‘A little.’
Surprised by her lighthearted sparring when I’d expected her to be gauche and standoffish after that kiss, I feigned indignation. ‘I’ll have you know my mental capacity is much less than you give me credit for, so I keep the thousands of women’s phone numbers stored in my cell.’
‘Little wonder you have such a big one—’ Her lips clamped shut and her eyes widened in horror at her gaff.
‘We are talking about my cell, right? Or are you still obsessing over my peg leg?’
The blush returned, deepening her cheeks to a rosy pink. ‘It’s been a long day. I really should go.’
‘And I really should let you.’
But neither of us moved, our gazes locked in some invisible battle of wills while electricity sparked between us.
I had to do something to break this tenuous hold she had on me before I did something monumentally stupid, like kiss her again. And not stop at a kiss this time.
‘I’m sorry for kissing you yesterday,’ I blurted, not sorry at all. ‘It was out of line. Blame it on my jet lag, concern over Remy and your unfailing knack of goading me.’
‘Glad to know it wasn’t my womanly charms,’ she said, her dry response tempered with a smile. ‘Honestly? Don’t worry about it. Forgotten, just like that.’
She snapped her fingers and damned if my ego didn’t take a hit.
Forgotten? That made one of us.
‘Anyway, got to go. Makayla’s taking me clubbing.’ She made it sound like her friend was dragging her for a root canal. ‘See you tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, see you.’ I watched her walk out the door, my gaze riveted to her ass.
She worked those black pants like nothing else and I scowled, snatching up the croissant and jamming it into my mouth.
The buttery goodness melted on my tongue and I wondered if its creator would taste as good.
Abby
I’D ENVISAGED EMBUE being a one-room dive with mirrored walls, strobing lights and ear-splitting techno.
Thankfully, I was wrong.
‘Isn’t this place the coolest?’ Makayla clung to my arm and did a little jive on the spot. ‘I’ve heard rave reviews about it but this surpasses my expectations by a mile.’
Mine too. Everything about the nightclub screamed class, from the polished floorboards and soaring ceilings to the chandelier hanging over the DJ’s console, placed smack-bang in the middle of the dance floor.
The dance floor circled the DJ like a giant shimmering oil slick, with golden velvet lounges in booths surrounding it. Cream and gold were everywhere, from the chiffon-covered walls to the coasters.
The entire effect was upscale elegance rather than downtown disco.
I loved it.
As for the music, I actually recognised the song, an upbeat nineties number that made me sway a little.
I elbowed Makayla. ‘Should I make a confession now that I’ve never been to a nightclub?’
Makayla gripped my arm tighter and swung me around to face her. ‘What the... I could’ve sworn you just said you’d never been to a nightclub?’
I held up my free hand. ‘The truth and nothing but the truth.’
‘What are you, a nun?’ She released my arm, only to slug it. ‘Girlfriend, either you’ve been in a cult or kidnapped by a madman who kept you locked up, because everyone on the planet has been to a nightclub at some point in their lives.’
Being part of the perfect Prendigasts had been like living in a cult, before being virtually kidnapped by Bardley and living in a prison of my own making.
‘I got married at twenty-one.’
Makayla shook her head, a riot of glossy red curls tumbling over her bare shoulders dusted in glitter. ‘But didn’t you ever sneak into a nightclub underage? Go out with your friends from school?’
‘I went to an all-girls private school and no, we didn’t sneak out.’
We didn’t do much of anything bar go on expensive shopping trips and have mani-pedis in the private comfort of our mansions. Not that I could call any of the girls I’d hung out with as friends. They’d been the bitchiest group I’d ever encountered, clones of their mothers whose only ambition was to find a rich, upper-class guy and marry him.
All they’d ever talked about was who had the latest designer bag, who had the most expensive car sitting in the garage for when they turned eighteen and which guys from the elite boys’ schools were the best to shag.
How I’d longed to be part of those groups of girls who hung around together at the local shops, swapping frozen yoghurts and gossip while they waited for the school bus instead of Daddy’s chauffeur.
Those girls had looked genuinely happy, despite their ripped blazers and holey jumpers. My folks had taught me from a young age that money could buy anything. They’d been wrong. I couldn’t buy happiness, the kind I’d seen on those girls’ faces.
‘Sweetie, you need to start living.’ Makayla gave me a gentle nudge towards the dance floor. ‘Starting now.’
I wanted to let loose but I caught sight of myself in a floor-to-ceiling-length mirror and baulked.
Whereas Makayla fit in here with her dramatic make-up, sexily mussed hair, towering stilettos and a strapless figure-hugging purple mini, I looked like a grandma with my blow-dried hair, clear lip gloss and mascara, moderate heels and a staple sleeveless LBD that ended at my knees.
Who knew little black dresses had gone out of fashion around the same time I’d gone out of circulation?
‘You’re dancing. Now.’ Makayla shoved me again and this time I let myself be propelled onto the dance floor, joining the throngs of writhing bodies moving in time to an old pop song about spinning around.
I liked music and always had the latest stuff on a playlist while I baked. But bopping around a kitchen and moving my body in front of a bunch of strangers were worlds apart.
Thankfully, nobody gave a flying fig as I started to shuffle my feet. Allowed my shoulders to relax and my hips to sway to the music.
‘There you go. You’re dancing and the ceiling hasn’t caved in.’ Makayla put her hand over her mouth in mock horror. ‘Wow, you may even start having fun.’
‘Bite me,’ I yelled above the music, moving my body faster and adding a shimmy for good measure.
Makayla laughed and flung her arms in the air, her body sensual and sinuous as she executed moves I could never dream of pulling off.
