That came out of left field. Tag-line for Jackson Gale: expect the unexpected.
‘Throwing myself at you? As if.’ Incredulity made her voice squeak. ‘Spoken like someone who thinks they’re irresistible.’ She sniffed, definitely not about to reinforce his ego, whatever she thought privately. ‘Or maybe I haven’t got around to it yet?’
Another smile. All rugged jaw and the darkest twinkle. Many more of those, and she might have to rethink her hands-off policy.
‘No. I’m confident that you won’t. You’re nothing like the women I usually come into contact with – or rather, fight off.’ He drummed his fingers on the bar ‘I like it. It’s intriguing.’
Was she really hearing this? Not so much of the fighting off either, if you believed the official biography.
‘Don’t you get fed up of being so super-sure of yourself?’
That made him laugh. ‘Spoken in person by Miss Uber-Confident herself.’
As he drained his beer, the hollow at the base of his neck played havoc with her insides.
‘So…’ He cleared his throat, swallowed again. ‘Shall we take this outside? There’s the beach, the terrace, or my log cabin. Your choice.’
What? Bryony’s stomach officially left the building. A man who knows what he wants and goes all out to get it. Like a line from The Official Biography. Picking up her own beer, she took a like-I-even-give-a-damn swig. The past fifteen minutes had confirmed this as the weirdest weekend of her life to date, and it wasn’t just the tandem fiasco.
Sadie, her last stoically-single friend, had just signed up for matrimony, she thought to herself, presuming that’s what Friday’s hold-the-date card meant. Okay, Cressy was still single, but Cressy was so far off the couples’ radar she didn’t figure. And Bryony was still reeling from her mum’s approach last night; although to be fair to her mother, how did you sugarcoat an offer like that? It was bound to sound insulting. Suggesting someone was unlikely to meet a partner before it was too late was not the easiest line to spin. Then she’d been shoved in front of the camera for the first time ever, and that was definitely the wrong side, from the mess the interview with Jackson had turned into.
All going down in Scarborough of all places.
She allowed herself a latent shudder for what had gone on at the end-of-sixth-form weekend bash, at The Esplanade Hotel in Scarborough, when she was eighteen. Losing her virginity to Aphrodisiac-Alex – who really hadn’t lived up to the name, even though he’d been everyone else’s heart throb at the time – hadn’t been her proudest moment. Drunk on the fire escape at six in the morning – it really had been a just a matter of her wanting to get that milestone out of the way and him being a) there, and b) ready, willing and able, which was more than could be said of the rest of the guys who were largely either spoken for or wasted. Last man standing, so to speak. It didn’t take long and she hadn’t seen him since. And granted that had been back in the day, before she took her teenage grab-all-the-man-you-can tendencies firmly in hand, and before she’d headed off from Lincolnshire to London and channelled her energy into a becoming a go-getting career-success instead. But it would always be there, an indelible shadow on the radar of her memory.
And as if the Scarborough shudders weren’t enough for one girl to handle, this weekend was all being played out against the backdrop of the other biggie she’d promised herself not to think about, the biggie that had sent her fleeing up here in the first place. That would be the biggie she couldn’t possibly dwell on for a whole weekend at home, because, let’s face it, they didn’t come much bigger than the love of your life getting married to someone else. Even if that love had remained completely unrequited, unacknowledged, unreturned and unspoken for the best part of fourteen years, it still hurt like a hole in her side. Not forgetting that tomorrow she was about to start a month off work, and she didn’t have the first idea what she was going to do with herself after she’d popped in on her married girlfriends.
And now this.
A drink with the worst womaniser, possibly in the history of the world, who thanks you for ignoring him, then asks you to his cabin. Presumably not to have sex with him whilst standing on her head, because, to be honest, this weekend the whole world was turning upside down and back to front.
And Cressy’s words pirouetted around her brain. We both know you need to lighten up. This could be your chance… What exactly had that wild-girl teenager Bryony got out of becoming so serious? A successful career? Weekends when you worked because everyone in your social circle was married off? Being in control? Maybe she should have just carried on down Slut Street; at least then she’d have had some decent sex along the way. She cringed to think what a distant memory that was.
‘So?’ The most attractive hunk in the universe was looking at her expectantly as he climbed off his bar stool.
‘Sorry?’
‘If you’ve finished your beer shall we…go?’ Inclining his head, raising his eyebrows, resting the lightest hand in the small of her back.
A convulsive shiver zithered up her spine. Why did he have to speak with that chocolate growl? Could she dare to try what she’d denied herself for so long? Take this outside, and see where it ended up?
Before she knew, she’d flashed him a dazzler of a smile that had nothing to do with professional. ‘Why not?’
Think of it as a gift.
She slipped off her stool, and landed in the crook of his waist.
The sea was sparking blue in the late afternoon sun. Even though the wind was blowing a gale, no pun intended, Bryony had surprisingly plumped for the precipitous walk down the cliff path to the beach, maybe because she judged it to be the least high-risk sport on offer. Energetic sex back at the cabin or cliff-walking, and she’d opted for the latter. A wry grimace from Jackson to that one; although looking at the height of the heels on her boots, walking anywhere off piste in those could be considered crazy dangerous.
Leaning into the crosswind, those heels obviously weren’t proving too much of a handicap as she picked her way between the wet rocks and the seaweed, hands rammed in her puffa-jacket pocket, hair whipping across her face. Almost like he could feel her heartbeat carried by the wind across the space between them. Those go-on-forever legs in those tight leggings made his mouth water. Something about the sheer strength and exuberance of her making his chest twang, not to mention…
‘So, what drives you?’ A gust snatched his words away as he spoke them, but he wanted to ask. Something to do with the gritty determination of the woman.
She whirled around to face him as he caught her up. Amazing how she still managed to look like a supermodel despite the Force Ten gale.
‘I get a buzz from making things happen. Same as you, getting your rocks off by winning.’
‘Succinct and insightful too. Sharp lady.’
‘I do my best.’ She twitched those delectable lips into a grin that showed her perfect teeth.
Funny how he’d missed that this morning. He’d been too busy
