only had to say ‘No’.
‘Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. Made out of Swedish pinewood. It’s a no-brainer. The TV company’s paying, so strictly it’s your place more than mine.’
So that was how Jackson had talked her into the log cabin, which apparently wasn’t his at all anymore. Nice work. Thoughtfully, after this afternoon’s near disaster, he’d omitted all mention of sea views from the list of facilities on offer. Add smooth talking and persuasive argument to his ever-growing list of attributes, and, no question, the guy was a killer opponent. Wheedling his way further into her good books, he propelled her straight in the direction of the en-suite with the spa bath and told her he’d be happy not to see her for the next hour or two, and inadvertently picked up more points when he didn’t offer to throw in a personal massage service. Although, mentioning that thereafter the dress-code was relaxed. Bathrobes would do.
Nice try, Jackson. Dream on.
Pulling on some sweat pants and a slouchy top now, definitely the least sexy of the clothes she had here, she berated herself for only having thongs in her overnight bag. Somehow granny pants would have made her feel better equipped for the challenge ahead, because, regardless of what went on down on the beach, no matter how spectacular that kiss, now that she was back on the cliff top, her land-legs had taken over again – along with her common sense. So much easier to take refuge in the familiar persona of Bryony Marshall, workaholic man-avoider.
‘How’re the aching muscles?’ Jackson was sprawled across the large corner sofa, entirely relaxed, half buried under a confusion of Sunday papers, as she emerged into the open-plan living area.
‘Good.’ Perching on the edge of the coffee table, she flashed him a smile. ‘Considering what they’ve been through.’
Unnervingly, she felt as if she’d walked into her all-time favourite daydream. The one where she came down to Sunday breakfast to find her forever-fantasy-man sitting waiting for her… in their house… because they were married. Just this was the wrong man.
And yesterday the real man of her dreams had married someone else. Not that he’d ever noticed her, all the years she’d known him, even though he was her fallback man. Fall-back man? Who was she kidding? Matt had been her number-one choice, dammit, since she’d set eyes on him at the age of fourteen. Although close friends who knew her secret maintained he was nothing more than a vessel to place her affections in until the real guy came along, as and when she started to look for him, which she knew would be never. Good friend’s brothers? Whoever said you were onto a loser with them was right. Gutting, all the same.
‘You okay?’ Jackson was scrutinising her through narrowed eyes. ‘You look like someone walked on your grave?’
Maybe they just did. Who the hell said men couldn’t be perceptive?
‘Fine.’ Lying through her teeth, for all the right reasons. She’d promised herself not to think about Matt, if not ever again, at least for this weekend. Although, strangely, that kiss on the beach had done a great job of dispatching all thoughts of him and his wedding tux, and his lovely new wife Tia, who, judging by the Facebook pics, was tiny and impossibly beautiful. But, thanks to the beach snog, there was a different man in her head now, which made a change, and he was occupying all of it. But something told her that wasn’t healthy either.
‘May seem better after a drink?’ Jackson dipped into to an ice bucket on the table beside him, and pulled out a bottle. ‘Sparkling white, the best way to smooth the race pains away, and I’ve started without you. Unless you’d prefer something else? Plenty of everything in the kitchen.’
‘Sparkling white’s cool.’ Chilled. Like he was. ‘Only a glass, though.’
He filled two glasses and handed her one. Funny how Jackson in the flesh was a hundred times more mesmerising than Matt had ever been, even though she’d spent the best part of ten years being hooked on him from afar. Although being here with Jackson didn’t exactly feel real either, it was unusual enough to make her shivery in a dangerous kind of way. There was something compelling about the strangeness of the situation. She took a sip of wine, hoping the bubbles that spiked her nose would make it seem more concrete.
‘Cutting back on the alcohol? I thought we were meant to be celebrating.’ Jackson, totally edible in his slouch pants and white tee, smouldering like he was about to devour her.
And her central nervous system on crazy-time, making her whole body buzz every time his gaze traversed her boobs – which seemed to be a lot. Add in that the air felt like it had an electric charge, and she was in weird-city. He had to be mocking her as he studied her through narrowed eyes.
‘One drink, and after that, I really should get going.’ Doing a complete U-turn on what she’d implied earlier, but on reflection a whole night in the same cabin with Jackson and she couldn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t jump the guy and grind his bones to dust, however well-disciplined her good-girl act was.
‘Going to where exactly?’ His brow wrinkled into a frown. ‘I thought we’d agreed you’d stay here? The two room guarantee and all that?’ He tilted his head in query.
‘You agreed. I didn’t.’
One sniff, and he was onto her.
‘I get it. Polar-bear feet. I can feel the ice from here.’ He rubbed his chin, and slid her a sly grin. ‘And talking of cold, I’m guessing a girl whose mother has given up all hope of a son-in-law is maybe a little out of practice on the one-to-one social front, which might explain why you’re feeling jittery, but there’s no need to be scared or run out on me. I’ve got quite enough experience for both of us, as you pointed out. Charm skills are the upside of having played the field.’
His grin split into a laugh. Bad move, because that exposed the column of his neck, and the hollow at the base, which made her toes go all wiggly. Oh my. Rumbled completely, by the guy with the confidence in bucket-loads. And second-guessing her like he really was a mind reader. Except he’d missed the bit about her not being able to keep her hands off him, or maybe he took that as a given, which would be where all that confidence came from.
‘Super-sure of yourself aren’t you?’ She found herself laughing too. ‘Like I said this afternoon.’
Leaning back on the sofa, he held both hands in the air.
‘Okay, I get the message. Whatever you think, I’m not the cavemen you’ve got me down for. You have my word – I won’t touch you. No action replays of what went down on the beach, I promise, if that’s what it takes to make you comfortable. You come and sit on the sofa.’ He jumped to his feet, steering her across the room, being extra careful to keep outside her personal-space zone. ‘I’ll grab the phone and we’ll order some dinner, watch a movie. You have a look to see what’s on.’ He shot her another wicked smile. ‘I’m exceptionally house-trained, I’ll even let you hold the controls.’ With a final satisfied grin, he flipped the TV controller in her direction, headed for the doorway to the kitchen, and disappeared.
Bemused, Bryony leaned to pick up the controller, dazed like an express train had just ran over her. What a man. Full-on didn’t begin to cover it.
‘Oh, and just to be clear…’ his head reappeared around the
