The Best Man for the Job. Lucy KingЧитать онлайн книгу.
you’ve done pretty impressively too.’
Funny how the compliment warmed him. The novelty of a sign of approval after so many years of the opposite. Or maybe it was just the sun beating down on the thick fabric of his coat. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered.
She turned to look at him and her expression was questioning. ‘Why am I telling you all this anyway?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Must be the brandy.’
‘Must be.’
‘I don’t need sorting out, you know.’
‘Of course you don’t.’
‘I don’t need rescuing.’
‘I know.’
She shot him a quick smile. ‘I definitely don’t need to see my father for at least a decade.’
‘A century, I should think.’
At the fountain that sat in the middle of the garden they turned left and carried on strolling down the path, passing raspberry nets and then runner-bean vines that wound up tall, narrow bamboo teepees before stopping at a bench that sat at the end of the path amidst the runner beans.
‘I’m sorry, Marcus,’ she said eventually.
He frowned, not needing her continued apology and not really liking it because, honestly, he preferred her fighting. ‘So you said.’
‘No, not about that,’ she said with a wave of her hand. ‘I mean about the things I implied you were going to do with your time now you’d sold your business. It was totally childish of me to suggest that you’d be partying with floozies. Your plans sound great. Different. Interesting.’
‘I hope they will be.’
‘I was wrong about that and I was probably wrong about why you were late getting here too, wasn’t I?’
‘Yup.’
‘No trio of clingy lovers?’
‘Not even one.’
‘Shame.’
‘It was.’
‘So what happened?’
‘I was in Switzerland tying up a few last details surrounding the sale of my company but was due to fly back yesterday morning. I should have had plenty of time, but because of the ash cloud my flight was cancelled, as were hundreds of others. By the time I got round to checking, all the trains were fully booked and there wasn’t a car left to rent for all the cash in Switzerland.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Found a taxi driver who drove me to Calais. From there I got on the train to cross the Channel, rented a car in Dover and drove straight here.’
‘Oh.’ Celia frowned. ‘When did you sleep?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘You must be tired.’
Oddly enough he wasn’t in the least bit tired. Right now he was about as awake and alert as he’d ever been. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve gone twenty-four hours and I doubt it’ll be the last.’
‘You’re very loyal.’
‘Dan’s my best friend. Why wouldn’t I be?’
She shrugged and carried on looking at a point in the distance so that, he assumed, she didn’t have to look at him. ‘Well, you know...’
Something that felt a bit like hurt stabbed him in the chest but he dismissed it because he didn’t do hurt. ‘Maybe I’m not everything you think I am,’ he said quietly.
She swivelled her gaze back to his and sighed. ‘Maybe you aren’t.’
‘Just what did I do, Celia?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why the hatred?’
‘I don’t hate you.’
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘No? Seems that way to me. You never pass up an opportunity to have a go at me. You judge me and find me lacking. Every time we meet. Every single time. So what I want to know is, what did I ever do to earn your disdain?’
She frowned, then smiled faintly. ‘I’ve just told you about my father’s relentless philandering and the misery it caused,’ she said with a mildness that he didn’t believe for a second. ‘Can’t you work it out?’
Ah, so it boiled down to the women he went out with. As he’d always suspected. But he wasn’t going to accept it. It simply wasn’t a good enough reason to justify her attitude towards him.
‘Yes, I date a lot of women,’ he said, keeping his voice steady and devoid of any of the annoyance he felt. ‘But so what? All of them are over the age of consent. I don’t break up marriages and I don’t hurt anyone. So is that really what it’s all been about? Because if it is, to be honest I find it pretty pathetic.’ He stopped. Frowned. ‘And frankly why do you even care what I do?’
Celia stared at him, her mouth opening then closing. She ran a hand through her hair. Took a breath and blew it out slowly. Then she nodded, lifted her chin a little and said, ‘OK, you know what, you’re right,’ she said. ‘It’s not just that.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.’
‘Well, how about you trying to get me into bed for a bet?’ she said flatly. ‘Is that a reasonable enough excuse for you?’
Marcus stared at her, the distant sounds of chatter and music over the wall fading further as all his focus zoomed in on the woman standing in front of him, looking at him in challenge, cross, all fired up and maybe a bit hurt.
‘What?’ he managed. What bet? What the hell was she talking about?
‘The bet, Marcus,’ she said witheringly, folding her arms beneath her breasts and drawing his attention to her chest for a second. ‘You set about seducing me for a bet.’
As he dragged his gaze up to the flush on her face her words filtered through the haze of desire that filled his head and he began to reel. ‘That’s what’s been bothering you all these years?’ he said, barely able to believe it. ‘That’s what’s been behind the insults, the sarcastic comments and the endless judgement?’
She nodded. Shrugged. ‘I know it sounds pathetic but that kind of thing can make an impression on a sixteen-year-old girl.’
An impression that lasted quite a bit longer than adolescence by the looks of it, he thought, rubbing a hand along his jaw as he gave himself a quick mental shake to clear his head. ‘You should have told me.’
‘When exactly?’
‘Any point in the last fifteen years would have been good.’
She let out a sharp laugh. ‘Right. Because that wouldn’t have been embarrassing.’ She tilted her head, her chin still up and her expression still challenging. ‘In any case, why should I have told you?’
‘Because I’d have told you that there wasn’t a bet.’
She frowned. ‘What?’
‘There wasn’t a bet.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘Really. I swear.’
She stared at him and the seconds ticked by as she absorbed the truth of it. ‘Then why did you say there was?’
Marcus inwardly winced at the memory of his arrogant, reckless, out-of-control and hurting teenage self. ‘Bravado.’
‘Bravado?’