Читать книгу A Virgin For A Vow - Melanie Milburne, Melanie Milburne - Страница 9
ОглавлениеLUKE CLOSED THE door after Abby left and let out a curse so blue he was mildly surprised to find the walls of his hallway were still white. Damn that girl. How had she got him to say yes? Had she cast some sort of spell on him? Why had he agreed to such a charade? He didn’t do balls. He didn’t do parties. He didn’t even do dinners unless work required it of him.
And he definitely didn’t date.
Since Kimberley’s death he’d had no motivation to date. He felt the urge now and again but he just as quickly squashed it. He was a bad bet when it came to relationships. He had tried with Kimberley. And tried damn hard because with his father playing musical partners like some sort of born-again playboy, Luke had wanted to prove to himself he wasn’t cut from the same cloth. But, for all his efforts to be a good partner, his relationship with Kimberley had floundered and he’d called time on it. He hadn’t felt ready to take their relationship to the next level. Kimberley had stayed overnight several times a week and had even left some clothes and toiletries at his house, but he hadn’t been willing for her to move in with him permanently. It had seemed too much of a commitment. Back then he hadn’t been against marriage, he’d seen it as something he might do one day with the right person, yet over time it had become obvious Kimberley wasn’t the right person.
But within hours of him ending their relationship Kimberley was dead.
The thought of a new relationship made him feel claustrophobic. Like someone was wrapping him in steel cords, pulling them tighter and tighter and tighter until he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think of the word commitment without his chest seizing.
But helping Abby with her little problem... Well, it had been rather nice of her to make sure he was okay that night six months ago, and he was grateful she hadn’t sent his mother and sister into a fit of panic over him ‘drinking’ by telling them about it. Abby had come on her own to pick up something Ella had left behind the day before. He wished he could remember more about that night, but Kimberley’s birthday was always hard and it always triggered a migraine. Always. He’d come home from Kimberley’s parents’ house, where they’d had a cake complete with candles. Even presents she’d never open.
They always invited him and he always went out of respect. Out of duty.
Out of guilt.
There was a part of him that wished he hadn’t opened the door to Abby that night. He’d only been home half an hour and he’d had half a glass of wine—foolish, he knew—to try and ease the tension behind his eyes, but then the migraine had hit him like a sledgehammer and wiped out his motherboard, so to speak.
But he could remember Abby arriving on his doorstep with a sunny smile and those amazingly bright and clear toffee-brown eyes looking up at him like a cute spaniel.
And her mouth.
He had no trouble remembering her mouth. He could be in an induced coma for a century and still be aware of it. Dear God, what was it about her mouth? It never failed to pull his gaze to its plump fullness. It never failed to make him fantasise about how those luscious lips would feel under his. Damn it. It made him think of sex. With her.
Which was downright wrong given she was his kid sister’s best friend.
That was a line he wasn’t going to cross. There were some things you didn’t do, and that was definitely one of them. That was, if he was actually interested in having a relationship with anyone, which he wasn’t.
Not again.
He didn’t want the responsibility of someone else’s emotional upkeep. How could he ever relax in a relationship after being blindsided by Kimberley’s tragic end? Even though he hadn’t loved her, it didn’t mean he didn’t deeply regret her passing. Every day since he’d thought of all the things she was missing out on, the things her family were missing out on. Nothing he could say or do would ever make up for their loss.
He couldn’t do that to another person, to another family. He was better out of the dating game so there was no possibility of anyone getting hurt.
But what was he going to do about Abby?
One of the little flashes of memory Luke had of that night was Abby’s chestnut hair tickling his face when he leaned his pounding head against her shoulder. Her hair smelt of spring flowers. Her touch... He couldn’t remember if she’d touched him first or if he’d touched her...
But no matter. The crucial thing was he remembered how it felt. It was the same feeling he had when he’d touched her face earlier. Her skin was as soft as the petal of a magnolia bloom. Her nose had a cute dusting of tiny freckles over the bridge that reminded him of chocolate sprinkled on the top of a cappuccino.
He might not have kissed her that night but he’d sure as hell wanted to. He remembered all too clearly. How could he forget a mouth like that, migraine or not? He’d thought about that mouth for the last six months. Thought and fantasised about holding Abby in his arms, touching her, kissing her.
And, yes, God strike him down, making love to her.
Luke wasn’t sure why he’d finally agreed to be her stand-in fiancé. Well, maybe he did know. Seeing Abby’s tears had triggered something in him. Worry that she would do something. Something silly and reckless that would destroy...
He pulled away from the thought. No, Abby wasn’t like Kimberley. Abby was pragmatic and resourceful and resilient in a way Kimberley hadn’t been. Abby’s tears were understandable given the ball was a big deal for her. It was two hours of his time and he surely owed her that since her Florence Nightingale act six months ago.
Two hours pretending to be Abby’s Mr Perfect.
How hard could it be?
* * *
Abby was trying to pull up her zip at the back of her ball gown when she heard Luke arrive at her flat the night of the ball. She gathered the back of her dress in one hand and shuffled out of her bedroom to answer the front door. She hadn’t seen Luke in black tie before. Even in casual clothes he was traffic-stopping gorgeous. But in formal attire he would have stopped air traffic. Possibly even a space shuttle. At take-off.
He was certainly stopping her breath. She had to swallow a couple of times to get her voice to work. ‘H...hi. I’m having some trouble with this zip. Do you think you could give me a hand?’
‘Sure.’ He stepped inside and closed the door. ‘Turn around.’
Abby held her breath as his fingers drew the zip up her back, the gentle brush of his knuckles on her bare skin sending a shiver shimmying down her spine and straight into her lady land. Secretly fizzing and smouldering there like an ignited wick. She could feel the tall frame of his body within half a step of hers, triggering her hormones like they had never been triggered before. It was as if her body recognised something in his—something deeply primal and elemental. Her senses were singing like a mezzo-soprano in the Royal Albert Hall. If she so much as leaned back she could be flush against his chest and hips and...other things.
Male things.
But the zip would only go to a certain point.
‘There’s a bit of fabric caught up in the mechanism,’ Luke said and continued working on it, bending over so his warm breath as well as his fingers brushed over her skin.
She suppressed a shiver and breathed in so he could gain better access, at the same time breathing in his aftershave, this time lemon and lime and a faint trace of bergamot with an understory of country leather. She couldn’t stop thinking of his hands going lower, dipping down to the curve of her bottom, caressing her, shaping her, slipping his fingers between her legs...
Finally the zip moved all the way up and Luke stepped back. ‘That’s done it.’
That’s done it all right. Abby hadn’t felt so turned on in her life. She turned around and hoped her wicked thoughts were not painted bright red on her face. But it certainly felt like it. If she didn’t stop blushing soon she’d be able to turn the heating down. Or off. ‘Erm... I have something else for you to do... I’ll just get it from my bedroom.’
Abby came back out with the fake diamond pendant she wanted to wear and handed it to him. It was a very good fake. You could hardly tell the difference. Hardly. ‘The catch is so tiny I can never do it up by myself.’
Luke trailed the fine chain over his fingers, his narrowed gaze examining the ‘diamond.’ ‘Who bought you this?’
‘You did.’
His brows came together. ‘When did I ever—?’
‘Not you as in you,’ Abby said. ‘You as in Mr Perfect. My fiancé.’
His expression seemed to suggest he thought a white van and a straitjacket might be handy right about now. ‘Are you serious? You actually buy stuff and pretend it’s from someone who doesn’t exist, other than in your imagination?’
‘So? It’s all for a good cause,’ Abby said. ‘I help people. It’s what I do. I help them have better love lives.’
‘While presumably having no love life of your own.’ There was a dry edge to his tone.
‘Like you can talk.’ Abby turned around rather than face his piercing gaze. She had her hair in an up-do that gave him free access to her neck but even so every fine hair reacted to the presence of his fingers with tingles and shivers that went straight to her core.
‘How do you know I don’t have a love life?’ she said, turning back around once the necklace was in place. ‘I might have dozens of secret lovers stashed away.’
‘None of whom you’ve managed to convince to take you to the ball.’ He shrugged at her beady look. ‘Just saying.’
Abby wasn’t going to go into the details of why she’d got to the age of twenty-three without having dated regularly or had sex with anyone. Even Ella didn’t know the full story. How could she tell her best friend her mother was a heroin-addicted prostitute? And that hearing her mother service her clients in the next room—and in the same room when she had been under three—had seriously messed with Abby’s sexual development? She had only been kissed a couple of times and had called a halt before anyone could get any closer. She even wondered if she was frigid.
‘I would have dated someone well before this but I got the job at the magazine, which, quite frankly, I didn’t expect in a million squillion years to get,’ Abby said. ‘I was the least qualified candidate but somehow they chose me. I wrote my first couple of columns about my childhood sweetheart and somehow the readers assumed he actually existed. And then because they loved hearing about him so much I had to keep running with it.’
‘How long have you worked at the magazine?’
‘Two and a half years.’
His frown hadn’t left his forehead but was now even deeper. ‘You’ve been pretending for two and a half years that you’re—?’
‘I know it sounds crazy. It probably is crazy but I wanted that job so much and I was prepared to do anything to get it.’
‘Anything?’
Abby did a little lip chew. ‘Well, maybe not anything, but pretending to be engaged to a guy who ticks all the boxes wasn’t that hard. I mean, guys like that must exist, right? People do get married and live happily-ever-after.’
‘Just as many end up in the divorce courts.’
‘Just because your parents went through a hideous divorce when you were a teenager doesn’t mean—’
‘If we don’t get going soon your two hours will be up before we even get to the ball,’ Luke said, tinkling his car keys, his look more forbidding than a Keep Out sign on an army-training minefield.
Abby picked up her wrap from the back of the sofa where she’d left it earlier. She wrapped it around her shoulders, refusing to be daunted by the boxed up set to his features. ‘If Kimberley hadn’t died would you two have got married?’
‘Abby.’ His voice was like a stop sign.
‘I’m sorry. Am I being pushy? I just wondered how long you dated.’
His lips were pressed almost flat. ‘Three years.’
‘Did you ever discuss it? Marriage, I mean?’
A muscle flickered near his mouth like a faulty switch during a power surge. ‘Look, do you want me to take you to this damn ball or not?’
Abby hadn’t worked in journalism for nothing. She had been known to get blood out of stones before. Whole litres of it. It was a trick of hers to get people talking about themselves so she didn’t have to share anything about herself. ‘Were you in love with her?’
He opened the front door and jerked his head towards the exit. ‘Out.’ His eyes were dark and brooding with bottled-up anger. Anger or something else...
Abby shifted her lips from side to side in a musing manner. ‘Are you angry with me or at life in general? Grief can do that to—’
‘Don’t play the amateur psychologist with me,’ he said. ‘Save it for those foolish enough to fall for it.’
‘I’m sensing a little resistance from you on the subject of your relationship with—’
‘I wasn’t in love with her, okay?’ He took a deep breath as if to calm himself, one of his hands rubbing over his face like he wanted to erase something. ‘And no, I wasn’t going to marry her.’
‘But you still miss her.’
He gave a movement of his lips that was closer to a grimace than anything near a smile. ‘She was a nice young woman. She didn’t deserve to have her life cut short.’
Abby touched his arm. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you moved on with your life. You don’t have to grieve for her for ever.’
The way he looked at her made her insides suddenly quiver. ‘Are you offering yourself as a replacement?’
Abby dropped her hand from his arm as if it had been scorched. ‘Of course not. You’re not my type.’
‘Not perfect enough for you?’ There was a hint of cynicism in his tone.
‘There is nothing wrong with wanting the best for yourself,’ Abby said. ‘Especially when you’re a woman. Women often settle for second best or good enough instead of perfect. Why shouldn’t we have what we want? Why should we have to compromise over something so important as a life partner?’
‘So far the only perfect partner you’ve found is the one inside your head.’
‘So far,’ Abby gave a small nod. ‘But I haven’t given up hope yet.’
‘Good luck with that.’
* * *
Luke helped Abby into his car but he was having trouble keeping his eyes away from her cleavage. The emerald-green ball gown was as sleek as a glove on her, showcasing her assets in a way that made his hormones honk and howl and do a happy dance. She wasn’t super-slim but all her curves were in the right places—places he was getting hard just thinking about. The imitation diamond pendant—he knew it was an imitation because he could spot a fake a mile off—swung just above the shadowed cleft between her bra-less breasts, making him want to place his lips and tongue in that scented hollow, to taste the creamy flesh, to graze his teeth over the nipples he could see pressing against the silky fabric. The dress skimmed her waist and hips and fanned out behind her in part mermaid tail and part train. Her hair was in one of those up styles that looked like it took no time at all to do but still managed to look elegant at the same time. And it framed her face, highlighting the slope of her porcelain-smooth cheeks. Her smoky eye make-up made her brown eyes pop, but it was her mouth that kept pulling his gaze. Glistening with a shimmering lip-gloss, her Cupid’s bow tortured his self-control like a yo-yo dieter at an all-you-can-eat banquet.
He had to stop drooling over her mouth.
Luke got in the driver’s side of his car and curled his fingers around the steering wheel before he was tempted to reach across the console and place his hand on her silk-clad thigh. Was she even wearing knickers under that dress? The thought triggered a flare of lust so powerful it snatched his breath as if someone had grabbed him by the throat and squeezed.
Abby glanced at him. ‘Are you okay?’
Luke opened and closed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Yep.’
‘You made a funny sound...kind of like you were in pain. You’re not getting one of your migraines, are you?’
Now why didn’t I think of that as an excuse? Not that he was the type of guy to renege on a commitment. When he made a decision he followed through on it. Two hours of his time was not a huge commitment. Thank God. ‘No. Just not looking forward to making small talk. It’s not my forte.’
‘Don’t worry, the music will be so loud you won’t be able to hear yourself think.’
Which could be a very good thing given the things Luke was thinking. Things he had no business thinking. Things like how she would look without that green dress. How her gorgeous breasts would feel in his hands, in his mouth. How those sexy legs would wrap around his hips. How she would feel around him when he—
He slammed the brakes on his thoughts. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship. Any sort of relationship. And Abby Hart with her happy-ever-after mission was the last person he should be thinking about. She was after the feel-good fairy tale. He still couldn’t get over the fact she’d been pretending to all her readers and followers she was engaged to someone who didn’t exist. Who did that? It took perfectionism to a whole new level. There wasn’t a man on the planet who could fulfil her checklist. And he was the last man on the planet who would even try.
He wasn’t going to try because he’d already been down that road and it had only ended in tragedy.
Abby began fiddling with the catch on her evening purse. ‘Luke?’
‘Yes?’
‘There are a few things you need to know about our relationship...you know, stuff I’ve told my readers about you.’
Luke flicked her a glance. ‘Like what?’
She nibbled at her lower lip for a moment. ‘Like how you proposed.’
Shoot me now. He could just imagine what her wacky imagination had cooked up. ‘How did I—?’ He couldn’t even bring himself to say the word.
‘You took me to Paris for the weekend and checked us into the penthouse suite of a ridiculously expensive hotel where you had organised fresh rose petals to be scattered all over the bed and flowers all over the suite,’ she said. ‘And you had champagne on ice and chocolate-dipped strawberries in a crystal bowl by the bed.’
‘And?’ Luke suspected he wasn’t going to get off that lightly. Paris and champagne and strawberries and rose petals were within reason. But nothing he knew about Abby was within the realms of reason.
‘We—ell...’ The way she drew out the word made the back of his neck start to prickle. ‘You got down on bended knee and told me I was the only one in the world for you, that you loved me more than life itself. You took out a ring box and asked me to marry you.’
Luke couldn’t imagine ever saying something like that to anyone, but still.
‘You had tears in your eyes,’ she said. ‘Lots of them. In fact, you cried. We both did because we were so happy to be—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ He made a choked-off sound. ‘I can’t remember the last time I cried.’
‘I know some men find expressing emotion really difficult, but what about when you lost Kimberley? Didn’t you cry then?’
‘No.’
She gave a concerned frown. ‘Oh...’
Luke had been so guilt-ridden he couldn’t access any other emotion. When he’d been told the news of Kimberley’s accident he had felt completely numb. It didn’t seem possible that the woman who had been in his house only a couple of hours earlier was no longer alive. He’d put the phone down after that ghastly phone call from her parents and picked up a glass where Kimberley’s lipstick was still visible on the rim. How could she be dead? For the sake of her shattered family he had swung into action, helping to organise the funeral and dealing with the distressing task of informing people outside the family of her death. He had done it in an almost robotic fashion. He’d said all the right things, done all the right things, but he’d felt like there was a thick glass wall between him and the rest of the world.
It was still there.
‘Her family was having enough trouble dealing with her death without me adding to their distress,’ Luke said. ‘I had to hold it together for them.’
He felt Abby’s gaze resting on him as if she was trying to solve a Mensa puzzle. ‘But what about when you were on your own? Didn’t you cry then?’
‘Not every person cries when sad stuff happens,’ Luke said through gritted teeth. ‘There are other ways to express sadness.’
‘But it’s really healing to have a good howl,’ Abby said. ‘It releases hormones and stuff. And you shouldn’t be ashamed of crying just because you’re a man. That’s a ridiculous myth that harms men rather than helps them. Everyone should be able to cry regardless of their gender.’
Luke pulled up behind the queue of cars waiting to be parked by the valet team at the entrance of the premier hotel where the ball was being held. ‘Okay, Cinderella. Anything else I should know about myself before we make an entrance?’
Her cheeks went a faint shade of pink. ‘Erm... There is one other thing...’
The prickle moved from his neck to his spine. ‘Go on.’
The tip of her tongue swept over her lips, making his groin tighten. ‘You tell me you love me all the time. In public.’
Luke couldn’t remember the last time he’d told his mother and sister he loved them, let alone anyone else. He wasn’t a wordy guy. He did rather than said. His father was the opposite—lots of words and empty promises and nothing to back them up. ‘O-kay.’
‘And you use a lot of terms of endearment. Like honey, and baby, and sweetheart.’
That was another thing he wasn’t big on, dropping cutesy endearments into every conversation. But a man had to do what a man had to do. ‘Got it.’
‘And we kiss. A lot.’
Luke’s groin was asking for more room. Urgently. Just looking at her mouth made his blood pound and head south of the border. What would it do to him to actually kiss her? ‘I’m not big on public displays of affection.’
‘You are now.’
Freaking hell. What had he got himself into? ‘Will you be okay with me kissing you?’ Luke asked, frowning.
Her gaze kept flicking back and forth from his mouth to his eyes. ‘Maybe we should have practised a bit first, you know, so we don’t look stilted or awkward together.’
Now he couldn’t stop looking at her mouth. Imagining how it would feel against his. ‘Where do you suggest we practise? Here in the car?’
‘We have time before the valet guy gets to us,’ Abby said, glancing at the line of cars waiting to be parked. ‘The queue is long enough.’
But was Luke’s self-control strong enough? He hadn’t kissed a woman in five years. Not unless he counted his mother and sister but clearly a peck on the cheek wasn’t going to make the grade here. ‘You really think this is necessary?’
She was already over his side of the car, her face so close to his he could feel her breath on his lips. ‘Kiss me, Luke.’
Luke slid his hand along the curve of her cheek, his blood pumping so hard he could feel his erection pressing against his zip. He brought his mouth down to hers in a soft touch. Just brush her lips and get the hell out of there. He lifted off but her lips clung to his and something inside him gave way like tectonic plates shifting during an earthquake. He went back down again, breathing in the scent of her, relishing the fresh fruity taste of her. Her lips were soft and pillowy and tasted of strawberries or was it cherries? She made a little whimpering sound and opened to the stroke of his tongue, her tongue dancing with his, making his blood throb all the harder.
