Читать книгу Accidental Bride - Darcy Maguire - Страница 9

FOR a second Clare thought she’d recognised a face as she moved through the crowd, but when she looked again it was gone.

She touched her chest, feeling if her heart was still beating. The last thing she needed was someone who knew her tipping King off and wrecking the plan.

It wouldn’t take him long to realise the connection between Clare and her sister and be on to her. Fiona had rung his office number over ten times one day to try and speak with him. Not one call had been returned.

Clare followed Sasha, weaving through the tables and the other guests. The young woman was swinging her hips just a little too much to be believed normal—unless the girl had some spinal problem. It was obvious she was advertising—to Clare as much as anyone—staking her territory.

Clare had met many men like King. They were a dime a dozen. Users, every one of them. Clare felt her blood heat. She’d learnt quickly how to pick them and avoid them. If only she’d helped her sister hone her radar for that type of man she wouldn’t be in this mess now.

Clare refreshed her lipstick in the powder room, noticing Sasha watching her intently with narrowed eyes. She could tell what was coming.

Clare replaced her lipstick in her purse and glanced at the young girl who was trying to stare her into oblivion. ‘You like him, don’t you?’

‘Yes. And I want you to know that my father is very rich—and obviously I’m younger, and blonde.’ She looked Clare up and down dubiously. ‘You’re wasting your time.’

‘I think you’d better take another long hard look at the guy—he’s not as innocent as you think. He needs a challenge.’ She caught herself before she said too much. ‘And he likes brunettes.’

Sasha opened her mouth, and closed it.

‘He’s a man of the world, Sasha. Bored out of his brain with everything. He wants someone who can stand up to him and that’s not you. Do yourself a favour and get a nice young man who’ll worship the ground you walk on.’

Sasha cocked her head. ‘Young guys will worship me?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Clare sighed. ‘Find a nice one and I bet you he won’t be turning his back on you for anyone.’

Sasha turned to the mirror and retouched her make-up to perfection. ‘You’re not just saying that so you get Mark?’

‘Take it how you will.’ Clare pushed her way through the large swinging doors and moved back into the ballroom.

She breathed deeply, collecting her thoughts. This was it. Time to lure King back to her place.

The table was empty. Clare swung around. He wasn’t hard to find. His jet-black hair, formidable height and expensive suit were a combination easy to spot.

Clare strode forcefully into the alcove, right up to King without hesitation. He smiled when he saw her, a grin that lit his eyes with a dark passion that she knew her sister had experienced first-hand.

Clare didn’t falter. She stared at his sensuous mouth and reduced the distance between them. It was time to get serious. Conversation was unnecessary. There was one thing King wanted, and she was all for offering it. Anything to see the guy slighted.

‘So, how did you—?’

She covered his mouth hungrily, ravishing it cruelly, trying to smother him as much as she wanted to smother the onslaught of arousal coursing through her.

It took him only a moment to recover from the surprise. His lips danced to life beneath hers, and they were more persuasive and gentle than she cared to admit.

The strong hardness of his mouth tasted so good. Shivers of desire sang through her—an aching need she had denied for too long. A primitive, savage intensity took control and she plundered his mouth mercilessly.

He pulled her hard against him, his hands moving sensuously along her spine, slowing her onslaught with drugging kisses.

King explored her mouth with a gentle mastery, as though tuning her body to his. Every nerve in her body was aware of him, of his warm arms wrapped around her, of the pressure of his body against hers.

A cough next to them intruded on Clare’s consciousness. Reality slowly dawned. Where she was, who she was kissing and what she was meant to be doing.

For a first kiss it had been passionate, hungry, even angry. But it would be unforgettable. Clare pulled away reluctantly. It was far nicer kissing the guy than thinking about him and what he’d done. It wasn’t any wonder Fiona had fallen for him. He was a master.

Her lips tingled. Clare couldn’t help herself. She tasted his lips again, brushing them softly with hers. She might never feel them again.

‘Thank you, John.’ King stared into her eyes, his own blazing. ‘I think I’ll manage from here.’

Clare wanted to slap herself. She hadn’t even seen King’s assistant standing next to him—she’d been so intent on King that nothing else had registered. Heat annoyingly flooded her cheeks.

She touched her tingling lips, not breaking eye contact with King, using the moment to the fullest. ‘Would you like to take me home?’ She knew full well what his answer would be. His whole body was primed for yes.

‘I’d be honoured.’ King offered her his arm and moved out through the front doors of the foyer and onto the main road. Clare slipped her arm into his, her body screaming for more of him, her mind alive at the ease with which he was falling in with her plan.

The cool night air gave Clare a jolt back to reality. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She crossed her fingers behind her back, watching the cars speed past. She’d need luck to pull this off.

‘On second thoughts, I’ll get you a taxi.’ King extricated her arm and waved for a taxi. ‘It’ll be safer.’

Her ego dropped to her toes. ‘For you or for me?’ she managed. What was happening? What had happened? He was meant to be coming home to her place to face the music.

She stared at her black stilettos and her mind darted over the possibilities, trying to find some way to salvage the situation. But her mind remained blank, frozen in amazed panic.

A smile tugged at his mouth. ‘Problem?’

‘No, not at all.’ She had to play it calm. If it wasn’t tonight it would be tomorrow night, or the next. It had to be. Her sister needed it to be. King was obviously hooked. One look at the guy and how he was reacting to her was enough to let her breathe easy. Any moment and he’d ask for her phone number…

A yellow taxi pulled up in front of them and King opened the door for her with a flourish.

Clare stared at him. Her pulse thudded against her eardrums. Any second now he’d ask, or kiss her, or proposition her…

She slid onto the seat. ‘Are you sure? I make a mean coffee,’ she suggested, while her belly fought the meal. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t make her offer more obvious…

King closed the door of the taxi and smiled. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ He stepped back and gave her a short wave, and even had the nerve to smile at her, his grey eyes taunting her with an unfathomable look.

She lifted her hand and waved vaguely. What had she done wrong? She racked her brain for a hint of what might have tripped her up, warned him off and compromised her ploy. Nothing. She managed a smile for him, praying he was just teasing her, playing with her like a cat played with a mouse. Only she was no mouse.

King’s eyes wandered to the traffic on the busy street. He turned and sauntered back into the hotel.

Clare slumped into the seat. All that for nothing! He hadn’t even waited to overhear where she lived when she’d given the driver the address.

She swallowed the unpalatable truth. She’d failed. All the planning had meant nothing.

Clare watched the buildings blur as the taxi picked up speed. It was going to take more than a sexy dress to hook King. It was going to take all her brains, her body, and all the bravado she could muster. She just hoped it would be enough.

Clare let herself into her apartment and dropped the keys into a glass bowl on the hall table. Her shoulders fell in defeat. What had gone wrong? She’d been sure she had him hooked.

Clare moved into the kitchen and turned the light on, illuminating her Tasmanian oak kitchen. She never tired of the way the polished timbers looked, how her stainless steel oven gleamed, how it was all hers.

She ran a hand over the smooth surface and moved along the bench. She flicked the switch on the kettle and reached across to a row of jars against the tiled wall. She placed the lid of one of the jars quietly down and dived in. She pulled a chocolate chip cookie out and bit down on the sweet biscuit.

She was at a loss. She didn’t know what to do. Clare put the rest of the biscuit in her mouth and took another two from the jar. He wouldn’t be calling her. That was for sure. He didn’t even know her name.

She kicked off her heels and slumped over the bench.

‘Clare?’

The soft whisper of her little sister’s hopeful voice shook her from her mood. She straightened, looking across the open-plan lounge to her sister’s room.

‘How did it go?’ Fiona stood in the doorway, her hands wrapped around herself and her brow furrowed.

‘As you can see, honey, not so good.’ Clare waved a hand around the empty room, resting her eyes on Fiona.

There was no mistaking that they were sisters. They had the same hair, and the same shape face, but Clare had blue eyes, like her father’s, while Fiona had hazel ones. If King had realised who she was and made the connection…

Fiona had tied her hair back, her make-up was subtle, and her fawn linen trouser-suit would have been more at home at the office than in the apartment. Clare cringed. She was dressed and prepped to take Mark on. If he’d come home with her.

Although Clare’s home had the same rigid tidiness of her office, she allowed lavish colour. This year, her theme was Mexicana. She had cactus and desert grasses in glazed terracotta pots scattered over the polished timber floors, a vibrant crimson and yellow rug lying under her sand-coloured lounge suite, and a large Sombrero hanging from the blue-mottled walls.

‘He…he didn’t like you?’ There was a mixture of hope and fear in Fiona’s tone. She moved into the lounge room slowly. ‘Maybe he does care. Maybe he isn’t as bad as we thought he was. Maybe he just doesn’t know where to find me.’

Clare put what was left of her biscuit in her mouth and moved around the island bench. She opened her arms, wrapping her sister in comfort. She swallowed. ‘He didn’t return any of your calls. And he knows where you work, honey.’

She felt her sister’s body shake—and it hit her, sharply in the chest, just how much she hadn’t wanted to let her sister down. She’d take on a dozen jerks like King if it meant making Fiona happy.

Clare had spent more time looking after Fiona than her mother had. Mum had always been at work, and apart from Paul’s teasing all they’d had was each other. Aunty Rose, Paul’s mum, had been too upset with the loss of her husband to notice the living.

Clare held her sister tighter. She had to have done something to tip him off. But no matter how much she racked her brain she couldn’t fathom what it was that had warned him off. If she knew, she might have a chance to remedy the disaster tonight had become. As it was…she was helpless.

‘Look, you don’t need him. You can move on without him.’ She squeezed her sister, lightening her voice, hoping her optimism would be catching. ‘You have to do what’s best for you.’

‘Mum figured that, too.’ Fiona broke out of her embrace and faced Clare, hands folded tightly across her chest. ‘She did what was best for her. And look where that got her. And us.’

‘Here, honey. It got us here. We wouldn’t be who we are today if Dad hadn’t left like that.’ Clare touched her right eyebrow, tracing the line of her scar.

‘And where is that, exactly?’ Fiona bit out. ‘Sure, you have money, a place of your own, your independence—but there’s more to life than that, Clare. A lot more. And I want that. I want someone to share my life with.’

‘Fiona…’

‘No, I’m sick of you telling me what I should do. I know what I need to do. And I need him.’ She sagged into a chair and covered her face with her hands. ‘Maybe you’re right.’ She lifted her face. ‘Maybe I can’t have him. But I need to talk to him. Please. You have to do something.’

Clare wrenched the hairpins out of her hair, turning to a small occasional table she’d arranged with colourful maracas and string dolls. ‘It’ll be okay. I almost had him.’

‘Are you going to try again?’

‘Sure, honey.’ Clare ran her fingers through her shoulder-length hair. Though how she could make it work she had no idea. Tonight should have worked. It should all have been over and done with by now.

‘And what happens if he won’t come?’

‘I guess we’ll work it out—if that happens.’

Mark shook the hand of the last guest. It had been a memorable night. One of the best charity dinners he’d ever hosted. The donations had been varied, but on the whole he counted it as a success. Somewhere, some time, some poor soul would benefit from tonight, and a swell of satisfaction filled his chest.

He could have done better, and usually he’d be berating himself for lost opportunities or missed chances. But tonight it was Clare Harrison who still buzzed in his veins. She’d been a great time.

She was right. He was bored. And he was all for meeting her challenge and finding out everything about her.

It was late and he was slowing down, but the memory of her was as vivid and immediate for him as it had been when she’d been in his arms, at his table, taunting his mind. He rubbed his jaw. It annoyed him that he still couldn’t work out what her game was. Pre-empting people was what he did well, what he was good at, but he was at a loss here. What the hell was she up to?

‘Mark, I’m exhausted. Take me home.’ Sasha rubbed a hand up his arm and over his shoulder.

He offered her a soft smile. She’d been extremely tolerant of his behaviour. After Clare had left he had finally given her the introductions she’d come for. Better late than never, he’d figured—though Sasha hadn’t seemed as interested as he’d expected her to be after all the fuss she’d made about it.

‘Get them to call the car around. I’ll be out in a minute.’ Mark watched Sasha saunter out of the ballroom, swinging her hips. She was a cute kid, and a great friend to his sister. Jess needed good friends. She’d been through enough and didn’t need any more upsets in her life.

Clare had got her facts spot-on. Their parents’ divorce had been a traumatic time. Add to that their father losing everything he’d had left to bankruptcy, and Jess barely escaping a wild plunge into drink and drugs, there wasn’t any wonder that poor Jess clung to him now for her stability.

Mark figured it was ironic that he now had the lifestyle his father had worked so hard towards. He’d even given his father a loan just last year for yet another venture.