Cold Feet at Christmas. Debbie JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
My eagle-eyed powers of deduction told me that. Wedding dress and all,” he said, nodding towards the now distressed gown hanging limply over the chair back. Leah looked at it and sighed.
“Well, it was supposed to be the whole fairytale deal, you know? Remote Scottish castle. Handsome prince. The only problem was I discovered the handsome prince – Doug — playing hide the sausage with one of the bridesmaids an hour before the service.”
“Hide the sausage?” he said, eyebrows raised, slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. A mouth, Leah thought, that looked as sinful as his hot beverages. Her eyes lingered on the way his lips curved upwards on one side, like they were asking a question. Wide and full and firm and utterly kissable. Not like Doug’s. He had skinny lips. Like his face was so mean it couldn’t even spare the flesh. Funny how she’d never noticed that until yesterday. Somehow, seeing him upended in a pile of taffeta had revealed all kinds of little flaws.
“Yes. I’m sure you get the picture. And believe me, he wasn’t wearing anything under his kilt either.”
“That’s… bad. You must be devastated.”
Rob stared at her, thinking as he did that she looked the exact opposite of devastated: to him, she looked all silky blonde hair; wide amber eyes, smiling lips. Lips that were now covered in a cream moustache that he’d dearly like to lick off. There was no sign of impending nervous breakdown, which in itself was off-putting. She’d caught her fiancé cheating; abandoned her wedding, and ended up almost dead on his doorstep – yet seemed calm and content. Maybe he should call the paramedics.
“I know,” she said. “It is bad. As bad as it gets. And I should be devastated, shouldn’t I? I did what any sane woman would – ran away. Grabbed his car keys and legged it. It was only when the bloody thing broke down across that continent of a field last night I realised I might have been a bit hasty. All I have with me is a bag, a phone with no charger, and some make up. Hence my rather bizarre appearance last night. If I’m honest, Rob, which I always try to be, I ran because I realised I just didn’t care.
“It should have broken my heart to see his scrawny little backside pumping up and down on top of Becky, but it didn’t. I actually felt nothing but relief. It was like something inside me needed to see it, to make me come to my senses. I didn’t want to marry him at all. It was more of a wake-up call than a heartbreak. Plus, you know, the whole almost dying of hypothermia thing – it does put things into perspective. I’m alive. I’m warm. I’m drinking hot chocolate and whiskey – very nice, by the way – none of which I expected to be doing last night.”
“Perhaps you’re in shock,” he suggested. “And you’ll start your meltdown any minute now.”
She raised an eyebrow, seemed to ponder the idea.
“Yes,” she replied. “You could well be right. But don’t worry – I’ll give you some advance notice if I feel it coming on, and you can make sure you’re doing something more attractive, like pulling out your own toenails. Right now, though, I feel quite weirdly calm. I’m worrying about the practical things – what happens next. I work with him. For him, really. We share a home, a car. An iTunes account. Everything. And I left it all behind like it was nothing. The only problem was, my great escape—”
“Landed you here. With a man you don’t know. On Christmas Day.”
“Yep. Oops-a-daisy. I’m sorry if I’ve intruded; if I’ve put you out in any way. And I’m really embarrassed I did a swooner on you as well. Damsel in distress and all that – not usually my style. But I was so cold, and you were so warm.”
And gorgeous, Leah continued in her mind. And tall. And hunky. Shoulders so wide they filled the doorframe. Legs so long he could probably leap mountains in a single stride. She could have been hallucinating it all last night, but in the warm light of day, he was even better looking: those velvet brown eyes, completely unreadable. That stubble-coated jaw you could strike a match on. Large hands, wrapped around his own mug, fingers oh-so-long. Denim-clad thighs you could so easily see wrapped around you. He was the sexiest man she’d ever seen, and even looking at him was a sensual feast. She could only imagine what touching would be like. His name might be Rob – but she was sticking with God.
And God, she suddenly noticed, was wearing a wedding ring. In fact, he’d put his mug down and was turning the gold band around and around on his finger, twisting it so hard it must have hurt. Ah. He must have been able to read her mind when she was having inappropriate thoughts about him. Or maybe she’d just dribbled. And now, he was sending her a message: back off, taken man.
Received, understood, and undoubtedly for the best, she decided. She was insane to even be thinking of him in that light – right now she should have been starting life as Mrs Anderson, on honeymoon in St Lucia. Instead she was eyeing up tall, dark and gorgeous here, and wondering if he fancied slipping under the duvet for a quick game of tonsil tennis. Maybe she’d taken a bang to the head when she collapsed. Maybe she was experiencing some weird kind of frost-related hormone rush. Maybe she had an undiagnosed multiple personality disorder and would start speaking in fluent Finnish any minute now.
He wasn’t even her usual type. Way too big and broad and dark and foreign and sexy. For God’s sake, what woman in her right mind would fancy that? She suppressed a giggle, and started to wonder if the concussion angle might be real. She couldn’t ever remember having this kind of physical response to a strange man before. In fact, to any man at all. It was completely out of character, but nobody seemed to have told her body that. Her body was convinced that he was its very best friend, and was getting all warm and squishy to prove it.
Even though he was now practically scowling at her, she still had the urge to reach out and touch his jawline, run her fingernails over the stubble and see if it prickled; to trace the bold outline of those lips with her tongue…MARRIED, she shouted at herself. Silently. Even if her body had lost all moral fibre, she wasn’t going to start ravishing married men. He could still be a serial killer anyway, even if he did have the looks of a slightly fallen angel.
The way he was looking at her right now, for example, was unsettling. There was quite a lot of Leah on show, she realised, which didn’t bother her. She had no problems with body image, and could count her inhibitions on one hand. But his eyes were so dark; his pupils large and black and focused so intensely on hers that she started to feel breathless. Neither of them was speaking, but the air between them seemed to sing, to thrum with some kind of energy. Even the expression on his chiselled face was creating a throbbing pulse between her legs. If someone lit a match, the room would go kaboom, there was so much spark.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said finally, his voice clipped and short and tense. For a moment she couldn’t recall what she’d even said. Oh yes. An apology for disturbing him. Swooning on him. Drooling on him. Fantasising about him.
“There are women’s clothes in the wardrobe,” he snapped. “I think you’ll be way too big for them, though. If you are you’ll have to use something of mine.”
Right, Leah thought, nodding and smiling as best she could. Thanks a million, mate. That comment definitely slowed the pulse rate down a beat or two: nothing like being called a heifer by an attractive man to kill the mood. She knew she was more voluptuous than was fashionable these days, but she’d never had hang-ups. Men seemed to like it, too. Doug certainly had, until he’d decided he preferred the bridesmaid. But after those marvellously chosen words from Rob, she felt about as feminine as a prop forward for the England rugby team. Too big for women’s clothes. Wear something of his. Surely the fool realised that his clothes would swamp her, D-cups notwithstanding? Stupid idiot man.
This particular stupid idiot man seemed to realise he’d said something wrong, as he frowned, glowered, and stood up abruptly. He marched out of the room, absently running his hands through his hair and murmuring something about needing to chop down some trees. He was still muttering as the door slammed shut behind him.
Okay, thought Leah, scampering out of bed and darting through the chilly air to the wardrobe. Weird situation, but deal with it. So he’s moody. Probably