and batted his eyelashes in such an outrageous way that she couldn’t help smiling. But in spite of his nonsense, she was starting to believe him. Except . . .

  ‘Why did you tell them that story?’

  Josh looked nonplussed, as well he might. Embarrassment was never good for her clarity, and in this case, she was also distracted by his fathomless chocolate eyes, his mouth, the curl of hair straying into his right ear and the tiny scar on his left temple.

  ‘Kate, I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  She dragged her eyes away from his face and looked at her hands. She really needed an answer to this question and she wasn’t going to be able to make him understand if she kept looking at him at such close range. She had a feeling that if she started exploring his eyes, she could get lost and not make sense for weeks.

  ‘That story that you told Crystal and the others, just now.’ Kate felt her insides clench and her face heat just thinking about it. ‘Why would you tell anyone that story? I mean, if you really cared about me back then and if you were really trying to help me now, why would you make fun of me like that? Were you just using me for a laugh?’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It hadn’t come out right. When she’d dragged him into this dusty arena of battle, she’d been furious. She’d thought he was using her as some kind of prop in his personal performance and she’d wanted to let him know exactly what she thought of that.

  But somewhere along the way she’d derailed. He’d disarmed her, something he seemed to do with ridiculous ease, and now her question, instead of being cold and controlled and accusing, spilled out of her red-hot and throbbing with a quite different emotion. The anger had only been the veneer and underneath it was something that went deeper than anything he’d done.

  She hastily got to her feet and turned away, so Josh wouldn’t see how much the idea of being a joke hurt her. But her voice had already given her away. He stood up behind her and gently turned her around to face him.

  ‘Kate, I’m still not sure I understand. I admit that story was funny. And I did enjoy telling it. I do love an audience. It’s a failing that Jo reminds me of regularly.’ He smiled ruefully as he spoke, then his expression turned serious. ‘But I wasn’t making fun of you! I swear it, Kate. Why would I want to do that?’

  Kate wanted to believe him. But the hurt that, a short while ago, had only been peeping through the cracks of her anger was now a bruise around her heart and it wasn’t convinced. Alain had claimed to care for her, and not to want to hurt her, too – while he was breaking up with her, no less! She had to know that this wasn’t just more of the same. With a gulp, she spoke straight from the heart of the pain.

  ‘Because that’s what everyone does! Silly old Kate, so serious. So earnest and try-hard and boring. Why do you stress so much, Kate? Why can’t you be more laidback, Kate? Why can’t you take a joke, Kate? I lost count of the number of times I heard it when I was at school. Even my friends said it!

  ‘I thought I was past that. I’m an academic, for god’s sake. I lecture people about “serious literature”. I’m supposed to be serious! But you – you made me a punchline all over again. You say you weren’t making fun of me. But if that’s true, why did you tell them about the rabbit?’

  The last part came out as a wail. The episode of the rabbit still occasionally haunted Kate’s dreams in times of stress, and hearing it talked about in front of Crystal, of all people, had been excruciating.

  Josh didn’t reply and the bruise around Kate’s heart grew darker. She didn’t want to talk any more. She felt nauseous, and ashamed for exposing herself to this misery. Again. Why couldn’t she have just left it alone? All she wanted now was to get as far away from him as she could, as fast as she could. So she tried to storm off.

  But prop rooms are not designed for dramatic exits, and before she had gone three steps, one of her stilettos caught in the grubby hem of a rolled-up curtain. It was only Josh’s quickness in catching her that stopped her from adding physical injury to emotional on the hard, concrete floor.

  As it was, all she suffered was the indignity of being saved yet again by this positively maddening man. But that was quite bad enough for Kate. And on top of everything, she was now, apparently, going to have to spend the rest of the evening trapped in a dusty room with him, since he was standing smack in the middle of the narrow pathway that was the only route to the door, and showed no signs of moving.

  Well, she might have to stay, but she didn’t have to look at him. Resolutely, she turned her back on him and feigned interest in a stack of giant wooden coins piled haphazardly in the corner.

  But it seemed Josh was not going to accept being ignored. He didn’t say anything, but she felt his hand on her arm, trying to turn her around. She gritted her teeth and resisted. He let go and she rejoiced angrily that she had got rid of him, while simultaneously despising him for being a wimp. But then she felt him pushing past her as he climbed over the curtain at her feet and slotted himself into the tiny space between her and the coins so that he could face her.

  ‘Kate. Look at me.’

  She told herself not to, but he was standing so close to her that he was hard to ignore. To her annoyance, she found that, even now, when she most wanted to be immune to him, her nostrils were quivering with awareness of the subtle, spicy scent that was a combination of his aftershave and skin. And she was irritatingly aware that she was staring right at the spot on his chest where her hand had rested earlier.

  She couldn’t keep looking at that. It was ridiculous, not least because it was infuriatingly arousing. She couldn’t easily look away, either, though. He was so close to her that, short of turning right around, and risking falling over again in the process, she couldn’t really get her eyes off him – and she sure as hell wasn’t looking at anything below the waist. She might as well look him in the eye and get it over with. Besides, much as she despised herself for it, part of her wanted to hear what he had to say. So, against her better judgement, she looked.

  ‘Kate, I did tell the story about the rabbit. And yes, it is funny. But that’s not why I told it!’ Kate looked at him accusingly, and he hurried to qualify his statement.

  ‘Well, okay, it was partly why I told it. But it wasn’t the only reason! It wasn’t even the main reason. Crystal was just about sitting in my lap. I had to think of something to convince her she was wasting her time. And that was the first thing I could think of. You obviously heard me telling the story. Didn’t you hear the bit where I said that it was the day you tried to save Fluff-Bun’s life that I knew for sure that I was in love with you?’

  As a matter of fact, Kate had not heard that. She wasn’t even sure she’d heard it now.

  ‘But . . . what on earth did that ridiculous rabbit have to do with anything?’

  Josh had been using his hands for emphasis, but at this, he grabbed her arms and held her firmly facing him, as though he could convey his honesty by the steadiness of his hands.

  ‘Kate, it has everything to do with you! How many people do you know would attempt CPR on a rabbit? An old rabbit, at that; a rabbit with a frankly stupid name, and a brain to match; a rabbit belonging to the insignificant older brother of a new friend?’

  She half-heartedly tried to turn away, not knowing how to take this, but he slid his hand up to her shoulder and gently forced her to turn back. Then he ran both his hands down her arms, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake, and curled his fingers around hers, before he went on.

  ‘How many people would even think of doing it, Kate? I wouldn’t have. Jo wouldn’t have. The only person I know who would have done that is you. That’s what you’re like. Yes, you are serious. But you’re also wonderful. That’s why I fell in love with you.’

  ‘But it wasn’t even hurt! The stupid thing was just asleep!’ She was wailing again, and even as the words came out, Kate felt like impaling herself on her own stiletto. It was bad enough to have made such
an idiot of herself at the time. To betray how much it still mattered to her must make her look absurd.

  The shadow of a laugh flitted across Josh’s face, but Kate was beyond caring. She was grateful he didn’t laugh out loud.

  ‘I know Kate. That’s why it’s funny. But that’s also why it’s so amazing. You weren’t to know that my crazy rabbit liked to sleep stretched out like a sunbaker at St Tropez. Anyone would have thought he was dead, if they didn’t know. But not everyone would have tried to save him.’ He shook her arms very lightly to make her look at him again. ‘Are you listening to me, Kate? I really, truly, did love you for that. For what you were like. You have to believe me.’

  Kate raised her head and looked into his eyes – really looked. And she liked what she saw. He was looking at her fondly, and although there was a smile on his face, it wasn’t mocking. It was the slightly hesitant smile of a friend, asking for forgiveness, even if he didn’t truly understand what he had done wrong.

  In that moment, he reminded her more powerfully than ever of Jo. His eyes, and the way his mouth turned up more on one side than the other when he smiled, were identical to his sister’s. And the resemblance was more than physical. Jo, too, liked a joke, and loved an audience, and sometimes unwittingly hurt more straitlaced people when she got carried away. But she was also loyal and kind and generous and she loved Kate with a passion that Kate knew she could rely on to the ends of the earth. Was it so hard to believe that Jo’s brother, who resembled her in so many ways, might be fond of Kate too?

  No, it wasn’t.

  With that realisation, the band of pain that had been threatening to strangle her heart cracked right through and fell away and Kate knew that, finally, she did believe him. She believed that he thought the story was sweet, and that he’d told it for that reason; she believed that he really had been in love with her all those years ago; she believed that he had actually been trying to help her out there tonight and she was touched.

  But she couldn’t express it. She wanted to say something profound and appropriate. She wanted to try to apologise for some of the accusations she had been flinging at him, which, in her clearer frame of mind, she suspected stemmed from sources of pain that had nothing to do with him.

  But she couldn’t do it. Because, as the pain ebbed away, she found it being replaced with an insane urge to laugh. Finally, after thirteen years of ranking it as the most embarrassing episode of her life, she was beginning to see the funny side of her attempted rescue of Fluff-Bun.

  It started as a silly sort of giggle. Then the memory of the affronted rabbit, smacking her with his paw and haring off into his hutch, got the better of her and she laughed in earnest. Before long, she was laughing so hard that she had to retrieve a hand from Josh’s grasp to hold her stomach, and shortly afterwards she needed the other one to support herself against an obliging fake street sign.

  At first, hardly surprisingly, Josh looked startled. But it only took a few seconds for him to catch on, and the sound of his deep voice joining hers in a heartfelt, healthy, happy, giggle session, made it even more satisfying.

  It felt good. It felt . . . healing. And Josh was responsible for it. It occurred to her that a man who made it this easy to laugh might be nice to have around.

  Maybe it was that thought that made her do it. Or maybe it was the unusual amount of wine she’d imbibed that evening. Maybe it was his really quite delicious smell, which was again assailing her nose and encouraging her to uncharacteristic forwardness. Or maybe it was the brush of his hand against hers as he, too, reached for the support of the sign, which reminded her that there was more than one reason for dragging Josh Marchant into a quiet and private place.

  Kate didn’t know, nor did she care. What she did know was that she really, really wanted to kiss him. Jo had told her this was what she needed. Normally she wasn’t an initiator. She waited to be kissed. But there was a first time for everything. So before she could think better of it, she stepped onto the roll of curtain at her feet (giving herself just the right amount of height adjustment to bring his mouth within striking range) and pressed her lips to his with a lustful enthusiasm that would have delighted Jo, had she seen.

  Josh didn’t seem to mind, either. When her lips first met his, his eyes widened in surprise, but it didn’t stop him putting both arms around her and responding enthusiastically. When her lips parted and her tongue began to seek his, he suddenly pulled back and, with his hands gripping her upper arms, held her, somewhat unsteadily, at arm’s length.

  Kate didn’t get it. What was wrong now? He’d said he cared for her. Why would he not want to kiss her?

  Then an awful suspicion darted into her head, and she fairly jumped backwards, both hands clutched to her mouth. It probably would have been better if she had kept them free to steady herself, since the jump and the sudden wrench out of Josh’s restraining hands resulted in her finally succeeding in falling over. Her behind hit the curtain with a bump, and she missed hitting her head on a stack of boxes by a hair – but she was so caught up in her misgivings, that she barely noticed.

  ‘Oh my God. You’re gay!’

  Josh looked astonished, scandalised and amused, in quick succession. But all he did was hold out his hand to help her up. She took it (although she thought that it might be wiser to be sitting down, all things considered) and when he had hauled her to her feet, he said,

  ‘Kate, I assure you, I’m not gay.’

  Kate smiled with relief. Then she frowned.

  ‘Then why don’t you want to kiss me? I mean . . .’ She took a breath, horrified at her own question and wondering whether she should just let this go. But she wanted to know. If he really had cared about her so much when they knew each other before, and he wasn’t gay now, how could he possibly object to a quick snog? Not that it was going to be quick, if she had anything to say about it, but he wasn’t to know that.

  ‘Don’t you fancy me?’ Dear God, had she actually said that? Kate wondered desperately what it was about Josh that made her unable to keep her most mortifying thoughts safely in her head.

  ‘No, Kate! I mean, yes! I mean . . . Of course I fancy you, Kate! Do you think I’m blind? It’s just . . .’

  ‘Just what, Josh?’ Kate was starting to see red. Just when she had acquitted him of playing games, it looked as though he was starting up a new one. Was she going to have to reverse her opinion of him again?

  ‘It’s just . . .’ Josh’s frustration was obvious. Whatever was bugging him was evidently difficult to put into words. He let out a sound something like a groan.

  ‘Oh, to hell with it! Come here!’

  With that, he grabbed her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her, hard. His lips were soft, but their pressure on hers was firm and insistent and Kate felt her head spin as the force of the connection set fireworks fizzing and popping in her head.

  Then he deepened the kiss, and Kate found that having her lips forced apart by his tongue was even more exciting in reality than it had been in her fantasy. Her own tongue responded with abandon and just as she had with her hand on his chest earlier, she found herself rapidly losing consciousness of her surroundings, as all her awareness centred on her mouth.

  Then he ran both his hands slowly down her back, bringing every nerve in their path to shuddering attention, cupped her behind with an obvious appreciation that sent a thrill straight to where a thrill was most acceptable, and pulled her tightly against him. Whereupon Kate received ample proof that he did, indeed, fancy her.

  Then he let her go.

  Now Kate’s head really was spinning. She put a hand up to hold it and Josh grabbed her other arm; apparently he could see that she felt like falling over again.

  ‘What the —? What —? Josh, what are you trying to do to me?’

  ‘Nothing! That is – it’s more a case of what I’m not doing.’

  Kate’s head was still doing a samba, and it was not pleasant, so her reply was a little snappish. ‘I can see that! I mean, wh
y are you not doing it? You apparently want to.’ Here, Kate paused for a meaningful look at the part of Josh’s anatomy that was giving him away. His well-cut trousers did not leave much to the imagination. ‘And I have no objection.’ She was about as far from objecting as it was possible to be without actually jumping him. ‘So what is it?’

  Josh sighed. ‘Kate, there are rules. There is nothing I would like more than to take this where it seems to be going. I think I have made that much abundantly clear.’

  Well, yes. Rather.

  ‘But you have a recently broken heart and, if you’ll excuse me for saying so, have been drinking more than is wise, and I think that it would be taking advantage. So I’m stopping it now, before we do anything that you might regret.’

  Kate was temporarily stunned. Were there still men in the world who worried about ‘taking advantage’? She had never even heard of anyone saying those words in real life. But apparently Josh did.

  ‘You, Josh Marchant,’ she said, pointing an accusatory finger at him, ‘are old-fashioned!’

  The fact that her finger was somewhat wobbly – supporting his argument about the drinking – did not escape her. But she still couldn’t help hoping that he would get over his scruples. She might be drunk, and broken-hearted (although she didn’t feel the latter right now) but she knew enough to know that she really, really wanted to kiss him some more.

  Josh sighed again.

  ‘Quite probably, Kate. I have been accused of it before.’ He smiled at her, and tenderly traced her face from hairline to chin with his finger, causing her knees to have their old trouble again.

  ‘But I like you, Kate; I really like you. And I want you to still like me in the morning. So, against at least half of my judgement, and all of my inclination, instead of “taking” you, right here among the paraphernalia of productions past, I am taking you back to the party. Now. Before I have a chance to change my mind.’