Her Client from Hell

by Louisa George

  ‘Look, there’s my float!’ Lizzie jumped up and down and pointed to a magnificent purple bird on the front of a lorry, its rich golden feathers stretched high into the air with tips like flames. In the open-backed truck a dozen or so small children wore headdresses, tops and trousers in a shimmering gold, and they beat steel drums in a steady pulse.

  Cassie put her hand to her mouth as her eyes shone in admiration. ‘Wow. That’s amazing. Beautiful.’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘I’m so glad it worked out okay; I was a little concerned it might be a wreck. It’s supposed to be a phoenix—I hope you can tell. Rising again, and all that. The school’s just been saved from closure—it seemed fitting.’ Lizzie ran into the group behind the float and began laughing and chatting and dancing.

  Cassie watched and smiled, looking as if she was aching to join them. ‘She’s very talented. It’s beautiful.’

  Jack could barely find words. His sister had done that? ‘First time I’ve seen her artwork in a long time. You’re right; she is talented. Guess she isn’t fourteen any more. She’s a whole grown-up woman.’

  ‘Is that a surprise?’

  ‘It’s a miracle. There was a time…’ Boy, he didn’t know why he was saying this to Cassie, as memories of finding his sister so limp and lifeless rolled back and clogged his chest. So he stopped. Tried to think of something else to say but couldn’t. A small part of him wanted to tell her about his past, but there was no point dredging up a whole host of stuff he didn’t want to remember.

  It had taken him long enough to put it all behind him. But there Lizzie was, dancing and vibrant and alive. Getting married. All grown-up. Perhaps she had begun to heal. His chest tightened some more.

  Cassie’s hand was on his, warm and small but comforting. ‘I saw the scars, Jack.’

  Not the internal ones, and they were the hardest to deal with. Lizzie had dealt with it all in a different way to him. She’d released her rage and her grief and wore her scars like a badge of honour. She’d survived. He, on the other hand, had internalised everything, subsumed it to a tight, hard knot. He breathed out slowly. ‘Yes, well, it was a long time ago. She’s come a long way.’

  And sometimes he felt as if he was stuck in the Dark Ages.

  Cassie flipped a roti bread stuffed with spiced chicken and vegetables on the grill; it seemed that she didn’t want to push him any further. For that, he was grateful. She looked back at the bird float as it disappeared down the street, strands of her high ponytail catching the sun and glinting fiery red. ‘I like the idea of the phoenix; I guess we could all do with some second chances.’

  Jack threw what felt like his three hundredth corn cob onto the fire. ‘Does that mean I can get a promotion?’ Or more? A second chance?

  Which was a crazy notion. He was here for the day, then out again. But, given the wild thoughts he was having about her—scorching, out of control and, God help him, tender—in all honesty, he shouldn’t be here at all.

  She hit him on the backside with her tongs. ‘Never in your wildest dreams, Brennan. You have to show me what you’re made of before I even consider giving you anything more responsible to do.’

  He laughed. ‘You drive a heck of a hard bargain.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her shoulders clipped back and she gave him a faux evil stare before joining in the laughter. ‘I like to think so.’

  *

  An hour later and he’d been promoted to grill chef. A hot and very demanding job way beyond his comfort level, which involved making sure things cooked through properly but didn’t burn—it was a close-run thing. But he was near Cassie, and watching her work around a makeshift kitchen with such ease was more of a turn-on than the dancers’ pumping and grinding out on the street. Although the sexy dance moves and the sultry music, coupled with proximity to her, was making him think anything was possible—even desirable.

  The beer didn’t help.

  Three down and he found himself swaying to the catchy street rhythm. Him, Jack Brennan, who spent his life on the periphery of people, looked out at the smiling, dancing mass and envied them. Worse, he wanted to be like them. Just for a moment, to have that carefree spirit that seemed so out of reach. Today he didn’t have the camera to hide behind, and that made him feel exposed, but strangely liberated.

  Cassie came to stand next to him and did a little two-step dance move between waves to the crowd. ‘Looks like you’re enjoying yourself. Think I’ll have to find you another job to remedy that. Now, what do I have that’s really dirty? Messy? Stinky?’

  ‘So, up to my armpits in corn husks or burning my butt off here isn’t enough payback?’

  ‘Payback? For what?’ Her eyelashes fluttered. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Last week?’

  ‘Jack, you were being honest. And I appreciate that. I just wanted a little…more from you, by way of an explanation. But you don’t owe me anything—I get that. I really do. Oh, there’s Martha. Martha!’ Thrusting tongs into his hand, she ran out to speak to a woman dressed in very high silver heels, a huge pink feather headdress and a very small glittery bikini. After a couple of minutes the woman had taken Cassie’s hands in hers and was twisting her back and forth in a samba-type dance move. Cassie was woefully bad, but she didn’t seem to care, losing herself in the music, her body swaying back and forth, and always, always with that smile. It wasn’t that she couldn’t dance. It was more that she didn’t take herself seriously.

  Whether that was to hide her embarrassment, he didn’t know. But she did it with humour and the enthusiasm she seemed to inject into every part of her life. She was mesmerising to watch, her head tipped back, mouth open, laughing. Nothing like the sombre, sober dancing he’d done with women who wanted to press themselves against him, who moved stiffly from side to side—who saw a dance merely as a step towards bed.

  The knitted skirt came to halfway down her thigh and the sight of those long legs made his heart stutter. As she moved, her T-shirt stretched across her breasts just enough to remind him of exactly what was underneath. The smooth skin, the responsive tight buds. The pull to her was like some kind of magnetic force.

  ‘Go on. Before you drool all over the produce,’ Lizzie whispered, taking the tongs and pushing him towards her.

  ‘No—’ Because he had the distinct feeling that if he touched Cassie it would be a spark to fuse wire.

  Too late. With a jump, Cassie turned round and saw him, stopped short, eyes wide and disbelieving. ‘You’re dancing?’

  ‘I’m moving, no big deal. Besides, I asked you to dance before, at the awards dinner, and you turned me down.’

  ‘That’s because I was going home to work, and I don’t do stuffy men’s dances. Which is what I thought was on offer. But this—you… In the street. With people?’

  It was hardly bump and grind, and definitely not twerking, but he could feel the music as if it was running through his veins. And suddenly the only thing he wanted to do was to dance with her. Maybe he had spent too long standing on the sidelines as life went by, merely observing through a camera lens, watching people have fun, watching them dance, and not enough of his time actually participating. What harm could it do?

  He held out his hands.

  She blinked at his outstretched fingers. ‘You want to dance, literally, with me?’

  ‘The whole world is dancing together, Cassie. In fact, we look the odd ones by not doing so. So why not?’

  ‘Because you confuse me. Not in a good way. Besides, I need to watch the stall.’

  He confused her—heck, he confused himself. This was not what he’d intended to do, but the music, the atmosphere—Cassie—were too addictive. He wanted to hold her. To have her in his arms, share that sense of fun and smile alongside her.

  And no amount of pretending he didn’t was going to cut it. Yeah, she was like an addiction. One that had kept him awake at night, just waiting for the next time he’d see her. One more. One more. And going cold turkey hadn’t helped—if anyth
ing, it had made things worse.

  If he’d thought he was out of his comfort zone before then, hell, this was the worst place he’d ever been. And the best. ‘There’s hardly any food left and Lizzie and Callum have it all under control. Look.’ He waved over to his sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law, dishing up the last of the roti and kebabs. ‘We just need to pack up. They can make a start.’

  A shadow fell across her face. ‘But the money…my things. I can’t just leave.’

  ‘Hush.’ He took her hand and felt the electricity pass between them. His heart pounded in anticipation. Every part of him strained for her. ‘They’ll look after it.’

  ‘No. What if they don’t?’

  ‘It’ll be fine—trust me.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I do not intend to do.’ Her eyes narrowed and she looked back over her shoulder at Lizzie and Callum, who seemed to be managing perfectly well.

  Still, given her history, she had every right to be unsure. ‘Just one dance, Cassie, and we can come back straight away. Let loose.’

  She snorted. ‘Really? From you? Since when did you become Mr Laid-back?’

  ‘I’m trying hard to relax. If that isn’t an oxymoron. Give a guy a chance.’

  She pulled away. ‘You’ve already had them. And blown them.’

  ‘I’m fully aware of that. More fool me.’

  For someone who usually calculated every move before he made it, he was fumbling around, surprised at how much it mattered that she understood he was out of his depth, that he had no clue what the hell was happening but that he was doing it anyway.

  And for a man who prided himself on absolute control, that was all kinds of confusing. He was surprised too, at how much it mattered not to dance with her, but she was angry at him for rejecting her and she had every right to be, but he felt it, deep in his core.

  It mattered. She mattered. This woman, who had been prepared to run this hectic, crazy stall on her own because she couldn’t trust anyone else to help her. Who had kept whatever disappointment she’d felt as he’d walked away locked inside her. And yeah, so she’d given him the crappy jobs but she hadn’t railed at him. She had just focused on the one thing that mattered more than anything to her—surviving the nightmare of impending financial ruin. She could trust his sister a little. Maybe she could trust him just a little bit more—he’d seen it once there in her eyes. A softening. But that had been days ago and she’d hardened herself against him again now, he was sure.

  But, just like after the first kiss, and the second, he was struggling to maintain any kind of line here. ‘Dance with a friend, then? A client that you need to impress? Someone who you have met a couple of times…kissed. And, Cassie, I am not going to pretend they didn’t happen, but they don’t have to define what happens next, or our reaction to them. Nothing does.’ He took her hand again. ‘Come on, just look at everyone having a good time. You deserve a bit of that. Right? Think how hard you’ve worked; you can’t watch this all go by.’

  ‘Sure I can.’

  ‘Dammit, woman.’ He wrapped his arms round her waist and undid the apron ties.

  Her hand grabbed his fist. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘Undressing you. And nowhere near as much as I’d like to. Now shut up.’ Throwing the apron to Lizzie, he prepared himself for a fight, slipped his hands under Cassie’s knees and picked her up. Walked her to the centre of the road, ignoring her protests. ‘You are going to dance.’

  ‘My, my, you can be very bossy. I think I might have to demote you. Teach you a lesson or two.’ Her gaze moved from his eyes down to his mouth and stayed there a second. The air around them stilled, the music going out of focus. His heart pounded against his ribcage. One more kiss. One more kiss would be the beginning of something. What, he didn’t know. But there was that line again and he was teetering on the edge of crossing it.

  Her eyes fluttered closed and he caught sight of sparkling silver-blue eyeshadow, thick lashes. Tiny worry lines. A face so beautiful, so etched on his brain that it made his heart contract. For a second he thought she was going to lean in and place her mouth against his.

  Instead, she laughed, her eyes bright and glittering. ‘Okay, let’s dance. Seems I have very little say in the matter.’

  *

  It was just a dance. In the sunshine. With a zillion other people around. So it didn’t mean a thing.

  Neither did the long, slow caress of her body against his as he gently put her down on the ground. The hardness of his body as her bottom slid over him.

  Or the tingle through her nerve endings as he spooned behind her, heat against heat, skin on skin to grind down the road. There was something irresistible about a take-control man. Especially knowing how hard he was fighting this attraction and failing. She’d made him pay his penance for walking away and it made her feel excited to know that he had done that to protect them both from something he felt was out of his control. She just didn’t know how to handle it. Because ignoring it wasn’t working; it was too big for them both—an attraction, a connection that they couldn’t pretend wasn’t there. A phoenix rising, strong and doubly potent. Even when her head told her to stay away from him, her body craved him.

  He pulled her close as they edged down the road, following a slow-moving truck with blaring music. All around them people writhed against each other in time with the beat that had attached to her heart and was pumping loud and fast.

  ‘Just as far as the Tube station, then I’ll go back to the stall.’ Main thing was to keep an eye on her money, not on his backside dressed in faded jeans. Or that T-shirt-clad chest that her hands itched to touch.

  ‘Whatever you want, Cassie.’

  She didn’t know what she wanted—apart from him. On her lips, in her bed. Inside her. Just thinking about that made her abdomen contract in waves of want. And still the boom-boom steady rhythm vibrated around them, her breathing ragged with exertion, her arms swinging in the air in time to the music, his hands stroking down her inner arm, her outer thigh, her hip. ‘This is so not old man’s dancing.’

  His mouth was so near her ear. Kissing distance. ‘If any old man started doing this to you I’d punch him out.’

  ‘My hero.’ She pretended to swoon.

  ‘If the badge fits.’ His head tipped back and he laughed, a real deep laugh that came from his belly. It was amazing, really, to see him so free from the constraints he put on himself. The control. The edges he made for himself. When this…this was nothing short of beautiful.

  The truck came to an abrupt halt and so did they, clashing against each other. Jack slammed up to her. ‘Whoa. Got carried away there—sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ And all she was aware of was this conflicted man who gazed at her with possession in his eyes. Her arms curled round his neck and he didn’t protest and neither did that tiny voice of doom in the back of her head. Because they both knew it was the atmosphere and the music that was making her feel fresh and fun. Oh, and possibly Lizzie’s wicked margaritas. And being so close to him.

  She knew his boundaries, that he didn’t want more, couldn’t commit. And hadn’t she already promised herself that there would be no more from her? But fun wasn’t off the menu, not after a hard day’s work. In days gone by she’d have played happily without any thought for tomorrow. Maybe she could do it again.

  Today was Carnival. Party time. She looked around at all the people in their fancy dress, laughing and smiling, shrugging off the drudgery of everyday life. Everyone wanted just a little bit of fantasy for a day or two. Come Tuesday morning, there would be responsibility enough. It had been too long since she’d had any fantasy for herself. ‘Any time you want to body slam, I’m your girl.’

  ‘Cassie, there are plenty of things I’d like to do with your body.’ His arms slid around her waist as he pressed close to her.

  Her heart tripped. ‘You want to tell me?’

  ‘I want to undress you. Slowly. Very slowly. And take my time getting to know every inch.
’ His mouth was near her ear and she shivered against the hot breath on her neck. ‘But first I want to taste you again.’

  Twisting her head round ever so slightly, she felt his lips on her skin. Twisting further, she found his mouth with hers. Then she was fisting his T-shirt in her fingers and pulling him to her. Blood pounded in her ears as a pulse throbbed in her groin. Low and hot and urgent.

  His fingers meshed in her hair as he took her mouth in another breathless open-mouthed kiss that she didn’t want to end. The way he made her feel defied all logic, her earlier resistance just a fading memory.

  As he opened his eyes the music came back into focus and she realised the truck had moved further down the street. But she didn’t want to move, not a single step, without this man holding her. She looked up into his face, a mixture of relaxed and sexual heat—a degree of frustration of the sexual nature.

  His deep voice tripped mini explosions in her stomach. ‘Do you want to get out of here, Cass? Your place is closer.’

  She knew exactly what he was asking, and that he couldn’t offer her more than a night, possibly the rest of the weekend. That afterwards he would walk away, uninvolved and probably unscathed.

  Could she?

  God, for so much of her life she’d been the one who called the shots. Bossy little sister who got what she wanted. Spoilt teenager who twisted boys round her finger. Then she’d been burnt and all her buried insecurities had boiled over. This would be a chance to take control of this part of her life. To find that fun girl again, to play a little. Because all work and no play was making her feel very dull indeed.