From Fling to Forever. Avril TremayneЧитать онлайн книгу.
Tom. British. Expat. An … engineer, maybe? Was he an engineer? Well, who cared? Really, who cared?
He pulled her against him, her back against his chest. Arms circled her waist. Squeezed.
She laughed as he nipped at her earlobe, even though she couldn’t quite stop a slight shudder of distaste. His breath was too hot, too … moist. He bit gently at her ear again.
Ella wasn’t sure what made her look over at the entrance to the bar at that particular moment. But pool cue in one hand, caught against Tom’s chest, with—she realised in one awful moment—one of the straps of her top hanging off her shoulder to reveal the beacon-green silk of her bra strap, she looked.
Aaron James.
He was standing still, looking immaculately clean in blue jeans and a tight white T-shirt, which suited him way more than the get-up he’d been wearing at the wedding. Very tough-guy gorgeous, with the impressive muscles and fallen-angel hair with those tousled, surfer-white streaks she remembered very well.
Actually, she was surprised she remembered so much!
He gave her one long, cool, head-to-toe inspection. One nod.
Ah, so he obviously remembered her too. She was pretty sure that was not a good thing.
Then he walked to the bar, ignoring her. Hmm. Definitely not a good thing.
Ella, who’d thought she’d given up blushing, blushed. Hastily she yanked the misbehaving strap back onto her shoulder.
With a wicked laugh, Tom the engineer nudged it back off.
‘Don’t,’ she said, automatically reaching for it again.
Tom shrugged good-humouredly. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it.’
For good measure, Ella pulled on the long-sleeved, light cotton cardigan she’d worn between her guesthouse accommodation and the hotel. She always dressed for modesty outside Western establishments, and that meant covering up.
And there were mosquitoes to ward off in any case.
And okay, yes, the sight of Aaron James had unnerved her. She admitted it! She was wearing a cardigan because Aaron James had looked at her in that way.
She tried to appear normal as the game progressed, but every now and then she would catch Aaron’s gaze on her and she found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the game or on Tom. Whenever she laughed, or when Tom let out a whoop of triumph at a well-played shot, she would feel Aaron looking at her. Just for a moment. His eyes on her, then off. When Tom went to the bar to buy a round. When she tripped over a chair, reaching for her drink. When Tom enveloped her from behind to give her help she didn’t need with a shot.
It made her feel … dirty. Ashamed. Which was just not fair. She was single, adult, independent. So she wanted a few mindless hours of fun on her lonely birthday to take her mind off sickness and death—what was wrong with that?
But however she justified things to herself, she knew that tonight her plans had been derailed. All because of a pair of censorious silver eyes.
Censorious eyes that belonged to a friend of her sister. Very sobering, that—the last thing she needed was Aaron tattling to Tina about her.
It was probably just as well to abandon tonight’s escapade. Her head was starting to ache and she felt overly hot. Maybe she was coming down with something? She would be better off in bed. Her bed. Alone. As usual.
She put down her cue and smiled at Tom the engineer. Her head was pounding now. ‘It’s been fun, Tom, but I’m going to have to call it a night.’
‘But it’s still early. I thought we could—’
‘No, really. It’s time I went home. I’m tired, and I’m not feeling well.’
‘Just one more drink,’ Tom slurred, reaching for her arm.
She stepped back, out of his reach. ‘I don’t think so.’
Tom lunged for her and managed to get his arms around her.
He was very drunk, but Ella wasn’t concerned. She’d been in these situations before and had always managed to extricate herself. Gently but firmly she started to prise Tom’s arms from around her. He took this as an invitation to kiss her and landed his very wet lips on one side of her mouth.
Yeuch.
Tom murmured something about how beautiful she was. Ella, still working at unhooking his arms, was in the middle of thanking him for the compliment when he suddenly wasn’t there. One moment she’d been disengaging herself from his enthusiastic embrace, and the next—air.
And then an Australian accent. ‘You don’t want to do that, mate.’
She blinked, focused, and saw that Aaron James was holding Tom in an embrace of his own, standing behind him with one arm around Tom’s chest. How had he got from the bar to the pool table in a nanosecond?
‘I’m fine,’ Ella said. ‘You can let him go.’
Aaron ignored her.
‘I said I’m fine,’ Ella insisted. ‘I was handling it.’
‘Yes, I could see that,’ Aaron said darkly.
‘I was,’ Ella insisted, and stepped forward to pull futilely at Aaron’s steel-band arm clamped across Tom’s writhing torso.
Tom lunged at the same time, and Ella felt a crack across her lip. She tasted blood, staggered backwards, fell against the table and ended up on the floor.
And then everything swirled. Black spots. Nothing.
The first thing Ella noticed as her consciousness returned was the scent. Delicious. Clean and wild, like the beach in winter. She inhaled. Nuzzled her nose into it. Inhaled again. She wanted to taste it. Did it taste as good as it smelled? She opened her mouth, moved her lips, tongue. One small lick. Mmm. Good. Different from the smell but … good.
Then a sound. A sharp intake of breath.
She opened her eyes. Saw skin. Tanned skin. White next to it. She shook her head to clear it. Oh, that hurt. Pulled back a little, looked up. Aaron James. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘What happened?’
‘That moron knocked you out.’
It came back at once. Tom. ‘Not on purpose.’
‘No, not on purpose.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Gone. Don’t worry about him.’
‘I’m not worried. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.’ Ella moved again, and realised she was half lolling against Aaron’s thighs.
She started to ease away from him but he kept her there, one arm around her back, one crossing her waist to hold onto her from the front.
‘Take it easy,’ Aaron said.
A crowd of people had gathered around them. Ella felt herself blush for the second time that night. Intolerable, but apparently uncontrollable. ‘I don’t feel well,’ she said.
‘I’m not surprised,’ Aaron replied.
‘I have to get home,’ she said, but she stayed exactly where she was. She closed her eyes. The smell of him. It was him, that smell. That was … comforting. She didn’t know why that was so. Didn’t care why. It just was.
‘All right, people, show’s over,’ Aaron said, and Ella realised he was telling their audience to get lost. He said something more specific to another man, who seemed to be in charge. She assumed he was pacifying the manager. She didn’t care. She just wanted to close her eyes.
‘Ella, your lip’s bleeding. I’m staying here at the hotel. Come to my room, let me make sure you’re all right, then I’ll get you home. Or to the hospital.’
She