Читать книгу The Marriage Risk - Emma Darcy - Страница 8

LUCY was still boiling mad as she stomped up the stairs to her first-floor apartment in Bellevue Hill at six o’clock that evening.

An accountant!

A boring old accountant!

O-o-o-o-h, she wanted to punch James Hancock’s lights out with Josh tonight. She wanted to see him sitting at their table, looking like a stunned mullet as her partner outshone him, which Josh was perfectly capable of doing, the ultimate party guy when he was in brilliant form—huge charisma, pouring out his energy in bursts of winning charm. And he was as handsome as sin.

It was handy that he lived right next door to her in this old apartment block. All she had to do was ask and either Josh or his partner, Larry Berger, would help her with anything she needed help with. Gay men, she had decided long ago, could make the very best friends for a woman.

Even before she had known Josh was gay, back in their school days, she had really liked him as a person and they’d been good friends. He was kind and sensitive and supportive, as well as being great fun.

She had been grateful to have him as her boyfriend then, being able to go out as a couple without any of the hassle of being pressured to have sex. Some boys could get mean and nasty in pushing their wants. Some men, too, she’d found in later years. Even the few relationships she’d enjoyed for a while had lost their shine with the build-up of selfish demands. On the whole, her mother was right. Men wanted women on their own terms and being fair didn’t come into the equation.

Josh was always sweet relief from all that. His company had no price-tag on it. He was safe and safe was good. She couldn’t get into any trouble with Josh Rogan. He didn’t feel any sexual desire for her and she didn’t feel any for him. In fact, he was the perfect foil to her ungovernable feelings towards James Hancock, whom, in her wilder fantasies, she’d like to handcuff to her bed and watch him go mad with lust for her.

Which she knew was absurd!

James Hancock was never going to see her as anything but his worthy secretary. But no way was she going to let him think the only man she could attract was a boring accountant!

Having emerged from the stairwell, she bypassed her apartment door and strode straight to Josh’s, ringing his doorbell with an emphatic need for a swift response.

He was satisfyingly prompt in opening the door. ‘Lucy love!’ His eyebrows arched over merry brown eyes. ‘A change in plan?’

‘Yes,’ she snarled as a fresh rush of venom spilled onto her tongue. ‘My beastly employer thinks my escort this evening will be an accountant.’

‘Like…boring?’

Very quick on the uptake was Josh. ‘Exactly,’ she confirmed. ‘In retaliation I told him you were hot stuff.’

‘Absolutely! When I’m hot I literally sizzle with high octane energy. You want me to sizzle?’

‘I want you to burn him up. And Josh, wear that gorgeous metallic waistcoast and the blue silk tie.’

‘A touch of flamboyance with the formal suit?’

‘Shining is the order of the night.’

‘Lucy love, I shall glitter for you.’

‘Not too much,’ she warned. ‘You’re not to let anyone guess you’re gay.’

‘Totally straight behaviour, I promise.’

She heaved a sigh to relieve all the horrid pent-up feelings James Hancock had left her with today. ‘I need to get that guy, Josh.’

‘In more ways than one I gather.’

She eyed him wryly. ‘Hopeless case, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, little miracles can happen.’ He grinned, gleeful mischief twinkling in his eyes. ‘Trust me. We’ll make the man see you in a different light tonight.’

‘I’ll still be me, Josh.’

‘And so you should be. It’s his vision at fault, Lucy love, not you,’ he assured her. ‘Now go and put your glitter gear on and practice some sultry looks in the mirror. If I sizzle and you simmer…’

Despite the dejection that had suddenly overtaken her anger, she laughed at the picture he painted. ‘I’m not exactly a sex-pot and he’ll be with one. Buffy Tanner, the swimsuit model with the overflowing D-cup.’

Josh gestured an airy dismissal. ‘You’re fixated on big boobs. Superficial padding.’

‘Padding or not, I wish mine were bigger.’

‘Sexy is more in the attitude than the equipment,’ came the knowing advice. ‘And one other thing. Best to turn up late.’

‘I’m never late. I don’t like being late,’ she protested.

Sheer wickedness sparkled back at her. ‘But I’m hot stuff, Lucy love, and you just couldn’t resist having me. Punctuality shot to hell!’

She couldn’t help laughing again. ‘I doubt he’d even notice, Josh.’

‘Oh, he’ll notice all right.’ He waggled his eyebrows as he elaborated. ‘His predictable little secretary suddenly not fitting the frame he’s put her in. Believe me. He’ll notice.’

‘Well, I don’t actually need to be there on time,’ she argued to her obsession for punctuality. ‘He did say the tickets were free, no work-strings attached.’

‘There you are then,’ Josh asserted triumphantly. ‘Off you go. I’ll bring you a gin cocktail at seven-thirty. Some Mother’s Ruin to put you in the right party mood.’

They should be leaving at seven-thirty, her time-keeping brain dictated. It would take half an hour to get from Bellevue Hill to Darling Harbour, park Josh’s car, walk to the Sydney Convention Centre where the fund-raising ball was being held in the main auditorium. Cocktails in the foyer from eight o’clock the tickets read.

But so what if she had a cocktail here? The world would not come to an end if she didn’t turn up on the dot of eight o’clock. Why not be unpredictable for once?

‘Okay. And thanks, Josh.’ She flashed him an appreciative smile. ‘A friend in need is a friend indeed.’

The very best of friends, she thought warmly as she left him and let herself into her own apartment. Even this place, which was now hers—with a hefty mortgage—Josh had advised her was a good buy, if she could scrape up the money. The previous owners, now a divorced couple, had wanted a quick sale, and Lucy had stepped into a bargain, considering the real estate values in this location, midway between the inner city and Bondi Beach.

Walking into her very own space always gave her spirits a lift. James Hancock could call her a money-grubber as much as he liked. At least she didn’t have to depend on a man to provide her with the security of a home, which wasn’t secure at all if there was a divorce. Her careful savings over the years had added up to a solid down payment on this apartment. She was now a woman of property and she’d achieved it by herself.

Her mother was definitely right.

Being sensible did bring its own rewards.

Yet as Lucy headed for her bedroom, she wished she had splashed out and bought a glamorous gown for tonight. Although her one little black dress was perfectly adequate for any evening engagement, it was…boring. Not that it really mattered, she told herself. It was still a classy dress, bought cheaply from a secondhand designer boutique, and it would do…once again. She couldn’t compete with Buffy Tanner anyway. No point in trying. And the money saved would go towards buying the furniture she wanted.

All the same, she felt vaguely disgruntled with her basic common sense as she set about getting ready for the charity ball. It would undoubtedly give her considerable satisfaction to flaunt a flamboyant Josh as her partner tonight, hopefully delivering a metaphorical slap in the face to James Hancock and his opinion of her private life. But the truth was she never did do anything wildly exciting. Perhaps she was overly careful in her weighing up of whether a step was worth taking or not.

The worthy Miss Worthington…

The words stung.

The urge to act in a totally unworthy and outrageous way suddenly held a highly tempting attraction. Especially in front of James Hancock. Free tickets meant free from any responsibility. She could play as fast and as loose as she liked with Josh, knowing there’d be no nasty consequences from him, and if she was going to hand in her notice and find another job, why not do and say anything that came into her head. Puncturing James Hancock’s complacent judgement of her would go a long way towards salving her pride. And hurt.

Lawless Lucy…

She chuckled over the name that had slid into her mind.

Why not?

She stopped burning and started simmering. Attitude, Josh had said. Never mind her clothes or anything else. It was all in the attitude.

It wasn’t like Lucy to be late.

James Hancock couldn’t stop himself from glancing at his Rolex watch yet again. Another few minutes and the crowd of guests enjoying cocktails in the foyer would be moving into the auditorium. She should have been here at least half an hour ago. While he’d been waiting for her to arrive, he’d greeted an endless stream of the beautiful people and he could feel his smile getting very stiff. Damn the woman! Where was she?

His buoyant anticipation had slid through a frazzle of frustration at her continued non-appearance and was now descending into nagging worry. Had there been an accident? Lucy didn’t drive, didn’t own a car—too penny-pinching to buy one—but he knew nothing about this Josh Rogan who was bringing her here tonight. If he was hot stuff behind a wheel and had involved Lucy in a smash…no, surely she was too level-headed to go out with a speed-jerk.

But what was keeping her?

‘Wow! Who is that?’ Buffy breathed, her sexual interest obviously stirred.

James snapped out of his introspection, his male ego somewhat piqued. While Buffy might still be a bit miffed about his lack of appreciation for how long it took to look her fabulous best for him, drooling over other men was hardly designed to win his favour. It was as rude as unpunctuality, another black mark against continuing the relationship.

With a jaundiced eye, he looked where she was looking and was instantly jolted into electric attention. Lucy! Hanging onto the arm of a guy who could be cast as the romantic lead in a movie, and probably was!

He had a matinee idol face framed by a riot of black curls, a smile a dentist would be proud of, and he certainly didn’t mind drawing attention to what was obviously a gym-toned body, wearing a flashy waistcoat with an over-lustrous coloured tie which mocked the regular black bow-ties most of the other male guests, including himself, had automatically used.

A young trendy show-off, James was telling himself, just as Buffy heaved a sigh that undoubtedly set her opulent breasts aquiver for the approaching sex symbol to notice. His teeth grated together as he switched his attention to Lucy, who, he was suddenly pleased to see looked her normal self—hair neatly tucked up, glasses on, the same little black cocktail dress she invariably wore when called upon to attend an evening function.

Except there was something different about her—a jaunty self-satisfied sway to her hips—which struck him as decidedly un-prim. Her mouth, too, seemed to have a more sensual purse to her lips as she gazed up at the self-styled hot stuff, who was apparently amusing her with his playboy patter.

In fact, James began to feel that Lucy’s prim facade was more innately provocative than Buffy’s in-your-face femininity. It was certainly tantalising, posed next to the party guy who was parading her towards the group in which James and Buffy stood, waiting to be joined by these two last table companions.

Waiting, James thought irritably, able to dismiss his concern over Lucy’s absence now. No doubt it was the star act she had in tow who had kept them waiting. He struggled to adopt an affable manner for performing introductions, hoping Buffy would stop ogling and have the decency to remember who her escort was.

‘Ah!’ he drawled with a bright, welcoming smile. ‘Here you are! We’re about to go into the auditorium,’ he couldn’t resist adding to point out their lateness.

‘But there’s time for introductions,’ Buffy pressed eagerly, positively jiggling with eagerness.

‘Lucy…’ James invited, keeping his teeth clamped in a smile.

‘James Hancock, Josh Rogan,’ Lucy obliged with commendable economy.

James braced himself to return a macho handshake but apparently the younger man felt no need to prove himself stronger than Lucy’s employer. He simply radiated self-assurance, his dark eyes twinkling the kind of focused interest that made people feel at ease and pleased by the interest. James recognised the ploy. He used it himself. Josh Rogan was clearly an accomplished salesman.

‘A pleasure, having you with us,’ James rolled out, containing his curiosity while he did the honours. With a sweep of his hand encompassing the group around him, he went on, ‘I think you’re all acquainted with my punctilious secretary, Lucy Worthington.’ Although she had certainly not been punctilious tonight! ‘Josh, this is Buffy Tanner…’

Buffy leaned over as she took Josh Rogan’s hand, giving him an eyeful, but unlike most men who would find the view irresistible, Josh smiled into her face and repeated her name with a happy lilt that could have been applied to a Matilda or a Beatrice. If he was receiving Buffy’s signals, he had no intention of answering them.

The other three couples in their group were given the same treatment by Josh Rogan as he was introduced to them. James could find no fault in his manner. The response to him was instinctively positive, an attractive person putting out pleasant vibrations and getting them back.

‘What business are you in, Josh?’ Hank Gidley, the last one to be introduced, inquired with keen interest.

‘Fine wines. Import and export,’ came the answer that allowed James to slot him into place, though it wasn’t the place he’d first imagined. However, it did explain the polished savoire-faire displayed so far. Josh Rogan was used to dealing with customers who could afford to buy fine wines and he probably charmed them into buying whatever he wanted to sell.

‘Oh, I thought you’d be in modelling like me,’ Buffy gushed.

The dark eyes twinkled at her wickedly. ‘Like everyone else, I admire external beauty, Buffy, but I’m really into tasting superb content.’ And he swung his gaze to Lucy as though she provided the taste he most relished.

She grinned at him—grinned like a Cheshire cat who’d just been fed lashings of cream—and James felt his stomach clenching with outrage. Here he’d been worrying about her, while she had been revelling in being tasted by this wine buff, no doubt with much sensual appreciation. Which explained why her hips had been swaying with that smirk of satisfaction about them.

‘Time to go in to our table,’ he announced tersely, and wrapped Buffy’s arm around his to lead off their little procession.

Nothing was going to plan this evening.

Nothing!

And he didn’t like it one bit.