Читать книгу Always the Best Man - Фиона Харпер - Страница 9

DAMIEN felt the muscles of Zoe’s torso tense quite clearly, even though his fingertips were only lightly resting on her shoulder blade, and it pulled him out of whatever delightful bubble he’d lost himself in. For a moment he’d been totally focused on the dancing, neither regretting the past—of what might have been had he met Sara first—or yearning for a future that would never be his. How odd, that it was with this woman he’d found a sense of calm in this nightmare of a day.

No more, though. The unusual softness that had been in Zoe’s eyes was gone, replaced with the more familiar hard, cheeky, taunting one, and he mentally kicked himself for forgetting he was dancing with an unexploded bomb.

‘I’m impressed,’ she said, but the look in her eyes told him this compliment had a sting in its tail. ‘I didn’t think a man like you would be any good at something like this.’

Ouch. There it was. But gentler and more skilful than he’d expected.

A man like him. What was so wrong with that?

He found he couldn’t let her remark go unchallenged. Dancing had been a good momentary distraction, but now she’d ruined that he’d resort to a bit of one-upmanship with Zoe, if that was what she wanted.

‘A man like what?’ he said through his teeth, still smiling, as he flicked his wrist and spun her out to the side.

She didn’t miss a step, her hips moving like molasses, accentuated by the clinging fabric of her bridesmaid’s dress.

‘Oh, you know …’ Her voice was light and breezy. ‘Uptight. Buttoned-up.’

He ignored the comment, even though he noticed the movements of his torso became less fluid with each step, despite his efforts to the contrary. He bunched his shoulders, one after the other, and let them drop again. ‘I’m not uptight.’

Zoe didn’t answer—not with words—but her smile hitched to one side, giving her an impish air.

Oh, no? the smile said.

Damien shook his head, narrowing his eyes. And he made his lower half move more freely, just to prove her wrong. It wasn’t quite the same as when he’d been truly relaxed a few moments before, but it was better than nothing, and he threw in a few dips and turns, just to keep her from noticing the difference.

She kept up, of course, adding her own brand of spice to each shift of weight, each wiggle. Grudgingly, he gave her silent credit.

But Damien didn’t want to notice just how easy it was to dance with Zoe St James, didn’t want to admit they complemented each other in any way at all, despite the growing sense of heat travelling up his body or the skipping of his pulse in his veins, so he tore his gaze away from hers, looked beyond her shoulder.

And instantly regretted it.

Without wanting to, he sought out the bride and groom on the crowded dance floor. They’d finished with any pretence of doing proper steps now and just clung to each other, her head resting on his shoulder, eyes closed in a state of bliss. A horrible emptiness settled on Damien.

Since his partner was probably the lesser of two evils, he switched his gaze to her and found her studying him. Without letting him lead, she released his hand, stepped out, free arm raised, and then moved back in again, coming close. Much too close.

Sara would never have danced with him like this, not even if they’d been a couple. And suddenly he was angry with Zoe for causing him to make comparisons, for making him notice who she wasn’t, because that ache was growing now, filling his chest, catching his breath.

No, this wasn’t Sara. She would never be Sara. And, on some entirely primal—and completely unreasonable—level, he wanted to make her pay for that.

He caught her in a ballroom hold, using slightly more pressure than normal, and saw her eyes widen in response. Surprise, however, was quickly doused by defiance.

Damien turned, letting her have the unhindered view of the happy couple, but unfortunately, the nature of the dance meant that every few bars he was faced with the sight of them again. And he couldn’t help torturing himself by looking, by wondering what if …?

When he looked at his partner again she blinked slowly as a mischievous smile played on her lips. ‘I’d thank you for the pleasure of dancing with you, but it would be a lie,’ she said.

Damien knew he shouldn’t rise to the bait, but his defences had been eroded by the acid of this happy day. ‘Believe me,’ he replied, ‘the feeling is entirely mutual.’

Zoe smirked, and Damien’s blood rose a few degrees in temperature. She wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this. He wanted her off his back. Avoidance had failed. Charm had failed. The only artillery he had left in his current state of mind was the blunt truth.

‘Look, I don’t like you and you don’t like me, but let’s just get through this dance—for Luke and Sara’s sake—then we can go our separate ways.’

And then, because looking at Zoe made him feel clammy and out of control, his gaze slid inevitably back to Sara.

Zoe twisted her head to follow his line of sight and then whispered in his ear, ‘I’ve seen you watching them.’

That got his attention. That got his focus one hundred per cent back on his partner. An icy electric shock arced from his chest down to his stomach. She hadn’t guessed, had she? Because, if Zoe knew his secret, there was no doubt in his mind that she would broadcast it far and wide.

‘I’m happy for them,’ he mumbled, and his feet suddenly felt like bricks, causing him to miss a step.

Zoe’s smirk grew, enveloping her in an aura of smugness. ‘It’s more than that,’ she said and then her eyes widened a little—a penny dropping into place somewhere in the back of her head. ‘There’s something about what they’ve got, about that—’ she pulled her hand from his and waved it in the direction of the bride and groom ‘—you can’t keep your eyes off.’

Damien held his breath while Zoe began to laugh.

‘Who’d have thought it? Damien Stone, not living up to his name, actually having an emotion other than pride for once.’

Pride? What was she talking about? He was a stand-up guy, someone to depend on in a crisis. What was proud about that? And how dare Zoe St James judge him?

‘Well, at least I have some pride,’ he countered. ‘Having no sense of shame isn’t considered an asset by most people.’

Her mouth dropped open and a little gasp slipped through her lips.

Damien couldn’t hide his slow smile. Now he understood just why Zoe enjoyed firing off her little verbal darts so much. There was a lovely glow of satisfaction to be had when one hit home.

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You stuck-up … unbearable …’

Now he was tempted to laugh, never having seen this woman without just the right sarcasm-laced word for any occasion. It was oddly gratifying to see her speechless, even for just a few seconds, because he was sure her talent wouldn’t desert her for too long.

Unfortunately, his plan to silence her, to get her off his, backfired. It was then she decided to pull out the heavy artillery, get really personal.

‘What is it about Luke and Sara that gives the great Damien Stone that faraway look in his eyes, I wonder? Just what is it that turns him into a big-eyed puppy dog with his tongue lolling out?’

Pins and needles tingled up Damien’s spine. He knew she was spouting nonsense, just hunting for ammunition, but if she kept talking—and Zoe St James would always keep talking—she might just stumble onto the truth. He had to get her out of here. Out of earshot of any of the other wedding guests and especially Luke and Sara.

They weren’t far from one of the entrances to the marquee now and, with a bit of nimble footwork, he spun her in that direction, then hauled her through the muslin-draped doorway. Once they were out into the cool night air, he dropped all pretence of dancing—dropped her—except for one hand, which he kept firmly clasped in his as he dragged her towards the formal gardens, ignoring her squeals of protest.

He marched down gravel paths edged with low box hedges towards the sound of running water. When they were far enough from the marquee not to be heard, or even to be stumbled upon, Damien put on the brakes and turned to face Zoe, throwing her hand back to her as if he’d been contaminated by its touch.

‘What exactly is your problem?’ he said, his voice thin from the effort of keeping a lid on his temper.

She held her hand to her torso with the other one, rubbing it furiously. ‘Ow!’ Her mouth stayed open as she searched for more words. When they came they were worth the wait.

‘What’s my problem?’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘This, from the guy who is so far up his own backside he can probably see his tonsils!’

There it was. Zoe gold—although its properties were closer to those of petrol as far as Damien was concerned.

‘That’s enough.’ Far too much. She’d do well to heed the silky tone that had crept into his voice. When his employees heard it, they scarpered.

But Zoe, as always, didn’t know when to stop, didn’t know when too much was too much. She just battled on, pointing out his flaws, circling round the undiscovered truth, but getting closer to it every second.

He tried to shut her up by various methods: further warnings, ignoring her. He even tried to reason with her, but that runaway mouth just kept on jogging.

‘I don’t know what’s got you all churned up today,’ she said finally, her hands on her hips, her breath coming in short pants, which was emphasising the rise and fall of her breasts in a way Damien was trying very hard not to notice. ‘Maybe you’re just jealous because Luke has Sara and you’ve got no one. But until you can climb down off that self-made pedestal and act like a human being instead of something carved out of marble I doubt any woman would say yes to you anyway!’

Oh, Damien was feeling very human at this moment, thank you very much. Nothing cold and dead about his racing pulse, or the jumpy feeling that reminded him of a pressure cooker just about to pop its lid. He needed to move, to shout, to run, to do something to release whatever was building inside of him. And that sensation seemed to grow with every syllable spilling from Zoe St James’s mouth.

She opened it again, and Damien decided he couldn’t take another second. He had to shut that smart mouth up. And only one way came to mind.

It was stupid. Reckless. But the cocktail of stress, disappointment and adrenalin egged him on until he had no other option but to slip his hand behind Zoe’s neck, drag her to him and kiss her.

Damien had marched her down a path that led to a large stone fountain with a wall surrounding it. Zoe grabbed onto it with one hand as the other made a mess of Damien’s shirt, bunching it up so hard she doubted the creases would ever be erased. That flimsy grip on the cotton and his hand at the back of her neck were the only things that were preventing her from taking a swim.

Apart from his lips, of course.

She should pull away and slap him, shouldn’t she? Who the hell did he think he was? But she didn’t pull away. She didn’t slap him. Because, unfortunately, Mr Perfect was living up to his name in the kissing department too.

It started out hot and hard and … hot some more, but after a while it changed, slowed. The kiss became more about tasting and exploring than competing and raging. Zoe stopped gripping onto the fountain and placed that hand on his chest too, snaked it round his neck, matching him, as his long fingers uncurled and began to explore the fine hair that curled into ringlets at the base of her skull.

Damn her impulsive nature. It was entirely responsible for starting all of this. First of all, it had got hold of her mouth and had run away with it, then it had poked a stick at a caged tiger to see what it would do. And now it knew just what the tiger was capable of, it wasn’t particularly inclined to stop!

This was Damien Stone, remember? Pull away.

He’s not attracted to you. He doesn’t even like you. And it shouldn’t matter just how good he tastes or exactly what he’s doing with his lips. Save yourself the humiliation and end this. And if you want to salvage some of that non-existent pride of yours, you need to end this first.

But Zoe had never been one for listening to advice. Especially her own.

And the kiss, although it was still slowing in tempo, was building in intensity. In fact, she thought the tops of her ears might have just caught fire. What was more, she really didn’t care.

Damien had been kissing her for quite some time now, and he certainly seemed to be enjoying himself just as much as she was, seemed to be immersed in the moment. Of course she could be wrong. This could just be him on autopilot. But, crikey, if all this slow expertise was what he managed when he was only halfway invested, imagine what the full blast would be like! Forget the tips of her ears—she’d have to throw her entire body in the fountain.

She let go of his shirt, now creased beyond all hope, and explored his torso, running her fingers between jacket and shirt, letting her palms slide across his back.

Perhaps he did find her attractive after all. Maybe all that pent-up aggression and haughtiness had just been the Stone version of pigtail-pulling. She knew she shouldn’t let it, but that thought burrowed deep inside her and started to glow. She couldn’t stop it, not when she’d spent a lifetime being invisible to most men like him, men who were way out of her league. She sighed as Damien’s lips left her mouth and headed towards her ear.

It was then they both heard footsteps on the gravel path. They both froze, not even coherent enough to pull hands and lips away from each other, ending up stuck together like a parody of Rodin’s famous statue.

‘Damien, there you are. Sara was looking for you a moment ago and, oh … um … sorry.’

It was Luke’s voice. Zoe tried to shrink herself sideways. Not easy when you were as generously proportioned as she was. But at present Damien was shielding her from Luke’s view, and for some reason he didn’t want Luke to find out who he was with, and that was fine by her. She didn’t want this moment of temporary insanity being reported round the wedding reception any more than he did.

But trust Damien to choose this moment to stop doing the perfect thing. He found the strength to move, stepped back and stared at her. The heat rushed from the top of her ears straight into her cheeks.

‘Oh! Zoe …!’ Luke was frowning and smiling at the same time, although the smile was starting to win. ‘Sorry … Just didn’t think you two … Like I said, I’ll come back—’ he grinned ‘—later.’

Footsteps on gravel again, getting quieter. And then it was just a trickle of the fountain, the rasp of their breath and the noise of the party from the marquee, otherworldly and muffled.

Neither of them spoke. Not with words. But Damien’s face began to get very eloquent, and the emotions on display were not what a girl wanted to see after a kiss like that.

Shock. Confusion. Even a little bit of guilt, if she wasn’t mistaken, although she couldn’t guess why. His mouth pulled down and she felt as if he’d taken a huge step backwards, even though he hadn’t actually moved. It was that last emotion that really put the cherry on top.

Disgust.

That was when she slapped him.

Damien was still rubbing his cheek as he ran back over the lawn towards the marquee. He wasn’t sure if he’d deserved that slap or not. Surely, the time for hand to face contact would have been when he’d lurched towards her, not five minutes later when her arm had been hooked around his back, pulling her closer to him, and his teeth had been at her earlobe?

But, then again, maybe he should have saved her the bother and slapped himself first. What had he thought he was doing? Really? Zoe St James?

He shook his head, trying to put it down to some kind of mental breakdown, brought about by weeks of stress and then having to endure the worst day of his life, but his attempt at reasoning with himself kept getting side-tracked by thoughts of Zoe’s supple lips, memories of how complete and unfettered her response had been. She certainly knew how to more than talk with that runaway mouth of hers, he thought wryly.

Okay, so he was attracted to her. They had chemistry. Weird things like that happened all the time. It was all down to pheromones and brain chemistry and strange evolutionary throwbacks.

But a girl like Zoe St James wasn’t part of the picture he’d painted of his future, the one he’d been slowly piecing together like a jigsaw for the last decade. It didn’t matter if they had enough chemistry together to power the New Year’s fireworks in London—she just wasn’t part of the plan. And Damien Stone always stuck to the plan.

‘Luke!’

He caught his friend just as he was about to go back inside. Slightly breathless now, he pressed a hand to his chest. ‘You said you wanted a word with me?’

Luke shook his head. ‘I said Sara wanted a word with you.’

Sara.

A wave of guilt washed over Damien. He felt as if he’d been unfaithful, which was ridiculous.

Luke was grinning at him, waggling his eyebrows.

‘Shut up,’ Damien said.

Luke just grinned harder. ‘Well, I can’t say I wasn’t surprised. I mean … Zoe … But it’s good to see you being less of a hermit where women are concerned. You’ve been working too hard for far too long.’

Luke was wrong. It wasn’t work that was the problem. Yes, Damien put in long hours occasionally, but Luke was under the impression that things were worse than they really were, because that was the excuse Damien trotted out when spending an evening with Sara and Luke at his house would be just too cosy to bear.

He pulled a face. Just when had he become this person? A person who skulked around hiding from everyone, lied to his friends and, yes, launched himself on unsuspecting women, even if the woman in question had deserved a bit of a comeuppance?

‘So …’ Luke clapped him on the back then gave him a one-armed hug ‘…are you going to see her again while we’re away on honeymoon?’

Damien shook his head. He’d rather set himself on fire.

But there was something in what Luke had said. He’d spent too long pining for a woman who wasn’t his, too long shutting himself off from all the other possibilities out there. Okay, Sara fitted perfectly in that ten-year plan of his—owning his business, buying a decent house, wife, kids—but that didn’t mean no one else could ever fit that gap. He needed to readjust, and he could do it. He could.

It was time to move on.

What a pity he hadn’t quite been able to let go of the idea of Sara before now. Maybe if he’d done it sooner, he would have been here with someone today and, instead of struggling on his own, feeling like a volcano that was trying to stop itself erupting. He might have enjoyed himself.

He tried to imagine what it would be like …

A faceless girl. Brunette—not blonde, like Sara—in a stylish dress. A woman who reached for his hand during the service, squeezed it as the vows were said.

But it didn’t work. The fantasy morphed into a picture of him out by the fountain, taking Zoe by the hand, leading her back into the hotel, a slow, knowing smile on both their faces …

No.

Get a grip, Damien.

Luke’s right. It’s been too long. Those pent-up hormones are driving you screwy.

‘Relax, mate!’ His friend’s hand was still on his shoulder and it began to knead the tense muscle there rather painfully. ‘You know what you need?’

‘A stiff gin and Angelina Jolie’s phone number?’

Luke laughed. ‘Nope. You need a holiday.’

Damien shook his head. The last thing he needed was endless days on his own, nothing to do, too much time to think. No, work was the answer. Work was always the answer.

And coming up with a new plan. A better one. An achievable one.

That thought stopped him in his tracks.

He’d fallen into the same trap as his father had, hadn’t he? And he hadn’t even realised it. If anyone should understand how much damage yearning for the impossible did, it was Damien Stone.

‘So where’s Sara, then? I thought you said she was looking for me?’

Luke nodded towards the inside of the marquee. ‘Talking to her father at the table in the corner.’ His smile became sappy. ‘You can’t miss her—just look for the most beautiful girl in the room.’

This morning a comment like that would have been a slap in the face, but Damien let it bounce off him. Time for a new plan, remember? And this time he wasn’t going to let himself get derailed.

He would walk over to Sara and her father. He would listen to what she had to say, and then he would say goodbye.

To Sara. And the idea of Sara.