Читать книгу The Most Expensive Night of Her Life - Amy Andrews - Страница 11

THREE

Blake gaped at Ava as her yellowy-green gaze settled on his face. ‘What? No.’ He would rather amputate his other leg than have Ava Kelly as a house guest.

‘Just for the night,’ she said.

Blake shook his head. ‘No.’ She sounded so reasonable but he had to wonder if the bang to her head had sent her a little crazy.

He was on holiday, for crying out loud.

Reggie—bless him—looked at his client askance. ‘Absolutely not!’ he blustered. ‘You don’t know this man from a bar of soap.’

Blake watched as Ava pursed her perfect lips and shot her agent an impatient look. ‘I have seen this man—’ she pointed at Blake ‘—almost every day for the last three months. That’s the longest relationship I’ve had with any man other than you, Reggie. This man—’ she jabbed a finger in his direction again ‘—pulled me down to the ground and shielded me with his body while some nutcase fired bullets at my house.’

‘And thanks to him you have a cut face, a gash in your hand that requires stitching and an egg on the back of your head the size of a grapefruit.’

Blake bit off the bitter you’re welcome that rose to his lips. He didn’t expect thanks or praise for yanking her to the ground. His military training had taken over and he’d done what had to be done. What anyone with his background would have done. But he didn’t expect to be accused of trying to maim her either.

Ava reached her hand out to Reggie and he took it. ‘I was frightened, Reggie. Petrified. I couldn’t...breathe I was so scared.’ She’d been like that after her mother left—terrified for days. Then she’d hired Reggie. ‘He makes me feel safe. And it’s just for tonight.’

Reggie looked as if he was considering it and Blake began to wonder if he was invisible. ‘Er, excuse me...’ he interrupted. ‘I don’t know if either of you are interested but I said no.’

‘You were the one who said she should lie low,’ Reggie said, looking at him speculatively, clearly coming around to his client’s way of thinking. ‘You said the point was for her not to go to any of her usual places.’

Blake could not believe what he was hearing. They were both looking at him as if it were a done deal. As if his objections didn’t matter in the face of the fabulous Ms Kelly’s needs.

‘I meant wear a wig, don some dark sunnies, throw on some baggy clothes and book herself into some low-rent hotel somewhere under a different name.’

‘Please,’ Ava said, the plea in her gaze finding its way directly to the part of him that was one hundred per cent soldier. ‘I feel safe with you.’

‘She feels safe with you,’ Reggie reiterated, also looking at Blake, his hands in his pockets.

Blake shut his eyes and shook his head. ‘No.’ He opened his eyes again to find them both looking at him as if he’d just refused shelter to a pregnant woman on a donkey. ‘For God’s sake,’ he said. ‘I could live in a dive for all you know.’

Ava shrugged. ‘I don’t care.’

Blake snorted. ‘Right. A world-famous supermodel who insisted on four thousand quid apiece tap fittings is happy to slum it?’

She shrugged again, looking down her nose at him this time, her famed haughtiness returning. ‘I can slum it for a night.’

Blake’s gaze was drawn to her mouth and the way it clearly enunciated each word. Her lips, like the words, were just...perfect. Like two little pillows, soft and pink with a perfectly defined bow shape. But somehow even they managed to look haughty—cool and mysterious. As if they’d never been touched. Never been kissed.

Not properly, anyway.

Kissed in a way that would get that mouth all bent out of shape.

If she really wanted to slum it—he could bend her perfect mouth well and truly out of shape.

A flicker of heat fizzed in his blood but he doused it instantly. Women like Ava Kelly didn’t really want to slum it—no matter how much they thought they might. And he wasn’t here for that. He’d entered into a contract with Ava to do the renos on her home. Nothing more.

Certainly not open up his home—his sanctuary—to her. And he’d held up his end of the bargain.

Duty discharged.

‘I’m on holiday,’ he said, his voice firm.

But Ava did not seem deterred. She just looked at him as if she was trying to figure out his price—and he didn’t like it. Not one little bit.

‘One million pounds,’ she said.

Blake blinked, not quite computing what she’d just said. She actually had been figuring out his price? ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I’ll give you that million pounds your sister needs.’

‘Ava!’ Reggie spluttered.

Blake gave an incredulous half-laugh, a half-snort. ‘What?’

Ava rolled her eyes. ‘It’s simple. I’ve had a very traumatic evening and I don’t feel safe. I don’t like not feeling safe.’ It reminded her too much of when her mother left and she was supposed to be past that now. ‘But you made me feel safe. And my gut tells me that means something. I’ve survived a long time in a cut-throat industry by going with my gut. So what’s it going to be? You want the money or not?’

‘Ava,’ Reggie warned.

‘Relax,’ Ava told him. ‘It’s for a charity. It’s all tax deductible.’

‘Oh...well, that’s okay, then.’

Blake shook his head as the heat that fizzed earlier flared again, morphing into white-hot fury. ‘No,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘it’s not okay. You think you can just buy people? Just throw some cash around and get what you want?’

She shrugged that haughty little shrug again and he wanted to shake her. ‘Everyone has a price, Blake. There’s nothing wrong with that. This way we both get something we want.’

Blake ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. Joanna called it dirty blond and was forever trying to get him to grow it longer now he was out of the army. But old habits died hard.

Joanna.

Who he’d already failed once.

He’d told Charlie he’d think of a way to help their sister and the charity that meant so much to her—to all of them. And it was being presented to him on a platter.

By the devil himself. In the guise of a leggy supermodel.

A very bratty supermodel.

‘You don’t even know what the charity is,’ Blake snapped, trying to hold onto his anger as his practical side urged him to take what was on offer.

‘Yes, I do,’ she said. ‘I looked it up after we spoke earlier. A charity that supports our soldiers and their families. Very good for my profile, right, Reggie?’

Reggie nodded. ‘Perfect.’

Blake had been in enough war zones to know when he was fighting a losing battle. He also knew he should do the honourable thing and offer her safe haven for free. But he resented how she’d manipulated him and if she could drop a cool mil without even raising a sweat then, clearly, she was good for it.

Still...it all sounded too good to be true.

‘It’s as simple as that?’ he clarified. ‘One night at my place and you’ll give Joanna a million quid for her charity?’

Could he put up with a pain-in-the-butt prima donna for one night for a million quid?

‘As simple as that.’

Blake regarded her. His practical side was screaming at him to take the cash but the other side of him, the one attuned to doom in all its forms, was wary as hell.

‘You know there are thousands of men out there who would give anything to have me for a sleepover?’

She shot him a coy look from under her fringe and Blake glanced at her mouth. It had kicked up at one side as her voice had gone all light and teasy.

He didn’t want that mouth slumming it at his place.

But one million quid was hard to turn down.

‘Fine,’ he sighed. ‘But I leave in the morning for my holiday and you have to be gone.’

‘Absolutely.’ She grinned. ‘I promise you won’t even know I’m there.’

Blake grunted as his doom-o-meter hit a new high. He sincerely doubted that.

* * *

‘This is where you live?’

Ava stared down at Blake’s apparent abode floating in the crowded canal. They’d slipped out of a private exit at the back of the hospital into a waiting taxi after her hand had been sewn up with four neat little sutures and she’d been discharged. Blake had refused to tell even Reggie where he lived and she’d been too overwrought to care but even so this was a surprise. If someone had told her this morning she’d be spending the night on the Regent’s Canal in Little Venice she’d have laughed them out of her house.

‘You wanted to slum it.’

Ava took in the dark mysterious shape. ‘People actually live on these things?’

‘They do.’

Ava realised she couldn’t have picked a better place to hide away—no one she knew would ever think to look for her here. But still...

She was used to five-star luxuries and, while she could forgo four-thousand-pound taps, basic plumbing was an absolute must. ‘Please tell me there’s a flushing toilet and a shower with hot water?’

‘Your fancy suite looking better and better?’

Ava was weary. It was past midnight. She’d been shot at, grilled by the police as if she were somehow at fault, then poked and prodded by every person wearing a white coat or a shiny buckle at the hospital.

She didn’t need his taunts or his judgement.

Yes, she’d bribed him. Yes, she’d told him she could handle it. Yes, she was used to her luxuries. But, come on, she just needed to stand under a hot shower and wash away the fright and the shock of the day.

Why couldn’t he be like any other salivating idiot who was tripping over himself to accommodate her? But, oh, no, her knight in shining armour had to be the only man on the planet who didn’t seem to care that she was, according to one of the top celebrity magazines, one of the most beautiful women of the decade.

And she was just about done with his put-upon attitude. He was getting a million bucks and bragging rights at the pub to the story—embellished as much as he liked because she was beyond caring—of the night Ava Kelly slept over.

She felt as if she was about to crumple in a heap as the massive dose of adrenaline left her feeling strung out. All she wanted was a little safe harbour.

So, he didn’t like her. She couldn’t exactly say he was her favourite person at the moment either, despite his heroics.

Life was like that sometimes.

‘Look, you’re angry, I appreciate that. I railroaded you. But you have the distinct advantage of having being shot at before. I’m sure you’re used to it. I’m sure it’s just another day to you. Me, on the other hand...the only shooting I’m used to is from a camera lens. I promise I’ll be out of your hair in the morning, but do you think in the interim you could just lose the attitude and point me in the direction of the hot shower?’

He didn’t say anything for a moment but she could see the clenching and unclenching of his jaw as a streetlight slanted across his profile. ‘You never get used to being shot at,’ he said.

Ava blinked. His words slipped into the night around them with surprising ease considering the tautness behind them. It was a startling admission from a man who looked as if he could catch bullets with his teeth.

It struck her for the first time that he might have been more deeply affected by the incident than she’d realised. But his jaw was locked and serious. He didn’t look as if he wanted to talk about it.

She did though—she really did. Suddenly she needed to talk about it as if her life depended on it.

Debrief—wasn’t that what they called it in the army?

‘Were you scared?’ she asked tentatively, aware of her voice going all low and husky.

She was greeted with silence and she nodded slowly when he didn’t answer, feeling foolish for even thinking that a brief burst of gunfire would rattle him. Charlie had told her Blake had been to war zones. He’d no doubt faced gunfire every day.

‘Sorry, dumb question...’

The silence stretched and she was just about to say something else when he said, ‘No, it’s not.’ Ava blinked at his quiet but emphatic denial.

‘Any man who tells you that gunfire doesn’t scare him is lying to you.’

Ava stared for a moment. If that had been Blake’s impression of scared she had to wonder what level of danger would be required to actually make him look it.

Or maybe he just wasn’t capable of strong emotion? And wasn’t that a big flashing neon warning sign?

‘But...you were so...’ she cast around for an appropriate word ‘...calm.’

He gave a short laugh. She’d have to have been deaf not to hear the bitter edge. ‘I’m sure my sergeant major, who chewed my arse off every day when I was a green recruit, would be more than pleased to hear that.’

He was being flippant now but she wasn’t in the mood—she was deadly serious. ‘I thought I was going to die,’ she whispered.

His eyes were hooded as he stared at her and she wished she could see them, to connect with him. ‘But you didn’t,’ he said.

His reminder was surprisingly gentle—not facetious like his last remark. ‘Thanks to you,’ she murmured.

Their gazes held for the longest time. It was quiet canal side and she realised they were standing close—close enough to feel as if they were the only two people in the world after what they’d been through together. To feel united. She waited for him to make some throwaway comment about the house saving her butt or the gunman being a lousy shot. He looked as if he was gearing up to say something.

But he seemed to think better of it, dragging his attention back to the longboat. She watched him step into the bow of the boat, then make a production of unlocking the door before he finally looked at her.

‘You want that shower or not?’

* * *

The fridge was empty bar a six-pack of beer and Blake gratefully freed one of the bottles as the dull noise of shower spray floated towards him through the distant wall. He sat heavily on the nearby leather armchair, easing his leg out in front of him as he swivelled the chair from side to side. He was not going to think about Ava Kelly naked in his shower.

He was going to drink his beer, mentally plot his course for tomorrow, then crawl into bed.

Or the couch as the case might be.

Not his big comfortable king-sized sleigh bed he’d crafted with his own two hands—helping him forget the sand and the heat and the pain and the memories—specially customised for the specs of the wide beam canal boat he’d restored. He could hardly make a guest—a female guest—sleep on the couch. Even if it was large and long and comfortable.

Especially considering Ava was shelling out one million pounds for the dubious privilege.

He could certainly hack it for one night. For one million quid he could hack just about anything.

Dear God—he was prostituting himself. A leggy blonde with killer eyes, money to burn and someone wanting her dead had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse and he’d rolled over quicker than a puppy with a tummy scratch on offer.

He took a swig of his beer as he dialled his brother’s number. ‘It’s after midnight.’ Charlie yawned as he picked up after what seemed for ever. ‘Someone better be dying.’

‘Only me,’ Blake snorted. Then he proceeded to fill his brother in on the events of the evening including the details of the company car Charlie was going to need to pick up from the backstreets near the hospital.

Charlie seemed to come awake rapidly and found Blake’s predicament hilarious after ascertaining everyone was okay. ‘What is it about you that makes people want to shoot you? I swear to God, only you, brother dearest, could land yourself in such a situation.’

‘Oh, it gets worse,’ Blake informed his brother as he filled him in on the facts that had resulted in him cohabiting with one of the world’s most beautiful women.

‘Okay, let me get this straight. She’s giving you, giving Joanna, a million quid to sleep at yours for the night.’

Blake shrugged. ‘Essentially.’ Charlie laughed and Blake frowned, suddenly angry with the world. ‘What’s so bloody funny?’

‘Sounds like a movie an old girlfriend dragged me to once a lo-o-ong time ago. That one with Robert Redford and Demi Moore.’

Blake rolled his eyes. ‘She’s not asking for sexual favours, you depraved bastard. She’s scared. She just needs to feel safe for the night. To hide away for a bit.’

‘So you’re not going to end up in bed together?’

The vehement denial was on Blake’s lips before he was even conscious of it. ‘I wouldn’t sleep with her if we were the only two people left on earth.’

Blake could feel his brother’s eyebrow rise without having to see it. ‘Why not? I would and I’ve been happily married for a decade.’

Blake knew his brother would no sooner sleep with Ava Kelly than he would. He was as besotted with Trudy now as he had been ten years ago. ‘Sure you would.’

‘Okay,’ his brother conceded. ‘Hypothetically. You gotta admit, she looks pretty fine in a bikini.’

‘She’s a snooty, heinous prima donna who caused us endless trouble with all her first-world crap,’ Blake said, lowering his voice. ‘I don’t care how good she looks in a bikini.’

‘Maybe you should.’ Suddenly Charlie’s voice was dead serious. ‘It’s okay to let yourself go every now and then, Blake. Being beautiful and rich and opinionated isn’t a crime. That’s our demographic, don’t forget.’

Blake shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He’d seen so much poverty and desperation in his ten years serving his country. It felt as if he was selling out to admit his attraction to a woman who represented everything frivolous and shiny in a society that didn’t have a clue how the other half lived. But he was too tired to get into all of that now.

‘She’s here for one night and, in case you’ve forgotten, she’s a client.’

His brother snorted. ‘Not any more, she’s not. Which makes it perfectly okay to...take one for the team, so to speak. How long has it been since you got laid?’

Blake shook his head, not even willing to go there. Just because he chose not to spend every night with a willing woman didn’t mean he was about to die from massive sperm build-up as his brother predicted. He worked hard every day and came home every night to a place that he’d created that was far removed from the hell he’d known in foreign countries.

That meant something these days. More than some cheap sexual thrill.

Besides, Ava Kelly was so off-limits she might as well be sitting on the moon. If he wanted to get laid, he could get laid. He didn’t need to do it with a woman who’d bugged him almost from the first day of their acquaintance.

No matter what vibe he suspected ran between them.

‘Is Trudy awake?’ Blake tisked. ‘You know, your raging feminist wife who I happen to like much more than you? She’d be disgusted by your attitude.’

‘She thinks you need to find a woman too. One who can tie you in knots and leave you panting for more.’

Blake didn’t say anything for a long time. ‘She’s in trouble, Charlie,’ he said as he contemplated the neck of his beer. ‘She just needs to feel safe.’

Charlie was silent for long moments too. ‘Then just as well she chose one of Her Majesty’s best.’

‘No,’ Blake said. ‘I’m just a builder, remember? And I’m on holiday. If she didn’t come with a million-dollar price-tag attached I’d have walked away.’

Charlie laughed and Blake felt his irritation crank up another notch. ‘Whatever helps you get through the night with Ava freaking Kelly in the next room.’

Blake snorted at the undiluted smugness in his brother’s voice. ‘I hate you.’

‘Uh-huh. Ring me in the morning before you set out. I want details.’

Blake grimaced. ‘Right, that’s it, I’m telling Trudy, you grubby bastard.’

Charlie laughed. ‘Are you kidding? She’s going to want to know every minute detail. She has a huge girl crush on Ava Kelly.’

Blake sighed, briefly envying his brother’s easy, loving relationship. ‘Maybe she can come here for the night and they can play house together.’

Charlie laughed. ‘Only if I can watch.’

Blake shook his head. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Night,’ Charlie said and Blake could hear the laughter in his voice. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

Blake hung up the phone, not bothering to answer. There was no risk of that. He was tired. And annoyed. He wanted this night over and done with. He wanted her gone.

He did not want to do anything with Ava Kelly.

Blake lifted the bottle to his mouth and threw his head back, drinking the last mouthfuls in one guzzle. He contemplated getting another one but the shower spray cut out, spurring him into action.

He needed to change the sheets on the bed. And he needed to be out of his bedroom before she was done.

Five minutes later he’d just pulled the coverlet up over the fresh sheets and was reaching for a pillow to change the case when he sensed Ava watching him. He glanced behind him where she leaned heavily against the doorway as if it was the only thing keeping her up.

‘You don’t have to give me your bed,’ she said, the world’s weariest smile touching the corners of her mouth. ‘Really. Any horizontal surface will be fine.’

He’d loaned her an old shirt and some loose cotton boxers and his clothes had never looked so good. The shirt slipped off one shoulder, outlined her small perky breasts and fell to just below her waist. The band of his obviously too big boxers was drawn by the string to its limits then turned over a couple of times, anchoring low on her hips. A strip of flat tanned belly was bare to his gaze.

And a lot of leg.

Not chicken legs like those he sometimes caught on the telly when shots of skinny models walking up and down catwalks came on the news. They were lithe and shapely. And a perfect golden brown—like the rest of her. He’d avoided looking at them the last three months but it was kind of difficult now they were standing inside his bedroom.

And he’d always been a leg man.

Oh, the irony.

He dragged his gaze up. Her hair was damp and looked as if it had been finger-combed back off her forehead, her face was scrubbed clean, her freckles standing out, her cheeks a little pink from the hot water, the tiny nick a stark reminder of why she was here.

She could have been the girl next door except somehow, even in a scruffy T-shirt, baggy boxers and her eyelids fluttering in long sleepy blinks, she managed to look haughty.

To exude a you-can’t-touch-this air.

Should have had that second beer.

‘How’s the head?’ he asked, ignoring her protest, returning his mind and his eyes to the job at hand, stripping the case off the pillow.

‘Sore,’ Ava said, pushing off the door frame to the opposite side of the bed, grabbing the other pillow and stripping it, managing it quite well despite the handicap of her bandaged hand.

Blake quelled the urge to tell her to leave it. He didn’t want her here in his bedroom. Not while he was in it too. It all seemed too domesticated—too normal—especially after being shot at only a few hours ago. The bed was big and empty. Big enough for the two of them. And the night had been bizarre enough without him wondering how many times he could roll Ava Kelly over on it.

Or how good those legs would feel wrapped around his waist.

‘Did you take those tablets the doc gave you?’

She nodded. ‘Just now.’ Then she yawned and the shirt rode up a little more. He kept his gaze firmly trained on her face. ‘Sorry. I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.’

Blake knew intimately how shock and the effects of adrenaline could leave you sapped to the bone. He threw the pillow on the bed, then peeled back the covers. ‘Get in. Go to sleep.’ Soon it will be morning and you’ll be gone. ‘You’ll feel better tomorrow.’

She smiled at him again as she threw her pillow on the bed. ‘I couldn’t feel any worse,’ she said, crawling onto the bed, making her way to the middle on her hands and knees. Blake did not check out how his shirt fell forward revealing a view right down to her navel.

He just pulled up the covers as Ava collapsed on her side, her sore hand tucked under her cheek, eyes closing on a blissful sigh, her bow mouth finally relaxing. ‘Night,’ he said.

She didn’t answer and for a moment he was struck by how young she looked. For the first time she didn’t look haughty and untouchable—she looked humble and exhausted.

Vulnerable.

And utterly touchable.

Who in the hell would want to kill her? Or had they just been trying to scare her? In which case it had worked brilliantly. Something stirred in his chest but he didn’t stay long enough to analyse it.

Ava freaking Kelly was lying right smack in the middle of his bed—no way was he sticking around to fathom weird chest stirrings. Or give his traitorous body any ideas.

He stalked towards the door, an image of her long legs keeping him company.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

‘Blake.’

Crap. He halted as her soft voice drifted towards him. Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice low and drowsy.

Blake locked tight every muscle he owned to stop from turning around. He didn’t need a vision of her looking at him with sleepy eyes from his bed. Instead he nodded and said, ‘See you in the morning.’

Then continued on his way out of the room.

He did not look back.