Читать книгу A Groom For The Taking: The Wedding Date - Элли Блейк, Ally Blake - Страница 11

THE lift doors opened to reveal a line of people outside the Gatehouse’s basement nightclub. The doof-doof-doof of the beat echoing from behind the bouncer-manned double doors thundered in Hannah’s chest.

It didn’t help that she was overly aware of the big warm man standing so close behind her she could feel the brush of his jeans against her backside every time the line moved.

‘Stop fidgeting,’ Bradley said, his breath brushing her chandelier earring against her bare neck. ‘You look fine.’

‘Thanks,’ she said dryly. But she could hardly tell him the fidgets were all his doing.

The doors opened. Lights flashed over their faces. The line moved forward. Hannah took her chance and arched away from him. The doors closed. Doof-doof-doof.

‘I was serious when I said you should get a guide to take you out for a night tour of Cradle Mountain rather than coming along to this pre-wedding party thing.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Look,’ she said, leaning back so she could drop her voice in case any of the bouncy young things in line were from Elyse’s wedding party, ‘it’s just going to be a bunch of locals, all of whom will pinch me on the cheek and remind me they were there the time I took off down Main Street naked. You’ll be bored out of your mind.’

When he didn’t answer straight away she looked up at him, surprised to find his jaw was clenched. He asked, ‘You took off down Main Street naked?’

The husky timbre of his voice gave her pause before she cleared her throat and explained, ‘I was two, and not overly keen on having a bath that evening.’

The slightly haunted look in his eyes disappeared. ‘You were a tearaway?’

‘Hardly. I was the perfect first child. Studious, polite, a pleaser. I took singing and dancing lessons for four years because Mum wanted me to—even though I’m tone deaf with two left feet. In compensation, when I did have my moments, I made the most of them—usually in front of the entire town.’

‘Coming in?’ the bouncer asked.

Hannah looked up to find they were at the front of the line. And she was still leaning back against her boss as though they were in the middle of a crushing crowd.

She pulled herself upright, rolled her shoulders and said, ‘You betcha.’

The bouncer smiled. ‘Knock ‘em dead.’

Hannah gave him a bright smile, feeling for the first time that night as if maybe she could. As if she was no longer the naked two-year-old, or the gawky, soccer-playing tomboy kid of the local beauty queen. ‘You know what? I’m going to do just that.’

The guy cleared his throat and blushed.

Only when she nodded did he open the door.

Bradley placed his hand against the small of her back and gave her a not too subtle shove. In fact she practically had to trot to stop from falling over.

‘Somebody has a fan,’ Bradley murmured against her ear once they were inside and the doof-doof-doof had become music so loud she could barely hear herself.

‘I do not.’

‘That big, burly bouncer back there thinks you look more than fine tonight. He thinks you look downright gorgeous. And you know what?’

Hannah was feeling so dizzy from the effects of that voice skimming her ear she was amazed she had the ability to speak. ‘What?’

‘He has a point.’

Then the door swung shut behind them, and it was too loud to do anything but shout to be heard.

The club was rocking. Tasmania-style.

There were men with burnt-orange copper mine dust stained into their jeans and the grooves of their hands, mixed with women and men in business suits, twenty-somethings in classic black club attire, and tourists in sensible layers.

And then there was Hannah.

Bradley might not have been to a wedding in his life, but he had seen his fair share of bachelor parties. Leaving studious, polite and pleasing Hannah to her own devices at such a do, looking the way she did, was never going to happen.

Smoky make-up and glossy pink lips. Tousled hair that seemed to shimmer every time she moved. And an outfit that seemed demure at first glance only to cling in all the right places the second she breathed.

Not that his imagination needed help. All that talk of her running naked down Main Street had brought her dash from the bathroom back to the front and centre of his mind. In full 3D. Technicolor. As for her perfume … It had his nostrils flaring like a horse in heat every time she moved.

If she’d come to the wilds of Tasmania looking for a wild fling then she was going the right way about it. Hell, without even turning his head he could see a dozen men checking her out, and the look in their eyes was creating a red mist behind his.

Because he had her back. He’d promised he would, and he was a man of his word.

He moved in closer, putting his hands on her shoulders as she began to snake a path through the club, so he wouldn’t lose her in the crowd. Her hair spilled over his fingers, silky soft. His thumbs rested against the back of her warm neck.

The fact that those men with room keys burning holes in their pockets might consider his touch some kind of brand was their problem.

And possibly, he admitted, his.

It would only take one of those goons to show her the time of her life this long weekend and she’d have reason to wonder if sixty-hour weeks working for a stubborn perfectionist was actually a form of sado-masochism.

Resolve turned to steel inside him. Hannah must have felt it in his grip. She glanced back at him, eyebrows raised in question. He tilted his head towards the bar, and lifted a hand off her shoulder to motion that he needed a drink.

She gave him a thumbs-up and a wide, bright smile. Even in the smoky half-darkness the luminosity in those eyes of hers cut through. Showing the lightness of spirit that made her easy to have around.

The goons could go hang. She’d be damned hard to replace.

The crowd bumped and jostled. Then out of nowhere lumbered a guy carrying a tray of beers who looked as if he’d drunk a keg by himself already that night. Instinctively Bradley slid an arm around Hannah’s slight waist and lifted her bodily to one side. She squeaked as she avoided having a cup of beer spilled over her in its entirety by about half a hair’s breadth.

He found a breathing space in the gap around a massive pillar covered in trails of fake ivy, and let her down slowly until her back was against the protective sconce.

His breaths came heavily. Then again, so did hers. Her chest lifting and falling, her lips slightly parted. Pupils so dark he couldn’t find a lick of green.

A wisp of hair was stuck to her cheek. He casually swept the strand back into place, tucking it behind her ear where he knew she liked it. But there was nothing casual about the sudden burst of energy that coursed through his finger, as if he’d had an electric shock. He folded his fingers into his palm.

‘You’re making a habit of coming to my rescue this weekend,’ she said, shifting until the hand that had remained on her hip nudged at her hipbone. ‘A girl could get used to it.’

‘Don’t,’ he growled, shocked at the ferocity of the urge to slide his hand up to her waist to see if it was as soft and warm as the sliver of skin he touched indicated. ‘I’m no Galahad. I was thinking of myself the whole time. Of the griping I’d have to put up with if you ended up soaked head to toe in beer.’

He pictured it now. Her skin glistening. Her white top rendered all but see-through. Her tongue sliding between her lips to clean away the amber fluid shining thereupon.

He’d never felt himself grow so hard so fast.

But this was Hannah. The woman whose job it was to de-complicate his life. Hannah, whose hair smelt of apples. Whose soft pink lips were parted so temptingly. Who was looking up at him with those wide, bright and clear open eyes of hers. Unblinking. Unflinching. Unshrinking.

He stood his ground for several beats, then slowly, carefully, removed his hands from her body, sliding one into a safe spot in the back pocket of his jeans and placing the other on the column above her head.

‘Now,’ he said, his voice as deep as an ocean, ‘do you still want that drink?’

She nodded, her hair spilling sexily over her shoulders. It took every ounce of his strength not to wrap his fingers around a lock and tug her the last few inches it would take for those wide, soft pink lips to meet his.

‘Boston Sour, right?’ he asked.

She nodded again. A waft of that killer perfume slid past his nose. He gripped the pillar so hard he felt plaster come away on his fingernails.

‘I’m guessing beer for you,’ Hannah said. ‘Imported. Sliver of lime.’

Her words carried a slow smile, and behind that a hesitant note of flirtation he’d never heard from her before. He knew her drink of choice. She knew his. And now they both knew it.

‘Stay here,’ he demanded. ‘Don’t move. I didn’t save you from that booze-soaked clod so that some other mischief might befall you the second I leave you alone.’

He’d moved to push away, to get her drink and whatever they could pour quickest for himself, when she lifted a hand and flicked an imaginary speck from his shirt. ‘Whether you want to admit it or not, beneath the tough guy exterior you are, in fact, an honest-to-goodness nice guy.’

Through the cotton of his shirt her fingernails scraped against the hair on his chest, which sprang to attention at her touch. He clenched his teeth so hard a shot of pain pulsed in his temple.

Nice? Hardly. The truth was her tough relationship with her mother had unexpectedly slid beneath his defences and connected with his own. And in a rare fit of solidarity he’d felt he had no choice but to help.

He wasn’t being nice. He was choosing sides in battle. A battle whose lines were fast blurring. Dangerously fast.

It was time to make the boundaries perfectly clear. So that she understood just how close to the fire they were dancing.

‘Honey,’ he drawled, ‘looking out for you this weekend is purely professional insurance. I want you back on dry land this Tuesday, ready to work—not all hung-over and homesick, addled by wedding-induced romantic thoughts. That’s it. End of story. You think your mother is egocentric? She has nothing on me.’

He dropped his hand till it rested just above her shoulder. Edged closer till she had to arch back to look him in the eye. Till his knee brushed against the outside of hers. The rasp of denim on suede shot sparks up his leg which settled with a painful fizz in his groin.

She flinched at the sliding contact. Her cheeks grew red. The crowd jostled, the music blared, and the air around them was so heavy with implication and consequence it vibrated. He was meant to be teaching his protégée a lesson. Instead the effort of keeping himself in check made his muscles burn.

Hannah’s hand slowly flattened to rest against his chest. But she didn’t push him away. If the thunderous thumping of his heart wasn’t enough of a caution to her, he wondered how far he might have to go.

And where the point of no return might be.

It did occur to him—far too late—that he might have walked blithely past it the moment he’d stepped off his plane. The moment he’d made certain they’d be stranded on an island, to all intents and purposes alone.

Suddenly she gave him a hearty shove, then ducked under his arm and took off to the edge of the dance floor. He should have been relieved. But it wasn’t often he had a girl literally bolt from his advances—simulated or otherwise.

Feeling suddenly adrift, he made to follow when the strains of a new song blaring over the speakers stopped him short. That particular combination of notes plucked at something inside him. Something that chased all of Hannah’s latent heat from his veins and chilled him to the bone.

In his mind’s eye he could see a woman standing at a kitchen bench, hand reaching out for an overly full glass of wine, dishtowel thrown over her shoulder, gently swaying from side to side as she quietly sang along with the small radio on the bench at her elbow.

One of his aunts? No. Wrong kitchen.

The woman in his mind turned, but he couldn’t see her face. In the end he didn’t need to. The moment she saw him her whole body seemed to contract in on itself, and the overwhelming sense of rebuff told him exactly who she was.

It was his mother’s kitchen. His mother’s disappointment bombarding him. Telling him without words that he was nothing to her but a constant reminder that she’d fallen pregnant young and his father had bolted the minute he’d heard. It was his fault her life hadn’t tuned out as she’d hoped it would.

‘No, no, no!’ a familiar voice shouted at the edge of his consciousness.

He dragged himself back to the present to see Hannah, in her tight capri pants, sexy stilettos, hair tumbling down her back, with hands to her ears, mouth agape, staring into the distance.

At the sight of her—the realness of her, the nowness of her—the unbearable memory dissolved like a pinch of salt in a pool of water. It was just what he needed in that moment. She was just what he needed.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked, placing a hand on her arm. Hannah’s warmth beneath his fingers further banished the cold memories. Selfishly, he let his hand trail down her arm till it found purchase in the sultry dip of her waist.

At his intimate touch her eyes snapped from the middle distance to glance at him. Cheeks pink. Eyes bright and questioning. Confused.

But mostly curious.

His solar plexus clenched in pure and unadulterated sexual response. It hit so hard, so violently, he just had to stand there and ride it. Either that or haul her over his shoulder like some caveman and drag her back to their room. Their shared room.

The song changed key. Hannah blinked, as if coming round from a trance. Then she waved a frantic arm in the direction of the karaoke stage and yelled to be heard over the speakers buzzing nearby. ‘I’m not tall enough to see, but is that my mother?’

Her mother?

‘You mean the one singing?’

Hannah nodded frantically.

Bradley searched the hazy room to see Hannah’s mother was indeed up on stage, belting out a Cliff Richard classic while swinging her hips and waving at the small crowd who were cheering as if she was a rock star. A man joined her on stage—a man young enough to be Hannah’s brother. Though from the way they oozed over the microphone together Bradley assumed the man was not blood-related.

‘That would be her,’ he said, keeping that last part to himself.

The sad, withdrawn, silently accusing woman fading in his mind and Hannah’s effervescent mother couldn’t have been more diametrically opposite if they’d tried. But neither of them could ever have hoped to be named mother of the year.

Instinct moved him closer to Hannah still. His body protecting hers from the crush. When she didn’t pull away he slid his arm further around her waist, drawing her close enough that he collected wafts of that insanely sexy perfume with every breath. Then she leaned into him, the curves of her body slotting so temptingly into the grooves of his, and a slow, steady pulse began to throb in his groin.

Who was playing with fire now?

‘Come on, kiddo,’ he shouted above the din. ‘Let’s get those drinks.’

They hadn’t taken two steps when they were stopped by a small crowd of people and Hannah was wrenched from Bradley, leaving a chill where her sensual warmth had been.

He shoved his untrustworthy hands back in pockets, and watched as person after person grabbed Hannah in a warm embrace. She was right; her naked run down Main Street was well-remembered.

After a minute Hannah sent him a look of apology. He shook his head once to tell her it was fine. And it was. Watching someone else get mobbed rather than him was something of a novelty.

Attention always made him feel scratchy. He’d never courted it, never coveted it, and certainly hadn’t done anything to deserve it. Even if he had, the attention was so foreign he’d never been equipped to know how to deal with it bar turning to stone till the discomfort passed.

Hannah, on the other hand, took attention and affection in her stride. As if it was expected. As if it was her right.

A completely unexpected kick of something that felt a whole lot like envy tightened his throat.

He’d never cared that not one of the folk who’d been forced to take him in had ever come looking for him. Not even since he’d found some notoriety. In fact he’d been relieved. If he couldn’t put on an act for complete strangers, there was no way he could have done so for them.

But watching Hannah glow and blush and laugh, revelling in the close company of those who’d been witness to her life, gave him a glimpse at the other side of the looking glass. The sense of belonging he’d never been allowed to have.

This was what she’d walked away from. What she could have again if she ever chose to come home for good.

As if to jab the point home deep, Elyse leapt into the crowd surrounding Hannah, yanking her from the fray and back to his side. She shouted over the crowd noise, ‘I want to introduce you to someone!’

With a sweeping motion Elyse invited another man into their circle. Light brown hair, dimples, arms like a wrestler, twenty-five if he was a day. Elyse’s fiancé, Bradley assumed. They suited one another. A pair of happy-go-lucky puppies.

‘This is Hannah,’ Elyse said, wrapping her arm about Hannah’s shoulder, her gleaming eyes glancing hungrily between Hannah and … Not Tim, Bradley realised all too late, when he saw the predatory gleam in the other man’s eyes.

‘I’m Roger,’ said Dimples. ‘The best man. Elyse, you were being miserly when you described how pretty she was.’ Behind his hand he stage-whispered, ‘Your sister’s a knockout.’

Elyse laughed uproariously and pinched Hannah on the arm. Hannah did her best to pretend she hadn’t noticed. Bradley felt a distinctly non-puppy-like growl building inside him.

‘Pleased to meet you, Roger,’ Hannah said, holding out a hand.

Dimples took it—and kissed it.

Elyse clapped.

Hannah smiled politely.

Bradley stood to his full height and thought weightlifting-type thoughts.

Elyse must have noticed him filling every inch of available space, and gave a perfunctory wave in his direction. ‘Roger, this is Bradley Knight—Hannah’s boss. He’s filling in for Great-Aunt Maude.’

Bradley deflated, not sure he’d ever been given a more underwhelming introduction.

The two men shook hands. Dimples held on a little too tight. Punk. Bradley gave the kid one last ominous squeeze before letting go. He couldn’t hide his smile when the guy winced.

Lightweight.

‘I hear you’re an aerobics instructor?’ Bradley said.

‘Personal trainer,’ Roger shot back, seemingly oblivious to the intended put-down.

Hannah, on the other hand, noticed very much. In fact she gave a little cough at the exact time she stamped on Bradley’s foot with one of those damned stiletto heels. He shook out his pulsating foot, then shoved his shoe neatly between hers. Her heels slid apart on the parquetry floor, and a hard breath puffed through her lips.

As Elyse waxed lyrical about the hotel, Hannah’s hand drifted behind her to rest against his thigh. He clenched everywhere while he waited to see what she might do in retribution. As it turned out the gentle rise and fall of her pinky finger against his leg as she breathed was punishment enough.

‘And, boy, can your mum sing! Am I right?’ Roger said, giving Hannah a chummy punch on her arm.

Hannah blinked as though she’d forgotten he was even there. ‘Pardon? Oh, yeah. That she can!’

‘She was singing in a nightclub when our parents first met,’ Elyse piped up. ‘She was practising for her Miss Tasmania pageant number. He requested “The Way You Look Tonight”, which is her favourite song ever. It was love at first sight.’

‘Sounds like your father was a smart man,’ Roger said, sidling closer to Hannah.

Bradley had to stop himself from hauling her out of the guy’s way. A hard stare had to suffice.

Though Roger, it seemed, wasn’t as much of a meat-head as he’d first appeared. He shot Bradley a grin. A take-me-on-if-you-dare-Grandpa kind of grin.

‘Do you too have the voice of a nightingale?’ Roger asked, shining his dimples Hannah’s way.

Hannah waved her hands frantically in front of her face. ‘No. Nope. God, no. Uh-uh. No way. Tone deaf. Allergic to microphones. Rabid stage-fright.’

‘So that’s a no, then?’

Hannah laughed. ‘That would be a gigantic no.’

Roger grinned.

Elyse did a little happy jig.

Before he even knew what he was about to do, Bradley reached out and tucked his fingers around the belt of Hannah’s pants. His nails grazed the curve at the top of her buttocks. She all but leapt from her tottering shoes before she pressed her hand over his.

He fully expected her to slap his hand away. Or to do worse damage with her lethal shoes. He wouldn’t have blamed her. His move had been so far over the line of propriety it was nothing short of reckless.

But after a moment, two, her hand still remained locked over his. If anything she’d melted closer. Until he was near enough to see her neck was turning pink. To feel the heavy rise and fall of her breaths. To be gripped by the scent of her perfume.

As far as adventure thrills went, that moment was right up there. It was indecent. Torturously tempting. And, with no exit strategy in sight, completely against his own best interests.

He wondered quite how far he could go in the flickering semi-darkness, with her sister and Dimples and half her home town watching on. And how far this vamp version of Hannah would let him. His throbbing pulse ramped up into such a frenzy he could barely see straight.

‘Speak of the devil,’ Elyse said, and the unexpected angst in the girl’s voice was so potent it hauled him back to the present with a snap.

As one they turned to face the distant karaoke stage where the strains of ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ rang out in Virginia’s distinctively husky tones.

With his hand still tucked decadently into her pants, Bradley felt Hannah stiffen. The deliciously dark overtones to their play chilled. No guesses as to why. Virginia was singing the forties torch song her daughters associated with their deceased father. And she was singing it with yet another man.

From out of nowhere fury enveloped him. Fury he could barely control.

He moved himself in closer to Hannah, feeling a need to say … he knew not what, exactly. That he understood her disappointment? That he’d felt it too? That the only way to survive it was to turn your insides to rock so hard no amount of chipping made a dent?

No, he wouldn’t say any of that. Couldn’t. Not even while she practically crumbled before his eyes.

Besieged by a swirl of raw emotion, this was usually the point where he’d begin to feel icicles forming in his blood.

But then Hannah murmured, quietly enough he was sure only he heard, ‘Please, God, somebody remind her that this is her daughter’s wedding—not the place to pick up her next ex-husband.’

And he felt as if a pair of huge cold hands was squeezing his chest.

The adventure of the moment had been overtaken by too much stark reality for his liking.

He slid his hand from Hannah’s back and moved out of the circle. He clapped his hands loud enough that the small group turned his way. ‘Who wants a drink? My shout.’

‘There’s a bar tab, silly,’ Elyse said.

‘Even better. So, for the bride?’

‘Black Russian.’

‘Excellent. Beer for me. Boston Sour for Hannah.’

‘Hey, that was Dad’s favourite drink,’ Elyse said.

Bradley glanced at Hannah. With a deep breath she turned away from the stage and into the conversation. ‘The man had great taste—with only the occasional slip.’

Her eyes slid to his, a warm flicker coming back to life within. He couldn’t drag his eyes away even as he said, ‘Roger? Your favourite drink is …?’

‘I’d kill for a tequila slammer,’ Roger piped up.

The warmth in Hannah’s eyes sparked into a flickering fire, and her mouth turned up at the corners as she stifled a laugh. She had a great smile. Infectious as all get out. Bradley felt his own cheeks lifting in response.

‘Now, Roger, while you await your tequila slammer you should ask Hannah about her naked run down Main Street. It’s a classic.’

Hannah’s smile disappeared as she gawped at him—all hot pink cheeks and pursed red lips, bright eyes and huffing chest. Then she slowly shook her head. A warning of reprisals to come.

It was with that image in mind—that dark promise—that he turned and headed for the bar.

What a difference a day makes.

It had been less than a day since thought of Hannah jetting off for a wild weekend and a family wedding on an island she clearly adored had finally spooked him enough to abandon a long-planned New Zealand research trip on a plane.

Checking out Tasmania was a smart business move, but there was no avoiding the fact that the timing purely came down to his need to keep an eye on her. For losing her from the team at that point in time was exactly the kind of drama he did not need.

What with the Argentina show all but ready to fly, and New Zealand well and truly in the works. And now the germ of a new idea about Tasmania. He didn’t have the time to break in someone new.

He found a spot at the bar where he was a head taller than every other patron. Three rows back, he still caught the eye of a bored-looking barmaid. She perked up, fixed her hair, smiled, and ignored the throng between them.

He boomed out his order and mimed his room number for the bill. She pretended to write it on her hand. Or maybe she wasn’t pretending. She was cute. Willing. Lived miles away. But no part of him was stirred. Literally. Odd.

Drinks ordered, his thoughts readily skidded back to where he’d left them.

Breaking in a new employee was always frustrating. Not Hannah. She’d been a breeze from day one. With the stamina to keep up with him, the temperament to handle him, and a lighthearted nature that made her popular with staff, crew and station management alike. She could have said Yes, Bradley, you’re right, Bradley, a tad more for his liking—rather than contradicting him so readily. But all in all Team Bradley was the better for having her.

He was smart enough to know it wouldn’t last. Nothing ever did. One day she’d move on. It was the natural order of things. Every man for himself. No exceptions. Not for promises. Not even for blood.

It appeared as though she was sticking around for the immediate future. Hell would freeze over before she’d realise how much she missed living near her mum. As for the lightweight best man? Nothing to fear there.

A woman’s voice called out his room number. He reached over and collected the drinks. The barmaid batted her lashes and gave him an eyeful of cleavage. He gave her an appreciative smile, but nothing more. No need to raise the girl’s obvious hopes.

He was a busy man. On a mission to keep his assistant on the straight and narrow and out of the way of any who sought to knock her from her current path.

Hannah’s familiar laughter tinkled through the air. He turned to catch the sound. She was regaling the group with some story or another, and they were laughing their heads off. This was the Hannah he wasn’t ready to see go. Easy. Uncomplicated. Straight up.

She tossed her head and smiled widely at someone to her left, giving him a view of her profile. She waved and laughed. Bright and vivacious. Confident and extraordinarily sexy.

Several parts of him were stirred in an instant. Dramatically.

The fact that he seemed to be one of those with a craving to knock her from the straight and narrow was a whole other kettle of fish.