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Marcus inwardly recoiled. Celia? A target? As if. He couldn’t stand her. And as she could stand him even less, even if he were insane/deluded/drunk enough to make a pass at her again, which he most certainly was not, in all likelihood he’d get a knee to the groin.
‘Didn’t we just clear that up?’ he muttered, really not wanting to dwell on that particular outcome.
‘Not very satisfactorily.’ Dan rubbed a hand along his jaw and frowned, as if in contemplation. ‘You know, Zoe mentioned she thinks you do it a lot.’
‘Do what?’
‘Scowl at Celia.’
‘Do I?’
Dan nodded. ‘Pretty much every time you come into contact, apparently.’
‘Oh.’
‘So what’s with the two of you? Why the friction? What did she do to you?’
Interesting that Dan thought it would be that way round when everyone else would have automatically assumed he’d be the one to blame. ‘She didn’t do anything to me,’ he said with a casual shrug. Apart from reject him. Resist him. Ignore him. Avoid him. And drive him bonkers by getting to him when he’d never had any trouble not letting her get to him before. ‘We just don’t get along. That’s all. Sorry.’
‘No. Well, she is something of an acquired taste, I’ll grant you.’
One that he’d briefly acquired when he’d been an angry and out-of-control teenager but wouldn’t be acquiring again, so he hmmed non-committally and sought to change the subject. ‘Zoe looks radiant,’ he said, watching the bride smiling and chatting, happiness shimmering all around her like some kind of corona.
‘She does,’ said Dan with the kind of pride in his voice Marcus couldn’t ever imagine feeling, which was just as well because marriage was not for him. ‘She also has a different take on it.’
‘A different take on what?’
‘You and Celia.’
Marcus frowned. So much for changing the subject. And what was Dan doing, making it sound as if he and Celia were a thing when they were anything but? ‘Does she?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right.’
‘Want to know what she sees between the two of you?’
Not particularly. ‘Knock yourself out.’
‘Chemistry. Tension. Denial.’
Huh? Marcus reeled for a moment, then rallied because Zoe was wrong. Totally wrong. ‘She sees a lot,’ he said, keeping his expression poker.
‘She does.’
‘Too much.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘What makes her such an expert anyway?’
‘She’s made an art out of reading people. She’s generally right.’
‘Not this time.’
Dan shot him a shrewd look. ‘She reckons it’s like that kid analogy,’ he said.
‘What kid analogy?’ asked Marcus, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
‘The one about pulling the pigtails of the girl in class you fancy.’
At the odd spike in his pulse Marcus shifted uncomfortably. ‘It’s nothing like that,’ he said, wondering what the hell the brief leap in his heart rate was all about.
‘If you say so.’
‘Celia deeply disapproves of me, and I—’ He stopped because how could he tell his best friend that he thought his sister was an uptight, judgemental, workaholic pain in the arse? ‘Anyway, wouldn’t it bother you?’ he said instead, although now he thought about it perhaps the question came fifteen years too late.
‘You two together?’
Marcus nodded. ‘Hypothetically speaking, of course. I mean, she’s your sister and I’m not exactly a paragon of virtue.’
‘It wouldn’t bother me in the slightest,’ said Dan easily. ‘Celia’s perfectly capable of looking after herself and, actually, if I was going to issue a big-brother kind of warning I’d probably be issuing it to her.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s a tough nut to crack.’
‘One of the toughest,’ Marcus agreed, because she was, and not only because she was the only nut he’d wanted but had never managed to crack. Not that he thought about that night much because, after all, it had been years.
‘She’d drive you to drink trying.’
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘And that would be a shame.’
‘Just as well you don’t have to worry about me, then, isn’t it? Although I do think you ought to be worrying about Zoe,’ he added, now just wanting this oddly uncomfortable conversation to be over. ‘She’s been cornered by your mother and a couple of your aunts.’
‘So she has,’ said Dan, that smile on his face widening as his gaze landed on his wife. ‘I’d better rescue her.’
‘Off you go, then.’
Dan must have caught the trace of mockery in his voice because he stopped and shot him a look. ‘One of these days it’s going to happen to you, you know.’
‘What is?’
‘Love and marriage.’
Marcus shook his head and laughed. ‘Not a chance.’ He valued his freedom far too much, and anyway, he’d seen what love could do. The pain it could bring. The tragedy it could result in. He’d been part of the fallout.
Dan arched an eyebrow. ‘Too many women, too little time?’
‘You said it.’
‘If you really believe that then you’re going to end up like my father, heading for sixty and still chasing anything in a skirt.’
‘That’s a risk I’m prepared to take.’
Dan laughed and clapped him on the back. ‘One day, my friend, one day,’ he said, then set off for Zoe, leaving Marcus standing there frowning at Celia and thinking, Chemistry, tension and denial? What a load of crap.
TWO
Three hours later, Celia had worked her way through one cup of tea, two glasses of champagne, a dozen of the most scrumptious mini sandwiches and petit fours she’d ever eaten and a hefty piece of wedding cake. She’d survived the photo session, listened to the short yet witty speeches, and had had conversations with everyone except Marcus and her father.
The reception so far had been beautiful. The weather was behaving, the sky a cloudless blue, the sun beating down gently, a perfect example of one of those heavenly yet rare English summer days. Zoe’s parents’ garden, with its immaculate lawn, colourful and fragrant borders and sharply clipped hedges was an idyllic setting for a small, tasteful, traditional wedding celebration. The music coming from the string quartet sitting beneath the gazebo drifted languidly through the warm air and mingled with the happy hum of chatter, so enchanting and irresistible that every now and then couples came together and swayed along.
She had to admit that, even to an unsentimental person such as herself, the romance of the afternoon was undeniable. She could feel it winding through her, softening the hard-boiled parts of her a little and making her feel uncharacteristically dreamy. Even her parents seemed to have been caught up in it, appearing to have reached a sort of unspoken truce and, although not talking, no longer shooting daggers at each other from opposite ends of the garden. Her brother looked happier than she’d ever seen him and his bride sparkled like the champagne that had been flowing so wonderfully freely.
Yet as mellow as she was feeling and as much as she liked her brand-new sister-in-law, Celia couldn’t help wishing Zoe were more of a people person. If she were, there’d have been several hundred guests at the reception instead of the fifty or so that were milling around the garden.
And OK, so as bridesmaid and sister of the groom she wouldn’t have been able to wriggle out of the photo session either way and she’d still have had to steel herself against the weight and strength of Marcus’ arm around her waist and the heat of his hand on her hip as they posed, but at least she’d have been able to ignore him after that.
As it was, though, guests were thin on the ground and she couldn’t be more aware of him. Everywhere she looked there he was in her peripheral vision, smiling and chatting and generally making a mockery of her efforts to blank him from her head.
Despite the fact that she’d positioned herself about as far from him as possible, for some reason, he was utterly impossible to ignore. Not that she hadn’t tried, because she had. A lot. In fact, she’d used up practically all of her mental and emotional energy trying, and as a result she hadn’t really been able to concentrate on anything. She kept losing track of conversations. Kept finding herself gravitating towards him. Every time she told herself to get a grip and hauled herself back on track his laugh would punctuate the air and she’d have to battle the urge to whip her head round to see what was amusing him.
All afternoon the people she’d been talking to had looked at her closely and asked if she was all right before edging off presumably in search of less ditzy company, and she really couldn’t blame them.
It was driving her nuts. She abhorred ditz. And she hated the way she was being so easily distracted now when she’d always prided herself on her single-mindedness and her ability to focus.
Why was she having such trouble with the effect Marcus had on her today when she generally managed to keep it under control? Why couldn’t she blank him out as she usually did? Why did she keep trying to get a glimpse of him whenever she heard the sound of his voice, and then sighing wistfully when she did?
What was wrong with her? What was this weird sort of ache in her chest? And more importantly right now, she thought, her attention switching abruptly from Marcus and the strange effect he was having on her equilibrium, how was she going to deflect her father, who’d clearly clocked the fact that she was on her own and was bearing down on her, no doubt intending to launch into his usual spiel about her career, her lack of a husband and the direct correlation between the two?
As the pathetic—and pointless—need for his approval surged up inside her the way it always did and briefly smothered her confusion at the way her emotions were running riot this afternoon, Celia cast around for a conversation to join, a guest to corner, anything to avoid him and his own particular brand of paternalism, but she was on her own. The nearest little group contained Marcus, who unbeknownst to her had circulated into her vicinity and from the sounds of it was entertaining for Britain, and that made it a no-no.
Or did it?
As her brain raced through the very limited options open to her Celia made a snap decision. Oh, what the hell? He might not be her greatest fan but Marcus was within grabbing distance, and nothing could be worse than having to suffer her father’s prehistoric ideas and deep disappointment when it came to his one and only daughter.
Aware that her father was fast approaching and there was no time to lose, Celia reached out and clamped her hand on Marcus’ arm. He went still, then turned, surprise flickering across his face. Ignoring the sizzle that shot through her from the contact, Celia looked up at him in what she hoped was a beseeching fashion and said softly, ‘Help me? Please?’
* * *
Well, well, well, thought Marcus, glancing down to where she was clutching his arm and then shifting his gaze to her face, which bore a sort of pleading expression he’d never have associated with her. Who’d have thought? Celia Forrester, a control freak extraordinaire, staunchly independent and so uptight she was in danger of shattering, a damsel in distress. Actually asking for help. His help. She must be desperate.
Resisting the temptation to shake his head in astonishment, he excused himself from the people he’d been talking to, intrigued despite himself by the urgency in her voice and the despair in her expression. ‘Why? What’s up?’ he asked.
‘My father.’
He flicked a glance over her shoulder and saw that Jim Forrester was indeed making a beeline for her. And it was making her jumpy. Which wasn’t entirely surprising. ‘I see,’ he murmured with a nod. ‘What help do you want?
‘I need small talk.’
‘What’s it worth?’
She stared at him for a second. ‘What do you mean, what’s it worth?’
He grinned because had she really expected him not to take full advantage of having the upper hand? ‘Exactly that.’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘How about asking me nicely? Then again. And again.’
She gaped. Then snapped her mouth shut and frowned. ‘You want me to beg?’
His smile deepened at her discomfort and he had to admit that there was something rather appealing about having Celia in his debt with this brief and strictly one-off foray into chivalry, should he agree to it. ‘The idea has merit, don’t you think?’
She glared at him, her eyes flashing with indignation, but a second later the attitude had gone and she shrugged. ‘Fine,’ she said flatly as she started to turn away. ‘Forget it. You go back to doing whatever you were doing. I can handle Dad.’
And for some reason Marcus found himself inwardly cursing while now feeling like the biggest jerk on the planet. She might be a pain in the neck, but he knew how difficult she found her father and he knew how much she loathed him, which meant that she was desperate.
And maybe a little vulnerable.
‘Look, sorry,’ he muttered, frowning slightly at the flare of a weird and deeply unwelcome kind of protective streak, because Celia was the last person who needed protecting and the last person he’d ever consider vulnerable. ‘I can do small talk.’
She stopped mid-turn and looked up at him. ‘Really?’
‘Of course.’
‘What do you want in return?’
‘Nothing.’
She arched an eyebrow sceptically, switching back to the Celia he knew and could handle. ‘Seriously?’ she said.
‘Seriously.’
‘Then thank you,’ she said a bit grudgingly, which he supposed was only fair.
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Celia,’ boomed her father behind her and he saw her jump. Wince. Brace herself.
But she recovered remarkably well and after taking a deep breath turned and lifted her cheek for her father’s kiss. ‘Dad, you remember Marcus Black, don’t you?’ she said, stepping back to include him in the conversation.
‘Of course,’ said Jim Forrester, flashing him a smile that was probably calculated to be charming but in a couple of years could easily stray into sleazy, and holding out his hand. ‘How are you?’
‘Good, thanks,’ said Marcus, shaking it and then letting it go. ‘You?’
