скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Excellent. Great speech.’
‘Thank you.’
‘So how’s business?’
‘Quiet.’
Jim’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I heard it was doing well. So what happened? Hard times?’
He smiled as he thought of the relief he’d felt when he’d signed those papers and released himself from the company that he’d devoted so much of his time and energy to. ‘Couldn’t be better.’
‘Marcus sold his business, Dad,’ said Celia.
‘Oh, did you? Why?’
‘The thrill of beating the markets had worn off,’ he said, remembering the strange day when he’d sat down in his office, stared at the trading screen flickering with ever-changing figures and, for the first time since he’d set up the business, just couldn’t be bothered. ‘It was time to move on.’
‘You burnt out,’ said Celia, looking at him in dawning astonishment, as if she couldn’t believe he was capable of working hard enough to reach that stage.
‘Nope,’ he said. ‘I decided to get out before I did.’
‘So what are your plans now?’ asked Jim.
‘I have a few things in the pipeline. Some angel investing. Some business mentoring. I’d also like to set up a kind of scooping-up scheme for able kids who slip through the system and are heading off the rails, which gives them opportunities other people might not.’
He caught the flash of surprise that flickered across Celia’s face and a stab of satisfaction shot through him. That’s right, darling, he thought dryly. Not partying till dawn with scantily clad women. At least, not only that. And perhaps not every night.
‘Philanthropic,’ said Jim with a nod of approval. ‘Admirable.’
It wasn’t particularly. It was just that he’d been given a chance when he’d badly needed it and he simply wanted to pay it forward. ‘I’ve done well,’ he said with an easy shrug, ‘and I’d like to give something back.’
‘Let me know if I can help in any way.’
Jim had a divorce law practice so it was doubtful, but one never knew. ‘I will, thanks.’
‘I’m up for partnership, Dad,’ said Celia, and Marcus thought her voice held a note of challenge as well as pride.
‘Are you?’ said her father, sounding as if he couldn’t be less interested.
‘I’ll know in a few months.’
‘That’s all very well and good,’ Jim said even more dismissively, ‘but shouldn’t you be thinking about settling down?’
Marcus felt Celia stiffen at his side, and guessed that this was a well-trodden and not particularly welcome conversation. ‘I enjoy my job, Dad,’ she said with a sigh.
Her father let out a derisive snort. ‘Job? Hah. What nonsense. Corporate lawyer indeed. There are enough lawyers already, and I should know. You should be married. Homemaking or whatever it is that women do. Giving me grandchildren.’
Dimly aware that this was in danger of veering away from small talk and into conversational territory into which he did not want to venture, moment of chivalry or no moment of chivalry, Marcus inwardly winced because, while he hadn’t seen Celia’s father for a good few years, now it was coming back to him that as far as unreconstructed males went one would be pushed to find one as unreconstructed as Jim.
Going on what Dan had said over the years their father had never had much time for Celia’s considerable intellect or any belief in her education, as had been proven when Dan had been sent to the excellent private school Marcus had met him at while she’d been sent to the local, failing comprehensive.
Now it was clear that Jim had no respect for the choices she’d made or the work she did either, but then over the years Marcus had got the impression that the man didn’t have much respect for women in general, least of all his wife and daughter. He certainly didn’t listen to either.
‘And one day I’d like to be doing exactly that,’ she said, pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin, ‘but there’s still plenty of time.’
‘Not that much time,’ said Jim brutally. ‘You’re thirty-one and you haven’t had a boyfriend for years.’
Celia flinched but didn’t back down. ‘Ouch. Thanks for that, Dad.’
‘How are you ever going to meet anyone if all you do is work? I blame that ambition of yours.’
‘If my ambition is to blame then it’s your fault,’ she muttered cryptically, but before Marcus could ask what she meant Jim suddenly swung round and fixed him with a flinty look that he didn’t like one little bit.
‘You married?’ he asked.
Marcus instinctively tensed because for some reason he got the impression that this wasn’t merely a polite enquiry into his marital status. ‘No.’
‘Girlfriend?’
‘Not at the moment.’
‘Then couldn’t you sort her out?’ said Jim, with a jerk of his head in his daughter’s direction.
Celia gasped, her jaw practically hitting the ground. ‘Dad!’
Marcus nearly swallowed his tongue. ‘What?’ he managed, barely able to believe that this man had basically just pimped out his daughter. In front of her.
‘Take her in hand and sort her out,’ Jim said again with the tact and sensitivity of a charging bull. ‘Soften her up a bit. You have a reputation for being good at that and with the business gone and your future projects not yet up and running you must have time on your hands.’
‘Stop it,’ breathed Celia, red in the face and clearly—and understandably—mortified.
Not that Marcus was focusing much on her outraged mortification at the moment. He was too busy feeling as if he’d been hit over the head with a lead pipe. He was reeling. Stunned. Although not with dismay at Jim’s suggestion. No. He was reeling because an image of taking Celia into his arms and softening her up in the best way he knew had slammed into his head, making his pulse race, his mouth go dry and his temperature rocket.
Suddenly all he could think about was hauling her into his arms and kissing her until she was melting and panting and begging him to take her to bed, and where the hell that had come from he had no idea because she didn’t need sorting out. By anyone. Least of all him. And even if he tried he’d probably get a slap to the face.
God.
Running his finger along the inside of his collar, which now felt strangely tight, Marcus tried to get a grip on his imagination and keep his focus on the conversation instead of the woman standing next to him. The woman who couldn’t stand him.
‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea,’ he muttered hoarsely and cleared his throat.
‘Of course it isn’t a good idea,’ said Celia hotly.
‘Why not?’ said Jim with an accusatory scowl, as if he, Marcus, was being deliberately uncooperative. ‘She might be a bit of a ball-breaker but she’s not bad-looking.’
‘Hello?’ said Celia, waving a hand in front of her father’s face. ‘I am here, you know.’
Marcus knew. Oh, he knew. And not just that she was only a foot away. It was as if Jim had unlocked a cupboard in his head and everything he’d stuffed in there was suddenly spilling out in one great chaotic mess.
To begin with, not bad-looking? Not bad-looking? That was the understatement of the century. She was gorgeous. All long wavy blond hair, eyes the colour of the Mediterranean, full pink lips and creamy skin. A tall hourglass figure that made his hands itch with the need to touch her. A soft, gorgeous, curvy exterior behind which lay a mind like a steel trap, a drive that rivalled his own and a take-no-prisoners attitude that was frighteningly awesome.
Today, in a pink strapless dress and those gold high-heeled sandals with her hair all big and tousled and her make-up dark and sultry, she looked absolutely incredible. Sexy. Smouldering. And uncharacteristically sex kittenish.
It was kind of astonishing he hadn’t noticed before. Or maybe subconsciously he had. The minute she’d walked into the church and he’d laid eyes on her, hadn’t everyone else pretty much disappeared? Hadn’t it taken every drop of his self-control to keep his jaw up, his feet from moving and his mind on the job?
With hindsight it was a miracle he’d managed to get down that aisle without dragging her off into the vestry. He’d felt her touch right through the thick barathea of his sleeve and it had singed his skin and tightened every muscle in his body. The scent of her had scrambled his brain and the proximity of her had heated his blood. As for the pressure of her breast against his elbow, well, the lust that that had aroused in him had nearly brought him to his knees.
If he hadn’t been so deeply in denial he’d have had bad, bad thoughts about her. In a church, for heaven’s sake.
He’d told himself that it was exhaustion messing with his head, which, come to think of it, was the excuse he always made when it came to the irrational and inappropriate thoughts of her that occasionally flitted through his mind.
But it wasn’t exhaustion. It was denial, pure and simple. Because how could he be so in thrall to someone who clearly didn’t feel the same way about him? How could he be so weak?
So was that what bothered him so much about her, then? The one-sided attraction and the back-seat position it put him in? Was the fact that he’d never stopped wanting her the reason why the way she constantly judged him and always found him lacking pissed him off so much?
Despite what she thought of him he fancied the pants off her, which meant that, despite his protests to the contrary earlier, Zoe had been right. On his side at least, there was chemistry, tension and, up until about a minute ago, a whole heap of denial.
And as denial was now apparently not an option he might as well admit that her rejection of him still stung despite the fact that it had happened years ago. She was the one who had got away, and that was why she got to him, why he always retaliated when she launched an attack on him.
‘So what do you think?’ said Jim, interrupting the jumble of thoughts tangling in his head. ‘Would you be up for the challenge?’
‘He thinks you’re insane, Dad,’ said Celia fiercely. ‘And so do I. I know I’m a disappointment to you but, for goodness’ sake, this has to stop. Now.’
Actually, with the realisation that he wanted her, what Marcus thought was that he was suddenly bone-deep tired of the animosity that she treated him with. It had been going on for years, and he was sick of not knowing what it was about or where it came from.
After spending so long in denial it was surprising just how clearly he could see now. His vision was crystal, and he wanted answers. So whether she liked it or not he was going to get them before the afternoon was through.
‘Want to go and get a drink?’ he muttered, figuring that there was no time like the present and that with any luck she’d consider him the lesser of the two evils in her vicinity right now.
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
THREE
Oh, God, thought Celia, lifting her hands to her cheeks and feeling them burn as she abandoned her horror of a father and trailed in Marcus’ wake. How on earth was she going to recover from this? Would she ever get over the mortification and the humiliation? Not to mention the mileage that Marcus would get out of that disaster of a conversation. Her father might not know it but he’d given him ammunition to last him years.
How could he have suggested she needed sorting out? She’d always known he didn’t have much time for her career and that he thought she ought to be stuck in a kitchen, barefoot and pregnant, but he’d never expressed it so publicly before.
And in front of Marcus of all people.
What must he be thinking?
Well, no doubt she’d be finding out soon enough because given their history what were the chances he’d let such a scoop slide? Practically zero, she thought darkly as a fresh wave of mortification swept through her. He probably couldn’t wait to get started.
But that was fine. She’d survive whatever taunts he threw her way. She always did. And this time she didn’t really have any choice, as she’d known the minute she’d elected to go with him instead of staying with her father. She’d made the split-second decision on the basis that by actually living in the twenty-first century Marcus was the marginally more acceptable of the two, but with hindsight maybe she should have just fled to the bathroom instead and to hell with the weakness that that would have displayed.
As they reached the bar Celia pulled herself together because she had the feeling that she’d need every drop of self-possession that she had for the impending fallout of what had just happened.
‘What would you like?’ he asked.
‘Something strong,’ she said, not caring one little bit that it was only five in the afternoon. She needed the fortification. ‘Brandy, please.’
‘Ice?’
Diluted? Hah. ‘No, thanks.’
Marcus gave the order to the barman and the minute she had the glass in her fingers she tossed the lot of it down her throat. And winced and shook her head as the alcohol burned through her system. ‘God.’
He watched her, his eyes dark and inscrutable, and Celia set her glass on the bar and kind of wished he’d just get on with it because her stomach was churning and she was feeling a bit giddy.
Although now she thought about it his eyes lacked the glint of sardonic amusement he usually treated her to and his face was devoid of the couldn’t-care-less expression it normally wore when they met. In fact she got the odd impression that he wasn’t thinking about her father or that conversation at all, which made her think that perhaps he wasn’t planning to launch a mocking attack on the pathetic state of her love life just yet.
So what was he going to do? And more to the point, what was she going to do, because she could hardly stand here looking at him for ever, could she? Even though deep down she wouldn’t mind doing just that because he was, after all, extremely easy on the eye.
A rogue flame of heat licked through her and she wondered not for the first time what things would be like between them if the antagonism didn’t exist. Kind of secretly wished it didn’t because he was still looking at her as if trying to imprint every detail of her face onto his memory, and every cell of her body was now straining to get up close and personal to him and the effort of resisting was just about wiping out what was left of her strength.
‘Want to take a seat for a bit?’ he murmured, and she snapped out of it because, honestly, what was wrong with her today?
Deeply irritated by her inability to control either her thoughts or her body, Celia pulled herself together and focused. Yes, she’d just had a pretty uncomfortable experience, but what was she, eighty? Besides, she was on edge and restless, as if a million bees were swarming inside her, and she needed to lose the feeling. ‘I’m going to take a walk,’ she said, gripping the edge of the bar and bending down to undo her shoes.
‘I’ll join you.’
No way. ‘I’d rather be alone.’
‘I’d like to talk to you.’
She glanced up. ‘What about?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘No, I won’t.’
He tilted his head and smiled faintly. ‘Don’t you think you owe me for helping you out back there?’
Had he helped her out? She didn’t think so, although that wasn’t his fault. ‘I thought you said you didn’t want anything in return for your help.’
‘Humour me.’
Straightening and dangling her shoes from the fingers of one hand, Celia didn’t see why she should humour him in the slightest, but maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea because on reflection she’d made some pretty inaccurate assumptions about him today. Therefore she owed him at least one apology, and it would probably be less humiliating to do that on the move when she’d have an excuse to keep her eyes on the ground on the lookout for random tree roots waiting to trip her up.
‘OK, then,’ she said coolly. ‘Let’s walk.’
‘This way?’ he said, gesturing in the direction of the walled kitchen garden that would at least afford them privacy for the talk he wanted to have and the apology she had to give.
‘Fine.’
They set off across the lawn and as the chatter of the guests and the music faded Celia felt her coolness ebb and her awareness of him increase. He was so tall, so broad and so solid and every time his arm accidentally brushed hers it threw up a rash of goosebumps over her skin and sent shivers down her spine.
She sorely regretted taking off her shoes. They might be tricky to walk in, particularly over grass, but they’d added inches. Without them she felt strangely small despite the fact that she was well above average height, and a bit vulnerable, which, as she was the least vulnerable person she knew, was as ridiculous as it was disconcerting.
