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‘Throwing myself at you? As if.’ Incredulity made her voice squeak. ‘Spoken like someone who thinks they’re irresistible.’ She sniffed, definitely not about to reinforce his ego, whatever she thought privately. ‘Or maybe I haven’t got around to it yet?’
Another smile. All rugged jaw and the darkest twinkle. Many more of those, and she might have to rethink her hands-off policy.
‘No. I’m confident that you won’t. You’re nothing like the women I usually come into contact with – or rather, fight off.’ He drummed his fingers on the bar ‘I like it. It’s intriguing.’
Was she really hearing this? Not so much of the fighting off either, if you believed the official biography.
‘Don’t you get fed up of being so super-sure of yourself?’
That made him laugh. ‘Spoken in person by Miss Uber-Confident herself.’
As he drained his beer, the hollow at the base of his neck played havoc with her insides.
‘So…’ He cleared his throat, swallowed again. ‘Shall we take this outside? There’s the beach, the terrace, or my log cabin. Your choice.’
What? Bryony’s stomach officially left the building. A man who knows what he wants and goes all out to get it. Like a line from The Official Biography. Picking up her own beer, she took a like-I-even-give-a-damn swig. The past fifteen minutes had confirmed this as the weirdest weekend of her life to date, and it wasn’t just the tandem fiasco.
Sadie, her last stoically-single friend, had just signed up for matrimony, she thought to herself, presuming that’s what Friday’s hold-the-date card meant. Okay, Cressy was still single, but Cressy was so far off the couples’ radar she didn’t figure. And Bryony was still reeling from her mum’s approach last night; although to be fair to her mother, how did you sugarcoat an offer like that? It was bound to sound insulting. Suggesting someone was unlikely to meet a partner before it was too late was not the easiest line to spin. Then she’d been shoved in front of the camera for the first time ever, and that was definitely the wrong side, from the mess the interview with Jackson had turned into.
All going down in Scarborough of all places.
She allowed herself a latent shudder for what had gone on at the end-of-sixth-form weekend bash, at The Esplanade Hotel in Scarborough, when she was eighteen. Losing her virginity to Aphrodisiac-Alex – who really hadn’t lived up to the name, even though he’d been everyone else’s heart throb at the time – hadn’t been her proudest moment. Drunk on the fire escape at six in the morning – it really had been a just a matter of her wanting to get that milestone out of the way and him being a) there, and b) ready, willing and able, which was more than could be said of the rest of the guys who were largely either spoken for or wasted. Last man standing, so to speak. It didn’t take long and she hadn’t seen him since. And granted that had been back in the day, before she took her teenage grab-all-the-man-you-can tendencies firmly in hand, and before she’d headed off from Lincolnshire to London and channelled her energy into a becoming a go-getting career-success instead. But it would always be there, an indelible shadow on the radar of her memory.
And as if the Scarborough shudders weren’t enough for one girl to handle, this weekend was all being played out against the backdrop of the other biggie she’d promised herself not to think about, the biggie that had sent her fleeing up here in the first place. That would be the biggie she couldn’t possibly dwell on for a whole weekend at home, because, let’s face it, they didn’t come much bigger than the love of your life getting married to someone else. Even if that love had remained completely unrequited, unacknowledged, unreturned and unspoken for the best part of fourteen years, it still hurt like a hole in her side. Not forgetting that tomorrow she was about to start a month off work, and she didn’t have the first idea what she was going to do with herself after she’d popped in on her married girlfriends.
And now this.
A drink with the worst womaniser, possibly in the history of the world, who thanks you for ignoring him, then asks you to his cabin. Presumably not to have sex with him whilst standing on her head, because, to be honest, this weekend the whole world was turning upside down and back to front.
And Cressy’s words pirouetted around her brain. We both know you need to lighten up. This could be your chance… What exactly had that wild-girl teenager Bryony got out of becoming so serious? A successful career? Weekends when you worked because everyone in your social circle was married off? Being in control? Maybe she should have just carried on down Slut Street; at least then she’d have had some decent sex along the way. She cringed to think what a distant memory that was.
‘So?’ The most attractive hunk in the universe was looking at her expectantly as he climbed off his bar stool.
‘Sorry?’
‘If you’ve finished your beer shall we…go?’ Inclining his head, raising his eyebrows, resting the lightest hand in the small of her back.
A convulsive shiver zithered up her spine. Why did he have to speak with that chocolate growl? Could she dare to try what she’d denied herself for so long? Take this outside, and see where it ended up?
Before she knew, she’d flashed him a dazzler of a smile that had nothing to do with professional. ‘Why not?’
Think of it as a gift.
She slipped off her stool, and landed in the crook of his waist.
Chapter 7 (#ud846b7ad-119b-5645-a760-22801099d197)
The sea was sparking blue in the late afternoon sun. Even though the wind was blowing a gale, no pun intended, Bryony had surprisingly plumped for the precipitous walk down the cliff path to the beach, maybe because she judged it to be the least high-risk sport on offer. Energetic sex back at the cabin or cliff-walking, and she’d opted for the latter. A wry grimace from Jackson to that one; although looking at the height of the heels on her boots, walking anywhere off piste in those could be considered crazy dangerous.
Leaning into the crosswind, those heels obviously weren’t proving too much of a handicap as she picked her way between the wet rocks and the seaweed, hands rammed in her puffa-jacket pocket, hair whipping across her face. Almost like he could feel her heartbeat carried by the wind across the space between them. Those go-on-forever legs in those tight leggings made his mouth water. Something about the sheer strength and exuberance of her making his chest twang, not to mention…
‘So, what drives you?’ A gust snatched his words away as he spoke them, but he wanted to ask. Something to do with the gritty determination of the woman.
She whirled around to face him as he caught her up. Amazing how she still managed to look like a supermodel despite the Force Ten gale.
‘I get a buzz from making things happen. Same as you, getting your rocks off by winning.’
‘Succinct and insightful too. Sharp lady.’
‘I do my best.’ She twitched those delectable lips into a grin that showed her perfect teeth.
Funny how he’d missed that this morning. He’d been too busy watching for cracks in the gloss, to see through to the inside and kicking against the stone-wall of her determination. Je’d been aware of the whole explosion of chemistry, which he’d put down solely to his own need in that department, but he hadn’t fully appreciated the long-limbed wow-factor of the whole package. Not that he was going there. She was seriously off limits, but for some reason he couldn’t bear to let her go before he’d found out more about her. There was this inexplicable urge to keep her with him for as long as he could, just because the combination of her layers and her strength was fascinating; not like any woman he’d come across before.
‘Getting your kicks from making people do what you want. That figures, from what I saw earlier.’ Accidentally on purpose, he bumped his hip gently against hers. Gentle flirting was a contact sport, and there was definitely a buzz here. ‘Used to getting your own way from an early age, A.K.A. being spoiled?’
‘Not exactly.’ She screwed up her face, as if weighing things up. ‘It’s complicated.’
And she claimed full marks for not dismissing the ‘spoiled’ taunt out of hand.
‘Try me?’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to send you to sleep with my whole mixed-up childhood life story thing. But when I was eleven my older brother ended up inheriting a country estate. It’s way less glamorous than it sounds. We didn’t have a wealthy upbringing at all, we were a disaster as a family; my parents had spilt up, and it was just an accident that a couple of people died and unexpectedly left my brother, Brando, next in line. From quite a young age I used to go to help with events there. In fact, it was lots of hard work, but it taught me how to handle people and that’s where I got hooked on the satisfaction of pulling off the impossible.’ She broke into a guilty smile. ‘And you’re right – I learned how to wind my brother round my little finger. Back in the day I used to commandeer his helicopter all the time, but I’ve pretty much grown out of that now. But isn’t that what baby sisters are for?’
If she was hoping that would make his eyes widen, then she was in luck; but more strangely still, it appeared to have been a throwaway line. Eyes wider still at that thought. And a fellow survivor of a broken family too. He covered his surprise by blurting out the first thing about families that came into his head.
‘I wouldn’t know, I only have brothers.’ A neat line that no way expressed the train wreck that was his family life, or the screwed up state of relationships with his father and brothers and as they stood now. Connor, a golden boy, who hadn’t screwed up when it mattered like he had, who’d been snapping at his heels his whole life, who was still out there now, feeding their father’s insatiable hunger for glory, providing him with the reflected limelight he loved. And Nic, a self-made success. As for his mother, well don’t even go there. Who the hell started talking about families? ‘Connor’s a famous cyclist. You’ll no doubt have heard of him.’ The wind whipped away the bitter laugh he spat out with that last comment.
‘Or maybe not.’ She shot him a shamefaced grin. ‘I don’t know the first thing about cycling, I was blagging it this morning. The last time I went on a bike I was about six.’
‘Why does that not surprise me?’ Anything was better than discussing the Gale clan. Suppressing his mirth at her embarrassed discomfort, he gave her a shoulder nudge as he polished his next spinner. ‘But bike-riding’s like sex. Once you’ve learned how to do it, you don’t forget.’
Only her eyebrows shooting up showed he’d surprised her. One-all in the surprise stakes then.
‘So like a man to make that link. Or are you simply living up to your perennial reputation as a womanizer?’ Tossing back her head, she let out a laugh. ‘I read the biography, you know. What’s your next line? Asking me if my favourite cocktail is “Sex on the beach?”’
‘Let me think. Slimy rocks, the sea approaching… I don’t think so.’ He jumped to avoid the bubbles of tide running up the sand and steered her up the beach a little. ‘Later maybe?’
And joking. Obviously.
‘Dream on, Mister. I gave up on casual sex years ago because it was meaningless and empty, so I learned to say “No”. Maybe you could learn that too.’ She gave a shrug, but posted him a mischievous sideways glance. ‘One tiny word, but it’s powerful.’
And maybe she had a point. If the faceless sex was so great, how come he’d hardly missed it when he called a halt? Until today, of course, when his groin had been jumping like a jack-in-a box. Still was. Put it down to the adrenalin surge of a win, or more likely, the Cherry Bomb at his side and her explosive promise, which strangely hadn’t lessened any since she swapped her silky pink wrapper for leggings and padded jacket. Still that same bewitching scent, screamingly strong, regardless of the salty, biting air.
‘So I take it you’re not propositioning me, then?’ No idea why he needed to push it, but he did.
Now it was her turn to jump as the surf rushed towards her toes. ‘We’ve already established that.’
A few more hand-in-pocket strides at his side, this human dynamo was walking so fast he could barely keep up, despite her precipitous heels.
She glanced back at him. ‘To be honest I’m so far out of the couples game, my mother has offered to pay to freeze my eggs.’
Conversation stopper or what? Though judging by the way she was chewing her lip and furrowing her brow, she’d shocked herself as much as him with that one. Laying it on the line. Making it clear, her hurling herself at him wasn’t going to happen.
Leaving the first move down to him. When had he ever had to make the first move? Though that wasn’t really happening either, even if he had taken every precaution to keep the press off his tail.
‘So what do you do if you don’t date? Are you implying that you work all the time?’ And when did he become this big on interrogation?
She might be an organisational whizz, but what a waste of all that energy.
She smiled up at him, making the pit of his stomach fizz, making him ache to taste her. ‘A professional cyclist should understand about non-stop work better than most, from what I read.’
So she’d been reading up, had she? When did he ever ache like this? ‘Didn’t you read about the extra-curricular bits?’ Mind reverting automatically. Too bad he wasn’t going to taste.
‘There you go again. You and your one-track, extra-curricular mind.’
Grabbing her was his last intention, but he threw an easy arm around her shoulder anyway. No excuses, other than the caveman in him stepping up to stake his claim. One slight jolt from her. A strike before she organised her opposition may work to his advantage – if he didn’t move in fast enough, he suspected she may well deck him.
Easy. Spinning around, heading for her lips, he pushed away the salty strands of her hair. Her gasp of surprise drew him straight into the luscious heat of her mouth as he traced his tongue along her lip, pushed beyond those perfect teeth. Soft, delicious, sweet as raspberry muffin. And hungry too. One second of hesitation, then she came to meet him, tangling, like he knew instinctively she would, her vitality surging into him. Forging her body against his, strong and arousingly urgent as he dragged her, crushed her against his pelvis. Embracing her exuberance, and doubting he’d ever held anyone this real, this human, her energy flooding through, making him amazingly, resoundingly alive. The ache in his groin thumping as she ground her hip against the thud of his erection. Barely pausing as he tugged past the soft wool of her cardigan, through the yielding cotton of her t-shirt to the hot skin beneath. The bang of his pulse, resounding in his ears, drowning out the wind, hearing that small groan of affirmation vibrating from her throat as he cupped her heavy breast in his hand. The full perk of her nipple strong enough to jut through the padded silk.
The thunder of desire galloped through his body as he slipped down the bra-cup, lightly scratching with his nail to bring her nipple to amazing standing attention. Then, as he rolled it between his fingers, her body sagged against him and the mewing from her throat told him that he’d hit the spot. Dragging the oxygen into his lungs to cope with the double speed pounding of the blood around his body, heart rate racked off the scale by the moans of the woman leaning heavy in his arms.
‘Jackson!’ With a squawk, she yanked away from him. ‘The sea!’
The chill of water engulfed his feet as a wave rolled over his sneakers. Opening his eyes, he took a second to register the ocean fringe advancing towards them and another to decide he didn’t even give a damn. Wanting to carry on pushing the Cherry Bomb past the point of no return, until she exploded and came apart in his arms.
‘Holy crap.We could drown here.’ His survival head coming late to the party, yanking down caveman’s ‘Do Not Disturb’ notice. In a few minutes the tide rushing into the bay would be far enough up the beach to cut off their way back. Where the hell was protective caveman? Significantly AWOL apparently, whilst pillage-caveman got his rocks off.
Grabbing her wrist, he began to run. ‘Come on, we need to get back to the cliff path. Fast.’ Dragging her along the foaming edge of the sea, staying as far away from the mud cliffs as they could. A second super-charge of adrenalin surged through his limbs now as he hauled her into the headwind across the amphitheatre of the bay. Struggling, bumping, sliding, stumbling over the rocks, soupy water up to their ankles, looking up long enough to pinpoint the place on the cliffs they were heading for, where the diagonal line of the path stretched upwards to safety.
Her dead weight pulled on his arm, and he turned to see her, hair strewn across her mouth, hauling her breath in huge gasps. ‘You go on.’ Her panting words, torn away by the gale, as she bent, groaning, hands on her knees. ‘I’ll catch you up.’
‘No way, we’ll go together.’ Catching her arm again, forging forward. ‘Come on, you can make it – it’s not far now.’
The familiar burn in his limbs. Unaware they’d walked this far, the length of the beach foreshortening, playing tricks, like the stones that were repeating beneath their feet in a continuous unending loop. Brine sticky on his face, his chest bursting as he hauled her on. The sun still glinting on the solid mass of the water beside them. Rocks and wind, wind and rocks, splashing, slithering. And then they were there, and he was heaving her up in front of him, shouldering her backside. With one lunge, he propelled her to the safety of the mud and grass on the cliffside path, and scrambled after her.
Chapter 8 (#ud846b7ad-119b-5645-a760-22801099d197)
‘Is my head too heavy?’
Bryony was lying on the ragged grass on the cliff top, limbs in a heap, staring at the sky, which, incidentally, was broad as any she’d seen lately. The heat of Jackson’s chest was solid against her skull as she watched the cloud wisps and waited to get her wild jiving heartbeats back into line.
‘Your hair’s tangling in my stubble again. Does it hurt?’ His gruff tones reverberated through his ribs.
Hair caught in a guy’s stubble? OMG. How far off-limits was she?
‘Nope’
And how darned okay it was. It was almost as if neither of them had wanted to break the moment by speaking, and then it had slipped into minutes and then a whole lot longer. The wind rushed over her ears, pushing the smell of damp ground up her nose and coating her lips with salt. She tried not to think how easy this felt, how she didn’t want to move ever again.
‘Here, have this, I picked it up on the beach before.’ He shifted under her, pushed a small stone into the palm of her hand. ‘It’s a fossil, an ammonite. So you remember today. ’
As if she’d ever forget it.
‘Thanks.’ She ran her index finger around the curl of the spiral. Still warm from the ride in his pocket. ‘How old is it?’
‘Possibly two hundred million years. Sorry, they don’t make them any newer.’
A fossil from womanising Jackson Gale. Who’d have thought?
‘It’s perfect. Thanks.’
And then there was the tiny matter of that major snog down on the beach. Talking of perfect. Was that really her back there? Diving down his throat and loving it?
She shuddered at the thought of what he’d been doing to her nipples, shut her eyes and shook her head, just to check she was here. In person. Five minutes of ecstasy, then Jackson went on to save her life. Maybe the biography hadn’t been exaggerating about his multi-faceted talents in all areas. Let’s face it; some guys had it all.
Beneath her head his chest heaved in a comfortable sigh. ‘Almost drowning kind of cements you together. Like we’re lying under this sun as it slides down and, not wanting to be melodramatic, but it could have been the last sunset we saw.’ His voice was gravelly, as one thumb grazed across the back of her hand and brought out the goosebumps in places she couldn’t imagine. ‘We might just have become a lost-at-sea statistic. When you get your breath back, we need to go and do something spectacular to celebrate.’
Interesting… what might that be exactly. This guy had charm by the shedload, and it was mighty hard to resist. You only have to say ‘no’. One tiny word. Wasn’t that what she’d told him? Whatever, she needed to make herself clear here.
‘Back on the beach, the last thing I remember talking about was your one-track mind. I’m hoping we haven’t gone there again.’ She dragged in a breath, hating her sensible-self just for a moment. ‘But, on the upside, a man who saves you from getting swept out to sea and then gives you a fossil has to be worth getting to know a little bit more. Possibly.’ Grinning upwards, catching a glimpse of his chin. Capitulating, slightly. ‘Dinner might be nice.’
‘Dinner’s a possibility.’ He grinned back down at her, his teeth up close just as even and spectacular as her tongue already told her. ‘Why don’t we take it as it comes?’ Bringing out those to-die-for wrinkles in his cheeks, he sent her on-the-ground stomach down to the basement.
‘And to think, back there I was taking the flak for making people do what I want.’ Laughing now, she gave him a soft poke in the ribs. ‘It takes a manipulator to know a manipulator, wouldn’t you agree?’
Easing her upwards, he got to his feet. ‘I prefer to think of it as my incurable desire to win.’
Letting her gaze meander up the whole of his beautiful body, she locked him in a dead-eye gaze, lifting an eyebrow. Important to keep the man who knew he was best at everything in line, despite the fact that her head was whirling. Especially because her head was whirling.
He offered her a hand, ‘C’mon then, Cherry Bomb, let’s go.’ One yank, and she flew to her feet. ‘We’ll get you into some dry clothes.’
More crazy talking that flipped her stomach into a triple somersault. Where the hell had her ‘professional’ gone when she needed it? And definitely not reacting to the clothes comment. Apart from with her racing pulse, obviously. Winning? Manipulating? Hot sex?
Whatever.
After a near-death experience anything was excusable.
She only had to say ‘No’.
Chapter 9 (#ud846b7ad-119b-5645-a760-22801099d197)
‘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.
