unmentionable virus, which accidentally coincided with some ferocious stag-night celebrations.
Although, talking of Cressy and holes; despite Jackson’s penchant for play and the way Cressy was warming up her full-bodied come-hither wiggles right here on the car park, she didn’t give much for Jackson’s chances today. Bryony looked up, expecting to see Jackson’s tongue lolling out in Cressy’s direction, and started sharply as his eyes sidled up her own body then clashed with her gaze.
All grey brown and smokey.
Shades of irresistible.
Except she always resisted. Other people had relationships, not her.
So, Jackson was still pursuing the undressing thing, then. Anyone else and she’d have rottweilered them by now. Why the hell had she let him go this far?
He inclined his head and narrowed his gaze a fraction, sending her pulse into overdrive.
Why didn’t he realise he was honing in on the wrong person here?
This so wasn’t how it worked when Cressy was around. And it wasn’t only because of Cressy. Bryony didn’t do flirting, for goodness sakes. She rarely did men. She had her rules, and that included no flirting. Especially not at work.
Especially not in Scarborough, of all places.
Scarborough was too cold and too northern to be auspicious for any sort of romance – and it was laden with back-story.
Oh my. He was still looking. Would he never give up?
She took a large gulp of air. Given the way today was shaping up, she was starting to wish she’d bitten the bullet, stayed home in London and faced her demons. At least then she could have had the soothing benefit of retail therapy.
Beside her, Cressy’s wiggle had escalated into overdrive, apparently to zero effect.
Time for action. Not necessarily evasive action. Any action at all would do.
‘Here, have that muffin.’ Bryony stuffed a cake at Cressy, who jerked to a standstill, staring at her open-mouthed. Then Bryony strode purposefully to find refuge on the far side of the car, pulled herself up to her full five foot nine plus heels, put on her best production-assistant-in-control voice and motioned to the rack on the car roof.
‘So is this the bike you and Annie are going to ride today then?’
Annie, being Annie Brooks, one time super-athlete, turn-her-mind-and-body-to-anything-and-win, morphed into mega-successful presenter of Sporting Chances, who always wore state-of-the-art running shoes. Bryony squinted down at her own wedge-heeled trainers which she’d panic-bought in an attempt to fit in with the gym bunnies on the Sporting Chances team. Four-inch heels rather than five was the only concession she’d been able to make towards a sensible appearance. It wasn’t her fault; she’d had an addiction to towering heels since the age of three. At least she’d made an effort with her Sweaty Betty Zero Gravity Leggings – not that she understood the technical spec, but at least the name was cool. Whatever. Annie was a super-brave, super-talented, super-woman. She was going places. And she was beyond crazy if she was ready to get on the back of a push bike for a ten-mile ride with this guy.
Based on the knowing way he was slow-blinking at her, Bryony guessed that he knew he’d got to her.
‘Yep. The tandem. That would be the one.’ He leaned a shoulder on the car and shot her one long, laid-back, wicked grin. Zap! One electric bolt arrived on target, oblivious of the cycles zooming round the car park, the gathering crowds and the milling pedestrians hovering around the car bonnet. ‘It’s the tandem challenge I’m contracted for. Champion cyclist teams up with famous sports presenter; it’s a golden ratings combination for the sponsors.’
Whatever. She got the joke, though the last part had a curiously hollow ring to it.
‘It’s shaping up to be a great day.’ She flashed him another PR smile to counteract any wobbles he might be having. It was her job to smooth things here, and celebrity ego-massaging was something she could do in her sleep. ‘You’re going to be a great pull.’
The fraction of a second pause was long enough for her to kick herself for what she’d just said, not long enough for her to jump in with something to neutralise the statement.
‘Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse…’ His face split into a slow grin, even more wicked than before. ‘Thanks, we’ll discuss the details later.’
Jeez, this guy was a nightmare. She prayed her cheeks weren’t entirely bright-red and opted for flat-out dismissal as the best tactic. ‘We all know I’m talking crowd-pullers here, Jackson.’ An eye-roll and a deep sigh hopefully emphasised the put-down.
‘Fine, no need to get your Nikes in a twist.’ He was straight back at her with a low rumble of laughter and enough smoulder in his eyes to bring the back of her neck out in a hot sweat.
Definitely time to get this show on the road.
‘Okay. You get the bike down; I’ll go and find Annie,’ she barked, and he jumped.
Nice work.
Great. The power had shifted. She was back on top. Business as usual.
‘That’s still the best proposition I’ve had this morning.’ He gave her a smirk.
She raised one eyebrow at him and gave him an icy stare, to finally put him in his place. So, even though he might be King of the cycling world and distantly related to the Prince of Darkness when it came to pulling women, he didn’t miss the bit about her being in control.
Here. Today. Now.
Behind the car Cressy erupted like a one-woman volcano.
‘Annie? Jeez, sorry. That’s what I came to say. How the hell did I forget?’ She slashed a raspberry muffin smear across her cheek, inadvertently spraying a shower of cake over Jackson as she spluttered. ‘Annie’s in the Ladies being sick. There’s no way she’ll be able to ride.’
So Annie was out.
And given that they needed a female on the tandem with Jackson – orders from on high, after a rush of phone-calls – that left Cressy as the only option. Or Bryony. And the message from the top was that they could fight it out between them, but one of them was going on the back.
‘There are times when I hate this job.’ Bryony grimaced, rolling her eyes around the car park. Bike riding was so not her thing. ‘The way we always go the extra mile to make things work.’
‘Ten miles looking at that butt may not be so bad.’ From the way Cressy was grinning, Bryony could tell that she was well up for it. ‘I was in love with choppers when I was a kid. Did stunts and everything. It’ll be like old times.’
Cressy in love with choppers? No change there then.
‘Phew. I’m pleased that’s settled.’ Bryony released one sigh of relief.
