скачать книгу бесплатно
Tilly hadn’t heard the stupid nickname for years: nine years, four months and… sixteen days, to be exact – her disastrous birthday party – and even then, only one person had ever actually used it. That very same person she’d been hiding from all these years. She screwed her eyes tightly shut and shook her head from side to side.
No. No way.
Absolutely no way could this be happening to her. Not now. Not today of all days. Talk about kicking a girl when she was down. Although she looked quite different now. Maybe she should pretend it wasn’t her? Mistaken identity and all that? She could probably pull it off and get away from him. No harm done. Even as she tried to convince herself to do it, a little voice inside her head told her it was futile to resist.
It pained her to agree.
To not to speak to him – to not look at him and see the man he had become – would kill her. Or at the very least, it would drive her mad trying to work out why he’d strayed so far from home. Nine years was a long time. Maybe he’d have forgotten all about how she’d thrown herself at him, humiliating herself to the extent that she’d fled her hometown?
Yeah, and maybe pigs had suddenly learned to fly too.
‘Hi, Dean,’ she mumbled.
‘It is you,’ he said, his tone friendly and sounding pleased to see her. If only she could deny feeling the same. ‘I knew it.’
‘Yeah, it’s me.’ She stared down at his feet like the timid and shy teenager she’d been when her brother had first introduced Dean to the family. Except she wasn’t that person any more. No, she may quite probably be even worse these days but he didn’t know that. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, delaying the moment when their eyes would meet. ‘Long time no –’
Her jaw actually dropped and her mouth gaped open to betray her reaction. Smart brogue business shoes – well-polished – gave way to an expensive-looking grey pinstripe suit – Armani, if she wasn’t mistaken. He’d teamed it with a crisp white shirt and a deep red silk tie – the colour of blood – tied in a fancy Windsor knot, and then he’d completed the ensemble with a dark woollen overcoat. Left undone, it only served to highlight his spectacular physique.
Butterflies took flight in her belly, fluttering wildly. Where were the scruffy jeans and baggy T-shirts? Tilly committed every inch of this new Dean to memory but couldn’t bring herself to look beyond the shirt collar and tie. Sure to be her undoing, she stared at a button on his coat and swallowed, salivating over him already. She’d always had a thing for men in suits, and she’d always had a thing for Dean; putting the two together was sure to be a winning, or maybe that should be losing, combination.
Dean pocketed his phone then joined her on the bench, sitting so close he could probably hear her heart pounding ferociously against her rib cage. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
‘Yeah. Fancy that.’
‘Are you all set for Christmas then?’
Since when did Dean give a damn about Christmas? Ripped from her daydream – the one where Dean tracked her down to declare his undying love to her before whisking her away to a country manor – the events of the day came crashing back down on her. The shock and excitement at seeing him drained out of her, seeping out of her shoes into the concrete slabs that were as cold and harsh as the reality she faced.
‘No, not yet. Speaking of which, I really must dash, I’m afraid.’ Afraid being the operative word. Tilly stood, fighting the urge to flinch at the pain lancing through her leg. ‘Bye, then.’ She did her best to saunter off casually, rather than obviously running away. From Dean. Again!
‘Hey, are you okay?’ Damn it, he must have spotted her limp. He caught up with her in a matter of strides, the crowds parting for him whereas she struggled to swim against the tide.
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘Fine?’ He gripped her shoulders then spun her around to inspect her. She didn’t want to contemplate how bad she looked. ‘Pull the other one.’
Stunned by her body’s reaction to his slight touch, she staggered back a step. ‘I said I’m fine.’ She sounded sullen and brattish even to her own ears. ‘I also said I have to go.’
‘What happened to your shoe?’
She could easily picture the way his brows would be knotted together, frowning down at her, but she didn’t want his concern. She wanted him to leave her alone. Didn’t she? In reality, she was pitifully torn between pushing him away or throwing herself into his arms and clinging on like a frightened child. ‘It doesn’t matter, just forget it.’
Dean either missed the hint and the dangerous edge to her voice or he chose to ignore it. ‘It does matter, and I can’t just forget it. Are you injured?’
Now Tilly really glared at him. ‘For Pete’s sake! I said I’m fine. Just let it go.’ Argh! She’d been right to avoid looking above the shirt collar. The poor light did nothing to hide the transformation he’d gone through. She couldn’t hold the glare; she’d already seen too much. Heat built in her core and merged with the fire that had erupted inside her at his touch.
‘No.’ A hint of menace crept into his voice. It couldn’t possibly be protective; he had no reason to be protective of her. Well, he’d been warned –
‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ Tilly jabbed her index finger into his chest and knocked him off balance. ‘It’s not like you care or anything, we’re practically strangers,’ she said, her breath coming in ragged bursts as she unleashed her temper on him. ‘You made your choice a long time ago, Dean, and I bet you had a good laugh at my expense. You must have celebrated for days after I left town.’
‘Bullshit!’ Dean grabbed her hand. The sudden zap sent a shudder through her bones powerful enough to paralyse her entire arm. He pinned it to her side anyway and then reached for the other one but she didn’t have the physical strength to attack him any more.
‘Swearing really doesn’t mesh with your new image.’ She made a point of looking him up and down. ‘What the hell happened to you anyway? Did you get dragged kicking and screaming onto one of those makeover shows?’
‘This isn’t about me. What’s going on?’
‘None of your business. Now let go of me.’ The heat from his hands warmed her skin through her winter coat and muddled her brain. Tilly tugged her arms up to try to get free but Dean held on.
‘No.’
‘You can be such a bastard.’ She tried again, twisting and pulling at the same time but it didn’t get her anywhere. If anything his grip tightened. ‘Let go of me right now, or I swear I’ll scream my head off.’
‘No, you won’t.’
‘I will.’ She met his stare with defiance.
‘You seem to forget I know you far too well.’
‘Like hell you do. You don’t know me at all. Not any more. Maybe not even back then.’ Except he did, and the arrogant son of a bitch knew she’d been calling his bluff.
Well, she’d show him.
Tilly didn’t give a damn about her dignity or about causing a scene any more. Her need to wipe the smug look off Dean’s face outweighed all of that – not that she’d actually seen it, she didn’t dare look at him again, but it had to be there. What was one more humiliating memory to add to the collection?
***
Dean waited, trying not to smirk. Tilly would never do it. No way. But then she took in a deep breath, opened her mouth, and tried to deafen him. Shocked into action, he swooped down and covered her mouth with his, absorbing the sound into himself to muffle it.
The scream stopped with a squeak and Tilly’s knees gave way so he was the only thing keeping her upright. He tried not to notice how delicate she felt in his arms, small and petite; he could probably still wrap his hands around her waist. And he absolutely did not notice how soft and pliable her lips were under his, or how warm they were despite the cold air, or how perfectly they fitted against his.
It wasn’t like he was kissing her – hell, no – this was nothing but damage limitation. Now he just had to convince the rest of him. In startling 4D clarity, he could imagine exactly what it would be like to kiss her and he wanted it badly. No, it went deeper than ‘want’: he needed to kiss her like he needed air to breathe.
But he couldn’t… he’d made a promise.
Dean pulled back abruptly and dropped his hands to his sides. The cold air hit his face and palms, chilling him to the bone. His breath deserted him in a rush but if he ever made a move on Phil’s little sister, things would get very complicated indeed so he ignored his racing pulse and the blood pumping through his veins. ‘Have you finished?’
She nodded then swayed precariously.
‘Whoa.’ Instinctively, he grabbed hold of her again except his hands made a beeline for her waist. ‘You OK?’
Tilly darted a glance up at his face before checking herself. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, talking to his torso. ‘So, er… Right. Yes. Well. It was… um… good to see you again –’ she squared her shoulders and pulled herself up the tallest she could go. ‘– but I’d best be off now.’ She took a step backwards but he matched her movements. She jinked to the opposite side to try to break free but Dean didn’t let go. He couldn’t let go, not wanting to let her get away.
‘Nice try.’
Her shoulders sagged and her eyes closed. Long eyelashes feathered her cheeks, some clumped together with the makeup that hadn’t yet smudged itself all over her beautiful face. Tilly looked pale even without the stark contrast of the black against her fair skin. She gulped in a deep breath then exhaled slowly, deflating in his arms and drooping over until her forehead ended up propped against his chest.
Even in high heels, she barely reached his chin, or rather high heel. Singular. An arrow of alarm pierced him. Had she been mugged? Or… or… He couldn’t even entertain the other option which sprang to mind.
‘What’s wrong?’ he whispered into her hair.
‘Everything.’ She spoke so softly he almost missed what she’d said but the pain in that one word wounded him, cutting deep into his soul. Whoever had done this to her would pay. He’d rip them to shreds with his own bare hands. Nobody treated his Tilly like this and got away with it.
No.
He took a deep breath to calm himself, determined to restrain the rage ripping through his veins. Violence was never the answer; he’d learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago but that wasn’t what made him stop wanting to shake her, to demand names and details. While he might not be an expert on women, especially emotionally overwrought ones, he was pretty sure she wasn’t looking for a bodyguard or some kind of enforcer. What she needed was a friend, and somehow she’d ended up with him.
Dean unclenched his jaw, determined to keep his voice gentle. ‘Why don’t I take you home?’
Tilly sobbed, little whimpers at first but soon turning into big heaving sobs. He tried to pull her close but she resisted, raising her hands and pressing them against his chest. ‘Your shirt, it’ll get ruined,’ she said, in between gulps of air. ‘I’ll get mascara all over it.’
‘So what?’ He let out a sigh and shifted his hand to cradle the back of her head, drawing her gently into his chest. ‘I don’t give a damn about my shirt. Surely you know me better than that?’
Tilly stopped fighting and relaxed her arms. She buried her face into him and his shirt soon grew damp with the deluge of tears. Dean tightened his hold until he clutched her to him, his heart breaking a little bit more with each sob and shudder.
Overcome with a savage need to shield her from the whole world, Dean ignored his better judgement and stooped down to retrieve her suitcase. ‘Come on.’ Keeping one arm looped around her waist, he led her to the taxi rank outside the station where a line of black cabs waited. ‘Let’s get you out of here…’
Chapter Two (#u3888a3f5-dcfd-5ff5-9690-9030397bba01)
Tilly sat huddled up to Dean on the back seat of the black cab with her suitcase stowed beside her feet. He’d tucked her under his arm so that her head lay against his chest. His warm and surprisingly rough free hand held hers, and the arm draped around her shoulder held onto her so tightly, she might as well have been sitting on his lap.
Utterly electrifying, there wasn’t so much as an inch between them from shoulder down to hip and the more she tried to ignore the tingles, the stronger they got. She didn’t believe for a second that Dean could be as calm and unruffled as he appeared. His nostrils were flaring for a start, but she admired his attempt at control and emulated it so that she could finally stop snivelling all over him.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, her nose so bunged up her voice came out sounding like the rail platform announcements she’d been subjected to.
‘We’re on our way to my house.’ Dean brushed the pad of his thumb across the back of her hand. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to go anywhere public but we can go somewhere else if you prefer?’ His gaze bored into her head, pulling her own gaze up to glance at him and see his face thrown into shadow by the orange streetlights.
A flicker of apprehension marred his features and her fingers itched to smooth away the worry lines. No way would she be able to stop there though; ever since she’d set eyes on him, she’d wondered how his new clean-shaven jaw would feel if she touched it. Handsome to a fault anyway, Dean had really smartened up his appearance.
Gone were the dark, shaggy tresses that used to hang scruffily around his face and past his chin. Instead, he had a smart yet stylish haircut with his hair swept back off his face but still long enough to run her fingers through. The only things that hadn’t changed much were his amazing eyes, shining bright in the darkness. She didn’t need the light to know they were almost charcoal in colour with flecks of sapphire blue hidden in their depths.
‘Your place is fine. Thank you.’
‘Great.’ He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘It’s not far now.’
Sure enough, the taxi pulled up at the kerbside long before she’d worked out why Dean was being so nice to her. She had no idea where he’d brought her either. They’d left the industrial, urban sights of Manchester behind several miles back and it had been too dark to see much else. Not that she’d particularly been looking; the windows had steamed up so she’d spent the majority of the journey surreptitiously checking him out.
Ever the perfect gentleman, Dean paid the fare then helped her down from the cab. Tilly stepped onto the pavement and got her first view of a row of stone-terraced houses, staggered as they climbed up a steep hill. They looked old, like they’d been there at least a hundred years already.
Dean grabbed her suitcase then led her up to the first house with his arm around her waist. ‘Please excuse the mess, I wasn’t expecting visitors.’ He turned the key then pushed open the front door, reaching inside to flick a switch before blinding her with the bright light. ‘After you,’ he said, gesturing with his free hand.
‘Thanks.’ She’d expected a porch or a hallway once she’d stepped across the threshold but found herself standing inside the front room. Tilly couldn’t help but be drawn farther into the room and ran her hand over the dark leather sofa, soft and cool to the touch. The whole room smelled like him too, masculine and woody.
Dean thankfully mistook her shiver for being cold. He walked to the wood-burning stove, all set up and ready to go with the simple toss of a match.
Lots of natural wood welcomed her inspection, not a hint of chipboard in sight, yet Dean had managed to combine it with glass and chrome. Somehow it worked, with the modern aspects complementing the original features and the age of the property rather than looking vulgar and out of place.
‘It’s beautiful, Dean.’
‘Thanks.’ The smile that tugged at his lips wasn’t your everyday smile. This one lit up his entire face and showed off his teeth, even the very back ones. ‘It’s been a labour of love but I’m getting there. You should have seen it when I bought it, talk about a mess, I had to strip it right back to its shell and start from scr–’
‘You did all this?’
Dean nodded and his smile somehow grew wider.
‘Wow. It’s amazing.’ She knew he’d always been good working with his hands, doing odd jobs for cash even when he’d still been at school from what little she could gather about his past, but this was something else.
‘Would you like the grand tour?’ Dean did his best to appear modest but failed dismally. Tilly swore a hint of red crept into his cheeks making him look more like a child with a new toy, over-excited and desperate to show it off.
‘You bet.’ No way could she possibly refuse him, so she shrugged off her coat then kicked off her shoes. Her stockinged toes sank into the plush carpet and she wiggled her toes but then noticed Dean shucking off his shoes too, except he also removed his socks. The sight of him in full business suit with tanned bare feet took her breath away.
‘Should we start downstairs?’ Far too sexy for his own good without trying, Dean didn’t even seem to realise the effect he had on her but at least she was managing not to stare… or drool… much.
‘Lead on…’ she said, impressed at how calm she sounded considering her stomach had gone all out on perfecting cartwheels and a stampede of elephants was busy trampling across her chest.
A simple two-up, two-down, the ‘grand tour’ didn’t take long but it was clear that Dean had put a lot of work into the house. She shouldn’t have been nearly as thrilled by the lack of femininity throughout, especially in the master bedroom, yet it wasn’t your typical bachelor pad either. It was cosy, yet classy. Comfortable, yet sophisticated. A few girly touches here and there were all the place needed to become her own idea of heaven.
Dean directed her to the sofa. ‘You grab a seat, and I’ll make the drinks.’ He disappeared into the kitchen. ‘I’ve got tea, coffee, wine, or beer?’ he called through the open doorway.
‘Wine, please.’
‘Red or white?’ he asked, reappearing in the doorway with a bottle of each in one hand and two wine glasses and a corkscrew in the other.
‘Um…’ If ever a day called for alcohol, it had to be today. ‘Both?’
Dean grinned and walked all the way into the room. ‘I like your thinking.’ He set down the bottle of red along with the glasses then deftly uncorked the white – no screw-top in this house – and poured out two glasses before handing one to her.
‘Thanks.’
Job done, Dean sank onto the sofa beside her and crossed one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his knee. ‘Cheers,’ he said, accompanying it with a wink that made her heart flutter.
‘Cheers,’ Tilly repeated, chinking her glass against his before taking a sip. The wine tasted like nectar, tap dancing on her tongue. ‘Mmmh… this is good.’ She chased the first sip down with another. ‘I needed this.’
‘I’m glad you like it. I figured white first since it’s chilled, and it’ll give the red time to breathe.’
‘Sounds good to me.’ She leaned her head back on the sofa and closed her eyes. The flames from the stove emitted an orange glow that flickered against her lids while the heat washed over her, coaxing out a deep sigh from her chest.
Despite everything that had happened, she felt peaceful – content – until she opened her eyes and discovered Dean studying her intently. Her stomach did a loop-the-loop. Dean quickly averted his gaze and stared into his glass before taking another sip of wine but she’d seen how his pupils were dilated. She recognised an emotion she didn’t dare label but they definitely weren’t the eyes of somebody only looking out for an old mate’s little sister.
‘Shit!’ Tilly bolted upright, managing to slosh ice cold wine down her front. She set her glass down on the floor then rooted through her handbag for her mobile phone.
Dean watched, his eyebrows raised in question, waiting for an explanation.
‘I need to call Phil.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Dean’s eyes grew colder and his posture tensed. ‘The signal round here is patchy at best, you’re better off using the house phone.’
‘Right, thanks.’ She hesitated, unsure how much she wanted Dean to know. At least on her mobile, she could go outside or into the kitchen.
