Читать книгу The Dare Collection August 2019 - Christy McKellen - Страница 17

I EXIT THE hotel and jog down the street, guilt and adrenaline charging my muscles with enough energy to run a marathon. What a fucking idiot. How could I have been so stupid, so thoughtless as to discuss Blair with my brothers where she might overhear? One look at her closed expression as she thanked Graham for lunch and bade us all farewell told me she’d not only overheard, but probably wanted to tear a few well-deserved strips off me too. And she’d have every right. Not only did she play along again with my father’s mistake, something I know cost her, if the quickly concealed flash of hurt in her eyes was any indication, but she also showed how close she is to Graham and how invested she is in her relationships with all of us. She chatted to Mia and Kenzie, getting to know the newest two additions to the Faulkner clan, she teased Drake and Kit in the same way she’s taken to teasing me and she even graciously lost a game of chess to Graham, even though I’m sure she has a hundred better uses for her Sunday afternoon.

She was relaxed and comfortable around us right up until I spoiled it with my thoughtless lack of tact.

I round the corner in time to see Blair unlocking her car door. A wall of relief slams into me and I slow to a brisk walk, allowing myself time to recover from the fear I missed my chance to make this right, but the fear that I’ve inflicted too much damage lingers, turning my blood to ice. I refuse to probe my motivations too closely—with anyone else I’d put up less of a fight, but for some reason, with her, I’m not ready to walk away. Blair is a breath of fresh air in my life I can’t, and don’t want to, ignore. And, whether I’ve sabotaged this or not, she deserves an apology.

I take a hard swallow and try to slow my breathing as I come to a halt at her side.

‘Don’t leave angry with me—let’s talk it through.’ My voice carries a pleading undercurrent that feels both alien and justified. The idea I’d get down on my knees, if that’s what it takes, comes out of nowhere and takes root.

She turns, lazily lifting her gaze from the screen of her phone, as if she was fully aware I was pursuing her the whole time. ‘I’m not angry. And I’d welcome the opportunity to discuss it with you in private—I’m not doing this in the road outside your family’s hotel.’

I allow my lungs the barest recoil of relief that she hasn’t shut me down. Yet.

‘Perhaps a walk, then, or my place is just around the corner.’

She locks her car with a click of the remote. ‘Okay—let’s walk.’ She sets off and, just like every time she’s within arm’s length, I want to reach for the hand closest, which swings by her side. Instead I shove my own hand in my pocket and curse my stupidity anew. She’s smart, caring, funny and kind. I talked about her as if she meant nothing to me, insulting both of us, because that’s not true, despite my divorcee’s caution.

‘I overheard you, Drake and Kit talking,’ she says, aiming straight for the heart of the matter in her no-bullshit way.

I scrub a hand through my hair as my fear is confirmed. ‘I guessed as much and I’m sorry. Sorry for being indiscreet and talking about you at all.’

She nods, but I’m still wriggling on the hook, the set of her full mouth tells me. ‘I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but when I heard my name I kind of wanted to know what you’d say. I accept overheard conversations can be misconstrued,’ she says, ‘so let me make my position crystal-clear.’

My respect for her, for her professionalism and maturity, ratchets up to new levels when I thought I’d reached the ceiling.

‘I know you don’t owe me anything—that all we’ve shared is a couple of orgasms—’

To hear the evening we’d spent together reduced to mere biology rather than the astounding night of connection it truly was, at least for me, stings like all-over nettle rash. But Blair isn’t finished.

‘I understand you may have trust issues—’ A momentary flash of pain blazes through her expressive eyes, gone as quickly as it arrived.

I touch her arm, tug her to a standstill. ‘It’s not personal. I do have trust issues. A hangover of my divorce. In fact, I’m a suspicious old git, I’m afraid.’

She nods, not arguing and refusing to take the bait and tease me again about my age, and she continues as if I haven’t spoken. ‘But I’m a hard-working professional. I take my work very seriously. I’d never do anything to take advantage of you, your father or your hotel. I, perhaps naively, assumed your initial reticence for the renovations was down to it being sprung on you. And I thought we’d struck a deal that we wouldn’t allow the sex to affect the work...’

She leaves the last dangling like a question, although it’s very much a statement and it’s as if our ages were reversed and I’m a schoolboy again, standing in front of the head for flinging insults at some bully who dared to pick on Kit or Drake. I want to rewind the past few hours, to walk into the lobby of the Faulkner again and show every scrap of the delight I felt at finding her there. To invite her to join us for lunch myself, not wait for Graham to do the honours. To whisk her out of there within minutes of the meal being served, take her home and lose myself in her again, because those impulses were strong, and now I can’t think of a single reason I fought against them.

Blair mistakes my silence for apathy.

‘But perhaps the sex was a mistake. Perhaps it’s time to call this a day. We had a good time...’ She swings her bag up onto her shoulder and crosses her arms over her chest.

The urge to hold her, to feel her body against mine, grows to impossible levels. I know how good it will feel. I know that nothing else will matter while she’s there and all my worries will lessen. I know I’d do anything right now to ensure it happens.

‘And if I don’t want to call it quits,’ I say, stepping a fraction closer, although not as close as I’d like, which is naked and inside her, making her eyes soften with pleasure.

That seems to startle her. The pulse in her neck flutters and the answering thud of my heart batters my ribs. ‘Look,’ I say, my voice strangled, ‘you’ve been honest, so allow me to return the favour. I was thrown by your appointment to renovate the Faulkner, which Graham arranged without my knowledge. I run a tight ship, I always have, but now, with things...unravelling, with my always capable, energetic father behaving so erratically...you can understand how concerning—’

‘Of course I can—’

I plough on. ‘And despite all of that going on, I was blindsided by seeing you again. You’ve changed, or I’ve opened my eyes. I was reeling from my attraction to you and you were so capable, so vehement about your contract, so...driven and in control, and while I admire that trait in business—’ I swallow, emotion thick in my throat ‘—if I’m brutally honest, I’m a little distracted by Graham’s diagnosis. Bottom line, I was underprepared for you.’ I wave my hand in her direction, encompassing the entire, spectacular Blair package. ‘All of you.’

My words settle between us, charging the warm summer air with kinetic energy, until I’m certain something will need to break to snap the tension. But I’ve never waited for something to come to me in my entire life, always making things happen, striving until I have what I want. I’m not about to start now when what I want is as tempting as her. I reach for her hand and she doesn’t pull away, her fingers flexing against mine a soothing balm in more ways than one. But it’s not enough. I want more of Blair Cameron for my own selfish reasons, reasons I refuse to examine too closely. Fuck, I hope she still wants me for hers.

Taking a leap, I tug her to my chest, wrapping my arms around her slim shoulders, dwarfing her physically even as she seems to envelop me—the scent of her hair carried in the hazy air, the crush of her soft breasts against my hard chest, her small hands on my waist holding me together where the shudders of something that feels suspiciously like fear seep from my every pore. I hold her until my own heart rate slows, not giving a fuck that she can probably feel it beating against hers, that she’ll know how much I care, how sorry I am and how exposed it makes me. The feeling is so rusty, I can’t name it, or choose not to.

I kiss the top of her head, and pull back a fraction so she can see the sincerity in my expression.

‘I don’t doubt you professionally and neither do Kit and Drake. They loved your plans for the renovations. Brothers just like to talk shit to wind each other up—it’s a trait we’ve carried from childhood, I’m afraid.’

She nods, but her eyes are still haunted, her voice when she speaks flatter than I’ve ever heard it. ‘They don’t approve of us fooling around.’

I wince. I’d seen the way Kit reacted to my obvious closeness to Blair, but then, like now, I considered it irrelevant. ‘I don’t give a fuck. Do you?’ The ugly swirls of fear return, my stomach twisting. If she says yes, that no-strings sex was fun, but family judgement is a distraction she doesn’t need, that I’m too old for her after all, that we don’t have enough in common or that’s it’s just not worth it... I grip her tighter. The reaction makes no sense—she’s right, all we’ve shared is a handful of orgasms, but already this feels like more, feels as if we’re heading into dangerous territory. Trouble is, I don’t want to retreat. I’m selfish. I want her for as long as it lasts.

When she shakes her head, her chin lifted in defiance, I practically growl and press my mouth hard to hers as euphoria pumps around my body. Without interference or my own stupidity, our connection is simple—A plus B equals... What? A good time? If I’m honest, we’ve already surpassed simple physical gratification. She makes me feel invincible, makes me feel the optimism I associate with the man I was in my early twenties.

‘Good. Come home with me.’ I clutch her closer.

She laughs, a delightful sound that restores my equilibrium more than her words of reassurance or the lust simmering in her eyes.

‘Just because I accept your apology doesn’t mean I’m ready to forgive all your transgressions.’ She tilts her pelvis and crushes my dick with her soft belly, bringing me back to life.

I grin; press a kiss to her irresistible mouth. ‘I’m happy to pay for my crimes—there must be something you want in recompense.’ I slide my hands over her hips and cup her arse, pressing her forward to increase the friction.

‘Hmm...’ She pretends to think, her eyes dancing. ‘There might be one thing... But I’m not sure you’re up to the job, being so old and set in your ways.’

My laughter blasts from me, draining any residual doubt. She’s incredible—generous and caring and fearless. ‘Well, if anyone can keep me on my toes, it’s you. Why don’t you give me a shot? There are worse ways to die than from pleasure.’

Malicious delight fills her expression. ‘Who said anything about pleasure, especially yours?’ Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she grinds against my now hard cock, her actions contradicting her threats. ‘I think your transgressions require a forfeit.’

Excitement pumps my blood harder, so I’m ready to give her anything. I was the minute she left the hotel without looking back. ‘What’s the forfeit?’ I’m not used to handing over control and I’m sure I won’t like it. But my blood pounds in case I fucking love it.

‘The driver’s seat.’ She gives me no time to absorb her words before she spins, tugging me behind her towards my house. I sling my arm around her shoulder, caging her to my side while my mind sifts through her possible meanings. Does she want to tie me up? Blindfold me? Do I care? Any fantasy of hers is okay by me, because she’s honest about what she wants.

But before I get carried away, I have more I want to say.

‘Thank you.’ I squeeze her closer, hoping she reads my heartfelt gratitude. ‘For the chess. For playing along again. I’m sure it’s upsetting that Graham seems to have forgotten how he knows you.’ At her small shrug, I drag us to another standstill and kiss her again, trying to banish the slightly lost expression from her eyes. I linger over kiss after kiss until the atmosphere lifts, in no hurry to get home. She’ll have to have her wicked way with me in the road. But all too soon we resume our walk.

‘How did you know he played?’ My father taught all three of us to play, stating it fostered healthy competition without risk of coming to blows, although we Faulkner brothers managed to throw a few of those back when we settled things with our fists.

‘We played at a Hoteliers Association conference I attended with my dad back in the days he thought I’d simply join the family business instead of pursuing my own dreams—not that there’s anything wrong with family businesses, of course. Graham was there too. One day, he spied me sulking in a corner somewhere, challenged me to a game and then happily thrashed me. I always respected him more for not letting me win, and of course for taking the time to coax a moody teenager out of herself.’

Her tale is bittersweet, reminding me of the powerhouse Graham has always been, and how much I’ve relied on his always being so. ‘He always wanted a daughter, I think.’

Blair’s arm tightens around my waist. ‘You’re really concerned about him, aren’t you? Are things worse than you’ve let on?’

‘The honest answer is I just don’t know, but we’re all concerned. He has an appointment with the Harley Street specialist this week. Hopefully we’ll know more about his prognosis then.’ But I don’t want to think about the future, about how a man I’ve always looked up to and relied upon may change, diminish before my eyes.

‘That’s good. I believe there are medications that can slow down the progression of dementia. And my father hasn’t said a word, so perhaps only those closest to him are aware of the changes.’

‘Thank you for saying that. For everything. I never realised just how close you two were.’

We walk the rest of the way in silence, perhaps each lost to our memories of the good old days when Graham was the rock, full of wisdom, sage advice and readily given support.

And, where only minutes ago I was certain Blair would be gone from my life as quickly as she’d entered it, it now feels like she’s always been a part of our tight-knit little circle, and perhaps always should be.