open and hear the gulp that came when her heart leaped into fast-forward.
What?
All gravelly voice and hollow cheeks and stubble. Gone before she gathered her senses enough to reply. Rolling her eyes, snorting at the barefaced cheek of the man. Except he’d got it righter than she’d ever admit. Even to herself.
‘And another thing…’
Back again, dammit. But this time she was ready.
‘This had better be good.’ She hit back with the don’t-mess-with-me offensive, growled through gritted teeth. Always worked a treat on sound technicians who took the piss.
‘Don’t worry, it is.’ He posted a beyond-satisfied smirk around the doorframe, tapped his fingers, playing for time and maximum impact. ‘As I recall, you were the one who suggested dinner, so technically you’re the one who asked me on this date. Thought it was worth a mention.’
Worth a mention? Worthy of a full-blown eye roll more like. Nothing else. Except a very weary sigh.
‘Have you finished?’ Firm, in control here, and letting him know it.
‘Yes. Er, no, actually. Not yet.’ And judging by the hesitation he was backing into line. Nicely.
‘What now?’ Exasperated was a definite put-down. Not that she meant to be nasty, but this guy took some handling. She couldn’t afford to let him get one-over on her.
‘I found the room service menu if you’d like to come and choose.’
Okay. Easy as. He just did.
#lookingstupid or what?
Dinner. Steak, chips and salad, on lap trays in front of the TV, with Jackson foregoing the chips. High-fat, bad carbs apparently. A body like a superman obviously didn’t happen without a measure of deprivation and care. Enough fizzy wine to live up to its name, but not put her under the table. And two hours rolling around, howling with laughter, watching Despicable Me on DVD, which Jackson conjured from his room. Who’d have thought?
‘Cartoon collection, never travel without it. Think yourself lucky I didn’t make you sit through Happy Feet.’
She guessed that was his way of excusing himself for inflicting her with his childlike taste, not that she’d minded a Disneyfest at all. She could imagine, now she knew him better. Pin-up hottie of the century, morphed into one big kid. And trying not to think how engaging that was, and conveniently easy, as laughter diffused the sexual tension which crackled across the gap between them. Took her mind off the heat of the man, who’d moved next to her on the sofa, stretching those long sexy legs of his to rest tantalisingly on the coffee table. Making a deal with herself: Look but don’t touch.
Made sure she didn’t admit that after tonight Despicable Me had zoomed onto her list of favourite movies too, or give him the opportunity to seize on the fact they found the same things hilarious. It was important to play down how comfy she was in his company – give this guy any nugget he could vaguely interpret as a compliment, and he would be in danger of getting stuck in the building, given that his head would be too swollen to get through the door. His self-belief was not in short supply. Honing in now on his languid profile as he leaned by the open door to the terrace. Cressy would be disgusted at her for what she was throwing way. Sex on legs, think of it as a gift. Maybe she’d regret it too, tomorrow.
‘So how did you get into cycling?’ Suddenly reluctant for the evening to finish, she threw Jackson a carefully chosen, open-ended question.
‘I’ve been at it for as long as I remember. When we showed some promise as lads, our dad seized on that, more for himself than for us. He got his kicks from our success, and he drove us pretty relentlessly.’ He gave a pensive shrug. ‘My old man’s a bit of a fucked-up guy, I’m afraid.’
She assumed that last excuse had to be in response to her appalled expression. ‘But didn’t it make you want to rebel?’
Was a dad who was fucked-up and alive better or worse than one like hers, who’d broken her heart when he left, then died?
‘My dad’s regime didn’t allow questions, let alone rebellion. His methods were harsh, but I guess we came through in the end. By the time we were old enough to stand up to him, we were hooked on winning. Signing up to a pro team was the fast way out, and I went when I was eighteen. Other young riders found the team life a shock, with the hard training, the discipline and being away from home, but for me it was like a holiday camp after my dad.’
‘It all sounds rough.’ Poor Jackson. Who’d have thought he’d had such a bad time. It made what she’d always thought of as her own raw deal seem easy.
‘It toughened me up, made me what I am, and to be honest I don’t often talk about it.’ He gave a sigh and moved towards the open French doors. ‘Coming out to see the moonshine on the sea?’ A casual invitation, flipped over his shoulder as he sidled out, moving the conversation to somewhere safer for him, but less safe for her.
What a corny line! But innocuous all the same. They were both adults here; they both knew the score. Any moves that were going to happen would have been made hours ago. Since she laid down the unspoken rules, he’d backed right off, and now she’d got her own rampant woman back in the box, she was well out of the danger zone. Easing herself off the sofa, she padded across the polished boards. One last glimpse of the clouds scudding across the night sky before she went to bed slotted neatly into the low-risk category. Good-girl Bryony could manage that.
‘It’s breezy out here.’ Keeping it light, the wind snatching her hair as she stepped into the small courtyard. ‘And so bright. Amazing how the moon splashes across the water.’ She moved across to where Jackson was leaning on the waist-high wall, scanning the horizon, t-shirt flapping.
‘Hey, look.’ She stooped to examine something moving on the ground at the edge of the planted area. ‘I thought it was a leaf, but it’s a frog.’
Two seconds, and Jackson was crouching beside her, hunky shoulder uncomfortably close to her cheek, extending a finger towards the ground. ‘Ahhh, it’s a toad.’
Trust Mr. Know-it-all.
‘There’s a difference?’
‘Toads have more warty skin – and they don’t hop, they crawl, although technically they’re all frogs.’ He tickled the top of its head gently with a leaf as it moved to take cover under a stone. ‘We used to spend all summer collecting them on holidays in Cornwall when we were kids – when we weren’t cycling that was.’
‘Typical boy.’ Smiling, she gave a shrug, ‘Toad, frog, whatever, he’s pretty.’
Jackson let out a snort. ‘Typical contrarian woman. A frog and a prince to choose between, and you hone in on the damned frog.’
Laughing, she stood up, moving to take a last look at the sea over the wall.
‘Not big-headed at all then, putting yourself in the prince category?’
‘Prince
