The Best Man for the Job. Lucy KingЧитать онлайн книгу.
Tension. Denial.’
Huh? Marcus reeled for a moment, then rallied because Zoe was wrong. Totally wrong. ‘She sees a lot,’ he said, keeping his expression poker.
‘She does.’
‘Too much.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘What makes her such an expert anyway?’
‘She’s made an art out of reading people. She’s generally right.’
‘Not this time.’
Dan shot him a shrewd look. ‘She reckons it’s like that kid analogy,’ he said.
‘What kid analogy?’ asked Marcus, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
‘The one about pulling the pigtails of the girl in class you fancy.’
At the odd spike in his pulse Marcus shifted uncomfortably. ‘It’s nothing like that,’ he said, wondering what the hell the brief leap in his heart rate was all about.
‘If you say so.’
‘Celia deeply disapproves of me, and I—’ He stopped because how could he tell his best friend that he thought his sister was an uptight, judgemental, workaholic pain in the arse? ‘Anyway, wouldn’t it bother you?’ he said instead, although now he thought about it perhaps the question came fifteen years too late.
‘You two together?’
Marcus nodded. ‘Hypothetically speaking, of course. I mean, she’s your sister and I’m not exactly a paragon of virtue.’
‘It wouldn’t bother me in the slightest,’ said Dan easily. ‘Celia’s perfectly capable of looking after herself and, actually, if I was going to issue a big-brother kind of warning I’d probably be issuing it to her.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s a tough nut to crack.’
‘One of the toughest,’ Marcus agreed, because she was, and not only because she was the only nut he’d wanted but had never managed to crack. Not that he thought about that night much because, after all, it had been years.
‘She’d drive you to drink trying.’
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘And that would be a shame.’
‘Just as well you don’t have to worry about me, then, isn’t it? Although I do think you ought to be worrying about Zoe,’ he added, now just wanting this oddly uncomfortable conversation to be over. ‘She’s been cornered by your mother and a couple of your aunts.’
‘So she has,’ said Dan, that smile on his face widening as his gaze landed on his wife. ‘I’d better rescue her.’
‘Off you go, then.’
Dan must have caught the trace of mockery in his voice because he stopped and shot him a look. ‘One of these days it’s going to happen to you, you know.’
‘What is?’
‘Love and marriage.’
Marcus shook his head and laughed. ‘Not a chance.’ He valued his freedom far too much, and anyway, he’d seen what love could do. The pain it could bring. The tragedy it could result in. He’d been part of the fallout.
Dan arched an eyebrow. ‘Too many women, too little time?’
‘You said it.’
‘If you really believe that then you’re going to end up like my father, heading for sixty and still chasing anything in a skirt.’
‘That’s a risk I’m prepared to take.’
Dan laughed and clapped him on the back. ‘One day, my friend, one day,’ he said, then set off for Zoe, leaving Marcus standing there frowning at Celia and thinking, Chemistry, tension and denial? What a load of crap.
TWO
Three hours later, Celia had worked her way through one cup of tea, two glasses of champagne, a dozen of the most scrumptious mini sandwiches and petit fours she’d ever eaten and a hefty piece of wedding cake. She’d survived the photo session, listened to the short yet witty speeches, and had had conversations with everyone except Marcus and her father.
The reception so far had been beautiful. The weather was behaving, the sky a cloudless blue, the sun beating down gently, a perfect example of one of those heavenly yet rare English summer days. Zoe’s parents’ garden, with its immaculate lawn, colourful and fragrant borders and sharply clipped hedges was an idyllic setting for a small, tasteful, traditional wedding celebration. The music coming from the string quartet sitting beneath the gazebo drifted languidly through the warm air and mingled with the happy hum of chatter, so enchanting and irresistible that every now and then couples came together and swayed along.
She had to admit that, even to an unsentimental person such as herself, the romance of the afternoon was undeniable. She could feel it winding through her, softening the hard-boiled parts of her a little and making her feel uncharacteristically dreamy. Even her parents seemed to have been caught up in it, appearing to have reached a sort of unspoken truce and, although not talking, no longer shooting daggers at each other from opposite ends of the garden. Her brother looked happier than she’d ever seen him and his bride sparkled like the champagne that had been flowing so wonderfully freely.
Yet as mellow as she was feeling and as much as she liked her brand-new sister-in-law, Celia couldn’t help wishing Zoe were more of a people person. If she were, there’d have been several hundred guests at the reception instead of the fifty or so that were milling around the garden.
And OK, so as bridesmaid and sister of the groom she wouldn’t have been able to wriggle out of the photo session either way and she’d still have had to steel herself against the weight and strength of Marcus’ arm around her waist and the heat of his hand on her hip as they posed, but at least she’d have been able to ignore him after that.
As it was, though, guests were thin on the ground and she couldn’t be more aware of him. Everywhere she looked there he was in her peripheral vision, smiling and chatting and generally making a mockery of her efforts to blank him from her head.
Despite the fact that she’d positioned herself about as far from him as possible, for some reason, he was utterly impossible to ignore. Not that she hadn’t tried, because she had. A lot. In fact, she’d used up practically all of her mental and emotional energy trying, and as a result she hadn’t really been able to concentrate on anything. She kept losing track of conversations. Kept finding herself gravitating towards him. Every time she told herself to get a grip and hauled herself back on track his laugh would punctuate the air and she’d have to battle the urge to whip her head round to see what was amusing him.
All afternoon the people she’d been talking to had looked at her closely and asked if she was all right before edging off presumably in search of less ditzy company, and she really couldn’t blame them.
It was driving her nuts. She abhorred ditz. And she hated the way she was being so easily distracted now when she’d always prided herself on her single-mindedness and her ability to focus.
Why was she having such trouble with the effect Marcus had on her today when she generally managed to keep it under control? Why couldn’t she blank him out as she usually did? Why did she keep trying to get a glimpse of him whenever she heard the sound of his voice, and then sighing wistfully when she did?
What was wrong with her? What was this weird sort of ache in her chest? And more importantly right now, she thought, her attention switching abruptly from Marcus and the strange effect he was having on her equilibrium, how was she going to deflect her father, who’d clearly clocked the fact that she was on her own and was bearing down on her, no doubt intending to launch into his usual spiel about her career, her lack of a husband and the direct correlation between