скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Obfuscation. Prevarication. You’re a tough nut to crack, thesaurus girl. I’ll tell you what. If you’re going to be obsessed with my sex life, there’s an easy solution: have sex with me yourself.’
She gaped at him. ‘You— I— That—’
‘That way, I won’t have the energy to think about Lane, and Lane can concentrate on Adam, and all four of us will be happy.’
‘How do you know I’ll be happy?’
He gave her his best sultry smile. ‘Because I know.’ Pause, while he let that sink in. ‘So, how about it? Will sex with me get you over the line?’
She was laughing, but it was more like a splutter of disbelief. ‘Thanks, but I can have sex any day of the week.’
‘Enough people in like with you, enough people to have sex with. Geez. What’s the missing ingredient?’
‘Never you mind.’
‘Tell me the missing ingredient and I’ll get it for you. I’ll get you anything, if you’ll agree to let me paint you. Whatever you want.’
‘Whatever I want,’ she repeated slowly. Her tongue came out to touch the perfect cupid’s bow of her top lip. One, two, three seconds. And then she popped her tongue back in and took a breath. ‘Whatever I want?’ A question this time.
‘Whatever you want.’
‘It’s a very simple thing, really.’
‘Name it, and it’s yours.’
‘I want you to break my curse.’
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_bbc09a60-5d2a-57b3-ba90-70e26c0d9fcd)
‘I see,’ David said—so calmly, Sarah wondered what it would take to freak him out. A zombie apocalypse?
‘You said you’d do whatever I wanted, and that’s what I want.’
‘The thing is, my experience of curse breaking is a trifle limited. What are we talking about? Stealing nail clippings? Burning hair? Sticking pins in effigies? Dancing around cauldrons? Eye of newt and toe of frog? That kind of thing?’
She laughed—couldn’t help it. ‘Not quite that.’
‘You relieve my mind.’
‘More White Knight Syndrome, less black magic.’
‘So, I’m saving you.’
‘Yes.’
‘From what?’
‘Spinsterhood.’
‘You want to get married?’
‘Yes, of course I do.’
‘In that case, there’s a problem,’ he said, all apologetic. ‘I’m not the marrying kind. It’s a been-there-done-that kind of thing for me.’
Sarah stared at him for a moment, not comprehending. And then: ‘Oh, I don’t want to marry you. No, no, no, no!’
‘No?’
‘No! Aside from anything else, I couldn’t do that to Lane.’
‘I’m very slow this evening, it seems. So let’s leave Lane out of where she doesn’t belong, and perhaps you could simply give me the specifics of what you want me to do.’
‘Okay, specifically, I want you to analyse why I keep getting dumped, and teach me how to stop getting dumped.’
‘Getting dumped is the curse I have to break?’
‘Yes. Tonight was the straw that broke the camel’s back.’
‘You got dumped tonight?’
‘It’s why I was crying. Although I wasn’t crying over him, you understand.’
‘Of course not.’
‘It’s just that the time frame from the start of a relationship to the finish is shrinking. It used to happen at the three-week mark, and that was bad enough! Really, really bad enough. But then three weeks became two, and two weeks became one, and now this last one? Six days. Six discouraging, disappointing, depressing days! How much abbreviation can a girl take? Soon I’ll be the one-night stand girl, and I will die if that happens!’
‘I can see how dying after a one-night stand would make marriage difficult, but I’m not sure a divorced man is the advocate you need.’
‘I regard the fact you’ve been married as valuable augmentary experience. It gives you an extra insight.’
‘Oh, I’ve got insight into marriage all right.’
‘And into women. I mean, you know a lot about women, don’t you?’
‘There’s no way I can answer that without sounding like an egomaniac.’
She giggled. ‘You do know using the word “egomaniac” unprompted in association with yourself on that subject basically gives the game away, don’t you?’
‘Damn, you got me. Yes, I’m an egomaniac, a boaster, a narcissist.’ He gave a what-can-I-say? shrug. ‘And I do, in fact, know women.’
‘I’ll bet you know men, too.’
‘Not in the biblical sense, I assure you.’
‘Stop making me laugh! I mean you know what men like when it comes to women.’
‘Thank God! I thought you were going to start talking about facials and eyelash tints again.’
‘Not all gay guys do that stuff, you know, and not all straight guys don’t. Talk about stereotyping! But if I promise not to ever mention your eyelashes again, will you help me?’
‘Will you let me paint you?’
‘I’ll even pose naked—that’s how desperate I am.’
‘Naked will not be required.’
‘Okay, not naked. To tell you the truth, that’s a relief.’ She leaned towards him and lowered her voice, despite them being the only two people in the room. ‘I’m not what you’d call Rubenesque.’
He leaned in too. ‘That’s okay—I’m not Rubens. Nevertheless, I’d prefer you to keep your clothes on.’
She straightened and thrust out her hand. ‘Then we have a deal?’
He took her hand, but instead of shaking it he turned it palm up, examining it as he rubbed his thumb across the base of her fingers. ‘The only mistake you’re making is choosing the wrong guys. You do know that, don’t you?’
‘There can’t be that many wrong guys in the world,’ she said, and peered at her palm. What was so interesting about it? Nothing that she could see, although something about the movement of his thumb was disturbing. So much so, she found her fingers curling up over his thumb to stop it.
‘I’m starting to think there are a lot of very stupid ones,’ he said softly.
‘I suppose you’ve never been dumped,’ she said.
‘Kelly Greaves when I was fifteen. Janet Clarke when I was … How old was I? Eighteen? Yes, eighteen. And then …’ He trailed off.
‘And then?’
He let go of her hand. ‘Rebel, when I was twenty-five.’
‘Rebel …’ Sarah realized she still had her hand held out, and dropped it, rubbing it surreptitiously against her thigh to try and stop its strange prickling. ‘Unusual name.’
‘Unusual woman.’
‘What about Margaret, who says you’re so “nice”? Because you know “nice” is how they describe you right before they dump you.’
‘Margaret and I weren’t a dumping in either direction. We were a parting of the ways—or in today’s parlance, a conscious uncoupling.’
‘So basically you’ve been dumped three times in your whole life, whereas I’ve been dumped three times in the past twomonths?’
‘Er …’
‘Really?’
‘Sorry.’
‘Well, let me tell you something: it’s no fun. I’ve been dumped in person, over the phone, in quiet corners, at large gatherings, at home, from abroad, and now by text.’
‘Text?’
‘Text! Next time it happens, I’ll probably find out via Facebook. And if that happens, I’ll be entering a nunnery and taking a vow of silence.’
‘Yeah, I think the vow of silence might actually kill you.’
‘And how will you live with that on your conscience, knowing you could have helped me to— Wait! What? Are you saying I talk too much?’
‘Weeeell …’
Long, staring moment. ‘Oh my God, you’re right, I do! You know, Adam’s tried to tell me that but he’s my brother so it doesn’t count. The truth is, though, that I even talked to Clarence—’ gesturing to the bronze head on the shelf ‘—when I was in here on my own.’ She beamed at David, delighted. ‘See? You’re already helping me! I believe you when you say I talk too much!’
He started laughing. He was also shaking his head.
‘Please, David, help me.’
He looked down into her face, and the laughter faded. He lifted his hand, touched his index finger to her right eyebrow, tracing it all the way down to the little black dot at the end. Half-laugh, half-sigh. ‘What the hell.’
‘You mean you’ll do it?’
‘I’ll do it. Sign me up.’
Squealing, she launched herself at him.
David stiffened as her arms came around him, but it was only for a fraction of a second—and then his arms were circling her, tightening, bringing her harder against him. She heard, felt, him breathe in once, deeply, then slowly out. She became aware of the scratch of his jacket against her cheek. A waft of scent, dark and unsafe. A flood of warmth transferring from him to her. And then, the other feeling, the hardness of him against her belly.
The shock of it had her arching into him, head tipping back, eyes colliding with his—only where hers, she just knew, were wide and awed, his were narrowed and watchful, as though gauging her reaction to him. The alertness of that look, while she’d been all about the heat and sensation, reminded her that David Bennett was a man who knew women very, very well. She’d have to be on her guard. The plan was to use him, not fall for him.
‘Right, then,’ she said, pulling out of his arms and readjusting the strap of her now slightly squashed evening bag. ‘That’s a perfect example of something that needs to be fixed. The way I flew at you just then. Too impulsive.’
‘Really? Because I kind of liked it.’
‘Yes, I could tell,’ she said dryly.
‘You sure I can’t persuade you to have sex with me instead of all this other stuff?’
‘Tempted as I am, sex isn’t that missing ingredient you promised to get for me. I can use you much more effectively as my … What would you call it? My male girlfriend?’
‘Er … no. Do not use the word “girlfriend” to describe me!’
‘For a man who doesn’t look like he’d have any insecurities about his sexuality, you really are touchy.’
‘Keep mining that vein and I’ll be forced to prove that I certainly don’t have any insecurities in that area. And very few inhibitions if it comes to that.’
‘Fine. If you’re going to be super sensitive about it, how about wingman?’
‘Better.’
‘So, wingman, back to the way I flew at you a minute ago. You need to train me out of being so impetuous, or at least help me camouflage it.’ She pursed her lips, looking him up and down. ‘I need a little bit of what you’ve got going on yourself.’
‘Which is what, exactly?’
‘Ennui. It’s quite irresistible to women, as I’m sure you know.’
